The Third Craft Read online

  At that moment, one of the gas tanks blew apart and spewed a cloud of yellow-orange flame inside the building. The flames seared the arena wall and ignited the chemical vapors from a large pile of fertilizer that had been decomposing for two decades. There was a violent intake of air and a stunning display of raw force as the entire building, sharing the pressure equally on all its walls, lifted from the ground.

  With an earsplitting boom, the building disintegrated outward in all directions. There was an enormous plume of yellow flame. The shock-wave shattered the roof into shards of wood and steel. The walls lost definition and became a rolling wave of fragmented debris that radiated out four hundred feet in a circle around the epicenter of the arena.

  The punching shock of the explosion lifted the rear end of the Bell truck on a wave of screeching dust and debris. The momentum pushed it down the road like a child’s toy. The nose of the vehicle scraped the dirt, threatening to overturn the whole truck. Luckily for the occupants, that did not happen. The rear end slapped down and bounced a few times. The truck was wrapped in clouds of choking debris as it fled down the road.

  The spaceship was buffeted violently but briefly by the shock wave as it leapt upward from the center of the explosion. The air warped with the intensity of the heat. Outside the ship, the smell was one of burnt gas and rotted fertilizer. A putrid mushroom cloud enveloped the craft. The ground below disappeared in billowing black smoke and dust.

  “Time to leave!” Joe said. His hands gently grazed the panel and the vessel accelerated with a flash of speed. An outside observer would have thought it had simply vanished.

  Inside the ship, its own artificial gravity defied the laws of Earth physics. The occupants felt practically no G-force as the vessel shot toward space. The bioelectrics instantly sensed the change in pressure and adjusted the internal pressure and artificial gravity accordingly.

  The vessel rocketed to twenty thousand feet, then steadied as Joe trimmed it. The heading was 090.

  Joe said. “Don’t want NORAD to pick us up on their radar. I think we’re still outside Toronto’s Air Traffic Control Zone. I’ve leveled out at about twenty thousand feet above ground level.”

  “Joe, did you see that wicked explosion down there?” Hawk burst out. He had been glued to the screen along with the other two.

  “I thought we would never lose that car from our door. It was jammed solid. Lucky thing for us they tried to tow it out.”

  “Lucky indeed!” Bohr offered. “That reminds me. We’d better search the craft for unwanted visitors.”

  “I hope we shut the door before that guy had a chance to come on board,” Joe said. “Did you guys see if he fell or not?”

  “Couldn’t see,” Bohr said. “Too much dust.”

  “No one could have survived that fall,” Hawk said.

  Joe ran a quick scan. “I’m getting a life sign reading near the portal door. We have an intruder. It must be monkey man.”

  Hawk rushed over. “Where?”

  “There. Right there …” Joe couldn’t believe his eyes. “It’s gone. The reading disappeared.”

  Hawk bolted for the portal.

  Bohr and Hawk scoured the craft on foot, systematically checking every corner of the ship. They found nothing. They concluded that it must have been a false reading.

  After they had completed the search, Bohr said, “What now? Do we turn ourselves in to the authorities? The devil of it is, who can we trust?”

  Joe had a grin on his blood-splattered face. “Anybody up for some fun?” His eyebrows were raised in a Jack Nicholson leer.

  “Fun?” Bohr was genuinely perplexed.

  Hawk laughed and nodded eagerly like a dog waiting to go outside. He knew what Joe was planning.

  Bohr studied the injured boy in front of him with measured calmness and parental concern. “Joe, you look a mess. Let’s get you some medical attention and dressings.”

  Joe grinned as he walked over and put his hand on Bohr’s shoulder. “It’s not all that bad. Really, it isn’t. More little cuts than anything. Look, Hawk and I want to do this. Right, Hawk? Want to see what this baby will do?”

  “You bet, bro! Buckle up, David!”

  Bohr looked at his command seat, foolishly hoping to find a seat belt there. Of course there was none.

  Both brothers had the biggest dumb-ass grins on their faces. Their youth overrode any caution. Their pent-up adrenalin needed release.

  “Ready for some special effects, David?” Joe said coyly.

  He caressed the control panel, and the floor disappeared. Bohr screamed, clawing for his white command chair. The twins howled with laughter. Bohr scrambled into the safety of the chair and leaned back, shaking his head back and forth.

  “Not funny. No, really, not funny.”

  The boys took their chairs, tears of laughter rimming their eyes.

  “I could have had a heart attack!” Bohr said.

  “David, this ship can do amazing things. And I know how to fly her!” At Joe’s command, the ship began to accelerate rapidly.

  The three crewmembers had a total view of the ship’s surroundings. It was like being in a hot-air balloon without the basket. The visual effect was somewhat disquieting. Joe flew the craft like an F14. It hung for a moment and then arched gracefully downward, accelerating to Mach 1. The vessel’s heading was due east. From their height, they saw the early morning dawn. A flawless orange-gold sun winked at them from the horizon to the east. It was so glorious that they had to squint to protect their eyes.

  To be honest, Joe had no real plan. He had no set course. He was flying for the thrill of it. He saw little difference between this joyride and bombing around on his bike – except that this was flying like Superman. No floor, no walls, no ceiling, and no restrictions. It was the ultimate ride. Indeed, Superman would have been jealous.

  Joe dove toward the ground at a sickening speed. Both Hawk and Bohr were holding their breath, eyes like saucers. Joe let out a tribal howl as the visual thrill traveled through his body. There was a sensation of falling down an elevator shaft thousands of feet deep. Lacking the sensation of extreme G-forces, the visual rush was surreal. He pulled up vertically at four hundred feet and continued, parallel to the ground, at Mach 2.

  The ship was sensitive to the contours of the land. She rose and fell, automatically avoiding obstacles. The effect was like watching footage of the countryside played at very high speed.

  For the next hour, the three flew as if they were strapped to the belly of a cruise missile. They weaved in and out of valleys and above fields. They soared up the sheer sides of cliffs and crested mountain tops, blowing billows of snow-dust in their wake. They scorched through fields of grain and blew the leaves off treetops. The ship was silent and flew gracefully – it left no footprint on the environment except for a small circular shockwave as the craft passed overhead. Other than that, there was no evidence that they had passed by.

  As the craft reached the Atlantic shoreline, the trio reached a consensus. They would go toward South America and avoid the radars of Atlantic Canada, NORAD, and Europe.

  Hours later, Bohr sat staring down at the lush forests and sparkling lakes below the ship. It was an endless slideshow of Earth’s beauty on that cloudless day.

  “We have to collect our thoughts,” he said. “We can’t fly around willy-nill, for much longer. We’ve been spotted once before. We don’t want air force jets from God knows what country scrambled to intercept us.”

  “They could never come close to us,” Hawk said.

  “That’s not the point. Why cause more attention than need be?”

  “He’s right,” Joe said. “Whoever is after us might be grateful to know where we are. Why advertise? I think we’re over Chile. Let’s look for a place to land.”

  Adjusting his cardigan, Bohr said, “Before you land, I was wondering if … well … I know this sounds childish, but …”

  The two brothers turned and looked at him. “What?”
r />   Bohr took a deep breath, and the thought gushed out. “I’d like to fly the thing. Just this once. So I know what it’s like to fly it. I put one together once, but I never knew the feeling of flight.’

  The brothers were hesitant. “You know nothing about how to operate this vessel,” Joe said.

  Bohr nodded, eyes downcast.

  It’s not like we own the craft, Joe,” Hawk said.

  “Is it really that important to you?” Joe asked.

  “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” Bohr said.

  Joe ran his tongue over his teeth in thought. “How about this. You pilot and I co-pilot, like a civil aviation training exercise.”

  Bohr smiled broadly. “Like my pilot’s license?”

  “Something like that,” Joe said.

  “A crash course,” Hawk said.

  The other two looked at him sternly.

  “Sorry.”

  “Let’s go over the basics,” Joe began. “You never know – you may have picked up something subconsciously in the Learning Stall.”

  “I can’t remember,” Bohr said.

  “First, we stop and hover. Watch the monitors.”

  Joe ran his fingers over the panel. The craft stopped instantly and remained motionless.

  “Next we ID you with the ship so that it recognizes you.” Joe motioned for Bohr to approach the instrument panel. “Computer, scan and identify the occupants on the bridge.”

  The computer replied. “Three humans: Joe Grayer, Harry Grayer, and other human.”

  “Other is called David Bohr.”

  “David Bohr has already been scanned. He was in the chamber. He is known.”

  “Good. David will be the pilot in command until that order is rescinded.”

  “Understood.”

  “Now, David, place both your hands about a yard apart on the console.”

  Bohr did so. The panel glowed in several multicolored light streams, each swirling slowly in a perfect circle in front of him.

  “What colors do you see?” Joe asked.

  “Mostly gray and orange.”

  “Look closer.”

  Bohr smiled broadly. “Oh my, I can see some other colors, now that I’m concentrating.”

  “Good, very good. It seems that your experience in the Learning Stall has broadened your light spectrum sensitivity and recognition.” Joe was pleased. “The craft responds to your body language more than your touching the control panel. The lights on the panel are for elementary shifts in speed and height. Directional changes are subjective rather than directive.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The computer interprets minuscule changes in body language as direction commands. It’s faster than you can act. If you want to turn left and fly up, you think about it and the computer reads your brain pattern and subtle body movements and obeys instantly. Understood?”

  “I think so.”

  “OK, then. You have command.”

  Bohr’s eyes flew open. “That’s it?”

  “Yup, I just told the computer to obey you. Take it slow and easy. The circle of green controls speed, and the circle of red controls height.”

  “What about all the other colors?”

  “Not important right now. Tell us what you plan to do, and we will see how you fly.”

  “I plan a slow turn to the left and a slow descent.”

  Nothing happened.

  “What must I do?” Bohr asked, a little frustrated.

  “My fault. Not much of a teacher. Place one hand on the green circle and the other on the red circle. In the green area, press downward and push forward very slowly to accelerate. In the red-lit area, push down and slowly draw your whole palm down toward your stomach.”

  At first there was nothing. Bohr shifted his body dramatically in a half-pirouette.

  “Tiny movements only!” Joe managed to yell before the ship suddenly broke its hover and soared, spinning, down toward the planet’s surface. The gentle arc became a mind-numbing spiral dive. The three were thrown up and over the control panel. Their faces were plastered against the view screen. The ship plummeted toward the ground. It sucked the air right out of their lungs. Bohr began slapping the control panel randomly, screaming, “Oh my! Oh my! What have I done?”

  At about five hundred feet above the surface, the ship came to an abrupt stop and hovered. The computer had regained control. The trio was thrown forward and then backward into their respective command chairs.

  “Whew! What a ride,” Hawk said with a laugh.

  Shaken, Bohr asked, “What did I do wrong?”

  “A few things, such as disengaging the anti-grav,” Joe said, rubbing his shoulder. “My fault. I should have told you. Let’s take it a little slower next time.”

  “Next time? You mean I can try again?”

  “Until you get it right.”

  The next few hours were dedicated to David Bohr and his piloting skills. And, in the end, he did get it right. Or close enough.

  They waited until late in the afternoon to avoid detection, and then Joe brought the ship down for a landing. At random, they hovered over a clear Chilean mountain lake. There was no wake or surface disruption – unlike a helicopter, the ship created no air disturbance. Joe plunked the craft clumsily on the surface of the water.

  “Joe, you land on water like you play a water hazard in golf.”

  “Quiet, Hawk. I’m still learning.”

  “It might sink.”

  “Might. Then what?”

  “Dunno,” Hawk said, as he stood up from his chair. There was no visible floor. It was a transparent deck. He placed a tentative step outward and began to walk in a short circle. His eyes were glued to the water directly below his feet. “It’s like walking on water. Now I know how Jesus felt.”

  Bohr got up from his chair and followed suit. “It is an unnerving experience all right. Reminds me of those glass-bottom boats in the Caribbean.”

  Joe diminished the gravity dampers to allow for a more natural feel on the water. The small waves caused a slight roll to the craft.

  Joe had landed the ship in the region of Chile known as the Futaleufú Valley. They sat in the middle of Lago Espolón, a beautiful alpine lake. Across the lake was the small village of Espolón. The people of the village still used horses and oxcarts as their primary mode of transportation. No vehicles or electricity could be found here. No prying eyes.

  “Joe, I have some U.S. currency,” Bohr said. “Let’s go ashore and see if we can get you some first aid and some clothes.”

  “And some food!” Hawk said. “I’m starving.”

  “Yes, some food,” Bohr said with a laugh.

  Joe piloted the craft toward shore. “You two go ahead. I’ll stay with the ship.”

  The ship glided gracefully at about a foot above the water. There was a substantial wake as the craft flew across the lake like a gigantic skipping-stone. They pulled up silently onto the grassy shore and ground to a halt a few yards from the water.

  Joe led the way, opening the portal. He had a slight misgiving for a moment before stepping outside, but it felt good to be on terra firma. The lush humidity and sweet scents of exotic flora wafted aboard.

  “Come on, Hawk. Let’s go!” Bohr said as he descended from the ship. “I figure we’re only about a quarter of a mile from the village.”

  “Here, take this.” Joe handed Bohr a flashlight. “It’ll be dark by the time you get back. Signal me from shore when you want to be picked up.”

  Bohr nodded and ruffled Joe’s hair, and then he and Hawk disappeared into the dusk.

  CHAPTER15

  LAGO ESPOLÓN, CHILE

  Joe piloted the craft backward over the shore toward the water. He made a slow 180-degree turn and headed toward the deeper water in the middle of the lake. He nosed the ship down and it slipped below the cool Chilean waters. The water blackened quickly, but Joe felt he should not illuminate the ship for fear of discovery from shore. He hovered at thirty feet belo
w the surface and stabilized the craft. Once it was secured, he left the control room to explore for possible water leakage. He knew it could be hours before the pair came back from the village.

  Normally, he would not have been the least concerned about how watertight the ship was, but the force of the car crash could have caused damage that would lead to a leak under pressure. As he left the bridge, he turned and hesitated a second. Maybe he should run a general diagnostic before checking around. He decided against it for now; he would do it when he got back. He wanted to see for himself if there was a problem on board.

  He walked down a few corridors before reaching the portal. He inspected all around the opening and found no evidence of leakage. He felt relieved. He began a less urgent inspection around the outer bulk-head, taking an indirect route back to the control room.

  As he rounded a sharp turn, his instincts jarred him with a feeling of danger. He heard a rustling sound behind him. He spun around but not fast enough. His eyes caught movement, and then there was a terrific blow to the side of his head. He felt hot pain bursting in his skull. His vision went black, then filled with stars before blurring to a bright white. Then nothing. He slipped to his knees, unconscious, and fell forward with a dull thump. His face slammed against the floor, breaking some small blood vessels in his nose. Blood poured from his nostrils, pooling onto the deck.

  When Joe awoke, he was bound to one of the control room chairs. His head was hurting bad. He had suffered a mild concussion. His mouth tasted coppery. The pain was centered right behind his eyes. It was too painful to open them. His nose also hurt like mad. Tears filled his eyes. He half sobbed, half moaned.

  A middle-aged man with a salt and pepper military haircut and a polyester-wool blend blue suit was staring at him. His M1911 pistol was clearly visible nestled in his brown-leather shoulder holster. The large weapon made the holster appear too small.

  “You OK, kid?” the man asked sounding more curious than concerned.

  “I’m going to throw up,” Joe said weakly.

  “Use your powers and repair the damage,” he suggested. “It’s probably a concussion.”