Chapter 7 Shadow Track

"The flying boat spotted Bismark at 1030 and has been shadowing her ever since using cloud cover."

First Sea Lord, Sink the Bismark

The transition team arrived two days after the Jedi had left. Comprised partly of diplomats and government types, the rest of the contingent was made up of troopers from the Coruscant Guard and military advisors.

For a man who'd wanted to remain neutral, Orator Deccat was inviting a lot of Republic personnel and hardware into his sphere.

As for Cody and Rex and their team, they were aiming to head out as soon as the handover was complete. Their team was 22 men strong, including themselves, and they had quite a bit of work to do to turn over the camp to the new arrivals.

Early in the morning the day after the transition team arrived, Cody was doing an inventory of the equipment they'd be taking back with them. The loadmaster, a clone named Puzzle, was at his elbow.

"They should have left us with a larger transport," Puzzle noted, feeding each item into his data pad and letting the automatic calculator determine how much space was necessary and what the weight distribution would be to ensure safe operation of the transport. He would go back later and recheck the calculations by hand – not because he was distrustful of such programs, but because he was more confident in his own abilities.

"Agreed, but it's too late to worry about that now," Cody replied. "We need to get as much onboard as possible and get on our way. It already looks like the—oh, here's comes Secretary Gimalk." The dread in his voice was unmistakable.

Gilmal Gimalk was the head of the transition team, and he was a difficult customer. As a member of the Republic Office of State, he felt his own importance and made sure everyone else felt it, too. He was curt, short-tempered, and had little patience where matters of security were involved. Cody truly pitied the members of the Coruscant guard who had the unfortunate assignment of providing protection for the transition team.

"Commander, a word with you," the secretary said, holding up a well-fleshed finger.

"Yes, Sir."

"We need assistance making that building into a livable facility," Gimalk stating, referring to the cinderblock structure at the end of the runways. "Send your men over to help, will you?"

"I'm afraid all my men are busy with other tasks at the moment, Secretary," Cody replied with the proper amount of deference. "I may be able to send a few men later this evening."

"Oh, surely you can do better than that," Gimalk sniffed. "We haven't a decent place to sleep. Last night, we were sleeping on mats on the floors. The place looks like it hasn't been lived in for decades."

Cody thought about how many times he and his brothers had slept on the floor, on the ground, cramped inside a military vehicle, whenever and wherever they could. But he curbed his response.

"I think some of the enemy were living in there, but not many. Other than that, you're right. It probably hasn't been lived in for a long time," he said. "As I said, I'll be glad to send some men when they're available, but right now we have other missions to accomplish."

Puzzle interjected. "Commander, if you'll excuse me, I need to finish my calculations."

"Carry on," Cody replied, wishing he could go with him.

But he had to stay and listen to the secretary's new round of requests, ranging from moving supplies to setting up communications to, of all things, helping out in the base's commandeered dining facility. To his credit, Cody's professional demeanor never wavered, but he was running out of polite ways to decline.

And then deliverance came in the form of one of Rex's troopers who trotted up and saluted smartly. "Excuse me, Commander."

"Ajax, what is it?"

"Moog's found something and he wants you and Captain Rex to come take a look," Ajax announced.

Cody welcomed the interruption. "Excuse me, Secretary. I'd better go see what this is all about."

He did not wait for an acknowledgment before starting to walk away. "Perfect timing, Ajax."

"Glad I could be of service, Commander," Ajax replied smartly.

Entering the secret bunker, they found Rex already there, standing beside Jesse, leaning over Moog's shoulder.

"Moog was just starting to tell us what they've found," Rex announced.

Cody joined them. "Let's hear it."

"We started going through these files," Moog began. "These consoles are filled with more files than we could ever get through in a few days. But I think these will be of interest to the Republic. These files are encrypted with a code I'm not familiar with. You're going to need intel folks to crack this. But . . . " His voice and manner became excited. "These files were associated, and they're under a code intel cracked only a few days before we came here. Look at this."

Cody, Rex and Jesse all leaned over the console and looked at the files Moog had pulled up on the screen.

"What are we looking at?" Cody asked.

"These comms are all dealing with the same thing, but we can't tell what it is, because they're using a code name. See this: 2D parts . . . 2D parts . . . 2D parts. These are written as if they're talking about regular droid replacement parts, but these references keep recurring, and why encrypt droid parts?" Moog explained. "And here . . . this looks like a research and development report."

"You think they're building a new weapon?" Cody asked.

"Or a new kind of droid?" Rex posed.

"I don't know, I can't tell," Moog replied. "That's what the intel guys need to decipher. This needs to get to sector headquarters. I think all the consoles need to go."

"I agree," Cody nodded. "Major Kamat will probably want to see all this. Start securing these consoles for transport. We're going to be off-planet by 2100 hours the day after tomorrow."

Rex looked at Cody with a pleasantly surprised expression. "That soon?"

Cody cleared his throat. "I just ran into Secretary Gimalk. It can't be soon enough."

"I understand."

The commander took Rex by the elbow and led him aside. "Get your men moving on the turnover. If we stay here too long, I may end up . . . " He hesitated, and when he finished the sentence, it was obvious that he'd decided upon a more diplomatic ending, " . . . disappointing General Kenobi. I hate political appointees."

Rex beamed. "I'm all for that. We can probably get off-world even faster."

"No need. Two days will do." Cody grimaced. "Just don't be surprised if I'm not fit for decent company after dealing with that man."

Rex slapped him on the shoulder. "I won't hold it against you."

Two days later.

"Everyone's onboard, commander. All equipment loaded and secured. We're ready for departure." This report came from a 212th clone named Little Ride, a taciturn, responsible man whose appearance was like that of so many clones, a man who felt no call to look different from the vast majority of his brothers. Yet, he was distinguishable by his manner – soft-spoken, almost poetic, kind-hearted. Like all clones, he knew how to fight. He was good at it, and he definitely valued his role in supporting the Republic's war effort. But he was something of a gentle soul off the battlefield. Cody often considered that he would have made a great instructor; but Little Ride preferred to remain with his batchers and serve on the front lines.

"Thanks, LR," the commander acknowledged. "Go tell Three Point we're ready to get underway."

"Yes, Sir."

Five minutes later, the transport lifted off.

It was going to be a long ride. Shortly after the Jedi had returned to the destroyer, the Resolute had been called away, clear out of the system. Count Dooku's fleet had been spotted near Florum, and Generals Skywalker and Kenobi were being called upon to carry out a special mission of unknown purpose. The entire Resolute battle group had been called away, and the transport carrying Cody's team would have to catch up with them at their new operating location. The question had arisen as to whether or not Cody's team should take the consoles directly to sector headquarters, or even Coruscant. Ultimately, it was decided that the team would bring the consoles to the Resolute, which would then dispatch another transport to take them to wherever the high command decided they should go – a question still being debated.

The journey to the Resolute meant roughly three standard rotations traveling at light speed.

Piloting the transport was one of Cody's best men. Three Point was the top heavies pilot in the 212th, a veteran of the battalion since day one. He wasn't a fighter pilot. He had no desire to fly the sleeks; his love was for coaxing the best performance out of the fleet of transports, the bigger, bulkier, unwieldy "crates" that had none of the glamor of the fighters but all the challenge of being an easier target. He sported a shaved head with the silhouette of a frigate tattooed on the right side of his scalp. He had a series of blue dots and dashes tattooed across the top of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, an old intel code marker that spelled out his name.

Beside him in the co-pilot's seat, Zinger—also 212th— was inputting the long string of coordinates for the jump to hyperspace. Like his crewmate, Puzzle, Zinger preferred to check the computer's calculations against his own work.

In the front passenger bay, a web bed had been set up for Echo's comfort, and Kix was making sure he was settled in for the trip. The wound on his thigh was healing well, but he still could not put any weight on the leg. He'd waved off any painkillers, preferring the discomfort to the fuzzy head.

"Just don't try to get up and move around without help," Kix ordered.

"I won't," Echo promised.

After Kix moved off, Fives joined his friend. "You've got the best seat on this bucket."

"After three days, I don't think any seat will be comfortable," Echo noted. After a brief pause, he began a new subject. "The captain looks irritated."

"I think it's because the general was called away on a mission, and the captain wanted to be part of it," Fives replied. "I kind of get the feeling he hates having General Skywalker out of his sight."

Echo grinned. "Maybe."

At the partial bulkhead that separated the fore bay from the middle bay, Rex and Cody were deep in discussion about something or other. So, when their wrist comms buzzed and began blinking, they both took a little longer than usual to answer. And Rex, seeing they were being comm'd by the same person, deferred to Cody, as the senior ranking officer, to answer.

"Cody here. What is it, Moog?"

"Sir, you and Captain Rex need to come up here. We're seeing something unusual."

Both men headed to the bridge, which was one level up from the cargo bays, accessible by a steeply inclined set of steel steps.

Moog and Little Ride were looking at one of the ship's scanners.

"Every now and then, a track shows up here behind us," Moog announced. "We keep trying to get a capture so we can make a stretch and identify it, but it's never in range long enough."

"Are you sure it isn't a ghost track? An echo?" Cody asked.

"No, Sir, we're not sure," Moog answered. "We can't get a lock on it long enough to tell."

"These new long-range scanners are supposed to have eliminated ghost tracks," Little Ride noted. "And we've been tracking this for the last 15 minutes. Even the old equipment would have self-corrected a ghost by now."

"What do you think it is, then?" Cody asked.

"I think someone is following us, Commander."

Cody glanced at Rex. They both knew the next logical step.

"Full stop?" Rex asked as a manner of confirmation.

Cody nodded, then to Moog and LR, "Get ready to capture the track. You'll only have a second, maybe two. We need to identify what's following us."

The two clones readied their equipment.

"Any time, Sir," Moog nodded.

"Three-Point, on my mark, cut engines, reverse thrusters. Full stop." Cody opened the ship-wide intercom. "All hands, prepare for full stop. Make sure you're secure." He waited several seconds to give the troops time to get ready.

"Full stop."

The ship decelerated and came to a complete stop.

Almost immediately, the shadow leaped into range and Moog stretched the track.

They all saw it at the same time.

"It's a Dreadnaught." Cody voiced what they all knew.

"Separatists."

"Zinger, raise the shields. Input the coordinates for light speed and get us out of here," the commander ordered.

"On it, Sir," Zinger replied.

"Three Point, keep our distance."

But it was already too late.

"They're closing rapidly, Commander," Moog announced. "I think they know we've spotted them. Three Point, Zinger, transferring telemetry to your screens. We're going to have company – soon." There was a quiet urgency in his voice.

"Why would they be trying to stealth track us?" Rex asked aloud, then answered his own question. "They know we're transporting those consoles. They don't want us to have the information stored on them."

"But why track us? Why not just blast us to pieces outright?" Little Ride asked. "It's not likely they want those consoles back. I'm sure the information on them is stored in other places, as well."

It was Three Point who answered. "I'm sure they do intend to blow us to smithereens. They just wanted to wait until we were too far from Pylotta to make an easy return . . . and out of direct communications range."

"Have we passed that point?" Cody asked.

"Yes, Commander. We're better off going to hyperspace now than to try and return to the moon. And we're beyond direct comm range with Pylotta. The Resolute, while she was here, was the relay. We don't have any comm powerful enough to cover the distance. We're pretty much on our own until we can get close enough to another relay to send word to the fleet," the pilot replied, adding, "You'd better tell the men to make sure they're strapped in. The ride is about to get wild."

The image on the screen was bearing down at incredible speed.

Cody gestured to Rex, who went back to the lower deck to prepare the men.

"Zinger, how much longer before we can jump?" the commander asked, his trademark calm settling over the flight deck.

"Three, maybe four minutes," Zinger replied. "This area of space is still not fully charted, so there's a lot of retracing the Resolute's steps in making the calculations. It won't be one clean jump. It looks like it's going to be a series of jumps. I'm, uh . . . I'm trusting the navi-computer this time around, given the circumstances."

"Whatever you do, just make it fast," Three Point said. "They're going to be in weapons range in less than a minute."

"Keep them off us, Three Point." The way Cody said this made clear his confidence in the pilot's abilities.

"Will do, Commander."

Seconds passed as the Dreadnaught drew closer.

"They're within weapons—" Little Ride began, cutting himself off. "They're firing!"

"Commander, you need to strap in, too," Three Point warned. "I'm about to earn my pay."

Zinger laughed, "For what we earn, that's not saying much."

Cody took one of the empty seats on the bridge. "Nothing too fancy, Three Point. Just keep us in one piece long enough to make the jump."

The Separatist ship, while faster than the military transport, was not as maneuverable; and Three Point, though not a fighter pilot, knew how to fly like one. He'd had plenty of experience watching the likes of General Skywalker in aerial battles, and while he knew he could never match the Jedi's intuition, he could at least try to emulate his skill and creativity. Being assigned to the 212th, under General Kenobi's command, there was much less opportunity to observe unorthodox methods; but being that the 212th was assigned alongside the 501st more often than not, what was lacking in the 212th could easily be witnessed a glance away under Skywalker's command.

Three Point considered that he had the best of both worlds: the discipline and precision of General Kenobi and Commander Cody and the spontaneity and daring of General Skywalker and Captain Rex.

And he needed both of them now.

With nothing but open space around them, nothing to use as an obstacle, and very little in the way of offensive weapons, the only thing standing between his ship and obliteration was his ability to make use of every skill at his disposal until Zinger could get them into hyperspace. Fortunately, the two clone pilots had worked together long enough that they both had full faith in each other. Three Point trusted Zinger to get the job done in a timely manner, and Zinger trusted Three Point to keep them alive until he accomplished his job.

As Three Point began pulling maneuvers in an effort to evade the fire now coming at them from the Dreadnaught's array of weaponry, Zinger worked quietly and steadily, without any indication that he was perturbed or even concerned.

Such calmness under attack was one of the things Cody admired about Zinger, and he was glad he'd kept him behind as part of the follow-on team. Zinger was another clone who felt no need to stand out. He had no tattoos, no other markings, and he wore his hair in its original brown in a flat-top with just a bit of launch in the front, giving his face an angular appearance. His focus was always on the mission, and he was not easily distracted – a necessary quality on the battlefield.

"I'm going to double back and get in too close for them to use their weapons," Three Point announced. "LR, continual scan for tractor beams. Commander, I need you to keep an eye out for Vulture Droids. Once we're in close, that's the only way they'll be able to get us."

The transport may not have had the maneuverability or weaponry of a fighter, but it did have decent speed and, as far as such ships went, it was agile enough. Three Point swung up into a Split S, barrel-rolling over the top, dodging fire and two tractor beam attempts.

"Moog, try to send a signal to the fleet," Cody ordered. "Tell them we're under attack."

"Sir, there are no relays—"

"I know that, but just try."

"They're jamming our signal," Moog announced several seconds later. "The best I can do is send out a distress call—"

A bolt of laser fire rocked the ship.

"Oh no, you don't," Three Point growled under his breath. He banked left and went into a continuous aileron roll that would have brought even the most battle-hardened veterans to the verge of motion sickness. But passenger comfort was not anywhere on his list of priorities. He brought the transport spiraling down towards the battleship, then—just as he'd seen General Skywalker do on more than one occasion—he skimmed the hull in an upward U Arc, coming to hover just under the bridge.

"Now, they'll have to send out their fighters," the pilot announced. "As soon as we see them, we'll bolt; but this will buy us another fifteen seconds or so." He turned to his co-pilot. "Zing, how's it coming?"

"Inputting the last batch now," came the confident response. "You said fifteen? We'll be ready to go in ten."

"They've launched fighters," Little Ride reported. "Coming around, two-four-zero."

"Ready for light speed," Zinger said.

Three Point put a small distance between his ship and the Dreadnaught before engaging.

The stars stretched out in the field before them.

"A clean jump, if ever I saw one," Three Point noted with a grin.

Zinger nodded his acceptance of the compliment. "Good job flying."

Cody got up from his seat and put his hands on his pilots' shoulders. "Both of you, well done."

Little Ride got slowly to his feet. "Yeah, but next time remind me to bring a barf bag."

Cody chuckled. "I'm heading below decks, see how the others are doing."

Coming to the bottom of the ladder, he came first upon Kix, Echo and Fives. Echo, secure in his web bed, was sitting up with a poorly concealed grin on his face. At the small medical station behind the bulkhead, Kix was withdrawing a hypo from the field chest. He, too, was smiling in a crooked manner.

Sitting on the half-wall adjacent to the bulkhead, Fives had one hand on his stomach, his head resting against the other.

"This should do the trick," Kix said, pressing the hypo against Fives' neck. "Give it a few seconds." He turned to Cody. "Do you need one as well, Commander?"

"No, I'm fine," Cody answered. "I'm used to Three-Point's flying. But you probably have more patients needing your assistance in the back."

"I was just getting ready to go back and check on them," Kix replied. "Fives just, uh . . . came to me first."

"I wanted to make sure Echo was okay," Fives replied. He had managed to straighten up a bit, and he already was looking better than he had seconds ago.

"I came through it better than he did," Echo quipped.

Cody pat Fives on the back. "We've all been through it." With that, he headed towards the passenger and cargo areas. He found Ajax, Sempe, and Sixer giving Pitch a hard time for suffering from the same malady as Fives. In Pitch's case, it was rather humorous, given that, as a tough-as-nails demolition expert who loved blowing things up and never met a destructive method he didn't like, he had no stomach for aerobatics.

"Hang in there, Pitch," Cody consoled him. "Kix is coming. He'll take care of you." Moving further back, he met Rex coming forward. "Everyone okay back there?"

Rex nodded. "Jesse's looking a little green, but he'll survive. We went and checked to make sure the consoles hadn't come loose. Everything's secure."

"Good. I think we've got—"

A blast hit the ship with such violence, both Cody and Rex were thrown against the ceiling, only to find themselves suddenly hurtling forward, smashing into the forward bulkhead, then being tossed with brutal force all over the mid-bay. Alarms blared throughout the ship.

Cody grabbed a support strut and wrapped his arms and legs around it. He held his wrist comm up. "Three Point! Report! What's happening?!"

There was no reply.

"Three Point!"

For several seconds, there was only static, then Zinger's voice came over the comm. "Commander, this is Zinger. Three Point's trying to pull us out of this!"

"What happened?!" Cody repeated.

After another silence, this time it was Moog who answered. "We took a direct hit in the starboard engine—"

"How's that possible?" Cody demanded. "We're in hyperspace!"

"Not anymore," Moog answered. "They—somehow they were able to follow us into hyperspace, and they blasted us right out of it."

Rex, himself wedged into the doorway into the rear hangar, looked at Cody in disbelief. "That's impossible! How could they track us through hyperspace? And fire weapons while traveling at light speed? The warp of space would make it impossible for them to hit us—"

"Then call it a lucky shot," came Cody's grim reply. He spoke once again into his wrist comm, "Three Point, get this thing under control!"

"Working on it," came the curt response.

"We'd better try to get up there," Rex grunted.

"As soon as we let go, we're going to go flying again," Cody replied. "Give him a few more minutes to steady this out."

His confidence paid off, for within a minute, the ship stopped spinning. But it was clear that they were in serious trouble. The combination of shaking, shuddering and the groaning of stressed metal was indication that the danger was far from over.

"Let's get up there," Rex said, starting for the bridge.

"Go first and make sure everyone's okay. Tell them to strap in again," Cody countermanded. "Then meet me on the bridge."

Rex nodded.

When Cody got to the bridge, the first thing he noticed was that almost every alarm was lit up.

Zinger addressed Cody immediately. "Commander, we've got a big problem." He didn't wait for the inquiry. "We've lost the starboard engine completely, and the port engine is only at 60 percent. Getting knocked out of hyperspace damaged our navigation system and life support. Shields are down to 40 percent. With life support failing, we can't stay in space. We have to try and bring her down."

"But landing her is going to be tricky," Three Point put forth, not once taking his eyes from the star field and instrument displays.

"Are there any planets nearby?" Cody asked.

"Moog and Little Ride are going through the star chart database to see if they can find anything," Zinger replied. "With the navi-computer offline, we're flying blind."

"What about that Dreadnaught? Is it still following us?"

"Scanners are down. We can only use visual," Little Ride answered. "All the port cameras are out. We haven't seen any sign of the ship."

"At the speed we were moving, the arc for where we were knocked out of hyperspace covers dozens of systems. Unless they have some way of tracking where we are along that arc, they should have a hard time finding us," Zinger explained.

The ship rattled around them.

"I think we've got structural integrity problems," Three Point noted. "Boys, hurry up and find me a place to land this baby."

Instantly, Moog spoke up. "I've found something. Judging from the star field, we're in sector 8H. There are seven inhabitable planets within range—or I hope they're within range. With all our equipment down, we're going to have to eyeball it."

"You sure you're looking at the right charts?" Cody asked.

Moog gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Seventy percent."

"Good enough." Then into his wrist comm, "Rex, everyone okay down there?"

"We've got a few injuries, but nothing too serious. Kix is taking care of them," Rex replied. "I'm on my way up."

By the time Rex got to the bridge, Moog had identified the nearest planet, a large and heavily inhabited world called Bertegad. It was a nominally Republic-aligned planet with a predominant human population and several alien race minorities. Fully capable of space flight, the Bertagadens were nevertheless somewhat indifferent towards interplanetary dealings. They had a great love of their own planet and found little to entice them into wayfaring through space. Still, they had chosen a side in the war even though rarely called upon for any kind of contribution.

"This isn't going to be easy," Three Point grimaced as the planet came into view. "Once we break the atmosphere, I'm not going to have much control."

As a way of mitigating his pilot's concern for the lives in his care, Cody rejoined, "We don't have a choice. Life support is down to 20 percent. Just do the best you can."

"I'm going to try and belly her down," Three Point said. "If there are enough jump seats in the middle bay, it would be best to move everyone up. And make sure they strap in good and tight. If we make it through the atmosphere, we may get torn up on the landing."

Once again, at a motion from Cody, Rex headed back to the lower level.

Cody settled down into the seat he had occupied earlier. From the gravity in Three Point's manner, he knew they were in bad shape. Even under the worst of circumstances, Three Point usually had a lightness and frivolity about him. His confidence in his own abilities was so great that he could easily be considered arrogant, except that was not boastful.

He was anything but light and frivolous now. A daunting task lay before him, and there was no room for anything except full concentration and precision. Even so, and even with the face of luck smiling upon them, Three Point knew they could only hope not to disintegrate upon landing.

"Entering the atmosphere in two minutes," Zinger announced.

"Once we're through, I'm going to need you to keep the thrust ratio on that engine at balance four," Three Point instructed. "Let me handle the flying. You just keep that engine from going."

Zinger nodded once. "You got it."

Two minutes later, they entered Bertegad's atmosphere; and what had been a bumpy ride turned into a turbulent dive towards the surface.

"Holding at balance four," Zinger nearly shouted through rattling teeth.

Three Point coaxed the ailing ship into a pitched and rocky glide path. "Landing sites up ahead?" he inquired.

After a few seconds, Moog answered, "Somewhere in the southern hemisphere, there's a large stretch of desert-type terrain. We're not within visual of it yet. I don't know how far it is. There's plenty of water below us right now—"

"No, no water landings. She'd sink like a stone," Three Point deferred.

Moog went through several more possibilities, but in a tacit way, everyone present knew they really would not have a choice of landing sites. Wherever the ship came down would be its landing site.

And very possibly, the gravesite of all its passengers.

For the next ten minutes, the ship descended as both pilots did their best to maintain control. Passing into the lower atmosphere, they both saw a hazy line on the horizon.

"That looks like desert we're coming up on," Three Point stated. "Moog?"

"Yes, yes. That's it."

Cody saw Three Point's shoulders rise and fall in a long, deep breath.

"Okay then . . . here we go," the pilot said quietly. He glanced briefly at Zinger. "We just want to keep her in one piece. Follow my lead."

"I'm right behind you, boss," Zinger said, and it was not false assurance. The two pilots had a brotherhood of their own, and Zinger knew how to say just what Three Point needed to hear.

"We're all behind you," Little Ride added.

Cody commed Rex. "We're going down. Prepare for impact."

Below decks, Rex relayed the order before going onto the other side of the bulkhead to pass it onto Kix and Echo. Then he returned to his seat and pulled his helmet on.

Beside him, Jesse leaned close. "Kinda wish we had something other than web seats."

From the other side, Hardcase replied. "I don't think it's going to make much difference."

Between them, Rex spoke firmly. "We aren't going to die this way."

Up on the flight deck, Three Point and Zinger were using the headsup displays in their helmets to get altimeter and ground speed readings. The desert stretched out below them, dunes rising and falling like waves. At one point they passed over a massive oasis-like complex.

"One thousand meters," Zinger reported.

"Take her to balance three, slowly," Three Point commanded. "We need to keep the angle at no more than ten if we can. Then on my command, we'll kick up to stall and you cut the engine. We need the rear to hit first and with no power."

"There's a lot of updraft," Zinger noted.

"Understood. Just keep the engine output steady."

Three minutes later, Zinger spoke again. "Five hundred meters." He spoke through gritted teeth. "I'm starting to lose balance. It's wavering between three and two. I can't hold the angle."

"Increase power."

Zinger did so. "Still wavering. 2.8, 2.4, 3.1. I don't know if I can bring her up to stall angle."

"Leave that to me," Three Point said calmly. "Just try and keep the output steady."

"Two hundred meters."

Moog, Little Ride, and Cody braced themselves.

"One hundred meters."

"Cut the engine," Three Point ordered, drawing back on the wheel and bringing the angle of attack up to fifteen degrees.

Moog spoke over the shared helmet frequency. "Brace for impact."

As planned, the rear of the ship hit first, its weight and force plowing through the dune, sending up a shower of sand in all directions. The forward momentum carried it into the next dune where it slid sideways, the metal frame twisting and tearing and still traveling at a high rate of speed. As it crashed into a steep and high wall of sand, it flipped onto its side, ripping into two pieces that came to rest thirty meters apart.

And then the desert fell silent again.