Pressing the engine button, she breathed a sigh of relief when she heard the rumble of the ship's engines coming to life. Quickly, she went through the pre-flight check. Everything seemed to be in working order.
The open hatch light caught her attention and she glanced over her shoulder and down the short hall to see the old man standing in the open hatchway.
"You in or out?” She shouted to be heard over the roar of the ship’s engines. “My personal advice? Choose in!”
Just then, there was another explosion. It rocked their ship and seemed to galvanize the man. He rushed to the bridge, dropping into the empty chair behind hers.
“I’m in!” he shouted, pulling on the safety straps. “Go!”
“Roger that,” Angel agreed, making note of the man's off-world accent.
Damned tourist. He picked a hell of a time for a visit.
Pressing two buttons, she closed the hatch door and opened a channel to Flight Control, though she suspected this last protocol was a waste of time under the circumstances.
“Tower, this is Icarus. Request permission to take off.”
A voice crackled over the open comm-link. “Icarus, permission denied.”
Yeah, that's what she thought they'd say. Not that anyone was heeding their instructions. Through the front view panel, Angel watched those ships still intact lifting off, desperate to escape the dangers of remaining grounded.
On the far side of the tarmac, five terrorists appeared, dressed in their symbolic silver and blue uniforms, arms filled with bucking pulse cannons, muzzles blazing. Wherever they aimed, destruction followed. On the other side, less than twenty meters from the Icarus, two Avengers stood, their gazes scanning the area. Angel knew they were searching for her.
Just then, they turned her way. Their gazes locked briefly with Angel's and she saw her own demise if she didn’t act quickly.
Switching on her perimeter view screens, she activated the upward thrusters. “Hold on!” she yelled to her passenger. “This bird’s gonna fly!”
"We can't," the old man shouted. "It's too crowded."
“They’ll make room for one more.” Her voice carried more confidence than she felt.
“What if they don’t?”
“Then I guess it’ll be a short trip.” She shut off the stasis field and the ship, released from its anchor, rocketed upward.
Using the upward momentum to gain a height advantage over the other ships was less about strategy and more about being unfamiliar with the ship's controls. As she flew too close to the other ships, the proximity alarms started blaring.
Angel found the button to turn them off. She didn't need that blaring noise to tell her she was flying too close to the other ships.
When an Orion Stellar cruiser materialized suddenly in front of them, Angel slammed the guidance stick to port. The ship, responding immediately to her touch, banked sharply, nearly spilling its passengers from their chairs.
"Tighten your security straps," Angel shouted as she did the same.
Seconds later, she sent the Icarus into a dive to avoid an out-of-control stealth cruiser only to discover that she'd placed the Icarus directly in the path of an oncoming Talbar’t freighter.
Despite the fact that they were hurtling through space, thanks to the adrenaline coursing through her, time seemed to slow down.
With a quick glance to confirm they were surrounded by ships, Angel calculated the odds that the freighter's pilot would try to avoid a collision by altering his course. She was playing the odds and if she was wrong...
She didn't waste time thinking about it and increased her speed. At the last possible second, as the freighter made a slight turn to its starboard side, Angel tapped the thruster controls while angling the directional stick. The Icarus made a ninety degree flip onto its starboard side and slipped past the freighter with only a narrow margin for error on either side.
Angel's adrenaline never stopped pumping as she dodged ship after ship. This was the kind of flying she hated, and loved. One wrong move could be her last.
When they finally broke free and entered the peacefulness of open space, Angel increased their speed to put distance between them and the chaos left behind.
Now that they were safe, Angel noticed her muscles starting to ache and she forced them to relax.
“Sorry about the rough take.” She swallowed to clear her throat. "Couldn’t be avoided. Are you okay?”
“I think...yes.”
Angel heard the sound of safety straps releasing and then the old man was sliding into the co-pilot's seat.
His clothes were those worn by most travelers, made of a durable fabric with a loose cut. There was nothing special about them to give her a hint about his profession or trade. Upon closer look, his face, which was beginning to regain a little of its lost color, was that of a man in his late fifties or early sixties, making him much younger than she'd first expected. She decided it was his long gray hair that made him seem older.
He gave her a slight smile. “Impressive flying. You saved my life. Thank you.” Shaking his head, he gave a brief chuckle. “You’re certainly not what I expected.”
Angel had no idea what he meant and was sure she looked perplexed.
“Your age,” he said as if that explained it. When she continued to look confused, he elaborated. “I was expecting an older man, not a boy your age. When I was told the arrangement, I assumed it would be a more seasoned pilot working with us. But obviously, with your flying skills, it makes sense.”
He thought she was a boy? Seriously? Angel was offended and about to correct his misconception when the rest of his words registered. “This is your ship?” Damn.
"Well, not mine. It Alex's ship." He frowned. "Aren't you Richardson?"
"No, I'm Michels.” She never gave strangers her real name.
“Oh.” There was a moment as he seemed to absorb the news; then he held out his hand to shake hers. “My name is Yanur Snellen. You can’t be very old. How long have you been with the S.F?”
The thought of working for the government’s Security Forces brought a smile to her lips. “I’m not exactly with the S.F.”
“You weren’t sent here to meet me? In Richardson’s place?”
“No. I don't know any Rich...” Her voice trailed off as she remembered the stranger in the bar. "I'm sorry. Your pilot's ... dead. He died back there in the attack."
“Oh." There was a moment of silence as he absorbed the news. "But you had the key to the ship.”
“True.”
“I see.” He gave her a parental look of disapproval. “Stealing is against the law.”
“Yeah, sorry. So where can I drop you?”
Without answering her, he removed the glowing amber tube from his necklace and leaned over the ship’s console, sliding the tube into a concealed opening. Before she could stop him, he flipped a switch on the console.
“What is that? What did you just do?” Angel reached out to remove the tube only to have her hand firmly shoved away.
“Yanur, report.” A deep male voice boomed from the com-system. “Are we on schedule?”
“Who is that?” Angel asked, confused.
“Not exactly,” Yanur answered, ignoring her. “We ran into a problem at the airfield.” Quickly, he recounted the turn of events out loud. Angel was still trying to figure out what was going on when an alarm started ringing.
“What now?” She searched the ship’s console for a clue to the problem, wishing she was in her own ship.
“IGT-Beacon,” the voice said. “Adjust our course and speed accordingly.”
“Excuse me?” She never took orders well, especially when she didn’t know who was giving them.
“We have less than a minute to get within range of the target. Use the beacon!”
“What beacon?” Angel asked, exasperated. “What is going on?”
“Look at the navigrid.” The voice sounded as if it was speaking through gritted teeth. “You should see our targe
t at the edge of the screen.”
She looked at the screen. “The red, blinking light?”
“That’s it. Let’s go,” the voice ordered.
“I’m not doing anything until someone tells me what’s going --” Suddenly, the ship altered course and increased speed.
“What the...?” She examined the console readouts for an explanation of the malfunction.
“We need to make the jump to hyper drive,” the voice announced. “It’s imperative we reach the target as quickly as we can. Do it now.”
Angel was beyond frustrated. “What in the hell is going on?” She glared at her passenger. “Who is that giving orders?”
“It’s Alex.”
Angel shot him a look. “That doesn’t tell me anything. Where is he?”
Yanur gestured to the ship's console.
“You're telling me Alex is the computer?”
Yanur's nod left Angel momentarily speechless. She'd heard of the advances in artificial intelligence, but never imagined they'd achieved anything as sophisticated as a self-aware starship - especially one so bossy.
And she'd stolen it. Of all the luck.
The pitch of the ship's engines changed, jerking her from her thoughts.
Oh no. “Hold on!” Angel shouted just as the ship made the jump to hyper drive. The resulting g-force crushed her into her seat. The accompanying wave of nausea passed quickly as the life support system kicked in and stabilized the internal pressure.
After a moment, the alarm ceased its incessant pealing and the bridge grew unusually quiet. Angel stared out the front viewport, watching reflected light from the stars race by and swore under her breath.
“Are you okay?” She turned to look at her companion whose complexion had taken on a greenish hue. When he nodded, she turned her attention back to the ship. “How do you run a diagnostic on this thing," she muttered, mostly to herself, hoping something as simple as a malfunction explained their unscheduled jump.
“There was no malfunction,” the computer replied. “I made that jump.”
“What?” Her voice came out barely a whisper.
“You took too long.”
“Too long? Without the correct coordinates, a jump to hyper drive can be fatal.”
“I had already calculated the correct coordinates. There was no danger.”
“Excuse me,” she bit out, “but I am the pilot.”
“I think not. Since you are obviously incapable of following directions, I have assumed control of this ship.”
“Over my dead body,” Angel muttered. The thought of a free-thinking computer taking over scared her. She wanted to end this - now. She typed in a command to override the computer control, but the ship failed to respond to her.
She glared from her passenger to the tube still plugged into the console. “Disconnect it.”
He shook his head at her request. “No.”
She grabbed the tube and pulled, all the while enduring her passenger’s quiet stare, as if he were a parent waiting for his child’s temper tantrum to subside.
“Is there a problem?” the computer asked patiently.
“Yes there’s a problem, you self-absorbed, mutant computer chip. Disconnect from my ship immediately.”
The damn computer had the nerve to laugh at her! It was a full-bodied male laugh that sent shivers of awareness tingling down her spine, despite her anger. “First of all, this is my ship. And from now on, I give the orders and you’ll do as I say. If that’s a problem, get over it. Or get out. Your choice. Shall I open the hatch?”
As if she could leave, she thought furiously. With a last yank on the tube, she gave up. It wouldn’t budge.
“It seems you win,” she addressed the computer. “For now.”
“Clearly. Now be a good boy and sit back and relax. I don’t know how far we have to go or what type of space we’ll travel through to get there.”
Boy? Even the computer thought she was a boy! Surely Yanur would have mentioned she was a woman if he had finally noticed. She'd lost her hat at the airfield, but could imagine how her short hair might be plastered to her head and with her hoarse voice, she supposed she did look and sound like a boy. Well, maybe that wasn’t so bad.
“Computer, how long do you intend to hold me hostage?”
“Until I complete my mission.”
“What mission?” When her question met with silence, Angel narrowed her eyes to glare at the old man, who, in turn, watched her closely, his expression unreadable. “Exactly where are we going?”
“Harvesters’ home planet.” The words were spoken so matter-of-factly.
“That’s impossible. No one knows where it is. Myths and legends, but nothing factual.”
“That’s not entirely true,” the computer pointed out.
“Well yeah, but even if you could find a Deep Space Trader, you’d never get one to tell you that particular location.”
“True. But we don’t need them to tell us.”
“Why?” Angel couldn't believe she was arguing with a computer.
“Because the Harvesters will take us there themselves.”
It took Angel only a moment to make the connection. “That signal we’ve been following? That’s a Harvesters’ ship?” She rubbed her forehead, hoping to ease the pressure building behind her temples. “Just how did you manage to get close enough to tracer-tag one of their ships?”
“Actually, the tag is implanted in one of the victim’s bodies.”
“Come again?”
“We had a volunteer implant a tracer-tag into his body and then let himself be taken during the Harvesters’ last raid.”
It was suicide, pure and simple. “Who in God’s name was crazy enough to do that?”
“I was.” The computer responded.
“What do you mean, you were. You’re a computer.”
“No. I assure you, I am quite human.”
“Impossible.”
“On the contrary. My name is Nicoli Alexandres Romanof. I’m a colonel with the United System of Planets’ Security Forces.”
“I’ve never heard of you.” She had no idea who might and might not work for the S.F., but that wasn't the point.
“You wouldn’t have. I specialize in covert assignments.”
“And you're currently undercover? As a computer? Give me a little credit, please,” she snorted, thoroughly disgusted.
"It's not important that you understand how it's possible that I'm able to interface with the ship's computer," the voice said. "The only thing you need to understand is that I'm on a mission and I won't tolerate any interference from a common thief. So if you can't cooperate, I'll find a way to get rid of you."
Chapter 3
“You can kiss my ass.” Unlatching her safety harness, Angel stood up. “You,” she stabbed the air in front of the old man, “and your computer-friend are certifiably crazy. Whacko. Do you hear me?”
Ignoring his bemused expression, she stormed off the bridge, past the hatch and down the short hallway until she found the sleeping quarters. Since she didn't have control of the ship - and couldn’t leave it - she might as well have a look around.
The first door she came to was unlocked, so she went in. While the cabin definitely was not on par with a Vista 250 luxury suite, it wasn’t bad. Soft beige, tan and coral tones gave the room a calm, spacious feel. Immediately to the right of the doorway was a small table with two chairs. Above these, set into the wall, were the intercom and recycler. A small bed stood against the right wall and opposite that was the door to the decontamination unit, or the D-U as it was better known.
Curious as to what amenities she might find inside, she palmed open the door. The D-U was a small room with a bio-waste unit and lavatory on one side and the shower stall on the other. It used the standard lightweight cleaning solution known as Supercleanze to deliver a fine, cleansing mist that dried quickly.
Angel stepped out of the D-U to check out the room's only closet. She rummaged through the han
ging shirts and pants, catching the faint musky odor of their owner still clinging to them. It was a distinctively masculine scent that sent her imagination down interesting and not often traveled paths. Unable to resist, she took another deep breath and sighed before reluctantly shutting the door.
She would take this room. At least until they reached a space station or someplace where she could disembark. Having made the decision, she left the room to explore the rest of the ship, making sure to check out every nook and cranny as she went. When her stomach growled, she remembered that she hadn’t eaten and went to find the galley.
It was as small as the rest of the rooms, but definitely state-of-the-art with its Cosmos Food Genie and pre-set menu selection pad. She entered her selection of a Holwraith meat and Zantl cheese sandwich on whole grain bread, and a glass of Aldenberry juice. Less than two minutes later, she was back in her new quarters, eating her food and letting her thoughts wander.
So much had happened – the encounter with Tony, the terrorist attack, losing her ship, stealing this one. And then, the coup-de-grâce – held prisoner by a computer that claimed to be human? It was enough to make her wish she'd learned how to hack into computer programs.
But she hadn’t, so now what? How did one out-think a computer?
Maybe she didn't have to. That voice coming from the ship had claimed to be a man. A colonel with the S.F. What had it – or he – said his name was? Romanof? She’d seen a lot of weird stuff in her life, was this really so hard to believe? The computer certainly didn’t sound like any computer she’d worked with, not with that velvet-edged, sexy voice.
“Michels, report to the bridge.”
She forgot to include overbearing and authoritative in her description.
“I’m busy.” Irritated at the intrusion, she finished her sandwich and swallowed the last of her drink. She didn’t take orders well and the sooner the computer – or Romanof - understood that, the better.
“Michels, an uncooperative pilot is as useful to me as a dead pilot. Report to the bridge.”
She didn't think he could "see" her, but gave him the one-fingered salute as she crossed the room to dispose of her plate and cup in the recycler. Then, in an admittedly childish act of defiance, she turned off the intercom so he couldn’t bother her again and crossed over to the closet.
Too Close to the Sun (The Sun 1) Page 3