CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
"In the beginning of a change, the patriot is a scarce man, brave, hated, and scorned. When his cause succeeds however, the timid join him, for then it costs nothing to be a patriot.” - Mark Twain
Meanwhile, the battle had begun topside, Winston making the best of it.
"Wahoo! It has begun!"
Hovering about five hundred feet above ground-level, Greg Jackson looked through one of his prized scavenger treasures, 21st century night vision goggles which allowed him to see clearly, although green tinted, what was happening below no matter how dark it was. Not even his own Shadows could hide from him.
As he kept watch, looking intently for some sign of Carlos' group, he wondered why Makr hadn't pressed this technology into service. Makr's cyberts should have thrown it out with all the other war weapons that were located when all this started years ago. But why leave this to be found by the humans?
He was surprised he could even see figures running. No Stealth for some, but this was a now or never kind of move so it may not have mattered much anyway. The explosions were all part of coordinated and synchronized actions he had discussed with Mother-General before his latest recon run. Although his latest reconnaissance mission had prevented him from returning home or contacting the Nest, he presumed his job was still to watch Carlos' back as he and his Nest escaped out the back way. So far, nothing. No sign of them. Shouldn't there be more explosions in Carlos' sector now, he wondered. It was just too quiet down there.
"Wow, so that's what this place looks like without SensaVision," Winston said, taking a turn with the night vision goggles.
"That's right, my friend, get used to it. When Makr's gone I doubt we'll see SensaVision again."
"Woefully, I guess that's true." Winston had always appreciated the moments of bliss and gratification afforded by SensaVision. Adapting to reality was possible--just not terribly pleasant. Look at these fellas, he thought. Bad example. But he had noticed this Shadow seemed to be less authoritarian, less obnoxious. The moment made them allies, albeit strange allies, but they had the best common thread: humanity.
The two independent agents of destiny hadn't attacked yet as they watched below. There were flashes of explosions going off all over the city and, unseen by them, all over the world. Reckoning Day.
Not only the strong would survive. So would the cowardly and the lucky. It made the comrades smile to see the rows and rows of factory cyberts, some security cyberts and even the street janitors frozen in their path. Jackson decided to take a closer look. As the hovercar floated downward, he turned to his companion with a smile. He stuck out his hand again. Winston eyed him suspiciously but took it anyway.
"My name is Greg Jackson. If we're going to be partners in this grand revolution, we should at least know each other's names."
"Winston Salem...er...glad to meet you, partner."
"Call me Greg, please."
Winston nodded. "How long do you think this will last, Greg?"
Greg shrugs. "As long as we breathe."
This was one serious individual, thought Winston. Are all the Shadows like this one? he wondered.
"You know, I've lived my entire life in the Shadows," Greg continued. "One time, just one time, I'd like to see the world around me without looking over my shoulder."
"I guess we aren't much different there. I've never seen the real world because I've always had blinders on, and I always wanted someone looking after me. I didn't know what I was missing. This reality may be bleak and unpleasant, but it's honest. You can trust it"
We can't trust each other, but we have to trust reality, Winston thought. Both men from different sides of reality relaxed a bit for a moment as movement below had stopped. The sun was rising—a big bright orange ball sitting on the horizon—elongating shadows and giving everything below a rosy hue now. He put the night vision goggles away for now.
Suddenly, there was a knocking on the outside of the flying vehicle. Tiny black flying creatures the size of bumble bees were hitting the car's exterior as if to get the occupants' attention. Instinctively, Greg slowed down to get a better look.
Never having seen bees before, Winston had no idea of what was happening.
"We've got a problem," Greg announced. "We're being followed..." He looked down at a small screen he had installed on the hovercar's dashboard to see the reality on the ground—a bank of red indicators—telling him cybert lasers were moving like spotlights in their direction.
"Let's get out of here!" they both shouted simultaneously.
He shoved the throttle all the way forward and pulled back on the elevator. The hovercar responded with incredible acceleration, forcing its passengers hard into their seats as it reached beyond gravity.
Greg turned his head enough to see an incredulous Winston. "I modified your vehicle a bit."
"Glad you did," said Winston calmly, as if he was just along for the ride. Steal my 'car will ya? "Still can't see the lasers," he said smugly.
"Don't worry. They're there, and looking for us. This is one time I'd trust a machine," he said, patting his detection device on the dash.
At that moment, the dashboard monitor exploded as it was hit by a laser blast.
"Great! Just great!" So much for an early warning system, thought Winston.
Greg slammed the stick back and punched the accelerator throttle even more to get the craft out of range, but he wasn't fast enough. The hovercar was suddenly assaulted with ten or twelve laser blasts that were burning half-inch holes in non-critical parts of the hovercraft, with a few narrowly missing its occupants.
"Where did that come from?" whined a nervous Winston.
"There must be an entire bank of laser cannons—like artillery—hidden down there with SensaVision. How can Makr bring it to us way up here?"
"Greg, it'll be fine to ponder that later, but can we save our asses now?"
"Guess we should see if we broke anything." Greg had not been this introspective since they'd met. His voice was strangely quiet and calm.
"You are scaring me, pal," Winston said. "We get blasted from the earth some 5,000 feet or so, and you say, we might have broken something. We're lucky to be alive."
"Shall we thank Makr for that?" He made a cursory damage assessment. "We're still afloat. No system damage."
"What do you make of that?" Winston asked.
"I don't know for sure. Cybert adaptation to our use of air tactics maybe. But it's not complete. Depending on the models, some adapt quickly, some don't. Weak points. If we find those..."
"What do we do now? They can find us and kill us up here...oh, shiiiit!"
"What's wrong?
"I'm hit! Bleeding!" He was trying to wrap some of his Stealth fabric around his left leg to stop the flow of the blood, but it wasn't working.
Greg grabbed his laser ax and changed the setting. "Here, this will cauterize the wound."
"Hey, are you nuts? That'll really hurt!"
"No kidding. Want to bleed to death?"
"No," Winston admitted and submitted., "One leg wound ready for treatment."
"Hang in there. Lowest setting. I'll be quick."
It was obvious from Greg's confidence that he had done this numerous times before. Winston noticed several burn scars around Greg's neck and wondered if they had been caused the same way.
"Ow!" he protested."Makrrrr!" Then he screamed as the laser seared the flesh and sealed the wound.
"Such a baby. Done."
"Sorry. That's it?"
Greg nodded. "You'll have quite a scar though."
"I didn't mean to sound like such a wimp."
"Don't worry, you'll feel more pain later. Then, you can be a wimp."
Winston winced at the notion that he was beginning to think like his kidnapper/partner.
He looked up and glanced to his side to see the bees were back, neck and neck with them, flying at an amazing speed. "Greg, how fast are we going?"
"About 230 miles per hour. Why?"
"We still have company," he said, nervously staring out on the right side of the hovercar's dome.
"Tighten your seatbelt," Greg warned.
"How can they go that fast?"
"Tighten your seatbelt!"
"Tiny engines..." Winston gave him a quizzical look. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"
"Just hold on!"
Greg turned the hovercar quickly to check the bees' response time. He did this three or four times as he did before, and each time, the bees adjusted accordingly after a fraction of a second. Twice as fast. Then he knew what he had to do. He pointed the hovercar downward and plummeted toward the ground as fast as the accelerator could push it.
"This doesn't seem safe, Greg. Greg? Greg!" With each 'Greg,' he screeched his increasing terror with more volume and pitch.
"Greg! What're you doing?" Winston half cried and half pleaded. Pushed back in his seat by the g-forces, he could hardly get the words out. He watched in horror at the earth rising to meet them face-to-face. There was a reason he wanted to be in control in any situation at all, and this was it. Winston noticed the 'bees' on his side of the vehicle were keeping pace with the hovercar even as its pace doubled, then tripled.
Greg smiled, then said, "Trust me," as he kept an eye on the hovercar's altimeter...500, 400, 300. Bees still there. 200, 100. Hope Makr never thought of this scenario. Only one way to find out. At 50 feet he hit the automatic leveling switch. The hovercar performed as it was told, leveling off immediately and leaving the bees little time to adjust. There wasn't enough time. The tiny cyberts crashed into the pavement below, shattering into thousands of minuscule pieces of metal.
"Pull over! Pull over, Jackson, now!"
Not sure what was happening with his new partner, he brought the hovercar to halt, hovering some hundred feet off the ground. Suddenly the canopy slid back and he saw Winston bent over the hovercar's side retching, losing the contents of his stomach and spraying anything below them.
Meanwhile, in the hovercar, Greg was elated with success and pumped full of nature's high: adrenaline. His smile changed to a grimace when the smell of Winston's vomit gagged him and he, too, couldn't help but be sick over his side of the vehicle as well. Logic would have made it merely the results of too much acceleration one way and the sudden return to level, leaving their stomachs on the ground.
"Now what?" Winston asked, adrenalin held back and suddenly acting as if nothing had happened. He was looking a little green.
"I hope we got some on a few Cyber," said Greg, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
"I'd rather get something on them that'll do more damage."
Comrades who threw up together...
It was the first time Winston recalled ever having regurgitated—or feeling unwell. A rather unpleasant and novel experience. Disgusting actually. There was something to be said for living a sheltered existence
Not too surprisingly, Winston concluded, even after the laser burn. He'd rather experience the pain. So his nausea was nothing. It made him angry, focused, and feeling more alive than ever.
"I've had enough driving fun," Greg said. "I think it's time you earned your freedom, and we use some of these explosives. You drive...er...fly...er...Winston, is it?"
"Sure. Glad to." I think. Hope there aren't any more of those flying things.
Awkwardly, they traded places, climbing over each other, one grabbing the controls in turn carefully because there was no true auto-pilot even though the craft was hovering; a shift of weight at the wrong time could have sent them spinning into a two- or three-hundred-foot building. Greg moved into the other side and began preparing the explosives.
Once again in the driver's seat, Winston's coaxed the hovercar higher and higher until he was at a comfortable 10,000 feet. His arm stung from the burn now, so he rubbed it. He checked the air space around them one last time before his breathing was back to normal.
Greg was busy checking his cache of explosive devices, while Winston kept a lookout. No sign of any more bees; however, there were numerous flashes still going on around the city.
Mild turbulence jarred the hovercar, but it was not caused by natural weather patterns. The numerous massive explosions and fires below were heating the air, causing strong currents with a potential for dangerous wind shears. The warmer air forced the colder air outward and upward. The hovercar's practical guidance system adjusted quickly to the minor turbulence and made automatic course corrections to handle local wind shears. The system worked flawlessly until it was faced with a force equal to all the smaller explosions combined below.
The entire ground lit up and the pair heard a deafening roar as smoke and dust billowed up as high as three thousand feet. They felt the force of explosion even at their altitude of roughly 10,000 feet. The bluish and white flames, exiting the streets below through vents and other access points, looked like rocket thrusters, but even the stunned observers knew better.
The explosions must have been underground because manhole covers, grates and other hatches that led to the surface were violently blown out, tossed like feathers in the wind. The hovercar shook and rocked as an extreme rush of hot air shot it upward, spiraling out of control.
"Let the autopilot take control of it," Greg yelled at Winston in the chaos that followed. His nicely packed explosives were falling all around them, some striking them painfully as they bounced erratically around the tiny cabin.
"Can't! You disabled it, remember!"
"Shit!"
"Don't worry. Think I've got this situation under control. I think..."
He managed to turn the hovercar's nose away from the massive explosion and send the vehicle higher in the sky. The hot air kept them further aloft for a while, then dissipated. They both breathed a sigh of relief. As the hot air current was neutralized, the hovercar hung in the air a moment before falling back, then was sucked back to earth by the powerful vacuum caused by the retreating hot air current. If gravity had been the only force acting on it, the hovercar probably could have stabilized itself easily; certain pressures were expected when an occupant lost control. This wasn't one of those times. This situation would take more than automated mechanical force.
Winston acted on sheer instinct when they started the backward rush to earth; he shoved the throttle all the way forward and pulled the stick as far back as he could.
"Help me hold it!" he yelled.
With Greg's assistance, Winston was now able to bring the hovercar into a backward roll, pointing the nose to the ground.
"This is a help?"
"Watch. Basic physics," Winston said. "Besides, you did it to me. Fair is fair."
Greg yelled, "If you weren't driving I'd kill you!"
As they plummeted again faster and faster toward the earth, the hovercar's inertia and air speed became greater than gravity and the vacuum. Winston gripped the stick with both hands and pulled it as far back as he could. Nothing happened. No response.
"You'll probably be too late!" yelled Winston.
8,000 feet. Greg was silent this time, his eyes glued to the altimeter.
"Can you increase the speed?" he asked Greg. "You did 'modify' this car, didn't you?"
7,000 feet.
"The big red button starts a rocket booster."
"A rocket booster? Ever use it before?"
"No!"
6,000 feet.
"Always a first time," said Winston as he hit the button with his fist. He and his partner were slammed back in their seats by several extra 'G's. He held the stick back as far as it would go. Meanwhile, the ground raced up to meet them head on.
3000 feet.
"I sure hope you know what you're doing," Greg said, his eyes glued to the altimeter and both hands gripping the armrests."
2000 feet.
"Any time now," Winston said through clinched teeth. The extra 'Gs' held each man fast against his seat, unable to move his head to either side. "C'mon baby. Show me you can take the stress."
1000 fe
et.
The hovercar's nose inched upward until the craft reached its zenith and achieved the critical downward motion that became its forward motion.
"Leveling now," Winston noted proudly as he sensed a change in the car's attitude.
Greg and Winston shared a look and sigh of relief. "Basic physics. In order to control force, you need to have more force to begin with. Your mod gave us the force we needed. Yes, sir. You can breathe now," he said.
Greg wiggled his fingers to get the blood circulating in both his hands—those with the white knuckles.
"That was the biggest explosion I've ever seen," Greg commented, avoiding talk of the narrow escape.
"It was a first for me, too." In truth, he had never seen an explosion before. Rather exciting, he thought, liking the daredevil in himself. Amazingly, neither man was sick this time.
Greg changed the subject. "That is Carlos' sector." He was looking down at the section of the city where they had experienced the potent explosion.
"Who's that?"
"A friend."
"Sorry." He could see his new partner was markedly distressed at that revelation. "He may have escaped before the explosion," Winston offered.
Greg shook his head. "I don't think so. You saw what it did to us. Imagine what it must have been like down there. Besides, it wasn't just him. Who knows how many people. There are probably four or five hundred of my people down there underground on a normal day...and this is not normal."
"Doesn't look like it touched the outside of the huge factory above it either."
From the air, it was possible to see the factory's immense superstructure still standing. Winston did not know of any Makr project that was as large as that. What happened to the people who used to live down there?
"Get us back down there, will you?" Greg sounded like he was back in charge. "Slowly please."
Winston was happy to comply.
"Let's see if we can sneak up on the cybert lasers that tried to take us out. Maybe without their spy bees, we can...