Storm Over Saturn (8 page)

He returned to the original screen.
What is your hobby
? He wasn't even sure he'd ever had a hobby. He was beginning to feel a time creep now. Whatever he was supposed to do down here, he had to do quickly. But if the PC wouldn't let him proceed, then he would have to fill in this innocuous little field. Hobby? There was only one thing he could think of.

He typed in "Flying."

Then he hit the Enter key…

"Can you fly this thing?"

Hunter was standing in the same position as when he hit the Enter key on the computer. Right hand extended, looking almost straight down.

But everything around him had changed. He was no longer inside the Adventure Land station. Instead, he was standing on a cliff hanging above a very deep ravine. High, craggy peaks were all around him. Wisps of smoke were rising from every crevice in these mountains. The air smelled of sulfur and burned oil. The landscape below was forested, but rough and hilly. The sky above was purple and not blue, and filled with streams of electrical sparks instead of stars. The wind was blowing fiercely. There was much noise, confusion in the air. And the massive presence of Saturn was gone.

He was definitely not on the Alpha Moon anymore. But it wasn't Purgatory, either.

There was an elderly gentleman standing in front of him. He had a long, woolly, white beard, yellow teeth, and eyes that looked positively deranged. He was wearing a very tight, unflattering costume of bright red and green material. On his chest was a large letter Z

Explosions started going off all around them. The guy was suddenly right in Hunter's face.

"Answer me, man!" he was screaming. "Can you fly this thing?"

But Hunter was still stunned by his sudden transformation. He'd been transported many times via flashing, mind rings, and now the DATT. But in those cases there was always some kind of indication—an aura, an electrical jolt—that told you something unusual had happened.

Not this time. This was different. One instant he was there; now he was here.

The old man in the strange clothes was shaking him by his flight suit collar.

'Tarnation, man! Time is running out—can't you see that?" He was nearly spitting in Hunter's face. "Can you? Can you fly that thing?"

Hunter's synapses finally snapped back together.

"Fly what?" he yelled back.

The old man stepped aside. Behind him, teetering on the edge of the cliff, was… well, what was it?

It might have been some kind of spacecraft. But it was certainly not of Empire design. There wasn't anything remotely wedge-shaped about this thing. It was stout, cylindrical, maybe fifteen feet long, curved like a fancy wine goblet turned on its side. It was built of bright silver something—a metal, Hunter assumed. It also featured a lot of unnecessary ornamentation up and down its frame: an elaborate nose that looked like an ancient grease gun, a nonfunctioning single wing poking out of the top of the fuselage, three ridiculously curved fins on the back. An exhaust tube was sticking out of its rear end, wimpy puffs of smoke dribbling out of it.

"Can you?" the old man was beseeching him. "Please—you're our last hope!"

Finally Hunter saw what the old guy was so upset about. Looking down into the ravine, he could see three roads, coming from three different directions, all leading up to where he, the old guy, and the whatzit were at the moment. These roads were filled with soldiers. Very weird soldiers. They were dressed in hideous metal battle suits, dumb-looking helmets, short tunics, and sandals.
Tin men in skirts
, Hunter thought. They were also carrying spears. They were charging up toward them and would be on the cliff in a half minute or even less. It would have almost been comical, if there weren't so many of them.

The old man grabbed Hunter by the collar again.

"We've got to get out of here," he said in desperation.

And this time, Hunter was inclined to agree with him.

"Can you fly it, man?"

"I can try!" Hunter finally yelled back at the guy.

They both bounded into the craft. It was actually made not of metal but some impossibly thin material—maybe cardboard. The door almost came off its hinges as Hunter tried to close it behind them. He was somehow able to lock the flimsy hatch, though; only then did he get a good look at the cabin.

Despite the evident danger—either the rampaging armies would reach them, or the stiff wind would blow them over the cliff—Hunter had to laugh. The interior of the craft was insanely primitive. It looked like a toy. The control panel consisted of six lightbulbs arranged on a piece of corrugated metal, a tiny toggle switch beneath each one. The directional assembly was an automobile steering wheel. The throttle was a gas pedal, with a brake pedal beside it. Hunter looked aft. The craft's tiny power plant appeared unable to produce enough juice to light the lightbulbs, never mind make this thing fly.

The old guy was on his sleeve again. "Can you do it?" he was whimpering. "Please tell me you can——-"

Hunter studied the very rudimentary controls. He'd driven everything from Empire Starcrashers, to his own Flying Machine, complex vehicles that took real skill to fly. Now, looking at the six lightbulbs, the gas pedal, and the brakes, it was almost too elementary for him to comprehend. There wasn't even a chair for him to sit down.

What should he do? He came up with a quick strategy.

Gas pedal makes it go. Brake pedal makes it stop. He had no idea what the lightbulbs were for. Therefore, push the gas pedal.

But just as he was about to do this, the old guy began digging his fingernails into Hunter's skin.

Hunter turned to him. "What is it now?"

The old guy said just one word: "Annie!"

Hunter froze. "Who's Annie?"

The guy was suddenly wailing. "She's my daughter." Hunter was confused—make that doubly confused. "Well, where is she?"

The old guy dragged him over to the tiny porthole.

"Out there!" he cried.

He pointed to the cliff just behind the craft. Sure enough, there was a very pretty girl in a very short skirt, for some reason tied to a pole at its summit. At the same moment Hunter saw the three armies were converging nearer the top.

Damn
, he swore.

He didn't even think about it. He didn't have time. He ran back through the cabin, out the flimsy door, across the top of the cliff, up the short peak to where the girl was located. It was strange, especially in this reality blur, but even in the danger they faced, the armies just a few hundred feet away, Hunter couldn't help but notice how cute she was. Long brown hair. Enormous blue eyes. Sparkling smile.

"I'm Annie!" she screamed in his ear as he tore away her bindings. They were made of paper and broke easily. He grabbed her around the waist, pulled her close, then dashed back down the hill and into the craft.

He delivered daughter to father, then jumped behind the control panel again. The three streams of soldiers reached the summit a moment later. They were barely fifty feet away from the craft at this point.

Just for the hell of it, Hunter hit the six switches below the six lightbulbs. They all blinked on, but dimly. Then he put his foot on the gas pedal, grabbed the steering wheel, and yelled, "Hang on!"

He pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor panel. There was a loud crackling noise from the rear of the craft, and suddenly the smell of sulfur was everywhere.

But nothing happened.

They weren't moving.

Hunter tried again. Pedal to the metal, hands on the wheel. But again, nothing. Outside, the soldiers had reached the craft. They were banging on it with their spears. Suddenly a blade came right through the ship's skin. Annie screamed. Her father let out a long moan. Hunter's mind was racing. One moment he was standing on the Alpha Moon, the next he was here—wherever
here
was—trying to prevent himself from being skewered.

Why weren't they moving?

He turned back to the old guy. The man looked back at Hunter in confusion. Then it was as if a lightbulb—another one—went off over his head.

"The strings!" the old guy bellowed, finger pointing straight up.

Hunter ducked another spear that had come through the craft's skin.

"Strings?" he yelled back. "You mean,
super
strings?"

The man screwed up his face a moment, and then said: "No—these strings!"

He pointed to a lever on the ceiling. A sign next to it said, Control Strings—Pull Here to Engage.

The old guy pulled on the lever. The craft shook from one end to the other.

'Try it now!" he yelled up to Hunter. Hunter hit the gas pedal again—and finally they began moving.

But slowly. Very slowly…

The soldiers in the tin men outfits were climbing all over the craft at this point, ramming their spears through the cardboard fuselage, and nearly hitting Annie and her father numerous times.

Hunter could barely see out the window in front of him. But he knew the edge of the cliff was right there and at the moment flying was a relative term. He jammed the gas pedal down further, and suddenly the floor fell out from under him. They had gone over the cliff, taking many of the soldiers with them.

Now Hunter was looking straight down into the chasm; its bottom was rushing up at them. He yanked back on the steering column, but to no effect. He tried pushing more power to turn the cardboard beast, but the pedal would not go down any further. They were just seconds away from impacting on the chasm floor, when one last idea hit him. In this crazy world, if you want to stop, what do you do?

He hit the brakes—and sure enough, the craft came to a screeching halt in midair, nose pointed straight down, not one hundred feet away from crashing. It came to such an abrupt stop, those unlucky soldiers still clinging to its sides were shaken loose and kept on going, unable to stop their momentum. Hunter heard a chorus of "Ahhhh!" as a dozen of them went by the cabin window. A grisly way to go.

But he and his new friends were safe—at least for the moment. True, they were suspended in midair. And why gravity wasn't causing them to topple toward the front of the craft, he had no idea. But Hunter's boot was coming apart as he pressed down on the brake pedal with all his might. He was certain if he let up on it, they would continue their plunge downward, and add to the splat already at the bottom of the chasm.

So, now what?

Again, he had to use the same wacky logic of this very wacky place. With the brake pedal still pressed to its limit, he began slowly turning the steering wheel. Annie and her father were somehow holding on behind him, still locked in an anxious embrace. Sure enough, the craft began moving on its axis. Now, instead of staring down at the chasm floor, they were looking at one side of the ravine. Hunter kept spinning the wheel, and soon the nose of the craft was pointed straight up.

He let out a whistle of relief. Then he eased off the brake pedal, at the same time lightly tapping the gas.

Slowly, they started moving vertically again. Sparks flying out of its rear end, they climbed up and out of the chasm and into the expanse of purple sky above. Hunter spun the wheel again and soon got the craft to fly horizontally. Only then did he start breathing normally again. He turned back to Annie and her father. They were beside themselves with joy.

Annie left her father's arms and ran into Hunter's. She hugged him very tightly and not for a short time. Hunter felt her body, warm and soft, fold itself into his. She felt very good, and very real.

"Thank you!" she was saying over and over again. "
Thank you
!"

Finally, her father stepped forward. "I am Dr. Zoloff," he announced dramatically. "I am the head of all scientists of this world. I, too, thank you for saving our lives. Flash Rogers never lets his friends down!"

Flash who
? Hunter wondered.

He began to correct the doctor and launch into the reason he was here, when the man cut him off.

His face had suddenly turned very concerned again, almost as if another program had kicked in.

"You must help us!" he told Hunter. "Annie's husband-to-be is being held by the evil Ping the Pontificator. He will die before midnight if we don't save him! Will you help us rescue him, dear sir?"

Before Hunter could say a word, Annie was up against him again, squeezing him. Grinding him. "I know he will, Father!" she was saying excitedly. "I just know it!"

The Astronaut's last few words began passing between Hunter's ears.
Just go along with what is happening there
, he'd said.
Have respect for the people you meet. Their existence might seem crazy to you, but it is their lives
.

Hunter just shrugged. "Sure, I'll help," he finally replied. "If you promise to help me, too."

Annie squeezed him even tighter. Tissue was beginning to move and grow. Several awkward moments went by before Hunter gently tried to ease her away. But it made no difference; she wasn't letting go.

"Then it's a deal!" Zoloff cried.

Annie still tight in her embrace, Hunter eased both of them back over to the control column.

Someone had to fly this thing.

He followed Zoloff's directions and flew to the top of another mountain. It was not much different from the one they'd just left.

There was a white building at its summit though, with an observatory attached. Hunter had noodled out the controls by this time. Using a combination of gas, brake, and steering wheel, he set the craft down with ease. Annie never did stop hugging him. Her father shook his hand.

"I have brandy in my house," Zoloff said. "Please, indulge in one with me."

Before Hunter could reply, they swept him out of the ship and steered him toward the house. He couldn't resist looking back at the craft, though—and was nearly blown away by what he saw. The strings that Zoloff had talked about were actually strings. They were attached to the craft at the nose, along the spine of the fuselage, and all the way back to the tail. Hunter followed them straight up into the deep purple sky, losing sight of them after a mile or so. This was obviously how the small ship really flew, and not by any kind of puny power plant on its rear end. But did that mean some gigantic puppet master was literally pulling the strings way up there?