Brianne, of all her cabin crew, was the one who spoke up from the couch. "We were all terrified for you. And then that re-entry… we figured you still had to be alive, because you're the only pilot who pings us like that."
"I'm sorry?" She lifted her head from her hands to look back and forth between her and Maria, as the latter plopped things on the counter and started chopping.
"Most captains hit the cabin annunciator to warn us and the pax at the same time. You're the only one who pings us status every damn time, and then hits the annunciator if you remember. Sometimes we have to hit the annunciator for you." She chopped with enough force Michelle felt a little worried.
"I'm sorry."
"You are also the only pilot who feels they have to apologize for every little thing, all the time. I'm sorry, we're ten minutes fast. I'm sorry, we're in a hold. I'm sorry, there's turbulence. I'm sorry, we're going to be on time!" She yelled the last, and Michelle held up her hands, wincing away from the waving knife. "Shit, sorry, captain. I don't mean to scold. You just scared the shit out of us."
"I… How did he get in there?"
"They trapped us up front and calmly explained that either we could open the door, or they'd kill us all and use each of our ID's until one worked. And if that didn't work, they'd chop down the door with the fire ax." She put her knife down, and turned away to get the pan. "And we… they were going to kill us. They meant it. And we thought, we're all dead. And it wouldn't save you to make some desperate last stand…"
"No. They would have killed you, and come through anyway." Michelle dropped her head in her hands. "I'm so sorry."
"What I don't get - why did they blow up the cargo hold? And why send us here?"
"Ah. That wasn't them. The Feds shot us on the way out of Lasku." She spoke up, and the whispering and commentary stopped, leaving the house eerily quiet.
"The Feds shot us?"
"We had some high-value passengers on board. The Fed would rather they died in a crash than join the rebels." She lifted her head, and said, "I'm the replacement captain - they detained the captain who was supposed to be doing this run, earlier this morning, because they didn't want the rebels getting the benefit of his expertise, either."
Maria swore, long and low and vehemently. Michelle didn't need to speak a word of her language to understand. When Maria finally switched to Trade, she rounded on Michelle. "And when did you learn this?"
"First at apogee, the rest in the post-crash debrief. Our would-be hijackers knew the captain had been detained, even if I didn't. They were going to force us to land here instead of the capital, because they expected the Fed to shoot us down coming in to land, and blame it on the rebels." Michelle gave a wan smile. "Once he saw we'd already been hit and I was fighting like hell to keep us from becoming a string of re-entry debris, he was actually… rather easier to deal with than expected."
Brianne swore, stopped over to the fridge and cracked open the seal on a cold drink. It splashed on the counter as she plunked it down in front of Michelle. "You're off the clock. Have a drink."
The fruity smell couldn't hide the alcohol fumes rising strongly enough to make her eyes water. "If I drink this now, I'm not going to be awake to eat dinner." She took a swig anyway, and it was smooth going down, and burned when she exhaled. "Oh, thank you. I needed that."
By the time the breakfast tacos slid onto the counter, Michelle had pillowed her head on her arms, and was sinking into them. She barely finished two before it was just too tempting to lay her head down again for a minute. Sometime later, she woke to her cabin crew picking her up, hauling her back to the bunk beds. She tried to pick up her feet enough to walk. "I'm so glad you ladies are all right… I never wanted any of my crew to get hurt. Couldn't stop it…"
"Shh, now. Come on, off with your boots." She was maneuvered into a bottom bunk, with a blanket thrown over her. "Sleep it off."
The next morning, she woke to the sound of flight attendants getting ready for early departure. There was a lot of giggling, and whispering, and the gagging smell of multiple perfumes, body sprays, hair sprays… Michelle rolled over, put the pillow over her head, and went back to sleep.
Several hours later, she got up, dressed in a loose track suit and sandals, and headed out to the kitchen. She started making eggs and hash, only to find that flight attendants were just as quick to show up for someone else making food as pilots were. So she started making breakfast in batches, until everyone was fed, and then settled down for her own food while everyone else was chatting.
When they turned the screen on, instead of another sensie flick, this holo was set to news. The entire country was now declaring independence, with Nueva Terra's capital reversing its allegiance to the Fed and issuing announcements that it was "representative of the will of the country." The Federated States Parliament had just declared interdiction "until the issue is settled", and the news was full of fighting in the capitol between Fed troops and locals, and people trapped and trying to get home. Michelle watched until it was obvious they were cycling the same story over and over, and shook her head. "I don't think we're going to be headed up to the hub and flying out any time soon."
Brianne was filing her nails, and didn't look up. "I don't think it's going to be healthy for any of us to return to the Fed. They were covering our arrival earlier. Fed's claiming we were hijacked and covering it up. Me and the girls, we're looking at taking local jobs, something based on this continent that doesn't head back over anytime soon. How about you?" Nueva Terra was, after all, the Fed's only foothold on this continent.
Michelle chewed over her food, thinking about it. "I… I think that's a very good idea. If you need a reference, I will give you absolutely glowing ones. Do you have my commcode? If you hear about any openings for pilots, I'd love a hot tip."
When she pulled her handbrain out of her jacket, it had to cycle up and find signal - and then started downloading missed calls, texts, pings… as though the jacket was shielded. She traded commcodes as if everything was normal, and then decided to run a little experiment. While the others were putting their handbrains away, or going back to the music, books, news, or texting, she tucked her own handbrain inside a sleeve and pulled it back out. Total loss of signal; she was running dark as long as it was tucked away. That was truly interesting, and she filed that away as she started working through the messages. If she wanted to disappear on the airport, with this jacket, she could.
It was military gear that only looked like a nice high-end fashion - which meant it wasn't something that civilians like her were supposed to know about, and certainly shouldn't be able to get their hands on. Unless she missed her guess, it was probably armored and did something else, too, that she might or might not ever find out. Which was as comforting as finding out the plane you'd been hired to ferry turned out to have long-range tanks instead of standard, and anti-icing equipment. She smiled at the others, and made an effort to pick up and run with their conversation.
5
By midafternoon, the holonews had switched to a documentary about ongoing terraforming on their current continent, and the establishment of fisheries. Michelle worked her way through texts with half an ear on it; she'd grown up in a fishing port, and the subject was actually fairly interesting. While the ecosystem had long been established at home, here they were only now getting the feeder fish populations big enough to support the higher trophic levels - and while the problems were the same, due to warmer waters, the fish breeds were a mix of familiar and strange new species.
The interesting part, that made her look up from her handbrain and stare at the holo, was that they were introducing ahi - tuna - to the local waters. According to the documentary, they were almost ready for the first harvest. Unlike the Empire's Spice Coast, the population here wasn't expected to be subject to megathulu predation, or kraken predation like cod in her homeland. That made her smile, and wonder what they'd actually find rising from the deeps, with all the tempting food overhead. Terraforming w
as a terribly uneven process, and as nearhornets proved, plenty of local species were finding they could adapt into unfilled ecological niches just fine.
Only two of her flight attendants were still here; she heard one's handbrain playing a ringtone from elsewhere in the house. The other two and all the local flight attendants were out on their flights or on interviews or visiting friends; for once the crew house was quiet and calm. It gave her time to think, when she wasn't distracting herself, and to see the ground rising up far too fast, remember the way she'd wished the alarms would shut up - only to watch the black of non-responsive/down creep in and start taking out all her alarming systems. She shivered, seeing fire and smelling the spilled hydraulic fluid, the burning metal and hot foam as they'd hosed down the remains of her landing gear. So close…
Maria came flying down the stairs, her handbrain out. "There you are! Move!"
"Wait, what?" She stood up, trying to focus. "What's going on?"
"Feds just hit the Meridian crew house. They're looking for you among the flight attendants. Brianne! Michelle! Grab your shit, we're bailing!" That yell brought Brianne out of the bathroom, curling iron in hand.
"Shit!" Brianne dashed back into the bathroom. "You got any meds, Cappy?"
"No?" She stood frozen one second longer, and then Maria grabbed her by the wrist, dragging her back to the bathroom.
"Come on! We don't have time! Grab it, and if you can't carry it, you lost it! Evacuate! Evacuate! Unfasten your seat belt and get out!" The last was trained bone-deep, and got Michelle's legs moving while her head was still catching up.
She looked around the bedroom, grabbed her luggage, her jacket, and badges, and followed the other two out the sliding glass door at the back while pulling the jacket on and stuffing the badges in a pocket. Maria and Brianne had grabbed purses, leaving luggage behind, and she felt foolish carrying the large silver case as she followed them across the back yard, behind the gardening shed.
"Here. There's always a way to sneak out, even if you're under mandatory crew curfew." That was news to Michelle - but then, she wasn't under the same regs as they were. There was, indeed, a gap in the hedge behind the shed, and the boards were missing under the cover of branches. Maria went first, and hesitated under the hedge for a moment.
Then she reached back, and grabbed Michelle's arm. "Now!" She hissed, and they scrambled out the other side, into the alley. They dashed down the rutted, weedy lane until Brianne buttonhooked a corner and slipped through a small gap between two fences. Michelle followed, luggage banging against her legs, dodging trailing rose vines until they came out on a drainage canal. About seventy feet further down it, they scrambled up the other side as it curved to take another small gap in fences, and came out on another suburban street, this one as calm and quiet as if nothing was happening over on the other side. From there, they walked up the street, crossed over and down another until passing one yard with a realtor's sign in the front and a shady front porch. "Here, this is perfect."
Maria nodded as Brianne sauntered up the drive, casually ripped the realtor's sign out of the yard, and waved them up onto the porch. "Good, good, they left furniture out. Sit. Look casual."
"What the hell?" Michelle collapsed on the porch swing, panting and holding her side as the other two looked fresh as flowers and smug as cats.
"I'm calling a taxi. Look like we're just hanging out until they come." The flight attendants grinned at each other. "And shove that under the seat."
"But what about…"
"You never snuck out after curfew much, did you? The key to not getting caught is to look like you have no clue what's going on. We're not a part of that thing over there. What's even going on, anyway?" Briana batted her eyes as she spoke, and Maria laughed at the expression on Michelle's face.
"What the hell is going on?" Michelle blew out her breath, and tried to look at ease despite the stitch in her side.
"We dodged out before the Feds could come calling, possibly with the local cops. As for what they want? Nothing friendly, when they come knocking like that." Brianne grimaced. "Look, you were a good kid, weren't you? Only the squeaky clean get to be pilots. Well, some of your crew in the back and on the ramp, we've had more fun than you."
"I'm aware of that." She said, still sucking wind. "I'm not totally blind and deaf."
"And you've never once, unlike some, used it as a reason to look down on us. Well, you saved our asses, now we save yours. They're after you, Cappy. Now is a really good time to turn off your handbrain, and don't turn it on again until you're in traffic, or about to leave a restaurant or somewhere crowded, where you're moving on before they can track you."
"I have it in a Faraday pocket." Michelle said, and at the raised eyebrows, said, "I hate it pinging at me; it makes my implants twitch." The jacket was, too, so she wasn't technically lying.
"Huh. Most pilots want 'em surgically attached if they could. Well, good, you leave it there. And don't use credit cards, not for anywhere you're staying. Not even somewhere you'll be a little while, like a mall or nightclub cover or show ticket, 'cause they'll be looking for you there, waiting at the exits." Brianne's accent was getting thicker and thicker as she talked, all the polish and gloss dropping away.
Michelle shivered. "This is insane. This is… this can't be happening."
"They shot at ya on the way out of Lasku. What makes you think they weren't going to try to finish the job?" Brianne looked at her, and Michelle had to look away, running her hands through her hair. "Think of 'em as a bad boyfriend who won't let you break up with him."
Maria laughed at that. "Damned straight. You, us, this whole country. But we win, chica, by walking out on him and living our lives anyway." She leaned back with a grin. "And you know what to do when you have a bad breakup?"
"Drink a lot and cry ugly?" Michelle replied, rather bewildered, but their laughter wasn't mean.
"After that! First, you get a haircut and dye job, and then we got shopping for new clothes!" She grinned, and dropped her voice. "So he won't even know what he's looking at."
"Aaah." She nodded, and settled back to wait. "Thank you. I'm sorry to ruin your day."
"Ruin? We're gonna get to make you over!" The glee in Brianne's eyes was as unnerving as St. Elmo's fire crackling across the airplane when negotiating a line of storms.
6
The pilot's bar here was a dive, complete with smoke-stained wood and darkness in the back, broken by a few functioning lamps over the pool tables. Michelle wore a clean track suit with her jacket tossed on top, and hair braided and pinned up under a battered gimme cap for Curtis engines, so she'd fit in with the cargo and charter pilots. A place like this was exactly where people would be looking for her, so she was just as glad that something in the jacket's weave blocked all signals.
As she came in, she realized she had to be wearing higher tech than she could afford in a year. The air was warm and humid on her face and legs, but she was cool and comfortable despite the thick jacket zipped most of the way up. She wasn't the only one in long sleeves that didn't have epaulets, but the others were armored-up bouncers and a few people back in the dim reaches of the back of the bar she couldn't quite see. Unlike her favorite bar in Lasku, the epaulets here were all marked for flight levels and down; she'd have stood out in her ballistics and been all too easy to spot.
She opted to stand at the bar, and ordered mulberry seltzer water - expensive damn water, but nobody looked twice after seeing the drink; she was just another pilot hanging at the bar despite being within the mandatory eight hours from bottle to throttle. The young pilots next to her were a local feeder airline, bitching about reroutes; that was a step too far down in pay for her to be interested in, but listening to them let her get a sense of the local airspace and issues. She nursed her water while listening to them until an older gent in a hard wearing flameproof shirt with ground-in stains came up to get another couple beers.
Like any good cargo pilot, he got the cheapest drink on dra
ft. She ordered a pitcher of beer two levels up the price list, a local name she'd never heard of, and nodded at him. "Got room at your table for one more if I bring the beer?"
"Hell, honey, should have asked that before I ordered. Mark, scratch my order; she's buying." He laughed at the bartender's rude gesture, and she slid over a cash card to cover the cost. "Who do you fly for?"
"I used to fly for a Fed outfit. This side of the line looks like it has better prospects for not spending half my paycheck in bribes to keep the damn Dogs off my neck, if you know what I mean." She followed him back to the dim part of the bar, where equally rough-worn men were sitting around a table.
"Yeah? What the hell were you flying, that you'd take off into a war zone instead of keeping your pretty little ass out of the line of fire?" He kicked out a chair by way of invitation, and she set the beer in the center of the table before taking a seat.
"High-value, high-annoyance passengers all over the Fed. At least you can ignore the chickens when they're drowning out Center's calls. I want to go back to cargo." She rolled her eyes, and they laughed, and helped themselves to her beer.
"What, you don't want to go airlines and get bombed, like the bird sitting out on the ramp?" One asked, while refilling his glass. The teasing grin was visible with a bright flash of teeth in his thick black beard.
She kept a smile on her face, trying not to give away the way her heart rate picked up. "Is that what the Fed's claiming now? They're changing their tune so fast I can't keep up with the latest excuse."
"Hell, who knows? Last I heard they were claiming some terrorists shot her."
"What, before apogee? That's gonna make the airlines start screaming, if they've lost control of the artillery around Lasku!" She shook her head, and took a drink.
"Yeah, that's why they shifted to saying it was after apogee, must have been us." A scruffy, sleepy-eyed pilot waved his glass at the bearded guy, and he refilled it as well.
Going Ballistic Page 4
