Free Independence Day: Silent Zone by Stephen Molstad Page A

escape door. His
stumbling
landed him flat-ass on the floor directly in front of the shell screen,
where
he saw something that scared the bejesus out of him. A picture filled
the
vein-laced screen, a fuzzy, distorted image of a giant Y rising
straight out of
the ground. The alien technology gave this image a visual texture
unlike any
Okun had seen before. The picture spoke to him. Not with words, but in
emotional terms. For reasons he would never fully understand, this
simple image
communicated a deep emotional sensation that hit him like a punch in
the gut.
It seemed like the loneliest, most desolate thing he'd ever seen in his
life.
He got the sense this great Y-shape was somehow an instrument of
torture, an
enemy. But at the same time, it was beckoning Okun, urgently calling
for him to
come. His plan to check the other instruments completely forgotten,
Okun sat on
the floor, mesmerized by the picture and his strong emotional response
to it.
Later he would be able to joke about the moment, likening it to reading
a
travel brochure for Hell written by Samuel Beckett, but at the moment
he was in
trouble. The temperature inside the ship was rising fast. Fortunately,
something nearby started moving. The steering controls, that neatly
folded
stack of bones, opened itself and twitched to life like a pair of giant
lobster
legs. This distraction saved his life, occurring as it did just as a
butt-bubbling
wave of heat suddenly rose in the floor. In one giant stride, Okun
crossed the
cockpit and dived through the hatch, handing facefirst on the mattress.
    Radecker
switched off the power.
    The
scientists looked at the long-haired daredevil stuntman-cum-lab worker
and
waited for a sign that he would live. His exit from the ship could not
fairly
be called a swan dive, but it was pretty close, especially for a
beginner, so
the gentlemen were expecting him to leap up any moment and take a bow.
    "Mr.
Okun?... Mr. Okun?..."

5

Into the Stacks
    Standing
on a chair with his pants
around his
ankles and his ass toward the
bathroom mirror, Okun examined his burns. The doctor who examined him
upstairs
in the hangar had assured him they weren't serious. But they were
painful
enough to keep him from sitting down for a few days. He gingerly pulled
up his
trousers, then examined his new piece of jewelry. He'd attached the
ankh-shaped
gizmo he'd found in the ship to a piece of leather string to make
himself a
necklace. He admired his new treasure in the mirror. "Groovy," he
nodded. Then, feeling hungry, he went looking for food.
    "Howdy, hot
pants," Lenel barked out for the benefit of the other scientists when
Okun
wandered into the kitchen. The young man ignored the comment. He
grabbed a box
of cereal and lay down, belly first, on the daybed they'd brought in
for him.
    Cibatutto couldn't
resist cracking a joke of his own. "We were going to have hot dogs for
lunch,"
he sniggered, "but we can't seem to find any toasted buns!" The old
men howled with laughter.
    "Fortunately,"
Dworkin added, "it looks as though there's plenty of rump roast."
This witticism brought on yet another round of guffaws.
    When they were finished,
Okun turned a jaundiced eye on them and tried out a one-liner of his
own.
"Hardy har har. You guys are so hilarious, you should work in Vegas.
Call
yourselves 'Jerry's kids'—Jerry Atrics, that is." The scientists didn't
get it. "As in Geriatrics? Oh, forget it." The men had been in the
hole too long to know anything about the telethon.
    For the next ten
minutes, these distinguished gentlemen of science devoted their
attention to
the creation of one butt joke after another. The wisecracks were their
way of
welcoming Okun into their clique. He'd passed a major test the day
before.
Although he hadn't exactly spilled blood for the good of the project,
he'd
brought it to the surface of his skin, and that was close enough.
    Freiling called for
everyone's attention. "OK, Brecklish, I got one for you." He smiled
devilishly. "I made it up