Anthology - From the Street

I eased back on the throttle as the t-bird crested the last hill, the final obstacle between us and the rough banks of the Snake River. In the grainy green vision of the Banshee's night-vision sensors, however, it appeared like a wide black ribbon directly in front and below, an irregular liquid blacktop highway belonging to Mother Nature. The remote location of our rendezvous, sixty kilometers away from curious eyes of Richland in the Salish-Shidhe, was uneven and broken, so the only flat stretch available to land for several kilometers was the Snake River itself.

I brought my arms in and leaned slightly to the left in a gentle glide. In response to my virtual body movements, the t-bird's vehicle control rig eased back on the port jets and angled the starboard jets outward. This caused the t-bird to yaw leftwards, until our flight path angled about 20 to 30 degrees to the right of the river's course.

I spread the arms of my simsense body out and straightened my virtual legs below me. The t-bird responded by extending the rear canard flaps and lowering its landing gear. As the nose passed over the water, I cut all power to the maneuvering jets and redirected them into the vertical jets. A giant fan of steam and spray blossomed behind the t-bird like a peacock's plumage at the height of mating season. As speed drained from the bird, the wheels on the landing gear briefly caressed the water's surface, and the aircraft bounced upward, a 30-ton stone skipping across the river's surface.

This gave the t-bird momentum to cross the far side of the bank, barely. The front landing gear plunged into the burbling water, but before the underbelly could meet the river's embrace, the running wheel clawed the gravelly bed of the river. In seconds it emerged from the drink and rolled upon the gravelly beach. By the time the rear wheels touched down, the t-bird had cleared the waters, leaving nothing but spray to moisten the rear tires.

As the engines dwindled to a gentle purr, I redirected the exhaust back into the maneuvering jets, allowing the t-bird to roll off the beach and over the ridge into a nearby clearing. Waiting for me there was a fuel tanker and a Bulldog panel truck, property of our refuel and refit team. At the edge of the t-bird's Low-Light vision, I saw Johnny's t-bird lurking in the darkness, like a giant steel puma peering on a herd of deer in the opening.

As my Banshee entered the clearing, a person wearing Low-Light goggles jumped off the back of the fuel truck and ran towards my vehicle. He switched on a pair of torchlights and began guiding me into parking position. Once I had piloted the Banshee into satisfactory position, the ground guide raised his torches above him in an "X." He then brought one light down across his neck, in a slitting motion, before killing both lights.

I powered down the engine in response to his signals. As the engines' purr gave way to silence, the vehicle control rig began its shutdown sequence, relinquishing consciousness back into my meat body. A wave of aches and stiffness washed over me as the virtual world melted away into the real one. I stifled a groan as I reached up to activate the dome light and switch off the last few manual controls.

Unjacking the datacord from the vehicle, I slowly climbed upward and released the hatch lock. The hatch swung upwards, as the cool night air descended into the warm cabin confines. Climbing up and out, I pulled off my helmet, allowing my long auburn hair to fall freely.

"That was some crazy stunt ya pulled there, Jo-girl," rumbled a low voice from behind me. I turned around to look at my ork gunner, who sat on the edge of his hatch and stretched his gigantic arms. "Next time ya try sumthin' like that, lemme know first, so I can put on my swimming trunks, 'kay?"

"O ye of little faith. We're here in one piece, aren't we?" I teased. Phil grunted something unintelligible in return.

As I climbed down the ladder, the fuel truck pulled up alongside the t-bird. One of the men in the truck ran over to me, while the others pulled a hose toward the Banshee's fuel cap. I jerked my thumb over my shoulder back toward the Banshee. "Fill 'er up. While you're at it, check the tires and clean the windshield?"

In the dim light, I could almost make out a smile on the crew chief's face. "Would you also like me to check the oil?"

"Nah. I got a million-kilo tune-up next week, I'll check it then."

"You got it," said the crew chief with a mock salute. He then turned to attend to his crew. "Okay, you guys, let's move with a purpose! Lady's got a plane to catch."

"Hey Phil, I'm going to go find Johnny," I called out to my partner. "You hang around and check for battle damage. Oh, and see if we can get some heavier ordnance."

"Gotcha, Jo-girl!" Phil's voice faded in the distance as I made my way over to Johnny's t-bird.

I ran into him halfway there, as he was walking over to come see us. "I'm glad to see you're still with us, Josie."

"Yeah, so am I." I recounted to him our dogfight with the other Banshee. Johnny's brow widened as I told him what Phil and I suspected.

"Are you saying someone set you up?" Johnny asked incredulously.

"I'm just saying it's an awfully strange coincidence we got bushwhacked twice the same way," I replied evenly. As the newcomer to this crew, I wasn't in a position to be leveling accusations. "You don't work for anyone, do you?"

Johnny shook his head. "No, we're completely independent, like most smugglers. Most of my logistical contacts, like the guys refueling your bird, I've worked with for several years, so I can trust them."

"Well, to get that good a drop on us, twice, someone had to have known our route in advance. I hate to say it, but it's the only thing that makes sense," I concluded.

Johnny shrugged and changed the subject. "I gotta go over and pay the refit guys and talk to Phil. Have you gotten the latest navigation data from Clio?"

I shook my head. "No, not yet. Something up?"

"Clio just got off Shadowland and told me there's been a recent raid by Tir forces against Rinelle rebels around Seneca," Johnny noted. "That's a little too close to us, so I thought we'd take a more easterly route."

"I'll head over and download the mapchip overlay from her."

I clambered up the handholds on Johnny's Banshee to get to the turret hatchway. I could see a trio of ghostly rectangular eyes blinking randomly at me; Clio must be busy with the monitors in her cabin, and some of the monitors' illumination escaped out around the hatch window slits.

As my boots clomped on the t-bird's top, the hatchway opened and Clio emerged from below. The display monitors inside bottom-lit her silhouette, making her ascent like a restless phantom from its grave.

"I have new navigational data for you." Clio's voice had as much life as the ghostly illusion.

I held up my hand to interrupt her. "I know, I talked to Johnny. You have a map chip for me?"

"Wait a moment." Clio descended down the gunner's hatch in as ghostly a manner as she had risen. I glanced down the hatch and saw a multitude of consoles, far more than necessary for an ordinary gunner and making the normally roomy turret as cramped as the pilot's seat. I had already guessed that Clio served double-duty for Johnny as both navigator and decker. (Quite normal with most smuggling groups, who hack weather and navigational satellites, not only for the latest forecast, but also to spy on border activity.) Confirming my guess was the tricked-out Fuchi Cyber-8 sitting to the left of the gunner's seat, a deck with so many modern upgrades that belied its antiquity.

Clio's hand suddenly appeared in my face as she thrust a mapchip out to me. "Here's the new route overlay. It will take us through an area with high paranimal activity. You should prepare for opposition."