My flight destination was Smuggler's Valley, a valley nestled in these hills, seated just beyond the Seattle Metroplex in Salish lands, near the town of Tenino. I was flying there to deliver a package to some t-bird smugglers en route to Denver. Smuggler's Valley used to be a quarry back when this was still part of the old United States, but it closed shop before the area became tribal land. The tailings in the quarry contained a lot of iron that messed up radar, which combined with the rolling hills in the surroundings, made for a perfect hiding place for t-bird smugglers running from Athabaska to Denver.
As I turned to swing around a rock outcropping, I felt a simsense-induced stiffness in my lower leg. Angelfire's vehicle rig was warning that the tail rotor was acting improperly, but I already knew that. While I was leaving the Tacoma docks on this trip, a Yakuza gang hit the people I was picking up from, and Angelfire took a hit in the tail rotor. The damage wasn't serious by any stretch, but it made turning and maneuvers a little balky.
All of a sudden warning klaxons blazed in my ear as a spray of crimson washed over my sight. Someone was painting Angelfire with radar, causing the copter's sensor warning receiver to scream its head off. Looks like the folks I was supposed to meet are just as edgy as I am.
With the twinkle of a thought, I called up the communications menu, selected the digital transponder, and ordered transmission of the preselected code I had received. A second later the cone of red transformed to a cerulean blue, as the radar recognized me as a "friendly" rather than a potential hostile.
Reassured I wouldn't get shot down while landing, I crested the last ridge as the quarry opened up below me. Two t-birds sat in one section of the rocky pit, a pair of olive drab pillbugs scavenging at the bottom of a rocky-gray flower pot. One had several panels removed for repairs, and on the other I saw visible blast marks on the hull. Seems pretty obvious just why they were so edgy.
Within the simsense environment of Angelfire's rig, I leaned back and spread my arms. The helicopter responded by descending down into the quarry, opposite from the two t-birds. As the walls of the rock pit rose above me, I slowly brought my arms to my side, slowing the copter's rate of descent. By the time my arms met my waist, Angelfire touched down with all the impact of a feather falling on the skin of a custard. I exhaled slowly, and the whine of the engines faded as they powered down.
As I unjacked from the system, my mind attuned itself back to a body left unattended for the past half hour. I removed the flight helmet and undid the ponytail holding my hair together, letting the auburn curls fall freely to my shoulders. Stretching my arms as I hopped out of the cockpit, I straightened my synthleather flight jacket and adjusted the pistol belt hanging at my waist. These smugglers only knew me by reputation, so it was important to convey a striking first impression. I turned towards the t-birds, my boots making a scrunching along the ground as I walked over the loose gravel.
Two of the smugglers, an ork and a woman, were coming to intercept me halfway across the quarry. Although their hands were empty, I could see their sidearms hanging ready at their waists, with holsters unstrapped should they need to draw quickly. I kept my own hands open, freely swinging with each stride, but I made sure my gun hand didn't stray too far from my Predator. Neither of us really wanted a fight, but neither were we going to back down. Showing weakness shortens one's career in the shadows pretty quickly.
The ork was the first to break silence. "You Josie Cruise?"
"Depends," I answered noncommittally, "you one of the Sooners?"
The woman frowned skeptically as she sized me up. "I thought you had died."
"Twice." I smiled as I glanced at her over the top of my mirrorshades. It seems like the reports of my last run-in with the UCAS Air Force were still circulating around.
"I don't think there's any need for that," a voice interrupted. A man in greased-stained coveralls appeared behind the duo. "I heard about your little run-in over McNeil Island. Your reputation precedes you, Ms. Cruise."
"Not as much as yours does, Johnny," I replied as I took his outstretched hand in mine. Johnny Come Sooner had achieved something of a legendary status amongst riggers in the Seattle Metroplex. Long before even I had started running the shadows, Johnny had been jamming t-birds over the Continental Divide smuggling contraband from Seattle to Denver and back again.
"Actually, I'm glad you're here," said Johnny, as his face assumed a grave look. "Can you fly a t-bird? I lost my wingman on the way down here, and I need someone to fly the Silver Bullet tonight." He jerked his thumb back over his shoulder at the dinged-up t-bird behind him.
"It's been a while, but yeah. Terms?" I wore my best poker face. Business was on.
"Fifteen percent of the cut on arrival at Denver."
I let out a small laugh. "If you pay third-stringer rates, no wonder you lose wingmen. Twenty-five percent."
Johnny's face didn't register at all. "Twenty percent."
"Done."
"Thanks. Between Ghostwalker and this Salish war, it hasn't been safe to fly the Rockies solo." Johnny's face broke out in relief as he gestured to the ork. "This is Phil. He'll be your gunner and will be providing magical overwatch for us."
"Pleased t'meetcha." The ork rumbled. He extended his hand, but at the last moment balled it into a fist and swung a slow punch. Tuned to the game he was playing, I deftly blocked the punch with one hand, sidestepped, and gave a light elbow tap with the other arm. Caught off balance, the ork fell forward, and a cloud of dust arose as he hit the dirt. He chuckled quietly as I pulled him up. "Not bad. You just might work out after all."
"This is Clio. She's our navigator and my gunner." Johnny gestured to the woman on the right. She said nothing but simply nodded curtly. Ice queen personality, so it would seem.
I jerked my thumb back towards Angelfire. "When do you want me to start loading up the cargo?"
"Soon. We take off at dusk."
"Hey! Jo-girl!" shouted Phil from inside the Banshee. "You finished with that pre-flight check? Clio's screaming at me over the radio!"
"OK! OK! I'll be there as soon as I finish checking the sensor dome," I hollered back. Once I closed the inspection hatch over the dome, I walked to one side and climbed the handholds leading up to the pilot's hatch.
As I was strapping on the flight helmet, the engines of Johnny's Banshee purred to life as he began warming up his t-bird. Thanks to the built-in hearing protection, however, what would normally be the Banshee's deafening signature scream came across as merely a muffled whine.
I swung my legs down the hatch and lowered myself into the pilot's seat. It was a very tight squeeze, as I contorted my body around the various instrument panels and control banks. I pulled the hatch above closed tight, entombing myself deep in the belly of the bird.
Engulfed in near-total darkness with illumination from only a few monitors, I connected the datacord from the flight helmet into the primary control panel at my right hand. A myriad of colors washed over the cabin, as the simsense module activated and ran through its startup routine. The darkness of the cabin dissolved into a panoramic view of the quarry outside. A number of virtual controls appeared at my fingertips, floating in midair above my lap. I keyed the communications "panel" and brought up the internal intercom. "Phil, JC here. How do you read me?"
"Gotcha Lima Charlie, Jo-girl," replied a disembodied voice; Phil's flight lingo told me he heard me loud and clear. I keyed the panel again and selected radio comms. "Speedy Delivery, this is Angelfire," I said, using my own callsign. "Commo check, over."
Johnny's voice crackled in my head. "Lima Charlie, Angelfire. You take off first and provide overwatch, over."