Man Dreamed of Flight

Jonathan Aston had a difficult task ahead of him. He need a power source, a way to harness it, and a ship that could carry enough fuel to keep no one trapped in the emptiness, defenseless, and adrift, in order to go through space and settle another planet. That presented a serious issue.

Reaching far-off places in a fair amount of time required reaching speeds close to that of light, which presented another challenge. Without this speed, the ship may encounter unimaginable dangers throughout a long voyage.

Aston required answers to these problems as soon as possible. It was impossible to have another Scientific Convention since doing so would cause panic. His spacecraft would be overcrowded with terrified people who would rush to board, ruining any hope of getting to space. For his colonizing vision, that meant disaster.

Aston decided on a post on the internet. It was possible since international ties were only now being restored after the impact. He may disguise his real purpose by framing it as a hypothetical question. The more he thought about it, the more he believed it was the best thing he could do.

Adrift was Martin Wilkerson. His jumbled and fragmented memories made it difficult for him to think coherently. He required a cure. He was still imprisoned in the courthouse, his prison, and was still at the judge's mercy.

The judge said, "Martin Wilkerson, I think you'd do well in a mental institution, but considering your prior experiences there, I'm putting you in the care of your friend, Dr. Katherine Branson."

Martin Wilkerson was unable to think of any pals, let alone one named Katherine. He scanned the few people in the courtroom, straining to find a face to go with the name. One waved back, but he failed to recognize. He reminded himself that he had a friend named Katherine. I have to keep that in mind.

"I guess that's okay," he said. "I'm not sure. I simply do not wish to go back to the facility.

After that, it's resolved. You will be under the care of Dr. Branson.

The sack of cash trailed behind Carlton Scythe as he scurried as quickly as he could down the shaft. He could hear pursuers crawling after him, so he knew they were not far away. Making the decision to take action, he turned the next corner, took out his handy screwdriver, and got to work. He quickly carried out his plan and pushed deeper into the hole in an effort to put as much distance between himself and the threat as possible.

After turning the corner and continuing down the shaft, a security guard disappeared. He had fallen through the part where the screws had been taken out by Carlton Scythe.

The homeowner was lounging in a large room below, watching TV, when the guard burst through the roof and fell on him. He didn't have a good day. In addition to losing millions to theft, the impact broke multiple vertebrae, leaving him permanently paraplegic. The stolen wealth turned become the least of his concerns.

After emerging from the shaft, Carlton Scythe ran to his escape vehicle. He started the engine and tossed the cash onto the passenger seat.

Several vehicles exploded from the estate's opening gates as he was pulling away. Carlton Scythe kept a moderate pace, trying to remain calm. It was unsuccessful.

His car was rammed by the oncoming cars, which caused him to lose his equilibrium. He stepped on the accelerator out of fear. Under normal circumstances, his Porsche could have outpaced them, but fear impairs judgment, and individuals who are afraid make mistakes.

It started when he ignored oncoming traffic and ran a stop sign. His automobile spun after a gray SUV crashed into his back bumper. As he struggled to restore control, his pursuers gained ground.

Determined to outrun them, Carlton Scythe sped along the road, righting the wrecked truck. He hit both abrupt curves and speed bumps at a blazing hundred miles per hour, ignoring them.

The shocks were sheared clean off when the speed bump hit first. The car's frame now echoed with every shock.

Then there was the sudden bend. He saw it too late and, in a last-ditch effort to maneuver it, slammed the foot brake and emergency brake. The vehicle veered off the road and collided with the side of a home.

Leaping from the wrecked Porsche, Carlton Scythe ran to the house and pounded on the door, hoping that someone was there. For once, he was lucky.

He gasped, "Pardon me, sir. Do you have a gun? I'll give you half a million bucks to use it for a short while. Act quickly!

Astonished by the direct request and extravagant offer, the man hurried inside and came back carrying a heavy box of ammunition and a shotgun. After thanking him, Carlton Scythe loaded the weapon and ducked behind his ruined car.

In the distance, the car of the first pursuer loomed. Aiming, Carlton Scythe waited for it to slow down so he could judge his chances. With a roar, the shotgun smashed the driver and engine with a shower of pellets. He sprinted over to the stopped automobile and hid behind it.

He quickly reloaded and fired again, rendering the three pursuing automobiles inoperable. He was safe for the time being. He gave the homeowner back the firearm and the half million he had promised.

He then requested a ride to a rental agency from the man. The man happily agreed for a couple additional hundreds. Carlton Scythe soon fled his least successful but accomplished assignment in a brand-new vehicle. Since murder left traces, he had killed as a last resort in order to get away. Luckily, his power was reinforced by millions of dollars. He was in the lead, waiting for a big prize.

Jonathan Aston became discouraged. His question on the low-gravity physics forum had gone unanswered. The power dilemma of space flight clearly had no easy answer.

Martin Wilkerson had to take back his history. He had lost memory, the most important human resource, due to something at the courthouse. He looked to his computer in the hopes that a file or webpage might trigger identification as a link to his past.

He clicked on a low-gravity physics website that caught his attention and opened his favorites page. He noticed a link to a question: How can I supply fuel to a spacecraft for extended space travel? Although the email address looked familiar, he was unable to identify it. He looked through his other bookmarks while keeping the tab open.

Then came a reference to the Second Scientific Convention, which was foreign to him but clearly important to his existence. A link to the "Contact Page" was prominent. When I clicked it, a list of emails and names appeared. He looked up "SciPhreak" on a whim, since it was the address of the prior website. He promptly located it, fastened to a convention attendee named Jonathan Aston.

Perhaps this convention contained the secret to Martin Wilkerson's past, and he wanted to grasp it. He went back to the main page and selected the question, "What is the Second Scientific Convention?"