enjoying your flight?”
Pop, pop. Two squeezes on the trigger, close to the head and out of sight of the rest of the goats.
Next row.
“Hi, folks. I’m Louise. Fly me.”
Pop, pop.
We were close to the rear of the cabin before anybody tumbled to anything. Finally, a few people were standing up and looking at us curiously. I glanced at Lilly, she nodded, and we plugged the rest of them rapid-fire. All of the first-class cabin was now peacefully asleep, which meant none of them could help us pull sleepers through the Gate. It’s completely unfair, but there’s no solution for it. Another benefit of your first-class–ticket air travelers!
We hurried back to tourist, which is always a bigger problem. They hadn’t started putting people to bed yet. Ralph was still working the thinning con, and as I watched, he leaned over a man in an aisle seat and asked if the man would please come with her (him) for a moment.
The guy stood up and Ralph’s back exploded. Something hit me hard in the right shoulder. I spun around on my heel, starting into a crouch.
I noticed a fine film of red on my hands and arms.
I thought: hijacker, the guy’s a hijacker.
And: But why did he wait so long?
And: Hijackers were rare in the 1980s.
And: Was that a bullet that hit my shoulder? Is Ralph dead?
And: The goddam motherfucker is a
hijacker!
It seemed I had all the time in the world.
What actually happened was the bullet hit my shoulder and I turned with it and brought my left arm up and thumbed the selector switch to OBLITERATE and crouched as I came around and took careful aim and blew him apart.
His upper torso and head lifted away from the rest of his body. It leaped into the air and landed six rows back, in the aisle. His left arm landed in somebody’s lap, and his right, still holding his gun, just dropped. His legs and groin fell over backwards.
Okay. I could have stunned him.
Better for him that I didn’t. If I’d taken him through the Gate with me alive, I’d have fried his balls for breakfast.
* * *
There’s little point in describing the pandemonium that followed. I’d have a hard time doing it, even if it was worth describing; I was sitting in the aisle during most of it, looking at blood.
The crew had to stun just about everybody. The only bright spot was the number we’d managed to shuffle through during the thinning phase. The rest would have to go through on our backs.
When Lilly finally knelt beside me she thought I was hurt more than I actually was. She acted as if I might break if she touched me.
“Most of this is Ralph’s blood,” I told her, hoping it was so. “I guess it’s a good thing I stopped the bullet. It could have punctured the fuselage.”
“That’s one way of looking at it, I guess. We had to take the cockpit crew, Louise. They heard the ruckus.”
“That’s okay. We’re still in business. Let’s get them through.”
I started to get up. On the count of three:
one
, and a
two
, and…
Not that time.
“We can’t move them yet,” Lilly said. I didn’t care for thealarmed expression on her face when I had tried to rise. Well, I’d show her. “We’re stacking them by the lavatory,” she went on. “But the Gate is with the 747 right now.”
“Where’s Ralph?”
“Dead.”
“Don’t leave him here. Take him back with us.”
“Of course. I’d have to anyway; he’s mostly prosthetics.”
I managed to get to my feet and that felt a little better. This didn’t have to be a disaster, I kept telling myself. One dead, one wounded; we were still all right. But I was beginning to appreciate the drawbacks in snatching two planes at once. I like to have the Gate
there
, ready to use, all during the operation.
We couldn’t. The most limiting factor about the Gate is the Temporal Law that states it can only appear once in any specific time. Once, and once
only.
If we send the Gate back to—for instance—December 7, 1941, from six to nine in the
Pop, pop. Two squeezes on the trigger, close to the head and out of sight of the rest of the goats.
Next row.
“Hi, folks. I’m Louise. Fly me.”
Pop, pop.
We were close to the rear of the cabin before anybody tumbled to anything. Finally, a few people were standing up and looking at us curiously. I glanced at Lilly, she nodded, and we plugged the rest of them rapid-fire. All of the first-class cabin was now peacefully asleep, which meant none of them could help us pull sleepers through the Gate. It’s completely unfair, but there’s no solution for it. Another benefit of your first-class–ticket air travelers!
We hurried back to tourist, which is always a bigger problem. They hadn’t started putting people to bed yet. Ralph was still working the thinning con, and as I watched, he leaned over a man in an aisle seat and asked if the man would please come with her (him) for a moment.
The guy stood up and Ralph’s back exploded. Something hit me hard in the right shoulder. I spun around on my heel, starting into a crouch.
I noticed a fine film of red on my hands and arms.
I thought: hijacker, the guy’s a hijacker.
And: But why did he wait so long?
And: Hijackers were rare in the 1980s.
And: Was that a bullet that hit my shoulder? Is Ralph dead?
And: The goddam motherfucker is a
hijacker!
It seemed I had all the time in the world.
What actually happened was the bullet hit my shoulder and I turned with it and brought my left arm up and thumbed the selector switch to OBLITERATE and crouched as I came around and took careful aim and blew him apart.
His upper torso and head lifted away from the rest of his body. It leaped into the air and landed six rows back, in the aisle. His left arm landed in somebody’s lap, and his right, still holding his gun, just dropped. His legs and groin fell over backwards.
Okay. I could have stunned him.
Better for him that I didn’t. If I’d taken him through the Gate with me alive, I’d have fried his balls for breakfast.
* * *
There’s little point in describing the pandemonium that followed. I’d have a hard time doing it, even if it was worth describing; I was sitting in the aisle during most of it, looking at blood.
The crew had to stun just about everybody. The only bright spot was the number we’d managed to shuffle through during the thinning phase. The rest would have to go through on our backs.
When Lilly finally knelt beside me she thought I was hurt more than I actually was. She acted as if I might break if she touched me.
“Most of this is Ralph’s blood,” I told her, hoping it was so. “I guess it’s a good thing I stopped the bullet. It could have punctured the fuselage.”
“That’s one way of looking at it, I guess. We had to take the cockpit crew, Louise. They heard the ruckus.”
“That’s okay. We’re still in business. Let’s get them through.”
I started to get up. On the count of three:
one
, and a
two
, and…
Not that time.
“We can’t move them yet,” Lilly said. I didn’t care for thealarmed expression on her face when I had tried to rise. Well, I’d show her. “We’re stacking them by the lavatory,” she went on. “But the Gate is with the 747 right now.”
“Where’s Ralph?”
“Dead.”
“Don’t leave him here. Take him back with us.”
“Of course. I’d have to anyway; he’s mostly prosthetics.”
I managed to get to my feet and that felt a little better. This didn’t have to be a disaster, I kept telling myself. One dead, one wounded; we were still all right. But I was beginning to appreciate the drawbacks in snatching two planes at once. I like to have the Gate
there
, ready to use, all during the operation.
We couldn’t. The most limiting factor about the Gate is the Temporal Law that states it can only appear once in any specific time. Once, and once
only.
If we send the Gate back to—for instance—December 7, 1941, from six to nine in the
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