Jay Lake - Rocket Science

“Hot damn,” said Floyd. There was my buddy back, without the fear or anger or conspiracy of his father. “Hey, Vernon, what do you make of all this?”

We were in a marvel of engineering and design, surrounded by achievements of engineering principles that were years, decades, perhaps centuries ahead of anything that could be done on Earth. I was at a loss for words, at least words that would make any sense to Floyd.

The whole situation was overwhelming, flooding my eyes like fireworks going off too close. It was like what I had imagined the inside of a U-boat to be, cramped and strangely laid out, but in this case crossed with a really swank scientific research lab.

A lout like Floyd was as out of place as a cow at a college graduation.

“Preflight sequence completed in thirty seconds,” said Pegasus. “I suggest you take a seat.”

“Sit down, Floyd,” I said roughly, taking the left seat. There was no control stick where I expected it, but there was a handle set on the arm on each side of the chair.

“Why?” he demanded. “We’re not going anywhere yet.”

“Safety considerations,” I said. “You never know what I’ll touch.”

“You’d better not mess around. Daddy and Mr. Neville are still out there.”

I sighed. “I’m not messing with you, Floyd. But if I pop the wrong switch and this baby lurches hard to the left, you don’t want to be scraping your scalp off one of those weird pointy things in the corner do you?”

Floyd stared hard at me for a moment, then sat down in the right seat. “If you damage this thing before we lift it off the truck and get it outside, Roanoke Joe will not be happy.”

He’d have to take a number and stand in a very long line. “I’d say customer relations are your department, Floyd. I don’t deal with angry Italians. I’m just the mechanic here.”

“Be careful.” Leaning back in his chair, Floyd untucked his shirttail and began to clean the carving knife. It was a weird echo of Mr. Neville’s nearly obsessive pistol-cleaning. Could Neville be Floyd’s real father? Mr. Bellamy hadn’t mentioned Neville in his Russian story, and I gathered that the man was a buddy from the moonshine days. Part of the Bellamy gang.

Floyd cleared his throat and sighted down the blade. My back ached, itchy, where he had jabbed me walking out of the house.

“Preflight sequence completed. Do you wish to lift off now?”

Lift off, not take off, I realized. Pegasus had said it could fly vertically. I didn’t dare talk to Pegasus in front of Floyd, not yet anyway, so I shook my head in a tiny motion while making a “nuh-uh” low noise in my throat. I hoped Pegasus would get that.

No such luck, of course. “Do you understand me?” asked Pegasus.

“No.” I shook my head more violently, pretending to study the incomprehensible control panel in front of me.

“No what?” asked Floyd suspiciously.

“This is all very confusing,” I said.

“I understand,” said Pegasus.

“It had better not be,” said Floyd.

Listening to Pegasus and Floyd at the same time was distracting, worse than that terrible conversation in the car with Lois. At least she hadn’t been threatening my life.

I glanced over at Floyd. He was perched on the edge of his chair, looking up at an array of buttons and panels over his head. Setting his knife down on the deck, on the side of his chair further away from me, Floyd reached up a hand and brushed his fingers across some of the buttons.

“Hey!” I yelled. “Don’t touch anything until I say so. You could short something out, or worse.”

“Calm down. It’s just an airplane.”

“Look, I’m the aeronautical engineer here. Do you want me to do my job or not?”

Of course, what we really needed was a rocket scientist, which I most certainly was not. Robert Goddard would have known what to do.

“Yeah, yeah.” Floyd set his hands on his knees. “I’ll sit tight.”

Pegasus spoke again. “Get him to recline in his chair and buckle the safety straps.”

How the heck was I going to do that ? “Floyd, sit back in your chair,” I said calmly.

“What are you up to?”

“Quit being so suspicious,” I snapped. “This thing’s a jet plane. It’s awfully complicated. If I hit the wrong switch and start the engines, you’re gonna be knocked down.” I couldn’t help getting in a little dig. “Wouldn’t want to lose control of the situation, would you?”

“Watch your mouth,” said Floyd, leaning back in his chair.

I ostentatiously tried to snap my safety straps, only they didn’t snap. The fastener resembled no clasp I had ever seen. After a minute’s worth of examination I figured out that the two metal clips were maybe like electromagnets. They had slightly patterned edges that fit perfectly together, a purple button just offset on the left side of the clip.

I put them close together and pressed the button. The clips flew together as if they were one piece of metal being reunited. Which, given Pegasus’ nature, was quite possibly the case. The straps were huge and loose on me, as if the chair had been built for a much larger person. Or thing. Even as I had that thought, they shrunk to a snug fit.

Somehow that didn’t surprise me, but I hoped like heck Floyd hadn’t noticed.

“Hey, check this thing out,” I said. I tried to sound excited.

“What?”

“The clasp on this safety strap.” I fiddled with mine. “It’s like a magnet, only weirder. You have to lie back in the seat and pull the straps over you to make them reach each other. You pull these two metal dinguses together and press this purple button. Presto, they’re one piece of metal.” I demonstrated as I spoke. “I think it’s an electromagnet.”

“Hey, that’s pretty neat,” said Floyd. He shrugged into the straps and began playing with the fitted ends. After a moment, there was a clicking noise and his clasp melded. He fiddled with it for a moment then looked up at me. “Vern,” said Floyd, “how do you unclasp this?”

Clever, clever Pegasus , I thought. Stupid, stupid Floyd . “I have no idea,” I said honestly.

“You just took yours off to show me how it worked.” Floyd sounded panicky. He should be panicked. He was strapped down while I had freedom of movement.

I shrugged. “Aircraft safety feature.”

Pegasus spoke in my ear. “He will not be released until you tell me to do so. We may proceed with our planning.”

“Can you subdue him?” I asked Pegasus.

“What?” asked Floyd, just as Pegasus replied, “I will not take such measures.”

“Fine.”

“Let me out of here, Vernon.” Floyd’s voice was rising, angry, the bluster back, the regrets gone. He struggled to slip out of the straps than ran across his shoulders and hips to meet at the clasp low on his chest. Like mine, they had tightened. He didn’t have enough slack to get away.

“Or what?” I asked. “You’re too far away to stab me with that carving knife even if you could reach it on the deck. And Daddy didn’t trust you with a gun, did he? Too bad, Floyd. You’re just going to have wait and watch what happens. Trust me, it’s not a very comfortable feeling.” This wasn’t time to give way to the screaming, gibbering fear and frustration inside me, but I let a little leak out. “Maybe I’ll come over there and poke that knife into you a few times while you’re tied down. See how you’ll like that, bright boy.”

“God damn it! Let me up or I’ll kill you!” screamed Floyd. If he got loose, I was pretty sure he’d follow through on that threat. He was mad. Floyd never had been good at being mad, at least not gracefully.

“Sorry, that doesn’t impress me. I’ve already been told I’m expendable. Now shut up and wait to see what happens next.” I had no idea what was going to happen next, but I couldn’t work it through with Floyd yelling at me.