Free The World Game by Allen Charles Page B

protection or any experience of space flight and the inherent dangers. But better a reasonable chance of survival than none at all.
    The first three transports were loaded and locked down ready for launch. There was no delay or traditional countdown from Goddard Launch Control. The transports simply left one after the other and three more railed in to take their place and loads.
    The activity was becoming frantic with less than 45 minutes until the shock wave was due to hit Goddard and the Skyhook. The semblance of discipline and order was beginning to break down, with military and staff realizing that this was the last chance to escape certain death. People started pushing and shoving to get aboard the transports, the wailing of injured punctuated by the shouted orders of the few military controllers still trying to maintain order.
    The bales and supplies were being thrown in now with no attempt to secure them or balance the loading. The three pilots huddled together in conference, looking at timepieces and comparing with the wall screen data on the shock wave approach. They came to a decision and broke away to their respective transports, each now with sidearm in hand and plain sight. They knew that there was only 8 minutes left until they had to leave to achieve the minimum thirty minutes until separation from the Skyhook.
    Just meeting those constraints was no guarantee of safety or survival. No one knew how the Skyhook would react when the shock wave hit the base of the twenty seven thousand mile long tube. Such a catastrophe had never been anticipated and never tested in theory. They were soon to find out.
    At thirty seconds before lift off, the three pilots activated emergency alarm sirens in their transports, loudly wailing klaxon warnings. Enough to make everyone freeze in their tracks and look for the source of the danger. In that instant the pilots closed the doors automatically, over-riding the safety switching that prevented bodies, limbs or objects from being crushed or severed in the doorway. Screams came from two of the transports as people struggling to get in were caught in the doorways. Arms and torsos were severed and dropped inside the air lock as the former arm owners writhed in agony and bled out on the gangway rolling in the bloody pools of guts and legs of those maybe more fortunate to have been killed outright. The crowd withdrew in horror at the shock of the violence and the abrupt end of life before their eyes.
    After a few seconds of silence within the strident alarms, the collective anger of the mob grew, suppressing their individual will to survive, and as one they fell on the outer hull of the transport, hitting it with bare fists or anything at hand. The bloody smears and impacts did nothing to a metal skin designed to withstand meteorite impact.
    The pilots saw that there was no way to push back the angry mob, so they engaged drive and started launch with seconds to spare. The grasping hands slid away as those closest to the first transport were dragged by friction against the gangway safety fence, then the transports were free and the crowds fell forward off the gangways onto the rails. Those fallen on the rails at the first and second gangways were crushed by the second and third transport as they passed. Blood flowed like water between the rails as the remaining people looked on in horror as the red streaked transports, with their only hope of survival, drew away and vanished up the Skyhook.
    An engineer in the crowd, his face contorted in raw, animal anger, screamed out “Why should they get away? Look what they did! They need to pay! They need to come back and get us all or they should die!” The crowd turned to him. A single voice called out “Come back or die! Come back or die!” The engineer screamed “Follow me! I can turn off the power to the Skyhook. We can make them come back!”
    The crowd parted allowing the engineer to lead the way and then surged after him, oblivious to