Free Independence Day: Silent Zone by Stephen Molstad

these fire-retarding overalls on. So, he waves to the
crowd
and goes inside. Then these other guys come and set fire to the shack
and then
throw this honkin' bundle of dynamite inside. A couple of seconds
later,
kablooey! The whole thing blows sky-high, and you see the stunt-man
come flying
through the air—Aaaaagh!—in this perfect swan dive, and he lands on
this big air-mattress.
For a minute he just lies there— I might be dead —but
then he jumps up and
takes a bow."
    "I
think I saw that one," Freiling shouted. "It was at a
racetrack."
    "If
you have a point to make, why don't you get to it?" Radecker snapped.
    "Are
you dense?" Freiling demanded, wheeling around and looking at Radecker
like he was the crazy one. "The boy is asking for some safety
equipment.
He needs a crash helmet and something to land on."
    And
fifteen minutes later, that is what he had. Cibatutto had taken a
colander from
the kitchen, lined the inside with foam padding, and attached a chin
strap. By
the time this makeshift headgear was ready, Okun and Radecker had
created a
landing pad by stacking mattresses under the hatchway of the alien
ship. Okun
strapped on the helmet, climbed the ladder, and practiced diving to
safety. It
was fun, it was simple, they were ready to go.
    When
he
saw they meant to go through with it, Dworkin announced that he refused
to
participate and started to leave the hangar.
    "Dr.
Dworkin," Radecker called across the room. "I wouldn't do that if I
were you. Have you already forgotten our deal?" The tall gaunt
scientist
stood there for a moment while his conscience wrestled with his sense
of
self-preservation. Finally, he turned around and returned a few steps
closer to
the ship. "How would the director like me to assist?"
    "That's
OK, you can just stand there and watch. Dr. Lenel, why don't you show
me how to
work this contraption. I'd like to operate it, if that's okay with our
stuntman."
    Okun realized
Radecker was blackmailing the holding their embezzlement over their
heads like
a hatchet. And while it made him sad to see the regal old Dworkin
having to
kowtow to a man of half his years and a quarter of his IQ, he figured
there was
nothing he could do about it. Looking completely ridiculous standing
next to
the spaceship with the big stainless-steel strainer strapped to his
head, he
offered Radecker a manly thumbs-up, then, after a few deep breaths,
climbed the
ladder and disappeared into the dark mass of the alien vehicle.
    Lenel
turned the power dial a tad lower than Okun had requested, then showed
Radecker
how to activate the power by means of a simple switch. As he turned and
stepped
off the operators platform, Radecker quickly reached down and cranked
the power
regulator up a full twist to the right. That ought to do the job.
    Inside,
Okun looked around uncertainly. This was starting to seem like a very
bad idea.
It wasn't the power surge that would rip through the ship in a moment;
it was
the dark interior. Being in there alone, he suddenly felt how foreign,
how
otherworldly this claustrophobic environment was. There was just enough
light
seeping through the cabin windows to cast dim shadows across the
rounded walls,
which were dripping with creepy, semiorganic technology. It felt more
like a
mausoleum than a flying machine. He was on the verge of chickening out,
but
instead he pulled on his goggles and yelled down through the hatch that
he was
ready.
    As soon as the power
switched on, the same loud crack ripped through the ship, knocking Okun
slightly off-balance. He reached out to steady himself on the wall. All
across
the instrument panel lights snapped on, including the shell screen
Cibatutto
had shown him. He jerked his hand away from the wall when he felt it
swell to
life under his palm. Unfortunately, the momentum of his arm combined
with the
uncertainty of his feet to cause the natural athlete to trip once over
his left
foot, then immediately
again over his
right, all of it taking him farther away from the