Going Ballistic
Dorothy Klapp
Sedgefield Press
Copyright © 2020 by Dorothy Klapp
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All rights reserved
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Cover by Cedar Sanderson
This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or otherwise – without prior written permission of the author and publisher, except as provided by copyright law in the United States of America.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
For Ted Smith: a good stick, and a good friend,
even if he did prefer rotorwings.
* * *
If they let me into heaven, I'll be hitting you up
for the best places to fly once I get my wings.
I promise I won't complain about you
leaving branches in my undercarriage this time…
* * *
Until then, I'll keep looking for you
in the brown beast flying escort. I miss you.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
1
Michelle came out of the jetway last, trailing her cabin crew and passengers from the last flight. She paused to re-orient her internal map of Lasku's spaceport to the new layout and available movement updates. They'd been diverted to the far side of the wrong terminal, and the chaos was evident with tourists and locals alike raising the conversation to a dull roar punctuated with sharp, angry voices. It was the noise of a crowd on the verge of becoming a mob, and made the hair stand up on her neck.
The gate desk was empty, so she used her implant to ping the agent at the destination gate, checking in as on the ground and asking for the best route there. The revised layout showed multiple checkpoints had been set up and were subdividing the terminals, causing ugly backups in traffic flow. State Security was shaking down the passengers again. Michelle pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to remember if they were currently overachieving on finding supposed enemies of the state after yet another scandal, or if they were reminding the supposedly-free citizens what would happen if they didn't vote as mandated in some upcoming election. Bribes to expedite were damned dangerous in the former, and critical in the latter.
A fat, beringed hand grabbed her arm, and she swung around, trying to pull away from an angry woman in an eye-searing sloppy pink outfit. "You there! Why aren't we at the right gate? You were supposed to land us in C terminal!"
"Ma'am! Let go of me!" She tried to pull away, as the woman started shaking her. The crowd was turning toward them, and she could feel the ugly attention looking for a scapegoat.
"This is all your fault! I don't have time for your screwups; I have to get to my cruise!" The woman's tirade was cut short as an icy blonde man stepped up, grabbed her elbow, and twisted. With a squall of pain, the fat tourist let Michelle go.
"Pilots have to go to assigned gates, whether they want to or not. If you have a problem with that, take it up with the ground controllers." His voice had the whip crack of authority, brooking no bullshit or stupidity. People turned away from that voice, hurrying on to their destinations to avoid being involved.
"But she…"
"Is about to be late to her next flight. Better move your fat ass, too, or you won't make yours, either." He'd stepped bodily between Michelle and the tourist like a gruff wall of whipcord muscle, and three more men she vaguely recognized from first class on the last flight fell in loose formation around her, facing outward with hard looks on their faces and bodies poised for a fight. As the tourist hurried away, Blondie looked back and caught her rubbing her arm. "Are you all right, ma'am?" He had a northern Empire accent, and she could breathe again. With Empire troops, aircrew always knew where they stood. Even if it was usually well clear.
"Just bruised." She replied tightly, and the look in his face made her glad the tourist was already out of reach, even if her whining complaints could still be heard trailing away down from the slidewalk. This close up, she could see the white in his blonde hair, matching the grays in her own. "I'll be fine." He gave her a searching look, and then nodded, hard blue eyes softening before he looked away.
Even with the immediate threat gone, the men stayed on alert, eyes up and scanning for the threats. Their stylish civilian clothing couldn't hide their muscles, the hardened augment ports in their wrists, or the armored skin on their hands. For one brief moment, she felt safe, and like she had enough space to think, and relax, with them around her. She had three legs already flown, and one more to go - and the ring of quiet men not crowding her, not touching, made the panic finally subside and the day seem manageable again.
"We should get our flight switched; we're in the wrong damn terminal. We need to get to Gate A30, and we're in C65." The redhead spoke, and she turned, looking at him in mild surprise. Of course, she'd have carryover passengers who'd come in on her last leg; the time she'd been allotted for layover was the same as theirs. She just hadn't expected them to be Empire troops, or willing to keep her safe and clear. "We're not going to make it before they close the doors."
"Oh, you'll be fine." She replied, and they looked at her. She could work with men like these; Empire were sticklers for honor and redeeming their word, unlike Fed. "Flight can't leave without me." It would have sounded pompous, if she weren't in uniform, with her epaulets and starched shirt slowly succumbing to the rumpled indignities and sweat of a day's work, hauling her own company-approved and clearly crew-stickered case.
"We'll escort you, ma'am." The blonde smiled at her. "We're good at getting through a crowd."
She started to nod, then frowned, and held up a hand, tapping her temple in the universal signal to wait for information, as the gate agent replied with a short message. They were definitely military; they didn't argue or protest as she parsed the map and instructions. Since they all had the same destination anyway… "Change of plans. We're getting a lift across the ramp. Can you keep your heads down, mouths shut, and pretend you're ramp rats?"
That got a couple surprised looks, and grins. "Yes, ma'am."
"This way. Gate C67." Michelle walked away from the general traffic flow, cutting through the seating to one gate down, and waved to the waiting gate agent there. They waved back, unlocked the jetway door as her party arrived. Without a plane there to block the air flow, it was miserably cold to match the winter outside. Michelle grabbed a handful of safety vests from next to the door to the stairs, and threw one on herself while the gate agent unlocked the ramp door. She caught the gate age
nt’s eyes, and nodded, dropping her voice. "Thank you!"
"Don't mention it. Seriously. Security is stupid twitchy today, so really, don’t mention it!” The gate agent grimaced.
"We won't!" She promised, and hurried down the stairs, gasping at the cold. A ramp rat was already at the base, bundled up, with a baggage train hooked up. He waved them onboard the tug.
"Damn, thought I was pickin' up one, not five. I don't have enough seats."
"She's in my lap." The blonde spoke, and looked over. "Twitch, you hop in the box there."
"Igloo, not box." Michelle corrected, climbing up and sitting a little awkwardly on his lap. He unzipped his jacket, and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug that almost cut off the freezing wind from three sides. She leaned forward, tapping the ramp rat on the shoulder. "Thanks, man. I really appreciate it."
"Na problem, Cappy." He replied, with a grin. "Been doin' it all day to get around the bloody Dogs."
"I'm in." Twitch called forward, and the ramp rat took off, checking his clearances on the radio even as he was already on the roll.
As they picked up speed and the motors whined against the governor, the icy wind chilled any indignity of sitting on a lap. She huddled into Blondie for warmth as they rattled along the backside of the terminal, winding around planes, past refueling trucks, and between other baggage trains. Her teeth chattered despite clamping her jaw tight, and any attempt at conversation was cut off by the roar of a jet taxiing past them out to the runway. The breeze carried a heavy scent of exhaust and faint traces of warmth to them as they swung in beside ramp rats loading passenger baggage into the cargo hold. As others lined up the igloos to be next in queue, Michelle carefully stepped off the tug. She stood next o it for a moment, tucking her hands into her armpits as she looked up at the plane. "Dammit, still have to do the walkaround. I should do that first, as long as I'm out here…"
"Here." The blonde shucked out of his coat. "You're freezing."
"I can't just take your coat! What if you leave it behind?" She replied. He laughed, and pressed it on her. It was a quiet laugh, the kind that warmed her from the inside and made her smile back.
"I won't forget. Go on. You're losing body heat fast, and I don't want a hypothermic pilot." She was too cold to argue, and slid gratefully into the heavy warmth as he pulled her safety vest over a nice business shirt. "All right, do we head up the stairs now?"
"Not yet. You want no suspicion from anyone watching, you go throw bags for a while. The ramp rats will see you onto the plane, soon as the luggage is on." She pointed, and they hustled over to the conveyor, grabbing bags out of the nearest igloo and tossing them onto the conveyor belt like they'd done it all their lives. She blew on her hands, and stuffed them in the coat pockets as she walked around the plane, pulling up her preflight checklist and pinging the gate agent to let her know she was on site and in process, then linking into the plane itself to check status and test systems and control surfaces as she walked around.
Just before she headed up, she flagged down the team lead. "Where's the fuel truck? Tanks aren't filled."
"They're held up for security reasons. We've had pilots calling for release all day from the gate so they can go. Last minute fill… We'll slap the caps on just before pushback." He rolled his eyes as she facepalmed.
"Right. Can you get the new guys in and onboard when you're finished, and make sure they don't get lost?"
"You mean we can't keep 'em? They're good workers!" He laughed. "Can do, Cappy." With a friendly slap on the back, he sent her off up the stairs.
The warmth in the jetway stung her face and cheeks, and her implant ports ached fiercely at the sudden temperature change as she headed up to the secured door to the gate. The gate agent gave her a grimace as she came out the door, and pointed at the hardline handbrain. "We already dialed when you hit the door."
"Thank you." She said, putting feeling in the words. Everybody's day was going to hell, and the poor agents were just trying to keep the schedule, and the airline running like the rest of them. "I really appreciate it."
The handbrain clicked to an open connection as she said that, and an annoyed voice said, "Command gatepost five, state the nature of your emergency."
"This is Michelle Lauden, the pilot of TransCon 1453, Gate C56, and I think I'm going to have a riot on my hands if I don't get fuel in time for pushback. And you're going to have seriously unfun ramp issues if the gate's tied up. What's the holdup?"
"TransCon 14…53? We have twelve of your passengers flagged for questioning." the voice on the other end of the handbrain was suddenly much more interested.
"What? Okay, fine, are you going to release them in time for pushback, or are they getting bumped, and what's that got to do with my fuel load?" She put a hand over her eyes, shaking her head half in truth, and half for anyone watching her on the security cameras.
"We want to make sure they don't make your flight." The security man said.
"Have the flagged pax shown up here?" She asked the gate agent, who shook her head. "Well, the longer you hold me waiting for fuel, the more likely they are to show up. Let's get out of here, and leave them gateside for you."
That got a laugh. "I like you, little lady. No bitching about civil rights?"
"Here in the Fed? I'd have to ask the company lawyer what those even are in this particular port." She made a rude noise. "Look, let me get one excess plane and, what, two hundred and fifty… less your flagged pax, plus standbys from all the delays. So, two hundred fifty souls out of this mix, so you've got less to sort through."
"No standbys. I don't want them boarding under assumed names."
"No standbys… Oh, gracious. Hold one." Michelle moved the handbrain away from her mouth. "Security wants no standbys. I know, they're gonna be screaming at you, sorry." She traded worried looks with the gate agent, and moved the handbrain back closer. "Can we jumpseat known company personnel? Those are all cleared and checked and time-clocked to a fare-thee-well, and I see a list who need to get moved."
Security sighed. "Fine. Known security cleared."
"I have to ask, you're free to shoot me down. Known short-line precleared pax on standby? Not that the pax are circling like starving wolves or anything, mind you." She cleared her throat, and he snorted.
"You're determined to push the line, Missy.” Security had a warning note in his voice. "You don't want to be pushy today."
She could do warning, too. "I'm contemplating how much is going to get screwed if I lift with my fuel and baggage calculated for full load, and half my tonnage is caught in some checkpoint. Neither you nor I want to be in an investigation for failing to capture an orbital gate.” Before he could get pissy at having his ears pinned back, she sighed. “If I weren't running so damn late, I'd take fifteen minutes to tap the local newsies feed, and see what's got you stirred up like a kicked nearhornet's nest."
"Wouldn't take fifteen minutes. We have terrorists loose."
"Shit!" The curse came out by pure reflex. "Sorry, sir."
"No, you got it right." He replied grimly. "And we haven't caught your flagged passengers yet."
"Hopefully you scared them off. I have no desire to be turned into a flaming statement on the news feed for the glorious revolution." She shivered. "Well… fooey. This explains the flows going to hell in a hand basket.
"Get yourself, your passengers and your airline crew, out of here. I'm releasing your fuel hold. Can you recalculate?" Security was actually grimly helpful, now.
"Not in time. This is going to be really, really interesting at apogee. I have too many shifting numbers to fu… mess with fuel right now. I just need to get it and be gone." She sucked in her breath through her teeth. "I'll ask gate if they can recheck all cleared tickets to ID, even on assigned pax. It'll tie us down longer, but worth it if… if we have an uneventful flight in back."
"If you have even the slightest doubt, kick 'em out and call us. We will be right there for you." He replied.
The gate agent rolled her eyes, and stepped up close enough that not even mics could pick up her mutter over the crowd noise. "Doubt it. Likely just someone got crosswise with StateSec, and they're trying to keep 'em from fleeing the Federation. You worry about the flying, let us handle it. And yes, we'll get them started clearing and loading. Go on, get in the cockpit and get the door secured." The gate agent walked her to the door, all but manhandling her through it. Another agent was already on the hailer, calling for preboarding line up and wait.
One last obligation caught her. "Oh, we have four rampies being moved - I don't think they're on the list yet." That would ensure the Imperials had seats available and wouldn't be left on the ramp after the baggage was loaded. Her arm still hurt from where the idiot passenger had grabbed it; she was glad enough to repay the favor to them.
"I'll take care of it. You, go, now, before security gets stupider." Michelle bowed to the gate agent, and stepped into the jetway before she got shoved through by anxious hands. As she walked down the jetway, the temperature drop from the outside air that had leaked in made her glad for the coat, and made her wonder about the four gentlemen who'd moved to protect her. They didn't seem like terrorists, but… she took off the safety vest at the ramp door, to put it with the rest of the just-in-case collection.
Going Ballistic Page 1