“Engines are locked off until Flight Stage Three,” responded the plane.
“Computer, initiate Flight Stage Three.”
“Parameters are incorrect.”
“Override, damn it.”
“Authorization code required.”
“Authorization Zed-Zed-Zed,” said Zen.
The Sukhois had flown past the Osprey and were now turning.
“Active engines three and four. Accelerate to marked intercept at fastest possible speed.”
It was a bit too much. A half-second after the computer acknowledged, the jet whipped forward. He started to turn and managed to shoot between the Sukhois and their target at Mach 2.3, dipping up and then flying between the two planes. His separation from the first plane was less than fifty feet—hair-raisingly close, though it had no effect on the UMB.
Probably, the Sukhois hit their afterburners. Probably, they tried to pursue. Probably, the pilots would have to spend personal time with the dry cleaner.
By the time they got themselves sorted out, Zen had rocketed up past twenty thousand feet and started back in the other direction.
“Engine three and four at specified parameters,” reported the computer. It sounded as if it were chortling. “Phase Three test complete. Preparing for Phase Four.”
“Computer, cancel Phase Four. Authorization Zed-Zed-Zed.”
“Canceled.”
“Hey,” said Danny Freah over the Dreamland circuit. “We’re clear. Thanks.”
“Not a problem.”
“Ten minutes to that raft—we don’t quite see it yet.”
“They’re all yours,” Zen told him.
South China Sea
1515
The ship had stopped coming toward them. Even the Sukhois were gone. They were alone, as good as dead.
Bree sank to the bottom of the raft. Stoner had his arms draped over it, his head resting on the side.
Zen, she thought, I love you, baby. I love you. Why aren’t you here?
The sun flickered in her face.
If she’d lived, they would have had a kid. They should have. It wouldn’t be easy, would not have been easy, but they should have.
She felt bad for that. Jeffrey would have been good with a kid.
“Shit,” said Stoner softly.
The sharks, she though. Oh God.
She jumped up to help him, cringing.
But it wasn’t the sharks. There was another plane in the distance, to the south.
It moved too slowly to be a Sukhoi. It had propellers. It was loud.
It was an Osprey.
It was an Osprey!
Aboard Dreamland Osprey
1520
Danny and Bison had stripped to their wet suits and waited by the door.
“You ready?” Danny asked the crew chief.
“Born ready, Cap.” The sergeant put his hand to his earphone. They had to be careful about getting too close to the small raft. The downdraft from the big rotos could be fierce. Danny and Bison would jump out with life jackets and a Dreamland-designed inflatable collar to add to the raft’s stability before the MV-22 moved in for a pickup.
“Here we go!” said the sergeant.
As they cruised parallel to the raft at low speed, Danny stepped off the aircraft, walking out as if walking off a board at the swimming pool. He felt his knees knock together as his feet impacted the water; his joints twinged a second, but then fell away. The water was cold—very, very cold. He pumped hard toward the raft, waiting for the surge of blood and adrenaline to warm him.
Bison got there a stroke ahead of him. The Whiplash trooper pushed Stoner into the raft, threw one of the preservers over his head.
“Here!” Danny yelled to Breanna as he reached the side. “Hey! Take the life preserver! Take it!”
Her face looked as if it had been pounded with a baseball bat. Her fingers were swollen and puffy. Danny pushed himself into the small boat, wrapped the preserver around her.
“We’re going home. We’re taking you back.”
Aboard Iowa
1535
Zen watched the Osprey come in as he climbed back—picture, next picture. It approached, it started to hover, someone was leaning from the door, a line was down, she was okay, she was okay.
He floated out over her, happy she was okay. He reached toward her but she was gone, the Osprey veering off.