A device down at the bottom of the computer began churning. It was a printer of some sort. A piece of yellow paper slowly emerged from a slot in its side. The printing on it, again, was in English. It said, "Good for all rides. Get ticket punched after each feature." On the reverse side was a faded, out-of-focus picture of a man, possibly midthirties, clean shaven face, bald head, cracked-tooth smile, and an absolutely insane look in his eyes. He was laughing, with his hands out in front of him, in a sort of greeting gesture. A name below the picture was too faded to read, but Hunter didn't need to see it to know who this was.
It's the Russian, he thought. The Mad Russian…
He stuffed the ticket into his pocket, and the computer screen changed again. Now it read, "Last Page " Below were two blank fields. He was instructed to fill them in. One wanted his name. He typed in "Hunter, Hawker," his given name. The second field asked, "What is your hobby?" Hunter hit the Enter button, hoping the information wouldn't be required. But the screen would not budge. He tried to override it again. Still no luck.
He returned to the original screen. What is your hobby? He wasn't even sure he'd ever had a hobby. He was beginning to feel a time creep now. Whatever he was supposed to do down here, he had to do quickly. But if the PC wouldn't let him proceed, then he would have to fill in this innocuous little field. Hobby? There was only one thing he could think of.
He typed in "Flying."
Then he hit the Enter key…
"Can you fly this thing?"
Hunter was standing in the same position as when he hit the Enter key on the computer. Right hand extended, looking almost straight down.
But everything around him had changed. He was no longer inside the Adventure Land station. Instead, he was standing on a cliff hanging above a very deep ravine. High, craggy peaks were all around him. Wisps of smoke were rising from every crevice in these mountains. The air smelled of sulfur and burned oil. The landscape below was forested, but rough and hilly. The sky above was purple and not blue, and filled with streams of electrical sparks instead of stars. The wind was blowing fiercely. There was much noise, confusion in the air. And the massive presence of Saturn was gone.
He was definitely not on the Alpha Moon anymore. But it wasn't Purgatory, either.
There was an elderly gentleman standing in front of him. He had a long, woolly, white beard, yellow teeth, and eyes that looked positively deranged. He was wearing a very tight, unflattering costume of bright red and green material. On his chest was a large letter Z
Explosions started going off all around them. The guy was suddenly right in Hunter's face.
"Answer me, man!" he was screaming. "Can you fly this thing?"
But Hunter was still stunned by his sudden transformation. He'd been transported many times via flashing, mind rings, and now the DATT. But in those cases there was always some kind of indication — an aura, an electrical jolt — that told you something unusual had happened.
Not this time. This was different. One instant he was there; now he was here.
The old man in the strange clothes was shaking him by his flight suit collar.
'Tarnation, man! Time is running out — can't you see that?" He was nearly spitting in Hunter's face. "Can you? Can you fly that thing?"
Hunter's synapses finally snapped back together.
"Fly what?" he yelled back.
The old man stepped aside. Behind him, teetering on the edge of the cliff, was… well, what was it?
It might have been some kind of spacecraft. But it was certainly not of Empire design. There wasn't anything remotely wedge-shaped about this thing. It was stout, cylindrical, maybe fifteen feet long, curved like a fancy wine goblet turned on its side. It was built of bright silver something — a metal, Hunter assumed. It also featured a lot of unnecessary ornamentation up and down its frame: an elaborate nose that looked like an ancient grease gun, a nonfunctioning single wing poking out of the top of the fuselage, three ridiculously curved fins on the back. An exhaust tube was sticking out of its rear end, wimpy puffs of smoke dribbling out of it.
"Can you?" the old man was beseeching him. "Please — you're our last hope!"
Finally Hunter saw what the old guy was so upset about. Looking down into the ravine, he could see three roads, coming from three different directions, all leading up to where he, the old guy, and the whatzit were at the moment. These roads were filled with soldiers. Very weird soldiers. They were dressed in hideous metal battle suits, dumb-looking helmets, short tunics, and sandals. Tin men in skirts, Hunter thought. They were also carrying spears. They were charging up toward them and would be on the cliff in a half minute or even less. It would have almost been comical, if there weren't so many of them.
The old man grabbed Hunter by the collar again.
"We've got to get out of here," he said in desperation.
And this time, Hunter was inclined to agree with him.
"Can you fly it, man?"
"I can try!" Hunter finally yelled back at the guy.
They both bounded into the craft. It was actually made not of metal but some impossibly thin material — maybe cardboard. The door almost came off its hinges as Hunter tried to close it behind them. He was somehow able to lock the flimsy hatch, though; only then did he get a good look at the cabin.
Despite the evident danger — either the rampaging armies would reach them, or the stiff wind would blow them over the cliff — Hunter had to laugh. The interior of the craft was insanely primitive. It looked like a toy. The control panel consisted of six lightbulbs arranged on a piece of corrugated metal, a tiny toggle switch beneath each one. The directional assembly was an automobile steering wheel. The throttle was a gas pedal, with a brake pedal beside it. Hunter looked aft. The craft's tiny power plant appeared unable to produce enough juice to light the lightbulbs, never mind make this thing fly.
The old guy was on his sleeve again. "Can you do it?" he was whimpering. "Please tell me you can—-"
Hunter studied the very rudimentary controls. He'd driven everything from Empire Starcrashers, to his own Flying Machine, complex vehicles that took real skill to fly. Now, looking at the six lightbulbs, the gas pedal, and the brakes, it was almost too elementary for him to comprehend. There wasn't even a chair for him to sit down.
What should he do? He came up with a quick strategy.
Gas pedal makes it go. Brake pedal makes it stop. He had no idea what the lightbulbs were for. Therefore, push the gas pedal.
But just as he was about to do this, the old guy began digging his fingernails into Hunter's skin.
Hunter turned to him. "What is it now?"
The old guy said just one word: "Annie!"
Hunter froze. "Who's Annie?"
The guy was suddenly wailing. "She's my daughter." Hunter was confused — make that doubly confused. "Well, where is she?"
The old guy dragged him over to the tiny porthole.
"Out there!" he cried.
He pointed to the cliff just behind the craft. Sure enough, there was a very pretty girl in a very short skirt, for some reason tied to a pole at its summit. At the same moment Hunter saw the three armies were converging nearer the top.
Damn, he swore.
He didn't even think about it. He didn't have time. He ran back through the cabin, out the flimsy door, across the top of the cliff, up the short peak to where the girl was located. It was strange, especially in this reality blur, but even in the danger they faced, the armies just a few hundred feet away, Hunter couldn't help but notice how cute she was. Long brown hair. Enormous blue eyes. Sparkling smile.