Going Ballistic

by Dorothy Grant

  "Thank you." With that, he tugged her along, and she fell into an exhausted stumble beside him. "I appreciate you trying to look after me, even when you clearly need someone looking after you."

  She grunted, and cracked the seal on her coffee. That didn't require any help, so she wasn't sure what he was on about. By the time they'd gotten up the escalator, she'd drained the bottle and pitched it in the trash at the top, and was working on cracking the water when he took it away, cracked it, and handed it back. "Thank you."

  "Any time." As they walked, he said, "It's under two hours to fly to the capital. Four hour stim, or six?"

  "Coffee works. That, and hydrating. For a flight this short, I'll be fine. Besides, do you need me on the ground, or can I catch a nap when we get there?”

  "Don't want to see history in the making?" He said, and laughed when she gave him two fingers, palm inward. "Anytime, dear." After a few hundred feet, he said more softly, "I can't predict the Fed's response. If we're lucky, they'll recognize they lost this round, and the war will be over."

  "And if we're not?"

  "They may switch to orbital bombardment, to deny us the victory. The Crown Prince is betting, with his life and ours, that he's too big of a target for them to dare. I hope he's right, but can't afford to assume that. "

  "Crown Prince? When in the world did he just fly in?" She boggled at him. "And why not just use his ballistic instead of mine?"

  Blondie gave her a look, then started shaking his head. "You didn't recognize him. Of course, you wouldn't."

  "Who?" And then the pieces clicked. "The ambassador?"

  "Exactly." He laughed. "Oh, if I had a picture of your face." As they approached the gate he sobered. "Right after the ceremonies, I want you to load us all up, and fly straight back to the Empire. Before any sort of reaction can set in, from any side. He's too vulnerable here, once the secrecy is blown."

  "I can do that." She took a deep breath. "I'll need stims, though. Possibly the 3-day one. And I won't be good for anything after."

  "I'll take care of you, when we get home. You just get us there." He squeezed her shoulder, and she nodded.

  "Roger, wilco." With that, she grabbed a flashlight from under the gate’s desk, and headed out to preflight the plane.

  37

  Michelle was sprawled in a first-class reclining seat, watching the holo play the shocked reactions all across the Fed, cutting back to clips of the process. Ambassador Cooper, now wearing a thin gold circlet with a subtle inlaid design, was shown again congratulating the Independent Nueva Terra president on successfully defending themselves "…against the rapacious grasp of those who will not rise to diplomacy, but stoop to force." A holonews anchor was losing their fluffy mind about Empire atrocities, and how dare they make such a claim, completely missing the obvious falsehood of whose soldiers had done the defending.

  She was contemplating the effort to roll over and grab the cooling cup of coffee from the galley when someone came hurtling up the jet stairs. Michelle pulled her gun and aimed it at the cabin entry, only to pull it away as Miller came in the hatch and sealed it behind him. He looked around, and smiled at her. "Hey, love."

  She put the gun aside, and sat up, giving him a tired smile. "Hey. Didn't see you up there in the ceremony."

  "You never will. I don't exist." He came and sat next to her as she reached for her coffee, tucking an arm around her back. "The teams - we're ghosts in the system."

  She snorted, and eyed her drink. “You said that too early. I hadn’t started to take a sip.” He looked briefly puzzled, then his eyes brightened with mischief. She frowned at him, and patted her hair where it had started to frazzle out of her braid. “You always catch me at my worst.”

  “Oh, no, love. I’ve caught you at your best.” He smiled, and tucked her into his side. She considered that, risked a sip of coffee, and handed the cup to him.

  As he drained it and set it aside, she rested her head on his shoulder, feeling him solid and sure against her. His jacket was looking roughed up, and one hand had combat wrap sealed tight around the palm and back. "What happened?"

  "Little trouble with Fed soldiers. We got it sorted out." He replied, and dropped a light kiss in her hair. "Don't worry about it."

  "Of course you did." She traced a hand around the edge of the wrap, and he turned his wrist to capture her fingers, holding her there. "You're awfully solid for a ghost. Keep turning up, too."

  "Yes, well…" He cleared his throat. "For you, I'll keep turning up as often as you allow." On the holo above, the fireworks were blooming in celebrations by the Imperial Palace to welcome a new country into their alliance.

  "In the Empire, Rock says, man chases woman until she catches him." The phrase hadn't made sense at the time, but she thought she understood it now.

  Against her side, Miller made a surprised noise. "Doesn't it work that way everywhere?"

  That made her laugh and pull away so she could look him in the eyes. "No, Blondie, not hardly!" Her chest tightened up, and she felt like she was about to descend into a fog bank and trust the autoland would bring her in to the runway before she hit the ground. Her voice dropped, coming out a little rough, and very soft. "But it leaves the question… how do I catch you?"

  He didn't laugh at her, though his eyes sparkled. "Very easily."

  Well, that wasn't helpful. "Seriously. I don't have an approach plate for this; you'll have to spell it out."

  He reached up, and stroked her cheek, combat wrap and callused fingers rough, but very gentle. "You might try a kiss."

  "Ah."

  It worked.

  38

  Few things in life are as beautiful, Michelle thought, as breaking out of a low overcast night to find the airport all lit up and spread out before her, the bright flashing white of the rabbit leading her home straight into the runway touchdown zone. She set her down with two little chirps of tires contacting tarmac, and kicking in the bass roar of the thrust reversers, taking the high-speed taxi to parking.

  She clicked the mic, "Terra Bonam tower, TransCon 1667 Heavy's clear of the runway." It was a little bittersweet, to use the callsign once again, and one last time. Whether the bird would be negotiated back to the airline or not, she doubted she'd ever fly it again, and never under that name.

  "TransCon 1667 taxi to East hangars; we have a follow-me waiting at Golf intersection. Contact Ground on 122.27" The was a brief pause, and before she could click the mic to reply, tower said, "And welcome home."

  That brought tears to her eyes, and it wasn't even her home. "Thank you. Contacting ground, point two seven. Good night."

  She was following the truck with its bright orange lights spelling out FOLLOW ME when Blondie stuck his head in the cockpit. "Well, they certainly don't leave interpreting that to chance, now do they?"

  "The margin for error in this business is measured in body count." She replied, and he laughed, dropping into the check airman seat.

  "I hear you. Speaking of, go ahead and slap this on your neck." He held out an opened package with the combat stim peeking out.

  "This one's good for at least another hour. Do I really want to double up?" She took it anyway, trusting him.

  "The hour's iffy at the end, and I don't want you crashing. That's a step-down, so you'll come down more gently. I'm rather averse to my favorite pilot crashing, you know." She laughed at his overly serious tone, and added it next to the other on her neck. "Besides, there's likely to be paperwork and processing on the far end, and, God help us, meetings. I'd rather you were walking on your own two feet at least as far as my front door."

  "Ah, yes, you're not supposed to bring in a woman like she's a sack of dirty laundry. The neighbors might talk." She didn't have to turn to see his face; the snort conveyed his expression clearly.

  Miller struck a mock-thoughtful tone. "Although, if you are unconscious, that gives me at least eight hours to make the place look like something that won’t make you reach for a rad decontam suit when you wa
ke up…"

  "That bad a bachelor pad?"

  "Not really. After my second wife cleaned me out while I was on deployment, I never got around to replacing most of my things." He sighed.

  "I'd wondered, when you mentioned your first wife. How many have you had?" She kept her tone light and gentle, but he groaned anyway.

  "Just the two. And the second marriage was a mistake from start to finish. I'd prefer to forget it happened at all." He was silent, and she smiled, but didn't say anything as she guided the plane into a gentle turn, coming off the taxiway and heading back to a hangar whose doors were open wide enough to swallow the ballistic without a trace. Finally, he muttered, "Never accept drunken marriage proposals. I warn my troops, if you do, never, ever go get married the same night. When the alcohol wears off, your bad decision is still there."

  That made her laugh. "All right, then."

  "At least until she gets tired of cheating on you, cleans out your house and accounts, and leaves for some hot guy who's right there when you aren't." He was quiet a moment, "Poor bastard. Jody did me a favor."

  "Yeah. Don't stick it in the crazy; the crazy might stick to you. We get the same problem in aviation." She sighed. "I never married; none of them stuck around long enough. Everyone thinks they want the glamorous, high-dollar-earning wife, until they realize flight schedules are hell on the home life."

  "I'm sticking around. Can't get rid of me that easily." He gripped her shoulder, and was silent as she guided the airplane after the tug, goosing the throttles for just enough momentum to make it over the threshold and then chopping them, shutting down the engines as they coasted across the gleaming floor to where a lineman waited, marshaling wands waving her in.

  Only when she had tapped the brakes to stop precisely on the nosewheel mark did she let a breath go, and ping the annunciator chimes. On the PA, she said, "On behalf of those of us aboard TransCon Airlines, Flight 1667, welcome to Terra Bonam. Outside temperature is 14 degrees, winds are light and variable at 5 knots from 220, and local time is 20:17. Please be careful with any items in overhead bins, as items will have shifted during flight. It is now safe to use your handbrain. This is the termination for this flight; look around, and make sure you have all your belongings. If you are taking a connecting flight to a destination, please find the terminal yourself; I think we passed it on the way in. Thank you, and good night." She clicked off, and unbuckled. At Blondie's look, she shrugged. "Checklist wouldn't be complete without the announcement, and I don't have a cabin crew to do it."

  He shook his head, and offered her a hand up. External sensors showed a jetstair snugged up against the fuselage already, and she frowned at the hatch. "That was fast."

  "Back." Miller pushed her gently into the cockpit, and she noted the Crown Price was also gently maneuvered into the bulkhead, out of line of sight, as the first set of men went out with weapons at the ready, checking to make sure it really was secure. After a long minute, Miller nodded. "All clear. They rolled out the damn red carpet."

  "Madame, after you?" Cooper waved her through the hatch, and she came out to a strange sight. There was, indeed, a red carpet rolled out, and men in elaborate, ornate uniforms and very functional weapons standing at each side, holding a stiff salute for the crew of the exhausted, bedraggled and frazzled as they headed down the… gauntlet wasn't the right word, and she didn't know what else to call it.

  She fetched up in front of a white-haired man in a tasteful suit with no decoration. Despite rejuv, his bones still stood out against his skin, and the tall, gaunt frame seemed like driftwood, the hardest, weathered remnants of what had once been a much larger man. His eyes were still sharp and thoughtful as he nodded at Cooper, who bowed back. She looked around in confusion, as every soldier who'd come in with her all went to one knee, and hazarded a bow at least a little deeper than Cooper's. Cooper said softly, "Sire. I present to you the teams. They have served you well." Sire, coming from the Crown Prince, could only mean one man…

  The Emperor nodded and his voice still carried clearly to those watching, "Rise, please. We are well pleased with you. You have overcome fierce resistance, freed a country from the grasp of our enemies, and increased the strength of our alliance. We know you are exhausted and want to get home, but we wished to present you with a token of our appreciation before you go. Terribly informal, but due to the nature of the operation, that can't be helped." There was a laughter at his words.

  She couldn't tell quite how it worked, but there was some subtle re-ordering, and then a line formed, with Miller guiding her to the back, as names were called, hands were shaken, and something pinned on each man, before they fell back in ranks. The team she knew were at the end of the line, and even Twitch was sober-faced, and gravely accepted the medal pinned on his uniform. She and Miller were last, and the emperor took the time to look Miller in the eye. "Chief Warrant Miller, you have pulled victory from the jaws of defeat. We are in your debt." He spoke a little while more, quietly, as Miller stood at attention so erect it made her spine hurt to see it. Instead of pinning a medal on, though, Miller bowed almost double so the Emperor could put a ribbon over his head, medal hanging down.

  And then Miller was straightening up, and snapping a salute with a precision she could envy. He turned, and touched her elbow gently, guiding her to the hot spot. The Emperor smiled at her. "Miss Lauden. Without your expert help, none of this would have been possible." At her shaky nod, he continued. "We understand that you have sacrificed much to stand with us. We shall see you recompensed. As such, I am not only conferring this medal upon you, for saving the lives of our citizens, but also granting citizenship to you. The fatherland is proud to have women like you among its ranks."

  She blinked, and carefully said, "Thank you… sire?"

  He chuckled. "Bend down a little, so I can get this over your head." As she bowed like Miller had, he continued, "We are always in need of pilots of your skill and judgment. As such, We have reserved a slot in Warrant Officer school for you in two weeks."

  Michelle swallowed, and decided that this was definitely not the time to argue. Possibly never was the right time… She straightened up. "Thank you, sire."

  The Emperor smiled at the assembled men. "Thank you, gentlemen, lady. You are dismissed."

  They all waited until the Emperor left before moving toward the exits. Michelle hesitated by the door, uncertain where to go as the Crown Prince pulled Miller aside for a low-voiced conference, and the rest of the men were filing out and cadging rides from each other. Tom came up next to her, and picked up her hand. "Status check?"

  She sent it, and he shook his head at her. "I'll be fine."

  "You will be. For now, if Miller doesn't get your ass to bed soon, I've got a couch you can crash on." He raised his voice and winked at her - she looked over, and saw Blondie was coming back. "It's always open if you need a spot."

  "Tom, are you trying to hit on my woman?" Miller replied, and there was a playful shoving match. "Go get your own; this one's taken!"

  "Then you better take care of her." Tom tipped his head, and she knew he'd sent the data over.

  Miller just grinned. "About to do that now. Go see your wife; I promise not to call you for the next two days."

  "So… not before noon tomorrow, eh?" Tom didn't wait for a response; he cracked up laughing and walked away.

  Miller turned back to her, and held out a hand. "Come on. Let's get you home."

  As she left the hangar, she turned one last time to look at the ballistic sitting there under the lights. At his questioning noise, Michelle smiled. "Just saying goodbye."

  He stood patiently by, letting her take her time. "Don't worry. Chances are, you'll see her again. There's some interesting ops coming up."

  She turned back, and pushed open the man door. "Should I ask? Ugh, it's cold!" At least this time, she could stuff her hands in her jacket pockets as she hurried across the tarmac after him.

  Blondie stopped beside a low black car that looked like it
broke speed laws just sitting parked, and opened the passenger door with a grin and bow. "Can't say yet, but I can promise you won't be bored!"

  * * *

  THE END