by Alton Gansky
“I have nothing to complain about except my impatience. The closer we get to launch time, the slower the clock seems to move.”
“Welcome to our world,” Tuck said, and took a sip of sparkling cider.
The small launch party continued, and Tuck did his best to get to know the passengers that would be riding aloft with him. The time was enjoyable, what little food Tuck ate was good, but his mind stayed chained to the event that would begin shortly.
Less than half an hour after the toast the three crew members, four passengers, and Roos stood next to the Condor-Legacy joint craft. Lance Campbell walked around each passenger, inspecting the flight suits they wore. Unlike the jumpsuit-style uniforms worn for the press conference, each passenger now wore a formfitting space suit. Tuck and Lance wore the same kind of garb. It was Lance’s job to make sure the passengers had donned the suits correctly and to provide last-minute instruction before they entered Legacy.
Lance gave a brief lecture. “Each of you has been through the training. Each of you has read and signed an agreement stating that you have read the materials about this flight. But I tend to be a little paranoid, so let’s go over this one more time.” He put his hands behind his back and continued. “The suits you now wear are referred to as LESs — launch and entry suits. They are similar to those worn by astronauts on the Space Shuttle. The purpose of the suit is to make you more comfortable during acceleration. Once we are on board, we will connect you to an air supply that will pressurize the suits. In the event of an emergency, you can use that same air system for breathing. The pressure in the suit helps counterbalance the stresses you’ll feel when the rocket engine engages. We will be pulling close to three Gs when we begin our acceleration to space. That means you will feel as though you weigh three times as much as you do now. The suits will help you deal with that.
“Once on board, you will find a flight helmet in your assigned seat. As you know, these do not look like regular space helmets worn by astronauts during EVAs. The purpose of these helmets is to aid in communication and to prevent injury during weightlessness. Each of the helmets has your name stenciled on the front. We do this to avoid any confusion in communication. The first thing you will do once on board is find your seat and stow any gear that you brought with you. The only things allowed are digital cameras and recorders. Those of you facing a seat back may store your gear in the pouch provided in front of you. The two of you sitting in the front row will find a similar pouch next to your seat.
“Once you have stowed your belongings you will then strap yourself in. Pull the harness as tight as is comfortable and make sure the latch is secure. I will be checking everyone’s harness to make sure that no one goes floating off prematurely.”
The passengers smiled at the joke. Lance walked behind the four.
“Before you stand Condor and Legacy, two of the most beautiful craft I have ever seen — and I’ve seen many of them. As you learned in training, Condor is our launch platform. The two large GE jet engines you see at the rear produce more horsepower than any other engines their size. Jim Tolson will be our pilot for that portion of our journey. Once we’re on board, and once the crew has done its final check, the ground crew will tow us to the runway. Once there, you will hear Jim rev the engines, shut them down, and then restart them again. This is all part of our pre-takeoff checklist. Shortly after that, you will feel the craft move. You will feel something else. Condor flexes under strain. Rigid things break, flexible things last. As Jim starts down the runway, our speed will increase and you will feel Legacy begin to bounce. Don’t be alarmed. It’s supposed to do that.
“Our speed will increase quickly until you feel yourself pressed in your seat, much like what you feel when you fly a commercial aircraft, but slightly more. Once we reach takeoff speed, Jim will rotate . . . by that I mean, he will pull back on the yoke and the two craft will take flight. At this point we’re having real fun.”
Lance walked in front of the four again and turned to face them. “It’s much like riding in any other aircraft except you have less elbow room, and you’ll fly higher than any commercial aircraft you’ve ever been in.”
Donnelly chuckled. “Is it possible to have less elbow room than a commercial flight?”
“Point taken, Mr. Donnelly. We will fly to an altitude of fifty thousand feet, then Jim will pitch the nose up slightly. You will hear my voice in your helmet telling you to prepare for ignition. That’s your cue to press your head back to the seat and put your hands on the armrests. You will hear a thud when Jim cuts us loose and Legacy begins its freefall. At that moment, you will feel weightless, but we haven’t reached zero-G yet — it’s just the effect of falling.”
“Like the Vomit Comet,” Daki said.
Lance gave a brief nod. “That’s right, Mr. Abe, I believe you said you paid for the privilege of riding a Vomit Comet.”
Ginny grimaced. “I hate feeling like a dummy, but what is the Vomit Comet and why would anyone pay to ride it? I mean . . . eww.”
Daki fielded the question. “It is what NASA uses to train astronauts about microgravity. It is a McDonnell Douglas C – 9 that flies in a parabolic arc. When it reaches the desired altitude, it begins a fast and steep descent simulating zero gravity. There’s a private company that gives paying adventurers the same experience. I believe they use a Boeing 727.”
“And they call it the Vomit Comet, why?”
“Because more than one person has tossed their cookies during the experience.” Donnelly seemed to take some measure of satisfaction answering that question.
“I repeat . . . eww.” She looked at the others then asked, “This isn’t going to be that bad, is it? I mean, if we’re all wearing helmets and one of us . . . you know.”
“I advise against doing that,” Lance said. “You shouldn’t have a problem, but if you do, we have bags for your convenience.”
“They might be helpful,” she said, “but upchucking in zero-G can never be called convenient.”
Lance changed the subject back to the mini review and Tuck was glad for it. “As I was saying, you will feel a few moments of weightlessness once Jim cuts us loose, then a few seconds later the rockets will fire. When that happens, you will be in for the ride of your life. In a few moments, we will be traveling at twenty-five hundred miles per hour — nearly three times the speed of sound. Some movement will be difficult, but the suits you’re wearing will help. There’ll also be a great deal of noise, but don’t let that bother you. It’s just the craft doing its work.
“A short time later, the rocket will have expended its fuel and will cut off. By that time, we will be in sub-orbital space. Wait until you hear from one of us before you remove your cameras or before you undo your harness. We will let you know when it is safe to do so.”
“Then comes reentry,” Roos said.
“Unlike the Space Shuttle, we will be entering the atmosphere at a much slower speed, so the friction will be much less. Our angle of attack — that is, the way we fly through the atmosphere — is also different. The Space Shuttle comes in like a self-guided brick, very fast, very hard. Legacy uses a feathered wings system when it comes into the atmosphere. We come down like a leaf. We don’t flutter down, but we do sail through the air much more slowly, and therefore do not experience the high temperatures earlier spacecraft have. The temperature in the cabin will remain unchanged.”
Lance glanced at the clock on the hangar wall. “Well, lady and gentlemen, it appears it’s time to mount up.”
It took another ten minutes before any of the crew or passengers were able to make their way up the aluminum stairs into the Legacy. Photographers and videographers hired by Roos used the time to record the moment for posterity for the company and for the passengers.
Tuck was the last one on board.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Mark Ganzi had received his instructions from Anthony Verducci, and he intended to follow them to the letter. He’d been working with the man for over five mont
hs now, yet he knew very little about their ultimate mission. However, secrets were part of the private detective business. He had his secrets to keep and assumed others had theirs.
What Ganzi didn’t know was why Pistacchia was so interested in Commander Benjamin Tucker. He and Verducci had been watching the family for months now, and had even broken the law by planting listening devices in their home. Ganzi’s greatest fear was that Pistacchia and Verducci meant Tucker and his family harm. Ganzi had done some unsavory things in his life: he lied often, misrepresented himself, and followed adulterous spouses, never pausing for a moment in taking money for the work.
This was different.
Still, Ganzi could not assume they meant harm. After all, they had multiple opportunities to injure or even kill Tucker or any of his family had they wanted to, yet Verducci never took advantage of those opportunities. Still, here they were continuing the surveillance. His orders were to watch the family until a driver came to pick them up. After that, he was to make his way to the spaceport where an entrance pass waited for him, allowing him to join Verducci and Pistacchia in the VIP viewing area.
The black Lincoln Continental that had taken the astronaut from the hotel room to the spaceport had returned. Ganzi dutifully noted that it was the same driver — an easy man to identify.
The family came down minutes later. Since the Lincoln Continental was not a stretch limo, only three could fit in the back. Old man Tucker took the front seat. It took several moments before the car started and began to move through the hotel parking lot. Once it did, Ganzi started the van and followed. He drove at a leisurely pace, not wanting to alert the driver he had a tail.
As he drove, Ganzi moved a cell phone from the seat beside him and made a call. “They’re on the move.”
Verducci pocketed his cell phone. “That was Ganzi; the family has left the hotel.”
The old man nodded and ran a hand through his hair. To Verducci he looked frail and ill. The trip had taken its toll, and he doubted Signor Pistacchia had slept much that night.
When they arrived at the spaceport, they received royal treatment. Guards escorted Verducci and Pistacchia to an area at the back of the hangar. The area had been cordoned off and several other dignitaries and wealthy contributors had gathered, some drinking the champagne provided by Roos and chatting excitedly. In a few minutes, they were to be escorted into the hangar, where they would be allowed to view the whole operation. Roos had promised a party.
“He’s inside that building, isn’t he?” These were the first words Pistacchia had uttered since arriving at the spaceport.
“Yes. He is very near.”
“And soon his family will be here.” The old man coughed. The last year and a half had been torture for him. Stress and grief had exacted their toll on his body, but his mind remained sharp and determined.
“I can almost feel his presence, Anthony. At long last, Anthony . . . at long, long last . . .”
“It looks different from down here,” Gary said. “Of course it was getting dark then.” He sat in the rear seat, directly behind the driver, and peered out the passenger window at the strangely formed Joshua trees, scrub oak, and tableaus of brown weeds and dirt.
Myra smiled at her son’s enthusiasm.
“What do you mean from down here?” Benjamin asked.
“You remember, Grandpa. Dad brought me here last fall. Mr. Roos gave me an autographed game. He gave one to Penny too. He even hired me to review one of his new products.”
“He gave each of us a game to review,” Penny corrected. “You have a selective memory.”
Myra suppressed a smile. Penny was in that awkward stage between child and woman. It always sounded a little strange to hear her trying to speak as an adult. “No bickering in the car, you guys. Come to think of it, no bickering anywhere.”
“Anyway . . .” Gary stretched the word and seasoned it with a healthy dose of sarcasm. “As I was saying, Grandpa, Dad and I flew out here on Mr. Roos’s private jet. It was really cool.”
Penny grunted. “You’re just trying to rub it in that I didn’t get to go.”
“No, I’m not. You’re just jealous.”
“Jealous of you? No way. Nothing to be jealous about.”
Myra stepped in. “All right, that’s enough squabbling. I doubt Mr. Quain wants to hear you two yammering.”
“Not much bothers me, ma’am. Had a brother and sister myself, and we did our fair share of quarreling.”
“Do you have children of your own, Mr. Quain?” Myra decided she could keep the children from arguing if she dominated the conversation.
The driver shook his head but kept his eyes forward. “No, ma’am. Afraid I never married.”
Gary turned his attention from the scrolling scenery and looked at the driver’s head. “Is that because of your ear?”
“Gary!” Myra was stunned beyond embarrassment. “You know better than that.”
“What a moron.” Myra heard satisfaction in Penny’s voice.
“Shut up!”
Myra was about to speak again when a low grumble came from the front seat. Benjamin had just cleared his throat in a very authoritative way. Both children fell silent.
“I’m sorry.” Benjamin cut his eyes to where Gary sat. “Normally he’s a smart child.”
“No problem, sir. There’s nothing wrong with a boy his age being honest.” He turned his head slightly as if turning toward Gary. “No, I don’t think my ear scared away any women . . . a few crows maybe, but not women. I travel a lot. Most wives like to put roots down, and I’ve never been able to do that.”
“What happened to your ear?” Somehow, Myra knew Gary would ask the question. She gave him an icy stare.
238 “Your father asked me the same question this morning.”
Gary gave his mother an “I told you so” look.
“I did a little boxing while in the Navy — took too many shots to the side of the head. It’s called a cauliflower ear. Boxers sometimes get it when the ear is damaged in a fight.”
“Wow, I’ve never met a real-life boxer before.” Gary sat steeped in awe. “We don’t watch boxing at home. I don’t think anyone in the family likes it.” Gary paused. No offense, mister.”
“No problem, son. I don’t watch boxing on television either. I gave up on the sport after my last bout. That was a lot of years ago.”
Myra studied her boy for moment, fearful of what he might ask next. But instead of firing another question, Gary looked out the window and seemed puzzled. He turned in his seat to look behind him, then out the window on the side of the car. Myra tilted her head, then asked, “Something wrong, Gary?”
“I think we were supposed to turn back there.” He jerked a hitchhiker’s thumb over his shoulder. “I saw a line of cars going down one of the roads. I remember seeing that road from the air. I think.”
“Things look different on the ground than they do from the air,” Penny snapped.
“How would you know?”
Benjamin echoed Gary’s concerns. “How about it, sir? Did we miss the turnoff?”
Myra looked at the driver and noticed he was gazing at her through the rearview mirror. He smiled.
“Yes and no. Gary is right about that being the main road in, but we’re taking the alternate route. I noticed on the way out to pick you up that the road was clogged with traffic. I’m afraid that if we take the main road, we might be late for the launch. If we’re not there in time for that, there will be a line of people wanting my head, not the least of which will be Commander Tucker.”
Benjamin didn’t seem convinced. “Won’t we be traveling farther?”
The driver nodded. “Farther in distance; less in time.”
Myra felt disquieted. She tried to shake it off. Everything the driver said made sense, and he gave no indication of being dangerous or untrustworthy. After all, he’d delivered Tuck to the spaceport earlier that day. Hadn’t he?
Five minutes later, they turned north on a dirt
road. To Myra, it seemed as though they were driving on the Moon. Gangly Joshua trees stood with their limbs lifted like the raised arms of some monster from a 1950s horror movie. Potholes marred the dirt road and washboard-like ridges ran across its width, making the car shudder as the driver pushed the big vehicle down the path. He sped up and twice the car fishtailed slightly.
“I apologize for the road,” the driver said. “Fortunately we won’t be on it very long.”
“You could slow down some.” Benjamin spoke the words aloud to overcome the noise from a vibrating car.
“Actually, driving slower makes the ride worse. The key is finding just the right speed.”
No matter how hard she tried, Myra could see no buildings, no other cars, no signs indicating that they were on a road to anywhere. Her disquiet grew into fear.
A short distance ahead, an object appeared. At first Myra thought it was a house, but its rectangular structure lacked a roof, porch, a yard, or anything to identify it as a habitat. As they approached, she recognized it — a metal shipping container, the kind seen riding on the backs of freight trains, or coursing across the ocean on large container ships. She wondered what such an object would be doing in the middle of the desert. She also wondered why the dirt road led straight to it.
The vehicle slowed as the driver neared the container. It was large, white, and heavily weathered. Its protective paint coat had long ago given up its grip on the metal sides. Splotches and veins of blood-red rust replaced much of the paint.
“What are you — ?” Benjamin never finished the question.
The car ground to a stop. A cloud of dust rose like a mist, and before it could settle, the driver threw open his door, reached beneath his coat pocket, and removed a handgun.
“Get out.” There was no anger in the words, no ferocity, but also no room for interpretation. It was clear to Myra that he meant business, and if his tone hadn’t been enough to convince her, then the gun he held in a steady hand would have done the trick.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Benjamin leaned over to peer through the driver’s open door. “You can’t treat us this way.”
