Dream Thing

This time, Williamson had paid Chad in advance. He had put up the funds to lease this vessel, which wasn’t cheap. The so-called professor had a staff of eight researchers with him—a crew of thinkers that was twice as big as any other expedition. Williamson was seriously determined to find something. Who knew what? Mick didn’t care. He just liked being along for the ride—and he liked the cash, most of it under the table.

“We go in or we go home,” Chad said. “Your call, Professor.”

“Fine. Tell him we have a deal.” Miserably, Williamson used his laptop to transfer the funds into the accounts of the Japanese trawler captain.

The captain waved again when, he got the confirmation on his own satellite computer, and his fishermen scrambled to the winch to release the Flying Fish’s tow cable. It drifted away from the trawler and bobbed gently in the Pacific water.

Mick Chad started the dock maneuvering engines and began chugging slowly away from the vortex. “The Coast Guard will think we’re heading away under our own power. They’ll leave us alone to chase the Japs.”

“Let’s hope so,” Williamson said.

Captain Bomi’s trawler revved away, across the current but generally toward the vortex. The cutter issued orders over the radio, then gave chase as the trawler increased speed. Within a minute the cutter was just a dot.

“Let’s go, Chad,” Williamson said.

“You got it.” Chad hit the lifter power switches and the vessel rumbled. Giant fans spun up to speed and built pressure until a cushion of air was created, hoisting the Flying Fish on it and extracting the maneuvering propellers right out of the water. Then the big propulsion fans, protruding from either side of the hull like open car doors, started to spin.

Mick Chad worked the joysticks carefully. Hovercraft control wasn’t easy. Most of them had computerized navigation systems, but the Flying Fish wasn’t exactly state-of-the-art.

The Flying Fish rotated in a circle, to face back into the vortex.

But Chad rotated too fast. Dr. Williamson tipped off his feet with a cry of alarm. Chad pushed hard on the joystick—the wrong joystick. He made the big hovercraft spin faster, like a thrill-seeker’s carousel. Chad gulped and hit the other joystick, full throttle.

The alternate fan roared to life and brought the spinning to a sudden halt. Anybody who was still on his feet was thrown off balance and slammed to the deck. Chad realized he was giving it too much power in the other direction …

“Sorry,” he announced ten seconds later when he finally had the Flying Fish under control.

“Where’d you learn to drive a hovercraft, idiot!” Williamson said shakily, still on his hands and knees.

“I didn’t.”

“What?”

“I never said I did.”

“So why’d you take the job?”

“I can drive a hovercraft as well as any other pilot,” Chad stated. “For what you’re paying, I’m as good as you’re gonna get.” He had no idea if it was true, but it sounded good. He locked the joysticks together and accelerated the Flying Fish toward the vortex.

The others stormed into the wheelhouse to make their protest. They didn’t get far before Mick announced, “Coast Guard’s coming.”

“How fast?” Williamson asked.

“Unknown. The vortex is starting to affect our systems. Radar’s no good. Satellite’s crapping out and so’s the GPS. Radio’s still working and I got a message to stop and be boarded.”

Williamson’s staffers grew nervous. “Will they get close enough to fire on us?” asked a young woman who had recently joined the doctor from Minnesota State University.

“Depends on the boat that’s coming after us—but I doubt it,” Chad said with every drop of charm he could muster. He was always suave around Missy Juk from MSU. “This baby’ll outrun almost any ship on the ocean.”

One of the older men laughed derisively as he blotted the vomit stains from his peach-colored golf shirt. “This hunk of junk?”

“It’s old but quick.”

“We know it goes around in circles pretty fast, anyway.”

Chad colored. That kind of embarrassing statement was not going to make him look any better in the eyes of Missy Juk.

“We’ll outrun ’em,” Chad said, and floored it.

He kept the joysticks pressed all the way to their stops, palms sweating from the intense concentration. The slightest drop or rise in thrust on either side could be catastrophic, and at this speed the antiquated auto-align system might not adjust the thrust fast enough. Chad had to be ready to make emergency manual compensation. And he had to admit that his recent performance at the controls wasn’t stellar.

The waters were flattening out under them as they reached the growing vortex current. They lost the waves that had been splashing against the air-apron, making the hovercraft ride smoother and faster. Williamson was tense and the others were silent, feeling the danger.

The radio conked out, silencing the low-volume demands of the Coast Guard cutter. The cutter had vanished behind them; they were beyond the watch zone.