Four: Breakout

 

 

 

Brooks Air Force Base

San Antonio, Texas

Sunday

 

Capt. Meredith Douglas, USAF, walked down the fourth floor hall of the Curran Cancer Center, her step slow. The Center, part of the huge USAF School of Aerospace Medicine at Brooks Air Force Base, was generally the last hope of military personnel suffering from advanced cancers. One of those was Major Shane Gailey, Douglas' mentor for seven years, now dying of advanced lymphoma. Douglas had been one of the first black female commissioned officers assigned to the 728^th Air Control A-3 Sentry AWACS (Airborne Warning And Control System) Squadron and his tutelage had made her one of its best TACCOs (Tactical Air Command and Control Officers). Her promotion to Captain was solid proof of his confidence in her and she had come to Brooks to show him her new captain's bars. The sight of him had been a shock--cancer and chemotherapy had made him emaciated, translucent and sedated to insensibility. Her visit had been short and unpleasant and she felt a vast sense of loss. The thick, mediciney atmosphere in the hospital was stifling and Douglas rushed through the doors to the facility, stopping just outside to breathe the humid afternoon air.

Douglas looked up at the sky. It was dark with gray, overhanging clouds and fog--El Niño weather. A thin drizzle drifted down, adding to her depression.

"Hey, Mere," a voice said. Douglas turned to see First Lieutenant Moncur Avery, a former classmate at the academy. She was immediately cheered by his round, grinning face. He looked at her shoulders, stopped and threw her an exaggerated, jaunty salute.

"Holy cow!" he exclaimed. "You're the first!"

"Hello, Monk," she replied. "I'm the 'first' what?"

"The first in our class to get captain's bars. What brings you to Texas? Come back to visit your hometown?"

"No. Came to visit an old friend."

Avery's face fell.

"God, Mere, I'm sorry. How's your friend doing?"

"He's dying. The sooner, the better, I think. What brought you to Brooks? I thought you'd finally got your slot at Edwards, flying all those snotty experimental airplanes the taxpayers keep funding."

"I'm playing shuttle pilot for some brass today. Listen, I just heard that all the booze is free at the officer's club."

Trust Avery to sniff out free alcohol, Douglas reflected. She hoped he wasn't scheduled to fly tomorrow. "How so?"

"Some civilian with money to burn had to get a GCA into Brooks. I heard he suffered a total electronics failure while up in this goop and hollered for help," Avery said, pointing at the sky. Douglas nodded her understanding. A Ground Control Approach, where the radar operators literally talked an airplane out of the sky, was unheard of at modern civilian airports and a pilot stuck in the murk without electronic aids would need to divert to a military airfield to land safely.

"Guy likes Air Force or something, he offered to buy the control people and everybody else on the base a round while he waiting for his private repair crew to arrive," Avery continued. "You'll like the guy--he's a Texan."

Douglas grinned. Avery was like a tonic, utterly flippant and carefree. She shrugged.

"Sure, why not? I've time before my flight back to Eglin."

When Douglas and Avery walked through the double doors of the Officer's Club their first impression was that a riot at broken out. The room was thick with people, a mixture of Air Force and Army, congregated around the bar or mixed into knots. Conversations were being offered in loud voices a few feet away. Valiantly trying to hold their own in the decibel ratings, a local bar band was offering renditions of the latest top 40 tunes while the club jukebox blared deafeningly. Avery almost immediately hailed a familiar face and dragged Douglas with him into the throng.

Avery thrust his way to the bar, where the one harried-looking bartender took their orders.

"Everything is on the house tonight, folks," he shouted, gesturing to the one figure at the bar who was not in uniform. Avery and Douglas got closer to the man.

"Jeezus pleezus," Avery groaned. "Look at him."

The civilian was in his mid-twenties, six feet tall and about two hundred thirty pounds. Thick bleached-blond hair hung over his ears and collar. He was dressed in a blue silk shirt and khaki slacks over heavy black boots. As he raised his glass a Rolex watch appeared on his arm. Two diamond-stud earrings adorned his left ear lobe. A white silk scarf was tied cowboy-fashion around his neck and a black ten-gallon hat adorned his head. He was waving a credit card in the air.

"YEEEEEEE-HAWWWWWWW!" he shouted. "Y'ALL Air Force folks are THEE BEST! Barkeep, another round for these good folks."

"Oh yeah, he's gorgeous," Douglas smirked. She accepted her beer and sipped. Avery was in the motion of chugging his scotch-and-coke when he was bumped from behind. He choked but did not spill his drink and turned to snap at the interloper, but when he saw another familiar face he smiled instead.

"Hey, Mere, meet Billy Taylor," he shouted. Douglas exchanged greetings with the officer, who grabbed Avery by the arm and dragged him away. Douglas smiled and turned back to the bar. Another shout from the civilian hurt her ears and attracted her attention. She watched as he sipped his own beer and clapped backs and shoulders as they came within range of his arms. Probably another oil-made millionaire's son with an patriot complex, she reflected. Suddenly he homed in on a female officer, took off his hat with a flourish and bowed deeply.

"Hey there, little lady," the civilian suddenly said. "Ah'd be pleased to buy y'all a drink and dinner."

"Thanks, but no thanks," the female lieutenant replied.

"No, Ah in-sist," the man persisted. Douglas watched as he unsuccessfully tried to wrangle the female officer over beside himself. He seemed downcast for a moment, then broke into a huge smile and shouted again. Douglas began to feel suspicious of the overbearing civilian. There was something unusual about the guy. His accent. It was not quite right--southern, yes, but not true Texan. Douglas, a native of San Antonio, could always tell the difference between a genuine Texan and a phony. Well, perhaps he was a recent transplant, immured in his new surroundings. Anything was possible.

"Well, folks, it's been great meeting y'all," the man said suddenly, looking at his watch, "But ah got ta find out what's happenin' with my repair folks. Barkeep," he raised his voice again and dropped his credit card on the bar, "anything these folks want tonight is on me. Just keep it on runnin'!"

His declaration was greeted with applause and laughter. He waved his hat at the crowd and weaved his way across the floor of the club, asking one of the waitresses a question as he went. She pointed, and he headed towards the restrooms.

What a character, Douglas thought. She looked around the room for familiar faces--she could see Avery huddled with a group of pilots around a large table. She recognized their sleeve patches--the 10^th Squadron of the 33^rd Fighter Group, F-15 Eagle pilots. She left her place at the bar and began to head towards the table. The men's room door was in her line of sight and she saw it swing open. An Air Force major stepped out, outfitted in the blue dress uniform and aigulette of the Air Police and carrying a small plastic case. The uniform was surprisingly wrinkled and rumpled-looking. His face seemed familiar, but her vision was blocked by a mass of bodies heading towards the bar before she could get a good look. She saw the major disappear out the front double doors of the Club.

"Hey, Mere, come on over here," Avery called. "Guys, you'll recognize this voice, I'm sure."

Douglas turned to the waiting group. Several arms stuck out, waving her over. She smiled and joined the group. When Avery introduced her all the pilots insisted on shaking her hand. Her AWACS had been responsible for much of their air control during the Gulf War and that they credited her and her crew with helping them achieve two kills. A happy shop conversation arose and Douglas forgot her depression, and that Air Police major.

Ellie had curled herself atop the quadruple bed in her laboratory room-cum-prison cell, watching the minute hand of the clock installed in her room go around and around. It read 1755--five fifty-five pm. Doctor Turner had said he would return in two hours, and that was around three fifteen--over two and a half hours ago. Ellie focused on listening for any noise that might herald the arrival of someone to her room, but save for the whisper of air entering through the ventilators the only thing heard was the creaking of her bed as she shifted position. She pulled at the sides of her parachute-turned-dress to ease the feeling of constriction across her chest. Another few hours and this thing'll be a backless mini, she thought. She had cried herself out quietly an hour before but her eyes still itched. She rubbed them, then looked at the clock again. Six o'clock.

Professor Felix Milbury rose from his chair in the lounge of the Armstrong Laboratory building and stretched his shoulders. The last ten hours had been an extraordinary, exhausting time for the neat, natty NASA exobiologist. Examining that giantess was so amazing, and frightening--she had picked up a technician a short while ago and used him for a bowling ball and Milbury among others as pins. His knees still hurt from contact with the floor. Milbury yawned and wandered from the lounge towards the main floor lavatory. Inside the neat, warm room--only the government would maintain a mandated ninety-degree temperature inside a men's room in hot, humid Texas--the only other occupant was a major in an Air Force uniform at one of the two urinals. Milbury noticed the shoulders of his dress jacket were damp.

"Raining out there, huh?" Milbury said conversationally. The major nodded.

"Yep. Cats and dogs for a bit. I hope it eases up before I leave."

Milbury smiled and used the open facility, yawning again. He followed the major to the sinks, pulling off his jacket. His security card, hanging on a chain around his neck, flopped into the sink as he bent to wash his hands. With a snort he pulled the card from his neck and set it on the basin lip.

"You have a good day now," he heard the major say.

"Yes, you too," he replied, indulging in another jaw-popping yawn. He rinsed his hands and turned to grab some hand towels. He pulled on his jacket, rubbed his face and walked out of the lavatory, not seeing or remembering his card.

Ellie tensed when she heard the outer door open. One man entered the vestibule between the two doors to her room, dressed in the now-familiar anticontamination garb and carrying a small plastic case. The man stopped and looked at her for a moment, tilting his head back and forth. Fog had formed on the inside of his faceplate. Ellie closed her eyes and bent her head so she would not have to see herself being stared at again. She heard the man walking quietly, then a snapping noise made her lift her head. The man had removed the mirror covering the security camera on the wall. He reached into his case and pulled out a square black box trailing two wires. He attached the wires to the back of the now exposed camera, hung the black box from the camera bracket and became engrossed in whatever he was doing. Ellie sighed, and bent her head again.

A few moments later she heard a loud click. She looked up. His back to her, the technician was in the process of pulling off his anticontamination suit. She watched, puzzled, as he slipped the helmet from his head, revealing a shock of bright blond hair. He let the suit fall into a heap at his feet. He was dressed in a blue uniform adorned with some kind of striped cord wound around his left arm and shoulder. He grabbed his hair and pulled. The blond wig came away, leaving brown hair that was recently shorn and combed straight back. Ellie's mouth dropped open and she began to rise from her bed. The man rubbed his hair briefly, then turned around.

"Hey, pretty lady," he said softly, a smile creasing his face. "I missed you."

"Steve!" Ellie exclaimed. "Steve!"

Steve came towards her, his eyes bright, his smile broad. Ellie fell to her knees and reached out to him. As he came within the circle of her arms she lifted him off the floor, hugging him to her body.

"Oh, God, I can't believe it. You found me. You came for me. I can't believe it, I can't believe it," she cried out. Tears of joy spurted from her eyes as she felt his hands around her neck. Ellie looked at Steve, carefully leaned forward and returned his feet to the floor.

"Oh, Steve--" she began. She looked down at him as he stood in the gap between her thighs--thighs that were big as his torso. His forehead was now level with her shoulders as she sat on her heels. Gulping back her tears she held one trembling hand to her lips and reached out with the other hand to touch his face. Steve leaned his head into her palm--it was astonishing to see his head almost fit into her hand--and kissed it.

"I missed you, Ellie," he said. "I'm-I'm sorry I let us become separated. When I saw them take you--"

Ellie saw Steve's eyes mist over. She began to cry anew and bent down to gather him again in her arms. Flinging his hands around her neck Steve pressed his face into the curve of her throat. Crying all the while, she squeezed him in her arms until he grunted for breath.

"I'm never going to let anyone take you away from me again," he said.

"It's not your fault, it's not your fault," she chanted, pressing his torso and legs into her. It felt so good--so right--for him to be in her arms. "Oh, Steve, I'm so glad to see you again, so happy, so happy."

Steve began to squirm in her arms and Ellie reluctantly released him back to the floor. He reached up and stroked her face, rubbing her chin, caressing her lips. She kissed his hand.

"God, I'm glad to see you, pretty lady," he said, his voice harsh. He sniffed and cleared his throat.

"However did you find me?"

"It's a long story, beautiful. I'll tell you on the way home."

Ellie sat up straight and she gripped Steve by the shoulders.

"'The way home'? Steve, they're not going to let me go from here. I was taken by military people. They brought me to this place to study me. There's this Doctor Turner and all these other doctors-they've been examining me since I was brought here. They're never going to let me go."

"You can come back for a visit, if you want." Steve grinned and rubbed her forearms, his expression resolute, his enthusiastic optimism back in full force.

"That's not all, Steve. There's this Army guy, Lang. He-he wants me dead, I think. I broke one of his people's arms on the flight down here and he threatened me."

"Hmph. Why'd you break someone's arm?"

"He was touching me--here," she replied, her hand on her breast. Steve's face darkened.

"I hope I meet this guy. I'll break his other arm."

"Steve, you've got to get out of here."

"Wha--? No way."

"Please. I don't want to see you captured, or-or hurt."

"Haven't had anything happen to me yet." He looked at his wristwatch. Ellie took his cue and looked at the clock on the wall. "Okay, Ellie, let's go."

"Go? Go where?"

"To my airplane, of course. It's sitting out on the tarmac. So long as I don't lose my way we'll be airborne in fifteen minutes."

"But--" Steve grabbed Ellie's hand and tugged her in the direction of the door. Ellie had to fight a stab of uncertainty as she came near the door--it looked so small--but Steve pulled her along and she slid through the opening, twisting her shoulders and hips for clearance. The door hissed closed behind her. Rising to a half-crouch, Ellie followed Steve down a windowless hallway that turned to their right and past other airtight hatchways.

"I wonder if anyone else…" she began. Steve shook his head.

"They're empty. Yours was the only occupied one."

He led Ellie into what looked like a lobby area. A large square kiosk stood in the center of the lobby, deserted. From her perspective she could see half empty coffee cups and scattered papers on the table inside it.

"Where is everybody?"

"Out fighting the fire I set in the rubbish container beside the other wing of the building. I tossed in a tire to make sure it stayed nice and smoky. When I ran into the building yelling 'fire' the two guys here snatched up fire extinguishers and very kindly went running."

Steve turned abruptly to a short hallway. At its end was what looked like a solid fire door. He walked quickly to it and pulled on the handle. A small piece of plastic slipped from between the jamb and the door. Steve looked back at Ellie and waggled his eyebrows, then he looked down and flushed.

"Whew," he said. "Don't do that."

Ellie looked down at herself. Her breasts were pressing firmly into her parachute garb, stretching the neck hole and revealing her abundant cleavage. Steve's observation was so ridiculous and inappropriate Ellie found herself smiling at him for his apparent distraction. He peered around the corner of the door, then turned back to her.

"Looking good," he said. "All the activity seems to be around the corner. Let's go."

With that he flung open the door, Ellie following at a half-crouch. He ran full tilt toward a dingy white van parked partially on the grassy verge next to the building. Reaching the rear doors he yanked them open, hinges squealing.

"In you go," he said, bowing her into the back of the van with a flourish. The rear of the vehicle was almost empty, uncarpeted and very dirty. The slamming doors hurt Ellie's ears. She crouched under the low ceiling of the van, twisting around to observe Steve as he jumped into the driver's seat. He pulled out a key and twisted it in the ignition switch. The starter ran, and ran. Steve began pumping the pedal, released the key, then turned it again.

"Steve--" Ellie whispered, touching his shoulder. She could see him sweating as he pumped the gas pedal again.

"The best-laid plans…" he muttered, turning the key again. This time the van's engine roared to life with a backfire that echoed like a shot. Steve put the van in gear and roared away from the building.

Ellie looked out the front window of the van as Steve raced down the road. In the distance she could see a large airport control tower silhouetted against an evening sun peeking from under dark storm clouds. Once out of the area of the medical facility Steve slowed a little and rolled down the window, allowing in the outside air. Ellie leaned over his shoulder and sucked the air in greedily. It smelled of jet fuel, airplane exhaust and the outside world. She welcomed the change from the filtered air she had been inhaling for the last two days. Two days. Had it been only two days? To Ellie it felt like a lifetime. She couldn't keep away the sense fear for Steve and herself combined with a feeling of sheer audacity at their escape effort. She gripped Steve's shoulder to steady herself as he began to turn from the street towards another.

"Where are we going?" she said.

"I'm going to get as close to where my plane is parked as possible before leaving the streets for the tarmac," Steve replied. "Dashing onto the airfield will attract all kinds of attention. The less time spent on the tarmac, the better."

Captain Douglas finished nursing her second beer and excused herself from the increasingly ribald revelers at the club. Outside, she stood for a moment, orienting herself. She took one step off the curb when the roar of a car engine and a loud screeching scared her back onto the sidewalk. A dirty, dented white van had come racing down the street and its driver had to stomp the brakes to prevent a collision with her. Douglas fixed her darkest look possible on the driver, a brown-haired man wearing an Air Force uniform but with no cover on his head.

"Where the hell's the fire?" she shouted. "Don't you know it's fifteen miles an hour in this area? Try to be a little more careful!"

The driver leaned out the window and waved apologetically.

"Sorry, lieutenant," he yelled back, his deep voice like a drum. He turned the wheel of the van and drove away.

"Lieutenant? That sorry--" Douglas stopped. Why was that man so familiar? The van was certainly being driven for all it was worth. Douglas watched as it headed out from the barracks area towards the tarmac. She called up in her mind's eye the man in the van. Who did he resemble? Douglas tried to recall what else she saw in the van. The setting sun had illuminated the interior clearly. There was something big and round, covered by what looked like a tarpaulin right beside him. Something was on his right shoulder--why did she get the impression that it was a human hand, a hand with fingers so long--

Douglas turned around wildly as a loud car horn interrupted her. She realized she had wandered out into the road while ruminating over that van and its occupant. The honking Humvee slowed as it approached her, and she thrust out her hand, pointing the driver over to the curb. She pulled open the driver's door.

"Look, you wanna not block the road? Uh, sorry, sir--ma'am!" the driver said. Douglas leaned into the driver's side door.

"You got a radio in this vehicle, soldier?" she asked.

"No, ma'am," the private--the stenciled name on his fatigues read DANIELS--replied. "Look, ma'am, I'm really sorry--"

"Forget that, private. You're going to drive me out to the tarmac, right now."

"But ma'am, this hummer is General Mackenzie's--"

Douglas got closer to Daniels until only an inch separated their noses.

"Son, I hope you like it cold because if you keep pissing me off like you're doing I'm going to see that your butt is permanently posted to an ice floe in the Bering Straits. Do I make myself clear?"

The soldier visibly wilted and nodded. Douglas slammed shut the driver's side door and entered the passenger side.

"Get us to the tarmac now and don't spare the horses," she ordered. Daniels gunned the humvee's diesel and put it in gear.

"Can you tell me what you are looking for ma'am?" Daniels asked. Douglas was leaning forward, peering out from under hand through the windscreen of the humvee, looking intently. Suddenly she pointed.

"There!" she exclaimed. "Get us over to that airplane."

Daniels drove the humvee around the nested group of civilian aircraft--most belonging to Air Force pilots--towards a sleek, futuristic-looking white commuter jet. The van was parked beside it, its rear doors facing the airplane. Daniels saw a man jump from the cab of the van and race up a small ladder on the side of the plane. The van began to roll away from the jet unattended.

"Shit, sir--ma'am--that van's still in gear," Daniels called out.

"Stop the hummer. Get out and stop that van before it runs into something out here," Douglas ordered. Daniels stood on the brakes and the humvee slid to a stop. Both Douglas and Daniels jumped from the heavy military car, Daniels sprinting towards the freewheeling van and Douglas towards the commuter jet a hundred meters away. She would later wonder who had built the thing--it was shaped more like a military airplane than any kind of private or commuter craft, sleek and needle-nosed, with a conformal air intake slung under the body and sharply angled wings and tail. She reached it quickly and dashed up the ladder, pausing as she reached the top. All of the passenger viewports shades were drawn, darkening the passenger cabin. Douglas jumped as some whining mechanism closed the passenger door behind her, leaving her in near-total darkness. She saw a faint light to her right coming from the open cockpit door and she strode into the space.

"Okay, mister, just what the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded. The man turned and looked at her in open-mouthed astonishment. He was indeed the rumpled Air Police major she had seen before at the Officer's Club--or somebody dressed to look like one. In his hands were what looked like very thick sunglasses wired to a panel beside him. Douglas had interrupted him in the act of putting them on.

"Okay, buddy, you've got a lot of explaining to do SWEET MOTHER OF GOD!"

Douglas felt a touch on her shoulder, spun around and fell backwards into the cockpit. Crouching in the passenger cabin not two feet behind her was an incredibly enormous woman dressed in what looked like a torn-up parachute. The woman's head was so big it filled the cockpit door. Douglas heard someone yammering incoherently and realized it was herself. She stared up at this gigantic face framed by a disorderly mass of hair, looking down at her.

"Well, whoever you are, I'd like you to meet Ellie. Ellie, whoever-she-is," the man spoke softly, his voice rich with amusement.

"Hello," the giant face said. "Please don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you."

"What-what-what-what-what," Douglas stammered. Ellie sighed sadly.

"Steve, what do we do about her?" she asked.

"Ah, we'll figure something out," he replied, putting on the sunglasses. He threw a switch and began turning his head this way and that. Ellie heard him utter a soft curse.

"Well, whoever-you-are, you're coming with us," he announced. "There are five people surrounding us, so reopening the door is not an option. Ellie, you should be able to lie on the floor back there. I know that's not very comfortable but this takeoff might be a bit harsh. Okay, Air Force, why don’t you take the co-pilot's chair. Be careful where you place your feet."

Douglas shook her head. "Who-who are you people?"

"Okay, stay there on the floor, but be prepared to get bounced around," Steve replied. Douglas shook her head.

"You're going to need ground support--"

Steve reached up over his head and threw two switches, one after the other. The two engines of the airplane whined rapidly to life. He pushed the throttle levers forward until the engines ignited. He lifted the sunglasses above his eyes momentarily and eyed Douglas.

"Not this airplane, Lieutenant."

"Captain," Douglas snapped. She slowly rose from the cockpit floor and clumsily seated herself in the co-pilot's chair. As she occupied the chair it suddenly jerked and slid forward into the cockpit space, startling her further.

"Okay, Captain, then," Steve replied. Several soft pings were heard in the cockpit and passenger cabin.

"What's that?" Douglas demanded.

"Your fellow soldiers are shooting at us," Steve exclaimed.

"Steve--" Ellie began. He shook his head.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. This airplane is designed to take anything up to a fifty caliber hit. But I think it's time to get out of here."

He advanced the two short throttle levers attached to the end of his left armrest and Douglas felt the aircraft begin to roll. Douglas looked around the windowless cockpit of the airplane. Save for the two small flat panels in front of the two pilots' chairs the entire cockpit was featureless, windowless and empty. The only visible controls were a small control stick on the right arm of both chairs and the two thrust controls on the left. Light came from small touch switches embedded in the arms of the chairs.

"In case you're wondering, Captain," Steve suddenly said, "I'm driving this plane using a V-R visualization system. There are twelve wide-field cameras buried in the skin of the plane sending signals to a microcomputer which--get out the way there, will you!--translates the picture data and combines it with a few other things to give me a real-time readout of everything around us."

Steve's reassurances notwithstanding, Douglas became increasingly apprehensive as she felt the plane turn and bump under his guidance. He advanced the throttles and the engines wound up incredibly fast. Douglas felt like she was being pushed from behind as the plane accelerated. The plane swerved suddenly left, then right, then left again.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Douglas snapped.

"Trying to dodge roadblocks," Steve answered. "Okay, here's the runway. Canards out, wings in full flap configuration--and away we go."

He pushed the throttles forward to the stops and tilted his right hand back. Immediately the airplane tilted up. Douglas could feel the landing gear leave the earth. Steve kept the airplane at an aggressive angle, the g-forces pressing them into their seats.

"Okay," Steve said, leveling off the plane and pulling back on the throttles. "Now, on with the show." He raised his voice. "Computer-cockpit-display-on-execute."

Douglas heard a beep and the blank walls of the cockpit suddenly came to life. Where before she was sitting in a chair staring at blank bulkheads she now appeared to be inside a cockpit with walls of glass. The small panel in front of her also flashed into life. Douglas looked at the symbols and objects flashing on the walls around her.

"Fuck me," she murmured. Steve removed the V-R glasses and grinned.

"Works good," he said. He looked over his shoulder. "Ellie, are you okay?"

"Yes," she replied, thrusting her head back into the cockpit, her voice strained. Douglas saw her again, screamed in fright and clutched at her chest.

"Computer-radar-report-mode-execute," Steve uttered in the same loud, singsong monotone he had used before. A series of readouts appeared on the display panel before him and intermittent beeps and hums could be heard in the cockpit's speakers. It took Douglas a moment to orient herself to the displays and sounds.

"What the hell kind of airplane is this?" she asked. "You're detecting every radar painting you within a hundred miles."

"We call it is the Special, or the Security Special." His head was on a swivel, looking around, up and down. Douglas saw that the image of the sky surrounding them even showed on the floor beneath their footrests. "My company designed it for use by government officials or industrial executives who need protection from terrorists or other governments. You folks in the Air Force will be taking delivery of three by the end of next year."

Douglas slowly turned and looked at the gargantuan head poking into the cockpit. An impossibly long arm extended into the space and touched the man. He turned and smiled at the giant woman.

"Holy Mother of--" Douglas began again. She was cut off by a series of beeps and an audible warning bell. Steve looked at the display and whistled.

"What is it?" Ellie asked, gripping his shoulder more tightly.

"Two high-speed moving objects right behind us, trying to track us. Ellie, I think they've launched fighters to chase us."

"Oh, God." Ellie put her hands up to her face.

"Oh God is right," Douglas snapped. She was listening to the sound of the radars tracking the airplane. "I recognize that radar signature."

"You want to clue us in?" Steve said.

"Do yourself a favor. Turn on your radio and tell them your coming back, nice and slow."

"Steve, no," Ellie said. Steve shook his head.

"No way am I taking you back there, Ellie."

"Reconsider, flyboy," Douglas said. You've got the varsity chasing you."

"What does that mean?"

"That means there are two F-15 Eagles after you. They're from the 33^rd Fighter Group based at Eglin Air Force Base. They're air combat veterans. You're not going to get away from them."

Steve sighed. "This isn't easy at all," he muttered. He turned to Ellie and patted her hand. "We're not going back. Let's see if my people are as smart as I figure them to be. Computer-chart-overlay-execute."

Douglas' eyes boggled as a three-dimensional version of an air navigation chart appeared over the image in the cockpit.

"Okay, now the nearest big city is…Dallas-Forth Worth. Here we go."

He pushed the airplane's nose down and turned the airplane slightly, heading towards the city.

 

Brooks Air Force Base

Operations Center

Major Don Eisley, the Air Operations command duty officer, stood beside the air controllers viewing the flickering radar scopes, watching the progress of the pursuit. He peered at his watch. The chase after the loony tune in the commuter plane had begun fifteen minutes ago--only three minutes after it had literally elbowed its way onto the runway and taken off, without clearance and (judging from the uproar filtering across the base) after apparently stealing something very valuable or dangerous from the labs. It was a stroke of good fortune to have a pair of ready-op fighters available at Brooks rather than having to call them in from Eglin in Florida.

"Rifle 107, report," the chief controller intoned into his microphone.

"Rifle 107 to base, target is ten miles ahead on course zero one zero," came the reply, the voice distorted by the speakers. Eisley looked at the large field scope and whistled. Whoever was flying that airplane was heading right for the Dallas-Forth Worth metroplex.

"Rifle 107 to base, target appears to be slowing. Airspeed now three hundred knots and dropping."

"Confirm, sir. Target is losing speed and altitude," the other controller piped up. Eisley nodded. He felt a touch at his shoulder and turned to see the base commander, General Mackenzie, standing beside him.

"What's going on, Major," Mackenzie growled.

"Sir, approximately fifteen minutes ago an airplane made an unauthorized takeoff. We have scrambled two of the visiting fighters from Eglin to pursue and track the airplane."

"A civilian stole one of our aircraft?" the general asked. Eisley shook his head.

"No, sir. The aircraft belonged to the civilian. He had previously landed here during the bad weather, claiming an e-nav failure."

Mackenzie stared at Eisley, who shifted uncomfortably.

"So, you are saying that this civilian stole his own airplane? He took off without filing a flight plan or getting clearance from our tower? Why in hell were fighters scrambled? Just track him and report him to the FAA—"

"Sir," a high, scratchy voice replied, "I requested Major Eisley scramble fighters to ensure that the plane doesn't get away."

Mackenzie turned to see a small, thin army colonel step from the shadows. The general looked at his nameplate and frowned.

"Very well, Colonel Lang. Welcome to Brooks Air Force Base. Now, what in hell is so important about that airplane that you felt we needed to send fighters after it?"

"Sir, I cannot discuss it with you here," Kang said softly, pointing his chin about the ops room. "I do however carry authorization to call out any force I judge necessary to ensure national security in keeping with the protocols of the DART charter."

"Let's see your authorization, Colonel."

Lang reached into his breast pocket, withdrew a letter and handed it to Mackenzie. The general brought it to his nose to read, an increasingly puzzled expression on his face. Lang saw Mackenzie's jaw become set.

"Very well, Colonel," Mackenzie said after a moment's pause. "Now, what exactly are we protecting national security from? What's in that airplane?"

"Sir, I'm sure Doctor Turner over at the Armstrong labs will be able to fill you in on the prisoner taken from here--"

"Doctor William Turner? From the CDC? Colonel, I want the whole story right now--hair, teeth, asshole and all. We'll step outside so you can tell me in private."

Lang grit his teeth. It would be mete that Mackenzie would know Turner's name.

"That is impossible at this time, General," responded. Mackenzie's eyebrows came together.

"Colonel--"

"Rifle 107 to base," a radio call interrupted him. "Target has slowed to 200 knots and is executing a circle around the city at five thousand feet. Request instructions."

"General," Lang said suddenly, "you must order that airplane be forced down or shot down. The safety--"

"Sir," Eisley interrupted, "the airplane is now flying a circular course over the Dallas-Forth Worth metroplex at a very slow speed. Both fighters are following as best they can."

Mackenzie nodded to Eisley and turned a fierce glare on Lang.

"Colonel, I hope your suggestion that we shoot down that plane was a bad joke. They're right over a major metropolitan area. Shooting it down could wipe out a neighborhood as well as whatever's in that airplane you seem very concerned about. Major Eisley, recall the fighters--"

"Disregard that order, Major," Lang interrupted. "General, in accordance with the authority vested in me by the Chief Executive I am overriding you. Major, order that plane shot down."

 

Over the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex

First Lieutenant Orrin "Snowman" Snow was struggling with the controls of his airplane over the city of Dallas. He and his wingman, Lieutenant Conrad "Jugs" Jones, had rushed up behind the airplane that had taken off from Brooks without clearance. Snow watched as the small commuter jet banked again into the next leg of its turn, keeping just inside the city limits at two thousand feet. His ultrasleek, sophisticated F-15 Eagle handled like a dream at Mach 1 but was a bitch at one hundred sixty knots, shuddering and rolling at near-stall speed. He had already dropped his flaps and deployed his landing gear and speed brake to keep in position behind the airplane. His wingman had done the same. Snow looked at his fuel tapes. The gauges were steadily winding down as his aircraft's powerful twin Pratt and Whitney F-100 turbofans guzzled fuel. He had already expended all the fuel in his drop tanks and wing tanks, and now his fuselage tank was being steadily drained.

"Jugs, what's your fuel state?" he asked over the radio.

"Six point oh," Jones replied. Six thousand pounds, and they were burning ten thousand pounds an hour at this ridiculously slow rate of speed. He looked at the flashing anticollision lights of the commuter plane. It was being steered carefully, never anywhere near any high-rise buildings and as far away from the Dallas International Airport as possible. That pilot was real smart, Snow decided--making us burn our fuel like this meant they would have to do something soon or break off to land or tank with a refueling aircraft--if any were available. Snow thumbed his radio switch.

"Brooks control, this is Rifle 107. My fuel state is five point nine. Request instructions."

 

Brooks Air Force Base

Operations Center

"Are you insane?" Mackenzie demanded. Lang's expression was unchanging.

"Major, you have seen my authority and you have my order. Shoot that plane down."

"General Mackenzie? Sir?" Eisley turned to Mackenzie, whose face was black with anger.

"Don, disregard Colonel Lang here. Call the duty sergeant to the ops room with his sidearm. That is my direct order to you on my personal authority as commander of this base," Mackenzie replied. He took two steps and planted himself directly in front of Lang, his bulk towering over the colonel.

"Lang, I hope you can hide behind that piece of paper you're carrying," he said softly. "I really do. When I report this to the Pentagon every officer senior to you will compete to chair a court of inquiry into your actions."

Lang kept his expression calm but inwardly he was seething. Goddamned military bureaucrat--that ET-affected woman was getting away! Turner had already screwed things up altogether, first by not handling her properly and then by not getting the damned object that was described to have caused her change in the first place, and now they were flying around, free as birds! He needed to regroup now, to appear to give in. Let the gargantuan woman come down out of the sky someplace, and he'll be there to bag her.

"Ah, Tommy. Good," Mackenzie said as a huge black Air Force sergeant entered the room. His nameplate read T. WATERS. "Tommy, Colonel Lang here is under house arrest until I complete a report to the Pentagon on the events here today. Take him to his quarters and lock him in. Post guards on his door. Remove his telephone from his room--Lang, you'll get your opportunity to speak your piece after I talk to the Pentagon."

"General, you don't understand the danger--" Lang began. Sergeant Waters grabbed his arm in an iron grip.

"We will go to your quarters now, sir," Waters said. Lang allowed his expression to slip from his control for a moment, then he acquiesced.

"Shit, sir," Eisley muttered as the ops room door closed behind Lang. Mackenzie pursed his lips and shook his head.

"What's the status of the chase?" he asked.

 

Over the Dallas-Forth Worth Metroplex

"Come on, you guys, let go," Steve muttered under his breath. He had slowed his airplane to its minimum flight speed but the two fighters hung on behind him.

"I told you," Douglas said.

"Steve, maybe she's right. Maybe we should go back," Ellie said. Douglas was astounded that someone so big could sound so timid. Steve frowned.

"I'll be damned if I'm going to. Captain, what's the stall speed of those fighters?"

Douglas looked at him but said nothing.

"Come on, Captain!" Steve shouted. "If they're crazy enough to shoot us down you go down, too."

"It-it depends," she replied, obvious reluctance in her voice. "With flaps down and gear out it's around a hundred fifty five knots."

"Too slow. Dammit," Steve muttered. "Okay, I can't get them away from me by going slower than them. I'll try something else. Okay, Captain, what's their ceiling?"

"Top altitude is eighty thousand feet," Douglas replied. Steve swallowed and licked his lips.

"Mine's forty thousand feet higher," he said. "Ellie, hang on. I'm going for altitude."

He pulled back on the control handle and pushed the throttles to their maximum position. The airplane accelerated rapidly and its nose rose into the sky. Douglas watched as the airspeed display on the screens in front of her rapidly reached Mach one. There was a shuddering thud, then smooth silence. Steve reached out to another button over his head and pressed it. The plane began to shudder again, then it smoothed and accelerated even more.

"Just folded the wings forward," he explained, his voice strained with the g-forces they were experiencing.

"Wings forward?" Douglas said. "NASA hasn't even solved wings-forward technology yet--"

"My people have," he replied. Suddenly he pressed the control grip forward again and the airplane leveled out. They all breathed deeply to clear the effects of sustained g's on their bodies.

"Are we safe now?" Ellie asked plaintively.

Snow watched as the airplane suddenly straightened and accelerated away from him.

"Jugs, he's making a run for it," he called over the radio. "Conform to me."

He pushed his throttles forward and retracted his gear and flaps. The F-15 smoothed out as it increased speed. The target airplane suddenly went nose up, still accelerating. It began to climb at about twenty thousand feet a minute. Snow and his wingman raised their noses to follow. Snow advanced his throttle into the afterburner position and two trails of blue-white fire rushed from the tailpipes of his plane. The airplane was still gaining distance from them ahead and its rate of climb had steepened. Snow watched on his radar as it passed sixty thousand feet, then seventy, then eighty, and still kept climbing. A tinny mechanical voice suddenly echoed in his headphones.

"Bingo-bingo-bingo-bingo," it called. Snow looked at his gauges. He was down to three thousand pounds of fuel and the tape was falling rapidly.

"Jugs, break off, break off. Brooks, this is Rifle 107. We're at bingo fuel. We are breaking off."

Steve put the airplane on autopilot and looked back at Ellie. He pressed a button on the arm of his chair, looked back at her and grinned again.

"We are now. The active stealth system is on, so we're invisible to every radar in the area now."

Ellie crouched into the cockpit, sighed, and slapped at Steve.

"Hey, hey, what'd I do?" He said, fending off her blows.

"Don't you ever do that again!" Ellie said, punctuating each syllable with a slap. "Who do you think you are, Errol Flynn? James Bond? Of all the harebrained ideas--just come right in and risk yourself! Didn't you realize how dangerous rescuing me like this was?"

Steve raised his arm. At Ellie's next slap he trapped her hand between his arm and his chest.

"It was a risk, but it worked," he said. "Careful now, beautiful, you're going to break one of my ribs."

"You could've been killed!"

"Well, neither of us got killed. That's what counts."

Ellie struggled to pull her hand free from under his arm, then stopped, leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you for rescuing me," she said softly. He rubbed her trapped hand with his own.

"You're welcome."

"Excuse me," Douglas said. "Can somebody please tell me what's going on here?"

Douglas watched as Steve and the giant woman exchanged glances. Steve shrugged and reached into the side pocket of his uniform jacket. He pulled out a shiny silvery-gray sphere wrapped in a plastic bag.

"Steve! You still have the orb?" Ellie asked. Was that the cause of Turner's distraction back at the lab?

"I thought I might have needed it as a bargaining chip, to exchange for you," he replied. "Captain--what's your name anyway?"

"Douglas. Meredith Douglas."

"Okay. Well, Meredith Douglas, it's not a very long story, but you might find it difficult to believe."

"Right now, if you told me the moon was made of green cheese I'd believe you," Douglas replied. She looked at Ellie. "Whatever happened to you?"

"That thing Steve's holding is what happened to me," Ellie replied. "Two days ago I was five feet tall and ninety seven pounds. Last Friday night I was driving home from work when a meteorite crashed to the ground in front of my car, making me have an accident. When I found the meteorite it fell apart, leaving that thing." Ellie pointed to the orb in Steve's hand. "When I picked it up it did something to my body, making me grow. The last time they measured me I was fourteen feet tall and still growing."

"I found Ellie beside the road," Steve continued. "I took her to a clinic, then I took her home. We came to an understanding."

He stopped and he and Ellie looked at one another for a moment, appearing to forget Douglas was there.

"Anyway," he began again, "Ellie began growing bigger that night. When she went to her family doctor he had her admitted to a hospital. While she was at the hospital those goons grabbed her and transported her to Brooks. I saw them grab her, but I couldn't do anything to help her--they were after me, too. So I hightailed it home and formulated a plan to get Ellie back, and it worked--so far."

"Jesus Christ," Douglas breathed. "Jesus Christ. This is preposterous. I feel--I feel like I'm in some kind of bad science-fiction movie."

"Well, Captain Douglas, you're not," Steve replied as he rubbed Ellie's arm. "What we've told you is the truth that we've experienced, and, for good or ill, you've become a part of our story."

 

Growh Encounter part 5