Ben Bova - Voyagers

McDermott’s face went splotchy, but he didn’t contradict the lieutenant commander.

Stoner said, “And that’s how I got drafted into this game, is it?”

“That’s right,” Tuttle said. “And you are in , for keeps. There’s no getting out.”

“So are you going to be with us or against us?” McDermott asked.

Stoner looked down at the floor again, at the map spread across the carpet. But his mind’s eye was seeing the photographs of Jupiter, the speck of moving light that was the alien spacecraft which had invaded the solar system.

Invaded? Stoner was startled at his own use of the term. Then he realized the importance of the question behind it. What is this—thing—doing here? Where did it come from? Why is it here?

Who sent it?

“Well?” McDermott demanded. “What’s your answer?”

Instead of replying, Stoner got to his feet and headed for the kitchen. “Get your coats,” he said over his shoulder. “I want to show you something.”

Puzzled, grumbling, they followed Stoner out to the back door of the house. They pulled on their heavy coats while Stoner slipped into a lined windbreaker.

It was cold outside, but clear and dry. The sun gave no heat, but the bulk of the house kept the wind off the tiny fenced-in area behind the kitchen.

“Hi, Burt,” Stoner said to the Navy guard out there. McDermott and Tuttle watched in mystified silence.

Burt was a civilian Navy employee who normally sat in an office in Boston. He was paid double time for standing by the chain link fence that surrounded the house’s rear patio. Stoner smiled at him. Burt was fiftyish, portly, with a body that had been strong once but now held more beer than muscle.

“Burt guards the house on Sundays,” Stoner explained to McDermott and Tuttle, “while guys like Dooley and the younger boys take the day off.”

“Hey, Dr. Stoner,” Burt said, grinning, “I been thinkin’ about those boards you broke with your bare hands last weekend. Next time I need some kindlin’ broke up, I’ll know where to go.”

Stoner smiled back at him. “You do that, Burt. You do that.”

He pulled himself to a ready stance and forced his body to relax. Tae kwon do is a discipline, Stoner told himself. The true disciple does not seek to fight.

He walked slowly, metering his breathing rate with deliberate care, to the chain link fence, his back to the three other men. Stopping in front of one of the steel posts that anchored the fence to the ground, Stoner gave the fiercest yell he could push out of his lungs and sprang up to kick the very top of the post.

The metal pole bent and twanged like a guitar string. The fence vibrated.

Stoner did it again, screaming savagely, with his left foot this time. And then again. The pole visibly sagged.

“Hey, Dr. Stoner! What the hell you doin’?”

Stoner turned a deadly serious gaze on the guard. “Just practicing, Burt.”

“Cheez, for a minute there I thought you was tryin’ to knock the fence down!”

Looking straight at Tuttle, Stoner replied, “I could if I wanted to.”

“I can see that.”

“Imagine what one of those kicks would do to a man’s head. Even Dooley’s.”

McDermott licked his lips, glanced at Tuttle.

“Do you carry a gun, Burt?” Stoner asked.

His hand involuntarily twitched toward the holster underneath his coat.

“Do you think you could get your gun out before I kicked your head in?”

Burt stared at him. Then grinned shakily. “Hey…Dr. Stoner, you’re kiddin’ me, ain’tcha?”

Stoner closed his eyes momentarily and nodded. “Sure, Burt. I’m kidding.” Then he stared into Tuttle’s frightened eyes and added, “Any time I want to break out of here, I can. I could pulverize Dooley and two other men with him before they could even react. The only reason I’m here is because I want to be here.”

Tuttle began, “I never thought…”

But Stoner stopped him with a pointed finger. “I don’t like being treated as a prisoner, but I decided the very first day to accept it, because I know—I knew long before he did”—he gestured to McDermott—“how important this project is.”

“Now, see here, Stoner,” Big Mac groused.

Stoner ignored him. “I’m here and I’ll stay. So don’t try to threaten me. I’m not some little kid who scares easily. Remember that.”

For several moments no one said a word. McDermott and Tuttle glanced uneasily at each other. Stoner listened to the wind sighing past the house, the bare trees whispering.

“You’ve made your point,” Tuttle said at last, his eyes on the bent fence post. Then he grinned slightly. “I’m glad you’re on our side.”

Stoner nodded and started for the kitchen door.

“But we still have to maintain a tight security control on everybody in the project,” Tuttle said, following after him.

“I understand that. But don’t make any cracks about my not being allowed to phone my kids.”

“All right…as long as you don’t try to smuggle any more letters out of here.”

“I won’t.”

They went into the kitchen and Stoner peeled off his windbreaker. Tuttle and McDermott headed straight for the front door, and the car outside in front of the house, waiting for them. Stoner went with them to the door, looked outside at the driveway that led to the road. No fences there.

Tuttle went to the car and started its engine. McDermott hung back by the doorway, an uncertain scowl on his beefy face.

Finally he turned to Stoner and said, “Don’t expect Jo Camerata to come waltzing up here anymore. I’ve taken her off courier duty.”

“You…what?”

“I know she took care of that letter for you,” McDermott said, his voice a low rumble, “no matter how much either one of you deny it.”

“That’s no reason to…”

McDermott broke into a malicious grin. “Listen, sonny. She’s just as happy to be out of this courier routine as she can be. She’s gotten everything she can get out of you—which is nothing but trouble. But I can get her into the Department of Aerospace Engineering at the university. She wants to be an astronaut, you know.”

Stoner wanted to punch that leering, grinning old face. Instead he merely said, “I know.”

“So she’s after me now. You’re out of her game plan.”

Tuttle honked the horn once, lightly. McDermott started toward the car. Over his shoulder, he said to Stoner, “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of her.”

Stoner stood trapped in the doorway, unable to move, seething.

TOP SECRET—NO FOREIGN NATIONALS

Memorandum

FROM: V. J. Driscoll, ONM

TO: Lt/Cdr F. G. Tuttle, ONR

SUBJECT: Transfer of Project JOVE

DATE: 5 January

FILE: 84-662

REF: ONM Log/vjd

1. Planning phase of Project JOVE transfer is now complete.

2. Logistic buildup at Kwajalein is under way, preparatory to reception of Project JOVE personnel and equipment by 15 April.

3. Administrative responsibility for Kwajalein and adjoining facilities will be transferred to the Navy by 15 January.

4. Port of debarkation for Project JOVE personnel will be Navel Air Station, South Weymouth, MA. All personnel will be airlifted by MAC in two (2) C-141 transports. MAC will provide a third C-141 or one (1) C-5A, as required, for equipment.

5. It is imperative that all personnel and dependents be prepared to embark no later than 15 April. Facilities for dependents can be made available at South Weymouth NAS for Project JOVE families, if necessary.

Sally Ellington kicked off her sensibly low-heeled shoes, reached across her cluttered desk and picked the phone receiver off its cradle. For a long moment she hesitated. Then, with a glance at the locked door that connected to the empty outer office, she quickly punched out his number on the phone’s keyboard.