Buck Rogers in the 25th Century: Far Beyond the World
Part XIII - Mind over Matter
Plunging toward the blighted surface of a post-apocalyptical Earth...
The transport shuttle for Searcher burst from beneath the swirling clouds and right after, her just three kilometers away, came the Draconian Marauder that had tracked her from orbit, dogging her every move and so far landing three strikes with it's blaster canons upon their hull.
None of the hits had been to critical systems, but there were countless microfractures in the shuttle's fuselage, it was battered and cracked, giving the transport the appearance of being in the middle of an interstellar demolition derby. In the pilot's chair, smoke hanging about his shoulders like an angry grey mantle, sat Buck Rogers, and he stared with determination out through the shuttle's scratched canopy at the Hatchet-Fighter as it caught sight of them and let loose with another blaster barrage.
"Hold on!" he shouted to his two passengers and while Twiki clamped onto the console beside him, Dr. Ira Goodfellow did everything he could to obey, one hand on the edge of the co-pilot's chair he was manning without actually doing anything to help, while the other shaking limb grasped a support railing on the bulkhead beside him.
I am beginning to question why I did not object more to coming on this mission, Goodfellow's frazzled inner voice bemoaned, as under Rogers quick hands the shuttle banked hard to port.
The paired aquamarine beams of destruction unleashed by the Marauder lashed past their up-tipping ventral side, one ray missing completely while the other slagged a pod holding one of the landing legs.
The shuttle rocked as it rolled end-over-end across the sky and Buck scowled at the latest warning light scolding up at him in a crimson flash. Not like we needed that part anymore anyways, 'cause if we actually last long enough to make any sort of landing, the only kind we're gonna be making is a crash one!
He yanked the shuttle out of it's roll and pulled the stick all the way back, they nosed over and shot downwards like a rocket, and the Marauder's second blast missed them by inches.
"What now, my boy?" inquired the pale-faced scientist beside him as the ground expanded dramatically toward them and the fuselage screamed to the high heaven.
"Now we go for broke, Doc!" shouted back Rogers, "I need you to transfer whatever power we have left into Subsystem-T."
"What, all of it?" asked Goodfellow as he began hitting controls on his part of the board.
"Everything except what I need for the thrusters, yeah."
"Even from life-support?"
"Life-Support isn't doing us much good right now, Doc. Plus, if this doesn't work we're gonna be vulture chow in less then thirty seconds, so we won't much need heat or oxygen after that."
"A valid point, my boy, a valid point!" and Goodfellow finished rerouting the power and the cockpit lights dimmed, the hum of the plasma tubes faded, even the recyclers ended their low hiss.
Now we're hardly better then a rock, scowled Buck as the Marauder closed on them, taking advantage of them no longer trying to out maneuver him and their return to terminal velocity.
Now there's a term that's always bothered me: terminal velocity. Couldn't they have just called it 'maximum' velocity? No need to make it all ominous and stuff, 'cause when you actually achieve it you pretty much know once you hit the ground it's gonna be completely terminal, so why pour salt into the wound, huh? Stupid physicists, nothing better to do but try and freak-out us jet jockeys, if I had half a chance I'd--here we GO!
Buck had counted on the Draconian pilot being so eager to finally score a proper kill shot after all of Buck's deft evasion during the chase down through the atmosphere, that once the shuttle had stopped trying to dodge his blasts that he'd move into point-blank range in order to savour his delayed victory.
Which is exactly what the Draconian was doing, but as the Marauder moved in close, the shuttle suddenly shot upwards in a blast of ventral thrusters and the Marauder roared beneath them, but not fast enough to avoid the tractor beam that Buck slapped onto his cockpit canopy with a split-second perfectly-aimed grab.
That's what Subsystem-T was, the shuttle's tractor beam, which at normal power under properly controlled conditions in outer space would gently catch onto it's target and grip it firmly.
But down here in the screaming atmosphere of Earth, with an energy boost of nearly five hundred percent, the tractor was a vicious grabbing claw which caught onto the Marauder's canopy and TORE it off the starfighter in a shriek of whizzing metal and shattering glass, and the resultant air pressure differential yanked the Draconian pilot right out of his chair and tossed him screaming to the winds.
"Bidi-bidi-bidi! See ya, pal!" jeered Twiki as the three of them watched the enemy combatant vanish into the distance. Then Buck punched off the tractor beam and shouted to Dr. Goodfellow, "Whatever juice is left, channel it back into the engines!"
"There is hardly any, my boy," the scientist's fingers pounded the keys as quick as he could move them, "but there is some."
"It'll have to be enough!" and Buck whipped the shuttle up and back, putting the aft section between them and the ground which was soaring up to meet them like the fist of an angry god.
The engine's indicator light came on and it's reserve read two percent, aw well, but Buck grit his teeth anyway and slammed his foot down on the thrust pedal and the twin tubes flared golden, unleashing everything they had, which Goodfellow was right, it wasn't much, it only lasted four seconds, but it did slow them down immensely, and when the tubes went dark Buck was ready and blasted thrusters madly.
The shuttle went into a barrel roll, whipped over onto it's port side and they were vectoring toward the surface at a stark angle, but at least it was an angle and not a direct plunge, then they struck ground, skipped like a stone, bounced once, twice, hit HARD and went into a slide, then the shuttle was rolling over-and-over, a cliff loomed overhead, they shot off it in a roar of dirt, rock and grit, then were arcing downwards and a wide plain of greyish-blue opened up beneath them and PHOOOOM! they hit the surface of a lake and broke through it in a spray that shot upwards almost a hundred meters!
Down and down into the murky depths the shuttle plunged, and then it hit bottom, landing on it's engine tubes, crumpling them like empty beer cans, the remains of the shuttle rumbled and shook, then was still.
"Bidi-bidi-bidi!" the grey drone was the first to speak, "That was nuts!"
Buck opened his eyes and gasped, looked over at Goodfellow with a grin, "We--We made it!"
"S-So it would seem, my b-boy," stammered the Doctor, "so it would see-" the canopy SHATTERED and a million tons of water poured into the cockpit...
To be continued...