BRAINSTORM

by Gordon Kessler

  The gunny gave me a quick smile like there was some sort of friendship between us, now. But for the major, he did not have good news.

  “We couldn’t get many of the seats out, Jax,” he said. “They put those damn things in there good. Stripped them the best we could, though.”

  “All right, Gunny,” Jax said and wiped his eyes. “Pack our passengers in as tight as they can get. This isn’t a pleasure trip. Nobody has to be comfortable.”

  “Who’s going to fly the planes, major?” he asked.

  We glanced at the 747s sequestered original crew.

  “I don’t think you should trust them,” I told Jax. They still have allegiance to Xiang, even though he is dead.”

  “You’re right,” Jax said. “We’ll bring them along just in case, but I’ll fly the chopper, and Lieutenants Johns and Nelson can fly the big birds. If they can buzz this Jolly Green around like a dragon fly, those big ol’ buses ought to be a piece of cake.”

  “Yessir,” Gunny Sampson said as Jax handed him the spec manuals. He turned and trotted back to the helo pilots who were helping to direct our passengers aboard. A few seconds after he joined them, they turned to gape wide-eyed at the major. He shrugged and gave them a casual salute. They each gave a fainthearted salute back, took the manuals from Sampson and headed for the front of the planes.

  “God, Major, these aren’t Cadillacs,” I said as we trotted toward the cars parking on the field. “It’s not a matter of looking at the owner’s manuals to find out where the map light and cup holders are.”

  As I helped a mother and infant out of one car, Jax took the arm of an elderly man and turned to me. “You got any better ideas? As I remember, you used to be a fair pilot. How about you giving it a go?” He smiled at me.

  I was a little stunned. I couldn’t even remember flying even as a passenger. “No thanks. I can barely remember how to use a stick shift, let alone fly a jumbo jet.” I wanted to ask him more about myself, but I was afraid to. I hoped there would be time later—if we lived through this.

  “I thought as much. Both of my chopper pilots have had training in flying large passenger jets in the event of hijack situations. They’ll do okay.”

  Sampson had been busy, running about, relaying messages and doing the legwork for Jax. He hustled alongside the major as we helped our civilian charges onto the long boarding steps to one of the planes.

  “Major Jax,” Sampson said. “Two things. One, our radar has picked up two inbound flights of about four planes each.”

  “What direction, Gunny?”

  “The first group of four are high-fliers from the northeast, the other one is a treetop-hugging flight from the south.”

  I asked the major, “What’s that mean?”

  “It’s time to get the hell out of here.” He said, then turned to Sampson, “How long?”

  “Ten minutes. They’ll be converging here in ten minutes, tops.”

  “Christ, what more do we need?”

  “The other thing, sir.”

  Jax frowned at his senior enlisted man. “What is it?”

  “The distress beacon. It lit up for a few seconds. It’s gone now. Wasn’t on long enough to get a good fix, but it was coming from somewhere in or near the Biotronics facility.”

  Jax looked at me wide-eyed and then up the side of Mt. Rainey. “Sunny!”

  Chapter 39

  The major scanned around us as I gazed hopefully back at the mountain. I prayed I would see some sort of sign, a light or a flash of something to indicate Sunny had managed to survive and was coming back down to us.

  One of Jax’s men trotted up. “It’s a miracle, sir! We’ve about got ‘em all on board. And we’ve calculated the fuel we’ll need and dumped all but a hundred mile safety margin. Those people are scared shitless, but they’re cooperating. They’re sitting two or three per seat, jammed in the aisles, the kitchens and the baggage areas, but somehow we did it—every last soul and even a few puppy dogs. We’re guessing right at twenty-one hundred people on each plane.”

  “Damn, that’s too much weight,” the major said.

  “We’ve got to try it, Major,” I said. “It’s all or none.”

  “This isn’t some kinda damn democracy, here!” he said, scowling at me, and this time he didn’t call me sir.

  I wondered how familiar we were to one another, sure we’d been good friends in my other life.

  “You always were pig headed,” he said. “Your way was always the correct way, for the people, by the people.” He turned away briefly and seemed in consideration of his tirade. “Okay, damn it. But if none of us make it off this tarmac, don’t blame me.”

  “Sunny?” I asked.

  It took him another second of consideration. “On our way out, we’ll swing the helo past Biotronics and see if we can get a visual.” He looked at his watch. “Jesus! We have nine minutes before we’re attacked from the air and twelve before two nuclear bombs annihilate us.”

  We ran for the helicopter as the two jumbo jets taxied out onto the field. Jax got into the pilot’s seat, and I stood in the open side door. With the blanks and a few extra people jammed in, there had been no room for any of the weaponry the helo had carried into Gold Rush. Those things and any excess were left on the pavement. We were shoulder to shoulder.

  We took off, and as I looked out at the mountain, I wondered about Sunny, if she was somehow alive. We would have to take a wide swipe at the mountain in order to gain enough altitude with such a heavy load and to get back up to Biotronics.

  I gripped the hatchway tightly as we sped along the mountainside, and again I find myself spinning back into the vortex toward the ether-world.

  * * *

  When I stop spinning and float out from the whirlpool, I see a dog—Sarge, running through the rubble that had been Biotronics.

  “Find her!” I call out. “Find Sunny, Sarge! Come on boy, you can do it.”

  Suddenly, through the dog’s eyes I see the debris before me, under his feet as he sprints across it. Soon, I smell it—the scent of lilacs in the rain, and the dog slows. A woman’s body in a green jogging outfit lay before the dog. She is on her back, a piece of concrete across her middle. I am concerned, and I feel the same worry in the canine. But then, in my vision, I see Harvey’s face lying there in Sunny’s green sweat suit, and I am confused.

  The big bunny eyes open. The lips become full and feminine. Long eyelashes, a cute, human nose, and lovely sunset-red hair.

  It’s me, Superman. It’s been me, all along. You translated your own words to my thoughts, pinned the face and the rabbit body to those words. It helped you make sense of the voice in your head. But I’ve been with you every step of the way. You sought out my psyche over two years ago, and in some less refined way or another, I’ve been with you ever since—our own kind of Radar Love.

  I shake my head, still a novice at this telepathy thing, this remote viewing stuff. Now I see Sunny, the real Sunny, lying there, under the concrete with her eyes closed, blood on her lip, her chest rising gently with each shallow, important breath.

  Now, the voice I hear is Sunny’s. I need you, Superman. Come to me. I need your help. I need you, Superman. I love you, Superman.

  I witness from Sarge’s eyes, the dog licking Sunny’s face.

  * * *

  Abruptly outside of my daydream, someone shoved me from behind, and I was snatched out of my transcendent state. I swung out of the doorway, with only the firm grip of my two hands between the helo and the jagged rocks a hundred feet below. My legs flailed as I looked back toward the doorway of the helo.

  Mike Wu stood there, a shiny silver spot on his forehead with a trail of dried blood from between his eyes and down the side of his nose. I remembered the special energy directing plate they’d implanted in the middle of his forehead. It had stopped the bullet. And I recalled the guy who had held his head and turned his face from me when he boarded the helicopter minutes before. Of course, it had been Wu.

  I ye
lled to Jax, “Sunny’s on the west end of Biotronics.”

  He looked at me, and his eyes showed he realized we had one more very deadly problem.

  Wu’s glare fixed on me, and I felt defenseless as I held onto the doorway. I looked below and saw the file boxes dangling in the cargo net. It was my only chance. As the helicopter swung out to round the ridge and go back to Biotronics, I dropped onto the pendulant net full of boxes and held tight.

  Wu tried to catch a good glimpse of me, but could keep eye contact for no longer than a couple of seconds due to the swing of the net. I hoped he wouldn’t hurt Jax—of course, that would be foolish since the major was also the pilot. Nevertheless, I wouldn’t put anything past this madman. He seemed solely out for revenge. Otherwise, he would have hidden with the group and waited until we were a safe distance away before seeking his retribution.

  As the helicopter avoided a tall evergreen, the cargo net swung out again. This time, Wu dropped from the doorway, his body falling toward me, with intentions of grabbing the net thirty feet below.

  I ducked as he caught the roping with his right hand, his left grabbing the back of my collar, and he hung on tenaciously.

  I felt the tingling at the base of my head again as he held on behind me, and I was sure after all I’d been through, I would be no match for him.

  The pains shot to my temples, and the heat became intense. I looked back at his forceful stare and realized he didn’t appear affected by me in the slightest. Again, my nose bled and eyes became bleary. Pressure built under my skull.

  * * *

  I fast-forward again, to find a way to stop him, the near-future image blinking like a shorting light. A hundred yards ahead is the tree that will knock us from the net and down to our deaths on the jagged rocks below.

  * * *

  I hoped Wu had a firm hold because, if he didn’t, what I was about to do would kill us both before any tree.

  I let go of the net, relying solely on Wu’s right hand’s grip of the roping and of my collar. We turned out, and before he could release me to let me fall to my death, I grabbed his arm. We faced the treetop of the ancient redwood. He let go of my collar, but as he did, I caught his belt and pulled myself up behind him, then put him in a leg lock so that he couldn’t turn around. As he tried to pry loose from my legs and elbowed my thighs and knees fiercely with his free arm, I clutched the net with one hand and dug into my front shirt pocket with the other. He was screaming at me now, cursing in what I guessed was a Chinese dialect, making my next step easy. After finding the suicide pill, I quickly pulled it out, forced it between his angry lips, and gave him a quick but awkward uppercut.

  It is the thought that counts, I remembered, because this action didn’t matter when we hit the tree. As I released Wu and scrambled across the webbing hand over hand away, the old redwood knocked the net out so violently the helicopter stammered. I held fast, but Wu was stricken free. It was like he’d been slammed by a giant flyswatter. He fell, his limbs splayed and motionless, eyes rolled back in their sockets, slowly tumbling head over ass one hundred feet to a rocky end.

  When I looked back up to the chopper, Gunny Sampson was peering out the side doorway, the crew chief’s helmet on his head. He gave me one of those man-that-was-close headshakes and then glanced over his shoulder. Looking back down at me, he stuck out his hand and four fingers. I knew we had four minutes to make it to safety.

  Now, I looked for Sunny as we flew toward the pile of debris that used to be Mount Rainy Biotronics. We would only have time for one pass, and I wondered what I’d do if I didn’t find her. Would I leap to my death and join her? Why not? She was the only thing I cared about, now.

  We passed over the west side of Biotronics, where I was sure she had been. However, I saw neither Sunny nor Sarge. I felt the helo swing back in the opposite direction and realized Jax had determined we could risk no more time.

  As I contemplated my end, I thought I saw something running through the trees near the road back to Gold Rush. It might have only been a deer, but I waved at Sampson. Finally getting his attention, I pointed to where I had seen movement.

  He glanced over his shoulder toward Jax again, and the helo immediately followed my signal. Soon, below us were a German shepherd dog and a cut and bruised but beautiful redhead in a green running suit. My eyes moistened with joy, and briefly I put aside the fact that it might be too late. Soon we would be together, rejoined—that was the important thing.

  Sunny waved at the chopper as she and Sarge ran to an opening in the trees. Jax brought the helicopter in fast, but close enough for the dog to leap to me. With both feet and one arm hooked into the netting, I helped the large animal find a halfway secure footing on top of the boxes. Then I reached out for Sunny as she ran alongside. She grabbed my shoulder and the chopper rose quickly to avoid more trees. Still holding to me with one arm, she found footholds and looped her other arm into the net.

  The smile Sunny gave me was worth the risk. It was worth eternity, worth my life and death. We held onto one another as tightly as if we melded into a single body.

  As we slowly ascended toward the low point of the crest’s saddle, I looked over my shoulder to the ground and saw the large rocks we’d passed over only a moment before when Wu fell. About two hundred feet below, his body lay spread-eagle on a large, flat rock. It was obvious he’d landed on his head, his blood in a crimson splatter. Five feet from his corpse was a small, cupped object shining in the first rays of morning light—the steel plate they’d implanted in his forehead.

  “You’re hurt!” Sunny said. She was staring at my side with concern.

  “Rajiv said it’s only a flesh wound.”

  She seemed reassured as our eyes locked, exploring each other’s thoughts. With our faces only inches apart, we drew nearer and kissed briefly, however, passionately.

  But a violent turbulence interrupted our reverie, and caused the dog to lose his balance and nearly fall. We were suddenly watching the tail ends of four fighter planes from their jet wash. I wasn’t sure what type of jets they were. But I was sure what types they were not—they were not American fighter jets, at least not like any I’d ever seen. I noted their parallel, twin-vertical stabilizers similar to our F-14 and 15s. They sped past at nearly Mach speed, and with vapor trails curving from their wingtips, they banked at the other end of the airfield over two miles away. As the second jumbo jet cleared the runway and began to follow the first, another group of four of the fighter jets came up from the left—too far away to discern their markings.

  “SU-27 Flankers,” I realized aloud—the ones Jax said were coming. “What the hell are they doing here?” Were they from Cuba? Could a Russian aircraft carrier get anywhere near close enough to launch a flight this deep into the U.S.? How could they expect to survive, or was this some sort of kamikaze suicide mission? Had the world been turned completely upside down in my two-year stupor, and the Russians or the Communists taken over our land? Or had I returned from one of my trips to the ether into some sort of parallel universe in which the United States no longer existed?

  Whatever the answer, I knew as soon as any of the fighter planes were pointing back in our direction, we’d be shot down, and so would the 747s loaded with over four thousand people.

  The huge jumbo jets looked like cumbersome dirigibles compared to the supersonic Flankers. They seemed to inch away from the airstrip as the fighter jets zoomed past. Obviously, the new pilots of the big passenger jets were pushing their unfamiliar aircraft to their limits to avoid the smaller fighters, but they wouldn’t stand a chance.

  Sunny looked up to Sampson who was still leaning from the cargo doorway of the helicopter. She yelled, “The DHILs,” her lips exaggerating every syllable.

  Sampson still looked back, obviously not understanding this code or whatever it was that Sunny was speaking. He certainly couldn’t hear her words over the noisy helicopter motors, had to rely solely on reading her lips.

  She repeated, slower, even more
exaggerated, “DHIL.”

  He got it. Sampson gave a quick nod and turned back inside. I guessed he was conferring with Jax or giving instructions to one of the other men.

  Seconds later, I noticed some kind of aircraft coming in from the opposite direction of the Flankers. At about two hundred yards away, it crossed our earlier path. It was an odd sort of plane, all black and triangular shaped. Probably going near Mach speed, it suddenly accelerated even faster, now the rapid pulsing of its engines—a sort of loud sputtering explosion—overwhelmed even our helicopter’s roar. This new plane streaked away, flying past the Flankers, over the next mountain ridge and disappearing before the SU-27s had time to even think about it. The contrail it left was as strange as the plane, looking like a white rope full of knots.

  Sunny must have seen me staring at the thing’s contrail signature.

  “Donuts on a rope,” she said, as I turned to her smiling face. “The Aurora.”

  The name sounded familiar. A concept plane—a top secret futuristic military aircraft that can fly seven times the speed of sound by virtue of a pulse-detonation wave engine. I was confused of why, and I was sure the Flanker pilots would be also, but not for long.

  Suddenly, the dawn sky filled with white streaks and in the next instant several of the SU-27s fired their countermeasures and jockeyed to avoid destruction from the incoming missiles. When I looked to the horizon in the opposite direction I couldn’t yet see where the rockets had come from.

  A couple of seconds later Sunny tugged on my arm.

  Her eyes were wide, staring back toward the landing field. “They’re lined up on us.”

  When I turned to see, white bursts came from two of the Flanker fighters and four air-to-air missiles shrieked toward us. The helo that carried us was much slower than even the jumbo jets, and its over-loaded cargo hampered it even more. Jax put the big whirlybird into a steep bank and tried to climb even faster.