by Travis Borne
It was only the fourth time he had flown it—except for that one time. Herald even let Amy fly it each time he’d taken it out—and she loved it, more than anything. They’d taken it out for testing and flown around the mountains near the cabin, around the city of Durango, as far north as Silverton, and eastward as far as Pagosa Springs, Wolf Creek, and Creed. Every time he had given Amy the controls, he watched her eyes light up; captivated, she’d just stare forward and her mind would shut everything else out. She would be so focused and calm. And he wouldn’t have believed it himself, a three-year-old flying such a ship, in the adroit way that she did, but there she was. Maybe it was her calling, he thought. But she loved anything to do with adventure. And he realized as he flew it how graceful it really was, enjoyable. He’d been further testing the maneuverability the whole time, learning. Everything was great, a thousand times faster and more maneuverable than Red’s streamlined heli-jet—which they still had. This was agile, powerful, and most of all, near silent.
“There it is! The park,” Valerie yelled. She pointed. Startled, Jodi jolted as if she’d taken a beer bottle to the back of her head. Yep. There it was, just like the simulation they’d went over. It was easily identifiable in contrast to the grey urban surroundings and the sun was just high enough to graze its grassy baseball field.
And Jodi had to flick her head side to side a few times, just to make sure she was really there, so quickly—and for the last time. Not a dream, it is real, just…surreal!
Jerry was a blackhole and Val the light. He absorbed her excitement from the back and knew, it was almost time to open the bay door. Two white-plastic helpers stood next to him, not near as large as he, about Jon’s size. They finished their boot procedure and stiffened to life with the last memories they had. Looking around, the two gathered their bearings. And Jon and Jerry looked at them, then to the coffin-like black-pill casings that held two sleeping people. Bizarre! The bots expressed a cordial nod. And then the large black builder booted next. But it, he—Vlad, just held still, solid, neckless, and hunched like a long-armed linebacker ready to plow through anything in his path. A moment later Vlad rotated one turn to face the closed ramp exit. Holy shit! Vlad was bigger than Jerry—by far. Jerry’s eyes widened and met Jon’s across the way. Brow lifted and eyes round, he banteringly lip-synched, “WOW, this is insane, dude!”
Herald let the velocity subside, and as lightly as a dandelion’s seed, they floated toward the park. Once over 2nd base, he descended the ship, simultaneously rotating the aft toward the dugout, and then he pressed a button. Red light illuminated the inner walls of the hover-jet’s bay. “Now, Jerry!” he ordered. Pumped and ready, Jerry punched the large silver button. The ramp folded down.
They clearly saw home base and the large family waiting, and gently touched down between the pitcher’s mound and 2nd. Valerie’s tears flared, her entire family was there, unexpectedly, everyone: primos and primas, Tio Juan and Tia Lupe y todos los otros, Visabuela Panchita y Jose—todos! An enormous family it was. They overflowed the dugout and surrounding area. In front and center of them all, her parents stood, holding hands. Beside them were her brothers. And they all marveled at the immaculate silver body of the ship, how it changed colors, to grass-green and clay-red to mimic the field. It descended gently, blowing their hair with dusty air.
Herald couldn’t believe it. He wished he could bring them all, and it saddened him, as it obviously did Ana. Their eyes met, sharing the mutual dismay—but the crates, as heavy as they were, came first. And they both knew it.
An old-style news chopper, the bubble type, with a single human pilot, had spotted the ship visually and hovered above like a fly. Jon saw it from the view of the spinner on his screen; a set of choices popped up beside it. The chopper beamed an ultra-luminous spotlight toward the dugout, illuminating the large family jam-packed inside. They were all hugging each other and crying. And just like that, they were on live TV.
5:57 a.m. About an hour to launch. We got this!
Amy remained strapped into her small reclined seat between Ana and Herald at the front. She slowly jostled as cool air entered the hull. In a moment she was awake and aware, and followed Daddy’s every move, always learning, always curious. He pushed the yoke forward and it, ominously, clicked into place—as if it was the switch of fate, and that of no return.
“Be right back, Aim.”
In her little custom-made seat, she smiled brightly with cute groggy eyes. “Okay, Daddy.”
He kissed her on the forehead, taking extra time to focus on the moment. Ana took the pilot seat and Herald kissed her as well, then swiftly headed to the aft. He took center position between Jerry and the bots. At the ramp, with his loyal team at his sides, he paused and looked back at them. Ready to go. Bright-eyed Amy gave him a tiny thumbs up. Her smile made everything worth it. Ana told him good luck, and that she loved him, in Spanish.
5:58 a.m.
“Now!” Herald said, and together they sprinted through swirling dust, courtesy of the gadfly chopper coming down onto them. The hover-jet’s engine whistled, almost silently. Valerie and Jerry ran on his left and the builder on his right. Vlad was a Richter scale’s worst enemy; he cratered the field. The two helpers remained on guard at the open bay door. Herald pulled out the blocker as he reached the family. By feel alone he clicked it on: MODE #2.
The family was taken aback, mostly by the ground-pounding robot. There were robots everywhere, sure, but nothing, no, nothing like this. Herald reassured them and handed the blocker to Valerie’s oldest brother, a few years younger than she. Enrique, Rico for short. He stood next to his father and was told what it could do, bluntly in ten seconds. Felix overheard and hearing it provided comfort; it would bolster his sons’ chances with the flyers they were planning to borrow.
Over the buzz of the chopper and distraught with tears, Valerie exclaimed, “Como dije ayer. Get everyone to Papa’s bunker in Mexico! Rapido y no mires atrás para nada. Los quiero a todos!” And she broke down, and so did her family. Agonizing tears flooded that baseball-field dugout. Largely, the family was too emotional to make total sense of what was really happening. Yesterday’s call was short—it had to be—and shocking, but to the point. Translated from Spanish she had said:
The world is going to end, tomorrow. This is no joke. I can save my parents, no room for more. Be at Torres Park, the baseball field, and wait for pickup. 6 a.m. sharp! Rent or steal anything that flies and get ready to fly away—to Papa’s bunker in Mexico. Do not be late! I love you all and I’m so sorry for the bad news but this is real. We have something special to protect everyone else, so please be there to receive it—and for goodbyes. Love, Valerie.
“Use the blocker, stay close together and go, fly away now,” were Herald’s last words, which he directed mostly to those near the device, mostly, to young Rico. He wasn’t sure how many the blocker could actually protect, but his pessimistic and calculative thoughts said, ten, no more than that.
Inside the ship, Ana and the girls, along with Jon and the two helpers, waited. They were patient but nervous. Then, at the front console, Ana received a message—from Rafael! He broke radio silence, at cost to the entire bunker, their mission, the chance of saving millions! “Oh no,” Ana said, knowing very well the risk he’d taken. But she knew it must be of the utmost importance, and terrible—to jeopardize so much, to compromise it all. A stab of negative energy was a fusillade of icy needles assaulting the marrow of her bones. And she answered the call.
102. The Getaway
Commotion escalated, tensions were flaring fireworks, and Vlad became a gate guard at the dugout entrance. Valerie’s family roused like a mob. The sad adios had morphed into mad defiance for some. Hugging, crying, and unanswered questions served to foment the agitation. They spent a short four minutes, four longer than Herald wanted—and he gave Jerry the eye. Without hesitation Jerry swept her away.
As they rushed back a black and white police-jet arrived, imperially braking to a ho
ver. It joined the news chopper buzzing around like a fly. In less than a minute, ground units arrived. Things move fast these days, Herald thought. Officers, both bot and human, formed a perimeter around the field. A fluorescent-orange interrogator bot stepped onto the field alongside a towering angular woman. She appeared to be of German descent, had a large hair bun, and wore a captain’s star. She ordered her even taller bot to proceed.
“This is the Los Angeles Police. I order you to halt!” His voice was a bullhorn. He continued with demands and Vlad the Builder turned and bolted. Some of Valerie’s family leapt to follow but ate dust. He caught up with Felix and Rosita, snatching them up like a tornado, shredding earth.
Herald looked at his watch while he ran. It was 6:04 a.m. No problem. Then he noticed Ana. She’d gotten up from the pilot seat and was frantically waving them over.
“Stop! Freeze or we will shoot,” the interrogator blared. They were halfway to the ship’s opening. Jodi stood next to Ana, sharing the desperation. Ready to assist, Hal and Jay were farther outside, providing albeit minimal cover in the form of body shields. “Stop, now. We will shoot!”
Shots fired.
Ana and Jodi ducked inside. Running like a gorilla, the builder rocked his hulking mass from side to side as if to shield the group, creating deep craters in the process. He was hit numerous times. Ping, ping, ping. Ping. His armor proved impenetrable and he took no damage. Jerry lowered Valerie from his shoulder, cradling her in front of himself, willing to take a hit. Followed closely by Herald they ascended the ramp. Vlad hoisted the older couple forward, tucking them in, continuing to purpose his immense back as a shield.
They made it! Jerry slapped the bay-door button and the ramp sealed shut.
“Herald!” Ana yelled. “The launch, Rafael contacted us, it went up. An hour early!”
He didn’t say a word, but his face did. Nervousness the Vine grew thorny points and constricted his legs. He felt needle pricks travel from his feet to the base of his spine. And he could hear the hiss of Anxiety the Snake like a ringing whine in his ears. No, not now, he thought. Slightly pallid, he rushed to the pilot seat next to Amy.
Jon found the control station easy to operate. By touch he selected the flying buzzer, switching it from surveillance to attack mode, then selected an option beside one of the possible targets. It instructed the disc like an attack dog and the buzzer exploited its intelligence to figure the most efficient means to destroy Jon’s selection: the hovering police-jet, which was now firing lethal, high-caliber bullets. The buzzer’s dome expanded: maul mode. Blades extended with a snap and the gyrating knives became deafening.
“Wow,” Jon said. “Effective!” Officers’ and bystanders’ hands became earmuffs. Like an amplified chainsaw gunning max throttle, the attack commenced, obliterating the tail section in one slice. The maul action was a wedge. It made the entire rear explode! The black-and-white spun violently. Smoking and ablaze, it managed to set down, hard on third base.
“Inbound, two police-jets, we have to get out of here!” Jon yelled to the front. He designated each as a target. A recommendation popped up on his screen: deploy more buzzers. And he did: five. His screen instantly lit up with additional views and myriad options. Although the buzzers were intelligent, individually they could collaborate with one another, and this gave Jon a great deal of control. He selected a target, then another. “Two police-jets down. Oh, no. Four more, inbound!”
They were ten feet off the ground and departing quickly. The buzzers flew to catch up. The clumsy glass-bubble news chopper was spinning wildly, recovering from its attempt to dodge the falling black-and-white. It stirred smoke and red dust from the baseball diamond, providing a partial smoke screen. Not enough. Bullets and a relatively newer weapon, a laser, blasted the underbelly of the ship which was already changing color to match the sky. A burn gouged the rear door, carving a black gash and shorting out a section of the visual cloak. Herald dove the ship to evade the stinging heat.
Jon hesitated in selecting the laser-wielding human officers who’d set up the weapon. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, so instead sent a buzzer to chop a nearby cruiser in half, causing an explosive distraction. It worked. People and bots dove away in all directions. Laser clear, he destroyed it next.
Herald unlocked the steering yoke and pulled it closer. He looked to Ana. She looked to him. Ground forces were firing incessantly and the police-jets were closing in fast. “Jon, call the buzzers back now,” he yelled. “We have to, Ana, we can’t wait. Tell me when everyone’s ready.” Ana knew what he was about to do. She instructed everyone to buckle in and tended to Amy.
The ship wasn’t designed to initiate jet mode from slow speeds, and he’d have to navigate buildings and countless city flyers, likely going faster than possible to do so. Also, it could wake the lenders, even as sedated as they were; having them logged in was like driving a van filled with fragile cargo. An unexpected logout would be crippling. Intelligent defenses, the ship’s automation, bots and buzzers, would all set down; it could mark the end of the road, but they had to try.
The bombardment was relentless and backup, backup, and more backup arrived. Again high-caliber bullets hit the aft; several police-jets were in range. They sprayed ammunition like a horizontal hail storm. Saving humanity—shit, they had to get away from it first. Herald’s mind raced: the early launch, their schedule, his friends at the final pickup—will they be okay, now? And the forces were trailing him faster than his ship could build acceleration.
Ana turned to face Jon. He had a hand up, counting down as each buzzer reattached itself to the ship. 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, and he gave her the thumbs up. She turned to Herald, gripping her chair, and said, “Listo, Herald!” He reached for it.
His finger froze in midair, one inch from the button. A wave distorted the world around them. A low frequency warble twisted reality. Colors diffused objects and people with a brilliant prismatic glow. He could not reach the button, and time and space sinuated. Muscles became petrified wood, eardrums were frozen, leaving only a constant hum, and vision handed over the present in a paused state, but also, they watched their past selves, minutes ago, running toward the ship. The past sights and sounds from the nerve-splitting run, and forth, was the only activity in motion. A memory, an objective dream. Except they felt it, as if being there—again? And the now, the frozen state that bound them? What—is—happening? Outside the ship bullets halted their forward motion, yet floated up and down as if riding a wave. The buildings of the city looked like a funhouse mirror through a kaleidescope. I’m tripping again, Herald thought. Beautiful colors, more than eyes could normally perceive, permeated the air.
The wave continued through the ship. The team saw themselves—as time caught up—doppelgangers, feet over from where they sat, seconds in the past. Herald’s mind wandered in the eternity of the wave. No time, for a moment it didn’t exist, but thoughts persisted, panicked, albeit rationally undisturbed.
The warp drive! He realized. I hadn’t calculated its explosive effects, and worse, its impact on the ship—to the blockers? The low, warbling hum gained frequency as reality began to snap back into place. Their duplicate able-to-move selves merged with their frozen, panicked selves. And it hurt, jolting their insides as if a hand was reaching inside to churn their intestines; and fingers in their skull, stirring their grey noodles; and Jerry-sized icy hands, choking their necks. A sharp high-pitched sound rang in their heads. The frequency rose higher and higher. Muscles became soft, eardrums regained elasticity, and sight took on only one view once again, true reality. Back, almost. All mouths were open but screamless, pushing it out like red-faced constipation—then, the bullets hit, and Herald’s finger made it to the button. But somehow, like a surfer dropping into a wave, the nose of the ship now pointed toward the city below.
They were forced into their seats with a punch to the gut, heaving but unable to breathe; high G-forces were elephants on rib-cages. The helpers clinging to the standing grab-handles
flew backward, locked grips made them dangling puppets.
A muffling sound came from inside one of the lender casings and the lid to the enclosure flipped open, letting his voice escape, “Ahhhh-rrrraa-aahhhh!” Red clawed at his white skin. Unexpected logout. One lender down.
The ship had little ability to magnify the feed like the bunker in Vallecito and Herald had made sure all bots and systems were linked, to operate for the greater good if need be. So, intelligently, to save the feed and buffer for the most important systems, the automation decided: Vlad had to go. He shut down. His grasp relaxed. The extreme G’s forced him to hit the ramp door like a bowling ball, denting it. The helpers would be the next but the feed had just enough with only one lender. If the other lender awoke, they would drop as well, then the ship, defenses, and small bots. The most critical systems would have ten minutes at most using the buffer.
Herald pulled back on the yoke with all he had. The ship was in jet-mode, full dive. Six police-jets were on their tail, likewise recovering from the time warp. Two crashed: one into the side of a building, creating a fireball; the other managed to catch a road and slide until crashing into a church, disintegrating it like matchsticks.
The hover-jet clipped a residential rooftop, sending shingles flying like leaves in the wind. But, they made it! Herald pushed the throttle forward, taking the ship almost straight up: max speed. Building windows shattered. Boom! Boom! Mach-2. It was a triumph to behold, a real testament to his fast mind and coordination. They successfully dodged innumerable flyers on the way up.
Things settled as blood crept back into heads. Their minds and bodies had been oddly stretched, from the inside out, painfully twisted at a cellular level by the time wave, a brief dose of weirdness and pain. As if every cell had fallen onto gritty asphalt at high speed, scraped and bruised, each had to get up and brush itself off; their bodies returned to normality and they regained full composure. Except for Red. He fell out of the lender casing and stumbled to a seat, deliriously distraught, trying to recover from the unexpected logout.