Hills Outside the Town of Tanque Verde
Apache Junction, Ak-Chin, Republic Territory
2308 Local, February 12, 2481
Douglas stood leaning on the fence surrounding his primary corral, taking advantage of the absence of winds to blow smoke rings as he enjoyed a cigar. Suddenly two thunderous pops echoed across the black sky in quick succession. The pops seemed to come from the west and Douglas knew the people in Tanque Verde would have heard them too. He also knew they wouldn't do anything more than perhaps get out of bed and check their houses and property for trespassers or anything that might be out of place.
The corral was empty, his horses moved to another area of the property a bit further east. Silhouettes of large thunderclouds on the distant western horizon were illuminated from within by occasional flashes. Douglas pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time.
"Less than ten minutes to go," he thought as he slid the watch back into the pocket of his vest, "They better hurry up."
Douglas leisurely slipped a pair of earplugs into his ears and returned to his cigar. Just as he took another puff from it he heard a faint rumbling that seemed to come from the direction of the storm. The sound quickly grew louder as he was able to distinguish a large black shape approaching in the darkness. He estimated the shape kept a distance of about 300 feet above the desert as it neared.
The shape's front end suddenly flared upwards at a steep angle causing it to lose forward momentum, while the rumbling became almost unbearably loud even with his earplugs in. The surrounding shrubs and trees were whipped into a frenzy by the turbulence and sand obscured his view.
Once the rumbling stopped, the dust and sand cleared well enough to see the large dropcraft less than 100 feet in front of him. Douglas spit out the sand that had lodged itself just inside his lips.
"Hmph. Silly contraptions," he mumbled taking another draw from the cigar.
A door on the left side of the craft opened and a set of stairs slowly folded out towards the ground below. He finished off the cigar, dropped it, and used his boot to grind it to shreds.
The outlines of three figures made their way down the unfolded stairs, two taller and bulkier and one shorter and more delicate. Despite the gravel and sand underfoot, the shapes made no noise as they approached Douglas.
"Reichsgräf Pierce," the taller figure said stopping in front of Douglas and extending his hand with a smile.
Douglas grasped the man's hand, "Reichsritter Odinwald," he responded with a friendly smile of his own.
"I saw you miles away Doug," Synnove interrupted the exchange between the two men as she crossed her arms in disappointment.
"Saw what? Me looking at my watch?"
"No, you were smoking."
"Yes mother," he responded sarcastically while starting to walk away, "The horses are this way, let's get going before that storm gets here"
"It's heading just south of here, shouldn't be a problem," Farag advised.
Douglas and Synnove were siblings, fraternal twins who had chosen to follow two very different paths. He often thought his sister a lunatic since their childhood years.
Despite their family's vast estates and holdings, including several star systems, Douglas always enjoyed working with his hands and getting dirty while doing it. His father had pushed him to follow in his own footsteps, enlisting in the CRDJE Air Force and working up through the ranks to a commission and command of the Aesir Sector's Aerospace Forces. Instead he opted for an enlistment in the CRDJE Army and an assignment as a hunter-killer on the planet Apache Junction. He was responsible for enforcing Republic laws prohibiting travel to and settlement of the planet.
Douglas didn't care much for the prospect of killing people for merely coming to Apache Junction. Although he usually talked trespassers into leaving and never returning, there were a handful of occasions when he had to take more drastic measures.
Synnove, on the other hand, fell somewhere near the pretty princess with an attitude stereotype that was often mocked within the Republic. Even though she fit the stereotype in some areas, there were other areas she didn't fit it at all.
The quartet neared the corral the horses had been moved to. There were ten animals, all a sandy tan color peppered with small splotches of a darker shade of the same color. A small yet brawny pickup from the dropcraft pulled up next to the fence with a long trailer in tow.
Four men got out of the pickup and started loading horses into the trailer. Once they had a horse in each of the five pens they drove back to the Dragonfly, swapped trailers, and picked up the last five animals.
"So what exactly are we doing with these," Douglas inquired.
"They are," Synnove paused momentarily, "gifts, for a friend."
Farag took over the explanation as the four walked back to the craft, "There's been a small operation on-going for about three years now. While it's small, its success or failure will have substantial effects Republic-wide."
"Ok, continue," Douglas nodded.
"You'll remember the occasional attacks by extremists against non-military targets and the general populace within the Republic. Well those attacks increased in frequency and severity about four years ago. The knee-jerk reaction by the Crusaders and Revolutionaries was to go on the offensive even though it wasn't known who exactly was sponsoring the attacks."
Douglas interrupted, "Both see this as a way to increase power of the Republic's government."
"Ultimately, yes. However, the Crusaders see it as a way to increase their sphere of influence while waging war on those they don't like. The Revolutionaries see it as a way to weaken the existing system so they can come to the rescue and have power handed to them. In any case, your father and a number of other nobles and statesmen have staved off bills calling for military action, but patience is running out amongst the population. Your family, and by fealty the rest of us here, are currently operating under several Letters of Marque and Reprisal. Failure here would almost certainly mean an end to the Republic as it's been known for centuries."
Douglas, Synnove, and the others walked up the slope of the Dragonfly's rear cargo ramp and into the large aft cargo area. The cargo crew had already moved Douglas' belongings from his cabin and into his suite aboard the dropcraft.
"Oh, it's a little late to ask, but you did take care of our entrance tonight," Synnove questioned.
"Easy sis, I took care of everything. The only thing they'll find is a large storage shed destroyed by explosions. That's the cover for the sonic booms you caused on re-entry."
Farag turned to Synnove, "as soon as the crew finishes dismantling and loading the Reichsgraf's electronics we can get going. They should be finished within the quarter hour."
With the dropcraft loaded and sealed up, Synnove, Douglas, and the flight crew took their positions on the control level. Douglas' burning cabin sent flames up dozens of feet into the air, high enough that everyone on the level could see them through the windscreen.
"Let's get off this planet," Synnove commented, "this gravity thing is getting old."
"Very well," Farag said before handing control of the Dragonfly over to the pilots.
The flight engineer slid the engine throttles forward to 90% thrust and the dropcraft began to rumble as it lazily lifted off the ground. The craft started gaining forward momentum while junior pilot slowly moved the engine pitch controls away from himself.
"Engines leveled and locked," he announced.
"Ok, bring throttle to 110 percent," the senior pilot requested.
The flight engineer moved the throttles as far forward as they would go, "engines at 110 percent."
"Let's go fly, "the junior pilot exclaimed, resting his left hand on his leg and grabbing a handle mounted above his instrument panel with his right.
Everyone within the Dragonfly was pulled back into their seats as the craft quickly accelerated, reaching almost 500 miles per hour.
The junior pilot sang a tune, "A napping we will go, a napping we will go."
Napping was a slang term use by some aviators to refer to nap-of-the-earth flying; flying at altitudes of only a few hundred feet at most. The craft's terrain collision and avoidance system, known as TCAS, responded to the low flight altitude with a chime followed by a calm, soft, female voice saying "terrain".
"Airspeed 450, " he announced, "150 feet."
He continued to hum the tune. As soon as the airspeed indicator read 500 he barked, "500. Rotate!"
The senior pilot pulled the stick back fully, sending the nose of the dropcraft climbing towards the sky.
"15. 30," the junior read off the craft's pitch angle, the angle it was climbing skyward at.
"Hold," he said when the indicator read 70.
The senior pilot pushed the stick forward to its neutral position, keeping the Dragonfly in a climb of 70 degrees. Douglas looked at the altitude indicator reflected on Synnove's status HUD. The altitude was increasing at slightly over 41,000 feet per minute.
"You might want this," Farag advised Douglas in a slightly mocking way as he handed him a small envelope-like paper object.
"No, I'll be good," Douglas responded, "You know I've done this many times."
Synnove glanced over at Douglas, "there's those that have, and those that will. You're the only one in the craft that hasn't been ada-."
She was cut off by the junior pilot, "35000. Push over."
The senior pushed the stick completely forward while the junior read off the decreasing pitch angle. All on board experienced several seconds of weightlessness as the craft leveled out. Objects like pens drifted up from where they sat, stopped only by the strings anchoring them to consoles and displays. Synnove's long braid floated at her eye level. Farag calmly grabbed his floating can of tea, returning it to the cup holder in the arm of his chair.
Huge grins marked everyone's faces except for Douglas. As soon as he saw Farag's floating can he couldn't control his stomach. A stream of vomit spewed forth from his mouth. The shoulder harness of his chair kept him from doubling over, vomit falling on his knees and the floor in front of him.
"Woo. He popped," the navigator teased, "should have listened to the Chief and took the bag."
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