The Eons-Lost Orphan

by Laer Carroll

  Or so it seemed to her. To everyone else they saw her snap the rifle up and fire five rapid shots without aiming. Without looking at the results of her shots she put on the safety of her rifle, removed the empty magazine, and lay the rifle and magazine down on the table in front of her.

  "Be a wonder she even came close to the target," said someone quietly to a companion.

  The Second said nothing. She raised a cigar-sized viewer's scope to an eye and trained it on the target 300 meters away. Then she lowered the optic, looked at Jane strangely, and handed the optic to the LT.

  "My God," the officer whispered. Then she said to Jane, "Congratulations on qualifying, Ms. Cook."

  "What?" "What?!" "Holy shit!" said a third Marine who'd raised another optic to his eye.

  He turned to the rest of the platoon. "It's a perfect score. And it forms a cross inside the bull's eye."

  Everyone had to borrow an optic to see the results for themselves. Everyone looked at Jane in wonder, a few in fear. Until someone said, "It's got to be a trick."

  Jane said, "No trick. You can check the results personally. Maybe run down to the target backdrop, place a target manually, set up a vidcam to watch as bullets strike, and retire inside the caretaker's shack while I fire."

  The LT said, "I trust Ms. Cook not to pull a stupid stunt. Though I'm curious to see how she passes the middle distance qualifications since she passed over a pistol for a handful of ball bearings."

  The answer was that she wore the ball bearings in a leather belt around her waist out of which she could pluck one of the marble-sized balls and fling them with a whiplash throw unerringly at the targets. She could throw two at a time, instants apart, in a left-right twisting body action.

  Similarly she made good on her claim that she could put a throwing knife into an eye at 50 feet.

  "Well, that settles it," said the female corporal who led one of the fire teams. "From now I'm calling our Jane The Terminator!"

  <>

  This was what Jane was called for the rest of the time she spent with the Marines that summer.

  The nickname was not a joke. By the time she left she'd killed two would-be snipers with her own counter-sniper shots before they could get shots off.

  Two weeks before she left another of her exploits made her reputation a legend. She and her fire team were pinned down behind rocks midafternoon during a patrol. When darkness came she disappeared into the night armed only with her stiletto. Seven of seven ambushers died that night.

  Chapter 18 - USAF Academy - Summer 2

  The A12

  Jane spent the first six days of July with her family in Pasadena. Then on the seventh day she took a plane to Las Vegas International in Nevada then a Flyt taxi to Ellis Air Force Base on the northeast edge of that fabled city.

  Approaching the sprawling giant base the chatty driver proudly pointed to a big upcoming green sign.

  "See that? It means security will automatically recognize me and let us on base. You were lucky when you chose me as your personal driver, Sir. Hold on to that card I gave you. You need to go anywhere in this area and I will personally take you or my two partners will. We offer the best personalized travel service in a hundred miles. Don't forget."

  "I certainly won't, Muhammad."

  True to his word, the taxi driver zoomed through the security gate and directly to the Incoming Personnel office. There he rushed to get Jane's duffel bag out of the trunk of his car and wish her a good stay and thank her for her generous tip.

  Much of the office was automated and Jane was soon in a self-driving golf-cart on her way to a Visiting Officer's Quarters. She had a nice if small room with its own bathroom and shower and modest living room. She put away her clothing and toiletries and reviewed where she was to go next.

  This was to the 66th WPS, or Weapons Squadron. Her orders, issued on old-fashioned paper as well as electronically, told her to make an appointment "soon upon arrival." She did so via her vear and was given a half-hour slot at 11:30.

  This gave her plenty of time to freshen up and change from civilian clothing to military. All she had was a Marine field-duty camo outfit "requisitioned" (stolen) from her stint in Venezuela. It was a questionable choice but better than the alternative: showing up not looking serious about her stay here.

  Another ride on a self-driving golf cart dropped her off at the headquarters of the 66th WPS 15 minutes early. She spent much of that time examining the many photos on several hallways she felt able to navigate without intruding on anyone.

  At a couple of minutes before her appointed time a female sergeant with Tech Sergeant stripes on her grey-and-beige short-sleeved camo shirt found her in the hallway.

  "Cadet Kuznetsov? Come this way."

  The office she issued Jane into was large and had a window view. The man behind the desk stood and he and she exchanged courtesies, then he ordered her to stand at ease and to sit.

  The dapper Italian (or so Jane guessed) had major's gold sunburst insignia on his camo collar tabs.

  "Hope you had a good trip. You get settled in OK?"

  "I did, sir. Quite comfy quarters."

  "Yes. We work people quite hard here. Little things like that help keep us sharp."

  He eyed her uniform. "I see you're in a Marine uniform. Is that where you were last?"

  She nodded.

  "What did you do there?"

  "I killed people, Sir."

  He laughed. "No, really."

  The tech sergeant was standing leaning against a wall nearby with her arms crossed. She spoke up.

  "I think she's serious, Boss."

  He looked carefully at Jane, then shrugged.

  "Well, we'll try to save you the trouble of doing that here at 66th. We'll put you in cockpits, as per your request. But in exchange we hope to pick that genius brain of yours."

  "I'm not a genius--"

  "If not you're the next best thing. Don't waste our time, of which we never have enough, putting yourself down to make us lesser brains feel better about ourselves. Our job is too important to waste time on false modesty."

  The sergeant said, "Take that as gospel, Cadet. We know our worth. We don't need you to bolster our self-esteem."

  Jane thought they were sincere. But would they remain that way if she showed all that she could do? She'd have to dole out the revelations and see if she could take them at their word.

  She sat up straighter. "Then never assume that what I tell you is false even if it sounds like total baloney. If I tell you something is true, the chances are very good it is. Verify, as you should, but don't waste that precious time you spoke off being astonished or proclaiming it impossible.

  "Now let me brief you on what my 'genius' consists of. I have an understanding of math and physics that few can equal on this planet. That does not mean I am creative, however. I can't come up with off-the-wall inventions."

  That last, about not being creative, wasn't quite true but should keep them from trying to get her to be super creative.

  "I have the freak ability to memorize stuff. Give me an electronic copy and it's in my head. I can read it off just as if I had it on hard copy in my hands. But I can no more understand that text than anyone else right off the bat. I have to work at understanding it and that takes time.

  "Uhmm. I'm a natural at flying. Put me in a cockpit and the plane becomes part of me. I can put it through its paces just enough to near-but-not-quite redline it. But aerial tactics and strategy are areas I must study and master. That doesn't come automatically."

  She thought for a moment, then gave a short nod to show that she was done. The major answered her.

  "That's plenty. Now let's have lunch and I'll introduce you to some of our instructors. Basically we teach teachers, other pilots who can pass on the knowledge and skills of advanced aerial attack missions.

  "Go wait in the lobby a few minutes. My First and I have to take care of a few admin details that won't wait. We should be no more than ten minutes."
r />   "Yes, sir." She stood and they exchanged courtesies before she left.

  <>

  "What do you think, First?"

  "This confirms everything we heard, Boss. She may be a big help with the impossible job we do here."

  "Did she really kill people?"

  "I was checking things as you two talked. She has nine confirmed kills in Venezuela. All attacks by drug smugglers. The first two she took out with sniper fire before they could shoot anyone. The next seven she took out with a knife during the night when her fire team was pinned down behind some rocks and abandoned buildings."

  "Pinned down? You mean they didn't have air support?" His voice was a mix of anger and incredulity.

  "Military air is still spotty there. Mostly it protects the three major factions from each other."

  He shook his head. "Killed hostiles with a knife. In the dark. A pretty little girl like that."

  The tech sergeant smiled, a malicious glint in her eyes.

  "I've warned you before, Boss. Seems as if I have to warn you yet again. Women are deadlier than men. We don't go muscle to muscle with you. We attack from behind. With weapons."

  His reply had its own hint of friendly malice. "I think she knew you were checking up on her with your vear. I noticed her glance at you for a second, a long second. I suspect she has a reverse-read app on her vear and can see your text display."

  She was unconcerned. "A smart woman like that would expect it. By the way, she has a nickname. The Terminator. I suspect she could clean out this entire building in about ten minutes."

  "Well, let's not give her cause to. I'll be back from lunch with her and our pilot instructors. I look forward to the reactions of those overblown egos to her."

  "You have a sick sense of humor, Boss."

  <>

  At the hour-long lunch Jane did notice evidence of the massive self esteem of men and women of great accomplishments in the seven men and two women who'd been chosen to be teachers of teachers. They talked down to her when they bothered to talk to her at all, even though the major had introduced her as the guest of honor of their lunch. They spoke of advanced matters to each other as if she wasn't worth them attempting to make their speech comprehensible.

  It didn't bother her. She'd seen the phenomena before. She'd expected it.

  At the end of lunch the major held her back as the others left the private dining room he'd lain on for their lunch in the cafeteria.

  "What do you think of our instructors, Cadet? Think you can work with them? Maybe one of the women?"

  "I can work with any of them. Maybe Captain Pickell. He seems the brightest of them."

  And doesn't he know it. The Major kept the thought to himself.

  Outside the cafeteria the Major increased his pace to catch up with the clutch of pilots.

  "Captain Pickell. You've drawn the short straw today. For the rest of the day you get to babysit our guest. Take her up and make her puke her lunch, then share your bounty of wisdom with her."

  The middling height black man showed but did not express his thought of Oh do I hafta?

  "You got it, Boss. Come on, Cadet. Keep up."

  He led her to a Stores, Supplies, and Equipment building a few blocks away. Along the way he questioned her about her experience with flying, seeming to assume she had none. He was surprised but tried not to show it when she said she had military licenses for basic helicopter, transport, and fighter aircraft.

  "Good. That'll speed matters up quite bit. I might even get off early today."

  At the SSE building he oversaw her getting two flight overalls her size and flight equipment. Of the most critical equipment, helmet and oxygen mask, he was meticulous in ensuring she got ones that fit her exactly, rejecting several which Jane would have accepted.

  "Good enough isn't good enough, Cadet. Only the very best is good enough."

  He had everything boxed up for end-of-day delivery to her VOQ room except one set of overalls and her helmet and mask. Those he had her carry while they walked to the hangar for the several A-12 ThunderStroke aircraft owned by the 66th, the successor to the A-10 II Thunderbolt.

  "The Boss was joking about making you puke, Cadet, but we do need to explore your stress limits in the air. What experience have you had with aerial acrobatics?"

  "Only what I had at Laughlin. I soloed in both the A-6 and the T-50 and my instructors stressed me only a bit. They focused mostly on stall recovery."

  "Well, we'll work up to your limits in easy jumps. Well, here we are. Ain't they pretty?"

  The hangar was the length of an American football field and housed several of the A-12 aircraft. The giant doors to the outside were closed to the typically 100 degree heat of the Las Vegas summer and brightly lit by neon lights overhead.

  "Personally I've rarely seen anything more beautiful, Captain Pickell."

  The A-12 was a near-twin of the "Warthog" to the hasty or uneducated eye. It had the same blunt features and straight wings as its ancestor and a straight tail with two end-of-tail vertical stabilizers. Two big "cans" on its waist supplied turbofan thrust.

  Closer viewing revealed that it was longer, had smaller cans, had a sharper though still blunt nose, and a two-seater fore-and-aft cockpit.

  The Captain gave her a full minute to admire the vehicles while he looked on with the same pride a father showed for a newborn. Then he told her to suit up, gestured toward a restroom. In the unisex toilet Jane replaced her Marine uniform with the flight overalls and left it in the toilet rolled on one of the several shelves in the room. Her boots would be adequate for a brief check flight.

  The Captain had ground crew roll stairs up to one of the aircraft. Jane and he got in, she in the front cockpit, he in the back. They donned their helmets and plugged in electrical and breathing connections. They put their masks on briefly for checks to ensure they could breathe properly, then let them hang loose on their helmets so they could talk within the cockpit.

  "How do the controls look, Cadet? Think you could taxi out to a rollout point and get this thing into the air?"

  Jane+Robot+plane answered. "Give me control. I will have no problems doing whatever you tell me to do."

  "OK. Don't get me killed, Cadet."

  JANE powered on as the nearest hangar door rolled open, then engaged the electrical wheels. Slowly SHE moved out of the hangar and turned right onto the roadway leading to the take off points. Once HER engines were pointing back down the roadway and away from any buildings SHE triggered the two turbofan jets. They began to wind up toward cruise power and the fans began to spin faster.

  The aircraft moved more sprightly now and rolled some 500 feet to a left turn. SHE rotated onto the access roadway and began to move along it.

  Meanwhile JANE was on the radio to the control tower, startling the Captain who'd been planning to take over that communication. SHE called the control tower and identified HER plane type and tail ID, then requested permission for a check flight under the supervision of the Captain.

  The Captain had been ready to interfere the instant the girl did something dangerously wrong. An artist in the air himself, he recognized another. He settled back in his seat, still alert in case he had to take over from the girl, but sure he would not have to.

  The tower gave JANE permission to take off. SHE engaged power to HER engines and begin to move down to the runway to take off.

  <>

  An hour after quitting time the nine pilots of twelve currently on duty in the 66th met at SuperDogs, one of several restaurants on the side of the base which butted against the city of Las Vegas. This was a rare occasion. They were all friendly but only two or three were friends. They had varied lives apart from their duty.

  They ordered food and drinks. SuperDogs specialized in hot dogs of all kinds. It billed itself as the United Nation of Dogs. They also served hamburgers and sandwiches and had a thriving take-out and delivery service.

  The pilots ordered their favorite dishes and beer or wine or soft drinks
or, the big seller in this hot climate, iced tea. Settling down they asked Pickell about the little girl who'd invented a radical new jet engine.

  "'Little' is right. She looks like a sixteen-year-old blond cheerleader. Moves like a cheerleader, too, the ones who are always doing those acrobatic routines."

  He stopped to doctor his hot dogs with relish and mustard, lubricating his voice with a Coke.

  Wanda, one of the two women pilots in their group, said, "I saw her in that YouTube video where she introduced her jet engine. That is how she comes off: a pretty little cheerleader and nothing more."

  Pickell continued. "Smart. She has the entire A-12 tech manual in her head. Says it doesn't mean she understands any of it, any more than if she had it in front of her in her hands. But ask her about any subsection and she can explain it to you."

  He munched on his dog, happy with it and the chance to tease his companions by drawing out his narrative.

  "She's likable. Has this way of listening to you as if you're the most fascinating person on the planet. Might be an act. If so she deserves an Oscar.

  "It's when she gets in the cockpit that you begin to realize how special she is. It's as if she BECOMES the plane, sort of like those combinations of horses and men, centaurs."

  Wanda laughed. "Listen. The Pickle is actually waxing poetic."

  "Make fun of me. My guess is that tomorrow the Boss is going to make YOU her babysitter.

  "So I had her do a short check ride. She already has control-tower protocol down pat. Takeoff was smooth as silk. I had her go out to CR13."

  East of the base was a large desert area which abutted Arizona. Its only saving grace for humans was that the Colorado River ran between the two states with dammed sections giving parts of it big miles-wide lakes. CR13 was one of a couple dozen designated areas at different heights which were routinely used for check rides.

  "I had her do ovals at 13's height, then 22, then down at CR1." An "oval" was a ten-mile long oval path where an instructor have a pilot perform at a routine level while the instructor led her through all the displays and control of an aircraft.