CHAPTER 2
The heavy canopy settled over them far too slowly. While hastily strapping in, Don could hear their pursuers trilling and howling like Native American war parties on the old Westerns. The main difference was that these warriors were a helluva lot bigger and possessed scythe-like claws on all four feet and hands that could grip knife blades longer than his arm.
Before the Major could protest they were airborne. He was distracted by the voice of his companion calling out from the front seat. "Up up and away Major!" and suddenly the vehicle rocketed upward so fast that Don's stomach momentarily wondered why it was looking skyward and getting left behind. Then, like a slingshot it leapt up and slammed back into Don's abdomen. The pilot was used to rapid acceleration but not like this. His hand instinctively rested against the taut muscles of his belly.
Finally, as the awful sensation eased, he did what every parent does when their kid is behind the wheel for the first time and about to lose control. But instead of trying to grab an invisible steering wheel or stomp on a non-existent brake pedal, he instinctively and futilely groped for a joystick and rudders that simply weren't there. Realizing how helpless he truly was, he grasped for any handhold in the narrow confines of his compartment and failing miserably, he started bashing the seat in front of him to get his companion's attention. At least that was what he told himself. In reality he was just pissed and needed to take it out on the hide of his tormentor. He whammed the heel of his palm into the headrest but it didn't seem to budge.
By that point, the ship's propulsion system, whatever type it was, kicked in and they barreled forward so fast that the buildings began to whiz by in a blur. Don's head was flung back into his own head rest.
As the shock wore off, he kicked out at the seat rails in front of him and hollered one word. Predictably it was "Smith!"
"Really Major, no need to act like a child."
The level, condescending tone of Smith's voice provoked the expected result. Don punched the back of the seat again. And once more the smooth voice drifted back. "Tsk, tsk, it's a time out for you when we get back young man."
"IF we get back," growled West, loud enough for Smith to hear. "IF you don't kill us both on the way there."
"Never Fear, Smith is Here!" chuckled the older man as he yanked the joystick hard to the right, swinging them around a corner in a manner that made Don flinch.
"That's what worries me," he griped but noise from behind him suddenly snapped his attention elsewhere. He tried craning his neck to see behind him but he didn't dare undo the safety harness. Shifting his whole torso to the point where it screamed in discomfort, he managed to catch the pursuing ships out of the corner of his eye. They were keeping pace but not closing the distance. Smith had taken to performing sharp turns down side streets to shake them but it wasn't working.
"I'm not joking Smith," Don finally told him, "you are going to hit something and that will be the end of us."
"These vessels are equipped with shields. The worse that will happen is we'll ricochet off the walls like a giant superball."
"And end up with broken bones, concussions and internal hemorrhage anyway."
"You know Major; we really should stop 'hanging out' together. You're starting to sound like me." He paused as if in thought, which he was. "And I have decided I honestly don't like it."
Another sharp jolt turned them inexorably toward the spaceport. Smith tapped one round illuminated button and the display flashing onto the bottom right of the windshield changed. There was a short grunt of affirmation, or maybe it was surprise. In either case, their course didn't vary for several blocks.
Then came a surprise maneuver. Smith dove down without warning, performed a few more quick course adjustments and forced the ship under a low and very ancient looking bridge. They hovered there, the bubble of the canopy almost touching the huge square stones overhead. Occasionally red flashes, pale and faint, fanned out, letting Don see the shields in action.
Although the propulsion unit was functioning loud enough to hum in the enclosed space, it was still relatively quiet and Don took the time to ask, "Since when did you learn to fly this thing?" He drew a breath and added, "It's not like we've been here that long." The contemplative tone vanished and he added, "And more to the point how did you pay for lessons?"
"I took no lessons, Major." The doctor's tone was haughty yet held just a trace of amusement.
"You didn't." It was half comment half question.
"No." Succinct and to the point.
"Then how-" West never finished his thought. The nose of a familiar vessel floated down directly in front of them, blue faces pushed nearly flat against their canopies. Mouths displaying considerable canines opened and multi-jointed forefingers pointed at the hidden ship.
"Uh-oh," both humans said in tandem.
Smith jammed the throttle forward with his free hand, and the ship shot forward. Only self preservation and surprise on the part of the centaurs sent the three enemy ships parting like the oft used analogy of a knife through butter. Before they could recover, Smith was disappearing around the edge of a building.
Laying aside his concerns West had to ask, "Okay, I give up. If you didn't take lessons then how did you-"
"The arcades," supplied Smith after executing another neat evasive maneuver.
"Arcades?"
"The planet offers many forms of entertainment and they have impressive arcades."
Don's frown was evident in his voice, "What does that have to do with..." he stopped and rolled his eyes. "Oh no, don't tell me."
"Precisely. Flight simulators. Realistic ones at that." There was the sound of additional instruments being activated or perhaps deactivated. "Superior in fact. Crafted to enhance the training experience and make it feel realistic. And obviously it worked, wouldn't you say?"
"Oh great, my life is in the hands of a drunken fool who learned to fly on video-games."
"Only mildly inebriated if you must know and to be honest, attacks on one's person does wonders in ensuring immediate sobriety."
All West could do was grunt. He'd been there often enough in his youth to know that was usually true. Of course, the hangovers still came around later, plus all the additional pain from the brawl bruises, but at least he had survived whatever battles he'd ended up in in the first place.
The vast inhabited area nearest the space port extended for miles, comprised mostly of the oldest sections of the city. The buildings were not quite as high, fifty stories at best. The streets were an uneven, non-linear warren of ancient asphalt avenues topped by bridges and walkways that linked some of the structures.
As the space between the buildings narrowed, Smith grew more cautious until he became aware that their pursuers were very close. These vessels were all unarmed. At least he hoped as much, and so far no one had taken a shot at them. So he presumed the aliens would tail the two humans until both men landed and pounce on them then. Which meant he still had to give them the slip. If he didn't get rid of them they'd never have enough time to complete the final mad dash into the safety of the Jupiter 2.
That, sadly, meant one thing. He was going to have to put some of the fancy maneuvers he'd played with in the simulator into practice. Avoiding viral bad guys at high speeds in make-believe maze of rocks and tunnels in a game was one thing. This was something else entirely, even if they had shields to protect them.
Goosing the accelerator, Smith dove through streets that steadily grew even narrower but their pursuers weren't giving up. He grew hesitant. This was so not his style. He was the 'walk in the park', out for a Sunday drive, kind of guy and their current rate of speed was certainly elevating his blood pressure and adrenalin levels. He could say one thing for certain. He didn't like it. Not one bit.
Smith had little time to dwell on his inner discomfort however. The three vessels behind them managed to draw even closer as if the pilots weren't even remotely frightened by the prospect of smearing their body parts all over the ancient glass and stone structures around them. The shields were good, he knew that much, but they weren't that good. Maybe he could-
As if reading his mind, Don called out from the back seat. "Don't do anything stupid, Smith. Stay calm. They don't have any interest in killing themselves for the sake of paybacks."
"They will take as many risks as they want if they believe their shields provide complete protection," the doctor explained. He allowed a scheming tone to enter his voice. "Of course, if we can seriously jostle their ships, any damage to the interior might corrupt the shielding controls. Then they'd end up unprotected and far less inclined to risk their lives.
Immediately after that, as if the enemy had devices that let them tune in on Smith and West's conversation, the centaurs picked up the pace and positioned themselves above and just behind the humans. It was obvious a few seconds later, as the shields sparked and hummed in protest, that the blue skinned creatures were trying to force them down to ground level.
Smith's knee-jerk reaction wasn't long in forthcoming. He howled half in fear and half in protest and somehow managed to evade them down another side street.
"Oh, so you want to play that way?" the doctor hollered out at them. He swiped the back of one hand across his forehead to keep stinging sweat from getting into his eyes. Soon they caught up to him again and repeated their maneuvers. "I've had enough of this," he told them and before Don could prepare, he slammed on the reverse thrusters, bringing their ship to a near stop. All three pursuing vessels zoomed around and past them. In the brief interim, while he still had surprise on his side, Smith did an impressive lateral 180 and pushed the ship back up the street before cutting left.
Too stunned by the maneuver, the centaurs wasted some time recovering their equilibrium in their ships. The small hover craft were versatile and designed to handle a variety of body types, but only if the pilots took the time to adapt the interior to said bodies. The centaurs hadn't bothered in the heat of pursuit. The vessels were generally very stable under most flight conditions and they'd assumed, incorrectly, that the Terrans ahead of them would only head forward. Therefore, as the Terran pilot came to what any human would call a screeching halt, the centaurs were totally unprepared for this maneuver. So overcome by fury at how hard they had to work to capture their prey, they hadn't anticipated such a maneuver. They attempted to slow down just as abruptly. Quadruped bodies, not properly strapped in, slid forward until all of them were face-planted against the windshields.
Moaning in pain and screeching in even greater rage, they struggled to turn about and give chase again. That gave the humans a slight advantage. But only a tiny one.
