by Alton Gansky
“It appears that I can. I’m willing to say this one more time. Get out of the car. Now!”
No one moved.
The driver’s face hardened. “To show you what a sport I am, gramps, I’ll let you choose which child I shoot in the leg.”
“Okay, okay, you win. Just keep your pants on.” Benjamin looked over his shoulder and Myra could see the fear in his eyes. “We’d better do as he says.” Benjamin slowly opened his door and exited.
“This way.” Myra wanted to keep the car between the gunman and her children.
Once outside, she pushed her children behind her, interposing her body between them and the muzzle of the handgun. She knew it offered no protection, but her motherly instincts did not rely on logic. Even a one in a million chance was a chance. Her mind tumbled. What should she do? What did the man want? Was her husband safe? Between all the questions flowing like water around stones was an endless string of prayers.
“All of you to the container. Go, now, now.”
Myra led Gary and Penny to Benjamin, and the four of them moved to the front doors of the container. Like Myra, Benjamin insisted on standing between the family and the gunman. Myra knew him when he was still on the fire department, a man unflappable then, and she could see he remained unflappable even now. She wished she had his courage.
“Open it.”
Myra looked at the large container. It stood a couple of feet taller than she and was wide enough to hold a car. They stood at one end, and she could see doors —doors that reminded her of those on the back of a big rig’s trailer. She took one handle and forced it up to free the latch, then did the same with the other. Fearing what she might find inside, she pulled the doors open slowly. The banshee squeal of its rusted hinges ran through Myra like electricity.
The container was empty. Almost empty. It took a moment for Myra to realize what she was seeing. Four small glass jars, spaced several feet apart and running the length of the container, hung from wires attached to the metal ceiling.
“Everyone in. Don’t touch the vials.”
“What are you planning?” Benjamin’s words sounded more like a demand than a question.
“You watch too much television, pops. You are not going to get an explanation. Just get in.”
“What do we do, Mom?” Penny’s eyes were moist, but so far, she had refused to cry.
“I think we’d better do as he says, sweetheart.” Myra was the first to step into the container. Gary and Penny followed, but Benjamin refused to move.
“What’s the matter with you, old man?”
“I’m just trying to decide if you’re the kind of man that would really kill four innocent people.”
Quain shrugged. “I’ve done it before, and I’m willing to do it again.”
“Do you mind telling me why?” Benjamin stood his ground.
“Yes, I do mind.” A churning silence filled the space between them.
“Just so you know, I don’t have much fear of dying. I’ve been ready to die for many years. The other side holds more good stuff for me than this side.”
Quain shook his head as if he were dealing with a child. “I’ll bet you have no desire to watch your family die. Now get in the container before I pop one of them.”
Although Myra stood behind Benjamin, she could tell that a hurricane of emotion swirled within him. She doubted that there was a man alive that could intimidate her father-in-law, even at his advanced age. “Perhaps you should do as he says, Dad.”
“Please, Grandpa. Please. Don’t make him shoot you.” The tears Penny had been holding back flowed unabated.
Myra watched as Tuck’s father turned and stared at his granddaughter. For the first time, she saw tears in his eyes. He hesitated for a moment, then turned his back on the man with the gun and joined them in the container.
“Smart move.” Quain went to the back of the car and popped the trunk, never taking his eyes off Myra and the others for more than a second. A few moments later, Myra saw that he held another object in his free hand. She had to gaze at it for a few long seconds before she realized what she was seeing: a small, handheld video camera. He raised the camera and Myra could see him make adjustments with one hand. “Everyone say . . . ‘Daddy!’ ”
No one said anything.
In a single blurred motion, Quain raised the gun and pulled the trigger. The sound of the shot rolled along the empty desert, the roar of it punctuated by the loud metal twang where the bullet hit the door. The children screamed. Myra tried to shield them with her body, and in turn, Benjamin tried to cover all three, wrapping them in his arms.
“I said . . . everyone say, ‘Daddy!’ ”
Myra turned her face to the gunman and saw behind the camera the briefest of smiles.
New prayers sprung to her mind.
TWENTY-EIGHT
There was a slight jolt as the tow vehicle began a slow progression from the hangar to the runway. The combined craft of Condor and Legacy gracefully submitted to the tow. A small set of mirrors situated just above Tuck’s head allowed him an unhindered view of the passengers in the rear. Lance had escorted each to their assigned seat and strapped them in with a five-point harness. Clothed as they were in their customized LES suits, they looked like an experienced, well-rehearsed crew. He knew better.
Tuck watched as Lance checked each harness one more time. The visor on every helmet rested in the up position. The passengers would not need to lower them until they reached the edge of space. Tuck could see the mixture of apprehension and enthusiasm on each face. They were frightened half to death. He couldn’t blame them. Tuck and the other members of the SpaceVentures team had discussed what to do should one passenger chicken out. Of course, they could do little once they took off. Condor couldn’t safely land with Legacy bolted to her belly.
By the time Lance reached the cockpit and took his seat, the tow vehicle had picked up speed. By design, the first fifty yards would be run at two miles per hour, plenty of time for the gathered crowd to take pictures. After that, the tow vehicle would increase its speed to just five mph.
“Passenger status?” Tuck already knew the answer, but he thrived on formality during flight. It was one of the few things he and Lance shared.
“All passengers are flight ready.”
Tuck leaned forward and gazed out one of the many teardrop-shaped windows of the spacecraft. “A lot of people came out for the show.”
“Yep, we’re making history.”
At the moment, Tuck wasn’t interested in making history; he was interested in catching a glimpse of his family. He couldn’t see them. “I assume your family made it safe and well.”
“Yeah, I can see them in the stands.” In an uncharacteristically soft moment, Lance touched the window as if he could feel the faces of his loved ones.
The animosity between Lance and Tuck was such that they had never discussed their families, but Tuck knew that a wife, a six-year-old boy, and a three-year-old daughter were staring back at his copilot. Tuck stared across the cockpit and through the tiny window. He was having trouble seeing. “I can’t see my family.”
“I can’t help you there, Commander. I’ve never met your family.”
Maybe if we stop acting like six-year-olds, we could remedy that.
“They haven’t missed a liftoff yet. I’m certain they’re there; I just can’t make them out from here.”
“Maybe they got a better offer.” Lance turned to Tuck and gave a small smile.
“Trust me, pal, there ain’t no better offer.”
“Well, Commander, your confidence still seems intact.”
What Tuck could see was a mixture of men and women of all ages standing and applauding. Some waved tiny American flags that Tuck knew Roos had provided. He also knew musical fanfare filled the air. He had heard it when the sound engineers were setting up. All Tuck could hear now was the gentle roar of fans that circulated the cabin air. The highly insulated craft kept all exterior sound out.
&n
bsp; The craft vibrated and bumped along the tarmac as the tow vehicle drew it to its place on the runway. Tuck’s heart picked up the pace. He gave up peering through the window, leaned back in his seat, and checked the indicators on his flight panel again. Everything was nominal.
Tuck keyed his mike. “Lady and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking, and on behalf of SpaceVentures, I want to thank you for flying with us. I am sorry to have to inform you that we have no stewards or stewardesses on this flight, no in-flight entertainment, no magazines or newspapers, and we certainly don’t have any pretzels, but we will have an out-of-this-world view.”
Nervous laughter filtered forward and through the speakers in Tuck’s helmet. He continued, “The first thing on our list is to verify communications. If you’re still on board, please answer when I call your name. Mr. Burke?”
“Still here and I hear you fine.”
“Thank you, Mr. Secretary. Ms. Ginny Lin?”
“Present, teacher.” She giggled.
“Mr. Daki Abe?”
“Ready to roll, Commander.”
“Love to hear the enthusiasm. How about you, Mr.Donnelly?”
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
Tuck looked at Lance. “Tell me you’re kidding, Mr.Donnelly.”
“Just kidding, Commander. My sense of humor goes in the tank when I’m scared.”
Tuck chuckled with the others. “A sense of humor is always welcome.” The tow to the runway seemed to take forever. “I assume everyone was able to hear everyone else?” A barrage of affirmative statements assaulted Tuck’s ears. “By way of reminder, all your microphones are voice-activated. We as pilot and copilot can toggle off our microphones to speak to Ground Control or to one another. However, throughout the flight, you should be able to hear everything we say and everything Ground Control has to say.”
“So, should one of us start screaming like a little girl . . . ?” It was Jim Tolson in the Condor.
“The whole world will know about it.”
Jim said, “In that case, I’ll have to put on a brave front.”
The tow vehicle reached the runway and made a wide turn, centering the hybrid aircraft on the line marking the center of the long concrete ribbon. They came to a stop. A few minutes later, the tow vehicle disconnected and drove away.
Jim’s voice came over the communication system again. “Ground Control, this is Condor. We are ready for power up.”
“Condor, you are free to power up.”
“Roger that, beginning power-up sequence.”
There was nothing for Tuck to do but sit in his seat with his hands folded in front of him. This part of the journey belonged to Jim Tolson. The passengers chatted among themselves. They discussed nothing of importance; it was just a way to handle nerves. The chatter ceased once Jim started the massive jet engines. While the Legacy’s well-insulated hull cut outside noise to zero, it could not prevent sound transmitted through the hard connections that held it to its parent craft Condor. The vibrations made Tuck’s skin itch.
Tuck had never flown in the Condor. He admitted to a great urge to take its controls, and to fly the craft to the upper limits of the atmosphere, but Jim was the only one checked out on the craft. Since the craft had no copilot seat, only one man could be in the airplane at a time. Tuck had complained about that the first week on the job. Anytime passengers were involved, Tuck felt that a second pilot should be required. If something were to happen to Jim — a stroke, heart attack, or some other unforeseen illness that might incapacitate him —then disaster was certain.
In such a case, and if they had reached sufficient altitude, Tuck could release the stays that bound Legacy to Condor and glide the craft to safety, but there would be nothing he could do for Jim and Condor. Without a conscious pilot at the controls, the big plane would crash to Earth and perhaps harm those in populated areas. Roos and his team had insisted that a remote-control backup system be used, rather than another pilot. “Pilots weigh more than electronics.” That had been his logic. Tuck did not agree.
None of that mattered now. Roos was the ultimate decision maker, and he had made his decision and cast it in concrete. There would be other days to argue the issue.
As the engine warmed up and reached near takeoff speed, Tuck felt the craft push against the brakes, which Jim had locked. In this way, the craft was very much like a commercial airliner, which tested its engines against its brakes. It also reminded Tuck of his days taking off from an aircraft carrier.
“Ground control, Condor is ready for takeoff.”
“You are cleared for takeoff, Condor. Godspeed, and good luck.”
Tuck recognized Roos’s voice. Tuck expected this. Roos had reserved the right of clearing the craft for takeoff, and since it was his money, he got his wish.
Jim’s smooth Southern voice boomed in the headphones. “Hold onto your hats and glasses, and please keep your arms and heads in the vehicle at all times.”
The craft jolted forward and began its sprint down the runway. . . .
“Mom, I can’t see.”
“Stay right where you are, sweetheart.” Myra could hear the fear in Penny’s voice. Gary was clinging to her side as if she were a life preserver in the middle of the ocean. She clung to him in the same fashion.
Small beams of light that pressed through two-inch holes near the floor broke the black of the container. It was insufficient light to navigate, but it gave enough illumination to keep the container from seeming like a tomb. It also gave her a moment of comfort knowing that the container was not airtight.
“I’m coming up behind you, Penny.” Benjamin kept his voice low.
“Don’t touch the things hanging down in the middle,” Myra said. “I think they’re dangerous.”
“What are they, Mom?” Gary’s voice echoed off the metal walls.
“I don’t know, sweetheart.”
“What are we going to do now?” Penny was on the verge of hysterics.
Benjamin answered, “First thing we’re going to do is make sure we don’t lose our heads. The second thing we’re going to do is make sure we don’t lose our faith. Are we all clear on that?” Myra and the children said yes. “Okay, give me a moment to think. When I was just a rookie at the fire department academy, one of my instructors said this, ‘If you roll up to a fire and you don’t know what to do, then sit down, have a cigarette, and think about it.’ ” He chuckled and Myra knew it was for the children’s benefit. “I asked him what you are supposed to do if you don’t smoke.” He waited for response. Gary obliged.
“What did he say, Grandpa?”
“He told me to stop interrupting the class.”
“He was telling you not to panic, is that right, Grandpa?”
“That he was, Son; that he was.” He thought for a moment and took a deep breath. “First the good news: the holes near the floor will make sure we have enough air. Second, we are all still alive. And third, we may be in a pickle, but God is still on His throne.”
“Amen.” Myra had to force the word out. Her children repeated the word.
“Maybe there’s just water in those little glass jars,” Benjamin said, “but I agree that we should avoid them. I think we should move to the wall. Penny, give me your hand.” There was a pause, then, “Got it. Myra, have you moved?”
“No, I’m still facing the doors, and Gary is to my left. I have my arm around him.”
“Very good. That means your right shoulder should be pointed towards me. Raise your hand.”
Myra did as Benjamin requested. She felt his hand touch her mid-forearm, and then work its way back to her hand. A moment later, she felt another hand, a hand she knew belonged to Penny.
“All right, Penny, let your mother pull you close to her.”
“Okay.”
“Got her.” She never felt so good to Myra.
“Great. Now move to your left until you feel the side of the container. I mean, all three of you.”
“What are you going
to do?” Gary asked.
“For the moment, I’m going to stay right here.”
The sound of shuffling feet filled the small area. “We’re there.”
“Good. Now keep your backs to the wall, or sit on the floor if you’d like. I’m trying to make sure that none of us accidentally hits one of those bottle things.”
“Why . . . why, what’s in them?” Penny’s voice carried a tremble as well as the words.
“Beats me, but I don’t think he’s playing with a full deck. He said they were dangerous, and that’s good enough for me.”
A sound came from the door.
“Tell me that’s you, Ben?” Myra whispered the question.
“Yeah, it’s me. I’m sure I heard that nutcase drive off. I’m going to see if I can open the door from inside.”
“I think I heard him lock it,” Gary said.
“Me too,” Penny added.
“I think you’re right.” His words were calm and smooth. “But it doesn’t hurt to double-check.”
Myra stood with her back against the metal wall, an arm around each child, and listened as her father-in-law worked in the dark.
“Wait, I’m an idiot. Don’t you have a cell phone, Myra?”
For a moment, her heart leapt with hope, but then crashed on the hard floor of reality. “Yes, but it’s in my purse, which I left in the car.”
“For the first time in my life, I wish I had one of those dumb things.”
If she had been in any other situation but this, Myra might have laughed. Benjamin was notorious in the family for refusing to carry a cell phone. “I don’t want to be that connected,” he often said.
“Mine is still in the car too.” Penny sounded defeated.
“I’ve got mine,” Gary said. “I keep mine in my pocket.”
“You’re too young to have a cell phone,” Benjamin quipped. “And just as soon as we’re out of this and safe and sound, I plan on telling your father so.” His voice had a forced humor to it.
“You want to use it or not, Grandpa?” Gary said. “I can let you borrow it for a real good price.”
