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The Wishbone Express - Chapter 16

 
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Bud Brewster
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PostPosted: Sun Feb 01, 2015 2:37 am    Post subject: The Wishbone Express - Chapter 16 Reply with quote



Chapter 16

Bill stood up slowly and made his way down the row until he reached the aisle. As Bill passed Refnonali and Aganto, he spoke quietly.

“Listen, uh . . . whatever happens, I just want to say thanks for trying to help.”

Aganto gave him a sad look. Refnonali’s expression was unreadable. There were several thousand spectators watching (not to mention the many life forms with news cameras), and he could feel their eyes following him as he walked down the aisle and climbed the steps to the raised platform where the judges’ bench and the witness table were located. There was no one else seated at the witness table, a rare thing, and Bill felt very lonely. He laid the data storage unit on the table in front of him. He felt the eyes of the spectators boring into the back of his head, watching him do suspicious things in front of twenty-one stern judges. His heart was slamming around in his chest like a claustrophobic man in a small locked closet.

No one asked him to put his hand on a Bible, and no one told him to swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. They just started asking him questions. But first, one of the judges — the human one — said, “Mr. Jenkins, we request that you keep your statements as brief and to-the-point as possible. We’ve already heard extensive testimony from Counselor Refnonali and Counselor Aganto concerning your voyage to Philcani-tu. Please confine your statements to the subjects about which we ask specific questions. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, and I’m sure you’d like us to finish with you as quickly as possible.”

Bill nodded his head up and down, not trusting himself to speak. The judges started asking their questions. They asked him about the bomb that the port authority policeman had planted. Bill started giving them a colorful rendition of how Clawron Uquay and Refnonali (the savage “wajinda”) had dealt with the two policemen. The judges cut him short. They only wanted to know exactly what the policeman had said and done when he was accused of planting the bomb. Bill told them — in great detail.

They asked Bill questions about the three ships that had pursued the Wishbone. Did these ships ever try to contact him? Did he ever try to contact them? Simple yes-or-no questions. At first Bill tried to elaborate on his answers, but they cautioned him repeatedly about volunteering unwanted information. They asked him brief questions about the hyperdrive missiles. Did the data log prove conclusively that they had been launched by the three ships? How had the Wishbone avoided them? Bill tried to say a little about the wild maneuvers that he and Randy had devised to shake the missiles off their tails. The judges weren’t interested. They said they would get all that from the data log.

They asked him a few embarrassing questions about Clawron’s unsuccessful attempt to seduce him, her semi-successful attempt to drug him, and her entirely successful attempt to beat the shit out of him. For purely personal reasons, Bill was reluctant to talk about these things, and the judges sensed it. His evasive replies seemed suspicious after his earlier willingness to volunteer information, and it prompted the judges to ask more questions in an effort to find out if he was hiding anything pertinent. The subject of Bill’s near-seduction caused a stir among the spectators, especially the humans. Only one of the judges was human, but the other twenty judges found the subject of human sex sufficiently bizarre to hold their interest for a while. They all sat up straight in their seats and held Bill’s gaze like horny cobras ready to strike.

Bill wanted the judges to feel he was an honest man who always told the truth. Pride be damned, he told them everything, right down to the most embarrassing details.

They started asking questions about the fight between Refnonali and Clawron. The judges had already listened to both Aganto and Refnonali’s testimony on the matter, and they knew Bill had been in the cockpit during most of the fight, but they also knew that he had watched parts of it while struggling to bring the badly damaged Wishbone in for its crash landing.

Even though it felt like he’d spent an hour in a dentist’s chair, only twenty minutes had past. The judges stopped asking questions and switched their headsets out of the PA system so they could confer with each other privately. Finally the judges concluded their conference, and the human judge keyed his headset back into the PA so he could speak to Bill.

“Mr. Jenkins, we are going to recess for lunch now, after which we would like to review portions of the technical log from the ISY Wishbone in the judges’ chambers. Please turn over your data storage unit to the bailiff. If we have any further questions, we’ll call you.” Then the judge spoke to the thousands of spectators. “At this time there will be a one-hour recess for lunch and a one-hour closed-door session while we review some technical data. Court will reconvene at two o’clock.”

The tapestry behind the judge’s bench began to open like a curtain, revealing a door big enough to accommodate the largest of the life forms that would need to use it. The judges rose from their seats, and the spectators filled the courtroom with the dull roar of a thousand separate conversations. Bill turned around and watched the aisles quickly fill up with the hungry mob, heading for the exits at the rear of the room. The crowd seemed anxious to reach the restaurants and snack bars in the food court down the corridor.

All except for two men — two men who were pushing their way through the crowd toward the witness table. Both men had their eyes fixed firmly on Bill. One of them held a document in an envelope with a large red seal.

Bill turned his back on them quickly. He found himself looking at the bailiff, standing on the other side of the table, waiting for Randy to hand over the data storage unit.

This was the guy Bill would have to convince that the data storage unit didn’t contain all the data that the judges would need. Hoping to cover his nervousness, Bill began to address the bailiff in a belligerent tone.

“Hey, we got a big problem, pal! I gotta talk to the judge.”

“What? Why do you need to talk to — ”

“I just discovered that this damn data storage unit contains an incomplete download!” Bill said heatedly. He rose quickly from his seat and shocked the bailiff by climbing right across the long table, keeping his back to the two men who were approaching with the court documents.

“I don’t know why, but the download screwed up somehow!” Bill said angrily, examining the data storage unit as he hurried after the retreating judges. They were filing out through the big door which had been behind the hanging tapestry. The bailiff had to hurry to keep up with Bill. “I made this copy of the data directly from the Wishbone’s computer a few days ago, but I didn’t think to check it before coming here,” Bill chattered like a hyperactive teenager, giving the bailiff no chance to reply. “Do you think they’ll fine me or something? Crap, I just knew something like this would happen.” Bill had to consciously prevent himself from breaking into a dead run as he fled from the approaching men. He had never wanted to get away from anyone or anything so badly in his life.

The bailiff was taken aback by Bill’s sudden burst of energy and indignation. Bill rushed around the end of the long judge’s bench and hurried to catch up to the retreating judges as they disappeared through the door. The human judge was, thankfully, near the back of the line, wisely letting one of his elephant-sized colleagues go ahead of him. Bill had to shout to make himself heard above the noise of the milling crowd in the courtroom.

“Excuse me, Your Honor? Hey, Judge! Sir?”

Standing a few feet from the door, the judge turned to face Bill. The bailiff gave up and walked away. Bill rushed up to the judge and started talking in a frantic voice as he followed him through the door.

“Sir, I don’t exactly know how to say this, but, uh . . . I screwed up.” Out of the corner of his eye, Bill saw the two men with the legal papers rapidly approaching. “I hope you won’t be angry, Your Honor. I don’t know how it happened. I thought for sure that the data had been downloaded completely. You can never trust these damn high-tech gizmos.”

Bill glanced at the open door he and the judge had gone through. The two men following Bill had reached the raised platform and were approaching the open door, their eyes riveted on Bill.

“That mob out there is sure making a racket, aren’t they?” Bill’s rattle-brained monologue never missed a beat as he reached out one hand and slapped the plate next to the open door. The big door slid shut — right in the faces of the two approaching men.

Like a clumsy magician, Bill directed the judge’s attention away from what he didn’t want the man to see by holding the data storage unit up at eye level and saying, “Just look at this rotten thing, will ya?” Bill’s other hand flipped the lock switch on the plate next to the door. The judge looked surprised and annoyed by Bill’s odd behavior, but Bill was talking so fast the man couldn’t get a word in edgewise. “You see, Judge, I just checked this copy of the Wishbone’s technical log and found out that about half of the data didn’t download!”

The judge looked suspicious as he examined the data storage unit. “Are you sure?” he said sternly, taking the data storage unit from Bill. “Perhaps it’s filed under a different name than you thought.” He turned and started walking down the hallway, his attention focused on the data storage unit’s display. Bill heard a dull pounding on the big door, so he started coughing to cover the noise as he hurried after the judge.

“Right, yes sir, good idea. But if it does turn out to be incomplete, I guess I could dash over to the spaceport where my ship is located and download the data again.” Bill paused for dramatic effect. “I mean, as soon as I’ve had my lunch.”

The judge looked up sharply from the display on the data storage unit. “We had planned to review this data right after lunch.”

Bill just stared stupidly at the judge. “Yes, sir?”

The judge stared back. “Well, we’re not going to sit around all afternoon waiting for you to get back with a new copy of the ship’s log!”

“Oh. Right. I see your point. There goes my lunch, huh?”

“I’m afraid so,” the judge said firmly.

Bill gave a convincing sigh of resignation. “Okay, well — if I must, I must. But it might take me the better part of an hour just to get through the crowd out front.”

“That can’t be helped — ”

“Maybe it could be helped, sir,” said Bill, smiling like a used car salesman. “How ‘bout letting me use one of the court-assigned vehicles up on the rooftop platform.”

“Now wait a minute, young man. Those vehicles are for — ”

“Ah, come on, Your Honor, fair is fair. If you’re going to wreck my lunch by making me go get you a new — ”

“This foul-up isn’t my fault, Mr. Jenkins!” the judge said heatedly. “You should have checked the file before — ”

Bill laughed heartily, holding up his hands in surrender, trying to placate the man. “Guilty as charged, sir. You’re right, you’re right, I should have checked it.” He gave the judge a prize sample of his boyish grin. “But have mercy, Your Honor. That starving crowd will eat me alive.”

Bailiffs and gophers were hustling back and forth in the hall, but nobody had needed to enter the courtroom, so the door behind Bill remained shut. Bill could hear a soft muffled rapping on the door, and he was amazed that the judge hadn’t noticed. Perhaps the door was supposed to remain closed during the recess to prevent unauthorized spectators from wandering in.

A long line of caterers began to move past Bill and the judge. They were pushing carts that contained huge trays of food, a bizarre variety of dishes for all the different life forms represented by the twenty-one judges. Some of the carts were piled high with large baskets of strange vegetables, presumably for the elephant-sized non-human judge. The line of carts began to enter a nearby conference room where the other judges were waiting at several long tables for lunch to be served. After the first half-dozen carts entered the conference room, the rest of the line came to a halt while they waited for empty carts to come back out. The human judge gazed at his own lunch as it went by (the only recognizable sandwich on any of the carts), and the sight caused him to feel a little sympathy for Bill. Finally he said, “Well . . . all right. I’ll call the motor pool attendant on the roof and tell him to give you a vehicle. Just get back here with that copy of the Wishbone’s log as quickly as you can.”

“Thank you, sir!” Bill said, beaming. “I’ll hurry like hell, you betcha!”

The judge entered the lounge. Bill sprinted toward the elevators, dodging around the caterers waiting their turn to enter the lounge. One of the elevators opened, disgorging a group of passengers. Bill elbowed his way through the group, dove into the elevator, and stabbed the button that would send the elevator to the rooftop platform.

Alone at last, Bill sagged against the wall. His stomach was knotted with tension. In the quiet of the elevator, he was startled by Randy’s voice in his headset. Randy had been listening the whole time, but he had refrained from saying a word to Bill until now.

“Hey, buddy? Can I ask just one stupid question? Please?”

“Sure. But don’t expect a long answer.” He was nervously watching the numbered lights as the elevator rose.

“What the blue bejeebees is going on?”

“Well now, that is an excellent question,” Bill said quietly and with great sincerity. “Yes sir, you couldn’t have picked a better one. And I promise that as soon as I find out what’s going on, I’ll tell you.”

“No good,” Randy said firmly. “You gotta either be much funnier or more informative — preferably the latter.”

“Okay, okay,” Bill said. “I’m making a getaway. Understand? I’m going on the lam. I’m taking a powder. I’m flying the coop, hittin’ the road, takin’ a hike, duckin’ out — ”

“Ooooh,” exclaimed Randy. “I get it! You’re leaving!”

“Well, yes,” Bill said, pretending great sadness. “Unhappily, I must depart. But I’d like to think I’m taking a little piece of this place with me, if you know what I mean.”

“Exactly what are you taking with you?” said Randy. There was a smile in his voice.

“The fastest vehicle I can find.”

The elevator doors opened and Bill hurried out onto the rooftop platform where several dozen vehicles were kept for the convenience of the officers of the court. The attendant came out of his glass-sided cubicle and approached Bill, who was making a hasty examination of the available vehicles, trying to determine which one was the fastest. Many of the vehicles were huge limousines, designed to carry the VIP officials in stately comfort. Several chauffeurs (none of whom were human) loitered near their vehicles. What Bill needed was something fast — very fast — and he was scurrying about madly among the parked vehicles, searching for something that would fit the bill. There were smaller vehicles, intended for the use of aids and assistants and couriers, but many of the vehicles he saw were not designed for humans. The attendant, a thin, middle-aged man with an earnest expression, started trotting along behind him like a loyal puppy.

“Excuse me, sir, are you Mr. Jetson?”

“Yes. No. It’s Jenkins. I’m supposed to get a vehicle.” He was still feverishly scrutinizing the various machines.

“Yes, sir. Judge Summerhill just called me. What kind of vehicle do you need?” the attendant said, trying to be helpful.

“Fast,” Bill said emphatically. “I’m in one very big hurry.”

“Fast? But . . . sir, none of these are really very fast. They’re just . . . you know, city vehicles.”

With the attendant still trotting along behind him, Bill scurried back and forth.

Randy’s voice spoke in Bill’s headset. “I know I promised, but I can’t stand the suspense. Why are you in such a hurry?”

“Quiet. I’m trying to concentrate.”

“I’m sorry,” said the attendant. He thought Bill was talking to him.

Bill came around the end of a long limousine . . . and stopped dead in his tracks, staring at a sleek mechanism that was the very essence of the word streamlined. First impression: a five-meter-long, jet-black bullet with a saddle carved into its back. Bill took a few steps closer, and his eyes noticed more details. Second impression: an ultra-sleek motorcycle, but without wheels. It rested on four short retractable legs. The saddle was designed to allow the rider to lean forward and lay on his or her belly while gripping a short set of handlebars. Most of the tapered nose was a transparent windshield that curved back to almost cover the reclining rider’s head. The rear third of the cycle was dominated by a husky ramjet engine, most of which was open to view, a complex machine comprised of fuel lines and hydraulic tubes and unknown mechanisms. Every inch of the cycle, right down to the engine parts, was spanking clean. There were jet nozzles sticking out along the sides, some pointing down, some pointing sideways. Obviously these were what lifted and steered the cycle in flight. It would be a tricky vehicle to fly without a great deal of computer assistance — which, logically, the cycle was equipped with, since it was evidently a very high-tech piece of equipment. It was also absolutely beautiful, and every inch of it said fast. Bill was sold.

“I’ll take this one.”

“The courier cycle?” said the attendant, his voice suddenly going soprano.

“Yes, I think this will do nicely.” Bill swung his leg over the saddle. The saddle curved up high in back to enfold his pelvis, and the padding ran all the way up to the handlebars so he could lie on his stomach.

On each side of the cycle, there was a recessed slot for his feet. Inside the slot on the right was the accelerator pedal. Just above and slightly forward of the foot slots was a cushioned bar which stuck out on each side of the cycle. Each bar fit snugly behind Bill’s sharply bent knees when he tucked his feet into the slots.

This, he realized, was designed to hold him down firmly in the saddle. Even if the cycle flipped over, he would be hanging by his knees, still able to work the accelerator pedal. The straps of a safety harness hung down on the right side, another guarantee that he wasn’t going to fall off.

All of this impressed Bill as being extremely well designed — especially the recess he noticed in the saddle, intended to protect his groin. Thank the Lord for that little touch.

The motor pool attendant was still wringing his hands and criticizing Bill’s choice of vehicles. “Sir, I wouldn’t recommend that you use this vehicle if you’re not familiar with it. It’s fast, I’ll admit, but it’s certainly not a very comfortable vehicle, really. It’s used to transport important documents quickly from one city to the next.”

“Documents,” Bill muttered, glancing over at the elevator doors. Then he turned to the motor pool attendant, held up the data storage unit, and said, “Judge Summerhill told me I had to return this to him in one hour with vital information the Alliance Court of Inquiry needs to decide the fate of your planet. Now, are you going to let me do that — or are we going to stand here and argue?”

The man still looked puzzled and worried, but he nodded. Bill spoke quickly into his headset mike.

“Listen, Randy. I’ll see you shortly — if my luck holds out. Bye-bye, old buddy.”

“Wait a second, what are you — ”

Bill pulled his headset down and let it rest around his neck. He could still hear Randy’s voice faintly, but he ignored it. He twisted around to lift the lid on the storage compartment behind the saddle, tossed the data storage unit into it, and slammed the lid shut. Sitting in front of the handlebars beneath the sloping windshield was a black helmet with a clear visor. Bill picked up the helmet and slipped it over his head. He felt the cushions in the helmet automatically inflate until it fit perfectly. A pleasant male voice from the headphones inside the helmet startled him when it said, “Hello. Please state your name.”

After a moment’s hesitation, “I’m Bill. Who are you?”

“I’m the voice-controlled interface for this Zentex 9000 Hi-Speed Skycycle. The last user of this vehicle designated my name as Knievel. Would you like to change that?” The voice was friendly and courteous. It took Bill a second to figure out why the name sounded familiar to him. Then he remembered the videos about the twentieth-century daredevil he and Randy had watched during a long spaceflight. The former user of the courier cycle evidently had a sense of humor and a familiarity with twentieth-century Earth history.

“I think Knievel is perfect!” Bill said, grinning inside the helmet.

“Very well, Bill. Whenever you’re ready, please state your destination.”

The motor pool attendant interrupted the conversation in a voice that was showing more agitation by the minute. “Did you hear what I just said, Mr. Jetson?”

“Jenkins. Jenk — ins. And yes, I heard. You said this vehicle was fast.”

“Of course it’s fast, but — well, you don’t seem to be very familiar with it.”

“No problem.” Bill was examining the control panel. Many of the switches were labeled with terms he didn’t understand, but Bill felt fairly sure he could fly the vehicle.

The attendant was clearly distraught. He was trying very hard to understand Bill’s obsession with speed and his apparent disregard for safety. “Are you traveling several hundred kilometers, perhaps?”

“Just across the city.”

“Across the city? Good Lord! Why do you need a courier cycle just to —

“I told you, I’m in a hurry.”

“But you’re not trained to fly this vehicle.”

“Nonsense. Piece o’ cake.” Bill flipped a few switches experimentally.

“You can’t even figure out how to start it!”

A low hum rose from the engine. Bill gave the attendant a smug smile, but the man clearly was not impressed.

“You still haven’t started the engine.”

“Gettin’ there.”

“Please, sir, tell me the truth. Have you ever flown a courier cycle before?”

“Sure, dozens of them,” Bill lied outrageously.

“Yeah, right,” the attendant said sarcastically.

Knievel spoke from the helmet headphones. “Did you want to start the engine now, Bill?”

“Yes. Fire it up, Knievel!”

“All right, Bill.” The engine started with a low whine that climbed in pitch and volume until it shook the air. Bill discovered that the handlebars moved up, down, and sideways. To grip them Bill had to lean so far forward that his chin was inches above the padded chest-rest. When he moved the handlebars around, the exhaust nozzles along the sides of the cycle twisted and turned.

The carpool attendant lost the last of his composure and exploded angrily, shouting over the noise. “Look, sir, I’m not about to let you take this thing out of here if you’re not trained to pilot it. You’d get killed — ”

“I’ll manage. Thanks for everything, pal.” Bill glanced over the man’s shoulder, across the roofs of the various vehicles. The elevator doors opened on the far side of the rooftop parking area. The two men bearing the court documents emerged and started looking around. They spotted Bill. The jig was up.

“Knievel, we need to beat it out of here right now.”

“Of course, sir. Please state your destination.”

“The spaceport. Now, go!”

“The spaceport in this city?” said Knievel courteously.

“Yes, and quickly, please.” The two men were making their way between the vehicles, headed for Bill.

“I assume you want the shortest route and the fastest legal speed,” said Knievel, slavishly dotting all the i’s and crossing all the t’s.

“Yes, dammit! And today please.”

“Where exactly should we land at the spaceport, Bill? For example, the main entrance, the freight terminal, the customs area — ”

Bill spoke so fast he ran all the words together. “The hangar holding the spacecraft Wishbone!”

Bill was having a nervous breakdown as he watched the two court clerks rapidly approach with a document that would make him a virtual prisoner on Philcani-tu.

“Knievel, for God’s sake get me out of here!”

“Right away, Bill. As soon as you fasten the safety harness.”

“Oh God, give me strength,” Bill wailed as he reached down and snatch up the dangling safety harness on his right. With hands made clumsy by haste, he frantically draped it over his body and secured it on the left side. The harness tightened automatically.

Above the roar of the engine, the motor pool attendant shouted, “I’m going to call Judge Summerhill and tell him that you — ”

“I’ll be gone before he answers the phone!” Then Bill spoke into the helmet mike. “Hi-ho, Knievel! Away!”

The engine noise went up in pitch as the cycle rose quickly. Then it shot forward, and Bill saw the rooftop of the courthouse race by beneath him. He sailed across the street and over the roof of another building. The cycle was accelerating at a furious rate.



“Knievel, do I need to steer this thing or are you doing the driving?”

“Relax, Bill. Our destination is programmed. Just enjoy the ride.”

“Sounds good, pal. Thanks.”

“You’re quite welcome.”

Back at the rooftop motor pool, the court clerks rushed up to the attendant wearing two very angry expressions. “Why did you let him leave?” one of the men shouted. “Judge Summerhill called to tell you to hold him here.”

The poor man’s nerves snapped and he shouted back at the court clerks. “I didn’t get any call! If I did, I couldn’t hear it because of the noise from that damned machine. And I tried to tell that lunatic that he wasn’t qualified to fly a courier cycle, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“Okay, okay,” the other man said. “Do you know where he’s going?”

“The spaceport. He acted like it was a matter of life or death.”

The two clerks looked at other, and one said, “He’s trying to get to the Wishbone.” The other man nodded. Turning back to the attendant, the man said, “We need the fastest vehicle you’ve got.”

That did it. The attendant’s eye’s bulged, his face turned red, and he went off like a bomb. “You people are all crazy! Absolutely crazy! I’m not giving you a damned thing until I get a call from Judge Summerhill!”

And just at that moment, the phone in his pocket rang.
_____________________________________________________

Bill raced along between the cities taller buildings, and he saw other airborne vehicles at greater and lesser altitudes than his own. He was apparently traveling at the exact speed as the other vehicles which were on the same level, since the ones ahead were maintaining a constant distance. He looked back over his shoulder and saw that the vehicles behind him were doing the same. Bill knew his speedy courier cycle could zip past the vehicles ahead of him and get him to the spaceport much faster. But good ole’ Knievel was sticking to the speed limit. It occurred to Bill that the court clerks could requisition a vehicle from the motor pool and follow him to the spaceport. In fact, the attendant had heard him state his destination to Knievel, so he’d be able to tell the clerks where Bill was going. They might take a shortcut and get their before he did!



Following the computer-controlled traffic, the courier cycle occasionally rose up briefly, flew over mid-sized buildings, and made gentle turns with the rest of the flowing traffic before coming back down to follow a different street as it made its way toward the spaceport. Bill realized that he wasn’t taking the shortest route to the spaceport, because he wasn’t traveling in a straight line. He wondered why.

“Knievel, why don’t we just fly above the buildings and take a direct route to the spaceport?”

The computer replied with programmed courtesy. “I’m sorry, Bill, but that would be illegal. The flight levels above the tallest buildings are reserved for emergency vehicles such as police, fire, and medical transports. And the levels at altitudes well above the city are for cross-country aircraft and commercial air liners.”

Bill remembered that the motor pool attendant said the courier cycle was normally used for rapid travel between cities. That gave him an idea. “So, if our destination was another city, we could fly way up there and go like a bat out of Hades?”

“Correct, Bill.”

“Hmmmm. Interesting.” The wheels were turning in Bill’s head. He watched the scenery zip past for a moment, then he said, “What if you were carrying important evidence for — oh, let’s say the Alliance Council of Justice for a Court of Inquiry being held here on Philcani-tu. Would that give you the authority to make a bee-line for the spaceport and get us there quicker?”

“No, Bill, I’m sorry,” said the perpetually courteous voice. “But it would give me the authority to exceed the speed limit by sixteen kilometers per hour, as long as I passed vehicles ahead of me only when there was ample room to do so.”

“Aha!” Bill said. His brain was a hound dog on a raccoon’s scent, and it was baying at the moon. “Knievel, me old bucko, did you hear me tell the motor pool attendant I had to return my data storage unit to Judge Summerhill within the hour?”

“Yes, Bill, I did.”

“Well, we need to get to the spaceport as fast as possible because Judge Summerhill of the Alliance Court of Inquiry is waiting for the information I have to download to that unit.”

“I see,” said Knievel, sounding suitably impressed and properly concerned for the importance of their mission. But his next remark smacked Bill right between the eyes. “Is that why there’s a vehicle behind us registered to the courthouse motor pool which is catching up with us by passing other vehicles?”

“What?” He twisted around and saw a small vehicle passing a slower vehicle as it closed on Bill’s courier cycle. The court clerks were on his tail again.

“Oh, Lord Jehovah,” Bill prayed aloud. “Deliver me from the wrath of lawyers.”

“I’m sorry, Bill. Could you repeat that, please?” said Knievel.

Bill could not hear his noisy hyperventilation inside the helmet because the headphone pads cancelled all outside noises, but he knew he was doing it. Slowly he mastered his anxiety and put his brain to work coming up with yet another brilliant plan in the face of insurmountable odds. His first thought was — there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it, and he was screwed. That didn’t seem helpful, so he waited patiently for his second thought, hoping it wouldn’t be as gloomy. When it came, it brought a glimmer of hope.

“Knievel, I think the guys behind us are counting on you to get us to the spaceport as soon as possible.”

“They are?” the friendly nav computer said.

“Oh, absolutely,” Bill said. “You’re the Shortcut King, right? You know the ins and outs of this city like the back of your hand. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

“Of course,” said Knievel, demonstrating his understanding of the English language along with a certain human-like pride as well. “Okay, I’ll exercise my authority to pass slower vehicles, and I’ll plot some unconventional shortcuts we can use. Okay?”

Bill loved the sound of that, and he would have kissed dear old Knievel if there was anything to kiss other than the cycle’s seat, which wasn’t very tempting. He felt the courier cycle surge forward and start weaving its way around several slower vehicles.



Bill was startled when white-and-blue lights began to strobe along the sides of the courier cycle, alerting the drivers around them that it was privileged and special, and therefore going faster than everybody else.

Bill looked back to see if he was leaving the vehicle containing the court clerks behind. He wasn’t. Both the courier cycle and the vehicle carrying the court clerks were observing the law pertaining to safely passing other vehicles. However, now the vehicle behind Bill was just keeping up, instead of closing on him as it had been before.

Bill cursed shamelessly for five seconds straight — and then regretted every word of it because his loyal steed, Knievel, had heard it. He closed his mouth forcefully and told himself he was a fool to feel ashamed because a soulless nav computer heard him say some dirty words.

But Knievel’s next remark just reinforced Bill’s illogical and sentimental feelings.

“Bill, I can plot a few shortcuts which regular vehicles can’t use because we’ll go through some tight areas. The official court vehicle behind us might not be able to follow us because they’re larger than we are. Would it be okay if we arrived at the spaceport a few minutes before they do?”

Bill was speechless — a rare thing for him. He carefully considered his answer, then he forced himself to reply in a calm voice. “I’m sure they won’t mind a bit, old buddy. In fact, that’s probably just what they’re hoping you’ll do. It’ll give me time to download the data before they get there.”

Knievel sounded very pleased with himself as he said, “Well, then . . . hang on tight, Bill. I can legally go a bit faster than the normal speed limit in certain areas. This should be quite a exciting ride.”

Bill clamped his teeth together and didn’t say a word. If there was one thing he didn’t need at this point in his life, it was another exciting ride.

Moving safely and sanely along with the flow of traffic, Knievel flowed smoothly around the slower vehicles, never going more than sixteen kilometers faster than the flying cars, buses, and trucks the cycle passed. The two court clerks in the car behind them stayed right on the courier cycle’s tail, passing other cars when necessary. Bill was beginning to wonder if Knievel had changed his mind about the shortcut maneuvers — or maybe he had been ordered not to deviate from the normal flow of the traffic lanes by the master traffic control computer located somewhere in the heart of the city.

Bill was surprised when Knievel suddenly announced, “Here comes our first shortcut maneuver.”

The cycle veered away from the other cars and sped toward a narrow alley between two impossibly tall buildings. It plunged into the gap between the skyscrapers and accelerated to more than twice its former speed. The roar of the ramjet engine was deafening in the narrow glass canyon between the buildings, although the helmet’s noise-cancelling technology blocked most of it out. Bill looked up toward the tops of the buildings and then down toward the alley below. The distance seemed about the same in either direction, and it was a heck of a lot of distance. Bill wondered if the people inside the two skyscrapers were frantically grabbing coffee cups and penholders that were shaken from their desk as Knievel the Evil Courier Cycle thundered past.

The cycle reached the end of the alley in seconds. It shot across a broad avenue with no airborne vehicles above it and plunged into another alley on the far side. The gap between these two buildings was bridged by glass-enclosed walkways at various floors. Bill’s eyes grew wider and wider as the cycle rose and fell smoothly to duck under some bridges and fly over others.

When the cycle reached the end of the second alley, it sailed out over a broad promenade filled with walkways, fountains, trees, and startled people who looked up at the roaring aircraft that shot overhead. At the far end of the promenade was a building under construction, a skeletal structure of horizontal and vertical beams with a huge crane on top of the two-hundred-and-sixty-story edifice. Tall skyscrapers flanked it, with tiny gaps between them. In fact, the entire promenade was boxed in by lofty buildings reaching high into the sky.


Bill realized the cycle was aimed straight at a huge triangular gap in the building’s skeletal framework, a twenty-story high opening that went all the way through the structure. Evidently the finished building would feature an open-air atrium right through the middle of the skyscraper — and Knievel was about to use it as a short cut. Before Bill could open his mouth to ask a question, make a demand, pray to Jesus, or cry out for his mother, the cycle arrowed into the triangular gap through the maze of steel beams.



When the cycle blasted back out the other side, Bill saw they were above a large public park filled with an expanse of green grass, tall trees, sparkling ponds, and paved walkways. Knievel was guiding the cycle on a shallow curve to the right while it gained altitude. They were headed for a busy lane of aerial traffic that soared high above the park.



Knievel’s calm and cheerful voice in Bill’s headset was like hearing the song of a whippoorwill after wading through a swamp filled with alligators. “Well, Bill, that shortcut shaved several kilometers and several minutes off our trip to the spaceport. It’s a straight shot to our destination from here.”

The cycle merged smoothly with the other aircraft as they flowed along like a river of flying machines in the blue sky above the city. The taller of the city’s buildings were behind them, and the land below was populated by suburban areas, factories, and shopping centers. Up ahead, almost on the horizon, Bill could make out the sprawling expanse of the spaceport. He looked over his shoulder at the cars behind him. None of them was passing other cars. He was ahead of the court clerks and the Document of Doom.

But Bill knew it wasn’t over yet. He still had to find a way off this troubled planet and back to the bright sea of stars he considered his home.


______________________________________________________________________


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trekriffic
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PostPosted: Wed Mar 04, 2015 1:27 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

The jet-bike looks a lot like a jet-ski in your images.
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Bud Brewster
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PostPosted: Wed Mar 04, 2015 6:07 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

I had to use pictures of jet skis because my own flying jetcycle is in the shop. Very Happy But making these pictures was almost as much fun as writing the book!

For example, I took this guy --





-- and made this picture.





I turned this high-flying jet skier --





-- and made him a high flying jetcycle pilot.





I took this guy out of the water --





-- and flipped him over --





-- and combined him with this flying future-car artwork --





-- and allowed my hero to use the passing lane! (Beep Beep!)





I had fun making this one. I started with this "future city" --





-- and then cropped and faded it a bit.





Then I cleaned the background from around the jet ski and stretched it out to suggest the high speed. The streak behind it is the water from the original photo (which I don't have now), smeared horizontally.





I reversed it and made the smear even longer --





-- and finally put it all together. Very Happy




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Is there no man on Earth who has the wisdom and innocence of a child?
~ The Space Children (1958)


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Robert (Butch) Day
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PostPosted: Thu Mar 05, 2015 3:18 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

The city looks like a modern update to Disney's Tomorrowland series.
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Ticket2theMoon
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PostPosted: Mon Mar 16, 2015 8:09 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

My son and I are loving Kneivel.
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Bud Brewster
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PostPosted: Mon Mar 16, 2015 9:57 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Ticket2theMoon wrote:
My son and I are loving Kneivel.

I knew you would!

As I mentioned to you recently, the whole jet bike scene was completely rewritten a few months before I published the novel -- after writing the original novel in 1982 with an inferior version of the whole jet bike scene, in which Bill drove the flying jetcycle himself, and it didn't have a friendly built-in computer at all.

In the original version, Bill was chased by flying police cars while he drove through the city like a suicidal maniac, endangering people's lives and property.

Not very heroic, eh?

The final version in the novel now is sooooo much better. I'm glad you and Mr. G enjoyed it. Very Happy

I can't wait until you read the scenes with the jet fighter that goes into orbit and . . . oops, I almost said too much.
Embarassed
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