Si in Space Read online

  Visit www.cool2read.com.

  Visit the Duck Commander website at www.duckcommander.com.

  Visit Travis Thrasher’s website at www.travisthrasher.com.

  TYNDALE and Tyndale’s quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

  Duck Commander is a registered trademark of Duck Commander, Inc.

  Si in Space

  Copyright © 2014 by John Luke Robertson. All rights reserved.

  Cover and interior illustrations copyright © 2014 by Jeff Gregory. All rights reserved.

  Cover background pattern copyright © by wawritto/Shutterstock. All rights reserved.

  Designed by Jacqueline L. Nuñez

  Unless otherwise indicated, all Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, King James Version.

  Job 38:31-33, quoted in the author’s note, is taken from the Holy Bible, New Living Translation, copyright © 1996, 2004, 2007, 2013 by Tyndale House Foundation. Used by permission of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc., Carol Stream, Illinois 60188. All rights reserved.

  Si in Space is a work of fiction. Where real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales appear, they are used fictitiously. All other elements of the novel are drawn from the authors’ imaginations.

  For manufacturing information regarding this product, please call 1-800-323-9400.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Robertson, John Luke.

  Si in space / John Luke Robertson ; with Travis Thrasher.

  pages cm. — ([Be your own Duck Commander ; 3])

  ISBN 978-1-4143-9815-0 (sc)

  I. Thrasher, Travis, 1971- II. Duck dynasty (Television program) III. Title.

  PZ7.R5465Si 2014

  [Fic]—dc23 2014023384

  ISBN 978-1-4964-0006-2 (ePub); ISBN 978-1-4143-9838-9 (Kindle); ISBN 978-1-4964-0007-9 (Apple)

  Build: 2014-09-12 04:08:19

  This book is dedicated to Uncle Si.

  Uncle Si, thank you for showing us the value of good storytelling, for your service to our country, and for letting us see the joy you have in serving others.

  Everyone needs an Uncle Si!

  CONTENTS

  Warning! Don’t read this book straight through!

  This Is Who You Are

  Never Going Back Again

  Cat’s Cradle

  Look at the Stars: A Note from John Luke Robertson

  You’ll miss out on all the fun if you do.

  Instead, start at the beginning and decide where to go at the end of each chapter. Yeah, sure, you’re going up, up, up, and away. But you still have to follow the instructions on which page number to turn to once you make your decisions. You’ll be going back and forth, but hey—that’s like the roller coaster called life.

  When you finish one story, back up and do it all over. Get on the ship and blast out into space again. Feel the g-forces. Get ready for a close encounter of an awesome kind. Prepare for some Armageddon. (But if you get into serious trouble, don’t panic. Just start over and choose different options.)

  The great thing is, you are the main character. You make the decisions.

  And right now, you get to be the Duck Commander.

  That’s a fact, Jack!

  So get ready and strap in for dear life. Just make sure you bring back John Luke and your plastic cup in one piece. Also, beware of the strange entity out in space. And whatever you do, do not eat the Froot Loops. Hey, I’m just tellin’ you ahead of time, Jack.

  THIS IS WHO YOU ARE

  BEFORE WE BEGIN, THIS IS WHO YOU ARE.

  You really don’t need an introduction, but hey—even the most famous of all famous people get introduced.

  Your name is Silas Merritt Robertson, but most people call you Si. Or Uncle Si.

  You are the sixth of seven children, including five boys and two girls. You’re the closest to your

  older brother Phil, who happens to be the original Duck Commander.

  Your wonderful wife is named Christine, and you have a daughter and a son. You also have eight grandsons. That’s right. The Robertsons sure like their males, don’t they, Jack?

  You served in the Army and went to Vietnam. You came, you saw, you received some Tupperware cups from your mother (still drink your iced tea out of them too!). You retired from the Army in 1993 and started working with Duck Commander. You’re the chief reed maker and really the most valuable person at the company. Don’t let any of them boys fool you—Uncle Si is the reason for the success.

  Hey—you get up and nothing gets you down. So go ahead . . . jump!

  NEVER GOING BACK AGAIN

  ALL YOU CAN HEAR IS YOUR BREATHING. Inhale, exhale. Deep breath in, deep gasp out. Uuuuhhhh, hhhhuuuu.

  “DC Enterprise, do you copy?”

  Nothing but silence. Nothing but the gasping, wheezing sounds of an old redneck in space sucking up the oxygen in his helmet.

  “Houston, do you copy?”

  You’re twirling, spinning, swirling, being Mary Lou Retton in deep space. Not sure who that is? Google her, Jack, ’cause there’s no time to explain. You’re doing somersaults in front of the big blue ball that’s known as Earth.

  It looks close enough to touch. But it’s a long, long ways away.

  “West Monroe, do you copy? This is Mission Specialist Silas Merritt Robertson. But you can call me Si. Or Uncle Si. Or, hey—you can call me Al. I don’t care. Just call me angel of the morning. Say somethin’.”

  But you get nothing.

  Still gasping, still trying to control your breathing, still trying to stop your backflips, you don’t know what to do.

  You’re in your space suit, but you’re not connected to the space station.

  “George Clooney, do you copy? George? Anybody?”

  This is quite the start. Or maybe this is already the end.

  Is exploring space really something you want to do? Go here.

  Do you decide to maybe hold off on spending time in space? Go here.

  VENUS

  YOU KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT, which, hey—you can do it when you have to. If you’d ever been caught in ’Nam, you wouldn’t have talked. Not that you would have had anything to tell the Vietcong, but still. You always have to be ready. Like a Terminator. Always ready to strike. Or to stay quiet. Or always ready to tell someone, “I’ll be back, Jack.”

  And your patience pays off—this slacker teacher actually explains a couple things. After thirty minutes of listening to the guy ramble, you know these are the facts, Jack:

  All of these people around you come from some solar system or galaxy called Bananarama. Which you swear is a band from the eighties, but you weren’t about to raise your hand to say that.

  You don’t think these are clones. But you do know these people are in costume. What do they really look like? Will they give birth to lizard babies? You don’t know.

  There’s going to be an attack, like D-day in World War II. It’s secret, and these aliens are going to take Earth by surprise. Something about world domination. They’re going to start by invading the great US of A. And then others and eventually the entire Earth. But why are they going to start with the US? Probably because we’re all on our smartphones taking selfies for Twister and updating statuses on Farmbook and posting pics on Instafamous.

  So the world’s gonna end while we’re thumbing away at our phones.

  You know you gotta find John Luke and get off this ship.

  Then you gotta tell people.

  Phil. He’ll be the first person to know.

  Your brother will have a plan. No—you’ll have a plan, and Phil will be able to tell you if it’s good or not.

  There’s a reason you’re on this ship. That’s right.

  God knew he n
eeded the right men for the job.

  Si and John Luke to rescue all of humanity.

  So how are you gonna do it?

  You don’t know exactly, but you do know they keep mentioning “the misters.” As if they’re the leaders and the ones calling the shots.

  When this briefing of sorts ends and everybody is dismissed, you casually go along with the other hippie vets who surround you. You decide to strike up a conversation with Mr. Ponytail.

  “So you know where you’re getting sent?” you ask him.

  “Some suburb of Chicago. How ’bout you?”

  The guy even talks gruffly, like he’s tired and fed up and about five seconds from going Rambo on everybody.

  “I’m heading to West Monroe. It’s in Louisiana.”

  The guy nods. You half expect him to take out a cigarette and start talking about the war.

  “They’re pretty smart, you know,” Mr. Ponytail says.

  “How so?”

  “Taking existing stereotypes and inserting them into a culture. Guess they’ve been studying this group of beings for a long time.”

  You nod and see the elevator that brought you to this floor.

  “Hey, I’ll see you around,” the guy says as you head for the elevator.

  “Yeah, possibly.” No, hopefully I won’t ever see you again.

  You get into the elevator and hit the button for the first floor, wondering if John Luke is getting out of his meeting at the same time.

  As the doors begin to close, you spot a familiar face: Commander Noble.

  He’s walking with the rest of the crew. Hands tied behind their backs. They’re being led by men who look like—

  Pirates?

  Then the doors close.

  Do you decide to find John Luke first? Go here.

  Do you stay on the thirteenth floor and try to help the astronauts from your ship? Go here.

  IS THERE ANYBODY OUT THERE?

  “MISSION CONTROL, there’s some kind of strange disturbance in the force,” Commander Noble says.

  The force? Is he talking about that kind of force? The Force?

  “The force of the propulsion fusion blasters is decelerating. We’re somehow getting slower the farther out we go.”

  You can feel what he’s talking about. The DC Enterprise does seem to be going slower now.

  You authorized staying put and finding out who’s flying the other ship. But that’ll sure be a bad decision if you guys, like, explode. Or implode. Or side-splode.

  “What’s happening up there?” you ask.

  The commander and the pilot keep talking to Mission Control while the spaceship seems to move slower and slower.

  “Mission Control, it appears that we’re not the only ones out here,” Commander Noble says.

  John Luke looks at you through his space helmet.

  Aliens?

  “There appears to be a big craft that came out of nowhere, and it’s now starting to—it’s the cause of our deceleration.”

  “We’re not showing anything on our system,” Mission Control reports through your headset.

  “It’s about the size of Pluto,” Noble says.

  “The size of a planet?” you say.

  “Pluto hasn’t been a planet for a couple years now, Uncle Si,” John Luke adds.

  Noble continues as if he hasn’t even heard you. “This thing has a tractor beam that’s pulling us toward it.”

  “Have you tried the cyclone thrusters?”

  “Not yet,” the commander tells Mission Control. “I know those are untested.”

  “It’s the only way to get out of the ship’s trajectory.”

  So there’s really another spaceship behind you? Nobody seems to think that’s a bit strange?

  “Can we get Will Smith to blast the aliens to smithereens?” you say.

  But the only person who seems to hear you is John Luke.

  “I don’t think the crew can hear us,” you tell him. “But we can hear them.”

  “You think there are aliens on that ship?” John Luke asks.

  “A spaceship the size of a stadium? Haven’t heard about that in the news.”

  “Maybe it’s secret. A Russian ship.”

  “Hey, man, I saw Gravatar,” you say. “We’re gonna get stuck on the side of our shuttle and then have to float to the Russian ship.”

  “That’s Gravity.”

  “No, I think it’s Gravatar,” you say. “Sandra Bernhard stars.”

  “Did you even see the movie?”

  “Sure—in, like, 4-D cinephonic pyrotechnic style.”

  The ship begins to jerk and shake. You hold on for a moment.

  “We’re going to have to do something soon or we’ll be swallowed whole, Mission Control,” Commander Noble says.

  He seems to show such fine personal qualities. What’s the word for that again?

  “Commander Noble, do you have enough fuel for the cyclone thrusters?” Mission Control asks.

  “I’d have to use them in the next thirty seconds,” he says. “And that will leave us without much fuel for the ride home.”

  Then the commander does something unexpected. “Silas,” he calls out to you over the intercom. Hopefully he did something to your mike so he can hear you now. “I need your approval on whether to use the cyclone thrusters or not.”

  It’s up to you, Jack!

  Do you save fuel and not use the cyclone thrusters? Go here.

  Do you use the cyclone thrusters? Go here.

  COLD OUT THERE

  YOU WAKE UP IN A BIG POT OF GUMBO. The weird thing is that it’s not piping hot. No. This stuff is cold. Not freezing cold, but cold enough to make it feel gooey and sticky and sickly.

  Then you feel something squirming around in the pot.

  That ain’t no ingredient, Jack!

  The thing is, you can’t just jump up and get out of the pot. It’s so thick and heavy and icky that you can’t move.

  You see the rest of your family at the table, laughing and talking and smiling and eating, and you try to call out for them, but all you can do is say, “Griddle” in a teeny, tiny voice.

  You feel more movement. Whatever’s in this pot of cold gumbo has multiplied and had twins.

  It’s not pretty.

  You try to scream.

  “Griddle.”

  So quiet, so sweet.

  Good thing you’re about to awaken from this nightmare. Oh, wait, you got like another three months and twenty-nine days left.

  Nooooooooooo.

  Miss Kay walks over and pours some hot sauce over your head as if you’re not even there!

  This can’t be happening. And it’s not.

  Do you emerge from cybersleep three months and twenty-nine days later? Go here.

  Do you wake up with the nagging sense that you’ve been looking for something? Go to “Falling Si” . . . in Phil & the Ghost of Camp Ch-Yo-Ca.

  VERTIGO

  THIS FEELS LIKE the wildest roller-coaster ride ever known to mankind. And then some.

  This is Space Mountain at Disney, except it’s real space and you could die.

  The shaaaaaakkkkkkkkkkiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnggggggggg doesn’t stop. Back and forth, back and forth. It feels like the spaceship is going to break apart. Or maybe burst into flames. Or perhaps both at the same time.

  You gotta be tough, Jack. Stam-i-na. Cool astronaut blood running through your veins.

  You glance over at John Luke. His face is a really nice shade of purple inside his helmet.

  You hear someone over your earphones.

  “Just hold on, boys. Gonna be a little bumpy for a few minutes.”

  Sounds like Ashley Jones, the science officer.

  “I’ll fly this thing if I have to,” you say into the microphone.

  You hear a loud explosion that doesn’t sound right.

  “What was that?”

  “Just relax,” Ashley tells you. “And remember: there’s no problem so bad that you can’t make it worse.”r />
  That sounds perfectly awful.

  “Think of it as turbulence,” another voice says. This one must be the pilot, Ben Parkhurst.

  But this violent pounding and jerking isn’t bumpy like turbulence in an airplane. It’s different, like the spaceship is actually starting to disintegrate.

  There’s another boom. You hear someone shouting right before your radio feed gets turned off.

  “How ya doin’, John Luke?” you ask in a minute to see if the radio’s functional again.

  He raises his hand and waves, jolting up and down from the violent shuddering.

  The seat underneath you and the floor below you seem to be thrashing and flailing. Through the window you see something bright and momentarily blinding.

  This is it—the moment of truth. The moment I meet my Maker. That’s the shining light.

  “I’m ready, Lord.”

  You black out.

  When you awaken, you have the sense that you’ve been sleeping for hours. Days, even. You feel older. Your joints have been jammed, and you wonder if a polar bear’s been sleeping on your skull.

  At least the bumping and thumping of the spaceship has stopped. Now it just feels like you’re . . .

  Weightless.

  This is what it’s like. Good thing you’re strapped in.

  You turn to check on John Luke, motionless in his seat. Since he’s wearing his helmet and facing forward, you can’t tell whether his eyes are open or not. But you’re guessing he’s still out.

  What’s going on?

  You study the view outside the window nearest you. It’s not a big window, but you can still see hundreds and thousands of stars out there. Tiny pinpricks of light all waving at you.

  Another question hovers in your mind.

  Shouldn’t I be able to see Earth?

  But maybe it’s on the other side. Or behind you. Or even in front of you.