U-10

As soon as the mercenaries retreated toward the SEED transport, Lavender’s team appeared around the ramp leading into the spacecraft.

Stiles was thrown to the ground beside the still unconscious Letch. Instead of focusing on the condition of his teammate, he stared at Koritt.

Peering at the cut in the hull made by the proton laser, Hashtag asked, “Elvis, are you okay? Any bad damage?”

“The primitive laser caused only superficial damage. There is a repair kit attached to the port bulkhead just inside the entry ramp. I will instruct you in its use.”

“What do we do with them?” Psycho asked, pointing his chin at Stiles and Letch. His tone of voice telegraphed his decision.

“Leave them to the desert. Maybe they can make friends with the Insurgents,” Fisheye responded and grinned when Stiles began to struggle with his bonds.

“Let’s get airborne,” Ty said. “We’re a sitting duck to an aerial attack.”

Sasquatch had been inspecting the net anchors holding the Alien transport. He didn’t look pleased.

“The anchor lines are a braided rope made from a tungsten-chromium steel alloy,” he said. “Each line is as thick as my arm and attached to some kind of burrowing drill that buried itself in the bedrock. We don’t have anything that will cut it and nothing to dig down far enough to let us disconnect it from the drill.”

“You’re stuck,” Stiles laughed. “You won’t be going anywhere.”

As he spoke, the ship’s ramp lowered.

“I’ll start the repairs to the laser damage,” Hashtag said as he climbed the ramp.

“I don’t like his confident grin,” Wraith said, motioning at Stiles. “And those SEED jerks will be in the air shortly.”

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Frost said. “The Baffle net is one of our best tools for trapping alien ships.”

Ty didn’t think her tough words matched the tone in her voice. Leaning so close his lips brushed her ear, he whispered, “I don’t believe you.”

Frost shivered. She never let anyone get so close to her and the sensation was disturbing. Even more disturbing was the pleasant reaction she felt. Her thoughts were interrupted.

“Find the card labeled Diffuser,” Elvis said. Ty might have imagined it, but he sensed urgency in the mechanical voice.

Ty pulled the box and thumbed through the cards, but he couldn’t find any he could read. His translator tab was digested. Wraith tried to help him, but her tab was gone as well.

“Activate your helmet, and I’ll read the cards,” Elvis said. Now Ty understood how Elvis tried to communicate insistence. The Computer modulated the bass and volume in order to make its voice deeper and louder.

Ty did as instructed and fanned the cards like he would a poker hand. Inserting the card Elvis specified into the U-10 produced a small, round bottle. The contraption looked like a vintage style perfume bottle with a black bulb spray atomizer. Ty had seen something similar on his grandmother’s dressing table.

“Spray the liquid downwind. Make sure none of it touches you,” Elvis warned. “Two squirts per tie-down should be sufficient.”

“Is it some kind of acid?” Psycho asked.

“In an understated way. It is a molecular-bond destabilizer that becomes inert after 30 seconds,” Elvis responded. “Just don’t get it on anything you want to keep.”

Ty walked to the nearest tie-down rope and made sure the slight breeze was blowing away from him. Despite Elvis’ warnings, his squad gathered around him to watch what happened.

“I wonder if it has an odor?” Roadkill asked.

“If it does and there’s any left, we’ll let you try it out,” Fisheye said. “Anything would be better than the tar and pitchblende smell soaked into your skin.”

“You’re just jealous because I smell better than your gun oil and black powder,” Roadkill shot back.

“Quiet,” Ty said. “I want to hear what happens when the spray hits the metal.”

Not knowing how much of the spray was needed to weaken the special rope alloy, Ty squeezed the bulb twice as Elvis suggested. A thin mist, similar to the consistency of olive oil, coated a section of the steel rope. The reaction was instantaneous.

Imagine pouring boiling water on an icicle, and you will have some idea of the effect the Diffuser had on the braided alloy. They heard a slight crackling sound, and the tether dissolved before their eyes. The rope split and the end attached to the net swayed in the breeze, emitting a smoky haze. Everyone dodged the hanging, melted end as it swayed from the net covering the top of the ship.

With a whoop and wide grin, Ty said, “Everyone in the ship. Prepare for liftoff.”

Ty set about spraying the remaining net ropes. Throwing the empty Diffuser into the rocks, he ran up the ramp and slammed his fist against the closer tab.

The last thing he saw was the look of disbelief on Stiles’ face.

***

A feverish heat made Akhund uncomfortable. A fire in the pit near the altar was not the source of his intense feelings.

The ragged clothes he wore kept the desert temperature tolerable. Sweat wicked into the fabric and evaporated, creating a bit of cooling air around his body.

Insurgent guards had taken him into custody the moment he walked into the stable hiding the headquarters of Supreme Commander, Wakil Amed Ghaffar. Waiting for a meeting with the Leader produced only body heat. Some kind of internal chemical reaction fueled by fear made his metabolism race without generating a comforting film of sweat. The guards surrounding him, with weapons at the ready, increased his blood pressure.

Akhund could not only see his coming death, he felt it. He imagined a dull blade sawing through his neck as he knelt, bound and helpless before Ghaffar. Why had Allah chosen him as a sacrificial goat? Why was he the only survivor of the ill-fated canyon ambush? In fact, every time in the last few hours he tried to kill American soldiers, he was thwarted.

Ghaffar strolled into the room without looking at him. Picking up a red-hot poker from the ashes of the fire, he turned it as if searching for the hottest spot. At last, he stoked the dying embers and threw a bit of wood into them to rekindle the flames.

Without taking his eyes off the growing blaze, Ghaffar asked in a dead calm voice, “Where is Nasir Maloof Fakhoury? Why did you return to me alone?”

Akhund licked dry lips with a dry tongue. “He is dead, Supreme Commander. An impossible, invisible, flying plane shot red lightning bolts from the sky. All our brave Insurgents, even the ones hiding behind boulders, were skewered. I still smell the burn hole that killed your brave soldier, Nasir Maloof Fakhoury.”

Trembling from the recollection, Akhund continued, “If I had not sought shelter under one of our trucks, I would have been a victim.”

“And yet here you are - - alive and well, while 300 of my best Insurgents died. You seem to have a knack for finding and avoiding death,” Ghaffar said.

Desperation focusing his churning thoughts, Akhund replied, with more defiance than he felt, “Yes, Allah has chosen me to bear witness to the atrocities of the foreign pigs. It is not a mantle of responsibility I chose, it is His Will. Who am I to question His Wisdom?”

Akhund decided the question was brilliant. It put Ghaffar into the position of questioning the Will of Allah if he persisted on condemning poor Akhund. Akhund held his breath. Ghaffar’s next words would decide whether he kept his head - - or not.

“No devote follower questions the Will of Allah. The real puzzle is to determine the true nature of His Will. You continue to survive, but who says it is His Will?” Ghaffar muttered. “Perhaps a test to see if your life is blessed in truth.”

Now Akhund’s mouth was as dry as his lips and tongue. He managed to squeak, “What kind of test?”

“Fakhoury, what test do you think is appropriate under the circumstances?” Ghaffar asked.

“A field test under live fire,” a familiar sounding voice growled. “Witnessed by me.”

Akhund whirled and watched a figure emerge from the shadows. The man resembled Nasir Maloof Fakhoury, but his beard was more unkempt. Also, the wrinkles around his eyes were less pronounced.

“This is Nasir’s younger brother, Salah udeen Fakhoury,” Ghaffar said with a grin. “He seeks retribution for the death of his brother.”

Akhund’s stomach knotted with fear.

“We will return to the canyon and confront the American swine. My brother will be avenged,” Fakhoury said through gritted teeth.

Glaring at Akhund, he continued, “All those responsible for his murder will be punished. Death is too good for them.”

***

Thann and Turner climbed into the cockpit of their modified C-17. Waiting for the VTOL engines to warm up, they discussed tactics.

“We must strike while the Baffle’s still in place,” Turner said.

“Destroying the craft is not why we’re here,” Thann replied.

“Get real. Better a little win than a total loss,” Turner shot back. “If we don’t damage that thing so it can’t take off, it’s gone for good.”

Thann bit her lip. Turner was right, but Cruneval wouldn’t be happy. The SEED loss ratio was growing. SEED agents hadn’t captured an intact alien ship for over a decade. Almost capturing an extraterrestrial spacecraft was like sipping a good wine just before the glass slipped from your fingers and shattered. Wine and broken glass don’t mix. Explosives and sensitive alien technology don’t mix.

Facts were difficult things to dispute, and Cruneval wasn’t around to object. Direct control over the alien craft was lost. Turner was right. Disable the craft. Force it to stay on Earth.

“I’ll get this thing in the air,” Thann said. “Let’s go hunting.”

Now you’re making sense,” Turner grinned as he began feeding power to the capacitor of the EMP emitter.

Readings indicated the engine temps were near optimum for liftoff, and Thann flipped the intercom switch.

“Attention, all personnel. Gunners to your stations. Prepare for an aerial attack run. Concentrate your fire on the engines,” she ordered.

“Keep the nose pointed at the target as much as possible. The focus of the EMP emitter requires a frontal attack,” Turner said.

“Just don’t miss,” Thann replied as she fed power to the VTOL’s. “I hope it’s not shielded.”

“We’ll know in a moment.”

***

Hashtag ran into the control room and strapped himself into the pilot’s seat.

“You’re sure my repairs will hold?” he asked as he grabbed the joystick.

“Yes,” Elvis replied. “Why ask?”

“Never mind,” Hashtag said. “Can you move us laterally out from under the net?”

“There is no time. The alien airship which deployed the net has just appeared. Its weapons are locked on my thruster nacelles. We must lift off now or chance suffering irreparable damage.”

“Go, go, go!” Hashtag shouted.

With a lurch, the transport moved. The weight of the net slowed the ship’s reactions, but the change of position made the first volley from the C-17 miss.

Ty entered the cabin followed by Wraith and Frost. An explosion caused the transport to lurch, and they struggled to keep their balance.

The transport swayed again, then zoomed into the sky, free of the net.

The hull rattled as two of the C-17′s GAU-22 four barrel 25mm cannons hammered it.

“Elvis, get us out of the line of fire!” Hashtag yelled. “They’re tracking us with a computer lock.

The ship twisted and shot straight up. Hashtag’s eyes couldn’t focus for a moment, and he squeezed them shut. When he blinked them open at last, the C-17 had disappeared.

“Where did it go?”

A view screen lit. The forward top of the C-17 was centered in the image.

“I am thirty meters above the primitive aircraft, matching its speed and maneuvers,” Elvis replied in a Sunday afternoon drive tone.

“They’ll see us,” Wraith said with alarm.

“Not with my stealth shield activated,” Elvis said.

The remainder of Ty’s squad filed into the passenger cabin followed by Colonel Hubert, who had changed back into his desert camouflage.

“Lieutenant Lavender, I’m tired of being shot at by SEED personnel. Surely this hunk of iron has some offensive capability,” Hubert said.

“I am not constructed of iron,” Elvis said. Ty wasn’t sure, but he thought he detected a hint of pride and distain in the Computer’s voice.

“Your most recent order regarding enemy personnel forbids me to injure them; however, there is an intriguing gadget available from the U-10 you may find useful.”

The view screen changed to a series of strange symbols.

“Please look for the card labeled as shown on the screen. I believe you will like it, Hashtag.”

Ty fished the card box from his pocket and handed stacks to his team.

“Find the card,” he ordered.

In a moment, Psycho shouted, “Got it.”

Ty grabbed the card and shoved it into the U-10 slot. The bag plumped, and he pulled out a device similar to a smart phone. It featured a green button embedded in its top edge.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Ty asked.

“Push the button to activate. Select the object you wish to control. Just don’t select this ship,” Koritt sighed.

Ty stabbed his thumb onto the button, and the screen lit up depicting an image of their transport. Everyone crowded around him, pushing and shoving for a better vantage point.

“See if you can scroll the image,” Hashtag suggested.

Using his fingertips, Ty flicked the image of the transport, and it was replaced by a picture of the land rover parked in the transport’s hold.

“The objects depicted are based upon distance from the controller. The nearest controllable objects are shown first. Keep scrolling,” Koritt said.

Images of unknown equipment rolled down the screen until an image of the C-17 appeared. Ty thumbed the image, and it turned green. In a moment, a wireframe depiction of the C-17′s cockpit began to appear on the deck. The detail was astounding, and Frost gasped.

“That is an exact replica of the controls on that ship,” she said. “But I don’t get it. What good is a picture of the controls?”

“I think I understand,” Hashtag replied and sat down in the wireframe depiction of the pilot’s seat. The image supported him as if it was the actual seat in the C-17. Grasping the yoke, Hashtag turned it to port. When he did so, the actual C-17 turned.

“How is this possible?” Frost whispered.

“This is one of the more powerful devices in the U-10 arsenal,” Koritt replied. “It allows the complete remote control of any computerized operating system.”

Everyone began talking at once. Some wanted to crash the C-17. Others wanted more information. In the end, Ty decided to land the aircraft and disable it. He didn’t like the idea of killing helpless people.

***

“Where did it go?” Turner thundered.

“I don’t know yet. It disappeared so fast, I’ll have to review the vid feed for a clue,” Thann responded as she focused on a screen.

Without warning, the C-17 veered to port.

“Stop playing with the controls,” Thann growled. “You’ll make me airsick.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Turner replied with a puzzled look.

Without being touched, throttle controls began moving by themselves and several switches clicked into new positions. The VTOL engines began shifting into landing mode.

Frantically flipping switches to stop the changes and keep them airborne made no difference. Despite his efforts, the controls wouldn’t respond. The C-17 lost altitude until it hovered ten some meters over the canyon floor.

The landing gear refused to deploy. Suddenly, the engines shut down, and the C-17 dropped to the ground with an earth-shattering clang that destroyed the engines and crumpled the airframe. The C-17 would never fly again.

Alarms shrieked and several fires broke out in the control panels in the cockpit. Turner and Thann ran out of the pilot’s cabin just before a small explosion blew out the console.

Bedlam filled the ship’s hold as mercenaries grabbed survival bags and abandoned the burning wreck. Thann and Turner grabbed their survival gear and dashed out as a series of explosions collapsed the wings and toppled the plane’s tail section.

***

The shocks on the old pickup truck were worn out by years of bouncing across rough desert terrain, and a support rod in the passenger seat stabbed Akhund every time the tires rolled over anything larger than a pebble.

Akhund was sore and testy from the ride, but his fear of the driver, Salah udeen Fakhoury, kept him from saying anything. The poorly veiled threats of Wakil Amed Ghaffar kept running through Akhund’s mind.

“The death of Nasir Maloof Fakhoury must be avenged. Salah udeen Fakhoury will be satisfied with one of two things, either the deaths of ten American soldiers or your own. I don’t care which method you select to fulfill his needs, but I’m sure you will choose wisely.”

Akhund was deep into his depression when Fakhoury spoke.

“We are near the canyon. How do you think we should engage the Americans?”

Akhund was shocked Fakhoury would seek his advice and leaped at the opportunity to show he was worth keeping alive.

“I think it wise to do some reconnaissance before deciding on a course of action,” Akhund said. “After your brother’s men were murdered by red lightning bolts, an odd aircraft appeared out of thin air and landed near the eastern end of the canyon. It appeared to be friendly with the American ground forces. A short time after it landed, a large jet plane, with engines that allowed it to hover, attacked the strange craft and dropped a net over it. Enemy commandos from the jet plane pounced on the American soldiers and took control. I left at that point to report to Leader Ghaffar. If the Americans and the large jet are still at the site, our chances of winning a skirmish are poor.”

“My brother died at the hands of those Americans. I will avenge him,” Fakhoury said. “Even so, I will heed your words of caution.”

“However,” he continued after a hard bounce that jostled Akhund and drove the rod into his bottom to the point it almost pierced the skin, “know this. There will be no retreat, no escape, no excuses this time.”

As if to accentuate his threat, the truck slid to a stop in a cloud of sand and dust. Other troop carrying cars and trucks pulled up nearby and soon a hundred armed men awaited orders.

“Take me to my brother’s body,” Fakhoury said. “The rest of you follow me. We shall avenge our brothers with fire and steel.”

***

The irony of running toward the shelter of the MRAPs she had helped destroy was not lost to Thann as Turner and she dashed out of the flaming C-17 wreck.

Sarge and his men were already hunkering down behind the abandoned truck bodies when she joined them. Whatever she was going to say was drowned out by a thunderous explosion. Flames had reached the plane’s fuel tanks.

“Are any of the trucks still road-worthy? We have to get to a Base with a satellite radio,” she said at last.

Sarge nodded and shuffled away. Kristan hadn’t felt this helpless since Kindergarten when Joey Griswell had bullied her. She didn’t like it. Turner didn’t help the situation.

“Cruneval is not going to be happy when he finds out his prized retrieval aircraft is destroyed.”

“We’ve never encountered alien technology capable of taking complete control of our operating systems. The crash was inevitable. Our next generation C-17 is designed to thwart such an attack,” Thann responded.

“Besides,” she continued, “Cruneval likes shiny things. The new C-17 will put a sparkle in his beady eyes.”

Sarge’s return interrupted Turner’s response.

“One of the trucks is operational. It’ll be a squeeze, but no one will be left behind. Just so you know, I found Stiles and Letch hiding back there. They’re babbling something about American soldiers working with the aliens which might explain why we’ve been having so much trouble with the spacecraft.”

A mortar shell explosion broke off Thann’s reply. The blast was so close to one of the trucks, it lifted the rear axle of the six ton vehicle a half meter off the ground. Another mortar shell exploded between the trucks as the shooters zeroed in on the range.

“Now what!” Turner exclaimed.

***

A thunderous explosion broke the silence and a ball of flame belched skyward from somewhere in the canyon.

The explosion sounded like it came from the other end of the gorge, and Fakhoury yelled at his men to bring their equipment and follow him. Reluctant to follow but scared about what would happen to him if he didn’t go with the others, Akhund obeyed.

Jogging to the rear of the vehicles used by Akhund’s insurgents to block their end of the canyon, they saw the SEED aircraft burning out of control. Fakhoury was already looking at the scene through his binoculars when Akhund reached him.

“It looks like the Americans are having trouble,” Fakhoury sneered. “They have chosen a truck and are crowding onto it. It is my guess it is the only one operational, and they plan to use it to escape since their plane crashed.”

Akhund didn’t respond. He was too busy scanning the skies. Reasoning the burning plane didn’t crash itself, he felt certain the odd, insect-looking aircraft was lurking nearby. He was jolted from his thoughts by Fakhoury’s shouts.

“Set the mortars. Let the Americans know there is someone not afraid to engage them,” Fakhoury ordered.

Men jumped to obey.

“I urge caution,” Akhund said. “I was here when your brother was murdered. There is something that hides in the sky. It shoots red lightning and looks like a dragonfly when it’s visible. Look,” Akhund blustered and pointed. “There is your brother. Killed by the red lightning.”

Fakhoury turned to his brother’s body. In his excitement with the burning plane and the plight of the Americans, he hadn’t noticed it lying a few meters away. Shuffling over to the body, Fakhoury saw the hole burned through his brother’s chest and wailed.

Turning with a glare, he yelled, “I want mortar fire, now. Kill the infidels like the dogs they are.”

The mortars coughed and moments later, explosions erupted near the American trucks as the insurgents tested for the proper range.

Akhund couldn’t help but be hopeful. Despite his misgivings about the strategy, the mortars were powerful weapons. Given enough time, they would pound the American infidels into the sand. His hope disappeared when a shadow blotted out the sun.

***

“Nice landing,” Wraith said.

Hashtag grinned as he climbed out of the wireframe pilot’s seat. A couple of seconds later, the screen on the cellphone –like device winked off, and the wire-frame display disappeared. One use.

What do you want to do with the SEED personnel?” Sasquatch asked.

“Nothing,” Ty responded. “It will take them a couple of hours to reach the Base, and by that time, we’ll be long gone.”

At that moment, the mortar rounds landed and explosions blossomed around the trucks.

“Where’s that fire coming from?” Roadkill asked.

“There is a group of Humans hiding near the truck blockade at the other end of the canyon,” Elvis replied as a picture of the Insurgents appeared on the view screen.

There was no doubt the Insurgents had returned and were focused on wiping out the SEED personnel. Another set of explosions peppered the trucks, and it was clear the Insurgents were sharpening their aim.

“The SEED people are getting what they deserve. Let the Insurgents finish them,” Roadkill growled.

There was a murmur of agreement until Ty saw the look on Frost’s face and said, “I can’t sit by and watch more American blood lost in this forsaken desert. We didn’t go to the trouble of disabling their plane just to see them be killed by the enemy.”

“I guess I would hate it if they missed that long, scenic truck drive,” Psycho grinned.

“Elvis, put us between the SEED people and the Insurgents. Turn off the invisibility shield and take out the mortars. Let’s give them something else to think about,” Ty said.

“As you wish,” Elvis replied.

***

The grin on Fakhoury’s face disappeared when the huge, grayish-white insect winked into visibility.

Red lightning shot from its mouth, and the mortars exploded into clouds of fragments.

“It’s still here!” Akhund yelled and pointed.

Fakhoury was frozen for only a moment. Eyes wide, he lifted his AK47 and opened fire. His guttural scream was louder than the sound of his gunfire.

Encouraged by his reaction, other Insurgents opened fire as well. Akhund covered his ears to muffle the roar and ducked lower behind his boulder. The barrage of rifle fire ricocheted off the insect and peppered the shooters. Several men were injured, and Fakhoury screamed to cease fire.

A loud speaker blared and a voice said in Farsi, “Which of you is the God-forsaken dog who returned to this holy site to attack those protected by me?”

Every Insurgent turned and looked at Akhund. If he could have done so, Akhund would have shriveled into a wad resembling a sun-dried date. There was no doubt who everyone blamed for this predicament, and for the first time in his adult life, Akhund couldn’t lie his way out of a situation.

Hands grabbed his arms and he was thrown over the boulder he was hiding behind. The insect-craft landed and a mouth-like portal opened beneath its bulbous eyes. Again the loud speaker blared.

“Come to me, dog. Your fate is sealed.”

Akhund cringed and began shaking so much he couldn’t get to his feet. Without warning, bullets pocked the sand around him, and he realized his fellow Insurgents were firing at him.

“Come to me, mongrel. Your sacrifice is the only way to save your Countrymen.”

A bullet hit so close to his hand, Akhund jumped. Driven by fear, he stumbled to the dark maw and crawled up the ramp into the darkness. The mouth closed, and the loud speaker blared one more time.

“Go in peace. If you ever return to this place, death will find you.”

All of Fakhoury’s men ran. Wide-eyed in disbelief, Fakhoury shouldered his brother’s body and followed them.

The insect-craft rose a few meters and disappeared an instant later.

***

Fear of the dark unknown paralyzed Akhund.

Curling into a fetal position, he waited in the beast’s dark mouth for the inevitable pressure of molars grinding his body to mush. Long moments past without a hint of danger, and his eyes perceived a glow even though his lids were closed tight. His ears heard voices, but fear kept him immobile. Hands grabbed his arms and zip restraints tightened around his wrists. Astonished he was still alive, Akhund blinked to adjust his eyes to the light and came face-to-face with people wearing blue-sequined, skintight outfits.

Pushed and staggering off balance, Akhund fell against what he thought was a wall. It was only when the wall began moving that he looked to see what was happening. A scream gurgled from his lips as he stared into the face of a giant insect. Akhund’s eyes fluttered, and he almost blacked out.

A voice shouted. Strong hands held him upright, and he was shuffled to a seat. Something was strapped across the top of his head and part of it covered one of his ears.

“Look at me,” a voice said in his ear, speaking Farsi.

Despite his dread, Akhund was curious. He wasn’t dead or even hurt in the slightest way. His captors were fluent in his language. He had to know more. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes.

Three people and the insect stood before him. Akhund tried to ignore the creature, but his eyes kept drifting back to it. Its mandibles moved, giving Akhund the impression it was preparing for its next meal.

“What is your name?” Sasquatch demanded.

Akhund’s voice failed him. Fear wouldn’t let him utter a syllable.

A new voice spoke from overhead. It sounded artificial. “This Human was part of the initial group which attacked the Colonel’s convoy when it entered the canyon.”

“How do you know?” Wraith asked.

“I have complete video and audio recordings of all my encounters with the wildlife on this planet,” the strange voice answered.

“So now we’re wildlife,” Psycho said. “Okay, I want this guy put on the endangered species list.”

“The data indicates he was also a leader of the mortar attack.”

“I was not a leader,” Akhund croaked. “I am a poor farmer conscripted by the Insurgents to fight,” he lied.

“Analysis of metabolic changes indicates this Human is not telling the truth,” the artificial voice stated.

“An Insurgent Leader - better to waste him,” Sasquatch said.

The situation was getting out of control and Akhund’s fear blossomed into panic. Struggling to free himself, he lost his balance and fell over.

Sasquatch and Psycho levered him back into an upright position just as Ty and the others walked through the hatch.

“What do we have?” Ty asked.

“This is one of the leaders of the ambushes,” Sasquatch replied. “First the one that attacked Colonel Hubert and the last one targeting the SEED group.”

“I am not a leader, but I know things,” Akhund insisted. “My name is Abdul Akhund. I can help you.”

“I say slit his throat,” Psycho said, drawing his knife and advancing.

“Wait,” Colonel Hubert ordered. “We need reliable Intel on the Insurgents. I want to hear what he has to offer.”

“You can’t trust a thing he says,” Wraith cautioned.

“SEED has specialized equipment and drugs for interrogation. Let me go. I guarantee his information will be accurate,” Frost said.

“I trust the Insurgent more than I trust the spook,” Wraith growled as she looked at Ty.

Ty glanced at Frost and made a gut decision. Hoping he guessed right, he said, “I think we should let Frost take him. We don’t need either one of them where we’re going.”

“She’ll tell SEED everything,” Wraith argued. “What’s the matter with you? Our assignment is to . . .”

“Look around, Wraith,” Ty said. “We’re in an invisible alien spaceship, dressed in blue tights, standing next to a human-sized cricket. Our assignment went sideways the moment Koritt appeared.”

Gesturing at Frost, he added, “Frost was sent by SEED to capture Koritt and this ship. She’s learned the assignment is next to impossible. She’ll tell her story and maybe it will convince them to back off.”

“And if they don’t?” Wraith demanded.

“Then they’ll wish they had,” Ty replied, looking at Frost.

“What are we going to do?” Roadkill asked.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you like surprises?” Psycho smirked.

“Not in my line of business,” Roadkill replied.

“Could I speak with you?” Frost asked Ty. “Alone?”

Hesitating, Ty nodded. He caught a sharp look from Wraith but grabbed Frost’s arm and led her out of the bay.

“My superior won’t stop coming after you,” Frost said. “This ship is too valuable.”

“Convince him Earth is being attacked. You heard the weapon inventory. This ship is carrying a planet neutralizer. Even Koritt was surprised,” Ty responded.

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” Frost said. “It’s SEED’s job to find alien tech and use it to protect Earth. Let us do our job.”

“Then why attack us?” Ty asked. “If we hadn’t escaped the net, SEED would have killed us. You included.”

Frost hesitated. There was a ring of truth in his words. Her thoughts shifted to Miles Turner. If he was onboard the C-17, she had little doubt he would kill anyone standing between him and the alien tech.

Her training included techniques for manipulating men. For some reason, she didn’t want to use them on Ty.

“I’ll try to convince them to back off.”

“You need to get back into your regular clothes,” Ty said. “They see you in a form-fitting, sparking blue alien suit, and there’s no way you’ll convince them to leave us alone.”

Frost had forgotten what she was wearing. For an instant, staring into Ty’s eyes, she forgot where she was.