by Lee Stephen
Travis rolled his eyes. “Come on—”
“Get back there now!”
Scrambling out of his seat, Travis skedaddled into the troop bay. Boris strapped into the now-vacant pilot’s seat and situated his kit. On the radar, the Superwolf was coming around again. Tiffany got on the EDEN fighter’s comm channel to address the enemy pilot. “Okay, we totally got off on the wrong foot.” She closed the channel and looked at Boris. “Why do I need to make him talk to me again?”
“Before I can do anything, I will need to find out if I can access his systems. When the pilot uses his comm, it is like he is opening a window. It will enable me to—”
“Opening a window, that’s all you need to tell me.”
Boris nodded. “It is important that he stay close! The closer we get, the easier I can try to hack into him.”
“This is possible, right?”
Swallowing, the technician hesitated, then drew in a breath. “Yes. All things are possible.”
“Well, that’s great!” Tiffany’s eyes returned to the radar, where the Superwolf was coming down on them from above. “Hold tight, evasive action.”
Boris opened his mouth to talk, but was cut short by a hard right-hand turn and barrel roll. His curly mop flew back and forth in the pilot’s seat as bullets streaked past the cockpit window once, some once again striking the Vulture. Red warning lights flashed as the Pariah’s schematics lit up with damage indicators. Yanking up with the stick, Tiffany brought the nose of the transport up and around, peeling it back as it tried to fall back nearer to the Superwolf. The fighter matched speeds.
“Are we close enough?” Tiffany asked.
Boris shook his head and looked at his kit’s display. “Not yet!”
“Feathers!” Scott said through the comm. “What kind of damage are we taking?”
“Minimal!” she answered, closing the speaker and murmuring to herself, “Totally a lie.” Her focus returned to Boris. “Get your kit ready. We’re about to chat this guy up.” Opening the EDEN channel as she weaved to avoid more gunfire, she addressed her adversary. “Pariah to Superwolf—we surrender. I repeat, we surrender! Awaiting your instructions.” Veering again, the Pariah narrowly avoided more gunfire. “I said we surrender! What does EDEN want us to do?”
The gunfire from the Superwolf ceased.
Almost holding her breath, Tiffany said off-comm, “C’mon, guy, talk to me.” Seconds later, she got her wish.
“Vulture identified as Pariah,” answered a man with a Chinese accent, “land your aircraft immediately.”
Slowing the Pariah just enough to bring the Superwolf in closer from behind, Tiffany looked at Boris. “Are you in?”
“Keep him talking!”
“Permission to land at the nearest airfield?” she asked over the comm.
A second later, the Superwolf pilot replied. “Land your craft immediately!”
Thrusting his fists into the air, Boris said, “I am communicating. Let me see if I can…yes! I can manipulate his systems.” He tapped at his controls. “What can I do? What can I do?” he asked himself. Finally, he inputted a command. “Tell him something funny, quick!”
The blonde blinked. “Uh, what?”
“Tell him an insult!”
Fumbling with the comm, she opened the channel. “Hey, you suck!” She looked back at Boris. “Dude, what in the heck am I doing?”
“Terrible job,” said Boris. “That was terrible. That was not good at all.” He finally tapped the button. “His weapons are offline!” Once again, his fingers flew across the keyboard, ending once again with a tap of finality. “I have locked his comm on our frequency—he can no longer communicate with EDEN.”
“Make him land!” the blonde prompted desperately. “I am totally jacking this guy’s ride.”
“Working, working, working,” Boris said. Several seconds later, he grinned. “Control is ours! I am instructing his auto-nav to land below.” With a final keystroke, he smiled triumphantly. “And down he goes!”
A quick look at the Pariah’s rear camera confirmed it—the Superwolf was slowly descending. Exhaling a breath, the blonde closed her eyes, leaned back in her chair, and slicked back her hair that was now soaked with sweat. After a moment, she opened her eyes and stared Boris down. “What the heck was up with the ‘tell him something funny’ thing?”
“You could have said, ‘checkmate,’ or, ‘thank you for flying with us,’ or any number of incredible, witty things that would really have made the moment.”
“Well, you can’t just, like, throw that on me! Give me time to prepare.”
Gesturing emphatically, Boris asked, “What time did we have?”
“Just a quick, y’know, ‘when we take this guy over, we’re gonna totally slam him.’”
“Land the vecking ship!” Scott shouted.
Tiffany returned to the controls. “Geez Louise, landing the ship. What crawled in his pants?”
“He is always grumpy,” said Boris. “It is very unpleasant.”
It wasn’t until the Pariah began its descent that the scope of the damage it had taken in the dogfight became evident. Regardless of what Tiffany told Scott, the Vulture had been badly wounded. On top of the descent thrusters being rendered inoperable, of the Pariah’s three wheels, only the back wheels showed functionality. That, when combined with the descent thruster problems, meant that the Pariah couldn’t actually land next to the Superwolf to claim it. If the Superwolf was to be flown by Tiffany, the Vulture was going to have to hover over the ground with its main thrusters, lower the bay door, and have operatives rope to the ground.
During Tiffany’s air show, several of the operatives in the troop bay had thrown up, causing the entire bay to reek of vomit. It was more surprising that none of the crew had blacked out. Scott had never felt the Pariah move like it had under Tiffany’s hand.
She’s a fighter pilot. How is that possible?
That question hovered at the surface of Scott’s mind as the situation cooled down and the Pariah drew nearer to the Superwolf. The only person in the troop bay who seemed unfazed by the revelation was Catalina Shivers. The crippled soldier had been the only person to speak up when Tiffany demanded that Travis hand over the controls. She must have known that Tiffany was a fighter pilot. It left a burning question: why in the world had a fighter pilot been chauffeuring around Falcon Platoon in a Vulture?
As the Pariah hovered with Travis at the helm, Tiffany made her way into the troop bay, where the other operatives tied off a pair of ropes for her and Becan—her armed escort—to be lowered. It was clear that in the time since the dogfight ended, something had begun to affect the Valley Girl pilot. Her hazel eyes were distant, almost tearful. As she passed by Catalina, the black-haired soldier reached out with her hand. Pausing, Tiffany looked Catalina’s way and accepted it. “Go get it, Tiff,” Catalina said quietly. Tiffany remained silent, and after receiving a small squeeze from her friend, approached the rope drop with something akin to reverence.
“Yeh ready, ace?” Becan asked, his feet already braced against the bottom of the opened ramp and his hands on the rope.
“I’m ready,” answered Tiffany quietly.
Together, they dropped out of the door.
As soon as Tiffany was out of the Pariah, Lilan looked at Catalina. “You want to explain to the rest of us what just happened here, Shivers?” His attention shifting to the colonel, Scott honed in on their conversation. It seemed everyone in the troop bay was.
Catalina was staring off into the distance, her gaze seemingly lost in a memory of her own, though a slight turn of the head indicated that she had indeed heard the colonel’s question. After several seconds and the faintest of smiles, she said simply, “You wouldn’t believe it.”
Touching down on the snow alongside Becan, Tiffany turned to face the powered-down Superwolf. The sleek ATF was waiting, its cockpit shield open. As Becan rushed toward it with his weapon raised, the Chinese pilot climbed out.
; Tiffany walked toward the Superwolf, her sweat-dampened hair tossing in the blustery winds that whipped across the tundra. Not once did her gaze shift to regard the man she’d outwitted in the sky. Her focus was solely on the fighter. Stooping down by the Chinese pilot’s now-abandoned helmet, Tiffany picked it up and stared at her reflection in the visor. Even in the sun-distorted reflection, she could see her reddened eyes. Rising, she fit the helmet down over her head.
Placing her hands on the folded-out cockpit stairs, Tiffany climbed up as Becan watched over the Chinese pilot. With every step she took, with every rung she passed, tears rolled down her cheek. By the time she reached the top, she could barely see at all. She settled into the cockpit, shuffling her body just slightly to conform to the seat. Hand shaking, she reached out to place her fingers around the stick. When they touched it, she exhaled a trembling breath. Closing her eyes, she lowered the cockpit window.
Looking over the Pariah’s systems, Travis watched in the troop bay mirror as Becan climbed back into the ship. Once the Irishman was secure, the ropes were pulled in and the bay door eased up. “Pariah to Feathers,” he said with the Superwolf queued up, “we are heavily damaged and in need of escort. You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who’d be kind enough to assist?”
Her smile audible and her voice subdued, Tiffany answered, “I think I know someone who can swing that.”
“You ever flown a Superwolf, girlie?”
On the other end of the line, Tiffany shook her head. “That is a negative, Pariah. But how hard could it be?”
“Somehow, I think you’ll manage.”
Engaging the Superwolf’s vertical thrusters, Tiffany raised the fighter up and off the ground. Looking around at the cockpit display, Tiffany located the transponder controls. She reached down to turn it off. “Transponder deactivated, Pariah.” For several more seconds, she stared blankly at the multitude of switches and buttons around her. She breathed out a laugh and shook her head. “Remind me to read the instruction manual when we find a new place to land. I might accidentally fire a missile in this thing.”
“In light of that comment, Pariah respectfully requests you fly in front of the wounded Vulture.”
Tiffany laughed. “Copy that.” As the Superwolf rose higher, Tiffany looked out of the cockpit window at the helmetless Chinese pilot standing alone in the snow, staring up as his commandeered fighter abandoned him.
As he watched Tiffany bring the Superwolf to the Pariah’s level, Scott thought about their situation. They’d been detected, engaged, and were now truly on the run. EDEN knew their last-known whereabouts. They would know where their pair of Superwolves disappeared off the map.
Glancing back, Scott’s eyes settled on Natalie, who was staring distantly at the Pariah’s floorboards. He hadn’t heard her say anything after their dust-off from Krasnoyarsk. Surely the sight of Lilan had caught her off guard. Her head must be spinning. They needed a solution for the problem she presented, though it may have already been resolving itself. Her worldview was changing before her very eyes. She would turn, in time. Scott was sure of it.
Looking forward again, Scott slipped through the cockpit door and settled into the copilot’s seat next to Travis. Ahead of the Pariah, Tiffany’s Superwolf was gliding over the ground. For the briefest of moments, Scott almost felt a sense of serenity. He watched as the clouds drifted high in the sky. They were flying so low, it almost looked like they were moving on the ground itself. Like they were barely flying at all.
Norilsk was coming. Northern Forge was coming. Undoubtedly, so were more unexpected problems. They’d handle them when they got there. But at that moment, Scott appreciated the fact that he wasn’t cold, he wasn’t wet, and he wasn’t firing at EDEN operatives and law enforcement in the middle of an EDEN base or a rebelling city. He was just along for the ride. There was something settling about that.
I haven’t forgotten you, Sveta. Even amid a picture that was widening with each passing second, Svetlana was at the forefront of his mind, desperately waiting to be addressed. Get her safely to Chernobyl, Oleg, and I might even find a small place in my heart to forgive you. Maybe.
With the horizon in front of him and the quiet of the troop bay at his back, Scott closed his eyes. It was in moments like these that his exhaustion overwhelmed him. He was due for twelve hours of sleep. Minutes would have to suffice. Scott had barely closed his eyes when he succumbed to fatigue, his breaths deepening as the unconscious took over—as brief as it was destined to be. It was better than nothing.
He dreamed of the ocean.
3
Saturday, March 17th, 0012 NE
0459 hours
EDEN Command
THE WAR ROOM was as quiet as a morgue. The only sound present emanated from the massive air conditioning units that kept the electronics-heavy room at a reasonable temperature. In the center of the floor, surrounded by a massive circular handrail, the holograph of Earth slowly rotated. In the middle of Siberia, northeast of the city of Krasnoyarsk, two red X’s were marked in close proximity—the sites where two Superwolves were lost.
Standing with elbows propped against the handrail and his entwined fists resting against his chin, was Blake. The new president’s dark eyes stayed fixed, almost numbly, on the crash sites. No judges were present—he’d ordered everyone, Jaya Saxena included, out of the room as soon as the Superwolves were confirmed lost. Only the console operators had stayed behind.
Far behind him, the door to the War Room whisked open. There was no need for Blake to turn around to identify the new arrival. The man’s German accent gave him away. “What happened?” Klaus Faerber asked.
Blake sucked in a heavy breath, angling his head only slightly sideways—just enough to signal that he was indeed responding to the question—before flatly answering, “We’ve lost contact with the Fourteenth.”
“How?” The Vector captain sounded genuinely befuddled.
Another pause came before Blake responded. “They were able to board their Vulture to flee the city. Two Superwolves were close enough to attempt an intercept, but…they were shot down.”
Behind Blake, Klaus blinked. “Shot down by who?”
“By the, umm…by the Vulture.”
“The Vulture?”
Blake nodded. “Yes, the Vulture.”
The German’s thudding footsteps drew closer. “How does a Vulture shoot down a Superwolf?”
“I don’t know.”
One of the communications operators swiveled around in his chair, speaking urgently. “Mr. President! We’ve just made contact with the second pilot.”
“That’s good,” said Blake, his lack of enthusiasm betraying his words. “I’m glad they both managed to eject.”
“No, sir…he didn’t eject.”
Blake turned to look at the man curiously. “What do you mean, he didn’t eject?”
“The second Superwolf wasn’t shot down. It was forced to land. The Vulture hacked it.”
“Hacked it?”
The operator nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Klaus’s expression matched the concern of Blake’s. Both men approached the operator as he continued to explain.
“Somehow they were able to hack into the Superwolf’s systems and take control away from the pilot. They commandeered it shortly after it landed.”
“Commandeered?” Blake asked. “Are you saying the Fourteenth took it?”
Frowning, the operator answered, “Yes, sir. They had a second pilot—according to our pilot, she was a blond-haired American woman. He didn’t hear her name.”
At the revelation, Blake’s eyes squinted. “There was no such pilot in the Fourteenth’s dossier. Where did she come from?” He seemed to pose the question more to himself. Reaching down, he unclipped his comm from his belt and brought it to his lips. “Blake to Intelligence.”
“Intelligence,” a man answered.
“Are you aware of the situation with the stolen Superwolf?”
“We were just made a
ware, Mr. President.”
Blake nodded absently. “This pilot, this ‘blond-haired American woman,’ who could she be?”
A distinct pause came over the line. “Kang would actually like to discuss that with you, sir. He’s requesting that you come here.”
Tilting his head in puzzlement, Klaus listened to the exchange.
Very subtly, Blake’s countenance shifted. “I shall come at once.” Closing the channel, he secured the comm back on his belt. His focus turned to Klaus. “I suppose I’m due at Intelligence.”
Hesitating, the Vector captain nodded. “I will come with you—”
“I need you here,” Blake said quickly, nearly cutting Klaus off, “monitoring the War Room. There are judges who could do the same, but none with your tactical experience. I know watching a spinning globe isn’t the most exciting job in the world, but it serves a purpose.” He forced a smile. “Consider it a glimpse of your future occupation as a judge.”
Klaus was unamused.
“But I’m afraid I must be going now,” said the Briton. “Kang’s not one to wait, and this is likely quite important. Forgive me if I leave curtly.”
The German scrutinized Blake, as if searching for something. At long last, he too faked a smile and nodded.
“We’ll catch them, rest assured.” Patting Klaus on the shoulder, Blake said, “We’ll speak again soon.” Offering a farewell, he slid past Klaus toward the War Room exit.
His gaze sweeping the rest of the War Room, Klaus took in the activity going on, from the various operators at computer and communication consoles, to the array of radar screens mounted against the far wall, to the row of televisions broadcasting live feeds from news outlets across the world. Finally, his attention returned to the holographic globe as it slowly rotated in the center of the room and the pair of red X’s on its surface. Leaning forward with his elbows on the circular handrail, just as his predecessor had before making his exit, Klaus watched and waited for something to happen.
