The Aerorigible 2.0 — Part 2 of 3

Morris Clydesdale’s adventure has only begun.

Click to read Part 1 of The Aerorigible 2.0.

Ninety seconds later, Morris was standing in the network’s parking lot, blinking in the late morning sunshine. A wide, metal door rolled up; a forklift deposited ten cases of Aerorigible 2.0 units at his feet.

There was no one to argue with. When the forklift pivoted around and disappeared into the building, the man in the rented tuxedo was utterly alone.

His breaths came in shocked gasps. I didn’t sell even one. What will I do now? I tied up every cent I had in this business.

He staggered into the studio’s parking garage and located his sharp, new black minivan, which he had detailed just for this occasion. He drove up to the warehouse’s door and loaded the boxes of floating J hooks into his vehicle.

Baffled and boondoggled, he sat behind the steering wheel and stared at the dashboard.

The Aerorigible 2.0 demo unit lay on the passenger seat, a lifeless machine.

“This is a great product,” he said aloud.

His indignation grew. They should have given me more than ten minutes to pitch the idea. I worked hard on my speech. They didn’t give me a real chance. I’m not giving up. I’ll find someone who appreciates the Aerorigible 2.0.

He pulled on his seat belt and turned on the car’s engine.

An 18-wheeler suddenly blocked the exit to the street.

Through his windshield, he saw the truck’s back doors swing open, without the assistance of human hands. A sturdy ramp descended from the big rig’s empty cargo trailer and struck the asphalt in front of his minivan.

“Aw, come on. This guy barely left me enough room to pass.” Morris put his car in reverse and propped his arm on the passenger seat. He threw a look behind his vehicle as he stepped on the gas pedal.

He was perplexed that his car was not moving in reverse. In fact, it was rolling forward. He shifted in his seat to check if he had chosen the wrong gear.

To his consternation, his minivan roared up the ramp and into the big truck’s cargo trailer.

He did not have time to move his foot to the brake. He did not need to. His vehicle stopped inches from the trailer’s interior front wall.

The ramp retracted; the big rig’s back doors slammed shut.

He was trapped inside the truck’s cargo hold.

Morris broke into a clammy sweat. He threw wild looks around the dark metal walls.

Then the light show began.

Red, green, and blue sparkles danced before his eyes. The colors spread into horizontal lines, which spun around his car. He threw his arm over his face to fight his sudden dizziness.

When he lowered his sleeve, the electronic lights had dissipated.

The 18-wheeler had also vanished.

His minivan was now parked inside a vacant, cavernous warehouse. Someone, or something, had turned off the engine.

Morris slowly raised his hands, palms forward, for men in the U.S. Army Reserve aimed rifles at him through the windshield.

A sergeant with stern eyes tapped on his side door.

The inventor cranked the minivan’s key forward one notch, to provide enough power to roll down the window.

“Your ID,” barked the man in the camouflage uniform.

Morris quickly took out his wallet and handed over his driver’s license. “Where am I? What is this place?”

“Sir. Stay in your vehicle.” The sergeant stepped away and spoke into a field radio.

Clutching his steering wheel, Morris remained as stiff as a statue. This was not like being pulled over by the Highway Patrol. These soldiers had the advanced technology to transport him — and a minivan loaded with hovering J hooks — to a well-guarded, unidentified military base.

When the sergeant returned, he ordered Morris to step out of the car.

The soldiers kept the inventor under close watch. Presently, a door opened in the near wall, and two officers entered the warehouse.

A tall, gray-haired man with a sturdy build barked, “Mr. Clydesdale. My name is General Trumaine. I understand that you have designed an innovative machine. Will you please show us how it works?”

Standing beside Trumaine was a major with a stoic expression.

Morris gaped at the officers. This was his big break. He had not imagined the possibility of landing a government contract. He wondered how many units they would buy. Ten thousand? His hopes soared.

The sergeant was at his right side, holding out the Aerorigible 2.0 unit.

“Well, I was inspired to create this remarkable device –”

The general raised his hand to stop the speech. “Just give us a demo.”

“Yes, sir.” Morris switched on the silver football and positioned it in front of the officers.

The military men watched it impassively.

“It’s not moving,” growled the major. “I thought it was supposed to fly.”

“No. It just floats.” Morris noticed a shoulder patch on the officers’ jackets. He did a double take. The artwork of a missile striking an asteroid was encircled with the words Galactic and Low Earth Orbit Program.

The fact that GALEOP, the American space agency, had taken an interest in his machine should have prepared Morris for what happened next.

Click to read the conclusion of The Aerorigible 2.0.

Disclosure: I wrote this story without the assistance of AI. I used Grammarly to check spelling before publishing.