May Shift During Flight
Sep. 14th, 2011 11:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hwrnmnbsolThe creature had triumphed. Decades ago its cairn had been found by a young Afghan boy trying to escape Soviet gunfire. Inadvertently he had freed the spirit of hate and chaos that had been imprisoned in that desolate place by fakirs during the time of the Mughal Empire. It had taken root in the hearts and minds of the Afghan resistance, and using them as its tool it had defeated the Russians and brought a nation under its sadistic, unpredictable influence. Now it had begun its campaign abroad, lashing out against the Americans.
And it was winning. The four men that the spirit had infected had gotten on board flight 93, overwhelmed the crew in the cockpit, cowed the survivors and forced them to the back of the plane, and taken control of the airplane. They had turned it about, and it was heading for Washington. From within all four sets of eyes, the spirit glimmered hungrily.
But it was a wild spirit, not subject to the rules of reason, incapable of predicting what it might choose to do from one moment to the next. That was its downfall. If the spirit could only retain focus, it would never have been trapped in a remote hillside for centuries – it would have ruled the world. And in this moment, with a great and satisfyingly bloody climax only minutes away, the spirit lost focus again.
It fell prey to its own whims. Towards the rear of the plane the creature beheld fear, and it hungered for it. The spirit rose up like a cloud from the two men in the cockpit, filling that compartment with a thin and greasy smoke. Similar tendrils rose from the remaining two terrorists standing watch outside, joining with the others into a kind of venomous smog. Then it slithered like an insubstantial snake towards the back of the plane and settled in about the shoulders of the several dozen men and women huddling in the aft rows.
The vision of the hijacker pilot cleared, and his eyes widened. "My God," he said.
All four of the men remembered everything they had done. They knew, too, that they couldn't blame their actions on the spirit; they were responsible for their own actions. But without the presence of that malevolent force, their consciences could audit themselves once more. They didn't like what they saw. The men were all devout believers in a faith with prohibitions against violence, but the creature was good at making excuses, devising exceptions; for the spirit, 'love thy neighbor' was only a short hop away from 'kill those who are different'. Without the demon, the logic just didn't make sense any more.
The two pilot-terrorists exchanged glances. Each saw a haunted look in the other's eyes that reflected what they felt. "We cannot keep going," said one.
"It's not as if we can turn back," his fellow argued. "They won't let us land at an airport, you know that. We could ditch the plane now."
"Look around you!" shouted the first. The dead flight crew had been hastily dragged to the sides of the cockpit. "We've killed these men, you and I. We're murderers. If we crash the plane, we kill the passengers too. Look, there are women back there. Is that how you want to be remembered by your family? As a killer of women?"
The other two terrorists opened the cockpit door. "We've voted," one said, "and we don't think we should hit either of the targets."
"Relax," said the first pilot tiredly. "We're all in agreement. We're just trying to decide what to do."
"Can't we land on a highway somewhere?" one asked. "I heard you could land on highways. Maybe we could even flee on foot, get away."
"Landing on a road would be difficult. My training's in flying planes, not landing them," the lead pilot reminded his fellows. "Our best chance would be a large body of water, or perhaps an open field."
"Yes, well, it's not as if we have maps of the countryside," the other pilot mentioned gloomily. "Does anybody know this area well enough to know a nearby lake, or something like that?" The other terrorists were silent. Then one snapped his fingers.
"The ocean!" he said. "We could overshoot Washington and land in the sea! The plane has these ramps, and inflatable boats. I saw it on a safety card." The others nodded.
"All right, then we're agreed," said the pilot. "You get back out there and keep the calm. I'll pretend to be the real pilot again; maybe it will help." He got on the intercom.
"Attention everyone," he said in heavily accented English. "We are going back the way we came from. There is a bomb on the plane but it will not go off. We will land in ocean. Be calm and all persons will survive." A burst of inspiration struck him, and he thumbed the transmitter again. "Allah is great and merciful," he said, "and he will see all of us through this storm."
He settled back in at the controls and leveled the plane out. A moment later he heard shouts, and something heavy bounced off the bulkhead. He frowned, and the co-pilot cracked the door open. "What's going on now?" he demanded.
"You had better see for yourself!" said one of the guards.
The passengers had massed near the back of the plane. They didn't look cowed anymore; they looked angry. They had one of the heavy service trolleys and were pushing it in front of them down the aisle. The men near the front had heavy briefcases, belt buckles wrapped around knuckles – any sort of improvised weapon. One of them had a jug of liquid; steam was rising from it.
"Towelhead terrorists!" shouted one of them.
"Killers, all of you!" yelled another.
The pilot snatched up the intercom transmitter again. "You don't understand," he said over the cabin speakers. "We are not terrorists. Plane will land safely now."
"The hell it will!" growled a passenger.
"Just like you freakin' cowards!" called another.
"Our stupid government's responsible for this god-dammed mess," said the man in the front. "They're the real terrorists. And we're gonna teach them a lesson, aren't we?" His cohorts shouted their wild approval.
"Then let's roll," he grunted. The pack charged forwards.
"Hang on!" shouted the pilot. He pulled the plane up into a steep climb. The heavy cart stopped, then began to roll backwards down the aisle, knocking passengers over like bowling pins. Others were caught by surprise at the sudden forty-five degree angle in the aisle slope, and they toppled backwards over the seats. Some of them lay still and didn't move.
The cockpit-guards had successfully braced themselves in the service prep nook. "They've gone mad!" one cried.
"No," said the other. "Look in their eyes. See anything familiar there?" They both looked. The closest passengers were clinging to the headrests of the seats by the tips of their fingers, but there was no fear there – only a gnawing hunger gleamed out.
"Then they've gone fanatical," said one.
"No," replied the other. "The spirit that infected us has entered within them."
The pilot couldn't climb forever. "I'm going to roll sideways and then dive," he called to his fellows. "Maybe that will further confuse them." He put his plan into effect. The cart, now at the back of the plane, turned sideways and fell over as the passengers screamed and fell across the seats, forwards this time. One of them landed at the feet of the cockpit guards; they kicked him in the head until he lay still.
The plane leveled out. The passengers were battered and disorganized, but the spirit within them motivated them to regain their feet and press the attack anew. "We can't hold them all," called one of the guards.
"Especially if we don't want to kill them," added his fellow.
"We'll recite the Ayatul Kursi," said the pilot decisively. They all thought this was a good idea. The Ayatul Kursi is a chapter of the Qu'ran that elegantly describes the great power that Allah holds over the entire universe. It is a common prayer at bedtimes. More importantly, it is an important component of a ruqya, the Islamic equivalent of an exorcism, and is often recited as protection against jinn and other evil spirits.
The four hijackers began reciting the prayer in unison. The words of the pilots' prayers floated out the open cockpit door and joined those of the guards as the determined passengers crept up the aisle like prowling beasts.
"Turn around!" said one of the guards. "The Holy City is towards the front of the plane!"
"I'm not turning my back on those people!" protested his companion.
"Fine, suit yourself!" grumbled the other, then rejoined the others in repeating the prayer. The words of the Ayatul Kursi rolled over the passengers, speaking of how the Throne of Allah extends over the heavens and the earth, and an untiring Allah sits on that throne guarding over all the creatures of the world for all time. And as these words streamed past the advancing passengers, it seemed that something of a cometary trail played out behind them; wisps of smoke curled away from the afflicted people, because the spirit wanted no part of the Ayatul Kursi. As it departed the bodies of the passengers, their eyes opened to what was going on, and the hate drained out of them. By the time they reached the two guards – one cringing at the approach of the mob, the other praying in the other direction – no violence was on the minds of anybody. In those close quarters, hijackers and passengers regarded each other thoughtfully, and with wonder.
The wisps of smoke darted and weaved among the people, seeking a point of entry into a person unprotected by the words of the Qu'ran. But the spirit could not silence the four hijackers, who were emboldened by the obvious success of their ruqya, and their words protected all in the cabin. Spurned, angry beyond measure but impotent without a human catspaw, the spirit withdrew to the restroom in the back of the plane where it could not hear the hated words of the Ayatul Kursi.
The leader of the passengers entered the cockpit to speak with the pilot. He looked at the bloody remains of the pilots, but he had no anger for the hijackers any more. He had experienced the spirit within his own body, and he could not judge them for what had happened; he could only feel sadness.
"I think we've beaten something today," he said.
The pilot nodded. "A defeat for it, of sorts, I think," he said in his imperfect English. "But not any great victory, and nothing lasting."
"How so?" asked the passenger.
"We carry an ancient and evil spirit on this plane," said the pilot. "Our people know about such things. The Qu'ran speaks of jinn and devils, and the steps one must take to keep such forces at bay. Your people, unfortunately, know nothing about this. The minute we land, the spirit will escape, lose itself amongst people once again. It will plague the world forever."
The passenger nodded. He looked out the window. The countryside of America sped along below the plane – the green fields of Pennsylvania.
"We were all ready to die just now," he said. "Ready to take back this plane or die trying. That wasn't the spirit; that was in all of us. And that spirit was in you four, as well. The bravery to do something great doesn't come from evil; evil can only warp our sense of what's great."
The pilot nodded. "I entirely agree," he said.
"Then let's do something really great, all together, as free men and women," proposed the passenger. "Let's all agree to crash this plane, and destroy something evil for once and for all."
Passengers looked at hijackers. Hijackers looked at passengers. The pilot smiled.
"The prayer is a short and simple one," he said. "I will teach the words to you. We should all say it, all together."
And in a minute, when the plane dropped from the sky like a stone and scorched the earth, something seemed to scream.
**
They retrieved the flight recorder, of course. Nothing on it seemed to make sense.
"I can't make out most of what happened in the cockpit," said the forensic technician. "It's almost as if portions of the audio were erased. The recorder enclosure was unbroken, though, so I'm not sure how that could happen."
"Doesn't matter," replied the lead investigator. "What's obvious was that Flight 93 was full of heroes. They saved our country from a terrible fate. Those people had balls like I can't even imagine."
The technician nodded. "Well, I'll keep digging," he said. "Maybe we can piece together more information about the bad guys and how they went about their business."
"Oh, we'll get them," the lead investigator said with emotion. The passion in his eyes was almost a hunger.
And it was winning. The four men that the spirit had infected had gotten on board flight 93, overwhelmed the crew in the cockpit, cowed the survivors and forced them to the back of the plane, and taken control of the airplane. They had turned it about, and it was heading for Washington. From within all four sets of eyes, the spirit glimmered hungrily.
But it was a wild spirit, not subject to the rules of reason, incapable of predicting what it might choose to do from one moment to the next. That was its downfall. If the spirit could only retain focus, it would never have been trapped in a remote hillside for centuries – it would have ruled the world. And in this moment, with a great and satisfyingly bloody climax only minutes away, the spirit lost focus again.
It fell prey to its own whims. Towards the rear of the plane the creature beheld fear, and it hungered for it. The spirit rose up like a cloud from the two men in the cockpit, filling that compartment with a thin and greasy smoke. Similar tendrils rose from the remaining two terrorists standing watch outside, joining with the others into a kind of venomous smog. Then it slithered like an insubstantial snake towards the back of the plane and settled in about the shoulders of the several dozen men and women huddling in the aft rows.
The vision of the hijacker pilot cleared, and his eyes widened. "My God," he said.
All four of the men remembered everything they had done. They knew, too, that they couldn't blame their actions on the spirit; they were responsible for their own actions. But without the presence of that malevolent force, their consciences could audit themselves once more. They didn't like what they saw. The men were all devout believers in a faith with prohibitions against violence, but the creature was good at making excuses, devising exceptions; for the spirit, 'love thy neighbor' was only a short hop away from 'kill those who are different'. Without the demon, the logic just didn't make sense any more.
The two pilot-terrorists exchanged glances. Each saw a haunted look in the other's eyes that reflected what they felt. "We cannot keep going," said one.
"It's not as if we can turn back," his fellow argued. "They won't let us land at an airport, you know that. We could ditch the plane now."
"Look around you!" shouted the first. The dead flight crew had been hastily dragged to the sides of the cockpit. "We've killed these men, you and I. We're murderers. If we crash the plane, we kill the passengers too. Look, there are women back there. Is that how you want to be remembered by your family? As a killer of women?"
The other two terrorists opened the cockpit door. "We've voted," one said, "and we don't think we should hit either of the targets."
"Relax," said the first pilot tiredly. "We're all in agreement. We're just trying to decide what to do."
"Can't we land on a highway somewhere?" one asked. "I heard you could land on highways. Maybe we could even flee on foot, get away."
"Landing on a road would be difficult. My training's in flying planes, not landing them," the lead pilot reminded his fellows. "Our best chance would be a large body of water, or perhaps an open field."
"Yes, well, it's not as if we have maps of the countryside," the other pilot mentioned gloomily. "Does anybody know this area well enough to know a nearby lake, or something like that?" The other terrorists were silent. Then one snapped his fingers.
"The ocean!" he said. "We could overshoot Washington and land in the sea! The plane has these ramps, and inflatable boats. I saw it on a safety card." The others nodded.
"All right, then we're agreed," said the pilot. "You get back out there and keep the calm. I'll pretend to be the real pilot again; maybe it will help." He got on the intercom.
"Attention everyone," he said in heavily accented English. "We are going back the way we came from. There is a bomb on the plane but it will not go off. We will land in ocean. Be calm and all persons will survive." A burst of inspiration struck him, and he thumbed the transmitter again. "Allah is great and merciful," he said, "and he will see all of us through this storm."
He settled back in at the controls and leveled the plane out. A moment later he heard shouts, and something heavy bounced off the bulkhead. He frowned, and the co-pilot cracked the door open. "What's going on now?" he demanded.
"You had better see for yourself!" said one of the guards.
The passengers had massed near the back of the plane. They didn't look cowed anymore; they looked angry. They had one of the heavy service trolleys and were pushing it in front of them down the aisle. The men near the front had heavy briefcases, belt buckles wrapped around knuckles – any sort of improvised weapon. One of them had a jug of liquid; steam was rising from it.
"Towelhead terrorists!" shouted one of them.
"Killers, all of you!" yelled another.
The pilot snatched up the intercom transmitter again. "You don't understand," he said over the cabin speakers. "We are not terrorists. Plane will land safely now."
"The hell it will!" growled a passenger.
"Just like you freakin' cowards!" called another.
"Our stupid government's responsible for this god-dammed mess," said the man in the front. "They're the real terrorists. And we're gonna teach them a lesson, aren't we?" His cohorts shouted their wild approval.
"Then let's roll," he grunted. The pack charged forwards.
"Hang on!" shouted the pilot. He pulled the plane up into a steep climb. The heavy cart stopped, then began to roll backwards down the aisle, knocking passengers over like bowling pins. Others were caught by surprise at the sudden forty-five degree angle in the aisle slope, and they toppled backwards over the seats. Some of them lay still and didn't move.
The cockpit-guards had successfully braced themselves in the service prep nook. "They've gone mad!" one cried.
"No," said the other. "Look in their eyes. See anything familiar there?" They both looked. The closest passengers were clinging to the headrests of the seats by the tips of their fingers, but there was no fear there – only a gnawing hunger gleamed out.
"Then they've gone fanatical," said one.
"No," replied the other. "The spirit that infected us has entered within them."
The pilot couldn't climb forever. "I'm going to roll sideways and then dive," he called to his fellows. "Maybe that will further confuse them." He put his plan into effect. The cart, now at the back of the plane, turned sideways and fell over as the passengers screamed and fell across the seats, forwards this time. One of them landed at the feet of the cockpit guards; they kicked him in the head until he lay still.
The plane leveled out. The passengers were battered and disorganized, but the spirit within them motivated them to regain their feet and press the attack anew. "We can't hold them all," called one of the guards.
"Especially if we don't want to kill them," added his fellow.
"We'll recite the Ayatul Kursi," said the pilot decisively. They all thought this was a good idea. The Ayatul Kursi is a chapter of the Qu'ran that elegantly describes the great power that Allah holds over the entire universe. It is a common prayer at bedtimes. More importantly, it is an important component of a ruqya, the Islamic equivalent of an exorcism, and is often recited as protection against jinn and other evil spirits.
The four hijackers began reciting the prayer in unison. The words of the pilots' prayers floated out the open cockpit door and joined those of the guards as the determined passengers crept up the aisle like prowling beasts.
"Turn around!" said one of the guards. "The Holy City is towards the front of the plane!"
"I'm not turning my back on those people!" protested his companion.
"Fine, suit yourself!" grumbled the other, then rejoined the others in repeating the prayer. The words of the Ayatul Kursi rolled over the passengers, speaking of how the Throne of Allah extends over the heavens and the earth, and an untiring Allah sits on that throne guarding over all the creatures of the world for all time. And as these words streamed past the advancing passengers, it seemed that something of a cometary trail played out behind them; wisps of smoke curled away from the afflicted people, because the spirit wanted no part of the Ayatul Kursi. As it departed the bodies of the passengers, their eyes opened to what was going on, and the hate drained out of them. By the time they reached the two guards – one cringing at the approach of the mob, the other praying in the other direction – no violence was on the minds of anybody. In those close quarters, hijackers and passengers regarded each other thoughtfully, and with wonder.
The wisps of smoke darted and weaved among the people, seeking a point of entry into a person unprotected by the words of the Qu'ran. But the spirit could not silence the four hijackers, who were emboldened by the obvious success of their ruqya, and their words protected all in the cabin. Spurned, angry beyond measure but impotent without a human catspaw, the spirit withdrew to the restroom in the back of the plane where it could not hear the hated words of the Ayatul Kursi.
The leader of the passengers entered the cockpit to speak with the pilot. He looked at the bloody remains of the pilots, but he had no anger for the hijackers any more. He had experienced the spirit within his own body, and he could not judge them for what had happened; he could only feel sadness.
"I think we've beaten something today," he said.
The pilot nodded. "A defeat for it, of sorts, I think," he said in his imperfect English. "But not any great victory, and nothing lasting."
"How so?" asked the passenger.
"We carry an ancient and evil spirit on this plane," said the pilot. "Our people know about such things. The Qu'ran speaks of jinn and devils, and the steps one must take to keep such forces at bay. Your people, unfortunately, know nothing about this. The minute we land, the spirit will escape, lose itself amongst people once again. It will plague the world forever."
The passenger nodded. He looked out the window. The countryside of America sped along below the plane – the green fields of Pennsylvania.
"We were all ready to die just now," he said. "Ready to take back this plane or die trying. That wasn't the spirit; that was in all of us. And that spirit was in you four, as well. The bravery to do something great doesn't come from evil; evil can only warp our sense of what's great."
The pilot nodded. "I entirely agree," he said.
"Then let's do something really great, all together, as free men and women," proposed the passenger. "Let's all agree to crash this plane, and destroy something evil for once and for all."
Passengers looked at hijackers. Hijackers looked at passengers. The pilot smiled.
"The prayer is a short and simple one," he said. "I will teach the words to you. We should all say it, all together."
And in a minute, when the plane dropped from the sky like a stone and scorched the earth, something seemed to scream.
**
They retrieved the flight recorder, of course. Nothing on it seemed to make sense.
"I can't make out most of what happened in the cockpit," said the forensic technician. "It's almost as if portions of the audio were erased. The recorder enclosure was unbroken, though, so I'm not sure how that could happen."
"Doesn't matter," replied the lead investigator. "What's obvious was that Flight 93 was full of heroes. They saved our country from a terrible fate. Those people had balls like I can't even imagine."
The technician nodded. "Well, I'll keep digging," he said. "Maybe we can piece together more information about the bad guys and how they went about their business."
"Oh, we'll get them," the lead investigator said with emotion. The passion in his eyes was almost a hunger.
