“Jeff, it’s Noah. If you get this message, and you’re still alive, we should talk. There are better ways to handle this situation.”
It’s a longshot, I know. Four snipers and a missile should be able to overcome a Butler cloud’s defenses easily. They’re not made for use against military hardware. But just on the off chance, if Jeff is alive maybe he can stop the ever-growing pool of devastation ahead of us. Maybe he’d take my head in exchange. Might be worth it, depending on whether we can get that thing under control or not.
I knock on the cockpit door and don’t get a response, but it’s already ajar so I pop my head in. Cindy is in the copilot seat, chatting with Bob. She’s got a headset on and everything.
“Are you helping to fly this thing?”
“Oh! Hello there, Noah,” she says, just now noticing me. “I do have my license, just in case of emergencies like this one, but Bob’s doing all the hard work. I’m mostly here for moral support.”
I didn’t know she could pilot, but I stash that tidbit into my file on her in my index. I examine the cockpit door. Yeah, I think this will work.
“Well, keep morally supporting,” I tell her, “because we’re going to need to do something a little different than a standard landing. I think I can minimize the impact on you two, but this is going to be bumpy.”
“I knew something was up when we picked up a pair of F-16 escorts,” Bob says, pointing off to each side through the big cockpit window. “Just like the ones I used to fly when I was younger. They haven’t said much, but they’ve made it real clear that they’re keeping an eye on us.”
There’s a mix of nervousness and nostalgia in his voice. I peer out and sure enough, there’s a military jet on either side. They’re keeping a respectful distance instead of shooting us down. Apparently General Whitman still values his good name.
I lay out the plan for getting the passengers onto the ground. Bob radios our two escorts and they agree to keep far enough away from us that they shouldn’t be a problem. They’d probably be fine as long as they weren’t right on our tail, but the further the better. Cindy takes it all in stride as if I’d just let her know how we preferred our coffee. I reinforce the cockpit door as soon as I’m outside of it. I don’t think they’ll lose pressure in the whole cabin, but it doesn’t hurt to add another layer of protection.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
“Let’s get started,” I declare as I stride back into the main cabin. I feel the plane start to descend as Bob follows the plan. “Everyone get with your flight buddies.”
Lin, Fiona, and Michelle sidle up next to me. I see all the other implantees get surrounded by their two or three contact interfacers.
“Ready?” I ask. Everyone nods except Marc.
“Can’t we just use the emergency door?” Marc asks again. “That would be so much easier.”
“No, Marc. We can’t,” I tell him, losing my patience. “We want Cindy and Bob to survive.”
He takes the simplified answer and nods. Good. That worked better than Walter’s explanation of fluid dynamics and wind shear that he gave earlier. I surround each of the members of my group with a flight suit, encasing myself last.
I tear into the floor, creating an opening down into the cargo area. I hop down in, and everyone else follows. There’s a big crate down here, as tall as I am and roughly cube-shaped, one that I didn’t expect to see.
“That’s mine,” Louise says, seeing my eyes on it. “Don’t mess with it.”
I shrug. I don’t have the brain cycles to figure out what she’s up to but I trust that whatever it is won’t hurt anything. Evan, Andrea, and I start sealing and smoothing, creating a pocket of the cargo hold that’s separated from the rest of it. Soon we’re packed in like sardines. If we do this right, when we cut through the outer fuselage the sudden decompression and wind shear won’t rip the whole plane apart. At least I think it won’t. I know this will be rough up in the cockpit, but if we do things right, they’ll be fine. It’ll be much rougher here, but even those of us just sporting contact interfaces would probably be able to survive the fall if they kept their heads on straight.
I feel the plane level out and check the integrity of our compartment one more time. Our sealed off pocket is as good as we have time to make it.
To All: 3, 2, 1, Go!
I punch through the bottom of the fuselage. The air screams as it gets sucked out by the pressure difference. I feel my flight suit’s pressurization like when I’m flying high and fast. I check one more time, and don’t feel any breaks in the new sealed off section, though the plane is doing some terrifying shaking. I feel out what I can. I think it will hold together.
I cut along the edges of our sealed section of the plane, starting at the furthest point back and quickly moving to the front edge. I see the cuts Evan and Louise are making rushing to meet mine. In a moment that lasts forever, the section of the fuselage beneath us detaches from the plane. The metal sheet gets ripped away as the wind catches the leading edge. Adrenaline courses through my veins as Louise’s crate and the Butler family enter freefall. Me and my siblings tumble down to the city of New Orleans waiting below.