by Gini Koch
“Malcolm, what do you think?”
“I think there are weapons in this plane that can be used against us.”
“Um, super. Does that mean we leave it or defend it to our dying breaths?”
“You’re the one in charge,” Christopher snapped. “Make a decision.”
“A wise leader always considers her options,” Rhee said, shooting Christopher a look that shared she was willing to fight him to prove this point.
“This leader would like to get some actual advice. Someone feel free to chime in.” Before anyone could, my phone rang. Dug it out. “Jeff, now’s not a super-duper time.”
“Leave the plane. Whoever’s after you is feeling remarkably triumphant. They’re after you, not the weapons.”
“I knew you and Chuckie weren’t really going to do what I told you.”
“I officially reinstated myself as part of Alpha Team. Congressional decree and everything. Pierre, Chuck, and the jocks were witnesses.”
“Fabulous. Where are you?”
“At Home Base. Using a floater gate to get to you. I’d rather get to you on the other side of the sandstorm.”
“Gotcha. I’ll call you back.” Hung up and dropped my phone back into my purse. “We’re doing Christopher’s plan per Commander Martini.”
“You going to put your husband back as Head of Field?” Buchanan asked.
“He’s already done it himself, so yeah. Besides, I’m more used to hearing his orders and disobeying them than the other way around.”
“We may have a challenge getting around the storm,” White said. “The dust storm seems to be expanding.”
This was true—the storm was a lot wider than it had been only a minute earlier, and it wasn’t simply a trick of perspective. Whoever was creating this stuff had some serious skills.
“We can run through it as easily as around it,” Christopher said. “We should be fast enough that we won’t be hurt as long as everyone keeps their eyes closed.”
“Should be?” Tito asked. “I don’t have enough medical with me to handle being flayed alive, and we can’t expect help from the Science Center.”
“Real warriors understand the risks,” Rhee said timidly. The timid was only because she was arguing with The Great Tito. Had Christopher said the same thing, Rhee would probably have already started kicking his butt.
“There’s smart risk and dumb risk,” Tito said. “We want to be sure we only take smart risks.”
“Being inside the plane would mean we have protection,” Adriana said. “But it will also mean we’re trapped.”
White disappeared but was back quickly, loaded with weapons. “We’ll need these, I’m sure, whether we stay or go.”
While White went and got another few armloads of our available weapons and the rest of us armed ourselves. While White and Christopher put back anything we weren’t able to take along, I contemplated our options.
Staying with the downed plane was the right choice if we were in the middle of nowhere and were hoping to be rescued. Jeff and Chuckie were on their way, so rescue was possible. However, they’d specifically requested we get closer to the Science Center.
Christopher was the fastest thing on the planet, though the dust storm seemed to be trying to make it to the Number Two slot. Made the executive decision. “We’re going to go for it, gang. But first, Mister White, we need a parachute.”
He took off the chute he was wearing. “Yes?”
“We need sizeable strips so we can wrap our faces and any exposed skin.” Cocked an eye toward the impending storm. “And we need do to all this fast.”
“Good thinking,” Dad said proudly, as White and Christopher ripped up a parachute as requested and Buchanan had the princesses use their intact parachutes to wrap themselves up. The Xena: Warrior Princess look was one everyone from Beta Twelve favored, especially when going into battle, but it wasn’t a great choice when running through a sandstorm.
“Everyone ready?” I asked as I wrapped my parachute around my face, leaving only a small slit where I could see.
Got the requisite replies from everyone other than Christopher. “Son,” White said patiently, “you need to cover up, too. Speed may just mean our skin flays off that much faster, yours included.”
“That’s an order,” I said before Christopher could argue. “And I still outrank you, so just do it. Remember to wrap everything, nose and mouth, and most of your eyes, too.”
“The material is thin enough that I think we can wrap our eyes and still be able to see,” Buchanan said. “And we should do so, even if we can’t see, because if we get hit with too much sand there, there won’t be anything Doctor Hernandez can do to bring our vision back.”
“Wrap your hands, too,” Tito added as he did so. “Not so much that you can’t hold on, but every little bit of exposed skin being covered is going to help.”
The storm wasn’t too far away when the team was finally fully wrapped. Buchanan was right—one layer of the parachute was thin enough to see through, so to speak. Veiled eyes or not, what was headed for us didn’t really look like a storm. It looked like a wall, a very thick, impenetrable wall, of dirt, sand, and God knew what else.
Of course, if I ignored the situation, the rest of what I could see was fairly humorous—we looked like we were trying out for RuPaul’s Mummy Drag Race, Rahmi and Rhee especially. Adriana looked the best of all of us, but that was a perfect example of damning with faint praise. Chose not to mention any of this. Morale was bad enough already.
“Join hands, don’t let go of your partners no matter what, and remember to keep your eyes closed. We’re going to go a lot faster than any of you are actually prepared for.”
I zipped up my hoodie and put the hood on, grabbed Buchanan and my dad, the rest of us formed a daisy chain with White at the end, and Christopher took off.
CHAPTER 25
WHILE I LOVED THE RESULTS, and anything was better than going through a gate, hyperspeed had never been my favorite thing to experience as a full human.
When I’d become a sorta A-C, I’d figured hyperspeed issues were a thing of the past for me. But that was before I’d run around with Christopher going at his I’m The Real Flash, Baby level.
Doing this speed made regular A-Cs like White sick to their stomachs. Doing this speed with eyes closed was exponentially worse.
“Keep your eyes shut!” I managed to shout. I wanted to open my eyes, so had to assume everyone else did, too. Figured the next sounds I’d be making were those related to barfing my guts out.
“And your mouths,” Christopher called. “We’re about to hit.”
Hit was absolutely the accurate word. Sandpaper isn’t fun to rub against your skin. I was incredibly thankful we’d wrapped up. Looking like mummy fashion victims was worth not having desert sand imbedded in our skin forever.
We were still moving nauseatingly fast, but the sand just wasn’t going bye-bye. Took a couple of small rocks to the stomach and broke my own rule and opened my eyes a bit.
To see something dark and metallic in front of me.
We were still in our daisy chain formation, but that didn’t mean we were running single file. Based on both experience and what little I could make out in my peripheral vision, such as it was, we were more serpentine, with me in the middle, and with no one actually behind Christopher. Meaning he had no idea we were near the tank.
I’d always had good reflexes and being on the track team all through high school and college while also doing Kung Fu had helped hone said reflexes. Reflexes could get you into trouble, of course, but there was a lot to be said for not taking the time to think in certain situations.
I shoved Dad one way and Buchanan the other, as I let go of their hands. “Get out of the way!” I shouted, so they’d be clear that I’d done this on purpose. “Christopher and Richard, keep moving!”
Momentum ensured I was still moving forward at a rapid pace, meaning I had two options. Slam into the tank in front of me, or
jump. I jumped.
As with many other physical abilities, A-C’s had improved jumping from humans and my track coaches had ensured all of us could do pretty much every event. I’d been okay with the high jump, which was good. The tank’s cannon being right above me wasn’t that great, but I managed to grab it as opposed to slam my head into it, so I counted that for the win column.
Used the still-existent momentum to swing up and onto the top of the tank. Almost fell off, but grabbed a hold of the person who was already there and used them to steady myself.
Whoever it was, they were as surprised by me as I’d been to see the tank in front of my face.
“Ack!” It wasn’t the most terrifying war cry, but it did confirm that the person, who was in a buff-colored cloak-burka combo and was far better wrapped up than any of my team, was most likely female or a very young male.
The positive of scaring the hell out of my opponent was that the sandstorm stopped immediately. The positive of all of this scaring the hell out of me was that my nausea was kept at bay. Another one for the win column.
Wasn’t sure where my team was, but I hoped far away and not under the tank’s tread. Being under the tread was possible because the tank was still moving. Whether this meant there was a driver inside I was going to have to deal with, or whether the thing was on its version of autopilot, I had no guess. Decided to deal with the enemy I was holding onto and worry about the rest later.
Slammed my fist into what I hoped was her gut. “Oof!” She was big on the one-syllable responses, but that worked just fine for me.
Decided to go for the gusto and slammed her head into my rising knee. Grabbed her head, or at least the fabric covering her head, and hit her again.
She was sort of down but not, unfortunately, completely out. She grabbed my leg and pulled. I fell backward. Tucked my head as I went down so it didn’t hit the metal. My opponent jumped on me and tried to do ground and pound. Well, tank and pound.
Grabbed her arms at the wrists and held her off. Wished Tito was near enough to shout coaching instructions. But he was either still running or barfing his guts out, meaning it was up to me to get this chick under control pronto.
Kicked my leg up while I shoved her back. Slammed my knee into her back and, because I’d shoved her arms back sharply enough, her head fell back into my toes. Wished my Kung Fu instructors were around to see this performance, because it was hard and rare to pull this move off. But, of course, when I was really showing off the awesome skills, the only witness was the person I was using said skills on.
She fell forward onto me, but I managed to shift to the side, so she slammed onto the tank. By now, if someone was inside, they’d had to have guessed there was a fight going on outside. Since the tank was still moving, hoped this meant it was on autopilot.
Managed to roll on top of her and take her back. I wasn’t particularly great with the various choke-out techniques available, but the old arm around the neck and tighten ploy seemed to be working.
“Kitty,” Christopher shouted. “Get off! The tank’s heading right for the plane.”
Looked up to see that, yes indeed, we were going to hit the jet very soon. In fact, the tank was likely going to hit the jet’s fuel tank. Which was likely to redefine the term “very bad.”
Let go of my opponent and got to my feet. Dragged her upright and, holding onto her, jumped us both off. Sure, I used her as my soft landing, but still, that seemed only fair. Plus it ensured that, finally, I knocked her out.
Christopher dragged me to my feet, we each took an arm, and ran like hell. He wasn’t using the fast hyperspeed. In fact, he wasn’t really using hyperspeed at all, meaning he’d potentially burned himself out. It wasn’t a long trip from super-duper power level burnout to total burnout, as my time with Jeff had amply illustrated. Wasn’t sure how Christopher would react to an adrenaline harpoon to the hearts, and sincerely hoped I wouldn’t need to find out.
I heard the sound of rending metal behind me. Runners, sprinters in particular, are taught early on not to look behind them during a race. The runner who looks behind is the runner who is behind. Chose to speed up and use my hyperspeed.
Almost flew by the others, but managed to stop reasonably close by. They were near to, but not quite at the doors of, the Science Center.
“Everybody down!” Christopher shouted.
The team didn’t argue. Everyone hit the dirt, literally, with Buchanan covering my father while White covered both of them. Christopher covered me as I covered our prisoner, Rahmi covered Tito, Rhee covered Adriana, as the tank went fully into the plane.
Results were immediate. They weren’t the results I was hoping for, but they certainly were immediate.
CHAPTER 26
THE JET AND TANK EXPLODED. Which was impressive. Thanked God that we hadn’t armed the nuclear warheads. No mushroom cloud was good.
Debris, however, was not good.
The last time something big had exploded nearby, I’d had Jamie’s stroller with me and Mr. Joel Oliver had activated the laser shield button. Come to think of it, that wasn’t the last time, merely a time.
But whatever time it had or hadn’t been, for that and all the others we’d had either A-C laser shielding or ACE helping protect us. We had neither now. And while A-Cs and Amazons healed quickly, which was why they’d covered all the humans, it’s hard to recover from flaming pieces of jet hitting you, no matter where you’re from.
The person I was lying on shoved up on her hands, hard. Christopher and I tumbled off, as she got to her knees and put her hands out. A wall of sand and dirt, easily a hundred feet high, went up between us and the debris. Chick had some serious skills.
The wall of dirt fell over, toward the explosion. I’m sure there’s a more technical term for it, but visually it truly fell, just like a wall can, straight over.
We all stood up. Christopher and I grabbed hold of our prisoner, just in case. “How did you know the tank was aimed for the jet?” I asked.
“You’d gotten yourself lost in the sandstorm. I was looking for you.”
“Aww, that’s sweet. Thanks.”
The air near us shimmered and Jeff, then Chuckie, then Gower appeared. “Are you all alright?” Jeff asked, worry plain. “There were issues with the gate and Chuck wouldn’t let me run here.”
Took this to mean Chuckie had intelligently used his Vulcan Nerve Pinch move on Jeff, because I doubted that Jeff would have listened to reason when he knew we were in danger.
“Why are you dressed like . . . that?” Gower asked.
“He means like mummies,” Chuckie added, in case we weren’t clear that we all looked like bizarre fashion victims.
“We had to run through a huge sandstorm and we wanted to keep our eyes and more tender organs. Yes, we’re fine, thanks for actually asking, first in no thanks to and then because of her.” I indicated our prisoner, and pulled her headgear off. Was indeed a chick. Wanted to interrogate her, but there was a more pressing question.
“Before Missus Chief goes on or asks, allow me,” Buchanan said. “Why are you here, Pontifex Gower?” Glad to see the question had been pressing for Buchanan, too. “You’re undoubtedly a target, and were told to stay in the Embassy.”
“I may be,” Gower said, jaw set. “But my brother and sisters are here and I’m not going to hide in the Embassy when they need me. And I was one of the few who could hold out against the mind control. You need me, and my sisters and brother need me.”
“Speaking of targets, Sol, what are you doing here?” Jeff asked.
“Long story,” Dad said cheerfully. “I’m happy to be along for the ride.”
“Someone should be,” Christopher muttered.
“You know, I’m wondering if all of this, and them having Michael, Mimi, and Abby in particular, is simply to get Paul here.”
“Maybe, but whatever their goal, they have my wife, every adult hybrid other than the Pontifex, most of Alpha Team, all of Airborne, and most of Centaurion
Division Security, along with all of Centaurion Division’s information, and who knows how many other hostages.”
“Succinctly put, Secret Agent Man. Any ideas?”
“What’s our weapons situation?”
Buchanan and White shared our small but mighty arsenal. Adriana’s backpack was nice and full of useful things as well. “That’s all you brought?” Gower asked when they were done. He sounded more than a little shocked and peeved.
“We brought plenty more.”
Jeff, Chuckie, and Gower looked around. “I don’t see them,” Gower said finally. “Are they cloaked?”
“Ah, no. They’re still in our downed plane. I think, anyway. I mean, realistically, they’ve blown up. Just like the plane. And the tank.”
The three of them stared at me.
“Blown up?” Jeff asked finally.
“Why?” Gower added.
“Is there anything left of the plane to salvage?” Chuckie asked. “Or the tank?”
“I mentioned a sandstorm, right? The person Christopher and I are hanging onto used a sand tornado and dirt clods, along with tank artillery, to shoot us down. Then she rammed her tank into our plane. Then she dumped dirt on all of that to prevent the explosion from killing us. I guess anyway. Anything to add to that?” I asked her.
Either she was a shapeshifter, an imageer with image overlay talent, or she wasn’t a full-blooded A-C, because while she was okay to look at, she wasn’t Dazzler gorgeous by a long shot.
She was taller than me by a few inches, with long, light brown hair and average features. Her build was slender—not that you could tell since she was still in what now kind of looked like a Jedi robe, but having just fought with her, I could confirm what she’d felt like.
Her one exceptional feature was her eyes—they were bright green. They were also glaring daggers at me. She didn’t reply.
