PROTOTYPE 20 By Heck Comments to heck@beadyeye.me.uk CHAPTER TWENTY We made love again, that night. Much less frenzied and more gentle than the previous night, but no less wonderful. Afterwards we lay in comfortable silence, my hand cupped over Lucy's biceps while she flexed it so I could feel it moving under my fingers, still marvelling at the incredible hardness under the feminine softness. "Sean?" she said, just as I was drifting off. "Hmm?" "Are you sure we're doing the right thing?" I snuggled closer and nibbled her neck. "Oh, yeah. Sure". "Not that, silly". She gave my shoulder a playful slap. "Everything else. The way we're approaching it". "I think so. Why? Are you having second thoughts?" "No. Not really. Everyone's been really kind and helpful, and I guess that'll continue as long as we play ball. But I'm getting some strange vibes". "Vibes?" I opened my eyes and leaned up on an elbow to see her. "An expression from my time. Feelings. Intuitions". "What kind of intuitions?" "Weird ones. That Senator, for instance. On the face of it he's very much on our side, going to talk to the President, finding us a safehouse, going that extra mile, like that. I don't know, maybe I'm being paranoid, but I get the feeling that there's more to him". "Sometimes, it's paranoia that keeps you alive. Do you think he has a hidden agenda?" "Exactly. You felt it, too?" "Aye, I did. Nothing I can put my finger on, but just a feeling that something's not right". She snuggled against me for comfort; not out of fear, there wasn't much that could frighten Lucy, but just for comfort. "What do we do about it?" "Nothing", I said, folding an arm around her shoulders. "We're in too deep, and there's not much we can do except run. I've had enough of that, haven't you?" She nodded. "Then I suppose we just let things play out, see where events lead us, and only run if and when we have too. All we can do is watch out for each other". She leaned in and kissed my neck, holding me tight enough to feel her strength but not so tight that it hurt. "As long as we're together, we'll be OK. And, Sean?" "Hmm?" "I won't let anything happen to you. Ever". * "Good morning!" Susannah greeted us both with a wide, natural smile, so different from her slightly plastic professional one, as we entered the 'studio'. We were there at a more reasonable hour, this time. "Good morning to you, too", I said on behalf of us both. We both still wore our complimentary robes, waiting to see what the day had in store before dressing appropriately. "Where's everyone else?" "Ruth and the crew have gone on ahead, to make preparations. We want to widen our scope a little, get outdoors. I bet you two could do with some fresh air?" I scanned her words for innuendo, but there was none. "There's a helicopter waiting for us on the roof. We're going to the Hoverdrome". I smiled at that. Hover Racing was one of my favourite sports. Lucy looked perplexed, however. "Hovercraft racing", I explained. "They run on very efficient electric motors, and largely took over from F1, Indy, Nascar, all of those, when the gasoline ran out. They get up to incredible speeds, and there's a tonne of skill involved". "Sounds like fun". "Unfortunately, there isn't a meet scheduled for today", Susannah said. "But we hired the track so we can film you, Lucy, actually on the move. I remember seeing you when you carried Sean away from the FBI. You built up a serious head of steam, then, but I reckon you can go even faster without a burden. Feel like a spot of jogging?" "Sure, fine", Lucy nodded. "Whatever". As soon as we had changed, the elevator shot us to the roof where the chopper, a small, racy, white model with red side stripes and no logo, waited. Instead of the conventional single top-mounted rotor, it was fitted with two smaller ones mounted side-by-side in an enclosed frame, directing the downdraft on either side of the aircraft. The tail looked more like the tailplane of an airplane than that of a helicopter, complete with rudder and ailerons. We buckled up, and the pilot lifted off. The thirty-minute flight took us well away from the city and out into what had been fertile arable land but was now a dry dustbowl. Not exactly desert, yet, but it had Saharan ambitions. The Hoverdrome stood alone near an interstate highway, its entrance and stands surrounded by high extruded plastic walls that were as tough and strong as concrete. The chopper landed right in the centre of the racetrack, close to a bigger, more conventional machine from which the crew and security were unloading their kit. "Darlings!" Ruth waddled over to us and touched her cheek to ours, making kissing noises in the air. "Isn't this wonderful. The whole place we have to ourselves, for the day. We can do whatever we like. I brought sandwiches and drinks, so we can make a picnic out of it". "Sounds great", I said, watching Lucy whose eyes were scanning the track she was going to be running. She had dressed in Nikes with a white spandex halter and black spandex shorts, similar to those we had given her at SETI, and I knew a pang of nostalgia for those earlier, simpler days. "The circuit is nearly twenty kilometres", Susannah was explaining, "and six lanes wide. The racing hovercraft, or aitches as they are known, go out that way, and race eight times round. They often reach speeds of well over two hundred KPH". "I had a go in a hovercraft, once", Lucy remembered. "Great fun, but the very devil to control. I expect things have come on a lot since then". "Not as much as you'd think", I smiled. "They still handle like a pig, except in a straight line. That's why aitch racing is so exciting. It's one of the most dangerous sports we have". A noise like a hairdryer on steroids filled the air and a small, streamlined hovercraft, its skirts billowing, slid sideways to a standstill not four metres away. The driver, in a skin-tight jumpsuit and pulling off his aerodynamic helmet, hopped out and extended his hand in greeting. "This is Mikhail Cobbla", Ruth introduced. The driver shook all our hands warmly, spending more time than was absolutely necessary holding on to Lucy's. His eyes scanned appreciatively up and down her body, and I felt a twinge of jealousy at the way she gazed back. There could be no doubt that he was a very good looking young man, tall and athletic, and his tight racing coveralls made no secret of the promise in his fit body. Lucy was a very sensual person, and there was no reason why she shouldn't react to another man like that, but I didn't have to like it. "This is what we envisage", Susannah was saying. "Lucy will run and Mikhail, with a cameraman on board, will pace her and record her speed. We'll be up in the big chopper, putting the whole thing on disk from a wide angle. There's also the speed camera that's used on race days". "Why can't we just pace her in a van or something?" I asked, keeping my tone tight. "Why does it have to be a hovercraft? They aren't renowned for safety". Why does it have to be him, is what I really meant. I thought I had kept my voice neutral, but my body language must have given me away because Lucy reached out and took my hand, giving it a brief reassuring squeeze. "Have you looked at the surface of the track up close?" Mikhail asked, just the merest trace of eastern European in his accent. "It is polished almost perfectly smooth, to minimise the turbulence for the aitches. Wheeled vehicles are not allowed on it". "Oh. Aye. Right. I see". I felt just a tad foolish. "All right", Lucy said, holding eye contact with me and smiling. "Let's get it on". She stood on the track, slightly ahead of the craft, stretching and shaking out her limbs while the cameraman focussed on her. "How do you want to do this?" Mikhail shouted over the whine of his motor. "Are you going to set out at a sprint, or build up slowly?" "Easy, to start, but I'll build up quite quickly. I expect to be going flat out by the first bend". The driver gave a thumbs-up to show he understood. I wondered just how much he did understand, how much he had been told. He obviously knew he was going to pace a fast runner, but did he have any idea just how fast? I thought he was in for a big surprise, and would have his work cut out, especially on the bends. I climbed aboard, and the chopper ascended to position itself above the track. Lucy held up her hand and used her fingers to give Mikhail a countdown from five. At zero, she took off running, Susannah thumbed her digital stopwatch, and Mikhail was caught napping. She was a hundred metres away and accelerating before he engaged the throttle. "Shit, look at her go!" The cameraman at my side couldn't help his exclamation. It was as well he wasn't using sound. He leaned forward for a better shot, almost hanging out the side of the chopper in his eagerness. The hovercraft had only just caught up with Lucy when she hit the first curve, still building up speed. Mikhail had to ease off to take the bend, because an aitch can easily overshoot, but Lucy had no such worries. She pounded round, still picking up velocity, and barrelled down the longest straight. Her legs were a blur beneath her and her pumping arms were all but invisible. Now the craft was alongside her and, from my vantage point I could see that, although the machine was not reaching its top speed, Mikhail was having to open the throttle wide. He leaned over his tiller [modified from a pair of motorcycle handlebars] and urged his craft on. Another bend was coming up and Lucy leaned into it, her long legs consuming the ground. Mikhail took it wide and nearly sideways, and his aitch fell back a little. Lucy poured on the juice and widened the gap, clearly enjoying herself. Even from up here, I could see the look of intense concentration mixed with exhilaration on her face. She was in a flat-out sprint, each lightning quick stride covering probably four or five metres, her toes seeming to hardly touch the ground. The straight was short. The hovercraft barely had time to pick up speed before it had to decelerate. The woman minutely altered her pace for what was quite a tight curve, and charged ahead down the home straight. A double flash signified the tripping of the speed camera, but Lucy just kept on going. Nobody had told her to stop after one lap. Everybody thought that somebody had told her, so nobody did, so she just kept right on going. I supposed she was charged up with adrenalin, and thought she was supposed to see how long she could maintain her incredible pace. "Look at this!" Susannah yelled above the rotor's noise, holding up her stopwatch for me to see. "It isn't possible for a human to run that fast!" Lucy had covered the twenty klicks in just over seventeen minutes. "But there she is!" I yelled back. "I see it, but I don't believe it!" Mikhail was kneeling up in his machine, waving and yelling at Lucy while the cameraman with him placed his camera carefully on the deck. She must have heard him, because I saw her look round and come quickly to a halt. The hovercraft skimmed on past her. Mikhail's attention was on the woman, not on his driving. I saw Lucy cover her face with her hands, as he tried to take the upcoming bend too fast and too late. The machine shrieked in protest as the nearside skirts lifted, allowing precious air to escape as it spun round and the motor stalled. Hovercraft can travel over almost any terrain. The smoother, the better, of course, but they can cross water, grass, rock, just about anything. But if the fan stops or slows when the craft is travelling at speed, or if air is spilled from the skirts and the edge of the actual machine touches down, the results can be catastrophic. Mikhail's craft waltzed off the track and over the tussocky ground, losing air all the time. I could see him wrestling with the controls, trying desperately to breathe life into his motor. The metal edge of the aitch bit deep into a rocky mound. The craft flipped up and over, flinging the cameraman clear, crumpling the wire cage that surrounded the whirling fan. Hampered by the tiller, Mikhail was trapped inside and I thought I saw his helmeted head strike part of the superstructure as it flopped over on top of him. "Oh, my God!" Ruth gasped. "Down!" Susannah screamed. "Take us down! Now!" I yelled. "Look at Lucy!" the cameraman shouted, his face still glued to the eyepiece, not missing a thing. I looked out. She was sprinting toward the stricken hovercraft and was beside it in a second or two. Before my fascinated eyes, she ducked down to peer beneath the overturned machine, lifting the damned thing with one hand so she could see better. The she straightened, grasped the edge with both hands and with a single, convulsive heave, flipped the craft right over and, I swear this is true, the bloody thing cleared the ground by half a metre to land right side up, well away from the still form of Mikhail. The helicopter touched down twenty metres away. Lucy was kneeling by Mikhail's side and, as we piled out of the chopper, she scooped him up in her arms and jogged toward us. "I think he's broken a collarbone, and his right leg", she said, ducking under the downdraft of the still whirling blades. "I'll be fine", he said, giving a quick, brave smile. "But I thought you were supposed to stop after the first lap". "I didn't know. I'm sorry". "Do not be. Not your fault. If I had been watching my driving instead of your running, it would not have happened". She sat him on the floor of the chopper, and he gave a little wince of pain. "He better go straight to the hospital already", Ruth decided. "He can go in the small helicopter". "No need", Mikhail said. "There is an emergency room right here at the track. It is not the first time somebody has piled up, and it will not be the last. Here come the paramedics now". A white van with red flashing lights hummed to a stop nearby. A man and a woman jumped out, carrying their emergency kit, briskly and efficiently taking over. The cameraman who had been in the hovercraft seemed shaken but unhurt, but they wanted to check him out too. We left them to it. One of the security men approached Susannah and handed her a slip of paper. She turned it over in her hand. Her eyes widened. Her mouth fell open. "What is it?" Lucy asked. "What's wrong?" For an answer, she simply held up the slip so we could all see it. It was the printout from the speed camera, and on it was inscribed the speed at which Lucy had been running when she triggered the mechanism. One hundred and two point nine three kilometres per hour.