View source for User:Eirik/To Slip the Surly Bonds of Earth

[[Category:Story]]  [[Category:Eirik]] [[Category:Animal]] {{DEFAULTSORT:To Slip the Surly Bonds of Earth}}
{{title|name=To Slip the Surly Bonds of Earth|user=Eirik|author=Eirik}}
Philip yawned as he sat in the uncomfortable vinyl chair in the
concourse. He shuffled his carry-on bags and looks at his watch
for the 15th time that hour.

"Damn, over an hour late."

The plane had been sitting at the gate since it deplaned its
passengers from Orlando. Since then, there hadn't even been an
announcement as to the delay. This was putting a serious cramp in
Phillips highly organized life. He had his time in Providence
planned down to the last minute. As it was, thanks to the fine
folks at North American Airways and LAX, he'd have to shuffle
around his entire morning.

He was about to get up and ream the clerk at the counter when a
crisp, emotionless voice came over the intercom. "We are now
boarding flight 978 to Memphis with continuing service to
Providence. We apologize for the delay. We would like to start by
boarding our 1st class and Diamond Club passengers now."

Philip stood and walked quickly over to the jetway. He was only a
mid-level manager with Marcovian, a large manufacturer of data
storage equipment, so he didn't get first class treatment.
However, he spent at least part of 25 weeks of the year out of
town on various busniess trips, and was the memmber of the
frequent fliuer programs of at least four majopr airlines.

The flight was crowded, much more than Philip thought it would
be. He tossed his garment bag into the overhead and slumped
heavily into the aisle seat. Opening his briefcase, he pulled out
the presentation he had to give the next evening.

It took about thirty minutes to board the Boeing 737. The
attendants closed and sealed the doors and walked up and down the
aisle closing overhead compartments and checking seatbelts. Up in
the cockpit, the pilots were getting ready to do their thing.
Systems were checked and rechecked. With the final approval of
the control tower, the aircraft backed away from the gate.

Philip didn't really hear the safety presentation that was being
conducted only a few feet ahead of him. He'd been flying for 12
years and hadn't even had a blown out tire on a plane. Besides,
he knew where the emergency exits were, what a seatbelt was and
what use would a life jacket be between here and Memphis?

Instead, he went back to his charts and graphs. He made notes and
marks on his lecture copies and cross-checked everything against
the production numbers that the main office had sent down. This
was going to be yet another routine assignment. Just tell the
customer what the production expectations were, and make sure
that he would remain loyal. No big deal. Completely routine.

"Aw, damn!", thought Philip. He reached into his briefcase and
withdrew his calendar. He flipped to tommorows date. He grabbed a
post it pad and quickly jotted ''B-Day gift for Sandy''. He'd
have to remember to give her a call tommorow afternoon after she
was back from kindergarten.

Philip heard a familiar sound behind his head, and noticed that
the drink cart was being led down the aisle. He decided that it
would be a good time to take a quick break. While he waited to be
served, he glanced around at his fellow passengers. He saw
another businessman chatting quietly with a younger woman across
the aisle. A few rows ahead, he could hear snippets of
conversation from a group of high school kids on their way to
Memphis. One was standing in the aisle bobbing his head to a
bright yellow Walkman. A short cry from behind him was a reminder
of the infant he had caught a glimpse of when he boarded. ''This
could be a long flight'' he thought. The flight attended handed
him his small cup of coffee. He idly noticed her very large
engagement ring. He glanced at her and was almost tempted to ask,
but didn't feel like getting into a conversation, however brief.
He just nodded his thanks and she left.

An hour later, Philip was one of the only ones left awake in his
section of the plane. He had long since finished his coffee and
was back to the storage projections for the next model of hard
disk when a strange noise distracted him. He turned his head away
from the pie chart and looked out the window into the night.

As it would happen, Philip was the only one to personally witness
what happened next, even if he couldn't be sure what it was.
Indeed, it would take the National Transportation Safety Board
nearly three months to identify it. The noise that got Phillips
attention was followed by a low, dull thump. The plane shuddered
violently as a wave of hazy gray seemed to fly across the
darkened cabin only ten rows ahead.

The lights went out, save for the terrifying glow of the wing, a
sheet of flame. The oxygen masks fell from the ceiling Over the
sound of roaring wind, Philip could hear the pilots struggle to
regain control of the crippled aircraft. Between him and the
damage to the plane, he could see a stewardess, her face mottled
by blood from a scalp wound, her mouth covered by a portable
oxygen bottle, vainly shout commands to the passengers.

No one could hear her, though. The only ones that were close
enough to hear over the frantic sounds of an airplane crashing
had been cut to ribbons by an uncontained engine explosion.

Philip slammed the top of the briefcase down, spraying documents
everywhere. He bent down to grab his ankles, the classic
"crash-position" he had seen in all the movies. As he looked down
at the floor, he saw his calendar lying at his feet. He saw his
note. A gift he would never buy.

Suddenly, he didn't want to die. It was a stupid realization,
really. No one still alive on the airplane wanted to die, but it
was different for Philip. He hadn't ever lived. He had married
his wife because he felt that it was important for a rising
corporate star to be married. The kids had been an accident, and
he never really cared much for them anyway.

Until this moment.

He didn't want to be missed for a little while and then
forgotten. What memories did his family have, anyway? Their
memories of him consisted of flight numbers, hotel reservations
and promises of gifts from other cities never fulfilled.

''Please God, don't let me die! Please!''

For a split second, Philip thought that his prayers were
answered. He felt the plane seem to level off it's shallow dive.
It seemed that the other engine had begun to pick up speed. He
glanced up to see the stewardess still standing next to the
galley, still shouting.

Then the aircraft jolted badly. The stewardess vanished in a
flash of orange light.. Philip felt the plane strike the ground
with a tremendous fury. He felt himself being doused with flaming
jet fuel. He heard the screams of his fellow passengers over his
own.

Long after the last person died, he kept living. He watched in
abject terror as his flesh charcoaled off of his body. He
realized that his seat had completely melted in the fire, but he
was still alive, and in no pain.

Philip kept waiting for his consciousness to end. He waited for
his soul to leave his body, to travel through the tunnel of light
that he had heard so often described. If, somehow, he had
survived to this point, he didn't want to live as horribly burned
as he was. That's when he saw a flash of color beneath his skin.
His mind numbed by everything going on, he idly reached over and
brushed away the charcoal that was his skin and muscle.

Below, he discovered a feather. A feather of indescribable
beauty.

He suddenly had the urge to shake, and as he did, bits of the
blackened flesh that had encased his soul for so long flew off to
all parts of the carnage surrounding. In moments, Philip found
himself sitting comfortably in the middle of the fire in the body
of a magnificent bird.

From somewhere in his mind, the came single word ''Phoenix''.

A dozen emotions raced through him at once. He felt joy at being
alive at the same time he felt dispirited at the death of his
humanity. He felt curious yet confused by his situation. What was
he? He couldn't decide. What happened? He remembered his prayers.
Perhaps this was the only way that they could be fulfilled. Could
he return to his own life? How?

Suddenly, he looked around himself for the first time. The plane,
he saw, had come down in a featureless desert. His eyes, now as
sharp as an eagle, brought the carnage around him into tremendous
focus. Scattered amid the twisted aluminum, and charred plastic
he could make out the battered yellow tape player, it's motor
still turning. He saw the blackened shoe, only a few inches long.
He saw the mangled engagement ring, still around the finger of
it's owner, though she was no where to be seen.

He looked around vainly for other birds, other passengers. He
vainly tried to shout but only uttering a loud shriek across the
Arizona desert. Surely another aboard had prayed to live? Surely
others wanted to survive! Where were they? Why had he been
allowed to retain the gift of life?

Or was this not the gift it seemed?

He heard a familiar sound. It was the engine of a truck. He
looked into the distance and saw the headlights of a large
utility truck racing to the crash scene.

---------

"My God, Mark! Look at that!"

Mark didn't reply, only gripped the CB radio and switched it to
the emergency channel. "This is Arizona Light & Power unit 15,
about twenty miles south of Flagstaff. We have a major airliner
down out here! Get some rescue people out here, now!"

There was a long pause as the truck continued to bound its way to
the fiery oasis. "Please repeat that last call. Are you saying
that a plane is down?"

"Yes, Godamnit! It's a big airliner, can't tell what kind or what
airline. It's about 40 miles south of Flagstaff. Hell, the things
burning so bright that you should be able to see it from town!"

"Roger that. We'll be rolling equipment out as fast as possible.
Please stand by."

Mark looked over at Chris, the driver, and was about to say
something when he saw Chris's eyes go wide. He slammed on the
brakes. "Chris! What's your problem?" Chris just pointed out the
window.

Mark followed his finger to the center of the pool of fire in
front of them, now only about fifty yards away. Brightly lit in
that field was a magnificent bird, a bird of indescribable
beauty. It was huge, almost six or seven feet tall. For a minute,
Mark thought that it was a statue that somehow survived the
crashed, except that it seemed to move in the dancing light.

And it was looking straight at them.

"What the hell is that?"

As if on cue, the bird suddenly shrieked and leapt into the sky
trailing streams of smoke and flame from the burning jet fuel.
They looked after it for a long time as it disappeared into the
night sky.

The radio cackled again. "This is Flagstaff dispatch to AL&P unit
15, again. Do you see any survivors?"

Mark and Chris simply kept looking out the window.

The voice on the radio repeated, "Do you see any survivors?"

Mark picked up the CB without taking his eyes off the long
disappeared bird. "I don't know."