As the only back up pilot, Fyn could be called on to fill in on any ship in the wing. With Sara’s squadron back at full strength, they were back on the rotation, which left Fyn at loose ends. He usually ended up heading down to the repair hanger with Briggs, since Carey was also on active in the main fighter bay.
“Chewie?” It was Carey on the radio he’d been issued.
“Yes?”
“I’ve got a man down. Can you come finish the shift?”
It didn’t take him long, since the repair bay was over the Dauntless hanger bay. Fyn felt his tension rise as he entered, catching some of it from the two crews on duty. Warriors had an instinct for when something was about to happen. The air in the bay was thick with it. Sara leaned against her ship, her expression cool and closed, her fingers tapping against the wing of her bird. Now that he’d seen her play, he knew she was hearing music in her head and playing it. She did pause to look at him as he walked past, a flicker of a smile passing over her face. Carey showed him to his ship, bravo2. It was inevitable that his call sign became Chewie, though he still wasn’t sure what the joke was. He wasn’t as hairy as the Chewie in the movie. And he didn’t howl.
Inevitably, he found himself watching Sara. Kitted out in her flight suit, she looked a lot like the first time he saw her, only without the blood. Her lashes were almost closed, as she half swayed to music only she could hear.
Suddenly her eyes widened and she reached for her helmet. The general alarm sounded a full heartbeat after that. He didn’t have time to think about what he’d seen. He was Carey’s wingman. When the order came, he followed Carey out. His tracking came up, something called a heads up display or HUD for short, and it was lit up.
“Looks like we got another furball, playmates,” Carey said. “Fangs out and form up on me. Let’s teach these gomers their second lesson in intergalactic etiquette. Stay on my six, bravo2.”
Carey’s ship angled, turning sharply and then headed straight for the line of incoming Dusan fighters. Right on his six, Fyn followed him in, fanning his wings to avoid incoming fire. He was more than happy to make some Dusan go away.
* * * * *
Sara wondered if she’d choke or hesitate, but she didn’t have time to think about anything as she dove into the dogfight. It was almost easy. There were so many enemy ships, it was like shooting fish in a barrel—well, probably like it, since she’d never shot fish in a barrel. Or out of one for that matter. Her bird responded like a trooper, at times it seemed all she had to do was think and it danced out of the way of incoming fire. She cut a swathe through a section of ships, then did a bat turn and made some more of them go away. No question who had the faster ships or best fighter pukes. The gomers attacked in groups of five ships, close flying, which made it easy to take out more than one ship with each shot.
The formation of Dusan craft broke up and tried to reform. One of them took out one of his own guys. A ship tried to play chicken with her and lost. As she dodged, rolled, spun and fired, her SA, “situational awareness” was so high, she knew where every friendly was and how they were doing. It was odd, but she was used to odd. More squadrons poured out the fighter bay of the Doolittle and the enemy began to fall back. Like dogs after sheep, they wanted to follow, but the Old Man whistled them home to mother. Sara reluctantly turned her nose toward the ship. She was lined up in the hawk circle, waiting her turn to go in, when the autopilot abruptly engaged and her ship pulled out of formation.
“Where you going, bravo5?” Carey asked.
“I’m having a problem with my auto pilot.” Sara tried to regain control of her craft. She could sense the program that had taken control, but couldn’t seem to disable it. That was a first. As her mind did battle with the computer program, she pulled up the heading. It was taking her back to Kikk—to the middle of the sea where she’d seen the island.
“Are you declaring an emergency?”
“Affirmative. I seem to be heading back to Kilo Papa.”
She heard Carey call the Doolittle. “Bravo2 you’re with me. We’re going to follow her in, sir. The rest of squadron, return to the ship.”
“Negative,” Halliwell’s voice cut in. “Our friends might be monitoring activity. If they think they splashed three craft, they might come back. We’ll send help as soon as we know they’ve withdrawn.”
The Old Man had a point. “I’ll be fine, sir.”
Sara watched Carey and Fyn break and turn back to the ship. She entered the atmosphere at a better speed this time. No bat turns or quick prayers. She waited, half knowing what she’d see and when. Her ship slowed more and then she saw it. A city on an island. This time it didn’t disappear. The horizon quivered for a moment, then sharpened. It felt like she passed through something.
FM—freaking magic.
“Bravo5?” Carey’s voice was sharp. “We’ve lost you on radar.”
“I’m still here, sir.” Sara looked at her tracking. She could still see the Doolittle. “I can see you on my screen. Are you reading me?”
“Roger that.” Carey sounded relieved. “Report when you’re stable one.”
“Affirmative.”
Sara pulled up her life signs tracking, but got an empty screen. Sara was just a passenger as her Dauntless made a slow, sweeping approach, then settled, like a broody hen, in an open space between tall buildings. Her top retracted with a hiss. She had a feeling she’d have been ejected if the program could have managed it.
“This is bravo5 reporting stable one.”
“Roger that. Stay put for now. We don’t want you suddenly reappearing if the Dusan are watching.”
“Affirmative.” Sara pulled off her oxygen mask and helmet, unhooked her harness, and then stood up and looked around. That icy chill made a come back, running down her spine and then spreading out like tentacles. This was the city from her dreams. Ahead was the broad avenue she’d walked down in her sleep last night. The buildings appeared to be made of stone, with square towers and battlements that reminded her of castles in England and Europe. It looked like broad pathways had wound between the buildings and green spots but everything was overgrown, giving it a Sleeping Beauty aura, only once again with the Tim Burton twist. If there were a sleeping princess and searching prince, they were probably gargoyles or ghosts.
She should stay with her ship, but the pressure to explore was almost physical in its intensity.
Okay, so she was probably going to take a short walk. The Colonel had said, stay put, not stay in your ship. Put could be over there, say by that door that looked particularly inviting. And she’d still be in radio contact. She shrugged out of her zoombag and pulled out her P-90. Just because she got no life signs readings didn’t mean there wasn’t something here her ship didn’t know was life. She checked her gear, and then climbed down. The foliage pressed in on every side and was wild and tangled. It was hard not to feel she’d wandered into a fairy tale. Just hoped it wasn’t one of the ones with a nasty ending.
With her P-90 at ready, she moved slowly forward, trying not to let her imagination run wild. The silence was complete. Not even bug sounds. Did this island have those things Fyn didn’t like? The ones that came out at night? She reached the door and it slid open for her. The inside looked dim and cool. She stepped forward, stopping just shy of entering and lights came on inside. Now she could see a large hall. It smelled musty and dusty and looked it, too. But at some point it had been very grand.
Beautifully carved wood marched in arches out of sight. What had been rich hangings rotted on walls and windows. She could see chairs, couches, and alcoves that looked sort of official. It reminded her of an upscale office entry, maybe. Really upscale. Except for the smell of moldering fabric.
She took one last look at her ship, then went down the rabbit’s hole though her landing was better than Alice’s, since it was just a step inside the door. Once she was inside, the door closed. She whirled…and it opened again. Okay, that was good. She turned and paced slowly forward, still weap
on’s ready. The rotting wall tapestries could have been on any castle’s wall in England. The figures she could still see looked human, though Sara didn’t see any animals.
Maybe it was a small island. No pets allowed.
The floor looked stone, but then a path of lights appeared in front of her, kind of like an invitation.
Okay.
She looked at it for a long moment, debating the wisdom of following it. It wasn’t much of a debate. She’d seen the movies on Sci-fi. She knew what could happen.
“I don’t think so.” Her voice echoed around the room. Now she felt that insistence again, along with it came a flicker of reassurance. There was a computer up there and it was trying to communicate with her, she realized.
“Are you the one who hijacked my bird?”
In the end, it was curiosity that won out. She kind of got how Dorothy felt about the yellow brick road. She knew it was probably a bad idea, but dang. It was a freaking yellow brick road. She started along it, moving slow and stopping once to look back in time to see it disappear behind her. Maybe she should drop breadcrumbs or something. At least nothing looked like gingerbread though that didn’t mean there wasn’t a Wicked Witch of something somewhere.
She reached a central staircase, a real fancy one, like in the movies. She went up slowly, craning to see ahead at the bends. The lights beckoned her up past the first floor and the second. On the third floor, the light path turned to the right, leading her down a hall, around a corner to yet another staircase. Thanks to Briggs, she wasn’t panting, but that didn’t mean she was happy. Why couldn’t the lights have pointed to an elevator? Surely people who could do this knew about lifts?
This staircase was smaller, almost circular, with tighter turns and a faster climb rate. Sara figured she was climbing into the central tower she’d seen from outside. She became aware of a slight buzzing in her head and felt an ache around her temples. That was weird. She didn’t get headaches.
She rounded the last curve and she was there—top of the tower. For a castle, the room was oddly high-tech, in a woodsy, Lord of the Manor kind of way. Possibly even a Lord of the Rings way. A series of consoles, made of rich, dark wood, circled the room on three sides. There were chairs at each station. The side without a console had a sort of situation room map or screen fixed to the wall. Sara went up to it first and poked it with her finger. It felt like jelly and it rippled, like the surface of really thick water.
“Weird.” She turned to the consoles. “Which one of you bad boys is trying to talk to me?”
Her voice sounded loud in the heavy silence. And the consoles just sat there.
“Okay. Eenie, meanie, miney, Moe.” She walked up to Moe and sat down, feeling like Goldilocks, except the chair fit her just fine.
She looked at the dark screen in front of her. Almost hesitantly she reached out and touched it with the tip of her finger. It lit up for her like it had been waiting for her touch. But that was just the opening salvo. Where her finger touched the screen, tiny beads of light formed and flowed into her finger, before she could jerk it back. She could see them run along the surface of her hand for a few seconds before they disappeared. Okay, that couldn’t be good. Only…it didn’t feel bad. She flexed her hand. It had kind of tickled and it didn’t feel unfriendly. She studied her hand. No scales or anything.
She carefully put her palm against it, her fingers spreading out. The little beads swarmed her like fire ants. Her arm glowed…
It wasn’t unpleasant until they slammed into her brain-housing group.
“Crap!”
She grabbed the sides of her head, but it didn’t help. After a bit, the pain began to ease, slowly fading to a dull ache. She could see again. And speak. Now she was probably going to turn into ET, an evil version who tried to take over mom. Not to mention the humiliation of being as dumb as those gomers on Sci-fi. She stared at her outstretched hands for long seconds, waiting for something to happen but nothing did. She looked down at the console and realized she knew what it was for. It was a communications station. And the others were weapons control, power management, cloak, fire control and tracking.
“Sweet.” Maybe she wasn’t going to turn into an evil gomer. Maybe it was just an information exchange. She realized that map thing on the wall had lit up. She could see the Doolittle and the Dusan ship—it was lurking behind a small moon. As she watched, the Dusan vessel jumped out of range.
She got on the radio. “Home plate? The Dusan vessel has withdrawn.”
There was a pause, and she wondered if her radio was being blocked, then the Old Man spoke.
“How do you know that, bravo5?”
That was a good question. She wished she had a good answer.
Chapter Four
The city…resisted when Sara started making her way back to the lower floor.
“It’s a direct order.” Her voice echoed in the empty rooms in a very eerie way. “And you gave me a headache. Not friendly. Though I am happy you didn’t turn me into an alien hybrid creature.” Yet.
The resistance eased some, leaving a sense it felt almost forlorn.
“Look, I’ll try to come back, if they’ll let me.” Though the Old Man was pretty pissed. “If I’m not in the brig.”
Now she wished she’d waited to call the Doolittle, at least until she learned more about the weapons systems. It felt like she’d just peeked in the window at the pastries, but been pulled away before she could try anything. She made it down to the first floor. No lights marked her retreat. Now the rooms seemed shadowed and her footsteps sounded loud and lonely.
She reached the door—and it didn’t open.
“Please don’t do this. I have to follow orders.” Her voice echoed off about ten walls before fading away. After a pause, the door snapped open. Sara readied her weapon and stepped out. The light was already fading. Short days. If they didn’t get here before full dark, she was going back inside. End of story. Orders or no orders.
“Bravo5,” Carey’s voice crackled in her ear. “I’m not seeing your island yet.”
“Just follow my heading in. Once you pass through the cloak, you should see it.” But would they? Would it let them in? Sara ran to her ship, climbed in and turned on tracking. “I can see you both. You’re on course. You should be passing through the cloak…now.”
“Dang! I see it!”
Sara released a sigh of relief and climbed back out of her bird.
“Bravo1, we’ve lost you and bravo2 on tracking.”
Just as Sara had, they reassured the Colonel they were fine and in short order, they landed on either side of Sara’s craft. Carey and Fyn clambered out, both clearly relieved to see her in one piece. Before Carey could speak, Sara gestured around her.
“Would you have been able to just sit here, sir?”
He tried to look stern, but finally grinned. “Hell, no.” He looked at her, “But that doesn’t mean you aren’t in trouble. Have you got control of your ship yet?”
“I don’t know.” She started toward it, then stopped and turned. “You don’t want to see anything first?”
“We plan to look around, but the Old Man wants you heading back.”
“Oh.” Sara nodded. “Right.” She climbed in and it wouldn’t start.
Carey hid a grin. “Move, let me try.”
He couldn’t get it to fire either.
“Try one of ours,” he ordered.
They wouldn’t start either.
“This better not be a one way trip, Donovan.”
Was it? She didn’t get that feeling from the computer, but how to explain that to the Colonel?
“Sir, I wonder if maybe there’s an AI here, an artificial intelligence? Maybe it wants us to look around before we leave—” she hesitated. Would it let them leave? With the thought came that feeling of reassurance again. “Maybe it just wants company.”
He stared at her for a long moment. “Fyn, try your bird again.”
Fyn climbed aboard and the engine fired
, but as soon as Sara tried to get in, it shut down.
“I think it wants you to stay. Any idea why?”
Sara had an idea, but she wasn’t about to say it out loud. She kind of shrugged.
“Maybe it’s a guy AI.” Fyn grinned.
He tapped his radio. “Sir, something about the shield we passed through is messing up our…avionics, but Donovan thinks she can get it worked out. She just needs a little time. Fyn and I are going to take the ten cent tour while she works on the problem.”
While Carey talked to the Colonel, Sara looked at the building. Her ship wasn’t going to start until it was good and ready for her to leave that was clear. She just hoped it didn’t involve more pain.
Carey jumped clear of her ship. “You all right, Donovan? You look a little pale.”
“I’ve got a bit of a headache, sir, but I’m fine.”
“Take some Tylenol.” He readied his P-90. “And let’s start the tour.”
“I’ve only been inside this one building, but I think it’s their central command.” Sara led the way to the door. “Or it was. I haven’t seen anyone.”
“Yeah, we didn’t pick up any life sign readings but yours.”
Sara leaned close to Fyn as he came up. “Do you think there are those things on this island, you know, the ones that go bump in the dark?”
Fyn stopped and looked around. “If there are biters on this island, the repair should wait until it’s light.”
Carey stopped. “Biters?”
Fyn shrugged. “That’s what they do, so that’s what I called ‘em.”
Carey got on the radio again. “Sir, we’re going to have to delay the repairs until it’s light again. According to Fyn, night can be interesting.”
The Colonel was not happy, but agreed there was nothing else to be done. At least while they were inside, they could monitor Dusan activity.
Nebula Nights: Love Among The Stars Page 183