Going Ballistic

by Dorothy Grant

  As she patted the coat, she found Blondie's ticket pack still in the inner breast pocket. His name was listed as Charles Grinnell, and he was on travel orders for the Imperial military starting from Iskravan, deep in Imperial lands, two hops to here at Lasku, then headed to Anueterriza, up in the part of the Fed that didn't want to be in the Federation anymore. She smiled at the ticket; the way they were moving as a team, the name was likely as false as the itinerary was true.

  And that final destination changed the Fed's definition of terrorist more than mildly. She rocked on her heels, thinking it over - the four of them had to be in the flagged group. But she wasn't Fed, herself; she was from the Misty Isles, and had grown up to the long history of the Fed's greedy grasp being constantly batted off. If they were headed over to advise on independence or joining the Empire, it wasn't her fight. She tucked the ticket away in the pocket, hung up the safety vest by the door, and headed in to the cockpit without saying a word to anyone.

  2

  Gate was having problems: the manifest wasn't coming through. Michelle swore under her breath, and calculated for half-passenger load, full luggage, and half fuel. She uploaded it with her protest about lack of numbers, and uncertainty if luggage would be loaded when pax wouldn't make it through checkpoints. She plugged into the systems, running one more check, and added a maintenance squawk on a slow leak in hydraulics. As she worked, passengers were loading. She could hear the sound of them talking, and feel the vibrations of feet walking, people shifting around the cabin. Everything was taking longer than normal, so she called Ground for winds and weather update, and pushback delay due to still waiting on fuel.

  Ten minutes later, fuel finally came and was finished just before the loading was complete. A quick triple-knock on the secured cockpit door signaled crew had gotten the last on board, followed quickly by the thumps of the cabin door closing and sealing.

  Michelle started the APU, or onboard power unit for ship's power,. Once she’d verified it was operational, she signaled for disconnect from the jetway. For ground crew warning, she started up the beacon and lights. Ground crew was already out on her wings and in front, ready for pushback, watching the jetway and directing bag trains clear. Comm lit up with a ground crew plugging into the plane. "We gave you full fuel load."

  "I only called for half?" She replied, making it into a question instead of a complaint. Ramp rats weren't dumb, but they also didn't prioritize like pilots.

  "You want to get back out of Anueterriza, you want the fuel on board. Supplies are getting hinkier over there than the Dogs are here. Last three birds from there came in on fumes." The crew lead replied, and she groaned.

  "Thank you. I'll recalculate." That required running all the numbers yet again, but she wasn't going to demand defueling, either. "Have you got any updates from gate on manifest? I can't raise them."

  "They're down. We'll check it out after you get out, and we get the next one in." He swore, softly. "Six hours til end of shift."

  "I feel you. I was supposed to terminate here, but dispatch tacked this one on because original pilot is no show, and it's in my duty day with about two minutes to spare." She shook her head. "Well, hell, can you shoot me the numbers you have for baggage? I'll at least have two out of three."

  "Can do. Incoming now, on company line. Jetway's clear; expect pushback in two."

  "Got it, thanks. Here's hoping your day gets better, man." She pinged the chimes to warn cabin crew of pushback; normally they had longer, but everything was either late or rushed today. On that thought, she followed with a ping to the cabin crew to let them know takeoff was expedited.

  "You too, Cappy. Safe flight." He unplugged, and she could feel the tug start up as soon as he was in position.

  The next plane in was already waiting on the ramp for the gate; she took a deep breath and verified ground crew was clear twice before starting the engines, then did one last flight control check. Only when those were completed did she turn the transponder on and call Clearance Delivery. This kind of rushed work was where lethal mistakes got made.

  Clearance Delivery was snappish and snarling, and took her call with an irritated note that she had ten minutes to make takeoff, or she’d miss her low orbit window and would need a three-hour ground hold until the next one. Ground, fortunately, wanted her gone just as much as she wanted out. "TransCon 1453, Cleared to taxi via Charlie, Alpha, hold short 15."

  "Taxi Charlie, Alpha, hold short 15." Once well clear of the terminal, she added a very little speed - suborbital birds weren't designed for ground maneuvering, and it wasn't safe to go much faster than a jog. She risked cracking the throttle anyway, adding a little extra speed to close with the tailfin ahead. It was already turning onto the runway, and she could coast to a stop, judging her weight by the momentum on the ground roll. The cabin crew ought to be making sure all luggage and pax were correctly stowed - an interesting feat, given an expedited clearance, fast taxi, and the general chaos of the day.

  Normally, she'd have chosen the penalty box at this point - but she wanted the hell out of the port before something else went wrong. So she coasted to a stop just before the in-ground lights and lines marking the very edge of the runway’s Alpha entrance, and called Ground. "TransCon 1453 holding short 15 at Alpha." As she called, she could hear the roar of the bird on the runway hitting takeoff power and on the roll.

  Ground had one last question before handing her over to Tower. "TransCon 1453, have you received updated manifest?"

  "Negative, Ground. TransCon 1453's rolling with what I've got, and best guesstimate on luggage from the ramp. They're not responding on company frequency." She had tried hailing. "I sent a message to dispatch to have someone check on them." It wasn't her problem anymore, not until she was back on the next leg.

  "We'll dispatch security to check. TransCon 1453, Frequency change to tower on 124.15 approved, good day." Ground was annoyed by the inefficiency - though going by the calls she'd been hearing since first entering the airspace on her last flight, her gate wasn't the only one screwed up.

  Michelle dismissed the problems behind her with a deep breath, and turned her attention to takeoff. She switched frequencies and waited for a heartbeat to make sure she wasn’t stepping on anyone else’s call, then said "Lasku Tower, TransCon 1453 holding short 15 at Alpha."

  "TransCon 1543, takeoff approved. Winds 120 at 15." Tower clearly wanted her out, too; she wondered if the penalty box for annoying planes was full. Now it was time to focus on spooling up as she pulled out, adjusting for slight crosswind, and leaving Lasku behind her. The plane was heavy, and she recalculated for max gross weight burn even as she climbed to burn altitude. Company policy said she had too much throttle, and should never climb at maximum rate of climb without heed to the comfort of the passengers in the back. Sheer bloody safety also said to hit every orbital gate window precisely, because there were lots of other things running around and suborbital and low orbital levels that were on track by the laws of physics, and couldn’t dodge. Well, she thought, today’s the day the pax learn why the seatbelt sign is on.

  The frequency was crowded with calls, snapping back and forth; runway crossings, hold short, diverts, landing clearances. She had barely sucked the gear and flaps up and was still in initial climbout when Tower snapped out in a single breath, "TransCon 1453 contact departure 135.75 good day."

  "TransCon 1453 135.75, good day" she replied, and got the hell off their frequency. As she switched over, the plane gave a very odd shake. Nothing showed up on her boards to explain that; all systems still green and pressures good. Departure, thankfully, cleared her to turn to course, and then cleared as filed. One small thing going right. She set a more comfortable and normal climb thrust, got on course, and completed her after takeoff checklist.

  For the next thirty minutes before burn it was going to be cleaning up and housekeeping: transferring fuel to balance load, updating winds and weather at destination, and the like. First on the list was pinging the cabin crew
to notify them she was ready for announcements. Unlike gate, cabin crew pinged right back. So she clicked on the PA and launched into the standard, cheerful, "Good afternoon! This is Captain Michelle Lauden, and you're on TransContinental Airlines Suborbital Flight 1453, from Lasku to Anueterriza." She rattled off winds and weather, ETA, and reminder to use the bathroom now and get back in the seats before suborbital burn. The odd shimmy came back here and there, and she still couldn't isolate it. Otherwise, everything was routine.

  Routine was normal. Normal was good. Normal was… not in the cards for this flight. The weights were still off, and she was too heavy, especially for the light passenger load she ought to have. She wanted to pop open the secured door and check, but there were fewer things stupider and more guaranteed to ensure something would go wrong than leaving her station pre-burn. So she pinged cabin crew, asking for a headcount, and cussed herself a little for not thinking of that earlier before the pax got up and were moving. Not that they had time during the short taxi. She uploaded a redone flight plan to company, noting heavier than expected, checked her orbital slot time, and added extra burn to the flight computer to make sure she made apogee at an arc that'd keep her from flaming out too soon. Better to arrive with not enough fuel to make it back than not arrive at all…

  The burn came as a relief. Headcount came back too light for the fuel burn, so something else was off on weights - but at least the engines were working fine. She snugged back in her seat, boards locked down and pinned by gravity deep in her seat. In burn, she updated and controlled with the implants as she aimed for orbit with an intent to miss. The few, all too brief minutes when she hit apogee and the engines cut off leaving her almost weightless, were the best part of every suborbital flight. Soon, she'd almost break orbit, nearly leave this dirtball behind. The stars were out there, and if she'd come from a richer country, or been more powerfully connected, she could have reached out to touch them. Someday, she swore to herself, she'd get offplanet and through a jump gate. Even if it was as a passenger herself, she'd fly so high she'd never come back down…

  The engine roar and gravity stopped, and she rose against the straps. For a moment, everything was beautiful… and then her boards lit off almost every warning possible in yellow to red, the cockpit filled with screaming, buzzing, beeping, and the implants hit her nerves with fire as the tingler made sure she was aware that something she dare not ignore was seriously wrong. She cursed under her breath and triaged; the highest alarms were trajectory and weight imbalance. Something had shifted dangerously starboard in the baggage compartments, throwing everything else off, and fire alarms were reporting that there had been a fire until there wasn’t any more oxygen in the cargo hold. She was shifting fuel to try to stabilize, and wrapped up in troubleshooting if there was a hydraulic problem to go with the electrical, or sensors on the fritz, when she heard a quiet click behind her. That was off… but it wasn't a warning bell, buzzer, or nerve tingler, so she put it aside as something to deal with later.

  The bird was still off trajectory, corkscrewing… she couldn't stop it, so she changed it into a slow barrel roll that wouldn't put undue stress on the frame when they came back down. That completed, she pinged cabin crew so they could cover it with a patter on seeing the earth below like you do from orbital habs, and went back to troubleshooting electrical and running fuel computations on the changing arc path.

  A hand came forward, and tapped her secondary screen's info tab, calling up a list of alternate landing sites that fell under the arcing magenta line's terminus. She yelped in surprise, and turned to see Blondie floating there with one foot anchored on the check pilot seat's harness. "How did you get in here? Get out!"

  He ignored both questions and demand, and tapped the list. "You want to land at Tercia." The computer obediently started recalculating flight there.

  "I… what? No, I want to land at Anueterriza. We have enough fuel. Nothing's on fire anymore, I can make it!" She was uncomfortably aware that the black box was recording everything she said, and looked at the ceiling, sending up a fervent prayer that she wasn't about to end up on an accident report with that quote prominently displayed.

  "The roll?"

  "Load shifted. It's going to make life interesting, but I can compensate." She ignored him, then, to concentrate on the rest of the electrical checklist. When all else failed… she reached over, trailing the attach cord from her wrist implant, and pulled the breaker. "We'll get there."

  "No, you won't." He said it very calmly, but there was something in his voice that made her turn and look at him again. "You're going to set down early." He wasn't floating free like pax should be, back in the cabin. Instead, he'd anchored himself off the check pilot's seat like an old null-gee hand, so he had the coiled tension of being able to move. And there was something in his eyes hard and dangerous. The cockpit felt very small, and the snug harness and implant linkages were trapping her down in her seat, unable to get away. For the first time since she'd set foot in Lasku, she realized that not all declared-terrorists were people who'd run afoul of the state, and she'd let four suspects onboard that they'd been serious about catching.

  "Is this is a…" She paused, and her eyes cut to the panel where the black box was stored. If she used the word 'hijack', it would trigger sixteen kinds of hell. So she carefully lifted a hand, mimed a gun with two fingers and a thumb, and put it to her temple.

  Blondie smiled, but his eyes remained deadly. "Don't even think that. This high up, you'll… incur certain measures." He picked his way around words that would set the computer off, just like her. "But you're going to encounter some difficulty getting into Anueterriza." He held up a finger when she started to draw breath to speak. "And you'll encounter even more trying to get back out."

  "Like what?" She tried to weigh the intent gaze, find a flightpath out of this…

  His smile had vanished like it never had existed. "Like what hit the captain who was originally scheduled on this flight." From the sound, it was very important. It was also completely useless, and she tried to keep her face from showing the frustration welling up. If he wanted to play stone wall, then she could play dense idiot.

  "I don't have a clue what that was! I got the amended schedule while en route." She shook her head. "Which is a bitch, because I don't have a crash pad there. God only knows if the company has anything booked; I'll probably end up out of pocket in the same hotel as the non-local cabin crew." A fresh alarm sounded, blooming alerts over the displays, and she whipped back to the boards. "Shit!"

  "What is it?" He spoke from behind her, lowest priority, and she waited until she'd finished the emergency action items to respond.

  "Hydraulic… dammit, that's same section that the electrical fritzed. What the hell - did something try to bash its way out of the unpressurized cargo? There's not enough air for another fire yet…" She spoke as she was calling up schematics and checklists, trying to isolate the problem that would impact two systems and work around it. "I don't care how you got in here, but you need to get back to your seat and strap in. Hard." She pinged cabin crew, and hit the turbulence announce.

  "I'm strapped in here." He replied calmly, and she heard the click of the buckles against the central lock.

  She waved him off. "Quiet." He didn't protest, and she triggered the mic. "OrbCon, TransCon 1453."

  After several seconds that seemed a small eternity, the radio came alive. "TransCon 1453, go ahead."

  "OrbCon, I'm doing a slow roll - can you check for any fluid leaks on the lower fuselage, aft of the wings?"

  OrbCon came right back, then. "TransCon 1453, are you declaring an emergency?"

  "OrbCon, just looking for external verification, if this is a sensor issue or hydraulics issue." She kept her tone even, light and calm.

  "Understood, 1453." Blondie stayed quiet and still, as she worked on checklists. The hydraulics reservoirs were dropping, so she started shutting down systems and rerouting as able. One other entry request came and was quickly di
spatched, and the channel stayed too quiet as other traffic held off their calls. OrbCon came back, sounding grim. "TransCon 1453, OrbCon."

  "Go ahead." Michelle was a little busy.

  "You have a bloody great gaping hole in your fuselage, 1453. What are your intentions?" Orbital Control couldn't declare the emergency for her, but he could damn well imply.

  "Standby." She replied, released the mic for a moment, trying to reconciles holes in fuselage… What had that odd shudder on climbout been? "OrbCon, can you send the imagery, over?"

  "Transmitting." He replied, and she brought it up with implants, as she was already out of hands. It was an oblique shot from a satellite, but the dark hole in the fuselage clearly shouldn't be there.

  Behind her, Blondie spoke. "That's an air defense strike. Oblique. Someone tagged us on the way out."

  "What? How the hell can you even tell? And get back in your seat."

  "Because it's punched in, not out. No metal peeling away from the hole." He replied, as she magnified the image and verified. "Did it hit anything vital?"

  "Oh, yes." She swore, softly, and keyed the mic. "OrbCon, thank you for verification. 1453 will be urgently requesting revised decent path after calculations."

  "Don't…" Blondie started, but she waved him off, as lower priority than calling Company, plotting a much gentler decent that would hopefully keep the tail attached and not tear anything up worse, and pulling up the scant list of alternates, checking the NOTAMs – the notices to airmen, warning of problems and restrictions. All were bad except for… Tercia.

  She looked at that, and turned around to glare at him, pointing at the alternate list. "Did you do this to me?"

  "Hell, no, lady. I'm on this flight, too." The feeling in that was heartfelt and genuine. "Tercia. Get there, and we can handle it."