The lieutenant came up alongside me. “You’ve got guts.” She motioned at Jak. “Then again, you’re married to him.”
I smiled. “After that, big lizards are child’s play.”
Their smell saturated the air, sharp and pungent. I stopped below one of them and held still, my heart beating so hard, surely it could hear that thump. The ruzik watched me with one eye, then turned its head to look with the other eye. Softly, so carefully, I laid my hand against its gigantic head. Its scales felt glassy, yet also pliable. It whistled, a sound I’d heard in the desert tonight.
“We go in,” Ruzik told the animal in front of him. With care, he stepped around the beast and walked along its side toward the flyer.
I lowered my hand. Taking a deep breath, I went past the ruzik, doing my best to show no fear. I put my hand in my pocket and folded it around the activator.
When I reached the flyer, I tapped the activator. The hatch opened with a snick that vibrated in the night. One of the ruziks snorted and the other whistled. After Ruzik and I moved aside, the others in our party came forward, walking as if they were on a plane of glass that could shatter if they even breathed too deeply. Daan climbed into the flyer, followed by the lieutenant, then Bessel. Jak paused, looking at me, then boarded. I stepped up after him and turned to see Ruzik and Angel, still outside. I waited, but neither of them moved.
“You come?” I asked.
Ruzik looked up at me. “We stay.”
“You sure?” I didn’t want to leave them here, and not only because I had my doubts about hanging out with the local dinosaur population. Talon and Walkerdale would come looking for us soon.
“Stay in desert,” Angel said. “Not go back to ships.”
“Come home later,” Ruzik said.
“All right.” I couldn’t force them to board. I also trusted their instincts for self-preservation. “Be well.” I tapped the hull panel and the hatch snapped closed.
Everyone else had crammed into the cabin. It had two passenger seats, a pilot’s seat and a copilot’s seat. The lieutenant was pulling up a smaller emergency chair from the deck between the two passenger chairs that looked barely big enough for a fifth person.
“Anyone know how to fly this thing?” I asked.
“I’ve tried a few times in a simulator,” the lieutenant said. When no one else offered, she shrugged and squeezed into the pilot’s chair. I handed her the activator.
“You take the copilot’s seat,” Jak told me. “See if you can contact anyone.” He motioned at Bessel and Daan. “I’ll keep watch on them.”
Given the way they darted glances at him and then quickly looked away, I suspected he didn’t need his monster gun to intimidate them into staying put. His presence was enough.
I slid into the copilot’s chair. As I fastened on the safety webbing, pain stabbed through my rib cage and abdomen. I moaned, unable to stifle that sign of weakness. With my jaw clenched, I scanned the controls. The comm looked standard. Nothing happened when I tapped its panels.
“Comm is down.” I glanced at the lieutenant, who was working at her controls. “Will it fly?”
“I’m not sure.” She paused as one panel lit up. “It might.”
“It might?” Daan said behind us. “Meaning what? We ‘might’ stay in the air?”
“I can’t say.” The lieutenant continued to work, activating some controls while others stayed dark. I kept working on the comm, with no luck. Nor could I open the panel that would let me check the interior components.
“All right,” the lieutenant said. “I think I can get us at least partway to Cries.”
“Partway?” Jak asked. “Then what?”
“We’ll crash into the desert, the mountains, or the city.” She spoke matter-of-factly. “If we fly low enough, I might be able to land instead of crashing.”
“Great,” Daan muttered. “Just great.”
I pushed a tendril of hair out of my face. “We have to go to the palace.”
“I don’t know if I can get high enough,” the lieutenant said.
“We have to.” I forced myself to keep talking. “If I can’t get the comm working, we’ll have to warn them in person.”
“Majda security won’t let us into their airspace,” Bessel said. “If we can’t tell them why we’re coming, they’ll shoot us down.”
“No. They won’t. I’ll find a way to signal them.” Sure. I could create a few galaxies, too. Stop it, I told myself. You can manage. Just a little longer.
“This is crazy,” Daan said. “If we die, we can’t warn anyone.”
“You can let us out at the city limits,” Bessel said. “We’ll warn them.”
“Yah, right,” Jak said. “So you can warn your people they still need to kill us? Not a chance.”
“Everyone hold on,” the lieutenant said. “Prepare for takeoff.”
The engines rumbled, and the front screens cleared to show the desert silvered by moonlight. When she turned on the exterior lamps, they only flickered. The ruziks backed away from the rumbling ship, and one reared high on its massive back legs, its front arms clawing at the air. The roar of its challenge vibrated through the flyer.
“Saints almighty,” Bessel said.
I thought of Ruzik and Angel. Gods, I hoped I hadn’t made a mistake in leaving them.
Jak spoke in the Undercity dialect, his accent heavier than usual. “Trust them, Bhaaj. Trust their instincts.”
I nodded, grateful for his presence.
The lieutenant taxied across the desert. The craft shook, I hoped from the uneven terrain rather than because it was in trouble. She managed to gain enough speed to lift off and soar into the air. My thrill of relief didn’t last long; the craft’s exterior lights went off, leaving us to fly in the starlight. The desert passed below in a plain of darkness.
“Can you see well enough to fly?” I asked.
“On instruments, I can manage.” She didn’t look as confident as she sounded.
“Can you turn on the heat?” Daan asked. “It’s freezing.”
“I’ll try.” I worked at the environmental controls, with no success. Finally, in frustration, I smacked my palm on the panel. It lit up, both the air conditioning and heat buttons glowing blue.
Hah! Welcome to the Bhaaj school of mechanical repairs. I turned off the air conditioning and tried to raise the cabin to room temperature. It wouldn’t go high enough, but it hummed as if it were working. “That might do it.”
“Can you get anyone on the comm?” the lieutenant asked.
“Not yet.” I kept working on the panel, to no avail. I ran my fingers along its edges, trying to pry it open. After several attempts, I loosened the panel enough to pull it free. The circuits inside looked fine. No obvious signs of spy dust showed, which I hoped meant less of it had reached the flyer. I blew on the circuits, wiped them with my fingers, even licked my fingertips and ran them over the components to pick up dust. Still no response.
“Bessel,” I said. “Do you know how long the spy dust remains active?”
“About six hours,” he said.
In other words, too long. I looked back at him. “Any idea how I can clean it off?”
He shook his head. “Sorry. It’s not my specialty.”
“I think blowing on it helps,” Daan said.
“I tried that.” I sat back, thinking. We had to let Majda know we posed no threat. Normally they’d escort an uninvited craft to an alternate landing site and arrest everyone onboard. Given the complications with this investigation, however, they’d be even less inclined than usual to take risks. They might shoot us down.
“Lieutenant, do the exterior lights on this craft work?” I asked.
“Not much.” She tapped several panels and the lamps outside flickered, strobed, cut out, then strobed again. She grimaced and turned them off. “It’s better without.”
“Can you pulse a code with them?” I asked.
“I don’t think they’re consistent enough to relay a m
essage.”
“Try Morse code.” Some Skolian ships had adopted the Earth code because of its simplicity.
She checked her controls. “This flyer does have Morse code. I don’t think the lamps are steady enough to do it, though.”
Jak spoke from the passenger seat. “Even if it doesn’t succeed, just flashing the lights will warn them we’re having trouble.”
“It might stop them from shooting us down.” I hoped.
The lieutenant nodded, her face grim. “Will do. Let me know when you want to start.”
“Copy that.” I leaned back and closed my eyes, taking a moment. It seemed only seconds before the lieutenant said, “We’re nearing the city.”
“They must be trying to contact us,” Bessel said. “Every craft has to link to the grid.”
I leaned forward, working on the comm. It showed no indication it was receiving or sending signals. No lights glowed, nor did it make the low hum of an operating system.
“Go around the city,” I suggested. “We’ll be in less violation of traffic ordinances.”
“I’ve got a traffic drone on approach from the south,” the lieutenant said. “It must be telling us to connect to the mesh or land.”
Jak snorted. “It’s probably trying to give us a ticket.”
“Keep going,” I said.
The flyer continued on, with the lights of the city shimmering on our left. It wasn’t a good sign; glowing buildings meant the mandatory nightly blackout had ended. People would be getting ready for their morning work shifts. The Majdas were probably gearing up for the security update.
“How far are we from the mountains?” I asked the lieutenant.
“We’re over the northern foothills.” She was gripping the wheel so hard her knuckles had turned white. She smacked several panels and the outside lamps strobed, flaring in the night. It made it hard to see where we were going. Within seconds, she tapped them off again.
“Can you navigate?” I asked.
She grimaced. “Nav is getting weaker. I’ll need to see better when I land.”
At least we had the forward screens. The mountains were rising ahead of us. “To reach the palace, you need to get higher and more to the south.”
She glanced at me. “I don’t suppose you have its coordinates.”
“I do,” Max said. “I’m sending them to your nav system.”
“Got it,” the lieutenant said. The mountains loomed like monoliths silhouetted against the starry sky. She tapped on the lamps, and they flashed in the night. “What message do you want to encode? Keep it simple.”
“Try this,” I said. “‘Help us. Urgent. Bhaaj.’”
When she entered the code, the lights did flick on and off, long flashes alternating with short, but then they strobed randomly, destroying the pattern.
“How am I going to land?” she muttered. “I can’t see shit.”
“The palace has a pad on its roof,” I said.
“What palace?” Daan asked. “We aren’t even close.”
Max spoke. “Actually, we should be quite close. I’m sure they are trying to contact us.”
“At least they haven’t fired,” Bessel said.
The lights kept flickering, sometimes getting the pattern, other times flashing at random.
“Got an escort,” Jak said.
I heard them, too, the rumble of other engines. The front screen didn’t show any aircraft ahead of us, but I glimpsed a flyer on the left, maybe one on the right, too. I couldn’t see well at all. I was so damn dizzy . . .
Nausea swept over me, and I groaned as I slumped in my chair. The lamps outside were dimming again. Darkness swirled in my vision.
“Don’t pass out,” Jak said. “Bhaaj! Wake up.” He pressed my shoulder. Groggy, I opened my eyes. The lamps outside hadn’t dimmed; they were still blinking their ragged Morse code. Jak had leaned between the two forward seats, bending over me.
I tried to sit forward, then fell back with a moan.
“We have to get her to a hospital,” the lieutenant said.
“I’m fine.” I was lying so badly, I didn’t know why I bothered, but it came out anyway.
“Right.” Jak stayed put, his hand on my shoulder, as steady as a rock.
“Holy shit!” Daan said. “That’s amazing.”
“What?” Then I saw it. In the ragged, pulsing light of the flyer lamps, the palace had come into view. Amazing indeed—and way too close. We were headed straight for its beauteous self.
“Can you get more altitude?” I rasped.
“I’m trying!” The lieutenant pulled on her wheel with one hand and tapped furiously with the other, working both the manual and automatic controls. As the palace loomed closer, we climbed a bit.
“Time to land,” I mumbled.
“I’ve never landed, not even in a simulator,” she said. “This would be a good time to pray.”
I held my breath as she just barely skimmed above the palace. The craft bucked unsteadily—and slammed onto the roof, completely missing the landing pad. A great tearing sound ripped through the flyer, and the impact threw us forward and to one side. I jerked against my safety webbing, crying out as agony flared through my body. I fought to get free. “Jak!” He’d been standing when we crashed. I twisted around—and saw him climbing to his feet from where he’d hit the deck.
Voices came from outside. The hatch snapped open, not by any effort from us, since we were all trying to crawl free of the crumpled seats, which were tilted sideways. Several guards stood outside, their guns aimed at us.
“All of you out!” an authoritative voice bellowed. “No weapons, or we shoot.”
“Don’t.” I thought I spoke loudly, but the words scraped out as a whisper.
“They’re Undercity!” a woman said. The unmistakable click of someone readying a power rifle to fire snicked through the air.
“Don’t shoot!” I yelled. I moved out into view, standing on the sloping deck. Blackness threatened to sweep over me. “You have to warn Colonel Lavinda Majda!” I forced out the words. “She must not access the Kyle web. If she does—could kill her. It will explode!”
“You won’t be getting near any Majda,” a hard voice told me.
I felt their distrust, anger, and suspicion. My vision was so blurred, I couldn’t even tell who had spoken. They weren’t going to listen—
“Bhaaj?” a man said. “Is that you?”
“Ah, saints.” I barely got the words out.
The group of officers in the hatchway parted, letting a man step forward. He stood there, dark-haired and dark-eyed, a lean figure in simple black trousers and shirt. He needed no uniform; his authority permeated the air. The guards moved aside for him.
“Randall!” I gulped in a breath. Randall Miyashiro, Majda’s tykado wizard, the seventh-degree black belt. Seeing him gave me a final surge of energy. “You have to warn Lavinda Majda! If she accesses Kyle space, it could cause an explosion like what killed Mara Quida and Chiaru Starchild. It will pulverize her and anyone nearby.”
He was already activating his comm. “I’m sending the message.”
“Good,” I whispered.
I collapsed then, and darkness closed in.
CHAPTER XXII
THE LOST SEA
Lavinda Majda attended the tykado demonstration when my students tested for their belts. Professor Ken Roy came as well, and sat with me in the risers set around the open area where the fighters were warming up.
I’d decided to have both Angel and Ruzik test for their black belts. Given how well they’d dealt with the situation at the starships, two nights ago, they’d proved they were more than ready. Both were doing stretches in an area set aside for students to warm up.
Today I felt almost human. I’d spent the last two days, nearly one hundred and sixty hours, recovering. I went to the Undercity a few times when the boredom got so bad I thought I’d go crazy if I stayed in bed any longer. Mostly, though, I rested. Sometime during all that, Angel an
d Ruzik returned from the desert. They went about their business as if nothing had happened, preparing for their tykado exams. They said nothing about what they did after the flyer took off. I didn’t push. They would tell me in their own time.
Neither of them seemed fazed by their surroundings today at the Cries Tykado Academy. If I hadn’t known this was their first time visiting Cries, I’d never have guessed. In the tournaments we’d done at the Rec Center in the Concourse last year, they’d dressed in what they always wore, dark trousers and sleeveless muscle shirts. Today they established another first, though only they and I knew the significance. They wore the white uniforms common to all tykado students, a V-neck top with long sleeves and trousers. They tied red belts around their waists.
I’d purchased the uniforms for them. Prior to today, no Dust Knight had ever agreed to accept or wear the uniform. However, I trained them, so by the unwritten laws of the Undercity, they owed me their oath. We made a bargain. Ruzik and Angel accepted the uniforms in exchange for their service as my bodyguards at the starships. It seemed an absurd bargain, clothes in exchange for saving my life, but it made sense in the Undercity.
I would have given them the world if it had been within my power.
They were testing with two students from the city, a young woman and man, both also in their twenties. The board of judges consisted of three tykado masters, the top two instructors from the Cries Tykado Academy—and Randall Miyashiro. He did us a great honor. As much as I knew this didn’t mean he would work with my students in the future, I couldn’t help but hope. It would be incredible if he could spare even a fraction of his invaluable time for the Dust Knights.
Each of the four candidates gave a prepared statement about why they wished to earn a black belt. The city students talked about how tykado helped them overcome obstacles in their life, everything from developing a sense of self-worth to becoming humble. It seemed to me they spoke forever, so wordy, but their statements were well given and heartfelt.
When it came time for Ruzik, I went so tense, I felt as if I’d stretched tighter than the string on a curved lute. Neither he nor Angel had ever spoken more than a few words at one time. I’d practiced with them, my excuse for going to the Undercity when I was supposed to be in bed. Working with me, however, and speaking to a crowded studio were two very different matters. Although they’d practiced phrasing their words so people from Cries could understand, I was relieved to see the academy had brought a translator.
The Vanished Seas (Major Bhaajan series Book 3) Page 33