by Piers Platt
“What did you arrest him for?” Jiyake said.
“That’s the thing, I haven’t yet,” Adnan said. “He was drunk when he got here, but he wasn’t being disorderly or anything. I think I’m going to have to book him for reckless endangerment for the crane incident.”
“But you think someone else did it?”
“No,” Adnan shook his head. “Jens did it. Besides the fact that he’s been asking to apologize to you since he got here, I’ve got security camera footage of him going up into that crane before it hit you, and then coming right back down again afterwards.”
“So he was definitely the one that hit us,” Jiyake said.
“Yup. But his whole story stinks.”
“It feels like he knows it doesn’t make sense, but he’s sticking to it, ‘cause he’s worried if he says anything else, he’ll slip up,” Jiyake said.
Adnan pointed his finger at Jiyake. “That is exactly what it feels like.” He rubbed his chin, thinking for a moment. “His wife said he’s been acting a little strange the past few days. Avoiding her a bit. And he called her in tears after the crane incident to apologize.”
“He’s just apologizing to everybody,” Jiyake said.
“Yeah,” Adnan agreed. “Jens is like half the workers on this station – maybe not the sharpest tool in the shed, but his heart is in the right place.” Adnan studied the crane operator on the screen for a moment. “I’m afraid he’s in over his head in something big.”
“You think you can get him to open up?” Jiyake asked.
“I dunno. But either way, I’m going to keep pulling on this thread ‘til I figure out where it leads,” Adnan said.
“Keep me in the loop?” Jiyake asked.
Adnan looked at her for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, ma’am. The thought had occurred to me that there are bad elements out there who might like to see a Colonial Guard ship sidelined for a few weeks.”
“That’s what I’m worried about, too,” Jiyake said. “Maybe we were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or maybe someone was targeting us.”
“Right,” Adnan said. “Well, are you ready to go get your apology?”
Jiyake exhaled noisily. “I suppose so.”
Chapter 16
Falken leapt up onto the hood of the truck, scrabbling toward the shattered windshield.
Just gotta turn on the autopilot, and send the truck back to the ship …
The massive dragon roared and struck, lunging down to snap at Falken. He rolled to one side, and her heavy snout battered a dent in the hood right next to Falken. She shifted, her maw gaping wide, and for a panicked second, Falken felt the skin of her jaw against his side, and a razor-sharp set of teeth pressed against his leg. But he kicked hard and pulled himself forward on the truck’s dashboard. He tumbled into the driver’s compartment a second before her teeth snapped shut.
Falken fell onto the floor of the compartment, below the truck’s dashboard. Overhead, he saw the dragon lift her head, and her gill-like nostrils flared along her neck, sniffing, searching for his scent. She lunged down again, and Falken felt himself pinned to the floor by the tip of her snout. She twisted, grinding him against the floor, her hot breath washing over him. He screamed in terror, but the gap between the seats and the dashboard was too narrow – her jaws could not open to grab him.
She withdrew, and Falken, recovering his wits, reached up blindly and pawed at the vehicle’s control panel.
“Please say a command,” a cheerful female voice suggested, emanating from the vehicle’s speakers.
“Start up!” Falken yelled.
The vehicle lifted up on its hoverfans, and the dragon roared again.
Uh oh. That pissed her off.
She disappeared from view, and a second later a jarring impact rocked the truck. Falken was thrown against the far door of the truck; his head cracked against the metal and he saw stars. The dragon’s tail whipped down across the top of the truck next, battering it a second time, and then again, and Falken heard the metal frame groan, bending under the assault.
“Autopilot on!” Falken ordered.
“Exterior sensors damaged,” the truck’s robotic voice told him. “Unable to operate in autopilot mode due to safety protocols.”
Oh, shit. She broke all the cameras and sensors – the autopilot can’t see anything.
Suddenly the dragon’s head reappeared, and she bit down into the middle row of seats. From a foot away, Falken could see her teeth sink deep into the upholstery, taking a firm grip. The truck lurched upwards, and Falken felt his stomach drop.
Jesus Christ! She can’t pick this thing up and fly with it, can she?
But the dragon had merely lifted the truck over her head, and as Falken watched helplessly, she tipped it – and him – upside down above her.
The truck’s speakers hooted an alarm. “Unsafe piloting,” the truck warned. “Return to low-level, non-inverted flight to prevent injury to passengers.”
Falken felt himself slipping. He caught a glimpse of the ground, dizzyingly far below, over the dragon’s shoulder. In a panic, he scrambled for a handhold, but his clumsy grab missed the truck’s wheel, and he tumbled out into free air, bouncing off of the dragon’s wing before falling to the ground. He tumbled as he hit, rolling to a stop several yards behind the dragon. The drop might have killed him on Earth – on Olympus, it merely knocked the wind out of him.
Falken realized his oxygen mask had been knocked loose, too – he pulled it back on, gasping, and then rolled onto his back. The dragon had let go of the safari truck – it righted itself and hovered back down to the ground on its own, coming to rest on the far side of the dragon, waiting patiently. Falken lay on his back, totally exposed, on a patch of lichen below the massive beast. She drew a bead on him, and Falken saw her jaws open wide, and the muscles in her neck tense as she prepared for the final strike.
HONK! HONK!
Both Falken and the dragon turned to see the Adrenaline Junkies truck roar into the clearing. Quiss was at the wheel with the truck full of tourists’ proxies. He slewed the truck through a tight turn before pulling up sharply between the dragon and Falken.
“Okay, first team, you’re up! Go! Go! Go!”
As Falken watched, four of Quiss’ guests tumbled out of the truck, running toward the dragon. She showed her teeth, and knocked the first three over with a tail swipe, then ate the fourth proxy in a single bite. Quiss’ proxy turned in his seat to face Falken.
“I’m going to try to lead her away, mate – get to your truck and get out of here!”
Falken nodded and scrambled to his feet. The dragon was ripping into another of the proxies – Falken dashed around her tail, and saw her head come up, sniffing. Quiss honked the horn again.
“Yoo-hoo! More yum-yums over here!” he yelled, and revved the engine, scooting away from the dragon. Falken saw another guest jump off the truck and wave her arms in the air.
“Eat me!” she yelled.
The dragon hissed and lunged forward, biting her in half. Falken sprinted the final few feet, jumped in behind the wheel of his own truck, and gunned it. The truck roared out of the small clearing, shattered glass sliding off the hood as Falken floored the accelerator. He headed for the nearest trail, finding it quickly, and then risked a glance over his shoulder. There was no sign of the dragon. The radio in his truck crackled to life.
“You clear, Falken? She’s right on my ass!”
“Roger that,” Falken replied, a grin crossing his lips. “I owe you big time, Quiss.”
“We got your back, brother,” Quiss replied. “Listen, I can probably give you about ten, fifteen minutes more cover, and then I’m gonna be out of proxies to feed her.”
“That should be enough,” Falken said, driving hard through a tight turn around a rock column.
“Jesus, will you look at the size of her?” Quiss radioed. “Where the hell have you been hiding all this time, big girl?”
A new voice came on over the spea
kers. “Falken, this is Hylie.”
“Hey, Hylie. Thanks for the assist.”
“No worries,” she told him. “Can you talk? I don’t want to bring any unwanted attention your way.”
Falken glanced behind his truck again, and gave the sky a quick once over, as well. “I’m clear right now. If I go quiet, you’ll know why.”
“Got it,” she said. “We lost comms with the Ecolympus. What’s your status?”
“Everyone’s safe, but we lost power and internal atmosphere, and we’re running out of emergency oxygen.”
“Yeah,” she said. “That was our guess. We figured you were gonna try to transport everyone to the research center.”
“If we have to,” Falken agreed. “We have less than an hour of air remaining. What’s going on with the Liberty Belle?”
“They launched, but they’re still about two hours out. You sure you don’t have more than an hour of air left?”
“Pretty sure,” Falken said.
“Well, if your air calculations are correct, I don’t think you can afford to stay put.”
“Agreed,” Falken said, turning right at a fork in the gravel road. “Did the Belle already clear an emergency approach with the Conservation Department to come get us? Those drones shot us up pretty good on our way in, I don’t want the rescue crew getting hit, too.”
“They should have cleared it already, but I’ll confirm,” Hylie promised. “What else can we do to help?”
“I’ve got an open-air truck here,” Falken told her, glancing up at the steel frames that had once supported the glass canopy. “Zero overhead cover for when we head to the research center. My noise cancellation staff is working, but my truck’s beat to shit … I don’t know if the onboard noise cancellation is still working or not.”
“You’re not going to have time to repair any of that,” Hylie said.
“No. Any chance you have another batch of proxies built already, so you can run cover for us when we make a dash for the research center?”
“Sorry,” Hylie said. “We’re building another batch, but the printer’s gonna need a couple more hours. Not enough time. Quiss, you there?”
“Barely,” came the reply. “If you’re going to ask me to try to save some proxies, I’m afraid you’re too late. I’m going to have to sacrifice my own just to get the truck back to base camp in one piece.”
“It is what it is,” Falken said. “We’ll just have to haul ass and hope for the best.”
“Hang on, let me patch in the research center,” Hylie said. “Olympus Research Center, Adrenaline Junkies, over.”
Falken hovered over a gurgling stream, then slowed as the path wound through a tight formation of columns. Small drops of rain were beginning to fall, wetting his hair and stinging his eyes.
“ORC, ORC, this is Adrenaline Junkies, over?” Hylie repeated.
“ORC,” Falken heard a deep male voice reply. That sounds like Brondi.
“Roger, are you monitoring the situation with Ecolympus?” Hylie asked.
“We got an update from the Liberty Belle before they launched,” Brondi replied.
“Okay, I’ve got Falken on the line with me.”
“Hey, Falken,” Brondi said. “Glad to hear you’re okay.”
“Hi, Brondi,” Falken said. He wiped rain from his eyes, squinting to see through the droplets as he drove. “I’m bringing in a truck full of survivors in the next hour. Can you or Luthena keep a close eye on the external sensors, and open the vehicle bay door the minute you see us coming?”
“You got it,” Brondi said. “I’ll be at the control center, and I’ll have Luthena by the airlock with a medical kit.”
“Perfect,” Falken replied. “I’ll give you a shout on the radio when we’re headed in if I can, but I may need to stay radio silent if we see dragons on approach.”
“Understood. We’ll be ready for you. ORC, out.”
“Hylie, this is Quiss.” His voice was strained, and they could hear his ragged breathing. “Final report. Truck’s at base camp. Good luck, Falken.”
“Thanks, buddy.”
“Shit. Here she comes agai—”
The radio went silent. “All right, I got some traumatized guests to attend to,” Hylie said. “Falken, call us if you think of anything else.”
“Will do. Thanks again, Hylie.”
“Junkies out.”
*
It was raining steadily by the time Falken pulled up next to the wreck of the Ecolympus. The ship’s stern, still burning, smoked and hissed in the downpour. Falken left the truck running, afraid that it might not start again if he shut it down, and jogged over to the airlock, slapping the outer door open. The inner hatch slid open at his touch, and he stumbled into the dark corridor.
“Falken!” Vina jumped up and hugged him.
“I’m back.” He patted her back, and then she pulled away, self-conscious.
“We were starting to worry,” Raynard said, shaking Falken’s hand.
Greban grinned, and pushed himself off the floor, wincing. “You know, everyone told me, way back when I first hired you, that you were the best guide on Olympus. Guess I was smart to hire the best.”
“If I’m the best, I think that means I deserve a raise,” Falken said.
“If the insurance doesn’t find a way to screw me out of making a claim for this mess, we can definitely talk,” Greban said.
Vina spied the jagged cut on Falken’s shoulder, where the smaller dragon had cut him with its claws. “You’re hurt.”
“It’ll wait. We’re on the clock – and there’s a rainstorm that might cover our movement for a while,” Falken said, turning serious again. He glanced up and down the hallway. “Wait, where are the brothers? Where’s Ed?”
Chapter 17
Greban frowned. “Shep and Kuda are in their cabin – I think they wanted to be alone for a bit, brother to brother, in case … well, in case things don’t work out.”
“Ed went to the bathroom about ten minutes ago,” Raynard added. “I don’t know why he’s not back.”
“Damn it,” Falken swore. “We need to get going. Vina, can you round up the brothers? Raynard, start helping Greban out to the truck. I’ll go find Ed.”
Falken ducked into Ed’s cabin first, but it appeared empty. He stepped back out into the hallway, and then noticed that the hatch to the engine room was open. He grabbed a flashlight from the hallway, then hurried down to the engine room door and stepped through. On the far side, he walked down a narrow corridor before passing through a second hatch into a wider room, filled with machinery bolted down to what had previously been the floor – their hulking shapes now hung ominously overhead. He played the flashlight over the silent machines, but the room was quiet and still.
Getting déjà vu, Falken thought. Creeping around in the dark on a crashed ship, just like on Oz. I half expect Weaver to appear from behind one of the engine banks, carrying a blue-ball he found in a tree.
Falken started as he heard a noise behind him. Ed, carrying his own flashlight, was climbing a narrow ladder from the hold below.
… from the aft storage locker. Where the explosion happened.
“What are you doing?” Falken demanded.
Ed, noticing Falken for the first time, jumped. “I – I was taking pictures.”
“What? Why?”
“So I have them,” Ed said, bristling. “Am I not allowed to take pictures anymore?”
Falken’s eyes narrowed, but he held his tongue. “I brought the truck. We’re ready to go.”
“Good,” Ed said. “I’m ready, too.”
*
Outside, Shep and Kuda were removing what remained of the proxies’ legs from the truck, stacking them to one side. Greban stood waiting, supported between Vina and Raynard. With Ed in tow, Falken stepped out of the airlock.
“Falken, what happened to the truck?” Greban asked. “Where’s the canopy?”
“I hit a boulder on the way back,” Falken said
. “The truck flipped and it shattered.”
Beneath his mask, Greban raised an eyebrow, but stayed silent.
“Is it safe to ride to the research center like that?” Ed asked.
“Nope,” Falken said. “Do you want to walk instead?”
Ed shook his head.
The brothers finished clearing the truck, and stacked the last set of proxy legs on the ground. Falken spied the remaining three oxygen masks sitting on the hood of the truck. He slipped the backpack off his shoulders, checking his own tank gauge, and was surprised to find that it held only a few pounds of air.
“How’s everyone on oxygen?” he asked.
They bent over, checking the tanks clipped to their belts. “Red zone,” Greban said.
“Yeah, I’m almost out, too,” Vina agreed.
“What if we run out before we get to the research center?” Shep asked.
“We probably will,” Falken said. “We’re going to have to share the spares.”
“It’s called ‘buddy breathing,’ ” Raynard said. “We do it in scuba diving. You take a few breaths, then hold your breath, pass the bottle to your buddy. They breathe a couple times, then pass it back.”
“That’ll work,” Falken said. “All right, everybody in. And strap in tight, this could get rough.”
As they climbed in, Falken took his seat at the driver’s station, and activated the radio.
“Adrenaline Junkies, ORC, this is Falken,” he said. “We’re headed out.”
“We’re standing by,” Brondi said, from the research center.
“Roger,” Quiss said, a moment later. “Falken, be advised: sensors are tracking a large herd of fauns just south of Mount Olympus.”
By reflex, Falken tapped on the display screen at his station, calling up the map function, before remembering that all of the cameras and sensors it normally linked to were in the crashed ship sitting in front of him.