Sleeper Seven

by Mark Howard

  Rising at a dizzying speed, the ship began to vacillate wildly as the ground dropped away below. She remembered the action of the other pilot on re-entry, and stabilized the ship by enabling the slipstream-like feature. This calmed the ship's jostling, but had the side effect of facilitating an even faster ascent.

  Flipping back over to the thruster console, she lowered the output to ten percent, slowing the climb. Looking up, however, she was confronted once again by a blanket of pinpoint starlights against the blackness of space: the ship had traveled twenty miles straight up in a matter of seconds. While stabilizing all of the systems, Jess began to experiment. Teaching herself how to manage the engines independently to initiate lateral movement, she glided the ship back down through the atmosphere in wide arcs, like a giant leaf falling from the night sky. With the ring online, maneuverability of the massive ship felt effortless. Bringing it all the way down to the treetops, she hovered and pulled up the navigation screen; the ship was currently in a rural area over southwestern Ohio, outside of a small town called Oxford. Watching the headlights of a distant car on the lonely country road below, she paused to consider what she wanted to accomplish.

  She wasn't stealing the ship necessarily. They would get it back — she was sure of that — but she needed to make a statement. Not a wimpy couple-second drive-by like they do, but a real statement. She thought of bringing it back home to Chicago and landing it next to the Bean sculpture in Millennium Park. Fitting, yes, but at this time of night it might be hard for her to see the ground, and she was concerned about the physical safety of the people below her. Mental safety, not so much — she was going to freak the hell out of a whole bunch of folks — but she didn't want to squish anybody in the process. Then she thought: Wrigley Field. The Cubs were hosting a night game, and she could drop it smack dab in the middle of the brightly lit field, with only a few people to worry about scurrying out of the way. It was perfect.

  ~ 46 ~

  It took Jess twenty minutes to navigate her way north by northwest over the fields of Indiana, and she narrowly missed hitting several giant white turbines as she zipped through a massive wind farm. Approaching Chicago from the east, over the darkness of Lake Michigan, she enabled maximum noise cancellation. Descending to a few hundred feet, she silently glided the ship over Lake Shore Drive, just clearing the tops of the century-old condo buildings that lined it. Although the visual camo was disabled, the ship was naturally so dark that she didn't notice any obvious observers.

  Maneuvering the external cameras, she visually guided the ship slowly towards the lights of Wrigley. Slowing to ten miles per hour, she dropped even lower as the field came into view. A sea of blue caps appeared through the bottom viewing panels as she drifted over the rooftop bleachers across the street from the field. A cheer suddenly exploded from the crowd as the Cubs put three runners on base, and they all stood high-fiving each other, ready to see a Grand Slam.

  Then, one girl on the rooftop happened to look up. She didn't see anything, which was the problem — she instead saw the absence of something: the night sky. Grabbing her friends, she pointed up, and soon everyone on that rooftop was ignoring the action on the field and gazing up at the sleek black mass sliding mere feet over their heads.

  After crossing Sheffield Street, she slowed the ship until it sat directly above the playing field, motionless. The players below noticed it one by one. Glancing over at the scoreboard, Jess was bummed to see the Cubs were beating the Red Sox nine to seven in the eighth, and issued a silent apology for ruining their likely win. The ballplayers didn't appear to be upset, however: they simply stood in place, staring at her ship in awe, their gloves at their waists. The cheering in the stands died down, until only the music of the pipe organ remained; the operator of which obviously was not paying attention to the field.

  She had expected the stands to clear out in a panic. Instead, as the organ player finally halted mid-chord, an eerie silence descended upon the field as if time were frozen. Though waiting for the crowd's reaction, Jess finally realized they were the ones waiting, expecting something from her.

  Her next thought was to land, but the players below just remained in their field positions, staring up at her. Well if they want a show, she thought, I'm gonna bring it. Accessing the camouflage screen, Jess slowly cycled through all the available options. From below, the spectators suddenly saw the massive black object, which almost completely covered the field, begin to glow a purplish hue, then transition to the bright blue of the morning sunrise. Images of wispy clouds flew across the sky-blue bottom of the ship, increasing in number until they joined together, creating an overcast day. The clouds cleared as a deep orange sunset coloring appeared, fading to darkness in the transition back to night. Hundreds of tiny lights twinkled, and for a moment one could be forgiven for thinking the object had disappeared, yet a second later this virtual star field shot across the belly of the ship at warp speed.

  The light show, possibly mistaken as an odd form of entertainment or new advertising stunt, seemed to stoke the crowd's curiosity: the players below remained rooted in their positions while the expected mass exodus from the stands failed to manifest. For her next trick, Jess wanted to up the ante and display what the ship was physically capable of. Raising the ring speed to maximum, she synced the engines and pushed them to one hundred percent. From the field, the black triangle ascended vertically into the night sky so quickly that most everyone thought it had simply disappeared. A few sharp observers pointed upwards, trying to convince those around them it had actually shot skyward instead.

  A few seconds later she reversed the process, dropping the ship straight back down, slowing back to a hover over the field. The remaining players below involuntarily ducked, and then coming to their senses, most of them jogged to the safety of the dugout, warily eyeing the ship the whole way.

  These folks paid good money for those tickets, Jess thought, so the show must go on. De-syncing the engines, she cycled through each in turn, rotating the ship in place. She could almost hear the oooh's and aaah's from the crowd as the corners of the ship almost brushed the field during its gyrations.

  Settling back to a hover, Jess noticed a few gutsy players still standing their ground below her, preventing her from landing. Disabling the noise cancellation, she bombarded them with the crushing sound of the thrusters, now idling at only ten percent. This had the intended effect, and convinced the final holdouts in the outfield to scramble up the ivy-covered walls, retreating to the relative safety of the Wrigley bleachers.

  Jess lowered the ship to the ballfield, and this, combined with the din of the engines, finally seemed to awaken the people in the stands to the reality in front of them: this thing was not entertainment, it was not part of the game, and it was coming in for a landing. The panic Jess had initially predicted finally, suddenly, erupted en-masse.

  By the time the ship's tripod supports had found purchase two feet into the turf, close to eighty percent of the fans had already abandoned their seats, making a run for the exits. The other twenty percent remained; out of fear, curiosity, or both.

  Jess shut down the ring and the engines, bringing an awkward silence back to the field. The organist, in true form, broke the tension momentarily by playing the five-note melody from Close Encounters. Appreciating the reference, Jess chuckled as she quietly slipped back into her physical, lying in bed a few miles north.

  ~ 47 ~

  After awakening, Jess ran downstairs and burst into Gavin's apartment. Finding him in his office, she grabbed him and forcibly sat him in front of the living room TV. Cursing, she searched for WGN with the remote while Gavin sat, dumbfounded.

  "Here, let me help you with that, bumble bee," he insisted, taking the remote from her delicately. "Now what are you looking for, exactly?"

  "Cubs!" she squeaked.

  Gavin entered the proper channel number, and the T.V. screen displayed a wide panning shot of the nearly empty Wrigley stands. The few remaining fans stood staring
at the field, Old Styles still in hand.

  "What...?" Gavin pleaded, looking at her.

  "Wait for it!"

  A moment later the screen switched to a shot displaying the entire field, which was obscured by a giant, black...something. Jess' poached ship fit almost perfectly within the friendly confines, with only a narrow patch of green turf between it and the ivy-covered walls.

  "What...is that?" Gavin asked, suddenly intensely interested.

  "I did that!" Jess declared with gusto. She was proud of herself for executing such a perfectly aligned landing, and although this answer failed to dispel any of Gavin's confusion, he was too entranced to question her further.

  They both watched, transfixed, as a few players emerged from the dugout and made their way towards the ship, stopping every few steps to consult with each other. A ball boy ran forward, bat in hand, and after handing it to one of the players, ran crouching back to the dugout. Approaching the nose of the ship, which hung seven feet above home plate, the player with the bat reached up with his free hand and caressed the curved surface. Absent-mindedly dropping the bat to the dirt, he placed his other hand on the ship as well, as the other players stepped forward to do the same.

  Gavin turned the volume up on the remote. "...just an amazing spectacle...if this is some sort of stunt...I don't know...it's just all black. No advertising or markings on it. Folks, I can't say what's happening here, but Ortiz has now reached this thing...it looks shut down now. But quite a show it put on for us just a few short minutes ago..."

  The announcer seemed to have lost his train of thought, as there were several seconds of dead air until his partner cut in. "...and now more and more coming onto the field," he commented, before yelling off-mike, into the crowd: "Folks! Get back! Please, for your own safety!"

  "I have a mind to leave right now, to be frank," the first announcer continued. "This thing might be radioactive, who knows what this is...in fact, I'm feeling a little light-headed right here, Len."

  Gavin switched to another local channel, only to find an empty anchor desk, occupied in short order by a newscaster striding in from off-camera. He sat down and affixed an earpiece into his ear.

  "We seem to have a situation this evening at Wrigley Field on the north side: just a few short moments ago there appears to have been a possible plane crash — or purposeful landing — interrupting a night game in progress; let's go for a live look right now..."

  As they cut to the same feed from WGN, husky men in yellow ponchos marked 'SECURITY' could be seen running around the perimeter of the field, forcing the players back into the dugout while yelling into walkie-talkies.

  "It appears...it looks like a stealth fighter may have crashed — or more like it intentionally landed — dead center in the ballfield..."

  The channel suddenly went black, then quickly cut back to the anchor, who, caught off-guard, was looking down and pressing his earpiece to his ear.

  "...Well...it looks like we may have lost our feed, we'll try to get that back for you just as soon as we can. We now have a crew rushing to the scene for a live report, please stand by for that. If you are just joining us..."

  Gavin switched back to the main WGN feed, but found it had gone black, replaced a few seconds later with a picture of a cartoon repairman — complete with visible butt-cleavage — working at the base of a transmission tower. Turning back to the local news station, they found that one gone too, replaced by a test pattern. The rest of the cable channels appeared to be fine; they flipped through cooking shows, reality shows, and 70's reruns, but none of the other local channels were operational — they were either black, or showing a 'technical difficulties' screen, or a test pattern.

  "What the fuck, Jess!" Gavin screamed at her. "What the hell did you do!" He got up and paced around the living room.

  Jess lowered her head. "I took a ship," she answered sheepishly. "Like I told you about." She was beginning to regret her rash decision.

  Their conversation was interrupted by a loud warbling screech. A white band appeared at the top of the blank TV screen, switching to red as words began to scroll across it.

  "THIS IS NOT A TEST. THE DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY HAS ISSUED AN ALERT INSTRUCTING ALL RESIDENTS OF THE FOLLOWING COUNTIES TO REMAIN WITHIN THEIR HOMES OR CURRENT LOCATION UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE: COOK... ...LAKE... ...DUPAGE... ...LAKE (IN)... ...GRUNDY..."

  Gavin held his hand to his mouth and stared at her, wide-eyed, as both of their cellphones also began to emit the warbling alert. To top it off, an air raid siren began to wail outside.

  Joel casually strolled in the room, breaking their freak-out trance. "What's with the tornado siren? There's not a cloud in the sky."

  Gavin ran over to him and grabbed him by the shoulders. "A stealth fighter just crashed into Wrigley!"

  Jess, suddenly angry, emerged from her stupor.

  "Gavin! I told you. I did this! It's not a stealth fighter, and it didn't crash. I landed it — perfectly, I might add."

  Joel squinted at both of them. "You guys were down at Marge's, weren't you?" he asked accusingly. "Yup, I always get stuck being the baby sitter, sure, fine with me..." he added sarcastically, retreating to the back bedroom.

  Jess turned back to Gavin. "Wait a second," she said conspiratorially, "They're just locking this whole thing down, this is not a safety issue! Gavin, we've got to go, we need to be a part of this!"

  While dragging him down the hall to the back porch stairs, she turned and yelled to the closed bedroom door. "We're leaving and I'm taking Gavin!"

  "Go right ahead, ya no good drunkards!" came the muffled reply.

  Jess continued to drag Gavin down the porch stairs and into the garage, where he stored the Stella scooter he continually obsessed over, but never seemed to ride.

  "Jess, we are in no condition..." Gavin protested, as she mounted the scooter and fired it up.

  "Shhh, just shuddup and put yer brain-bucket on!" she ordered, shoving a helmet into his hands.

  ~ 48 ~

  Flying down the back alleys towards Wrigley, sirens filled the air from all directions; it seemed everyone — Fire, Police, EMT — had been fully activated. Emerging onto Grace street, they were confronted by the red and blue flashing lights of a Chicago Police cruiser blocking their way. The officer was directing refugee Cub fans past his car and away from the field. Noticing them, he aimed his bullhorn in their direction. "Turn around!"

  Twisting the throttle, she shot back into the alley; but there was no way she was going back. Backtracking instead, they emerged two blocks further west, and skidding up the side of the nearby Metra embankment, Jess decided to use the train tracks to bypass the roadblocks below.

  Hurtling over the rail onto the tracks, the scooter — along with their teeth — rattled from the railroad ties. "Jess! You will pay!" Gavin shouted into her ear. "You will literally pay for this!"

  An oncoming headlight, swaying left and right, emerged from the darkness ahead of them. As Gavin shrieked in her ear, she cut left, bumping over the rail again and skidding back down the embankment, just as the massive diesel engine thundered by in a tumultuous din, buffeting them with warm exhaust.

  Heading the wrong way down a one-way street, Jess soon found it choked with cars and people. Swerving up onto the sidewalk, she skirted around the masses of Cub fans drunkenly shambling in the opposite direction.

  As the lights of Wrigley glimmered ahead, they noticed two cruisers arrayed in a 'V' formation blocking off the next intersection. Avoiding them, Jess pulled into a side alley and came to a stop. Beyond the police cars, they watched several large white DHS SUV's screech to a halt. Dozens more arrived behind them, and lining up one after the other, they formed a second perimeter inside the police blockade.

  Firing up the engine, Jess tore out of the alley and bottomed-out on the high point of the cross street, leaving a shower of sparks in their wake. As Gavin shouted a string of curse words into her ear, she ducked into another alley for the final push. Two blocks
further down, she cut across, ahead of the forming chain of vehicles, and screeched to a stop a block from Wrigley. After dismounting, she and Gavin, who, though cooperative, was still muttering curses at her, rolled it behind a row of tall bushes.

  Ducking low, they snuck behind the nearest building and climbed the back stairs to a rooftop deck overlooking the field. Multiple news choppers hovered above with their spotlights shining down, so upon reaching the roof they took shelter under a covered bar. Over the course of the next few minutes, each helicopter extinguished its spotlight and departed the area until they were all gone. Feeling less vulnerable in the darkness, they crawled out from under the canopy and huddled next to a large stainless steel grill, where they peeked over the brick railing by turns to view the action on the field.

  There were no fans left anymore, and no players, either. Dozens of policemen patrolled the decks and bleachers, searching for any stragglers, and occasionally stopping to eyeball the ship. Gavin peeked over the edge and turned back to Jess. "Oh my God, it's huge!" he whispered, crawling back to the safety of the grill.

  A series of dull roars echoed in the distance, and pointing upwards, Gavin tugged at Jess' shirt and mouthed the word Jets. The reason for the news choppers departure soon became clear, as they also heard the thwock — thwock — thwock of heavy military choppers over the noise of the jets. Arriving and joining in formation above the field, six large helos beamed down high-powered spotlights, all centered upon the ship.

  Occasionally one beam would skirt away, scanning the nearby streets and rooftop decks, and they narrowly missed being seen at least once. Mostly, though, the spotlights darted around the ship itself, examining it all over, giving Jess the impression the crew in the choppers were just as amazed by it as everyone else.