Gini Koch - [Katherine Katt 08]

by Alien Research (retail) (epub)

  “Thank you, Ambassador. Would you prefer that I call you Commander?”

  “Nah, titles matter a lot more to Christopher than they do to me. Did you want to tell me something or just let me know you’d taken over being the Voice in the Sky?”

  “I wanted to ask something and tell you something. Is the rest of your strike force on their headsets, Doctor Hernandez in particular?”

  My team all verified they were on the group chat. “What do you need, William?” Tito asked.

  “What Centaurion information do you have on your laptop, Doctor Hernandez?” William sounded like he was working to keep his voice very calm and measured. Which boded.

  “Not that much, just medical information that relates to my job or the research I’m doing. Why?”

  William cleared his throat. “Because if what’s coming in from our bases is correct, we’ve lost all our data. And when I say ‘all,’ I mean every scrap of information we’ve had since we arrived on the planet.”

  “Today’s just going to keep on sucking until it can’t suck any more, isn’t it?” I asked of no one in particular.

  “Apparently,” William replied. “Any orders, Ambassador?”

  “Yeah. We need some humans who can fly things over at Caliente Base. I’m hesitant to pull in regular military help, mostly because we’re so unclear on what’s actually going on. But if my team needs backup, I’d like it to arrive via means other than a gate.”

  “We’re unable to provide personnel status right now, Ambassador. We’re still essentially offline.”

  “Fabulous.” Contemplated my options. They seemed remarkably slim. “Okay, please ask Luke Air Force Base to get prepped and ready. Same for Miramar—we may need some Top Gun pilots again.”

  “This is sounding a lot like when you first joined us,” Christopher said.

  “Isn’t it, though? William, please advise Colonel Franklin of what’s going on, but ask him to refrain from sharing the information with anyone else. Same with my Uncle Mort. I’d like the Marines standing by, but not deployed as of yet.”

  “On it, Ambassador.”

  “Good man. My team, start heading through the gate and join Christopher. Viola, Carmine, Romeo, get together who and what you can to support us. Romeo, that’s going to fall on you the most, but I expect the other two to help you. You three need to work like a team, and I don’t care that you probably haven’t had to do so previously. We thrive on on-the-job training around here.”

  The three of them nodded. “We’ve gotten the weapons request from Mister Buchanan,” Romeo said. “Sending over to Commander White right now.”

  “And I have whatever else we wanted here,” Christopher added.

  “What about Field teams?” Viola asked.

  “I really don’t want to throw more of our people at the problem until we know they won’t be affected by whatever’s going on over at Dulce. Get them prepped and ready, but as with human military, they’re on hold until we ask for them.”

  Everyone other than White and Buchanan were through the gate. “Anything else, Ambassador?”

  “Yeah. Pull in Mister Joel Oliver. Have him, and Len and Kyle if necessary, see what he can get out of Olga.”

  “Grandmother told me I was needed, but not much else,” Adriana shared. “I believe she will want Len and Kyle to visit along with Mister Joel.”

  Chose not to mention that she was now on a sort of first name basis with our favorite investigative journalist. Oliver had been bumped up from the ranks of the Loser Paparazzi to Our Man With The Insider Knowledge after Operation Invasion. He still wasn’t used to the love from the general populace, but he was one of the few people I knew we could trust. Apparently Olga felt the same way.

  “Super. Oh, and William, please ask our friends at the Israeli and Bahraini Embassies to also be on standby.” Who knew if we’d need Mossad or Bahraini Royal Army support? Besides, they were all human and that meant they could all operate the machinery. And they were our friends. Had a strong feeling we were going to need all our friends shortly.

  “Ready, Missus Martini?”

  “Born that way, or some such, Mister White.”

  White headed through the gate. “William, get Viola, Carmine, and Romeo onto our group-speak. Malcolm, after you.”

  He shook his head. “No.” He looked at the gate agent. “Calibrate for two.” The agent did so, then Buchanan put his arm around me and held me tightly. “Mister Former Chief may not like it, but we can’t afford to have you tossing your cookies right now.”

  With that, he stepped us through.

  It only took a second, but I began to gag almost immediately. Buchanan held me tighter. It helped. My foot hit terra firma and the nausea started to subside. “That was awful,” I said when I could finally talk again.

  We were in the middle of a big hangar that doubled as Home Base Command Central. As Christopher had said, we were the only people here. There was an impressive pile of weapons and ammunition nearby. We were armed for a lot of bear. Of course, they were probably armed for a lot of us, too.

  Buchanan ignored Christopher’s glaring. “William, we need whoever can verify gate functionality. The Ambassador’s weakness with the gates is known, especially to those higher up the food chain. The transfer felt . . . stronger to me than the one from the Embassy. Assume the gates have been tampered with, and don’t allow any other personnel to go through them until we have confirmation they’re all working properly.”

  “Really?” I asked. “The Dome is secure.”

  “But the person who would give the Dome orders is believed to have been turned,” Buchanan said patiently.

  “He’s got a point,” Christopher said, as my stomach finally settled and Buchanan let go of me. “The gate felt a little odd to me, too. Only the one coming into Home Base.”

  “Great, more good news. Anything else?”

  “I’ve found a plane. I want to be on record that I hope either Buchanan, Tito, or Adriana can pilot it.”

  “I can’t,” Tito said calmly. “I’ve taken a few lessons, because Tim insisted, but I’m a last resort.”

  “I can fly, but Missus Chief has a higher pilot’s ranking than I do. Or than Adriana does,” Buchanan added with a grin.

  She nodded. “I am with the doctor. I’m a last resort, not the first choice.”

  “Four jets would give us a better chance,” White said thoughtfully.

  “You expect us to get shot down again?” Christopher asked.

  “Yeah, your dad’s right, I think it’s a possibility.”

  Christopher zipped off and was back laden with what looked like parachutes. “Put these on. Regardless of who’s flying the plane or planes.”

  They were parachutes. I wanted to be offended, but the intelligence behind the idea was too strong. “Good plan.”

  “This isn’t a plan, Kitty. This is a hope for survival.”

  “You say tomato, I say tomahto.”

  “Let’s call the whole thing off,” Dad chimed in, as he put his parachute on. “I’m flying with you, kitten, whether we’re in one plane or four.”

  “Why don’t we go in two?” Buchanan suggested. “I’ll take Doctor Hernandez, Adriana, you go with the Ambassador. And before you ask, Missus Chief, I’m the best pilot after you.”

  “No argument, Malcolm. But I have a better idea.”

  “Really? I’m sure you and Former Pontifex White are correct—they’re going to attempt to shoot us down.”

  “They might. But not if they can’t see us coming.”

  CHAPTER 21

  EVERYONE STARED AT ME. “Mind explaining that?” Christopher asked. “There are no stealth fighters on base, at least not that I found.”

  “Stealth planes only hold, at most, a crew of two. However, if we have a plane that’s set up for either air or desert camouflage, that would work.”

  “I’ll look again, but I didn’t see any,” Christopher said.

  “Not a problem. William, please cont
act Colonel Franklin and ask him where Home Base keeps their painting supplies.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Christopher said. “We can’t paint a plane.”

  “Why not? You, your dad, and our princesses all have hyperspeed. It doesn’t have to be a perfect paint job, just enough of one to give us a little extra time.”

  Tito held out his phone. “I’ve looked up what it should look like. I think we should go for air camouflage, since once we’re on the ground, it’s a different set of problems.”

  “This is unreal. Why didn’t you have this done before we got here?”

  “By you alone, Christopher? I’m giving you a painting team. That’s efficiency, that is.”

  Buchanan gave Christopher a look I could only think of as derisive. “How did you manage to get anything done before Missus Chief arrived? Or did you argue with your cousin’s decisions a little less than you do hers?”

  “William’s advised me of where the painting supplies are stored,” White said, hopefully preventing a full on fight between Christopher and Buchanan. “I’m sure the princesses and I can manage without you, son.”

  Christopher threw his hands up. “Fine! Far be it for me to suggest we need to hurry up.”

  “We’ll be back in a flash,” White said reassuringly.

  “Take me along,” Tito said before they could leave. “I’ll oversee the paint job.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Dad added.

  “Works for me.”

  “Of course it does,” Christopher muttered as he shot Patented Glare #2 at all of us, me and Tito in particular.

  “Take all our impressive guns and rocket launchers and stuff with you.” This earned me Patented Glare #4 from Christopher, but White and the princesses picked things up, and Christopher followed suit. They all zipped off, came back, got the rest of the supplies and zipped off again.

  When they returned, White was holding a couple of books. “I found the manuals for the plane Christopher’s chosen. He and I can read them after we’re done altering it to your specifications, Missus Martini.” Then Rahmi took Tito’s hand, White took Dad’s, and the six of them disappeared.

  I’d have been worried about the hyperspeed effect on Dad, but he’d started taking Tito’s Hyperspeed Dramamine, too. Along with everyone else who worked with us, including my mother and all of the P.T.C.U., Mr. Joel Oliver and Adriana also had their own prescriptions, because, as Olga put it, they preferred to be prepared. Everyone was all for dramatically reducing the barfing your guts out part of the Human Hyperspeed Experience.

  “Is Once-Again-Commander White always that much of a pain in the ass?” Buchanan asked me.

  “Only when he’s really stressed and trying not to show it.”

  Adriana laughed. “Men.”

  “You said it. Present company excepted, Malcolm.”

  “Thanks, Missus Chief, I’m touched.”

  Rhee returned, smudged with some blue and white paint. “It’s ready. The Great Tito’s example was easy to follow and, as expected, he ensured all was done perfectly.”

  Rahmi and Rhee had the biggest case of hero worship ever recorded, all focused on Tito. We still weren’t sure what their mother had told them about us in general and Tito in particular, but whatever it was, both princesses insisted on referring to him as either the Great Tito or Tito the Great. I found this cute and funny. Tito found it embarrassing. The other men found it jealousy-inducing, simply because Tito was the only male who never had to worry about how our resident Amazons would react around him.

  Considering they’d finished in less than two minutes, I doubted Tito had done much other than crack wise at Christopher, but discretion was still the better part of valor and I chose to keep this to myself.

  Rhee took my hand, I grabbed Buchanan, he grabbed Adriana, and we zipped off.

  The smell of wet paint announced we’d reached our aircraft. Just hoped we wouldn’t all get high from the fumes. But sacrifices had to be made, and the reward was going to hopefully be worth the risk.

  Jerry Tucker, my favorite flyboy and flight instructor, had made sure I could fly any and every airplane available within Centaurion Division or housed at Home Base. Therefore, I could fly the aircraft Christopher had chosen.

  Unfortunately, due to the number of people with us, he’d had to choose an aircraft made more for carrying things than maneuverability.

  “Is that a B-Fifty-Two Stratofortress?” Adriana asked. She sounded underwhelmed.

  “Yes. Or, as I know you know we call it, a BUFF.” It wasn’t the sleekest aircraft in the world, but it looked great—big, blue, white, and gray, not nearly as fugly as the flyboys all insisted these planes were.

  “Buff?” Christopher asked.

  “Big Ugly Flying Fugly.”

  “It looks slow,” Christopher said. “And not all that maneuverable. But it was all I could find that would hold all of us.”

  “And Christopher and I have both read the operations manuals while we were waiting for Rhee to retrieve the rest of you,” White added. Hyperspeed was great for so many things. “So while we can’t operate anything, we can advise.”

  “Excellent and good thinking, Mister White. Additionally on the plus side, I can fly this puppy. And it looks better with the paint job, too. So it’s at least three for the win column. Let’s get in and get our flock over to Dodge. We have a shoot-out of some kind I’m sure we’re late for.”

  CHAPTER 22

  BUCHANAN WAS ACTING AS MY COPILOT, with Dad sitting in as navigator, Tito filling in as bombardier, and Adriana covering the electronic warfare station. I’d flown a BUFF before, so I didn’t need White and Christopher’s help, so they were backing Tito and Adriana.

  Wasn’t sure that we’d need to drop bombs or deal with threats in the air, but the bombs were already loaded into the B-52’s belly, Tito and Adriana seemed calm about their assigned roles, White and Christopher appeared to actually have understood everything they’d speed-read, and I figured we might as well go in armed for bear.

  Buchanan and I couldn’t wear our parachutes while we were in the pilot and copilot’s chairs. They were nearby, on either side of my purse, but if we were hit, he and I would have to move quickly. Chose to believe we wouldn’t be hit. Told myself I’d grab the parachute first and my purse second. Was glad Jeff wasn’t nearby to call me a liar.

  Unlike the takeoff I’d had to do way back when, this plane required taxiing down a runway. Also unlike that first takeoff, I was in good shape with this one.

  “Why are you plugging in your iPod?” Dad asked, as I handed my musical gear to Buchanan.

  “Really? Because it’s me and I fly better with tunes going. Under the circumstances, we’re going with Mötley Crüe. Malcolm, roll their Saints of Los Angeles album.”

  Christopher joined us as the rocking sounds of my favorite L.A. band filled the airwaves. They weren’t Aerosmith, but sometimes a girl needed a change. “Seriously? Music? Now?”

  “You want to pilot this puppy? No? Then go back and help Tito and Adriana.”

  “We’re going to die, you know,” Christopher said.

  “Not today.” Well, not if I could help it. “William, you still with us?”

  “Yes, Ambassador.”

  “We’re all about to turn our phones off. When Jeff and Chuckie try to follow us, be sure they take a maneuverable jet, okay?”

  “You’re certain they’ll be going there?”

  “As certain as I am that the next few minutes are going to redefine the term ‘bumpy ride.’”

  “Signing off, Ambassador. Call if you need us.”

  “Okay, gang, phones and earpieces off, headsets for the plane on. Let’s strap in, we’re heading for Dulce.”

  The takeoff wasn’t my best ever—I hadn’t flown anything for a while—but it was like riding a bike and came back to me quickly. Of course, when you fell off a bike you only went a couple of feet and usually weren’t likely to die. Did what Jerry had taught m
e and focused on the positives, even though “Face Down In the Dirt” was on. We’d be fine.

  “Kitten, should your head be bobbing like that?” Dad asked.

  “It’s called head-banging, Dad. And, again, I fly better this way.”

  “That’s open to debate.”

  “Everyone’s a critic.”

  “We’re at cruising altitude,” Buchanan said calmly, as I leveled us off. “Well done, Missus Chief.”

  “See? Someone took the Washington Wife class and understands that support is necessary and helpful. Speaking of helpful, Dad, a little navigational support wouldn’t be turned away.”

  “Hmmm . . . head east.”

  “No, really? Head east where? I need a heading and so forth.”

  “I can navigate us, Missus Chief.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Has Kitty gotten us lost already?” Christopher asked.

  “I don’t recall saying we should have the group communications line open.”

  “I thought it would be better, kitten.”

  “Thanks ever, Dad.”

  “Focus,” Buchanan said calmly. “You’re letting the nose drop.”

  “It makes the ride more interesting for those of us in the back,” Tito shared. The rest of the crew, princesses included, took this as their cue to add in. It was a party on our airwaves in record time. The only positive was that Adriana shared she was fairly sure she’d figured out how to activate the various jamming technology at her disposal, thanks to White’s instructions.

  “It’s a good thing I can handle a lot of distractions while flying a big plane loaded with weapons and bombs.”

  “That’s why you’re the woman for the job, Missus Martini.”

  “Thanks, Rick honey. Remind me to hurt you later.” So, bickering, complaining, and joking, we headed for Dulce, accompanied by the Crüe’s “White Trash Circus.”

  The weather was great, so we hit no air pockets. Jerry had trained me to handle them, but the B-52 was a lot bigger and heavier than the jets I’d spent more time in, so the less stress the elements gave me, the better.

  The BUFF wasn’t supersonic, but Dulce wasn’t that far from Home Base, so we arrived in good time. Of course, once you were in the air, it was relatively easy. Takeoffs were hard, but they were nothing compared to landings. Landings were hard in the best of circumstances. I knew without asking that I wasn’t going to have the best circumstances available when I wanted to put us safely on the ground.