by Ryk Brown
Jessica reached back, grabbing hold of the leading edge of the canopy and slid it forward as far as she could reach. Nathan reached back and took the canopy from her, pulling it the rest of the way forward and latching it closed.
“Wow, it’s really quiet in here,” Jessica commented. “I expected it to be a lot noisier.”
“It was when I first learned to fly it,” Nathan assured her. “My grandfather replaced the combustion engine with an electric one when I was about sixteen or seventeen.”
“You’re telling me the engine in this bucket is twenty years old?”
“Closer to thirty, actually,” Nathan corrected as he pushed the throttle forward to test the engine. “But these engines are practically bulletproof.”
“Why aren’t we moving?”
“I’m doing my run-up.”
“Okay.”
A minute later, Nathan backed the throttle down and released the parking brake, and the plane started rolling forward. The tail shifted left and right without warning. “Oops,” he apologized. “I forgot how squirrelly the steering is on this thing.”
Jessica said nothing.
Nathan guided the small aircraft down the row of hangars, paused for a moment to check the windsock, and then increased power and turned right onto the taxiway.
Jessica bounced along in the back seat as the plane seemed to jump upward with every little rock or bump in the taxiway. “What are we doing? Why aren’t we airborne?”
“This is an airplane, Jessica,” Nathan explained. “Wings, lift, thrust… We need a runway to take off and land. No vertical thrust on these things.”
“Why do they even make these things anymore?” she wondered.
“They don’t, at least not commercially. Not in more than two hundred years.”
“Are you telling me this fucking thing is two hundred years old?” she demanded, suddenly feeling like she wanted out.
Nathan laughed. “No, my grandfather built this one himself, about thirty years ago.”
“Oh, great.”
“From a kit, actually.”
“Even better.”
Nathan turned from the taxiway toward the runway, barely able to see in the predawn light. “White Rock airfield, Allen Aerobat niner two, niner four, Quebec, on the roll runway 25, for a right downwind departure.”
“Are you making radio calls?” Jessica asked, shocked. “We are supposed to be covert, remember?”
“We’ll attract more attention if we collide with someone, or cause a near-miss incident, trust me,” Nathan explained. “Besides, on the ground, these comms have a very short range.”
Nathan guided the small plane onto the runway and pushed his throttle all the way forward. The plane surged down the runway and Nathan had to fight to keep it on the centerline in the face of a considerable left quartering crosswind. His eyes danced up and down, dividing his attention equally between the view forward and his flight data display.
“This runway looks short,” Jessica exclaimed, peering over Nathan’s left shoulder to see forward.
“We won’t even need half of it,” Nathan assured her, glancing down at his airspeed tape. In a single smooth motion, Nathan pulled his control stick back slightly and to the left while adding right rudder with the pedals. The plane rose slightly off the ground and his left wing dipped. The plane yawed left, weather-vaning into the crosswind as it began to climb slowly off the ground. Everything was suddenly coming back to him as he pulled back on the stick a little more and guided the tiny aircraft silently into the steadily lightening sky.
After a minute, Nathan rolled the aircraft to the left, bringing it around until they were traveling due east toward the rising sun. He leveled off and then retrimmed the plane, settling the throttle back to a power level that would give them the greatest flying time.
“What’s wrong?” Jessica asked. “Why aren’t we climbing?”
“Climbing takes more power,” Nathan explained. “Besides, it’s better if we stay low. Air traffic tracking sensors generally don’t look below two hundred meters. Too much ground clutter.”
“Are you planning on flying this low all the way to Winnipeg?”
“You wanted to be covert, right?”
“Yeah, but…”
“Just keep your eyes peeled for high towers and low flying drones, and we should be fine.”
“How long will it take to get there?” Jessica asked as she gazed outside at the dimly-lit countryside passing below them.
“At this speed, six or seven hours,” Nathan replied. “But we should be able to increase our speed a bit once the sun comes up and we start producing more power.”
“Six hours? This thing have auto-flight?”
“Nope. It’s an aerobatic plane, remember?”
“You’re going to hand-fly this thing for six hours?”
“We’ll stop along the way for a break or two,” Nathan assured her.
Jessica shook her head. “We should’ve just stolen a shuttle or something.”
“And miss out on all this?” Nathan laughed. “This is real flying, Jess. Nothing like it. Balancing the four forces; lift against gravity; thrust against drag. None of that pushing buttons and overpowering your way from place to place. In this, you feel every little ripple and current of the air as you pass through it.”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Jessica grumbled as the plane bounced in the gentle morning turbulence.
* * *
Dressed in conservative Corinairan business attire, Deliza sat next to President Scott smiling and pretending to talk about important matters as dozens of cameras took hundreds of images that would appear all over the core worlds of Earth within the hour. News of her plea, if not the actual content, would reach every citizen and every politician throughout the Alliance. Citizens would question whether or not their world should risk weakening their own defenses in order to support their fellow member worlds in the Pentaurus sector. They would have to wrestle with the moral implications of turning their backs on those worlds.
“How long do we have to keep this up?” Deliza asked the president while trying to move her mouth as little as possible to prevent others from lip reading her words.
“A few more minutes, at least,” the president replied. “It’s all part of the process, I’m afraid.”
“When will we be free to discuss the Pentaurus sector’s problems?”
“At lunch, I expect. That will be a private affair, in sealed chambers, so that we may speak freely.”
“I look forward to it,” Deliza replied, continuing to smile for the cameras. “To be honest, I was not expecting this.”
“What were you expecting?” the president wondered.
“I don’t know. A podium; an audience; a well-prepared speech, perhaps?”
“I’ll be happy to listen to it, after the media has departed, I assure you,” the president replied.
* * *
Nathan and Jessica walked into the office building at the tiny airport just north of Winnipeg. The building had seen better days, but it had all the usual comforts that pilots of small aircraft hoped for when flying cross-country.
“Can I help you?” the old man behind the counter asked.
“Yes,” Nathan replied. “We were wondering if there was a way to get into Winnipeg from here? Some kind of public transportation?”
“You here for the playoffs?”
“Uh…”
“You a Wolves fan?”
“Actually, I’m originally from Vancouver.”
“Vancouver, huh? Shame about the Beavers. If they just could’ve pulled out at least one good season, they wouldn’t have had to fold up the club.”
“Yeah, a real shame,” Nathan agreed, not knowing what the man was talking abou
t.
“At least we got Buchard and Tisdale out of it,” the old man laughed. “Without them, I don’t think there would be a game seven tonight.”
“You’re probably right,” Nathan agreed, going along with him for appearances sake. “About that transportation…”
“There’s a bus stop about a kilometer down the road. Just head west out the front gate. Right hand side…can’t miss it. Buses to Winnipeg run every hour. There’s a cafe next to the bus stop, if you have much of a wait.” The old man looked out the window at Nathan’s plane. “That your Allen out there?”
“Yup.”
“She’s a nice one. Haven’t seen one in ages. You build her?”
“My grandfather did, when I was a kid. Taught me how to fly her. Left her to me when he died.”
“You’re a lucky fella, aren’t you? That’s real flying right there.”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her,” Nathan agreed, tilting his head toward Jessica behind him. “How much to leave her tied down for a couple days?”
“No way I’d charge for a vintage kit like that,” the old man laughed. “Makes my little strip look pretty. Besides, I’ll make plenty off the shuttles that come in for the game later.”
“Thanks,” Nathan said. He turned to Jessica, pointing toward the door. “Shall we?” He followed her outside where they both headed down the drive for the airport’s main gate.
“What was that all about?” Jessica wondered.
“Just small talk,” Nathan replied. “But it gave me an idea.”
* * *
Lunch with President Scott, Miri Scott-Thornton, and the president’s advisors had been a very delicate affair. Deliza had been given strict instructions not to reveal that Nathan was alive and leading the rebellion. Nor was she to disclose that it was the Dusahn who had invaded the Pentaurus cluster and not the Jung, as they had originally reported. Both General Telles and Nathan had felt that this information was best shared with Dayton Scott in private, by the son he had long believed dead. They also did not know who among the President’s staff could be trusted. It was entirely possible that Galiardi had a mole inside the NAU administration, perhaps even one close to the president. As far as they were concerned, only the president and his aide, Nathan’s sister, Miri, could be trusted. It was an attitude that Deliza was unaccustomed to. As the leader of Ranni Enterprises, she had dealt with her fair share of unscrupulous businessmen, but those stakes had involved profit, not lives.
Lunch itself seemed a pretense. No one was really eating, just poking at their food and nibbling here and there in between words. In fact, the first hour of their meal had been spent discussing the current state of the Pentaurus cluster and what the new Karuzari hoped to accomplish.
“If you hope to run a guerilla campaign, you will need considerable resources,” the president’s advisor, Mister Dalton, said. “Not just weapons, but basic consumables like food, water, medicine, communications equipment, building materials, portable sensor devices…the list is endless. You will need specialists, as well. And I don’t mean combat specialists. I’m talking about technicals, like construction, electrical, comms…”
“Many of these skills can be learned,” Deliza insisted. “But I agree with your assessment of our needs for the basics. As word spreads about how the Jung punish worlds who aid and abed the Karuzari, it will become harder to acquire resources. If we have to travel to find them, it will limit our ability to sustain an effective armed conflict.”
“We can likely help you with the basics,” President Scott promised, “as doing so will not jeopardize our security in the Sol sector. Food and water, especially, is once again in abundance across the core worlds, thanks in large part to the jump drive.”
“What about medicine?” Deliza wondered. “We are in dire need of medical supplies.”
“We can spare enough to keep you going for a few months, I expect,” the president replied.
“And propellant?”
“That might be more difficult,” Mister Dalton admitted.
“Mister President, I hope you realize that the Karuzari are not asking for handouts. We are willing to pay a fair price for all that you are willing to sell us.”
“Where are you getting your funds, if you don’t mind my asking?” Mister Dalton wondered.
“I used the remainder of my father’s holdings to develop several technologies that were lacking in the Pentaurus sector, for which Ranni Enterprises holds the patents,” Deliza explained. “Those patents provided substantial income, which we invested in other commodities. Some of those investments are within the Pentaurus cluster itself, and are still paying considerable dividends. In fact, the invasion of the cluster may even increase our profits in those divisions.”
“Kind of ironic, wouldn’t you say?” Miri commented.
“Indeed,” Deliza agreed. “However, we fear that it is only a matter of time until our enemies discover this, at which time those dividends will cease to exist.”
“We have spent the last week moving the bulk of our assets to financial institutions well outside the Pentaurus cluster,” Yanni explained. “Which is why it is so important for us to keep our enemy’s influence contained within the cluster itself. If it spreads beyond, or perhaps even beyond the Pentaurus sector itself…”
“Your ability to fund your rebellion will disappear,” Mister Dalton realized.
“Precisely,” Deliza agreed.
“The fact that it would be a business arrangement, and not just a gift, will give us a lot more leverage,” Mister Dalton surmised. “Many providers would welcome a chance to open up new markets.”
“Transportation of goods to the Pentaurus region will be a challenge,” President Scott warned. “We barely have enough ships to move goods between the core worlds.”
“We can provide transportation,” Deliza assured him. “Many of the jump ships whose home ports are now under enemy control are afraid to return for fear of seizure. We are slowly accumulating these ships into our fleet. At the time of our departure for Earth, there were at least six cargo ships that had yet to be tasked. The problem is, we cannot send them on a six-week round-trip journey unless we are quite sure they will have sufficient propellant to return.”
“Then we will have to ensure that is the case,” President Scott promised.
An aide entered the President’s private dining room and approached the president, whispering in his ear.
“My apologies, Miss Ta’Akar,” the president said, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin. “I’m afraid the duties of my office call.”
“Of course,” Deliza replied.
“Anything I can help with?” Miri wondered.
“A minor matter,” the president assured her. “Please, finish your lunch.” The president turned to Deliza. “I hope I get a chance to speak with you further before your departure, Miss Ta’Akar, Mister Hiller.” The president bowed his head respectfully before turning to exit, followed by Mister Dalton.
Deliza’s comm-unit vibrated. She looked at the device’s screen, reading the message.
“Don’t tell me you have to leave, as well?” Miri said.
“Not at all,” Deliza assured her. “It was just my pilot. The repairs on the ventral section of my ship have been completed.”
“I heard about that. It must have been a frightening experience.”
“It was a bit bumpy for awhile,” Deliza replied. “But the Mirai is a sturdy vessel that has served me well all these years, and will likely continue to serve me for many more.”
“Personally, all space travel makes me nervous,” Miri admitted. “So much energy being manipulated with such precision, and in such a harsh environment. It seems like a recipe for disaster.”
“You get accustomed to it after awhile,” Yanni assured her
.
“It has been some time since you were on Earth, Mister Hiller,” Miri observed. “Do you miss your homeworld?”
“To some extent, yes.”
“What do you miss most?” Miri wondered.
“Oh, I don’t know. The food, maybe. I miss snow skiing. They don’t have that on Corinair.”
“He misses hockey terribly,” Deliza added.
“I do?”
“He’s always talking about it. He even tried to get an ice rink built on Corinair, but was unable to generate any interest. He even has several jerseys from your World Hockey League.”
“Uh, yeah, I do,” Yanni agreed, playing along.
“You’re in luck,” Miri told them. “Game seven of the finals is tonight, right here in Winnipeg. The Wolves are playing the Swords. The entire city is buzzing over it.”
“Really?” She looked at Yanni, feigning excitement. “What do you think, Yanni?”
“Is it even possible to get tickets?”
“I can do better,” Miri replied. “The president is a fan. We have a skybox at the arena.”
“Didn’t Nathan play hockey as a child?” Deliza asked.
“He did,” Miri confirmed. “He wasn’t very good, though.”
“If only he were still alive,” Deliza said wistfully. “He would love to see the game, I’m sure.”
“Yes, he would,” Miri agreed, understanding Deliza’s meaning.
“Maybe the president would like to go, as well?” Deliza suggested. “It might give us a chance to continue our discussions. I think it is important for us both to fully understand all sides of the problems we face, both together and separately.”
“I’ll be sure to suggest it to him,” Miri agreed. “To be honest, I think it would do him some good to take at least one evening off. And it wouldn’t hurt his public image to be there when the Wolves win the cup.”