Countdown from Three

~Chapter 6~ Where I'd rather be

Only the controls of the jet were colour coded. In case someone else had to pilot the aircraft in his absence.

Arcthorn tightened his grip on the torch-like instrument, even though it offered him no illumination. He was almost six hundred meters into the forest now. Glancing at the map, he crouched down and narrowed his eyes, making out the dim outline of a circular hole in the ground before him.

This would be where his new journey begins.

Arcthorn took a deep breath and threw himself in the opening, knowing exactly where it would lead to. With a swift flick, his torch switched to 'negative'. In a fluid series of movements Arcthorn placed the torch in his mouth and secured it with his teeth, keeping it pointing down at the ground; with his freed right hand he deactivated the functions of the silver cap, removed it and wound the tape around his left hand like a wristband.

The speed of his fall was increasing. The air current whipped his hair upwards, striking him with such a force that he almost let of of his torch. His hands were shaken and slowed, but he did not stop - he could not stop. Arcthorn drew out a pen-like device and twisted its end until the eight-digit crystal display blinked on with random digits. He waited another moment for them to settle to all 0's and placed one end to the side where it touched the wall. "923...1014..."

Eleven seconds after the jump and he was falling at approximately 1km per second. The digits of the speed measurement flickered madly. Arcthorn took the torch in his right hand and held it firmly, mental calculations flashing in his mind.

Three... two... one...

He pushed the switch of the torch two notches further below 'negative'.

A heartbeat before the landing Arcthorn brought the torch in a gliding motion to his right, drawing a long smooth arc in the air.

He landed on his left side. For a second all the breath was knocked out of him. Then he inhaled deeply.

He had survived the fall.

The speed meter read 14.74, the final speed it was able to measure before he reached open air. He assessed his location. Returning back up would be a real problem - but that would be a problem for the future Arcthorn, given that he would live long enough to make it back. With the hardly-motivational reminder he rose, a new burst of adrenaline rushing in his veins.

Temporarily deactivating the torch and the speed meter, Arcthorn replaced them with defensive weapons and complex equipments required for hacking. He unwound the tape and studied the map for a moment, committing every detail to memory.

Here gravity was normal and he could move fast. He darted forward tirelessly, following the directions of the map.

At the entrance he paused. Electronic password locks barred the main gate.

He scanned the keypad to enter the password to the entrance and gained admittance within three tries. He progressed through all six in a flash. Since the age of twelve he was already the master of hacking, playing with his own mechanic toys that could only be activated with random passwords that required guesswork from him. The rebelliousness of his teenage years took the form of accessing confidential scientific findings in his father's department and occasionally sneaking into his office to borrow his equipments. Hacking was one talent he wasn't proud of, but now he was glad that his younger self practiced it.

The armoury was huge - a palace of cold silver and black. Countless

individual cells lined the two sides, all metal and light. The floor was a seamless piece of glass; beneath it cogs and gears spun soundlessly.