Intersection With Nibiru. Danilo Clementoni

any difficulty, at a speed close to the speed of light, and manage to maintain it for a theoretically infinite time."

      "Amazing," was all Jack could comment, who hadn't missed even a syllable of the whole explanation.

      "Okay, now I think I've understood," added Elisa. "But how will this gadget counteract the effects of the gravitational pull between the two planets?"

      "This is where things become much more complicated," replied Petri. "Let's say that the rotation of the superfluid at speeds close to those of light, generates a space-time continuum curvature around it, causing an anti-gravity effect."

      "Good grief!" exclaimed Elisa. "My old physics professor will be turning in his grave."

      "And not only him, my dear," added the Colonel. "If I have rightly understood what these two gentlemen are trying to explain to us, here we are talking about toppling a good many theories and concepts that several of our scientists have spent their entire lives trying to analyse and study. The principle of anti-gravity has been theorised more than once before but nobody has ever been able to prove it completely. Now we finally have the proof, here in front of us," and he pointed at the strange object "that it really is possible."

      "I'd be a little more cautious," said Azakis, dampening the Colonel's excitement a little. "I feel obliged to inform you that this thing has never been tested on large objects like planets, or rather, we tried it two cycles ago but it didn't turn out exactly as we expected. Moreover, events might occur that we have not anticipated and..."

      "There you go, bringing bad luck as usual," said Petri interrupting his companion. "The mechanism has been demonstrated more than once. Our own spacecraft uses part of this principle for its propulsion. Let's be optimistic for once!"

      "Because there don't really seem to be many alternatives anyway, or am I mistaken?" asked Elisa in a disappointed voice.

      "Unfortunately, I don't think so," said Petri disconsolately, with his head hanging down slightly. "In fact, the only thing I really fear is that, given the reduced size of our toroid, we will not be able to completely absorb all the effects of the gravitational pull and a part of the gravitons will manage to do their work all the same."

      "Are you saying that this thing might not be sufficient to prevent a catastrophe in any case?" asked Elisa approaching the alien threateningly.

      "Perhaps not completely," replied Petri taking a small step backwards. "From my own calculations, I would say that about ten percent of the gravitons could escape this kind of ploy."

      "So, it could all be wasted effort?"

      "Not at all," answered Petri. "We'll reduce the effects by ninety percent. There'll be very little left for us to manage."

      "We'll call it 'Newark'," said Elisa satisfied. "Now we'd better get a move on. Seven days go by quickly."

      Camp Adder air base- The get-away

      The two strange characters, still dressed as Bedouins, had just walked into their hideout in town when a faint intermittent sound from the laptop, still running on the living room table, attracted their attention.

      "Who the devil's that?" asked the thin guy annoyed.

      The big guy, who was limping more than ever now, approached the computer and, after keying in a decidedly complicated password, said: "It's a message from base."

      "They'll want to know if the operation was successful."

      "Give me a second to decode it."

      A series of incomprehensible symbols appeared on the screen then, after entering a combination of codes in sequence, the message slowly began to appear.

      General captured and taken to the air base at Camp Adder. Requires immediate rescue operation.

      "For crying out loud!" exclaimed the fat guy. "They know already."

      "How on earth did they manage that?"

      "Well, they've definitely got more direct links than us. They don't miss much."

      "And what do they expect us to do?"

      "I don't know. It just says here that we must go and free him."

      "Dressed like this? I don't think that's a good idea at all."

      The tall, thin guy pulled a chair out from under the table, spun it around ninety degrees and then, uttering a series of intermittent groans, slumped on it. "This is all we needed!"

      He rested an elbow on the polished surface and looked absently out of the window in front of him. He noticed the windows were decidedly grimy and the one on the right had a crack in it running almost its entire length.

      Suddenly, he raised his eyes towards his companion, and with a sardonic little grin said, "I've just had an idea."

      "I knew it, I know that look."

      "Go and fetch the first aid kit and let me have a look at that bump you've got on your head."

      "To tell the truth I'm more worried about my wrist. I wonder if it's broken."

      "Don't worry, I'll fix it for you. I wanted to be a vet when I was a boy."

      After a little more than an hour and massive doses of painkillers and various ointments smeared everywhere, the two cronies were almost as good as new again.

      After looking at himself in the mirror hanging on the wall next to the entrance door, the thin guy said with a grin, "Now we can get going," and slipped into the bedroom. He emerged shortly afterwards holding two well pressed American military uniforms.

      "Where did you get those?" asked the fat guy in amazement.

      "They're part of the emergency kit I brought with me. You never know."

      "You're completely crazy," said the big guy, shaking his head slightly. "And what are we supposed to do?"

      â€œHere's the plan," said the thin guy, with a satisfied air, throwing his companion an XXL. "You'll be General Richard Wright, head of a top-secret government agency that nobody knows about."

      "Obviously, if it's top-secret. And you?"

      "I'll be your right-hand man. Colonel Oliver Morris, at your service, sir."

      "So, I'm your superior. I like this."

      "Don't get used to it though, okay?" said the thin man raising his forefinger. "And these are our papers with our identity badges."

      "Heck! They look real."

      "And that's not all, old chap," and he showed him a sheet of letterhead signed directly by Colonel Jack Hudson. "This is the official prisoner handover request for transfer to a 'safer place'."

      "But where the devil did you get that?"

      "I printed it out earlier while you were in the shower. Did you think you were the only computer wizard?"

      "I'm astounded. It's even better than the original."

      "We'll get into the military base and let them hand over the General. If they should object, we could always tell them to call Colonel Hudson directly. I don't think mobiles work in space," and at that they both roared with laughter.

      About an hour later, when the sun had dropped behind a high sand dune, a military Jeep, carrying a Colonel and a General in full dress uniform, stopped at the entrance barrier of the Imam Ali air base or Camp Adder as the Americans had renamed it during the Iraq war. Two servicemen, armed to the teeth, came out of the armoured sentry box, and moved quickly towards the vehicle. Two others, at a distance, kept their sights on the passengers.

      "Good evening Colonel," said the nearest soldier, giving a smart military salute. "May I see yours and the General’s documents, please?"

      The tall, thin Colonel who was sitting in the driver’s seat, said nothing. He took a yellow envelope from the inner pocket of his jacket and handed it to