The following was originally written for the novel, but cut during editing.
The sun rose slowly as dawn piqued, the burning mass peering in and out of the ebony cloud cover creating hues of purple and orange that danced upon the blackness. The storm clouds flickered with lightning as they threatened to wage war with the horizon, though at the moment as dawn marched forward it appeared that the rumbling cloud cover would be the victor. As nature’s war raged on, the horizon took on the look of a blazing fire, intense and without control. Though the scene would perhaps be a frightening vista to some, to Stu Saunders the image was not out of the ordinary.
Stu took in the view for a moment as he quickly calculated the danger of the approaching storm-front in his mind along with the time available for both him and his partner to complete their mission in the hazardous outside of the Upperworld. Glancing further around, he caught sight of a group of dark gray clouds that were beginning to spin in the distance; the potential for a forming funnel. Though it wasn’t close, as the wind whipped harshly against the protective outer lining of his white environment suit, he realized that it could easily push the impending tornado in their direction. “This is Patrol Leader to Sub-Command,” he spoke lightly into the communication device; a small sound sensitive bubble fastened beneath his helmet to his forehead. “We have a possible spout forming on the west horizon, E.T.A maybe forty-five minutes.”
Static buzzed within his ears for a few moments before a responding voice emerged from the static. “We copy, Patrol Leader. Have you located the wreckage?”
“Affirmative.”
“Is there any sign of life?”
Turning towards the remains of the craft that was the reason for his journey to the surface, he glared at the twisted encasement for a moment before tugging at one of the many deformed sheets of scarred metal. The remnant began to tumble towards him prompting Stu to jump back and clear of its path, cautious not to allow a tear to the suit, his protection from the corrosive gasses that made up the Upperworld’s atmosphere. “None apparent, and doesn’t look good.”
“I have the weather pattern on radar, still in the forming stage. We’ll get you out if it becomes a threat. Sub-Command out.”
Stu glance out once more over the horrific landscape to where he could see the wind beneath the rotating storm cloud raging and churning a hazy fog of dust beneath it. It was not an uncommon sight for him, for he had seen it many times when his duties brought him up to the harsh outer world that was once a thriving planet. He had contemplated many times the causes of the destruction of this world, gazing upon pictures within many historical documents of what the surface once looked like. If it weren’t for how often he had seen the unparalleled horror of this view, he may have found himself questioning the reasons for this angry world to have been formed. No questions formed mattered though. He was not as lucky as his ancestors had been, and he lived in a time when the Upperworld was not a welcome place. The clouds above were not composed of water as cloud cover once was, and the world that humanity existed in was a synthetic one buried deep within the protection of the planet. Stu released a contemplative sigh, the scarred remnants of civilization on the surface before him. With a final glance at the swirling cloud formation that was now reaching a tip downwards like an angry finger stretching out to touch the barren world below, Stu felt a chill of nervousness cross his backside
“Granger,” he beckoned to his partner and friend. “Let’s get this over with.” Stu had known Rand Granger since their days at the University together. Through the years, Stu had passed him in rank and jokingly called the man by his last name as a light-hearted reminder of his elevated position.
Rand Granger was located near the vehicle that had carried them to the sight of the wreckage. “That could be a mean twister, Cap.”
“Sub-Command’s got their eyes on it.”
“I certainly hope those guys are awake. A twister ain’t my idea of a last waltz.”
Stu grinned, patting his friend on the shoulder as they turned towards the entrance hatch of the transport which Stu had been slowly clearing of debris. The entire hatch was visible now, as was the insignia to the left of the entranceway; ‘ShuttleEast-Boston’.
With a glance down at the device which gave him insight to the condition of the craft’s interior just beyond the hatch, he could see that the passenger cabin was void of an atmosphere that would support human life. It appeared the seal had been breached in the crash. He leaned forward to depress the code that was standard in releasing the entrance hatch’s steadfast lock, unconcerned of letting the outer air in.
The hatch whined for a moment before sliding sideways through the damaged wall of the shuttle, opening the dark and silent interior of the shuttlecraft’s passenger cabin. Stu stepped inside first, followed closely by Granger who carried two flashlights in one hand along with a small first aid box in the other. The darkness was like a blanket once inside, enveloping the two rescue workers from the dimming light of the Upperworld as Stu quickly relieved Granger of one of the flashlights, releasing its beam of light ahead of him.
Glancing through the passenger cabin, the reality of the dangers of Upperworld travel bit hard at his compassion while he spied the remains of two humans; bodies that were barely recognizable as such with remnants of clothing still dissipating into the vapor of decaying tissue. The sickening dripping of their molecular structure breaking down caused a minor discomfort that Stu had felt time and again, a feeling that he always prepared himself for yet never overcame.
Stu passed the beam of light across the remains of the two passengers quickly as he turned towards the wall at the shuttlecraft’s front.
“I count three, maybe four more on this side,” Granger said. “They must have been thrown on impact.”
“If they were smart, they’d outlaw these things and stick to the sub-transit web. Upperworld’s too dangerous.”
“It would make our job damned easier.”
With a glance at the front wall, a dim red light added promise to their mission. “Pilot,” he said, pointing the flashlight’s beam towards the shining light.
Granger added the beam of his light to the view of the front cabin doorway as well where a small red beacon was flashing in the darkness. “That’s a surprise.”
Stu quickly traversed what was once the center aisle towards the front of the cabin. “Unless it’s a malfunction, the forward cabin still shows pressurized. The pilot may be alive.”
“Damned lucky pilot.”
“I’d agree with that statement. Sub-Command. We may have life.”
#
“We’re attempting to open the front pressure hatch now. All signs indicate the pilot may have survived. This has become a rescue mission.” Stu’s voice echoed within the walls of Sub-Command as Lieutenant Adin leaned upon a console just behind the voice of sub-command; Joshua Tyranne.
“We read you, patrol leader,” Tyranne answered. “You may proceed. Sub-Command out.” With the flick of a switch the balding Tyranne spun in his chair to face the Lieutenant. “I must congratulate you, Lieutenant. I was wrong.” Shaking his head, Tyranne glanced at the floor. “I didn’t think it possible for anything to have survived that crash.”
“We must be thorough”, the Lieutenant answered slyly, the displeasing thought of survivors of the military attack painted within his frown. “We have orders from Governor Logan’s office to dispose of the shuttle, cleanly and quietly.”
Tyranne looked back up into the Lieutenant’s eyes for a moment and then turned to the monitor displaying the wreckage in an infrared beam of light. “I don’t understand any of this.” Tyranne was a compassionate man. “Why are my men out there if we don’t want survivors?”
Lieutenant Adin smiled, Tyranne’s compassion pricking at the shrewd side of his personality. “To be sure, Mr. Tyranne. The government has many secrets.” Seating himself, Adin’s frown slipped into a light smile as he placed his feet upon the edge of Tyranne’s desk. The irritation that was clearly beginning to bubble within the old man before him was suddenly savory. He had dealt with Tyranne before, never caring much for the older man or the man’s obviously rebellious nature. He had long awaited an opportunity to take the civilian base under the control of his men and it was time to enjoy the moment he had long awaited.
Glancing up at the many displays upon the wall, Adin's sight focused on the weather monitor that showed the movement of the storm front. “The twister is moving faster than expected.” He said before quickly dropping his feet back to the floor to lean closer to Tyranne. “Inform your men the danger has past and we’ll let nature dispose of our problem.”
“What of Stu and Rand?” Tyranne turned, firing his reply like a bullet taking flight.
The Lieutenant leaned back in the chair, pleasured by the response. “Sacrifices must be made when one is keeping a secret.”
Tyranne turned back to the monitor, clearly frustrated. “There would have been no need for sacrifice had your weapons been accurate. I gave you three and a half minutes of silence.”
The Lieutenant smirked at the petty anger driving the words. With a glance back at the weather tracking display, he spied the strange waltz that the twister danced on a course towards its prey. There was a certain humor in the situation as he admired the dance, for he knew that Tyranne hadn’t considered the possibility that he too would have to be disposed of in order to maintain full secrecy. It was a good day, the Lieutenant thought.
#
Inside the wreckage, an occasional thud could be heard as a piece of loose metal blew from the wreckage to the ground. The sound was ominous and Stu could tell his partner was anxious from the increase in thumping sounds. His only concern at the moment, however, was the whir of oxygen in the pressure hatch between the front cabin and the passenger bay. “Sub-Command says we’re out of danger.”
“We’re never out of danger up here, Cap,” Granger responded quickly, continuing to press upon the manual pressurization valve.
Stu nodded, though the gesture was likely not seen through the helmet that covered his face. “We’re just about pressurized.”
In the silence of a lack of response from their base of operation, Granger tapped upon his helmet near where the communication bubble was affixed. “We seem to have lost contact with Sub-Command
“We’ll try to radio once we’re inside the cockpit. Our first priority is to save lives.” Stu motioned to the toggle switches aside Granger. The light atop the set was now shining, a beacon signifying that it was time to continue forward.
Granger nodded, pressing a series of switches that provided the necessary commands to override the emergency compression units. The procedure disconnected all power to the doorway, placing the entryway into manual mode. As the muscular man pushed sideways at the doorway’s front causing the hatch to slide aside, the front cabin was slowly revealed glowing with the unmistakable rainbow aura of operating lights in the blackness of the small enclosed space.
Stu entered, immediately inspecting the emergency shield that appeared to have functioned properly, dropping over the front and side windows before the ship had crashed upon the ground. Though the absence of the view of the outside was a good sign, Stu still quickly scanned for any sign of weakness in the shield, spying a break in the clear covering of the front windshield. The shield had covered the break, but he still wondered quickly if the shield had dropped before the break occurred or after.
Once satisfied that no leaks in the outer shell of the protective device were present, Stu stepped further inwards to see that all mechanics within the small cabin appeared to be operating, including the life-support system. To be sure, he reached a hand up towards the closest air vent which proved its condition with the slight flow of air against his glove.
Stu kicked aside debris with his feet to clear a path to the cockpit’s front. There were two seats, one of which was occupied by a motionless body while the other, though empty, was clearly the pilot’s seat. As he stepped around to the front of the occupied seat, Stu saw the second body, the pilot based upon the uniform worn, laying motionlessly wedged on the floor between the control column and the far wall.
In a brief moment of contemplation, he wondered of why the seated man, a non-uniformed passenger was in the cockpit of a commercial aircraft. The thought was fleeting however, for his first concern was to evaluate the man’s condition, hopefully saving two lives this day. “Check the pilot,” he commanded gesturing to the lifeless body upon the floor while kneeling quickly at the side of the seat that the civilian in the gray suit occupied.
In a quick motion, he reached upwards to pull his helmet from his head, placed the helmet beside him and gazed upon the face before him for signs of a pulse. With a flick of his finger, he released the clamp upon his right protective glove, pulling it off and tossing it into the helmet at his feet. Raising his hand to the man’s neck, he released a sigh as his fingertips felt the pulse of an erratic heartbeat.
Granger had done the same with his glove before checking for the pulse of the pilot. “The pilot’s dead,” he said with little hesitation. “Looks like he hit his head hard. He was probably dead on impact.”
Stu looked closely at the face of the man seated in the chair before him, the image birthing a sense of recognition within. He had seen this man before, although he could not remember where it was that he had seen him. Was it a face from the media, an official he had glimpsed in the newspaper or upon the daily broadcasted news? Though he was curious, he again pushed his contemplation aside for his main concern was to get this man safely underground.
As Stu touched the forehead of the man, the man began to move. After several heaving gasps, the man opened his eyes, great pain clearly displayed upon his waking face. The man began to mumble, rolling his head to the side and back, blood trickling from his lips and beading down to his chin.
For Stu, the appearance of the man was a frightening confirmation of the possibility that the breach had occurred before the shield had closed, hinting that the man may have been exposed to the outer atmosphere upon impact. Though it may have only been a brief exposure, if the sulfur and nitrogen content of the atmosphere had made contact with the man’s lungs, the corrosive results may not be curable.
As the man continued to mumble unrecognizable words, he seemed to have caught sight of the two men before him, Granger now knelt beside Stu. The man attempted to rise from his seat, though he only fell back once more, wrenching from pain and wheezing with evidence of internal damage.
“Take it easy.” Granger tossed a cloth from the medical kit to Stu. Stu grasped the cloth and began to wipe the blood from the man’s lips in an attempt to offer comfort. “You crashed,” he said, wetting the man’s lips with water pulled from the same kit.
The man stared blankly into space with glassy eyes, seemingly unfocused on what was actually before him. “Misty,” the man muttered. “Oh god. My wife.” The words were nearly incomprehensible from the effects of the mixture of saliva and blood that filled his mouth as the man coughed, spattering blood upwards with the heave.
Upon the name spoken, though spoken as an utterance, recognition obviously came to Granger of the identity of the man. “That’s John Hayes. He owns the shuttle fleet”
“My wife,” John Hayes muttered again, the effort of speech straining him into an uncontrolled wheeze that pushed oxygen from his dying lungs. “They shot us down, Anton,” he said in a final rasp that was followed by the exhale of a last breath before silence, his head falling back upon the seat.
Stu glanced to his side at Rand for a moment as Granger checked the man’s pulse. “Sub-Command, this is Saunders,” he said, still gazing at the changing expression upon Rand Grangers face. Rand’s expression revealed his feelings like a book told a story, feelings of desperate worry that Stu shared; concern for words spoken from a dying man. “Sub-Command, do you read? Sub-Command? We found a survivor, a dignitary. He claims they were shot down.”
A thud upon the emergency shield rocked the inside of the front cabin. It was loud enough to evoke fear in a man who was normally fearless, a man who pursued a career in the dangerous Upperworld that he had never before been frightend of. Rolling over, he glanced at the front shield. It appeared to be vibrating.
“Helmet!” He shrieked commanding Granger to follow him in putting his protective gear back in place. Slipping the helmet quickly back on, another thud rocked the front of the wreckage. “Sub-Command. Sub-Command do you read?”
In the silence of no response, Stu clicked his helmet upon his environment suit just as a shudder overtook the cabin, beginning as a vibration that intensified in the passing of a few short seconds. Glancing at his old friend, reality struck him with the stabbing of impending moments left of life. Reaching forward towards Granger, the friendship that Stu held close to his heart fought for a simple touch. Before his gloved fingertips reached the shoulder of his friend, however, Granger was tossed as if weightless against the far wall of the cabin with the sudden movement of the shuttlecraft. As the surrounding metal cracked and seperated, the blood red and black colors of the outside environment appeared before him. Though the moment of glimpsing the Upperworld that had never driven fear within him before seemed lengthy, as if he were frozen in a painting of peutrid hues, it was just a moment before his control was lost and his body lifted skywards. Stu closed his eyes and prepared for the inevitable.