Alien Research

by Gini Koch

  “Kitten, should your head be bobbing like that?” Dad asked.

  “It’s called head-banging, Dad. And, again, I fly better this way.”

  “That’s open to debate.”

  “Everyone’s a critic.”

  “We’re at cruising altitude,” Buchanan said calmly, as I leveled us off. “Well done, Missus Chief.”

  “See? Someone took the Washington Wife class and understands that support is necessary and helpful. Speaking of helpful, Dad, a little navigational support wouldn’t be turned away.”

  “Hmmm . . . head east.”

  “No, really? Head east where? I need a heading and so forth.”

  “I can navigate us, Missus Chief.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Has Kitty gotten us lost already?” Christopher asked.

  “I don’t recall saying we should have the group communications line open.”

  “I thought it would be better, kitten.”

  “Thanks ever, Dad.”

  “Focus,” Buchanan said calmly. “You’re letting the nose drop.”

  “It makes the ride more interesting for those of us in the back,” Tito shared. The rest of the crew, princesses included, took this as their cue to add in. It was a party on our airwaves in record time. The only positive was that Adriana shared she was fairly sure she’d figured out how to activate the various jamming technology at her disposal, thanks to White’s instructions.

  “It’s a good thing I can handle a lot of distractions while flying a big plane loaded with weapons and bombs.”

  “That’s why you’re the woman for the job, Missus Martini.”

  “Thanks, Rick honey. Remind me to hurt you later.” So, bickering, complaining, and joking, we headed for Dulce, accompanied by the Crüe’s “White Trash Circus.”

  The weather was great, so we hit no air pockets. Jerry had trained me to handle them, but the B-52 was a lot bigger and heavier than the jets I’d spent more time in, so the less stress the elements gave me, the better.

  The BUFF wasn’t supersonic, but Dulce wasn’t that far from Home Base, so we arrived in good time. Of course, once you were in the air, it was relatively easy. Takeoffs were hard, but they were nothing compared to landings. Landings were hard in the best of circumstances. I knew without asking that I wasn’t going to have the best circumstances available when I wanted to put us safely on the ground.

  “We’re closing in,” Buchanan said. “Are you able to control the aircraft if we’re lower?”

  “Yeah.” Jerry had prepared me for all eventualities, including flying low under the radar, so to speak. I dropped our altitude, but carefully. There were only a few complaints from the peanut gallery.

  From the air, Dulce looked like a very boring installation doing nothing in the middle of nowhere. I’d learned early on that the more boring and inconsequential a building looked, the more likely it was to be housing things of the most supreme importance and secrecy.

  As I’d also learned early on, Dulce had ground-to-air missiles. Camouflaged or not, our jamming systems working correctly or not, I had to figure someone was going to fire on us soon. However, there were other things of interest on the ground.

  “Kitty, I see what looks like a dust devil forming,” Tito shared.

  “Yeah, we see it, too. I think dust giant might be a more apt description though.”

  “There’s no way that’s natural,” Dad said. “The formation is wrong and there are no signs of high winds.”

  “Someone back there in the bombardier area see if you can identify who or what is causing the dust storm that looks more like a tornado.”

  Tornados were so uncommon in Arizona and New Mexico as to be almost unheard of. This combined with Dad’s correct observation about the lack of high winds and the prior knowledge that a “dust storm” had moved everyone from Home Base to Dulce pretty much ensured this was man-, or more likely, alien-made.

  Which begged another question. “Is it real, can anyone tell? I was thinking that someone on Al Dejahl’s team might be creating an illusion.”

  “There are desert plants being pulled and shoved in a way that indicates there are real winds down there, Missus Martini.”

  “So, they have a weather witch on their team?” We were the X-Men. If there was a Storm character hanging about, by all rights she should be on our side. Of course, that was the comics and this was my real life. Of course the bad guys had a weather witch, or warlock, on staff.

  “Not sure,” Christopher said. “But I agree with my dad, it looks very real, based on what’s happening around and because of the dust storm.”

  Said dust storm was definitely coming at us. I tried to fly around it, but it caught up quickly. Wasn’t sure if that was normal, but since I’d outrun a few big dust storms in my Lexus IS 300, which, while fast, wasn’t up to airplane speeds, had to figure the dust storm was unnatural and definitely out to get us.

  The outer edge of the dust devil hit us. Sure enough, it was real enough to toss us around. I managed to pull up and away, amid a lot of cursing from the back, along with a tremendous amount of bickering. “I think we’ve figured it out,” Tito said finally. “Glad Adriana’s along and that Richard is a speed-reader of the highest order.”

  “That last shake you gave us really helped,” Rahmi said. Apparently the princesses were learning sarcasm. Had no idea who’d been teaching them that skill.

  “I’m not positive, but there is what appears to be a tank,” Adriana shared. “I believe someone is standing on it. The dust storm’s activity suggests it’s emanating from the same area as the tank.”

  “What kind of training do you have?” Buchanan asked. “The Former Pontifex and Commander having read the manuals or not, I’m impressed any of you can work this equipment.”

  “She’s gone to a really good espionage school. Probably the same one you went to, or close to it, Malcolm.” Contemplated our options. “I wish I knew, for certain, if the tank had all hostiles in it or not.”

  “We’re at war,” Buchanan said quietly.

  “But I don’t want our side hit by friendly fire.”

  “Kitty, stop worrying about that!” Christopher sounded stressed. “It’s now exactly like last time—somehow, that dust storm is firing on us.”

  CHAPTER 23

  “WHY IS IT NEVER EASY?” I asked of no one other than the cosmos. “Adriana, in the words of one of my favorite rappers, bombs away.” Considered asking Buchanan to switch the music to B.o.B.’s “Bombs Away,” but decided the Crüe’s “MF of the Year” was plenty good enough. I was quick-thinking that way.

  “You have to help,” Christopher said. “Get us over the target.”

  “What is the target?”

  “The center of the storm,” Buchanan said, as a huge hunk of dirt splattered onto our windshield. “Are they firing dirt clods or actual artillery?”

  “Both,” Adriana shared.

  “We need to hit the tank, then, Missus Chief.”

  “The tank is still within the tornado,” Adriana confirmed.

  “Great. Enjoy the upcoming turbulence.”

  While more interesting and impressive cursing emanated from my crew, I focused on both getting over our so-called target and avoiding being shot down. Always easier said than done.

  The BUFF wasn’t made for a lot of fancy maneuvers. It was made to go long distances carrying a lot of firepower. Also, flying this close to the ground gave me less safe maneuverability.

  “Firing,” Tito said. “Hold on.”

  The bomber shook a little. “Malcolm, up higher or land?”

  “Higher. The tornado’s heading for us again.”

  “So are more projectiles,” Christopher shared.

  I pulled back hard on the stick and took us up. The interesting cursing increased. Our team was really well-versed in swearing. While I was clear on the words the menfolk were using, I wasn’t sure what the princesses or Adriana were actually saying, but they got the gist of it across cl
early.

  “We missed the tank, but hit close enough that the tornado has stopped,” Tito shared. “So we affected whoever was creating the dust storm. We didn’t drop a nuclear warhead, by the way.”

  “Um, does that mean we have a nuclear warhead with us?”

  “Several,” Tito replied.

  “Fantastic.”

  No sooner was this out of my mouth than things got more fantastic. The BUFF shook and the sound of rending metal hit our airwaves.

  “We’ve been hit!” Christopher shared, as the plane started to shake and tried very hard to pull the stick out of my hands.

  “Somewhere in the back,” White added.

  “Shot came from the tank,” Tito confirmed.

  “Apparently the tank is very well made,” Dad said. Calmly. Someone had to be calm. Was glad Dad had volunteered. That way I didn’t have to pretend I was the calm one.

  The BUFF was, unsurprisingly, having problems. Getting hit with whatever tanks hit you with wasn’t easy for anything. As I tried to get the plane back under control, the dust storm returned. So whoever we’d knocked down had gotten right back up again. Always the way.

  We were encircled within moments. The wind was trying its best to spin us around, while the dirt and sand and flying flora were making it close to impossible to see. I was trained on using the instruments, of course, but seeing was a nice addition, especially when there were mountain ranges nearby and while trying to land.

  “The tank is firing again,” Tito said.

  “Dive left,” Adriana ordered.

  Managed it, but not because of any great flying skill. The dust storm happened to whip us the correct way. Didn’t figure that was going to happen a second time. “Time to land! The captain requests seat-backs and tray tables up.”

  “Where are we going?” Buchanan asked.

  “Down, out of this storm, and away from that tank. We can use hyperspeed to get back if, you know, any of us survive the landing.”

  “The warheads aren’t armed,” Tito said. “Should we bail out or can you land us, Kitty?”

  “Do we want to parachute out in the middle of a tornado?” Christopher asked.

  “I’d love to land.” In part because this was a hella expensive plane and I didn’t want to see what the repair bill would be. On the other hand, it was replaceable and the same couldn’t be said for anyone on board. “But, tornado or not, you’d better bail out.”

  “You need to bail out, too,” Buchanan said sternly.

  “We all do.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll take it from here.”

  “Malcolm, are you insane? I’m the best pilot in the plane, you said so yourself.”

  “Yes, but you’re also not going to be able to land this thing.” He looked at my father. “Help me get her out.”

  “We all go,” Dad said firmly. “Angela wouldn’t want you to die in a fiery plane crash, especially since that would mean you weren’t around to protect Kitty.”

  “There’s a weird logic in all that. Everyone needs to bail while we’re high enough up that the parachutes have time to open.” Managed to escape the storm. “Okay, gang, the windshield’s filthy but I can see well enough to land us or continue flying so everyone can jump. Decision time right now.”

  “Too late,” Tito shared. “We’re too low. I can see the ground too clearly, and we can’t risk taking another hit. Kitty, you need to land the plane.”

  “Everyone strap in! Assume crash positions!” I barked the orders but somehow felt calm. There was now no option to jump out, so the heck with that idea. And this way, I wouldn’t lose my iPod.

  My crew were talking, saying goodbye, ensuring they were all strapped in. But I ignored them and instead channeled Jerry and pretended I heard his voice in my ear. As “Going Out Swingin’” came on, I relaxed and focused on the basics.

  Landing gear down, wings as steady as possible, altitude in a controlled drop. The desert around Dulce was basically flat, so no worries about finding a landing strip.

  We got closer to the ground and the plane started to shake even more. But I had enhanced strength these days, and I could keep the stick under control.

  “I love you, Kitty. Any last words?” Dad asked. “Just in case.”

  “I love you, too, Dad. And, yeah. Once we’re down, I’m going to find whoever shot at us and seriously kick their ass.”

  “Interesting last words,” Buchanan said.

  “Like those?” I asked through gritted teeth as the ground rose up to meet us. “Got a couple more for you. Everyone hold on!”

  CHAPTER 24

  I HEARD JERRY AGAIN, clear as day. Telling me to keep control of my big bird, to pull back gently on the stick while I applied the brakes, and all other sorts of relevant flying dos and don’ts.

  The wheels hit first, which was a wonderful thing. Of course we bounced, because there couldn’t be a landing of mine with someone else in the plane that was smooth and uneventful. I only scored perfect landings when I was alone and had no witnesses anywhere nearby.

  We bounced a lot and the BUFF didn’t seem to actually want to slow down. I had to be careful about braking, however, because if I broke too hard we could flip.

  From above the ground had looked completely flat. Now that we were skidding along it, flat wasn’t really the operative word. Bumpy was much more accurate. I tried to ignore all the cacti we were running over. Figured any desert animals had already scampered off when they heard us coming.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the plane started to actually slow down. Which was good because that was when I saw the outcropping of rocks we were headed straight for.

  Tried to turn the big beast, but it wasn’t having any of that, meaning the tank had probably damaged our rear fuselage. We hit the rocks, and while we were going slower than we had been, we were at a rate fast enough to ensure that when we slammed into the rocks, they slammed us right back.

  “What just happened?” Christopher shouted as we did a big bounce and, landing gear messed up, started to skid and spin.

  “We fought the rocks and the rocks won.” I was speaking through gritted teeth still because I was now fighting to keep us from flipping again, this time side to side. We’d lost part of the landing gear, but, based on the fun tilt we had going, at least one wheel on the left was still intact.

  The BUFF decided that, with one wing up and one wing down, going into an uncontrolled spin sounded like the most fun ever. There was a lot of noise coming from my crew. Hoped Tito wasn’t hurt because it sounded like others were.

  The wing that was brushing the ground hit those damn rocks again. They were sharp, evil, desert rocks that had apparently been waiting for us and honing their rock skills since the time of the dinosaurs. They sheared the tip of the wing off. So much for my hope of returning the plane intact. Went back to hoping I’d return all the passengers intact and call it good.

  We spun for a few more long, excruciating seconds. Then I could tell the BUFF’s speed was slowing. Oh sure, we hit the rocks a few more times, ensuring the clipped wing was also now bent and something ugly had again happened to the rear, but still, we were slowing.

  In what seemed like forever but was really only about a minute later, the plane came to a lazy stop. We were facing Dulce, meaning our butt was on the rocks. Good. Wondered if there was a way to make the BUFF do a plane-fart onto my newest inanimate enemies. Figured I’d have to table that goal for a while.

  I knew we were looking toward the Science Center only because I could see a dust storm in the distance and took the location as a given. The dust storm looked far away, but it also appeared to be heading toward us.

  “Let’s get out of this plane, just in case,” I said as I took my headset off, grabbed my iPod, shoved it back into my purse, and put my purse strap over my head. I felt shaken up, but not hurt.

  Buchanan helped Dad up and out. Miraculously, they both seemed unharmed.

  We joined the rest of the crew in the bombard
ier area. The exit was blocked due to our landing position, naturally, but the princesses activated their battle staffs and used the glowing laser ends to create a new door by slicing through the side of the plane.

  Everyone out and in the sunlight, Tito did a fast medical inspection. There were a few cuts and bruises, but really, everyone looked remarkably okay.

  “Well, any crash you can walk away from. And all that.”

  Christopher graced me with Patented Glare #5. “Why is every flight with you like this? Actually, I take that back. You landed better the first time than you did now.”

  “Again, I point out that we’re alive and well and reasonably unscathed. Why so tense, Christopher? Too much caffeine?”

  “I think we need to pay attention to the storm,” White said, pointing toward the dust. The wall of dust. It was definitely heading toward us at a slow but steady rate.

  We all stared at it. “Um, gang? I have a great, new idea. Let’s get back in the plane.”

  “Can we fight whatever’s causing this from inside the plane?” Rahmi asked.

  Refrained from making a snide comment. Beta Twelve was a warrior planet, and their natural, instinctive response was to fight. Wasn’t sure if any of them even had a flight response, but if they did, it was low on their reflex totem pole.

  “It’s pretty hard to fight blowing sand and dust. It tends to win, while it’s removing your skin and blinding you.”

  “The rate of speed of the storm indicates the storm’s creator is in or on the tank,” Buchanan said.

  “They are undoubtedly not out of ammunition,” Adriana added.

  “Meaning we’d be sitting ducks inside the plane. But we’re just moving targets outside of it, and I’m sure the tank’s carrying more than just its cannon. The more to shoot at us in exciting ways kind of thing.”

  “We should be able to outrun it,” Christopher said. “At least, I can. I can take the rest of you along with me.”

  One of the nice things about hyperspeed was that you only had to be holding onto the person with it in order for it to carry you along as well. The downside of Christopher’s extra-speedy with a side of fast hyperspeed was that it affected A-Cs just like regular hyperspeed affected humans, and the Hyperspeed Dramamine wasn’t any help, either. Wasn’t sure that throwing up was the best plan to fight whoever we had to face. But maybe we could throw up on them, and that would be a good start.