Introducing That
Damn Little Bocci Ball Planet
By
Mario V. Farina
Copyright 2016 Mario V. Farina
All Rights Reserved
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Mario V. Farina
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[email protected] "Space Shuttle, Victoria," an unfamiliar voice was heard. "This is planet Immia. We are right in front of you, the object you've compared to a bocci ball. Please respond."
The call came as a surprise.
Mark Martini was at the controls of Shuttle, Victoria, as it descended to 125 miles above Earth. His copilot, Wilma Brown, had been lazily scanning the horizon. The curvature of the earth was clearly evident as the ship sped across the southern countries of Africa. There were six persons in the crew. Besides the pilot and copilot, there were James Maxwell, Flight Engineer; Lee Halloway, Navigator; Robert Flanders, Science Director; and Leon Chi, Communications Consultant.
The six crew members were buried in a myriad of instruments. Dials and switches of many colors, shapes, and types adorning the instrument panel below the windshield, the walls, and the roof of the flight cabin. Their lights blazed in competition with the morning sunlight.
Hello!" Mike muttered. "What's this?" He was young, robust, with jet black hair, dressed in a white shirt and khaki pants.
"See something?" Wilma asked. She was attractive, well-built, blonde hair, also in white and khaki.
"Yes, look there. What is that?" Mike pointed to an object several meters ahead of the ship. "It looks like a little ball."
"What would a little ball be doing up here?" Roberta asked. "Maybe it's some sort of space junk. Look out, you're going to run into it."
Mike tapped the button labeled Retro a few times; the shuttle slowed a bit, then dropped a few meters. Victoria was now on the tail of the object traveling at about the same velocity and at the same distance from Earth. "Can't be junk. Look, it's perfectly round," commented Mike. I'm going to go a little closer to get a better look."
"What's going on up there?" It was the voice of Randy Rawlings, Mission Control Shift Chief.
"Hi, Randy," responded Mike. "We've drifted down to a new altitude so that we could get those pictures you requested. Right in front of us there is a tiny round object, about the size of a bocci ball. Were trying to figure out what it is."
"Bocci ball? What kind of description is that?"
"To me, that's what it looks like – round, smooth, dull, blue mottled with various other colors, weight, estimate, about two hundred kilograms. What would you recommend we do?"
"Well, we can't leave it there." Randy sounded worried. "It's not on our charts. Another crew might run into it accidentally. Could destroy a shuttle. Is probably some space debris that we've never recorded. Maybe you can give it a little shove and send it to outer space."
"Wouldn't it be better to pick it up with the retractable arm and bring it back to earth? Maybe there's something interesting that we can learn from it."
"Hate to take the time to do that," responded Randy "but you're probably right. Can the arm handle an object the small as a, like you say, bocci ball?"
"Oh sure," Mike reassured him. "We could pick up a pin if we had to. We'll have the object in the cargo bay in no time."
"Go ahead, then."
"Okay. Wilma, shall we begin the countdown on the arm?"
"Sure," she responded. "This will take about half an hour."
It was 11:42 military time when the call was heard. "Space Shuttle, Victoria, this is planet Immia. We are right in front of you, the object you've compared to a bocci ball. Please respond."
"What was that?" blurted Mike.
Wilma chuckled. "Someone's playing a joke. OK, Randy, who sounded off?"
"It didn't come from here," Randy responded. "Which of you is the ventriloquist?"
Mike and Wilma looked at each other, puzzlement and shrouding their faces.
The voice was heard again. "Space Shuttle, Victoria. This is planet Immia. Please respond."
"Planet Immia, you in front? Is that you calling? You're a planet? Come on, whoever's joking. Quit kidding around!"
"We've triangulated on the sound," Randy's voice came back. "The source is twenty meters immediately ahead of you. Our guys here are trying to figure out what it is."
"Space Shuttle, Victoria, we are another satellite of earth, like your moon. Up to this time, we've been unknown to you. But, we must now reveal our existence. We can't accept being retracted into your cargo bay! I'm sure you can understand that."
"You can't be a satellite," objected Mike. We would have known about you. And you're too small to be a planet."
"We're only 125 miles above Earth, and have always been here," responded the voice. "Hardly a place where your astronomers would expect to find a moon. Then, too, as you have stated, we're very much smaller than you are. The fact is that we've been invisible to Earth for over four billion years."
Randy's voice was heard. "I have the President of the United States patched in from the White House. He wants to ask Mike some questions. Go ahead Mr. President."
The unmistakable voice of the President was heard. "Mr. Martini, this here little talking bocci ball, would you have any trouble putting it into the cargo bay?"
"Not at all, Mr. President, but we're hearing a voice from the object saying it's a planet. I'm not sure we should do what you're asking."
"Well, I'm not going to have any little bocci ball tell me what I can or can't do," roared the President. What I'm saying goes! Go ahead with the pickup. I want to examine that damn little Bocci Ball Planet in person!"
Another voice was heard. "Mr. President of the United States, Planet Earth, this is Oiram Etnarem, World Minister of Planet Immia. We can't allow you to interfere with the peaceful, independent existence of our planet! We are a populated world with two billion inhabitants." There was indignation in the voice.
The raucous laughter of the President reverberated in the small cockpit of the shuttle. "Reel it in, guys," he ordered. Mark and Wilma stared at each other, uncertain what to do. After a moment, they heard the strained voice of Randy Rawlings, "Better do it, guys."
Wilma turned a few dials and flipped a couple of switches. "Start the countdown, Mike."
"Spaceship, Victoria, you are not authorized to interfere with our autonomy! We must warn you, we have the technological capability to repel this interference on our right of self-determination. Desist from any further actions to harass us!"
"I said, reel in the friggin' thing," thundered the President.
"Let's do it Wilma," Mike spoke barely audibly.
Suddenly, the retro rockets on Victoria were activated and the shuttle began to nose downward. "What's going on?" yelled Mike.
"Did you do this, Mike?" demanded Wilma.
"No I didn't!"
"Hey," came the voice of Randy. "Mike, what are you doing?"
"I didn't do a thing! Mark insisted. We have an unexpected problem here!"
"Stop the burn!" cried out Randy. "Reset! Reverse!"
"I'm trying, the controls are not responding!"
"What's happening?" It was the impatient voice of the President. "Status report!"
"Shut up, Mr. President. It was Randy's voice. "We have a serious malfunction. We could lose the crew!'
"We are accelerating, Randy," M
ike cried out. "Were in full forward velocity. Can't you do something?"
"You're probably reentering the Earth's atmosphere," Randy responded. "You'll be going into blackout within sixty seconds. And your fuel will be exhausted. You're probably going to land on Earth somewhere, but we'll have to do some calculations to find out where exactly. The computers have lost the ability to track you."
"Great!" mumbled Wilma. "And you don't know if we're going to splash!"
"It's too soon to tell what's going to happen," Randy muttered. "After the blackout, we'll be back in contact. Five minutes. Good luck!"
Randy had barely spoken the words when the phones were choked with static. Mike flicked the switch to off. Roberta did the same with her phones.
The G's increased, five, six, ten, fifty, one hundred, until the scale couldn't record anything higher. Flames from the heat shield obscured the windshield. Then the shuttle slowed to a normal descent velocity.
"Did you see that scale?" Wilma marveled. "We should be as flat as pancakes!"
"But I didn't feel the usual G forces," she continued, "even though the needle hit the top of the scale."
"Something's wrong with the scale, obviously," Mike opined. "Where are we? Do you recognize anything?"
They looked through the thick windshield. There were knolls below, forests, rivers, cities, houses, roads.
"I can't tell whether we're closer to Florida or Siberia," said Mike sarcastically.
"Will someone tell me what's going on." The agitated voice of Randy came through the speakers.
"Wish I knew," grumbled Mike.
Objects on the ground were getting larger. They were at several thousand feet and Mike attempted to take the controls.
"They won't respond! I can't control the ship!"
"Disconnect the computer," shouted Wilma.
"I'm trying to. I'm trying to!"
The shuttle continue to descend. They were over the treetops now, barely skimming them. There was no sign of an open landing space anywhere ahead. Suddenly, from nowhere, it appeared – a long runway. The shuttle settled into it as if it were being guided by an expert pilot or an infallible computer. In a few moments, the shuttle slowed and rolled to a stop. There was silence.
Amazed at the turn of events, the crew unbuckled themselves from their seats. The door was electrically opened without difficulty and the six person walked down the steps. When on the ground they began looking around.
"Look," shouted Lee Holloway, and pointed to the sky. "What in holy hell is that?"
Immediately above them, filling the sky, so close it appeared near enough to touch, was Earth. It was shrouded with clouds, but the East Coast in the vicinity of Boston was clearly visible.
"That's Earth," gasped Rob Flanders.
"If that's earth, then where the hell are we now?" demanded Leon Chi.
"Would someone please tell me what's going on?" It was Randy again. Come in Victoria."
"Wait," shouted Lee, "something's happening."
The crew could see a small group of people approaching. As they came nearer, they could discern a massive being, approximately eight feet in height, with a fiery red beard, dressed in flowing purple robes. He seemed to be the leader. Close behind were three other persons, who could have been men or women, of about the same height, similarly dressed.
"Looks like a welcoming committee," James Maxwell ventured. "Look at the sizes of those people!"
The bearded leader of the group approached and held out his hand. "Hello, I'm Oiram Etnarem, World Minister of planet Immia, Bocci Ball Planet, as you have called us. I bid you welcome."
"What's going on? Where are you? Come in, Mike." Randy's voice sounded shrill as it emanated from within the ship.
"Tell him," Etnarem addressed Mike. "Indeed, tell all people on Planet Earth, especially your President, that you are to be our guests for a short period of time. Now that you have discovered the existence of Immia, there is need for greater understanding between our two worlds. And the very first thing that must be understood is that we are never again to be referred to as that damn little Bocci Ball Planet!"