Area 7 ss-2

by Matthew Reilly

  Then he just strode forward to the cockpit, speaking

  into his intercom as he did so: "All personnel, prepare for

  separation from the launch vehicle in thirty seconds"

  The cockpit door slid firmly shut behind the pilot, sealing

  it off, and Schofield was left standing in the middle of

  the cabin, staring at the closed pressure hatch in the floor beneath

  him.

  Holy shit ... .

  They were about to go into orbit.

  With the president behind him, Schofield made his way

  forward, to two empty seats near the cockpit door.

  As he did so, he observed how the Echo men had attached

  themselves to the shuttle's centralized life-support

  system and strapped themselves into their seats.

  He arrived at his seat, and plugged a secondary hose

  from his life-support briefcase into a socket in the seat's

  arm. Then he sat down and started securing his seat harness.

  The President, watching him, did the same, strapping

  himself into a seat on the other side of the central aisle.

  Once he was safely secured, Schofield turned to look

  about himself.

  Across the aisle from him, in the seat directly behind

  the President, he saw the lopsided figure of Kevin, looking

  very awkward in his oversized space suit.

  It was then that a strange thing happened.

  Kevin waved at him.

  Waved at him.

  It was a rapid side-to-side wave which made the little

  boy's overlong sleeve flap stupidly in the air.

  Schofield frowned, did a double take.

  He was wearing his opaque gold-tinted space helmet.

  There was no way Kevin could see his face.

  Did Kevin know who he was?

  How could Kevin know who he was?

  Schofield dismissed the thought as stupid. Kevin must

  have just been waving at all of the astronauts.

  He turned to check on the President--saw him draw his

  area 7 407

  seat belts tightly across his chest. The President seemed to

  take a long, deep breath. Schofield knew how he felt.

  Suddenly, voices came in over their helmet intercoms.

  "Booster ignition standing by ..."

  "Approaching launch height ..."

  "Umbilical release in three ... two ... one ... mark."

  There came a loud clunking noise from beneath the

  shuttle, and abruptly, the whole spacecraft rose slightly in

  the air, felt lighter.

  "Umbilical has separated ... we are clear of the

  launch vehicle ..."

  There came a soft chuckle. Then Cobra Carney's voice: "Burn it."

  "Certainly, sir. Prepare to engage Pegasus boosters ... Ignition in three ..."

  The shuttle beneath Schofield began to rumble ominously.

  two ...

  He waited in tense anticipation.

  "... one ... mark."

  IT LOOKED LIKE SOMEONE HAD IGNITED A FLAME THROWER.

  When the X-38's Pegasus boosters fired, the space shuttle

  was positioned slightly above its abandoned 747 launch

  vehicle--its gigantic boosters pointed directly at the silver

  jumbo beneath it.

  The boosters ignited, bright as magnesium flares. Two

  incredibly long tongues of white-hot fire blasted out from

  the twin cylindrical boosters on the underside of the X-38.

  The two lances of fire shot like lightning bolts straight

  into the 747, severing it in the middle, cutting through it like

  a pair of blow torches.

  The 747 just snapped in half under the weight of the

  fiery blast, its back broken in an instant. The fuel inside its

  wings ignited immediately, and a split second later, the

  whole gigantic plane just exploded, showering the sky with

  a thousand pieces of smoke-trailing debris.

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  Matthew Reilly

  SCHOFIELD NEVER SAW THE 747 GET DESTROYED. HE WAS IN A

  whole new world now.

  The blast of the boosters igniting was like nothing he

  had ever heard.

  It was loud. Booming. All-consuming.

  It had been like the sound of a jet engine thundering to

  life--only multiplied by a thousand.

  Now the shuttle tilted sharply upwards and rocketed forward.

  Schofield was thrust back into his seat by the G-force.

  The whole cabin began to shake and shudder. He felt his

  cheeks flatten, press back against his face. He clenched his

  teeth.

  Apart from the closed cockpit door, the only visible link

  between the flight deck and the rear cargo compartment was

  a five-inch-thick window set into the cockpit's back wall.

  Through this window, Schofield could see right through

  to the forward windshield of the shuttle--through which he

  could actually see the sky turning purple as they rose higher.

  For a few minutes the shuttle soared upward, its massive

  boosters lifting it high into the sky. Then, abruptly, over

  the roar of the rockets, the flight team's voices returned:

  "Prepare to jettison boosters and switch over to self contained power ..."

  "Copy that."

  "Stand by for booster release. In three ... two ... one ... mark."

  Kerchunk!

  Schofield felt the weight of the enormous booster rockets

  drop away from the rising shuttle.

  He looked over at the President--the Chief Executive

  was gripping his armrests tightly. As far as Schofield was

  concerned, that was actually a good sign. It meant that the

  President hadn't passed out.

  The X-38 rose into the sky. The shuddering and shaking

  had stopped now and the ride became smoother, quieter, almost

  as if the X-38 were floating on air.

  Area 7 409

  The respite gave Schofield a chance to take in his surroundings

  more closely.

  The first thing he saw was a keypad next to the cockpit

  door--a locking mechanism, presumably for use in emergencies,

  like when cabin pressure was lost.

  Schofield also examined his space suit. There was a

  small unit sewn into the sleeve of his left forearm which appeared

  to control his helmet intercom. At the moment, the

  unit's display screen indicated that he was currently on

  channel 05.

  He looked over at the President, surreptitiously tapped

  his wrist unit, then held up three fingers: Switch to channel

  three.

  The President nodded. A few seconds later, Schofield

  said, "Can you hear me?"

  "Yes. What's the plan?"

  "We sit tight. And we wait for a chance to take over this

  bird."

  THE SHUTTLE FLEW HIGHER.

  As it did so, the view outside its forward windshield

  gradually changed. The sky transformed from cloudy purple

  to ominous black.

  And then abruptly, as though a veil had been lifted,

  Schofield found himself looking at a glorious galaxy of

  stars, and beneath the starfield--glowing like an opal

  against the jet-black sky--the wide elliptical expanse of the

  Earth, curving downward at both extremities, stretching

  away into the distance like some unbelievably gigantic luminescent

  orb, so absolutely immense in its size that it was almost

  too large to comprehend.

&nb
sp; It was breathtaking.

  They weren't far up, almost exactly at the dividing line

  between space and the outer atmosphere, about two hundred miles.

  The Earth itself--curved and massive and dazzling--

  filled almost three-quarters of Schofield's field of vision.

  He stared at the sight, at the glowing turquoise planet

  410 Matthew Reilly

  hovering in front of the universe. Then he turned his gaze to

  the starfield above the planet. It was so clear up here, the

  starry sky so endless.

  And then, one of the stars began to move.

  Schofield blinked, looked again.

  One of the stars was definitely moving.

  "Holy Christ ..." he breathed.

  It wasn't a star at all.

  It was a shuttle, a space shuttle, all but identical in shape

  and size to the regular American models.

  It soared effortlessly in the weightlessness of space, cutting

  a dead-straight line toward them. The red and yellow

  flag on its tail was unmistakable.

  It was the Chinese space shuttle.

  Schofield flicked back to channel 05 in time to hear

  Cobra's voice say: "Yellow Star, this is Fleeing Eagle, I

  have visual on you now. We are reducing thrust to begin

  parking orbit. You may commence your approach in thirty

  seconds."

  JUST THEN, THE COCKPIT DOOR SLID OPEN AND TWO OF THE

  X-38's pilots emerged.

  Schofield snapped to look up.

  Now that they were in low orbit, they could move

  around the cabin. It was zero gravity, so they stepped lightly,

  using handgrips attached to the ceiling to move around.

  Both pilots still wore their gold-tinted helmets, still carried

  their briefcase-like life-support units at their sides. They

  strode past Schofield and the President, heading aft to prepare

  for the docking with the Chinese shuttle.

  A couple of the other space-suited men in the cargo

  hold also began unbuckling their seatbelts, getting up to help

  with the transfer.

  Schofield saw the chance, tuned to channel 03.

  "Okay," he turned to the President. "This is it. Follow me."

  As casually as he could make it look, Schofield

  Area 7 411

  reconnected his air hose to his life-support briefcase and began

  unbuckling his seat belts.

  The President did the same.

  As his belts came free, Schofield felt the weightlessness

  take hold of him. He gripped a ceiling handhold and before

  anyone could stop him--or even ask him what he was

  doing--he casually stepped over to Kevin and began reattaching

  the boy's life-support briefcase and disengaging

  him from his seat.

  A couple of the faceless Echo astronauts looked over, curious.

  Schofield gestured to the cockpit--Wanna have a look?

  Kevin nodded.

  The Echo men went back to their work.

  With the President in tow behind him--holding on to the ceiling handholds--Schofield led Kevin forward, into

  the shuttle's cockpit.

  The view from the cockpit was even more incredible.

  Through the panoramic forward windshield, the Earth

  looked amazing, stretching away from them like an enormous

  aqua-blue convex lens.

  The last remaining pilot in the cockpit turned in his seat

  as they entered.

  Over to channel 05: "Just thought we'd come up and see

  the view," Schofield said, coughing through his voice to

  mask it.

  "Not bad, huh? Just be sure to keep your visors on. Radiation's

  a killer, and the sun is almost blinding."

  Schofield put Kevin in the empty co-pilot's seat. Then he

  turned to the President, clicked back to channel 03.

  "You unbuckle his seat belts, then use them to secure his arms. I'll take care of his life-support hose."

  "Huh--how? When?"

  "After I do this ..." Schofield said.

  And with that he leaned forward, grabbed the pilot's

  gold-tinted visor, and wrenched it open.

  "Argh!" the pilot roared, as raw white sunlight

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  assaulted his eyes. Underneath his gold-tinted visor was a

  clear glass bubble that afforded no protection against the

  pure sunlight.

  Schofield then ripped the man's life-support system out

  of its wall socket, while at the same time, the President unclasped

  his seat belts and quickly looped them behind the

  man's flight seat, pinning his arms firmly to his sides.

  Deprived of his life support--and now tied to his own

  seat--the pilot started to gasp desperately for air.

  Schofield dived for the cockpit door, slammed his fist

  down on a switch next to the entryway. The door slid

  quickly shut, enclosing the three of them inside the cockpit.

  The President spun, "So what--?"

  But Schofield was still moving.

  He knew he had about three seconds before someone

  reopened the cockpit door from the rear cargo compartment.

  There was a keypad next to the door, identical to the one

  on the other side.

  Schofield rushed over to it.

  Apart from the usual numbered keys and open/close

  switches, there was one long red rectangular button on the

  panel, concealed behind a clear-plastic safety casing. It read:

  EMERGENCY USE ONLY:

  COCKPIT SECURITY LOCK

  Schofield flipped open the safety casing and hit the big

  red button.

  Immediately--thunk thunk thunk thunk thunk!--the door's five emergency deadbolts locked into place, sealing off the cockpit like a bank vault.

  A second later, Schofield heard a weak thumping noise coming from the other side: the sound of the Echo men hammering

  angrily on the door.

  Reflective gold helmets peered in through the five-inch

  thick window in the dividing wall, waving furious fists.

  Schofield didn't care.

  This shuttle was now his.

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  HE LEANED OVER KEVIN IN THE CO-PILOT'S SEAT, THE EARTH

  and the stars laid out before him.

  In addition to the view, he was confronted by another

  intimidating sight: the X-38's flight console--a collection of about a million tiny switches, lights, buttons and monitors.

  It looked like the cockpit of a jumbo jet ... only more complex.

  The President took the rear navigator's seat, lifting

  Kevin onto his lap.

  "So, what now?" he asked. "Don't tell me you know

  how to fly a space shuttle, too, Captain."

  "Unfortunately not," Schofield said. He turned to face

  the bound and still-gagging shuttle pilot. "But he does."

  Schofield pulled his SIG-Sauer from his thigh pocket

  and held it to the choking pilot's visor. The President reattached

  the man's life-support hose. The pilot stopped gasping

  as Schofield flicked his intercom to channel 03.

  "I need you to help me bring this thing back down to

  earth," Schofield said.

  "Fuck you ..." the pilot said.

  "Hmm," Schofield said. He then nodded to the President,

  who yanked the pilot's life-support hose out of its

  socket again. The Echo Unit pilot immediately resumed his

  gagging.

  Schofield tried again. "How about I put this anoth
er

  way: either you tell me how to pilot this thing safely back to

  Utah, or I do it without your help. Now, given the way I fly,

  either we'll burn up on reentry or crash into a friggin' mountain.

  Either way, we die. So, the way I see it, you either tell

  me how to do it, or you get killed watching me try."

  The President reattached the pilot's life-support hose.

  The bound man's face was almost blue.

  "Okay," he breathed. "Okay ..."

  "Great," Schofield said, "Now, the first thing I need is--"

  He cut himself off as illuminated green words scrolled

  out rapidly across the cockpit's transparent heads-up display,

  or HUD, in the windshield:

  414 Matthew Reilly

  FLEEING EAGLE, THIS IS YELLOW STAR.

  YOU HAVE ALTERED COURSE.

  PLEASE REALIGN TO VECTOR THREE-ZERO-ZERO.

  Schofield stared at the words on the HUD. They seemed

  to hover in the air in front of the starfield.

  Then, beyond the transparent display, he saw the Chinese

  space shuttle, much closer now.

  It glided slowly and effortlessly through the void toward

  his ship, about three hundred yards away and closing

  quickly.

  FLEEING EAGLE, PLEASE CONFIRM.

  "Please confirm ..." Schofield muttered as he scanned

  the cockpit's enormous array of switches and found the

  weapons section. "Confirm this"

  He flipped open a safety casing to reveal two red buttons

  marked missile launch.

  "This is for Mother," he said as he jammed his fingers

  down on both buttons.

  THE TWO SHUTTLES FACED EACH OTHER IN SPACE--HOVERING

  above the outer atmosphere, lit from below by the brilliant

  reflected light of the world--the compact X-38 and the

  much larger Chinese shuttle.

  And then suddenly, twin bolts of white shot out from

  the wings of the X-38--two missiles, sleek zero-gravity AMRAAM's. They blasted off their wing mounts and rocketed through the vacuum between the two shuttles.

  The missiles moved unbelievably fast, converging on

  the Chinese shuttle like a pair of giant winged needles.

  They left no smoke trails in their wakes. No puffs of

  flame or fire, for nothing survives in a vacuum. Their tail

  thrusters simply glowed orange against the black star-filled

  sky.