We did it. Our first jump as a team.
Then, oh man, Jason does that so much better.
Rick pushed the nausea way down. His G-Force days were over. Force Two was his team now, and they were alone in hostile territory.
"Sound off," he called.
Three shaky replies. Paula sounded as if she'd just had a good night's sleep and her favourite breakfast. Some people had all the luck.
Come on, Rick. Focus. You're in command now.
"G-9, report to Control. G-7, tell me what's going on."
"We are alone," Dimitri said solemnly.
We're too late. He hadn't expected this. He'd expected a Spectran mecha. Geostationary above the colony, the distress call had said, though Intelligence had suggested that it was more likely that it was in a lower orbit, actively maintaining its position. The colonists had been stalling, telling the Spectrans that it would take time to get the goods they were demanding together. He'd followed protocol and not contacted the colony in case the signal was intercepted, but had the Spectrans got bored and blown the colony away? Had they figured out something was up? Had they intercepted the initial distress signal? Were they even now in the shadow of the planet preparing an ambush?
And what was keeping his comm-tech?
"G-9, is there a problem?"
"I can't raise Control."
Now that made no sense at all. Not that he had time to worry about it. There was no Spectran mecha here about to rain down fire on the civilians so radio silence had no further use. "Call the planet. Find out what happened."
Paula lacking in the ability to do her job? She'd been Anderson's comm-tech for longer than he'd been in birdstyle, manning the jump-comm in Control for G-Force's missions, and was the only one of his crew who wasn't working at this level for the first time. It must be equipment failure. He'd thought they were ready. He hadn't imagined for a moment that they wouldn't even be able to see the enemy.
"Keep scanning, G-7."
"Sensors at maximum," Dimitri said. Calm, steady, certain, if a little confused. "There is no trace of recent activity."
"There's got to be." Two sets of equipment failure? In unrelated equipment? Without a single red light?
"No, Commander." Dimitri didn't say I can do my job, but he had to be thinking it. And Rick knew he was competent.
A very nasty thought crossed his mind. "G-8? Tell me it's the right planet." No time to consider hurt feelings. He needed to know what the heck was going on here.
"Screen three," said Dimitri. "Ship movements over the past three days. Normalised to planetary motion."
Screen three was directly over his head, and the trails looked like a couple of ships on standard smooth approach trajectories coming in, orbiting, and leaving a day or so later, and one which had done a high altitude flyby and never established orbit at all. Nothing like what he'd been expecting based on the reports of a destroyed cargo ship, scattered planetary defense craft, and a giant enemy mecha. There wasn't any debris. You couldn't blow away a cargo ship without leaving debris.
"G-8?"
Dylan looked across at him, bemusement on his face. "Yes, Commander. It's the right planet."
Rick stood up for a closer look. It didn't help.
"Okay. Somebody show me the recent mecha trail and the missile fire, because I'm not seeing it."
Dylan glanced at him again, stood up alongside him, squinted at the screen. "There isn't any."
And Paula finally started talking into the radio. Calm, professional, identifying them as Galaxy Security ship Garuda, responding to the distress call.
A long pause. Then, "Code seventeen, please."
Another pause, and she looked up. "Commander, they didn't call for help - their jump-comm is down and has been since yesterday, they think it was a meteor strike."
Rick considered screen three again. "Tell them not to worry, G-9," he said. "We'll see that Galaxy Security knows about it." That was for later.
"Meteor strike, G-7?" he asked.
In reply, Dimitri brought up an image of the colony's unmanned comms satellite, high up in geostationary orbit and not so very far from them. No, that wasn't a meteor strike. That was a series of deliberate, clinical laser burns, an inch or so wide, deep into the solar panel, the transmitter dish, and the main body of the satellite. Down since yesterday? They'd been set up. That flyby, if he had to guess.
Who else could they contact right now? He really, desperately needed to ask someone what to do.
You don't get to do that. You're in command. You're out of contact with Base Control. There isn't anyone else who can tell you what to do. Well, not apart from Mark.
"Paula, can you contact the Phoenix?"
She frowned. "Not when it's in the hangar."
"I know that."
"Oh... okay." She went back to the jump-comm, but didn't start talking.
So much for that idea, then. And now she was looking at him expectantly again. He'd been an active commander for a little under two hours and it already sucked. What should he do?
What would Mark do? Forget that - he had zero experience as Mark's subordinate outside of Team Seven, he'd never guess right. What would Jason do?
He'd figure out what the cause of the problem was and go hit it.
"Paula, do you know if your jump-comm is functioning?"
"I think so."
"Can you confirm it?"
"Well... I could call Rigan control. We're not supposed to except in an emergency, but..."
"Do it. Then apologise for the mistake."
There was a nervous giggle from Jenny, and he appreciated why. Rigan high command were uncomfortable enough with birdstyle operatives his age. They'd all been advised that, should they have to deal with Rigan officialdom, their youngest member should stay out of sight if possible. He really, really did not want to have to ask the Red Rangers for help on his first mission in command.
And Paula was speaking Rigan - calm, polite, and what he assumed was the jump-comm equivalent of "sorry, wrong number." There was nothing wrong with their equipment.
That gave him all the answers he was going to get here. If he was wrong, he'd be the laughing-stock of ISO - but he didn't think he was wrong.
"We're going back," he said. "Prepare for jump. How long do you need?"
"Ready when you are," said Dylan.
"Me too." Jenny sounded terrified, and Rick swung round in his seat and gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
"If you need longer, say so. This isn't a drill. I suspect something's happened at ISO, and it's too much of a coincidence that it's happened with us out. Which means they wanted us out. Which means we should get back."
"But they must guess that we'd realise," said Dimitri slowly. "Rick... what if they're waiting for us? What if they don't even know it's us they decoyed away, and they're waiting for the Phoenix?"
Oh, crap. That could easily be right. And an ambush set up for G-Force and the Phoenix... his untried crew wouldn't stand a chance.
But what else could they do? Oh, to be sitting at the bottom of the command chain right now.
"I'll take suggestions," he said.
"If you think they're waiting in ambush, we could go for one of the secondaries instead?" Jenny suggested.
"Secondaries?"
"Yes, the other jump-points in Earth orbit, the ones we don't normally use."
He hadn't known there was more than one. G-Force had only ever used one, while he'd been a part of them. Unless he'd been half asleep at the time, they'd never mentioned there being more than one, either - though it wasn't like they'd have discussed it with him. This is what team-mates are supposed to be for, he told himself, fighting back the wave of what else don't I know that I should?
"Can you plot a solution to one?" He turned to Dylan. "Do you know about this? It's more than just theory, right?"
"Heck yes. We've practiced it plenty of times in the simulator. Never thought it would be the first Earth-bound jump I made, though."
"Let's do it. Get ready." Sure, they'd said they were ready now, but a couple of extra minutes couldn't hurt, and besides, he needed to talk to his gunner. And to have an excuse to stretch his legs. Leaving Dylan doing whatever it was jump-pilots did to prepare, he headed round to the second row of seats.
"'Mitri, you need to be ready for..." For what? He wasn't even sure. "We need to be loaded."
Dimitri nodded, serious-faced, and activated the weapons controls. One in the Super launcher, one each in the wing mounts. "Armed?" he asked.
No matter how serious the situation, he'd never seen Jason go into jump with weapons hot. "No. But when we come out, don't wait for orders. If there's something there, arm and target. Same for you, G-9 - as soon as we exit jump, get on the radio and try to figure out what the hell's going on."
It'll be okay, he told himself. It'll be a malfunction, maybe sabotage of the relay station like this one. Annoying but harmless. G-Force and the ISO teams will have dealt with it before we even get back. Overreacting is the right thing to do, but it won't be necessary.
Back in his seat, and set up for his own part in this. Nobody in their right mind would ask someone to combine the roles of pilot and jump-pilot, so Garuda was his ship for the next while. Engines hot, everything responding as expected, the jump-point coordinates flashing on his screen.
"Ready when you are," said Dylan.
He could see Jenny's numbers in the corner of his screen, so he knew she was ready. "Coming round," he said, doing just that. All he needed was to hit the jump-point smoothly and they'd do everything else. Easy. His job would start again when they came out of jump.
Lined up, engines cut, going inert, green lights across the board. Perfect. Rick leant back in his chair as the flames of jump rose all around him, and tried to relax into it. One step at a time. First, get through jump. What was waiting for them on the other side? He'd worry about that when they got there.
The sun was noticeably lower by the time Keyop got back to the tree with the thrush, who was now sitting pathetic and dejected on the branch. The shadows were longer, the hollows more protected from sight. Still, the walls of ISO looked a very long way away.
You don't have time to hesitate. They'd never find explosives in the dark. He slipped out of the complete cover near the barrier, moving tree to tree, trying not to think about just how many Spectran patrols he could see now. Multiple. And close. And he couldn't wait for them to move.
He flattened himself to the ground and went for it. If he'd been in birdstyle, if his implant had been active, he would have known if he was below line-of-sight. This was guess and hope and go for it anyway because he simply had no choice.
And, much to his surprise, he reached the alcove without hearing shouts and bullets. Stood up, trembling with relief... and then heard voices. Spectran. Of course. Only a few yards away - how could they have missed seeing him? - and discussing going for a pee. And of course Mr Limited Bladder Capacity would head for the only minimal bit of privacy around.
Nowhere to hide. Keyop flattened himself against the wall. The goon would come round the corner looking at least partly in the other direction. He hoped. No implant strength or speed, but he still had all his skill.
And of course the goon was built like Tiny on steroids, and of course he looked all round the alcove as soon as he turned the corner. Keyop spun into a head kick, knowing he had no chance of taking him down before he'd at least alerted his friend. He tried anyway.
A dark shadow plummeted from the window above, landing directly behind his target. One blow to the base of the skull and the goon crumpled to the floor.
Blindfold, Jason signed one-handed, pulling out his cablegun to immobilise the goon, and Keyop forced himself past his shock to start acting rather than reacting. It was very convenient of Spectran goons to provide their own blindfolds, in the form of an easily reversible headdress.
"Hey, Caril? What's going on round there?"
Jason's eyes met his in an unspoken oh crap moment, as an emergency ladder unfolded from the windowledge above. Metal rungs, just barely wide enough for one foot at a time, joined by a narrow steel cable. There were two heads up there, worried expressions. Members of Grant's security team, Keyop thought. Right now, completely useless. Far too many Spectrans who would hear shooting and be on top of them in seconds. Oh, for birdstyle and implant enhancements. Normally they could have thrown their prisoner up there and jumped up after him.
"Caril? You okay?"
Jason glanced at the goon, at the ladder, and it was obvious what his intentions were. And a darn good idea, in Keyop's opinion. He hurried to help the Condor swing the giant Spectran into a fireman's lift, and then steadied the base of the ladder as Jason began to climb. How far away had that voice been? A dozen yards? Not much more. Jason only had ten feet to go, but vertically upwards.
If he comes round the corner shooting, I'm dead. He couldn't even hear footsteps without a working implant. Surely the goon should be here by now? Had he realised something was seriously wrong? And how long could it take Jason to go up twenty rungs of ladder, even laden with semiconscious goon?
Spectran green came round the corner, gun barrel first, and stared at Keyop in disbelief.
"Don't shoot!" he babbled. "Please! I'm only twelve. I shouldn't be here at all. I'm on a school enhancement experience, and I lost the rest of my group, and I'm scared, and I want to go home!"
"Hands up!" barked the Spectran in heavily accented English.
"Um..." That was the last thing he wanted to do. Both hands were behind his back, holding the ladder as steady as he could. "I can't. Your friend tied my hands."
Not the brightest of goons. He frowned, probably trying to figure out how on earth Caril had tied up even a scrawny kid in complete silence and then vanished. Then his gaze went upwards, to the point where he couldn't possibly fail to see the ladder and the open window. The gun barrel swung up.
He fell silently, a shuriken in the hollow of his throat.
Keyop looked up. The two guards were hauling their Spectran captive through the window. Just below the sill, Jason hung from the ladder with one hand. Come up, he signed with the other one, and followed the goon in through the window.
Knees weak with relief, Keyop did just that.