Kevan Smith - Atlas

“What do you want to do? Where do you want to go?”

“Oh, I don’t know, pick a spot.”

“I’ll get out the maps and have a look.”

“I got something better than that. Let’s go for a big fly! As far as we can make it in one day.”

“Do we have the fuel for that?”

“Of course, we have a full tank of rocket fuel. The sun is just rising and the air is still – let’s go baby!!”

“Start those engines and let’s get down the runway.”

“Hang on I best put my helmet and seatbelt on.”

McGonagall pushes the throttle forward. Engines spark and roar. Frangiginon holds on, his cheeks flattening on his face. The F250SIX8 is the fastest jet in their arsenal, other than the Interstellar Rockets. In 4 seconds, they lift off the short runway and are in the air. Frangi’s eyes water as his mouth is pressed into his teeth.

“So, where are we going Frangi?” McGonagall enquires.

“Oh, I don’t know? That way.”

Frangi reaches down to his kitbag between his legs and pulls out the small globe atlas.

“Give that little thing a spin Frangi and see where we get to” quips McGonagall.

Frangiginon spins the Atlas and watches it whirl on its axis. It slows down gradually, being kept spinning by the G-Forces in the cabin.

“There we are” Frangi says as he grasps the spinning ball. “Uzbekistan! That sounds like a nice place.”

“You mean the one in Russia?”

“Actually, it’s independent now…and mostly Sunni Muslim….but they still speak Ruski it seems.”

“Yeah, that’ll do.”

“Won’t the Ruskis, err, Uzbecs be a tad worried about a United Nations F25 popping up on their radar?”

“Don’t worry, this baby goes so fast and low they won’t see us ‘til we’re taxying onto the footpath,” he giggles.

Half hour later they are jockeying down Tashkent International Airport main runway and pulling into the side car (plane) park with cars and fire trucks and armed vehicles screeching out onto the tarmac.

“See, I toldya that’d get their attention.”

“Hope they have good grub in the interview rooms.”