“No, Kristy, I can be at Gatwick soon. I have an agreement with the authorities.”
“What sort of agreement?”
“The sort they don’t remember agreeing to.”
He rifled through the office, packing everything he’d need into a carry-on bag. Ben was dealing with the day’s work, putting off anyone who could be put off, rearranging those who couldn’t. The old fighter would have a busy few days ahead of him, but then, Mike had covered for him when the grey-haired man had disappeared on short notice more than once.
“Is that legal?”
“There’s no law against it at the moment.”
“That’s not exactly a yes.”
He paused in the process of opening a hidden compartment in the side of his desk.
“Hiding a half-dozen spaceships, consorting with aliens and overthrowing a reigning monarch aren’t exactly legal. Invading Iraq was technically an act of war, although happily your government and mine had the world’s attention on that occasion. As for some of the things we’ve done since then...”
There was silence from the other end of the line. Mike shook his head. Kristy was an intelligent, compassionate and sharp commanding officer, but Sci’s pragmatism had been handy at moments like this.
“Was it necessary?” she asked, at last.
“Yes,” he replied immediately. Necessary for what, he didn’t qualify.
“From Gatwick you can come into Vegas, and then to Mendellia, yes?”
“That’s right. Flight time is about eleven hours. I’ll be pushing it to get to Gatwick, but better a rush now than a twenty-four hour wait. Uh...”
“Yes?”
“Just remembering everything I need to pack. Did you guys clean out my room?”
“No.”
“Then I still have clothes out there. I’ll just bring the essentials.”
“You mean weapons?”
“The essentials. I’ll call you when I get to Vegas.”
*
He raced out of the building, the carry-on looped over his neck as he weaved between the aircraft lining the edge of the airfield. The pilot’s door swung open as he approached and he barely broke stride as he swung up and into the seat. He passed the bag across to Jean, who exchanged it for a headset. Mike pulled the headphones on and ran a practised gaze across the dials before taking hold of the cyclic and twisting the throttle.
“Ben, are we clear to take off?”
“You already are off, lad. But you’re clear to ascend. Come home in one piece, okay?”
“I’ll do my best to come home in fewer pieces than you normally do.”
“Hah, you’ve got me there. See you soon.”
“Count on it.”
The helicopter rose smoothly, Jean keeping a watchful eye on the instruments as it swung around to point due north before its nose dropped and it began the journey to Gatwick.
“I thought you were packing?” Jean commented as the southern English countryside slipped by beneath them.
“I did.”
“Your bag’s empty.”
Mike frowned as he looked across the cabin. His co-pilot maintained a steady gaze straight ahead, her eyes shielded by the aviator sunglasses she was sporting.
“You looked?”
“Of course,” she replied, sounding offended that he might think she wouldn’t.
“I’d say that curiosity of yours was going to get you in trouble, but if memory serves that’s how you ended up working for me in the first place.”
“With you,” she replied.
He sighed.
“Take control, would you? I must have stashed everything in the hidey-holes. I hate packing quickly.”
He rummaged in the bag, moving things around until the contents of the bag more closely approximated the typical professional’s load.
“No clothes?”
“No time. I have some where I’m going.”
“Vegas? They’ll ask you at the airport.”
“You booked my seat next to a woman travelling alone, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“She has my clothes, if anyone asks. It’s not ideal, but it’ll hold up to the standard scrutiny. I’ll pick some stuff up at the airport anyway. I feel happier with a clean t-shirt in my bag.”
“It’d be the only thing, as far as I can tell. I’ve not seen a smuggling compartment that hides stuff as well as yours does. Where’d you get it?”
“That’s a long story – and not for a time when either of us is flying a chopper. Especially not this one.”
She sighed.
“Do you trust anyone?”
“I’m letting you fly my helicopter, aren’t I?”
*
“So I think you can see, Sergeant, that it’s in your best interests to co-operate with SACUL completely.”
“At-Arms.”
“Excuse me?”
“My rank is Sergeant-At-Arms. That’s like, Sergeant with all the trimmings.”
The other man in the room frowned. “That’s not a New Republic rank – army, navy, infantry or special forces.”
“As SACUL are fond of reminding us, this is not an official New Republic unit.”
He glanced down and made a mark on the sheet of flimsi on top of the thick file before him.
“Very good. I was told that you could be... intransigent.”
“There are only three people who’d call me intransigent. One is Sci, and I know you haven’t read any of his files. One is Thayer, and he doesn’t keep files on me. The other is me, and I’ve never called myself that. I prefer bloody-minded.”
The man didn’t blink. Indeed, scarcely a muscle moved. He was, Mike had to admit, solid. In fact, if a person could be said to have been carved from stone, it would be the man sat across the table from him right now. There wasn’t a hair out of place, not a line on his features, not even the least speck of dust on his immaculate uniform. It was as though the statue of David had come to life and dressed for Wonder-Con.
“So I am lead to understand. However, you must see the benefits of co-operation. For a start, your commanding officer demoted you two years ago.”
“Yes, she did.”
“And yet your record is exemplary. Wounded a number of times in combat, and yet you never fail to complete your mission.”
“I keep getting wounded. It’s the medic here – she’s thick as thieves with Major Henscheid. She complains. You know how women can be.”
He made another mark on the sheet of flimsi.
“SACUL are keen to reward those who show promise. Now, you have a history of insubordination, but frankly in such a maverick and ill-managed outfit I suspect that you may be the one sane man, hmm?”
“I have, on occasion, had cause to question the sanity of many of my fellow team-members, it’s true.”
“As I suspected. Now, if I were in your position, I’d say to myself ‘Major Fairs-Loady, what can I do to get my career back on track?’”
“You would?”
“I would. And do you know what I’d say to myself?”
“I can’t wait to find out.”
“I’d say, ‘Alwyn, do what you know is right.’ And I’d be right to say so, don’t you agree.”
“Absolutely, Alwyn.”
He smiled.
“Well, then, I’m sure you understand what comes next. We have to reclaim all extra-terrestrial technology from Terra. That means your ships, the Red Home and the TIE Defender I understand you salvaged and repaired.”
Mike nodded.
“I understand, of course. I imagine you’ve met significant resistance from the other members of the group.”
“Indeed. Captain Cochran threatened violence when one of my men mentioned removing his lightsabre.”
“Well, they don’t call him Psycho for nothing.”
“I understand that he is the group’s executive officer?”
“Yes. I don’t know quite how that happened, but he is the second in command. First in command, quite a bit, when Major Henscheid is too buy teaching and dressing up in the Regency outfits and all the other things she does during work hours.”
“You seem very observant of your colleagues’...”
“Personality quirks?”
“Shortcomings, I would say.”
“I know that SACUL have always been very concerned about how a ragtag group of amateur misfits such as us have managed to complete every mission we get handed, to which I can only say imagine the chaos if we were professional misfits.”
That remark earned Mike a look from the other man, but after several long moments he returned to his list.
“And will you be turning over your lightsabre?”
“It is mine. All the parts were purchased by or for me, and I constructed it myself. I don’t believe I will, therefore. Of course, I won’t threaten violence if someone were to try and take it away from me...”
“Well, that mainly leaves the matter of the, ah, Red Home.”
“The Home is all yours, provided I can get my things from it first?”
“Things?”
“I’ve left a few personal items on board – my laptop, some tools, nothing much to worry about. Also I was working on my astromech droid, R5-X3. There’s some bits and pieces I’ll need to recover from it.”
“Naturally, anything that belongs to you is yours to retrieve before we reclaim the vessels and equipment. We’re not thieves, after all. Now, about the Defender...”
“Destroyed,” Mike shrugged. “There was a whole thing in Monaco a few years back and in the end we dumped it in the Mariana Trench. Oh, it might have survived but TIEs are fragile at the best of times. We weren’t really able to get it back up and running – you know, we just weren’t ready for the responsibilities here.”
He smiled in self-deprecating fashion as Fairs-Loady tapped his pencil on top of the file.
“The Mariana Trench?”
“The deeper the better, we thought.”
“Hmmm. It wasn’t logged in the files at the time.”
“Well, I’m surprised, but you know what that Scifantasy was like. He kept secrets – he was probably worried there’d be trouble over it.”
“Very well. Moving on...”
*
Checking in was smooth, and the cursory security investigation failed to detect the essential items that Mike had packed in his bag. As he settled into his seat, he wondered idly whether the pilot was better than him at the controls of a plane or not. It had been a while since he’d been behind the controls of a 747...
*
“I’m pleased that you’ve come around to our way of thinking, Sergeant-At-Arms.”
“Well, what can I say, I know which way the wind is blowing.”
“Ah.”
“I mean, that’s why we have a weathercock, after all.”
Nothing. Mike was impressed.
“The Red Home is...”
“In the hangar. Most of the astromechs are there, too. The Australian Josh took his with him, so did Nick. The others are powered down and ready for transport.”
Mike led the way through the castle, nodding to various staff and servants as he passed.
“You seem popular here.”
“It’s been my home for the best part of a decade. At first I was an outsider, then I was a celebrity, now I’m just furniture. I think it’s time to move on.”
“Ah. And doubtless your romantic history with Commander S’ytsirk hasn’t helped matters.”
“Quite so,” Mike said, through gritted teeth. He was annoyed at himself for allowing Fairs-Loady to land a blow – although Mike had to admit he wasn’t sure the man had done so deliberately.
The hangar door opened as Mike approached. Josh Cochran stood on the other side.
“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” he hissed.
“My ship, my rules,” Mike spat back.
The two men glared at one another, Josh’s hand resting on his belt near to his lightsabre. For several long moments the air almost crackled between them, before Josh through his hands up in the air.
“Fine. Go ahead. Give in – you were never one to fight for anything worthwhile.”
He stalked off, leaving the doorway clear.
“Sorry about that,” Mike said. “Some of us are having trouble letting go. Captain Cochran has had a busy few years, but you know how he started off, right?”
“Wasn’t he a member of the American armed forces?”
“Exactly. Losing that, and now losing this? Well, it’s a good job we know how to deal with him. Of course, if the Major can’t get through to him, I’ll have to tranq him. Again.”
He crossed the hangar floor, overhead lights humming to life as they approached the Red Home. The transport ship sat silently to one side of the hangar, the laser turrets drooping sadly without power.
“The astromechs are aboard, you say?”
Mike nodded.
“They’ve all been fitted with restraining bolts. It kept them out from under foot. If you don’t mind, I’ll take them off and return them to the proper cabinet. I know the cave’s being flooded tomorrow, but it’s a mechanic thing – I want to know my tools are stowed properly.”
“Of course.”
Mike keyed in a code on the Red Home’s rear bulkhead, the ramp dropping with a hydraulic hiss to the floor.
“Come on up. I’ll get my stuff, then unbolt the droids. They can stay in here, I assume?”
Fairs-Loady nodded. “Yes. We’ll keep them switched off until we get where we’re going, then we’ll wipe them and send them off for reassignment.”
“Well, I hope they bring better luck to whoever ends up with them. Nothing but trouble for us, and I think Sci programmed his droid to hold out on us when he bolted,” Mike shook his head as he walked up the stairs to the living area. “Won’t keep you a minute.”
*
“Sir, can I get you a drink?”
“Just a diet coke, thank you... Oh, do you have a duty free cart?”
“Yes, sir. Is there anything you’d like?”
“I promised a friend I’d bring him a bottle of scotch. What do you have?”
“We have Cragganmore or Glennlossie today.”
“I’ll take a bottle of Cragganmore, please.”
*
The bottle was almost empty when Mike picked it up, and when he stashed it in the crate behind the pilot’s seat it was completely so. He tapped a complicated rhythm on the control panel, causing a section beside the co-pilot’s seat to drop down. Grabbing the contents of the compartment he shoved them into a bag and closed the compartment up again.
Wandering through the ship he picked up the odds and ends that had accumulated over the years. Everyone, he suspected, had done their own sweep and his was the last – as the reputed owner, if not usually the captain, of the Red Home, it was his job to make sure everything was in order.
*
“This is your captain speaking, I’m pleased to say we’ve been lucky with the weather today and will have a tailwind for the next little while. We’re aiming to land in Las Vegas at about 1:30pm local time.”
Mike glanced at his tickets. Land at 1:30, clear customs by 3 check back in at 10 for the midnight flight to Mendellia...
He smiled. Plenty of time to hit the bright lights of the Strip.
*
The astromech droids clattered loudly into life, bleeping and juddering in their restraints, their lights flashing as they rebooted. Mike walked along the row, deftly popping off the restraining bolts one by one before dropping them into his bag.
He stopped at the last droid, a blue R5 unit with white trim. Glancing at the inattentive Fairs-Loady, he laid a hand on the droid’s dome for a moment before popping open one of the hatches on its barrel-shaped torso. Reaching inside he withdrew a small, non-standard circuit board which he dropped into his bag. Tidying up the trailing wires, he popped the restraining bolt off X3’s side, frowning as the droid booted up and started rocking from side to side, struggling against its restraint.
“Quiet, you,” Mike snapped. The droid blatted rudely.
“I can understand why you’ll want to be rid of them,” the other man said. “The R5 series especially has been trouble from day one.”
“Yes, it did cause a lot of problems...”
*
Extreme had long since taken over command of the Red Home, eking performance out of the aging freighter that no-one else had thought it capable of. Terra Group had grown used to their transport taking off unannounced as the droid tested its latest enhancements.
Mike remembered the time in Jamaica when the transport’s enhanced sensors had tipped the team off to their objective with seconds to spare, and how the personnel tractor beam fitted just weeks before had saved Becki and Mike’s life in 2004, five-thousand metres over Switzerland.
Those hadn’t been the only times Extreme’s modifications had helped – or even saved lives, but it had been the occasion where the droid had earned the team’s trust.
*
Mike turned away without a backward glance.
“Take them and junk them – or whatever.”
He slung the bag over his shoulder.
“We’ll put them to work. There’s always backwater planets that’ll take junk like an R5 – and be grateful.”
Mike nodded as he walked down the ramp, leaving Fairs-Loady in the cargo bay.
*
Vegas dazzled. The Cirque du Soleil was playing at the Bellagio, and Mike was able to bag a ticket at the last minute. He ate as he watched the jaw-dropping acts of gravitic and anatomical defiance, and drank as he watched the clowns muster some impressive feats of physical prowess of their own.
After the show Mike wandered through a couple of casinos, ignoring the one-armed bandits and wondering how long he could play blackjack before being – politely – asked to leave a casino. He suspected that fifteen minutes would be pushing it.
*
Long experience had worn the number of players at this game down to four: the unreadably inscrutable Sci, the unreadably hyperactive Sylvana, Kirret, who liked a challenge, and Mike, who’d learned some tricks with cards that helped him break even, most of the time.
“Dealer takes one, two to the Major, one to our elven friend and three to the native. Dealer bids ten.”
The game had become a Wednesday night staple. Others dropped in from time to time, but the core four played every week until Sci had taken all of Kirret’s money.
Each Saturday the two would spend an hour at the shooting range with a few members of the Mendellian armed forces, at which point Kirret would win the money back from Sci.
In the years since Terra Group’s founding, such gatherings had become commonplace as the group had striven to become a part of Mendellian society. So much of their funding came from the Mendellian coffers, it was essential for public relations that the group be seen as a part of the island nation, and not just as lodgers acting as a strain on its resources.
Of course, after the wedding, acceptance had come a lot more easily, especially considering the group’s enthusiastic involvement in the traditional pre-wedding naval battle, which included the groom’s party’s capture of the bride and her bridesmaids from the opposing ship.
And then there had been the Monaco Affair, the Atlantic Incident and everything that had taken place during Galapagon Gathering, during which the lives of Thayer and the royal children had been seriously imperilled, and only the direct intervention of the Queen and her team-mates had prevented tragedy – and all kept from the international public eye as well.
After that Terra Group’s role in Mendellian society had been secure – and, somehow, still secret. It was a secret that everybody knew, so no-one thought to share.
*
The line for the Mendellia flight was short – unsurprisingly. Despite its idyllic setting and wealth, the island attracted about as many tourists as Tuvalu. Mike had his choice of seats on the plane, and settled himself in the front row. He looked around with mild interest, the 717 a craft he’d not flown in before.
“Excuse me, sir?”
He looked up at the flight attendant.
“I noticed your Mendellian passport. King Thayer has asked that we offer those returning to Mendellian soil the option of touring the flight deck. Would you like to step up when we’ve taken off?”
“Thank you, but no,” he said. “I’m rather tired, and I think I’ll just try and sleep for the duration of the flight.”
“As you wish, sir. Please let me know if you change your mind.”
He nodded, and she went on her way. He frowned. It had been too long since he’d had to feign the Mendellian accent – he wasn’t certain it would hold for the duration of a long conversation. Besides, there was a good chance that the pilot would be ex-military, and Mike didn’t want to be recognised and alert people too soon to his return to the island.
Belatedly he thought about moving seats to someplace a little less conspicuous, but that would only attract more attention. Instead he settled an eyemask over his eyes and lay back in the reclining seat, grateful that the emptiness of the plane meant that no-one was behind him. He closed his eyes and feigned sleep.
*
Mike, Kristy, Josh, Becki and Sylvana watched the departing SACUL vessel until it was lost among the clouds.
“Situation report?” Kristy asked.
“Terra Group is official shut down, and we’ve officially given up something like ninety-eight percent of all extraterrestrial technology in our possession,” Josh replied.
“Unofficially?”
“Closer to seventy percent. The Red Home and the fighters are gone. So are the astromechs.”
“But you backed up their programs?”
Josh nodded, as Mike held up his bag. “All of them, as much as we could. I don’t know if they’ll ever be any use, but if we need what they know we have a way of retrieving it.”
Kristy nodded. “What else?”
“The Defender is deep underwater. We can’t retrieve it easily or quickly, but it’s doable with a bit of notice. We’ve kept a lot of Sylvana’s medical things, too. The NRI purposely sent us equipment that looked as Terran as possible, so we sent them back things that are as Terran as possible. It’s an easy mistake to make,” Mike said, with a shrug.
“But our computers, our communicators, our sensors...”
“Gone, gone, gone. Mostly,” Josh sighed. “We managed to salt away some odds and ends here and there over the years, just in case. Sci’s contingency plans accounted for that, but we’re a long way short of where we were before all this.”
Kristy frowned.
“No advance warning, no jurisdiction of any sort, no way of detecting extra-terrestrial intruders before they knock on our door... What can we do?”
“Between the spares and the junk that’s been left behind we’d be able to cobble together a Headhunter equivalent – if we could get to the Batcave and all its equipment again. That’s not so bad: We don’t need the hyperdrive and it’ll still be quicker than most Terran craft,” Mike replied. “But we’re strictly terrestrial, chief.”
“With the supplies we managed to keep out of SACUL’s thieving hands we can help out in the event of a medical emergency, but no-one should expect a dip in a bacta tank any time soon.”
“Keep Mike grounded, then,” Josh grinned. Kristy mustered a half-smile.
“Thayer and I will always support the team,” Becki said. “But is there much of a team to support?”
The five friends looked at one another.
“Sci walked away, Arrek returned home, Alison and Emily haven’t been heard from in heaven knows how long, Vickie left and Crispy and Nick are off doing their own thing... We’re all that’s left, and without all the advantages we had, how much can we do?”
“Is this the start of a rousing speech, wing? It doesn’t sound like it,” Mike asked.
“You’ve all put your lives on hold to be a part of Terra Group. I met Thayer, and this is my home, but don’t any of you want to do the same?”
“This is home,” Josh said. “With Lenka, and you guys, and it’s not like I can go back to America.”
“I’d like to go home,” Sylvana said. “But I love it here too. Even if I go home, I want to be able to come back.”
“I’m staying,” Kristy said. “Even if Terra Group is gone, that doesn’t mean we can’t still make a difference.”
They turned to look at Mike.
“I want to head home for a little while. When I came here... Well, I was running as much from as to. A lot of time has passed – I need to work out if there’s a life in England as well as one here.”
They nodded. No-one asked him if he was running from again – for which he was grateful.
*
A year had passed. Josh had helped with the airfield. Once the fires were out Ben and his old comrades had helped persuade the local police force to see things the right way. The closure of a major drug smuggling ring was a feather in the local force’s caps, even if they’d only shown up to tidy things up at the end. Even so, the airfield attracted a little more attention then either man was comfortable with – at first, anyway.
Three months later Jean had walked into Mike’s office. In some ways, she’d never left.
There was a regular correspondence between the south coast of England and the royal castle of Mendellia. Every year a parcel arrived from the other side of the world and Mike shut the airfield down for a day.
Eighteen months before a small, unnoticed state visit to Britain had occurred when the Mendellian royal family dropped in during a trip to Paris.
Slowly, Terra Group had receded into a memory.
Now someone was hunting the Group’s members, it seemed. A mistake had been made in assuming Mike would be easy pickings. He didn’t expect them to make that mistake again, so it was time to regroup and learn what was going on – information was more important that anything right now, and when the fight came he wanted it away from his new home.
He peered out from under the eyemask, noting the closeness of the islands out the window. A chime sounded discreetly, and he obediently adjusted his seat and buckled his seatbelt.
Out of practise, drawn down, caught by surprise... Terra Group was on the ropes, he thought, as the plane touched down gently and taxied to the jetway. He walked through the terminal, flashing his diplomatic passport as he passed through customs and entered the arrivals area. No-one was there to greet him – he knew they were at the castle, working out the who, when, what, why and where. That was fine – he quickly rented a car and found himself back on the Mendellian streets. It was only a short drive to the castle from the airport, and when he arrived he quickly made his way to the situation room.
“Right, what do we know?” he asked, as he approached the holotable that had been secreted from SACUL several years before.
He didn’t get an answer, not immediately, just a flurry of welcomes, hugs and handshakes before he took his place around the holotable.
He looked around as Kristy gave a brief précis of their position.
On the ropes? he thought, sizing up his old friends. Fine – I’m home and we’re back together.
He felt sorry for Grace, whoever they were.