|| -------- -- -----  A E R I E   O B L I V I A N A . singular book of text wandertainment by Frank Edward Nora ------------------- ----------- OFFICE COMPLEX--CUP 47--"SPLINTERED" <-------  ||  Severe Repair  ||  Office Complex  ||  -------> (Cup SRoc047, Created v2 (6/7/99), Copyright 1999) = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = There were a few tense moments as they all turned sharply--if the boat grounded itself, the whole thing would be for naught. But in the final analysis, it was close, but it worked. "Alright! If we can do that one, the other two will be a snap!" Bodoni said. Prince Ferrajalt wiped some sweat off his brow and he readied himself for the next turn. They were going pretty fast now--but he knew they'd have to go a lot faster before they got to the waterfall. The Prince squinted as he thought he saw a flashing light up ahead on the left river bank. Yes--it was a red and blue flashing light--but too small to be a Warhome. He quickly approached the light, and saw it was on top of a normal-sized police car. A sheriff with a cowboy-style hat was leaning against the car, staring at Ferrajalt as he drove by. For an instant the Prince locked eyes with the sheriff, and saw he was a tall, thin, young-looking fellow. In the next instant Ferrajalt had passed far beyond the lawman--but something about the stranger--what was it? The Prince shook his head and figured that this destroyed world and all its weirdness would soon be behind him. But then he considered what he was headed for--flying headlong into the unknown, and he felt a tinge of panic before Injure's terse commands distracted him--they were upon another turn. This turn went smooth enough, and Ferrajalt began to be aware of the high-pitched squeal of the Recrudescent gliding along on top of the ice, getting louder and louder as they kept going faster and faster. One more turn, and he'd hit the straightaway--nothing but a mile or two between him and the waterfall. None of them would have much time to get into their planes--it would definitely be close. Ferrajalt stared ahead at the passing streetlights, then he glanced down at the speedometer--160 mph and rising fast. How could he feel so calm? The final turn came, and though Injure was fretting over some piece of data, the group accomplished it without error. So now--this was it. "Alright people," Injure said, "here we go. Set your autopilot in--fifteen seconds--then get the hell up to those planes! Remember--follow the Recrudescent into the event--don't worry about the distance so much, just--okay--7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1--SET AUTOPILOT AND BAIL OUT!" Ferrajalt swallowed hard and then punched the orange autopilot light. The speedometer read 180 mph. The riverbanks and streetlights shot past him like lightning. He grabbed at the release of his seatbelt and flailed at it when it didn't instantly release. A surge of panic washed over him, but subsided when he got the seatbelt loose and jumped up. A final glance at the speedometer showed it at 185 mph and rising quickly. There was no turning back. He opened the door and walked into the main area of his Warhome. He looked up at the biplane at the top of the shaft as he heard that awful high-pitched wail from the boat. So he wouldn't be able to make good on his promise to Treyess--the wonderful Warhome would be demolished in the impact. Maybe it could be recovered and repaired after the impact? He decided he couldn't afford to spend any time worrying about it as he climbed the ladder on the central shaft and climbed aboard the plane. The key. He forgot the key. The control panel was dead in front of him. The key was back next to the driver's seat. How could he have forgotten it? He was dead. Ferrajalt blinked his eyes once, then jumped out of the plane and landed hard on the floor--a little bit of superstrength kicked in to prevent injury. Thinking fast, the Prince yelled "Super!" and felt an explosion of power within him. In one leap, he splintered the door and lunged forward for the key, which he grabbed swiftly. Looking ahead, he saw the glow of Doscovor on the horizon. The vector display was flashing and beeping wildly, warning of the impending fall. Several of the others were already taking off in their biplanes. He could make it. He had to make it. -------> ------------------- ----------- -------- -- -----