by Tufo, Mark
A large part of me feels bad for his family and friends he left behind in his world. Tracy, whom he spoke of with a lot of love, and not a little fear, won’t ever know what happened to him. His kids, the same. They won’t know the sacrifice he’s made for the continuation of life. He wanted nothing more than to go back and see them again, regardless of his world’s circumstances. I glance at the sleeping form of Trip and feel irritation build that he pulled both of us away from our families to flitter about on this ridiculously doomed venture. I wonder if that’s to be my fate as well, lost in some world without anyone ever knowing what happened to me.
Most of the day, or it might be evening, is spent traversing the large plain. Once, I set down between two larger hills to get some rest and then we’re off again. The hours tick by without much change, until I notice the ships flitting past overhead taking different trajectories and growing larger as they descend. Other ships climb into the pale sky from somewhere ahead.
I slow the hovercraft. We’re approaching some convergence point, and we’re more than likely to run into more traffic. I can also imagine there to be some kind of checkpoint in order to enter. With the amount of incoming and outgoing airborne traffic, I wonder if we’re about to come upon the whistler version of an airport. Shit, I wonder if they’re selling tickets to my world.
It isn’t long before I’m able to pick out objects floating at various altitudes. They’re all different sizes, but they all look like silver oval spheres hovering in the air like some kind of weird Easter egg hunt. The vessels which arrive find a place among the others and park. I’m not sure if there’s a rhyme or reason to their locations, but it seems to be random. And once there, a few move around from place to place. It does seem as if the larger ones are stationed higher up, but that’s not always the case.
Although we’re still some distance away, I don’t see any form of entry to the facilities. The land surrounding the city, if that’s what it actually is, seems open. If there’s a checkpoint, I certainly don’t see one. It appears as if we’ll be able to just scoot in like we were driving into a normal city. Hopefully we won’t be noticed as a non-whistler crew or asked for some coded response.
Trip’s soft snores echo inside the ship as we draw closer to what I’m calling a city. There seems to be a lot of commotion toward the center of the metropolis. A large red structure rises from the ground. It looks warped, like it was a giant candle that melted. Coming from the base is a pulsing blue and red glow, the effect looking like a mass of police cars are at the scene of a catastrophe. Hell, from the looks of the damaged building, that may very well be the case.
The pulsing lights reflect off the bottoms of a number of various sized hovercraft which are positioned near the wreckage. Other egg-shaped vessels are intermixed among the floating craft. Smoke is rising from within a mass of rubble which lies around the base of the building, leading me to think that whatever happened was recent. From the amount of damage, I wonder if Mike wasn’t somehow responsible. This seems like something he’d do.
The thought of Mike sends a pang through my gut. My hope is that time moves differently where he’s at, and we aren’t in fact late to the party. I just hope he’s okay. I’m sure Trip knows, but he’s back to his usual fugue state, and any information he has is next to useless.
Coming to the city proper, there are buildings and thick foliage on the ground. Alien races of all types are wandering among the bushes without any accompanying whistler escorts that I can see. Perhaps they were called away to the emergency. But, the aliens are also unfettered and not fitted with the same helmets that were prevalent on those being herded into the pyramids.
So far, nothing has come in our direction to challenge us. Perhaps I’ll be able to mix in with the other vessels. But, I’ve yet to see our purpose for being here. Mike was able to gain entrance to the other world via a portal, and that may be what the pulsing light is. If so, we’ll mingle, pretending to be good little whistlers before diving down into it.
As I watch the other craft and floating eggs, four of the hovercraft suddenly dive straight down, powering for the red and blue lights. Trip comes awake with a snort. Wiping away the drool gathered at the corner of his mouth, he bolts for the rows of windows. There, he stands with clouds of smoke now drifting around his head.
“Uh, Yack? You should probably stop them from doing that,” Trip says without turning around.
“And how do you propose that? There must be twenty armed hovercraft out there. If we fire on them, we’ll be torn apart,” I reply.
“I’m not the miracle worker,” Trip retorts.
“And what makes you think I am? If I was, do you think I’d be here? I’d miracle work myself right back to my world.”
Trip shrugs. “I’m just saying. The more that enter the portal, the more you’ll have to deal with on the other side.”
“You keep using this ‘you’ thing. Why am I the only one who has to deal with them?”
Trip finally turns around and looks at me in confusion, as if he’s having to answer a five-year old’s question.
“Because you’re driving. Far be it for me to be a backseat driver. I tried that once and let me tell you, it gets interesting when you can’t reach the steering wheel. I’m not sure if the screams coming from the other cars were because they were having a good time or not. I do know that the shrieks coming from my passengers didn’t sound like they were on a carnival ride. Nope, I won’t be doing that again. Hurt my damn ears.”
It’s not too difficult picturing Trip climbing over the front seat while the vehicle is in motion, probably at highway speeds, just to see if he could indeed drive from the back seat. I chuckle inwardly at the sight. Hell, I would have paid money to see that. I mean, providing it didn’t end in a fiery cataclysmic wreck and we were all burned alive.
We’re slowly drawing closer to the grouping of vessels hovering over the pulsing portal. Only four larger hovercraft have plummeted through so far. The others appear to be looking on to see what happens. As we near the other vessels, I feel a bit exposed, as if the whistlers will be able to see through the walls of the ship, should they look in our direction. I feel like the movie Independence Day when they infiltrated the mother ship to upload the virus.
“Get away from the window,” I tell both BT and Trip.
BT starts and then ambles over beside me. Trip acts like a child who ignores the first call to come in, claiming they didn’t hear anything.
“Trip, dammit! All we need is for them to look at us and see some human stoner standing in the window. Do you want a whistler attack? Because that’s how you get one.”
Trip turns and looks toward me. “Sorry, Yack. I didn’t hear you the first time.”
“If you didn’t hear me, then how do you know that wasn’t the first time? Just…never mind. Move away from the window.”
Characters suddenly appear, hovering in mid-air off to the side. It looks like a disconnected series of chicken scratches or some ancient Sanskrit. Whatever it happens to be, the only thing I know is that I can’t read it. I suppose it’s some form of interrogative that I’m not going to be able to answer. Which means that our discovery, or at least a more detailed examination, is forthcoming.
Three of the hovering ships ahead turn in our direction as more characters scroll across some invisible screen. I center the white cross hair on one of the curious vessels and get ready for some evasive maneuvering, should they begin to take on more than an observatory stance. The letters forming become more insistent. That is to say that they begin scrolling at a faster rate. It’s really only a matter of time before we get a warning shot across our bow, unless they don’t do that sort of thing.
I wish I had more than these two roller-ball style controls. This would be a lot easier if I had real throttles and a stick. I angle the craft downward, the nose dropping toward the portal pulsing ominously below. More ships turn toward us. From the original three, a bluish-white light forms from the mounted railguns.
“Hang onto something,” I shout.
I haul the hovercraft up and start slipping quickly to the side. BT and Trip hadn’t found much of anything to hold on to and are sent tumbling head over heels across the floor. Three barely visible blurred lines streak just past the windows, all missing by mere feet. I reverse course, slipping to the opposite side while changing altitude. This sends both my passengers tumbling in a different direction. Three additional bolts streak past underneath the ship.
Five other ships have started moving, coming at us from in front. The other three have spent their loads for the next thirty seconds, which can both seem to pass in a heartbeat and take an eternity. I speed toward them, hoping the move will throw them off.
With the white light gathering in their weapons, I dart down, sending BT and Trip into the air. The craft isn’t nimble, but the move does bring about zero G inside the vessel. Luckily, the chair I’m in seems to grip onto me, providing its own kind of harness. More bolts blur past. However, the hovercraft jars violently as one of the kinetic shots finds its mark.
The craft tumbles from the hit, slewing off to the side, and I have to fight to gain control. A meter appears in one of the side windows, showing several dots which glow orange. I’m assuming that the gauge is showing how much of the shields remain. I remember the ones I fought on Valhalla being shielded, and it took a bit to bring those down. One shot from the railgun depleted them by half. My math skills tell me that one more shot and we’ll be done. If the ship doesn’t come apart when the shield depletes, then it won’t take much to bring us down. Their second series of shots comes frightening close.
The windows darken momentarily from the five ships that came at us as we pass underneath. They’re already separating and will most likely turn in behind us. But, I have thirty seconds before I really have to worry about them again. Unless they attempt to ram us, I guess. That doesn’t mean I won’t keep an eye on them. Situational awareness is key in any fight.
I feel like I have a small window of time. The three who first fired are maneuvering off to the side while I’ve lost sight of the recent five, but believe I saw them pulling around to my six. Pointing the nose even more downward, I start a tight downward spiral. The other two occupants, attempting to recover from being thrown about the ship, are tossed against the front wall. They come to rest in a heap below the windows.
The craft isn’t like an agile fighter, responding instantly to every input. I’m sure I’m taking the vessel beyond what it was designed for, but I have to take advantage of every opportunity I get. There’s a slim chance that I can make the portal before the pursuing vessels can recharge.
The interior lights momentarily darken as a sharp clang rings throughout the ship. The craft shudders under the forceful impact. The gauge measuring the shields turns red and all of the bars vanish. The nose wants to drop and the entire vessels slews to the side, shudders rolling through in waves.
A quick glance through the windows shows that two other ships have joined the fray, coming at us at the same altitude and aiming to intersect our descending, spiraling route. Gaining control of the vessel, I pull up just as two blurry streaks pass in front. We have no shields, but at least they held up enough for us to survive a second hit. However, I feel like a glancing bird strike might send us plummeting for the wild vortex that is the portal. I’m not sure we’d survive that, as the portal is a wildly fluctuating storm that might tear our ship apart. If Mike went through, I have no idea how he would have survived. It’s no wonder the nearby craft hovered to observe what happened to those who did go through.
The two newcomers shoot past just below and in front. I bring the hovercraft down and pull in behind, centering the white crosshair on the ship to the right. The two begin a graceful turn; I’m sure to come back around behind us. They obviously don’t know that I’ve come in behind or they would maneuver a little more sharply. Now I’m surely approaching the time when the first three are able to fire again, and I should be continuing for the portal. It was just instinct that made me pull in behind my latest attackers.
I have no illusion that I can defeat ten vessels and know that I’ll be purely on the defensive if I continue to engage. But, I can’t become predictable and allow even a glancing blow to land. I don’t know if the shields recharge as well, but I want to give them time to do so if they’re going to.
Leading the righthand craft, I fire the railgun. The ship jolts and I watch a blurred streak reach out toward the target, merging with the slowly turning vessel. Silver light flashes from the craft from where the round strikes. Using the same lead, I fire again, the crosshair going from white, to orange, to red. A brighter flash of light blasts from the impact; I’m sure it’s a signal that they’ve lost their shields. If I could only post Trip outside with that slingshot of his, I’m sure we’d take care of one ship.
I feel that the original three are ready to fire and pull up, rolling the other direction and abandoning my chase of the two. BT and Trip tumble past like cartoon characters, heading toward the rear for an uncomfortable rendezvous with the back wall. I then reverse and point the nose toward the ground once again, seeing explosions erupt from misses impacting on the surface.
I’m constantly changing my vector so the pursuing whistlers can’t get a good shot, much to the consternation of BT and Trip. They long ago have stopped yelling, accepting their fate in silence, aside from a few grunts and moans. I can’t afford the time to allow the two to recover, but I wonder how the hell other whistlers who are inside other hovercraft manage to avoid being tossed around like a salad.
All the time, I’m trying to get closer to the churning maelstrom that is the portal. Roiling dark clouds race around the exterior like an accretion disc encircling a blackhole. Lightning arcs across the portal itself, which is still pulsing with blue and red light. If I had a choice, it certainly wouldn’t be to voluntarily enter the mess. Without a shield, I’m not sure our ship will hold together long enough to actually reach the portal anyway.
The fire from the ships chasing us is nearly constant now, the surface of the planet erupting with great clods of earth rocketing skyward. I catch brief glimpses of the other ships when I raise the nose skyward, only to lose them when I roll back toward the raging portal. The gauge measuring the shield strength shows one bar. So, this is like a video game where the shields and health restore themselves over time. I wish the recharge rate were a little more player friendly. But, I’ll take that over them never coming back.
Aside from the shuddering from the two hits, the hovercraft begins bucking and shaking from the turbulence surrounding the portal. Throughout the gyrations, we’re getting closer. The surface of the red and blue pulsing portal looks like some form of liquid silver, slick and shiny. The kinetic rods fired from the railguns of the pursuing ships slam into the surface and vanish, small ripples rolling out from the points of impact. Those waves disappear quickly as they’re absorbed. Lightning occasionally flashes across my view, the boiling clouds to the side are black with a sickly green cast.
The pulsing light penetrates and paints the interior walls of the craft in alternating reds and blues. It’s nearing the point where I’m blinded by the light and have to look anywhere but directly at the portal. That makes steering the bucking craft a bit tricky. The vessel starts shaking more violently, and I’m reminded why I hate flying through thunderstorms. It’s not the turbulence so much, but that shit isn’t in my control. The up and downdrafts where all you can do is do your best to keep the aircraft upright and airborne.
The interior flashes white as a bolt of lightning streaks in front of the windows. That’s followed by a hard jolt that I’m sure weakened the hull somewhere. I can’t tell if we’re still being fired on, but the ship hasn’t come apart, so that’s good news. I really can’t maneuver defensively like before, and am having a fun time just keeping the craft pointed in what I think is the right direction.
I haven’t seen BT and Trip in a while and hope I
didn’t dump them out somewhere along the way. I can’t pull my focus from what I’m doing to check, as it’s all I can do to counteract the forces being applied to the ship. With a stick, I used to be able to sense what the aircraft was going to do seemingly a split second before and could apply inputs to counteract them beforehand. With this system, I’m not able to sense the craft at all and have to react once it is pushed or pulled in a certain direction. And all of that is while the thing seems to be coming apart at the seams.
A giant clang resounds within the craft, a blinding flash filling the windows and turning the inside a stark white. The ship bucks like a pissed off bull, and I’m sure our ride is about to lose every screw and weld holding it in place. When my vision clears, the gauge showing shield levels is gone. I’m pretty sure that was lightning and not another hit by the ships. If that were the case, it would probably just be me glued to my seat hurtling through this storm.
The turbulence ends abruptly, the interior still immersed in the alternating red and blue lights. While the end of the shaking might be a good thing, I’m not sure what to think about the front end of the ship beginning to elongate. It seems to stretch toward the portal like some ship in a science fiction movie about to enter warp speed. The dark color of the bow blends with the pulsing lights and appears to become all colors; the dark turns into a thousand-colored rainbow.
The phenomenon intensifies as we power further into the portal, the nose elongating even more. The windows stretch into eternity while the walls alongside me seem perfectly fine. I turn around and see the walls toward the rear of the ship also stretching impossibly distant. BT and Trip, both huddled against the back, seem thousands of miles away, yet are still clearly visible.