Peter Cawdron - Feedback

The rotor blades wound up to speed and began thrashing at the air.

White cracks appeared in the plastic dome of the chopper. It took Lee a moment to realize they were bullet holes. With the deafening roar of the engine, he couldn’t hear the shots being fired.

He pulled back on the cyclic control stick with his injured right hand and his face contorted in agony. With his left hand, Lee worked the collective, adjusting the pitch of the blades as he increased the throttle. His heart leaped with joy as the chopper lifted off from the motor pool. A soft touch on the right foot pedal corrected some yaw, while a nudge of the cyclic counteracted a slight pitch to the right. For a moment, he was back in basic training. The sensation of hanging in the air, even if only a foot above the ground, had never felt so good. The artificial cyclone thrown out by the helicopter forced the soldiers back, kicking fine stones and debris into their eyes. Several kept firing, but Lee could see they were firing wide.

The helicopter gained height, clearing the huts and then the trees as they raced away from the camp heading due north.

“You are going the wrong way,” Sun-Hee’s brother yelled over the noise as he fought to close his door. He pointed behind them, back to one side at the gates of the camp slowly receding into the darkness.

“I know,” Lee cried over the sound of the rotor blades beating at the air. “Believe me, I know!”

“Am I the only one that thinks irradiating the West Coast is a really bad idea?” Jason asked as the RV pulled up roughly fifty feet from the Learjet. He wondered how much sway he could have over a decision that had clearly already been made. “We’re talking about millions of people being exposed to radioactive fallout!”

“Ah,” Lachlan said, getting up from opposite them at the table. “What we’re proposing is more theatrical than actual. The jet has been modified so it can be piloted by remote control using the same technology found in drones. Think — Hollywood special effects! Big bang! Lots of flames! No actual damage.”

Bellum opened the RV door and stepped outside. Immediately, Jason could hear the high-pitched whine of the jet engines on the Learjet warming up. Lachlan and Stegmeyer were quick to follow, as was the driver.

Against his better judgement, Jason followed Lily out the door, making him the last person to leave the RV.

There was no hint of compulsion, no pressure on him to follow. The others walked away from him as though there weren’t a doubt in the world that he’d join them. If it’s reverse psychology, it’s working, he thought. Whether he liked it or not, he was in too deep to back out now. Perhaps by going with them he could steer things in a more rational direction. And if this was all true, he had to see it. The chance to lay eyes on a craft from another world was a prize beyond compare. The implications were profound: there was another intelligent species in outer space, and it had made contact with Earth. Granted, this wasn’t the First Contact he’d ever hoped for, but if they were right, it was First Contact nonetheless, and that was overwhelming to contemplate. First Contact represented a seismic shift for humanity. First Contact was a significant turning point in the 3.8 billion years life had existed on Earth.

Jason jogged over behind Lily and Lachlan, catching up to them. Bellum was already on board. Jason climbed the stairs of the Learjet with a mixture of trepidation and excitement. He’d never been on a private jet before and was intrigued by the lavish appointments in the small cabin. There was plenty of room for the six of them.

Jason and Lily sat in plush leather seats facing each other on the same side of the aisle. There was a small, low table between them. Lachlan sat across from them, clipping his seatbelt in place as the pilot closed the cabin door. Bellum went to the cockpit with the pilot.

As they began taxiing for takeoff, Lachlan said, “This plane makes the run to Portland twice a week for a mining corporation executive operating out of Albany. It’s important that we blend in with routine activities. The NSA will be trawling public records for any anomalies that might tip our hand, so it’s critical we stay in the shadows.”

The Learjet accelerated down the runway, lifting smoothly into the air.

Once they reached cruising altitude, Lachlan made some coffee in the galley as Jason and Lily talked idly. Jason found it strange to talk about mundane things, like the shape of a cloud or the small farming communities dotted across the countryside beneath them, but Lily was chatty.

“Latte?” Lachlan said, holding two cups and offering them to Jason and Lily.

“Thanks,” Jason said, taking the cup and sipping at the coffee.

Lachlan returned with a cup of coffee for himself and Stegmeyer, sitting down across the aisle from Jason and Lily.

Jason wanted to say something, but he waited as Lachlan sipped some coffee. Lachlan picked up on his anguish, and continued the conversation they’d started in the RV. Jason smiled. Lachlan picked up almost exactly where he’d left off, with little or nothing in the way of segue, as if there had been no interruption.

“Don’t worry about the reactor complex. The main building is designed to withstand precisely this kind of attack. We’ll be flying an unmanned Learjet into a twelve foot thick wall built out of reinforced concrete and steel. Nothing short of a fully laden 747 is going to make anything more than a scratch on the outside of that thing. That structure will outlast the pyramids!

“Now, if we were to hit the old dome that would be a different story. We’d punch straight through the shell, but the main building has been hardened on three separate occasions over the past fifteen years. We’ll leave a nasty, ugly black scar, but not much else.

“The plane is carrying 1500 gallons of avgas in addition to the 900 gallons in the fuel pods. It’s going to create a fireball a thousand feet high and bring emergency services pouring in from all across the city, and that’s what we want. We want the world’s attention on North Bend. We want federal investigators crawling all over that site, asking all kinds of uncomfortable questions.”

Bellum wandered out of the cockpit, clearly wanting to join the conversation.

“But,” Jason countered. “What about the law of unintended consequences? What if something goes wrong? What if the wall collapses? What if the fire spreads?”

“She’s a class four reactor,” Lachlan replied. “The core is built on a gravity failsafe. If there’s no power, the uranium rods sink back into their lead shell and the reaction is over. This isn’t Fukushima or Three Mile Island. There’s no chance of a meltdown.”

Jason didn’t like it.

“Is this really necessary?”

“North Bend is a private nuclear power plant,” Lachlan replied. “They’re answerable to the Nuclear Regulatory Commission and no one else. It’s the perfect cover for DARPA. The image of a glowing mushroom cloud billowing above a nuclear power plant will ensure there’s no room to hide. They’re going to have to open the gates to local fire crews, and that will allow us to drive straight through to the dome.”

As a reporter, April Stegmeyer added her perspective. “The media focus will cripple them. It will take weeks, maybe even months to convince the public the explosion was superficial and didn’t damage any of the critical infrastructure.”

“Then after that,” Bellum added, “they’re going to have to deal with every conspiracy nut in the country alleging that they’re hiding the truth.”

“And they are,” Lachlan said. “Only the truth is more bizarre than anyone could ever imagine.”