“Bud, can you keep these guys off us until we make it to the infil point?”

“I’d bug out if I were you,” Franken responded. “We’re getting continuous faults on the laser, and we’ve already lost one generator.”

“Give us thirty seconds and we’ll be outta here,” the pilot of the MV-22 aircraft said. “Keep ’em off us for as long as you can.”

“No promises, boys,” Franken said. To Lindsey Reeves: “What’s it look like, Linds?”

“Pretty bad—we should be bugging out of here ourselves,” Reeves replied. “I’m getting overtemp warnings on the plasma generators even though the system isn’t powered on, and I think the heat is affecting the magnetron that channels the plasma field into the laser generators. If the magnetic field’s not strong enough, and the plasma field touches the inertial confinement chamber before the reaction stops—we’ll be turned into stardust in a millisecond.”

“Roger that,” Franken replied. On the command channel: “Sorry, boys, but I suggest you bug out now—we’ll use the last bit of juice we have left in the laser to cover your retreat.”

‘Twenty seconds, Dragon. Fifteen.”

“Lindsey...”

“We’re pushing it, Bud—but okay.” She touched the icons for the MiG-25 fighters, then spoke: “Attack commit Dragon.”

“Warning, overtemp on plasma generator number one .. . caution, magnetron voltage approaching tolerance limit. . . caution, overtemp on plasma generator number two”

“Override overtemp warning and attack.”

“Warning, magnetron voltage at tolerance . ..”

Franken looked over at his young mission commander. No sign of airsickness this time—she was all business, steady and focused. “Override all magnetron warnings and attack,” Lindsey said.

“Warning, plasma containment—”

“Override all warnings and attack!” Lindsey shouted.

“Attack commit Dragon, MiG-25, stop attack ”

Suddenly there was a deep, high-pitched vibration coming from the back of the AL-52 Dragon, so great that Franken had to take a firmer grip on the control stick. He was about to order her to stop the laser from firing, but at that moment she announced, “MiG one destroyed.” But the vibration didn’t stop—in fact, it was getting worse.

“Lindsey—”

“Attack commit Dragon,” she announced.

“Warning—”

“Override all warnings and attack,” she ordered.

“Lindsey—”

“Attack commit Dragon, stop attack,” the computer warned.

The vibration was getting worse—finally, Lindsey was starting to notice it. “What is that?” she asked.

“Eject,” Franken said flatly.

“What?”

“I said eject!” Franken shouted.

“I’m getting this second MiG,” Lindsey said.

“No!” Franken shouted. But at that moment the laser fired, and the second MiG-25 bearing down on the MV-22 disappeared in a cloud of fire.

The vibration was louder and harder now, so hard that Franken had trouble taking a normal breath. He had to force the air out of his lungs to scream, “Eject! Eject! Eject!”

All aircrew personnel at Sky Masters Inc. had extensive training in aircrew survival, including twice-a-year ejection seat qualification. Lindsey Reeves was not prior military, like John Franken, but she had been so thoroughly indoctrinated by Patrick McLanahan and his staff that every flying scientist was as thoroughly familiar with aircrew survival procedures as their military counterparts.