by M. Alan Marr
***
CHEZ CHAZ
NEW ZEALAND
1800 HOURS
Steve is standing at the wall of windows in the living room staring out at the ocean. The sun is starting its certain decline toward the west. The sudden sound of the blender startles him. Annette is in the kitchen, making margaritas.
“You are not yourself today,” she remarks. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, Annette, I’m good.” Steve looks back out the windows and considers his predicament. Since arriving at the house, he spent most of the day in his room, trying to figure out how to tell everyone what’s really going on. With the answer still eluding him, Steve forces himself to temporarily cast off his worries and enjoy his proverbial last day on Earth.
Everyone is outside at the pool. Matt is sunbathing on a raft, and good Lord, he didn’t earn his nickname for nothing. He is very, very skinny. Steve walks out with Annette and decides to join them. He pulls his shirt off and leaves it on a chair, along with his phone, and dives right in the water before anyone can give him any grief or ask questions.
“Steve, you’re alive!” Matt says in good cheer. “We thought you were going to sleep all day.”
“I’m alive.” Steve tries to be himself, but everyone knows him well enough to know he’s distracted. Annette pours margaritas for everyone, but Steve declines. He needs a clear head for the task at hand.
Eighty thousand feet up in the Recon ship, Chaz monitors the pilot station on their ever-so-slow flight. New Zealand is in view, as the daylight ahead begins to wane. The ship is safely concealed in darkness on the night side of the terminator. The ship is very quiet, as the engines are producing minimal thrust. Dev stands at the holographics table looking over a 3D image of New Zealand. The display shows the approaching night creeping closer and closer toward the islands. At this point, it is only a matter of hours.
Dev expands the topographic map to zero in on Chaz’s house. Dev keys the system to highlight the inhabited areas and is relieved to see that virtually all activity is well north and west of the house. That in mind, he begins looking for an appropriate rendezvous site to the east.
Dev finds an appropriate site a little over a mile away from the house. A few keystrokes, and a walking course projects from the house to the clearing. “I have a good landing site, Chaz. I’m going to send the coordinates to Steve.”
Back at the pool, Steve’s Ti-Phone, sitting under his shirt on a lounge chair, signals an inbound text message.
“Hey!” Jen exclaims. “How come you get to have your phone?”
Steve quickly swims over to the edge, gets out, and dries his hands on a towel before picking up the phone. “It’s from Dev, Jen.” The text is an underlined set of coordinates. Steve touches the link, which opens up the maps program. The walking course to the target area appears. A smaller set of non-iPhone box graphics opens on the bottom of the screen and populates from left to right with a timer counting down from T-minus five hours. The display shows hours, minutes, seconds, and tenths of seconds. The rapidly decreasing tenths seems to stress the point that time is quickly running out. Steve looks at the map. Clearly, this is where and when Dev wants them to be. Now it’s a matter of getting everyone in position. Five hours, Steve thinks, and then checks his watch. How am I going to get everyone there in five hours? It will be like herding cats. Steve, for the sake of appearance, pretends to type a reply text, then closes the screen and tosses the phone down.
“Well, what did he say?” Jen demands.
“Just wanted to make sure we got here safely.” Steve puts the towel over his head and dries his hair to avoid the conversation. He stops suddenly when the idea came to him—That’s it.
Casually, Steve puts his towel down and walks around the pool and then stops in a spot convenient for addressing everyone. “Guys?” he calls out. “What do you say we go on a hike tonight?”
A miserable-sounding “Hiking?” is the grumbling discontent shared by everyone except Harrison, who doesn’t say anything.
“That’s exactly what I was going for,” Steve says.
Jen pulls her sunglasses down a little and complains, “Hiking? Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Steve replies. “This is supposed to be a crew retreat.”
“Well, why can’t we just retreat to the pool?”
“You can lie by the pool anywhere, Jen,” Steve counters.
“Skinny Merle don’t know nothing about no hiking. Lordy,” Matt says with affectation.
A low-level argument breaks out within the group. Steve puts an end to it and spits it out. “Guys, if you want to know all there is to know about Dev and Chaz, come camping with me tonight.”
A long pause follows.
Harrison breaks his silence. “They put you up to this?”
Steve seizes the opportunity. “Yes. And you wouldn’t want to disappoint them, would you?”
There is mixed chatter about this. Why do their employers want them to go hiking at night? Why would they put Steve up to this? Why didn’t they fly to New Zealand in their own plane? What are their secrets? The burning questions lingering in their minds seem to make the notion of camping somehow more palatable.
Steve is pretty distant for the rest of the day. Dinner comes and goes without another word about the hike. Nobody mentions it again, secretly hoping Steve has forgotten the whole idea. He hasn’t.
Later that night, Steve calls everyone into the kitchen. Steve is wearing one backpack and carries an empty one. Since the idea of hiking was so unpalatable, he opted to refer to it as a moonlight walk and promises to answer all questions about their employers when they get there. He tosses the empty backpack to Harrison. “Harr, grab some wine and water. Oh, and better grab your flashlights.”
“What flashlights?” Annette says.
Steve lets out an exasperated sigh. “Pilots, flashlights.”
The pilots get their flashlights. Steve gives his flashlight to Franz and fires up the flashlight on his Ti-Phone and leads the group into the night. Steve pauses in the front lawn and looks at the navigation screen on his phone and slowly turns until the walking course centers. “This way.”
On they walk, leaving subtle landscape lights around the house behind and soon finding themselves walking into the unknown. Jen keeps looking back at the house and lights getting smaller in the distance. When the group loses sight of the house completely, the novelty of this exercise wears off just as completely.
“Explain to me why it is, exactly, we’re walking into the unknown countryside, at night, on a foreign island?” Jen says. “Are there any dangerous animals out here?”
“Murderous sheep,” Matt speculates.
Jen counters, under her breath, “Murderous chief pilot maybe.”
The walking course seems to follow natural contours of the landscape. Nothing too rocky or too steep, nothing precarious, but unnerving just the same. The rising of the moon made the trek a little less scary.
A mile from where they started, the group trudges onward into a very large clearing in the middle of nowhere. No signs of civilization. No lights. No houses. No cars. The moon is out and providing plenty of light, enough to not even really need the flashlights. Matt and Annette start a childlike chorus of Are we there yet? that immediately gets under Jen’s skin.
“I feel like I’m on the freakin’ Bataan Death March,” Jen says, to no one in particular.
Steve walks the troop to the center of the wide open space and checks the map in his phone to confirm the coordinates sent by Dev. They’re in the right place, exactly 1.02 miles from where they started. Steve stops and turns an about-face. “We’re here.”
The group lets out an exhausted sigh, letting loose with a lot of complaining, to Steve’s dismay.
“Are you kidding?” Steve says. “We only walked for a mile.”
“Do you see the shoes I’m wearing?” Annette says with irritation.
Matt directs his flashlight at Annette’s feet, illuminating h
er spaghetti strap sandals. “Oh my.”
“Who goes hiking in those shoes?” Steve says.
“Blondes,” Harrison jokes, earning him a swift slap across his arm on one side by Annette, and a much firmer slap on the other by Jen.
“Dickhead,” Jen adds.
Annette says defensively. “I’ve never gone hiking.”
“I have,” Jen says. “And I hated it.”
“There’s a surprise,” Harrison retorts for her dickhead remark as he takes his backpack off and hands Franz the two wine bottles, then hands out waters to everyone.
“Dov’è qui?” Milo says, looking around. “Where is here?”
Matt is winded. “Middle of nowhere, looks like.” He turns to Steve. “Are you sure it was only a mile? Because it felt like ten.”
“Are you okay?” Steve says with concern.
“Yeah,” Matt replies, unconvincingly.
“Now what?” Jen says, opening a bottle of water and handing it to Matt.
“Thanks, Jen.”
“Now, we bond together as a crew,” Steve says.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Jen says fretfully. “We couldn’t have bonded somewhere with a toilet?”
“Guys, Dev and Chaz are going to meet us here.”
“Here?” Harrison says.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“Why?”
“Because this is where they want to meet us.”
“How are they getting here?”
“We’ll get to that.”
“It better be a limo,” Jen says.
Later, they all sit in a circle. Flashlights are off. Their eyes have fully adjusted in the moonlight. Annette is nestled against Harrison. Milo is next to Franz. Jen and Matt each sit alone, as does Steve. The wine has helped ease some of the dissension. The sounds of the night have Jen on edge. Every time she hears something, she darts her head around as if some wild animal is lurking.
Circumstances (and attitudes) aside, the evening is warm and beautiful. The stars are all out tonight. Steve glances at his Ti-Phone, which is showing the countdown timer only minutes away from ending.
Steve begins, “So, guys . . . there’s some stuff you don’t know about our employers.”
“Like what?” Jen says, finally letting go of the snottiness.
“Well, for one thing, Dev’s money. He’s a billionaire.”
“Holy shit,” Jen says. “Billionaire? With a B? I mean, we knew he had millions, but billions?”
“I can’t even equate that to anything,” Annette says.
Matt turns to Annette. “A billion is a thousand-million.”
“That’s a lot of zeros.”
“What does he do?” Matt says. “Dev said it’s family money, but I don’t buy it.”
Steve decides to wing it. “He does have family money. But he’s got this . . . invention. It’s something nobody’s ever seen before.”
The mood around the circle has taken on a sort of ghost story feeling. There is intrigue, and a little chill runs down everyone’s spine.
“What is it?” Jen says cautiously. “What’s it do?”
Steve looks at each of them before answering, realizing his time is almost up. “It’s a zero-gravity system.”
“What?” Jen says incredulously.
“Like anti-gravity?” Harrison says. “For real?”
Steve looks at him. “For real. I’ve seen it.”
Jen’s mood switches from intrigue to inquisitor and repeats what Steve said. “You’ve seen it.”
“I’ve ridden in it.”
“You’ve ridden in it?” Matt says. “So it’s a vehicle.”
“Yes.”
“So, then,” Jen says, trying to put the pieces together, “why are we here?”
“Listen,” Steve explains, “there’s a reason we all had to sign confidentiality agreements. There’s a reason any passenger who comes aboard Oasis has to sign one as well: they can’t risk anyone learning about their business. We had to come here because there aren’t a lot of people around. This thing . . . it’s not ready . . . for the public. If it gets out, it would . . . change things.”
Matt shakes his head. “No, it would change everything. Our jobs, for starters.”
“What do you mean?” Harrison says.
“Our jobs as pilots,” Matt explains, “rely on our ability to fly aircraft based on aerodynamic principles. We have a very specialized skill set that takes years of experience to apply with success. What do you think is going to happen when you can flip a switch and apply an anti-gravity field to . . . a car or boat, or even an airplane?”
“What?” Jen says, the answer eluding her.
“Unemployment,” Matt says. “That’s what.”
Harrison scoffs, “How do you know that?”
“Because I went to Yale.” Matt realizes that reply was very snotty. “I’m sorry, Harr, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.” He takes a breath. “We may be thanking our lucky stars that Dev and Chaz hired us, because at our age, if this thing is for real, long before any of us retire, your common, everyday pilot may become as outmoded as lamplighters.”
Franz turns to Matt. “That’s what they teach at Yale?”
Matt tries to explain. “They teach critical thinking.” He smiles and adds, “And also how to always work the phrase I went to Yale into every conversation.”
“Well, you certainly got your money’s worth,” Jen jabs.
“In Matt’s defense,” Steve interjects, “this is the first time since his interview I’ve heard him mention Yale.”
“Oh yeah?” Franz interrupts. “Well, I went to the Cordon Bleu, and none y’all seem to be complaining about the grub.”
“You guys are all dumb,” Annette says. “I went to Cuyahoga Community College, and I fly around the world in a 767, and all I have to do is pour champagne and point at exit doors and look pretty.”
“You go, girl,” Matt says, holding up the bottle of wine.
“Seriously,” Harrison says to Steve, “what’s the story?”
A small argument erupts within the circle, bickering back and forth about who is right and who is wrong, why Steve has kept them in the dark, and there is a lot of sniping. Steve quickly loses control of the situation. He checks his Ti-Phone and finally raises his voice. “They want us here so nobody will see the ship!”
The bickering stops instantly. No one speaks, and then, finally, Jen does, softly.
“So when do we get to see this technical wonder?”
Just then, Steve’s Ti-Phone begins sounding a repeating tone. He quickly silences it and looks at his friends. “Any second now.”
The soft sounds of an aircraft can be heard. Steve knows the answer to Jen’s question is at hand. The tension mounts. The ghost story feeling returns, compounded by the fact that all of the insects and sounds of the night have suddenly silenced themselves. Harrison and Matt notice the absence and look around.
“Well?” Jen says, oblivious to the silence she just broke.
“Look up,” Steve says.
The whole group arches their heads back at the same time. Their eyes and ears connect the sound to the source. They all haphazardly get to their feet.
Jen gasps. “Oh my God, you were serious?”
“Holy shit,” Harrison says and points skyward. “I see it.”
They each try to focus on what Harrison is pointing to. One by one, they see it: a dark shape descending toward them, the starry sky providing just enough of a dappled backdrop for everyone to see something moving downward.
“There it is.” Annette points.
“Lord-and-Taylor,” Matt utters as the ship approaches. Everyone can now clearly make out the outlines of the ship, like a dark, flattish cigar shape. No one notices the fighter mated to the hull. To the untrained eye, the stealth system effectively blends the fighter in with the rest of the ship. Steve even marvels because he’s only seen Dev’s fighter, not this much l
arger Recon ship.
They all begin to feel the gravity field as the ship gets closer, like the presence of a low-frequency pulse. The field is not off-putting or uncomfortable, but it’s definitely there. Matt even moves his hand toward the invisible field trying to feel it. The dark ship stops at a hover near the crew. The lowering of the boarding ramp startles them. The opening ramp reveals Dev and Chaz standing at the top of the receiving bay. The wide ramp blocks most of the mated fighter from everyone’s view.
“Good evening, boys and girls,” Dev greets.
“Can we give you a lift?” Chaz says enthusiastically.
“Oh, I’m not gonna miss this,” Matt says, and is the first one up the ramp.
“Holy shit,” Jen says.
“Chop-chop, guys, we’re on a schedule,” Chaz says and waves at them to come aboard.
The rest of the group sort of moves en masse toward the ramp, their relative positions not changing. Steve herds them all aboard and is the last one up the ramp.
Dev smiles. “Welcome aboard, my friends. This way.”
While Dev leads the group down the corridor to the stairs, Chaz hangs back to discreetly speak to Steve and activates the wall panel switch to close the boarding ramp.
“How’d they take it?”
Steve looks nervous. “It’s sort of a work in progress.”
“You didn’t tell them!” Chaz whisper-yells.
“I hadn’t gotten to the space part yet.”
“Ah, shit.” Chaz hurries to get up to the control deck with Steve in tow. The Oasis crew is somewhat stunned upon seeing all the computers and wall panels displaying the various engine and control systems, lighting up the otherwise sealed dark room. It is an impressive sight, like they just stepped into the future. Chaz maneuvers into position at Dev’s side and interjects loud enough to attract everyone’s attention. “Okay, everyone, before we give you the grand tour, why don’t you all go forward to the seating area at the front. Go on now. Annette, Franz, guys.” The group starts moving in the direction Chaz is pointing. “All the way up front there. And don’t touch anything.”