by Ryder Stacy
“So long, boy,” he said in a sad whisper, wondering if he’d ever see the loyal animal again. Damn, he was getting sentimental in his old age. Should they have waited to see if the spaceship could be started before losing their only transport?
“Come on Detroit, let’s aim for the fucking stars,” Rockson said when the last of the animals was out of harm’s way.
“Aye, Aye, Captain,” Detroit smirked back in the now quickly lightening sky. The two men headed half-bent over along the plateau to the launching tube. Detroit came right behind Rock, his twin bandoliers of grenades shaking in their holders like eggs trying to hatch.
Perhaps it was because they hadn’t had any problems in a few days that there had to be one now; a bad one. And suddenly there was a shout from far below, and even as Rock crouched lower he knew they’d been spotted.
He glanced over the side keeping his head as low as possible. It was one of the guard towers, nearest the ledge they were on. One of the assholes down there had decided to be a real hotshot this morning and scan the slopes with binoculars, spotting the tardy invaders as the dawn splattered down in earnest, pink paint mixing onto a blue canvas.
The guy was screaming and waving his arms, and even as Rock watched—his face growing pale—the bastard aimed his machine gun up at the hill and began firing. He was a good seven hundred feet away so Rockson wasn’t too worried about losing his brains, but the whole camp was awakening now, men starting to pour out all over the place. Like a bunch of mad red ants. And as numerous.
“We’ve set the fireworks off, that’s for damned sure,” Detroit said, suddenly stopping in his tracks. “Check out the power of this bionic arm,” the ebony-faced black man laughed as Rock stopped just before the entrance to the launching tunnel. Detroit ripped off a grenade from his chest and gripped it in his right hand as he pulled back hard. The arm looked normal, even with most of it showing from out of the rolled up olive green sweatshirt. But it wasn’t normal. It was a machine arm, a bionic arm, a creation of Shecter’s bio boys—the first one actually.
When Detroit had lost the arm in a duel with martial arts assassins, Shecter had used the latest technology in C.C. and made him a new arm, with wires, sensing devices, computer chips, and fake synth-skin that looked like the real thing—and wore better. The thing was a miracle.
Detroit pulled back the arm like he was going to throw a discus and then whipped the arm forward suddenly. It moved like a catapult, so fast Rock couldn’t really see it. Suddenly the grenade was soaring out over the camp. It came down just at the base of the tower on which the guard was firing and went off severing one of the struts. The entire structure began to topple over as the screaming inhabitant went flying out of it arms and legs flapping like he was trying to take flight.
Detroit ripped off two more pineapples and threw them down into the gathering barbarians and then turned running to join Rockson who stood at the door as he heard the explosions down below.
“They’re on to our location,” Rock said angrily. “That means they’ll be coming up looking to take us all out—maybe before we get the fucking ship going. Or maybe they’ll just roll boulders in front of the exit doors. Damn.” He smacked his hand into his palm. Two combat men—heavy machine gun crew—were waiting just outside the doorway as they always took up shotgun—just in case.
“Listen, men,” Rock said, turning to them as they started to lift up their equipment. “I got something real nasty to ask you. I need someone to stay out there, set up a post, keep these bastards off of us—and stop them from barricading the front of this tube here.”
“You got it, man,” Simpson, the oldest of the group said, with a thumbs up. A young blond guy named Jaspers also said, “I’m it!”
“But—that means you two won’t be on the ship. We can’t stop to pick you up—you know what I’m saying?”
“Never liked the idea of space travel much,” the younger Jaspers cracked, Rock had fought alongside his father who had died before his eyes three years earlier. “Came on this mission to kick ass—and help out a little.”
“All right,” Rock said softly letting his hands rest on each of their shoulders for a moment. These two might easily be walking to their deaths—and they knew it. But tough-guy grins were pasted over both their faces. “Get away, if you can—catch up to the ’brids . . .”
“No problem,” Simpson said. Jaspers nodded.
“Now, you gotta set up away from the entrance here because when the ship comes out, it’s going to be spitting fire. Take the machine gun over to that ledge—see it—maybe three hundred feet to the left. Should give you covering fire down over the whole valley. Just keep them off us until we’re out of there—or we blow up—and then split. Knowing hybrids they’ll stop to eat after a few miles of galloping. You might very well be able to snag a few and make your way back home.” Remembering the torture he had seen down in the camp, he added, “Just don’t get taken alive! Now go!”
They waved their hands like it was nothing, saluted, and took off running low to keep below the lip of the ledge above which hundreds of slugs were pouring, lugging their heavy caliber submachine guns.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Rock said, slamming the entrance door closed and latching it. The opening of the tube was still closed—and he prayed they would be able to manipulate it from the control complex a mile down the tube.
The men ran like they were possessed, making good time once their eyes adjusted to the low light. By the time they reached the Dynasoar spaceship, the doors were already opened and men were loading the supplies up the ramp. Rockson walked in with his eyes wide. It was like being inside a dream. A high tech stainless steel Starship Enterprise that made Century City look like a log cabin by comparison.
The NASA space program had clearly been the peak of man’s technology—before the quick decline caused by the Nuke war cancelled it out.
“What’s happening?” Rock asked Chen, who he saw directing some of the combat troops to stow their gear in storage bins and get strapped into horizontal seats that sat in rows.
“The whiz kids got the whole show on the road,” the Chinese martial arts master said with a grin, a rare show of expression, but he was clearly impressed by the two brains.
“They got the door to this sardine can opened—and then immediately tore up to the pilot’s chamber. Told us to just get stowed, strapped in, and let them know when you got here.”
“Well, I’m here, and I’ll tell ’em,” Rock said sharply. For some reason it pissed him off that the whiz kids were giving orders, and that everything seemed to be proceeding so smoothly—without his presence. He was becoming an old battlehorse wasn’t he?
Rock grinned as he realized how dumb it was. If the brain-duo had leadership ability, more power to them. C.C. needed men like that. Hell, America itself did, if it was ever going to rise from the ashes. “Where are they?”
“Just follow the red arrows, Rock,” Chen said, as he looked back down toward the ramp searching for the two machine gunners. “Where’s the machine gun crew?”
“They’re not coming,” Rock said simply and followed the yellow brick road. The ship was well laid out and he had no trouble reaching the front of the long thing. Tubes and dials and things the functions of which he couldn’t even begin to fathom filled all the walls and ceilings while endless doors sat off to each side. Whatever the hell the rocket did—it sure as hell seemed capable of doing it to the hilt.
He came to a circular door and searched around for seconds before finding the electric eye which made it open in a flash sliding to the side.
Inside the “cockpit,” more like a mobile home, Connors and Rajat sat side by side, madly turning dials, punching buttons, and shouting out readouts to one another.
“How’s it going, Rajat?” Rock asked, knowing instinctively that the Indian teen was the dominant force of the two, was the Einstein of the team. Shecter had told him he thought the youth might in fact be smarter than Einstein or Haw
king, that some of his theories on Time/Space Physics were beyond even Shecter himself.
“We’ll be ready for takeoff within five minutes,” the startled-eyed brown-skinned sixteen-year-old said, without even taking his eyes from rows of numbers that were flashing by.
“You’re kidding,” Rock said, “You’ve been here ten minutes, if that!”
“Fourteen and a half minutes,” Rajat replied, this time turning to give Rock a quick grin. “We trained for this mission when it was purely hypothetical, to be able to fire up the ship in under a half-hour. We hadn’t assumed hostile fire. I think we’ll come in under that.”
“Any problems? What about the tunnel opening—it’s—”
“No problem.” Connors said, pointing toward a button to the right. “It’s built into control panel within the ship—to open the exit doors. It had to be. In case of nuke attack they couldn’t count on anything but themselves in here. When we’re prepared to launch—we’ll open by remote.”
“Or so the blueprints say,” Rajat added with a sarcastic laugh which Rockson didn’t like at all.
“I’ve got full nuclear power,” Rajat said triumphantly as he saw a red light turn green, “and minimal leaks in the passenger area!”
“Attention! This is the control module,” Rajat said as he pressed a button and spoke into a built-in mike on the immense beeping and blinking panel that spread across the front of the cabin module.
Again Rock felt his stomach tighten from the déjà vu precociousness of it all. “We will be taking off in exactly four minutes,” Rajat’s high-pitched boy’s voice stated. “Please make sure you are strapped in securely as directed. If there are any problems would group leaders contact me immediately? Thank you and we wish you a pleasant flight. No smoking until we reach the ionosphere.”
Even Rock had to grin at that one, his heart slowing down a little as he saw the kid really had the makings of a tremendous leader—if he could make men smile in the midst of such imminent danger.
“Why don’t you strap in here?” Connors said, slapping a seat about a yard to the right of him. “I’m sure you want to get a bird’s-eye view of the whole event, and learn the controls.”
“The door—” Rock said, as he strapped himself in, used to hearing the door close securely behind him at C.C. Old habits died hard.
“It’s shut,” Rajat said, hitting a row of buttons on the console. “Everything’s sealed tight as a can now. We’re on internal air supply and full life support.”
He pressed another button and Rockson gasped. For the whole front of the nose cone above the control panel suddenly pulled back to reveal thick super-hard glass enabling them to see straight ahead. Looking ahead through the eight-foot wide, foot-high curved slit of “glass,” Rock could see the launching tube railing stretching off ahead until it disappeared in the dimness.
“You sure everything is ready to go?” Rock asked as he pulled the seat strap tight and it clicked into position.
“Like I say, the whole process is pretty much automated. Again, they didn’t want to saddle whoever flew the sucker with a lot of junk to do. The whole point of this dream ship was speed and power. The systems readouts all say everything works—even after a century. It’s been in a sealed environment—and self-renewal systems were operating. We’re going to have to trust it. There’s no way to open a bird like this up and check it out. It would take weeks—and I doubt we could even figure out half of it.”
“Well, I’m in your care, Captain Rajat. What are we waiting for?”
“Just waiting until the tube exit door reads open,” Rajat said, bending forward and checking it. “Yup, she’s on green. Let’s boogie.”
Nineteen
“Ready?” Rajat asked.
“I’m ready, you ready?” Connors replied, somewhat nervously.
“Ready, ready,” Rock barked as he saw that neither of them really wanted to push the “go” button. Neither did he. But that didn’t mean shit. Rajat placed his thumb over the fire control ignition, closed his eyes, and pressed down. The Asian genius was still a kid beneath his super mentality. Rock had to remember that.
Suddenly the whole ship shook with powerful vibrations, like they were being shaken in an earthquake. There was a roar like a volcano erupting next door, and then smoke exploded out from behind the rocket and shot up its sides, billowing out ahead so the launch tube grew instantly thick with blackness and visually impenetrable.
“Five, four, three,” Connors said, looking up at realtime digiclock set to one side. “Two, one.”
They all tensed up and suddenly the steel supership quivered like it was alive with an even louder blast that made them all think it had exploded.
“BLASTOFF.”
The X-7 Dynasoar shot forward down the tube like a shell fired from a cannon. Rock could feel the gees of the acceleration instantly, as his whole body was pushed back into the bucket seat, as his tongue searched for his throat to hide in.
The smoke cleared as the rocket picked up speed, leaving the long pressured spume of boiling rocket exhaust behind them in the rail tube. Suddenly there was a loud whomp and all their hearts jumped as they thought the ship had malfunctioned. But they had just reached the place where the tube changed to a steeper angle. Now it slowly curved up and already they could see daylight ahead.
The doorway was open.
Rock relaxed just a fraction as he saw that at least they weren’t going to smash into the steel door of the exit. But even as he felt the ship picking up speed, seeing the meter hit 650, then 890 as he watched, Rock saw that there was something in the opening—a whole shitload of the barbarian fighters rushing in waving rifles, machetes, and every damned thing. And as they closed in on them, for just a fraction of a second Rockson could see their leader—Garr himself, with his wide nargahide-jacketed frame. But if the warlord was thinking he was going to stop a ten-thousand-ton spaceship moving with the momentum of ten million horsepower he was mistaken.
Rock didn’t even feel the infinitesimal jarring of the ship as it splattered twenty men into red liquid that dripped down the sides of the stainless steel tube and bubbled away in the exhaust flames.
Then they were through the opening, Rock’s eyes were suddenly flooded with daylight and he squinted. The instant they exited the opened door, a whole other level of rocket power clicked on behind them. For if the ship had seemed fast at the 890 mph which it left the tunnel at—felt like it was suddenly hitting warp speed as it went from 950 to 2,000 mph in the space of about two seconds. It was a feeling Rockson hoped he would never experience again. The gee force on his body was so powerful that he felt himself pressed back into the 45-degree-angled chair like a short order cook pressing down a slab of sizzling bacon with an iron. His cheeks were climbing up on his earlobes, his chest felt like someone had piled barbell weights upon it.
He could see the sky coming in on them, the puffy clouds just suddenly melting all around them. And on the video screen dead ahead just to the side of the curved forward view window, he could see the reverse view as well, the ground disappearing behind them, everything growing small so fast it was like being in a dream.
Whole forests and lakes suddenly became little splotches—and then disappeared completely. And even as they rose the Dynasoar continued to accelerate. The power of the spacecraft was just unbelievable, shaking every bone in his body, making his teeth vibrate so fast together he wondered if they’d tapdance right out of his mouth, making him strain to suck in every labored breath.
Then they were up and through the clouds and there was suddenly another tremendous roar and the whole ship jerked from side to side for a few seconds.
Rock again snapped his eyes shut expecting a blast of fire to singe him into overdone dog, hold the mustard. But when he opened them he found that he was still alive. On the video monitor he saw a huge booster, it looked like nearly half the length of the ship, falling away and spiralling back down to Earth far below.
But the Dynasoar kept r
ising, faster, like it was late for a very important date.
The pressure on Rock’s face and body was now unbearable. He felt like he was being crushed, every part of him just laid out and squashed like a bug beneath a boot. His lips were pulled far back over his teeth as his eyelids bulged over the side of his eyes. There was no way the whiz kids could be moving, Rock knew that for damned sure. He prayed this thing was on autostop or they were just going to keep going forever, or until the fuel gave out.
Then they were up past the highest clouds and Rock could see the sky turn purple, then jet black, with stars now spreading out above them in all directions. Suddenly the rocket engine went dead, just like that. One second it was roaring out its screaming mega-power, the next it was quiet as a stone, the flaming tail on the video vanished, the trail of smoke disappearing far below.
And the sensation of all the gees vanished as well. He could hear again and move. The command module was alive with lights and electronic beeps. Rock knew enough to keep his mouth shut as Rajat and Connors madly scanned the panel readouts to make sure everything was functioning, and hit various cut-off switches.
Rock stared out of the front of the control module, through the cosmic ray shielded glass. The whole fucking universe was right out there.
And suddenly he felt a sense of tremendous awe. To just be floating among it all. And he also felt the presence of something else. Of a force, an energy that permeated it all. It was as if it were somehow all much clearer up here, away from the polluting mind-mists of earth, clear of the mental barriers that existed everywhere. Here, as he let his body settle into a slower breathing rate, Rock with his semi-telepathic abilities absorbed the pure burning energies of the cosmos like a healing fluid into his soul.