Aurora - Blood Moon Tribute Pt. 10

"You've obviously never flown on the local airlines." Ally said. "That's how they do it all the time."

Watson looked at Aisha and said, "Excuse me." then leant past her, tapped Beck on the shoulder and gave her a deep, smacking kiss on the lips.

Ally said, "Naww..." fingering her own lips, and Beck turned away, beaming, as Watson leant into Ally for a repeat performance. When he broke off, Ally looked around to find Aisha with hand over her mouth, staring wide-eyed. That strange old bleacher had kissed not one, but both of them. "Oh, by the way," Watson said, "the girls want to know if they can use the toilet."

Ally shrugged. "They can strip off and play naked twister for all I give a shit. And check the galley while you're at it, there's gotta be food. I'm so hungry I could eat the crutch out of a low flying duck."

Beck raised her hand and said, "Yo!"

"And bust out the drinks-cabinet. Live it up a little. Let your hair down. It's two hundred miles to the border and just one more great big unknown."

*********************************************************************

It was never going to be that easy.

With a hundred miles to run, Beck caught the glint of sun on a distant airframe. Then Watson leant in, confirming her worst fears. They had company. Handing control over to Ally, she sent him back, warning everyone to strap-in. Peering out the left-hand window, she finally pegged it. "Two or three miles, Ally. Same level, converging. What'll we do?"

Ally worked her shoulders, hands light on the yoke. "Fly over the border and land this sucker. Flog it off for sixty-odd mil, buy us a super yacht and get the fuck out of this lunatic asylum."

"I'm serious, Ally. What'll we do?"

Ally grit her teeth. "Well I don't fucking know! Sheesh!" She looked at Aisha, who'd barely said a word the whole time. "Aisha?"

"Miss Ally?"

"Well... look... things might get a little exciting, okay? There's another aeroplane coming towards us."

Aisha gripped her straps. "Exciting? Like the helicopter?"

"Not that exciting, I hope. But this isn't normal flying, right? Normal flying is all very... how can I put this..."

"Boring?" Beck suggested.

Ally sucked a breath and put a hand to her mouth. "Captain Flea! Wash your mouth out! No. It's usually routine, Aisha. That's the word I'm after."

Aisha shook her hair back. "I don't mind exciting."

Beck looked at Ally. "Looks like you might have created a monster."

"I just don't want to frighten her. I don't want to spoil her dream. We'll be okay, Aisha. Just hold on tight."

The inbound jet dipped below the horizon, then climbed again until it was sharply silhouetted against the dawn sky. Ally ducked her head, looking out Beck's window. "Y...yyyup!" she nodded. "F-sixteen."

"Do you think it's friendly?" Beck asked in a little voice, gaze fixed on the gorgeous sleek aircraft.

"What?" Ally huffed. "Friend... For fucks sake, Flea! Just nip over and give it a pat. Friendly... Jeez..."

"As in not hostile." Beck said testily. "As in not gonna shoot us down. Maybe he just thinks we're lost."

"And maybe I'm Santa Claus."

The jet sidled up until it was barely fifty meters away, while Ally held course and altitude, deftly flying by hand. Way up here in the thin atmosphere, the jet's control surfaces had a tenuous grip on the airstream. The jet edged closer, until it seemed their wingtips might touch. Looking in their direction, the pilot dropped his oxygen mask and Beck's head fell back. "Oh... NO!"

Ally gave the new-arrival a quick once over. "Friend of yours?"

"It's Rashiid."

Ally snorted with laughter. "It's your boyyyy-frieeeeend."

Beck gestured angrily out the window. "Fuck off! Go on! Go away! I've had just about enough of your bullshit."

Rashiid clasped his hands, begging, and the F16 immediately dipped. He fought it back into position then jabbed the side of his helmet.

"I think he wants us to come up on frequency." Beck said.

Ally had a quick look for herself. "Nahh... he's just trying to tell us he's got a rotten headache."

Beck shook her head and the ex-prince, new-king, and part-time fighter pilot pointed downwards.

"Oh... ohhh..." Ally intoned, "now he's trying to say he's got a hard on. Go on, Flea. Show him your tits."

"Are those things pressurised?" Beck asked, ignoring her.

"Your tits? Well... I'd call them firm, but not-"

"Now is not the time, Alana."

"Partially, I think." Ally replied, switching tracks. Already light headed, Rashiid replaced his oxygen mask. "Hold on," Ally said, "he must have heard us."

"How many miles to run?" Beck asked rhetorically and Ally rolled her eyes.

"Not this again."

Beck threw her hands up and Ally squealed in alarm as the prince rolled away, then broke back into them, pulling G. Ally bared her teeth. "Sideswipe us, would you, you cheeky little fucktard?" Yoke in one fist, throttles in the other, she pushed the nose down, slowing a little, then pulled back to pop up on his tail. Just a shade lower, where he couldn't see. "Yeah..." Ally sneered, "waddaya gonna do now, you little cocksucker?"

Rashiid responded by going to full afterburner, pulling away with a roar that could be heard in the Global 8000's cockpit. They watched him pull round in a flat, high-G turn, till he'd come full circle and was almost abeam. Tongue out as an aid to concentration, Ally rolled left, pulling to the first hint of the stick-shaker. Rashiid's eyes flew open, as the fifty-ton monster filled his canopy, and he flick-rolled away, inadvertently going inverted, bent out of shape and rapidly losing altitude.

"Has he got externals?" Ally huffed, and in reply to the silence said, "External fuel?"

Beck shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Good! If we can just keep him up here he'll run out of gas."

"What if he tries to get nasty?"

"Then I guess we'll all run out of aeroplane."

Already getting nasty, Rashiid sorted himself out, ten thousand feet below and two or three miles abeam. Lighting the burner, he bored up behind the jet, arming his weapons, utterly determined, if he couldn't have Lady Rebekah, then she should die. And anyone else in that infernal machine. His first missile got a tone. He pressed the button.

The heat-seeking air-to-air missile leapt off the rails with a dazzle of solid rocket exhaust. "I am sorry, My Lady," Rashiid said to himself, "But you leave me no choice. With luck we might be reunited in heaven." It took a mere five seconds for the missile to close, then it skipped high, hit by the buffet of the big corporate jet. Rashiid's ground crew had loaded his jet with dummy missiles, with minimum propellant, no guidance and definitely no warhead, and a cannon magazine loaded with 20-millimetre blanks. By order of the king. To protect the rest of the Air Force.

Meanwhile, up in the cockpit of his target, Beck and Ally watched the missile overshoot. Beck pointed. "Was that a rocket?"

"That little fuckwit!" Ally breathed, and commenced weaving to and fro in a series of snaking turns. Another missile shot past.

Beck looked at Ally, ashen-faced. "He's trying to kill us."

"No shit, Sherlock?" Ally growled, hunkered over the controls, ready to kiss her sweet little bottom goodbye.

Rashiid pounded the instrument hood in his F-16. Both missiles had failed. Jockeying into position, he selected the cannon, and in one sustained burst emptied the Vulcan's drum into the Global. The great big aircraft suffered not so much as a nick, and Rashiid grit his teeth. "Witch!" he railed, "What manner of sorcery is this?" and for an instant recalled what his father had said. This woman was not of mortal means. It seemed to be true.

Easing forward, he pulled up on their wing, just out to the left, and dropped his mask again, so the little, platinum-haired jinni could see he meant business. Clearly visible twenty meters away, his ought-to-be wife put her face in her hands, shaking her head. Weeping no doubt. Longing to be with her knight of the air, her warrior, great king and ought-to-be husband. He pointed over his shoulder in the direction of Ab Aldafra. Telling his Lady it was time to come home.

Ally rolled the wings, slowly and gently this time, putting Rashiid on the inside of a shallow turn. Beck looked at her. "What are you doing?"

Ally licked her lips. "I used to do this mustering with wedge-tail eagles. Put them on the inside of a turn. Bring the speed back and keep tightening up till he stalls his inside wing. It used to make them sooo pissed off."

Rashiid blinked. He'd done it. The fugitive aircraft was turning back. He flew by feel, eyes glued on the prize, holding position as the big jet tightened the turn. In a hurry to go back and no surprise. The Lady Rebekah had obviously convinced those who'd abducted her, the time had come give up and go back. Return her to the loving arms of her handsome young king. And he would treat her to a front-row seat at the executions.

"Gimme fifteen of flap." Ally said, craning her neck to stay visual with the fighter. "What are we doing?"

Beck checked. "One fifty."

"Don't let me get any slower. Here, you do the throttles.

Between them, Beck and Ally tightened the turn, watching the F16 raise its nose, maintaining altitude on a column of thrust. "High Alpha." Ally said under her breath. "He'll be absolutely chewing through the fuel."

"Ally!" Beck said, "We're descending."

"That's okay, Flea, so is he."

Rashiid worked his throttle, hanging on in close formation for all he was worth. They'd come through the reciprocal now and almost completed an orbit. "Come on, you fools!" Rashiid fumed, thumbing over his shoulder. "Ab Aldafra is that way!" He squinted at his instruments through double vision. "Back there, curse you! Come around! Come around!"

Beck could feel their jet was labouring. "Be careful, Ally. We're gonna stall."

"Not before he does." Ally replied. She gave the wings another tweak, rolling left another few degrees.

Rashiid saw lights and heard a strident warning. A voice saying something about airspeed. Head down, he struggled to silence the irritation, rolling left and pulling back those last, few critical degrees. The left wing stalled and the F16 flipped onto its back, no longer a flying machine, but 15 tons of metal and composite, jet fuel, flesh, blood and bone. It spun away inverted, as the Global rolled out and tucked up its flaps.

They watched the aircraft tumble towards the empty desert, thirty thousand feet below, until it disappeared out of sight under their plane. Beck looked at Ally. "Did he punch out?"

"Didn't see." Ally replied, then looked at Aisha. The Ab Aldafran girl sat hunched with her hands over her eyes, peeking out between her fingers. That was a prince they'd just defied- a capital offence. "Let's get the fuck out of here." Ally muttered, in no mood for jubilation. "Here, Flea. Handing over. She's your aircraft."

********************************************************************

When they reached the neighbouring country, Air Traffic Control would not let them in. "What do you mean you can't give me clearance?" Ally demanded.

The controller, a sonorous Brit, replied, "The border's closed, Ma'am. Clearance denied."

"You can't deny us clearance. We're squawking emergency."

"There are several suitable airfields northwest of your position."

"In Ab Aldafra?"

The trafficky replied to another radio call, from an aircraft inbound from a different direction. The conversation was quick and breezy and clearance issued without fuss.

"You expect us to go back to Ab Aldafra?" Ally persisted. "Confirm?"

"Affirmative, Dynasty eight eighty eight. Be aware you are two miles from the boundary, suggest an immediate turn to avoid airspace violation."

Beck rolled into a shallow left turn. "Tell him we're asylum seekers."

"Sir!" Ally told ATC, "We are persecuted political refugees, and we demand, by international convention, airways clearance."

"Dynasty... Ma'am... I don't care if you're the men from Mars. If you enter my airspace you will be subject to armed interception."

"You're a fucking Pom." Ally cried, "And we're Aussies. We're just about cousins."

"I'm sorry, Dynasty, there's nothing I can do. Your best bet is Abu Sayiif. I can give you vectors."

"FUCK ABU SAYIIF! JUST GIVE US A CLEARANCE!"

Another voice came over the radio, a local pilot at the controls of an inbound heavy. "Tell those dogs to stay the hell out of our airspace."

ATC came up. "Station calling, please say callsign."

The radio fell silent. As the Global completed its first wide orbit, almost greasing the border, Beck punched Ally on the arm then pointed. Two twin-tailed fighters appeared right on the border, F-15 Eagles, spectacular grace and lethality in the same gleaming package. The trafficky was talking to another inbound aircraft, the plight of the Global completely ignored. Watson leant into the cockpit. "I see we have company."

When he looked at Beck she had tears in her eyes. "What's up?" he asked, "They're not throwing out the welcome mat?"

"It's just so unfair!" Beck sobbed, palming her eyes. "After all we've been through."

"Well?" Watson sighed, "What now?"

"Hang around here till we run out of gas then glide to the fucking airport." Ally said. "I don't give a shit if they throw me in jail... again... I'm not going back to Ab Aldafra."

Watson looked at the instrument panel, frowning. "Look... have we got enough fuel to reach England?"

Ally shot him a glare. "Sure. If you wanna traverse some of the world's most dangerous airspace."

Watson turned his iPad around. "What if we went the long way?" See? It's all empty desert. South west. Across Ab Aldafra to the sea. Across northern Africa... more empty desert, then right at Morocco, north past Portugal and Spain. Then into England. It's about five thousand nautical according to the iPad. Think we could make it?"

Beck and Ally swapped a glance. "What happens when we get to England? What if they say 'No'?"

"I don't think the Brits shoot to kill. And once we're in Britain, I'm betting it'll be easier for Roger to get us out of jail. It's a long shot, I know," Watson said, nodding at the satellite phone, "but I just need to make one quick phone call."

Beck dialled up a course heading more or less south east.

"Who do you want to call?" Ally asked.

"Roger, of course. So he can call Kev. So Kev can call my old buddy, Eddy Worthington. From British Border Force."

*********************************************************************

By the time they reached Kevin- IT guru, self-proclaimed ghost in the machine- they were halfway to the state's south-eastern corner, where Ab Aldafra nicked the sea. "Kev," Watson announced, while everyone else listened in, "nothing went to plan."

"Did you find Rebekah?"

"Yes. And Ally."

"Then it did go to plan. Exactly. Congratulations. I never thought you'd actually pull it off."

Watson bit his tongue. Well, THEY pulled it off, but Sook... she'd paid the ultimate price for their freedom. "So how do you explain the other six girls?"

"What girls?"

"The accidental harem. Sitting in the back of the jet. Plus another one up in the cockpit, so I guess that makes seven."

"Oh them?" Kevin said and Watson sensed a dismissive wave. "Any extra saves are just noise. What you might call a standard deviation."

"And Ab Aldafra at war?"

"Well, I did say armed insurrection rated highly in the modelling."

"While we were in the middle of it?"

"The confusion may well have been a factor in your success."

"Well what about Sook's-" Watson said hotly and Beck touched his arm. It was all good and well for the IT nerd to sound so nonchalant, but he hadn't smelt Sook's blood, nor felt its warmth, or the ghastly sensation of it turning tacky on his hands. "Well, I'm glad you're feeling so up-beat, but it wasn't much of a picnic for the rest of us."

Astute enough to read between the lines, Kevin heaved a sigh. "I believe I detect some trauma and maybe a touch of resentment. That's okay. Let's discuss it over a lemonade at the barbie. But you know, once upon a time, quantum tunnelling was dismissed as a mathematical fantasy, and now the same applies to emergence theory."

"The future deciding the past?" Watson scoffed. "What's that bullshit got to do with us?"

"Bullshit? Oh no. It's not bullshit, Damon. It's real enough alright. A universal co-creation, real enough to be monetised by the tech-tyrants, as if that's all science is good for. But what I'm saying is, it will all become clear. Once we reach the causal future everything will make sense. Until we get there, just trust in the science. Now then, what can I do for you?"

Watson heaved a sigh. How long had he been saying, 'the only thing that can happen is what does happen'? Including Sook, if he were to believe his own rhetoric. "Look, Kev. Eddy Worthington."

"I think you mean Eric. Eric Worthington. The custom's guy? Husband of Enid? One time member of one of Munt's clinical trials?"

"You know him?"

"Not in the biblical sense," Kev replied, "no. But after Sook called I did a bit of digging. Is she there? I'd like a word."

The survivors swapped glances. "She's resting, Kev." Watson said.

"Well, I just can't wait to tell her. She'll be thrilled."

"About what?"

"Well, she rang me all upset. About Worthington's wife having cancer and being ditched off the trial. So I had a little peek into the program, into the clinical trials, and, well, what I found was most distressing."

"Hang on," Watson said, "when did she call?"

"Sook? Just after you reached the hotel. In Ab Aldafra. She was all in a hurry, and we weren't meant to be using the phones. But, fair enough, I guess you could say it was an emergency."

Watson racked his brains. He and Sook had been together the whole time and he'd never seen her call. The whole time except for that visit to the bathroom... for such a little nose it had taken a long time to powder.

"His wife has... had... terminal breast cancer." Kev was saying. "She was part of a trial for one of Munt's new treatments. Her particular cohort showed incredible results. She was almost cured in fact, but Munt cancelled the trial before the treatment was complete."

"Why?"

"Well, name one thing more ruthless and nastier than a psychopath billionaire." Kev said. "Precisely. Government bureaucracy. Munt was afraid, if the NHS got wind they'd cancel the funding, worth several million pounds. His plan was to milk the system for every penny he could, while perfecting the cure at no cost to himself. Then patent the process and keep all the profit."

"That poor bastard." Watson said. "No wonder Mister Worthington was so bloody pissed."

"Not any more."

"No?"

"No. One of Munt's executives paid a visit to the Worthingtons. With a full course of treatment. Mrs. Worthington has made a complete recovery. She's cured."

"So Munt's cured breast cancer?"

"For a very narrow cohort. But once the RNA's tweaked the treatment should be universal. Anyway, what do you want with him?"

"Worthington? I'm gonna need an entry approval. Into Britain."

"Indeed? How will you be travelling?"

Ally tugged his sleeve, then tapped the back of her wrist. They'd have to descend soon and it was about to get bumpy.

"We're in Zhang's Global."

"That elephant slaying crime-lord gave you a lift?"

"No, just his plane."

They could sense the confusion on the other end of the line. "I'm an old man, Damon. Be gentle with me."

"Well, truth is... there's been a bit of a coup."

"I know," Kev said, "I've been following it."

"The king's son attacked the island-"

"So I saw."

"-just when Beck was about to marry the king. And... well... one thing led to another, so we... ahem... borrowed the king's chopper to get off the island. And when we found the Stream she was in pieces, but Zhang's own aeroplane was right next door. In one piece. Fully fuelled and ready to go. And... well... we sort of took it by mistake."