by Debra Jess
"DL Flight Eight to Traffic. Requesting clearance to land."
A pause. "DL Flight Eight, specify location."
Odd. She had submitted the original flight plans to Traffic and hadn't transmitted a revision. Traffic should also have the director's shuttle's transponder signal tagged and prioritized. Anyone with a nav system should know where they were.
"Transmitting coordinates now," Tamarja replied, choosing not to cause a fuss over an inept controller. She'd speak to Traffic later about training.
She waited again, growing impatient. If she was delayed at every stop, no way could she avoid the storm rolling in from the coast.
"DL Flight Eight. Hold your coordinates."
Why? Pulling up a visual of the vertical farms, Tamarja scanned the landing pads. Shuttles filled each of the pads on top of the farms. There had to be at least six shuttles sitting there.
Before an inspection? Ramsey would have made sure all facility managers were prepared for Manitac's arrival, surprise or no surprise. But why so many shuttles at such a small facility? And those are passenger shuttles, not freighters carrying cargo.
As she pondered the new mystery, three of the shuttles lifted off simultaneously.
Are they trying to get themselves killed? Basic safety protocol: no simultaneous lift-offs.
Tamarja immediately tried to ping the individual transponders for the shuttles. She had a responsibility to report the identity and coordinates of the shuttles to Traffic. While her nav system spit out a signal, the last three shuttles also lifted off simultaneously.
Her nav system received no answer. She pinged again, randomly selecting another shuttle. Again, no response. Tamarja double-checked her nav system, the tri-d grid expanding to give her the location of every flight in Dawn's Landing airspace. None of the shuttles appeared on the grid.
"Traffic, this is DL Flight Eight. I just witnessed six—I repeat, six—shuttles performing simultaneous lift-offs from the vertical farms. They are flying blind. I repeat, they are flying blind."
More waiting. "Message received, Flight Eight. You are cleared to land."
"Traffic, Flight Eight." Tamarja tried to keep her voice calm. "You have six shuttles flying due west from the vertical farms with their transponders turned off. They're a safety risk. Someone is going to have a collision."
A new voice chimed, deeper, dripping with authority. "We've received your report, Flight Eight. We will investigate. You are cleared to land. Now."
Gritting her teeth, Tamarja began the landing sequence. Any further delay would only attract Ramsey's attention, if not that of the Manitac officers. When all this was over, she'd be having a few words with Traffic.
* * *
The breach of protocol, however, repeated itself at the meteorology station, at the aquaculture facilities at the coast, and at security headquarters, but not at the broadcast tower. At each of the other facilities, Tamarja waited for blind shuttles to leave before she was given clearance to land. She tried to report the safety violations each time, and each time she got the same answer: you fly, we'll investigate.
She wanted to tell the director, but she didn’t dare, not while she sat in the midst of Manitac officers who might very well be in on the whole thing. For that matter, it could be the director herself. At the moment, she didn’t trust anyone.
The broadcast tower was different. Maybe because there was only one operator at the facility? Whatever the reason, there were no shuttles to delay her landing. Daeven's friend, Joran, greeted the shuttle where she set down the legally defined distance away from the facility, where it couldn't cause any damage if the shuttle suffered a system failure.
Tamarja let her thoughts roam while she waited for her passengers to disembark. She studied Joran a bit. She tried to see what Jita saw in him―the darkness―but Manitac gave her no time for in-depth observations. The soldiers marched into the tower, ignoring Joran's attempts at conversation. No one notified her as to when they might return. No one spoke to her at all. She could only keep the shuttle on standby until Manitac embarked once more.
By the time they returned, Jita looked a little more frazzled and Ramsey a little more grim. Even Yohzad's secret joviality had dimmed behind a slight frown. Only the director looked impassive, her face giving away nothing. Tamarja didn't waste a moment before retreating to the cockpit.
Manitac isn't taking enough time to inspect anything. Maybe they're searching for something? Maybe Joran has been broadcasting something he shouldn’t be?
Tamarja wished she could send a discreet message to Yohzad and ask him what was happening inside the facilities, but she didn't know if receiving a message via his ear jack would draw unwanted attention his way.
At that moment, her ear jack chimed.
"Change of plans," Ramsey announced. "Set our next course for the Pod."
"Yes, ma'am," Tamarja answered, though Ramsey had already shut down the connection.
The Pod was shorthand for the Mobile Atmospheric Activation and Maintenance Center, a floating facility that maintained the network of air scrubbers that dotted the sky. Set in place during the initial stages of terraforming, Pods remained afloat, flying between scrubbers to keep them operating at optimal efficiency. Most colonies had dozens of Pods and hundreds of air scrubbers, but Dawn's Landing's human-friendly atmosphere only required one Pod and a dozen air scrubbers.
Tamarja changed channels, sending a direct comm to the Pod.
"Pod-bodia's Resort and Spa. Where the food is cooked, the view is never changing, and the massages melt your muscles."
For the first time since this miserable flight had started, Tamarja laughed. Whoever was manning the comm system clearly needed to be rotated off duty soon. "This is DL Flight Eight—the director's shuttle," she added on the off chance that the space case didn't recognize the designation. "She's requesting clearance for linkup. Please supply us with your current coordinates."
She could hear fumbling at the other end of the line. "Uh, yes, Captain. Transmitting coordinates now."
Tamarja acknowledged the receipt and patched the information into her nav system. Then she swallowed hard, her humor fleeing. The Pod was awfully close to the terrestrial border of Dawn's Landing. Without thinking, she reached back and touched the nubs of her collar. A hair's width across the border, and she'd be paralyzed if she were on the ground. Would the same thing occur at that altitude? If it did, even Yohzad couldn't stop the paralysis from happening. She considered her options, settling on the most reasonable.
"Flight Eight to Pod. You're awfully close to the shuttle's ceiling limits. Request that you change your coordinates. Transmitting new location now."
She knew she was testing the limits of her own authority. As the captain, she had the authority to keep the shuttle and passengers safe at all costs, and this shuttle wasn't designed to survive beyond the lower atmosphere, hence the limits of how high she could fly. She didn't, however, have the authority to override the Pod's commander if he didn't see a reason to change to the new coordinates, which would lower the Pod and bring it to a safer distance within the terrestrial borders. Safer for her, at any rate.
"Request reason for location change, ma'am?" the comm asked after several heartbeats. Probably conferring with the Pod's commander, no doubt.
She hoped the informal greeting was indicative of the general feeling of the Pod's commander. "Listen, I've got the director, her adjutant, six grays, and a jumpy hostess on board. If the grays decide to pull an emergency evac drill, I'd rather not be so close to the ceiling."
It sounded logical, even believable. She waited while the comm relayed her message to the commander.
"One moment, ma'am," the comm said, after an inordinate amount of time.
In the background, Tamarja thought she heard the ding of another incoming message. She had never expected the Pod would be that busy. Evidently, neither had the comm, as he forgot to mute their connection. She heard the voices of the other incoming message. The voice sou
nded familiar, a distinct snap to the syllables.
Ramsey? Why would Ramsey contact the Pod when she knew damn well it was the captain's responsibility? Did she think Tamarja was that incompetent? Was there no pleasing her?
"We read you loud and clear, Captain." The comm finally came back online. "We'll meet you at the new coordinates."
Tamarja let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you. Flight Eight, out."
* * *
The Pod rested in a break in the cloud cover, exactly where she had directed them, an apron already extended, inviting a linkup. With any luck, none of the passengers would notice, much less ask about, the change of location. Unless someone at the Pod's command center told Ramsey, in which case even if Ramsey didn't countermand her request, she would be sure to question Tamarja later.
Nothing to do about it now. Tamarja kept the shuttle steady. To properly align the shuttle with the apron, she slowly circled the Pod, dumping acceleration, smoothly cutting through the winds that buffeted her shields. As she circled, she noticed three other aprons extend.
"Flight Eight preparing to linkup."
She had no sooner transmitted her intentions when another shuttle, flying blind, rose directly into her flight path. Alarms blared. Tamarja yanked back on her controls, sending her shuttle skimming over the offending craft, but not reaching enough altitude to avoid impact. The friction slowed Flight Eight just at the moment when she needed acceleration.
Tamarja bit her lip to stop her stream of curses from broadcasting. Blinking, she could have sworn she saw stars. Reverse and accelerate! She was no longer in the shuttle, she was in space, and she obeyed her instinct.
The shuttle screamed in protest, the metal skin rippling as it threatened to tear apart. She blinked again, and the stars disappeared.
You're in the atmosphere, idiot. Atmosphere! She cut the reverse thrust just as the shields gave way.
The lack of shields disentangled Flight Eight from the other craft, but the storm force winds immediately knocked their shuttle into the Pod's shielding, crunching the aft section and sending Flight Eight into free fall. End over end the shuttle tumbled, picking up speed as it fell through the air, arcing slightly until gravity ended the arc, and the craft dived for the ground below.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
How could she forget that she was in the atmosphere?
Tamarja could barely move her arms as the g-forces increased with each rotation, yet her fingers moved faster than she thought possible under the conditions to reengage the shields.
Once, no go. Twice, still nothing. Shut down all nonessential power and try again. Third time, shields snapped into place.
The shuttle tilted end over end once more before Tamarja slowed the tumble to a swerve and reestablished control. Checking their position, she discovered the shuttle was spitting distance above the ocean. Sea swells rolled under them, and a curious walhoon breached the surface to better see the commotion with both heads. It gave a disinterested snort of water through one of its blow holes and then dived back under. They were so close water droplets sprayed them.
Before checking anything else, she peeked at the passenger compartment monitor. At least she hadn't bothered unlocking the seats this last time. Her passengers remained locked in place, looking more than a little green. The director appeared composed, if a bit disheveled, as did Ramsey. Yohzad tilted his head from side to side, assessing himself for injuries. Poor Jita made efficient use of the emergency vac system, removing what appeared to be involuntarily discharged fluids from around the other Manitac officers.
Behind the passengers, Tamarja saw that the door leading to the aft section of the shuttle had buckled under impact with the Pod's shields. If the impact had been any harder, she would have lost the entire shuttle.
A sound buzzed in her ear, and Tamarja realized Traffic was yelling at her. Her ears hadn't popped at the sudden increase of air pressure, so all she heard was the human equivalent of static.
"Traffic, this is DL Flight Eight." She interrupted whatever they were saying, her voice sounding fuzzy to her own ears. "The situation is under control. We're heading for Facility Prime, and by the Stars, you had better have a clear landing pad for us when we get there."
The blathering stopped before she terminated the comm.
Chapter Thirty
Tamarja swung her feet back and forth as she sat on the diagnostic stool in medical, her spine stiff as if standing at attention.
A paramed unit had met them on the landing pad, escorting each passenger from the shuttle one by one after a preliminary medical exam. Tamarja had left the cockpit to see if she could help. The Manitac officers slurred a few choice words in her direction about her flight training, but their words were nothing compared to the ones she had already said to herself, not because she’d caused the accident, but because of what her memory flashed back to. And it was a memory. It had to be.
The director had merely nodded in her direction as she left the shuttle under her own power. Ramsey, following, had stopped to say something to Tamarja but retched instead. She quickly left.
Tamarja didn't leave the shuttle until everyone else had, even Jita, who leaned heavily on a sympathetic paramed. As the grav-resister hit the pad, she saw Daeven and his security team waiting by the gateway as she passed, with more Manitac uniforms not far behind. He had surreptitiously reached out and clasped her hand for a moment, before she followed everyone else to the medical wing.
He didn't have to say it—she knew he would be by later. She was glad she didn't have to face him right away. She needed time to ruminate on her new memory, consider what it could mean about her past.
She had plenty of time to think while waiting for her exam to begin.
"Tamarja?"
Jita stood in the doorway to the exam room, still looking green. She had removed her hair bindings, letting loose the red waves so they covered her shoulders.
Tamarja held out her arms to her friend, and Jita ran into them. They hugged tightly for a minute, before Jita pulled away, trying not to sniffle.
"Ramsey's given me a few days off," she said, pulling out a ‘fresher to dab her eyes. "I'm going to my sister's place. I thought maybe you'd like to join me."
Tamarja would have loved nothing more than to escape to the mountains but shook her head.
"There's going to be an investigation. Manitac is going to have lots of questions. I have to be here to answer them."
"Should I stay then too?"
Again she shook her head. "There's nothing for you to do. Go to the mountains and hug your family for me."
Jita nodded and turned to leave, but then she turned back. "There's something you need to know."
"About what?"
"They're not inspecting the facilities. They're inspecting us."
She looked close to crying again.
"What do you mean, us?" At each of their stops, Tamarja had remained in the shuttle, so she hadn't known what the Manitac officers were actually doing.
"They're not inspecting manifests or machinery. They're making all the shift workers line up, and they're inspecting them, looking them over like herd animals, checking their names against the logs, demanding to see their medical reports."
Tamarja thought about what this could mean, and the answer she came up with didn't scare her, but it would certainly terrify Jita. "It could be anything," she tried to reassure her friend. "We already know that Black Wave is a problem, and someone tried to sneak onto the planet to pick up a package of the stuff. They might have an idea of who's refining it and smuggling it off world."
The glum look on Jita’s face remained. "Maybe, but Manitac isn't exactly subtle when it comes to the outer colonies. On Bregarlos, they might try an undercover operation, but out here, why bother? If they were looking for drug smugglers, we'd all know it. The Unity government can't protect us this far from the Homeport, even if they were interested in doing so. I think they're looking to create more puppets and want Dawn's Landing to sup
ply them."
"We have independent colony dignitaries here," Tamarja argued, though it sounded weak. "There must be some sort of treaty or law to at least keep them safe."
"The independent colonies still rely on Manitac for space transport. That's what happened on Stratos. They declared their independence from Unity, and Manitac moved out, leaving the colony stranded."
"Isn't that what the Shadows wanted? Isn't that why they were elected to the local government seats on Stratos?" Tamarja had managed to do a little reading about Stratos, but so much of the information was filtered, it was hard to tell what had really happened.
Jita nodded and then shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. "It doesn't matter. If Manitac needs more ‘pets, they'll take whoever they can get from whatever colony is available. Independent of Unity or not, we're all just puppets to Manitac."
Tamarja didn't know what to say to that, so she stood up and gave Jita a gentle push toward the door. "Go see your family. I'll…I'll let you know if I hear anything about what's really happening."
Jita dissolved the door, revealing Yohzad on the other side.
"Ah, Ms. Tessier. Glad to see you're up and about. Hope this little incident hasn't put you off flying."
Jita bobbed her head, muttered something Tamarja couldn't hear, and brushed past Yohzad, not quite running to the nearest compressor.
Yohzad watched Jita's retreat, a quizzical expression on his face. "I get the impression she doesn't like me very much."
Tamarja hid a grin as she sat back down on the diagnostic stool. "She just doesn't know you like I do."
Yohzad turned his focus back on Tamarja as he walked into the room. "True, but you don't know me all that well either."
