by Jeff Miller
“Um, no. Not yet, at least.” Neil sat up in bed and rubbed his eyelids with clenched fists. His eyes stung looking at his watch, which read 03:51.
“You guys want some questions? I’ve got a few,” said a yawning Neil. “I’m beginning to question your guys’ approach to a wake-up call. A fella needs time for a nice morning bag of dehydrated juice.”
“Hurry up. It’s our missing ship, the Newt,” said Dallas from outside the room, heading to the center of the SQUID. Neil and Biggs scrambled to follow, with the others trailing behind. They had gotten into their bunks shortly after Neil and Biggs, and they wore the same exhausted expressions.
Dallas was waiting for the group with a few papers clutched in her hands. The fleet of NASA technicians bustled around her, heading to and from the Ray’s air lock. Sam and Corinne appeared from the girls’ barracks, wearing matching baggy gray NASA T-shirts.
“So no continental breakfast?” asked a cranky Neil of Dallas. The kitchen counter was empty, and his stomach grumbled. Even bad hotels offered a few free bagels in the morning.
“We’ll get you a zero-gravity granola bar,” said Sam. “They found our ship.”
Neil’s eyebrows arched in surprise, and he turned toward Dallas, his eyes finally adjusting to the crisp LED lighting.
“The Newt is hiding in a pile of floating junk. Whoever it is that hacked our whole system did the same to all our online satellites, and they figured they wouldn’t be seen,” explained Dallas to her group of tired recruits.
“But they forgot about one, the Hubble. The space telescope had a camera installed years ago that transmitted photos back over a dedicated fax line.”
“What’s a ‘fax’?” asked Biggs.
“It’s a facsimile transmission device. Old-school. It’s how we received this.” Dallas held up a piece of paper, which showed a blurry, pixelated patch of debris. “Right there is the Newt,” she said, pointing to a glob of black ink with the tip of a red pen. It barely looked like anything, let alone a top-of-the-line spacecraft. “Now it’s time to go get it.”
“And save the planet?” asked Neil, recalling what Finch had told him. He remembered Sam’s weird feeling about the mission. He was starting to get the same impression . . . something was wrong.
The Chief CAPCOM cocked her head curiously.
“Finch told me everything,” said Neil, making sure the rest of the group was out of earshot.
He was really getting the hang of the whole lying thing.
“I see,” Dallas said, her forehead wrinkling. “Well, Finch is putting the final touches on the mission, and he’ll update you at the launch pad.”
“Plan ’Zee,” said Neil.
“Right. So you know the ultimate threat that Q-94 poses.”
“Yes. I do,” Neil said. Q-94 was the name of a local radio station playing hits from forgotten decades, but apparently it was also the name of a world-destroying threat.
“The Q-94 might be the most dangerous asteroid that’s ever headed toward Earth, but we’ll be with you the whole mission.”
Neil did a double take. Did Dallas just say asteroid?
Neil and his crew huddled together in a huge industrial elevator leading to the Fossil. Commander Finch stood in the center, a foot taller than the ragtag crew surrounding him.
People talked, but asteroid was the only word in Neil’s head.
“As I assume Dallas briefed you all, we’ve found the orbital path of our missing ship, the Newt,” Finch said, clutching a clipboard in his hands. “Weather conditions are currently perfect for a launch, so the mission must start immediately.”
“What’s going on, Commander?” asked Sam.
“With the intel from that photo, we’ve mapped the orbit of the ship. As of the last transmitted photograph, it hasn’t moved, so we’ll be able to send the Fossil on a course to intercept.”
“That’s nice. But what’s going on with Q-94?” Neil said bluntly. He couldn’t help it.
Finch’s face remained calm.
“I see Dallas has briefed you all,” the commander said.
“Something like that,” Neil replied.
“Well, it’s best you all know anyways,” Finch started. “For a few years now, we’ve been following and tracking near-Earth objects massive enough to pose a threat to our planet. Our attention was drawn to an asteroid. Q-94. At its current velocity and angle, it is due to collide with Earth.”
Neil felt a little light-headed. The group was silent.
“We’ve been hoping that its collision course would alter, but it’s headed directly for our planet. NASA has been preparing the fleet of Whiptails in case we need to face the worst. Fortunately we still have time. By our calculations, the asteroid will collide in two weeks. But the Newt is our last chance at stopping the asteroid before it gets too close. That’s why it is so valuable to us.”
“Why doesn’t everybody know about this?” asked a concerned JP. “This type of thing should be public knowledge.”
Neil agreed. Even if they couldn’t stop it, people at least deserved to know there was precious little time to secure high scores in favorite games.
“By the way, great questions, everyone. I’m very proud,” Finch said, in a giddy, geeked-out way. “Yes, people should know, but it’s a tricky balance. We always want to solve the problem without inciting panic. That’s why getting the Newt back is our top priority.”
“We can do it, sir,” said Trevor, catching everyone a bit off guard. “You can count on us.”
Others nodded in support. While Neil was surprised to hear Trevor be so positive, he did agree wholeheartedly. If he and his friends were the only people able to get this ship back, well, then they had to. And if a kid like Trevor was being heroic, backing out would look pretty bad.
“Now if you’ll bear with me, I’m going to dole out crew positions. I’d hoped to have more time to run simulations with all of you and not base your talents off a written exam, but it is what it is.” He scribbled a few more words down on the clipboard in his hands.
“Payload specialists will be Waffles and Dale. Guys, you’ll be in charge of the auxiliary features of the ship, like the pulse cannon to disable the Newt. And anything that blows up.”
“Awesome,” said the twin brothers in unison.
Finch read on, his voice exuberantly bouncing up and down in pitch. Neil thought he sounded like his dad before a days-long camping adventure. They seemed to share the same zest for trips to locations without running water.
“Medical specialists are Sam and . . . well, Sam, you’ll be alone. Your scores were off the charts. JP, you’ll be in charge of radar. Most of our electronics have a few lingering bugs from whatever the space thieves have done, but it should work.”
Finch kept reading the list of new positions.
“On consumables will be Riley and Corinne. There should be enough dehydrated food for two weeks on board, so food shouldn’t be an issue. Plus the ship’s made to launch carrying enough bananas for twelve chimpanzees, so you’ll be loaded up.
“Hurbigg, you’ll be our communications specialist. You’ll be the point of contact with the mission CAPCOM, Dallas.”
Neil couldn’t help but feel that putting Biggs in charge of communication was dangerous. At the very least, he would set a record for the most times dude was said over official NASA airwaves.
“Now for pilots and deputy pilots,” Finch said as Neil’s heart began to thump. “Jason 1 and Jason 2, from what Dallas has told me about your simulation, you’ll be my deputies. We’ll need both of you ready to fly back in our stolen bird.”
The two high-fived gloved hands.
“And at the top of the chain of command will be Andertol and Grunsten,” Finch explained. “They’ll report to me, and all of you will report to them.”
Neil wished he had enough time to explain to Finch how awful an idea giving Trevor power would be, and how he’d probably make everyone watch him do fencing exercises. But the commander was all b
usiness, and he didn’t allow for a word edgewise.
“Your next-generation Whiptail, like I said, should be bug-free,” Finch said. “Since I won’t be in the ship with you, I’ll need to be alerted of any issues. We’ve got one shot. One shot to make it count. Let’s make it successful.”
Neil felt the seriousness of the moment. It was like a hot wave quickly washing over him. The subtle whirring of the elevator heaving them upward was still constant.
“So if you’re not coming with us, who is commander? What are we supposed to do?” asked Trevor, his voice sharp and demanding. Neil could sense Trevor was vying to be selected.
“I’m no longer cleared for flight. During a space walk a few years ago, I had to save a satellite from drifting into orbit. Held on to the shuttle with my left hand and grabbed the thing with my free hand,” Finch said, demonstrating with an intense clenched fist. “Tore basically everything in my right shoulder. Now my body can’t withstand the g forces associated with space travel. Plus I can’t fit in that spaceship; I’ll feel like I’m in a dollhouse.”
Finch took two steps toward the lift’s doors, spinning to face all eleven gamers-turned-Air-Force-pilots-turned-astronauts. He placed a hand on Neil’s shoulder.
“But, Andertol, I believe you’ve got what it takes to lead this crew,” Finch said confidently.
Neil could feel sweat building on his palms as his throat slowly began to close.
“From what I’ve seen, and what Jones has told me, you’re the person for the job,” Finch said to Neil before pivoting his head to the group. “You know, at first I didn’t know if this would work, but I’ve got faith in you. In all of you.”
“Hail Lord Commander Andertol!” shouted Riley. “May he be a fair and wise dictator! A friend to man and beast, particularly hogs and their overseers!”
“Well, I don’t know about that part, but sounds good to me,” said Sam. “Just know we’re counting on you, ManofNeil.”
This seemed to be the final opportunity to come clean, to let Finch and the group know how Neil had stretched the truth. How he had a maximum of forty minutes logged in Shuttle Fury, which included bathroom breaks.
“If I had any doubt in Neil, the mission wouldn’t happen,” eased Finch. “Now, we’ve got minutes until takeoff. We’ll be in constant radio contact. I’ll be with you the whole way, as well as the astronaut flying with you in the middeck.”
“An astronaut? I thought you said nobody could fit in the Fossil?” asked a befuddled Neil.
“Correct, but there’s a retired Russian cosmonaut we’re bringing in to fly with you. He’ll handle the technical aspects of flight. He’s trained for monitoring pressurization and fuel levels,” said Finch as the hulking elevator came to a stop. The doors opened to a cream-colored spaceship.
Waiting for them on the bridge was a chimpanzee in a green-and-white jumpsuit, his name stitched onto it in bright-red cursive lettering. He had a wrinkled, agitated face complete with a small scar on his left cheek. Gray hair framed his face. He looked at Neil and the others and spit on the metal floor of the walkway.
“Recruits, meet Boris.”
INSIDE THE FOSSIL, THEY WERE FORCED TO CROUCH AS THEY made their way to the cramped main flight cabin. White space suits with helmets and backpacks full of oxygen were secured to the walls.
The whole craft itself was a small compact wedge, like a space shuttle and a minivan merged together. It had stubby wings that stuck out on either side and four windows looking out from the control deck. At any given time, Neil was basically touching two of his fellow recruits, and everything pretty much smelled like a zoo exhibit.
“Now just know we’ll be with you the whole time. We’ll be in constant contact during the entire mission,” said Finch. “Everyone settled in?”
Everyone gave him a thumbs-up, and Neil could hear the exterior door of the ship being sealed. Dale closed the circular door leading from the ship’s main cabin into the air lock. He latched it shut with a firm twist of the metal handle and then secured himself into his locking chair.
There were two rows of seats separated by a small space to walk in the center. Dale and Waffles were seated way in the back, with Neil and Trevor up front. Sam was behind Trevor, and the seat behind her was left empty, meant for Yuri. Jason 1 and Jason 2 completed the row ending with Waffles’s grinning face.
Across the small primate walkway, and directly behind Neil, was JP. Then Biggs, in charge of communicating with Dallas, and Riley and Corinne took the seats after.
Neil looked at the control panels in front of him. All things considered, it looked rather familiar. The gauges seemed similar enough to the ones Chameleons had, and the joystick for the Whiptail felt comfortable in Neil’s hands. It felt like the whole thing was created to be like a video game, just designed for chimpanzees. Controls and gauges used pictures instead of words. A few were marked with pictures of apes screaming, with red circles slashed through them.
“Okay, I won’t touch some of those controls. Whatever they may be,” Neil said to himself.
With a howl, Boris descended to the middeck, below the flight deck. A hatch in the floor led to his boiler room–like quarters, where he was to regulate the pressurization and other technical aspects of the flight.
“Come in, Biggs. Repeat, come in, Biggs. Do you hear me?” said a voice over the headset pulled over each gamer’s head. It was Dallas.
“Read you loud and clear, Houston,” Biggs said. “Er, Dallas. Someplace in Texas. Listen, we’ve got an angry-chimpanzee situation happening. Any advice on how to approach it?”
“Don’t worry about him; he’s always cranky,” said Dallas through the ship’s radio. Everybody could hear both sides of the conversation, but only Biggs had actual radio control. “That’s why he had to leave his crew and come retire in Florida. They couldn’t take it anymore. Boris, are you clear for launch?”
The chimpanzee underfoot gave a couple of quick whimpers followed by a metallic clanking noise.
“Copy that. You’re all set for launch, recruits.”
“Well, that sounds promising,” said Sam from her seat.
Neil shifted in the tiny pilot’s perch. Under an insulated white space suit, Neil wore a thin heating and cooling unit that channeled water through every inch of an astronaut’s constricting pressure suit. It was a bit stiff, but Neil had a feeling it could come in handy.
He twisted his neck to let a little air flow past his sweaty neck.
“Let’s see if your Chameleon skills carry over into the space race,” said Trevor as he and Neil watched the launch timer slowly count down from sixty. They checked gauges on liquid oxygen and hydrogen, but mostly prepared themselves for g forces that might squeeze all liquids from their bodies. Boris would be able to adjust any levels—they could simply focus on flying the craft once it reached outer space.
The rocket would propel the capsule and the Whiptail spacecraft to the farthest reaches of Earth’s atmosphere. The main boosters would detach, and the Whiptail’s jet engine would take over. Neil could hear the bridge and scaffolding pull away. For now the windows were still dark and covered.
“Ten . . .” came Dallas’s voice over the ship’s radio.
“Well, I feel great about Neil being in control,” said Biggs from his station. He made a signal with his hand that kind of looked like a rabbit with four or five legs. The Universal Biggs Language was going to need a pretty thorough reference key to clear up any confusion.
“Nine . . .”
“Eight . . .”
Neil nodded his head, and Finch’s voice filled the helmet of every suit.
“Okay, astronauts. Just like your last mission,” Finch said as the final seconds ticked by with robotic beeping noises. “And don’t think I’m not timing this. Extra points for a speedy recovery.”
Neil gave himself a few seconds to breathe, and with that, the microphoned voice of Finch declared liftoff.
Neil felt a low rumble, unlike anything he’d exper
ienced before. The rocket violently shimmied back and forth and was suddenly plucked up from the ground. It was like someone dropped a yo-yo, only to jerk it back up toward their palm in an instant.
The unrelenting power of five gs of pressure crushed Neil as the ship rocketed toward space.
But then Neil felt a slight change in trajectory. He heard a bleating warning noise coming from his control dashboard.
While the initial thrust felt like the rocket was headed straight up, it now felt like they were jetting through the atmosphere at a weird angle. The plane was veering downward.
Summoning all his strength, Neil asked a question of his deputy pilot, Jason 1.
“What’s . . . our . . . altitude?” Neil said, forcing his body to use neck muscles he didn’t even know existed.
“We’ve not yet broken the atmosphere,” Jason 1 responded.
If the rocket were off by the slightest bit, they would come crashing back to Earth in a few deadly seconds.
As his body was jostled with the force of ten rickety traveling-carnival rides, Neil’s eyes turned to the manual override.
There was no other choice. Neil disengaged the autopilot and took control of the spacecraft. The controls felt sort of like a Chameleon, and Neil manipulated the ship with confidence.
“What are you doing?” croaked Trevor from the seat next to Neil.
“Keeping us alive,” Neil said as the spaceplane burst out of the payload capsule protecting it. As the nose of the plane cleared the debris, Neil was greeted by a blinding light.
“Oh man! Aliens!” Biggs yelled.
“No, snow!” shouted Neil as he wrestled with the craft’s controls. For a split second the flurries of snow opened up, and Neil watched a jagged mountain range appear before him, like the teeth of an angry snow monster.
Neil yanked the controls left, but the speed of the Fossil was too much, and the ship designed to explore galaxies collided with an arctic mountain range. The crew screamed as the thud of the crash resonated up through the seats they were strapped into.
