Anthology - From the Street

Written by Diane Piron-Gelman and Robert Cruz, based on stories by Jonathan Szeto

It started as a simple job. (How many times have you heard that in your life!) I should have known; few things in my life are ever simple, but that's what you get when you're a smuggler and sometime runner, making your living outsmarting the Powers That Be. I'd been hired by a Johnson to retrieve a certain package from an island that lay in Salish territory, which made sending a ground team a difficult proposition. Border crossings and fake datawork and all, you know-and it'd have to be good datawork, in case the Salish authorities decided to get picky about "interlopers" from the UCAS. Good, of course, meaning expensive. Even at my hefty fee, I was cheaper than the usual running team. The Johnson and her up-front cred checked out, so I took the job. A simple helicopter flight out to the island, a quick in-and-out, return trip and a hand-over-easy money, I thought.

I drove my favorite car to the place where I'd hidden my 'copter away. She was my pride and joy, that Airstar-a good sturdy workhorse of a vehicle, with plenty of nifty mods I'd made myself. Any decent rigger, in my opinion, also ought to be a halfway decent mechanic-especially a rigger like me, who couldn't always count on a talented and discreet mechanic turning up if a smuggling run went sour.

I waved hello to the maintenance crew, but didn't make much small talk. No time to chat when biz was waiting to be done. They gave me an all-systems-go report, which was all I needed to hear. I strode up to the Airstar, checked to make sure I had plenty of ammo for my gun, then climbed into the pilot's seat.

I jacked into the helicopter's rig and the virtual heads-up display blossomed before my eyes. Dizziness hit me for a split second; then my mind adjusted to the blizzard of input from the view screens, which were arrayed before me like the many facets of a cut diamond. The screens showed views from every angle, as well as numerous data displays. At the moment, the largest screen, positioned squarely in the center, displayed the status of the Airstar's system as it warmed up.

As I summoned the helicopter to life, I could feel the rumble of the Pratt Whitney turbojet engines in my chest. The chopper's blades seemed to rotate in sync with the blood pulsing through my limbs. I shifted into forward visual mode; a small icon blinked in a corner of the main view screen, indicating that the hangar door had opened. I was cleared for takeoff.

I pulled my legs into a crouch. The rotating blades went from a whine to a roar in response. I leaped upward and the helicopter rose, slowly but surely soaring upward through the rooftop hangar door. Once I'd gotten several dozen meters above the roof of the warehouse, I set the chopper to hovering briefly as I scanned the Seattle sprawl far below. The low background levels of thermal and electromagnetic radiation emanating from the city showed up as a dull red and green glow in my display. I spotted no active radiation sources, which meant no one was watching right now.

I turned my attention to the navigational screen. It showed my target destination as a red dot, a tiny island of hot brightness in the deep, cool blue of the Pacific Ocean. With another flicker of thought I commanded the screen to display known sensor watch posts. They appeared as small radar-dish icons giving off white waves.

I swiftly plotted a course that eluded most of the lookout points, then stretched my arms over my head, twisted my body toward Puget Sound, and swept my arms down to my sides. The Airstar turned and sped toward the moonlight that glinted off the Sound.

This was going to be a cakewalk. Breeze on out to the target, pick up the package and come back home. I'd be back in time for happy hour at the Shack-and this time able to pay my tab, and just maybe buy a round or three for a certain pretty lady I'd had my eye on recently. Yep, this was just the kind of job I liked best…

Suddenly the chopper's warning klaxons started screaming. I turned my head and my visual display rotated until the rear view screen occupied my central window. On it I saw two dark flecks against the pink and gray pre-dawn sky. The Airstar's Identify Friend or Foe transponders identified the craft as two F-B Eagle interceptors from the UCASAF's Fifth Air Wing based at McChord.

Before I could make another move, bright spurts of thermographic orange blossomed under the wings of both interceptors and the helicopter's targeting alarm began to shriek. A warning message flashed on my heads-up display-both interceptors had locked on to the Airstar and fired air-to-air missiles.

Instinctively, I arched my body toward the coastline, a movement that turned the helicopter. At the same time I started kicking my legs furiously like an Olympic swimmer, sending the chopper screaming toward the land. But my evasive action didn't fool the missiles' targeting sensors. The deadly projectiles twisted and dove after me.

Time for Plan B, then. I focused my mind on the right control, and a giant red "PANIC" button materialized under my left hand. I slapped the button. Explosive charges planted at strategic points along the chopper's body detonated, destroying the brackets that held the Airstar's outer shell in place. As the shell fell away, it revealed a second skin coated with radarbane.

I knew I wasn't out of trouble yet. I jackknifed my body toward the floor like a diver, and five small parachutes blossomed from the 'copter as it plunged into a power dive. Thermite flares swung from two of the chutes, bunched strips of aluminum chaff from two more. The last chute supported a small rocket, hardly large enough to dent a paper airplane, but containing a transponder and flare that mimicked the Airstar's thermal and electromagnetic signature. The chopper's radarbane skin would cloak it from the missile's targeting sensors, and the chaff and flares would temporarily confuse the two missiles, which would then lock on to the decoy rocket.

I hoped.

Scant seconds after I'd I punched the panic button I felt my virtual body convulse as the shock waves from two explosions rocked the helicopter. I twisted around, bringing the chopper face-to-face with my two attackers, and the direction-finding axes of the Airstar's targeting program appeared on the main view screen. I selected and armed two anti-radiation missiles, then cut them loose as soon as I heard the lock-on chirp twice. The ARMs appeared like two streaks against the sky as they homed in on the strong signals from the pursuing flyboys' jammers. A half-second later the 'copter's targeting alarm fell silent, which told me that the missiles had destroyed the F-Bs' targeting sensors. (Thank heaven for ARMs. They lock on to a target's emissions, so the stronger your opponent's sensors and jammers, the better the chance your ARMs will find their mark. The F-Bs' ECM suites would have spiked most of my weapons for sure if the flyboys'd had a chance to use them. But the ARMs homed in on the jammer signals and saved my hoop.)

Both pursuing planes wavered for a few seconds as small explosions erupted in their noses where their targeting sensors had been. Then the flyboys swung around and streaked past me, strafing the Airstar with miniguns. I kept the chopper diving toward the shoreline; I could feel my skin twitching as I pushed the Airstar beyond its limits and its body buckled under the strain.

Before the flyboys could swing around for a second pass, a green wave of Salish radar passed over my view screen. I'd entered Salish-Shidhe airspace-safe territory for me as far as my two hunters were concerned. (Though not exactly safe per se…) The zoomies broke off pursuit, apparently unwilling to risk an international incident for one lone 'copter. After a few seconds I breathed a sigh of relief. I'd heard no warnings from Salish air-traffic control, which meant it hadn't detected me.