The Last Starfighter (7 page)

When Alex’s larynx finally unfroze he was barely able to gasp, “What are you doing? You’re going to get us killed!”

“Fiddlesticks! Why would I want to do that? Not only is death inefficient, it’s counterproductive. You don’t have a death wish, do you? I understand it’s quite common among you folks.”

“No, I don’t,” Alex whispered.

“Well then?”

“Don’t,” Alex gulped, unable to take his fear-filled gaze off the road ahead, “you think we may be going just a teensy bit too fast?”

“Too fast?” Centauri frowned for a moment. “Nonsense. How can we be going too fast? We’re hardly moving.”

Alex watched little white posts flick past his window, one right after another. They were highway mile markers. He knew they were traveling too fast now for him to think of doing anything, but if this madman ever slowed down . . . he reached over to check the door handle.

There was no door handle.

“What are you doing?” he repeated desperately. Dimly he recalled something of their earlier conversation. Everything had seemed so normal. When they’d been standing still. Before his heart threatened to leave his body by way of his throat. “What about my prize?”

“Ah, your surprise, your great honor. Listen, Centauri wants to keep it a surprise a little longer. Allow me that little pleasure. Trust me. You’re gonna love it.
Love
it! And who wouldn’t? It’s the greatest honor ever devolved on mankind and it’s yours, all yours. Isn’t that something?”

“Will I live to enjoy it?” he whispered, aware that he was digging into the seat with all ten fingers.

“Wouldn’t be much of an honor if you didn’t, would it? Honestly, I find this preoccupation with death on your part most unhealthy in a Starfighter, my boy. I fail to comprehend your attitude. You’re much too young to be thinking about dying.”

“I agree,” said Alex readily, “so why don’t you slow down a little, okay? Please?”

Centauri shook his head, concentrating on his driving. “Can’t do that. Not now. Wouldn’t do.” The car continued to accelerate. Now the mountain landscape outside was little more than a blur, dark shapes blending into one another, individual details incomprehensible with speed, the world outside green and brown streaks on black, as swirled together as the colors in a Georgia O’Keeffe painting.

“The amusing part of this is that it’s all a mistake.” Centauri spoke casually, with apparent disregard for such possibilities as rocks in the road or washouts. “ ’Cause that particular Starfighter game was supposed to be delivered to Las Vegas, not a fleaspeck trailer park in the middle of tumbleweeds and tarantulas.

“So it must be destiny, fate. Luck even, that brought us together. And as the poets say, the rest is history!”

Alex found time to wonder at the old man’s words despite the terror engulfing him. “That
particular
game? What’s special about that particular game?”

“Relays. Grid perception. Depth simulacra. Had to have some primitive, ordinary-type arcade Starfighter games made and spread around or some repair and distribution people might’ve gotten curious. Not your usual integrated circuitry inside that box, oh no!” He chuckled. “Almost would’ve been worth it to see the expression on some repairman’s mug if he’d gotten inside
that
game, or one of its relatives. He’d think it was some kind o’ elaborate gag. No gag, though. Oh no, no gag.” He glanced back at his petrified passenger. “Integral patterned inertia harness secured?”

“Huh?”

“Seat belt on?”

“Oh.” Alex examined the peculiarly padded straps that emerged from either side of the high-backed seat, pulled them across his chest and fought for a moment with the strange fastening system. The harness seemed to caress him, adjusting itself to the contours of his body like a cluster of flat tentacles. Initially a disquieting sensation, but the touch was so light it grew soothing. Besides which he was much too scared to pay close attention to anything the straps might be doing. He could barely bring himself to keep his eyes open.

They passed a tall white tower that blew apart from the force of their passing. Fragments covered the road in their wake. A stop sign, or something advertising a store or gas station farther up the road. Now it was splinters. Nor was it the first unfortunate object to feel the effects of the car’s passing. Their track was strewn with uprooted bushes, weeds, small trees and one badly addled raccoon, left staggering in the darkness.

The highway patrolman ought to have been listening to official calls. Instead, he lay back in his seat, the police band on very low, the portable on the seat nearby very loud and alive with AC/DC belting out “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap.” Not a lullaby, but still it was all the officer could do to stay awake, despite the Australians’ urgent remonstrations.

He was alone in the squad car, no one to talk to and certainly nothing in the way of traffic on the mountain road to keep him awake. Something went
beep
and he let his eyes slide idly to the radar gun mounted on the dash.

Then something like a horizontal tornado exploded past in a wash of white metal. The squad car rocked in the afterblast, dumping the radio on the floor and reducing the FM wail to a muffled squeal. The squad car slewed around on its rear tires and ratcheted to a halt on the gravel lining the shoulder.

As programmed, the radar gun had locked in on the passing traveler at the moment of passage. Now wide awake, the patrolman gaped at the gun, not comprehending.

The digital readout read three hundred miles per hour.

He rubbed his eyes. The figure remained. Down on the floor Freddie Mercury was burbling Killer Queen into the carpet. On the police radio the dispatcher was chatting about some minor disturbance in the Gold Rush Bar. And the readout wouldn’t go away.

The gun was miscalibrated. Had to be. But there was no question in his mind about one thing. Whatever had passed him was
not
, definitely not, traveling within the legal speed limit.

Siren howling, he took off after whatever it was. As he accelerated up the road he retained enough presence of mind not to call his report back into the station.

First he’d see if he could see something.

4

Alex flinched when they entered the tunnel. It was a long tunnel, one of the longest in the state, and the thunder of the car in the tubular confine shook the supporting concrete until flakes fell from the ceiling.

Centauri was stubbing out his cigarette in something that looked like an ashtray that wasn’t. It couldn’t be, because when he removed his hand the cigarette had vanished, paper and filter and all, together with all traces of lingering smoke.

“Where are we going? Where are you taking me?” He no longer inquired about the nature of his “prize,” beginning to suspect it was only part of some larger lie.

He was wrong, and yet he was right.

Centauri turned to face him, still smiling, ignoring the narrow tunnel racing past and the road beneath as if they no longer mattered, as though the car could drive itself just as effectively without his help.

“Told you, boy. I want to keep it a surprise.”

“I don’t think I can handle any more surprises. I want to know . . .” He broke off, gesticulating wildly at the road.

There was a barrier just beyond the end of the tunnel. He remembered something that had been in the local paper, something about repairs being made to the bad curve on this section of highway. About a detour around the tunnel itself. It explained why they hadn’t encountered any traffic.

He couldn’t read the words on the rapidly approaching barrier but he knew what they said.

ROAD CLOSED AHEAD

“Calm down,” Centauri admonished him, his attention still on his passenger instead of the road. “Are you the kinda kid who reads the last page of a mystery first? Or pesters a magician to tell you his tricks? Or sneaks downstairs to peek at his Christmas presents before everyone else gets up? Of course you ain’t! Which is why I’m not going to tell you what your surprise is. Besides which
I
love surprises. Don’t you?”

At the last instant Alex found his voice just in time to croak, “Look out!”

Centauri turned indifferently, noted the barrier racing up at them. “Oh, that.”

He touched two buttons on the dash. They lit up when he touched them, which Alex found interesting. He’d never seen controls on a car light up like that. Of course, this was a foreign model and he didn’t know much about foreign models, but it still seemed strange and . . .

A glass partition snapped down between him and Centauri. The car shuddered. Short, stubby fins emerged from the rear of the vehicle. Other sections of car were in motion, retracting to reveal peculiar nodules and protuberances or to permit the movement of other external objects.

What would have interested him the most he couldn’t see. The rear end of the car adjusted itself to reveal, not an open trunk, but something considerably more sophisticated and solid.

The back of the car glowed with cold energy. As it exited the tunnel the car left the roadbed, soared over the wooden barrier and torn-up pavement beyond and vaulted high over the edge of the sheer cliff which dropped away beneath the curve in the road. It did not fall but continued to climb toward the moon.

Suddenly the cool glow at the rear of the car faded. Sputtering noises filled the cockpit. Lights dimmed and winked. They reminded Alex of the neon sign on the front of the trailer park general store.

Glowering at the dash in frustration, Centauri gave it a couple of good whacks with his right hand as the car commenced losing altitude and momentum. Alex made gargling sounds from behind the partition.

A faint rumble rose from astern. All the dash lights sprang to full life and the car began to rise once more. Wheels retracted into the underbelly while metal moved to seal them inside. Antennae appeared on the skin of the vehicle, metal flowers blossoming in the moonlight.

As Centauri leaned contentedly back in his seat the car increased its angle of ascent and split the clouds.

“Damned system locks. Don’t make ’em like they used to.” He touched various controls, some of which had just made their first appearance on the dash, and tried to explain to his passenger. “I tell you, son, you just can’t get decent work done these days. A good mechanic’s hard to find. Everyone is under a lot of pressure, though. Got to take that into consideration.” He nodded toward the window. “Nice view out tonight.”

Hesitantly, Alex moved to look outside, acutely conscious of the fact he ought to be dead but wasn’t. Far below were the lights of a major city. Beyond lay a broad, dark expanse. The Pacific Ocean. At least, he assumed it was the Pacific.

“Where . . . where’s my town?”

“Oh, I’m afraid that’s out of view now. Way behind us.”

“It doesn’t feel like we’re moving very fast.”

“Well at least something’s workin’ right. Physiologic support systems compensate for our acceleration. You’re right, though. We’re not moving very fast.”

“Oh.” Alex had reached the point of not bothering to question the impossible, since he was living it.

Something pushed him back in his seat for just a moment. When he could move again he took another look outside, wondering if he’d still be able to see the city. He could not, though he knew it had to be down below them somewhere.

Down below them somewhere, on the Earth.

He was surprised at how small and vulnerable it looked, the Earth. Even as he stared it was shrinking to a point, like a cartoon world vanishing on an animator’s drawing stand. Again he was jerked back into his seat. The next time he was able to move about and look outside, the Earth had disappeared. No sign of the moon, either.

“Sorry about the stop and go acceleration, son,” Centauri apologized. “Transmission needs work.”

Alex reached a decision, leaned forward and pounded insistently on the partition. “That’s enough,” he said, wondering if he sounded half as hysterical as he felt. “Take me back, take me home!”

“Now don’t be in such an all-fired hurry, son. All in good time. Sit back and enjoy the ride.” Alex noticed his abductor was wiping at his face with a thin rag of metal mesh. When he turned to face Alex again he was still smiling.

Only now his mouth was all wrong. In fact, his whole face was all wrong. Most especially his eyes were all wrong. They were much too big for the face, for any human face. But that was all right because the face they were attached to wasn’t in the least bit human. It was grotesque and distorted and resembled some of Louis’s wild scribbles, childish parodies of half-remembered nightmares.

The creature that was Centauri continued to smile back at him as it gently polished its eyeballs.

Alex’s fist froze halfway to the glass. All of a sudden he wasn’t so sure he wanted the glass partition to come down. He settled back in his seat to gape silently at the thing sitting in the pilot’s chair.

Minutes passed. The creature used the metal rag on its face again. When it turned a second time, the familiar Centauri was smiling back at Alex.

Some kind of optical illusion, Alex told himself. He had become very calm. Something that looks solid but isn’t, quite. The metal mesh activated and deactivated the disguise. Or maybe it was solid, a preset fleshy buildup that could be added to or removed from the alien face simply by applying the rag. Or maybe he was insane, and indulging his fantasies in the coldly logical fashion of the completely crackers. They say the real crazies are the most methodical in their thought processes. He’d read that somewhere.