David Freer - Pyramid Scheme

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Pyramid Scheme

Table of Contents

Prologue

PART I

PART II

PART III

PART IV

PART V

PART VI

PART VII

PART VIII

PART IX

PART X

Acknowledgements

APPENDIX

Pyramid Scheme

by Dave Freer

and Eric Flint

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any

resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

A Baen Books Original

Baen Publishing Enterprises

P.O. Box 1403

Riverdale, NY 10471

www.baen.com

ISBN: 0-671-31839-X

Cover art by Bob Eggleton

Interior maps by Randy Asplund

First printing, October 2001

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Freer, Dave.

Pyramid scheme / by Dave Freer & Eric Flint.

p. cm.

"A Baen Books original—T.p. verso.

ISBN 0-671-31839-X

1. Human–alien encounters—Fiction. 2. Chicago (Ill.)—Fiction.

3. Mythology—Fiction. 4. Pyramids—Fiction. I. Flint, Eric. II. Title.

PS3556.R3935 P9 2001

813'.54—dc21 2001035798

Distributed by Simon & Schuster

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

Production by Windhaven Press, Auburn, NH

Printed in the United States of America

To L. Sprague de Camp and Fletcher Pratt,

who are gone;

And to Zachary, who just arrived.

When 'Omer smote 'is bloomin' lyre,

He'd 'eard men sing by land an' sea;

An' what he thought he might require,

'E went an' took—

Rudyard Kipling,

Introduction to theBarrack-Room Ballads

in "The Seven Seas"

Baen Books by DAVE FREER & Eric Flint

Rats, Bats & Vats

Pyramid Scheme

BAEN BOOKS by ERIC FLINT

Mother of Demons

1632

The Philosophical Strangler

The Belisarius series, with David Drake:

An Oblique Approach

In the Heart of Darkness

Destiny's Shield

Fortune's Stroke

The Tide of Victory

The Federation of the Hub series,

by James H. Schmitz, edited by Eric Flint:

Telzey Amberdon

T'nT: Telzey & Trigger

Trigger & Friends

The Hub: Dangerous Territory

Agent of Vega & Other Stories

BAEN BOOKS by DAVE FREER

The Forlorn

Prologue

The new NESOT (Near Earth Space Object Tracking) satellite paid dividends less than three months

after its launch. The computerized system spat a data stream on the incoming object to NORAD. It did

this for any detected object which would enter the Earth's atmosphere.

The level of NORAD tracking which dealt with objects that should burn up on atmospheric entry was

computerized. An alarm sequence was triggered by any anomaly. Twenty-three seconds after it took

over from NESOT, the alarm sounded.

* * *

Brigadier General Durham looked over the shoulder of the warrant officer at the screen display. He took

a deep breath.Chicago!

He took another deep breath. The procedures were laid down. It had been something of a joke. But the

NESOT data showed that it wasn't a joke. Notat all funny, in reality. This was incoming from deep

space. And it was decelerating. Falling objects don't naturally do that.

Incoming. Incoming andalien .

* * *

While on its final approach, the American Airlines flight inbound from New York abruptly lost radio and

radar contact for fifteen seconds with Chicago O'Hare's Tower Approach Control. The explosive

reactions of the pilot were mild compared to those at Chicago Air Traffic Control. And those in turn

were mild compared to the reaction at Cheyenne Mountain.

They'd lost the object. And they'd lost all radio contact with Chicago. Fortunately the fiber-optic link

between Cheyenne Mountain and Chicago Air Traffic Control remained functional.

Air traffic controllers are renowned for their imperturbability. The senior ATC on the other end of the

line managed a perfectly controlled level voice—that could have etched steel.

"NORAD? Ah!Right. Are you folks doing something we need to know about? Because we just nearly

lost a fully loaded heavy." Despite the angry tinge underlying her voice, the controller wasn't actually

snarling. Not quite. NORAD and Air Traffic Control centers worked closely together and were generally

on good terms.

Brigadier General Durham was able to reassure himself that whatever had happened, it hadn't included

destroying Chicago. But he was quite unable to reassure the woman on the other end of the line that it

wouldn't happen again. NORAD had no more idea than she did what had caused the temporary radio

blackout.

* * *

"I've already got two companies from the 101ston their way from Fort Campbell. They're only four

hundred miles away and can get there in their own Blackhawks. But I want the entire 82ndmobilized and

ready to go. That's going to require—"

"Goddamn it, Fred," snarled the National Security Council's representative, Tom Harkness. "According

to your own satellite data, the object has an estimated maximum diameter of four to six feet. This isn't

Independence Day , for Christ's sake, orWar of the Worlds ."

Harkness rubbed the sleep from his eyes, scowling fiercely. Clearly enough, he hadnot appreciated

being awakened from a sound sleep for this—this—

Harkness' lip curled into a slight sneer. The expression had a well-practiced air about it. "Ifthe thing isn't

some kind of prank in the first place—and I'm smellinghoax here."

An idle thought flashed through General Brasno's mind.Takes one to know one. But he restrained

himself manfully. Harkness was continuing to speak.

"So I can't see telling the President at this point that he should send in more than a token force of

paratroopers. Mainly just to reassure any agitated local officials that the government is on its toes."

General Brasno had dealt with Harkness before. Unfortunately. He sometimes thought the NSC official's

conception of reality was that it was a spin created by a public relations campaign. Presumably for the

sake of creating an audience.

"If itis real—if,I say—then it's bound to be afriendly first contact, not an attack." Harkness pointed a

dramatic finger and wagged it in his best professorial manner. "You can't cram an invasion force into

something that size. And we don't want tostart a goddamn war—or trigger off a major panic."

General Brasno folded his arms across his chest. "You don't scramble friendly communications either.

That is a pathfinder. Either a pathfinder or a Von Neumann-type machine, capable of replication. Which

means one machine is all you need for a geometric progression of invaders. If that thing shows any sign of

replication we need to have adequate personnel to deal with it."

Harkness shook his head stubbornly. "You donot have authorization at the moment to do anything more

than send in those two companies from the 101st." The NSC man glanced at his watch. "And now I've

got to catch a plane, in order to get a first hand look at this so-called 'UFO.' "

As soon as he was gone, General Brasno was on the phone to the commander of the 82ndAirborne.

"George? It's me again. They won't agree to sending you in yet. But I want you ready to go at a

moment's notice."

He hung up the phone and scowled at one of his aides. "Pity those poor bastards in the 101st, if anything

goes wrong. Two companies!"

PART I

—as the blasts

of loosened tempest, such the tumult seemed!

—The Bhagavadgita

No borrower may remove

more than three books.

The silence was all a fussy librarian could have wished for. It was 2:29 a.m. and the second floor of the

Regenstein Library was deserted and dark . . . except for the prowling flashlight.

They had said that the noise came from here. . . .

The security guard thought it was probably nothing. There'd been no external alarms—just some "weird

noise" the two cleaning women claimed to have heard coming from somewhere in the general bookstacks

in the west wing.

The guard rounded the corner, and halted in his tracks. Shredded books lay scattered around the

bizarre-looking object. The surrounding shelves hadn't just been knocked down. The force of the thing's

arrival had crumpled the metal shelving as if they had been made of aluminum foil. He started to turn

away . . .

From the apex of the five-sided black pyramid, a beam of violet light engulfed him. Briefly. Then there

was no one there to engulf.

* * *

The Krim device expanded, covering some of the debris generated by its arrival. It was nearly

sixty yards off target, but the probe was not concerned. That was a perfectly acceptable margin of

error for a journey through a wormhole, across 2740 light-years.

* * *

The apex of the pyramid was now almost against the ceiling. Yet the object couldn't have been very

heavy. The crumpled paper it rested on was scarcely dented.

* * *

"There's no sign of the entry control officer," came the voice of the University of Chicago policeman,

crackling over the radio. "Except a plate of gyros on his desk. The cleaning women say he went up to the

second floor quite a while ago. Probably nothing to get excited about."

Lieutenant Solms scowled and exchanged glances with the dispatcher. Then spoke into the radio:

"Stavros, youalways think it's 'nothing to get excited about.' Do your job, dammit. You've got Hawkins

for backup."

The dispatcher rolled her eyes.Backup, her lips mouthed, exuding silent sarcasm. Solms' own lips

quirked appreciatively. The University of Chicago police lieutenant was the watch commander. Of all the

officers under his command, those were the two he often found himself wishing fervently would take an

early retirement. Avery early retirement.

"Go see what's up," Solms ordered into the phone. "And report back as soon as you can."

Solms straightened and sighed. "I'd better go down there myself. What the hell, the Regenstein Library's

only a block away. I'll just walk it."

He headed for the door. "Stavros is probably right, but—"

The dispatcher snorted. "Those two clowns could screw up buttering bread."

* * *

The U of C police cruiser was parked in front of the Regenstein. Neither Stavros nor Hawkins was in it.

Solms marched through the front entrance and looked around. The wide and open ground level was well

lit. Everything seemed perfectly normal, except for the abandoned entry control desk. The two cleaning

women had apparently left.

Solms headed for the stairs on the left leading up to the stacks. When he got to the landing, he spotted a

flashlight lying on the floor. It was the same type of flashlight he was holding himself.

Belonged to Stavros or Hawkins.He turned his head and looked down the stairs. His eyes ranged over

the ground floor, most of which was open to his gaze, searching for a body anywhere.

Nothing.Like one of them dropped it while they were running—but if that's the case, where are

they now?

He shifted the flashlight to his left hand and drew his gun. Then, slowly and carefully, finished the climb to

the second floor and started searching through the maze of stacks.

* * *

Solms showed that he hadn't forgotten what he'd learned as a regular street cop, when he saw the

pyramid. Something about that black thing said:your next step on your way to somewhere else could

be much farther than you want to go.

Then, when he got outside and reached Stavros and Hawkins' cruiser, he showed his political smarts

too. Had he still been on the city of Chicago's own police force, of course, he would have called in for

backup right away. And he still had every intention of doing so—afterhe notified the university's own

officials.

Solms was savvy about how things worked, officially . . . and unofficially. He'd seen the University of

Chicago Police as a good career, and after he transferred from the CPD he discovered he had a sharp

nose for campus politics. Whatever that thing was, the University administration would be furious if they

didn't get word of it first.

The Chicago Police Department routinely monitored radio calls made by the U of C police. Solms got

out of the cruiser and went back into the library. Leaning over the entry control desk, he snagged the

phone and called the dispatcher.

"Marilyn, get me Professor Miguel Tremelo on the line. Patch it through to here. There's something

screwy in the Regenstein. Then I want some backup—and ask the CPD to send a few cruisers too. But

don't do it untilafter I talk with Tremelo and give you the okay."

* * *

Miggy Tremelo was still more of a scientist than an administrator. Once he'd had a thirty second look at

the object, his training and instincts came to the fore. "Just keep everyone out, Lieutenant," he said,

achieving an evenness of tone that amazed even himself. "I need to make a call. I'll go across to my office

in High Energy Physics."

"You can phone from here, Professor," Lieutenant Solms offered.

"It's more convenient from my office," Tremelo lied transparently. "It isn't going to take me five minutes

to get over there."

He walked off with a speed that belied both his calm tone and his age. Professor Tremelo was a

widower, and he had time on his quick walk to the lab to feel a moment's gladness that his wife Jenny

wasn't around to see the havoc wreaked in the bookstacks. Jenny had been the head librarian of the

Regenstein, and had taken bibliophilia to the point of near-obsession.

* * *

By the time the university president's Lexus got there, the Regenstein's grounds were swarming with

cops—both university and regular CPD varieties—and six excited physicists were trying to manhandle a

portable industrial X-ray unit up the Regenstein's entryway. The Chicago officers were fussing about

"disturbing evidence," and Tremelo was attempting to explain that X-rays wouldn't disturb anything. They

were getting a little heated about it. Meanwhile, Lieutenant Solms' university cops had brought some

yellow police line and carefully cordoned off the area.

O'Ryan had already spoken on the phone to his friend the mayor, and his face was very pale. Very pale

indeed. Finding Mayor Caithorne wide awake at four in the morning had been alarming. Finding outwhy

had been even more so.

The university president hadn't gotten to his position without being able to exhibit forcefulness when

necessary. Before too long, he had reassured the police that no evidence would be destroyedbut that

they really needed to let Professor Tremelo and his physicists proceed.

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PyramidSchemeTableofContentsProloguePARTI12345678PARTII91011121314PARTIII1516171819PARTIV20212223PARTV23252627PARTVI282930PARTVII313233343536PARTVIII373839404142PARTIX434445464748PARTX495051AcknowledgementsAPPENDIXPyramidSchemebyDaveFreerandEricFlintThisisaworkoffiction.Allthecharactersandeventsport...

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