Breaking Interstellar: Android Lives Matter Page 8

  Chapter Seven: Captain Nyla

  “Okay, mister first officer,” Nyla teases, in her best captain’s voice, “contact operations and ascertain our next window of opportunity.” She instructs firmly, while pulling up a checklist on her primary flight-display and transferring a copy to Wil’s side. She hopes they have time to properly pre-flight before the next window opens. They can sometimes be few, and far between.

  “Yes, Captain Nyla.” Wil responds dutifully. Tuning the teardrops radio to that of the operations frequency, he calls. “Operations, this is TD432; do you copy?” He transmits, hoping the EMP hadn’t affected the teardrops communications equipment, even though the maintenance crew had signed off on an airworthiness inspection since the blast.

  “Copy TD432, this is operations; go ahead.”

  “Hey there Hudson.” Wil recognizes the senior mission coordinator’s voice. “How are we looking for a window to Higgs-Field, this fine day?” He asks enthusiastically, not allowing a mere thermonuclear catastrophe, set a gloomy tone.

  “Hi Wil! Well, the next one along our orbital path, isn’t for another hour. But, if you check on page two of your flight management system, I transmitted new coordinates that’ll take you to an alternate drop window. It’s only 100-miles off our trajectory. If you choose that one, be ready to depart the station no later than 08:14 hours Zulu; over.”

  Wil checks his watch. There’s only 16-minutes before the tentative departure time-slot. “Thanks Hudson, give me a minute while I crunch some numbers.” He needs to calculate how much fuel is required for traveling to the drop coordinates. Looking over at his captain, he sees that she’s already entering the numbers into the autopilot computer, allowing it to verify their flight-path and time of departure. Meanwhile, he checks the fuel situation, finding that they are topped-off with more than enough of the good stuff. Also, there’s adequate amounts of hydrazine, for the maneuvering-thrusters and auxiliary power unit (APU).

  After carefully checking the autopilots results, Nyla sees that Hudson had nailed the drop coordinates perfectly. Just to be sure, she has Wil double check her work. Better safe, then sorry. While he’s busy reviewing the data, she pulls up the weather for the area around Higgs-Field, noticing an unstable air-mass moving in that direction from the south. They’ll have to pass very close to some ugly looking storm-clouds. She and Wil didn’t mind a rough ride now and then, but this time they have passengers, so she consults with her first officer.

  “Hey Wil, look at the weather that’s approaching Higgs, and tell me what you think.” She turns a reversionary dial on her display, and the weather pops up on Wil’s secondary flight display. After reviewing the data and weather, he makes a recommendation to his captain. “Well, the window coordinates are okay; the fuel quantity looks good; and I don’t think the weather will be a significant problem. We’ll beat it. Besides, the weather at Higgs will only get worse if we wait for the original window.”

  That’s all she needed to hear. “Okay then. Inform operations that we’ll go with the alternate window.” She knows that an on-time departure will be a close call, as they still have a rather lengthy checklist to complete. But if they must, she can always pour more coals on the fire, and make up for lost time getting to the window, before it closes.

  Wil calls operations again. “Operations this is TD432; do you copy?”

  Hudson returns. “Go ahead Wil.”

  “Yeah Hudson, the alternate window is a go. We’ll get back to you as soon as we’ve completed our checklist.” He reports, adding. “I estimate 10-minutes; over.”

  “Copy that Wil, I’m not going anywhere.” Hudson, laughs good-naturedly. “I’ll contact operations at Higgs-Field, and let them know when to expect you.”

  “Thanks Hudson. We’ll contact them also.”

  Nyla, announces the plan to the passengers, as Wil focuses on the checklist. It’s his job to read it off, while expecting the correct responses from her. It’s a challenge and response system that has survived the ages, to make sure all systems are in the required configuration for a safe and successful flight. Atmospheric flight crews use the same type of system, as there isn’t a better way to ensure safety. Although some of the more critical systems are so configuration sensitive, they’ll automatically scream bloody-murder if not set properly. A master-caution and warning system, with all the bells and whistles, will warn the flight crew of any significant discrepancies. With velocities, deep into the hyper-sonic range, there’s little room for error.

  The first officer dives into the checklist head first. The captain has her eyes and arms moving like whirlwinds as she rapidly adjusts this, or ‘copies’ that. She knows the systems on her spacecraft intimately, and can find their locations on the flight-deck in the dark, if necessary. Before 6-minutes pass, the pilots are wrapping up the checklist. After the last item, Wil can’t help himself; “turn signals and emergency blinkers, set to automatic.”

  “Oh, that’s rich!” Nyla, has a nice chuckle. “Perhaps you’d like to get out and give us a push-start? Just aim for that big blue marble; you can’t miss it.” she jokes, while reaching for the knob that adjusts the backlighting on an electrical systems panel above her head.

  Seeing his captain adjusting the light intensities on her half of the cockpit, the first officer monkeys her moves on his side, replying. “No thanks captain! The last time I got out and pushed, you spun-out and threw all that dark matter in my face.... Remember?”

  “Oh yeah, I remember! So, that’s what happened to your once good looks!” She plunges the dagger deep, twisting. They both have an excellent laugh, as Wil pulls out the imaginary weapon from his side. After regaining professional composure once again, he pushes the transmit button.

  “Operations, this is TD432. We’ve completed our checklist and are ready for insertion into the launch-tube; over.”

  “Copy that Wil.” Hudson replies. “I’ll inform the hanger techs. You two have a safe flight. Maybe we’ll see each other next month, down there at Higgs. I’m due for rotation in two weeks, and I’ll be living at the field dorms, whilst I look for more permanent housing.”

  “Sounds good, Hudson. We’ll have to get together for some handball. Nyla would be happy to have another victim to chew on.” Wil jokes, as Nyla steps into the conversation.

  “See you on the flip-side Hudson. Brush up on those skills, or suffer the wrath of Nyzilla the destroyer.” Laughing.... “She has little or no mercy, eating her victims.... bones and all.” Another laugh, before regaining a more professional posture. “Oh, and by the way Hudson; thanks for getting this teardrop ready for us in record time. It’s greatly appreciated.” She sincerely thanks, and finishes her transmission. “Until we meet again.... peace out.”

  “Peace out Nyzilla! Take care, from all of us here in operations!”

  Hanger technicians arrive, moving the teardrop along a rail-system and into a large airlock. This prevents the entire hanger from decompression while launching. They close the inner hatch, sealing the craft into the claustrophobic tube. Rotating-beacons illuminate, while an alarm of impending action, sounds within the tube. Strong pumps evacuate the air molecules into a holding tank for reuse. Waste not.... want not.

  The maintenance crew chief calls, informing the two pilots that the outer hatch could be opened anytime, and to have a safe flight. The first officer acknowledges, and after seeing a look of approval in his captain’s eyes, gives the go ahead for the hatch to be opened. Suddenly, main-displays in the teardrop, illuminate with bright stars, and a partial-view of Mother Earth, as the 40-foot-diameter outer hatch, spirals effortlessly open. If a person were to look at the station from the outside, it would seem as though a cavern had suddenly opened at the end of the hub. Then slowly and steadily, a long, fat object within, begins to stir. Moving inch by inch at first, it encroaches on the cold unforgiving expanse of space.

  Inside the flight deck, thousands of bright stars, and a sizable chunk of planet Earth, fills the large display. From t
hese virtual-windows, the pilots have a commanding view of space, as Captain Nyla gingerly asks a bit more from the aft thrusters. She eases the aerodynamically shaped craft out into the freedom of space, along a rail system in the deck that makes launching, relatively fool-proof. The transition from rail to space, is flawlessly smooth. Manipulating the joystick just right, she maneuvers away from the station, while her first officer performs a synchronization between the autopilot and GPS satellites. Verifying the coordinates are correct, Wil transfers the data to Nyla’s secondary flight display, so she can review the data that the autopilot will follow.

  The captain is pleased with what she sees, and compliments her first officer for a job well done. “My, what a fine first officer you turned out to be! And to think, that some experts argue that big hairy apes can’t learn how to navigate the cold depths of space.” With a laugh, she reaches across the center-console, and condescendingly pats him on the cheek. “But, you proved them all wrong, didn’t you Zippy?” She giggles demonically, causing Wil to wonder if he made the correct choice when he offered her the left seat. She could sometimes become as unpredictable as a wildcat on caffeine, but deep down inside, he trusts her explicitly.

  “Thank you, my dear. Coming from you, that statement is jam-packed with complimentary sediment…. Um, I meant sentiment.” Wil retorts with a laugh, adding. “A person couldn’t hope for a better captain. Now pay attention, so you don’t ram us into that big blue marble we’re fast approaching.” He advises, pointing at the large forward monitor.

  Nyla, updates the passengers that they should soon expect a kick in the butt, as the autopilot will be igniting the main engine. She reaches, relinquishing control of her ship to the fancy electronic system. Outside the spacecraft, thrusters automatically fine-tune the attitude and direction of travel. The astronauts closely monitor their respective flight-displays, paying close attention to the direction of travel the autopilot is taking them. Technology is a fine thing.... but it’s only as good as proper functionality affords. They both know very well, that complacency with critical technology can get a person killed real fast in space. Ahead, the planet looms large.

  The ship lines-up with an imaginary keyhole in space. Autopilot calculates that the ship won’t reach its intended goal on time, at current velocity. Both astronauts monitor the main engine operating parameters, noticing the necessary fuel pumps have turned on, building pressure rapidly in the combustion chamber of the engine. With an audible thud and vibration, the volatile hydrogen/oxygen mixture ignites, sending a long plume of fire out the rear nozzle. The resulting thrust, pushes everyone into their seats with authority. Anything not nailed down, travels quickly to the back of the flight deck and or passenger cabin. However, the acceleration only lasts a short time, and soon the spacecraft is traveling at a sufficient speed, so autopilot idles the engine, and weightlessness rules once again.

  “Window coordinates coming up rapidly captain.” Wil, soon reports. “Arrival at window in 3-minutes, 20-seconds.” The planet is now menacingly close. Both pilots know that they’re rapidly entering the deadliest part of the flight. They are on an easterly trajectory, closing rapidly with a tiny keyhole in space, 110-miles above the western Pacific Ocean. At nearly 22,000-mph, things happen rapidly. “Captain, it appears we’re going to be a little early. I recommend we dial-back our velocity. Entering the atmosphere at this speed, could void our warranties .... permanently.” He jokes, seriously.

  Nyla glances at her primary flight display, noticing the numbers. “They do seem elevated. Yeah, we better do something about that.” She concurs. “Dial us back by 35-percent.”

  Wil acknowledges, reaching to the autopilot controls. The spacecraft is not exactly small, and it has significant mass. At nearly 110,000-pounds, it strongly resists any change in inertia. For long moments, the breaking thrusters seem powerless. But, soon the passengers and crew notice their bodies pressing forward against their restraint systems with growing force. Wil keeps his captain updated. “At this rate of deceleration, we’ll be at 14-thousand by the time we start crunching molecules. Still a bit fast, but not critically so. I wonder why the autopilot allowed us to over-speed like that. Perhaps we should enter the atmosphere manually.” He suggests, even though it’s unusual for such an action to be taken.

  The captain takes a few moments to consider. However, there really is no other choice but to manually enter the atmosphere now. After a critical piece of technology fails to operate properly, it can no longer be trusted, until repaired and re-certified. “Okay, Wil. It’s been a while, but I would rather trust my slight rustiness, over a possible computer glitch, anytime.” Reaching for the joystick, she disengages the autopilot. “Would you be a dear, and pull the circuit breakers for the autopilot system? And, do try to be back in your seat before we break the window.” She checks the flight displays. “That’ll be in 2-minutes.”

  “Copy that, captain.” He unfastens his harness, grabs a flashlight from the side-panel, and pushes off from his seat. While floating above, and turned around backwards, he searches through more than 120-circuit-breakers on an electrical panel. All of them are categorized into groups of related systems. After finding the desired flight control grouping, it’s easy to spot the necessary breakers he needs to pull. He puts plastic collars on them after pulling, so they can’t be accidentally bumped back in. This action, removes any chance that the autopilot can influence the flight. He’s back in his seat, and all harnessed up, with 20-seconds to spare. “Okay Captain Nyzilla, we’re as ready as we’re ever going to be for this drop. Besides, at this point there’s no going back.” He states a dangerous fact.

  Wil’s statement is accurate; as good old Mother Earth, now has them in her voracious gravitational grip. It’s now up to them, for either a relatively pleasant atmospheric entry, or be turned into a flaming charcoal-briquette, that lands on somebody’s front lawn. Analyzing their flight attitude on his displays, Wil see’s that his captain is bring them into the window at just the right angle, if not a bit fast. But a slight over-speed condition can be compensated for with the right skill-set. And he knows from experience, that Nyla has the right stuff.

  She manipulates the flight controls with just the right amount of finesse. Constantly tweaking the joystick this way or that, her eyes are intensely focused on the flight data displays as thrusters dutifully submit to her commands. She keeps a keen eye on their speed and angle-of-attack, as the teardrop swiftly encroaches the thin outer-reaches of atmosphere at just under 15,000-mph.

  “Wil, I’m increasing our angle-of-attack to bring down our speed more.” She informs, pulling back on the joystick a bit more aggressively, causing thrusters to increase the nose-up attitude. Now that they’re entering an upper layer of air molecules, the angle of entry becomes more important with each passing second. The increased angle-of-attack, allows the ship to decelerate quickly; at the expense of extra frictional heating. Their spacecraft is not a perfect teardrop shape, but is designed with a slightly flatter top surface than the nicely rounded belly. It has what’s known in the aerospace industry, as a semi-lifting body. The slightly flattened top area of the fuselage, will help create lift, as they penetrate deeper into the thickening atmosphere.

  As their velocity decreases rapidly from the frictional drag caused by the ever-thickening soup, the underside of the spacecraft begins to heat dramatically, as it mercilessly squashes gas molecules. Outside, gases begin to compress into a superheated shockwave of ionized plasma, as it envelopes the expansive heat-shield system, not too far beneath their butts. The panoramic display, which had been showing a beautiful planet coming at them fast, is now rapidly becoming consumed by glowing plasma that reaches halfway up the screens. The skillful pilots, intensely monitor the ever-changing flight data, as it pours into their respective displays.

  During this part of the atmospheric entry, Nyla is flying the spacecraft as if it’s a video game. A deadly serious video game to be sure! Nothing in the entire universe, is more imp
ortant than her actions during those intense moments in time. Wil is keeping abreast of the situation, against the chance that he might have to take control of the flight. Outside temperatures climb dramatically! Now, over 1,500° Celsius.

  Their streaking transport, bucks like a bronco, as it enters the ever-thickening soup. Nyla’s cat-like reflexes, keeps them in the pipe, five by five. After seeing the angle-of-attack stabilizing, the pilots focus their attention on the data concerning the spacecraft’s actively-cooled thermal-protection system. It’s a cryogenic circulatory system, that flows throughout the heat shielding; absorbing and removing the vast amounts of the frictional heat that threatens to destroy them. They’re pleased to no end, to see that the pressurized cooling system is performing admirably under these extreme conditions.

  Soon, the spacecraft is slowing dramatically, plowing its way lower and lower. The passengers feel a heavy force pushing on their bodies, as stored inertia resists change. The main monitor provides a heart-pounding scene, for those willing to brave a glance. Wickedly threatening streams of hot gasses, lights-up much of the screen. Most passengers keep their eyes closed hard, with hands clenched tightly onto the armrests, as the spacecraft violently tears the Earth’s upper atmosphere a new corn shoot.

  Rapidly descending eastward toward the North American continent, the teardrop rattles windows and frightens animals all along the entire chain of Hawaiian Islands. Its hypersonic shockwaves fan out, spending their terrible energies upon the surface of the planet. Soon after they tear past Hawaii, the plunging entry-vehicle, while still at a relatively high altitude, starts to experience a degradation of glide-ratio that’s increasing precipitously. As pilot-in-command or PIC, it’s Nyla’s responsibility to bring the flight-path back to a survivable angle.

  She, bravely allows the glide-ratio to further deteriorate just a little bit more; then begins a process that will bring the airspeed down to a workable level for the spacecraft’s structural limitations. Reaching for a guarded-dial on a side-panel labeled ‘Aerodynamic-flight’, she sets into motion, a plan of stability. “Hold on to yer butt, mister first officer!” She exclaims, while turning the dial to its first of three increments, which is simply labeled 15-degrees.

  This action initiates a complicated series of events deep within the spacecraft’s non-pressurized structure. On each side of the outer hull, long narrow-panels open, and aerodynamically-shaped wing-structures are hydraulically pushed into the slipstream in a swept-wing configuration. On the upper-aft fuselage, sometimes called the empennage, other panels open, and a vertical stabilizer extends with an elevator system at the top. Inside the vehicle, noise levels climb tremendously; but temporarily. If the teardrop were viewed from a short distance away, it would seem to have just sprouted wings and a tail.

  Inside the flight deck, Nyla pulls back firmly on her joystick, smiling from ear to ear, as their glide-ratio returns bumpily to a more acceptable angle. She expends pent-up emotion, as she authoritatively tests the flight controls. Tweaking the joystick right and then left, she banks the spacecraft with the ailerons, then yaws the vehicle with slight movement of the rudder pedals. She already knew that the elevator system was working, after the initial nose-up pitch change. She and her craft, now have Bernoulli’s principle by the shorthairs. It didn’t seem possible, but her smile gets even wider as she realizes her flight controls have freedom of movement, and are properly responding to her commands. One of the most dangerous parts of the flight seems to be past, but not over.... not until everyone walks away in one piece.

  Over the next 10-minutes as the spacecraft slows, Nyla adds a second increment of wing deployment. This action, causes more wing-structure to be forced into the slipstream to a sweep-angle of 30-degrees. Effectively, doubling the lift to drag coefficient. She has one more incremental setting to use, before landing at Higgs-Field in south central New Mexico. Their velocity is still in the hypersonic range as they cross the western coast of California at an altitude of 43-miles. A heavy sonic boom, rains down along their flight path, rattling windows and upsetting cats and dogs.

  As the spacecraft spends energy plowing into ever-thickening air, the speed decreases enough so the structure can withstand the final increment of wing deployment. They’re descending at a steep angle, and are soon crossing into New Mexico at an altitude of 10-miles, and just under 1,200-mph. Dark skies ahead, coming on fast. Not far south of the field, the meteorological tempest tears into the tiny desert town of Las Cruses. It’s going to be a close shave, but there’s no going back.... or around.

  Continuing deeper into New Mexico airspace at just under the speed of sound, the two astronauts and six passengers, stealthily make their way toward Higgs-Boson Airfield. No longer creating a sonic boom, they glide almost silently towards their goal. The dark storm to their right makes for a menacing flyby, as they enter the choppy air being pushed ahead of the disturbance. Wil makes an announcement to the passengers, warning of impending turbulence.

  “Higgs-Field is straight ahead captain. Airspeed is looking good, but the choppiness will only decrease that.” He barely gets those words out, when they enter the unstable air-mass surrounding the field, sending an alarming vibration through the airframe.

  Nyla monitors the glide-slope intensely. Airspeed, angle-of-attack, and other crucial flight data tells her a story, as their powerless glider loses energy against the bumps in the sky. Manipulating the crafts flight surfaces with a delicate touch, she notices the airspeed is dropping to a dangerous level for the current flight configuration. Reaching, she adds the first increment of flaps, effectively decreasing the stall speed. The ride gets a little bit rougher, but their airspeed and angle-of-attack, stabilize to a satisfactory level.

  “Higgs is 20-miles out captain.” Wil keeps her informed, as the margin for error dwindles to the thickness of a split-hair.

  Nyla takes a moment to look out the window that’s not a window, where she sees the beautiful airfield, looming large off in the distance. Airspeed once again becomes an issue, solved by another increment of flaps. Soon after that action has stabilized, she begins to sense that they’re going to make it. During final approach, a pilot flying a lead-brick, tends to develop an uncanny ability to know if they are going to make the field or not. Her knowledge of the airspeed, the feel of the machine, and above-average depth perception, all add up to good vibrations deep in her psyche.

  “Looks like we’re going to beat the odds again my friend.” She predicts confidently, constantly tweaking the flight controls in an effort to maintain a stable descent.

  “I couldn’t have done a better job myself.” Wil admits. “I knew you were good at something, captain. I just had to figure out what it was.” He pushes his luck against future pain, but she seems too preoccupied to notice the slight. However, Nyzilla notices everything when she’s in such a heightened state of awareness.

  With her eyes still intensely focused on the flight data, she responds to such a contemptuous statement. “Oh, you’ll pay for that Wilber Sohn. Wait until I get you on the court. The pain will be excruciating! You’ll beg for annihilation, just to end it!” She’s now multi-tasking like a champ as she threatens Wil one moment, and the next, politely asks him to be ready with the landing gear.

  “Okay Wil, landing gear please…….” He pulls the lever out of its locked position, and pushes it downward until it locks once again. There’s an audible clank, and noticeable vibration, as long main landing gears, and one shorter nose gear, extend into the slipstream, locking into place. Airspeed drops as drag increases, so Nyla lowers the nose a few degrees to make up the airspeed loss.

  They’re on final approach; Higgs-Boson Airfield just one mile out. The glide-ratio is looking nominal as they fly over the hot desert floor at just 500-feet. Rabbits and coyotes dive for cover as the spacecraft passes over their dens at nearly 300-mph.

  “We’re over the perimeter fence Captain. Nothing, but 3-miles of beautiful runway ahead.” Wil reports, with a wide smile as Nyla
pulls back on the joystick, initiating a flaring-action that greedily eats up airspeed, slowing the craft down significantly before actually touching down.

  “Copy that, Wil!” She responds excitedly, as the main tires gently kiss the hot surface of the long runway. Using the rudder to keep them centered, she allows the nose wheels to gently contact earth, and then mentally prepares for the jarring action to come.

  As the nose touches down, taking on much of the weight of the craft, a series of electrical proximity-switches on the gear are brought together, completing several circuits. One of these circuits causes the deployment of a large set of parachutes from the tail of the craft. They violently billow open, grabbing thick desert air, rapidly slowing the heavy spacecraft to a speed that allows Nyla to apply the brakes on the main wheels. The crew and passengers are forcefully pressed forward into their restraint harnesses as their bodies resist the heavy deceleration.

  “Weeeeeeeeeeee!” Nyla can’t help herself, as she practically stands on the rudder pedals that also double as brake’s when the upper edges are pushed forward. A robust anti-skid system prevents the main wheels from locking-up as she puts her weight into it. She loves the feeling of rapid deceleration. Especially when it means that she has once again made another successful atmospheric entry, with no small assistance from her well-trained monkey, she lovingly thinks.

  “Awesome job, Captain Nyla! Damn your good!” Wil reinforces the image she already has of herself and abilities. “But of course, you had a good teacher.” He says, huffing on his knuckles and rubbing his chest as if polishing a lucky charm.

  Nyla has a good laugh, letting him get away with it, as the ship vibrates slightly while the parachute system automatically disconnects from the fuselage. Now it’s easier for her to keep the craft centered on the runway. She lets the machine roll as far downrange as possible; allowing the breaks and fuselage to cool. She notices a group of emergency, and flight-support vehicles parked up ahead on several side taxiways.

  Gradually, the hot spacecraft rolls to a stop. Behind the pilots, happy passengers give a round of maniacal applause, as they realize the harrowing journey is over; and they’re all still very much alive.

  Taking off her headset, Nyla reaches across the wide expanse, lightly pinching Wil on the cheek, saying. “You really were a good teacher, sweetums. I’ve learned a lot from you over the years.” A wide grin, breaks out on her face as she notices a shocked look on his.

  “Well…. Thanks captain! Wow, that’s about as nice a thing as I ever did hear you say. And I even detected a hint of sincerity!” He responds jokingly, receiving a nice wink from his captain. Then, looking at the monitor, Nyla notices a black limo sedan pulling up next to the spacecraft. “Our ride is here, Wil.” She informs, as a back window is rolled down, and Shirley waves at the machine in hopes that somebody inside might see her.

  Outside of the craft, technicians swarm. Some perform a visual inspection of the teardrop, and others attempt to detect any toxic or explosive gasses such as hydrazine, or hydrogen, that might be leaking. One set of technicians, back a truck with stairs up to the entrance door. The two pilots quickly go through a post-flight checklist, and write-up the autopilot discrepancy in the maintenance log book. Then they turn off battery power, leaving only the auxiliary generator in the empennage, operating. The ground crew will need the electricity it generates, to operate the hydraulic and air-conditioning systems while towing the large machine. They unfasten their harnesses and join the passengers in back. Another shower of praise, pours down upon them from the group of happy scientists. Both pilots feel a boost to their egos, as the praise rolls in.

  “Thank you, ladies and gentleman.” Wil says, with a grand smile. “However, Captain Nyla deserves 99-percent of this fine gratitude.... I only assisted.” Then, the door of the spacecraft opens, and hot humid desert air pours into their lives once again. It never felt so good!

  At the bottom of the stairs, they wave at Shirley and say goodbye to their grateful passengers who board a bus for the Albuquerque International Airport. Then, they perform a post-flight walk-around of the spacecraft, looking at this, that, and the other, in a show of respect for the machine that just brought them safely through hell’s fire. The wings are still deployed for cool-down and detailed inspections that must be performed, before she’s shot back into space. Nyla gives a soft kick to one of the main tires, kisses two fingers and places them on the still warm fuselage, thanking it for the smooth flight back to good old planet Earth. Even machines, need love and respect, every now and then, she thinks.

  Shirley waits patiently outside the limo. When they’re finally able to approach, she greets them like the family that they’ve become. “Hello Nyla, hello Wil.... welcome back to Earth!” she says warm-heartedly, hugging them both. “I hope the flight was not too scary.” She has little idea, as she had never been in space, but can imagine just how intense atmospheric entry must be. Some astronauts took days to get all the adrenalin out of their systems. However, that isn’t a problem for these hardened astronauts.

  Off in the distance they hear a sonic boom from a teardrop that’s being accelerated past the sound barrier, on its way to space. It’s accelerated up a 10-mile-long, inclined-rail, by a powerful magnetic propulsion system. The first 7-miles of the rail, is concealed inside of a fat vacuum-tube. This allows the teardrop to accelerate to hypersonic velocities without breaking the sound barrier. Because, inside a hard-vacuum, there is no elastic-medium to propagate the sound waves and other energies that are essential for such a phenomenon.

  At the end of the vacuum portion of the rail, an extremely well-timed spiral hatch opens at just the right moment, allowing the vehicle to transition into the upper atmosphere along the remainder of the magnetic rail. The timing of this hatch opening, is akin to the old-fashion fighter aircraft that had to shoot at the enemy, through the arc of their own propeller. And with the teardrop traveling much faster than a bullet when it exits the tube, the timing is criticallized by several magnitudes. And, criticallized isn’t even a word.... perhaps it should be!

  However, when the vehicle exits the tube at an altitude of 40,000-feet, and Mach-5; there is still sufficient air molecules to allow for a nice sonic shockwave. Soon after leaving the tube, it also leaves the rail system, and is further accelerated by use of its internal main engine. Within 24-hours, the teardrop they just brought down, will be thrust back into orbit for another rendezvous with the space station, and exciting plunge back to Earth.

  “Hi Shirley!” Wil greets joyfully. “How nice of you to meet us out here on such a desolate piece of real-estate. We had an awesome flight, thanks to Captain Nyla.” He says graciously, patting his better-half on the shoulder. “If fact, I sometimes think she could land a lead brick onto a tossing aircraft carrier in a hurricane.” He fishes for brownie points from his captain, with a wide smile, before asking. “I hope you and Max are doing well these days.”

  Before Shirley can respond, Nyla puts in her two cents worth. “Don’t let my first officer give me all the credit, Shirley. Without his assistance, we might very well have landed in the Gulf of Mexico.” They all have a nice laugh, moving toward the air-conditioned limo.

  After they get situated, Shirley informs that while she is doing fine, Max has been having a rough time, ever since the nuclear blast in the Atlantic. He’s had to be sedated, and is now sleeping like a baby. She hopes that he might be up and around later, after the two space-farers have had a chance to relax. After the sad news, it’s a quiet ride back to his mansion, where Nyla and Wil keep rooms.

  Many hundreds-of-miles to the southeast, a lone freighter, slowly cruises the calm waters of the Gulf of Mexico, just off the Texas coast. On the forward mast, it fly’s several flags. One of them portrays an iron-fist, clenching a group of lightning-bolts. There’s also an American flag, but the ship isn’t registered in the states. On the fan tail, there’s a false-name painted over the original. From a distance, it looks like any number of oil-indus
try freighters, that sail those waters regularly. But the only oil on this ship, is the diesel fuel it uses to fire the engines. Workers on the upper deck, perform labor as one might expect from an operating freighter, but only to fool anyone conducting surveillance on them from aircraft, or satellite.

  On the bridge, the captain, a burly, slovenly man in his forties, paces back and forth from port to starboard. Back and forth, back and forth; nearly wearing a groove in the rubber floor matting. He expected an update from the aircraft maintenance technicians a half hour ago, and he’s not the type of person that enjoys delays, especially when he’s being kept in the dark. The helicopter in the ships belly has developed a mechanical problem, as most aircraft are prone to do. Its pilots and maintenance technicians are only along for the ride, and are not obliged to follow his orders.

  There are only two reasons why he didn’t fly off the handle and throttle somebody. Number one: He was paid a tremendous amount of money to steal this ship and have it outfitted to the specifications of a man who could throttle him back, if he messed up. And from what he hears, when this person has someone throttled, they stay throttled! Number two: He didn’t want to end up vaporized, like his comrades on the sister ship. He knew few of the details of his contract, and didn’t give a damn about anything else. The money spends the same way, whether he knew the whole story, or not. His client demanded anonymity, and that’s exactly what he’s going to get.

  Below deck, the aircraft maintenance technicians are ready to test a replacement part on the old Euro copter X8. The part is critical for flight. Its nomenclature reads; ‘Full Authority Digital Electronic Control’. It’s the computer, or FADEC that monitors and controls critical aspects of the engines operational parameters. The technicians know they’re behind schedule, and operating the helicopter on the main deck is not an option. Not with surveillance possibly going on. So, the maintenance crew-chief takes action, telling the sailors in the compartment to pick up anything that isn’t nailed down. Well.... they don’t like being told what to do, and scoff at the outsider for such an outrageous order. But, when he tells them that he’s going to start the machine below deck, they frantically begin grabbing loose rags, and other light material that’s lying around.

  There’s only 10-feet clearance between the main rotor blade tips and the side bulkheads of the ship, and 5-feet from the top of the rotor to the overhead doors, but he has no choice. He knows he can’t pull the power needed to fully check the new computer, but if the main rotor blades are kept at their lowest pitch, he can idle the bird and get a good enough picture of the engines performance. Before starting the engines, he has the overhead doors opened just a little, so the air pressure could better equalize during his little stunt.

  On the bridge, the irate captain almost comes unglued, as his ship begins to vibrate in a way that he had never before experienced. Enough is enough, he thinks angrily, storming from the bridge. It only takes a minute to travel between the bridge and makeshift hanger. As he gets closer, the vibrations and noise are off the charts. By the time he arrives at the door leading into the hanger-bay, he’s afraid to open the door.

  “What in the hell are those three stooges up to this time!” he wonders loudly. Grabbing the door handle, he takes a deep breath and throws it open. Just beyond his shocked face; the large machine is ripping the universe a new dimension. The main-rotor is spinning so fast, it’s invisible! And the noise.... astronomical! The differential air-pressure is so great, it pushes the big man back into the passageway, where he lands on his fat ass, and the door slams shut with authority. Completely stunned, he shakily crawls from the scene before standing. Blood pressure, through the roof!

  Soon the ship quiets, as turbofan jet-engines spool down and rotor blades come to a rest. The captain is already on his feet, entering the hanger as the helicopters main entrance door opens. Out stumble the stooges, as he thinks of them. They all have wild expressions on their faces, hooting and hollering like kids that just got away with some great crime. While, the hanger smells severely like burnt kerosene. Approaching the technicians, the captain calms himself so there wouldn’t be any broken bones. “Do you mind telling me what the hell is going on down here? You couldn’t make a call and warn me?”

  “Sorry, old man.” The young crew-chief, rudely responds. He has zero respect for the slovenly captain that he didn’t even work for, and couldn’t wait to be done with. “I didn’t think you’d even notice.” He says with contempt, adding. “I had to test the new computer somehow, and guess what? It looks like your fancy operation is back on track.”

  Those words hit like a painkiller to the angry captain! Just what the doctor ordered, he thinks! The bird was down for repairs all day, and now just as the time for executing this operation is nearing, the machine is fixed, and all is good with his world once again. However, he didn’t forget the disrespect that the mechanic punk threw at him. The kid isn’t even part of his regular crew, and will soon be gone. But, not without a full serving of payback!

  As the captain nears the hanger door that’ll lead him back to the bridge, he notices his chief engineer sloughing-off across the compartment. “For god’s sake Zachary, get these goddamn hanger doors open! Let this place air out for crying out loud! And get those goddamn pilots in here too! I want that piece of shit off my ship!” He yells forcefully across the large compartment, pointing angrily at the helicopter, and the monster within.

  It doesn’t take long for the flight crew to get into the machine and pre-flight for the mission. Their mood.... extremely somber. They’re each absorbed in thoughts of the families they are never to see again.... As a makeshift elevator strains to lift the heavy bird onto the main deck, both pilots glance back into the passenger compartment. The first officer reaches and pulls a canvas tarp off their lonely, metallic passenger. A past handler, had stenciled a name on the side of the cone-shaped object.... ‘Ironman’