“I was merely confirming your diagnosis. No need to get shitty with me.”
Ignoring the remark, he said, “I think the propulsion design is right but I think it has something to do with either how the core is milled or the way it fits in the containment vessel. If we are getting an air gap someplace that may be the cause. It would cause a weakening in that area of the anti-gravity field. Sort of like trapped air in a pump. It might cause it to fluctuate under pressure and the result is what we are seeing.”
The other scientist placed his hand on his short beard, stroking it while running his colleague's reasoning through his head. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and held them in place with his finger.
“You may be right. To get the effect we are looking for the core material would have to fit in the reactor vessel with no imperfections. If we could mate the core to the vessel perfectly, we may be able to control the craft.”
“It’s more than just mating them. They have to essentially be a one unit. The core must be milled to exact tolerances to have a consistently strong field in all segments of the grid,” the other said.
“My God. You’re exactly right. We need to start over and develop a model that has perfect symmetry and alignment. Then we can decide the best way to direct the energy flow with the nozzles. I think you’ve hit a breakthrough,” he said and slapped his fellow scientist on the back.
“Now all we have to do is figure out how to achieve that small detail.”
Nine levels below the main level where the two scientists worked on the flying disk, another team of scientists were at work on an entirely different project. These people had badges that said:
ULTRA TOP SECRET
LEVEL 9 CLEARANCE
The select few working almost 1000 feet below the surface were engaged in a project that only a handful knew existed. The badges were not even correct. They were actually working on level ten but no one but them and General Devin even knew the level existed. Officially only nine levels existed so they had badges that implied that they worked on Level-9.
Not even the President of the United States knew what was being developed here. It was so shrouded in secret that it never showed up on the National Budget. The money was filtered through an intricate labyrinth of military projects that was almost impossible to trace. Most of the money was earmarked for the projects taking place in the upper levels but Devin had devised an untraceable way of skimming off money to fund this own project.
“How are we doing?” General Devin asked.
“Good. Good. The initial tests are very positive. Within a few more months I believe we will have this thing up and running.”
“I would be happier if it were a few more weeks,” the General said gruffly.
Having to pussyfoot around with scientists was not a thing he enjoyed. They were a necessary evil at this point.
“Now general, we have talked about this before. If we are going to make this thing work, we need the proper time to test it,” Doctor Gimbel said.
Gimbel was a tall lanky man with thinning hair. His right eye had a persistent twitch that Devin found most annoying. He constantly chewed at his fingernails, another thing the general found discussing. The only real redeeming characteristic that General Devin could find was that he was brilliant. The design and every detail was the result of Dr. Gimbel’s ability to grasp the potential of what could be done with this new weapon.
He was the one who actually approached the general with the concept of making such a device. Devin had immediately latched on to the potential and from that point on it was just a matter of setting everything into motion.
“Haste makes waste,” Gimbel said.
The general didn’t say anything; he just chomped down harder on his unlit cigar.
“Very well, I want a status report delivered to my office by 0800 tomorrow,” he said.
It was an unnecessary command, he always had a report on his desk the following morning at 0800. He just needed to remind them who was in charge around here. The scientist didn’t reply either. He knew it was just another case of military ego. He had seen it many times before when he was employed as the youngest member to work in Area 25.
Little known, Area 25 was where project Nuclear Engine Rocket Vehicle Application (NERVA) was taking place. They were working on building a sixteen story tall rocket ship, called the Orion, to send astronauts to Mars. The project was finally cancelled when it was determined that if the rocket happened to blow up while on the launch pad, plutonium would be spread into the atmosphere.
The military brass was considered a meddlesome pain in the ass by his group of scientists. However, without them the funding for research such as this would be totally impossible. It didn’t cost much to placate their disproportionate egos. He waited for the general to stomp out, acting important before he spoke to his assistant, “What an egotistical jerk.”
“Have a report on my desk by 0800,” his assistant said, mimicking the general.
“Little boys must act important. I think that posturing is his way of covering up for the small military equipment he carries around.” They both chuckled before returning to the task at hand.
Today they were trying to align the proton generator so that it interfaced with the center of the fluidity field. It had to be in exact alignment within.00012 of an inch. If the proton stream touched the fluidity field the explosion would evaporate a ten mile area a thousand feet deep.
“Ready?” he said, taking a deep breath, “Let’s see if we can get this thing aligned.”
He knew there was no use worrying about it, if he made a mistake, he would never have a chance to realize it.
For the last two years the project, once started on Level–9, had been moved to a new facility at Level–10. No one except the team working on the project was even supposed to know it existed. Great care had been taken to ensure that none of the other scientists above Level–8 were ever allowed to go any further.
Gimbel and his team had been working on a weapon that would have the power to obliterate anything in its designated target range. Once they were able to obtain enough Element-115, they immediately set to work on expanding the research from how to make the alien craft work to the development of a weapon that would bring any country that attacked the US to its knees with the push of a button.
General Devin, without approval from anyone, had bluffed and threatened his way into control. He had clandestinely recruited several of his most trusted friends, using national security as the carrot stick, into joining the project. Only he knew that this was not an authorized project by any agency of the United States Government.
His position as base commander for Nellis Gunnery Range and the Data Repository Establishment And Maintenance Land (Dreamland) gave him access to everything he needed.
General Devin had been selected to be in charge of the Nellis Range in 2010 and was given access to everything that was going on at the base. His exposure to the alien craft and the strange creature, J — Rod, had unnerved him to his very core.
If these creatures could come to earth at will, when would they decide to take over the planet? Didn’t anyone realize the potential danger to the human race? The more he learned, the more he became convinced that the world as he knew it was in peril.
They seemed placid enough now, but how could we really know their intent? The limited communication, still after all these years, gave no indication of their ultimate plan. Why would they just pop in and disappear again? If they were truly peaceful, why abduct citizens of the US and other countries? He was convinced that something else was going on.