The World Game

by Allen Charles

  “First thought is that we can’t do that. We don’t have the computing power or ground penetration radar equipment to work an average density calculation. We will be able to explore this hole. Land first then we can decide.”

  Fuller leaned back and stretched with a yawn. “I think we should both get some sleep before we try the landing. I’ll put Hannaford and Shaw on watch. He checked his communications and was pleased to see that the President and his friends had found youniforms and buddies and were wearing them. He put in orders to Hannaford and received acknowledgement. “G’d night Janine.” She has already leaned her seat back and drawn the eyeshades in her youniform.

  “Mmm John.” came the quietly murmured reply.

  The persistent buzzing of an alarm awoke the pair some hours later. John yawned and stretched again. “Coffee?”

  “Absolutely! You expect a girl to land a space transport on a tiny speck of rock without first having her morning coffee?”

  “That’s one thing they could never get to work with these youniforms. They do everything else for us but they can’t make a good cup of coffee. Back in a moment.”

  She flashed a smile at him and turned back to examine the console. The fragment almost filled the view port as they had drawn towards it during the hours of sleep and she could see detail of the surface as it slowly tumbled in a multi axis rotation, a wobbly, three dimensional movement that was clearly going to be difficult to stabilize. The force of the explosion had applied unevenly across the face of the fragment above the axis of rotation. Random explosive forces had imparted multiple secondary spins in different axes and the fragment was tumbling like an out of control beach ball, but here there was no friction to slow it down.

  Janine was good, one of the best pilots around, but she could see that without a supercomputer she was not going to solve this docking equation, and right now she just did not have one handy. She was startled out of deep contemplation of the problem by John returning with an insulated bulb of fresh coffee.

  “Thank you.” She took a careful sip of the aromatic Columbian roast and then lifted it. “The things we take for granted that are going to be used up and disappear forever. I wonder what the last cup of coffee in the universe will taste like? Who will drink it?”

  John shrugged. “Use it while we have it. Enjoy. It will be something to tell your kids about and a legend to your grand kids.” He took a pull at his own brew and gestured towards the fragment landing equations that were sliding up the viewer at an unreadable rate. “We’re not going to get there that way Janine.”

  “No we are not, unless a miracle happens and the fragment motion stabilizes.”

  “So what would your great great grand pappy have done in these circumstances?”

  Janine gaped at Fuller in disbelief. “You’re not suggesting we just do it by the seat of our pants? My great great grandpa flew Tiger Moths in the Great War of 1914. He made up his own rules for landing on the fly. My great gramps flew Marine Corps off flattops in the next war. He told me when I was a little girl that he landed comms blind on more than one occasion and lived to talk about it. I guess he was my inspiration to become an astronaut.”

  Fuller pointed at the calculations again, and then at the view port. “Were your grandpa’s better pilots than you? Was your Dad a pilot too?”

  Janine smirked, “You want to hope that the ability can skip two generations. He and gramps were dentists and Dad got airsick on a second floor balcony.” She stared out at the fragment again. “Yeah! That’s just a piece of dirt moving in a straight line. Its not an aircraft carrier in rough seas in the black dead of night, and this baby isn’t a Tiger Moth biplane.” She turned to Fuller, her face intense and eyes burning with excitement.

  “John, I can do this. I can!”

  CHAPTER 43

  On the World Game Network.

  The whole World Game network was quiet as the three judges introduced the first two quarter final acts. Peepers from Morgana repeated the rules for the galactic immortal audience.

  “My dear amorphously blobbish friends, some of you are winners from the earlier editions of the World Game and you have a true and real appreciation of the emotions in play during your performance. These are the essence of what we are able to take from each game and these intense feelings sustain us and are our reason for existing.”

  “Parasites!” came an unidentified transmission from a back galaxy. There was a network uproar as the dissenter was shouted down.

  “Quiet please! Let me do my job...” The noise gradually abated. “We have two magnificent acts running simultaneously and as much as they both deserve to get through, only one group will survive and one group will go into stasis as it dies.”

  “Our first act is led by Martin and Corcoran. They are presently locked out of their space transport by a madman inside and they have less than eighteen minutes until an anti-matter fragment strikes them.”

  “The second act is the stage for Carver and Fuller who are about to attempt a hands on landing on what could only be called a bucking bronco of a fragment. On top of that, the Fuller team is unaware of the presence of the Iranians inside the fragment and of course the reverse is true. My fellow judges and I wish you great betting success and trust you will get the kick you need from the performers’ terror and emotion as they face a certain and possibly horribly messy death. Enjoy! Let’s begin!”

  CHAPTER 44

  Aboard Transport X6

  The glass of the view port glowed cherry red and began to swell out into a bowl shaped bubble. Martin played the cutter around the neck of the super tough flask. The maniac inside had backed away from the intense heat and he and his three ringleaders were the only ones in the air lock, but the inner door was open.

  Martin backed off with the cutter as the fused quartz rapidly cooled. The mutineers moved in closer and pointed at Martin, slapping their thighs and laughing. Suddenly their mirth turned to outrage and terror as Corcoran approached with a huge wrench from the heretofore unneeded toolkit. He could see them screaming and mouthing “NO!” as he brought the wrench down hard on the weakened flask neck.

  The internal pressure exploded the quartz into razor sharp missiles that went hurtling off into space to become cometary bodies in their own right. Hard on their heels came the still screaming mutineer leader who was silently shredded as he was sucked through the shattered quartz edges. Globules of blood and shreds of flesh expanded outwards to join the glass cometary objects. The body shot off into the distance until it dwindled to a speck and then vanished as if it had never existed.

  The inner door had slammed shut as designed with the remaining mutineers trapped in the vacuum mouthing like fish and rapidly turning red and then almost black in the face as their oxygen starved bodies shut down.

  Corcoran and Martin waited a few more moments until the bodies had stopped thrashing and quickly opened the lock. They dragged the corpses out and gave them a good shove in the direction of the oncoming fragments.

  “Waste not want not!” said Martin as he cracked open the emergency repair box attached to the air lock wall. There was always the possibility of a meteorite strike on the quartz view panel that could cause any degree of damage. He rolled out a flat nano panel of clear gel and flattened it over the hole and fractured edges. The nano particles went to work as designed, to fuse with the quartz and create a perfect seal. The panel hardened instantly that the seal was formed and provided a slightly distorted view of the segments fast bearing down on them. Martin paused for a moment expecting to see a flash as the bodies of the mutineers impacted with the fragments, but nothing occurred. He was just a little puzzled and put that snippet of information to the back of his mind. The two pilots hurried, gliding as fast as they could through the internal lock and headed for the control cabin. The passengers shrank back from them as they passed, having seen how the pair had dealt with the mutineers. No one wanted a piece of that action.

  “Sit down and strap in NOW!” screamed Martin a
s he went by. “If you want to live just DO IT!”

  While the people struggled to get back into their seats and harnesses Corcoran and Martin prepped the transport for emergency takeoff. The fragments were almost upon them and they had to orient the ship away from the threat and blast at full acceleration to have any chance of outrunning the danger.

  “We have about one minute until impact.” Corcoran said coolly. “Engines ready.”

  “Hit it!” Martin pushed the ignition button and held the accelerator over-ride down to the last stop. They were thrust back in their seats by the huge force of the engines. There was nothing else to do except pray which Martin muttered to himself as he watched the aft view monitor. The closest fragment already filled the screen and the smooth, silver anti-matter surface became clearer and more detailed as it closed in on them. The acceleration was not enough. The closure rate was lessening, but there was not going to be an umpires decision on this race. There was going to be life or death.

  BZZZZTT!!!

  The disapproval buzzer sounded from one of the judges. It was Charonelle from the Osburne Galaxy.

  “Why did you buzz them?” asked Peepers.

  “Yeah! Why?” echoed Howley.

  “Boring!” replied Charonelle. We saw the other group outrun fragments and beat them. There’s nothing original here. I think they should be eliminated and put in stasis immediately. They were good at the beginning when the mutineer got sucked out and the others asphyxiated. That was exciting and somewhat original, but they’ve lost it now.”

  “I disagree.” said Peepers. “I personally find this present knife edge counterpoint to be invigorating and exciting. It is physics and a moment of truth as to which way it will go. What do you say Howley?”

  “I’m with you this time Peepers. You see, if they survive this event, then we all get a warm and fuzzy emotional tingle which we haven’t had for some time in any of the acts. If they get taken by the anti-matter and they all die in some horrible way, we get to absorb the emotion of terror and hopelessness. We need that aspect of these acts to appreciate the whole gamut of emotional nourishment and entertainment we will gain from this series. I think we should put it to the viewers to vote on this one. Do we have time?”

  Peepers consulted his assistant. “Yes plenty of time for a vote. At least ten seconds. All right viewers, to vote to allow the Corcoran and Martin team to perform to completion vote one and to take them straight to stasis vote two. You have four seconds to get your vote in from NOW!”

  With the thought processes of the intergalactics working at instantaneous speeds, the four seconds of relative time were like hours for the judges. The votes poured in on the network, limited to one per viewer. The instant reflexive counter was ticking over in a blur faster than even a neural connection could discern the outcome. It was going to go to the cut-off time limit. Some voters were waiting until the last moment, watching the scene of the fragments approaching the craft and trying to calculate a win or lose for Corcoran and Martin. With less than two hundredths of a second to go a last surge of votes came in and then the counters stopped. There was an eerie network silence.

  “Well?” came a comment. “Who won?”

  “Split decision!” announced Peepers. “Judges have the deciding vote. Charonelle started this with a vote against. I am still for allowing them to finish. Howley?”

  “I don’t know now. I was thinking for earlier, but I don’t really enjoy messy deaths and gore. On the other hand...”

  “Howley! Vote now!” Shrilled Charonelle. “There’s no time for your ramblings or washing your conscience. Get on with it!”

  “I - I’m going to go with my first intuition. I vote for!”

  A huge uproar invaded the network and Peepers tried to settle all the viewers down. “We have our decision. Let’s watch the show and see what happens. These boys are really finalist material and deserve to finish their act. Here we go!”

  CHAPTER 45

  Aboard X6 Transport.

  Martin had the manual override clamped down in a death hold. His knuckles were white with the strain of defying the enormous thrust of the engines. Every body on board was flattened back into the seat and every little imperfection in clothing or seat fabric became a stabbing pain. All faces pulled back in a rictus showing bared teeth and bowels and bladders voided, fouling the cabin. A few passengers with physically weak hearts or brain aneurisms just died without anyone noticing. Each person was too absorbed in countering the terrible force that made breathing almost impossible and sight completely unfocused. No one noticed the bodies vanish as life left them.

  Martin exuded terror of the condemned as his youniform partially defeated the overwhelming forces. He could still see the fragment approaching and the landing proximity reading was now registering the distance and relative velocity.

  “Corcoran,” he struggled to say, “we’re not gonna make it. By about half a second. Only chance is to do a forced jettison of some mass.”

  “Do it! Do it!”

  Martin hit the emergency reaction mass dump and saw a stream of fluid globules stretch behind like a comet tail. They impacted the fragment surface with a fireworks display. But more importantly, the proximity counter was now winding the other way. They were leaving the fragment behind.

  “How much mass did we dump? asked Corcoran.

  Martin waved a finger and the reaction mass reading came up. “Ninety percent gone. We have enough to run at this rate for another four minutes then we are stranded.”

  “We’re already outrunning the fragments. Cut the acceleration now. We’re safe for the moment.”

  Martin cut the engines and the crushing force suddenly ceased. The moaning and cries from the cabin were pitiful. The two pilots looked back and saw the shambles and mess. The people looked like they had all been in a street brawl, with bloodied noses and burst eardrums. The stench was unbelievable as the gore and waste pooled at the end of cabin.

  “I think I better say something to them,” said Corcoran.

  “Ladies and gents, you have all been through a terrible ordeal and we need to clean up the ship. We are safe now and running ahead of the fragments. We have a plan but we need you to get things shipshape on your own. Tend to the injured as best you can.” Corcoran paused and looked hard into the cabin. He muted his communicator and said to Martin, “I’m sure there were no empty seats when we left. We lost the four trouble makers, but I count at least ten vacancies. Where are the people?” The two looked at each other and then at the pool of gore and feces at the end of the cabin.

  “No way!” shuddered Corcoran. “We would see bones if they had been liquefied. There’s something weird going on here. Come to think of it, I didn’t see the impact of the bodies on the fragment earlier and put that down to that I just missed it. Nah! Something is going on here. Don’t ask me what. God only knows.”

  “So what is this plan we have that I know nothing about?” Martin asked.

  “Oh? That. I just said it to shut them up. Without that reaction mass we can’t do much of anything. The little we have left won’t let us get behind the moon but we may just squeak it in for Space City. It will be a very close call again. As long as we maintain our present escape vector we can add angled thrust to put us crossing behind the city just ahead of the fragment strike. The other transports were headed there when all this started because they didn’t have enough reaction mass to get to the moon, same as us. Maybe if we can get there and ride out the fragment storm we could hook up with one of them and try for the moon at a slower rate.”

  “What about the laser Morse Code idea. We could still do that. Try and let the others know that we will be flashing past like a jack rabbit and hope they can snare us.”

  “You should do that anyway Martin, and hope, because once we burn for the Space City attempt we have nothing left. We can’t even slow down. I have to work these vectors and thrust so that the fragment swarm passes us by while we are crossing behind Space City. We come out the
other side unless someone gets the message and they have some way of plucking us out of trajectory.”

  “Regardless, we need to jettison every non-essential item on board to increase the effectiveness of our reaction mass. Hmm?”

  “What Corcoran?”

  “All that vile bilge down there could be reaction mass. It is ninety five percent water. We can’t afford to waste anything now. What else is there that we can use Martin?”

  “Technically? Anything liquid or gel. If this doesn’t work we’re all dead anyway and won’t need it, so we may as well take the advantage. But it’s gonna be fun getting this mob to go along with the idea. They are not going to get it that there is no choice. I think we will have to bang some more heads together unfortunately.”

  Corcoran shook his head. “This is like the Israelites coming out of Egypt all over again. Army to the back, sea to the front and nowhere to run. God we could do with a miracle right now!”

  The Galactic network screamed and clamored. “Deity Clause! Deity Clause! They get a pass! Free pass and automatic to the semi finals!” The hubbub was almost unintelligible as the viewers all hit their comment button. Peepers was signalling down the Game Compere, Nickle Gannon, to restore order. Gannon hit the mute control and blocked all the comments. The silence on the network was absolute. This had never happened before.

  “Thank you Nickle.” Peepers responded and then consulted with Charonelle and Howley until the muted uproar had subsided. “Viewers, it is clear to me that this act has captured your imaginations and your very existence. There IS a Deity Clause rule in the World Game, but it generally only applies until the finals commence and we are well into the finals at this time.