George Chesbro - Second Horseman Out of Eden

"Who owns the satellite?" I asked tightly.

"Blaisdel Industries," Garth said quietly from behind me. "We checked it out with the F.C.C."

"Jesus Christ. That's the one."

"Let us hope so," Jack Holloway said dryly, "because that's the signal we're homing in on, and we're almost out of fuel. We're way below safety regulations, really."

"When are we going down?"

"Now," Holloway said, and banked to the left as he eased up on the throttle. The horizon line on the screen directly in front of him began to rise slightly. "You have a decision to make. With that signal to home in on, we can virtually land on top of the facility. But we need considerable runway space-''

"Are you going to be able to bring this down in the desert?"

"You're assuming that's desert down there, and that there are no trees or rock outcroppings to run into. That's impossible to tell at this point. In any case, we'll just have to do our best. But you must tell us how close you want to be taxied in. I understood from the conversation Garth had with your friends in Washington that there's concern over our presence being noted."

"How much noise does this plane make when it's taxiing, Captain?"

"There'll be a high-pitched whine, but there are steps we can take to minimize it. Depending on the terrain, we may be able to coast a quarter mile or so with the power off; it will require timing, and good visibility on the ground."

I felt a large, familiar hand on my shoulder, and then Garth leaned over me to speak to Holloway. "I realize it's dangerous, Captain, but I think it would be best to try to land some distance away, then slowly taxi in as close as you can without any lights. Mongo and I just don't have the time or energy to jog too far on the ground."

"You've got it," Holloway replied evenly as he banked the plane even more and began a steeper descent. "Buckle up, then lean forward as far as you can and brace yourselves."

"How long, Captain?" Garth asked.

"About a minute-and I have no idea how rough it's going to be."

As Garth and I sat down and buckled our seat belts, I glanced out the windows and saw nothing but darkness. "Where the hell is it? They must have lights in the place."

"There's still a thin layer of cloud cover below us," Nigel

Fickley replied over his shoulder. "When we pass through the clouds, it will be about a hundred miles to the west-your right."

"We'll go subsonic in a few moments so as not to warn them with a sonic boom," Jack Holloway said. "About. . now."

There was no indication inside the cockpit that we had slowed below the speed of sound, but a few seconds later we emerged from the clouds and, far in the distance, I could see a cluster of lights that I assumed was Boise. Slightly closer, appearing just off the plane's wingtip, a faint, greenish-yellow blob stood out from the blackness of the desert. The blob vanished beneath the body of the plane as Holloway banked and made another sharp turn, then came back once again. Now the blob was clearly visible-much larger-through the front windshield. I was astonished at how far we had traveled in only seconds, and how close we were to the ground; even from where I was sitting, I could see that the guidelines on the horizon indicator were only a fraction of an inch apart.

"Brace!" Holloway barked.

The landing gear touched ground; we bounced slightly, landed again, and the plane began to vibrate. Just before Holloway cut off the power and the lights I could see apparently open desert, its seeming flatness belied by the clatter of the Concorde as we rolled over it. The greenish-yellow light kept coming closer, and gradually became a mammoth dome that reminded me of nothing so much as a huge fluorescent light bulb. Finally the plane shuddered, and came to a stop. As far as I was concerned, Jack Holloway and Nigel Fickley were magicians; I estimated that we were no more than three or four hundred yards from the sickly green plastic hemisphere that was Eden.

"Christ," Fickley murmured, wiping sweat from his forehead with his forearm, "I wouldn't have thought it possible to do that; we take off in a blizzard, than land virtually blind on an unknown surface. I can't believe we're not dead."

Jack Holloway slowly unclenched his fingers from the controls, sucked in a deep breath as he leaned back in his seat, slowly exhaled. "Well, I think this is as close as I can get you," he announced in his clipped accent. "Sorry I couldn't get you to the door."

"This is as good as the door," Garth said as we both took out the guns Frank Palorino had given us, checked the magazines and chambers. I noted that he had found the time to tape his sprained left wrist, and it didn't seem to be bothering him.

"I'm going with you," Holloway said, and started to get out of his seat.

"No," Garth said softly but firmly as he laid a hand on the pilot's shoulder. "There's nothing either you or Nigel can do that Mongo and I can't handle. It will take both of you to get this thing off the ground if the bombs do start falling. Also, we need you here to establish communications with those fighter-bombers if and when they have to come in."

"Frederickson, I can't let the two of you go in there by yourselves. It just isn't done!"

"The captain's correct," Nigel Fickley said, and started to unbuckle his seat belt. "We're both-"

Something in Garth's face-or perhaps the memory of how Garth had arranged for Malachy McCloskey to miss the trip-caused the slender copilot abruptly to stop speaking and slowly sink back into his seat.

"The fewer of us there are in there," Garth said in the same firm voice, "the fewer people there are for those lunatics to spot. The two of you stay here, get back up in the air if we're not back by, say, five minutes to midnight. Make it ten; leave at ten minutes to the hour, and provide a tracking beacon for the bombers. Mongo and I have done this kind of thing before, and you'd only be in the way. Captain, can you find us a crowbar, or something else that we can cut or smash with?"

"Just a minute," Fickley said as he rose from his seat and hurried out of the cabin. He was back in a few moments with a small but heavy fire extinguisher. "Will this do for smashing?"

"It will have to," Garth said, taking the fire extinguisher. "Jack, let us out of here."

The captain flicked two switches on the console to his left. I heard a door open behind me, and then a whomp as an emergency escape chute was deployed and inflated. I glanced at Garth's watch as we hurried back to the exit: it was 11:03. As I jumped onto the air bag and slid to the ground behind my brother, I found that my head and vision were clear; the cold night air in my face was invigorating. I no longer felt feverish, and now, at least for the time being, my legs felt strong.

Perhaps, I thought as I hit the ground and, with Garth beside me, came up running toward the massive, glowing structure, my heightened sense of concentration and newfound energy might somehow be connected to the fact that Garth and I could have less than an hour left in our lives.

The assault on Eden had begun. Santa Claus and helper were coming to town.

In moments we had reached the base of Eden, which was a wall of concrete five feet high. We crouched in the darkness, just below the eerie green, chemically or solar-cell produced light that seeped out of the translucent plastic dome that covered the vast expanse of the biosphere.

"How are you holding up?" Garth asked.

"Okay. You?"

"Okay. Decision time."

"I know. If this thing was built to the same scale and design as the model I saw, we should be just outside the desert region. The living quarters will be in the first arm, which is a good way up. Where do we go in?"

"What do you say, Mongo?"