Disaster Among the Heavens - Don E Peavy Sr (best books for students to read .TXT) 📗

nothing less than a catastrophic Tsunami!”
The mention of the word caused befuddled confusion and fear among all present. The President buried his face in his hands, the two Stenographers fainted, and the military men huddled in a disoriented and noisy fashion that would have gotten them ejected from even a minor league game.
The Colonels remained stone-faced and the Admiral ran out of the room along with the Senator and his Aide. They soon returned with various staff members who served everyone a snack, provided hot towels with which to freshen up and added more chairs to the room so that everyone was able to have an individual seat -- much to the chagrin of the Army and Marine Corps Generals.
“Excuse me, sir, I’m a bit confused. What does this space business have to do with the so-called Manifesto and NORAD?” asked the Army General.
The Cosmologist took another paper from the folder, ran his fingers through his hair, and continued, “I’m getting to that. As you all know, NORAD has been taken over by Director Landest’s Former Assistant and others not yet identified. NORAD is the only American installation that is equipped to launch IGBMs and …”
“Pardon me, sir, but what are IGBMs?” asked the Senator’s Aide, a twenty-four year-old recent graduate of William and Mary. He wore a blue suit with white shirt and a red and white striped tie. His hair was neatly trimmed and he sported neither moustache, beard, nor sideburns.
“Oh, sorry, intergalactic ballistic missiles. These are missiles which are capable of being launched from NORAD and travelling into outer space to strike targets as far as, well, as far as it will go! We don’t know yet exactly how far into space these missiles will go. We have launched one to the moon and hit a target there within a mile radius. These missiles were developed in case any of the many asteroids which cruise through space take a notion to visit us -- I mean, we don’t want an Armageddon now, do we?
“Continuing on, what the Director’s assistant threatens to do is to launch all the missiles toward the moon and to hit it here, thus knocking it into and beyond its Roche limit.” The Cosmologist hit the map at the back of the moon with the pointer.
“What will be the result of such a strike?” asked The President as he shifted in his chair. He crossed, then uncrossed, then crossed, then uncrossed his legs.
“The result, Mr. President, is Tsunami!”
Again the room exploded in shudders and moans and much tossing and turning. Thunder boomed in the distance and lightning flashed across the sky. A flock of pigeons flew off the roof of the White House and crashed into the lush grass of the yard and disappeared.
“What exactly is a, ah, uh Tsunami or whatever you said?” asked the Admiral.
The Cosmologist, without looking at his notes, stroked his heard and answered, “A Tsunami is a seismic sea wave. The Japanese gave us the word, which means large waves in harbours. There are many recorded instances of them in history; the oldest of which is the one that destroyed Atlantis. I wrote my dissertation establishing that fact, for which I was awarded a doctorate and the Gene Roddenberry Award.”
“In 1480 B.C. the entire --- and I do mean entire, Minoan civilization in the Eastern Mediterranean was wiped out by Tsunami waves generated by the volcanic explosion of the island of Santorini. And in 1883 in the Chinese settlement of Merek, over thirty-seven thousand lives were lost under waves of over one-hundred and thirty-five feet high! In 1960 in Chili, a Tsunami sent waves of twelve to twenty feet high that killed over one-hundred and ninety people, left over fifty-thousand homeless, and caused property damage of over four-hundred and twenty million dollars.”
“Wow! That would make for some mean surfing!” exclaimed the Senator’s Aide, who jumped up from his chair. He was met with silence and a stern look from The President and he cowered back into his seat. The Senator was snoring and fell out of his chair. His Aide woke him up and helped him to recover his seat and his composure as well as his dentures, which flew across the room.
“People, this is no laughing matter,” continued the Cosmologist.
“C’mon, what’s so terrifying about these waves? Hell, as a young man I remember many summers spent at Waimea Bay surfing waves as high as forty-five feet,” challenged the Aide. He smiled with the same type of smirk that covers the face of one in a sports event who believes he has bested his opponent.
Unfazed by the Aide’s challenge, the Cosmologist continued, “Those are not Tsunami. What you have described are just large sea waves that acquire their spectacular size from the effect of waves transversing deep water that suddenly encounter shallow reefs. Their speed comes from the absence of a continental shelf to slow them down.
“When we speak of Tsunami, we are talking of waves that exceed a hundred feet in height. Sometimes even two-hundred or three-hundred feet high! And imagine that giant wave coming at you at speeds of up to four-hundred miles per hour.”
“What causes these things?” queried the Air Force General. His comment seemed sarcastic but he meant it in all sincerity. “I mean, I assume these other civilizations didn’t have IGBMs?”
The Cosmologist smiled and continued, “Of course not, General. Usually, Tsunami result from an up-thrusting or down-thrusting of the sea bed in an area where the earth’s crust is unstable, resulting in a high-magnitude earthquake. They can also be caused by a major undersea landslide or a submarine volcanic eruption of a certain type and intensity. And of course, for us, they can be caused by disruptions in the moon’s gravitational force. I told you earlier about tidal forces. These are differential gravitational forces experienced at different points on bodies in orbit around one another. All points on earth and the moon are subject to gravity, but the intensity of the attraction varies with distance from the other body, so that even a slight disruption of the lunar surface could result in major Tsunami activity on earth.”
“Will someone please explain to me how the hell this colored boy acquired such sophisticated knowledge?3 Hell, until today I’d never even heard the word Tsunami!” questioned the Marine Corps General as he reached over to light another cigarette for The President.
Everyone turned to face The Director, who defended, “Don’t look at me. I’m as baffled as anyone.”
“But can he really launch those missiles?,” asked the Army Genera,. “Doesn’t he have to have the launch codes?”
“Excuse me,” interrupted the Air Force General who walked over and whispered something to The President who shook his head in the affirmative.
“Will everyone with less than a Top Secret clearance please leave the room,” commanded The President.
“What about me, Mr. President?” asked the Cosmologist.
“Yes, you too. Thanks so very much for your help. You have given me renewed optimism for the future of our Commission on Science.”
“You are welcome, Mr. President. I am here to serve,” buttered the Cosmologist. He gathered his things and exited the room followed by the Senator and his Aide, the Stenographers, and the colonels.
“We have not been able to verify whether he has the launch codes,” continued The President after the door closed. He leaned against the mantle of the fireplace.
The President looked sternly at Landest and continued. “That is why we are meeting here and not in the Situation Room at the Pentagon. The codes are locked in a safe at NORAD and only I, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, and the Director have the combination to the safe. Both the Chairman and I checked our combination files yesterday and they were still secure. How about you, Director? Is your file secure?”
While he waited for Landest to answer, Mr. President blew smoke circles that lifted toward the ceiling, then disappeared.
“Yes, sir, it’s secure,” answered Landest. There was some disconnect between his mind and his body. He twisted in his chair, batted his eyes, then folded, unfolded, and folded his hands. With his legs, he crossed, then uncrossed, then crossed them again. His actions were duly read by The President.
“Well, to be on the safe side, I am sending a team over this afternoon to double-check the security of the combination. Do you still maintain it at your apartment at Watergate?”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Okay. Now, here is why I’ve asked you here this morning. We have been given seventy-two hours to agree to the demands contained in that report you just read and to begin to implement them. Mr. Director, you got us in this mess and now you are going to get us out. You have twenty-four hours to get that sonofabitch out of NORAD. I don’t give a damn what it takes -- you, sir, had better do it. I have seen what America would look like if we have to build this Great Society and, frankly, I don’t like it. No, sir, I don’t like it not one damn bit!” The President was now standing erect and pointing his finger at Landest as he addressed him, ignoring the others in the room.
“What if we fail, Mr. President?” asked Landest, as always wanting to explore all of his options.
“Failure is not an option!” thundered The President. “We can do this and we must do it.”
The President walked over to where the Director sat and placed his hand on his shoulder.
He continued, “Son, look, the bottom line here is you have screwed up. You and the Senator took things too far and instead of a window dresser you made some kinda damn revolutionary. I am not going down in history as the only President to not lose one war -- but two! No, sir, buddy, not me. You got us in this mess and you’re going to get us out. If I have to go to the American people and tell them that America is about to become a Great Society, then I will preface my remarks with regrets of your passing. Are we on the same frequency?”
The Director flinched at the President’s touch. Yet, all he could do was answer meekly, “Yes, sir.”
The President removed his hand and returned to the fireplace. He stood very rigid and in his booming voice declared, “Not a word of this gets out of this room. Remember, we don’t have another forty-eight hours. We have only twenty-four hours -- not a minute more! But we can do this. We must do this.”
“Twenty-four hours?” boomed the Army General. “The gall of this boy! It took God six full days to create the universe and he gives us twenty-four hours to save it.”
Silence engulfed the room. It was broken by the Air Force General who remained by the fireplace.
“Mr. President, we should get you airborne until we know for sure what we’re up against,” pleaded the Air Force General in a soft, parental tone.
“The Director’s assistant has agreed to a cease-fire for seventy-two hours from the time of his so-called manifesto, which was delivered yesterday,” continued The President as if he had not heard the comments of the Air Force General.
He continued to face those in the room with the exception of the Air Force General who remained at the other