Ascent

by Thorby Rudbek

  “You didn’t follow that rule when you offered me help finding a new car!” Brad teased, continuing their conversation where they had left off.

  “I had to do something, after that creature… whatever it was… took its own life into its own paws like it was playing chicken!”

  “That’s the way some helicopter pilots are, too.” He chuckled, resisting the impulse to comment on the ancestry of the beast that had brought them together. “Trying to find excitement, I guess.” He leaned back and swivelled his neck around awkwardly, feeling something grinding (quite predictably) as he did so. “Especially the younger ones; they love to live close to the edge.” He reached up and rubbed at the stiff muscles. “Now, me, I’ve had quite enough close calls not to go out and invent new ones for no good reason.”

  Tracy sipped experimentally, discovered that the beverage was still too hot for her taste-buds, put her mug down, and watched her weary man sink further into the couch.

  “Well, at least it’ll fly again, whenever business picks up,” he announced with tired satisfaction, after a period of companionable silence.

  Tracy reached over and massaged the back of his neck. “I almost find myself wishing for an emergency medical transfer, just so you’ll get a call.” She looked at the grey under his eyes, and could not fail to notice the slight tremor in his muscles. “What about that classified ‘ad.’ in yesterday’s paper? You said you were going to check it out.”

  Brad turned, his face softened by a smile. “Oh, I did! It turned out to be some kind of under the table, under the power lines, below my dignity, et cetera, kind of job. I backed out before I discovered exactly what they were transporting. It was drugs, probably,” he sighed again, exaggeratedly. “It usually is. In my younger days I might have closed my eyes to the true nature of the consignment, but I guess I’ve seen too many acquaintances and one or two close friends in the Forces burned out by ill-considered ‘pleasures’ that started out so ‘harmlessly’. Money like that kind of job brings you is worse than none at all. I should know!” He winked at Tracy. “So now you know what wonderful principles I have… they stop me from doing what I supposedly love so much, almost as if I don’t believe in flying any more. Wouldn’t that be news?”

  “News!” Tracy exclaimed, carefully ignoring his occasional tendency to self-pity. She looked at her watch. “It’s ten right now! I was going to watch the national news tonight… something about a break-through in Cystic Fibrosis. It’s probably not true, but how would I know how to handle the inevitable questions I’ll get if I didn’t watch. You don’t mind, do you?”

  “No, of course not,” Brad spotted the remote-controller on the lamp table next to him and reached for it. “It will do me good to think about something else for a change.”

  The television set warmed up rapidly, just as the titles faded out on the Boston channel.

  “A major hazard discovered on the east coast today resulted in the forced evacuation of a small Maine town and the institution of a series of precautionary measures to prevent the possible release of deadly germ warfare ingredients, hidden in Redcliff years earlier but just discovered by the FBI.” The anchorman paused to catch his breath, and a stylish diagram incorporating a skull-and-crossbones and a fishing boat against a background of harbour-front houses and stalls appeared behind his right shoulder.

  “Redcliff, a small, peaceful town situated south of Rockland on the Maine coastline, saw the arrival of hundreds of troops and the forcible removal of the entire population of three thousand this morning, as a massive military operation swung into action.”

  Here a view of the barricades at the exit from the highway was shown, complete with the inevitable gaggle of reporters and camera crews struggling to interview the Major in charge of the assembled military might.

  “Residents complained that they had been unable to collect any personal belongings before being forced from their homes. Major Scott C. Glenn apologized for the lack of consideration his troops had given, but explained that they were merely following his orders. He was convinced that such action was necessary, as two agents representing an as-yet unidentified foreign power had been discovered in the town the previous day, but have not yet been apprehended by security forces. Once their escape from the area had been verified, security teams that had been assembled to search the area discovered that the potentially lethal substance had been hidden in several locations in the general vicinity of the town.”

  Here the over-dubbing stopped, and the audience was allowed their ten second segment directly from the major: “…until all the repositories of the substance have been identified and the hazard neutralized, no civilian personnel will be allowed inside the restricted area.”

  The anchorman continued: “The enemy agents are apparently still at large, and their capture is of extreme importance, according to National Unusual Incident Team spokesperson Judy Brisson. N.U.I.T., a rather shadowy off-shoot of the F.B.I., is the organization designated to handle really out-of-the-ordinary hazards such as this. It has released the following photos of the suspects, who are reported to be armed and extremely dangerous.”

  Brad laughed as the picture of Karen Amer was flashed onto the screen, along with a description in terse English. “More like Miss Teen California, I’d say.”

  “Hmm.” Tracy picked up her mug again, finding the contents sufficiently cooled for her liking. The first picture was followed by another, showing Richard Fletcher, and a brief written description of his appearance.

  “Pretty unlikely looking pair of deadly agents,” Brad commented over the anchorman’s carefully reworded rendition of the descriptions. “She didn’t look a day over fourteen and he has too kind of a face, in my book.” He glanced at Tracy to confirm that she had been as amused as he. “I suppose that’s what makes them so effective… their harmless appearance, huh?”

  Tracy nodded. “It could also work against them in this instance, though. I think I’d recognize that girl anywhere. She really is quite beautiful, in an unusual way.”

  “Beautiful and innocent-looking,” Brad agreed. “Which means they have probably already changed their disguises.”

  “Yeah, if they did that, then nobody would recognize them,” Tracy responded.

  “In other news,” the anchor-man continued moments later. “The much-delayed flight of the experimental space shuttle Destiny began at eight a.m. eastern time. Temperatures stayed higher than predicted through the night, reversing an official decision to delay the flight once more. The Defence Department has refused to confirm the full nature of the cargo, but unofficial sources state that, in addition to some microgravity experiments transferred when the last shuttle flight was rescheduled, a military spy satellite will be released tomorrow.”

  Brad peered through half-open eyes at the brief segment showing the fiery launch. He dozed for a while, then woke as the music returned to herald a commercial break.

  “Later, on ‘Local News Final’: the search is on for two armed robbers who got away with a record haul of jewellery and cash worth an estimated quarter million from a prestigious Boston store; cat-lovers unite, demanding an investigation, as cat-napping reaches an all-time high in the suburbs, and your weekend weather, will you take this golden opportunity to get out and do that yard work?”

  Tracy stroked her cat as it jumped up, starving for attention and anxious to be fed.

  “Oh, Boris!” She pushed the animal off her lap as it started to mew, and hurried into the kitchen to complete the task and so cause the cries to cease before the news resumed. Boris settled down to his meal with enthusiasm, and Doctor Wilde returned to the couch, taking one of the cookies from in front of her dozing pilot friend and dipping it into her warm brew, deciding to let him rest until it was time for her to leave, or perhaps to let him sleep on unhindered. I could leave him a note…

  By the time the article about Cystic Fibrosis aired, Brad was in a deep sleep, and his once hot drink sat in tepid solitude on the tray on the coffee table
, still untouched by his faintly oil-stained hands.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Reaction

  Richard took another left turn and made a conscious effort to slow down. No point getting stopped for speeding after successfully making off with the goods. He looked around, trying to determine where exactly in Springfield they were. Small, rather dingy old houses lined the street, indicating that they had not progressed very far from the industrial area.

  I wonder what happened to that security guard… Richard pondered on some half-formed thoughts that had passed unnoticed in the frenzied action of their escape. He glanced over at Karen again. She appeared to be unconscious, or perhaps she was merely asleep. Richard was really worried about her. Her skin was looking even more pale than normal, or, more accurately, grey.

  “Tutor, what do we do now?” he inquired desperately.

  “Another vehicle change is recommended.”

  So he drove on, trying to spot a suitable vehicle. Gradually the surroundings improved -- bigger, better-kept houses, set back further from the street. Even a smoother road. Richard found his hands were trembling and his vision was blurred, so he pulled over and parked. He leaned over to Karen and watched her breathing for a minute or so, not daring to touch her. Then he leaned back and sighed. She’s just sleeping. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists, then relaxed them again.

  A green half-ton pickup truck whooshed past, causing their vehicle to sway slightly. Richard sat back up and watched, as it crossed the dashed centre line and pulled up about half a block further down the road. The driver jumped out and slammed the door before running into the antique store situated there.

  “He’s really mad at someone.”

  Richard turned, startled, to see Karen sitting up and looking at the same truck.

  “We need a new truck, right?” Karen questioned. “He even left it running!” She knew Richard understood her ability to listen in to his thoughts, so she continued without waiting for an answer. “I’ve had a little rest. I’ll walk up and drive his truck down five blocks, then turn left. I’ll park about half a mile down. Okay?”

  Richard started to say that she wasn’t up to it, but her look put a stop to the statement before it escaped his lips. “Okay. I’ll be along in a few minutes with new plates.” He watched as she got out and walked up the street. He discovered he liked watching the way she walked; her long, silvery ponytail swung from side to side in a way that emphasized the slight swinging of her hips. Her grey jumpsuit seemed almost iridescent as she moved under the slanted light of the late afternoon sun, and she seemed to float, not step, in her large but light boots.

  She crossed the street, went around the rear of the truck, opened the driver’s door and climbed in. A flicker from the reversing lights indicated she had moved the selector to ‘drive’, and then she just drove off. Richard watched a little longer. No one came out from the store. Finally he drove up to the next road and turned right. About a hundred yards down he found what he wanted, parked in a grassy driveway. It was obvious that this truck had not been driven for a least a month; the grass was twenty centimetres high around it.

  He got out and removed the grey box from the roof. Then, with what he hoped was a casual glance up and down the street, he walked up to the truck and held the box near the licence plates to allow Tutor to perform the surgery. A minute later the bolt heads had neat holes through their centres where the metal shafts had been vaporized, and they fell to the ground like chrome-plated ‘Cheerios’, allowing the mild steel sheet to come away in his hands. He repeated the process at the other end, then jumped back into the cream-coloured truck and drove off.

  Five minutes later he was bending down inside the old green truck Karen had just stolen, stashing the bona fide plates under the passenger seat. “That’s done. Let’s go.”

  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked, somewhat reluctantly.

  Richard looked at her blankly for a few moments, then his face went white. The beryllium!

  He jumped out and climbed up into the back of the cream-coloured truck. Just as he reached for the ingots, he remembered the handling rule and looked around for something to protect his skin. In the back of the green truck there was a pile of wrenches wrapped up in canvas. He quickly jumped down, ran across and dragged the canvas out from underneath the tools, wincing at the clatter they made as they fell back onto the rusty truck bed. A quick glance failed to reveal anyone watching, so he ran back over, climbed up and wrapped the canvas around a couple of the ingots. Gripping tightly, he managed to turn them over, then carried them across and tipped them on the patchy green paint of the bed of their latest truck.

  Perhaps his fatigue made him slow, but it seemed a long time before he had finished, and throughout he was constantly anticipating the arrival of a pack of police patrol cars, so he sighed with relief as he got back in without any such event.

  “Karen, let me drive now; you’re bushed.” He looked at her drawn face as she sat leaning on the steering wheel.

  “Drive?” She slid over without argument as he stood up and clambered over her. “Thanks,” she whispered after a moment.

  Richard’s head spun as he reached past her head and pulled the seat buckle down over her chest and inserted it into its socket. He stroked her hair back off her face and watched her settle back against the head rest, keeping his hand in contact with her silky head until the draining sensation faded, then he started the engine and drove away towards the north end of Springfield, and the waiting highway.

  A little later on, when Richard was starting to feel drowsy, his dream-like state was brought to an abrupt end by the sound of Tutor’s voice in his ear.

  “You should know that there has been a terrible accident back here,” the voice began without warning. “Some explosives were brought to a point a few feet from Citadel, and were spontaneously detonated, killing several of the military personnel who were nearby. In addition, a huge crater was created underneath Citadel, causing the Scout Craft to tilt to a new angle, with one end slanting down into the hole. Citadel of course was not damaged in any way that I can detect. The good news is that the tarpaulin covers were blown away, allowing me to take an inventory of the equipment that the military have set up around the perimeter of the area.”

  Richard pondered this for some time. Then he noticed that Tutor must have decided to tell only him, as Karen was still sleeping peacefully.

  “What caused the explosion, Tutor?” he asked quietly. “Is it something to do with how Scout Crafts were constructed?”

  “Unknown,” Tutor responded shortly. “The most likely option is that the excavations begun by the investigators to uncover portions of Citadel’s underside caused it to shift slightly, inducing the operation of a safety device designed to prevent such movement.”

  “A safety device?!” Richard tried to puzzle this one out, but finally conceded that it was beyond him. “So how could that set off explosives?”

  “The safety device would probably activate the Star Drive for a very brief instant; this would cause a ‘gravity wave’ that might conceivably compress the material, much as a detonator might.”

  “I see.” Richard nodded, feeling he understood at last. “What are they doing now?”

  “They are starting to reconstruct the covering; I estimate they will complete it within three hours, then I will not have visual observation capabilities beyond the structure again.”

  How many more will die? Richard sighed as he drove on into the night.

  ***

  Richard pulled off to the side of the road a few hours later and parked the small green truck under some trees. They were just north of Worcester, Massachusetts. Both he and Karen were exhausted, she by the mental strain imposed by using her mind powers, and he by the physical work he had done and the support he had given her, literally from his own reserves. Richard glanced at the girl sleeping beside him. He had been driving only for a few hours since they had transferred the beryllium to thi
s truck, but those hours had just about finished him off.

  The engine of the truck had barely stopped turning over before he joined the other occupant in a state of deep sleep. On the roof, the remote unit enabled Tutor to monitor the approaches to their very makeshift hideout. Citadel was covered again now, and thus Tutor was only able to observe visually what happened within the tarpaulin shelter and continue to monitor the radio transmissions and telephone lines as before. Instead of resting, as the fugitives now did, Karen’s tireless mentor started working out alternative routes back to Citadel.

  ***

  Where are we? Karen woke up to pitch darkness some hours later and sat up hesitantly. Then she realized that Tutor’s voice was speaking in her ear.

  “...Karen, are you conscious? This is important, Karen – are you conscious? This is–”

  “Yes, I think so. Mostly, anyway.” She shook her head. “What’s the matter?”

  “A police car just passed by. I’m not sure that your truck was spotted, but the sound from the engine as it disappeared around the next bend did appear to be of a decreasing frequency compatible with the hypothesis that the vehicle was slowing down to a probable halt.”

  Karen’s eyes were adjusted to the dark, so she had no difficulty discerning Richard, still asleep beside her, slumped over on the steering wheel. At the same time, she reached out with her mind until she found the two police officers. They had just completed a report to their base, indicating they were about to investigate a suspicious vehicle. State Trooper Brenda Clay was already out of the car and walking the hundred yards or so back through the thin undergrowth towards Richard and Karen’s escape vehicle.