by CreateSpace
“And go home.”
“And try again.”
She nodded.
The shuttle eased forward as she used short thruster boosts to return along the path. Dawes was hanging where they left him, just off the left wing now.
“Glad you came back,” his voice crackled in the radio.
“Never ever unhook yourself from the rope man.”
“Good advice Carver.”
“Get your ass back in here so we can go home.”
“We're gonna miss,” she said through gritted teeth.
Carver leaned his body to the side as if will alone could adjust their path and bring them closer.
They watched Dawes drift past.
He reached out a gloved hand and snapped the tip of the wing with his fingers. He clawed along the smooth surface. His glove caught on a ragged strip of metal and ripped another hole. The oxygen shoved out and pushed him in a somersault away from the shuttle.
He spied the tether and grasped it with the other hand. No time to fix the leak, he hauled himself up the rope toward the open airlock. The alarm beeped in his helmet as he watched the display levels of his air disappear. Ten yards from the airlock, he ran dry.
He took a deep breath and held it as he hauled himself in.
Six yards.
Spots started dancing in front of his eyes.
Three yards.
His burning lungs made his diaphragm spasm. He blew out the air in his lungs, trying to fool his body, convince it that he would take a breath just as soon as all the air was out of his lungs.
He yanked himself through the airlock and hit the close button. His body rebelled, lungs crying for air and he opened his mouth to gasp as the airlock slid closed.
There was no air inside the hatch. His body shook as he slowly choked and passed out.
Carver stood outside of the airlock on the interior of the ship.
“Why ain't he coming out?”
“Get him,” said Rachel.
Carver spun the wheel, pressed the panel to unlock the door. It slid up. Dawes spilled out onto the narrow floor of the cockpit.
“You think he's dead?”
Rachel pushed next to him and struggled to rip the helmet off Dawes head.
“He's not breathing.”
Dawes was cold, limp, turning blue.
“Give him CPR,” Carver suggested. “I ain't touching those fish lips.”
Rachel leaned over and blew air into his lungs.
“Pump his chest,” she scooted over. “Start compressions.”
Carver dropped and gave a three-count pump to Dawes heart. Rachel leaned over and blew his lungs full of air. Carver pumped again. Rachel was leaning down to blow when Dawes coughed and sucked in a great lungful. He moaned and opened his eyes.
“I have got to get me one of them kisses girl.”
Dawes coughed again.
“What took you so long?”
“That girl wanted to get a little busy without you being all up in my business man.”
“That was quick then,” Dawes said as he struggled to keep up. “Best thirty seconds of her life.”
“Fuck you man.”
Carver stared at Dawes and grinned. Dawes grinned right back at him. They reached out and shook hands as they helped each other stand.
“You two want to get a room?”
“That would be a story to tell someone on the road, wouldn't it?” said Dawes. “First ménage a trois in outer space.”
“Who said you were the first?” her eyes flashed as she floated over to the seats and strapped in.
“I think I'm going to have to hear more about that,” said Carver as he settled in next to her.
He left just enough room on the seat for Dawes to share.
“After we get home,” she said.
“What now?” asked Dawes.
“We burned most of our fuel to come get you,” Rachel told him.
“That was stupid.”
“Yeah, and your redneck ass better come up with something quick.”
“Did we call for a pick up?”
“Radio's busted.”
Dawes glanced down at the duct tape in the palm of his glove.
“How much air do we have?”
Rachel shot him a wicked grin.
“You fucking genius.
She typed on the keyboard and began a series of calculations on the monitor.
“Air?” Carver said. “We need our air don't we?”
“You ever coasted into a gas station on fumes?” Dawes asked him.
“Why would you say that man? A black man gotta drive til there ain't no more gas?”
The nose of the shuttle craft spun around as Rachel keyed in their destination.
“I would tell you to strap in,” she said. “But this trip is going to take awhile. The landing is going to be rough. We'll be in a degrading orbit, but I don't know where we'll come in. But we are going to come in hot and hard.”
Dawes shot up an eyebrow at Carver.
“Nothing?”
“I don't like the easy one's man.”
“Your dating record says otherwise.”
Carver grinned.
“Laugh now boys, because when we get to earth, it's going to hurt.”
CHAPTER FORTY
General Houston glared at the holographic projection in the control room. The dots on the map were all blank now, the Lucas gone along with the shuttle and the alien ship.
He looked past Planet Nine where a new dot was cropping up every couple of seconds. They had just started a minute ago and already there were twenty four. He wasn't sure what it represented, except that earth had been discovered and bad stuff was coming their way.
“Sir,” a Technician brought him a tablet.
“What is it?”
“Sensors picked up an inbound bogey about ten minutes ago.”
Were they here already? They weren't prepared. None of them were prepared.
“Where is it?”
“It's a controlled descent Sir, but it's not coming in on a normal pattern.”
“Meteor? Alien?”
“Friendly General.”
“Friendly?”
“We got eyes on it at the space station before it went over the horizon. It's the shuttle.”
Houston glared at the tablet as if force of will would make it give him more answers.
“Get me the jet.”
The Technician hurried away to comply.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
“I am going to kick your ass when we land,” Carver shouted. They shuttle had started its descent and so far things were good. If you were Dawes or Rachel strapped into the cushioned pilot and co-pilot's seat.
Carver was duct taped to a wall, cushions and material behind his head. He was cocooned in a web of tape that kept him from moving, and kept him safe. Except for his mouth, which was still free.
Dawes lost the debate on whether that should happen or not.
“You drew the short straw.”
“I am a motherfucking hero of earth,” Carver complained. “This is no way to treat a hero.”
“There wasn't enough room on the couch.”
“Fuck you and the couch man. This shit ain't funny.”
“You're a tough guy, you can take it.”
“How about you take my foot up your ass.”
“Relax Carver,” said Rachel. “We'll be down in ten minutes if we make it.”
“I can't feel my foot.”
“We'll make it,” Dawes assured her.
The view screen started glowing as they skipped along the edge of the atmosphere.
“Oops,” Rachel leaned up and vented air.
“Oops?” Carver screamed.
“We almost bounced off the atmosphere. That would have been bad.”
“Girl you don't scream oops on reentry.”
“Isn't that what all of your dates say?” Dawes shouted over the roar of flames that licked the body of the shuttle.
“This shit ain't funny.”
Outside the shuttle the ceramic tiles turned from matte black to fiery red as the spacecraft dropped through the atmosphere.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Houston paced the aisle between rows of jump seats in a modified Harrier Jet. The Harrier was unique among aircraft with a vertical landing and takeoff that could shift into an airplane once it reached altitude. The engines on this plane were designed to do the same, except the huge rockets made the craft capable of carrying cargo, and in this instance humans.
The General commissioned the design and execution as part of the Space Corp project, and he was particularly proud of this bird, his own personal vehicle when not being used for other purposes.
An airman marched up the aisle and fell in behind the General.
“Sir,” he saluted and passed him a sheet of paper. “Landing coordinates.”
“Well,” Houston ignored the proffered paper. “Where is it?”
“You're not going to like it Sir.”
“Get me there ten minutes ago.”
The airman double timed it up to the cabin to relay the instructions to the pilot. The General felt the thrum of engines as the pilot increased their airspeed. He didn't hear them but he could imagine the sonic booms they left in their wake.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Sonic booms echoed over the eastern seaboard, rocking houses and convincing some folks that the end of the world was nigh. Beachcombers searching for shells looked up at a meteor that streaked out of the atmosphere and left a blazing trail in the sky as it ran parallel to the seashore.
Inside the shuttle, Rachel fought the bucking controls. A computer was good for space control, the automated sequences enough to issue commands and relay instructions. Once the shuttle hit atmosphere it was old fashioned flying.
There was a yoke control in the panel for every landing and right now it squirmed and shimmied in her iron like grip and she flexed to keep the nose up. At least the flames had stopped and they could see blue sky through the view screen. They still trailed smoke, alarms on the interior filling the narrow cockpit with a dozen warning klaxon rings. Carver’s screams didn't help.
The shuttle rocketed past DC, shedding tiles, panels and pieces that plopped down in the waters of the Potomac.
Rachel worked to adjust airspeed as the computer ran through calculation after calculation. Even if she had control of the yoke, she relied on the machine to do most of the heavy lifting. It aimed for their destination and she just worked to bring them in in one piece.
The shuttle streaked over the waters off the coast of Delaware and dropped lower toward the City. It came in across Lower Manhattan, streaking between buildings and hit on the edge of Central Park.
The craft broke apart as it tumbled and rolled down the vast expanse of the park. Carver screamed as it gouged through the earth, Dawes and Rachel joined him. The last roll left them upside down and silent.
Dirt trickled through the frame, all that's left of the shuttle craft after it scarred the metal. The alarms didn't survive the landing, just the creaks of metal and electronic buzzing broke the silence.
“Carver,” Dawes coughed.
“What the hell you want man?” Carver moaned.
“We're home.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Dawes and Rachel peeled Carver off the wall. The left straps of the duct tape on his suit, more intent on getting him out than making him look good.
The trio limped from the wreckage as sirens blared from a contingent of NYPD's finest racing to the scene. News Helicopters rotated on the periphery of the park to capture the madness.
“Think I can call my momma?” Carver asked.
“When we get arrested,” said Rachel.
“Better call your cousin,” Dawes told him. “Tell him about the truck.”
“Shit man, I forgot about the truck. My cousin is going to kill me.”
“Just tell him what happened.”
“That I got kidnapped and sent into outer space to fight aliens and save the world?”
“Exactly.”
“You don't know my cousin.”
The air behind them is split by a roar as the Harrier Cargo Jet hovers down from the skyline. It settled onto the scarred meadow as the cargo door split open. General Houston marched out followed by three armed guards.
The media hovered over the park broadcasting it all in high definition.
Houston stopped in front of Rachel.
“Are you the only one?”
“Yes sir,” she answered.
“I'm sorry for your loss. Gary was a good man.”
Rachel bowed her head. Houston put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. When he looked at Dawes and Carver, the kindness fled and was replaced by controlled rage.
“Why didn't you men tell me who you were.”
“We tried to but your ass wouldn't listen.”
Houston's glare zeroed in on Carver.
“Sir,” Carver squeaked.
The General nodded.
“Fair enough. You got the mission done,” he glanced over his shoulder at the carnage in the park and the hovering helicopters. “I guess our secret project is out in the open now.”
He motioned them to follow them onto his plane.
“The aliens are killed General.”
“That batch,” he said in a weary voice. “That was the scout party. Their main force is massing on the edge of the galaxy and we lost our flagship.”
“There are more of them?”
“Did you think that was it?”
“We watched them hatch little baby aliens from alien eggs,” said Carver. “You said they were growing their invasion.”
Houston stopped on the ramp.
“I'm going to need a complete debrief so we can prepare for this. They were growing their invasion?”
“That's what it looked like,” said Dawes.
“From eggs,” Carver added. “Alien eggs. Are you saying it ain't going to be over easy?”
They stared at him but he either didn't realize he made a joke, or was holding out as the straight man for too long.
“They have seventy-four ships at our borders,” Houston said. “If each of them is creating an invading force...”
They watched his face go white.
After a moment, he led them into the waiting cargo jet.
“You two did a good job.”
“Job? You mean I'm getting paid?”
“How about a medal?”
“Medal?” Carver's voice carried across the park. “You said job man. I got to make at least thirty dollars an hour.”
“Are you going to pay for my shuttle?”
“What kind of medal are we talking about Sir?”
The cargo bay of the plane folded closed as the Harrier lifted off from the park leaving a team of Haz Mat clad technicians arriving in plain black trucks to clean up the mess.
THE END
Thank you for taking the time to read SUPER SECRET SPACE MISSION. If you enjoyed it, please consider telling your friends or posting a short review. Word of mouth is an author’s best friend. Thank you. Chris
About the Author:
Chris Lowry is an avid adventurer and ultrarunning author. He divides his time between Florida, Arkansas and California where he trains for 100 mile Ultramarathons. He has completed over 68 races, including 18 marathons and 12 Ultramarathons and is planning a Transcontinental Run across the United States from Los Angeles to New York City in 2017. He has kayaked the Mississippi River solo, and biked across the state of Florida. When not outdoors, he is producing and directing a documentary film about adventure and writing. His novels include Sci-Fi thrillers, Spy thriller's and mainstream fiction. He loves good craft beer and meeting with reading clubs and running clubs, especially if the aforementioned beer is offered.
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Can I send you a copy of CONSCRIPTED for FREE?
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