Authors: Susan Grant
Jordan strapped herself into the seat next to him. “You need a doctor,” she said, her hand on his arm.
“He’ll live,” Trist snapped. Acceleration pressed them all into their seats. The high speed caused buffeting and a steady vibration. “We have bigger concerns.”
“Like three broken nails,” Natalie complained.
“Okay, Nat, so I owe you my life
and
a manicure,” Jordan shot back.
Though the women joked, Kào knew they did so to ease their trauma. “You have control of the bridge now,” he ventured in a rasp that sounded barely human. “It was you who closed the breakaway.”
“Pugmarten was there. He knew to do it,” Jordan explained in rudimentary Key.
Kào smiled. “But it was you who sent the word to him, my resourceful captain.”
He felt Jordan’s cool palm slide over his. Her fingers flexed as she spoke. “Your father . . . he is dead.”
“I know,” he whispered. “I saw him go.”
He took her hand and clasped it tightly. With vision blurred from ruptured blood vessels, he squinted at her, focused on her lovely face glowing with love. For him. The right kind of love, not the kind that took, or demanded, or used trust as leverage to cause pain.
She’s what you want, isn’t it? That life. So be it, Kào. I can give you that, at least
.
“Yes, Father, you gave me that,” Kào said under his breath, holding tight to Jordan’s hand. It was her face that he watched when a distant, momentary flash of brilliant destruction bathed them both in the light of a thousand suns.
The last leg of what had to be the longest return flight from Honolulu in the history of aviation took place just after dawn, two weeks before Christmas. They’d be arriving home nearly three months after they’d left.
Trist stood in the cockpit of the 747. “So you’re going to dump us out the back of the ship,” Jordan confirmed, contemplating the plan they had so carefully gone over.
Trist nodded. “Is the only way. No one must know Earth’s location.” Steeg and his crew had known only that they were picking up slaves, not their origin. Moray had wanted Earth kept secret, a source of power. The Alliance had decided that posting guard-ships in orbit would draw attention to the planet—Talagar attention. Not revealing where Earth was located was the best way to ensure its protection . . . for as long as that lasted.
Most of the
Savior
’s crew had been transferred to another ship. The few left aboard were loyal Alliance agents. Their
government was engaged in a renewed battle with the Talagar Empire, one that even Trist admitted she didn’t know how it would conclude. In a quiet voice, she said, “Good prevails in the end. We can only hope it will prevail in this war, as well. But should the Alliance fall, should there be a Talagar victory, even in this one zone of space, Earth would be in danger. No one must know how to find you.”
Of the two people who knew Earth’s exact location, only Trist still lived. Moray would not be sending any more spaceships to fish airliners out of the sky.
“I will bring the ship into the atmosphere, open the cargo doors and then increase the body angle of the
Savior
. Your craft will fly free.”
“It is not without precedent,” Kào added from where he sat in the captain’s seat. He was certainly not in charge, Jordan thought with an inner smile, but as a previous copilot, a first officer, she was most comfortable flying from the right seat. “Craft have been dropped from the rear of ships before. Not often. But it has been done in emergencies.”
“Yeah, well, it still sounds crazy,” Jordan said and checked the status of the auxiliary power unit, whose battery had been recharged by the
Savior
’s power sticks. It gave her the electrical energy she needed to start the engines. As for the air pressure that needed to get the huge fan blades spinning, Trist and her team had found an air hose that would work. The passengers were grateful for the cleaned toilets in the lavatories; Jordan appreciated that makeshift hose. “These engines haven’t run in a while. I don’t know how they’ll do. What’s the lowest altitude you can bring me down to, Trist?”
“Eighty thousand.”
Jordan frowned. “Earth feet? I need lower. The highest flight-tested altitude for one of these babies is forty-five thousand one hundred feet.”
Trist punched numbers into her handheld computer. “Sixty thousand?”
“Lower.”
Trist frowned. “Fifty-three thousand is the lowest I can do without risking ship and crew.”
Jordan’s mouth spread in a grim line. “I’ll take it.” With the number-one engine running, she reached overhead for the start switch and cranked the number-two engine. Fifty-three thousand feet. About eight thousand higher than a 747 was allowed to go. It was going to be dicey, but as long as she kept the jet from stalling and kept the speed up, the engines would keep running and she’d be able to fly down to where she could better control the plane.
Trist put away her handheld and crouched by the center instrument panel, between Kào and Jordan. “At this low altitude, our arrival will make for quite an atmospheric show for Earth.”
“A splashy comeback,” Jordan said with a smile and impulsively pulled the albino woman into a hug. There was so much danger on the horizon for Trist. But she was a brave and noble woman who would make the military of any country, any world, proud. “I hope we get the chance to meet again.”
As Trist pulled away, her lavender mouth tipped into a crooked smile. “When I next see you . . . and Kào,” she said with a warm glance in his direction, “it will be to celebrate the Alliance victory.”
She stood and turned to leave. Then she stopped and said over her shoulder, “No matter what happens—my death, a Talagar victory, or an Alliance one—it will only be a matter of time before your Earth is found again. If it is a long conflict, it may be years. But the day will come.”
Jordan prayed it wouldn’t be Talagars who made that first contact with Earth. As she searched Kào’s grave face, she wondered how much time they’d have before the galaxy
came knocking at their door. She didn’t know. No one knew. Life was like that. Until then, she’d simply have to view every new day as a gift.
Without another word, Trist left the airplane. Kao reached across the cockpit and took Jordan’s hand in his. His fingers were dry and cool-tipped. “I had never experienced love, Jordan. Romantic love. It wasn’t that I was the cold-hearted sort who’d sworn off love; I simply assumed that love wouldn’t ever be part of my life. And when it finally came, it was no surprise that I didn’t recognize its first symptoms.” He squeezed her fingers in his. “Forgive me this belated confession. Jordan, I love you.”
She snapped her head back. “Oh. . . .”
“Love,” he repeated. “Is it the same meaning in English?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “The same.”
Her fingers throbbed in his. She covered their joined hands with her other. Her voice was husky and soft and full of yearning. “I want to go home. I want the life we’ve planned. I want you, Kao.” She tried to catch her breath. “I love you.”
He tugged her hands to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.
“Don’t make me cry,” she squeezed out. “I’ve got to fly this thing in about two minutes.”
His eyes twinkling, he pressed his firm lips to her hand once more and released her. “Take us home.”
Jordan readied the airliner for its most turbulent flight. But when she started the number-three engine, it quit. She swore and hurried through the procedure to restart it. No dice. “It’s dead, but we can fly with three,” she told Kào, and started the number-four engine.
Nervousness was not in his nature. Or if he was apprehensive about the flight to come, he didn’t show it. The warrior. That’s what he was. But here, on the airplane, she was in
her
environment, too. She could do this. Three engines,
four, it didn’t matter. She was going home.
Hang in there, Boo. I’ll be there soon
.
The
Savior
had to be entering the upper atmosphere. The turbulence began as a rumble and increased until Jordan was bouncing in her seat. A faint smell of something burning accompanied the rocky ride.
“Atmospheric entry,” Kào confirmed. He sounded calm. But Jordan noticed that his hands gripped the armrests so tightly that the blood had left his knuckles.
“Think of all I’m going to show you, all we’re going to do,” she said, as much to reassure him as herself, speaking in a pidgin form of English and Key, a way of communicating that she and Kào had fallen into in the past few weeks, preparing him for his new language. “Christmas and candy canes, Disneyland and McDonald’s. And snow! You’ll get to see that for the first time!”
Kào’s dark eyes sparkled. “Do not forget the Super Bowl,” he said in his deep voice.
She grinned. “Dad and John will take good care of you.” She’d longed for the day Kào would be taken into the folds of her family and, she hoped, accepted by Roberta as a father.
There was an explosive sound of rushing air. Jordan’s ears popped and her sinuses prickled. “Here we go!” The cargo doors were opening.
She grabbed the PA microphone, holding tight to the steering yoke with her other hand. “Okay, ladies and gentlemen, this is it. Hang on, and I’ll have you on the ground in no time.”
Above the noisy roar of wind, she could hear the prolonged cheers from the back. She pulled her sunglasses out from her uniform shirt pocket and slipped them on. Then she fitted her headset over her hair. One part impatient and one part scared out of her mind, she took hold of the control yoke with sweaty hands. The second the 747 was jarred free
of the ship, she’d be flying a handful of airplane.
You’ll need to step on the left rudder
, she reminded herself. To counteract for the dead third engine. Other than that, she had little idea what to expect other than what Trist had briefed her.
Keep the blue side up . . . keep the blue side up
. . . .
A strong hand closed over her forearm. “You’ll rise to the occasion,” Kào assured her. “You always do.”
“Thanks,” she whispered.
The bumping around smoothed for a heartbeat as the huge spaceship pulled up to a nearly vertical position. Jordan’s stomach flip-flopped as the 747 started sliding backward. The scraping noise the aluminum belly of the fuselage made as it slid backward over the cargo-bay floor was worse than nails across a blackboard. There was a sharp jolt, as if they’d bumped over a curb. And then they were free.
Free falling, it felt like. The sensation of decelerating backward was disconcerting. Holding the control yoke, Jordan fought to keep the 747 level. Her boot pressed down hard on the left rudder. Ahead was the
Savior
, an awesome sight as it roared upward and away from the ocean, trailing thick plumes of white condensation. Jordan braced herself. Trist had warned her about the great craft’s wake. It caught the 747, just as Jordan expected it would. Countering the vortex, she steered the opposite way. Then, without warning, the wake reversed. Between the dead engine and the overpowering outside forces, Jordan couldn’t keep the airplane level.
It flipped; the sky and sea spun, changed places.
Holy shit
. She kept the roll going and made sure she didn’t pull back on the yoke, which would send the nose toward the ground and into a dive from which they probably wouldn’t recover. But in the next heartbeat, they were upright again and the air smoothed out.
Jordan whooped. Kào looked pale. “We did an aileron
roll,” she cried, her hands shaking, her heart hammering. “In a seven-forty-seven!”
One corner of Kào’s mouth tipped up as he gave her a sideways glance. “I don’t quite understand your enthusiasm for the maneuver. But I do share your excitement for finishing it right side up.”
Jordan didn’t want to think about how that must have felt for the people in the back. And she didn’t have time to ponder it. “I can’t maintain our altitude.” Something wasn’t right. Even though they were lower now—twenty-nine thousand feet—they were losing airspeed. Instinctively her eyes went to the engines. “Number two’s gone!”
“What is this?” Kào asked, not sure of her English.
She switched to Key. “We’re flying on only two engines. The airplane can do it, but it’s not good. Not good at all.” She was beginning to wonder if she’d ever get home.
“Can you restart one or both?” he asked.
“I’ll try.” She did.
They didn’t.
At least the losses were symmetric, the center engines instead of two on one side, which would have made flying difficult. Jordan used maximum continuous thrust on the two remaining engines and drifted down to eighteen thousand feet, where she leveled off and turned on the autopilot. Then she tipped her head back and sighed.
Promise, Mommy?
Almost there, sweetheart
, Jordan thought.
Almost there
.
Her hand shook as she selected a radio frequency she hoped would work. “San Francisco radio, San Francisco radio, this is United Five-eight.”
There was a telling, static-filled silence. “I bet they’re busy trying to figure out what the heck the
Savior
was,” she said to Kào.
Yeah, and we better pray no one shoots us down, either
. She made another transmission.
“Flight Fifty-eight?” the controller asked. “United?”
A shiver curled along Jordan’s spine. “That’s affirmative. United Airlines Flight Five-eight.”
Believe it or not, guy
.
More silence followed during which the controllers identified them using the transponder signals sent by the airplane. Jordan was sure that more than just air traffic controllers were checking out the flight. The United States Air Force and the CIA, to name two interested parties. Would they want to harm Kào? Her heart gave a twist as she gazed at her lover’s profile, eyes that had seen too much torment, known too much grief. He’d suffered enough. He deserved a run of happiness; he’d earned it. Hell, so had she. But first, she’d do everything in her power to protect him from the men-in-black folks. So would the rest of the passengers on Flight 58. If anyone wanted to hurt Kào for being an alien, they were going to find themselves on the wrong end of a mob of angry passengers and one pissed-off overprotective fiancée. With a war raging in the rest of the galaxy, and Kào the only one who could offer advice, she was hopeful that the government would see the light, get what information they needed from Kào, and leave them in peace.