Red Thunder

“Where’s Seamus the shamus?” Travis asked Salty at one point.

“Sleeping peacefully in a back alley behind a bar,” he said. “He’ll wake up in the drunk tank several hours after you’ve gone, and then he can tell his story to anybody he wants to. By then, you’ll all be famous.”

“Yeah.” He looked around. “It’s a shame we have to be so quiet about this,” Travis said. “We ought to have brass bands, ticker tape, crowds of gawkers. They make a bigger fuss than this when a liner leaves Miami for a four-day cruise.”

We were all standing around, awkwardly, wondering how to say good-bye when you’re off to Mars. Mars, for cryin’ out loud.

Dak and I got hugs from Sam and Mom, respectively.

“You come back, now,” Mom told me, and gave me a last hug.

We all got together for a posed picture at the foot of the ramp, then Travis gave the high sign to the captain of the tug we’d hired to tow the barge out about five miles from shore. Seas were calm, winds low, a perfect day for a launch. Sam and Salty cast off the lines holding the barge to the dock… and we were moving.

Our good-bye waves were cut a little short, though, when a plain white sedan came around the side of the warehouse, going way too fast. It stopped, and Agents Dallas and Lubbock got out.

“Uh-oh,” Dak said. We were maybe two hundred yards from the pier, heading into Strickland Bay. From there we’d have to weave through several palmetto islands, go under a four-lane freeway bridge, [298] then through Spruce Creek, Ponce de Leon Cut, then cross the Halifax River, go through the inlet and out to the open sea. We figured about an hour to the inlet, give or take.

But Dallas and Lubbock could change everything.

“I wonder what the hell happened?” Travis said, watching the agents through his binoculars. “Are they on to us, or do they just have more questions?”

“Pretty early for a routine interview, isn’t it?” Alicia asked.

We all watched as the agents hurried up to our shore party, and we could see they were pretty pissed about something. They were shouting at all of them. Dallas-or was it Lubbock?-was standing almost toe-to-toe with my mother, and Mom didn’t retreat an inch. I found I was gritting my teeth. You touch my mother, you slimy bastard, and I’ll-

Travis’s and Dak’s cell phones rang almost simultaneously. I could see Sam and Salty trying to keep their backs to the agents, letting Mom distract them. Travis picked up and nodded a few times.

“Thanks, Salty,” he said. “Don’t resist. But if you get a chance, get your butts out of there. I think they’ll be too concerned about us to pay you much mind. Get back to the motel, all of you.” Travis hung up.

“They may be on to us,” he said. “We’ll just sit tight and keep moving.”

We watched as the agents abandoned their argument with Mom and hurried back to their car. Our friends and family faded back through the huge warehouse doors. I saw the street-side door open and all of them hurried through.

Maybe somebody just made a co

But it really didn’t matter that morning. The only thing that mattered was, What are they going to do about it?

We found out within fifteen minutes. A Coast Guard helicopter came roaring toward us.

[299] “That tears it,” Travis said. “Everybody board ship. Secure all airtight hatches.”

We moved quickly, up the ramp, which I stayed behind to close and seal. The ramp seemed to move slower than it ever had. Then I went up through the suit room, into the central module, dogging the door behind me, making sure the green light came on. This is not a drill! kept sounding in my ears. This is not a drill!

I found my acceleration couch and buckled in, semireclining, and put on my headphones. All the instruments I needed to see were on a movable panel, dozens of tiny television screens, three computer screens, switches, a trackball, gauges, red- and green-light pairs. Everything was showing green.

“Dak, get me the Coast Guard freak,” Travis said.

“Comin’ at ya, Cap’n Broussard,” Dak said. I saw the rows of numbers flash onto his screen. Meanwhile Travis had switched to a marine band to talk to the tugboat.

“Captain Menendez, take us to the middle of Strickland Bay and cast us off. Then withdraw to a distance of one mile.”

“We’re almost there already, Captain. I will do as you order.”

I was going nuts, not having a window to look out of, and I think Dak and Alicia were, too. For a moment I couldn’t catch my breath, thinking of living in this little tin can for the next three weeks. But the feeling passed.

We could hear a big racket outside, the helicopter hovering close, and somebody speaking though a bullhorn. Travis tuned the Coast Guard frequency.

“-are ordered to cut your engines and prepare to be boarded. I repeat, tugboat and barge, you are ordered to-” Travis’s voice cut her off.

“Coast Guard helicopter, this is private spaceship Red Thunder, aboard the barge. My countdown clock is ru

[300] There was a long, long silence.

“Private spacecraft Red Thunder, this is Captain Katherine O’Malley, United States Coast Guard. I think we’ll take our chances with your… your exhaust. Prepare your ship for boarding. Over.”

“Crew,” Travis said, “there are two Coast Guard cutters headed our way. Captain Menendez should be severing the lines in…” There was a slight lurch as the lines fell away from the barge and we were quickly dead in the water.

“Captain Broussard, this is Captain Menendez. What’s going on? You told me this wasn’t illegal.”

“It’s not, Captain. I’d advise you to let yourself be boarded, as you’ve done nothing wrong and have nothing to hide. Hasta la vista.”

“Hasta la vista to you, too. And good luck… wherever you’re going.”

“Will do.” There was a click as Travis switched cha

“Go for it, Captain,” I said, happy to hear no quaver in my voice.

“Let’s go,” Alicia said, and looked over and gri

“Banzai!” Dak shouted.

“Up, up and away…” Travis muttered.

For the first few seconds nothing much happened. I kept my eye on the three strain gauges, registering the weight of Red Thunder on each of her three legs. The numbers began to go down. And a loud roar was building outside.

“Look at that helicopter skedaddle!” Travis shouted. He turned one of our cameras on it. Sure enough, it had turned and fled as if we were a bomb… no point in thinking about that.

The roar built. The strain gauge numbers fled quickly across my screen.

“Almost there…,” Travis crooned. I tapped a key and watched Travis sitting there surrounded by his controls and instruments. He had on an expression almost painful to watch, made of equal parts worry and euphoria at finally going back into space.

[301] There was a lurch, and the ship seemed to lean a bit before Travis corrected. The roar now was a living beast, a truly amazing noise.

“Crew, Red Thunder has left the planet,” Travis said, and the three of us cheered. One second later the ship lurched hard to the left, and Travis said something you don’t ever want to hear a pilot say: “Oops!”