Read Online Mission: Earth "Disaster" by Ron L. Hubbard - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ron L. Hubbard
Tags: sf_humor
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went blank.
My wits were in a hurricane. (Bleep) this Heller! That black-hole microwave-power system would be the end of Octopus! Cheap power for all of Earth? Unthinkable! What ruin it spelled for poor Mr. Rockecenter!
Suddenly I remembered that the Russians had long ago perfected satellite killers. I began to try to figure out how I could get free and get the Russians to locate and blast that contrivance and black hole he had put in the sky.
Oh, would THAT solve my problems! I would be the hero of the hour!
Somehow, some way, I must get myself out of this! The situation was utterly intolerable for Rockecenter, for Hisst, for me. I could rescue everything if I just put my wits to it. But how was I going to do it?
Chapter 6
Heller addressed the tug, "Any sign of that other assassin pilot?"
"No, sir. I've been checking ever since we returned to normal time. But I would advise extreme caution, sir. I have turned us back to total absorption of any and all waves. But I must bring to your attention that if we go speeding about, we will leave a magnetic wake that can be spotted. I severely... sincerely... severely... sincerely—incorrect nuance. Urgently. I urgently counsel that we just lie still."
"Override, negative," said Heller. He got out a book. "Enter these coordinates in your itinerary data bank and then plot a sequential course to them." And he began to read a long series of exact spacial positions all over Earth: North America, the Caribbean, South America, Australia, Asia, the Middle East, Russia, Central Europe, Europe, Alaska and Canada—it went on and on and on.
What was he up to now?
Finally he finished and the tug said, "I have all of them, sir. They are strung now into sequential numbered positions."
"Go to position one," said Heller.
"That is Watson, California," said the tug. "Just below us."
"Aim the bow at it," said Heller. He was lifting the radiation shields off the ports. The tug giddily tipped up. Five hundred miles below, the Los Angeles area was a smudge of yellow smog.
Heller adjusted his screens. Magnification of the middle one showed that we were pointed straight at an oil refinery!
"Just hold there," he told the tug. He reached over to the viewer-phone and buzzed it. The worried face of Izzy came on.
"Just checking," said Heller. "Have you got the buy options yet on all the oil shares in the world at one dollar?"
"Good heavens," said Izzy. "They think we're insane—that we're wasting our option money. But, yes, our brokers are phoning in right now. Please hold."
He chattered into another phone. Then he came back to ours. "Yes—they think we've lost our minds, but we've got them. Mr. Jet, how could it possibly fall to that?"
"You'll see," said Heller. "Bye-bye."
He returned to his magnified view of the refinery below. He was checking a floor plan. "Atmospheric pipefill," he said. He made a couple of tiny adjustments to the position of the ship.
Then his hands went out toward the firing control of the laser cannon he had lately installed.
"NO!" I cried in desperation. "Don't blow up the refineries!"
His finger pressed the firing button. The gun overhead made a brief whirr.
I watched in horror. The enlarged picture of a part of a refinery, I thought, would burst into flame.
I waited. ! It didn't!
"Corky, position two," said Heller.
"That's Wilmington, California," said the tug. And we moved.
Heller did the same thing as before.
I could see no change below.
"Position three," said Heller.
"That's Long Beach, California," said the tug.
Heller repeated his actions.
"Position four," said Heller.
"That's El Segundo, California," said the tug.
Heller went through his same drill.
"Say, what the Hells is going on?" I said. "Aren't you going to blow anything up?"
"I wish you'd make up your mind," said Heller. "Half an hour ago you were telling me I shouldn't."
"Please tell me what you are doing."
He glanced at me. "Everything they do in a refinery first passes into what
My wits were in a hurricane. (Bleep) this Heller! That black-hole microwave-power system would be the end of Octopus! Cheap power for all of Earth? Unthinkable! What ruin it spelled for poor Mr. Rockecenter!
Suddenly I remembered that the Russians had long ago perfected satellite killers. I began to try to figure out how I could get free and get the Russians to locate and blast that contrivance and black hole he had put in the sky.
Oh, would THAT solve my problems! I would be the hero of the hour!
Somehow, some way, I must get myself out of this! The situation was utterly intolerable for Rockecenter, for Hisst, for me. I could rescue everything if I just put my wits to it. But how was I going to do it?
Chapter 6
Heller addressed the tug, "Any sign of that other assassin pilot?"
"No, sir. I've been checking ever since we returned to normal time. But I would advise extreme caution, sir. I have turned us back to total absorption of any and all waves. But I must bring to your attention that if we go speeding about, we will leave a magnetic wake that can be spotted. I severely... sincerely... severely... sincerely—incorrect nuance. Urgently. I urgently counsel that we just lie still."
"Override, negative," said Heller. He got out a book. "Enter these coordinates in your itinerary data bank and then plot a sequential course to them." And he began to read a long series of exact spacial positions all over Earth: North America, the Caribbean, South America, Australia, Asia, the Middle East, Russia, Central Europe, Europe, Alaska and Canada—it went on and on and on.
What was he up to now?
Finally he finished and the tug said, "I have all of them, sir. They are strung now into sequential numbered positions."
"Go to position one," said Heller.
"That is Watson, California," said the tug. "Just below us."
"Aim the bow at it," said Heller. He was lifting the radiation shields off the ports. The tug giddily tipped up. Five hundred miles below, the Los Angeles area was a smudge of yellow smog.
Heller adjusted his screens. Magnification of the middle one showed that we were pointed straight at an oil refinery!
"Just hold there," he told the tug. He reached over to the viewer-phone and buzzed it. The worried face of Izzy came on.
"Just checking," said Heller. "Have you got the buy options yet on all the oil shares in the world at one dollar?"
"Good heavens," said Izzy. "They think we're insane—that we're wasting our option money. But, yes, our brokers are phoning in right now. Please hold."
He chattered into another phone. Then he came back to ours. "Yes—they think we've lost our minds, but we've got them. Mr. Jet, how could it possibly fall to that?"
"You'll see," said Heller. "Bye-bye."
He returned to his magnified view of the refinery below. He was checking a floor plan. "Atmospheric pipefill," he said. He made a couple of tiny adjustments to the position of the ship.
Then his hands went out toward the firing control of the laser cannon he had lately installed.
"NO!" I cried in desperation. "Don't blow up the refineries!"
His finger pressed the firing button. The gun overhead made a brief whirr.
I watched in horror. The enlarged picture of a part of a refinery, I thought, would burst into flame.
I waited. ! It didn't!
"Corky, position two," said Heller.
"That's Wilmington, California," said the tug. And we moved.
Heller did the same thing as before.
I could see no change below.
"Position three," said Heller.
"That's Long Beach, California," said the tug.
Heller repeated his actions.
"Position four," said Heller.
"That's El Segundo, California," said the tug.
Heller went through his same drill.
"Say, what the Hells is going on?" I said. "Aren't you going to blow anything up?"
"I wish you'd make up your mind," said Heller. "Half an hour ago you were telling me I shouldn't."
"Please tell me what you are doing."
He glanced at me. "Everything they do in a refinery first passes into what
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