Thomas Hoover - Project Daedalus

It still wasn't over. As Vance scrambled against the Personnel Module, he caught a glimpse of something that, faintly visible through the clouds of cryogenic fog, apparently was escaping everybody else. Another woman was standing in the door of the office where Vera Karanova had been. Holding an Uzi.

How had she managed to get her hands on that?

Not a second too soon. She can sweep the floor. Just get out of the way and give her an opening. Maybe there's still time.

He began scrambling for the base of the Personnel Module. Now the white mist was obscuring everything, and Tanzan Mino seemed to have enveloped himself in it. He was nowhere to be seen. However, his presence was not missed by his kobun, who were still taking care of business.

The next agenda item, Vance realized, was himself. As he tried to roll under the module, one was turning, raising his automatic…

Now Eva was yelling, "Michael, stay down."

The kobun all whirled back, but she was ready. Stock extended, full auto.

Jesus, he thought, that hood in the back is holding enough C-4 to clear a small arena. If she hits one of the detonators…

It was either a lucky or an unlucky shot. After eight rounds, less than a second's worth, a blinding ball of fire erupted where the kobun had been, sending a shock wave rolling through the open space of the hangar, knocking over technicians almost a hundred feet away. As Vance was slammed under the Personnel Module, out of the corner of his eye he saw Eva being thrown against the doorframe of the office. The air blossomed with the smell of deadly C-4, like acrid Sterno. Not for nothing did the U.S. military swear by it.

Now Yuri Androv was peeling himself off Daedalus II’s landing gear, his flight suit blackened and smudged. Blood from a bullet wound was running down the right sleeve.

They'll be coming for us all, Vance thought. Tanzan Mino's probably somewhere radioing for more guards right now.

Eva was stalking through the smoke, still grasping the Uzi.

"Michael, are you all right?"

"Hell of a morning." He was pulling himself out from under the Personnel Module, awkwardly trying to straighten his flight helmet. "You took out the palace guard, everybody but Mr. Big. Congratulations. And I thought CIA had a patent on that kind of operation."

Already emergency alarms had begun a high-pitched whine, blaring through the cavernous hangar. Everything around them was chaos.

"You know," she yelled above the noise, "he's going to kill us immediately. There's no way he's going to-"

"I figure we've got about two minutes to think of something," he yelled back and pointed. "Check on the pilot. His name is Androv."

"I know. I met him last night." She turned and stared. "We had a small misunderstanding."

"Well, let's see if he's still in any condition to fly."

"You mean?"

"How else? You got any better ideas, I'd like to hear them."

Yuri Androv had worked his way through the carnage of the explosion, the scattered remains of Tanzan Mino's phalanx of kobun, to again bend over the form of his father. Once more the cloud of obscuring mist was flowing over the scene, blanking it.

At that moment, however, a pale glow laid itself around them, the murky light of overcast dawn. Vance realized the Soviet technicians had thrown open the hangar doors and were scrambling out onto the tarmac.

Good, let them. We might just follow suit.

Now Yuri Andreevich Androv was approaching, clasping his right arm.

"We've got to get him fixed," Vance said briskly, looking him over, "put on a tourniquet."

"Think he can still fly?"

"I say we make him fly."

With his left hand Androv peeled back his helmet visor and kissed Eva. "Spacebo," he said in Russian, "you did what I would have done if I'd had a weapon. But now I don't know what-"

"How's your arm?" Vance cut in. "We've got to make a decision right now. When the reinforcements arrive, it's game over. One little Uzi won't handle their firepower."

Androv frowned. "Can you fly?"

"Never handled anything bigger than a Lear," Vance replied. "And then only as copilot."

It didn't seem to matter. Androv glanced at the open door of the Personnel Module and motioned to them.

"Then come on. Let's hurry." Now he was searching the hangar. Finally he spotted the man he wanted.

"Pavel," he yelled in Russian, "have the starter trolleys been engaged yet?"

"Da," came the reply.

"Then prepare Daedalus I for power-up and get the hell out. We're go for rpm."

"What do you mean? The tow trucks haven't even been-"

"Forget the tow trucks. It's going to be afterburners, right here. Get the rest of your people in the clear."

Afterburners were rings of nozzles that sprayed fuel into the superheated exhaust gases of a jet engine, creating a burst of power. In military aircraft they were used to produce surges in thrust during takeoff and dogfights.

"Afterburners! In the hangar. Yuri, all the hydrogen storage tanks could blow. You'd destroy Daedalus II. Just incinerate it."

"That's the idea." He was already mounting the steps of the Personnel Module, not looking back. "There's only going to be one plane left. The one I take."

"The computer." Eva had started up the steps, but then she froze and turned back, handing Vance the Uzi. "I have to get it."

"There's no time." He reached for the weapon, its muzzle still hot. "We've got-"

"Michael, I didn't come this far just to let the protocol slip through our fingers." She was running past him now, back down. "Only take a second."

He knew it was pointless to argue. And besides, maybe she was right. Who knew where they'd end up?

Now Androv had faltered and was leaning shakily against the open doorway of the module, the right sleeve of his pressure suit covered in blood. Vance took advantage of the ticking moments to step up and examine it.

"You need a bandage." He started tearing away the synthetic cloth. "Or better yet, a tourniquet."

"No." Androv glanced at his arm and grimaced. "There's not-"

"You're going on adrenaline right now, my friend. But when the shock wears off…" He looked around the interior of the module, but there was nothing to cut with, so he just ripped away a large portion of Androv's sleeve and parted the material. A savage furrow was sliced across his bicep.

"I don't want you to pass out." He tore a section of the sleeve into a strip and then, struggling with his heavy gloves, began binding it above the wound. The hangar was still bedlam, people running and yelling on every side, alarms sounding. As he was finishing the tourniquet, Eva came bounding up the metal steps carrying her Zenith. They were ready.

Androv quickly secured the door and activated the controls. Through a smoke-smeared window they watched the bloody hangar floor disappear into the haze. The world suddenly turned dreamlike, an unreality highlighted by the soft whoosh of the pneumatic lift beneath them. Then the module lurched to a halt.

Vance led the way through the open hatch. "Looks like somebody forgot and left the lights on."

"Pavel told me the starter trolleys were engaged," Androv said in Russian as he climbed through, then stepped down. He continued in English. "Petra can initiate power-up."

"Petra?" Vance turned back. "You mean the-"

"Our copilot." He pointed toward a large liquid crystal screen at the far end of the cabin, now blank. "I want to try and use her to override Flight Control for the rest of the sequence."

"Short circuit the countdown?"

"I've never done it, but…" He walked over and reached down to flip a square blue switch on the right-hand console. "Let's see if she's awake this morning."

He glanced up as the screen blinked on and a large black-and-white double-ax logo materialized, set against the red and white of a Japanese flag. Next he pushed a button on the sidestick and spoke.