by Karen Diem
“I’m blind!” he screamed, falling backward. “The cobra got me!” Panicked, he scrubbed at his face with one hand and reached out to the wall with the other.
Electricity shot out of an outlet and coiled around his fist. The plane engines hiccupped.
“Stop! You’ll bring down the plane!” Zita shouted. Spotting her wrench, she seized it.
The lights went out, and the engines fell silent. Rushing wind howled outside, and the floor shivered beneath her feet as if they’d hit a series of irregularly placed speed bumps. Scorched plastic and leather scents accompanied a rhythmic thud and an angry male voice from elsewhere on the plane.
Hefting her tool, Zita whacked it against Zeus’ knee, followed by his head as hard as she could.
He dropped and didn’t move, the lightning in his hand sinking back into his skin.
The damage was done, however, as the aircraft tilted to the side. An ominous thrum reverberated from the SNARC ball case.
“Pinche pendejo,” Zita swore at him as she ran to where she’d left Jerome and Pretorius. “J—Chevalier, we got problems!”
As he kneeled on top of Pretorius, Jerome methodically ground the mercenary’s face into the carpet. “Who you calling boy now?” he panted, ripping the belt off a nearby seat with one hand. Bodies, most of which continued breathing, littered the floor. Jerome, Rani, and the silver-haired man were the only others standing.
“Can you fly a plane, Chevalier?” Zita said. “Zeus is down, though I don’t know for how long. Also, I’m pretty certain Pretorius has enough carpet up his nose now.”
The silver-haired man spoke before Jerome could. “I could, but you’d have to get the power back first.”
Anger still marring his features, Jerome snorted. “I don’t think he does,” he said, but he stopped mashing the other man’s face into the carpet.
“You need to turn off the SNARC ball. I think it’s on,” Zita told Rani and her trainer.
The older installer blanched. “If it’s been activated, there’s no fix for it.”
Beneath Jerome, Pretorius bucked, trying to throw the large man off, but even his enhanced strength couldn’t counter Jerome’s weight and grip. His free arm waved in the air, making it hard for Jerome to tie him.
Swearing internally, Zita reached for the party line, relieved to feel it. Guys, Zeus sucked the electricity out of the plane, and now it’s going down! I don’t know if I can save everyone, and I think the SNARC ball might be activated.
Rani’s eyes were wide, and she gulped. “I can’t fix a plane engine. I mean, I could fix a loose wire, but I don’t know how to repair the power to an aircraft. Or SNARC balls yet. This is my second day, and all I did yesterday was paperwork.”
Oh, Goddess, no! Wyn sent.
His tone grim, Andy said only, On my way.
Zita heaved a relieved sigh. As she started to tell the others, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Pretorius’ free hand creep to the huge blade strapped to his belt. “Watch out for his knife!” She lunged to stop him, knowing she’d be too late.
Even with the awkward grip that was all his position would allow, the mercenary sank the blade into Jerome’s leg.
Jerome shouted in pain and pulled out the knife. Reversing it, he struck Pretorius in the back of the head with the hilt.
The mercenary went limp.
Once his prisoner was no longer struggling, Jerome trussed him up, and Zita found another seat belt so he could be hog-tied.
Something banged, and she and Jerome both turned to face the corridor. The door to the freight hold was ajar, and Zeus’ form no longer decorated in the hall. The SNARC ball holder sat open and empty.
“Wingspan will handle the imminent death by plane crash issue.” Zita waved the wrench toward the hold. “You want to see if we can stop Zeus from doing any more damage?”
Jerome cracked his knuckles. “With pleasure. Try not to get me shot this time.”
“No promises,” she said.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jerome shoved open the freight hold door and entered first, Zita a few feet behind.
A large piece of equipment hit him, sending chunks of circuit board flying in a no doubt expensive cloud of debris.
“Oye, I hope that wasn’t the SNARC ball,” she said. The disparity in their sizes kept any of the shards from hitting her much smaller form.
The big man swore and stomped farther in.
“It wasn’t.” Zeus held a long rod in one hand and an ornate metal sphere in the other. Light pulsated inside the ball, snaking over the intricate green and gold surface in an uncertain rhythm and glinting through the many openings. He swung the rod at Jerome’s head.
Jerome caught it and forced it backward toward Zeus.
The entire plane shuddered and leveled out with a rough jerk. Both men fell to the floor. Zeus released the SNARC ball in an attempt to stay upright. He failed when his injured knee gave out.
Zita seized a nearby rack and clung to it.
The sound of the wind was gone. Except for their breathing and the slow rumble of the SNARC ball rolling toward the front of the aircraft, the plane was now silent.
Zita ran to the window and she peered outside. Massive avian claws gripped the visible wing. “Wingspan’s got the plane!” she called out to the others. “The falling to our death crisis is over.”
Jerome stood.
Zeus was faster, and he snatched the SNARC ball. “Convenient for me.” He jerked the lever on the outside door and leapt out.
When the unconscious General Aetherics man slid toward the opening, Zita, now an orangutan, hooked her feet around a shelf base and grabbed him with her long arms, letting the wrench go. She drew him closer until he was cradled in her arms, relieved the poor guy still breathed.
Jerome had lunged for Zeus and missed but kept himself from falling out. He slammed the door shut. “Well, shit. Now what?”
None of my flying shapes, even the pterosaur, are strong enough to get the ball away from Zeus. My more powerful shapes can’t fly…Through the window, Zita eyed the glowing object being carried away and then stared around the freight area. She transformed to Arca. “I need to deal with that. Hold my bud and watch this.”
“What?” Jerome stared at her.
“Bad joke, apparently.” She shoved the unconscious man at him.
His arms full of the injured guy, Jerome must’ve been too surprised to argue, as she expelled them from the cargo area and shut the door behind them. For good measure, she bolted it. Turning to the rows of strapped down gear, she mumbled to herself. “With luck, General Aetherics will forgive some equipment loss for the sake of saving their precious SNARC ball from exploding over a city or being stolen by jumped-up thugs with powers.” Zita eyed the thug she’d tied up earlier. “Stay put and you’ll be fine.”
American Taco Thug cringed in the webbing.
Zita rushed over to the construction jetpack and undid most of the clamps, her mind racing through possible animals. I’ll need to be the size of an elephant to wear it, since it’s meant to lift industrial equipment, not people. Hands will be necessary to use that remote control strapped to it and to hold the SNARC ball. Shifting to a giant sloth, she hit her head on the ceiling and hunched down to back into the jetpack, swiping open the last clamp. She aimed her body at the doorway and mashed buttons until the pack roared to life. It rose unsteadily, banging her against the ceiling again. She pounded on the controls, swerving from side to side before she found the setting she needed.
This is such a bad idea, Zita thought, adrenaline singing in her veins.
Wariness laced Wyn’s mental voice. Zita, what are you doing?
Zita couldn’t repress the sensual thrill running through her and felt her lips stretching wide in what had to be a feral grin. I’m saving the city from an exploding SNARC ball. Crouching on her powerful hindquarters, she jumped toward the door as the pack kicked on. Even with the massive size and weight of her prehistoric form, the pack sti
ll rose faster than she had expected.
Much faster.
Maybe I should’ve opened the exit first. Zita crashed into the ceiling again with a thud that jarred her whole body and slammed the pack against the roof. Mentally cursing, she contorted herself, trying to alter her angle of ascent. Just in case, she jerked her head down below the top of the pack.
This time it smashed against the closed door to the outside. Pain shot through her. Once she stabilized her precarious hold, she hung there, reaching for the door lever again.
This was much smoother in my head, she thought. After repeated small bumps against the door, she realized the best way to control it was through lower body movements. She kicked out again and again, inching toward the lever. At last, her long, dark claws hooked the handle and pulled.
With an ear-wracking screech as the edge of the door scraped the side of a fuel tank on the pack, she was out. Zita dropped through calm air for a few weightless seconds. Once she cleared the plane, wind hit her in a rush, and the pack faltered for a moment before it stabilized. Her speed rose, and the jetpack engines settled into a steady roar without walls to hold her back. A vibration so low as to be more felt than heard, the SNARC ball called to her.
From behind her, she heard a startled chirp. Without glancing back, she raised a hand and waved at Andy.
Kicking her legs in midair to circle until she could see Zeus, she found him doing a slow, graceful flight toward the bright colors of Manaus. In his hands, the SNARC ball flared irregularly.
I doubt it’s supposed to pulse like it’ll throw up any second. She kicked out to bring up the rear of the jetpack and zoomed toward him. A hoot escaped as her flight leveled out, the jetpack stabilizing, and the wind whistling and shoving against her face. I realize all those people are counting on me, but this is fun.
Although the pack seemed fast, they had almost cleared the city before she caught up with Zeus. In a stolen glance back toward the base, she spied Andy’s bird form flapping to a landing. A corner of her mind relaxed, knowing the plane was safe.
Her flight was not soundless, and Zeus twisted around to see who approached. After changing to an awkward one-handed grip on the SNARC ball, he made a dramatic throwing gesture at her. Nothing happened.
Zita hooted and barreled into him, sending him spinning as she hooked her claws around him. Her fur tingled where the front of her body contacted the mesh of the SNARC ball.
He punched her with superhuman strength, but her thick hide and bulky form absorbed most of it, so it was painful, but not bone-crushing as it otherwise might have been.
Gauging the hit so she wouldn’t behead him with her heavy black claws, she swiped at his arm, opening three long, deep gashes in it.
With a howl, Zeus threw a wild haymaker at her again. He hit and dented one of her fuel tanks with a sickening crack. He screamed and yanked back his hand.
Tendrils of electricity shivered over her jetpack and reached toward the man.
Zita yanked on the SNARC ball, just as Zeus got his injured hand to crackle with lightning.
She twisted to avoid the strike to her chest.
His glowing hand hit the pack again. Zeus winced and made a choked sound at the impact.
Lightning raced over the metal and into her giant form.
Pain chased through her. All of her muscles stiffened, and her curved sloth claws froze around the SNARC ball. A yelp, resembling a high-pitched quack, escaped her.
The world went dark.
Zita struggled to consciousness in a haze, aware of the increasing rush of air past her. I’m falling. I should make sure I stick the landing this time.
Andy called her name, and she cracked her eyes open enough to see him leap up and past her as a human.
When she forced herself to assess her situation, she realized the pack was silent, save for the occasional sputter that slowed her descent and sent her sideways. The ground rushed up toward her. Despite the few moments she’d been unconscious, her claws had remained hooked in the SNARC ball, and it throbbed in her arms. Her eyes widened. Carajo.
Panic on his face, Andy shot past her again, this time on the right.
Zita tried to focus her scattered thoughts enough to teleport to safety. It was harder than it should have been.
Just as she accepted the inevitability of her teleportation getting out or falling to her death and dooming Manaus, Andy fell past her, and she spotted his face hardening. His eyes filled with a silver glow. He stretched out his arms and improbably crossed the ten feet between them to catch her. His body slammed hers with the impact of hitting a wall at a full run.
“Gah,” Sloth-Zita bleated.
Cradling her much-larger and unwieldy form in an awkward hold, Andy slowed and hovered in midair, then began a slow, controlled descent.
Andy landed at the Brazilian Air Force Base and set Zita and her burden down by the hangar. The General Aetherics jet was there already, along with her friends, the elderly installer, and the sergeant’s squad of men. He grinned. “I flew. As a man.”
By that time, her mind functioned normally again. She shifted to Arca and set down the SNARC ball. “Way to go, mano… and great save.”
“Thanks.” He beamed, his eyes once again their familiar warm chocolate color.
Reaching them first, Jerome clapped Zita and then Andy on the shoulder. “Glad you’re alive, and nothing exploded.”
As he rushed to the SNARC ball, the silver-haired installer exclaimed in English, “It’s been partially activated. We need to get it into place and fast before it finishes too many cycles and roots permanently in this hangar or explodes with nowhere to put the generated energy.” He wrung his hands.
Rani and Wyn trailed behind him
Zita swore, translated the installer’s comments into Portuguese for the military nearby, then added her own addendum. “Who knows where this thing needs to go?”
The sergeant stepped forward. “I should arrest you, but I know where the power plant is. If you’d all consider yourself arrested while we sort this out, that’d be great.”
“Fine. We’ll take you, the installers, and a few men you pick to the factory. Wingspan here can have you there in less than a minute, and they’ll get this thing installed. I’ll ask one favor in return.” Zita ran a hand over the heavy mass of her hair. Turning to her friends, she repeated the plan for the ones who didn’t speak Portuguese. Wyn, of course, was following with bright eyes.
The sergeant squinted at her and tilted his head. “I can’t promise not to arrest you. The brigadier was clear about that, though I’m not certain we could stop you if you broke away.”
Zita held his gaze and nodded, understanding the unspoken message. “Did you guys find a boy creeping around?”
His forehead wrinkled, and the sergeant shook his head. “Not that I heard.”
She relaxed. “Good. If anyone asks, you haven’t seen one, or he might’ve been killed in the crossfire, take your pick. Zeus had a kid that he forced to work for him by holding his family hostage, and he might think the boy’s dead now.”
After an intense study of the floor, the sergeant’s eyes softened, and he nodded. “Do what I can.”
Having listened to the English translations with an intent expression, even if his gaze was glued to the SNARC ball, the silver-haired installer said, “Excuse me, but we can’t do the install. The jetpack you broke was necessary to hold the containment cage in midair while connections are wired up, and the facility plans don’t show space for a crane to replace it or the right kind of platform. It’ll take hours to get a new pack with the right software here.” He made a gesture toward the damaged pack she had dropped on the pavement.
Now that Zita no longer wore it, she could see the gouged, battered remains. It had also lost a few pieces when it had hit the ground and those littered the area surrounding it. I don’t think that’s getting fixed anytime soon. Her mind raced, and her leg jiggled as she switched to English. “Wingspan can fly, and he’s more t
han strong enough to hold something up. Bet he can stand in for the jetpack.”
Andy blinked. “I… I guess so.”
The silver-haired installer stared at him and nodded. “This’ll be the quick and dirty version of the install. Someone retrieve our gear from the plane. Rani, call headquarters to see if I can get a manufacturing tech on the phone to help with a tricky bit. Normally we don’t ignite it until it’s in place, so I want to run some shortcuts by them. Nobody put their fingers in the cage. Grip it with flat hands on the outside since it’s partially active. General Aetherics takes no responsibility for anyone killed, maimed, or disappeared who puts their fingers through the mesh.” He gave Zita a long glance as if he wanted to say more… but stopped.
She translated the instructions into Portuguese for the soldiers. The ones who had been about to pick up the ball blanched.
Rani nodded and dug out a satellite phone from her bag
Wyn squeezed Rani’s shoulder and stepped away.
“Great, we’ll get going then. We’ll all stay together so the sergeant can keep an eye on us.” Zita smiled brightly, then repeated herself in Portuguese.
We’re ditching them as soon as the installers don’t need us, right? Andy sent.
Órale, you better believe it. Zita’s phone buzzed, indicating a new text. “What now?” She pulled it out and checked it.
Andy grinned, his eyes sparkling. “Let’s transform… and roll out.”
Jerome snickered.
The text was from Andy’s stolen phone. “We’re even now. No more free samples.”
Zita laughed.
Epilogue
Two nights later, Zita and Andy were again in the desert, though this time she’d chosen an old picnic area for the relatively flat ground, lack of cacti, and number of interesting surfaces to use while sparring. For Andy’s peace of mind, Wyn sat in a nearby folding chair, complete with an umbrella over her head, working on her tablet. All of them wore their disguises, in case Andy’s bird form had been tracked.
Ducking a kick, Zita danced around Andy and struck his shoulder with an elbow before spinning away. She grinned. “Point, me!”