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1940 Hours - Artillery and Air Interdiction Range Bravo

Lieutenant Commander Sadok glanced up in awe as the black outline of an Air Force B-52 lumbered by. Black rivulets of smoke poured out of the four engines on each wing, leaving long darkened streaks across the fading blues and oranges of the evening sky. Down below, the stretch of tan brown floor seemed to sprawl endlessly in all directions. Reminding her that this wasn't the case, jagged snow covered peaks of mountain ranges could be just make out in the distance.

To the commander, and most others in the large formation of fifty or so fighter and bomber aircraft, the sight was only a momentary distraction. Slipping the light enhancing visor over her helmet mounted heads up display, Shepard went to work navigating through the computer displays in front of her. Engine readings, radar tags, fuel levels; all things that she would have to maintain an acute attention to over the next few hours. Tapping a circular area on the display to her left, she transferred the readings to her helmet. A triangle marking her position appeared in the center, a large line down the middle pointing her to her own objective; the targeting range.

"You know, I'm here for a reason." A lightly accented voice interrupted.

Shepard glanced into the mirrors and mentally chastised herself for forgetting about the woman in the back seat. "Matter of habit."

"Cypher" sighed, glancing around the seat in front of her. "What's good is often forgotten. What's-"

"Bad is often hidden." Shepard finished for her. Finishing up the last of her calculations, she shifted most of the information to the displays in the back. "Yeah, I know. Sorry."

Cypher chuckled, tapping away happily. "No worries, but I swear commander, sometimes you make me wonder."

"You and about everyone else I've ever talked to."

"Incoming radio transmission. Looks like AWACS on all channels." Said Cypher.

"#This is Long Arm to all flights. Flight path designations have been resolved.#"

The radio cut out quickly, leaving a long hiss of static. The green objective line changed course to another area deep within the dotted outline of "enemy territory". The B-52 lurched slightly to the right, changing course and dropping altitude.

Shepard sighed.

"So much for best laid plans."

Easing in just behind the bomber, they dropped altitude just enough to avoid the massive wash from the engine exhaust and wing vortices.

There was a short pause as the AWACS crew deciphered the message and compiled a slew of different entry options for the bombing range. She could just barely make out the bottom of the telltale black and white rotating dish as the E-3B Sentry maintained its high altitude above her. Just in front of them on the same heading were several four to five ship flights of different USAF, USN, and USMC aircraft, all of which were locked in tight formation. To her right, out of visual range, two Kc-10 and two Kc-135 tankers flew lazy figure eights on separate tanker "tracks", ready to refuel any of the aircraft, including the AWACS.

Checking the small clip board attached to her thigh, her "knee board", Shepard went over the notes she had scribbled along the route to intercept. The brief had called for Navy and Marine Corps fighter/bombers to assault a simulated urban area, while most of the Air Force's air to air superiority fighters would meet the enemy faction, the "red air". The remaining aircraft, the lumbering bombers, would be escorted by the remaining fighters.

The event was reminiscent of the massive simulated air war of the since retired "Red Flag". This, even to experienced aviators, was a completely different animal. Watching such a huge mass of fighters from air forces around the world had been nothing short of awe inspiring. You couldn't have told her that she'd be flying in close formation with the bulk of them. It made her instantly appreciate the airborne controllers, who manned the two Airborne Warning And Control Systems aircraft, that much more.

Long arm and Outreach were famous across all fleets for their highly skilled veteran aircrew and controllers. Most had seen action during the planet wide invasion those few chaotic years earlier. Those that didn't were some of the best all US services had to offer. These two aircraft and their crew were the last of their kind, soon to be replaced by newer stealthier systems.

"Ledger Three, you are cleared for entry to tango range via your designated heading, be advised, Tiger is also inbound on the reciprocal."

"Ledger Three acknowledges, rolling in weapons hot."

Shepard gave a thumbs up to her wing man in tight formation to her right and pointed down. He'd heard the coms, and nodded. She watched his weapon systems officer nod a reply as well. Rolling the two-seat F/A-18 Super Hornet over she got a good look at the amber hued valley below as the altimeter fell. Righting the bird at ten thousand feet she let her wing man rejoin. A few other hornets from different packages, or different fighter commands, did the same as they separated for their mission air ground assignments. One of the two E-3B sentries, Outreach, dropped altitude and split off to Shepard's left flying a square holding pattern.

"Ledger Four go to the active channel, push one three seven."

Punching in the frequency on the pad in front of her she keyed the mic switch on the throttle three times and waited for the two click response.

"Clear Three."

"You're good Four, go ahead."

"I'm gonna need you to laze the target Shepard, Pods fucked."

She looked to her right as the WSO gave an exaggerated shrug. Looking down, the pod was half open, the clear crystal plate which housed the camera and laser targeting module stuck and inoperable.

"You've got a bad habit of breaking whatever electronic toys you get your hands on." She mimed an explosion with one hand.

"Hey, I opted on calling him magnet ass when we first rolled out." Sparks replied.

Eve laughed. "What is this Echo, your sixth time? I bet you were messing with it on takeoff. Bet you its messed up because of you."

Echo face palmed his helmet as he flipped through the different display pages.

Their conversation was interrupted as the secure speech crackled on, broken, but clearing. "#In... Ods... Eation...#"

AWACS...

"Sierra Tango One Seven, hostiles inbound... heading three... No, zero four... "

"Outreach, clarify."

"Sierra One Seven, confirm kill on your package."

"Which one of us?" The pilot nearly yelled in anger.

"Sierra One Seven, confirm kill on your flight."

"What? I didn't even hear a lock tone!"

Another flight of about four planes in all, about twenty nautical miles to their backs, had all been "killed" in an instant. Eve checked her watch, red air intercept wasn't for another half hour. Mentally shrugging she sighed. Best laid plans and all that.

"Good thing ops spend weeks planning this shit out just to fuck everything up for the good guys at the last minute." Echo clapped his hands and laughed. "Thanks again for contributing to yet another cluster. I'm keepin' score now."

Shepard rolled her eyes as she tightened the oxygen mask. Navigating through the GPS way points she changed to radar, setting it to scan at its longest frequency range. A small blip traversed the hundred or so nautical miles at an amazing speed. Trying to lock on and identify, the blip then disappeared. It had to have been a glitch, she reasoned. Regardless, they were too close to the bomb range and too heavy to engage anything anyway.

"Outreach, this is Ledger three, do you have-" She was stepped on by the FAC himself demanding position for at least some of the aircraft. "Outreach, this is Ledger three, DO you have coms with-"

"Standby. Ledger three, prepare predesignated slot. Heading-"

Outreach never finished, the female controller stepped on by the communique from an accented tongue.

"Mike two six, going zero four fife! Angels two six at mach..."

"No copy on range Mike two six."

"No range! Close at mach... six!?"

"Awacs engaged, Long Arm lost!"

Punching the munitions dump button, there wasn't any hesitation as throttles were pushed forward to their stops. The plane bobbled some to compensate as the near five thousand pounds of explosives were dropped, small explosive claps muffled by the greater engine noise. The rate at which they were covering the huge distance weighed heavily on their minds. At best, the flight of two were still two minutes out at best, which meant they'd probably be picking up the pieces after their arrival.

Listening to a myriad of other flights copy their presence, she copied theirs and proceeded on. Watching the small blips erratically and unpredictably float around the radar screen meant that something was dishing out some serious electronic counter measures, enough so to cover any hostile identify friend foe transponder signal.

"Jamming the shit out of us, wheres our ECCM?" Echo seethed.

"If Long Arm is out of the picture, then Outreach probably moved to take their place. Even still, we should be in at least the outer coverage zone for that aircraft."

Sparks grunted. "Never seen this type of interference before. Even my GPS way points are starting to skew."

"There's no fucking way..." Echo trailed off in surprise. "We're flying the speed of heat and this bastard just blew past us and half the damn Air Force! There's no god damn way!"

Pulling up the radar again she noticed one box, the same anomaly as before, flittering around like the path of a missile. She watched intensely as box after friendly box was replaced by green X's; until they had all been taken out. In the distance with the remaining fading light she could just make out the end of an air to air fur ball, a dark black object screaming through the middle. Nearly stopping in place, it pulled up sharply and fell back onto itself, pointing its nose behind and firing off another kill shot. It hadn't looked possible even after seeing it happen. Even the raptor pilots were silent, their thrust vectoring, high-g maneuverability suddenly moot.

Eliminating the foes present, the object continued back the way it came, apparently eying a single fighter. The f-18 pulled up hard with its speed break deployed as the object overshot. The blackbird pulled up hard heading high and successfully disappearing into the reflection of the moon. The F-18 with the tiger pinstripe on the vertical stab hit the afterburners and tried following, but rolled out after the lone AWACS recalled the remaining flights.

"This is Outreach to all packages, knock it off. Repeat, knock it off."

"Rodger, Old Joe knock it off."

"Lancer copies, knock it off."

After about ten minutes of near constant call-ins everyone had been accounted for and the tankers had been formed up on again. After consulting with each other, the defeated AWACS Long Arm gave a synopsis of the action. This exercise day, for the good guys at least, had been a complete flop. All but two flights out of the combined fifteen had been "shot down" or unable to continue. Shepard was used to having horrible fly days in which odds were stacked against, but this had been a massacre, plane and simple. Three hours of flight time for less then five minutes of action... That they weren't even a part of!

The flight of two pulled even with a flight of Canadian F-35's just behind the left most tanker. The coms, lit up with conversation before, were now silenced. Most pilots didn't take a small defeat kindly; but an overwhelming shellacking silenced most of the after action boasting she was used to hearing.

What had that thing been? A new Air Force experiment? Lord knows it couldn't be the Navy's. Maybe a thrust vectoring SR71? Nah, it had been retired almost fifteen years ago... Then again, so were the "legacy" super hornets they were currently piloting. Maybe NASA-

"Fuckit, beers on me commander! Magnet Ass pays his dues." Echo interrupted.

"You're on an open channel, Four. That mean you're going to treat all of us?" She laughed.

A myriad of whoops and cheers filled the net as the premise of "free drinks" spread. Echo only sighed.

It was eight by the time they got back and almost eleven by the time they got out. The maintainers had scratched their head at multiple pilots' claims that their radar had all displayed the same glitch and anomaly. That they had all mysteriously broken at the same time for multiple reasons, which was an overly complicated way of saying "I got my ass handed to me because of my skills, but I'll blame it on something you didn't fix right." Screaming and hot heads abound, she skipped that part and decided not to "remember" any of the small things that had gone wrong during the flight. The plane captian didn't like Echo's reason for why the L-pod didn't work either, and a change of callsign was suggested by another plane captain. The maintenance department had their work cut out for them tonight; she didn't envy the time they slaved away.

####

Shave rolled the Farrom 8 over on its back and looked up. Rika followed his gaze and gasped. Displayed in her face shield was an abstract painting of the clearest blue, green, and brown, all accented by splashes and swirls of brilliant white. For the first time ever a realization about her birth planet drove into her, made real by mere perspective. She had heard it hundreds of times in her former life, yet so visceral now it was as if the understanding had slapped her brain as it flashed by:

Earth is a beautiful place.

It was a wonder it had never dawned on her before. She marveled at the blue, white, brown, and green for a while in awe. Sure, there had been pictures in text books, but to see its sheer beauty against the black, empty vastness of space was something completely different. Down there were over seven billion people, doing everything imaginable at that moment- waging war, cooking Udon soup, walking the dog, robbing a gas station, fishing as they watched the sun set, beating their daughter, having sex with someone they loved deeply (or didn't love at all), giving CPR to a stranger, or murdering their brother. Yet from space none of that seemed to matter. It all flowed together in a masterpiece that an artist could only dream of. Smokey's bass voice echoed her thoughts,

[Holy shit. Your parent planet is gorgeous, Rika.]

She felt herself smile as a tickle moved down her cheek from her eye. She tasted the saltiness as the tear found it's way to her lips. Homesickness caught her unaware, dropping on her like a pallet of marble.

[Thank-you, Smoky,] she muttered.

[Let's take a closer look, shall we?] said Shave, pulling back on the stick until the nose of the vessel pointed straight at the planet. She watched as the planet suddenly grew in size, filling her view. There was a loud beep in her ears that yanked her attention back to her display.

[You're at your max Shave, slow up.]

[Gah! Already? What the hell do you have me limited to, the speed of sound in a vacuum?]

[Point three percent inside controlled space sir.]

[Out here?!]

[NASA and international agreements control all orbital areas sir. I assumed it was to be included in 'controlled space' closer than lunar orbit.]

There was some grumbling she could hear, but the alarm went away and the display indicated the vessel slowed to about mach five and a half. They were clearly headed towards the western United States now, the desert clearly visible below the cloudless sky. There was the occasional tiny shimmer of something, and after a few seconds she could make out a crowd of aircraft below them, swarming around like bees. She marveled how none of them ran into each other.

The Earth tilted up a bit as Lost told the pilot something in his navigator jargon that she missed. They were heading towards an area that Rika guessed was about five hundred miles south of the swarm. She vented the remainder of their heat- the shouldn't be using tail in atmosphere anyway and having cold iron meant she had a place to dump all their waste heat if Shave wanted to keep their IR signature to a minimum.

[Cloaking is down, stealth and ECM active. We have over a quarter hour till we're supposed to engage, half hour if we use local time measure.]

[We shall see about that,] remarked Shave, [Smokey, which do you have set for this "Outreach" we're supposed to call in to? Isn't there a special frequency we're supposed to use?]

[Yes, I have it set on com four. Shall I call?]

[Thanks.]

Rika heard a click over the intercom, indicating the switch from intercom to transmitting on the radio spectrum.

"Outreach, this is the Ghost Two, I am," Smokey grunted as Shave yanked back on the stick and engaged the speed brake. The G's piled on momentarily until he broke parallel with the ground and slowing the vessel to about Mach four, "Uuuuhhhhhh, ah, heading nine three strong, no wingman, speed is..." he paused as he attempted to convert units, "call it about Mach four point two. Requesting permission to start the party early."

There was a pause as the command unit processed the information. Rika envisioned an argument about a prank call from an invisible craft while someone searched for the officer in charge. About a minute later came the response. They must have had a rakkan liaison onboard, because the voice carried a distinct accent.

"Ghost Two, we don't see you on our scope, but you are cleared to start the fur ball early. Do not engage Outreach or Mig Mag. Both are heading one seven zero from your position and apart from the group."

"Copy, do not engage Outreach or the MiG Magnet. Ghost Two rolling in, fights on!"

Rika felt herself pushed back momentarily as they accelerated again. She switched from her boring readouts on her display to the radar. The blips moved gradually towards them on the screen, but at the scale it was still mind-blowingly quick for Earth craft. Once they were close they slowed to Mach four again. She was getting butterflies.

[Cloaking down Smoky, take the stealth off too. Let's give them a chance to see us.]

[Cloaking and stealth down. ECM active.]

She could feel her heart beating faster, red circles on the display representing other aircraft flying towards her at nearly three and a half times the speed of sound. Adjusting the settings to show more information, her eyes went from one circle to the next; the display indicating each craft's distance, mass, direction of travel, altitude, and estimated number of large life forms on board. Human life forms. Her own kind.

[Secure frequencies decrypted, Shave, you want in?] The second seat's voice broke over the intercom.

[Yes, Smoky, let me listen in. I need you to find an initial target, too. Something to make it sting before we wreak havoc.]

Rika's gut turned when she heard her own voice over the intercom: [Refuelers are the heavies on the right, that will limit everyone's flight time. Other than that I'd try and find an AWACS or J-STARS for some solid hurt.]

There was an almost overpowering feeling of guilt that came over her as she uttered the words. It might have only been a game, but she was helping them attack her own people. She was betraying her own kind. Her own kin, as ancient and tattered as that tie was.

[What's AWACS?] Replied the pilot.

[It's like a gigantic flying radar dish. We use them as the eyes and the ears in the sky to see enemy aircraft, control friendly craft, and provide electronic countermeasures and communication.]

She was going to puke, the guilt was so strong. She stared blankly at the console in front of her as she saw the blips zip closer. What the hell was she doing?

There was a touch on her shoulder, causing her to jump. Niedka was leaning against his suit to put a hand on her.

['We', Flat Face? You are not one of them anymore. Feel your ears, your nose, and your fur. You might have been born human, but you are rakkan now and will never be a part of them again. You are and always will be one of us.]

He emphasized the last word, as if to drive home the meaning. It went beyond the crew of the Farrom 8 or pad seven or FLI-682 or even the Yasoi family. They as a whole people had adopted her as one of their own, folding her into the mix without reservation in a process that had started when the Voramn's had wedged her from the foster home into her dad's arms. Lost's words rang true: she was accepted just as much as if she had been born there.

The display on the inside of her mask dimly shown the face of Niedka that was normally hidden beneath his face shield. He was confident, an unusual trait for him and he was beginning to show more of it. She smiled faintly in return.

[Thank you.]

Shave's voice came through her helmet. [Awww, they had a moment.]

[Shut your gullet Shave,] snapped Smokey.

"Ledger one, you are cleared for entry to tango range via your designated heading, be advised, Tiger is also inbound on the reciprocal."

There was a pause as the english crackled in their ears. The speaker had an accent that was hard to place, perhaps a mix of the Midwest and East Cost. To Rika it sounded almost alien after hearing nothing but the twisted attempts by the rakkan, yet familiar, like she had heard it in a dream before or was experiencing de ja vu. There was a brief moment where she wondered what it must sound like to the rest of the crew to hear it come from a native (not counting Matt, who had picked up a bit of a arlomic accent) for the first time. There was a nervousness she felt in the cockpit. They had done air to air training against worse than this, but they had never been tense. Why?

[Shave, there's a heavy in the middle of this mess that's putting out some serious radiation in the radio spectrum, likely radar. That transmission was broadcast from the same vessel.]

[Thanks Smoky. AWACS Flat-Face?]

[That would be him sir.]

[Good. Smokey, give him a half-assed jam. I want him and everyone else to see us coming, but that's it. Don't let them get anything on their friend or foe system either.]

[Copy.]

[Flat-face, what are my limits?]

Rika tapped the screen and her display flashed up, [Max atmospheric velocity mach 6, G-lim at fifty, HASS at point one, lockout at eight. Forward power thrust only.]

Smokey chimed in: [Radar max range is down to 300 miles. Max tagging is ten miles. Single target kills only. No active cloaking. No projections.]

[Geeze, leave me something, will you? Can I at least use my hands?]

Voices chuckled over the comm.

There were a few moments of silence and Rika felt the tension of the crew give way to the confident, predatory attitude she was used to. The Farrom 8 was on the hunt again.

"#Tiger flight, check six!#"

[Shave, I'v painted the AWACS. Do you see him?] Said Smoky.

[Sure do. Let's cause some trouble, shall we?]

Rika saw two specks explode into a pair of hornets and flash by in less than an instant. Lock tones sounded momentarily as they blasted by, silenced by someone as soon as they sounded. Both aircraft remained "live" on the radar.

"#WHAT IN GOD'S CREATION-#"

There was a culmination of quiet laughter. A stray F-15 that had wandered away from its flight was slightly off course from them, and Shave lazily drifted to one side hurtling them towards it. This time, the lock tone was silenced as the padlock on the display turned to an X. Banking back in Shave set off once again for the AWACS.

"#Rooster14, confirmed kill on your package. Confirmed bandit, he's fangs out!#" crackled the voice of Longarm again. There was a pause as they attempted to calculate their nimble, blindingly fast trajectory. Rika pulled up the radar on her display again and watched as aircraft flew by them on either side at close to mach four. It wasn't long before they realized who was the intended target.

"Mike two six, going zero four fife! Angels two six at mach..."

[Not bad timing,] nodded Smoky.

"No copy on range Mike two six."

There was a push as Shave accelerated. Rika felt herself growing eager as well as she heard the flights call in their support. They were coming to fight them, the big predator. She licked her lips. She was salivating for some reason.

"No range! Close at mach... six!?"

The padlocks on the radar began moving towards them, slow by relativity. Outside Rika could see the aircraft turning in to intercept them. The commander didn't stop his focus on the AWACS unit as the large jet could be made out in the distance.

They slowed as they came up behind it, just long enough for Smokey to "fire" before darting away again. Rika watched the padlock become "X"ed out as it suddenly turned away from the group. There were several fighters that had taken advantage of the seconds they had spent slowed and were approaching from the seven o'clock position. Shave had been in and out in less than five seconds.

"Awacs engaged, Long Arm lost!"

Shaved uttered a cackle of glee as he jerked back on the stick and chopped the throttles, bringing the nose up before dropping it back on its self and accelerating in the direction they had just come. More x's on padlocks.

For the next few seconds Rika nearly got sick as they fluttered through the air, sky and ground blurring together from different angles as the commander engaged and removed target after target.

Just as suddenly they were straight and level again, screaming away toward the first F/A-18s they had passed. She watched as the first one broke hard to intercept them, but Shave jinked towards it and the padlock was suddenly an X as he blew by.

"#Tiger one zero, Confirmed kill on your package#"

He turned back to catch the other from behind when it suddenly pulled up, speed brake extended. It was behind them before the Farrom pilot reacted.

[Missed one Shave, he dodged you,] Remarked Lost, sounding surprised.

[I know, I know, he caught me off guard. Smokey, enter his data system, I want to send him something.]

[No problem. Not going to go back and clean up?]

[Well-]

"#This is Outreach to all flights, knock it off. Repeat, knock it off.#"

[-Not anymore I'm not.]

"#Rodger, Old Joe knock it off.#"

"#Lancer copies, knock it off.#"

"#Tiger, knock it off.#"

"#Ghost copies, knock it off.#"

[SMOKEY!] snarled Shave.

More chuckling came over the ship's intercom.

[Don't worry,] replied Smokey, [there are so many aircraft up there we'll just get lost in them.]

[We'd better! Are you in his data net yet?]

[I have been! Ready when you are.]

[Good. Tell him 'Nice one!' and give him the local GPS for a ground meet. I want to shake that guy's hand, even if it isn't the custom here. Lost, find us someplace remote but not too far for them. A hundred miles or so.]

[There is nothing but desert down there, it shouldn't be a problem,] replied the navigator. [If this place is short on anything it isn't remote places.]

####

The debrief had been almost as painful as its falsely named cousin, as single mistakes and drops in judgment were scrutinized in a case by case, no one gets left out, mass bludgeoning. Their flight had been pointed out for deviating from their predetermined close air patrol, which meant that "ground forces were given a right square cock in the ass" as the British operations commander put it. Objective or entire mission? With these bastards in charge you would never be right, just less wrong. Just pack up flight gear, shower, and hope that you'd get enough sleep to start over again tomorrow.

Pressing out a wrinkle in her tan flight suit, Everest left the operations building with a huff, stuffing the Navy flight officers cover back on her head. Damn her rank. For every privilege, there seemed to be ten overwhelmingly stupid responsibilities, the least of which being the reason she'd had to stay until twenty-three hundred. Why the Civil Affairs Admiral chose to bullshit with her for so late was still a looming question in the back of her head, but she'd had the inkling that it'd been something close to an interview. He'd asked personal questions. Deeply personal questions in fact, but it didn't matter now. Rolling her eyes, she stretched, willing away the horribly boring man from her mind. At least the walk back to her dingy hole at the officers barracks would be quiet. A time she could have to herself, to think quietly and really unwind. Stepping off the curb, she was proven wrong.

"Hey Commander!"

Her eye twitched as she caught Echo waving her down from the parking lot.

"Fudd says he's goin' to meet the pilots of that crazy thing we saw earlier. Want in on this?"

She held up a hand waving him off. "Uh, to tell you the truth, I'm not really interested."

"Awe come on Shepard, you're the tech nerd. Plus you're always cooped up in your room anyway."

"Ops start at-"

Sparks pulled up in the "beater", Echo's pickup truck that was too many decades old, and stepped out.

Not making it to the end of the curb she was shoved forward into the bed of a pickup truck. There wasn't time to protest before Sparks jumped in soon after, a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

"No can do: We all got schooled by this thing so you're coming with."

He pulled up the tailgate and they were off, the truck heading out into the desert on a hastily obtained set of GPS coordinates.

"So tell me, how is it you-" Shepard grabbed the side of the flatbed to steady herself as the truck motored on. "How do you know where you're going?" She finished bracing herself for another bump.

They were speeding through the vast desert that was the state of Nevada, at god knows how fast. Mark "Fudd" Elmer was at the wheel, hell bent on reaching the destination in as little time as possible. Every so often Shepard would have to grab the side of the flatbed to keep from getting thrown out, her cover had already blown off near half an hour ago, and no one seemed to care enough to let her go back and get it. Regardless of their speed and reckless abandon, she was genuinely curious.

"How do you-"

Sparks put a polite hand up to stop her mid-sentence.

"I heard you the first time Shepard."

Pulling his phone out of his ankle pocket he tapped a few things in that she couldn't see. He finished and handed her the display, a red set of cross hairs moving slowly from the top of the screen. Looking at it closer and slewing the display around she confirmed her thoughts.

"We're meeting up out in the middle of nowhere?"

"Nowhere maybe, maybe its a relay point or some other much more secret base. Either way I checked the coordinates twice and this is where they go." He looked her in the eye one more time. "Trust me."

She asked no more questions. Shepard had known Sparks ever since she attended the officers candidate coarse, so long winded explanations were never needed. So long as a law wasn't broken... Leaning up against the drivers compartment and looking back at the dust trail she let herself relax. Looking up at the slightly cloudy sky the stars were brighter then she'd ever seen them.

"No pollution." Sparks said off handed.

"What?"

"There's no light pollution out here. No towns or cities for miles, so the view is absolutely amazing." He pointed out towards a star much brighter then others. "Whens the last time you saw the North star like that?"

She paused for a moment, then followed his finger toward the sky. Squinting hard she tried looking, only to go completely wide eyed.

"Stop..."

"What?"

"Stop the truck..."

"Commander, what are you-"

"STOP THE FUCKING TRUCK!"

Sparks jumped when she screamed, but regained his senses and knocked on the glass separating them from Fudd and Echo. Moments later they were idling in the desert, wondering what they had stopped for.

"Shepard, whats the deal?" Echo complained.

"Nobody move, that's an order." She hissed.

Shepard stood on wobbly legs and jumped out, her eyes never leaving the sky. She walked a few feet then stopped. The sky seemed oddly bright for some reason, until Sparks finally saw what the commander did. Stars moved oddly and in all directions, their shape being distorted by a much larger object. It was the surest sign of active camouflage; light bending.

"Dude, what the hell is going on?"

"Mark, just shut up for a second. We've been followed." Said Sparks.

"Followed?" asked Fudd.

"Fudd, you better hope that thing wasn't a Skinny"

Sparks jumped down and walked up behind the commander, who hadn't noticed him until he tapped her shoulder.

"Shepard?"

Without warning the distortion became more apparent, as the strange outline became more and more opaque until the strange aircraft they had all seen earlier was completely visible, small running lights pouring from the wheel wells as the landing gear extended. The jet landed vertically, something which seemed impossible for its size, but never kicked up any of the sand that seemed to waft up if someone sneezed.

There were no windows, or anything close to such to speak of. How did they see? What was its means of thrust? She couldn't see any engines any where. The plane resembled the SR-71 somewhat, without the huge bulk of the two massive engines on each wing. The similarities stopped there, as the craft looked truly unlike anything she had seen.

"So when are the little green men gonna come out?"

Once again, Echo had somehow voiced everyone's concerns and if they all weren't so tense Shepard swore she would have laughed at the comment. A door, or something close to a hatch, hissed and slid open, a boarding ladder and support ring extending from the bottom of the opening. The group, almost simultaneously, gasped and felt their legs buckle as not one, but two opaque face shields protruded from the opening.

"Space suits? Why?" Echo didn't seem the least bit bothered as he strolled up to the bottom of the ladder to meet them.

It had occurred to Shepard that the idea of space aliens even in this day and age was a bit... Far fetched. Even after the Skinny invasion the idea of a friendly alien popping out and saying "we come in peace" was almost absurd. This had to be some top secret project- maybe the same that she had seen during the Skinny invasion- released from either themselves or the Russians. The suits looked Russian enough... What did Russian suits look like again? Chinese maybe? No these guys were too tall, maybe six foot each. Christ they were tall. Her five foot five frame seemed so small in comparison. Maybe Norwegian? Those guys were doing some interesting things these days. Australian? They were all huge rugby playing brutes, not-

"Pu-leased to meet you"

Her mind had wandered yet again. It was going to get her into trouble again if she wasn't careful. Politely taking the hand offered to her she met eyes with the exposed face of a very human looking male.

"I am Co-man-der Ungow. Pu-lease can I ask your name?"

Icelandic? Maybe Russian? It was a strange accent that played heavy on syllabic pauses. French? No, too cacophonic. Swe-

"I'm sorry, you got me stargazing. I am Lieutenant Commander Sadok, pleased to meet you."

Agreeing with herself to ignore the inquiries in her mind she shook the hand and introduced the rest of her party. Once introductions were made the parties stood in an awkward silence for what seemed like an eternity. Then, both commanders remembered the sole reason they were here in first place. Ungow went first.

"Who is it that evade us?" He put his middle three fingers together and let his pinky and thumb jut out to the side, his "handcraft" pulling up into a tight loop.

"That would be me Sir."

"You are good flyer Lieu-ten-ant," he turned back to his aircrew and muttered something in a language they didn't even bother to identify, before turning back. "I will, as you say; 'be in touch'. Our crew is still get-ting to know the lay of ground." He put a hand to his ear and winced. "I am sor-ry. Lay of land."

"Same difference," Echo comforted.

Niedka, the one farthest back cocked his head to the side and repeated the phrase. Bagom, the second back, turned and shrugged.

"Hu-, er, A-meri-can id-ioms still con-fuse us a bit," the commander covered.

####

Rika scanned the radar screen nervously. There was a massive, nasty storm blowing their way at an alarming speed. Despite that it was nothing unusual for a desert storm. Though rare, they were well known for exploding out of nowhere and being extremely severe.

[All crew be advised: Storm, ten miles direct north-north west and closing at eighty. Shave, you might want to find a better place to talk and wait it out or let these guys go so they aren't lost in the middle of the desert because they can't see or are washed away.]

There was some silence as they no doubt translated the information over to the human pilots and discussed what to do. Suddenly Shave's voice was back in her ears.

[It is ok, they have tracking.]

[I doubt their global positioning system will work in a storm like that,] she argued, [and even if it did, they'll still get soaked. They're not wearing sealed suits like you, you know.]

An alert popped up on the display, notifying her of a large life-form towards the aft of the vessel. In a small window she could see a woman in a flight suit looking over the vessel. Beneath it on the display the storm loomed closer on radar. She could hear the thunder rumble through the open door.

[Also there's someone towards the aft of the hull, poking around. And, you've got three minutes until you're drenched.]

[The person is "lieu-ten-ant comm-ander Say-dok". I gave her permission.]

[Alright then, I won't zap her. The storm though-]

[I am aware, Sergeant.]

[But flash flooding-]

[We are dealing with it. Stop interrupting us, we are building a good relation with our host unit.]

Officers. She growled to herself in frustration. They thought the world bowed to them; that nature would wait. Pilots were no exception, especially Commander Ungow.

"Minute thirty till impact," she whispered to herself, switching off the radar and setting her visor view externally to the vessel. Commander Sadok was gazing up inside a wheel well. How hard was it to say: "Hey, let's go talk under the wing for a few hours" or "It was nice meeting you, you should go so you're not lost in the flash-flooding desert all night"?

She changed the camera so she could watch the group outside. They were standing some distance apart, the human pilots looking uneasy but interested. One of them looked up and held out his hand as the first few wet drops smashed into the Earth. His eyes followed the clouds back to the storm, and she saw his jaw drop. He quickly turned back to the others and said something, interrupting a conversation with Captain Bagom. The humans followed his pointing hand, with similar reactions.

Suddenly she couldn't see anything, just a solid sheet of rain. Out the door was a similar view- nothing but water. She switched the camera to infrared, and a blurry picture came back into view. The pilots were clamoring back into the cab of the truck, one of them still shaking Commander Ungow's hand before darting through the door, slamming it shut behind him.

There was a puff of warm air out the tail-pipe as the truck started up again. It idled for a few seconds and she saw her crew turn to themselves and begin arguing. Maybe it was just talking: She didn't care. She found it a bit humorous. An argument in a torrential down pour? Why not? It's no different than any other place when you happen to be wearing a sealed environmental suit and can see each other perfectly well using another spectrum of light. She chuckled. She enjoyed the bizarreness of her pack, even bits of the stupidity. For some reason they felt like home -the whole crew did.

Speaking of aircrew, what happened to the woman?

Rika looked back towards the read of the vessel, where she could see LtCmd. Sadok running the length of it towards the front, then out into the rain, blindly searching for the truck.

And of that, where had it gone? It was no longer idling a few yards from the cabin hatch.

Rika began scanning the area. The truck was about a hundred yards away, turning around before it came zooming back across the nose of the Farrom 8.

Only now the woman was there, and Rika felt her heart freeze as the truck barreled blindly towards her. She saw the glow from the head lights and momentarily tried to wave at it in an attempt to get it to stop. The truck kept going though, unable to see. She must have realized this, because the commander suddenly dove to the side. She looked like she would make it- until the front tire caught her leg just above the ankle. Rika felt sick as the woman cried out and the leg bent in a place it shouldn't.

The arguing crowd of rakkan officers didn't notice, either ignoring the sound or her scream was drowned out in the pouring rain.

[Shave, Smoky, Lost, the female commander has been struck by the truck and is injured. I don't think the others are aware of her.]

[Let them deal with her Flat Face,] replied Shave's voice, [I'm sure she'll be fine.]

[They left her. They don't realize she's missing. Her leg is-]

[They'll come back when they find her gone.]

[She's injured in a storm! I know a leg is nothing to us but that is a serious injury on this planet. They probably won't even know where to start looking for-]

[We're busy, Flat Face, she'll be fine.]

[-the body.] She sighed. That had been code for "we're done discussing this".

"The fucking prick should break his leg sometime and let everyone ignore him." She snarled to herself as she got up and threw open the door to the back room. She began digging through the various compartments, looking for her mechanic's towel. It was in here someplace, she had used it to lay on the ground and nap during the last landing gear inspection...

She slammed open the closet door where the spare enviro suits hung and the large towel fell on her head, still folded from where it had been perched on a massive mound of junk on the top shelf. Quickly she snatched it off her face and shoved the door closed again, hearing the latch click as she darted back into the cabin.

Back in the cockpit she draped the towel over the back of her seat and switched her visor through the spectrum before settling on a range she could see through the rain with and stepped out the door and into the storm.

Outside a sudden gust of wind buffeted her against the rail of the boarding ladder. The storm was getting worse, and according to her visor it wasn't a very warm rain. She clamored down the rest of the ladder, slipped by the arguing officers and made a dash to where she saw the figure of the Lieutenant Commander struggling on the ground.

She looped her hands under the woman's shoulders and, while wishing she still had her human strength, hoisted her up to stand on her good leg. The drenched pilot gave her an odd look as she leaned on her for support.

"Who?"

Rika only nodded, throwing the pilot's arm over her shoulder as she stooped, wrapping an arm around the woman's waist. She started walking forward slowly, and the woman didn't resist, hopping along through the rain. When they got to the base of the ladder the woman gave an exclamation, realizing what it was. She didn't resist when Rika began to help her up it; buffeted violently by the wind and pounding rain until they finally staggered though the door of the cabin.

Rika held the acceptance button down and snatched the towel from her seat the moment they broke through the threshold and out of the rain, wrapping the towel around the woman's head as she looked up.

"OH SHIT-" she started, Rika feeling her muscles grow taught.

"Sorry!" explained Rika, "you can't see the cockpit."

"Ah," she said. Rika felt her relax a little under her arm. "I understand."

She lead the women through the doorway into the back room, helping her to the floor. She lay back, propping herself up on her elbows as Rika went back and closed the door to the cockpit. Then she returned, unwrapping the towel from the woman's face before removing her face shield and the hood from her suit.

####

Shepard was impressed. The belly of the commander's ship appeared to be a single massive sheet of metal composite stretched over a rigid frame. It was simple and appeared to be extremely aerodynamically efficient. The paint, if you could call it that, was honed to a nice sheen by what looked like a large amount of excessively fast travel and a lot of care. It was also surprising to see there were no visible exhaust or intake manifolds. Maybe they were hidden ports that actuated open and shut? Nah. The shape of the space didn't seem to accommodate an engine of any size, and who could miss something as simple as engines? She took another look around. There were an array of small, glinting patched on the surface, no larger than the tip of a dull pencil and scattered about a foot from each other. The low rumble of thunder however took her attention away.

"Holy shit! Get to the truck!" Echo yelled. She glanced up to see walls of rain in the distance. It looked like a black super-dense block of water advancing toward us through the night, swallowing everything up in a grey mist of nothing.

She felt her eye twitch as Fudd and the commander shook hands, exchanged salutes and then parted ways, Fudd almost tripping over his own feet as he turned. They all piled into the truck's cab, only meant for two- three if one was child-sized, starting it and warming the engine. Something in the back of her brain told her that they'd stop, look for her, or at least try to call her cell phone. With more then ten years of experience under her belt she'd learned to ignore that particular part of her brain a long time ago. Gunning the engine they high tailed it out, leaving her under the blackbird as its crew argued amongst themselves. Unfazed in their environmental suits by the wall of rain.

Fucking idiots.

She wanted to scream loud and hard enough to break glass, but took a few deep breaths and salvaged what bit of patience she could. Lose your cool and suddenly you'll realize how deep your command goes: about as far as you can yell.

In the next ten seconds the sky took her attention away from her subordinates. God, in all her glory, had decided to empty the contents of a small ocean down upon the Earth. It made huddling up against a strut that was about as big around as her thigh a fucking nightmare. She tried her best to stay dry; "Nothin doin" as her grandpa would say. The wind just blew the rain sideways past the strut and into her face. It was hard enough to make her feel like she was being slapped. Eventually her flight suit became soaked right down to the boots, which made funny sloshing sounds for every step she made, reminding her of her situation.

Fucking Idiots.

Not being able to see a damn thing should have been her cue to stay in one place. "Wait out the storm until calmer skies arrived," her brain pleaded with her. Impatient as she was, waiting just didn't seem like an option. At this point holding her hand out in front of her face as a shield she could just barely make out the forward strut just under the nose. That was it. Nothing beyond held any shape, just a black mist of hurricane whipped rain. Then, to her relief, headlights. The storm could eat shit for all she cared, she ran out waving her arms happily screaming.

Big.

Fucking.

Mistake.

She could see the headlights, but they probably couldn't see shit else other then what was directly in front of them. This dawned on her a bit too late. Standing in the middle of their path, the twenty-five hundred pound truck bearing down on her at nearly fifty and not stopping, she froze. She just stood there, deer in the headlights of what could have been a tank ready to roll over her. Reflex, primal programming essentially, finally took over. Her body, and not her, jumped to its left, throwing its arms out as far as they could go. The engine roared loudly through the cacophonous patter of the rain; as if they were redlining the archaic machine for some reason. A tan paint blob streaked by mher vision as she got one split second glance at the driver.

Echo.

Then, immense pain. The impact just didn't register. She didn't even know she had been hit until she was thrown in a spinning face plant back toward the modded SR-71. Wet sand, not quite mud, filled her mouth. Probably for the best, because instead of biting her tongue she threw up. Her Stomach went into full spasmodic mode as she tried her best to hold her hair out of her face. What the hell had just happened? Did they hit her?

Stop.

Assess.

Act.

"Alright girl first things first. Stand; call those fucking idiots, get them to come back."

Easier said than done. Pushing herself onto her haunches rewarded her with an absolutely staggering amount of pain. Her body doubled over onto its side as she grabbed at something to latch onto, something to squeeze to relieve the pain, anything at all. Looking back, everything from her knee to her ankle was resting in an odd position. She threw up again as her vision was invaded by black spots. This was shock; passing out was now a real option. Wiping her mouth with her sleeve she settled for just laying there and letting the rain pelt her, a soothing sensation flowing over her as what she thought were endorphins kicked in. It didn't seemed the least bit strange to her that the space suited officers were still carrying on a heated conversation, and to this day she still don't know why that was. The one in between the three she could tell was Ungow, simply because he would fold his arms, then throw them up in exasperation. Officer in charge speak for "What the fuck do you want me to do?"

The cold and wet flight-suit didn't seem to phase her anymore. The world had gone all warm and fuzzy on her, and she was ready to sleep what felt like the deepest sleep of her life. It took her a minute or two before she realized that a set of hands was worming their way underneath her shoulders and hauling her up.

"Who?"

No answer. She was too damn gone to care, so she just let them take her.

They stumbled thier way back to the ship's nose, and she felt her head nudge gently against the hand rail of what had to be the ladder she saw earlier. Mechanics aside, scaling the damn thing was hard as hell. One foot, wait, one foot, wait, wind gust, wait, rain-splosion, and so forth. What usually took seconds took minutes. She was exhausted by the time they passed the ships threshold, and to top it all off she was instantly blind folded.

Worry was hardly the word to describe what she felt. When you're somewhere you're not supposed to be, in a place that shouldn't exist, in company of people you have no idea about, during an extended period of time you weren't suppose to be enjoying, you can almost expect for something like a blindfold to mean you are about to get your butt clobbered and sold off to the highest bidder for classified info. She started to panic, and worse her stomach churned in this weird uncontrollable ballet she had never felt before. A calm voice, female albeit a bit deep, reassured her that the blindfold was to keep the integrity of their classified aircraft systems. She thanked whatever god was left in the sky at this point.

A few minutes later she was on her back in what she could tell was a sort of dimly lit room. The blindfold, a mechanic's towel by the look of it, came off and she greeted her savior. Or so she thought. She made out a dark shadow that faded back into the darkness beyond as it fumbled with a few things off in the corner. She heard a crash then a swear and the figure started walking towards her again. It stuck a hand under it's chin and the mask slid up on top of it's head before hands caught the collar and pulled the hood completely off. Surprise, exhaustion, over whelming physical pain; maybe this all contributed to how she took in the appearance of her savior.

A dog's head, if you could call it that, popped out of the darkness, ears folded back just slightly as it inched toward her with another, drier looking towel. It held out a hand offering the towel, but when she went to reach for it her right arm buckled and she fell flat on her back. Everything, every muscle, bone and square inch of skin ached and burned and all she wanted to do was close her eyes. To fade off into sleep and never wake up. Gently, a hand... Paw maybe? Lifted her back up off the floor. The towel went through the wet strands of hair covering her face until her head was dry, then down her back. It was folded a few times then set behind her head.

"Don't force yourself to move too much, I saw what happened."

"You were watching me?"

Was that a smile? "Curiosity isn't only akin to cats."

It stood and walked back to a few cabinets lining the wall. It pulled out a cylinder like tube that made her heart jump and her gut squirm again. Her mind was screaming "GUN! WEAPON! RUN!" on all frequencies, but her body just didn't have it. She eyed it with extreme caution. Scared cat extreme caution. The dog noticed pretty quick; trading looks between the object and her. In what she can assume was a smirk it reached in one end to pull out...

"It's a composite fiber re-sealing skeletal fracture tube." A translucent white tube sock came out to the length of her lower leg. Rolling the thing into a ball and kneading it slowly the dog pulled it apart again. "Your leg is broken. This will set the bone and promote accelerated healing."

"What's your name?" she asked apprehensively, unsure if she really wanted the something-something skeletal fracture tube used on her.

The dog came closer and sat cross legged next to her, still needing and pulling the makeshift cast.

"What? No question of what I am, or where I came from?"

"Not in... *grimace* Mood for that"

It chuckled a bit then continued on.

"Well, military formalities aside, you can call me Rika."

"Rika?" It sounded strangely unlike what she had thought up as its name in her mind.

"Rika Bendrin Yasoi if you want the whole thing. You?" Rika's ears perked up slightly.

"Eve..." Was all she managed. Images of her family slowly cascaded into her head.

"Well Eve, rest assured I'm not here to harm you." The cast bubbled up into a clear white tube with a strange blue liquid inside. "However, there are certain things I have to do to make you heal faster. This will hurt, if you've ever broken a bone you know how much setting it... er-sucks."

She only nodded.

"This 'cast' will compress your leg and set the bone for you. Your injury will feel nonexistent tomorrow morning, and be healed in about a week. Its this, or wait two to four months with a fiberglass cast on your leg. I'm sure your flight status would love that."

"Why are you helping me?" Skeptical didn't even begin to describe what she was feeling.

"Is there a reason I shouldn't?"

"No..."

"There you have it then."

Carefully untying her right boot Rika's ears folded back as she was rewarded with another bout of pain. Eve screamed, long and loud as her boot came off. It died in a shallow hiss in her throat.

"Please, do it quick, I'm gonna pass out." She whimpered.

"On three then."

They both took a deep breath.

"One."

Eve breathed deeper than she'd ever breathed before, sucking in air like a goldfish on dry land.

"Two."

CRUNCH!

To describe what she felt in that instant is not be possible in words. Pain had a new meaning to her, an almost spiritual evil that attached itself menacingly to her brain and attempted to scald her very existence out of it. What came out of her mouth wasn't a scream. It may have started as one, but it died as soon as the breath left her lips. All Rika heard was a raspy whimper.

"Three."

"Fu.. Fu... you." Eve panted.

"Trust me, It would have been worse if you were expecting it."

"Arrrgn" she groaned.

Nice warm tendrils of soothing relief shot out into her leg from nowhere and gently started massaging her skin, cradling it like a mother would a baby. Endorphins and what had to have been something akin to morphine scraped their way through her system, alleviating the pain, fatigue, even the feeling from her body. She started giggling softly to herself, still lying in a pool of her water drenched flight suit. Nothing mattered. Nothing mattered at all, and she didn't care enough at the moment to question why.

"Feels good huh?"

"Hehe, yeah."

"Just sit tight for a second. I'll be right back."

"Oooky doky."

She was drawling on like a school girl on heroin. A little tingle registering at the back of her head.

"This'll help you come down a bit."

A sharp pinch and then the back of her head felt like someone had karate chopped it. She drew an empty syringe away which immediately caught her eye. Her pupils must have shrunk to the size of pin pricks, because she almost immediately held up a furry hand.

"No, no, this is... Well it's a lot closer to adrenaline. It's a bit milder, so you shouldn't feel any horrible adverse effects. You don't have to worry." The dog stood and walked back behind her, opening and closing a door. She came back with a blanket, what was obviously a bucket, and what looked like a thermos with a strange opening at the top. She set the bucket next to her and gave her the thermos.

"You're going to feel a bit nauseous so drink this. It'll help."

"I don't feel..." she heaved clean into the bucket before she even finished.

When Eve was a little girl her father always used to hold her when she was sick. She'd throw up and start to cry, but he'd hold her, making sure she didn't throw up on herself. It warmed her heart to think that most of the puke ended up on him, yet he still comforted her. Whether it was the memory, or the vulnerable state she was in that made her start to whimper and shed tears was lost to her. She hadn't had a good cry in a long time, so she just let it out in between stomach emptying heaves. There was a warm hand on her back that massaged it in a circle. She must have looked down right pathetic to warrant that: propped up on one elbow crying and puking her guts out. Rika took a knee and kept patting her back.

"Try some of the tea, it's a bit bitter but it'll take the taste out of your mouth."

She held the lip the thermos to her mouth and Eve started to see why it was shaped so funny. Not having lips and having to deal with an elongated snout for a face meant normal cups were out of the question. This one was shaped almost like a pouring saucer for a tea set. She let the liquid in and down her throat and she found it did take away the taste. It felt like it coated her stomach with a warm layer of something. Almost like the first swill of a strong alcohol.

"Better?"

"Bet-" * cough * "Better." She managed.

"Those idiots are still arguing out there in the rain, and every now and then I inject a little something so that they'll keep talking. If my commander found out you were aboard he'd have half a stroke and both our hides."

"Thanks." She managed.

"I keep telling myself that if it was me you'd do the same, but I find that highly unlikely."

For some reason it didn't seem like a dig at the species; just a matter of observation. She let Rika explain more.

"You lack the technology for one thing. I'd probably be dead as a doornail if given the wrong antibiotics."

Point.

"That, and I'm pretty sure "DOGGY!" in some way shape or form will be uttered before I was given any help."

Point. She looked at her then up in thought and laughed suddenly.

"Okay maybe not, but there'd be some truly shocked expressions, and probably and argument if I needed a doctor or a veterinarian."

Thinking about it took her mind off her sorry state and she even found the strength to laugh a little. It was soothing.

"Why do they call you Shepard?"

She was caught off guard.

"What?" She hadn't been asked that in quite a long time.

"Why do they-"

"No I heard you, I just... I haven't heard that question in a while."

"Oh."

"Do you know what sheep are?"

She nodded an affirmative.

"You know what a sheep herding shepherd is then, right?"

Another nod.

"I was given the wrong coordinates during a close air support mission, and what looked like a group of charging enemy through infrared turned out to be a flock of sheep running from a coyote."

"Oh?"

"We, ah, ended up buying the farmer a new flock."

"That doesn't seem all that bad. It wasn't your fault."

"Technically it's not, but it was the only thing at the time that the guys could pin on me. Someone said I was a bad shepherd and somehow the name stuck."

"That's a bit like mine actually."

"Yours is?" Shepard asked, genuinely curious.

"Face, er, Flat Face."

There was a distant expression in her eyes, one that made her wonder if this wasn't more than a mockery of her nose.

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