Bobby followed Spencer inside the trailer, where Juan Romero listened to the voices coming over the static-filled speaker, pursing his lips in a confused frown that made his black moustache stick out at the sides. Electronic equipment lay on the tabletops, cannibalized for parts used in the makeshift radio. Romero rolled his eyes at the signal. “Everything’s encrypted.”
“…Niner niner rog. Turtle mound advised of bandit watch.” Other nonsensical phrases jabbered over the channel.
Spencer watched Bobby Carron as the Navy pilot digested the cryptic information. “Any idea what they’re saying, Lieutenant?”
“I recognize some code words,” Bobby said, frowning as he concentrated. “Maybe they can’t get their regular encryption gear working.” He stared at the makeshift equipment as if in a trance. Spencer said nothing.
Three electric lanterns lit the control room against the darkness outside; they used solar power stored in batteries during the day’s transit of the smallsat cluster. A cool breeze swept through the door, bringing a sweet hint of yucca.
Romero glanced at Bobby. “How can he understand what they’re saying when the static is this bad? Must be sunspots.”
“Ever heard a pilot talk on the radio?” Spencer said. “You can’t understand a thing they’re saying until you do it yourself.”
Bobby held up a hand. He spoke as if he were reciting a passage: “They’re saying something like: events have gotten out of hand. Take all actions necessary to ensure the continuity of—” He hesitated, then shook his head. “Damn,” he muttered, “Some of the stuff just doesn’t make any sense.”
“Go on,” said Spencer. He motioned for Romero to sit back down. Rita Fellenstein joined them from the back room. She had been making eyes at Bobby ever since he had arrived, much to the dismay of the other ranch hands.
Three minutes passed before the mixed-up transmission stopped. Bobby scribbled in pencil on a small notepad. His forehead held a sheen of sweat.
“As far as I can tell, General Bayclock has been ordered to occupy your installation at White Sands. He’s to show an iron hand. All assets of something—the California expedition?—are to be confiscated and turned over to the United States.”
Spencer exchanged glances with Rita. “I hope that doesn’t mean the mission from JPL.”
Bobby continued, “The general is authorized to use whatever force necessary to preserve the integrity of the United States.”
“What the hell does that mean?” muttered Rita.
“It means we’ve been declared open game, and this Bayclock clown can come and blow us away, man!” Romero stood up, knocking back his chair and flinging his long black hair out of his eyes like a dangerous bandit.
“He’s crazy enough to do it, too,” Bobby said. “Your wagon train carrying the smallsats got out of the Los Angeles area just in time. The mayor of LA has taken over the national guard and is declaring southern California a free state. Bayclock wants to stop the JPL people from getting to you.”
Spencer shook his head. “This is ridiculous. Does he think the expedition from JPL is some kind of armed force? How paranoid can he get?”
Bobby said, “I know the general has been monitoring radio transmissions from White Sands—that’s how he discovered you have a working power station.”
“Yeah, for all of twenty minutes a day,” said Spencer, “and a bunch of leftover battery power.”
“That was enough for him to send me down here after you.” Bobby’s face tightened. “He’s serious about enforcing his martial law, and he must have gone nonlinear when you guys didn’t roll over and cooperate. He probably thinks the group from JPL is part of a conspiracy to subvert his authority. With the White House backing him, I bet he’s decided to make an example of us.”
Romero laughed, but Bobby spoke in a level tone. “In Albuquerque, he was hanging teenagers for stealing cans of tuna or staying out after dark.”
The trailer fell quiet. Bobby looked from person to person. Spencer placed a hand on his shoulder. “Look, why don’t you finish taking down the sunscreens outside. I’ll have Romero run through the FEMA frequencies and see if we can find any other information that confirms what we’ve heard.”
Bobby stopped at the door. “You know, I’d feel a lot better if we could just see what that bastard Bayclock is going to do. I’d hate to have a few thousand fanatics sneak up on us without warning. No telling when he’ll make his move.”
Spencer pictured the state of New Mexico in his head. “It’ll take him at least a week to get down here, even if he started today. I’ll notify Alamogordo. Maybe some of the ranchers can help us out. Give us quarter, if nothing else. We can get away.”
“But that means abandoning the antenna farm, man!” Romero cried. “Spencer, you can’t do that!”
“Maybe we can station lookouts on Oscura Peak, use smoke signals to warn us like we did for the substation test,” Rita suggested.
“It would be more effective to have lookouts nearby,” said Bobby. “What would happen if the peak got socked in with clouds? Of if Bayclock decided to attack at night? What you need is a thousand-foot-high tower, or an airplane.” He grinned half-heartedly, his mind obviously elsewhere, as if knowing he would never fly again. “Nevermind. I’ve got to finish packing the parachutes.”
Spencer had a sudden thought. “That’s not such a crazy idea.”
“What?” Bobby turned around.
“The parachutes,” said Spencer. “I bet if we sewed some of them together, we could make a hot-air balloon, just like something out of a Jules Verne novel. Fill it with hot air, and up it goes.”
“The fuel, Spence,” Rita reminded him with an elbow to the side. “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s no propane around for the central heater.”
“The Montgolfier brothers didn’t have propane,” Spencer said, “but they did have wood, and even better, we can make charcoal. Hot air is hot air, right? You take along some charcoal and burn it in a big metal hibachi—presto!” He put a finger to his lips and started muttering. “In fact, we can loft a series of balloons, even equip them with weapons….”
Rita sighed and got a faraway look in her eyes. “I can just see it now—the first Aeroballoon Squadron of the White Sands Regiment. Risking their lives, tethered a thousand feet up, keeping watch over the advancing barbarian hordes.” She motioned for Bobby to stand back. “Better stand back, Lieutenant.”
Bobby looked from Spencer to Rita. “What? What’s the matter?”
“He’s thinking so hard you might get splattered when his brain explodes.”
Gilbert Hertoya rode in from the electromagnetic launcher, looking even smaller on the back of a big horse. The group frequently got together to coordinate technical directions, but this time they had more serious matters to discuss.
“Okay,” said Spencer, “the first question is if we should even try and fight these guys.”
Bobby Carron snorted. He folded his arms and looked around. “If we don’t do something against Bayclock, he’ll institute the same type of bloody martial law down here.”
Spencer looked around, but no one spoke. “I think we all agree about that, so we don’t surrender. But what’s the consensus? Fight or run?”
“Bobby’s right. If we run, we’ll never get this facility back,” said Rita. “No telling what Bayclock would do here.”
“That’s the crazy part,” said Bobby. “What is he going to do when he gets here? I mean, I’m a one-each, Navy-issue, real-live aviator and even I know you can’t just pack this place up and take it back to Albuquerque!”