Going Ballistic

by Dorothy Grant

  "No, I believe you." She nodded. "Okay."

  Blondie watched her carefully a moment longer, before he was satisfied. He held out a hand. "Give me your handbrain and your wallet."

  She did, a little hesitantly. He checked it was shut off, and then stripped the protective case. Flipping it over, he popped out the battery, and the hardcard. They went in three separate pockets inside his replacement jacket; she noted it was still stiff and shinier than the one she was wearing. "Wait a few days before you pick up a replacement; they'll be looking for purchases on either side of the offline window for this one. Get a cheap prepaid with cash." He stopped, and locked eyes with her again. "Do not put any information in. Don't store your contacts. No logins. Not even the same time-killer games, do you understand?"

  She nodded. "I do."

  "Good." He opened her wallet, stripping out all her IDs and credit cards. She winced as he tucked those away, and he caught the expression on her face. "I know, but do you really want to leave them an easy money trail right to your door?"

  Tom said, "You can live without credit."

  "Oh, I know. I just hate it. Sleeping on FBO couches because I can't afford a hotel room, eating the courtesy popcorn to fool my stomach into thinking it's full…" She curled her lips. "Been there before. Looks like I'm there again."

  "Sorry." Tom's apology was heartfelt, but she only shook her head.

  "It's fine. You're keeping me safe. And it's only money; I'll make more." She tried a smile for him, and if it was twisted, he understood.

  Blondie double-checked her wallet, pulling out old receipts, ticket stubs, and a little fortune cookie slip. "My first wife would be screaming and hitting me by now. You're taking this a lot more calmly than I expected."

  "Yeah, well, aviation. Between bankruptcies and furloughs…" She took a deep breath, and rubbed the back of her neck, grin getting even more crooked and heartfelt. "I can't say I've ever gotten comfortable to waking up somewhere away from base with no job and no money, but it's not my first rodeo." At his startled look, she said gently, "Plane's not on fire, engines haven't flamed out. We'll get through this."

  Tom laughed. "No, the phrase is, 'No one's shooting at me; it's still a good day.'"

  She snorted, and eyed her coffee cup. "Good thing I wasn't drinking. You almost got me there! But no, I'll be happy if I never see another gun again!"

  Blondie grunted, and Tom turned away quickly, checking on the coffee. She wondered what she'd said wrong, but Blondie found a smile for her. "Well, we'll see."

  "Yeah, my luck's not that good." She finished off her mug. "Think I can get a refill before you poach the rest of the pot?"

  "If you hurry." He smiled, and squeezed her shoulder. "And Michelle?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Here. Hold this and don't put it away yet." He gave her wallet back, and she frowned, not quite following until he pulled out his own wallet and extracted a small stack of large bills in mostly local currency. "You'll need this."

  "I'm not going to put you out,” she started, but he shook his head.

  "It's not charity. I'm going to use your card to lay a false trail, so think of it as an advance on the loan." He tucked the cash into her wallet when she didn't move. "If you get to the Empire, we can vacuum your accounts and sanitize them, and let you start over clean, all right? Think about it." With that, he tucked his wallet away, and walked off to nod to the men at the far end of the kitchen, and stick his head out to the porch. "Gentlemen! Briefing in ten. What's the chow?"

  She blinked, and not being a complete fool, tucked her thinner, lighter wallet away. "Food. Food is a good plan."

  "It is. Never know when your next meal's coming, so eat now." Tom replied, grabbing his thermos. "Go on, eat. I've got a few things to wrap up here."

  "Anything I can do to help? At the hangar?"

  "Nah. Best thing you can do is sit tight and keep your head down, and stay indoors. We'll be back with dinner and more beer before you know it."

  15

  "Pardon me." After another dinner on the grill that night, and at least one beer too many, Michelle was having more trouble than success at walking in a straight line. Fortunately, when her flight path took a sudden left hand diversion from intended destination, the wall was nice and solid and smooth to catch her. "I'd love to blame the rewired nervous system, but I suspect it's all the beer."

  Blondie laughed, and slipped an arm under her shoulders, the other hanging onto his beer. "Remember, up is this way. Forward is that way. Clearly, you need to drink more to get the hang of it." They staggered mostly forward, and not at all up.

  "Need help, Miller?" Twitch called, and Blondie grinned over his shoulder.

  "Nah, I got this. I'm less drunk than she is!" He abandoned his drink on a table and switched to using both hands to helped her up the stairs. She grumbled softly, pulling against him until he said in somewhat serious, if completely unsober tones, "If you actually accept my help, lovely, it makes walking easier on both of us."

  "Hah." But it would, so she sank into the rhythm of tackling each step with him.

  "Where'd you get stuck on being so damned independent, and closed-off, anyway?" He said it softly, as if he didn't really expect an answer. She didn't think she'd give him one, but her control over her mouth was about as shot as her sense of balance.

  "If you ask for help, you start expecting it. And then when there's none coming, you're in a world of shit. Better to never ask than to learn to be helpless." She frowned, thinking over the years.

  "Bullshit. You give help, you ask for help, and it all comes around. Everybody needs help sometimes; that doesn't make you helpless." For all he said it quietly, she felt the force of the scolding. Which wasn't his damn place to give.

  "Maybe for you. You have a…" She waved her free hand vaguely back at the people downstairs, and he held her up as the move unbalanced her. "All of them. I don't. And when you're done, you'll be gone, and I'll still be on my own."

  "You have more friends than you know." He said it like it was a fact, certain as gravity pulled down. She laughed, at that, and it wasn't a happy sound.

  "No, I don't. I'm dead to everyone I know, remember? Dead, broke and can't even use my logbooks and certs to climb back up the ladder again." She drew a breath that was entire too close to a sob. "I wanted orbit, and I'm ending up in a bloody backwater just like I came from, worse off than when I started. Why the hell do I even try?"

  "Dammit, woman, stop that self-pity shit!" He turned, and shoved her back against the wall. "You're too good for that." She looked up, to snap at him. When she did, he kissed her.

  Sheer confusion froze her for a moment as he curled one hand around her ass, the other twining into her hair. Even as her brain was still spinning, her body decided this was an excellent idea. Her nerves were coming online in ways she hadn't felt in years, and she clung to him, returning the kiss with interest as her body molded into his. When she slid her hands to his lower back, nails digging in, he ducked his head and bit her neck.

  And that was when her brain finally kicked into gear. She gasped, "Wait…" and he groaned.

  "Been waiting for days. Your bed or mine?" What his hands were doing now made it almost impossible to think. But she had to warn him…

  "I'm not on birth control." She gasped it out, and he froze, then cursed.

  "Dammit!" He picked her up, opened her bedroom door - she hadn't realized it was that close - and carried her in. "Dammit, fucking fool!"

  "Hadn't expected to need it!" Her face would light a fire, it was so hot.

  "Not blaming you, Michelle! Blaming me. You're drunk. I know better!" He put her down on her bed, and stepped away, looking around. "I'll get some water for you."

  "You don't have to." She just wanted to sink through the floor and disappear.

  "I'm taking care of you. Don't argue!" He looked away, taking a ragged breath and running both hands over his scalp. Much softer, then, "I'm sorry."

  She put her face in her h
ands, and spoke between her fingers. "So am I. Just… please, just go." After a long moment, she could hear him walk away, and the door close.

  Even as tired and as drunk as she was, sleep was still a long time coming.

  16

  "Good morning, Sunshine. How's the hangover?" Blondie greeted her in the living room before she even got to the kitchen, with coffee in hand.

  "Oh, it's fine, thank you." Michelle accepted the coffee gratefully, and noticed that Blondie was still standing right in front of her. When she squinted up at him, he smiled, and brushed a lock of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear.

  "You know, I usually don't believe you when you say fine. But this morning?" His voice was soft and gentle, and eyes shadowed. "I can believe your hangover's fine. How are you, though?" He was asking about more than the hangover, and she nodded.

  "Older and wiser about checking the alcohol percentage on local beers before accepting my third one." She smiled at him then, even if it made her face hurt, and didn't move away from the close heat of him or the touch of his hand on her face, even if the way his hand caressed her made a blush rise.

  At an explosion of cussing from the kitchen, Blondie jerked back, away from her, looking for the trouble. He turned back, and hesitated, then shook his head. "Right. Good. You'll be fine." At her confused look, he smiled a little crookedly, and chucked her under the chin before stepping away and looking at the holonews as someone turned the sound up across the house.

  Bright and perky as ever, the holoannouncer gushed into the camera, "Peacekeepers are being called up in order to protect the new government from the small but vocal breakaway faction intent on destabilizing relations within the Federation…"

  "And there's the invasion force." Grunveld's voice carried clearly over the perky newscaster, as they were shown pictures of supplies being stacked on a ramp and people in uniforms marching.

  "How do you figure they'll attack? Bomb all the cities and roll up in tanks?" She took the opportunity to step past Blondie and make her way into the kitchen. Several men were still eating at the end of the kitchen island, watching the holonews, mostly familiar but none part of Blondie's team.

  "Nah, they'll start with trying to summon the current government for a transition ceremony and kill them all in job lots. Like Westerling. Since Westerling, though, nobody's going to fall for that again, so they'll roll into the local capitol, occupy it, and declare themselves the rightful government. Start issuing edicts. The current government will promptly become the government in exile, and the occupiers will issue orders for their arrest, and anyone helping them."

  "Like they did for the remains of the Westerling royal family." Just because she didn't like politics didn't mean she was stupid.

  "Exactly. But only above a certain level; they'll keep the soldiers, police, inspectors and dog catchers on below a certain level. So they look legitimate. And when the government in exile can't pay, and they can…" Grunveld shrugged. "Politicians’ plans always seems simple on paper, and never survive first contact with reality."

  She laughed, and winced, rubbing her temples. "That's every flight schedule, ever, too. We make it work, anyway, but the focus is on keeping everybody safe, not killing them off.” She stopped, as the holonews switched to a still of her plane.

  “…will be sending an investigative team to find out what the illegal government of Nueva Terra and their Imperial allies are conspiring to hide from the citizens of the Federation about their attempt on TransCon 1453…"

  "Fuck."

  "And that's how they're going to cover their attempt to kill the team on Tuesday." Blondie spoke up. "And the attempt yesterday, and the attempt today, and… so, when are we pulling out?"

  "When we're ordered to. We have been tasked to find out what happened, and we will fulfill our task unless and until we are countermanded,” Grunveld replied. "Come on, sit down and have some breakfast. They're not going to get here any faster than they were before, and there’s no point panicking on an empty belly."

  She grimaced and nodded at the wisdom of that. "Good morning, gentlemen." There was a seat open next to the one Blondie had just slid into - and one open on the very opposite side of the counter. She debated the wisdom in her choice, even as she took the seat next to him, and leaned into the hug he gave her. "Where are the rest of the investigative board?"

  "They're already up and gone, trying to beat the clock." Grunveld slapped a stack of pancakes, eggs, and bacon on a plate, and slid it down to her, with a fork clattering along the countertop after it. "Eat."

  "Good gracious, I think I'll push the max tonnage of the next plane myself if I eat this much." She eyed the stack, shaking her head, but obediently dug in. After finishing off the bacon and starting on the eggs, she asked, "So why are you still here, Sven?"

  "Because I'm operations and human performance. I've gotten everything I need from the airplane itself, and the rest of the flight crew." He paused, and said grumpily, "And because we need one more body to play the shell game right. And I wouldn't trust any of the rest of the board to know tactics if it bit 'em in the ass."

  "I noticed they seemed much less military than you." She nodded, and Grunveld shook his head as Tom laughed.

  "They're engineers and analysts. Top of their fields, but not good at this." He shrugged, and pointed a fork at Blondie. "Miller's leading us on a merry chase today. It’ll lose you among the vehicles going every which way. Nobody else will notice you dropping out and popping up on the cargo side of the airport." He nodded at Blondie, who nodded back. "And that'll be the last of the civilians out of our hair, so we can concentrate on our duties."

  Michelle concentrated on cutting her pancakes into even, small squares, thinking that over even as the guys teased Blondie on losing 'his' civilian. "Duties like changing the transponder recognition on local air defenses, so they'll take out incoming Fed flights?" She didn't look up. She didn't need to; the silence was confirmation enough.

  "Without taking out the locals, ideally,” Grunveld agreed, and cracked another couple eggs into rings on the grill.

  "I'd appreciate if you didn't shoot me down again." She looked up, then, and if her attempt at a smile was a little wobbly, they were kind enough not to mention it.

  Blondie reached past her to grab some syrup. "Nah, it's your turn this week to shoot me down instead."

  She had just started to take a sip of coffee when he said that, and ended up snorting it out her nose when she laughed. "Ow! Ow, dammit!" At their laughter, she slid off the chair and staggered a little on the bad leg, glaring at Blondie. “You timed that, didn’t you?”

  He smiled so broadly his eyes nearly disappeared into the wrinkles. “Of course!”

  She was not going to throw the rest of the cup at him. She was an adult, she told herself, and that would be childish. Even if it’d be satisfying. Instead, she set it down with a solid thump. "Hell with this. I’m going to go take a shower."

  "Need any help?" Blondie asked sweetly, and she threw her napkin at him as the men laughed.

  17

  "Can you ride a motorcycle?" Blondie was waiting in the hall as she came out of the bathroom, and she reflexively clutched the towel tighter to her chest. The question took a second to penetrate, as did the helmet and pack in his hand.

  "Ride, or drive?" She frowned, and he laughed.

  "If you have to ask, you don't know how." He kept the helmet, and a thumped the pack against her chest, and she reflexively took it. He looked like he wanted to say something, then shook his head, and said instead. "Get dressed in this, and stuff anything you want to keep in the pack. Be downstairs in ten. We're moving out."

  "Got it." She closed the door on him, and looked around. She had so little, and every bit except one change of underwear, at this point, was borrowed. Still, no point in wasting what little cash she had buying it again.

  The outfit was skin-tight armorcloth; they'd underestimated her size. One pocket bulged out; she unsealed it, and found a w
allet in there. Her wallet, that had been on her nightstand. She opened it, gritting her teeth, only to find a new ID card in there, with her picture staring back out at her. Amber Porter, an Imperial full-citizen, licensed pilot… the name took a second to click, and she swore. She'd never told them where she was headed, but looked like they'd found out anyway. And taken care of her, without even asking. She would need to apologize when she got downstairs. First, she stuffed the wallet in a more comfortable pocket, and sealed and snugged the armorcloth down to indecently tight.

  Over that, he'd given her a dress shirt complete with epaulets in the fresh-out-of-the-package bright fake gold of a subsonic airline captain. Michelle held it up, and wondered if they'd decided she needed them for an interview (the cargo pilots would laugh at her), or if she was about to be bait. Either way, she put it and the dress pants on over the armorcloth, and swapped her loafers for heavy boots. Everything she currently owned or borrowed snugged down tight in the pack, and she bounced a few times on her toes, getting a feel for the boots. Unlike the armorcloth, they fit like they'd been molded to her. She'd definitely keep 'em if she had a chance; they were really nice, if stiff. The jacket hid the epaulets, at least, and made her feel slightly less ridiculous.

  She braided her hair into a tight crown, and at last put on the gloves. They were tight, stiff and uncomfortable. They also fit halfway up her arms, and she wasn't sure she'd gotten them secured correctly. She slung the pack over her shoulder and headed downstairs.

  Twitch was waiting impatiently for her, and shooed her off to the garage. "We're going to be doing a few quick changes today. So, be ready to jump when we tell you, all right?"

  "You've got the lead; I'll follow." She nodded. "Did I get the gloves on right?"

  "Let me see." He checked, and redid two straps. "There, good. Never worn protective gear before? What have you been doing with your life?"