by Trisha Telep
Her muscles were getting so tired. “We must be going in wrong. It shouldn’t take this long.”
“It’s a thick atmosphere. Hang in there. Nearly done. The clouds are getting lighter.”
“So you joined the resistance to escape the wrath of your former clients?”
His voice turned hard as diamonds. “My clients were part of the Stovian high command. I discovered they preferred . . . veal for banquets.”
Elle couldn’t help but shudder. Children as food. “So that should make me trust you?”
“To stop Stovia from turning our whole planet into a slaughterhouse? Oh yeah. You can trust me.” He took a deep breath and let it out slow.
Her voice took a teasing edge. “Not doing it for me?” Why the hell did she ask that? But it was spoken. She couldn’t figure out how to take it back.
He tried to keep his voice light, but failed. “That, too. How would you get out of here if not for me? Breaking through the clouds now. Vector to 249.868, 14.87, 6.0, and stay straight as an arrow. Asort dead ahead, if the maps we have are accurate.”
Dead ahead. Hopefully that wasn’t prophetic.
The shaking of the stick stopped abruptly and the air began to cool. She let out a harsh breath she didn’t know she was holding, and ripped off her gloves. She’d need finer control of the stick in the air. Rand patted her head and then let go to put his hands back on his keyboard. “Tell me where to go.”
He did, and even described the scenery as they flew – so far with nobody noticing. “Weird trees here. They look like giant ferns. No, more like big stalks of celery. They’re mostly brown and withering. Atmosphere sucks. Sort of like what they used to talk about in history books about the industrial age. Smog. Thick. Don’t know if it’s breathable to humans. At least, it can’t be healthy.” After a few minutes of silence, he started up again. “I think I see the place, up ahead. The complex is huge. How many bombs do we have, again?”
“Ten. Five bunker-busters and five diron fault-expanders.” She reached forward to where the bay door-releases were located. Good. She recognized them by feel.
“Ten? On this tiny thing? Where?”
“It’s why we don’t have a galley or cargo bay. They were converted to munitions storage.” One pull per release. If the complex was big, they might want to make two runs. Diron to shake things up, and then the bunker-busters to destroy anything underground.
The warning alarm sounded. “Uh-oh. We have company,” she said. They were being targeted. “Move to atmosphere flight. Altimeter reading? Speed?”
“Thirty-five thousand feet, seven hundred knots. Shit! Incoming missile! Hard left roll. Now!”
She cranked the stick over and felt the ship slip into a barrel roll. The sizzling sound of a light missile went past her left ear. “Whew. That was close.”
“Not as close as this one! Tyler Tip to right on two, one, mark!”
Her grandfather had taught her an old propeller-plane trick called an “Immelman”. It was very close to a Tyler Tip, done in the atmosphere. The ship performed, just barely. She hadn’t had the chance to test the Javelin in heavy air. It was sluggish, not nearly as light as in space. “That was too close. Let’s get this done.”
He gave the bearings and she dipped and wove around the towering trees, using Rand’s rapid-fire coordinates. Her world narrowed to following the commands while trying to listen for the sound of the other planes outside the ship.
More enemy ships were launched as they got closer. “Get ready. Don’t think about anything but releasing those bombs.”
Now, why did he say that? His voice sounded strained. “Rand? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” His voice cracked. He was lying. She moved one hand back and touched his face. It was wet . . . and slippery. “You’re bleeding. What happened?”
“Shrapnel came through the panel. All the instruments are working. I’ll be fine. Just do your job. Don’t worry about me.”
Of course, the moment he said that, she started to. “What’s your condition? If it’s serious, we’re breaking off until we can get you stabilized.”
“I’m . . . okay. Just . . . a . . . little hard to—” He gasped. “Breathe.”
The compartments had separate forced-air systems. So long as hers kept forcing air toward her helmet, she’d be fine. She reached up and yanked the cord on her suit, then handed the tube backwards. “Here. Don’t argue. There’s almost a day’s worth of air here if you don’t go crazy.”
He pushed it away. “Can’t. Need . . . to . . . talk, to direct . . . you.”
Damn it. He was right. “But I can’t afford for you to pass out, either.” She pulled off her helmet and immediately her chest seized up from the horrible air quality. “Trade . . . me . . . helmets.” Her head started to pound from the lack of oxygen.
Again Rand tried to wave it away but she insisted, pushing her helmet with the good line backwards. “I don’t have to . . . talk. I . . . can use . . . my suit.” With that, she plugged the mouthpiece behind her lips and tossed the helmet entirely over her head.
After a long moment, she heard his voice again. “Damn you, Tyler. You can’t afford to be low on air.”
She just shrugged, not that he could see her. There wouldn’t be any more talking until they were back in space. Then they could make repairs – provided they made it past the Stovian armada. The one nice thing was that the Javelin had speed. Once they dropped the weight, it would outrun anything the Stovians had.
She struggled not to pull air from the tube. It wasn’t a forced-air system. But the toxic atmosphere had nearly overwhelmed her lungs. It was hard not to start coughing, and that could ruin her suit. She put her arm out of the cockpit and waved her hand in circles, telling Rand to speed it up.
It wasn’t just the fuel, but her eyes were starting to swell again. This time, they were swelling inward. Probably the low oxygen wasn’t helping. Her head was pounding. She tried not to be scared. What would happen to them . . . to Rand, if she passed out? She had to keep it together. She could collapse when they got away. They had to get away.
“Prepare to release.” Rand’s voice was hollow, sounded strange to her ears. Was it just the helmet’s modulator, or something else? Worse, she couldn’t ask. She fingered the control for the five-hundred-pounders and stretched her hand so her pinkie could flip the diron bomb controls. “On my mark, Elle. Five – four – three . . .” The pounding in her head was getting worse, all the way down one side to her neck now. But just a second longer. She could do this. “Two – one – MARK!”
She flipped both triggers and felt the Javelin soar upward like a deployed parachute when the weight dropped. The roar of turbine jets deafened her right ear as they shot upwards past the pursuers. She paused for a second to pull the air tube from her mouth. “Was it a hit?”
“Hit,” came the weak reply. “Good . . . job, E—” Rand’s voice stopped. She reached back and shook his shoulder.
“Rand?” No response. “Rand!” She had to put her air tube back in. But how was she going to be able to navigate back into space? Especially with followers? She thought back to the directions he’d given before they started darting through the trees. All she could do was pray and hope that the ship was already high enough in the atmosphere that there were no structures to hit. She pointed the nose up, put the thrusters on full, and threw off her restraints. They’d make it out or they wouldn’t. But she had to find out how bad Rand’s injuries were.
It was hard work to get him out of his seat. Dead weight was no picnic to move. Once he was in the rear cabin with the helmet off, she gingerly felt his face. He had a nasty cut over one temple that still had a piece of metal embedded. That was probably what had knocked him out. But could she remove it without damaging him further?
The ship shifted then, and something bounced heavily off their shield. Probably a smaller satellite. Hopefully nothing bigger was in the way. But if there was . . . No. she’d stay with Rand. Keep him safe until . .
. She grabbed the piece of metal and pulled, praying it wasn’t in too deep. It was stuck, but not in the bone, and came out easily, followed by a rush of blood.
Elle felt around in the med kit, hoping something would feel familiar. She couldn’t think of anything in there that would hurt him, so she just grabbed what she hoped was an antibiotic and painkiller. Same as he’d given her. Or maybe a blood coagulant. She ripped open a package and fingered the trigger as she put it against his arm. She wouldn’t think about what would happen if she failed. Mostly, she shouldn’t care about anything other than the mission. Again her breathing tube was yanked out. “Damn you, Rand. Why in the hell did you make me care about you?”
A strong hand reached up and grabbed hers before she could push the plunger. “I could ask the same about you.” His voice was weak but steady. “How about you don’t give me a shot of estrogen, though. Okay?”
Crap! Was that what she’d grabbed? She let him take away the plunger and heard him rip open another package. The soft whoosh of the shot came to her ears and then another package was ripped open. She felt pressure against her arm. “Two for you. Anti-inflammatory and another painkiller. Then put your oxygen back in.”
A voice came from the cockpit, causing both of them to turn their heads. “Javelin One, do you copy? Captain Tyler? This is the ESS Discovery. We’ve been instructed to grab the ship and get you home. We’re being pursued, though, so we only have a minute if you want to hitch a ride.”
Elle’s heart started to pump wildly. Home? She pulled the helmet off Rand’s head and moved forward to the cockpit, toggling the radio. “Javelin One, Discovery. You’re welcome to grab us. Our controls are damaged, though. Can you collect us as we go by?”
After a pause, her heart soared. “Ten-Four, Javelin One. Prepare for forced capture. Strap yourself in tight.”
Rand was right behind her, pushed her forward into her seat. He managed to climb back into the navpit. She gave him back the helmet. “But people will see your face,” he said.
“You can give it back once we’re on board. Or maybe Captain Tyler died. I don’t know that there’s any way I’ll ever fly again.” She tried to make it matter-of-fact, tried not to think of the implications. He covered her hand with his.
“You’ll fly again. They’re doing amazing things with implants. Until then, I’ll be there, making sure you get whatever you need.”
“What about the rebellion?” she asked softly. “The rush and the money?”
She could hear the smile in his voice as she put the oxygen tube back in. “Oh, I’ll be supporting the rebellion. With your permission, I’ll be ensuring the next incarnation of the Legend of El Tyler.”
She reached back and clasped his hand. They felt the pull of the ESS Discovery and strapped themselves in for the long ride home.
Naturally Beautiful
Jamie Leigh Hansen
One
AD 2084, Shailene Mountains
“Remind me why we’re doing this again?” Mike’s irritable voice growled in his earpiece.
Lieutenant Reid Kincaid’s lips twitched as he edged himself farther over the edge of the precipice at the top of the mountain. It was a very long fall to the dark depths of the valley below. It would be gorgeous when the sun rose, but for now there was just freezing air and the futile search for a heat signature. “Will you keep whining in my ear if I don’t remind you?”
Mike huffed, the sound carrying easily through the earpiece, though he was a good distance away. “The guy’s an ass who doesn’t deserve our efforts to save him.”
“I wonder if that’s what you would have said last year when his miracle cure saved you.” Reid gripped the rocks with his Caldy gloves, thankful for them and the matching sky suit. He could hold on to the edge of this rock all day if he had to, immune to the cold and the rocks trying to dig into his suit. Not that he wanted to, though. Where was that damn helijet?
“Last year, hell, that’s basically what he said in the debate last night. What kind of spit-whack regrets curing all disease?”
“I don’t know, but letting him die like a martyr for his cause will send this country up in flames.” Not to mention leave one incredibly sexy daughter to grieve alone. Seeing her green eyes sparkle with sincerity from every screen was addictive. To see them teary and blurred with grief would suck beyond all telling.
There were no signs of humans below, but the ones responsible for the upcoming explosion were professionals. They would blow up the helijet and search for evidence to take back to their bosses that Dr Josiah Cross was dead at last. Until then, they were entrenched, and Reid would see no sign of their presence. Not that he could quit looking for them, anyway.
The helijet would enter from his left, winding through the valley in a laughable attempt to conceal its presence. But information was rarely secure anymore. Soon after a lock was built, there was a pick to open it. It was the way of the world.
“I hear sound.” Reid edged away from the precipice, as the sky lightened from black to gray. When he rose, he’d be targeted. Only the sky suit could protect him, then. Lightweight, durable, temperature-controlled and, best of all, bulletproof. As long as they didn’t throw a mag bomb his way, he’d be fine.
“Got your back, LT.”
“Yep.” They’d worked together too long for Reid to doubt it. The helijet hit his sight just as the sky lightened to a dark purple. Here at the top of the mountains, dawn was arriving quick.
“Just think, all those questions you have, you can ask in person in five . . .”
Reid rose, glancing at his watch and calculating as the jet flew closer, the bottom propellers not quite silent in the still morning air. “Four . . .”
Slightly faster than the jet, the sun peeked over the mountains, sending sparks of color to bloom across the landscape. “Three . . .”
The helijet hit the chosen point of reference, and Reid ran for the edge of the precipice. “Two . . .”
With each approaching step, he saw farther down the opposite mountain, the dark trees turning emerald, the wildflowers making an appearance as light splashed across them. His foot hit the last step. “One.”
Reid launched into the air, his hands out, his feet together, his long body arching with the pressure of the wind. Straight down, the winding river gleamed a polished silver before his vision went black. Reid reached forward and made contact with the black jet. His gloves latched onto the smooth surface and he used his arms to guide himself over the side. Once he set his feet and had one hand wrapped around the outside handle, he pulled a retractable tool from his belt, zapped the door-lock, and released the tool to wind itself back to his belt. Moments later, he slid through the open door and faced the occupants. The pilot was safe, his emergency eject options in place. Dr Josiah Cross, his target. But when Reid’s gaze clashed with wide, shocked, green eyes, the mission went to hell.
“Airborne 81, Dr Cross. This jet will explode in forty-five seconds.”
Without hesitation, Dr Cross pushed his daughter into Reid’s arms. “Take her.”
“Father, no—”
Reid held her struggling form just so she wouldn’t push him out of the jet. “Sir, my orders—”
“Don’t matter,” Cross snapped. The old man bent forward and grabbed a small case, unlocked his door and glanced at his daughter. “Nothing matters if I lose you, too, Jessica.”
Jessica hesitated, meeting her father’s gaze, and Reid was finally able to loosen his hold.
“Take this.” Reid handed him a foam pellet, pressing it into the old man’s hands. “Don’t let go. You will be guided down. Mike, status ‘Go’.”
Cross nodded and Reid strapped Jessica’s back to his front. She grabbed a large purse from the seat and he tried not to roll his eyes at the feminine habit. “Just make sure they’re zipped and tucked very close to your body.”
“Of course.”
They assumed position at the doors. “Nice meeting you, Dr Cross. See you at the bottom.”
>
“I love you, Daddy.”
The old man nodded at them both, a strange glint in his eye, and then they jumped. Reid held Jessica’s ankles together with his, falling with his back toward the ground. Above them, the jet disappeared in just seconds. The pilot wouldn’t have long to eject, but he needed to get the jet away from them before he did. Reid curved his body around Jessica and guided them into position, their gazes now pointed at the swiftly approaching ground. She gripped his forearms against her chest, her fingernails hitting right at the split between his suit and his gloves. At least she wasn’t screaming.
Reid released his wings: long, thin blades sewn into the back of his suit and magnetically controlled by his gloves. “Mike?”
“Got him in two . . .”
Slowed now, with his wings deployed, Reid looked to his right and slightly down to see Dr Cross become enveloped in a sphere of foam. Those tiny pellets had saved his own life more than once, though the foam they produced disintegrated quickly when deployed in the air. The doc would have only a few minutes before he had to land.
“One.” Mike latched onto the top of the sphere, deploying his own wings almost immediately.
Reid’s arms moved with the inhale of air his passenger finally took. The good doc wasn’t completely safe yet, though. “Got him?”
“All good,” Mike replied.
“Split in three.”
“Two,” Mike’s voice came back.
“One,” they said together, arching to opposite sides of the river. If the attackers needed proof of Dr Cross’s death, they would have to split their own forces to figure out which of them had the old man. Hopefully. Every mission was planned with contingencies for anything that might go wrong, but no one could plan for absolutely everything.
