Red Thunder (41 page)

"CNN has been unable to confirm the existence of a... as incredible as it may sound, of a home-built spaceship called
Red Thunder,
currently on its way to Mars at a speed almost impossible to believe. Here's what we do know.

"At a little after seven this morning, Florida time,
something
lifted off from Strickland Bay in Daytona. It had been sitting on a
barge, being towed toward the open sea, when a Coast Guard helicopter
and two cutters intercepted it. We have been unable to get a comment
from the Coast Guard, or for that matter, any government agency to
confirm or deny this report, but we do have video."

Whoever they bought it from had a good camera. We watched great clouds of steam billow from
Red Thunder.
It lifted, hovered... then began to rise... and rise, and... then it was screaming into the sky.

"Will you look at that," Dak breathed. I think we were all astonished at just how quickly the ship dwindled into the sky.

"Simultaneous with the liftoff, we received a press release via the
Internet, and a website address, claiming to be from the families of
the people aboard the ship. The release claims this ship, this
Red Thunder,
has a crew of four, headed by a man named Travis Brassard... no, sorry, I'm told his name is Broussard. Travis Broussard."

"Damn right, you idiot," Travis said, as his picture filled the
screen. It was one taken by Grace, as were all the following pictures.
He had a smile in this picture that reminded me of Bruce Willis, though
Travis doesn't look much like Willis.

"We have confirmed that Broussard is an ex-astronaut, a former VStar
pilot who has made numerous trips into space. We have a crew on the way
to his home."

"Good luck," Travis said. "Nobody home there but a lawyer with a
copy of the Fourth Amendment to the Constitution. The cops better have
a search warrant... not that there's anything to find. The place is
absolutely clean."

Then Dak's picture came up.

One by one we were identified, an unlikely rogues' gallery. I
thought I looked pretty foolish, but then I always dislike pictures of
myself.

Then there was a photo of the six of us, Kelly and Jubal included.
We were in our bomber jackets, posed almost like 2Loose's portrait of
us on the side of the ship.

"Also involved in the project are a Kelly Strickland, age nineteen,
and Jubal Broussard, Travis Broussard's cousin." I was surprised that
picture had been released, and looked at Travis. He shrugged.

"Kelly approved it," he said. "Her dad had to find out sooner or later."

"I wish I could watch when he finds out I'm here," Kelly said with a giggle.

"As for Jubal, there's no point trying to keep him a secret. Too
many people know about him. But everybody in the family has been
instructed to describe him as... well, as retarded. Most everybody
outside
of the family thinks he really
is
retarded." He looked at the ceiling, pursing his lips. "Sorry, Jubal,"
he muttered. "You know Jubal doesn't lie too well... but I'm hoping,
first, that nobody finds him. If they do, Jubal's been told just to act
confused, not to answer any questions at all, that way he doesn't have
to lie. He can handle that. Hell, he
will
be confused, no acting necessary."

"You figure they'll think it was you, invented the drive?" Dak asked.

"Not for long, if they get a look at my physics grades at college.
But I think they'll be inclined to postulate a seventh person, a Dr. X,
as the mastermind. They can look for him all they want, since he
doesn't exist."

"We here at CNN have been trying to contact
Red Thunder
since first reports came in," said one of the anchorpersons, and got our attention at once. "We
have
confirmed that, when it last appeared on the weather radar at a local
television station in Daytona, the ship was accelerating at a constant
speed. We have also been told by an anonymous source that tracking
radar indicates the acceleration has continued unabated."

The screen showed a huge satellite dish, and the announcer continued.

"We have aimed our largest transmitter at the spot where we believe
Red Thunder
would be if it continued to accelerate at the same rate—and I
emphasize that all our scientific consultants tell us this is
impossible... still, if you can hear us out there,
Red Thunder,
please transmit on the frequency that should be... there, at the bottom
of your screen. We want to tell your story to the world."

Travis grinned at us.

"That sounds like our cue, lads and lassies. You ready to speak to the world?"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Dak said, gesturing frantically. "Look!"

The scene had changed... to a close shot of the Blast-Off Motel
sign. The camera pulled back, and a black woman moved into the shot,
holding a microphone, pressing her ear with one hand, obviously trying
to hear her producer over an earphone. Then she smiled when she
realized she was on the air, live.

"Lou, Evelyn," she said, "this is La Shanda Evans reporting from the
Blast-Off Motel here on the beach at Daytona. The Blast-Off is a local
institution around here, dating back to the early days of the space
program. There was even a suggestion a few years back to declare the
sign a national historic site, though nothing came of it. Lately it's
fallen on hard times, and today it doesn't seem to be open at all."

The camera panned to the door, and sure enough, the CLOSED sign was
prominent in the window. I could see people inside. Evans knocked on
the door, and Mom opened it a bit.

"Mrs. Garcia, we'd like to have a word with you, if we could."

"Uh... not yet, okay? Like I told you, we'll have a press conference
in about an hour, as soon as the people aboard the ship send back their
first messages." She glanced at her watch, and I could see the worry on
her face. I glanced at my own watch, and saw we weren't really late,
yet. But it was only a few minutes.

"Travis, we—"

"Just a minute, Manny. Just a minute."

The door was locked again, and the camera came back to Evans.

"Well, you heard it, Lou. We're waiting for word from this alleged
Red Thunder,
which I guess is your department. We were the first on the scene, about
half an hour ago. But everybody else is arriving now, and it promises
to be a bigger media zoo than the 2000 presidential election."

The camera turned to the parking lot, where people were running
around and no less than three satellite trucks were setting up. There
was police tape around the lot.

"So that's the news from here, Lou and Evelyn. Oh, one more thing.
Before Mrs. Garcia shooed us away fifteen minutes ago, I was able to
buy this from her. Apparently it is a model of
Red Thunder
." She held up something and the camera zoomed in on it. It was a small plastic image of
Red Thunder
in a clear plastic snow globe. Evans shook it and the plastic snow swirled. I looked at Kelly, who was grinning.

"Might as well make as much as we can off of this," she said, unabashed.

"Nineteen dollars and ninety-five cents," Evans said. "I've got a
feeling these are going to be collector's items, one way or another."

The scene cut back to the CNN center. Lou was laughing.

"Pick one up for me, will you, La Shanda?"

Dak hit the mute button.

"Ready to do the press conference, folks?" he asked.

Nobody was real eager, but we had to make ourselves famous, right?
Though, from what we just saw, we were already well on the way.

Dak adjusted our antenna. I broke out the wide-angle TV camera and
clamped it to the brace on the wall, then aimed and adjusted it by
looking at the picture on the main screen.

"CNN, can you read me?" Dak was saying. "CNN, this is private spaceship
Red Thunder,
calling CNN."

"Don't forget about the time lag," Travis said. "It should be about four seconds—"

"Red Thunder,
this is CNN. We are receiving your audio signal. We are not getting any television signal."

"That's 'cause I ain't sent it out yet," Dak muttered, and flipped a
switch. After a short pause, the technician's voice came on again.

"Got it! Tell Lou—"

I looked at the TV with the incoming signal. Lou was looking
excited. He waved at Evelyn, interrupting her. Dak turned up the sound
and beckoned us all over to the wall. Soon I could see us all assembled
on our TV screen, Dak seated at his console, the rest of us standing
against the wall, like a police lineup. Dak turned up the volume.

"—word coming in that we've acquired a signal from this alleged
Red Thunder.
We should have the picture up in... here we go. Is this the... ah, the private spaceship
Red Thunder?
"

Travis held up his microphone and cleared his throat. Dak winced; amateur hour.

"Yes it is, Lou, private ship
Red Thunder,
on our—"

"...I'm not getting anything, what... hello, I'm hearing you and we see the picture now. To whom am I speaking? Hello? Hello?"

"You've got to remember the time lag, Lou," Travis said. "It's about
four seconds now, we're a bit beyond the orbit of the moon. The best
way to handle it is to say your piece, then say 'over.' Okay? Over."

Four-second pause.

"Yes... yes, I understand. Ah, is this Travis Broussard? ...oh, right. Over."

"This is Captain Travis Broussard, master of the private spaceship
Red Thunder,
currently blasting at one gee, constant acceleration toward the planet Mars. Over."

Four-second pause. I watched the CNN feed instead of our own screen.
CNN had us in three-fourths of the picture, with anchorman Lou's image
down in the lower right-hand corner. We looked pretty good. My hope was
that Travis could handle all the talking. Or Kelly, she was a good
talker.

"Thank you for talking to us, Captain Broussard. You say you're aboard a private spaceship. How is this possible? Over."

"It's possible because these kids... these young people you see
around me worked their butts off all summer long to build it. If you go
to 1340 Wisteria Road in Daytona you'll see the warehouse where we
built it. You're welcome to go inside, just show your credentials to
the security guards.

"And it's possible because of a revolutionary new technology that
gives us almost unlimited power. Power to go anywhere in the solar
system in only days or weeks, not months or years. Power to reach the
stars. Or, back on Earth, the means to reduce our use of coal, oil, and
nuclear power. Over."

Four... no, almost a five-second pause.

"Captain, our science consultants here at CNN are telling us your
'revolutionary new technology,' is that what you called it? They're
saying it's impossible. Over."

"That's what I would have said, too, a year ago. But ask your technical people where this signal is coming from. Over."

"They say it's coming from outer space, and a long way off," Lou admitted.

"You're going to hear a lot of denials about this today, Lou. It's
inevitable. But it's the truth, we are on our way to Mars, and we'll be
there in just over three days."

"That doesn't seem possible. That... wait, if you can get there in
three days you'd be ahead of the Chinese lander, isn't that right?
Over."

"That's right, Lou. They should still be doing aerobraking maneuvers
when we land. By the way, we seem to have damaged our main antenna
during launch, so it's possible we won't be able to communicate with
Earth all the way there and back. I'd like to warn you, and especially
our families, that a sudden loss of signal does not mean we've blown
up. Over."

"I'm sure that would look terrible to your loved ones," Lou said,
then he frowned. "But it occurs to me that a 'loss of signal' would be
a very convenient way to cover any weaknesses in your story if, for
instance, you were actually transmitting from a clandestine location
here on Earth, relaying it through a very small, very fast rocket in
the direction you claim to be going. Over."

"You're very sharp, Lou. I can't disprove that theory just now. You'll—"

"It's not me, I'm no expert, this proposition was... oh, sorry, I
should have waited... well, our science adviser is on his way to the
studio and he suggested that theory to explain what seems flatly
impossible to everyone we've talked to. Over."

"As I was saying, I can't disprove that. But you'll all know for
sure soon enough. Now, I'd like to introduce you to my crew, starting
with... wait a moment, Lou. We're just seeing your new picture, give us
a moment."

What we were seeing was the scene from the Blast-Off, down in the left-hand corner of the screen.

It looked like Mom had let a camera crew into the living quarters. I
saw Mom, Maria, Sam, Salty, Grace, Billy... and Caleb, back from
wherever he had hidden Jubal. Some of the neighbors were in there, too,
looking amazed and happy. Everyone was gathered around the television
set and you'd have thought we just won the World Series and the
Superbowl all at the same time. There was laughing and crying, everyone
was holding long-stemmed glasses of champagne.

I came within an inch of waving at the camera, like a three-year-old.

"We're switching live to the Blast-Off Motel," Lou said. "Thanks,
Lou," La Shanda Evans said. "We've been invited into the motel office
to share this moment with the friends and relatives of the
Red Thunder
crew. Let's see if I can get a word. Betty! Mrs. Garcia, can I get a
few words with you? Would you like to say a few words to your son?"

Mom made an effort and calmed down. Then she looked right into the camera.

"Manny, hon... I just want to say... I'm so proud of you I could just bust."

Oh, my, did I ever wish that camera was not on me. I fought back the tears as Travis handed me the mike.