The Good Ship Bison

There was a pause on the line. "Bison1, please confirm heading and turn on your transponder to squawk 668, if you have one. Oakland."

I asked Pat if we could create a transponder signal with 'Bison-1', and it turned out we could. I also told Pat to stop absorbing radar signals and reflect them back based on what would look normal for a giant cube-sized office tower. I wanted the ATC to see us on their radar.

It must have worked. Probably something about seeing us coming down fast convinced them that we actually were coming back from the Moon.

Leaving off where we were coming from, I said, "Oakland, this is Bison1, transponder created. Our heading is 090 due East, flight level now 9,9,0 descending ballistic. Ground speed 1,5,0 knots, airspeed 500 knots vertical. Can alter this if requested. Repeat, we're at... 98 thousand feet now. We will reach flight level 3,0 in several minutes, but I want to avoid cross traffic, especially heavies, if i can, sir. Apologies if I'm not doing this right, again, student pilot, experimental rocket - aircraft...uh, really spacecraft? Requesting a safe approach vector to avoid traffic. Bison-1."

There was another pause, then, "Bison-1, descend flight level 2-0, that's twenty thousand feet. When you get to the coast, drop maintain angels 8, that's 8 thousand feet, limit speed to 2-5-0, that's 250 knots. We will route around you. Oakland."

"Oakland, roger, descending F-L-2-0 speed 2-5-0, bearing 0-9-0 until coastline, descend to angels-8, speed 2-5-0, bearing 0-9-0 for approach to NASA Ames, confirm please, Bison-1."

I liked this! I almost knew what I was doing. Trouble was, there were so many ways to speak incorrectly, and that controller spoke so fast he was hard to understand.

They confirmed and we were silent again. Other people came on the frequency and were told to change frequencies, so I knew they were making an exception for me. I didn't like being a pain in the ass for them, so it would probably be a good idea for me to apply for a pilot's license when I could. Or, get a pilot?

Our altitude dropped steadily, and with it our weight came back. We started out supersonic but with deceleration we slowed as we approached the ground. Looked at from the side, our flight path was a sloping L Since once we were down far enough we just leveled out.

The heads-up display I had in the pilot's seat had many windows with different views, mostly to let me know where everyone else was, since I didn't want to run into anyone.

Over land, and then over the bay, I curved south and came up to the Ames runways.

We were popular.

Portable light stands had been set up and focused onto the field. I said, "Pat, are there any weapons directed at us now?"

"Yes. There are 3 groups of ten 155-mm howitzer cannons each focused on the area they have designated as our landing position. Further, two B-2 stealth bombers are flying low and slow in different patterns out about 20 miles, each with two W-44 ten megaton nuclear warheads on SLAM missiles. There are sixteen F-35 fighters flying what they call high air cover, fully loaded with Hellfire air-to-ground missiles, as well as some air-to-air ordnance. Their orders are to look for unfriendly aircraft of other nations, but also on the ready in case we turn out to be hostile."

I gulped.

Pat continued, "Around the field, newly driven in over the last 2 hours, are 14 M-1B Abrams tanks, already loaded with a variety of HEAT, incendiary, and standard shells. Crews are on standby. All the infantry on the tarmac are armed, about 100 of them, some with man-pads and Javelin shoulder-fired anti-tank weapons, but most are focused away from our landing position and are ready for someone else to attack us."

Looking over at Mads, I could see she wasn't happy about the military focus. I said, "Pat, how much of that firepower could the shields protect us from?"

"All of it, easily, provided you are inside this ship. We would suffer no damage. Two or more simultaneous nuclear weapons would multiply damage effects to San Francisco but, again, leave us undamaged. This presumes the weapons activate, which they would not. I would default to quickly intercepting or destroying any weapon before it could explode, unless your plans would be safer."

"Let's land, then. Please take us in slowly so people get used to us, I don't want surprises. Land right where we're supposed to, about 20% south of the runway numbers, where they've put up the cones. If there's a problem, protect the ship and if possible, any innocent bystanders."

"Understood."

Gently, slowly, we came in and dropped gradually into the large ring of construction cones.

Touching down, I felt we could probably relax a little. Half of the tanks rotated turrets to face away from the ship in all directions, usually towards where traffic flowed.

A single humvee drove up 50 meters from the ship and stopped. Three people got out, wearing active-duty military uniforms, not dress uniforms. This wasn't ceremonial, I got the feeling.

I said, "Mads? Let's go." We got up and went downstairs (a lot of the ship really did resemble an office building), and out to the 'vehicle garage door' entrance. "Pat, let's keep our shields ready, but let these people inside. Mads, can you invite them in? I want us to stay inside the ship, for safety."

Pat said, "I have put a 'please come in' sign on the wall of the ship, and an arrow pointing at our wide cargo door."

"Fun."

Pat didn't know 'fun', but I did. It really was kind of cool to be able to have a giant video display on the side of the ship.

They came in, and I held out my hand to shake.

The lead guy was kind of old, gray hair and eyes that said he'd seen shit. He had a single star on his shoulder boards, so I knew he had to be a general. I wasn't up on military rank insignias, but I knew that much.

The second one had a bird on each shoulder, and I guessed that meant he was a 'full bird colonel'. They introduced themselves as General Schmidt and Colonel Davis. We shook hands.

The third person was a lady, my mother's age. She looked fit, though. She was very friendly, and said, "Mr. Cooper?! I'm Dr. Marge Davis, no relation to the Colonel here. I'm with NASA, I've been studying moon rocks for a long time."

I ushered them over to the wide basketball-pyramid (think, display of oranges in a fancy grocery store) the small robots had piled up. I explained that they'd been made by fusing the outside with heat, but that the inside remained in vacuum and with all the regolith dust intact.

Dr. Davis wanted to know how I did that, but I just said, "Can't say yet. Trying to keep some secrets. Maybe later."

We all agreed that it would take a bunch of people to load these things, and there might be problems with them. I suggested I could have the ship put them in the grass by the side of the runway, and they could move them more later.

The eye-raising prompted me to say, "No, really! Watch."

I had them step back, then (silently) asked Pat to move the balls via force-field to be piled in the grass, and Pat did exactly that, a fast steady stream of them.

The process was otherworldly and might have freaked out our guests, insofar as a general can be freaked out, which means eyes showing significant concern.

He said, "You have a lot of technology on your hands, son. You're awfully young to have that kind of power."

I sighed, "Yes I am. Got that one right, sir. Kinda fell into this situation, but it's turning out okay."

"I can see some broad use-cases for this kind of capability."

"No military or dual-use, General. For any nation. Peaceful only. Rules of the ship."

It was close to 10 pm, and I was tired despite my nap. The offloading was proceeding fast, one ball every second or so.

Marge wanted to know some things, so I promised to send her some pictures of where we got the samples. Pat knew her email address, and while we were standing there, Pat enqueued a few of the photos Mads and I had taken.

"Marge, question. I want to pay off my mom's house and stuff. What do you think pictures like these are worth? I think I'd like to sell them...?"

At the question of money, the General and Colonel's eyes got big and I saw a grimace like they knew the subject was radioactive, and walked off to a distance to talk together.

Marge's reaction was to laugh, and she waited for them to walk away, leaving Mads, Marge, and I standing in the emptying cargo bay.

Marge said, "Kevin, you're gonna need a LOT more money than that. I suspect... I shouldn't say this as a government agent on federal property... Tell you what. I can tell you some things, maybe, but it has to be on my own time. Call my personal cell at ____, oh, maybe two hours from now? I can tell you some things as a private citizen."

We motioned the men back over, and it looked like we were about to leave. The General said, "Mr. Cooper. I 'heard a rumor'."

"Yeah?"

"The rumor is, and I wouldn't know anything about it, I'm not a lawyer, but acting as a pilot, when you're not a pilot, might be a federal crime. Also, failure to get an airworthiness certificate from the FAA or military, or ...any number of things. The fact that you just handed off about ... Oh, what's the rumor, Ted? Maybe $40 billion of Moon rocks? That might work in your favor, but... still. It's an interesting rumor. Someone hearing that rumor might want to seek legal advice, somewhere. What kind of law firm, can you speculate, Ted, might be able to help with that kind of situation, maybe?"

Ted was holding a sly grin, we were all pretending. "Hypothetically, General, well, I really hesitate to engage in speculation. My wife, though, she'd love this. She'd speculate all over the place. She'd say phrases like, 'white shoe firm' and 'washington DC' and 'K street' and 'Danzinger', but I don't know what those words really mean, my memory is really faulty. And, as a government employee, I can't recommend anything related to the private sector since that would violate all sorts of procurement rules."

We were all smiling.

We shook hands, and as we did, I said, "General. We need to get some sleep. I'm wondering if I could borrow some uniforms? You call them BDU's? A variety of sizes, and some MRE's? We're really hungry, and ... I can pay you back, if it's a loan to buy the stuff? I need a change of clothes, as does Madison, here, and ... we .... Yeah. Maybe, before morning?"

The General got his radio out and said, "Melker, come on in. Bring a pad of paper."

"Sir."

We saw a guy jogging up from where the outer row of humvee's were, a little more distant.

As he came up, pen and paper ready, the General said quickly (orders, not a request), "Melker. Get to the quartermaster, Fast. I need all of this billed to my personal account. I'm going to purchase, and he's going to BORROW, got it? Three sets ACU's for Cooper. 3 sets ACU's for Ms. Charles. Make that 3 times 3, arctic, desert, jungle, FULL billet. ALL the field kit, spare Nothing. Shoe sizes, sir, ma'am?"

"Me? 11 and a half. Mads?"

"Nine"

"Pack it up. Add two man-months of MRE's, field kit, mess kit, medical kits, big, small, everything. Survival gear, cold weather. Tents. No sidearms or weapons, explosives, anything dual use. Box it, get it into duffels. Bring a company, maybe MP's, with you. Back here, piled in front of the Bison here, two hours. Go."

Melker ran off, waving a circle over his head as he ran up to a group of ten or so MP's. They huddled, and I wondered what kind of activity this request would generate behind the scenes.

The General grinned at us, including Colonel Davis, "Now, you should know - I'm in on the scuttlebutt about tomorrow where you're going in Modesto. You asked for a bunch of furniture and uniforms, delivered there tomorrow, right?"

We nodded, he was having fun telling us this and it was fun to listen to.

"It's kind of an exercise in kick-your-neighbor, between the branches. There was a HUGE, uh, 'debate'. A bunch of the guys in the room at the Alice Peterson house, they were ex-Navy, a lot of the FBI are, and there was one NCIS guy, too. But, one was ex-Coast Guard. That debate kept going, and pretty soon, you Just Don't Understand - it snowballed. Wacko politics. Each branch is trying to give you clothes, in their colors. Joint Chiefs, they appointed a 'Bison Czar'. With the women going, they needed female uniforms, right?"

We nodded, like that was obvious.

"So, each of the women going, are getting three week's worth of uniforms in each branch's colors - Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, Coast Guard, Space Force. Free of charge, courtesy of Uncle Sam."

It dawned on me what I'd asked for. "And, for me?"

"You're included in that, yeah, of course, 3 weeks for everyone."

I laughed, "Fighting over uniforms!"

"There's a certain matter of national pride here, son, ma'am. Plus, it seemed prudent to... I hope I'm not speaking out of turn, to 'reinforce' your sense of being an American, as opposed to..."

"I'm still an American, sir.' I was falling into the Army lingo, calling him sir. "I just have, uh, a responsibility to the human race, now, too, I think."

They both nodded, like they understood that it was complicated.

I changed the subject. "I'm picking up several more traveling companions than you know about, from ... around. I'll certainly need some extra uniforms for them, too. Additional, that is, to the ones in Modesto."

The General started chuckling, looking up and imagining something, like this was going to cause internal strife I didn't know about. He put words to it, "Okay, then. More is fine, whatever you need, I guess. Should I tell anyone? I'm under orders to file a complete report to the President, so..."

"Of course, tell them. We'll need clothes for them, too, maybe 10 more sets? I don't know how many I'm picking up exactly, they may decide to no-show since flying off in an alien spaceship might frighten them away. Plus, we don't have washing machines. I don't even know if the ship can create one..."

"It can make things?"

"Simple stuff, yeah, somehow. But, I doubt... I don't know yet. I'm figuring this out."

Behind the General, I realized there was a buzz of activity.

I added, "So, when I asked you for clothes, tonight? Is this... going to upset the balance?"

The Colonel answered first, smiling like he liked it, "Definitely! Though nothing you should be concerned with. From my perspective - I love it! You were clear. We had no choice but to give you what you asked for, and the other services can bite me. Sorry, ma'am."

Mads was smiling. The idea of being offended by an insult was funny.

The General piped in, squinting with the situation again, "Gotta say, though, let's get back to brass tacks. This is serious business, what you're doing. Monumental, for the world, for mankind, for our place in the universe. At the same time, the amount of time devoted to petty crap about what colors the uniforms are? Great fun, son. Pinella's gonna go apeshit trying to figure out a way to restore balance on this thing, but you just gave the Army an edge. Thank you."

"Didn't mean to. I only asked for military uniforms because I didn't want to spell out all the items of clothing separately, it just seemed... prudent? I'm not regarding anything I'm doing as 'miliary' per se. I'm ... not into violence."

His smile and twinkling eyes went with an evenly stated, "I will note that in my report. My profile on you reads that way, too."

The colonel asked, "Can you tell us anything about how you came to be on this?"

I shook my head, "Not really. Not right now, at least."

The General asked, "So, you plan to park here until morning? Any special needs other than the clothes and gear?"

"That's the plan. Gear is great! We'll probably be gone by 9 am, probably, to get to Modesto."

He got a little serious, "There might be external security threats against your ship, son. Are you prepared to leave quickly, in case there's a problem, or should we be prepared to defend you for an extended period?"

"We can and would leave quickly, if needed. Thank you for your help." I kept quiet about being impervious to their (and other's) weapons.

At the general's hand motion back to the group by the vehicles, a lieutenant (oak clusters - I did know some things!) came running up with an expensive looking camera. "Pics now, sir?"

"Yes."

We all stood in line and got some pics.

The Lieutenant asked, "Do I have permission to publish these pictures in the Army Times?"

I looked over, "Mads?"

"I don't look my best."

I laughed, "We've been to the Moon. It's okay."

"Then, fine"

"Ma'am? I can retouch them, if you like?"

I interrupted, "No retouching, she is absolutely beautiful the way she is. And, mighty smart, too, so, I'm lucky to have her along."

"Can I quote you on that, sir?"

"Uh... yeah. Sure. Just... don't ask me to compare the people I've chosen to be traveling companions, uh, crew, sort of. I chose them for exceptional intelligence and insight. Their attractiveness is almost, but not quite, irrelevant. You can quote me on that, I think."

I looked over at the General. He was eyeing me. "You know, you're going to get these women in trouble - there's a presumption going on, I think."

"I can't help what people think. It is kind of cramped up there, and like I said, not much privacy. I think we'll respect each other and keep it professional, mostly."

"Another quote, sir?"

I was finding the lieutenant to be increasingly annoying. "I guess, but my goal is to not have those overtones. No presumptions are valid. These women are crew, first and foremost."

We tied it up and shook hands, got some more pictures of us all standing there, and they left.

Mads and I went upstairs, shutting the cargo bay doors behind us. Per Pat, we were bulletproof anyway, but having closed doors seemed better, somehow.

In the control room, I looked out over the tactical situation, as they say in Call of Duty. Some boats in the San Francisco Bay had congregated, but they were all small craft that wanted a peek. Traffic on the 101 was totally backed up as people had just stopped to look. I realized I was making a spectacle, but where was I supposed to go?

Mads and I were hungry. I'd had 3 burgers since the morning but it wasn't enough, and we'd had some excitement, too.

Still, we had to wait.

With time to kill, she and I did some route planning for the next day, and it occurred to me that having a pilot onboard might be a good plan. We did have quite a few pickups to make - first at 8 am at Alice's, then Stanford at 9, at Berkeley between 9 and 10 for a few people, and then to Boston by 11.

Boston might be complicated. The pilot idea started sounding better, and Mads agreed.

"Pat. Using the criteria I had for traveling companions, can you find me an unmarried female pilot, qualified on several aircraft types and ex-military, well below age 35? Combination of piloting experience, education, physical fitness, plus all the other previous criteria?"

The screen showed two sections, one for U.S. citizens, with over 400 results.

"Background checks on the top 10?"

Four came back as in committed but unmarried relationships, and one actually had a stalker so she was trying to stay anonymous.

I wasn't into breaking up relationships, but I figured I might want to employ two so they could trade off. Still, one would be good to start, and she might have opinions on the requirements for the second one, if she lacked some talent or training.

The topmost person in California was a 31 year old USMC pilot, retired, in San Diego. I called her.

Ring. Ring. "Hello?"

"Captain Janice Watkins, USMC? This is Kevin Cooper. No, this isn't a joke."

"Oh my god!"

I waited a moment. "Can we go to a video call?"