Donovan Meanwhile: Kings of Sparta

by Bierley, B. L.

  Firing it up was a simple matter, since I had seen it done before the race. I had done it myself, in fact, although my actions had been directed by the poor, late Mr. Cartwright.

  Engines fired up.

  Systems go.

  I had already opened the hangar door at one end of the room, and I blast through it like—what else?—a rocket. The high-rise becomes small behind me, and eventually the entire New York skyline begins to shrink.

  I let myself smile. The missile carrying the nuclear warhead is in my sights, but I have miles to go before I reach it.

  I see a flash, and for a split second I think the nuke has started to detonate already—but the missile continues to climb.

  “That’s just the first stage of the rocket firing off.”

  Bellamy in my ear. Glad she’s watching.

  “It’ll do that again one more time before it reaches the atmosphere, and when that happens you’re gonna be screwed. When it comes back down it’ll be going too fast to do anything about.”

  “We’re all gonna be screwed.”

  “What exactly is your plan, anyway?”

  The Racers don’t have any weapons. They’re just meant for speed, not combat.

  So what is my plan?

  Well, obviously, a kamikaze mission.

  Point at the missile, eject just before impact and hope that I survived the resulting blast.

  But I wasn’t going to tell Bellamy that. She’d figure it out on her own, anyway.

  “I’ve got it from here,” I say. “Donovan, out.”

  I push the throttle as high as it will go. If my speedometer’s to be trusted, I’m zipping through the air at 350mph—and gaining.

  I realized this could almost be a test question.

  If a missile is launched going 250mph southwestward, and a Rocket Racer takes off 200 miles away going 350mph the same direction, how long would it take for the day to be saved?

  Then a variable enters.

  A blip on my radar coming up behind me, fast.

  Another Racer.

  It cuts up and across my nose, passing I swear just inches from the front of me as it hurtles up at an angle.

  And it’s pink.

  I dip and bank to dodge the attack, and before I can regain my heading the other jet has circled back for another swipe.

  Nadia swipes past me, forcing me to swerve again. I’m heading the entirely opposite for ten whole seconds. I have to assume her jet isn’t any more armed than mine was, so her plan must have been to simply delay me as long as possible.

  I dive under her and pull up into an arc overhead, twisting the stick so I’m upright again and heading for the missile.

  Nadia comes up behind me on the right, creeping alongside me with a terrible look in her eye.

  “You’ll never make it in time,” she says over the radio in the cockpit. “I’ll make sure of that, even if I have to take both of us out of the sky to do it.”

  “You’re going to have to. Or at least you’re welcome to try.”

  She banks toward me suddenly, but I’m ready for it and matched her maneuver, then sweep upwards and rolled over top of her so that I end up on her right this time.

  “Your fathers are dead,” I say. “Both of them, and so is the dream of an invasion! What’s the point of this?”

  “You know nothing of loyalty,” she hisses back at me. “You are only a visitor here in the Meanwhile. What does it matter to you what happens to these people?”

  “It matters because this world is as real as my own, and the people here are my friends. I can’t let you do this to them.”

  She laughs. “You’re so cute. Honestly, I don’t even care that much about the stupid invasion, I never did.”

  She takes another swipe at me with her wing, which I barely avoid.

  “Then why are you trying to stop me?” I shout.

  She smirks. “To see if I can.”

  I can tell she’s about to make another move so I dive down lower to the ground, skimming the along a freeway, although I’ll be honest I have no idea which one. If she wants to make it interesting, I’m going to make it interesting.

  There’s a pair of tall buildings coming up, apartment complexes. They’re coming up fast. I aim my Racer right in the middle of them, and she takes the bait.

  She’s neck-and-neck beside me as we both near the towers.

  I watch her, she watches me, we both watch the buildings grow larger and larger in our windscreens.

  Finally I bank to the left. She, simultaneously, bank to the right.

  We both slip through between the towers, our planes vertical and parallel to each other. I look up at her through the top of my cockpit, and she’s looking back down at me.

  After we clear the cooling towers we split apart and leveled out.

  “That was almost romantic,” she says.

  “Almost.”

  Another flash above us catches my eye. The missile just lost its second stage.

  Its heading towards the atmosphere now.

  “Dammit, Nadia! Don’t be insane! If you’re around when this nuke goes off you’re going to be just as toasted as the rest of us! Either get out of here or let me stop it!”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  I spot my next chance: A narrow tunnel over the highway devoid of traffic, but barely big enough for a semi truck to squeeze through, let alone a couple of Racers with fifteen foot wingspans. To fly through there might be considered attempted suicide.

  I head straight for it.

  Either I’m going to slip through, or die trying. Either way, it was the trying that was the important part.

  “You really want to do this?” Nadia asks me as we approach the tunnel.

  “Is that fear in your voice? We can call it off if you’re too worried.”

  “I’m not afraid!” she shouts. Man, she was such an easy mark.

  Seconds away from the tunnel now.

  Do or die time.

  It’s not too late to pull up, Donovan.

  And then it is.

  We rush into the tunnel and the sense of speed increases a thousand fold. The tunnel walls zip past, the lights overhead are just one line of glowing yellow.

  I glanced at my radar and can tell Nadia was just behind me.

  “You make it in?” I say mockingly.

  “I’ll be the only one who makes it out!”

  The tunnel has a slight curve in it, bending to the left. It’s unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. The tougher this is for me, the tougher it is for Nadia and the more chance that she wouldn’t make it out alive.

  I tip the stick gently. Too much and the jet would slam into the side of the tunnel. Too little, same result, different side.

  There’s no time to think at this speed, just act and react.

  The noise of our afterburners is deafening.

  Another bend, this one to the right.

  I see flashing orange as we approach.

  A construction warning, letting any drivers know the left side of the tunnel is closed ahead. I can see a huge, tall, flashing sign that reaches almost the top of the tunnel.

  I only have milliseconds to think, so I do the unthinkable, the most dangerous thing I can do in an already incredibly dangerous situation.

  I head straight for the sign.

  At this speed it would no doubt annihilate my jet. Even if that impact didn’t somehow, one of the dozens of resulting impacts with the walls and the roadway certainly would finish the job.

  But this is important. It is what I have to do.

  Don’t run.

  Don’t resist.

  Just survive.

  Nadia is right behind me, riding just outside the exhaust of my afterburner. There’s no way she could see past my tail. She was just trying to stay in lockstep with me.

  And that’s my advantage right now.

  At the very last, very last, very last split second moment I gently dip the stick to one side and then the other, all in one fast
motion. The jet banks and slips through the opening on the right, and suddenly revealing to Nadia the construction sign that was too close to avoid.

  I hear the explosion and see the walls of the tunnel glow a vibrant orange and red around my cockpit.

  Her blip disappears off my radar as I shoot out of the other end of the tunnel, pulling back on the stick as quickly as I can to avoid the overhead highway signs—and to hopefully reach the ascending ICBM in the sky before it was too late.

  But I don’t see the missile.

  “Donovan,” Bellamy says in my ear. “I know you don’t want to hear from me, but it’s too late. It’s in the atmosphere.”

  My heart sinks and my stomach goes sour. I look around frantically, hoping she’s wrong, but I know she’s not.

  I was in the tunnel having a competition with Nadia Chevko while a nuclear warhead was heading into the sky and I missed it.

  “I’m sorry, Bellamy. I’m sorry...everyone.”

  I’m sorry, Hanson. Sorry about so many things.

  “Donovan, you still have those shoes on you?”

  “Yeah.”

  Bellamy breaths into the microphone once. “It’s not too late for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You should go, while you can. Land, activate the shoes, and cross back over. Go home. You’ll be safe.”

  Run?

  “No, I can outfly the blast in this thing. I can stay and help you guys rebuild. This isn’t over yet. The MeanWatch still needs me—“

  “The MeanWatch is right in the sights of that missile, Donovan.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Tez did some calculations based on its trajectory. It’s coming right down on Washington, D.C. Right on the Pentagon.” Her voice gets distant. I can tell she’s letting the watch drop away from her face. “Tez should have been here with us. Dammit. I’m so sorry, Tez...”

  “Wait a minute, I’m almost to D.C. already.”

  “So?” Her voice is louder again. “Donovan, either turn around or go back home. Don’t do anything crazy.”

  “I only do crazy things. Are you asking me to be someone else? I’m Donovan Goddamn Meanwhile.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I like the sound of it.”

  I push the throttle to full again and fly straight and true, straight to the heart of Washington, D.C.

  When I see the Pentagon ahead of me, I look up and spot the tiny glow of the missile just coming back into the atmosphere. I pull back on the stick, and the jet climbs.

  Climbs.

  Climbs.

  Alarms star going off all over the cockpit. Stall warnings, fuel warnings, unsafe g-force warnings.

  I ignore all of them. I can’t let anything stop me.

  The ICBM is a few miles ahead of me, and I can see it’s shape and color now. A featureless beige javelin heading straight downwards. I press on.

  The cockpit grows cold as I gain altitude.

  Sounds I didn’t know I was hearing began to vanish until it’s just me, my breathing, my pulse, and the rumbling of the engine chewing up the last of my fuel.

  I keep an eye on my radar.

  One mile to go.

  Half a mile.

  A quarter.

  An eighth.

  I pull the eject lever below the seat. The windscreen pops off over head and I’m propelled upwards with so much force it makes me nauseous.

  The whole chair shoots out on a pressurized piston, sending it flying into the night, just as the Racer collides with the front of the missile.

  It sent the chair. It didn’t send me.

  Because, apparently, sometime landing in Chevko’s hangar and actually colliding with the ICBM, I accidentally activated the counterfeit Meanwhile shoes.

  Either that, or they’re just shoddily made.

  But when my body shoots up through the open canopy and into the sky, I hear that old familiar crackle, and suddenly find myself arcing through the quiet, clear black night, all alone, miles above the Eastern Seaboard, an entire dimension away from any thwarted nuclear detonation.

  It is, let me tell you, the single most terrifying and awe-inspiring, zen-like thing that’s ever happened to me.

  But I have no idea how I’m going to survive.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Falling through the air at that height, it’s dizzying. For the obvious reasons, sure, but also the air is so thin that I don’t think I’m getting enough oxygen to my brain.

  I heard the explosion just as I ejected, so I have to assume that I had struck my target.

  With the missile crippled or even destroyed, it would no longer function as a nuclear warhead. See, it’s more complicated than just smashing and blowing up. The mechanism inside the warhead has to be activated upon impact in order to create the nuclear reaction that causes the explosion.

  When the ICBM doesn’t work, neither does the mechanism.

  No nuclear boom, just a chunk of inert metal hitting the ground.

  Hitting the Pentagon, actually, but most of the building is cleared out this late at night, and either way it’s a helluva lot better than a nuclear explosion.

  Science lesson over, now back to me falling through the air at an ever-increasing speed with no parachute!

  I have to think fast, which is difficult, what with the lack of oxygen I already mentioned. (I mentioned that, right?)

  The only parachute near me wasn’t really near me because it was across a barrier into a parallel dimensions, attached to the back of the pilot seat that came out at the same time I did

  Had I still been strapped to that seat, I would be plummeting just as fast but with the reassuring knowledge that at a certain altitude the chute would automatically deploy and I would be safely, slowly, gently brought down to earth.

  How ironic (I think?). The seat is next to me, but nowhere near me.

  Not actually next to me, but theoretically.

  Theoretically...

  Unless I cross back over.

  I have to cross back over.

  But I need a doorway, a passage of some kind to make that happen.

  I hold my arms out in front of myself and make a hoop.

  Nope. That’s a dumb idea.

  I quickly do an inventory of everything I have on me.

  Shirt, pants, socks, underwear, belt, shoes—

  Belt!

  Still speeding recklessly towards the ground miles below me, I fiddle with my belt buckle and tug until the leather strap slips out of the loops around my waist and whips back and forth vertically in the rushing air.

  Careful to keep a tight grip, lest I lose it and then just count the seconds until I become Donovan Pancake (or, more likely, Donovan Jelly), I loop the belt back together and fasten it on the largest setting.

  Bam!

  Now I have a little hoop in front of me, a ring that I could, possibly, pass through.

  I shift my weight, and my body turned in mid-air so my head is pointed down toward the rapidly approaching ground, my feet straight up, and I hold the belt directly between me and the ground.

  I tap my feet together in the method to activate the shoes. I can’t hear the hum, nor see the glow, but I can feel a subtle vibration in my feet that I hope against hope means that the shoes have been activated.

  I close my eyes and say a little generic prayer, and then let go of the belt.

  It flies up over my head, past my shoulders, around my torso, over my waist, and past my legs.

  And I heard crackling.

  I open my eyes and I’m immediately greeted with a welcome sight:

  The burning, falling wreckage of a Rocket Racer jet and an ill-gotten ICBM.

  And to my right, a city block away and below me, the chair from the jet, still tumbling down.

  Still pointed straight downwards, I just twist my arms and legs as best I can until I’m angled toward the chair.

  It comes rushing up to meet me faster than I expected, and I nearly overshoot
it, but I manage to grab on to the edge with both hands, and for a few seconds the chair and I are tumbling through the air like drunken cats fighting. But, you know, in midair.

  And one of us was a chair.

  Anyway.

  Eventually inertia wins out and the chair stops spinning, and I am finally able to pull myself into it.

  I struggle to find the straps, but I finally do, and I swear the instant I hit the latch that buckles me in place the parachute gets released and I’m thrown forward into the restraints as the chute slows my descent.

  Had I gotten there a blinks-length later, I wouldn’t have been strapped in and the chair would’ve slipped right out from under me, and I would’ve met the ground in a very unfriendly way.

  I watch the flaming wreckage plummet below my feet and explode again as it lands in an empty part of the Pentagon parking lot.

  The chair takes another five minutes to reach the ground. I try to steer it as much as I can, but it wasn’t quite that sophisticated.

  When it lands, it lands just off the coast of Maryland in some damn icy cold water.

  I unhook myself before I even hit the surface, and immediately begin swimming to shore.

  Police and first responders start showing up about fifteen minutes later.

  But I’m already gone. Mastodon and Dweeble had been instructed to stay close by in case they were able to retrieve me. Fortunately for all of us, they were. They’re waiting by the side of the road as I climb out of the black New England water, and they give me a mini hero’s welcome before we hop in the Jeep and hit the road.

  I go back to MeanWatch HQ, where Bellamy is waiting with another hug.

  “So, protocol requires me to get a debriefing from you before anything else happens.” I nearly fall over at the thought of doing anything else but taking a cold shower right now. “But I think there’s someone you should see, first.” She grins, and sends me down to the bottom level, where Tez is waiting by an open door.

  It’s the room where I had my earpiece implanted, and now I realize it’s primary purpose is the infirmary.

  Hanson is awake there and hooked up to an IV drip.

  He smiles when I come in. “Hey, if it isn’t the Rocket Man.”

  “I know you didn’t just make an Elton John reference.”

  He chuckles coyly. “I really wanted to make a joke you’d get, so I had Tez look something up for me from your world.”