Chapter Twenty-One Where She Belongs
Chapter Twenty-One
Where She Belongs
Selena
“Prepare for immediate evac.” Strabo strapped into the command seat, buckling and tightening the harness. The frame of the heavy drop ship from the Francis Drake was vibrating, cycling higher and higher as the mains spooled up.
“Weapons free.”
“Aye, Lieutenant,” Richland said. “Orbital shows all green. No hostiles.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Strabo intoned, then flipped down her glare visor. “Initiate escape sequence.”
The mains ignited, and the pilothouse shuddered, a cloud of dust obscuring any visibility through the viewports.
The ship’s computer sounded off in a calm, female voice. “Liftoff in three… two…”
“Main engines LO, full power,” Strabo ordered.
The ship rose steadily, the maneuvering thrusters firing repeatedly—the sound resembling a harsh cough each time—to keep the vessel in the proper escape altitude.
“Still in green, LT.”
The dust cleared as they lifted above the canopy, the emerald sea of jungle rolling and swaying as far as the eye could see.
Suddenly, the ship rocked to the right, and then to the left.
“Holy shit,” Richland barked.
“Max power,” Strabo said, raising her voice to be heard over the scream of the main engines. “Put ‘em to the wall.”
“It’s buried, LT. But we’re not moving.”
“What the fuck is happening out there?” Strabo leaned forward in her chair. “Orbital, what do you have? Orbital?”
“It’s jammed, Lieutenant.” Richland cursed under her breath. “Mains are still in the green, but over-cycling is heating ‘em up.”
“Stay on max power, Richland. We don’t get out of here, we’re dead.”
Richland cried out then. “What is that?”
The jungle, the very canopy itself, was coming alive, massive tree-trunk thick vines snaking and writhing out from the top of the trees. There were hundreds of them, thousands more appearing by the second.
“Switch to observational, hull view. Keel.”
The screen before them flickered, showing a down-firing view from the bottom of the ship. There were massive vines everywhere, like gargantuan headless snakes, tentacles. They’d wrapped around both nacelles, even taking hold of the landing struts and gun port recesses.
The sound of screeching, twisting metal could be faintly heard from somewhere deep in the ship.
“Those things… whatever they are. They’ve got us. Can you shoot them, Richland?”
“Negative, LT. I can’t even open the gun ports. Missiles are going to be useless.”
“Particle beam?”
Richland grunted. “Not when we’re at max power, Lieutenant. We throttle back enough to charge the beam primer and we’re liable to be slammed right into the ground.”
“Fuck,” Strabo hissed. “Do we have any way of getting through to orbital?”
Richland reached up, toggling the transmitter. “We’ve got a carrier wave but zero power is showing for transmission. Might be a bad reading—”
“Or one of those fucking things has torn off our comms array,” Strabo said, slamming her fist into the console overhead. “Open an emergency band—APU should be able to get at least a short message off before it expends its reserve power.”
“Got it,” Richland said. “It’s live. I have no idea how long this will last, so make it quick, LT.”
“Orbital, fire all particle beams on this position. Repeat, fire on this position. No KKVs or missiles. Particle beams only.”
“LT! What are you doing?” Richland practically screamed it, as the ship rolled right again.
“These heavy drop ships have got enough magnetic shielding to practically fly us through a star’s corona. PBs are going to be murder on those things out there. We just have to hope we don’t get too fried in the process. It’s our only shot.”
“Weapons inoperative,” the faint response from the Francis Drake sounded on the APU band, then the carrier wave squelched harshly, and Richland killed it.
“It’s gone, LT.”
“Then we are too,” Strabo muttered, gritting her teeth.
Release her.
The voice, sounding like two stereo channels out of sync, boomed through the pilothouse.
“Switch to main view,” Strabo barked.
“Lieutenant, are you seeing… what I’m seeing?”
Directly ahead, hovering above the treetops, was what looked to be a man.
With wings. Horned, with great flapping white wings. The eyes appeared to be glowing a brilliant, shifting red-orange color.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Strabo muttered.
Release her now, or none of you will leave this planet alive.
The sound of the voice was deafening, echoing inside the pilothouse. It seemed to be coming from every direction, and no particular direction at all.
“Can we pinpoint the origin of that transmission?”
“Negative, LT.” Richland slapped her console. “It’s all over the place. Can’t get a fix.”
Strabo pointed at the flying man—who was steadily growing closer. “Richland, target… whatever that is. Anything we have.”
The corporal twisted around in her seat, looking back at the lieutenant. “Are you confused? We have nothing. We’re fucked.”
“Block the comms then. Keep that motherfucker from talking to us anymore. I need… we’ve got to come up with something.”
“LT, it’s true. What Selena told us—don’t you see that now? She’s not crazy at all.”
“My God.” Strabo sank back in her chair. “If we can stall long enough, maybe the Drake can get a firing solution.”
I know about your two vessels in orbit. They won’t remain in orbit long if you don’t comply, humans.
“How the fuck is he hearing us?” Strabo snarled.
“I don’t know, LT! We’re jamming just fine—even our own fleet couldn’t hear us now.”
The mains began to vibrate even more, the ship shuddering as it continued to roll from side to side.
“Port side is in yellow now, Lieutenant. We’re going to have to shut down if we can’t get free.”
Land your ship and hand her over to me. You have two minutes.
Strabo lifted her wrist to her chin. “Security—we’re going to need Warrant Officer Marks ready to disembark. Richland, abort escape sequence. Put her down as best you can.”
“W-what are you planning to do, LT?”
“I’m going to talk to the bastard. Unless you’ve got any better ideas, Corporal?”
The door to the pilothouse opened, and Selena stepped in, her arms bound in a self-protection harness, her hands locked away behind layers of fabric. She was pale, but her eyes were much sharper than they should have been while still under the influence of the powerful sedative she’d been given.
“Sorry, Lieutenant. She begged me to be allowed to come see you.” The bearded, gruff trooper assigned to guard her looked as frightened as Strabo felt. “I figured…”
Selena!
Strabo curled up in her chair, the volume of the booming voice enough to cause pain to lance through her head. She’d never heard a noise as loud as his voice was now.
She was sure another blast at that level and she’d have blood dripping from her ears.
“Malcolm!” Selena walked to the viewer, standing before it. “You’ve got to stop! They’re my friends! Please!”
Return Selena to me. This is the last time I will tell you.
Selena spun around, her gaze solemn. But rather than fear in her eyes, there was a certainty, a calmness, and yes, a pleased note.
He’d come for her.
She was going back to him. And she seemed very glad to be going.
“Lieutenant.” Selena turned to her friend, and at that moment, Strabo got a glimpse of the former pilot—the woman she used to know as Selena Marks. “Please let me go. I belong here—with him. And he belongs with me. Don’t do this. He… he’ll never allow me to be taken. You’ve got to let me go.”
Strabo held Selena by the shoulders. “Marks, you’ve gotta be clear on this. If he’s holding you against your will, I have the authority—the responsibility—to fight. Even at the cost of our lives. I will not leave a crewmember to death.”
“Then leave one to life.” Selena smiled then, a tear slipping down her cheek. “You’ve been such a good friend—and a commander any pilot would be proud to fly with. But it’s time to let me go.”
Strabo’s voice was thick as she nodded slowly, glancing down at Richland. “Open the cargo bay doors, Corporal. Not all of us are going home.”
Lieutenant Strabo touched Selena’s face, smiling at her one last time. “Someone here is already home.”