David Robbins - Houston Run

“As soon as we’re off the ground,” Roger remarked, “we’re in trouble.”

“Why?” Blade asked.

“Every Express copter must adhere to a fixed route, to a set flight path,” Roger revealed. “If we deviate from the schedule, the Superiors will come after us.”

“Do the Superiors fly copters like this one?”

Roger shook his head. “The copters the Superiors fly, the police choppers anyway, are armed. They’ll blow us out of the sky.”

“I’m surprised the Superiors even allow lowly humans to fly any helicopters at all,” Blade mentioned.

“Courier copters are the only ones we can operate,” Roger said. “I love flying, and this is the only kind they let humans do. All of the police and military craft are operated by Superiors.”

“You don’t sound too happy about it, bucko,” Hickok interjected.

“The Superiors only do what is best for Androxia,” Roger said, but his voice lacked conviction.

“Are you hitched, Rog?” Hickok queried.

“Do you mean married?” Roger responded.

“One and the same,” Hickok stated.

“No, I’m not married,” Roger disclosed. “The Superiors would not approve my marriage application.” He barely suppressed a frown.

Hickok, standing in the center of the cargo section, glanced at Blade, “Sounds to me like Roger could use a change in scenery.”

Blade studied the pilot. Roger was not more than twenty-five, with angular features and curly brown hair. At such an age, enforced loneliness would be a bitter situation to tolerate. Perhaps the Superiors had evaluated Roger as a borderline Malcontent, and that was the reason his marriage petition had been denied. Blade looked up at the rotor, noting it had attained a terrific speed. “Let’s go.”

Roger took hold of the stick, and the next moment the helicopter rose from the helipad, rapidly ascending. He leveled the craft off at a thousand feet. “Okay. Where am I taking you?”

“The Prime Complex,” Blade stated.

Roger did a double take. “The Prime Complex? Now I know you’re insane!”

Blade hefted the Gaskell in his right hand. “Move it.”

Roger eased the stick to the right, and the copter responded smoothly.

Hickok, leaning on a stack of boxes for support, gazed out the canopy at the sprawling metropolis, fascinated. He could see dozens of other aircraft flying over Androxia. “We should get us one of these,” he said to Blade. “I’d love to take one for a spin now and then.”

“I don’t know if that’s a wise idea,” Blade commented.

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Your driving is bad enough,” Blade said. “I don’t know if I’d want to go flying with you at the controls.”

“May I ask a question?” Roger interrupted.

“What?” Blade said.

“Why are we going to the Prime Complex?”

“To destroy Primator,” Blade divulged.

Roger gaped at the giant in stark astonishment. “Destroy Primator?” he exclaimed. “That’s impossible!”

“Why? Doesn’t the Prime Complex have a heliport?” Blade inquired.

“Of course it does,” Roger responded. “But you must have a special security clearance to land there. Otherwise, you’ll be shot down.”

“Have you ever landed there?” Blade asked.

“Dozens of times,” Roger admitted. “But I always had a clearance.”

“So just pretend you have one this time,” Blade advised.

Roger shook his head. “It will never work.”

“Give me the layout of the roof,” Blade ordered. “I know Primator is on the Sturgeon Level, the top floor. How does one get from the roof to Primator’s floor?”

“The heliport is in the middle of the roof,” Roger said. “It’s a bear to land on sometimes because of the winds. The Complex is two hundred ninety-nine stories high.”

“I know,” Blade said.

“At that height, you have updrafts and crosscurrents and wind sheer to contend with. I hate landing there,” Roger mentioned.

“You don’t have any choice,” Blade noted.

“And what are you going to do if I don’t?” Roger queried. “Shoot me?

The copter would crash, and you’d die too.”

“I wouldn’t shoot you while we’re in the air,” Blade stated. “I’d wait until you landed, and then I’d add that extra nostril.”

Roger frowned. “There’s no way I can get out of this, is there?”

“No,” Blade averred. “Your best chance to survive this alive is to cooperate with us fully. Now tell me more about the roof on the Prime Complex. You said the heliport is in the middle. How do you reach the Sturgeon Level from the roof?”

“By going down,” Roger revealed. “There’s a flight of stairs on the east side of the roof, and you have to go through a door to reach the stairs.

That door is always locked. It has to be opened from the inside.”

“How many guards?” Blade asked.

“None.”

“None?” Blade repeated skeptically.

“Who needs guards two hundred ninety-nine stories up?” Roger rejoined. “Besides, they have something better than guards.”

“Like what?” Blade questioned.

“Like four defensive emplacements, one on each corner of the roof.”

Roger disclosed. “They function automatically once activated.”

“What type of defensive emplacements?” Blade inquired.

“Lasers at the northeast and southwest corners, and heat-seeking missile-launchers at the southeast and the northwest,” Roger informed them.

Blade stared at the bustling city below. “Are there any other conduits between the roof and Primator’s floor? An air shaft, anything like that?”

“There’s the mail drop,” Roger said. “A big metal chute.”

“Tell me about it.”

“It’s a chute for depositing mail in,” Roger explained. “It’s used primarily for classified rush communiques, for urgent messages and dispatches which can’t be sent through the postal service, relayed over the phone, or supplied through a computer.”

Blade recalled the instructions Primator had given to the Superior in the audience chamber. “INSTRUCT INTELLIGENCE TO INTERROGATE THEM THOROUGHLY. I WANT THE DATA OBTAINED RELAYED TO ME IMMEDIATELY.” Would Primator want such data delivered by a courier copter instead of through normal channels? “And this mail chute connects directly to Primator’s floor?”

“As far as I know,” Roger said. “It’s right next to the heliport.”

“There’s no other shaft of any kind?” Blade quieried.

“Not that I know of,” Roger responded.

The mail chute sounded promising. Blade hoped the chute was linked to Primator’s internal circuitry somehow, although he considered it to be unlikely. How could a computer, even a thinking computer, read its own mail? Still, he shouldn’t put anything past Primator.

“Is that what I think it is?” Hickok inquired, moving between the two chairs and pointing straight ahead.

Blade glanced up.

There was no mistaking the Prime Complex. As the highest structure in Androxia, the grand edifice reared above the rest like a mountain over a cluster of molehills. In the bright sunlight, its golden radiance was enhanced. The Complex was undeniably magnificent, awe-inspiring, splendid beyond measure.

A small black speaker in the center of the instrument panel suddenly crackled to life. “Androxia Express Number Three, this is the Central Air Traffic Control Tower. You are deviating from your delivery schedule, and you are not conforming to your prescribed flight path. You are also about to enter restricted air space. Explain immediately.”

“I told you so,” Roger commented, grabbing a headset lying on top of the instrument panel. He hastily aligned the headset over his ears and mouth. “What do I say?”