//|| //^^\\ || || .|. COHERENT COMICS UNINCORPORATED PRESENTS // || \\ || || --X--------------------------------------------- //====TIME=CAPSULES====== '|` ASH UNIVERSE: TIME CAPSULES #4 // || \\ || || "The Plane That Came Down And Woke Up The World" // || \\__// || || Copyright 2003 by Wil Alambre ___________________________________________________________________________ [cover is a closeup of a shattered cockpit window from a private jet. Flames can be seen reflected in the remaining glass. The cover copy reads, "Ah, broken is the golden bowl! The spirit flown forever!" in small cursive script.] "Mr. Spinoza, I have something here for you," Professor M'Cormack said with a smile to Kaoru on the oter side of the room. "It goes along with a common thread that seems to repeatedly make its way into your hands." Kaoru looked up from his pile of CDROMs and mandatory indexing, a puzzled look on his face. The confusion didn't lift when the archaeology professor placed a dented black box on the table in front of him. "This came from the capsule?" "Mm hm," M'Cormack nodded. "It's a flight recorder from a jet plane crash." Kaoru picked up the box, turning it over in his hands, already trying to figure out how to access the information inside. "Will you tell me which plane crash we're talking about, or do I have to infer that from the recording?" "No, I won't be cruel," she chuckled. "The plane went down on December 26th, 2023. In Montreal." "The Conclave of Super-Villians?" "Since Mr. Radner as his associates have cropped up several times, I thought it prudent to let you go over the recordings. Perhaps you might uncover a different layer behind the unveiling of the Conclave of Super- Villians." She smiled when he looked at her. "No, I don't expect you to find anything, but you never know." Kaoru nodded, and went to a terminal to find some adapters. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Buzzzzz. His eyes opened slowly, but they did open. The room was still black, the only light the glare of his bedside alarm clock. The wee hours of the morning. Buzzzzz. He shifted, pushing down on the blanket, when a soft arm snaked out from under it and over his chest in a comforting caress. He smiled, and gently nudged it, trying to free himself, but the arm refused to move. "Leave it," came the sleepy murmur. Buzzzzz. "Please? Just tonight?" "It doesn't work that way, you know that," he replied. Kissing his wife's forehead, he eventually slid her arm away and got out of bed. He heard her sigh as he rubbed his eyes, got up, and walked over to the dresser, picking up the insistent pager. Buzzzzz. A flick to quiet it, and another to light up the display, reading the text message. It was disappointing, but not entirely unexpected. A yawn, and he reached over to the light switch. "Cover your eyes," he suggested before turning on the lights. She groaned, and covered her head with the blankets, trying to hide from the sudden brightness. She was cute that way, it was one of the many things that held them together. He smiled at her, though she couldn't see him, and started to put on his clothes. "I have to go." "It's not Marx, is it?" she said, coming out into the open again. A cross expression wiped away her drowsiness. "Come on, don't..." "It's Mr. Marx," he admitted. "He's going to Montreal." "God! Gil! You just got back!" "And now I have to go again. This is the job." "This is our life, too, you know!" He sighed, his tie hanging around his neck as he looked in the mirror, looking at her reflection. "I'm sorry, I really am. I'll make it up to you." "You ALWAYS say that." She got out of bed, angrily wrapping a house coat around herself. "I mean it this time," he said, a crooked grin on his face. "I'll talk with Mr. Marx about getting some time off. Some real time off. Like several days in a row this time. We'll go somewhere nice, just you and me." "Yeah, you and me and Marx with his leash around you," she accused, coming up to him, and straightening his tie for him. "No," he took her chin lightly in his hand, and lifted her eyes to his own. "No pagers, no calls. Just you and me. I promise." He kissed her lovingly, before whispering, "I promise. Okay? A real honeymoon, Mrs. Gil Stern." She scrunched up her face, in mock indecision, then smiled. "Okay, Mr. Gil Stern. A real honeymoon. 'Cause, no offense, this one sucks." * * * * "Damn, Gil, aren't you supposed to be married or something?" "Don't remind me, Ross" said Gil to Co-Pilot Crantz as he ducked his head and climbed into the cockpit of the Devlin Marx's personal jet. He put his briefcase down behind his seat and tossed his cap on top of it, before sitting down in the pilot's chair. It felt good under him, an old friend and trusted companion. "So what happened?" pressed Ross. "I thought me and Petey were doing this one." "I dunno," he replied shrugging. "Got the call, something about Petey being sick or something. They needed me to fly 'Leonore'." "See, him, he was smart. You should have done that. You're newly-wed, no one would have blamed you." "I would have blamed me," Gil said, taking up the regular checklist. "This is my job, this is what I do. Mr. Marx needs to go somewhere, I have to make sure he gets there." "Is this a money thing? Worried about how you planning to pay for all the Gil Juniors in the works or something." Gil didn't bother to answer, throwing only a unamused expression at his friend. He turned back to his checklist and went over the instruments as carefully as if he hadn't done this a hundred times before. "You know what you should do? You should talk to the boss and get a week off or something, A vacation for you and the missus." Gil put down the clipboard and stared at Ross, half-annoyed. "Have you been conspiring with my wife?" "What?" "Nothing," he said, tapping the fuel gauge, and marking off another check. "Forget it. Just something my wife said. Look, will you give the ground crew a call and tell them to watch the tanks? This is the third time they barely met the fuel minimum in 'Leonore'. Mr. Marx can afford having extra, just in case." Ross shook his head, chuckling. "What?" "You ain't even hearing yourself," Ross said with a waggle of his finger. "Saying okay to a call on your honeymoon, blowing off for what, a routine to Montreal and back." "It's more then that." "Is it?" Ross stared at him. "Then why do you keep saying 'my wife'? Doesn't this 'wife' have a name anymore? You call the damn plane by a name." Gil Stern did not answer his friend. * * * * "How's our time?" Ross looked over his shoulder, seeing who had entered the cockpit. Gil couldn't imagine who he was expecting to see. 'Leonore' was Devlin Marx's private jet, and currently only had three passengers; Mr. Marx himself, and his guests Ms. Dumont and the abnormally normal Mr. Archangeli. It wasn't like someone else could just pop in. "Oh, evening, Mr. Archangeli," Ross smiled, doing a surprisingly good job of rolling the mouthful of name off his tongue. "Or good morning, as the case may be. We're right on schedule, and will be making our final approach in five." Archangeli nodded politely. "Would you mind informing the others they should take their seats and buckle up?" Gil said, not taking his eyes off the yoke and instruments in front of him. "I don't want to wake anyone with the PA who might have dozed off." "No worries, we're all up and about. I'll tell Devlin and Jessa, thank you," he nodded to both of them, and left the cockpit, closing the door behind them. Gil frowned, concentrating on the sky outside. Light rain and strong winds had come in unannounced, and was partially obscuring the view. It was only the instruments' readings and tower's assurances that let him know they were anywhere near an airport. "I hate droning around visual at night in weather without having some clue where I am," Ross muttered, turning back to the instruments. "See how we're going right into this crap." "Right." "Dee em fourteen twenty," Approach Control called in over the radio "Uh, when you join the final, you're going to be right at just a little bit outside the marker if that's gonna be okay for ya." The person on the other end seemed nervous. No, thought Gil, too strong a word. Confused maybe. "That's great," Gil radioed back, trying to sound confident. "That's great with us." No one likes rain on a landing. Better than the snow that'd be normal this time of year, though. "Dee em fourteen twenty, roger." "See we're right on the base of these clouds so..." Ross pointed out. "Yeah," was Gil's only response. The rain was letting up, looking like the airport itself was clear of it. Still wet, but at least they would be able to see it. "Two seven zero, two thousand three hundred?" "Yep," nodded Ross. "Dee em fourteen twenty, turn right heading three, zero zero." "Right turn three zero zero dee em fourteen twenty," acknowledged Gil, gradually turning the plane and lining up with their runway. "Three thousand," reported Ross from the altimeter. "Roger that, three thousand," Gil spoke back to Approach. "Dee em fourteen twenty. This is four right, correct?" There was a pause in the reply, Gil was wondering if Approach wasn't telling him something. "Dee em fourteen twenty," they finally radioed, "that's correct sir. And runway four right, cleared to land. The wind three five zero at three zero, gusts three five." "Hey Gil, does the strip look funny to you?" Ross murmured "What?" "It looks longer then I remember it." Gil couldn't help a chuckle. "You're complaining that the runway is too LONG?" He shook his head. "It's just wet from the rain, it's an optical illusion. It's nothing." "I dunno," Ross bit his lower lip. "I was just here last week, and I don't remember it being this long." "Look, when we get 'Leonore' on the ground, I'll grab some rulers and we can measure it, alright?" "Fine," Ross said, dropping the subject. He set the flaps and lowered the landing gear. "Landing gear down." "I named it after her, you know." "What?" "The plane," Gil confessed. "I named the plane after my wife. She wasn't my wife then, but I knew she would be." "Huh," Ross smiled. "Flaps twenty eight?" Gil asked. "Oh. Oh, yeah." "Add twenty. Twenty knots." "Okay." "Dee em fourteen twenty, the runway four right RVR now is one thousand six hundred," announced Approach. "Okay, Dee em fourteen twenty, we're established inbound," said Gil. "Dee em fourteen twenty roger," replied Approach at its most official sounding, though that quiver was still there. "Runway four right, cleared to land, and the wind, three four zero at three one. North wind, north uh, boundary wind is three zero zero at two six, northeast boundary wind three two zero at two five, and the four right RVR is one thousand six hundred." "Dee em fourteen twenty, thanks." He glanced at Ross a moment, seeing his co-pilot place his hands on the yoke too. "Forty flaps, please." "Forty now. Thousand feet. Twenty, forty forty land. There's the runway, got it?" Gil nodded. Together, they slowly brought the jet down to the strip. "Hundred feet," called out Ross. "Hundred," agreed Gil. "Fifty." "Sink rate." "Forty" "Sink rate." "Thirty." "Twenty." "Ten." There were the telltale thuds, the aircraft wheels making contact with the pavement of the runway. But it wasn't the kind of sound Gil was expecting. Pilots got used to the sounds their planes make, and a shiver ran up his spine as those resounding thuds were followed by much too much squealing. "We're down," said Ross, almost a question rather then a fact. The plane was moving faster on the ground then it was on approach. The strip and grass around it zoomed past as Gil and Ross were having trouble keeping it straight. "We're sliding! We're sliding!" yelled Ross, fighting the yoke. "Brakes!" "We're running out of strip!" "Brakes!" A horrendous snap was heard, and the plane pitched forward, nose smashing into the rushing pavement. The windshield splintered in front of them, and the pilots were tossed forward at the sparking and wailing instrument panel. Only their harnesses kept them from being flung out onto the racing concrete. Gil tried to grab hold of something. The scratching yelling sound of the skin of the jet sliding against the strip was deafening. He forced his eyes opening, watching the end coming. He saw the terminal coming, at a tilted angle. He felt the plane crunch into the building, the left wing embedding itself in the bricks and girders. The plane spun a moment, unwilling to let go, then fell apart, the wing ripping free in a tangle of metal of fuel and flames. The pavement ended, the nose dug into grass and dirt. The air was slammed from his lungs as he slammed against the harness, the plane gouging earth and sod into the air. Ross's chair snapped free and his head banged into the side of the cockpit. Gil felt a snapping pain, then merciful darkness. * * * * "Wake up, spit! Wake up!" Gil was jarred awake, smelling smoke and fuel and electric burns. Something was wrong with one of his eyes, in wouldn't open. A sticky feeling on it, in his hair. Blood? "Are you all right?" Someone was talking to him, he looked up at a blur that solidified itself into a woman he didn't recognize. She had undone his harness, and was quickly releasing Ross. How had she got on board? How long had they been out? "Can you hear me? Are you okay?" "Yeah! I mean, yes. I'm okay," he finally managed. "My name is Ridley, I'm with the DSHA." She sounded very authoritive. "The plane is on fire, we need to get the both of you out of here!" She struggled with Ross' harness for a while longer until it finally came free. "Spit!" "What?" Ross was waking up, his arm nursing his side. There was a dark red mark where his ribs were. Gil got up, a sharp pain in both his legs, but manageable. He helped Ridley pull Ross to his feet, despite the man's yells on pain. "Damnit, Gil, I think I'm really hurt here!" "The plane's on fire, we got to get out!" As they made their way into the main cabin, negotiating the tilted floor, Gil and Ridley supported Ross as best they could. The richly decorated cabin was twisted slightly in the middle, fire and smoke was coming from one wall. Ridley had already opened one of the doors, the emergency slide more of a sidewalk at the angle. Gil went first, and Ridley passed the moaning Ross to him before making it down herself. Emergency vehicles were already on the scene, the pitched screams of sirens mixing with the haze of nearby smoke. His eyes watered, and he needed to rub them, but his hands were full holding Ross. He swore under his breath, wishing Ridley would put down that crossbow and help him out. Crossbow? "Hey," he choked, trying to be heard over the yells of firemen and approaching nurses. "Why do you have a..." "MAY! MAY!" Ridley waved into the air. Gil looked up, and saw three helijets gracefully bank over the terminal toward the strip and crash zone. Company, Gil realized, Ridley's friends. "Ow, damn. My side really hurts, Gil," Ross slurred, slumping a bit. "Hang on Ross, we're in the clear," he said to Ross, looking about the confusion for a free doctor or nurse or stretcher or anything. The pinching pain in his legs were making his eyes water even more and the heat from the fire was getting bad, even on the clear side of the crash. An explosion echoed across the tarmac, and Gil's heart stopped, afraid the firemen and the hoses hadn't stopped the crashed jet from going up. But the roar was from above them, from the sky. Gil and Ross both looked up in time to see a ball of crumpled steel and glass flare and fall to the pavement not a hundred meters from a nearby firetruck. A dark, evil shape hovered in the air, beyond the fire and smoke. It was silent and omnipresent, and Gil could swear it hadn't been there a moment ago. Did the helijets crash into it? A bolt of jagged blue and white spit from the side of the shape, a smell of electricity flooded the air for a split second, and the last helijet flipped. One of the props went flying away from the vehicle as it swung down to the ground in a dizzying turn. There was a heart wrenching crumple as the helijet hit the ground, burning. "NOOOOOOOO!" shouted Ridley as she watched the two helijets collide, and the third plummet and crash in a ball of flame. "MAAAAAAAAAAAY!" She shoved them forward as she fell to her knees in shock. Gil felt like he was going to vomit. "Gil..." Ross, tugged at his sleeve. He looked at Ross, then at the figure approaching them. It was a young girl, much too young to be a paramedic, though she was dressed that way. She carried a paramedics kit, and seemed unfazed by the death and the fire and the screams around her. "Ridley," he turned to her, as she was getting to her feet, rubbing her eyes against her arm to wipe away tears. May must have been a friend, Gil realized. He turned back to the nurse. CRACK! Ross spasmed in his arms, slumping forward with a moan. CRACK! It was like someone had punched him in the gut. The girl had a gun pointing it at him. He dropped Ross when his arms felt cold and heavy, and he had only a moment of shock in seeing his blood spill from the wound in his stomach before he collapsed on the ground. The world seemed to dull, like the television volume being turned down. The heat didn't seem so hot anymore, and the water in his eyes did irritate his eyes. He laid on his side, his torso slowly getting hollow and heavy at the same time. The last little bits were scattered, and nonsense. "YOU! Y...res...ble" he heard Ridley in anger. "...knew to...gent...burnout..." the girl said. A thump, and Ridley fell to the ground nearby. "Say goodnight..." Leonore. Nothing. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Professor M'Cormack looked up as Kaoru entered the room, returning the dented black box. "Anything interesting?" she asked. "A different perspective, but nothing historically relevant," Kaoru confessed. "Not everyone has a world of revelations hidden away." He put the box with a stack of CDROMS that would be sorted and indexed and filed away. He lingered at the box a moment longer. "Problem?" M'Cormack asked, curious. Kaoru looked up, embarrassed to have been caught half aware. "No, nothing. Just a passing fancy." He paused a moment, but decided to continue nonetheless. "I was just wondering what people thought about living in such a turbulent time. Where the figureheads of power and history strode like giants above and ontop of them." Professor M'Cormack laughed. "Very poetic, good to see that you're able to appreciate the philosophical underpinnings of all these dry facts," she gestured at the stack of CDROMs. "It's what makes a historian more than a keeper of catalogues. Now, let's see what you can make of this next pile of dry facts," she transferred a new assignment to Kaoru's handcomp. "Yes, Professora...." ============================================================================ Editor's Notes: Yes, the first issue of Time Capsules in something like four years, and from a new author, to boot! Wil Alambre has done some fan art for ASH, and also maintains http://wilsego.com/racc (WE|RACC), a web-based supplement to rec.arts.comics.creative. This is his first story in the ASH Universe. The events of this issue run parallel to CSV #1/2 through CSV #2.