Galactic Dreams

“Yeah, I see what you mean. The whole crazy business may not be simple, but the mechanism doesn’t have to be physically complex. All we have to do is throw the switch, right?”

“Roger. The thing is self-powered. We’ll be tracked by radar, and when we hit apogee in our orbit they’ll give us a signal on our usual operating frequency. We throw the switch and drop.”

“Drop right back to where we came from, I hope.”

“Hello there cargo,” a voice crackled over the speaker. “Pilot here. We are about to take off. All set?”

“In the green, all circuits,” Dan reported, and settled back.

The big bomber rumbled the length of the field and slowly pulled itself into the air, engines at full thrust to lift the weight of the rocket slung beneath its belly. The capsule was in the nose of the rocket, and all the astronauts could see was the shining skin of the mother ship. It was a rough ride.

The mathematics had indicated that probability of success would be greater over Florida and the south Atlantic, the original reentry target. This meant penetrating enemy territory. The passengers could not see the engagement being fought by the accompanying jet fighters, and the pilot of the converted bomber did not tell them. It was a fierce battle and at one point almost a lost one: only a suicidal crash by one of the escort fighters prevented an enemy jet from attacking the mother ship.

“Stand by for drop,” the radio said, and a moment later there was the familiar sensation of free-fall as the rocket dropped clear of the plane. Preset controls timed the ignition and orbit. Acceleration pressed them into their couches.

A sudden return to weightlessness was accompanied by the tiny explosions as the carrying-rocket blasted free the explosive bolts that held it to the capsule. For a measureless time their inertia carried in their orbit while gravity tugged back. The radio crackled with a carrier wave, then a voice broke in.

“Be ready with the switch … ready to throw it … NOW!”

Dan slammed the switch over. Nothing appeared to have happened. Nothing they could perceive in any case. They looked at each other silently, then at their altimeter as they dropped back towards the distant Earth.

“Get ready to open the chute,” Dan said heavily, just as a roar of sound burst from the radio.

“Hello Apollo, is that you? This is Canaveral Control, can you hear me? Repeat-can you hear me? Can you answer … in heaven’s name, Dan, are you there … are you there…?”

The voice was almost hysterical, bubbling over itself. Dan flipped the talk button.

“Dan Coye here-is that you, Skipper?”

“Yes but how did you get there? Where have you been since … Cancel, repeat cancel that last. We have you on the screen and you will touch down in the sea and we have ships standing by ….”

The two astronauts met each other’s eyes and smiled. Gino raised his thumb up in a token of victory. They had done it. Behind the controlled voice that issued them instructions they could feel the riot that must be breaking after their unexpected arrival. To the observers on Earth, this Earth, they must have appeared to have vanished on the other side of the Moon. Then reappeared suddenly some weeks later, alive and well-long days after their oxygen and supplies should have been exhausted. There would be a lot to explain.

It was a perfect landing. The sun shone, the sea was smooth, there was scarcely any crosswind. They resurfaced within seconds and had a clear view through their port over the small waves. A cruiser was already headed their way, only a few miles off.

“It’s over,” Dan said with an immense sigh of relief as he unbuckled himself from the chair.

“Over!” Gino said in a choking voice. “Over? Look — just look at the flag there!”

The cruiser turned tightly, the flag on its stern standing out proudly in the clear air. The red and white stripes of Old Glory, the fifty white stars on the field of deepest blue.

And in the middle of the stars, in the center of the blue rectangle, lay a golden crown.

A CRIMINAL ACT

The first blow of the hammer shook the door in its frame. The second blow made the thin wood boom like a drum. Benedict Vernall threw the door open before a third stroke could fall and pushed the muzzle of his gun into the stomach of the man with the hammer.

“Get going. Get out of here,” Benedict said, in a much shriller voice than he had planned to use.

“Don’t be foolish,” the bailiff said quietly, stepping aside so that the two guards behind him in the hall were clearly visible. “I am the bailiff and I am doing my duty. If I am attacked these men have orders to shoot you and everyone else in your apartment. Be intelligent. Yours is not the first case like this. Such things are planned for.”

One of the guards clicked off the safety catch on his submachine gun, smirking at Benedict as he did it. Benedict let the pistol fall slowly to his side.

“Much better,” the bailiff told him and struck the nail once more with the hammer so that the notice was fixed firmly to the door.