by Laer Carroll
After an hour and a half they decided to take a walk on the beach and paid their table bill. Sasha tipped generously.
It was getting late and the tide was coming in. They walked nearly a mile away from the hotel, their bare feet in the water periodically as waves rushed ashore. The sun was getting redder and lower, so Sasha was not surprised to get a phone call from her mother.
"Yes, it's time to start back. Thanks for the reminder. Yes, we know there will be old friends there. Don't worry. Expect us in about 30 minutes. Bye."
"Thirty minutes?" said Gia. "It took us that long to get here!"
Sasha grinned. "You wanted to fly fast. How does 650 miles an hour strike you?"
"We really are going to fly that fast?"
Indeed they did.
The next morning Silvana drove Gia to school in her small, battered, but very well-kept blue car and drove on to Pasadena where she had a dormitory apartment she stayed in during the week. Sasha stayed around the house, visiting with her father and making numerous phone calls and answering and sending dozens of emails.
She also updated her schedule. Her agency, Felice, had arranged several modeling sessions and some appointments fulfilling her obligations to Prince Enterprises, for which she was receiving well over a million dollars for her various appearances.
The modeling sessions were straightforward fashion shoots, but her rates had gone up quite a bit since she had become "the face of the air car" and correspondingly more famous. She had become a supermodel.
In two of the Prince appearances she took press up in her air car, both times letting reporters fly co-pilot in limited ways. In another appearance she took the officials of a popular and influential off-road sports group for rides just using the paramagnetic cushion. The tough bottom shell of the air car became stained but not scraped by several too-close encounters with bushes and brush.
Scrubbing with soap and water aided by an enthusiastic Gianna cleaned the bottom, though the two of them become very wet at the end from a water-hose fight.
On Friday she met Colonel Storm Cloud at Camp Pendleton in the half of the huge base which had been leased by Prince Enterprises.
"And why are we eating at the Marine main cafeteria when Bluebird has a perfectly good cafeteria of its own?"
The two of them settled with trays heaped with food at a large round table near a window. Outside busy ground vehicles and marching Marines could be seen. They were early at the cafeteria and it was just beginning to fill up.
"PR. I eat here every Friday. Relations between the Marines and Bluebird Supplementary Forces aren't always friendly. They see us as competition."
"As well they should. Marines have always been about a few good men. And you've shown them that there are a few good men elsewhere."
"And women. Marines still only let women in limited combat roles. We allow them in any combat role. Encourage them even."
Sasha swallowed the mouthful she had been chewing. "I'm a little surprised you'd go along with that. You're pretty old school. "
"About women I was. Anna Prince changed that." He took a sip of a drink.
At her enquiring look he went on. "She's hot shit like you. In every discipline I've seen her in. She and you are pretty much a toss-up when it comes to being the Deadliest Woman on the Planet. You two and a woman named Ariel McCarthy."
Before she could enquire further they were interrupted by a half-dozen male Marines in grey-and-tan camouflage uniform carrying laden dining trays. One of them was a general, who she guessed was the commander of the base. They set their trays on the table but remained standing.
Storm Cloud stood with a light touch under Sasha's nearest elbow so she rose too.
"Tom. How the Hell are you? I want you to meet someone. This is Sasha Canaro."
"That fashion model? Sorry, Ms. Canaro. That sounded ungracious." The general grinned. He had a charming smile and she knew he knew it. She extended her hand and he turned it to give it the European "kiss," a light press of dry lips on the back of her hand.
The several other men introduced themselves and gave her business-like handshakes. They were two colonels, a major, a lieutenant, and a grey haired but fit sergeant with the most stripes she'd ever seen on a soldier's uniform sleeves.
All the officers reacted to her as a beautiful woman despite her typical near-grunge uniform of tennies, jeans, and tee shirt. The sergeant was not fooled by her appearance. He was a fifth dan or its equivalent or higher in some martial art. His neural development was such that he must be at the very edge of human ability as a shooter.
His eyesight was degrading with age, however. She reflexively sent messengers into his body to give him excellent health. Soon he'd be discarding his contact lenses.
They all sat and dug into their food. The general made small talk with her. He was very good at pretending to be fascinated but he let slip one too many remarks about a pretty "little" girl amidst "big" strong men, despite the fact that she was the tallest person at the table except for the sergeant. The sergeant broke his silence.
"Beg your pardon, General, but you're underestimating this 'little' lady. This is Sasha Canaro."
The general looked blank. "Yes, Storm Cloud said so."
"You're so focused most of the time you sometimes miss the news, so you must have missed who she is."
Light dawned on the lieutenant. "Hell, yeah—pardon, Miss. She's the Olympic gold medallist in Judo and Shooting."
"That's very impressive," the general said. "I'm sorry if I inadvertently belittled you, Ms. Canaro."
The sergeant was evidently close to the general. He gave his boss a slightly malicious smile. "This 'little' lady could wipe the floor with all of us before we knew what was going on. Except for Storm Cloud, of course."
"Hell, I'd be halfway to the door when she began to move. Looking for an M5 to take her out from a distance."
Sasha looked the sergeant in the eyes and gave a tiny bow of her upper body. His eyes gleamed in appreciation for her acknowledgement of respect.
The general laughed and it was genuine. That he could laugh at himself sent Sasha's estimation of him up.
"So you're here in California showing off that air car."
"Yes, I have it here. I can take you and three others up if you'd like."
"No, thanks. But Storm Cloud here has been after me to come over and see his pretties. I think it may be time for me to re-think my position on paramag vehicles. What about you, gentlemen? Spare a little time this afternoon?"
The two colonels and the major, naturally, said they could re-schedule. The lieutenant and the sergeant respectfully begged off. Sasha guessed they were both headquarters staff who kept the home fires burning while the big shots were off thinking big thoughts.
The discussion turned to the difference between competitive shooting and practical shooting. Sasha had long-standing strong opinions on the subject.
"I quite agree, gentlemen. I've always tried to shoot in competition as close to practicality as the rules allow. I've made something of a game of it. I've also been nearly censured several times for, for instance, shooting as quickly as possible. And I use stock ammunition and weapons when allowed. Though I have to admit I handpick my ammo very carefully and I zero my weapons to the fraction of a millimeter."
The talk turned reminiscent and Storm Cloud told a well-practiced story about a youthful combat folly of his. Sasha relaxed so much she forgot herself and went back for a second tray of food and drink. She only realized how much when halfway through she noticed that the men had been eyeing her consumption.
She put down her fork and said ruefully, "I see my eyes are more ambitious than my stomach. I've stuffed myself." She deliberately burped and acted surprised and embarrassed.
It was about 1:00 when they all took their trays to the disposal section, the general in the middle of the group. Outside he gave a few last-minute instructions to the sergeant and walked toward a staff vehicle which the lieutenant had ordered on his cel
l phone. His officers followed him.
Storm Cloud's vehicle was nearby. As they walked to it Sasha said, "You and the sergeant set me up, didn't you?"
"Not exactly. But I've known him for a long time and I guessed how he'd react when the general got all little-girl this and little-girl that."
"So now you get the general and his satellites to a show of your paramag vehicles."
"Yes, I do," he said a bit smugly.
Sasha laughed and shook her head.
Bluebird Security local headquarters were several miles of newly blacktopped country road north into a mostly oak-forested land, more closed-in than the open land surrounding the HQ and cafeteria of Marine Camp Pendleton.
Colonel Storm Cloud turned into a side road. On one side just ahead was an old rambling metal frame building newly painted a light blue. If it was typical of most Prince Enterprise buildings Sasha had seen, the insides were elegantly if sparely furnished.
Across from the building was a large parking lot. One section of it was for combat paramagnetic vehicles, rows and rows of several types. Another was for personal vehicles. In the row closest to the HQ building across the road sat her air car, its red-fleck paint gleaming under a slight overcast which had dimmed the usual clear southern California skies.
Storm Cloud parked in a dedicated space a few vehicles down from Sasha's air car. Getting out he waved the general's staff car to a nearby empty space.
The general, colonels, and major joined Storm Cloud and Sasha then walked a few feet to stand near her air car.
"So this is the famous red beast."
Sasha came to stand beside him looking at the vehicle. "Bluebird Security code-named her Red Pony."
She reflected that Beast seemed more appropriate, seeing it as if for the first time as these men were. It seemed to crouch on its wheels, ready to spring into action. Which, come to think of it, was not metaphor but fact.
"Impressive," said the major, coming with the two colonels to stand near the general and Sasha.
"Made by Maserati," said Storm Cloud from behind them. "Instead of building our own vehicles we license the paramag patents to existing vehicle makers. Less upset to the economy. More use of their special industry expertise. And this—"
He walked to the nearest section of military craft, drawing the rest of them with him. The vehicles here were cargo trucks with somewhat smaller wheels than such trucks usually were mounted upon.
"This is made by A-Ford. Notice the small wheels. It's designed to ride most of the time on its paramag cushion. It can clear obstacles of seven feet. All our craft are designed for mostly off-road use."
"Very useful," one of the Marine colonels said, "if the enemy has torn up the roads to deny us access when retreating."
"Or," Sasha said, "if you're retreating you are not limited to roads."
The general looked up at her the one or two inches between them and gave his charming smile. "Marines never retreat, young lady. We always 'advance to the rear'."
She laughed, as did the others. As she did so she realized that all the Marines had been sizing her up. With her unconsciously lithe movements and wide shoulders balancing wide hips, and her height, it was becoming clearer to them that she might indeed be able to "wipe the floor" with them.
Good. She hated pissing contests with men but it was her nature not to back down from a challenge .
Storm Cloud briefly repeated the paramag mantra: almost no moving parts, cheaper (in the long run) than ground cars to make and run, all-terrain travel. But he did not elaborate, for he was leading the way to another kind of vehicle. This looked like a double-long SUV covered with armor. Twin heavy machine guns protruded from its front. It rested on skids rather than wheels.
"This is our light assault vehicle. Cruise speed 100 KPH. Sprint speed up to three times that. Sprint has to be used lightly. It sucks up a lot of juice. Whereas at half-cruise it can go all day. Paramag uses a big jolt to get it up on its cushion but from there it can float indefinitely if you don't go anywhere.
"Oh, and you can mount mini-missiles on these hard points." He pointed to two foot-long wing-like protrusions just forward of the doorways.
The next section of vehicles were what Sasha had thought of a few days ago as paramag motorcycles. Looking closer she realized they were more like snowmobiles, except that they had two skis front and back for four-point support.
"Here. Catch."
Storm Cloud was behind and to one side of her. His raised voice and words warned her and she went to slow time. Out of the side of her eyes she saw a key flying at her. She caught it with a casual flick of her arm. To anyone watch it would seem as if her hand had snatched it snake-fast.
"I know the next thing you'll be after me to let you ride one of these. Go to it."
He began to discuss the "AirMobile" but Sasha paid him little attention. She had examined the tag attached to the key and mounted the little air vehicle the key matched.
There was a seat mounted above the four skis. She sat in it. There was a yoke rather than handle bars as on a bicycle or motorcycle or snowmobile. So you would drive it more like a car. The instrument panel before her was similar to a car's also. So...
She clicked on the combined seat and shoulder belt and turned on the mobile and lifted up briefly and lightly on the yoke. The vehicle rose a foot and hovered. The yoke sank back to the neutral position. She would now have to push down to get it back to ground position. Or trigger the landing sequence... Yes, there it was on the control panel, exactly as it would be on an air car.
In fact, it WAS an air car, just a different design and labeled a "mobile" to appeal, she guessed, to snowmobile and jet-ski enthusiasts.
She began to steer it forward on its paramag cushion to the aisle in front of the car, thinking how clever the designers had been. There would be little or no learning curve if you could already fly an air car.
She turned left and left again, lifting the craft on its jets to ten feet, and floated between two rows of the little air cars. Ahead was Storm Cloud and the others. She turned left and left again and she was back to where she had started, just ten feet up. She gently landed the mobile manually and turned the key to Off. The usual fake engine hum died away with the diminishing hiss of the jets.
"...as you see Sasha had no trouble learning..."
Why the little devil! He had just used his experience with her as a student to predict her actions and lecture his guests.
"...Sasha is daring but never reckless..."
Sasha flipped the key back to On and sent the air car rapidly skyward on its jets. At 300 feet she began a series of S-turns, getting a feel for the craft. Then, at full slow time, she began carefully testing the stall capabilities.
There was no stall limit. The jets kept the craft stable even when the nose was pointed skyward.
Well, not quite. There was an interesting instability when the exhaust of the front jets began to enter the rear jets. Sasha instantly flipped the air car further over so that she was briefly upside down. Then she twisted the yoke so that she rotated right side up. She had to help the car do that with some motions of her body to left and right.
That was an interesting feeling as her blood felt the various pulls in different directions, gravity down, centrifugal force toward her head, and so on. She had better ease off on extremes which only her extrahuman abilities would let her survive. Try to seem Daring But Not Reckless.
But not tame. With a grin on her face she came back down and around and leveled off at twenty feet. She leaned forward and pushed the yoke forward all the way. Below and in front of her Storm Cloud and the Marines were staring up at her. The air car screamed over them at a hundred miles an hour, the wind tearing at her clothing, even ripping the tee-shirt across her chest where the shoulder belt helped cinch her body to the car seat.
Sasha slowed the car and came slowly around and down and around and down to hover over the car's take-off spot. Then she triggered the autopilot to land, which it di
d quite sedately. She released the seat and shoulder harness, grabbed her tee in the front to keep the rip from opening, and stepped down to the ground.
She walked up to Storm Cloud and handed him the key. Demurely she said, "Thank you. That was quite pleasant. I'm going to see if I can find a bobby pin." Then she ambled diagonally across the road toward the HQ building.
A half hour later she was sitting in the lobby of the building idly leafing through a magazine when Storm Cloud entered. She looked up .
His face was emotionless. Or it would have seemed so to any ordinary human. To Sasha it not-quite-hid great good humor and a bit of smugness.
"Did you have fun up there?" he asked, trying quite well for sternness.
"Why, yes," she said sweetly. "Thank you. Did you have fun selling the general on the wonderfulness of air cars?"
He laughed and sat on the couch placed cater-corner to hers.
"No handshakes sealing a deal. But I'd guess within a couple of weeks that lieutenant of his will be calling to 'tentatively explore the possibility of limited vehicle trials' or other weasel-word shit like that."
He sobered. "That Immelmann loop you did up there is pretty dangerous. Promise me you won't do it again until you've had more training. And a better craft. I didn't know those mobiles could even do it. I know your car cannot do it."
"I promise. And you are right. I had to help the mobile rotate upright with some body motion. Anyone else might have died today.
"Which brings me around to one of reasons I wanted to come out today besides looking on your handsome face. The AirMobile or whatever you want to call it. I want to get on the design team, or get some input into its design."
Storm Cloud leaned back in the couch, thinking.
"I'll have to think about that. The team believes the design is pretty solid."
"The design team is wrong. I can wring that thing out and crash it half a dozen ways no one else could survive."