adapted and written by Deborah A. Rorabaugh
Based on characters and situations created by:
Gerry and Sylvia Anderson & Reg Hill
BEGINNINGS, 1971
Colonel Ed Straker, United States Air Force, was an unhappy man as he paused in front of the door to his commanding officer's office. To either side of him stood the two plainclothesmen from MI5 that had picked him up from Heathrow Airport only an hour earlier.
He knocked twice on the door. "Come in," a gravelly voice ordered.
Straker opened the door and stepped into the office beyond, leaving the two intelligence agents to wait in the hallway.
"Ah, Colonel," General James Henderson greeted his aide. "Good to see you."
"Good afternoon, General," Straker replied. "How are they treating you, sir?"
"Fine, fine," Henderson said, maneuvering his wheelchair around the small room.
It was three months since the aerial attack on the motorcade that killed British Defense Minister Talbot and shattered Henderson's right hip. The attack had sent the Rolls Royce they were riding in through a stone wall and into a ravine, setting it afire as it went. Straker had walked away with only scrapes and bruises. The press called it a miracle.
Henderson waved in the direction of the small sofa set against one wall. "Sit down."
Straker took a seat as Henderson wheeled over to face him.
"Look, I'm sorry to have fouled you up like this," Henderson said.
"It's all right, sir," the young man lied. He had been picked up only minutes away from boarding a commercial flight to Athens with his wife of twenty-four hours. They were going on their honeymoon.
"How'd your wife take it?" the general asked.
"Oh, she's fine," Straker said, without enthusiasm.
"Yes, that's what you need in this job, an understanding wife." There was a touch of bitterness in Henderson's tone.
Straker understood some of Henderson's bitterness. He had personally made the arrangements for the general's wife to come to London only the week before. Mrs. Henderson had been more than a little upset about her husband's decision to remain in England after the 'accident'.
"Well, let's get on with it, shall we?" Henderson said, forcing some cheerfulness into his voice. "Apparently, I'm stuck in this chair for another couple of months. Now, things are happening, Ed. A lot of it's gonna' fall on your shoulders."
Straker nodded. He wasn't especially surprised at Henderson's announcement. Straker had been handling most of the general's work since the wreck.
"The special committee of the United Nations meets day after tomorrow," Henderson told him. "We get the go no-go decision then."
"And you want me to be there?" Straker asked.
Henderson grinned. "Who else?"
A touch of worry clouded Straker's finely chiseled features. "What about Colonel Sprenger?"
"What about him?"
"I think he's been expecting he'd go with you to the special committee, sir," Straker said. "He is in Washington already."
Henderson gave the younger man a long look. "Do you honestly think he could handle it?" Henderson asked.
Straker took a moment to consider his reply. "No, sir. But, he won't like being left out of it."
"Ed, I want that approval. I've worked too hard and too long on this project to worry about Lieutenant Colonel Sprenger's delicate sensibilities."
"Yes, sir."
Henderson grinned. "Let me worry about Sprenger, okay?"
"Yes, sir."
Henderson sat back in his wheelchair and gave Straker another long look. The younger man shifted uncomfortably under his commanding officer's gaze.
"What is it between you two, anyway, Ed?"
Straker was surprised by the question. He hadn't been aware that his feelings toward Sprenger, Henderson's other aide, were so noticeable. "I don't know. Just sort of chemical, I guess."
* * *
Lieutenant Colonel Anthony Sprenger picked Straker up at LaGuardia.
"Your meeting with the special committee is at ten tomorrow," Sprenger told him as the driver placed Straker's over-night case in the trunk of the car.
After the car entered roadway towards downtown, Sprenger opened his briefcase and handed over a manila envelope. "Here's the additional documentation the general requested for you."
Straker pulled out the contents and glanced at the papers briefly. They were what had been requested. He put them back in their folder and placed them in his own document case.
"I've booked a room for you at the Hilton, if that meets your approval, sir," Sprenger said.
"I'm sure that will be more than satisfactory, Colonel, thank you," Straker replied.
Sprenger leaned forward and instructed the driver to take them to the Hilton. He then settled back in his seat to face Straker.
"Is there something on your mind, Colonel?" Straker asked after a moment. He didn't like being the subject of Sprenger's stare.
"Permission to speak frankly, sir?" Sprenger asked.
Straker bit back the sarcastic reply he wanted to make and said simply: "Permission granted."
"I'm wondering why I'm not going to that meeting with you. After all, I've put as much work into this project as anyone else."
"Your presence at the meeting isn't necessary, Colonel Sprenger. The documentation we have speaks for itself."
Sprenger relaxed a little, settling his thin frame deeper into the car seat.
"Besides," Straker continued. "I am aware of how much you disapprove of the notion that the project should be genuinely international in organization and scope."
"The United States is the one country best capable of dealing with this problem. I see no reason to violate our national security by handing advanced technology over to whoever agrees to join up," Sprenger spat out angrily. "Let the damn Russians handle their own problems."
"We've been through this all before, Colonel," Straker replied very calmly. "And I don't agree."
"I assume, then, that as soon as the project gets its approval, I'll be fired?" His tone was venomous.
Straker paused, considering the options open. To fire Sprenger from his position would mean the end of the man's career, an indelible black mark on his record. As much as he disliked Sprenger, he didn't want that on his conscience.
"You won't be fired," Straker promised. "Assuming things go as planned, General Henderson can arrange a transfer for you to another assignment."
"How charitable of you." was Sprenger's cold comment. "But, I won't be invited to serve with the project?"
"I think that will depend on who gets appointed to head the project," Straker replied. "Don't you?"
* * *
The United Nations building looked as it always had, stark, yet beautiful. The spring morning air was brisk. The cherry trees that lined the plaza were in bloom. Straker regretted the fact that he hadn't been able to bring his bride with him on this trip. She would have enjoyed it.
The special committee was already waiting when Straker arrived, exactly at 10:00. Straker recognized the six men from dossiers Sprenger provided him the night before.
Sir Jameson, the British representative, and chairman of the committee, stood and greeted him. "Ah, Colonel Straker."
"Gentlemen." Straker removed his uniform cap and nodded a greeting to the group.
"Please, sit down." Sir Jameson indicated the one empty seat at the end of the table.
"Thank you." Straker took the indicated seat. "First of all, I should like to apologize on behalf of General Henderson for his absence. As you probably know, he's still recovering from injuries he received in the 'car crash'."
"Thank you, Colonel," Sir Jameson said. "No doubt, you will make an excellent substitute." He turned to the other members of his committee. "Now, gentlemen, I suggest the best way for us to proceed is be a process of question and answer."
The French delegate, Duvall, spoke first. "Colonel, as representatives of our respective governments, we are being asked to approve the largest financial appropriation ever envisaged for an international project. Two questions. Is the project, the whole project, absolutely necessary, and if it is, are we getting value for our money?"
Duvall's dossier had indicated he was a hard-headed pragmatist, an excellent businessman and international negotiator. His questions weren't a surprise.
"I believe the setting up of SHADO is not only necessary, but vital," Straker replied. He addressed the entire committee, paying special attention to Duvall. "Every day we just sit about and talk about it, the potential danger increases. As to your second question, I believe this break-down of expenditure might be helpful."
Straker opened the large envelope he'd brought with him and handed the sheets out to the committee. The members looked over the figures on the papers.
"A fleet of submarines? Base on the Moon? Satellites?" Duvall sputtered.
"If I might point out, sir," Straker interrupted, "we're confronted with alien space craft, possibly from another solar system."
"Maybe the general and Colonel Straker have been reading too much science fiction." Duvall's remark brought smiles to the faces of several committee members.
"The Earth is faced with a power threat from an extra-terrestrial force," Straker stated. "We've moved into an age where science fiction has become fact. We need to defend ourselves."
"And how long will it take to set up this 'defense organization'?" Duvall demanded.
"We estimate, seven to ten years," Straker answered.
"Ten years!" Duvall repeated in surprise. "But you say, Colonel, the danger is immanent."
"Yes, sir, that's true," Straker replied. "But the type of organization we need can't be set up overnight. All I say is, any delay only increases the danger."
"The estimate for security is astronomical," Sir Jameson interjected, cutting off another of Duvall's protests.
"It's a vital aspect," explained Straker.
"Everything seems vital," Duvall complained.
The Russian delegate, Alexandrov, spoke for the first time. "How is SHADO to be organized regarding personnel?"
"On strictly military lines. We hope to recruit the best people available," replied Straker.
"Internationally?" the Russian queried.
"Yes."
"And who will command this international band of heroes?" Duvall demanded.
Kingston, the American representative, broke in: "My government has stipulated that the commander and chief must be an American."
"Yes, yes, we know," Duvall retorted, waving his hands in dismissal.
Kingston responded in anger, half rising from his chair. "As the nation being asked to dig a little deeper into it's pockets..."
"Naturally, naturally," the Frenchman interrupted.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Sir Jameson broke in, gesturing for Kingston to retake his seat. "We asked Colonel Straker here to answer our questions. I suggest we let him do so."
Straker nodded a thanks to Sir Jameson, then addressed Duvall's original question. "Well, there's no question in my mind, gentlemen. There's only one man for the job. General Henderson. He's the obvious choice."
There was a long pause as the committee members considered Straker's reply. Finally, Sir Jameson asked, "Any further questions?"
Kingston and Alexandrov both shook their heads. Straker stood and began to collect the papers he'd handed out.
"Thank you, Colonel Straker," Sir Jameson said in dismissal.
Straker picked up his cap and turned to leave. Then, he stopped and looked back at Duvall. "Monsieur Duvall, I understand you have three daughters."
"Yes," Duvall said slowly. A worried look came into his eyes.
"I pray that you never find yourself looking down at one of their mutilated bodies. I hope that the next Ufo incident is not in your home town." Straker paused and looked around at the shocked expressions of the other committee members. "Thank you for your time."
* * *
A week later, Straker was back in Henderson's office in the American Embassy.
"It has been approved unanimously," Henderson chortled as he wheeled his chair around the office. "You've done a great job, Ed."
"Well, I thought I'd screwed it up, sir," Straker admitted. "I was only in there about ten minutes."
Henderson stopped and looked back at the young man. "Well, all we've got to do now is work sixteen hours a day for the next ten years."
"Sure." There was no enthusiasm in Straker's voice. The fact that the project they'd been working together on for the past two years was now approved was almost a letdown.
Henderson cleared his throat. "There is another thing I have to tell you."
Straker looked up expectantly.
"They appointed the commander and chief."
"Who?"
"You." Henderson grinned.
"Me?"
"Again, it was unanimous," Henderson told him. "It seems that the French delegate, Duvall, was particularly insistent."
"But, sir, why... ?" For once, Straker was at a loss for words.
"Why not choose me?" Henderson asked for him. "Oh, come on, let's not kid ourselves, Colonel. What sort of shape am I in? What sort of shape would I be in in ten years time?"
"Nonsense, General," Straker protested. "Why, in a couple months, you'll be out of that thing, up and about, fit as ever."
Henderson leaned forward in his chair, his expression sadly serious. "You can always refuse. But, if you do, it's got to be now. There'll be no turning back later."
CHAPTER 1
Five white spheres were arranged in a hexagon around a central hub. The sixth side of the hexagon contained an airlock that faced a landing pad carved out of virgin lunar rock. A bright construction of metal and plastic that was the only significant evidence of humanity's continued presence on the lunar surface.
There were no other signs of life on the dusty gray surface. Inside the base, however, life continued on in its orderly fashion. Three silver uniformed operatives did the required equipment checks for their shifts in the Control sphere. They kept their eyes and ears open for any evidence that the enemy, the so called 'little green men from outer space', were on their way to wreck further havoc on a virtually unsuspecting Earth.
This was the most remote outpost of SHADO - Moonbase.
It was the third Tuesday in February, 1982. Colonel Alec Freeman was the command officer on duty in the top-secret underground headquarters of the Supreme Headquarters, Alien Defense Organization, near London.
SHADO's problems started innocuously enough, this time. Space Intruder Detector, SHADO's main tracking satellite in orbit of Earth, had notified Moonbase of an incoming Unidentified Flying Object.
In turn, Moonbase notified SHADO Headquarters.
According to Gay Ellis, Moonbase commander, the U.F.O. had started banking and weaving about two minutes before. It was a flight pattern they'd never seen before.
"But it is maintaining an overall flight path," SHADO's C-in-C, Edward Straker, observed, watching one of the many radar monitors in SHADO H.Q.
Moonbase announced the destruction of the U.F.O. Straker congratulated the Moonbase crew and headed for his office, just across the corridor from the control room. Freeman followed him in.
"Well, that one certainly made a new approach," Straker began conversationally as he settled behind his slate topped desk. He took a cigar from the silver pail set on one corner. "I wonder what it was trying to do?"
"We'll never know, I'm glad to say," Freeman replied. Straker held out the container and Freeman took a cigar from it. He settled back in the leather chair opposite the desk and watched as Straker straightened the small stack of reports on the desktop, then lit his own cigar.
Overall, Straker looked like a successful businessman, well dressed, confident, needle-sharp. Physically, he was medium height, but, his slimness and military posture gave the impression he was taller. His complexion was boyishly smooth and unmarked. An excellent bone structure made his age indeterminate, somewhere closer to forty than fifty. His hair was a pale blond. His accent said he was American and a trained ear could detect the faintest traces of Back Bay, Boston.
However, a certain cold cynicism showed around his blue-gray eyes, as though he'd seen more trouble than a mere businessman, or military officer, had any right to expect.
The intercom on the desk buzzed and Straker hit the button.
"Moonbase to SHADO Control," Ellis's voice said from the speaker.
"What is it, Lieutenant?"
"We have another contact, sir." She sounded worried.
"A second Ufo?"
There was a long pause and Freeman could almost see Ellis double-checking the findings with her crew.
"No, sir. The same one."
"The same one? But you reported a positive detonation." Straker was tired. It showed in the sharpness of his tone. Quietly, Freeman returned the cigar to its container.
"I know, sir. The scanners showed negative, but it's back."
"Well, what's its position now, Lieutenant?" Straker demanded.
"I'm sorry, sir," Ellis apologized, even though she obviously wasn't to blame. "It's through Moonbase defenses, heading for Earth."
Straker thumbed off the intercom, then rubbed his temples. "Damn," he muttered.
Freeman followed as Straker got up and left his office to go back to the control room.
"I can't understand how those interceptors missed. Seemed to me that that Ufo was a sitting target," Straker said finally. He seemed to be speaking to himself as much as to Freeman.
"Maybe that's what we were supposed to think," Freeman pointed out.
"That's a good point, Alec," Straker said. "Force the interceptors to release their missiles, avoid them and it gets a clear run past Moonbase defenses."
He turned to Lieutenant Keith Ford, seated at the main communications station.
"Where is it now?"
"Range: seven million." Ford responded.
"Trajectory termination?"
Ford shook his head. "It's difficult to say. It's changing course more violently than before. The nearest we can get is Western Europe."
"Well, it could be damaged," Straker commented. "Lieutenant Ellis reported a strike."
Ford was concentrating on the read-outs on the monitor screen in front of him: "Speed increasing, one decimal four, one decimal eight... two decimal four..."
"That does it. We'll never get near it at that speed," Freeman stated glumly. "Let's get a closer E.T.T. Is the rate of descent constant?"
"More or less, there's still a slight variation," Ford reported.
"It should be possible to work out a broad target area," reasoned Freeman.
"We've tried, but our readings aren't good enough for the computer to use," Ford explained.
"Do your best, Lieutenant." Freeman instructed.
He turned back to Straker, who was still intently watching the U.F.O.'s path on the radar screen. "Looks like its going to hit. Question is, what's it up to?"
Straker looked up from the screen a moment. "Tell you what I think, Alec. I think that Ufo's under manual control. First the flight variation was used to disrupt our computer programs, but now, I think the alien is fighting to regain control."
"That makes sense," Freeman agreed. "If it's damaged."
"Yes, the next few minutes are going to be very interesting."
"Vector termination: areas seventeen to twenty-three," Ford announced as the data finally came through. "Central England."
"Too close for comfort," Straker announced. "Sound a red-alert."
Around them, the red-alert siren sounded, letting everyone else in SHADO Headquarters know that an alien was on its way to Earth.
* * *
SHADO Colonel Paul Foster was in charge of the Mobile unit team. He was temporarily replacing Captain Green, who was on her mandatory two week stint at SHADO's health research center, also known as the "health farm."
Foster stood by as the mobile drivers unloaded their small, highly maneuverable mobile-armored vehicles from the transport trucks that had brought them so quickly to this particular section of central England, near Birmingham. He climbed into his own vehicle and called into headquarters for instructions.
"This is a red-alert," Ford informed him. "Proceed to map reference four-zero-five green."
"Roger, Control," Foster acknowledged. He relayed the instructions to the three other mobiles in his group
* * *
Straker and Freeman watched the alien's radar track on the screen. The mobiles' progress reports came through the speaker overhead.
"It's weaving off line again," Freeman observed. Straker reached over and took the microphone from Ford's station.
"SHADO Control to Mobile Two. Get that area sealed off, Foster," Straker ordered. "I want a detailed survey of the area. If there is a specific target in there, I want to know about it."
The mobiles quickly proceeded to their assigned areas. Men in military uniforms with official looking cars set up blocks on all the roads into the area.
In Mobile Two, Paul Foster and his driver checked the aerial map against the land-use survey spread on the console in front of them.
Foster frowned. Then he took the microphone from the console: "Mobile Two to SHADO Control. According to our survey maps, there's just a derelict farm and a couple houses within a five mile radius of the E.T.T."
* * *
"It's wooded, common land. What could be of interest there?" Straker asked no one in particular. He was looking over a copy of the same map Foster had in his mobile.
"It's out of control," Freeman suggested. "The alien's being forced to crash-land."
"No, somehow I don't think so," responded Straker. There was worried crease between his eyebrows. "What's it after? What could it possibly want in a wilderness of trees and bracken?"
A new set of figures appeared on Lieutenant Johnson's computer monitor near-by and she reported them: "U.F.O.'s speed decreasing, twelve thousand knots; range, one thousand miles."
"Course maintained, no deviation," Ford reported.
"So, it's back under control and slowing enough for a landing," Straker said.
"When's the estimated termination?" asked Freeman.
Ford did a quick calculation in his head. "About five minutes. Colonel Foster won't have time to complete evacuation."
After a few quiet moments: "Speed, seven thousand five hundred knots, decreasing. Range: six hundred miles."
"The roadblock should be in place by now. The whole area's sealed off," Freeman said.
"Three minutes to termination," Ford announced. "Maintaining course, reducing speed."
"Come on, friend," Freeman urged. "We're waiting for you."
"It's going to be a perfect landing, Alec," Straker said. "And we're going to be right there."
Freeman glanced over at Straker. There was a decidedly feral look to his commanding officer. He was like a pale cat waiting for its prey. If he'd had a tail, it would have been twitching.
* * *
At one of the roadblocks, a late model sedan drove up and stopped. A khaki clad NCO stepped over to the driver's side. He peered into the car to see a plump middle aged man in a thread bare brown suit. The man was sweating and looked pale, almost ill, under the flash-light's beam.
"I'm sorry, sir, this area's been sealed off. Military maneuvers..."
"Military maneuvers?" the man repeated. His voice trembled. "I live a couple miles over there."
"Well, I'm afraid you'll have to..." the military man began.
"Yes, I know. It won't be long now," the little man said.
* * *
"One minute, course maintained," Ford announced, translating the readings on the screen in front of him.
"Speed?" Freeman asked.
"Speed increasing." There was a hint of surprise in Ford's voice.
"Check it," ordered Straker.
Ford shook his head, "No error, sir. It's coming down faster."
"Get me Colonel Foster," Straker demanded. Ford made the connection and handed him the headset.
"Mobile 2, go ahead Control," Foster's voice announced over the speaker.
"The U.F.O.'s increased speed to crash velocity. It'll be too late to correct," Straker stated grimly. "Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Foster acknowledged.
"Oh, and Colonel Foster, if there's a survivor, I want him."
"Right." Foster understood completely. SHADO didn't get many opportunities to capture live aliens. They certainly didn't want to miss this one if they could help it.
Foster looked out of windscreen of the mobile. He was hoping to catch sight of their target. The sky was leaden with dark clouds and it looked as if it might start raining at any time.
He could hear the craft as it approached. Its whirring whine sounded as though it were directly overhead.
"Decreasing," Ford's voice announced over the radio. "Switching... Yes, course altered two degrees."
"Colonel Foster," Straker's voice crackled over the speaker. "Have you got visual contact?"
"Still tracking on audio," Foster replied. He was still trying to catch sight of the alien when it broke through the cloud cover.
* * *
At the roadblock, the little man waited with the NCO, listening to reports coming over the radio concerning the 'military maneuvers'. A voice announced that the pilot of an experimental aircraft said there was a fire in the cabin.
There was a sudden gasp behind the military man and he turned to see the little man hit the ground in a dead faint.
* * *
There was resignation in Paul Foster's voice when he notified SHADO Control: "It's crashed right through a house."
"All right, Colonel. Do what you can." Straker responded. He turned to Freeman, perplexed.
"I don't understand it, Alec. Under control, and out of control. Crash landing velocity, safe landing velocity. Now, it hits a house."
Freeman had the distinct feeling they were dealing with a puzzle with some important pieces missing. He also had the feeling they weren't going to like those pieces when they were found.
* * *
The digital speedometer display in Freeman's black Saab 900 Turbo indicated he was driving at better than seventy miles an hour. He and Straker were heading out to map reference 4-0-5 green, where the U.F.O. had crashed, then exploded.
Freeman listened to the periodic updates from SHADO Control as the special radio receiver in the dash decoded them.
At forty nine, Freeman was one of SHADO's oldest operatives, a high school and college athlete who'd managed not to go to fat in his middle age by working hard and playing harder. His accent betrayed him as an Australian.
Freeman's hair was a medium brown and one curl kept falling onto his broad forehead, to the delight of his many female friends. His blue eyes were in a permanent squint from too many years of staring into the bright sky from the cockpit of an airplane. Overall, Freeman exuded the public's image of a pilot: bold, adventurous, romantic and very, very competent.
Freeman glanced over to check on his passenger. Straker was unusually quiet. Freeman wondered if he was even awake. Freeman knew Straker had been putting in long hours recently at SHADO's security cover, Harlington-Straker Studios.
There were rumors of personnel problems on one of studio's longer running shows, a science fiction piece that had proved surprisingly popular in the United States. There were also rumors of a possible writers' strike later on in the summer if union negotiations with MGM, UA and BBC weren't successful.
Harlington-Straker Film Studios was ten miles north of central London in an industrial area that specialized in electronic companies and precision industries. The studio complex itself was virtually indistinguishable from the antiseptic-looking factories nearby.
Ten enormous sound stages were concealed in industrial-looking buildings, surrounded by clusters of carpenter shops, paint shops, storage buildings and office units. Behind the buildings was a huge lot covered with bits and pieces of various productions. There was a facade of Downing Street, the hulk of a B-17 bomber and other debris that was used repeatedly in various guises in various productions. Surrounding the entire complex was a ten-foot high brick and concrete wall, pierced at intervals by electronically monitored iron gates.
The film studio and production company was SHADO's cover, both literally and figuratively. SHADO Headquarters was carved out of solid bedrock eighty feet beneath the sound stages, offices and parking areas of Harlington-Straker Studios. The public, indeed, most of the four hundred studio employees, had no idea of SHADO's existence. They would never know, if SHADO its way.
Freeman slowed the Saab as they approached the roadblock and were passed through. If Straker had been asleep, he gave no sign of it now. He was studying the area as they approached the crash site.
"Quite a mess," was Freeman's only comment as they stopped in front of what, only a few hours before had been a two story house, surrounded by a well-tended country garden.
Now, the garden was littered with debris. A crater still smoldered in what used to be the backyard. Only about half the building was still standing. The part that was standing didn't look particularly safe.
"I still don't understand it, Alec," Straker said finally, studying the house. "Right from the start, that Ufo was on an unusual flight pattern."
"We can only guess it was a method to out-maneuver the interceptors," Freeman responded. He fell in with Straker's need to go over what they knew one more time.
"Yes, but let's say it came in damaged," suggested Straker.
"And, unable to control his ship, the alien tried to land, failed, and hit that house," Freeman continued for him.
"No, I don't buy that, Alec." Straker frowned. "For a while it was out of control, yes. But, just before impact, it seemed to be fine. It looped that line of trees, smashed straight into an isolated house."
"Sheer coincidence," Freeman insisted. "The house just happened to be in the way."
"Well, you could be right," Straker said, but Freeman could tell he wasn't convinced.
Lieutenant Aarons, from the Mobile unit team, introduced himself as they got out of the car to look at the demolished house more closely.
"What happened to the pilot?" Straker asked.
"There was just enough evidence left to establish that it was an alien." Aarons reported. "What we have is being shipped down to SHADO H.Q. for analysis."
"And the Ufo was completely destroyed?" Freeman asked.
Aarons nodded. "The largest piece measured six inches across. We found it imbedded in Colonel Foster's mobile."
The mention of Foster brought Straker's attention away from the house. "What's the news on his condition?"
"It's too early to say," the young man replied. "He's lost a lot of blood, but at least he was luckier than his driver."
Aarons looked a little green at recalling what was left of the driver's body inside what remained of Foster's mobile. Apparently, the driver had taken the brunt of the blast. His body had shielded Foster and thus saved the colonel's life. But, the inside of the mobile had looked like an abattoir.
Aarons later told Freeman that there was so much blood and gore they'd had a hard time telling how badly hurt Foster was.
"What about the woman?" Straker asked. He seemed oblivious to Aarons' discomfort as they entered a relatively undamaged area of the house.
"She couldn't have known anything about it, sir. It must have been instantaneous."
In fact, there'd only been enough of that body to establish that it had been a woman in the house at the time of collision.
"What do we know about her?" Straker asked, going to a window. Surprisingly, the window and the curtains around it were still intact. A plump, little, nervous-looking man with thinning brown hair was waiting outside the house with another uniformed member of the mobile team.
"Stella Croxley. Ordinary woman, married," Freeman answered. That had been one of the items headquarters had come up with and relayed over the radio.
"Nothing to connect her with U.F.O.'s?"
"Nothing that we know of," Freeman amended. Apparently, Straker had been asleep on the drive over.
"That's her husband out there now. John Croxley." Aarons pointed out the man outside.
Straker sighed. "I suppose I'd better talk to him."
Freeman nodded and motioned Aarons to accompany him outside, leaving Straker alone in the ruined house.
Croxley entered the house at Aarons' direction. Freeman could see both Straker and Croxley through the window. The two men spoke for a few moments, Straker's expression becoming more puzzled as the conversation continued. Then, Croxley left, wandering away in a seemingly aimless manner.
Freeman noted Croxley's departure and went back to join Straker.
"How's he taking it?"
"Hard to tell," Straker replied. "He seemed to know exactly what I was going to say."
"Yeah, I guess it's pretty difficult to find a new way of telling a guy you're sorry."
The temperature outside was unseasonably warm, but suddenly Straker shivered.
"What's wrong?" Freeman asked.
"I don't know," Straker admitted. There was an odd, haunted look in his eyes. "It was like someone walked on my grave."
CHAPTER 2
It took two weeks for the various departments involved to complete and send in their reports on the Croxley matter. Straker was still going over them when Freeman walked into his office late one night.
"Is that the time?" Straker asked, indicating the clock on his desk. It read 2:00 A.M.
"Yeah, it's time you went home," Freeman stated in his best mother hen form. "You've been here a full eighteen hours."
"Well, I have to go through these reports," Straker explained very reasonably. "Not that they tell us a great deal."
"We've combed the ruin and everything for a mile around. We looked at security yesterday." Freeman told him.
"Yes." Straker looked through the pile on his desk for the report. "I understand Croxley was having psychiatric treatment."
"He also left his job. It's hardly surprising after what he's been through. I think we can close the book on the incident."
"Well, not quite, Alec," Straker protested mildly. "Paul Foster's still in the hospital."
"Yes, I spoke to him yesterday. Doctors are very pleased with his progress."
"The wonders of modern medicine." Straker's tone became bitter.
Freeman didn't have to ask why. Modern medicine hadn't been able to save the commander's eight-year-old son nearly eighteen months before.
"He wants to see you," Freeman said, deliberately breaking into Straker's morbid train of thought. "He's worried about something."
"What?"
Freeman shrugged: "He wouldn't tell me."
* * *
"You mean to tell me you called me all the way out here just to tell me that?" Straker demanded.
Paul Foster had just told him he thought someone had been spying on him. Luckily, Straker was in a good mood following the long afternoon drive out to the small military hospital Foster had been admitted to.
"Well, I thought you should know about it," Foster defended. "Surely, it's a security matter."
Straker gazed thoughtfully at the younger man. Foster was thirty two, young for the responsibilities he'd been given in SHADO since his recruitment two years before. His hair was dark and he was good-looking in a matinee-idol sort of way. Straker knew some of the women at headquarters referred to Foster as SHADO's 'James Bond'. Like the fictional Bond, Foster wasn't normally prone to idle imaginings.
"What does he look like?" Straker finally asked.
"It's difficult to say. It's just an impression," admitted Foster.
"Come on, Paul. Next you'll be telling me you hear strange noises at night," Straker chided.
"Now, look," Foster demanded. "Every time I look up, he's there, looking at me, and a sort of nauseous feeling comes over me."
Straker gave him a long appraising look, then: "I'll get you out of here. You're okayed to be moved to our medical center. It'll be closer to home."
"You don't believe me, do you?"
There was just a hint of a smile on Straker's face: "I'll tell you what I think, Paul. I think you've been lying in that bed too long. I also think if you're well enough to worry, you're well enough to go back to work."
A basket of fruit was sitting on the bedside table and Straker made a show of selecting an apple from it.
"I'll arrange for your discharge," he promised. He took a bite from the fruit and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Foster sighed and laid back in his hospital bed for a few minutes. Then, the nauseous feeling he'd described suddenly came back.
He looked up to see the door to his room closing.
* * *
"How long's it been as quiet as this?" Foster asked Freeman two weeks later as they both waited for Straker to arrive at the underground control center. Foster sat on the steps to the back upper level, where the banks of tactical computers stood. Freeman leaned against the railing, smoking a cigarette.
Foster looked around at the beige uniformed operatives seated at their stations around the room. No one was doing anything that could be remotely construed as work. Lieutenant Johnson was polishing her nails. Ford was whistling some unidentifiable tune while reading a popular film magazine.
"Since you went into the hospital," Freeman replied. The control room consoles practically shone with polish. There probably wasn't a speck of dust in the entire complex.
"But, that was a month ago," Foster protested. "You mean there's been no sightings since then?"
Freeman shrugged, a sly grin on his face: "Oh, just two. The interceptors took care of them. We managed to scratch along without you, Paul."
Straker walked in, carrying a brown paper-wrapped package under one arm.
The control room operatives abruptly straightened up in their chairs and put aside their newspapers and magazines. Straker pretended not to notice their sudden efforts to look busy.
"Hello, Paul, feeling better?" he asked Foster.
"Yes, sir."
Foster got to his feet to follow Straker into his office. Straker beckoned Freeman to accompany them.
"Well, are you fit for duty, Paul?" Straker inquired as he dropped the package on the desktop, and settled himself at his desk.
"Yes, sir. Shroeder checked me out an hour ago," Foster informed him.
"Good." Straker gave Foster a wry grin. "No more little men watching you?"
Foster returned the grin. "Well, in the medical center, security's tighter than at Drumley, anyway." The incidents at the hospital had already faded into something rather like a bad dream.
"Oh, I see, and your little friend, he couldn't get in?" Straker gave a dry chuckle, peering at Foster over steepled fingers. "Don't worry about it, Paul. You go home and get a good rest and report to Moonbase briefing first thing in the morning."
"Yes sir," Foster acknowledged and headed for the door.
"Oh, Alec," Straker called before Freeman had a chance to leave. "I want you to go over to the Zeta tracking station. The lieutenant in command there's come up with a new grid link-up. There might be something in it. There's no panic."
"I can go over there right away," Freeman said. Straker picked up the package he'd brought down with him and inspected it.
"By the way, what's that?" Freeman asked. Except for the address label, with Straker's name printed in large letters, the front of the package was completely covered with stamps.
"I assume this is a film script."
Freeman gave Straker a mischievous grin: "Well, why don't you open it and find out?"
He walked out before Straker could come up with a suitable retort.
* * *
Freeman was just informing Janice Ealand, Straker's executive secretary and guardian of SHADO's main entrance, of his afternoon itinerary when Straker's call came through for him to come back down immediately.
Straker was white with fury when Freeman walked into his office. He was holding a thick bound sheaf of paper.
"Something wrong?" Freeman asked.
"I'll say there is. Just about as wrong as you can get!"
Straker shoved the document at him.
"What is it?"
"Read it, Alec, just read it!" Straker's voice cracked in anger. "The SHADO organization, Colonel Alec Freeman, Moonbase, Sky-diver, everything. It's all there, Alec, every last detail!"
"That's impossible. How could anyone...?"
"How should I know?" Straker demanded, cutting him off. "Security leak? Coincidence, lucky guess? What does it matter? That document is a complete dossier on SHADO, its operatives, installations, equipment."
"I don't get it," protested Freeman. "Who wrote it?"
"The name's on the front," Straker pointed out. He was finally calming down somewhat. "John Croxley."
"The man whose house was hit by the U.F.O.?"
"Yes. Now, you tell me, Alec. How did he get that information?"
"The whole thing's ridiculous," Freeman stated flatly. "We checked out him and his wife. Mr. and Mrs. Average."
Straker frowned, suddenly thoughtful. "When I told him about his wife, there was something about him. He was different." Straker shook his head. "Wait a minute, Foster's little man in the hospital. That could be Croxley, too."
"We'd better pick him up," Freeman decided, reaching for the intercom on Straker's desk.
"No, not yet, Alec," Straker countermanded. He was still worried, but now coldly controlled. "If it was him, I want to know more about him."
"He was visiting a psychiatrist," Freeman reminded him. "Maybe he knows something."
"Right, we'll start there." Straker agreed.
* * *
A quick check with security gave them the psychiatrist's name and address.
Doctor Corbin's office was in an old, and rather shabby, medical office building in Birmingham. It wasn't a fashionable address, but Croxley, formerly an accountant for a small manufacturing firm, couldn't have afforded a fashionable doctor.
Despite the building's unprepossessing exterior, the man's office was neat and comfortable. Professional texts filled the bookcases next to the door.
The psychiatrist was suitably impressed with Freeman's proffered identification. It indicated he was with M.I.5, military intelligence.
"You realize, I hope, that I do not normally divulge such details about my patients," the doctor explained. "But, with your authorization; it was a somewhat unusual condition, E.S.P."
"Extra sensory perception?" Freeman asked. The psychiatrist nodded.
"It's a subject about which we still know very little. But most of us have experienced it at one time or another," Doctor Corbin looked from Freeman to Straker. "You, yourself, have probably been in a situation of sensing what is going to happen."
"Yes, and it usually means trouble," Straker replied. He stood by the door, arms folded over his chest.
The psychiatrist smiled. "Well, it affects different people in different ways. Some adjust quickly and make good use of their powers. I believe there have been quite a number of successful theatrical acts based on the condition."
"And Croxley?" Freeman wanted to know.
"He is not one of the lucky ones. It was driving him to mental illness. His powers of perception are so pronounced he can hold a complete conversation with someone without that person uttering a single word."
"A mind-reader," Freeman suggested.
"Not quite," Corbin corrected. "Telepathy, perhaps. He can 'anticipate'. He can, how shall I say, 'feel' the future."
"And it bothers him," commented Straker.
"To the point of mental illness," Croxley's doctor concurred. "When simple, everyday phrases take on new and terrible meanings."
"Yes, well, most of it is clear now, Doctor. Thank you very much," Straker responded. His expression was thoughtful.
"Croxley phoned here for you earlier today," the psychiatrist announced as Straker opened the office door to leave.
"And?" Straker demanded.
"For some unexplained reason, he wants you and Mister Freeman to meet him at the ruin of his house at twelve o'clock tonight."
"And how'd he know we'd be here?" Straker asked.
The psychiatrist smiled: "E.S.P.?"
* * *
"We're early. It's only eleven," Freeman informed his commanding officer, checking his watch. The Saab was parked in front of the wreckage that only a month before had been a nice country house. It looked now like it had been deserted for years.
"Yes, I always like to look over a convention hall before a convention," Straker commented.
"Or a battle field before a battle?" Freeman suggested. He turned to look at Straker. "You know it's madness, don't you? Coming out here without security?"
"We have no choice," Straker reminded him quietly. "Listen, Alec, we have to assume that Croxley can anticipate our moves. That film script, he wrote it by reading Paul Foster's thought patterns."
"Or someone told him."
Straker shook his head, "No, listen, I think that doctor's right. Croxley has a super-sensory power and if we try to trap him, or go against his wishes, he'll know about it."
"Well, I hope you're wrong about this," Freeman commented.
"So do I."
* * *
"Look, I know it's late, but this is not easy to live with," Paul Foster protested to Doctor Shroeder in the psychiatrist's office in SHADO's medical center.
"Listen, Paul, you went through a pretty rough experience. It takes time," explained Shroeder.
"But, that was physical!"
"Paul, you nearly lost your life in that house. Your mind is simply trying to adjust to the recent shock you received when you were injured there," the SHADO psychiatrist explained calmly and logically.
Foster had come into his office suffering from a full blown anxiety attack. He was convinced it had something to do with the Croxley house and the U.F.O. that had crashed through it. He couldn't explain why he felt that way, but it had driven him to near panic.
"Well, maybe you're right," Foster finally conceded.
"I'm sure of it," Shroeder assured him. Then, seeing the unconvinced look on Foster's face: "Look, if it bothers you that much, there's only one answer. Go back to the house, overcome your anxiety. Face the problem."
Foster relaxed a little: "Okay, Doc, I'll go home and get some rest."
"Good night, Paul," Shroeder responded. "See you at final medical checks tomorrow."
* * *
At a half past eleven, Freeman pulled out two high powered flash-lights and handed one to Straker. They got out of the car and entered the ruined house, taking care in stepping through the uncleared rubble.
"Croxley, where are you?" Straker called, looking around.
Freeman entered what had obviously been the living room. He motioned Straker to join him. The beam from his flash light highlighted a cheap metal typing table with a portable typewriter sitting on it. There was a pile of crumpled paper balls on the floor.
"You know, Ed, I think I'm developing E.S.P." Freeman stated quietly, after a few minutes. They had looked over the rest of the main floor and had returned to the living room. "I've got the feeling Croxley's here already, watching us, waiting."
"You're right, Colonel," a voice said from behind them.
"Croxley!" Straker identified the voice. He turned to face the man then stopped short. Croxley was holding a revolver and it was pointed directly at Straker's heart.
"The answer to your question is 'no'. Why should I give you my gun?" Croxley said. He stepped closer.
Straker made an unobtrusive move to reach inside his unbuttoned jacket. He froze as Croxley cocked the hammer of his revolver.
"You would both be dead before your hands were on the butts," Croxley informed them. "You see, I do know what you're thinking. You use a shoulder holster, Commander. Please?" Croxley made a motion towards the far corner of the room.
Straker removed his automatic pistol from its holster and tossed it into the designated corner.
Croxley held out his hand: "The lamp."
Silently, Straker handed over the flashlight he was holding.
Croxley then turned to Freeman: "You prefer the right hip, I believe, Colonel? Slowly," he added. Freeman took his gun from where it was tucked in his belt under his suit jacket and tossed it next to Straker's.
"You have a more devious thought pattern," Croxley informed Freeman.
"I want to see you clearly before I kill you," the little man announced. He turned the flashlight on them. The two SHADO officers winced at the sudden glare in their faces.
"It's fitting you should die here, Straker."
"We made it easy for you," Freeman noted.
"Yes," Croxley agreed. He stared at Straker a moment longer. Straker levelly returned his gaze.
"I must say, you have particularly logical thought processes."
Straker ignored the comment. "How long have you had this E.S.P., Croxley?"
"All my life," the man admitted. "Oh, it got stronger about a year ago, but I remember I used to play tricks at school, predicting the future."
"And U.F.O.'s? What do you know about them?" Freeman demanded.
"Shut up!" Croxley screamed. "You did it, Straker. You've been messing with things you don't understand and you caused my wife's death!"
"No, Croxley," Straker stated. His voice, though quiet, was intense. "Don't you see? Use your power, use your E.S.P. A U.F.O. destroyed your house, not me. It was part of a carefully laid plan. The aliens, Croxley, they've taken over your mind. They killed your wife. They're using you. Can't you see why? They're using you to kill us."
Croxley didn't seem to hear Straker, but his aim didn't waver as he circled the two SHADO agents. It was as though he were listening to something else entirely. He murmured his wife's name and tears began streaming down his face.
However, when Straker began to turn to watch him, Croxley was immediately behind him, pressing the gun barrel behind his right ear.
Straker froze, barely breathing.
"Croxley, for God's sake!" Freeman protested. Croxley didn't seem to hear.
"Mother," he was murmuring, mostly to Straker. "You're thinking about your mother."
Croxley backed away, as if in pain. "Stop it! Stop it!" he screamed. Then, just as suddenly, he seemed back in control. "It's four minutes to twelve. You die at midnight."
"Croxley..." Straker protested. But again, it was as if Croxley didn't hear him.
The little man wandered away from his two prisoners, into the adjoining room. He was muttering to himself, asking the doctor to help him. However, when Straker and Freeman moved towards the door, Croxley spun around, gun in hand.
"Come through that door and I'll blow your head off," he promised.
"Croxley, listen," Straker began again. "You say you want someone to help you."
Croxley's mind seemed to have faded away again. Another voice, softer and questioning, answered instead: "Our planet is dying, our natural resources are exhausted. We must come to Earth. We must come to Earth to survive!"
Freeman began to move towards the corner where his gun was. Croxley suddenly stepped back into the room.
"Don't try anything!" he ordered. "Hold it right there."
Freeman straightened up, empty handed.
"Two minutes," Croxley announced. Then, he seemed to fade out again and another, different voice emerged: a child's treble, unhappy at being left alone by classmates made uneasy by his ability to read their thoughts. Alone and tormented because he was different.
Straker reached out his hand: "Give me the gun."
Croxley's gun went off and Straker jerked back. His right hand began to bleed where the bullet had grazed it.
"You fool, do you think I'm going to let you get away with it?" Croxley demanded angrily. Then, once again, the other voice sounded: "We mean no harm to peoples of Earth. Why do you attack us? We're fighting for our existence. You must understand."
Just as abruptly as before, Croxley appeared to be in control of himself once again. "No, there's no need for words. It is time."
Paul Foster already had his Colt.45 automatic drawn when he walked into the house. It took only a fraction of a second to comprehend the scene in front of him as he came up behind Croxley.
Two shots rang out.
It seemed to Foster that, for just a second, the expression on Straker's face was one of startled incomprehension as he watched Croxley collapse with two bullets in the back of his brain.
In the distance, a church bell began to strike twelve.
"He knew," Straker stated after a moment. Freeman gave him a curious look and Straker went on: "Well, what did you think, Alec, when you saw Foster appear behind him?"
"Well, shoot, for God's sake, before he..." Then it occurred to him: "He could read our thoughts."
"Yes, I'll always believe that in the last few seconds, Croxley regained control of his own mind."
Paul Foster simply wondered what the hell was going on.
* * *
Foster left for Moonbase the next day, as scheduled, following his regulation debriefing.
A week later, he noted a news article stating that a John Croxley, recently widowed due to a military airplane accident, had been found dead in the ruins of his house. It was being ruled a suicide. Foster wondered how they could possibly have come to that conclusion, or if the investigators had even seen Croxley's body.
Foster also found himself wondering what brought him to that house that night. Straker had repeatedly stated it was fate, kismet, like Croxley's gift, or curse. Or, maybe it has just blind luck. But, somehow, Foster doubted that. He didn't believe in luck.
CHAPTER 3
Colonel Virginia Lake, temporary Moonbase commander while Gay Ellis was on training assignment to Sky-diver, was reading off a checklist as Nina Barry double-checked the equipment tell-tales. Behind them, another young woman wearing the same form-fitting silver uniform and anti-static mauve wig, monitored a radar screen.
A single blip was moving across the screen, indicating a craft heading towards the Earth.
"Ship 534 to Moonbase Commander."
A male voice came over the overhead speakers. Lake smiled and stepped over to the center console, picking up the microphone.
"Go ahead, 534."
"Approaching Earthly re-entry and feeling blue," the voice announced. "Is it all right for Saturday night, darlin'?"
Lake glanced at the other two women. Both were trying to stifle broad grins.
It was hard to keep secrets in an outpost as small and remote as the Moon. Everyone knew about the growing romance between Lake and Colonel Craig Collins, the pilot of the lunar shuttle that was now approaching Earth.
"Your communication is against standard procedure," Lake informed him. Then she smiled: "And yes, it's still all right for Saturday."
* * *
In the subterranean chambers of SHADO headquarters, Commander Straker was completing his morning rounds of the complex. It was his habit to check on how the different work groups were doing each morning after reading the previous day's incident reports. He prided himself on knowing the status of each unit under his command.
Satisfied for the moment with what he saw in his domain, he stopped in front of one of the radar monitors and watched a slow blip as it approached the wide circle that represented Earth.
"Lunar module 534 from Moonbase," explained the beige uniformed woman seated in front of the monitor. "Approaching reentry, normal pattern."
"Five three four," Straker repeated thoughtfully. "That's Craig Collins, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Have him call me when he gets down, will you?" he asked. His request seemed to surprise her and that amused him a little. A touch of unpredictability helped keep his people on their toes. He was in good spirits this May morning as he turned to head back to his office.
"Sir," Lieutenant Prentice called out. "Pilot reports fire in the cabin."
Straker's pleasant mood evaporated as he hurried back to the woman's station. He gestured her aside and slipped in to take her place in front of the monitor.
"Craig, this is Ed." Straker announced into the microphone. "How bad is it?"
"I can't tell," the voice on the speaker said through a fit of coughing. "There's a lot of smoke and it seems to be getting worse."
Straker was able to keep his voice calm, but his chest was tight with worry, as he rapped out orders to the shuttle pilot. Behind him, Prentice watched the monitor as she listened to distant whispers on the headphone she held to one ear.
"SID reporting three alien craft," she stated quietly. Straker nodded acknowledgment.
"It's no good, the heat's still building up," Collins' voice crackled over the radio.
"Sighting confirmed," the operative murmured.
As if to underscore her statement, the overhead speaker came on with the deep synthesized voice of Space Intruder Detector.
"Three alien craft at five million miles and closing at Sol zero decimal eight."
Straker was already out of the chair. "Hold on, Craig," he told the shuttle pilot as the communications operative resumed her seat.
"Stay with him," Straker ordered as he moved on to watch the monitors over the other stations that lined the walls of the control room.
SHADO Control was now a beehive of sudden, seemingly frantic, activity. Information came in bits and pieces from stations all over the globe. It was like a giant jigsaw puzzle that had to be fitted together in only a few moments.
They only had a few moments. The aliens were coming in hard and fast at nearly the speed of light.
Somewhere out to sea, a small fleet of Sky-diver submarine/fighter planes waited. Their pilots were prepared for the probable orders that would send them screaming out to destroy the alien invaders.
* * *
In lunar space, the three Moonbase interceptors were already on their way to intercept the alien craft.
"One U.F.O. has changed trajectory," Space Intruder Detector announced over the speakers in SHADO Control and on Moonbase. "Predicted target, this satellite."
In the Moonbase Control sphere, the Moonbase commander relayed new orders to one of the space-borne fighters.
Tension permeated the atmosphere within the underground spaces of SHADO Control. Everyone listened and waited for the outcome of the battle in near-Earth space.
Craig Collins' voice still sputtered on the speaker above Lieutenant Prentice's station. He announced the warning lights were still on in the burning cabin, the fire and smoke getting worse. Then, even that faded away as the shuttle entered the top of the Earth's atmosphere and ionization blackout.
No one cheered as Interceptor One announced the destruction of one incoming U.F.O.
But, a shudder of anguish went around the room as Space Intruder Detector, familiarly known as SID, proclaimed the end of its own operation. It was spinning out of control, its electronic eyes and brain suddenly burned out by a single blast from the alien craft just before Interceptor Two reached and destroyed it.
SHADO was now half blind.
* * *
It was the middle of June and this particular June morning was not going at all well, Straker reflected as he entered the studios' executive offices.
The past several weeks since the destruction of Space Intruder Detector hadn't been pleasant. Although Virginia Lake and Colonel John Gray, SHADO's surveillance satellite expert, were doing their best to reconfigure the tracking systems, SID's absence was sorely felt.
This morning's meeting with the U.N. Commission on Space and Astrophysics had been even more exasperating than usual. At least SHADO now had the money to launch a team to repair SID. Unfortunately, it also meant there wouldn't be enough money for certain other projects SHADO wanted and needed.
Straker glanced around the outer office as he greeted Miss Holland, the temporary replacement for his regular secretary, Janice Ealand. Miss Ealand was on a long, and long overdue, holiday with her mother in the south of France.
He noted a familiar looking file in a color coded document folder on the desk. He picked up the file and opened it.
"Miss Holland." Straker's voice was harsh with irritation. "I ordered this file transferred to the morgue weeks ago. Why is it still here?"
The woman flushed guiltily. "Well, sir, it isn't certain...".
He cut her off with a shake of his head: "You know as well as I do that space personnel are presumed dead forty-eight hours after failure to re-enter the Earth's atmosphere."
"But, it's just that..."
"Miss Holland," he interrupted, on the verge of losing his temper. He caught himself and continued more gently: "Craig Collins was one of my closest friends. We were astronauts together. But, we have enough to worry about without trying to keep the dead alive. Now, please, just get it out of here."
With that, Straker dropped the file on the desk and walked into the inner office that doubled as the main entrance elevator to SHADO Headquarters. His head was lowered as though the weight of the world had just come down on his shoulders.
Miss Holland watched after him for a moment and suddenly felt rather sorry for the man. The schedule SHADO demanded of him, and his own personality, didn't permit SHADO's most senior officer many friends.
* * *
Commander Straker was not permitted any more time to be concerned with his grief over Collins' death. Even as he entered SHADO's underground headquarters, Moonbase was on alert status. A U.F.O. had been spotted by radar crews stretching their equipment to the limit to compensate for SID's absence.
The alien craft was coming in hard and fast, as if to take advantage of any weakness in SHADO's over-burdened systems.
Moonbase ground defenses were in place. The interceptors had already been launched.
"The Ufo's retreating," one of the astronauts observed. Straker recognized the voice: James Regan. A top fighter jet pilot, he was now piloting a death dealing rocketship through lunar space.
"Giving chase," Regan announced.
"It smells," Straker commented more to himself than anyone else . He took the microphone from the communications supervisor's console. "Moonbase, tell your ground defenses to get nervous."
"SHADO Control, three more Ufos approaching. Orbital reference 318." the Moonbase commander announced, confirming Straker's hunch.
"Decoys," he muttered to Lake, who'd been waiting for him in the Control center. He keyed the microphone again: "Moonbase, instruct the interceptors to return immediately!"
There was a long silence in SHADO control as Moonbase control relayed the orders. Then, they waited.
"Ground defenses knocked out," Moonbase announced in subdued tones after a few moments.
"That's it, they're wide open," Lake announced, echoing the thoughts of every person in SHADO's control center. "Where are they?"
The waiting resumed.
Within minutes, Moonbase announced the destruction of the U.F.O.'s that had been menacing the lunar base.
* * *
"That's eight Ufos we've destroyed in the past week." Lake told Straker a few minutes later, in his office. She'd been called back to Earth only the day before to help reconfigure the European radar net. "Do you think they'll take the risk?"
Straker shrugged. "First two under cover of sunspot activity, then three at ground level, now six in a decoy maneuver. That's ten, plus the one that got through." he observed.
"All for nothing. A last fling," the young blonde woman speculated. "You think they'll give up?"
Straker's expression hardened. "Colonel Lake, they didn't lose all those craft just to give up. What worries me, what will they try next?"
He gestured to the newspaper on his desk. A small article on the front page reported on a joint U.S.-Soviet unmanned probe to Venus. It was scheduled to return to Earth in two day's time carrying sealed samples of the Venusian atmosphere.
"You think they'll try something with the Venus probe?" Lake asked.
"I would," Straker replied.
* * *
On Moonbase, James Regan, and the other interceptor pilots had other things to worry about than with what the aliens might elect to throw at them next. Regan, specifically, was giving little thought to the U.F.O.s or their occupants.
Paul Foster had called Regan in for a refresher course on hand-to-hand combat. Regan was a fine combat pilot, as were all Moonbase interceptor pilots. But, in spite of intensive training both in the RAF and in SHADO, he lacked what Foster termed 'the killer instinct'.
"Well, I'm a nice fella'" Regan protested when Foster chided him for not making the final, crippling blow to his opponent when he had the chance.
Foster shook his head and dismissed Regan with a wave of his hand: "Give my regards to the wife. See you in a couple of days."
* * *
By late afternoon, Regan had already been checked through the security gate at the air field in central England where the Lunar Modules and their pick-up planes were serviced and launched, and was home with his wife.
For the most part, SHADO personnel, most particularly Moonbase operatives, tended to be single. The stresses of long absences, the inability to talk about one's work, even to warn a spouse of the dangers, made marriage a difficult proposition.
So far, Regan had been luckier than most. His wife, Jeanne, was from a military family and had accepted the necessary absences and mysterious secrets. Silent proof of their success was that she was six months pregnant.
* * *
Five hours later, Straker and Lake were listening in near silence as Astronaut Regan made a U.F.O. report. Regan had come running into SHADO Headquarters less than half an hour before, in near shock, demanding to see Commander Straker. Straker had obliged him, leading the distraught astronaut to a chair in his office.
Regan related that he and his wife had been attacked by aliens and taken to the aliens' ship. He couldn't say exactly where the ship was, except it was some distance from the road, in a wooded area near Bedford.
"And then, they gave us what could only be a medical," Regan finished.
"Spare parts, transplant organs," Lake speculated aloud. "That's all it could have been."
Regan was horrified. "No, it couldn't. It couldn't, or they would have taken me as well."
"You could have been an unsuitable donor, wrong body tissue group," Straker responded quietly. He regarded Regan carefully. "But, why leave you alive?" "What puzzles me," Lake interjected, "Is why pick on a member of SHADO?"
Straker shrugged. "Well, that could be a coincidence. Four other people were taken a short time ago on that road. A woman was left behind, apparently dead. Before she died, she had a chance to tell us what had happened. She had a weak heart."
"Who shall I assign to replace him?" Lake asked after a few moments.
Straker shook his head "No one." He turned back to Regan: "You will report for normal duty tomorrow."
Regan seemed dazed and not quite sure what Straker's order meant.
"That's all, Regan." Straker's tone was firm. Regan nodded, still in a daze, and left the office.
"Can't you see? The man's in shock." Lake sputtered over Straker's apparent callousness. "He needs to..."
"We need!" Straker interrupted. "With all these attacks, and the Venus Probe coming in soon, and SID still down, and that Ufo still around, we need every astronaut available."
Lake opened her mouth to protest and Straker cut her off once more: "That's all, Colonel."
* * *
Later that evening, Straker stopped by Doctor Jackson's office in SHADO's medical section.
"You've heard what happened, about Regan?" Straker asked the Hungarian-born psychiatrist.
"Yes, poor man. A tragedy." Jackson replied, looking up from an open file drawer.
"I've ordered him back to duty."
Jackson nodded. "Quite right, the only thing you could do."
"Well, it's nice that somebody understands." Straker gave him a crooked grin. "I'd like you to keep an eye on him though, Doctor. Just in case."
"I most certainly will." Jackson peered at Straker, noting the strained look on the other man's face. "You look a bit under the weather yourself."
Straker shrugged. "Just a headache. But, if it will make you feel any better, I'll take a couple aspirin."
Jackson laughed.
Paul Foster walked into the small office.
"They asked me to drop this in for you, Doctor." Foster referred to the thick folder in his hand. He handed it to the psychiatrist. Jackson opened it and started leafing through the reports.
"I was just coming to see you," Foster turned to Straker. "He's got a couple weeks of leave due, if you want to relieve Regan for a while."
"That's nice of you, Paul. But, I think he'll be better off occupied," Straker responded. "Come back to the office, will you? I want to go through the Venus Probe escort procedure with you." Straker turned back to Jackson, still immersed in the reports. "Thank you, Doctor."
"Don't go!" Jackson nearly shouted as the two men were almost out the door. They stopped.
"This is the result of the autopsy we carried out on the alien's body."
"The one we found after the Moonbase attack?" Foster asked.
Jackson nodded excitedly. "This could shatter all our past theories."
"Go on," Straker encouraged quietly.
"It is mostly conjecture, the head was badly damaged. I may be completely wrong." Jackson warned. "We need more proof..."
"Cut the caution, Doctor. We're not likely to quote you." Straker told him.
"All right, all right," the psychiatrist agreed. "As you are well aware, up until now we've all believed they were humanoid. A dying race keeping themselves alive by transplanting our organs into their bodies."
Straker and Foster nodded. They were both aware of the hypotheses the doctor was referring to.
"The alien I examined this morning, I think.." he paused for dramatic effect. "His whole body was human."
"His brain?" Straker asked.
"Even his brain." Jackson's excitement accentuated his Central European accent.
"You mean, he was one of us?" asked Foster.
"Ultimately, yes," Jackson agreed.
"But,if his brain...?" Foster sounded confused.
"His brain may have been human, but it doesn't mean his mind was," Jackson stated.
"But, mind, brain, they're the same," Foster protested.
Jackson shook his head. "No, no, no. Let me try to explain. Oh, there was so much damage it was almost impossible to tell," Jackson moaned. "But, certain sections of the brain seemed to be missing. The parts that control emotions, creativity. Only the analytical, the logical remained. It may be that these creatures are not humanoid at all. They just use our bodies, drain from the brain all knowledge, wipe it clean and reprogram it with, ah, transmit to it, their own thought patterns, their own tastes."
"But, why?" Foster demanded.
Jackson shrugged again. "I don't know. It could be they are incapable of traveling in space. The form of life they are, I can't begin to imagine. They may have no physical being at all, and therefore need a vehicle to contain them. Our bodies."
"And so, with spare part surgery, they're able to keep these human computers alive and free from senility during their years in space," Straker concluded.
"It's unbelievable!" Foster protested.
Jackson grinned at his disbelief. "So were U.F.O.s. Yes, as fantastic as it sounds, they could be living computers."
* * *
In SHADO Control, Lieutenant Johnson caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. She looked around to investigate and spotted a seal-point Siamese cat crouched under a near-by console, as if it were trying to hide. The animal didn't struggle when she scooped it into her arms and began scratching it under the chin.
"What are you doing in here?" she murmured to the animal as it purred in her embrace. "I should report you, you know. This is a restricted area."
China-blue eyes gazed at her, almost as if the animal understood what she was saying. Then it squirmed out of the her arms to sit on the floor and begin carefully washing itself. "Looks like we've got us a mascot," Johnson laughingly told one of the other operatives who had stopped to stare at the sight.
"I wonder how it got down here?" the other woman said.
"Who knows, cats are supposed to be mysterious," Johnson replied.
* * *
By the following day, the Siamese cat was all but forgotten.
An alien craft was detected leaving the Earth. Moonbase interceptors were launched to stop it. The operatives and officers in SHADO Control waited and listened as orders were given to the interceptor pilots, results sent back for analysis.
"Near miss, some damage," Interceptor One's pilot announced.
Nina Barry radioed back further instructions.
On Earth, Virginia Lake murmured: "He must. Regan must get it now."
"Regan?" Straker repeated in dismay. "His wife's aboard that craft."
All of SHADO listened in horror as Moonbase announced the U.F.O.'s escape.
* * *
That evening, Astronaut Regan was called back the Earth, to Straker's office.
"One moment it was right in my sights, next it was gone," Regan was trying to explain to Straker.
"It was unfortunate that you had to encounter that particular Ufo," Straker stated. It wasn't a condolence, or even an excuse, merely an attempt at an explanation.
"The fact that my wife was on board made me more determined. I wanted that Ufo. I'd rather she were dead, than..." Regan's voice cracked.
"It wasn't entirely your fault," Straker shrugged away Regan's protest. "I made a bad decision sending you back to duty so soon. But, now I'm resting you. For a month."
"But, I don't want to be rested," Regan nearly shouted. "I'm flying Venus Probe escort tomorrow, there may be another chance."
Straker wasn't moved. "Regan, I can't afford vendettas. Colonel Foster will take your place."
"But, I have to go!"
"You are suspended for one month! That's an order." Straker barely raised his voice, but it had the effect of a shout.
Regan's chin quivered as though he were ready to cry. "But..." He tried again weakly after a moment.
"That's all," Straker informed him curtly. He watched as Regan turned on his heel and stalked out of the office.
"Colonel Foster will be replacing James Regan until further notice," Straker informed the chief communications officer over the intercom. "Inform all departments." He keyed a different combination on the intercom keypad and Doctor Jackson responded over the speaker.
"I've just relieved Regan from duty, Doctor," Straker told him. "Tomorrow morning I want a full physical and psychiatric report."
* * *
Straker's reservations concerning Regan would not have been allayed had he seen Regan a few moments later in the crew lounge. Johnson was taking a break. The cat was having a saucer of milk on the floor beside her.
"So that's where you've got to," Regan exclaimed when he caught sight of the animal.
"Oh, is it yours?" Johnson asked.
The cat looked up, eyes wide, as Regan scooped it into his arms.
"My wife's," he started to explain. "No, it would have been. We found it on the road, just before..." He grimaced as if in pain, "Just before the Ufo."
"Are you all right, Jim?" the young woman asked. She was a little alarmed at the pain in his face.
He shook his head: "Just a headache."
"You're sure?"
"Yeah." He gave her a crooked grin. "It's gone already, see."
"If you're sure..." She watched him worriedly, then glanced at the clock on the wall. "I've got to get back to work. You know how the Commander gets."
"Yeah, I know," Regan replied in a mournful tone.
* * *
Miss Holland was already hard at work when Straker entered the studio office early the next morning.
"Well, how's show business?" Straker greeted her. Collins's file was no longer on her desk. He seemed to have completely forgotten the incident.
"There's no business," she replied. Straker looked surprised.
"Well, hardly," she amended, handing him a stack of bound papers. "Business reports. They've just finished The Rebels of Santo Domingo, and there's a dog food commercial on stage D."
"Oh?" was Straker's only comment.
"And a script for your approval." Holland handed him a thick manila folder. "It's a period piece about World War Two."
"World War Two?" Straker placed the folder back on the desk. "Well, I think I'll leave this until Miss Ealand gets back. Let her handle it."
"Right," Miss Holland agreed as Straker turned to go.
He stopped suddenly and turned back to her: "Oh, Miss Holland, I haven't had a chance to thank you yet for filling in here."
She smiled. "No need. It makes a break from Section Nine."
"Hmm, and how is Colonel Blake?"
Section Nine was weapons research and development. All new weapons or battle equipment modifications used in SHADO came through Section Nine. Colonel Blake was a heavy tactical weapons expert SHADO had borrowed from the RAF some years ago. He had a reputation of being very difficult to work with.
"Oh, he's the same," Miss Holland replied. "I'll give him your regards."
"Good, do that." Straker checked his watch. "Well, I suppose as head of the studio, I'd better show my face. Stage D, you say?"
"Yes."
Straker turned to leave.
"Sir? How's Jim Regan taking it?"
Straker looked back at her: "He's taking it."
* * *
On soundstage D, there were a dozen dogs of all shapes, sizes and decibel levels. A handful of animal trainers were trying the instill some order into the mass of barking, excited canines.
Straker wondered, as he walked in, what chances the director had of creating a polished finished product out of the pandemonium before him.
* * *
Paul Foster was not concerning himself with dog food commercials, although he was aware of the animals. He was heading out to his car, preparing to leave for the airfield that would send him off to Moonbase once again.
He found James Regan sitting in his car, apparently waiting for him.
"Jim, what are you doing here?" Foster asked. Regan didn't answer.
"It was terrible about Jeanne. I don't know what to say," Foster said, worried. "If there's anything I can do...?"
Regan still didn't react to Foster's voice. The young astronaut seemed distracted, vacant even.
"You okay?" Foster asked. "I'll take you back..."
Foster's concerned offer was cut short when Regan heaved himself from the car straight at Foster.
"What is this?" Foster protested. "Now, wait!"
Further protests were cut off as Foster found himself fighting for his life against Regan's furious, almost animal-like, attack. In fact, the noises Regan made as Foster lost consciousness, were more cat-like than human.
* * *
Later that afternoon, Straker called Doctor Jackson: "The medical report I asked for on Regan, it hasn't come through yet."
"I haven't been able to contact him," Jackson said, explaining the delay. "Nobody seems to know where he is."
Straker cut contact with Jackson and pressed the combination of keys that connected him to SHADO's security officer, Major Natiroff. "Locate Regan. He is to report to Doctor Jackson at once."
A short time later, the security chief at the airstrip called in to Straker's office.
"Regan went to Moonbase this morning," Captain Morgan informed him.
"Didn't you get the order about Colonel Foster replacing him?" Straker inquired sharply.
"Yes, sir, but he'd said you'd cancelled them.""I want to see you first thing tomorrow, Morgan," Straker informed the other man. "I don't make orders to have them ignored."
"Yes, sir," Morgan responded meekly. He wasn't looking forward to facing Straker's wrath in the morning, or, for that matter, Natiroff's.
Straker's next call was to Moonbase. Lieutenant Barry was manning the command console.
"I want to talk to Captain Regan," Straker told her over the video-link.
"He's escorting the Venus Probe in, Commander," Barry informed him.
"Where's Colonel Foster?"
Barry shook her head. "The colonel's not on Moonbase."
"Contact Regan," Straker ordered angrily. "Find out what the hell he's playing at!"
"Yes, sir," Barry acknowledged. She'd known Straker a long time and was familiar with his moods. She certainly didn't want to be in Regan's shoes when Straker caught up with him.
"Regan, come in, Regan...," she called out on the communications channel to the interceptors. "Regan, come in..."
There was no response.
* * *
"Regan's flying!" Straker fumed as he entered the Control room.
"I thought you grounded him," Lake responded.
"I did," Straker confirmed. "He's broken radio contact."
"He's never disobeyed orders before," Lake reminded him.
"Yes," Straker nodded and the anger left his voice. "That's what worries me. Find Foster!"
"Why?" the woman asked in surprise. "Isn't he on Moonbase?"
"No, he isn't," Straker said. "He's here, somewhere."
Lake called security and set them to help her locate Foster. Then she hurried off to join them.
Straker placed another call to Moonbase.
"Yes, Commander?" Barry responded promptly, coming on the screen.
"The minute Captain Regan lands, I want him placed under close arrest and brought back here," Straker ordered. His expression was utterly grim.
"Yes, sir," Barry replied. She decided she didn't want to be within a hundred miles of Regan when Straker got hold of him.
* * *
A very short time later, Lake returned to SHADO Control, accompanied by Foster. A barely stifled gasp from Lieutenant Johnson brought Straker's attention to their arrival, but it was insufficient warning.
"God Almighty," Straker gasped as he caught sight of Foster. "Paul, what happened?"
Foster sat down in the chair Lake offered him. His face was scratched, bruised and bleeding. His clothes were torn.
"Regan," Foster responded through swollen lips. "He was like a madman. He knocked me out and threw me in the old quarry." The abandoned quarry was just east of the back lot, outside the walls. It, and the old apple orchard beyond it, were sometimes used by the studio for various purposes.
"Why? Why did he do it?" Lake asked.
Foster shrugged stiffly. "I don't know. I tried to reason with him, but he was out of his mind, like a wild animal."
"Did he say anything?" Straker asked.
Foster shook his head: "No, nothing."
"Nothing at all?" Straker insisted.
"No," Foster stated. "He just kept making noises, like a cat."
"A cat?" Straker repeated aloud.
Johnson looked up from her station: "Commander, there is a cat. It belonged to Regan's wife. He said he found it close to the Ufo." She looked troubled and added: "Something else, Commander. When he picked it up, he suddenly developed head-pains."
Straker considered her information for a long moment then keyed the intercom next to her station to contact Doctor Jackson's office.
"That human computer theory of yours, Doctor," Straker began as soon as Jackson responded. "Could it apply to an animal?"
"Well, without researching ..."
"Is it possible?" Straker insisted.
"The brain pattern is entirely different," Jackson protested. "But, I suppose..."
"Never mind that!" Straker cut him off. "Yes or no!"
"Yes!" Jackson sputtered. "But, you must understand..."
Straker switched off the intercom.
"I'll get the building searched," Lake volunteered. She turned to go but Straker help up one hand.
"Hold it. Let's make sure it's still down here." He picked up the phone at Ford's station. "Put me through to Miss Holland."
Miss Holland informed him she had let a cat out of the main entrance elevator only half an hour before.
Moments later, Moonbase called. "Commander, Regan's broken formation," Barry announced.
"Trajectory?"
"He's on a collision course with Moonbase," she replied, glancing at the monitor set next to the video-link screen.
"They're using Regan to destroy Moonbase," Straker stated, mostly to himself. He turned to the video-link: "Instruct interceptors One and Two, pursue and destroy Interceptor Three."
"Say again, sir?" responded Barry in disbelief.
"You heard me correctly, Lieutenant!" Straker informed her. "Tell them!"
Barry did so, only to discover both Interceptors One and Two reporting total power failure. They were dead in space and totally defenseless.
"Find that animal!" Straker ordered.
"We'll never find it in time," Lake protested.
"Try!" Straker hissed.
"Wait a minute," Foster interrupted. "The dogs, they're still on stage D."
"That's it," Straker agreed. There was a cold look of triumph in his eyes. "Get onto it."
* * *
The animal trainers protested, the director wailed in anguish for his shooting schedule, but the dogs were released onto the studio grounds. They ran, barked and bayed as though they'd suddenly been released from canine purgatory.
A studio guard reported a few minutes later that several of the dogs had treed a Siamese cat in one of the giant elms near the main entrance gate. One of the animal trainers was being called to rescue the cat from the overly excited hounds.
* * *
Moonbase waited for the impact, for Interceptor Three to tear through the fiberglass and steel construction of the lunar base.
As they watched the radar screens and computer analyses, it seemed that Regan couldn't possibly miss in his suicidal dive. But, at the very last possible moment, Interceptor Three appeared to try to pull up from its dive.
Regan's momentum was too great. Interceptor Three struck the rocky surface and exploded a mere five hundred yards from SHADO's installation.
* * *
Regan's cat was found hanging from the mouth of a large Alsatian. It's neck was broken and it's skull smashed. There was no reason to believe the dog had killed the smaller animal and the dog's trainer denied that it ever would do such a thing. It was suggested the cat had jumped from the tree to escape and had miscalculated, jumping to its death instead.
The only regrets expressed were by Doctor Jackson. The cat's skull was too badly damaged to help determine whether his theory about the aliens was correct.
* * *
One evening, several days later, the doors to Straker's office in SHADO Headquarters slid open and Alec Freeman walked in.
"We now have clear title to that land we want in Alaska," Freeman told Straker, taking a seat in the chair opposite the desk.
Straker nodded without speaking and Freeman peered at him more closely. "You look tired," he observed.
"It's been a long week. Regan came too close to destroying Moonbase and the doctors haven't come up with anyway of testing who might be under alien influence." Straker said.
"What about SID?" Freeman asked.
"I have John Gray and Virginia Lake working on re-configuring the tracking systems to compensate."
"How's it working?" Freeman asked.
Straker sighed. "Well enough, but we still need to send someone out to physically make repairs on SID."
"Who were you planning to send?"
"I'm not sure," Straker admitted. "SHADO doesn't have many people qualified to fly a Saturn Five booster to the L-5 orbital point."
"Pity we can't just use one of the lunar modules to get up there," Freeman said.
"Getting up there isn't the problem," Straker reminded him. "It's getting back. The experts tell me it'd take four months to add the extra internal fuel tanks to a standard lunar module so it could handle the mission."
"I don't think the aliens are going to give us four months," Freeman replied. He went over to the liquor cabinet set into the corner of the office and poured himself a whiskey.
"Sure you won't have one?" Freeman asked.
"Why do you keep asking when you already know the answer?" Straker asked in reply.
Freeman grinned at Straker over his drink. "Because some day you might surprise me and say 'yes'."
"And you'll call the medics because I'll have obviously gone off the deep end, finally."
Freeman chuckled and sat back down. It was a long standing joke between them. Straker rarely imbibed. People who didn't know him well assumed his teetotalling was due to some estheticism, a moralistic superiority. The truth was far simpler. Straker loathed the taste of hard liquor and beer gave him migraines. It was easier to simply say no.
"Who do you plan to assign to the Alaska Sky-Diver base project now that Collins is dead?" Freeman asked.
"We can't be sure Craig is dead, Alec," Straker protested mildly.
"Ed, we both know that space personnel are declared dead forty-eight hours after failure to make reentry," Freeman responded.
"Yes, I know that," Straker admitted. "I also know that the chances he could have survived are almost non-existent."
"But you're still hoping he shows up?"
"I guess I am. He was a good friend." Straker's expression was sad and distant.
"He was a good man," Freeman said, finishing his drink. "Oh, by the way, how's next year's appropriation request coming? It's due in less than three weeks, remember?"
"How could I forget?" Straker replied. "It'll be ready. I was thinking we might assign Paul Foster to handle the Alaska project. It'll give him some good experience."
"Good idea," Freeman agreed. "He should be back from Moonbase in a week or so. I can fill him in on the details then." Freeman stood and turned to head for the office door. Then he stopped. "Oh, Katie called yesterday. She must have just missed you."
"Oh? What did she have to say?"
"She wanted to make sure you had the Institute's financials for the appropriation. They should be in that pile somewhere."
Straker didn't bother to check the pile of reports on his desk. "Anything else?"
"She sends her love, wanted you to know she's sorry she won't be able to make it to Craig's memorial service."
"I'm not exactly surprised," Straker remarked. "I figure she might decide to come to London for my funeral, but I don't know anything else that'd do the trick. Lord knows, I've tried everything I can think of."
"She is a SHADO officer. You could just transfer her back here to headquarters," Freeman reminded his commanding officer.
"I've thought about it," Straker admitted. "But, I promised her that it would be her decision. Besides, it wouldn't look right."
"Oh, yes, her uncle, the general."
"There's that, too," Straker agreed. He checked his watch. "It's six in the morning in San Francisco. I'll give her a call when she gets into the office there, see how things are going."
"Pity the two of you can't come to some sort of accord," Freeman said, heading for the door again. "You make a cute couple."
"You're a hopeless romantic, you know that, Alec?" Straker told him.
"It's funny, but Katie said the same thing to me yesterday," Freeman said as the door closed behind him.
CHAPTER 4
A week later, a U.F.O. was spotted too close to Moonbase defenses. Moonbase reported the sighting to SHADO Headquarters. A few minutes later, they were forced to admit the alien had vanished into a radar blind spot.
There weren't many blind spots in SHADO's radar coverage of near Earth space, even with Space Intruder Detector out of action. Unfortunately, the aliens seemed to know exactly where those few were.
Within SHADO's command center, Commander Straker took his usual position during an alert. He stood beside Freeman, behind and to one side of the communications supervisor's station. From there, he and Freeman could watch the various monitor screens and hear the radio messages coming in.
One of the monitors showed a slow blip crossing the screen.
"Is this the Lunar Module?" Straker asked. He pointed out the signal to Lieutenant Ford.
"Flight 209." The younger man confirmed.
"I'll feel a lot happier when it's landed," Straker muttered.
The Lunar shuttle was twenty-one minutes from entering the relative safety of Earth's atmosphere. It would be picked up by its launch plane four minutes after that, assuming all went well.
Paul Foster was a good pilot. He was one of the best SHADO had, and SHADO had some of the finest pilots in the world. But, on this trip, Foster was acting as copilot for Frank Craig, letting the other man gain some valuable experience piloting a lunar module through reentry.
"Red alert, U.F.O. four-two-eight, one-four-six, green. Trajectory four-two-seven, over five decimal four." Moonbase reported.
Lieutenants Ford and Johnson checked the information against the readings on the monitors at their stations. Johnson glanced at Ford and shook her head.
"Your sightings are masked from us by the Moon," Ford informed the Moonbase crew. "We'll pick it up in Tee zero-six."
Freeman knew that the Moonbase interceptors had already been launched and were heading out to catch and destroy the intruder before it could reach Earth's atmosphere.
"Check the estimated reentry time on the Module," Straker ordered quietly. Ford made a quick adjustment to his communications board.
"This is SHADO Control. Relay your reentry time and angle."
Lieutenant Craig answered promptly: "Reentry begins in seven minutes. Angle twenty-seven decimal five, on a three-second burn."
"Thank you, Captain," Ford replied. Ayshea Johnson rechecked a piece of information that had just come onto her computer monitor. She transferred the data to Ford's station.
"It checks," she informed him.
Ford nodded and turned to Straker. "The U.F.O.'s altered course five degrees. The interceptors won't make contact. It could reach the Lunar Module before reentry."
Straker nodded, lips drawn thin with worry.
"Relay to the captain," he rapped out after a moment. "Emergency reentry at angle three-one, increase burn one second."
* * *
The two man crew of the Lunar Module acknowledged the instructions.
"That's a tough order, isn't it?" Craig asked Foster.
Foster's expression was grim. "Theoretically, the U.F.O. could be on us in four minutes. The new angle takes just less than three."
"An angle over thirty degrees, that's pretty close to the upper limit, isn't it?" Craig insisted.
"Yeah, like taking a head on dive into a bowl of molten lead. It's possible, but you wouldn't do it for kicks."
* * *
The SHADO Control operatives listened to the information coming through from Moonbase. They checked and rechecked the data from the tracking stations on Earth and on the Moon.
"Sighting in area blue, sir," Ford finally announced.
"Termination?"
"We don't have confirmation yet, sir," Ford said. "But, it's definitely closing on the module." Another string of numbers appeared on the screen before him. "The U.F.O.'s increased speed to Sol zero-decimal-six. Even with the new angle, it's going to reach the module before reentry's completed."
"Warn them," Straker ordered.
Ford tried to make contact with the module, with no result. "It's too late. I have reentry cessation on radio contact."
Another man might have sworn, but Straker said nothing. He simply walked out of the control room toward his office. His head was bowed, whether in grief or simply in thought, Freeman didn't know. Freeman did know that losing two lunar modules, and two senior SHADO officers, in less than two weeks, was a hard blow. It didn't help that both officers were friends, of sorts, and Straker's job and personality didn't afford him many friends.
* * *
Sixteen hours after the Lunar Module disappeared from the tracking system, Moonbase's radar picked up a slow-moving object approaching the Moon. Interceptors were launched to investigate.
It was the lunar module, a little charred around the nose cone, but intact, coming in for a landing.
* * *
Straker and Freeman were on the next shuttle to Moonbase. Officially, they were going to pick up additional material for the appropriations meeting in just ten days time. Unofficially, Straker was anxious to find out what had happened to the lunar module. The U.F.O that had been chasing it had not yet been found.
The two officers located Foster eating lunch in the crew lounge.
"Paul!" Straker called. "How are you?" Foster ignored him.
"How are you, Paul?" Freeman asked, puzzled by Foster's reaction.
"Fine." Foster's answer was short. He refused to look up at the two men as they settled into seats across the table from him.
"Well, you gave us all quite a scare," Straker began again.
Foster finally looked at him. There was a grimly amused smile on his handsome face. "I gave you quite a scare?"
"Well, sixteen hours with no radio contact," Straker explained.
"The transmission antenna was destroyed in the reentry attempt," Foster stated.
"Yes, I read the technical report," Straker informed him.
"Why don't you tell us your version?" Freeman suggested.
"Version?" Foster caught the word.
"Yes, we'd like to know what happened," Straker explained. He also seemed puzzled by Foster's sudden hostility. "From you," Straker added.
"You'll get my report," Foster stated flatly.
"Now look, Paul, there's nothing official about this." Straker assured him.
Foster didn't seem to hear as he walked over to one of the food vendors set into the wall.
"What'll it be?" Foster asked. "Coffee?"
"No thanks, you go ahead," Straker replied.
"How about something a little stronger?" There was a touch of something extremely unpleasant in Foster's smile.
"You know I don't use it, Paul."
"Never?" Foster taunted. "Oh, I was forgetting, the ice-cold computer mind of Commander Straker can rationalize his troubles away."
Freeman rose to Straker's defense: "Now look, Paul. We know you've had a pretty rough time, but Commander Straker doesn't have to take that kind of stuff from anyone."
"Maybe that's because nobody's dared to dish it out to him before now," Foster retorted angrily.
Straker motioned for Freeman to sit back down. His expression was one of stony calm as he regarded Foster: "All right, let's have it."
"If you're talking about details of the 'accident', you're asking the wrong man," Foster told him bitterly.
"Who should I be asking?"
"The man who ordered the reentry angle of thirty-one degrees," Foster stated.
"That, as you very well know, was me," Straker informed him. "It was a dangerous, but not impossible, angle."
"That depends on your stage of reentry," Foster replied. "For us, it meant a certain burn-up unless we leveled out."
"So, you overcompensated and bounced off the atmosphere," Freeman finished for him.
"Yes, and just had enough fuel to make it back here," Foster told him.
"It was a risk I had to take."
Foster turned on him, face white with fury: "A risk you had to take? The next time you have a risk to take, Commander, let me know and I'll pick up some of that back leave!"
Foster stormed out of the lounge. Straker and Freeman were left staring after him in worried bewilderment.
* * *
The lunar base's central recreation area had long ago been dubbed 'Central Park' by Moonbase personnel. It was filled with flowering plants and ferns. The growing things lent some Earthly normalcy to the otherwise antiseptic spaces of Moonbase.
Straker and Freeman had appropriated one of the tables. Sheets of computer paper were spread out in front of them as they went over the data Gay Ellis had printed out for them.
"Well, over the past year, our rate of success against U.F.O.'s has been impressive, but by no means, one hundred percent," Straker observed after a time.
Freeman smiled. "Like they used to say in the old days, that'd be like asking for the Moon."
"Well, that's pretty much what I plan to ask for this time, Alec," Straker admitted. "Enough money to set up four new, fully automated, moonbases over the next ten years."
Both men looked up as Foster entered the room. He walked over to their table.
"Private?" Foster asked, glancing at the papers spread out in front of them.
Straker's expression was carefully bland. "Just work. Why don't you join us?"
As Foster grabbed a chair from another table, Straker turned back to Freeman: "I think it's the only way to achieve adequate backup capability, even against a massive U.F.O. attack."
"Who says they have the capacity to mount a mass attack?" Foster asked. Once again, hostility underlined his tone.
"Nobody," Straker admitted calmly. "Because nobody really knows. But, they might have, next year, ten years from now, and we have to be ready for it."
He glanced at Freeman. "All right, let's hear your reactions. Alec?"
"You're asking a lot and I think the Commission will fight you all the way, but I'm all for trying," Freeman replied.
"Paul?"
"I don't know," Foster stated flatly, folding his arms across his chest.
"Just exactly what is that supposed to mean?" Straker demanded.
"Well, let's just leave it like that," Foster suggested, getting out of his chair.
"No, spit it out," ordered Straker. "Well?"
"You want it straight?" Foster challenged.
"Yes, I want it straight," Straker insisted. He stopped short as a Moonbase operative walked in. "But not here."
* * *
The crew lounge was smaller and more private. Straker shut and locked the door from the inside.
Then, Freeman turned on Foster. "I'd like to know just what you think you're playing at!"
"Hold it, Alec," Straker ordered softly. "All right, Paul, let's forget rank for the moment."
"Alec says you're asking a lot," Foster began. "I think that's just one way of avoiding the fact that you're asking to double last year's appropriation."
"You're saying you're against?" Straker asked.
"I'm saying we should rename the whole thing 'Straker's Alien Defense Organization'."
Straker's lips drew into a tight smile as he nodded. "Oh, I get the picture. You think I run this organization for kicks. You think I ask for more money so that I get bigger as SHADO gets bigger."
"It's got a name," Foster told him. "It's called 'Empire building'."
Freeman lost his temper. "Now look, Foster, you've just about gone far enough."
"It's all right, Alec," Straker told him, voice very quiet. He motioned for the older man to sit. Freeman did so.
"Maybe you should have spoken up earlier, Paul," Straker said.
"Maybe. You said you wanted it straight."
"That's right," Straker admitted. "I've no time for 'yes men'."
Emboldened by Straker's apparent compliance, Foster continued: "I think you should put yourself on the furlough roster, three to four months complete rest."
"You think I'm falling down on the job," Straker clarified.
"I think it's got to you," Foster corrected. "I think you're obsessed with SHADO and Ed Straker. I think you're making decisions without any real thought to the consequences."
"Like that reentry angle."
"Yes, like that reentry angle." Foster was nearly shouting in anger and frustration. "And like spending millions on moonbases when they're needed on Earth. Like a hundred other instances I can name."
"All right, all right, Paul," Straker said very quietly. He glanced worriedly at Freeman. Foster seemed to be on the verge of hysteria, fighting to keep control of himself.
"Suppose Commander Straker took some leave," Freeman suggested. "You got a replacement in mind?"
A sly look came onto Foster's face as he considered the question.
"It's possible," he admitted.
* * *
"Why the soft pedal?" Alec Freeman wondered aloud as he waited for the call for the next shuttle back to Earth. The Australian was seated on the end of the bed in the sleep cubicle Straker had been assigned during his stay on Moonbase.
"Why don't you just slap him back into line?" Freeman asked.
"It isn't that easy, Alec," Straker said.
"Well, if you take my advice, you'll think about it."
Lieutenant Ellis' voice came over a small overhead speaker: "The Lunar Module leaves for Earth in seventeen minutes."
Freeman got to his feet, picking up his briefcase. "Well, I have to go," he reminded Straker as he headed for the door.
"I'll sleep on what you said, Alec," Straker promised.
"Fine, you do that." Freeman commented dryly.
"Safe journey," Straker called after him.
Freeman smiled and closed the door behind him.
Straker sat on the bed for a few moments, contemplating Foster's anger. It was true that Foster was head strong and a little hot-tempered. It was also true that he'd proven himself an excellent senior executive during the past two years since his recruitment into SHADO. Straker would not have characterized Foster as a close friend, but Foster's sudden hostility was extremely troubling.
Straker pulled a prescription vial out of his briefcase and swallowed a sleeping tablet. He didn't like taking them, but he'd been finding it necessary more often since Collins' disappearance. He reflected that Foster might be right. The job was getting to him. But, his personal problems with the job didn't explain the sudden change in the other officer.
Sleep was slow in coming, even with the tablet, and then his slumber was shallow and fitful. Every sound in the base seemed magnified. Every vibration, a premonition of disaster. It seemed like hours before he finally dozed off.
His sleep was abruptly broken by a hand roughly grabbing his arm and the jab of a needle trying to find a vein. Straker slid out of the bed, away from the needle and the hand holding it, and hit the light switch by the bed.
The sudden flood of light temporarily blinded his attacker. He ran out of the room, dropping the hypodermic syringe.
Straker had recognized his attacker: Frank Craig. He picked the syringe off the floor and inspected it in the light. The syringe was empty.
* * *
Lieutenant Ellis declared general quarters, an internal security alert. This followed Straker's angry report of the attack on him in his quarters.
Ellis looked up from her central control console as Straker strode into the Control sphere. He was tying the belt of his dressing gown around him, and he was utterly furious.
"Seal all exits," he ordered. "I want Lieutenant Craig found and brought here. Use stun guns if necessary, but I want him alive."
"Yes, sir," the Moonbase commander murmured, taken aback by the vehemence in Straker's voice.
Orders were relayed to the security teams.
"What happened?" Foster asked. He was in uniform and had been waiting in the Control sphere even though it was several hours before his shift would begin.
Straker eyed him suspiciously: "You tell me."
Foster didn't rise to the bait, but he kept himself on the opposite side of the control console from where Straker stood.
Slowly, search reports came into the Control center.
"What's taking so long?" Straker demanded. His impatient irritation was one indication of how angry he was.
"We'll find him, sir," Ellis assured him. Behind her, Joan Harrington confirmed the search parties' reports.
"Reception and embarkation area searched, each sphere checked. Move on to recreation area," she instructed. She used a light pen to check the cleared areas off on her monitor.
One of the searchers reported in: "The explosives store's been broken into. Looks like a high detonation packet's missing."
Almost immediately, another search party reported: "He's just entered emergency exit ten."
"Order a condition red," Straker commanded.
Ellis complied, hitting the switch that controlled her console microphone: "This is Control. Internal security, condition red, repeat, condition red."
"If he gets near the air and water installations with that explosive pack... " Straker said, but he didn't need to finish.
Everyone else in the room knew exactly what he meant. If Craig managed to damage the air recycling station, they would all be condemned to a slow death. SHADO wouldn't have time for a full evacuation with the lunar shuttles.
"Why wasn't exit ten sealed?" Straker asked after a moment.
"It's an emergency exit," Ellis reminded him. "It remains operational even during an alert."
Straker was obviously more tired, and the incident with Lieutenant Craig was bothering him more, than he would admit. Ellis knew he should have remembered those facts.
"All right," Straker conceded. "Get some men out there after him."
"Yes, sir," Ellis responded. She was already signaling the search parties from her console.
"And I want a check on all emergency air supplies."
"Yes, sir," replied Nina Barry, already working on the problem. He glanced over at her.
"Oh, and find out where he got that space suit," he added.
"Right away, sir," was Barry's bemused response.
A signal sounded on Ellis' control board. "Go ahead, Mark," she acknowledged.
"There's a space suit missing from the register," Mark Bradley's soft voice announced over the speaker. "But he won't get far. It was due for recharging. There's practically no air left."
"Scan the surface," Straker ordered. A monitor next to Barry's station flickered on, controlled from Ellis's console. The screen showed the lunar surface. In the distance, the air and water recycling installation could be seen.
"There he is." Barry pointed out a silvery object moving near the center of the screen.
"We have no choice," Straker said, turning to Ellis. "Use number four."
At the base of each of the five spheres that made up the upper levels of Moonbase was a small video camera and next to it, a powerful, remote-controlled gun.
A few shots established that Craig was already out of range.
"We'll have to use a missile," Ellis announced, watching the screen. Craig was crawling toward the air and water station on his belly.
Straker shook his head. "No, it's too close to our installation." He reached for the microphone on Ellis's console and flipped the group of switches that would connect him with Craig's suit radio. Behind him, Foster simply watched, waiting.
"Listen to me, Craig," Straker insisted to the microphone. "We know what you're trying to do. But, it's two hundred yards to the air and water installation. You'll never make it."
"It'll be close enough." Craig replied, gasping for breath.
"Lieutenant Craig, we realize you want to destroy Moonbase, but you're destroying yourself. Your air supply won't last."
Lieutenant Frank Craig of SHADO didn't seem to hear his commanding officer as he continued to struggle toward the vital air and water recycling station. Then, apparently realizing he couldn't get any closer, he set the charge on the demolition packet.
It exploded, killing him instantly. A new crater was left in the lunar surface.
Quickly, the Moonbase operatives checked and rechecked the integrity of the pressurized spheres. They reported their findings to Ellis and Barry, still on duty in the Control sphere.
"All systems checked and A-okay, sir," Ellis announced as soon as all the inspections had been completed.
"Right. Oh, and stand down to yellow," Straker ordered. It had finally occurred to him they were still on red alert status.
"The damage report, sir," Barry handed him a clip board with several sheets of hard-copy clipped to it. He glanced at the pages briefly before handing it back to her.
"Well, there's nothing here we can't handle," he told her. The only damage listed was very minor: a pierced conduit that was being repaired even now, and the lock to the explosive storage locker, which Craig had forced.
Paul Foster finally spoke up: "What now?"
"I'm going back to bed," Straker informed him.
"Aren't you interested in finding out what happened?" Foster demanded.
"It'll keep." Straker gave him a puzzled look. "No one's going anywhere, are they, Colonel?"
Foster didn't bother to reply as Straker left the command center to return to his bed.
CHAPTER 5
"Colonel Freeman," Lieutenant Ford called out the next morning as Freeman entered SHADO Control. "I have a communication for you, Colonel."
"Well?" Freeman asked as the communications officer stepped closer to him.
"It's a somewhat unusual channel," Ford told him quietly. There was a concerned look on the younger man's face.
"All right, Lieutenant, what is it?"
"General Henderson wants to see you, right away."
"He contacted you?"
"One of his assistants did," Ford explained.
"Well, why not Miss Ealand? She usually deals with personal calls," Freeman wondered aloud.
Publicly, Janice Ealand was Straker's executive secretary at the studios. In reality, Miss Ealand served as a buffer between SHADO and much of the outside world -- guarding SHADO's main entrance, fielding uncomfortable questions concerning personnel whose names appeared on studio payrolls but who had no job on any production, answering phone calls for those same people and relaying the messages down to their real positions downstairs, in SHADO H.Q. A 'somewhat unusual channel' was an understatement.
"I was a little surprised myself," Ford admitted. "Anyway, I was asked to give the message only to you. You're asked not to communicate it to anyone."
"Anyone?" Freeman repeated suspiciously. "Does that include Commander Straker?"
"Commander Straker was specifically mentioned," the younger man admitted.
"I see." Freeman dismissed the operative with a nod of his head. Then, he hurried into the commander's empty office and placed a call to Moonbase.
"I appreciate it, Alec," Straker said after Freeman had appraised him of Ford's message. "I'm not going to say you shouldn't have told me."
"Good," was Freeman's response. "But, what's it all about?"
"Why don't you go along and see Henderson and find out?" Straker suggested. Then, he cut the communications link, leaving Freeman wondering what all was going on that Straker wasn't telling him.
* * *
General Henderson's office was in a large concrete and glass office building near Whitehall. A sign beside the main doors indicated the building was home to the International Astrophysical Commission.
"Well, you're wondering why I asked you here," Henderson observed without preamble as soon as Freeman was alone with him.
Henderson's age was somewhere on the high side of sixty, but his posture was still as ram-rod straight as any marine's and the blue-gray eyes beneath the gray, bushy eyebrows were as keen any younger man's. He was heavy-set and there was a faint white line of an old scar under his left jaw. He walked with an almost imperceptible limp, legacies of a U.F.O. attack before SHADO was even formed.
Henderson gestured for the SHADO officer to take a seat across from the desk.
"More than that," Freeman admitted as he sat. "I'm wondering about the way you asked me here."
"You mean, my request that you tell no one about your visit?"
"I mean, the fact that I was asked not to tell Commander Straker," Freeman corrected.
"And did you?" Henderson asked, knowing what Freeman's answer would be.
"First chance I got," Freeman confirmed.
"Read that." ordered Henderson.
There was a thin file folder on the desk top and Henderson pushed it toward Freeman. The SHADO officer reached out and picked up the file. He opened it and took a glance at the papers inside.
"You didn't finish it," Henderson observed as Freeman snapped the file shut and tossed it back on the desk.
"I didn't have to. I've seen enough," Freeman informed him coldly. "Is that all you wanted to see me about?" Freeman was already out of his chair.
"Sit down, Colonel, and listen," Henderson ordered.
It had been a number of years since the United States Air Force had forcibly retired James Henderson for being past their upper age limit. However, he was still a man who expected to be obeyed. He was rarely disappointed.
Freeman sat back down.
"Now, if this had come to me from a SHADO operative, or even from a senior SHADO officer," Henderson explained, "I'd've pitched it into the garbage. But, it didn't. It came from Moonbase, from Paul Foster, the man who's backed Straker in every fight he's got into since he came on board."
"If you say so," Freeman said.
"I do," Henderson insisted. "Which makes Foster one hundred percent loyal."
"Not anymore. Not in my book," Freeman replied angrily.
"I have to take this seriously, Freeman. That's why you're here," The general explained patiently. "Now, the basic allegation is that Straker's become mentally obsessed with his command and has to be removed. I want your opinion."
"It'd make even you blush," Freeman replied, returning the older man's level gaze.
"So, there's nothing to Foster's allegations?"
"Nothing," Freeman stated flatly.
"They're completely false?"
"Yes," the SHADO officer insisted.
"Even this one?" Henderson asked, taking the file and turning to the last page in it. "The claim that Commander Straker plans to request double his last year's appropriation? If it's true, it might go a long ways toward establishing a case for believing that Straker's suffering from serious delusions of grandeur."
He paused, watching Freeman carefully.
"Well, is it true, Colonel?"
* * *
"I told Henderson to ask you himself, but he knew," Freeman told Straker over the video-link to Moonbase. "If someone had told me, just a month ago, that Foster would do a thing like this, I'd... "
"Forget it, Alec," Straker told him. He looked worried, but not especially surprised, by Freeman's news.
"What do you mean, forget it?" Freeman demanded.
"Listen," Straker said. "Foster didn't transmit that information to General Henderson out of pure malice. There's got to be another reason for it." Straker hadn't told Freeman about Craig's attempt on his life the night before, or of Craig's death.
"Has there?" Freeman demanded. "He's bucking for promotion and he doesn't care who he has to step on to get it."
Straker paused as if considering Freeman's suggestion. "Well, there's only one way to find out the answer," Straker told him. "Tackle him about it. Thanks, Alec."
Again, Freeman was left wondering what Straker planned to do. He had a bad feeling about Foster, about Henderson, about the whole thing. It was a mystery and Freeman much preferred his mysteries between the covers of a book.
* * *
Paul Foster was still on duty in the Control sphere when Straker walked in, carrying a cup of coffee.
Liquids were not allowed in the control area for good reason. The control sphere was filled with extremely delicate equipment. However, Commander Straker was known to bend the rules occasionally.
"Why don't you girls go and grab a cup of coffee?" he suggested to the two female control operatives. His voice was friendly enough, but there was an angry glint in his eyes. The two women left without a word as he set his cup on top of one of the monitor screens.
"All right, Paul," Straker began as soon as the women had gone. "You sent details of the new appropriation request to General Henderson."
"That's right," Foster admitted coolly.
"At best, that was a serious breach of trust," Straker stated. "What are you trying to pull, Foster?"
Foster glared back. "Stop you from spending millions on moonbases for a start."
"You should know better than anybody that a mass attack is in the cards," Straker pointed out. He was angry and tired. He knew it showed and he didn't much care.
"Speculation," Foster sneered.
"Half this job is speculation. It must be," Straker protested.
"Yes, and it's proving to be pretty expensive."
Straker paused a moment, fighting to regain his self-control. "In the past four months, there has been a marked fall off in U.F.O. sightings." Straker said, finally.
"Which proves that our present equipment is more than adequate," Foster stated.
"Maybe," Straker admitted. "Or, maybe it indicates a grouping. A grouping for a much larger operation. It's going to come.