PLANET OF THE FUTURE PAST

Buck took Nova in his arms and unexpectedly kissed her on the lips. The Negro kept his eyes tightly closed. Mendez and the others watched, waiting. Their faces were a study in expectancy. Buck was oblivious of them. All of his being, his soul and his mind and body, was centralized on Nova. The girl in his arms.

The chamber held the odd tableau, like a pinpoint in the march of time, freezing the moment for all eternity itself.

Buck's kiss was tender at first. Then some raging passion consumed him. Nova, bewildered, rode along with the first wave of bodily hunger embroiling her and Buck in this fantastic embrace.

The Negro's eyes remained shut.

The kiss went from the loving to the lustful.

And then from the lustful to the lethal.

For all her unschooled, uncivilized, unsophisticated naivete, Nova sensed the difference. Buck caught her fast in a vicelike hold that was all cruelty and mad desire. Nova recoiled in his arms, trying to shake him off, to run, to hide. Buck was remorseless. Now he had her trapped. He was pinching her nostrils, suffocating her mouth with his own. His other hand was digging into her flesh, tearing at her full breasts. He kept on hammering at her, cruelly hurting her until her weak struggles grew even weaker.

And the Negro didn't open his eyes.

"Tell us about the apes, Mr. Rogers," the fat man said in a loud, clear voice.

The Negro's eyes blinked open.

Buck released Nova, suddenly. She slipped from his grasp to the stone floor, sprawling in a lifeless spill of arms and legs. Buck stared down at her dumbly, appalled.

"Tell us about the apes," the fat man repeated his request.

Buck fought to regain his mind; a compound of bewildered horror and returning intelligence. He knew he had to talk but somehow he also knew he must lie. Anything to save Nova for a possible death and the Bomb from potential activation. These people, whatever they were, no matter how intelligent and advanced, were all mad! Mad!

Shrilly, he found his voice. Anything to keep the Negro from shutting his eyes again.

"The apes are a primitive, semiarticulate and underdeveloped race whose weapons have not progressed beyond the club and sling. If you want something to be afraid of, be afraid of me!"606Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡm7uua8hPLU
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"You're lying," the fat man interposed, "and we know it!"

Caspay spoke up. "The ape scouts had rifles, Mr. Rogers."

Buck said nothing to that. Wearily, the Negro closed his eyes.

Buck raised a brutal foot above Nova's insensate body. Within him rockets exploded, pain flashed, terrible ideas and thoughts took tangible shapes and forms.

His chest was on fire. Still, he struggled against bringing his foot down to smash that lovely, defenseless figure.

"They should fall---an easy prey...." he gasped, "to stamp on the many peaceful weapons at your dispose----of her with your foot on her belly and stamp---GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" he snarled at the eyes-shut Negro who loomed above him.

The fat man spoke again when the Negro reopened his eyes.

"Tell us again about the apes, Mr. Rogers. The first time---wasn't quite true, was it?

"How do you know?" Buck raged at him. "How do you know?"

Quickly he knelt beside Nova, cradling her head in his hand, his sense all whirling, convoluting, pinwheeling.

From behind the inquisitors, the wall threw up more projections. Taylor again. Taylor stumbling. Taylor heroically lost.

Just then a horrible realization dawned on him. Don't look now, Buck-o, but I think you may have found your guy!

Nova, coming to in Buck's arms, saw the wall from her position on the floor. Five images of Taylor, in red, white, blue, green and purple, sliding into identifiable focus. Her eyes widened, her lush mouth tried to form the name, "Tay-lor." Buck couldn't see or understand her. He was too concerned with the terrible thought that he might have harmed her. Suddenly she lifted a feeble hand, trying to point at the far wall.

Simultaneously, the inquisitors lowered their eyes. The wall images vanished.

Buck saw only the bright white nothingness when his own eyes sought what Nova was seeing.

Caspay smiled ingratiatingly.

"Now---what may we hope for in the way of help?"

"Nothing," Buck muttered. "Unless you set us free. Me---and her."

Caspay's smile hardened subtly.

"You are free, Mr. Rogers. Free to do what we will."

Mendez the Twenty-Sixth made a motion with his hand.

"Now," he commanded.

The fat man said, "Tell us about the apes, Mr. Rogers."

Buck took a long pause. He looked at Nova, looked at the council, and then shrugged helplessly.

"The apes are marching on your city," he said quietly.

A great silence fell on the Chamber of Interrogation. The five robed figures digested the information, each to his own intensity. The opposite wall came alive again with varying degrees of color.

Buck hugged Nova to him, glad only of the fact that she was still alive.

That they both were.

He could feel her heart beating like a bird's against his chest.606Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNEZayVbnmF
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"We're penetrating the upper atmosphere," Rollins said, his professional demeanor in full force. "Fowler, any progress on our touchdown point?"

"I estimate we're on the North Shore of Long Island, around 20 miles northeast of Manhattan, and about 5 miles inland from Long Island Sound."

"Okay," the commander nodded, "All systems are still running as programmed. If we follow this straight line from Taylor's last known trajectory, we should land near the Icarus."

"Colonel Rollins!" Zyrax's alarmed voice echoed through the cockpit. "You're heading for an inland sea! Abort and change course!"

"Holy---," Rollins exclaimed, swiftly flipping switches. "Brent, disable computer control guidance!"

"Deactivating!" The astronaut opened the glass panel and turned the red knob. "Manual control systems coming on-line now," Rollins took control of the descending spacecraft, feeling his heart thump.

Fowler stared at his map charts in disbelief. "Skipper, we can't be landing in Long Island Sound unless it's moved five miles inland."

Rollins gritted his teeth, feeling the craft's sluggish response. "They say it's down there, and their systems know more! But we can't handle a water landing if we want to take off again!"

"We can't expect a smooth landing on the ground either!" Brent exclaimed, seizing the control stick to help ease Rollins' load.

The commander switched on his radio, asking, "Zyrax, are we clear of the inland sea?"

"Affirmative, but there's a new problem!" replied the shuttlecraft captain. "The terrain near the sea is a mountainous desert with few suitable landing spots."

Fowler's jaw dropped, "What the...?" he exclaimed.

"Desert? Mountains?" Brent looked at Fowler in disbelief. "You said we were landing near New York, for Christ's sake!"

"We are!" the navigator shouted back, his anger evident.

"Shut up!" Rollins thundered, maneuvering the descending spacecraft. The red glow of re-entry enveloped them, dissipating as they entered the final stages. Blue sky filled the cockpit windows, followed by jagged desert peaks below.

"Leveling off to glide approach," Rollins muttered, sweat pouring down his face. "Main engine shutdown initiated."

Brent quickly took a breath and flicked several switches. "Forward power to braking systems."

"Landing gear deployed?" Rollins barked at Fowler, who responded with a quick "Gear down!" The commander clenched his teeth, "All systems go. We just need to find a soft spot."

"Icarus II, this is Shuttlecraft 3," Zyrax's voice reassured from the cockpit, "We're tracking you and will be landing nearby. Good luck."

"Yeah, but will any of us survive to meet them?" Brent sarcastically grunted as the mountain peaks loomed closer in their sight.

"Come on," Rollins whispered, scanning the horizon for a flat surface.

"Ten thousand feet," Fowler called out, followed by "Nine thousand."

"Main engine shutdown complete," Brent announced. "We're gliding now."

"Six thousand.... Four thousand." Brent's voice trembled as he spoke.

"Skipper, twelve o'clock!" his voice now laced with terror.

Rollins's heart sank as he spotted a colossal peak towering over three thousand feet in the distance. They were descending too quickly, hurtling towards a catastrophic collision that would obliterate the Icarus II into countless fragments.

"Jettison main thrusters!" the commander shouted urgently.

Fowler's eyes widened in disbelief. "But Skipper, that means--"

"I know what it means, and if you don't do it, we're all dead! Jettison main thrusters!"

The navigator reached down to open a rear console panel, revealing a concealed bright green button.

"Come on!" Rollins shouted as he and Brent saw the peak loom closer. Fowler pressed it, and the spacecraft rose momentarily as the main engines at the rear of the Icarus II were jettisoned and fell away. The Icarus II had now become a glider, unable to leave the surface under its own power.

After the maneuver, the spacecraft barely cleared the jagged peak. But as soon as the nose cleared, a violent bump jolted the three astronauts.

Fowler called, "Skipper, our rear gear brushed against it! Indications are that it's damaged badly!"

Brent faced the terrible realization that even if they landed safely, the Icarus II would never fly again. He would be trapped in the 25th Century forever, cut off from his family and any hope of setting things right with them.

Rollins maintained a steady expression as he gripped the control stick, guiding the spacecraft on its descent arc. The Icarus II descended below the surrounding rock peaks, leaving no room for error.

"Three thousand....two thousand...." Fowler ticked off. The navigator's heart was pounding so frantically, he felt as though it would explode.

"Look!" Brent pointed, "At two o'clock, I think we can set her down there."

Rollins strained his eyes and saw a rough-looking desert stretching for thousands of feet, abruptly meeting another peak.

"Okay," the commander said, "Let's try for there." He moved the craft's nose down to put it on a heading for the landing spot.

"Fowler, stand by to deploy all main and auxiliary chutes."

"Standing by. Now at one thousand feet, eight hundred...."

"Deploy!"

The three astronauts felt a violent jolt as the four parachutes mounted in the rear of the spacecraft were deployed, slowing the ship's rate of descent. Even with the chutes deployed though, Rollins still felt they were coming in too fast for a landing on an inadequate site.

Any other terrain--fields, trees, sand, would have been manageable. The only things the Icarus II hadn't been designed for were water and rocky desert terrain.

"Thank you Consolidated Dynamics," he thought bitterly, "you cheap bastards." With a deep sigh, he gripped the throttle and moved it up one last time for the final approach. The ship rumbled beneath him as he prepared for the landing.

"Touchdown in five, four, three, two..." his voice trailed off as he focused on the task at hand.

Before Fowler could finish, the Icarus II had made contact with the ground. Rollins felt the damaged rear landing gear crumple instantly from the impact, and the spacecraft began to slide violently across the rough, rocky surface. It bumped twice against some medium-sized obstacles on the ground.

Rollins desperately applied power to the braking flaps, shouting, "Come on, you son-of-a-!" Beside him, Brent's face filled with terror as he gripped his chair and saw the mountain barrier looming ahead. If they didn't stop in time, all he would see was the orange flash of the explosion engulfing him.

But then, he felt the Icarus II decelerate until finally, the skidding spacecraft came to a stop a mere fifty feet from the base of the cliff.

"The Icarus has landed," Rollins let out a sigh as he took his hand off the throttle.

Brent also let out a relieved exhale and felt the urge to get down on his knees in prayerful thanks to God.

"Icarus II?" the radio became active again, "Icarus II do you copy?"

Rollins felt so drained that it took him thirty seconds to reach over and hit the respond button, "Shuttlecraft 3, this is Rollins. We're okay."

"We'll be settling down beside you in three minutes."

"Can't wait to meet you guys," Rollins said, shutting off the communications terminal power and undoing his harness straps. "Fowler?" he called out, but there was no response. "Fowler?"

Brent looked back and his relief suddenly turned to wide-eyed horror.

"Skipper!"

The commander got to his feet and dashed back toward the rear of the spacecraft. They found the red-haired navigator sprawled against the compartment bulkhead with a deep gash in his forehead.

"Oh my God," he whispered and got to his knees. He desperately tried to feel a pulse but knew right away that he'd feel nothing.

"Fowler!" Brent shouted as he dashed back and joined him.

"Forget it," Rollins shook his head, "He's dead."

"How?" the second-in-command was shocked. "How could---"

Rollins cast a forlorn glance at Fowler's navigation station. He could see the harness straps that had held the navigator in place lying broken over the chair.

"There's your answer," he said in a flat monotone, "His harness failed and the impact hurled him all the way back into the bulkhead wall."

"Damn," Brent felt a tear welling up. "Damn."

"We can't do anything for him," the commander got to his feet. "We just have to accept it and move on."

"Can you take this whole thing that lightly?" Brent glared angrily. He no longer had any illusion in his mind that there was a rational purpose to this mission.

"I haven't got any other choice but to handle it that way," Rollins said calmly, "And maybe that's why I got to be the commander of this expedition. Our concern has to be with those who are still living and finding them. Now get all your gear together, and let's get ready to meet those new friends of ours."

He moved back to the front of the cockpit, leaving Brent alone with the corpse of their fellow astronaut. The second-in-command quickly covered Fowler's head with a canvas before he finally left.

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