Seven Veils of Wisdom – Bloc One – by P J Searle
Chapter Three

The Pegasus control room was deathly quiet, save for the noise of Rees’ fingers stabbing, with futile effect, into the keyboard of the main computer. Falstaff entered and stood watching.

‘Well?’ The word hung for a few moments before Rees deemed to answer.

‘Still broke.’

‘Broke?’ growled Falstaff.

‘Technical term, Massa, for fucked.’

Falstaff bored his eyes into the back of Rees’ head. ‘I’m not a Master; I’m a Captain. Not that it bothers me too much, Rees, but why the hell do you speak in that stupid olden-time, slave-day, Nigger accent; why are you such a goddamn racist?’

Rees squirmed, reacting to the burning stare to the back of his neck. ‘I ain’t no racist, Captain. It’s just something I picked up from the Limey an’ Australian UN doughboys. They call it ‘sledging’, ‘taking the piss’ – it’s a whole way of life to them and their national sport… cricket. ‘Tests’, as they arrogantly call the stupid game. Have you ever watched a game of test cricket… five days it lasts? The goddam test is trying to stay awake.’

Falstaff gave a disinterested shrug, ‘That a fact?’

’Yeah, that is ‘a fact.’ Rees turned in his seat and faced his captain. ‘Can I speak… Sir?’

‘Speak! goddamn it. I asked you, didn’t I? We got time to kill until we hit bottom.’

‘O,kay…’ commenced Rees, as if about to reveal some deep-rooted resentment, ‘… have you noticed, when you’re topside, people don’t have accents no more?’

‘No… I can’t say I’ve noticed, Rees… can’t say as I have.’

‘See, everybody speaks the same… due to saturated transglobal satellite TV and stuff. You can’t tell a good ol’ American from a goddam Ruskie, or a Limey from a Frenchie. Ten years ago I could have had your badge from you, just for saying the word ‘Nigger’. Not now, not since the Archaic-insult amendment. You can’t even insult no-one proper nowadays. So I’ve taken it upon myself to preserve my, our, Nigger heritage. Dat’s awhy I speaks alika dis, Massa.’

’Niggers never spoke ‘alika’ that – Christ sake Rees, get it right at least! I’m sorry I goddam asked. Anything else?’

‘Yeah, there’s something else. I hate these liberal times: black men aping white men, white men aping black men.’ He stopped to study the effect of his words. Falstaff remained unmoved. ‘Take me back a hundred years an’ stick a leg-iron on me, why don’t ya? … Beat me with a whip... an’ gimme somethin’ to fight for.’

‘You mean more like two hundred years, don’t you?’

‘Whatever.’

‘That it?’ said Falstaff, now on the edge of his patience.

’No, that ain’t ‘it’. We’ve had a black President, and a black woman President, a Tri-Presidency coalition, then a Native American president… a Comanche! And now a goddam embryo President … Jesus Christ, this country needs one hell of a shake-up.’

‘Riceman was one-quarter Seneca, and President Caxton is thirty-five, for God’s sake.’

‘Yeah, and he’s a goddam Canadian pinko, how come that?’

Falstaff turned away and shook his head in futile exasperation.

The 2018 amended American Constitution had, since Canada had been harmoniously absorbed into The Commonwealth USA, stipulated, “any person of any country seconded to the Union has the right to stand for political or religious office at any level, including Archbishops, Chief Rabbi, Imam, Senator or President. Such persons are full citizens of the United States of America and are of no lesser than any native or immigrant-borne person.” Even some of the language had been changed; not reduced as in Orwell’s 1984 Newspeak, but selected profanities and ethnic-insults were now transmuted to virtual terms-of-endearment – the Archaic-insult amendment.

America’s annexing of Canada, peaceably sanctioned by England and France was seen by many to be part-and-parcel of the Greater Britain union. It was remunerations, “spoils” as envious cynics said, and of these there were many. The entire global conglomerate had tolerated this annexation. It had eased the USA and, more to the point, the US dollar virtually from the hands of the receiver. And for the average US citizen, they’d finally got access to socialized medicine. But when America courted the annexation of the Latin America countries, the world started to panic. China made an uneasy alliance with the re-established Democratic Soviet Union. For several years after this annexing of the entire Americas Continent, sabres rattled, test-bans were broken and nuclear arsenals again amassed and re-established. But ironically the Cold War was not resurrected. With the advancing technology of chip and implant communication, it was impossible to draw down the old Iron Curtain. As quoted over and over in the media, “you can’t hang a curtain in space.” It was this rational alone, this, “free highway of speech, thought, and reasoning,” that had bolstered world peace the planet had embraced for the past ten years. –

‘Being Canadian and being President,’ continued Rees, ‘is a direct violation of the American Constitution.’

‘No it goddam isn’t!’ growled Falstaff, compelled to continue the futile conversation, ‘Not anymore. And show some respect for your President, Sailor.’

‘Well, I’d love to have been around with the Kennedy’s, King and X…’ Falstaff now listened in amusement, ‘…I’d have made some real badass Nigger motherfucker. I’m like Shakespeare’s Richard the Third, I can’t stand these pussy times.’ Falstaff’s searching eyes seemed to penetrate Rees’ brain. Rees had to look away.

‘Okay…’ said Falstaff, expelling an indulgent sigh, ‘… you’ve spoke. Now report.’

‘Of the thirty IBM blanket-heads, three are still active... Sir.’

‘What! It was only two!’

‘Yeah, well now it’s three! And that’s not all. Of the twenty strategic blanket-heads, two are sweating.’

‘Jesus wept!’

‘Yep, an’ I guess he will again, Mas– Captain.’ S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FindNøvᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

‘Well, I’ve managed to release the antenna box… manually. It’s topside and operational. Now it’s their problem. Let the guys who built them decommission them.’

‘Won’t do you no good. I’ve tried everything. Nothing responds.’

‘You don’t mind if I let the experts try, do you Rees?’

‘Hey, you go for it, Captain.’

Falstaff gave Rees another challenging look. ‘This is going to surprise you, Rees… I’m beginning to like you... not much, but I’m beginning to.’

‘That don’ surprise me, Captain, most people like me; I’m a very likable guy.’

‘Don’t spoil it, Rees. Don’t spoil it.’

Rees shrugged, almost embarrassed, and then turned back to the computer.

Captain De Loock spoke desperately and angrily into the emergency radio handset. ‘We have a missile hot... it will not deactivate! We have no personal computer, neck chip or implant link. Request permission to launch and destroy…’ He paused and waited for response. ‘Yes! Admiral,’ he continued, on the edge of his patience, ‘it is active! Listen to me, the missile is active and will not respond. If you have satellite control, you must–’ He stopped again and listened intently, then angrily interrupted. ‘Listen, damn you! All computer fail-safe and destruct systems are lost, and I dare not fly my aircraft. My God! Will you understand?’ He paused again then hurled his words. ‘If I don’t launch within fifteen minutes, the rocket motor will fire in the silo! I MUST LAUNCH! – OVER!’

On the bridge-house of the French navy frigate, Aramis, Admiral Guiraud jolted the handset away from his ear. After a moment he replaced it and spoke with cutting edge. ‘Yes... I understand, Captain De Loock, but you must wait, and we do not have satellite control. We’ve taken three long-range Mirage jets out of mothballs… they can fly without computer.’ He paused and listened, then continued. ‘Yes! They’ve been flying for some hours, from our base in Solomon Islands. They will be with you in exactly eleven minutes. When they’re a mile from you they’ll circle. You must launch due east, as best you can. God save the King & Queen – Over.’

On the Honfleur, Captain De Look shook his head. ‘I hope we can keep her until then. God save The Republic – Over and out.’

Falstaff stood behind Rees, looking into the Pegasus rocket silo. ‘We in deep shit, Captain.’ Rees said it without taking his eyes from the stack of missile tubes that stood majestic, like the columns of an ancient Egyptian temple. ‘These mothers are gonna fly, an’ they’re doing it without computer link. We’ve got to burn them, Sir, now! Before it’s too late.

‘Are you mad, Rees?’ growled Falstaff, hardly believing what he’d just heard.

’No he ain’t ‘mad’, Captain,’ interrupted Walden as he entered the silo, ‘The Mare’s fighting us all the way. I’ll set the fuses to destruct, just gimme the word… I reckon if we blow their gizzards out, none of the warheads will detonate.’

‘Oh… you’re goddam certain of that, are you… Einstein?’

‘No, I ain’t. But we have no other choice. Just give the order.’

‘That order, thank God,’ said Falstaff, closing his eyes in dread, ‘will come from someone else.’

An air of doom lay leaden over the bridge of the Honfleur. De Loock heaved a sigh of despair then yelled into the intercom, ‘Stop hosing and pump out the water, then purge, close off and make ready to launch.’ He paused and listened for a few moments then continued. ‘Lieutenant, I’m painfully aware of your misgivings. Do as I have ordered or I will relieve you of your duty; I will not ask you again…’ he paused again. ‘That’s better. And yes, your observations will be noted in the log.’

As the three Mirage jets closed, the clouds cleared. Through his canopy, the lead pilot could now see way below to the stricken Honfleur. He pulled his helmet-mike closer to his mouth. ‘We have you in sight, Honfleur. Request launch details–’ an incoming voice collided into a jumble of static over the emergency single-track link. It cleared after a moment and De Loock spoke:

‘I repeat: launch details irrelevant. I will launch in four minutes from now. If it doesn’t fly east, you must destroy it as soon as it reaches one thousand feet–’ The voices collided again as the pilot tried to discuss. De Loock waited and then continued. ‘Just listen! If it goes rogue you must destroy it immediately … which will kill us all. Do not confirm; there’s no point. Just do your duty. – Out.’ He slammed the handset down and switched off the radio, then walked to the bank of computers and stared into one of the monitors. On the screen was the single word ‘marjoram’, taking up the whole surface.

‘Report,’ demanded De Loock.

’Sir, the countdown is running, but it’s a one-way link. I still can’t get access. ‘Marjoram’, is it a code, Captain?’

‘I don’t know. Carry on. Keep trying.’

In the missile silo, the countdown also ticked away, approaching zero. From the cockpit of his Mirage jet, the lead pilot cautiously scrutinised the Honfleur. The great ship suddenly shuddered as compressed-air tubes hurled a missile into the sky. After fifty feet the missile’s booster rockets fired. At five hundred feet these boosters dropped away and the main motor fired – a perfect launch. The missile rose almost vertically for eight hundred feet, then made a sharp turn due west.

‘It’s rogue!’ the pilot gasped into his radio, ‘She’s flying west. I think I have missile fix. Request permission to launch and destroy. – Over.’ He waited, his hand hovering to the launch button. His eyes widened as he received the dreaded order; a poignant moment of reflection passed before he replied, ‘Message received and understood. Launching missile– NO! … Negative! Repeat… Negative! She’s turning east!’

The snub-nosed missile veered into a wide arc, eastwards. The three jets followed as it turned and held its course.

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