Time Travel Adventures of the 1800 Club, Book II Page 6

  John looked at him questioningly. “But why? Is that what you want me to help you with? Building an engine?”

  They looked at him. “The engine?” answered Orville as he shook his head, “No, not the engine. You see, John, about a year ago we met Mr. Osloe.” He looked at Osloe and smiled. “Mr. Osloe knocked on our door late one night. His head was bleeding, and we let him in. We washed his wound and he slept. Finally, we did too. In the morning, we all ate breakfast, and Mr. Osloe gained his strength back.”

  Orville went on, “We asked how he came to be here miles from any road, and he took us to where he had his accident. This is what we found.”

  Wilbur walked over to what John thought was a pile of discarded wood and linen in a dark corner of the hut. He held a lantern high as he pulled the linen off.

  John’s jaw dropped as he looked at what had been stored in the wood hut since 1900. “My God, it’s . . . it’s a . . . “

  “Disc. That’s what my brother and I call it. The disc,” said Orville.

  John looked at Osloe. He was smiling broadly.

  “Perhaps John, you may be able to help us fix it?” said the diminutive man.

  John was speechless and couldn’t answer for a moment, and then he said, “Me? Are you serious? Why me? What makes you think I can fix a broken sauce . . . disc?” He couldn’t take his eyes off it. It seemed to be about seven feet in diameter with a transparent dome centered on top of the five-foot-deep silver-colored disc. He couldn’t believe he was seeing a flying saucer, but then again he had never believed in time travel.

  “Did you show this to anyone else? I didn’t see anything about it in the papers.”

  “Heavens no!” said Orville. “We kept it a secret for over a year. But last night hearing your thoughts on flight gave us renewed interest in our project. After you left, we talked with Mr. Osloe. For a full year, we have been trying to figure our why his disc stopped flying. And now the three of us agree that you have something in common with us as no other person seems to have.”

  “What would that be?” asked John, as he touched the disc’s smooth, cool surface.

  Wilbur stepped over and began covering the disc. He said, “Let’s go back to our hut before it gets very dark. Tomorrow we can show John the machine in the light of day.”

  As they walked back to the hut, Wilbur said to John, “What you have in common with us is a love of flight, along with a mechanical mind as do we, but you also possess the ability of an inventor. Although I must confess that trying to build a better rodent trap is, I feel, beneath your abilities.”

  John smiled in the gathering darkness.

  Orville said, as they entered the main hut, “We were progressing fine with our flying machine but, seeing the disc Mr. Osloe flew, sort of took the wind out of our sails. I’m sure you understand.”

  John nodded.

  “However,” Wilbur said, “we are hoping that you can help us fix the disc and bring flight to mankind. So, in that vein, John, will you take a close look at the vehicle in tomorrow’s light?”

  John nodded vigorously. “Absolutely! In fact,” he said, as he looked at Osloe, “May I have a few minutes to talk with you now?”

  Osloe sat on a wooden chair, his feet missing the floor by an inch, “Of course, John. Please ask me anything.”

  John sat opposite him “How did it happen? I mean, what type of engine powered it?”

  Osloe shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  John looked at him in shock. “You don’t know? You mean to say you don’t know what type of engine powered your craft?”

  Osloe shook his head. “No, I’m just an operator.”

  John’s eyes went wide, “Just an operator? I mean, for what, your air force or something like that? Are you a military pilot?”

  Wilbur asked, “What’s a pilot, John? Isn’t that a person who brings a ship into port?”

  Darn! thought John, Got to watch what I say, can’t slip up now. Out loud, he said, “That’s what I meant. A person who guides a vehicle toward a destination.”

  Osloe answered him. “Yes, then. I was in my planet’s military force. But it is strictly an explorer force, not a fighting force as on earth.”

  John had to ask. “Where is your planet, Mr. Osloe?”

  “In a galaxy known to us as Albion. Very much like your own planet, John. I hope to return soon. I am very homesick for my wife and two children.”

  John suddenly felt sympathy for him. “I understand, Mr. Osloe. And in order to do that, I’m afraid you’ll have to keep it a secret. If our government ever found out you were not only an alien, but that you possess a flying craft, they’d stop you from leaving.”

  The brothers nodded in unison. “As I said,” Wilbur interjected, “Mr. Osloe, we must keep this a secret if you are ever to return home.”

  Osloe looked at John with weary eyes and said, “John, I tire easily on your planet, so I must retire soon. Forgive me.”

  “Just one thing, Mr. Osloe,” asked John. “How is it that you crashed?”

  The small man closed his eyes as he told John his story. “My mission was to fly over bodies of water in your part of the Earth. Instruments on board would analyze how deep they were and the living creatures in them. This information was gathered all over the galaxies to hope someday to be able to see where life first began.”

  He held his head as he spoke, “There was a thunderstorm and my craft was hit by lightning. Now, that’s not unusual. Our crafts have been in all sorts of atmospheric conditions for years. But this time, when the lightning struck it was different. First I felt a tingle all over and then my instruments went dark. A moment later they went green, as is normal, but the craft started wobbling, and I lost forward flight. I put it into vertical flight mode and it took. So all I could do was land by going straight down.” He rubbed his eyes, yawned and continued.

  “After landing, I couldn’t see in the dark and tripped, hitting my head on the ground. I walked in the rain to a light I spotted. I was afraid but was dizzy and not myself. Luckily I met the two people who understood my predicament.” He nodded toward the Wrights.

  Orville said, “John, perhaps we should all go to sleep. It’s been a long day and tomorrow could be a trying one.”

  John agreed and they all turned in. But the wind and sand that beat against the wooden sides of the hut and the thought of the saucer kept John awake most of the night.

  It was the smell of coffee brewing that woke John up.

  Wilbur was at the stove and seeing John stretch, he pointed to a sink. “Cold water only, John, but it will invigorate a man like nothing else.”

  John washed and drank some coffee as Osloe stood on a wooden box to reach the pump. It was an unspoken agreement that they would have their coffee and get over to the other hut as soon as possible.

  The wind was still blowing as they opened the door to a rising sun. They all headed quickly over to the second hut.

  Once inside, John helped Wilbur remove the linen from the disc. Now he saw that the craft was sitting on three short, thin legs. Each had a swiveling pad on the end that adjusted itself to the level of the ground it landed on. Osloe was all business as he bent low and crawled under the belly of the craft, which stood three feet off the wooden floor. He touched a barely visible round, gold-colored circle on the disc’s belly, and a small circular hatch, like a manhole cover on a hinge, opened downward.

  He stood upright and with surprising strength grabbed the inside of the opening and swung his legs up and into the craft. He disappeared and the cover closed as he reappeared in the transparent dome. He flipped switches and a low vibration came, not from the disc, but from the floor it sat on.

  Orville gently guided John away from the vessel as dust and sand was whipped up from beneath it. John was again surprised as the craft rose a few inches off the floor.

  “Come on, John,” said Wilbur, “to the rear with me.”

  John followed Wilbur as he walked around to the rear of the disc. W
ilbur put his hands on the tail end and gently pushed. John did the same. The craft moved so easily that John almost fell forward. He saw that Orville had opened the barn-like door at the end of the hut. Wilbur pushed the disc past their now-frail-looking flying machine as dust and nuts and bolts danced and flew out from beneath the disc.

  Once outside, the sand whirled about them until Osloe settled the craft on its legs, and the vibration ceased. John deduced that he had shut it down. Osloe disappeared from the dome and came out through the reopened belly hatch.

  “Amazing!” John said, as he walked around the disc. There seemed to be no inspection hatches like John was used to seeing on aircraft. In fact, the disc was seamless and cool to the touch. There were no ticking sounds as happens when an aircraft or car engine is shut down and cools. The vehicle just sat reflecting the rising sun. He could see no exhaust openings.

  “Beautiful is it not, John?” asked Orville. “You can see why we stopped our quest to design a wood and wire machine.”

  “Why, just sitting here on the ground,” said Wilbur, “one can see how much more advanced it is compared to ours. And the engine . . .”

  “Is broken,” said John in a firm tone of voice.

  The brothers looked at him with surprise. “But,” said Orville, “it can rise, and when it’s fixed it will be . . . ”

  “Someone else’s flying machine,” said John, again startling the two men. “Don’t you see? You both have thrown away a full year of flight-testing. A full year of figuring out how mankind can reach for the stars. All because a disc crashed in your backyard. Are you telling me that you surrendered because a sleeker craft than yours appeared?”

  Both men hung their heads. “As right as you are, John,” said Wilbur as he shrugged his shoulders, “if we can figure out how it flies, we can really have a flying craft.”

  “Really?” said John. “Can you fabricate this type of metal? These kinds of retractable legs to land on? The transparent dome? I would have to believe that this craft has to carry its own air supply to fly from another planet. Do you have the capability to produce that?”

  Both men were at a loss for words.

  “I don’t mean to belittle you,” John went on in a softer tone, “but I don’t think the Earth is ready for this kind of flying machine. I think we need to learn to crawl before we can run, and I believe you two are the teachers.” He turned to a quiet Osloe.

  “Mr. Osloe, do you have a father of flight back on your planet? What type of flying machine did they design? I bet it wasn’t anything like the disc. Am I right?”

  The little man ran his hand on the side of his craft, as he said, “Mr. Pillo. He was the first on my planet to fly. And, strangely enough, the craft was similar to the craft Wilbur and Orville have built. And, as John said, it was many years before the disc came to be.”

  John chopped the air with his hand. “No, not strange that his craft looked a lot like Wilbur and Orville’s. The laws of physics demand that the flying machine be powered by an engine to give it forward motion. And the wings must have a certain curve to them for lift, along with an airscrew to push it forward to gain that lift. All these things must follow the same laws, no matter what planet it comes from. I believe that if this disc were to be repaired, Mr. Osloe should return home and let you brothers continue your flight-testing. Now, with that said, I’d love to take a look inside the disc.”

  Osloe stood with his hands on his hips and looked at his vehicle. He started a slow walk-around and looked every-inch a typical pilot inspecting his aircraft before a flight.

  When he seemed satisfied, Orville asked. “Is it all, as it was earlier, Mr. Osloe?” The small pilot nodded, and the three looked toward John.

  John pointed beneath the disc and said; “You know, the way the dust and rocks are kicked away from beneath the craft when it’s powered up, I wonder if it’s powered by a sort of anti-gravity engine.”

  Osloe scratched his baldhead and squinted at John in the sunlight. “Yes, the anti-gravity engine to lift it seems to work all right. But when I try to transition into forward flight, nothing happens.”

  “Do you have control in the height you can climb to?” John asked. The brothers stood to the side as the two men spoke.

  “Yes,” said Osloe, “I seem to be able to lift as high as I want, but it’s no use if I can’t transition to forward or reverse flight. I’m afraid to go too high in case the lift feature quits. It’d be a long fall.”

  “Can I go in?” John said trying not to sound too excited.

  “Of course!” Osloe said. “If you can fit. It’s built for people much smaller than you. But I can move the recorders farther back in the disc, and the seat does have a lowering adjustment bar. I’ll go in first and move the recorders.” He swung back into the craft and was out again in a minute. “Please, John,” he said, as he pointed to the open hatch.

  John didn’t wait to be asked twice. He didn’t have the space to swing his legs up as Osloe did. Instead, he stood up under the opening and simply sat on the opening ledge then lifted his legs inside. It was a tight fit, as Osloe had said, but with a little squirming he maneuvered himself into the pilot’s seat.

  The craft was surprisingly cool inside even with the outside temperatures already climbing. There were no stick or rudder pedals and no gauges he recognized. There was a five-inch-long yellow lever to the right of the seat, and John figured it was the control stick. He touched it and jumped as he heard a voice behind him say, “That’s the directional grip.”

  John banged his head on the low canopy as he turned to see Osloe behind him. “You scared me, Mr. Osloe,” he said as he rubbed his head.

  “Sorry, John, I just thought I’d point out a few items for your inspection.”

  “No seatbelts, Mr. Osloe?”

  Osloe looked at him with surprise, “Why would there be seatbelts?”

  John shook his head as he realized he had done it again and had spoken from the 2011 time period. He looked at the pilot. “It just seemed that they should be a part of the vehicle. I mean, so one doesn’t flop about during flight.”

  Osloe nodded as he looked at John through squinted eyes, “I see. Well, in fact, while in flight, the pilot and craft becomes one unit. Sort of all in the same gravitational field.” He looked at John closely. “You, my friend, ask questions the brothers have never asked, even after spending a year with them. You are, perhaps, more than you seem.”

  John tried to brush off the idea and said, “No more than an inquisitive person spouting off at the thought of flight. No more than that, Mr. Osloe.”

  Osloe smiled again. “Perhaps, John, perhaps. But to get back to my problem, as I said, I can climb and descend but cannot transition to forward or reverse flight. Now, when I say so, take the grip and press the indent on the tip. This will raise the landing braces and close the entrance hatch.” He looked out and waved the brothers to back away. “Now, John, take the directional grip and depress the indent.”

  John did so, and the gear and belly hatch retracted with a soft hum. The craft wobbled ever so slightly on the anti-gravity engine. Osloe continued, “The grip is sensitive to pressure. The more you squeeze it, the higher it goes either up or down. So softly squeeze it and put up-pressure on the grip, very easy.”

  John squeezed softly, and the craft rose slowly. His eyes went wide, but he quickly reverted to the pilot he was. He kept a steady but slow climb.

  Osloe looked at him in amazement. “Sir! It took the brothers many times in this craft to achieve this amount of control, yet you seem to have the touch of a person with many flights in a disc. Amazing.”

  John just smiled as he saw the curve of the Earth starting to fill the horizon. “Mr. Osloe, I’m going to squeeze it harder. Okay with you?”

  “If you feel confident, do so.”

  John squeezed, and the craft shot straight up until the sky went to a blue-black. He completely let go of the grip, and they stopped where they were. He guessed at about one hundred th
ousand feet. “Are we being fed oxygen, Mr. Osloe?”

  The pilot nodded, “Yes. It is a self-contained unit. I’m sorry I don’t know how it all works, but as I said, I am just an operator. If you wish, John, push forward on the grip. That’s how one would transit to forward flight.”

  John tried, but nothing happened.

  “No joy,” he said and gritted his teeth as he realized twenty-first-century aviation slang had escaped his lips.

  Osloe laughed. “The sayings you have are so reminiscent of disc drivers. I have to laugh, John. I have to laugh at myself, too, for I understand what you are saying. ‘No joy’ would be comparable to a disc driver saying ‘I did what I’m supposed to do, but the thing didn’t work as it’s supposed to.’ Anyway, as you see, the machine is giving us ‘no joy.’ Do you have any idea what to do?”

  John tried to shrug his shoulders, but it was too tight in the bubble. “Not really. Maybe when we land we can open the . . . er hood, or wherever the engine is.”

  “All right. Now to return, just do the opposite. When you get close to the ground, the ship will take over and do a soft landing automatically.”

  John nodded and once again took the grip. This time he squeezed slowly and pressed down. The ship responded immediately. “The response time is so immediate that I don’t believe that the vertical drive is broken, Mister Osloe. If we can somehow fix the forward and reverse, you’ll be on your way home in no time.”

  Osloe put a small hand on John’s shoulder and said, “John, will you stop your descent well above the Earth. I have to talk to you about the disc and Orville and Wilbur.”

  “Of course,” John said and relaxed his grip at about fifty thousand feet. The ship came to a halt and just seemed to float. He turned as best he could in the tight quarters and faced Osloe. “What seems to be pressing on you, sir?” John asked.

  Osloe chose his words carefully. “John, you are right about the Earth not being ready for this type of flying craft. I have been wondering what would happen if it got into the wrong hands. It is pretty much invulnerable to Earth’s weaponry just by the design of it. The heat and pressures of flight, into and out of the various planets’ atmospheres have demanded a very strong craft.”