*
Everybody in Timtown seemed to be adapting to the situation and becoming comfortable, except Tim and Ann. Tim was still apprehensive, and Ann was just plain unresponsive to anyone. Tim knew why he ‘wasn’t falling into place’, as Arty had commented, but the thing with Ann was ‘really sad’, as Margie had put it.
Margie was a complete mystery to Tim because she acted like his mother, his girlfriend, and an older sister, all rolled into one. She had complete control of every situation she was involved in, but did not push herself, or her opinion on anyone.
A big celebration was underway because Arty’s plane had been completed and was being tested, and retested. Tomorrow morning, at six o’clock, it would race down the smooth surface Tim was now walking. He had done this many times in the last few days, but instead of the black, solid wall he was coming to, tomorrow, light would be streaming in because it would be open to the world.
It was five hours before the big even as Tim stood at the end of the runway. He had passed off worrying about Arty crashing. Between Arty, Jake, and Mr. V, it wasn’t likely. The simulator had impressed upon Tim that the actual plane had enough technology and backup systems to make it unique in its dependability. He wanted the first flight to go smoothly because then it would be his turn and he would be ready. He didn’t feel like attending the celebration because he could not get his mind off flying out through the wall in front of him, and out into the sky. The description of the planes performance, that Jake and Arty constantly bragged about, had hooked him.
*
It was six in the morning, and the big event was about to happen. Arty had worked the Timtown group into a frenzy about the launching of his plane. He had played them like a politician, and now every soul in the base was on hand to see the show, except Ann.
A metallic sound echoed through the flight deck, as Arty had coined it, and a large section in the floor in front of everyone began to pull back. As the door receded, a round black cone with the sharp ridges running back from the middle moved into view. The section of the floor continued to move back, exposing more of the plane. It was as beautiful as the holograms had predicted, flat, black, and sleek. It reminded Tim of the grace and functional appearance of the up to date race cars he was always admiring. The door had slide back far enough to expose most of the plane. As the twin tails and engine exhausts of the plane became visible a second cone appeared as the opening in the floor continued to grow.
Tim shot a glance at Arty.
“The one on the left is yours. I didn’t want to go flying alone,” stated Arty.
“What? Are you nuts? I can’t fly that thing!” Tim said quickly.
“Hey, Jake and I both studied your performance in the simulator, and we think you’re ready,” Arty returned.
“Arty, I’m not ready to fly anything. I remember you telling me about all the training necessary when you were learning how. I mean, I know this thing is probably a little easier, but come on!” Tim said defensively.
“Timmy, if I thought it would be silly, I wouldn’t be telling—‘no’—I wouldn’t be asking you to come along. Besides, that plane is completely safe. It has an anti-crash system, and Jake will be monitoring you constantly. If necessary, he can take complete control from here.”
“What if something breaks?”
“You’ve been in the simulator. You know how to use all the backups, and, again, Jake will be like he’s right with you. You have nothing to worry about. Trust me; it’ll be no harder than driving the van.”
“Easy for you to say, and incidentally, the first time I drove the van I ran into a mail truck.”
“There are no mail trucks where we’re going, so you have nothing to worry about.”
“It was parked Arty.”
“Oh, well you’re older and wiser now. Look, you drive that Sky-bike all over hell. This is the same thing.”
“The first time I tried the Sky-bike, I fell off,” Tim confessed.
“You’ll be sitting ‘in’ the plane, you can’t fall off,” Arty argued.
“Arty,” Tim whined.
“Timmy, you are going. You want to do this, I know. Correct?”
“Weeell, yes, but not so soon. And why didn’t you let me know about this any sooner, so I could have been prepared?”
“If you would have known, it would have just made you uncomfortable. More time to get increasingly nervous. The time is now, just do it.”
“And if I really fuck up?” Tim whined again.
“It’s been nice knowing you Little Brother,” Arty laughed.
“Oh god!” said Tim, as two small robots approached him with the pressure suit that would keep him conscious up to twenty G’s.
*
Ten minutes later he was suited up. All the while the robots had been putting him in the suit; he had been trying to come up with excuses. He had done well in the simulator, and had even congratulated himself on the fact, the day before, he was certain he could fly the plane. But now here he was climbing into the real plane, for the real thing. As the robots connected the suit to the plane, strapped him in, and put the helmet down over his head, he felt like he had been conned by Arty.
Arty’s known all along how much I wanted to fly that plane because after I first saw the hologram and got in the simulator I lost interest in everything else. Last night as I stood down at the end of the runway, up against the barrier I was wishing I could go. Arty had probably been watching me, so here is my wish.
When he was settled he started the sequences he had learned in the simulator. External power switch on, conformation of adequate internal power, then external power off. Tim looked back, and there was Ann standing behind the plane. She waved and mouthed good luck and then turned and walked back toward the others.
Tim returned to his task at hand. Assistance computer, on. The cockpit jumped to life and the screens lit up with the information he would need to pull this off. Readouts began as he switched on all the ships functions. Life-support, on, Navigation, on, Communications, on, Engine and Control systems, on. Each one caused a little more buzzing within the machine. It would be real easy to get confused at this point, Tim realized, but then again if he just concentrated he could at least get the damn thing started by himself. Not a total loss then.
“Start primary system,” Arty commanded.
Tim activated the system and the readout confirmed the system was on. Next was the Fire-suppression system and it went active. Then the Controls went active and the Controls-Stick on his right danced around as the control surfaces on the plane synchronized with it. Then Life-support was activated and Tim felt this one. His pressure suit and helmet liner inflated against his body and head.
A dull clang sounded from outside the plane and startled Tim. It sounded like something had fallen. He looked around and could see nothing out of place, but all the spectators were being ushered back away from the two planes into a separate area protected by a transparent barrier. Ann hesitated for a moment and looked Tim’s way before continuing on. She had made him feel so much more confident by the two simple little acts of recognition, he couldn’t believe it. This was going to be a piece of cake.
Light from in front of the plane caught his attention and he turned to look down the runway. The barrier to the outside was opening. The light had started at the base of the runway and was moving up. At first he couldn’t see out, the intense light partially blinding him, but as the partition moved higher he could see blue sky, but no ground. Way off in the distance he thought he could make out the shimmering clouds from the eruption. He suddenly realized how far up this launch pad was.
Just throw it out the window. Tim remembered his conversation with Arty. Tim was staring down the runway, thinking. Three hundred yards, and then nothing, well probably something, but a long way down. Christ, don’t let this thing quit on me. . .Maybe it won’t even start? That’s a comforting thought. Tim chuckled to himself.
Behind him large panels began to swing up behind the
plane from the floor. They were blast deflectors, he knew.
My god, I’m sitting on a powder keg.
“All right, Tim, let’s do it! Am I coming in clear?” Arty’s voice came through the headset in his helmet.
“Yeah, I can hear you fine. Say Arty, does a stomach ache count when you want to get out of something?”
“Not when you confess the truth.”
“Oh, then what ‘will’ get me out of this?”
“Oh, if you really don’t think you’re up to it, you can back out.”
Tim didn’t respond right away, but here was his chance. He thought about it for a few seconds and then said. “Golly, my stomach ache has miraculously disappeared.”
“Then start number one,” said Arty.
Tim pushed the throttles to the start position and punched the charge icon for the number one engine. A soft whine started and began to spool up. The whine reached a sharp pitch and then a whooshing sound and a light on the display in front of him confirmed engine combustion. When the control panel signaled satisfactory start and idle, Tim repeated the process for the number two engine. As he watched number two come to life, the temperatures, fuel flow, oil pressures, system activators, fire systems, backups, he relaxed for the first time confident that he really knew what he was doing.
So far, so good.
The next step was to bring the canopy down and lock it. Suddenly the confidence left him, as the transparent cover moved down and with a soft click confined him in the small cockpit. It had never seemed this small in the simulator. His legs were pinned on both sides by panels. The panel on the left contained the throttles and a lighted key board for controlling the communications, the radars and the sensors on board. The panel on the right had the control stick. There was a thin partition in between his legs. The top of this partition was flat, and all the engine functions were displayed there. There was no room for him to move his shoulders to the sides, as the seat came around his pressure suit. He could move his head side to side, but only about thirty degrees both ways. There was no need to look out the sides and to the rear in the TT Fighter because small cameras did it for him and displayed the images inside cockpit in three dimensional holograms.
What if the damn plane doesn’t work? What if I make a mistake? What if? What if I put it off until tomorrow? What if I put it off forever? The thoughts were jumping through his head as he stared down the runway and out into the open world, three hundred yards ahead.
“You okay?” asked Arty.
“Yeah, I guess so, but I’m not entirely sure about this,” conceded Tim.
“You can put it off, if you want. I’m telling you right now.”
“Were you this scared the first time?” asked Tim.
“Of course,” stated Arty.
“I can second that,” Jake added. “I was always a little scared every time I flew. Anything can happen at any time. Being afraid keeps you from being careless. I’m sure you’ve figured already that you wouldn’t have spent so much time in the simulator if you didn’t have the desire. You know what to do, just do it. Besides, I’ll be helping you out from here.”
“You really think I can do it, huh?”
“I sure do. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t let you go because I get to fly that thing when you return it. Are you ready?” said Jake.
“Phew, I guess so.”
Nobody said anything for a few moments, until Tim spoke again. “Okay let’s do it!”
“All right, you go first, I’ll be right behind,” said Arty.
Tim concentrated on what he had to do to launch the plane and he was ready. In the simulator this was the most fun. This time he would feel the real power. His fear left him; this was the moment he had been waiting for.
He pushed the throttles to half power to check the engines. He could feel the plane straining against the fully applied brakes as both engines came up to fifty percent with a scream to the front of him and a roar to the rear. Behind the plane great waves of heat poured off the blast deflectors obscuring everything except Arty’s plane, off to the left and slightly behind.
Next check controls. Tim manipulated the controls and the computer verified that all the movements of the Stick corresponded with the movements of the ailerons, canards, and rudders.
Check heading. The plane would leave the base heading 350 degrees; the runway in Timtown was pointing North-North-West, then set the guidance system.
Check engines. The readouts on the display panel showed all the engine functions were proper.
Reduce power to twenty-five percent. Set all the controls to neutral. The computer confirmed all the control surfaces were neutral. Tim could feel the power of the craft buzzing all through his body. The sound was like a constant distance thunder storm. He was sure the noise outside must be intense. He was really excited now. He was thinking about the description of the power and speed of the plane Arty and Jake had given him and it sent chills running down his spine.
“All set?” asked Arty.
“I guess?” Tim replied as he looked at Arty’s plane on the hologram inside his cockpit. A thick shaft of heat was blasting out of the right engine on the other plane, striking the blast shield and deflecting up. Then it dissipated into the heat waves already permeating everything in the launch area. Some of the heat waves had traveled forward and started to cool, and the moisture had begun to condense forming a thin wispy fog. Some of the fog was rolling down over the front of Arty’s plane and was being pulled toward the engine intakes. The mist lazily rolled down from above the plane, but as it got nearer the engine it began to compress and speed up. Ten feet from the intake the mists rushed together and were sucked straight into the engine.
“Start your launch sequence on the five count, and I’ll be right behind you. Agreed?” said Arty.
“Okay,” said Tim quickly because there was no sense hesitating now.
“Starting count: One,” said Arty. “Two. . . three. . . four. . . and as he said five, Tim punched the launch icon.
“Launch on zero,” said the onboard computer. “Eight,” it announced, as a large eight flashed hologram style in the front of the visor of Tim’s helmet.
“Seven.” The entire launch would be handled by the computer, until the craft was clear of the base.
“Six.” Tim tried to relax and concentrated on the opening in front of him.
“Five.” The computer brought the engines to forty percent standard power.
“Four.” The engines continued to spool up, fifty percent, sixty percent. Just left of the main display screen was a screen six inches square. The screen was divided into thirty-six smaller squares. Each one was bright green at this time. If any function of the plane was to fail the corresponding square would change to bright red.
“Three.” Everything was still green, and the engines continued to build up.
“Two.” He stared straight ahead to the opening. Two more seconds and he would be on his way. To what, he could not imagine. The plane was buzzing with the power of the engines.
“One.” Tim gulped once, as the power passed eighty percent.
“Zero.” Tim watched the throttles jump forward to the max-standard stop. The brakes released, and the plane jolted forward, slamming his head back to the head rest. The TT Fighter launched forward, as he watched the functions screen. It was all green. The engines were at ninety percent. At the same moment he saw the percentage reading jump to one-hundred and the increased power pushed him back even harder into the seat. He was halfway to the end of the strip and the acceleration was compressing him so hard he had trouble pulling in a breath even with the pressure suit helping him. The open world was rushing toward him as he counted one thousand one, one thousand, and before he could finish the two count he was in the bright light of the outside.
“He counted one thousand one, and hit the landing gear up icon. The speed reading was already 446 knots, altitude; three-thousand and twelve feet, heading 351 degrees. The gear locked up; it said so in fron
t of him as he took control of the machine. Turn and climb to the left was the next step. He applied pressure to the controls, and the plane responded. Speed 534 knots, altitude; four-thousand eighty-six feet, heading 339 degrees. He straightened the plane out, but continued to climb at a 45% angle. Below, the mountains next to the valley, where he had come from, were slipping quickly behind. Ahead was a wall of ash, smoke, and dust from the fractured fault. Arty had instructed him to stay out of the dirty air, so he rolled the plane to the left, away from the wall. As the fighter rolled to the left, he looked down into the valley. He had spent the last five years living there and had prided himself on knowing where everything was. He had flown back to Wisconsin, one summer, and as the plane had left and returned, he was able to recognize the land marks that abounded there. Now he could see little that was familiar. The lava had reached about three-fourths the way to the upper end.
Speed was 760 knots and altitude; nine-thousand and sixty-seven feet. The computer also said he was 8 miles from Timtown. In less than 20 seconds he had traveled the distance it took 20 minutes to drive.
“Good take off,” Arty said.
“Arty, where are you?”
“Behind, and slightly above. Pay attention to the rear,” he commanded.
Tim hadn’t been paying any attention to the holograms until Arty scolded him, but there was the second TT Fighter, in three D, a couple of hundred yards back and above him.
The readouts said 800 knots, and ten-thousand-five-hundred feet, and it had gotten strangely quiet.
“Arty, what happened? It’s so quiet all of a sudden.”
“You went through the sound barrier. Come on Tim, think. You went through this in the simulator,” Arty’s voice was stern.
“Oh yeah. Oh man this is so great, I just forgot, sorry.”
“Don’t apologize to me; you’re the one that’s going to be sorry if you don’t get your shit together ‘Little Brother’. Let’s go to twenty-thousand, I want to get out of this dusty air. We don’t want to be too hard on our babies.”