Rocket’s Red Glare

by David Hardy

  “Not so’s you’d notice.”

  “Well, the universe is a vast, vast place, far larger than our human imaginations could ever grasp on their own. Moons and planets and stars and solar systems and galaxies beyond limit. Many of those planets are inhabited by races other than our own, like the Atascans.”

  “Jalton is one of them,” Malloy said.

  “Yes, indeed. A good man. Though calling him a ‘man’ is stretching a point, isn’t it?” Crutcher waved a hand. “At any rate, over the past several thousand years, the Atascan Empire has spread over a significant portion of the galaxy in which we find ourselves. The Zuliss were part of that empire, but in recent times – the past hundred years or so – they’ve decided to withdraw and establish their own confederation. Naturally enough, the Atascans can’t allow this, so conflict has arisen. And from time to time, those of us from this planet find ourselves drawn into that conflict.”

  Jalton came back into the room carrying a pair of boots, trousers, and a shirt that looked like the ones he was wearing, along with Malloy’s flying jacket.

  “I’m afraid this is all we could salvage of your own garb, Lieutenant,” he said as he held up the jacket. “But these other garments should fit you.”

  “Thanks,” Malloy said. He’d been sitting on the edge of the bed or whatever it was. He slid off and experienced a moment of dizziness as his feet hit the floor, but his head settled down quickly. He’d always been able to bounce back from trouble. “Go on, Colonel,” he said as he started to pull on the clothes. “Keep spinning your yarn. That’s your job here, isn’t it? Explaining things to me so I don’t think I’ve gone loco?”

  “You could put it like that, Lieutenant. You should understand that our world is of no real strategic importance to either the Atascans or the Zuliss. But there are trade routes and supply lines that pass relatively near here, so both sides like to keep an eye on us, Earth being the only inhabitated planet in this solar system.”

  “There’s nobody on Mars, like in that War of the Worlds book?”

  Atascans chuckled like humans. Malloy knew that because that was how Jalton reacted to the question.

  “No, there’s not,” Crutcher said. “We have nothing to fear from Martians. The Zuliss, on the other hand... ”

  “I thought you said they don’t care about us.”

  “I said they have no strategic interest in Earth. That wouldn’t stop them from laying waste to the planet if the mood struck them. They’re savage, terrible, bloodthirsty creatures. That’s one reason the Atascans monitor the situation, so they can step in and aid humanity if the need arises. Inevitably, the two groups encounter each other, and then there are... skirmishes.”

  The shirt didn’t have any buttons. It just pulled on over the head. Malloy had already put on the trousers and slid his feet down into the boots. He didn’t have any socks, but the boots were lined with a material that seemed to take their place. He donned the shirt and then took the flying jacket from Jalton. He clutched it tighter than he intended. It was a physical reminder of the world he had come from.

  “You know what flaming onions are, Colonel?” he asked.

  Crutcher gave him a baffled frown. “I have no idea.”

  “We don’t know for sure, either, but we think they’re some sort of round fired by German anti-aircraft guns. There’ll be a whole string of ’em going off at once, bright green explosions that have downed a lot of our planes. Some of them nearly got me while I was going after that Boche supply train. But then I saw something else... It looked like one of the flaming onions, but it wasn’t. It didn’t blow up. It just kept coming at me. Then there was this red light that hit my Spad’s engine, and it conked out. So tell me, Colonel... did I get caught in the middle of one of those skirmishes you were talking about?”

  Crutcher smiled and said, “You’ve grasped things better than we had reason to hope for, Lieutenant. You’re a level-headed man, aren’t you?”

  “I try to be. I’d appreciate you answering the question.”

  “Of course. That ‘flaming onion’ you saw was an Atascan scout ship. The red ray came from a Zuliss destroyer. You really were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Yeah... falling out of a crippled crate thousands of feet in the air. How’d I get from there to here?”

  “When the scout ship saw you falling, they were able to catch you with... well, with a beam of light that held you up and pulled you into their ship. I’m not sure how else to describe it. There are so many things... ” Crutcher spread his hands. “There are so many things about these people and their machines that we just have no words for, Lieutenant.”

  Malloy could believe that. He said, “Why’d they want a guy like me?”

  “It was only right,” Jalton said. “The Zuliss were trying to destroy our ship when you were endangered. That made your fate our responsibility.”

  Crutcher said, “Besides, to be honest, the Atascans like to... shall we say... recruit an ally from our planet from time to time. Myself, for example.”

  “Yeah, I’ve been wondering about that,” Malloy said. “You claim they grabbed you during the Civil War?”

  “The War Between the States, yes. And they didn’t ‘grab’ me so much as rescue me. I was gravely injured, you see. Their little fellows were able to tend to my injuries and restore me to health, so that I stand before you hale and hearty today.”

  “And looking like you’re not more than forty years old.”

  “The way I understand it, that’s the way these things work. The little fellows insure that I age very, very slowly.”

  Malloy inclined his head toward Jalton. “Little fellows like this?”

  “Oh, no. Jalton is a medical officer. The fellows I refer to are much, much smaller. They’re placed in our bodies by a means I honestly fail to fathom, and there they remain, doing their work at the smallest, tiniest level.”

  Malloy frowned and drew back slightly. “I’ve got little Atascans running around inside me?”

  Quietly, Jalton said, “They are machines, not organic creatures, and so small you will never know they are there, Lieutenant. You will only reap the benefits of their efforts.”

  Malloy thought about that and then said, “I’m starting to lean toward being loco again.”

  Crutcher slapped him on the shoulder and said, “You’re of perfectly sound mind, I assure you. Now come along. The admiral wants to meet you.”

  Chapter 5: The Admiral

  Crutcher led Malloy into a long, slightly curving hallway with metal walls and ceiling and some sort of tiled floor. The corridor was well-lit, although when Malloy looked around, he couldn’t really tell where the light was coming from. The hall was empty except for the two of them, but Malloy sensed somehow there was a lot going on around them, unseen. He was used to having just the fragile wood and canvas of the Spad around him when he was aloft, but the... what was it Crutcher had called it?... the Malagar gave an impression of huge solidity.

  “What does this admiral want with me?”

  “To welcome you to his ship, I suspect. Unwitting though it may have been on your part, you are an emissary from the human race, as was I all those years ago. Also, he’ll probably want to question you about the Great War, as the newspapers and politicians call it. They can tell from their observations that it’s been raging for several years, but they’re still rather vague on all the whys and wherefores of it. As I am, to be honest. It all has to do with someone named... Ferdinand, is it?”

  “He’ll be asking the wrong guy,” Malloy muttered. “I don’t keep up with the politics. I was just in it for the fight, and for the chance to fly.”

  Crutcher frowned in thought at that.

  After a moment, Malloy asked, “What’s this admiral fella like?”

  “Admiral Romurr is a fine officer. A bit on the ambitious side, but what good commander isn’t? I had my own ambitions, back when I was serving with the Seventh Illinois.” Crutcher’s voice tightened. “Then
the blasted Rebels attacked us at a place called Collierville. A completely unimportant battle in the larger tapestry of the war, as it turned out and as I learned later, but still a turning point for me. I almost lost my life there. I was grievously wounded, but then I saw an angel descending in a ball of light from Heaven... ” His shoulders gave a little shake. “Another Atascan scout ship, of course, but at the time I thought I was about to have the honor meeting St. Peter himself. Ah, here we are.”

  For no particular reason Malloy could see, another section of wall slid back as the colonel turned toward it. They went through it into a large room filled with flashing lights and what looked to Malloy like windows onto another world. Gray-skinned Atascans, wearing uniforms like Jalton’s but in varying colors, hurried from place to place or stood in front of the odd machinery with solemn looks on their noseless faces. Maybe any face without a nose was going to look solemn to him, Malloy thought.

  One of the Atascans, shorter but wider than most of the others, wearing a forest green jacket over a uniform of the same shade, turned and came toward Malloy and Crutcher. Malloy had seen some generals in his time. He figured an admiral would be the same sort, so this had to be Admiral Romurr.

  “Colonel,” he greeted Crutcher as he nodded. There was no exchange of salutes, which Malloy had been halfway expecting. He supposed the Atascans regarded Crutcher as a civilian despite his rank in the Union Army. “This is Lieutenant Malloy?”

  “Yes, Admiral.”

  Malloy figured it might not be a bad idea to follow protocol, no matter where he was or who he was dealing with. He drew himself to attention and lifted a salute. “Admiral.”

  Romurr looked at Crutcher and asked, “What is the phrase I’m looking for?”

  “At ease,” Crutcher suggested.

  “At ease, Lieutenant,” Romurr said, although he didn’t return the salute. That was all right with Malloy. Like most pilots, he wasn’t that big on formality. “Welcome to the Malagar. I trust you’re feeling better?”

  “Than when you folks plucked me out of the sky before I could fall to my death? Yes, sir, considerably better.”

  That was true. Malloy had never felt more full of energy. Those ‘little fellows’ were good at their job, whatever they were.

  “Colonel Crutcher has explained things to you?”

  “Mostly. I was wondering, though... how is it you fellas speak English?”

  “We’ve been on patrol in this region of space for quite some time, Lieutenant. We speak most of the languages common on your planet. Never know who you’ll have to deal with, eh?”

  Malloy found himself liking the admiral, more so than he did Colonel Crutcher, to be honest. The colonel was more stiff-necked, and his attempts to be friendly didn’t always ring true.

  Besides, he was a Yankee.

  None of that applied to Romurr, who seemed more... well, down to earth was an odd way of looking at it under the circumstances, but that was how Malloy regarded the admiral. Some officers just had the common touch and could talk to everybody from kings and presidents to the enlisted men huddling in the trenches.

  “I’m sure a lot of this is very strange to you,” Romurr went on. “I’m told that you flew aircraft in your species’ Great War.”

  “A Spad,” Malloy said. “Nice little crate. Hisso engine and twin synchonized Vickers guns.”

  Romurr nodded slowly and looked like he was thinking about something. Then he said, “How would you like to fly for us?”

  Chapter 6: Scout Ship

  “This is a bad idea,” Jalton said. “You have not yet recovered sufficiently from your ordeal, Lieutenant Malloy.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Malloy assured the medical officer. “You sawbones always worry too much.”

  “Sawbones?”

  “Doctor.”

  “Ah. Of course. Although Atascan physicians have not been forced to resort to, ah, sawing bones for many hundreds of your years.”

  Malloy nodded toward the Atascan officer coming across the big, high-ceilinged room toward them. “I reckon that must be Captain Nualla.”

  “Indeed,” Jalton murmured.

  Nualla was a female Atascan, Malloy had been told, but you couldn’t prove it by him, not by looking at her. Jalton might be able to see the differences, but he couldn’t. All he could tell was that her movements were brisk and self-assured, just the sort of attitude he liked to see in a pilot.

  She walked up to the two of them where they stood beside the scout ship. “Jalton,” she said. “This is Lieutenant Malloy?”

  “That’s me,” Malloy said without waiting for Jalton to perform the introductions. He stuck out a hand, not knowing if Atascans utilized such a gesture but not caring that much, either. “Dave Malloy.”

  Nualla gripped his hand without hesitation, a six-fingered grip that felt a little odd but not bad. Evidently the Atascans understood about shaking hands.

  “Admiral Romurr tells me I am to familiarize you with our scouting vessels.”

  “Yep.” Malloy reached up and patted the ship’s fuselage. “Mighty fine-looking crate.”

  The Atascan scout ship was bigger than his Spad, about twice as long, like a Gotha bomber, but its wingspan was smaller. It was made out of metal and some other substance Malloy wasn’t familiar with and had very sleek lines, with an undercarriage and landing gear that didn’t seem sturdy enough to support its weight. Not a bit of canvas or wood in sight. The stubby wings stuck out from each side. Malloy wasn’t sure how it managed to fly, but obviously it did. He had seen a craft just like it darting around in the skies over war-torn France.

  “What sort of engine does it have?” he asked Captain Nualla.

  “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. The details would be more than you could comprehend, I’m afraid.”

  Malloy grinned. “Well, to tell you the truth, I don’t know all that much about how the engine in my plane worked. I’ve got a good mechanic for that. All I know is how to fly the durned thing. That came pretty natural to me. This engine of yours, though, it puts out green fire, doesn’t it?”

  “It generates a gravitational nullifying field that... Yes, I suppose you could say it puts out green fire.”

  “Show me how to start it up and how the controls work, and I can fly this baby.”

  It was hard to read expressions on the noseless faces, but Malloy thought Nualla wore a look of consternation. “Our soldiers require much training before they are able to pilot these craft with a degree of skill.”

  “I don’t doubt it. I’ve got a feel for planes, though. Just like I could ride a buckin’ bronc the first time I climbed into the saddle.”

  Nualla looked at Jalton, who shook his head and said, “I believe he refers to one of the indigenous creatures known as a horse.”

  “That’s right,” Malloy said. His drawl had become more pronounced. He still wasn’t completely convinced he hadn’t lost his mind, but if this was some loco dream, he was going to enjoy himself.

  “This is no bucking bronc, as you’ll see,” Nualla said. “Come on. We board here.”

  Part of the ship’s fuselage opened up on its own. Malloy heard what sounded like motors whining. The Atascans didn’t do anything themselves that they could make a machine to do.

  The scout was a two-seater, but they were side by side rather than one in front of the other like the two-seaters Malloy had flown in. Nualla took the left-hand seat and motioned him into the right.

  The wall in front of the seats seemed to be blank and solid. Malloy frowned at it and asked, “How do you see where you’re going?”

  Nualla turned a knob and the wall dissolved. Well, not dissolved, exactly. Malloy had a feeling that if he reached out, he could touch it, but it no longer looked like it was there. Instead he saw the open space in front of the ship. The really odd thing, though, was the way glowing numbers and dials and gauges lit up in the middle of the air in front of the seats. He’d never seen anything like it, but he grasped the purpose and said, “Those are yo
ur instruments, aren’t they?”

  “That is correct.” Nualla reached up and touched one of the lights.

  Malloy felt a faint vibration and heard a low hum. “You just cranked up the engine.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you didn’t even need anybody to spin the prop.”

  “I am not certain what that means, but... no, the engine is controlled from here.”

  “Where’s the oil pressure gauge?” Before Nualla could answer, Malloy waved away the question. “Never mind. You probably don’t have one.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Show me what you do have.”

  For the next few minutes, Nualla instructed him on the ship’s controls, both the physical ones and the phantoms that floated in mid-air. He didn’t really understand when she talked about reactors and mixing tachyon streams, but he instinctively grasped a surprising amount of what she was saying.

  “So this makes it go?” He pointed to a light.

  “Yes.”

  “And this is the rudder?”

  “If I understand the term properly, yes.”

  “Not sure what else I need to know. Let’s take her up for a spin.”

  “The ship is not her. It has no sex.”

  “Sure,” Malloy said, but he knew the captain was wrong. He’d never handled a crate before that wasn’t like a woman. You had to know how to coax her into doing what you wanted, but once you did...

  Man, there was nothing sweeter.

  Chapter 7: A Spin

  “Whooo-hooo!” Malloy yelled.

  He had thought it was fun doing barrel rolls in the Spad. That had nothing on this crate, which he was already thinking about dubbing the Whirlwind.

  Big doors had opened up in what Captain Nualla called the flight deck, and the scout ship had zoomed out of there like it was propelled by a giant slingshot. At 40,000 feet, the air was so thin it provided little resistance as the ship banked and dived and climbed and looped. At times Malloy felt like a giant hand was pressing him back in the seat. Nualla explained that they were pulling more than one gravity. Malloy thought about it and nodded in understanding.