setting. “This place is gonna be famous,” he said with a grin. “The Roswell, New Mexico, of the Nile Valley. People will come from miles around just to see the place where the saucer sat.” He waved at the boat crowd again. “Who knows, there are probably some folks aboard that boat who will eat out for the next twenty years on their story of what they saw today. ‘And then, just before he went aboard his spaceship and blasted off, one of the aliens waved. Damnedest thing I ever did see.’”
“That’s enough, E.T. Into the ship.”
After one last wave to the people on the boat, the imaginary fans on the landward side, and an unseen television audience all over the globe, Rip Cantrell ducked down and waddled his way under the saucer to the open hatch.
“We must do something about the method of ingress. It’s just plain undignified.”
He fired off the reactor, waited a bit for some water to percolate through the system, then helped Charley Pine into the pilot’s seat. She wiggled the stick and rudder. Little puffs of dirt and dust rose from each of the maneuvering jets. She kept wiggling the stick until the puffs stopped.
Rip stood beside her on the step where he had stood last night.
“You want to get strapped in or something?”
“Just take it easy, lady. Don’t do anything exciting.”
She slowly lifted the collective, concentrated on making only tiny movements with the stick. The saucer became light on the skids, then rose off the ground in a little cloud of dust. She lifted it into a hover about six feet above the ground, then used her left hand to reach for the gear switch. A humming noise was audible from the machinery spaces until the gear legs were in.
Charley took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Please, Lord, don’t let me screw this up.
She turned the ship with the rudder, pointed it ahead of the boat, which was still dead in the water fifty yards or so from the shore.
She let the saucer move that way. The ship was at least a hundred feet in the air and climbing when it crossed the riverbank. The test pilot kept lifting the collective, lifting the saucer higher and higher. She ran out of collective when the ship was about two hundred feet high; it would go no higher without rocket power.
Taking her time, Charley slowly circled the drifting boat. As she crossed behind the stern, the boat listed the other way as everyone on board shifted sides for a better view.
“If that boat capsizes, a lot of those people will drown,” Rip pointed out.
“Okay.”
Charley turned west and leveled out, nudged the control stick forward to coax more speed out of the saucer. They crossed the lake leisurely, accelerating slowly. On the far shore they passed over a railroad track and a highway. Only then did Charley Pine light the rocket engines.
The acceleration pushed her deeper into the seat. Rip Cantrell held on tightly.
Yes!
A smile lit up her face.
The saucer was accelerating nicely, but it was only a couple thousand feet above the sand and rock wilderness when Rip spotted the first jet fighter and pointed it out to her. The plane was a silver speck in the deep blue sky, glinting in the sun. There was another behind the first, offset to one side.
The fighters were coming in from the right, pointed almost directly at the saucer.
“We stayed too long at the party,” Charley told him.
Even as she spoke, a series of flashes lit up the nose of the first fighter.
“He’s shooting! Let’s go!”
She cranked the rocket engines wide open. The G struck her like a fist.
Rip Cantrell shouted something, lost his grip on the pilot’s seat and instrument panel, and tumbled toward the back of the compartment.
Despite the push of the rockets at full cry, the fighter was closing. Instinctively she banked the saucer toward the fighter, forcing the other pilot into an overshoot. The saucer ripped by the silver delta-winged fighter at a scant hundred yards, accelerating through Mach 2.
At Mach
“That’s enough, E.T. Into the ship.”
After one last wave to the people on the boat, the imaginary fans on the landward side, and an unseen television audience all over the globe, Rip Cantrell ducked down and waddled his way under the saucer to the open hatch.
“We must do something about the method of ingress. It’s just plain undignified.”
He fired off the reactor, waited a bit for some water to percolate through the system, then helped Charley Pine into the pilot’s seat. She wiggled the stick and rudder. Little puffs of dirt and dust rose from each of the maneuvering jets. She kept wiggling the stick until the puffs stopped.
Rip stood beside her on the step where he had stood last night.
“You want to get strapped in or something?”
“Just take it easy, lady. Don’t do anything exciting.”
She slowly lifted the collective, concentrated on making only tiny movements with the stick. The saucer became light on the skids, then rose off the ground in a little cloud of dust. She lifted it into a hover about six feet above the ground, then used her left hand to reach for the gear switch. A humming noise was audible from the machinery spaces until the gear legs were in.
Charley took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Please, Lord, don’t let me screw this up.
She turned the ship with the rudder, pointed it ahead of the boat, which was still dead in the water fifty yards or so from the shore.
She let the saucer move that way. The ship was at least a hundred feet in the air and climbing when it crossed the riverbank. The test pilot kept lifting the collective, lifting the saucer higher and higher. She ran out of collective when the ship was about two hundred feet high; it would go no higher without rocket power.
Taking her time, Charley slowly circled the drifting boat. As she crossed behind the stern, the boat listed the other way as everyone on board shifted sides for a better view.
“If that boat capsizes, a lot of those people will drown,” Rip pointed out.
“Okay.”
Charley turned west and leveled out, nudged the control stick forward to coax more speed out of the saucer. They crossed the lake leisurely, accelerating slowly. On the far shore they passed over a railroad track and a highway. Only then did Charley Pine light the rocket engines.
The acceleration pushed her deeper into the seat. Rip Cantrell held on tightly.
Yes!
A smile lit up her face.
The saucer was accelerating nicely, but it was only a couple thousand feet above the sand and rock wilderness when Rip spotted the first jet fighter and pointed it out to her. The plane was a silver speck in the deep blue sky, glinting in the sun. There was another behind the first, offset to one side.
The fighters were coming in from the right, pointed almost directly at the saucer.
“We stayed too long at the party,” Charley told him.
Even as she spoke, a series of flashes lit up the nose of the first fighter.
“He’s shooting! Let’s go!”
She cranked the rocket engines wide open. The G struck her like a fist.
Rip Cantrell shouted something, lost his grip on the pilot’s seat and instrument panel, and tumbled toward the back of the compartment.
Despite the push of the rockets at full cry, the fighter was closing. Instinctively she banked the saucer toward the fighter, forcing the other pilot into an overshoot. The saucer ripped by the silver delta-winged fighter at a scant hundred yards, accelerating through Mach 2.
At Mach
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