SCOTT HAYDEN'S STOMACH tightened as he closed in on the interception point. This is it, he thought. I've finally made it. He concentrated on the task of piloting his airspeeder and allowed no other thought to distract him. He worked out the tension in his hand by squeezing the control stick. He was in top form this time. Just moments ago, he had finished the obstacle course—a substantial accomplishment in itself, but it merely qualified him for the real test.

The console beeped. He was entering the defense perimeter of the enemy Mothership. Scott glanced at the radar display. A cloud of dots surrounded the enormous craft like a swarm of angry bees: enemy fighters. He prepared to engage them.

Now the Mothership was visible. Its massive bulk hung above the sea, suspended by forces unknown and incomprehensible to Man. Scott was half-alien himself, but he felt no empathy for these invaders. They had come to plunder and destroy. Scott's father, on the other hand, had come to help the Earth, and his son. Scott's unique heritage couldn't help him now. He was just another face in the suicide squads attacking the Mothership. He would probably fail, as so many others had. If so, he'd at least have the satisfaction of knowing he did his best to liberate Earth from the invaders. He was one of the Skyhunters, the last best hope of humanity.

Three enemy 'speeders zoomed towards him. They were much larger and their engines droned ominously. Scott maintained his cool and set his sights on the first challenger. His finger jerked against the fire button and a hot white plasma bolt erupted from the speeder's main gun. The blast hit the port engine of the enemy craft and shredded it. The hapless 'speeder cartwheeled into the surf below and exploded. Good shot, Scott told himself. He was lining up on the second 'speeder when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"We have to go, Scott," Paul Forrester said. Scott gave him a quick, protesting glance, then acquiesced. His assault on the Mothership would have to wait. He shoved the stick all the way forward and his 'speeder crashed into the sea. The words "GAME OVER" flashed persistently on the screen.

"I was almost to the Mothership, Dad," Scott chided.

"It's just a video game, Scott. You can find one in the next town."

They walked out of the 7-11 and got into the car. "We've got to move fast," Paul said, as he started the engine. Noting the dour look on his son's face, he added, "Fox is in the area. We know that."

Scott nodded, but he sulked for a long time. Paul was concerned, but he had learned that teenagers often acted like that for silly reasons, and it was never as bad as it looked.

Robert Barnes was deep in slumber when the phone rang. The noise was horribly loud, and it shattered a pleasant dream he would have preferred to finish. A hazy stupor enveloped him. He tried to shake it off as he reached for the phone. He dragged the receiver to his ear. "Yeah, this is Rob."

Sleep screamed in his eyes as he listened to the insistent voice on the other end. "Okay, Theo. Give me half-an-hour," he mumbled. He swore and dumped the receiver onto the floor. He swung his legs out from underneath the covers and sat up on the edge of the bed. He rubbed his eyes, reached for a cigarette, lit it, and took a long draw. He coughed and crushed the remainder in the ashtray. The floor was covered with weeks of dirty laundry and several dozen beer cans from the party the night before. He stood up reluctantly and his sense of balance spun around like a windmill. He wobbled a bit but managed to stay on his feet. He touched his forehead gingerly and cringed.

"I feel like crap," he mumbled to himself, as he stumbled into the bathroom and flipped on the light. "I look like crap," he added, peering through barely open lids at his disheveled reflection in the bathroom mirror.

He stepped into the shower, turned the cold water on full, and howled as icy streams sprayed from the shower head. "The only way to start a Monday," he said groggily, as he reached for the soap.

Scott stirred restlessly and snapped awake. For a moment he was disoriented. Then he realized he was in the car and it was moving. "Where are we?" he asked. He stretched some cramps out.

"About a hundred miles south of Denver," Paul said. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Yeah," Scott said, massaging a persistent knot in his neck. "What about you?"

Paul shrugged. "I'll take a nap when we get to the motel. Are you hungry?"

"Yeah," Scott said. He turned on the radio. "...the Senate is expected to begin debating the President's budget later today. In other news, the space shuttle Inferno is standing by at Cape Canaveral in Florida, ready for a super-secret Defense Department mission. The shuttle is expected to lift off sometime during the next two weeks, but the exact launch time and the duration of the mission are being kept confidential for security reasons...."

Scott fiddled with the dial and settled on a popular-music station. The results sounded more like noise to Paul than anything he would classify as "music," but he tolerated the pandemonium for Scott's sake. Parents sure had to put up with a lot on this planet! Paul grinned at that thought and did his best to concentrate on the road as Scott thumped his hand against his thigh and made a lot of strange noises. And people said that aliens were weird!

The interior of the Mothership was a maze. Hundreds of tunnels and shafts criss-crossed its enormous bulk, but only a dozen or so were big enough for a 'speeder to fly through. One false turn in that labyrinth meant almost certain destruction. Only the shrewdest pilots ever got this far. The rest of them died much sooner.

Rob's eyes watched the viewscreen with total concentration. This was far different from the kind of fighting he had done in the Air Force. There, computers called most of the shots and even did a lot of the flying. But in the chasms of the Mothership, each pilot faced the challenge alone, with only a few crude instruments to help.

Rob relied on his intuition to guide him through the maze. The goal seemed impossible. How could any single pilot hope to defy the brunt of the Mothership? And yet, Rob knew he had to try. The future of Earth depended on victory!

A hostile maintenance robot emerged from a tunnel up ahead and lunged towards him. "Eat this, commie," Rob grunted, as he tapped the fire button repeatedly and blew it to bits.

A voice intruded on his communion with his 'speeder. His concentration wavered and he cut into a turn too early. The 'speeder smashed into the electrified lining of the tunnel and was obliterated.

"Way to go, Major Dweeb," Rob shouted. "You made me crash!"

Theodore Caswell responded with an exasperated gasp. "Rob, we're supposed to be at the Base in five minutes!"

Rob grabbed his jacket. "Okay, let's go, already."

"Did you remember your pills?" Theo asked. (Not only was Theo the better part of Rob's conscience, he was also the better part of Rob's memory. Which was one of the number one reasons why Rob had always hung on to Theo's friendship...it seemed to be the only thing he hadn't messed up in his life.)

"No," Rob said. "Good thing you reminded me." They went into the bathroom and Rob took a vial of tetracycline capsules out of the medicine chest.

"I'd hate to see you if you didn't take those," Theo kidded.

Rob laughed. "Yeah. Zits in space." He slipped the vial into one of the pockets of his flight suit.

Theo chuckled, then looked at him intently. "Are you hung over?"

"A little. It's nothing. I took some aspirin already," Rob said, leaving the bathroom. "Now where did I put my shades?"

Theo was using the toilet. "They're in the bomber," he said.

Rob looked at the fleet of plastic airplanes hanging from the centerfold-covered ceiling, spotted his sunglasses in the bomb compartment of a B-2 Stealth model, and plucked them out.

Theo came out of the bathroom and looked at the SKYHUNTER video game distastefully. "Why did you buy that stupid thing, anyway?"

"It psyches me up," Rob answered, putting the sunglasses on. "Let's go." He checked his answering machine and the alarm on the gun case. Then he and Theo left the apartment, locked up, and got into Rob's Porsche. "Besides," Rob said, as he peeled out, "it's not just any game. It's the best video game in history. Millions of kids would kill to own one."

"Oh yes, I'm sure they would. That's your basic problem, you know. You're a kid that never grew up."

Rob ignored the sarcasm. "That's right," he said with a cheerful smile. "why do you think I became an astronaut? And why do you think I still have acne?" The grin widened, and Theo couldn't help but smile.

"I'll go get us some more towels," Scott said, after he and Paul had settled down in their motel room.

"Okay," Paul said. He was stretched out on one of the beds reading a newspaper.

Scott paused at the door. "Why don't you try to get some sleep now," he suggested.

"Okay. But I'm going to check the paper for a job first."

Scott shrugged and left. He walked around to the motel office. The manager was a balding, heavy-set man named Steve Jeffries, who was reading the latest issue of Open Mind magazine. "Whaddya want?" he asked, without looking up.

"Some more towels, please," Scott said politely.

"Sorry, no extra towels," Jeffries said.

"What about blankets?"

"No extra blankets, either. Whaddya think this is, a luxury hotel?"

"Sorry," Scott apologized. "Uh, would you happen to know where the nearest SKYHUNTER video game would be?"

"Try the mall in town. They got all kinds of video games. My kid spends hours in that place." He finally looked up at Scott. "I'd watch it, kid. Those things'll burn your eyes out. Radioactive tubes."

"I'll be careful," Scott said diplomatically. "Thanks."

"Not that it makes any difference," Jeffries muttered, as he watched the boy exit. "We're all going to get nuked anyway."

"By the way, it was really bright of you to get drunk last night," Theo chastised, as Rob slipped the Porsche into a parking stall by the F-16 hanger of Ellington Air Force Base.

"I'm not the one that changed the timetable," Rob protested, as they got out. "What are you worried about, anyway? I feel fine.

"You knew they were going to move the launch day up if they could. The General will crap bricks if he finds out you're smashed."

"Then give him a laxative," Rob said. Theo looked at him sharply, then laughed. "Relax," Rob said. "I'm the pilot, Theo. They aren't going to launch without me."

"I wouldn't bet on it. You better watch your butt, Rob. Your carousing almost got you thrown out of NASA once. Don't you remember Fort Lauderdale?"

"Who would want to forget it?" Rob replied flippantly. They walked into the hangar and General Mitchell Epstein was waiting for them. "Good morning, gentlemen." He looked at Barnes. "Are you ready for takeoff, Colonel?"

"Yes sir," Rob said.

"Well, there's no rush," Epstein said. "Liftoff's been delayed for at least eight hours. There's a problem with a fuel pump, so they're replacing it."

Rob pointed at Theo. "He was worried about being late."

"Colonel Barnes was playing that video game of his, I bet," the General said, brushing some miniature bits of fluff off his hat.

Caswell nodded. "Yes sir. I think he likes it because he's trying to have a second childhood."

The General's blue-grey eyes snapped up. "Oh really? I thought he liked it because of the name."

The three of them laughed.

When Scott came back to the motel room, he found Paul fast asleep. Most of the newspaper was discarded on the floor, but the neatly-folded "Help Wanted" section was lying on the nightstand. Scott picked it up; Paul had circled an opening at a local photography studio: "Experienced photographer needed immediately..." Good. Maybe they'd be able to stay here for awhile, if Paul could get a job.

Scott scribbled a note on a Domino's pizza flyer and quietly left the room again. He was going to catch the bus downtown and find that mall.

Rob climbed out of the F-16 he had flown from Houston to Canaveral and took off his helmet. A NASA van was waiting for him, but before he got into it, the young astronaut turned to look at launch pad 39B. The Inferno was aimed towards the sky, ready for its second flight into space. Rob had been the pilot on her first mission too, when the deep space probe Odyssey 3 was launched.

"She's waiting for you," the van driver said.

Rob smiled, nodded, and got into the van.

Scott was quite annoyed. The video game palace at the mall had three SKYHUNTER consoles and all of them had at least five kids waiting to play. Scott stood across from them and shook his head in dismay.

"It's almost always like this," someone said.

"Huh?" Scott turned around. A teenager with sandy blond hair and sparkling blue eyes was standing next to him. "I'm Jason Jeffries," the kid said, offering his hand.

Scott shook it. "Scott Hayden. Jeffries? Does your dad run the Motel 6?"

"That's right. Are you staying there?"

"Yeah," Scott said. He pointed at the games. "Are there any others in town?"

"No," Jason said. "But if we come back later it won't be so busy."

"Great," Scott said. "What else is there to do in this town?"

"Well, we have a theater. Wanna see a movie?"

"You betcha." Scott walked out of the video palace with his new friend, all thoughts of SKYHUNTER and Motherships temporarily forgotten.

"Have you got Theo's gadget?" Mission commander Jasper Nelson asked Rob, after they'd done their pre-flight check. They were strapped into their seats in the Inferno's cockpit, preparing for launch.

"Yes sir," Rob said. He pulled a can of Coke and an odd muzzling device out of one of his deep pockets. He snapped the device onto the can and a short straw popped out of the top.

"Not bad," Nelson said. "How does it work?"

"You just press the button and suck," Rob explained. He demonstrated. "Oh, better take my pills." He got two of his tetracycline capsules out, which was a bit of a challenge because he was lying on his back. He chased the pills down with another squirt of Coke. He wiped his mouth and looked at Nelson with a grin on his face. "We don't want any whiteheads exploding in orbit."

Nelson chuckled. "And I thought all we had to worry about was warheads." His face became more serious. "Are you ready to bring that Ruskie ASAT down?"

"I was born ready," Rob replied. He glanced at one of the monitors. They were five minutes from liftoff.

"You're just the man we've been looking for, Mr. Forrester," Grace Simmons said. "The job is yours. There's just one more thing—you didn't put an address on your application."

Paul hesitated. "I'm staying at the Motel Six. I don't have an address right now."

"Oh, I see. Well, when you get a place, let us know, won't you?"

"Yes, of course." He smiled, relieved that she was willing to accept a temporary address. A lot of employers wouldn't hire without a permanent address, and Paul didn't have one—except for the old Paul Forrester's apartment in Chicago, and the new Paul had never been there and probably never would be.

"Excellent. Let's discuss your salary now. I'm afraid what I can offer may not be what you've been used to. Is two thousand dollars a month enough?"

"Yes," Paul said. "That will be fine."

"Six...main engine start...four...three...two. We have SRB start, we have liftoff, and the vehicle has cleared the tower," the controller at Kennedy was saying.

Rob's heart pounded as he felt the Inferno's engines release their full fury. Three g's of acceleration pushed him deep into his chair as the shuttle rose. Now that the liftoff had been accomplished, control of the mission was switched to the Johnson Space Center in Houston, where Theo Caswell and General Epstein monitored the progress of the liftoff.

"Execute roll maneuver, Inferno," Theo said.

"Copy control," Rob reported. "Roll maneuver successful." The shuttle was now properly oriented for its desired orbit.

"Inferno, this is control. Throttle, over."

"Copy control," Rob said, as he eased the throttles down. "Main engines at sixty-five percent." This was the most critical part of the launch, when the shuttle experienced the most aerodynamic stress. It was just after that period that the ill-fated Challenger blew up.

They passed the infamous 73-second mark without incident. "Throttle up, Inferno," Caswell instructed.

"Copy control, full throttle up. Main engines one-hundred percent." Rob pushed the throttles back up and relaxed. The most dangerous part of the launch was over now. For a minute or so there was nothing to do but enjoy the ride. The Inferno rose gracefully on the fire after which it was named; Rob had never felt a smoother liftoff. Then it was time to drop the solid rocket boosters.

"Go for SRB sep, over," Theo said.

"Copy control," Rob said. Jasper Nelson, the commander, flipped the separation switch. The solid boosters parted from the external tank and fell back towards the ocean. "We have SRB sep," Rob said. Again, not much to do for a few minutes.

Then they were approaching orbit. "You're lookin' good, Inferno," Caswell said. "Press to MECO, over."

"Copy control." Rob eased the throttles down all the way. "MECO is on schedule. Preparing for OMS burn, over." With the main engines cut off (MECO), Inferno navigated with its orbital maneuvering system (OMS). The giant fuel tank, which had been cast away over the Indian ocean on most previous missions, was now taken into orbit with the shuttle. The tanks were used as platforms for observations and ongoing space experiments.

"OMS burn successful," Rob reported. "Orbit achieved." They cruised for about twenty minutes, then fired the OMS again to make the orbit circular.

"Open CDB's," Nelson instructed.

"Roger," Rob said. He typed in the code to open the cargo bay doors. The shuttle was flying "upside-down" with the cargo bay facing Earth. Opening the doors was always a crucial first step in the orbital procedure because the craft used radiators in the doors to get rid of excess heat.

"Inferno, go for tank evacuation sequence, over," Theo said.

"Copy control. TES is engaged." Rob punched in the ignition sequence for the main engines. They would be fired again at minimum power until every last bit of propellant in the external tank was exhausted. Otherwise, the huge tank would pressurize and explode.

Rob pressed the throttles forward again.

"That was a great movie," Scott said, as he and Jason walked out of REVENGE OF THE MARTIAN LEGION. "The book was better, though."

"Aren't they always?" Jason replied. He looked at his watch. "Hey, the crowds at the mall should have thinned out a little by now. Let's grab a bite to eat and head back there."

When Paul returned from his interview, he read Scott's note again and decided his son might be gone for quite awhile, especially if was trying to save the video Universe again. He tore off one of the pizza coupons and ordered a pizza. Then he took a quick shower, put on some fresh clothes, and sat down to watch the TV.

The President of the United States listened as Helen Thomas, the AP's venerable reporter, quizzed him about education spending. "The emphasis, Helen," he began to answer, "is not on where those revenues are going to come from, but rather on how effectively they are spent. In my new budget, I—"

The President was interrupted by Austin Jennings, his National Security Advisor, who whispered in his ear for a moment. The President nodded curtly and turned back to the podium. "That will be all for tonight, ladies and gentlemen. Please excuse me." He was quickly escorted out of the room by his staff, leaving the press corps to wonder about his abrupt departure.

"What is it?" The President asked, when he and Jennings were safely out of earshot.

"It's the space shuttle Inferno, sir. We've lost contact with it."

The President had planned to spend a quiet evening walking his dog after the press conference. Now he had to deal with a crisis. What a way to ruin an otherwise pleasant Monday. "Get everyone together in the cabinet room," he said resignedly. "And for heaven's sake, don't let anyone on the Hill know yet."

"Yes sir. Anything else?"

The President thought for a moment. "Yes. Do you know George Fox?"

"Yes sir. Wasn't he Director of FSA under Ford?"

"Yes. He's their agent for special actions now. I want him here, too."

Jennings looked shocked. "Sir, you don't think that aliens are involved, do you?"

"Not necessarily. Just get him here as quickly as possible."

"Yes sir."

"We're getting closer to them, sir," Agent Ben Wylie said, as he drove a late-model Ford sedan.

"Close isn't good enough, Wylie," his superior, George Fox, retorted. "If we don't catch Forrester and the boy soon, the Pentagon's going to cut our funding off. We've got to get some hard results now."

"They can't have gotten too far, sir. We'll—" Wylie was cut off by a strange squawking noise.

"Stop the car, Wylie." Fox looked at the back seat as the car drifted to a halt. The metal suitcase in the rear of the car was honking like a goose.

Wylie's broad face burst into surprise. "It's the special phone, Mr. Fox!"

George leaned back and opened the suitcase. He picked up the red phone and entered the security code on the terminal. "Fox here." He listened intently, then hung up without another word.

"Turn the car around, Wylie. We're going back to Washington."

Scott felt adrenaline rush through his veins. He was inside the Mothership! He was flying blindly through the tunnels, relying on instinct to guide him. Then his 'speeder suddenly plunged and burst into a multi-colored cloud of pixels. Scott shook his head. He felt strange all of the sudden. For a moment, he wondered what could be wrong. Then it occurred to him that his dad might be trying to contact him with the sphere.

"Let's go," he said to Jason. "I've got to get back."

Jason turned away from his own game unhappily. "Yeah, okay," he said. "Dang," he said, under his breath. He slapped the control stick and his 'speeder perished.

Paul was enjoying his third slice of pepperoni pineapple when Scott burst in. He was visibly anxious. "Dad, is everything okay?"

Paul looked at him in alarm. "Yes. Why?"

Scott explained what had happened. "Did you use the sphere to try to call me?"

"No," Paul said, concerned and intrigued. "Tell me again. Can you tell me exactly what you were thinking and how you felt?"

Scott shrugged. "Sure."

"Inferno, this is control, over," Theo Caswell said insistently. "This is mission control, do you copy?"

Small crackles of static was the only reply. There was no audio, no telemetry. The Inferno was either destroyed or dead.

General Epstein walked over to him. "NORAD's still tracking her. They think she's intact, but it's too early to be sure of that. What do you think happened?"

"Well, sir, the way I see it there are only two possibilities: one, an uncontained engine failure."

"Uncontained engine failure?" Epstein repeated.

"Yes sir," Theo said. "An explosion, in other words. But the preliminary radar data doesn't seem to support that conclusion, so we must consider the second, more unpleasant one."

"And what is that?"

Theo looked grim. "Sabotage, sir. Sabotage."

When Rob awoke he had a splitting headache. For a moment he was disoriented. When he opened his eyes they were greeted by a soft melange of blue and brown light. It was the reflected light of the immense planet below, and that Earthshine was the only light in the cockpit. He swore. Had his weak system given out on him? If I passed out I'll never live it down, he thought. But as he surveyed his surroundings, it became clear that something much worse than a fainting spell had happened.

Rob gasped out loud as he glanced around. Every system in the shuttle was dead. The Inferno was as dark and silent as a tomb. Which it was. At first, Rob had assumed that Nelson was also asleep. But then he noticed that the commander's eyes were open, fixed in the glassy, sightless stare of death. A quick check for the man's pulse confirmed the irrevocable condition.

Rob undid his restraints and floated out of his seat. The two mission specialists were like Nelson—dead. Rob felt his stomach whirl and his breathing grow frantic. He dived for the pitch-dark mid-deck and held onto one of the empty seats there. Tears streamed from his eyes as he sought to regain control of himself. Vomiting in zero gravity was potentially dangerous—not to mention incredibly messy.

After a time, the spasms faded and his breathing slowed. The terror was gone for now, but it might return at any moment. This wasn't a hallucination or a nightmare. It was real. Rob half expected to see Rod Serling step out of the shadows any moment. This was his own twilight zone, and now that he had control of himself again, he was faced with the task of trying to determine what had gone wrong, and why he alone was alive on a dead shuttle full of corpses.

Read Part 2

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