Timtown

by Ronald Zastre

  At the same moment, Tim had a thought of how visible he must be down this low and slow, a loud beeping went off in the cockpit. He quickly shifted his eyes to the holograms to see what had caused the alarm. Five dots were indicated and the computer said that they were fighter aircraft closing on him. He pushed the throttles to half and started to accelerate. His speed was rising, 600 knots, 650, 700, but the dots were still gaining. They were thirty miles behind him so he wasn’t worried because he would soon outdistance them with his superior speed.

  He had just passed 900 knots, and the five planes were still twenty-eight miles behind him, when three more dots detached from the original five and started toward him very fast. The computer said missiles. They had fired on him. He slammed the throttles full forward to the emergency position and again was slammed back into the seat. His speed jumped sharply, 1000, 1100, 1200, 1400, but the missiles were still gaining on him, quickly. His speed continued to climb, 1700, 1900, but the missiles continued to close the distance. They were now fifteen miles off his tail.

  I’m not sure what to do? If I try to turn, or climb, they might cut the angle and nail me, but I don’t know if I can outdistance them? Goddamn Arty, I need him here to advise, but I’m on my own. I guess I’ll try to outrun them. The mountains on the right and the land below were a blur as his speed passed 2500. He had gone this fast before, but never at thirty-three-hundred feet and the effect was startling. A small town came into view on the horizon and was gobbled up in seconds. The missiles were now five miles to the rear. He wondered who would be faster.

  He was at 2600 knots, but the acceleration was falling off, 2700 knots and the first missile was only two miles out. Tim realized that down this low, in the thicker air, the TT Fighter would never make 4000 knots. At 2800 the missile had closed to one and one-half miles. He agonized as the plane finally reached 2900, and the missile closed to one mile. His acceleration was really dropping off now, 2950 and only twelve-hundred meters separated hunter and hunted. At 2970 the missile narrowed the gap to one-thousand meters. Tim was now screaming 3300 feet off the ground at 3000 knots-per-hour with a bomb seven-hundred and twenty-four meters away from blowing him to smithereens. His speed rose slowly to 3020, but the missile still gained on him, back six-hundred-sixteen meters. Ooh shit, any attempt to turn or climb will take away speed, and don’t didn’t know how quick this missile is so I’ve got to stick this out.

  3030, missile range five-hundred meters, 3035, range four-fifty, 3040, range four-hundred, 3045, range four, 3050, and just three-hundred and fifty meters.

  “Come on baby!” he screamed.

  3053, and three-hundred meters.

  “Shiiiiiitttt!” he shouted.

  3056 knots and two-eighty meters. He looked at the rear hologram for the first time. The missile was there and it was bigger than he had expected, almost half the size of his plane. If it caught him, he would surely die. He could see the air being vaporized off its small stubby wings, the steam mixing with the fiery rocket exhaust behind the machine.

  The missile was a dull grey and it was now only two-hundred meters from him. Tim pushed hard on the throttles, but they were as far as they would go. At 3066 knots, range one-fifty meters, the missile loomed large in the rear hologram: 3069, one-hundred meters, 3071, eighty, 3072, seventy-five, 3073, seventy, 3074, sixty-five, 3074, sixty meters.

  It looked like he had reached his maximum speed. He requested a reading on the missile’s speed, and the computer came back with 3080, and it was only fifty-one meters from his tail pipes.

  Tim grasped the control stick as there was only one way out of this now, one last shot. Distance to missile: forty-six meters, forty-four meters, forty-two, forty, thirty-eight, thirty-six, thirty-five, thirty-four, thirty-three, thirty-two, thirty-two, thirty-two. Tim’s hand was glued to the stick and his eyes to the readout: thirty-two, thirty-one, thirty-one, thirty-one, thirty-one, thirty-one, thirty-one, thirty-one, thirty, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five, it was falling back.

  He looked at the rear hologram and could see that the force and heat from his engines had kept the missile at bay. As he watched, the metal on the nose of the flying bomb peeled slowly away from the heat. Range: forty meters, fifty, seventy, ninety, and then a bright flash as the missile detonated. The TT Fighter was hammered by the blast. Tim thought he had bought the farm, but the plane was pushed forward by the explosion and it rocketed away to safety.

  Chapter 14

  The Return

  Tim looked quickly at the rear hologram, immediately after the spots began to clear from in front of his eyes. He could see that the other two missiles were far behind and falling back. He had won.

  *

  The high speed dash with the missiles had really emptied his fuel tanks so he quickly started the refueling process. He was still down low, at three-thousand feet, so he just let his speed fall as the tanks filled. He watched the scanners intently so if anything appeared he would be out of there, instantly. The Sun had already set in the West as he continued to call for Arty, but to no avail.

  *

  The refueling took less than three minutes and when it was completed; Tim climbed back to eighty-thousand feet, set his speed at 2800 knots, asked the computer for the directions, and headed home. His climbing so high had stalled the coming darkness.

  Now the Sun was starting to come back up in the West as Tim raced faster than the world turned. Tim wanted to arrive back at the base before dark and calculations from the computer told him that he should increase his speed to make it. He pushed the throttles forward to standard full and the TT Fighter jump ahead. He was at 3,800 knots before the speed began to fall off.

  When he had been trying to out race the missiles his altitude had been much lower and the thicker air had kept the top speed down. He pushed the throttles to emergency, and the TT Fighter jumped again. At eighty-five thousand feet, he pulled the throttles back to full, and the plane cruised at 5450 knots.

  Tim looked out at the nose, wings, and in the rear hologram, the twin tails. The leading edges were all glowing red, the air passing over them also glowing, leaving a bright, orange plasma trail extending far to the rear of the TT Fighter.

  *

  From down on the ground, a tiny red dot, high in the atmosphere, glows bright red as it streaks overhead at an astonishing rate of speed, leaving a long fiery contrail.

  *

  Within minutes, the computer informed him that he was approaching the point where he needed to slow his speed and descend, to set up for his approach and landing in the base. He pulled the throttles back and started a long glide, gradually dropping the nose of the fighter as the computer instructed him.

  He tried to contact Mr. V, but had no luck with that either. He had dropped to fifty-thousand and was moving below a thin covering of high clouds. The red Sun to the West was projecting its bright colors on the thin veil of clouds. It was like a gigantic sheet of thin wispy red cotton. The Earth below was streaked with red, and some clouds low down near the surface were also permeated with the blazing color, giving the effect of another red barrier below. He was slipping between the two, heading almost directly at the huge blazing Sun as it touched the line of the Earth.

  “Recommend that auto pilot be instituted for final to destination,” the computer said.

  “No, ah, I think I’ll bring it back. Tell me what to do,” Tim instructed.

  The computer gave Tim the distance and the direction to the base. He adjusted the controls as instructed and prepared to put the TT Fighter in position to make a landing.

  *

  Five minutes later, he was making his final turns to line up with the base. The computer continued to instruct him. Turn right 11, come to 302 degrees, decrease to eighty-six oh, oh feet, angle down 6, throttles back to 20, correct to right 1, and descend to seven-thousand. The computer was helping Tim by calling off instructions.

  *

  He had reduced his speed
and altitude and was now at 320 knots, and twenty-six hundred feet, in a left turn, and there down below and to his left was the mountain containing Timtown. It was getting dark; the Sun had set eight minutes ago, so he could only discern the mountain by its grey outline.

  He kept his eye on the mountain, where he thought he would land as he continued the left turn. He was almost through the turn and would be headed straight in soon, but still he could see nothing to indicate a landing strip.

  “Hey, are you sure that we’ve got a place to land down there?” he asked the computer.

  “Affirmed, come to 186, ten down, approximately one minute to touchdown,” said the computer.

  Tim had straightened the plane out and was in a gentle glide, heading down, straight at the middle of the huge mountain. He was about to ask the computer about a landing strip, again, when he saw a thin red line appear in the black shape ahead. The line thickened as the computer said to drop the landing gear. The line was thickening into a red rectangle. At the bottom, running up in the middle, Tim could see a thin green line. A hologram appeared in front of him with a green cross. Down in the mountain, the barrier had opened enough to show a green line across the first one on the landing strip. It corresponded to the new hologram.

  He had gone through this quite a few times in the simulator and knew he was to keep the green cross of the hologram, on the green cross of the strip to land.

  The hologram contained a blue set of numbers that were winding down: 1800, 1750, 1700, it was the distance to touchdown in meters. On the opposite side of the green cross were two more sets of numbers. The first set was red and was his present speed, the second set was yellow and was the speed he should be at. The red numbers said 320, and the yellow were 290. He was too fast so he pulled back a little on the throttles, and pulled the nose up slightly.

  He had the numbers the same at 264, but the yellow continued to drop faster than the red. He pushed the throttles forward a touch and the rate slowed on the yellow. The green said 900, the red said 212, and the yellow said 218. Not too bad he figured, but the cross on the hologram was too high and to the right. He moved the stick ever so slightly forward, and the cross began to drop. A gentle push on the left pedal, and the cross moved to the right and past the vertical line on the strip. He pushed the other pedal and started the cross back to the right. Now the cross dropped below the target, and the speed increased without any change in the throttles.

  He was now real close to the landing at 600 meters out. The opening in the mountain was monstrous. He couldn’t miss it, he told himself, but the speed numbers were not close. He was going 229, and he was supposed to be at 189. He wasn’t doing too much better keeping the crosses lined up either. At 450 to touchdown he was low, and way too fast. He pulled the stick back, and left the throttles alone. The cross moved up on over the one on the strip, but the speed dropped fast.

  At 300 meters out he was all screwed up and wondered if he should call for the auto pilot.

  At the last moment, he decided to tough it out. At 200 meters he was still too fast, but only a little high, and right on line. The TT Fighter flew right at the rectangle almost on target as it rushed inside the mountain.

  Tim pulled the throttles all the way back, and gritted his teeth, waiting for the jolt when the plane hit the runway. It didn’t come, and it didn’t come. He had to think quickly. As he shot over the cross on the strip, he hit the air-brakes and pulled the stick back. The TT Fighter’s nose moved up, and the plane’s rear dropped fast. He was halfway down the strip when the jolt finally came.

  The back of the runway was racing at him fast as the plane bounced up, came down, hit again, stayed down this time, and rushed at the back wall. Tim jammed the brakes on just seconds before the TT Fighter smacked the wall hard, bounced back, spinning completely around.

  He had braced himself, expecting a real hard crash, but it didn’t feel so bad from inside the fighter. The bad part was the white foam from the fire suppression system because it shot inside the cockpit, filling it completely. He couldn’t see a thing. He called for the computer to open the canopy and heard a pop. Tim hit the quick-harness-release, put his hands out, grasped the edges of the cockpit, and pulled himself up.

  He struggled over the side, caught his foot on something, and tried to grab the edge of the cockpit. His hand slipped in the foam and he fell out, landing on his head. After crawling and scrambling off to the side, he finally stood up. He still couldn’t see anything because his helmet was covered by the foam. He struggled with the helmet and finally got it off.

  He was standing off to the side of the plane and could see it sitting in foam, but it didn’t look damaged. He spun around when he heard loud cheering and clapping behind him. Standing there were Sims, Jake, Margie, and the rest of the group, including Ann. They were applauding, laughing, and pointing at him.

  Ann came running over to him, jumped up and gave him a hug. “I’ve been so worried about you since we lost contact, and I thought I would never see you again. That was a really stupid thing to do Tim,” she said.

  “Boy don’t I know it! I should have used the computer to land.”

  “The landing, shit you’re lucky you ever got back. Arty’s really mad at you too,” she exclaimed.

  “Arty’s here! I knew it!”

  Everyone greeted him with about the same comments, glad you’re back, so worried, and how dumb he was. Sims didn’t say much except that he needed to talk. He squeezed Tim’s arm, and said, “I knew you’d make it back.

  *

  “Look, I pressed my luck a little, but I made it okay,” he said to Jake as they left the runway and were walking down a tunnel heading back to the control chamber. “Where’s my brother?”

  “He’s working on something, no doubt,” replied Jake. “He was overcome when he found out you were okay. I think he’s trying to settle down a little. You’re his brother, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Tim said calmly

  “Mr. V, where’s Arty?” Tim asked, walking down the tunnel.

  “Do you wish to talk to him?” Mr. V replied.

  Jake looked startled. “You can talk to him just like that from anywhere? I didn’t know it was that simple.”

  “Oh, I’m the only one that can do it that way,” Tim lied. I’m’ not sure what is going on so I’m just being careful. “I’ve just never used it around anyone before.”

  “Yes, Mr. V, can you tell me where he is?” Tim asked the computer.

  “Yes, he’s in section thirty-six, on level eight. Do you know where that is?”

  “Not really, but you can give me directions, and tell Arty to stay put because I want to talk to him,” Tim commanded.

  “He’ll be glad to see you. He was madder than hell when he first got back, then really worried,” Jake said.

  “What’s all this shit about Arty being pissed at me?”

  “He was mad that you took such a big chance,” Jake replied.

  “And just exactly what was I supposed to have done, that was so stupid?”

  “Well, getting caught by those fighters for one thing. He’s real upset about having to shoot one down.”

  “Why did he have to shoot it down?” Tim was curious about what the other side of the story was going to be.

  “Tim, if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here now, would you?”

  “No, no I sure wouldn’t be,” Tim said with a smirk on his face. Jake noticed his queer smile, but didn’t say anything.

  “You know, I tried and tried to call you guys, but I got nothing. Did you hear me at all?” I’m really curious about what this whole story is going to be.

  “Yeah, we were picking you up real clear until the missile exploded so close to you, then nothing. That’s when Arty lost contact with you also. We figured you had gone down, but Arty searched, and searched, and couldn’t find anything,” Jake explained.

  “Yeah, that was scary. I didn’t think I could outrun the sucker, but I made it by just feet. Close man, r
eal close.”

  “Arty said you turned at the last moment. He didn’t realize that you were undamaged so he went after the second fighter. He figured that you crashed into one of the lakes, that’s why he couldn’t find any wreckage.”

  “Oh yeah. Ah, say, Jake, I was so confused up there with all that was happening, and ah, I got lost. That’s why it took so long to get back. Aumm, when ‘exactly’ did you lose contact with me?”

  “I’m not sure, but about forty minutes after you left. I can nail it down, if you want?”

  “No, no, that’s okay. Say, when did you realize I was okay and on my way back?”

  “Um, about 45 minutes ago. Mr. V contacted us and said his long range sensors were picking up what could only be you, and you were headed this way. That’s when Arty put you on auto control to make sure you got back here okay. I’m surprised the computer made such a mess of the landing though.”

  “It was probably damaged by that missile burst,” Tim stated.

  “Say, why did you run so far east? You could have stayed around here, and Arty probably would have found you.”

  “I don’t know Jake, I really don’t know.”

  Tim excused himself, telling Jake that he needed to see Arty. He was tempted to contact Mr. V, to verify a few things, but he decided to wait until he could get back to the safe place, Donnart-Ele-Io.

  *

  Alone in the tunnel, he initiated the molecular transit and materialized just outside the chamber Arty was supposedly in. There was Arty, floating around a large hologram with many of his robot workers scurrying around.

  Tim stood at the entrance of the chamber, not knowing where to start. Finally he spoke out. “Hey Arty, I made it back,” Tim said in a taunting tone. Boy that sure sounded stupid.

  “Hey Timmy,” Arty said without even looking around, “you’re a tenacious little bugger. How was your trip?”

  “Oh, it had its ups and downs, but it’s over. How did you make out?”

  “Just fine. I’m real pleased with the planes, they really came through,” said Arty.

  “Arty, let’s cut the crap, okay?”