waiting and training—”
“And playing poker!”
“And playing poker,” Rajavur conceded, “for nearly 15 years. We know better than you the seriousness of the matter. There is nobody else on Earth better qualified to handle it than us.”
“Personally, Emile,” the professor said, switching tactics, “I am shocked by this petty grab for glory on your part. Heaven knows your psychological profile indicated no such megalomaniac tendencies prior to this.”
The Secretary General gasped, then screamed, “How the bloody Hell did you get your hands on my psych file?”
Prof. Rajavur refused to oblige him. “Mr. Secretary, you shall remain with the rest of the delegates, in Geneva, until this matter is resolved, or we are dead. End of discussion. Goodbye sir.”
Displaying incredible restraint, Rajavur gently cradled the wireless phone receiver, but under his breath, the professor muttered a biting Icelandic phrase that dealt with the dire consequences of fat people skating over thin ice.
With perfect timing, the digital clock on his console blinked a new time and started beeping at him.
“That's the 10 minute warning,” he announced. “Let's have your reports, please.”
General Bronson turned off his laser printer in acknowledgment and placed a fresh cigar in his mouth. His supply of them seemed endless. “Central Park has been cleared of all non-military personnel and NATO troops have it cordoned off,” he said, reading from the top sheet of light green computer paper. “The adjoining rooftops are manned and armed. Snatch-n-Run was completed without any newsworthy incidents and I still have no idea who the aliens have in their ship.” Wayne started to light his panatela, then decided against it. “What I do know is that some poor bastard by the name of Hector Ramariez is under the damn thing. Dozens of eyewitnesses saw it land right on top of him. He was, let me see, a bachelor, an accountant and a Baptist.”
“One dead,” Rajavur sighed sadly. “God grant that there are no more. Dr. Wu?”
Primly stiff, the Chinese scientist stood, as she always did when making a report. “So far, we have been unable to penetrate the force shield that domes the ship. Conventional armament has proven useless. Neutron steel drills can find no purchase in which to operate. Magnetic keys yield nothing, and radiant energy stops dead at the surface, not bounce off mind you, but stops, so the shield is probably H-Bomb proof. Did you hear that, Nicholi?”
The Russian General waved her on, engrossed in his work.
She shrugged. “At present we’re trying lasers, since the force shield does pass visible light and we have moved up an ion cannon.” Here Wu tactfully coughed. “I believe that may work.”
Tea sprayed out his nose as Nicholi gagged in the middle of a swallow. Czar's Blood, so that's where the damn thing was! Here he was trying to find somebody in the Kremlin who would even admit that the weapon existed and Yuki already had it positioned in Central Park running tests! Mopping his console with a handkerchief, Nicholi could feel his face turn red as the woman passed Prof. Rajavur a sheet of paper covered with mathematical equations. Probably the operational figures on the Most Top Secret device.
The Russian general smiled in spite of himself. Efficient wasn't the word for it, magic was. Nicholi suddenly had the feeling that if Yuki wanted his uniform for a test on the ship, he would miraculously find himself sitting buck naked in his chair, with absolutely no idea how he got that way. Good thing she was on their side.
“What's the public reaction, Jonathan?” Sigerson asked the team's sociologist.
“So far, so good,” Sir John announced, folding away his reading glasses and tucking them into a pocket. “The lunatic fringe is up and running, claiming a million different things, very few of them making any sense, but they’re just a 2% factor and we can safely disregard them. Interestingly enough,
“And playing poker!”
“And playing poker,” Rajavur conceded, “for nearly 15 years. We know better than you the seriousness of the matter. There is nobody else on Earth better qualified to handle it than us.”
“Personally, Emile,” the professor said, switching tactics, “I am shocked by this petty grab for glory on your part. Heaven knows your psychological profile indicated no such megalomaniac tendencies prior to this.”
The Secretary General gasped, then screamed, “How the bloody Hell did you get your hands on my psych file?”
Prof. Rajavur refused to oblige him. “Mr. Secretary, you shall remain with the rest of the delegates, in Geneva, until this matter is resolved, or we are dead. End of discussion. Goodbye sir.”
Displaying incredible restraint, Rajavur gently cradled the wireless phone receiver, but under his breath, the professor muttered a biting Icelandic phrase that dealt with the dire consequences of fat people skating over thin ice.
With perfect timing, the digital clock on his console blinked a new time and started beeping at him.
“That's the 10 minute warning,” he announced. “Let's have your reports, please.”
General Bronson turned off his laser printer in acknowledgment and placed a fresh cigar in his mouth. His supply of them seemed endless. “Central Park has been cleared of all non-military personnel and NATO troops have it cordoned off,” he said, reading from the top sheet of light green computer paper. “The adjoining rooftops are manned and armed. Snatch-n-Run was completed without any newsworthy incidents and I still have no idea who the aliens have in their ship.” Wayne started to light his panatela, then decided against it. “What I do know is that some poor bastard by the name of Hector Ramariez is under the damn thing. Dozens of eyewitnesses saw it land right on top of him. He was, let me see, a bachelor, an accountant and a Baptist.”
“One dead,” Rajavur sighed sadly. “God grant that there are no more. Dr. Wu?”
Primly stiff, the Chinese scientist stood, as she always did when making a report. “So far, we have been unable to penetrate the force shield that domes the ship. Conventional armament has proven useless. Neutron steel drills can find no purchase in which to operate. Magnetic keys yield nothing, and radiant energy stops dead at the surface, not bounce off mind you, but stops, so the shield is probably H-Bomb proof. Did you hear that, Nicholi?”
The Russian General waved her on, engrossed in his work.
She shrugged. “At present we’re trying lasers, since the force shield does pass visible light and we have moved up an ion cannon.” Here Wu tactfully coughed. “I believe that may work.”
Tea sprayed out his nose as Nicholi gagged in the middle of a swallow. Czar's Blood, so that's where the damn thing was! Here he was trying to find somebody in the Kremlin who would even admit that the weapon existed and Yuki already had it positioned in Central Park running tests! Mopping his console with a handkerchief, Nicholi could feel his face turn red as the woman passed Prof. Rajavur a sheet of paper covered with mathematical equations. Probably the operational figures on the Most Top Secret device.
The Russian general smiled in spite of himself. Efficient wasn't the word for it, magic was. Nicholi suddenly had the feeling that if Yuki wanted his uniform for a test on the ship, he would miraculously find himself sitting buck naked in his chair, with absolutely no idea how he got that way. Good thing she was on their side.
“What's the public reaction, Jonathan?” Sigerson asked the team's sociologist.
“So far, so good,” Sir John announced, folding away his reading glasses and tucking them into a pocket. “The lunatic fringe is up and running, claiming a million different things, very few of them making any sense, but they’re just a 2% factor and we can safely disregard them. Interestingly enough,
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