Egg’s voice. “That’s it, I think.”
They turned and looked. The saucer was back to its normal size, about seventy feet in diameter. It looked black and ominous in the diffused morning sunlight.
Egg opened the refueling cap on top of the saucer and submerged it into the pond. The water level rose a few feet, then seemed to subside somewhat as water rushed into the saucer’s tank.
When the gurgling stopped and the surface of the pond was once again placid, he lifted the saucer from the water. It looked majestic rising slowly, dark and wet. When it was free of the water, Egg brought it over to the shore and sat it down on the ground a few feet from them. The hatch opened slowly. They all began shoving bundles in.
“Mr. Solo, do you want to fly it?”
“Why not?” Solo said and led the way into the ship. As Egg and Charley stowed their gear, Rip ran into the hangar to grab his fishing rod and tackle. When he returned, he threw it up into the saucer and clambered aboard. Solo was already in the pilot’s seat, and the reactor was on, the computer displays dancing vividly across the screens. Rip closed the hatch. Everyone took a seat and strapped in.
The presentations continued to dance across the screens in front of Solo, as fast as thought as he ran the built-in tests of every system in the ship. Two minutes passed as Rip and Charley and Uncle Egg sat silently, alone with their thoughts.
“Is everyone ready?” Solo asked. He already had the saucer off the ground and the landing gear retracting. He moved out over Egg’s runway, accelerating.
The passengers said “Yes” simultaneously. The saucer continued to accelerate on the antigravity system. Then the rocket engines ignited, giving just minimum boost. The acceleration continued, pressing everyone back into their seats.
The nose rose into the sky as the flame from the rockets increased steadily.
Soon the saucer was standing on its tail, pointing straight up, rising atop a pillar of fire.
As the saucer climbed, it shot by two news helicopters. The cameramen beamed their pictures to the satellite. As they received the video feed, television networks broadcast it all over the globe. People in New York and Los Angeles, Chicago and Houston, Minot and Wheeling saw the rising saucer on their television screens. They saw it in London, Paris, Berlin, Cairo, Moscow, Istanbul, Baghdad, Mumbai, Tokyo, Cape Town and Sydney. And everywhere in between.
The saucer rose though the clouds and began tilting toward the northeast. Up, up, up, until it was just a star in the noonday sky and the roar of its rocket engines faded to a whisper.
Then it disappeared from sight. The sound level dropped to a kiss by the breeze; then it too was gone.
Little puffy clouds continued to drift across the Missouri countryside, under that milky sky, just as they had since the world was born, but there was no one at Egg’s farm to look at them.
7
Harrison Douglas and Johnny Murkowsky were in the lounge of the fixed-base operator at the Columbia airport when the television began airing the video of the saucer rising on a cone of fire through puffy clouds into the heavens. They were waiting for the crews of their respective private jets to complete the preflights and come for them. Air Force One had just taken off and retracted its wheels. Heidi, Murkowsky’s masseuse, was having a glass of wine in the bar.
Now, as the roar of the saucer’s rockets emanating from the speakers of the TV set filled the room, the two moguls stood in front of the idiot box shoulder to shoulder, watching.
When the saucer’s exhaust was but a pinpoint of light on the screen, Johnny turned to Douglas. “We should join forces, combine our efforts. That flying plate has to come down somewhere. When it does…”
“What is this ‘we’ shit, Kemo Sabe?” Douglas shot back bitterly. “I spent eight million bucks raising that saucer, or one like it, from the Atlantic. You’re a little late to the
They turned and looked. The saucer was back to its normal size, about seventy feet in diameter. It looked black and ominous in the diffused morning sunlight.
Egg opened the refueling cap on top of the saucer and submerged it into the pond. The water level rose a few feet, then seemed to subside somewhat as water rushed into the saucer’s tank.
When the gurgling stopped and the surface of the pond was once again placid, he lifted the saucer from the water. It looked majestic rising slowly, dark and wet. When it was free of the water, Egg brought it over to the shore and sat it down on the ground a few feet from them. The hatch opened slowly. They all began shoving bundles in.
“Mr. Solo, do you want to fly it?”
“Why not?” Solo said and led the way into the ship. As Egg and Charley stowed their gear, Rip ran into the hangar to grab his fishing rod and tackle. When he returned, he threw it up into the saucer and clambered aboard. Solo was already in the pilot’s seat, and the reactor was on, the computer displays dancing vividly across the screens. Rip closed the hatch. Everyone took a seat and strapped in.
The presentations continued to dance across the screens in front of Solo, as fast as thought as he ran the built-in tests of every system in the ship. Two minutes passed as Rip and Charley and Uncle Egg sat silently, alone with their thoughts.
“Is everyone ready?” Solo asked. He already had the saucer off the ground and the landing gear retracting. He moved out over Egg’s runway, accelerating.
The passengers said “Yes” simultaneously. The saucer continued to accelerate on the antigravity system. Then the rocket engines ignited, giving just minimum boost. The acceleration continued, pressing everyone back into their seats.
The nose rose into the sky as the flame from the rockets increased steadily.
Soon the saucer was standing on its tail, pointing straight up, rising atop a pillar of fire.
As the saucer climbed, it shot by two news helicopters. The cameramen beamed their pictures to the satellite. As they received the video feed, television networks broadcast it all over the globe. People in New York and Los Angeles, Chicago and Houston, Minot and Wheeling saw the rising saucer on their television screens. They saw it in London, Paris, Berlin, Cairo, Moscow, Istanbul, Baghdad, Mumbai, Tokyo, Cape Town and Sydney. And everywhere in between.
The saucer rose though the clouds and began tilting toward the northeast. Up, up, up, until it was just a star in the noonday sky and the roar of its rocket engines faded to a whisper.
Then it disappeared from sight. The sound level dropped to a kiss by the breeze; then it too was gone.
Little puffy clouds continued to drift across the Missouri countryside, under that milky sky, just as they had since the world was born, but there was no one at Egg’s farm to look at them.
7
Harrison Douglas and Johnny Murkowsky were in the lounge of the fixed-base operator at the Columbia airport when the television began airing the video of the saucer rising on a cone of fire through puffy clouds into the heavens. They were waiting for the crews of their respective private jets to complete the preflights and come for them. Air Force One had just taken off and retracted its wheels. Heidi, Murkowsky’s masseuse, was having a glass of wine in the bar.
Now, as the roar of the saucer’s rockets emanating from the speakers of the TV set filled the room, the two moguls stood in front of the idiot box shoulder to shoulder, watching.
When the saucer’s exhaust was but a pinpoint of light on the screen, Johnny turned to Douglas. “We should join forces, combine our efforts. That flying plate has to come down somewhere. When it does…”
“What is this ‘we’ shit, Kemo Sabe?” Douglas shot back bitterly. “I spent eight million bucks raising that saucer, or one like it, from the Atlantic. You’re a little late to the
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