The Hades Connection

by Gabriel S. Timar

Chapter 20

The last things George Pike remembered about his life on Earth were the suntanned, streamlined, naked body of Lynn, the report of a gun, the bullet hole in the wood paneling, and his blood on the white carpet next to the black towel.

The next thing he knows, he’s being welcomed to the Third Dimension, where he has a choice not only of afterlifes but of accommodations and a new body, as well. George signs up with Hades, Ltd., a corporation that seems to be the best of a dubious lot.

George very much enjoys being welcomed by Arabella, who is not only highly efficient but something of a race car driver. And yet she has asked one question he cannot answer: how he died. Neither he nor anyone else seems to know. Now George must meet the head of Hades, Ltd., a certain Mr. Lucifer... and prepare himself for a career as a double agent in interstellar intrigue.

The Americans fired their rocket from the vicinity of Albuquerque, New Mexico. At the same time, a single-warhead Kolchak missile rose from the outskirts of Saratow. As soon as Fedorov’s radar confirmed that both rockets were on their way, I issued the instructions.

“Mr. Fedorov,” I intoned, “carry out pen-ray inspection of them, and let me know your findings. Over.” I turned to Park: “Now let’s see if those guys are really playing hardball.”

“Baby calling Godfather,” came Fedorov’s voice in a couple of minutes.

“This is Godfather, go ahead,” I said.

“Sir,” reported Fedorov, “I examined the missiles. They are duds and have no operational warhead on board.”

“Very well, Mr. Fedorov,” I said. “Can you get into their guidance system?”

“Affirmative,” came the cheery reply. “They’re primitive antiques. I could knock them off with a fly swatter.”

“Very well,” I replied. “Retarget the rockets to one of their own cities, preferably big ones. Let me know when you are ready.” I turned to the Prime Minister: “Now, Mr. Park, we are going to play hardball with our friends. As soon as my team finishes the retargeting, we should reestablish contact with Presidents Holdsworth and Kamarov.”

Park just nodded.

We waited in silence. It took Fedorov’s crew no more than five minutes to carry out the task. Finally, the communicator came alive: “This is Baby,” Fedorov announced. “We’ve just finished the retargeting. The American missile is en route for Denver, will land in Mile High Stadium at the forty yard line on the visitor’s side. The Russian rocket is heading to the fair city of Omsk. Over.”

“Thank you, Mr. Fedorov,” I said, “well done. Stand by.”

I wanted to listen to the comments of the two presidents. I nodded to Park and pointed to the switches. He quickly re-established the contact and announced: “Well gentlemen, are you satisfied?” he asked.

“We are,” replied Holdsworth. “I’m curious when you are going to shoot down our rockets.”

“We have no intention of stopping them,” Park replied smugly, “we’ve merely retargeted them. Say farewell to Denver and Omsk.”

Obviously there was feverish activity on the other end of the line. I checked my wrist monitor screen. The two blips disappeared one after another. I slowly turned to Park and stated: “I believe you’ve won, sir. Both rockets were destroyed by their respective controllers.”

“Okay, Beau, you win,” came Holdsworth’s gravely voice. “We played dirty. I’m sorry.”

Before Park could say anything, Kamarov cut in on the line: “I am forced to agree with Terry. I think the Beaufort Park plan of world domination may succeeded. However, if I discover it was a hoax...”

“There is no hoax, and no plan of world domination,” Park interrupted. “I just want your cooperation to build a thruster field on the Moon and get the extraterrestrials out of my hair. We should form a consortium.“

“Whoa... Where do we get the money?” Holdsworth queried.

“I’m not a financier,” Park replied. “I would like to involve someone like Yoshi Yamamoto to help with the planning.”

“He’s good,” remarked Kamarov, “but even he can’t conjure money out of thin air.”

“We may not need that much,” Park announced. “We’ll get some advanced technology from the extraterrestrials to build the damn thrusters. We might use it for other purposes. Eventually it will pay for the thrusters and may even generate some profits. Instead of arguing about it, we should put together a technical and managerial team and start getting organized.”

“Just slow down, Beau,” Holdsworth interrupted. “How do we know that our orbit is really decaying and the thruster field is really necessary?”

“If you permit, gentlemen,” I entered the fray, “I had to raid our museums for the appropriate antique equipment to prepare ten sets of diskettes fitting your level of development. Each set contains the proof of the orbital decay and the detailed plans of the thruster field. I can let you have a couple of sets; they’ll enable your experts to examine our data and conclusions. Even if your guys decide to take additional measurements of their own, you’ll need only a few hours to confirm the decay.”

“I’ll send the diskettes to you by special courier within an hour,” Park stated.

“Fine,” said Kamarov, “if your information is correct, we can’t mess around.”

“Exactly my sentiments, Mr. President,” I said. “My supervisors have told me that any delay in getting the thrusters in position will reduce the chances of a successful orbit correction. I suggest forming an international corporation to undertake every aspect of the work.”

“A good idea,” Holdsworth stated, “and I’ve got the guy to manage it.”

“I have a candidate in mind too,” I interjected.

“And who is he?” Holdsworth queried.

“I’d like to suggest Prince Henry Tudor,” I replied.

“You must be joking,” snapped Kamarov. “He is my fifth or sixth cousin, but he’s a nincompoop, a highborn puppy, for God’s sake. He’s no good for anything!”

“I’m not very enthusiastic about him either,” stated Holdsworth. “He has very few credentials.”

“If you permit, gentlemen,” I started, “neither Mr. Kamarov nor Mr. Holdsworth are properly trained leaders. In my opinion President Holdsworth is a vote-getting machine, while Mr. Kamarov is a past master of cloak-and-dagger tricks. In other words, you are politicians of the highest order. Since the voters keep you in your exalted position, you’re always looking for the political impact of every move you make. You cannot help it; it’s in your nature.

“When the survival of the planet is at stake, whether you like it or not, to hell with feelings of your voters. It is your life on the line and the life of my people. We cannot take it lightly. This project is too important to entrust entirely to politicos.”

“I am beginning to feel that the good Captain doesn’t trust us,” remarked Kamarov sarcastically.

“Damn right I don’t,” I snapped. “I hope you still remember what happened in the Twelfth Province, Mr. Kamarov.”

“Could you enlighten us, Captain?” Holdsworth queried. “I’ve never heard about the skeletons in Ilya’s closet.”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that without exposing some of your interesting connections to a lady called Jo-Ann and a seaside village residence,” I replied. “Before you challenge me, Mr. President, I must remind you that I have proof of certain events that you may have forgotten or would like to forget. I hope you remember the illegal dumping of benzene-contaminated waste by the Scaramouch Corporation near the town of Oak Ridge.”

There was total silence on the other end of the line.

“I don’t think you’re going to challenge me any more,” I stated. “I believe Prince Henry should run the operation. He has a master’s degree in business administration and he has been in leadership training from the day he was born.”

“Although I disagree,” Park said, “I can and I’m sure my colleagues could accept the temporary appointment of the Prince provided we have leadership reviews at regular intervals. If he does not produce, he should be out.”

“I agree one hundred percent,” I snapped.

“I agree,” stated Kamarov meekly.

“I’m outvoted,” remarked Holdsworth in a dry tone. “How do we work this?”

“I’d like to suggest a meeting with Yoshi, Henry and three other guys nominated by each of us to form the interim board of directors,” Park explained. “Perhaps Captain von Vardy would be good enough to advise them.”

The others did not put up any arguments and I felt we had won the first round. Park set up another teleconference for the next day with Kamarov and Holdsworth to discuss the relevant details.

While the technicians dismantled the equipment, Mike suggested that we should continue the examination of the quality of the champagne. I always loved the bubbly, but I never drank too much of it since it always made me horny. However, Mike insisted, and I had no way out. On the other hand, I hoped Captain von Vardy’s body might react in a different way. It was no use. Therefore, I can safely declare that the demi-sec Mumm’s champagne is a most powerful aphrodisiac.

* * *

I retained a few copies of the diskettes prepared by the Khomu engineers and had no problem reading them on Mike’s computer. It was surprising how accurately the engineers had estimated the level of engineering on Earth; the design of the thrusters and the delivery vehicles matched current Earth technology.

Only the instability of Earth’s society worried me. An engineer can predict the behavior of matter under a variety of loads, because its particles behave according to the laws of physics. Society, on the other hand, is different. All individuals react in a dissimilar manner to the same event. The combination of their reactions creates a social response based on diversity in language, race, culture, religion, and tradition. The fact that it is impossible to gauge the public’s reaction to our arrival and the project to correct the orbit worried me.

Our competitors, I assumed, were not complete idiots and had contingency plans. I was sure they had a resident representative advising them about the progress of our negotiations. The same group could mobilize a powerful team to oppose our venture. I had no illusions about the future; we had to prepare for the possibility of intervention from the Third Dimension.

If the opposition used saboteurs, the authorities might not be able to deal with them efficiently. As the early twenty-first century society could not handle terrorists, I doubted it could deal with professionally trained and organized saboteurs from a more advanced world. As a lawyer, I knew that the courts and legal systems delivered law instead of justice, and in a most complicated manner. It would be possible to tie up our venture in the courts for months if not years if someone made a determined effort to block it.

I was sure there would be activists claiming that the orbital decay was just a ruse by big business to get a bigger chunk of scarce public funds. The masses may demand that the resources required to build the thrusters should be distributed among them, allowing the poor to buy drugs, cigarettes, and alcohol for a while without resorting to crime.

I had to develop contingency plans of my own to deal with challengers. Although I was well prepared by virtue of my legal background and my new-found knowledge of technology, deep down I was still the same cowardly liberal despite the tough, quasi-military appearance of von Vardy’s body and résumé. Whether I liked it or not, eventually I might have to impose an illegal death sentence on anyone standing in our way. The crew of the “Baby” could carry out executions by using low-aperture laser shots on my orders. Therefore, I most sincerely hoped that executions would take place only after my departure from the planet.

To be continued...

to Challenge 356...