Back From the Dead (22 page)

Lag turns to Helton.

Lag
: Kat’s a good counselor, as well as a lawyer. She’s helped a lot of people after high-stress encounters and will help Allonia work through this one. With the support she’ll get around here, I’m sure she’ll be fine, but it’s always good to be careful for a while.

Liftoff

“I can’t believe you have a
printed
preflight checklist.”

Cooper, a dashing-looking young man in a blood-red jacket, sits at the pilot station on
Tajemnica
’s bridge. Kaushik is at copilot/navigation, Allonia at sensors/com, and Helton has command.

“You knew when I hired you this ship was older than any five of us put together,” Helton says. “The AI is quite adamant that we go through it all.”

“You pay the bills, you call the shots.”

Helton picks up the intercom mic. “Stenson, how’s it look?”

“All in the green, if only barely. Main power is just about ready to kick on. And…” The ship lurches slightly, and the pulsing hum of machinery deepens. “Online! Main power is live! Drives are … feeling the power.” It sounds like God’s own Harley is driving by, in need of a valve job and new plugs. “Drives are yellow, rising toward green. Looking like she’s alive again! Three drives nominal. You are now the Captain of a ship, not a shop project!”

“
Captain
. I like the sound of that.”

“Okay,” says Cooper, “Starting at the top! Ramps up?”

“Up!” says Kaushik.

“Ground feeds, power, disconnected?”

Stenson, over the intercom: “Disconnected!”

“Ground feeds, water, disconnected and secured?”

“Disconnected, hoses stowed!” Kwon reports.

The drive noise settles down to a steadier throb as they work through the lengthy checklist.

“Annnd … that’s it,” Cooper announces. “All systems nominal or acknowledged noncritical. Are we cleared to lift?” he asks Allonia.

“The tower says no; they say we have a land-lock.”

“You have got to be… Why wasn’t I told about that earlier?” Cooper demands.

Helton is surprised as well. “Land-lock? They never told me about it.”

“You didn’t know? A giant lock around a landing strut bolting us to the ground, and you didn’t know? We can’t lift.”

“Are you sure?”

“Who are you paying to be the pilot?”

“I don’t remember the port saying anything about a land-lock,” Helton says. “Must be a mistake. Try lifting slowly, just a tad, see what happens.”

“Are you crazy?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“You
are
nuts.”

“We need to know if we can. Try it. Just a little bit. Not really flying, just … sorta move us up into the air a little bit.”

“Okay. But if something breaks, it’s not my fault, right?”

“Agreed.”

Cooper gently twists the control yoke. The pitch of the engines changes, becomes deeper, more pulsing, with discordant overtones; God’s Harley needs a timing chain adjustment and better fuel, too. He slides up a power lever and turns the control yoke a bit more.

The ship lifts slowly but unevenly, held down at one corner for a moment, then there is an earthy rending sound, and it rips a sizable chunk of concrete and dirt out of the ground, attached to one of the landing struts by a large curved metal bar.
Tajemnica
slowly rises, thirty, forty, fifty meters in the air. She is blocky, angular, and unrefined compared to the other ships on the ground or flying in the background. The pulsing rumble from the drives slowly steadies. One of the readouts in Engineering has a bank of eight indicators labeled
Pads
. Seven are green, but one is flashing red.

Helton grins happily at the excited people on the bridge. A catchy Celtic reel starts playing over the PA system, snappy, happy, full of life and energy, a modern take on a traditional dance tune that perfectly mixes with the powerful bass roll of the ship’s drives. It takes a moment before anyone notices it.

“What the hell?” says Cooper.

“Time to celebrate,
Tajemnica
?” Helton asks.

“Correct, Sir,” the Ship AI says in a cheerful female voice. “First free flight in more than a century is worthy of celebrating, is it not?”

“She has her dancing shoes back on!” Allonia says. “Of course she’s happy! Can’t you just feel it?” She closes her eyes and dances a quick impromptu jig, a delighted expression on her face. “Now we don’t have to just dream about the places we can go together! You can just … she WANTS to FLY!” Cooper is skeptical, but quite willing to watch Allonia dancing.

“Allonia,” Helton says, “if you are quite done anthropomorphizing a dance partner I’d really not want stepping on my toes, please inform the tower that they seem to be mistaken about the land-lock, and we’d like clearance to take a short low-level test flight around the port before landing.”

“Tower, this is
Tajemnica
. Do we have clearance to do a short flight around the port? Over.” She waits a few moments, then shrugs. “Well, they haven’t told us not to.”

“Give it a shot,” Helton tells Cooper.

“Hang on.” Cooper moves the steering yoke gently forward, and the ship slowly heads off on a large curve around the port, not quite level. “Pretty sluggish,” Cooper says, monitoring readouts and adjusting controls.

“She’s only barely at minimum takeoff power,” Helton says, unconcerned. “It’ll take a while to fine-tune the engines.”

Tajemnica
flies slowly along, glowing faintly, the whole ship swaying as the chunk of ground hanging from the landing strut swings. Then the strut twitches, shakes, and finally kicks like a dog shaking something off its foot. The hunk of earth and concrete flies off and drops away, and the strut retracts from full to partial extension, matching all the others.
Tajemnica
shakes for a moment, then stabilizes and levels out.

“Don’t know what the hell that was,” Cooper says, “but it feels better now.”

On the
Pads
readout in Engineering, the last red light turns to green. In one corner of another screen, unnoticed by Stenson and his crew, a condition light comes on. “Bubblegum: Full Pack.”

Off a street near the spaceport, a truck parked in front of a “No Parking” sign in a private lot has been flattened under the hunk of fallen concrete and earth. The logo on the side of the truck says
Seymore Cust
–.

After completing a quick, easy, swooping circle around the port,
Tajemnica
returns to the airspace above Pad D9. She lurches, then sags at an odd angle as she settles gently to earth, just missing a newly made hole in the ground.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Helton proclaims, “we have ourselves a magic carpet!”

“Not the most elegant craft I’ve ever handled, but she flies,” Cooper says.

“Never thought I’d see a view from up there, from in here,” Allonia says, still swaying and tapping to the music. “She’s perfect!”

“Didn’t see the power go above 90% current max,” Kaushik reports. “We can fly with a decent load even without tuning things.”

Helton grabs the com mic. “Stenson, how are things down there?”

Stenson voice echoes oddly through the speakers. “Glad we’re down. I’m pretty sure I can fix it. One accelacomp failed, one was about to. Got a lot of good flight data that’ll help sort out a few problems. How’d things go there?”

“Wonderfully! She’s going to be a
great
dancer!”

Stenson chuckles at Allonia’s bubbly enthusiasm. “Baby steps before dancing, but good to hear! A few more test flights like that and I might even certify her to take off with people aboard!”

FIRST MISSION

Cobb’s

Kaminski drives a light truck through an industrial area with widely spaced buildings, most of which have small front office areas, Allonia next to him. He is out of uniform; she wears a turtleneck.

“You’re sure you want to do this so soon after?” Kaminski asks.

“Yes, I’m fine. Really. I talked a long time with Kat. It’s okay.”

“Usually it takes a while to really work through something like that.”

“Stop worrying! I’m good. I know what he did was wrong and what I did was right. As Kat said, he killed himself by choosing to do something stupid. I just happened to be the one that had to make sure he won’t do it to anyone else, ever again. The world is a better place for it.”

“I know the training squad is better for it. Many lessons for them, there.”

“It was weird,” she says. “He came at me, said we should be alone together. Then everything suddenly was in slow motion; his lips moved, but no sound came out. I don’t remember seeing anything but him starting to get undressed as he got closer. He reached for me, I brushed his hand aside. He drew back to hit again, a big, slow wind-up that turned his body, so I grabbed his knife and stuck it in him. He just stood there, but turned back to face me. I thought I must have just hit his body armor, so I grabbed his gun and aimed it at him. He still stood there with a goofy expression on his face, his lips moving but no words. I shot him, but the gun didn’t make any noise, and he didn’t do anything but look surprised. I waited forever for him to fall, so I thought there must be something wrong with the ammunition, so I shot until I started to see blood. I stopped and waited for him to fall over, but he just stood there like a post, looking at me with a confused expression. I wanted some room, so I kind of put my foot up on him and gave him a shove, and he seemed to leap into the air and drift across the room like we were in space, and bounced slowly off the bench onto the floor. So I covered him until you guys showed up an hour later. So much for the cavalry showing up to save me.”

Kaminski chuckles. “You were too fast for us. Classic tachypsychia, tunnel vision, and auditory exclusion. Sounded like a full-auto pistol to me.”

“Yes, Kat explained it to me. I’m sorry he did what he did, but … choices have consequences. I’ll never forget it, but I’m not going to punish myself for defending myself effectively. Maybe with more training I’ll be less of a target, and I won’t have to do that ever again.”

“Sounds like a healthy attitude, one that not many come to so easily. That’s what my dad always said: if you ever do have to shoot in self-defense, make the most of it. Shoot anyone that needs shooting, as many times as you have to. No point in doing a half-assed job of saving your family the cost of your funeral.”

He pulls into a mostly empty parking lot and parks in front of a large building with only a couple of windows in front. The sign over the door reads
Cobb’s School of Public Relations
. “Here we are.”

“I thought we were going to find a proper gun for me?” Allonia says as they get out of the truck.

“And this is the place to go.” Kaminski retrieves a small satchel, closes the truck doors, and they head toward the building.

They walk into a large, well-lit showroom, full of glass cases full of guns, with many more hanging on the wall. There are windows to one side, and a door prominently labeled: “Range Area — Ears, Eyes, Brains Required. Politicians Prohibited.”

All sizes and shapes of guns are on display: long guns, handguns, belt-fed, and a couple of tripod-mounts, including a remote-control auto-cannon. There are many small stacks of cases and half-empty shelves with boxes of ammo. There are reader boards showing specials:

• Alien Apocalypse Pack — belt-fed 12-ga Mossington with RC mount and 1000-round belt for only 1999!
  
• Buy a case of ammo, get free range pass!
  
• 25mm Rifle Grenade classes starting next Tuesday — sign up now!
  

Kaminski leads Allonia over near the range area, where a slender young lady with short hair and a few small tattoos and piercings is behind the counter.

“Hey, stranger!” she says. “Hope you’re not here for another large-case order. Supplies are tight.”

“Hey, yourself, Vera! New shooter today, needs the beginning decider package.”

“Great! Always glad to get someone the right fit in feminine protection.” Vera turns to Allonia. “He knows his stuff, listen to him when it comes to guns.” Then she drops her voice and says, “Good to see you came more properly dressed than that one.” She looks down at the far end of the counter, indicating an artificially enhanced and heavily made-up young woman in a very low-cut top and spray-on-tight pants who hangs on the arm of an older man picking up some guns and shooting supplies.

“She looks pretty well-equipped to me,” Kaminski says. Allonia snorts and rolls her eyes.

“Yeah,” Vera says dryly. “Equipped with a great double-breasted brass catcher.”

“That’s what I meant,” he says defensively.

“Yeah. Right,” Vera responds.

Kaminski takes another look. “Five gets you ten we get a brass-dance on the first mag.”

Vera shakes her head. “No dice. Not with that much cleavage.” She turns back to Allonia, who’s looking at them like they’re speaking a different language. “Okay, then. Know what you want to start with?”

“Well, she’s already done a bit of shooting,” Kaminski says. “I think we’ll start in the middle and work our way out. How about a Duty 9mm?”

“Good choice. Right here.” Kaminski waves his wallet at a scanner, it beeps, and Vera sets a box of ammo and a gun rug on the counter. She opens the case, pulls out a 9mm handgun, drops the magazine and checks it to make sure it’s empty, racks the slide to check the chamber, inserts the empty mag, and zips it up. “Eyes and ears?”

“Just for her.”

Vera reaches under the counter and pulls out protective eyewear and ear muffs and hands them to Allonia. Kaminski opens his bag, pulls out his own, puts them on, and they head through the double doors onto the range.

Kaminski picks an empty shooting booth and makes sure all is in order. Allonia picks up the pistol, a sleek silvery 9mm. She inserts the magazine, works the action, takes a careful stance, and squeezes off a few rounds. She sets it down, shrugging noncommittally.

There are shots from down the line a little ways, then a shriek and the clatter of a dropped gun. The well-dressed floozy is dancing around, brushing at her chest, trying to get something out of her cleavage. She stops, grabs the edge of her top, pulls it up far enough to grab the bottom of her bra. Two brass cases drop out and clatter onto the floor.