Like a Fox on the Run, стр. 15
Lanson would never live to see what became of his dream. An aneurysm in his brain would cut him down in the prime of his life, midway through his second term, just days before his forty-seventh birthday. The whole world would mourn a dreamer who made it believe in itself once again. It was probably just as well. He would’ve been heartbroken to see the turn of events after his demise. Things would eventually return to the old status quo politically. He would’ve never agreed with the dismantling of NASA and the creation of the autocratic Space Authority by Congress and the U.N. He’d envisioned the deep space projects like Genesis Now and New Exodus happening decades earlier. He knew man’s future lay beyond Sol, beyond robot replacements, and beyond corrupt space politicians and greedy corporations.
Years later, many would compare the imaginative spirit of this time to the science-fiction themes of the early and mid-twentieth century. In both instances, those with great imaginations promised fantastical contraptions for the common person. In 1953, the technology just wasn’t there. This time around, it would be.
From the original crude sketch, drawn out on a napkin in an Atlanta kitchen after a football party one Saturday night with two hunting buddies, it was always obvious what the designer of the Pegasus meant it to be. It was a man’s ride, a hulking monster of hybristeel. It looked like a dangerous beast of prey, always ready to pounce. Wide, long, and brawny, with the cab mounted high for maximum vision, it reminded many folks of a 1950 Ford F100 beefed up on steroids with two cylindrical-shaped rockets strapped to either side.
It was built with two things in mind: power and looks. Its purpose was to get you anywhere you wanted to go … fast, comfortably, and looking good when you arrived. Tinted glass windows and micro-polymer infused paint that changed shades of color according to altitude, weather conditions and speed gave it a sleek sexiness that complimented the bold, in-your-face persona the builders sought to convey. Everything about it was oversized, from the powerful set of Thor VectoThrust low-variance, pulse-drive engines to the roomy four-door cab with cloned buffalo leather seats, mahogany trim and a concert-quality, sixteen speaker entertainment system. If you wanted to pay extra, you could get the optional interchangeable multi-pod system, which included four ultralight pods that were form-fitted to the contour of the cargo area. These could be could be pre-loaded for vacation trips, work duties, honey-do’s, a weekend at the hunting club … you name it. One pod could be unloaded and another inserted and locked down in mere minutes. Lights? Did you say lights? With all the LIT fog lights, spotlights, marking lights … oh and of course, head and tail lights. It looked like a UFO coming to probe a modular home park full of half-naked redneck women. It reeked of testosterone, aftershave and MultiVision remote hogging. Freud would have drooled over this ultimate badass phallic symbol. In fact, the only thing it didn’t have was a rod and a pair with hair.
Unfortunately, the age of the flying automobile was to be short-lived. As so often happens when something new hits the scene, there are always a few “bugs” to work out. When you combine high speeds, humans and rockets, it was only a matter of time before some of these became evident. Looking back, most realized that a lack of proper training and the willingness of unscrupulous dealers to sell to anyone who could afford the hefty price tags were the main contributors. Midair collisions, crash landings while trying to park on crowded streets, people inexplicably flying them into stationary objects, or simply just falling out of the sky, quickly revealed that most owners vastly underestimated the powerful machines they were strapping themselves into. Especially since most had only had experience with the self-driving cars that had been around since the mid-twenty first century.
Consumer advocates and politicians demanded something be done. The implementation of the Skyways system locked the newfangled vehicles into an invisible grid, an aerial freeway system, where buffering sensors implanted into each vehicle mandated safe speeds and distances and overrode the driver when he failed to comply.
The addition of all the new safety requirements would be the death of the free-flying ‘aerocraft.’ It was like castrating a raging bull. It quickly lost its appeal once freedom and power were taken away. Most disappointed drivers would eventually have to settle for a less-than-exciting compromise, the uninspiring ‘sky-car,’ which did nothing more than return the rider to a computer-controlled vehicle which basically drove itself and whose biggest achievement was simply putting most tire companies out of business.
A few aerocraft companies remained in business, catering to a niche clientele, but most, like VertiGo, went the way of the Packard. As such, many of the surviving vehicles of these now defunct companies are now considered collector’s items. Fifteen years ago, Tiger had found this jewel in the back of a barn up in Tennessee near Amish country. Yeah, go figure. He’d taken Lulah up there to do some quilt shopping. The port engine had flamed out and chickens were roosting in the cockpit. It had crashed hard into something in the lower front, bottom left. The onboard computer and main fiber optic harness had been scavenged for parts. It was covered in a layer of dust so thick he couldn’t even be sure of the color.
Yet, Tiger saw none of that. All he saw was a childhood dream. A neighbor two blocks over; a cocky and confident young man in his late twenties had owned one of these when he’d been a kid.