Blood Line by Becky Rock
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Once he reached the central floor, Jason jumped off the ladder and almost ran to the tiny bathroom near their small sleeping rooms. In the bathroom was an average sized stand up shower. He turned the water on and stepped in, closing the glass door behind him.

He turned the temperature gage all the way down, desperate for cold. His body felt as if it were on fire and the Birdstyle was acting like an insulator, forcing his body to retain the heat it so desperately needed to disperse.

He felt the ship shudder, heard his teammates shouts of exhalation as the Terrapin exploded. He should have been happy, but instead he stood under the flow of water, his eyes closed, his chin resting on his chest. He could still taste the blood in his mouth. He started to raise his head, to have the water hit him in the face, to wash the blood away, to open his mouth to wash the taste away, but stopped himself.

He squeezed his eyes closed tighter, his mind returning to the battle, to how good it had felt to tear the Spectran troopers to pieces, to feel their hot blood bathing his uniform, his face. How the enemy’s blood had tasted when he’d licked his lips…

His eyes snapped open as he heard the hydraulics of the lift as it lowered from the flight deck. He looked down to see the water flowing down over his uniform, bright red, swirling about the drain at his feet.

“Jason, Jesus!” Mark was suddenly in the door to the shower, his eyes wide under his turquoise visor with fear and horror as he looked at the blood. He had noticed Jason suddenly gone and had come back down to see where he had gone.

Jason tilted his head to look at Mark, the heat now overwhelming him, the blood swirling and swirling in his mind. His knees gave out as Mark rushed in, catching him as he collapsed to the floor of the shower.

“Where are you hurt?” Mark asked as he held him, feeling Jason’s body trembling. Even with the cold water hitting them and the Birdstyles, Mark could feel the heat radiating off his brother’s body. “Jason, answer me!”

“Mark, Jason, get your asses up here!” Don called over the intercom, his voice tense.

“Go,” Jason rasped, regaining some control over his body’s shaking. The trembling was stopping as Mark stared into his eyes. “I’m okay. It’s not mine.”

“You’re not okay.”

“We’ve got trouble!” Don shouted.

“Go. I’ll be right there.” Jason motioned with his head towards the lift.

Mark stared at him for a moment longer and then released him, running for the lift, trailing pink water across the floor, having to trust he was telling him the truth.

Jason closed his eyes and used the wall for support to pull himself slowly back up to stand. He leaned against it and reached over to turn the water off. The last of it ran off him, still pink. His body was still on fire, but he had to get to the flight deck. Don tended to panic fast, but neither Princess nor Tiny had contradicted his declaration that they had trouble.

He couldn’t go back to the flight deck still covered in blood and gore. He detransmitted and swayed for a moment as cool air hit his skin. Why he hadn’t done it moments before, he couldn’t decide. The cool air felt wonderful, but if he went to the flight deck in his civilian clothes, everyone would know something was wrong. It was bad enough Mark knew. He transmuted back. His uniform returned from its trans-dimensional holding area clean.

He heard the timbre of the engines change and felt the ship accelerating, the floor tilting as the ship angled upward. Jason took a deep breath and went to the lift.

“Distance!” he heard Mark request as the lift stopped on the flight deck.

“Twenty miles and closing!” Princess said back, her voice higher than normal.

“What’s wrong?” Jason asked, hoping his voice was level as he continued to feel the ship accelerating through his stomach. He moved to the front of the flight deck on stiff legs. He could see Tiny’s hand clutching the throttle, pushing it forward as far as it would go. Mark was leaning over Tiny’s seat. He glanced back at him, evaluating. Jason nodded curtly.

“The head detached before the ship blew. It’s coming after us,” he told him. Jason looked up at the rear view screen above the main viewer and could tell the craft was gaining on them.

“We’ll just blow it out of the sky.” Jason turned and headed for his gunnery station. Mark’s hand zipped out and grabbed his arm, stopping him. Jason turned back towards him and would have glared if he’d had the strength.

“We can’t,” Princess said from her scanner. The eyes she turned towards him with were bright with fear and expectation. “It has a nuclear bomb aboard.”

Jason couldn’t help the shocked look on his face.

“A nuke?” He felt his stomach drop. “What the hell are they doing with a nuke?”

“Going to drop it on Beijing?” Keyop suggested.

“Why? That thing was armed with the lasers from hell! They didn’t need a nuke too!”

“Would someone please make a decision here?” Tiny asked tightly. “It’s gaining fast.”

“It doesn’t matter why - they have one. Don, at what level would the bomb be useless?” Mark asked. Don took a deep breath.

“I’d say sixty thousand feet to be safe. Outer stratosphere.”

“Tiny, get us up there. Don, adjust the vents. Everyone strap in,” Mark ordered. “Jason, get a firing solution and load the missile.”

Jason stared at Mark as though he had grown a second head. His brain was so fuzzy from the fever he wasn’t sure he’d heard Mark right. By the looks on the others’ faces, he was sure he hadn’t

“Uh, Mark, you do realize the combination of a nuclear bomb and a Bird Missile could destroy us?”

“Not if we go Fiery.”

“No way,” Keyop said in alarm.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” Don’s liquid brown eyes were wide with shock.

“We can’t,” Jason protested. “We’ve never tested it--”

“Now’s as good a time as any.” Mark’s tone was firm. “We can’t take the chance of that head getting any where near another populated area. Jason, get to it.” Jason could only stare at him.

“Mark--”

“Now would be a good time, Jase.” Jason swallowed, his throat dry as he went back to his station, the floor tilting even more as Tiny angled the Phoenix’s nose up for a faster ascension.

“That ship’s going to be close enough to blow us to smithereens in four minutes,” Princess reported.

“What’s our time to sixty thousand?” Mark wanted to know.

“Four and a half,” Don announced.

“Shit.” Tiny’s uncharacteristic cursing was met with a moment of silence.

“All right.” Mark turned in his seat to face them. “Prepare to go to Fiery Phoenix in three minutes. Don, sound off.” He turned back and reached forward to press a red switch on his console. They were all pressed back into their seats by the harness that folded over them from the back of their seats as Tiny put them into a space launch angle.

Jason tried to type the orders into his gunnery computer, but his fingers didn’t want to cooperate. He could feel sweat forming on his forehead again.

“Jason, status,” Mark requested as the ship began to shake from its fast passage through the thinning atmosphere. Jason licked his chapped lips.

“On it,” he automatically replied.

“Two minutes,” Don said.

Jason could feel his respiration increasing, his heart rate doubling. He was running out of time. He wiped a gloved hand over his now sweat covered face and forced his mind to concentrate.

“Jason…”

“I said I was on it!” Jason snapped as he reached his final calculation for the firing solution and turned to the missile controls.

“One minute,” Don said.

“Deploying missile launcher,” Jason said as he opened the missile bay doors on the top of the Phoenix behind the nose cone. The launcher rose above the ship’s hull and rotated backwards, facing the terrapin‘s head as it pursued them. If the ship had been flying level, they weren’t able to shoot backwards: the missile would hit their rear rudder and fins. Alarms immediately sounded. “It was never meant to be deployed at this speed. We might loose it!” He had to raise his voice over the din of the alarms.

“Retract it as soon as the missile’s off. If we loose it, we loose it,” Mark said. He grasped the red lever on his console that looked like a wine bottle opener. “Time sound off.”

“Thirty seconds,” Don shouted.

“Launch missile!”

“Launching!” Jason smashed his fist down on the red button that became visible on his console when the missile launcher had been deployed. “Retracting launcher. Impact in thirty seconds!”

For the next thirty seconds, Don and Jason sounded off just seconds apart: Don on when they would go to Fiery Phoenix and Jason on when the Bird Missile would hit the Terrapin’s head.

At ten seconds, Don started counting down out loud, second by second. Jason could feel his heart speeding up more, if it was even possible. He glanced up as he shouted his own ’twenty’ to see the Terrapin’s head taking up the entire rear view screen.

When Don hit zero, Mark pushed the red lever forward. Jason shouted ’ten seconds!’

The ship began to vibrate even more than it had as a glow grew outside, visible on all of the view screens. As Jason counted down from ten, the glow grew brighter and turned from yellow to orange to bright red. A roar grew, so loud Jason had to scream the last three seconds.

The pressure in the ship built, making it difficult to breath. The air grew hot, adding to the difficulty breathing. The heat penetrated his Birdstyle, warmth at first, then hot. The ship shook violently from the explosion, practically throwing him from his seat even with the harness. A high pitched screeching sound overrode the roaring, hurting his ears.

The heat continued to build, the red glow from the view screens bathing the flight deck in red, now visible as actual flame.

Jason stared at the nearest view screen, sweat having gotten into his eyes, burning them, his uncovered face feeling as though it was cooking. The air was so hot his lungs felt singed and his head felt as if it was going to explode.

He was burning. The fire outside the ship was consuming him as surely as it was consuming the ship.

The roaring and screeching were so loud, no one but Jason could hear his scream of pain.

 

**********

Phoenix, this is Control. Please respond,” a clinically calm male voice said.

“How long has it been?” Security Chief Anderson asked from his station in the center of the Command Center, staring at the clock on his console.

“Two minutes,” the technician responded.

“Where are they?” he asked.

“Off the coast of China. Telemetry indicates they’ve activated Fiery Phoenix.” The technician’s voice rose in surprise.

“Satellites are registering an explosion,” another tech said, having difficulty keeping her voice even. “It’s off the scales!”

Anderson looked down at his monitor in alarm, but saw he was getting readings from all of the team’s implants. All in the green.

“Telemetry is now showing the Phoenix is descending rapidly. It doesn’t look controlled to me.”

“Is the ship still in Fiery Phoenix?” The Chief asked. The tech nodded his dark head.

“Yes, sir.”

Anderson took a deep breath and stared at the monitor as the communications tech continued to try and raise the ship. As he watched, the green indicators for both G-2 and G-6 began to move into the yellow. Jason’s suddenly went red.

“Control, activate emergency auto pilot,” he ordered, rising to his feet. “They’re not responding. Fiery Phoenix could have overwhelmed them. Have the auto pilot bring the ship in.” He leaned down to press a red switch on his Controller console.

“Full medical team to Hanger. Drs. Pandora and Murphy, acknowledge.”

“Acknowledged.” Sylvia sounded worried. She had her own biomedical monitor and would no doubt be bringing the crash cart. Unfortunately, Jason’s lack of the cerebonic implant that regulated the rest of the team’s abilities meant they didn’t know what was causing his bracelet to code him red.

“Acknowledged,” Murphy said.

“Initiating control of the Phoenix via the auto pilot,” the Flight Controller said, followed quickly by a “We’ve got a green on auto pilot and Fiery Phoenix has been deactivated. Phoenix’s descent is leveling off. Bringing to trajectory for intercept with base. ETA is twelve minutes.

“I’ll be down in the Hanger,” Anderson told the Command Center. “Inform me of any changes.”

“Roger that.”

Anderson left the room. His eyes had become so used to the red light in the Command Center that the clear white lights of the corridor nearly blinded him. At twenty foot intervals, the red lights mounted near the ceiling were blinking, indicating G-Force was on a mission. He rushed in as dignified a manner as he could towards the nearest elevator and took it down to the lowest level.

The corridor leading to the Hanger was already filled with the Docking Crew and medical teams with various equipment. Five gurneys were manned by two corpsman each.

Just as the Chief had thought, Sylvia had a crash cart. She saw him and waved him over, grabbing his arm and pulling him to the side, away from the others.

“Do we know what’s wrong with them?” she asked quietly.

“No. We were only able to reestablish telemetry after the Terrapin’s destruction. We weren’t able to reestablish communications.“

“Could this Fiery Phoenix alone put Jason in the red?” she asked. Anderson could only shrug helplessly. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“They weren’t supposed to use the Fiery Phoenix without authorization. It’s a weapon of last resort.”

“What does that have to do with its affect on Jason?” She stared at him, her brown eyes hard, her fisted hands going to her hips. “If I understand right, it’s a form of mass transmutation that transforms the ship’s outer hull into a giant Firebird. That’s why the ship was made to withstand three thousand degrees.” When he didn’t answer her immediately, he leaned towards him. “Matt, do understand what I’m saying?”

“We never tested it with the team,” he told her. Sylvia took a step back in shock.

“You have an extremely powerful weapon to use and never tested it?” Her voice rose enough that she had to force herself to calm down, lest the others in the corridor hear their conversation.

“I never said we didn’t test it,” Anderson countered. “We just didn’t test it with the team. We thought we had more time.”

An alarm sounded and the red lights in the ceiling of the corridor began to pulsate.

Phoenix docking procedures commencing,” an automated female voice said, drowning out their conversation. “Docking crews stand by.”

Anderson couldn’t see what was happening even thought he knew. The autopilot would bring the Phoenix down somewhere in Hudson Bay and bring the ship in through the underwater tunnel to the Hanger and settle it into its cradle. The cradle would rotate so the ship was facing the dock door again. The water would drain from the dock and the green light above the door would tell them it was safe to go in. The Docking Crew would remotely open the loading ramp in the belly of the ship and they would enter through it.

“Come on, come on,” he said under his breath, willing the red light above the docking bay door to turn green.

“Docking complete. Docking crews may enter the bay,” the computer announced and the light turned green.

The Docking Crew opened the hatch door and moved out of the way. Anderson, Sylvia and Murphy rushed into the hanger, splashing through the puddles still remaining on the floor, heading for the lowering loading ramp, several nurses and the corpsman following with the gurneys.

“I’ve got Jason, you take Keyop,” Sylvia told Murphy and she turned to the nurses. “Tim, you’re with me, Greta, with Ben. The rest of you get Mark, Princess, Don and Tiny out of here to Medical and start treatment there,” she ordered. They acknowledged.

The Chief was the first out onto the flight deck and gasped. The heat was almost overwhelming, even after twelve minutes of being out of Fiery Phoenix. He ran to Don’s station and hit the control for the coolers. Many of the Phoenix’s interior atmosphere controls were operated manually and with the team unconscious, no one had been able to adjust them accordingly. The air conditioning came on full blast, making the vents rattle loudly with the passage of the cold air.

All six of his children were slumped over their stations. Murphy was checking Keyop over and Sylvia was pulling Jason up off his console, pressing her fingers into the cowl around his neck. She looked at Anderson, a mixture of worry and relief on her face.

“He’s breathing, but his heart rate is thready and his skin is extremely hot.” She opened her bag and pulled out a tactile thermometer.

“Keyop’s temp is one hundred two,” Murphy declared. “Everyone, deactivate their Birdstyles. We’ve got to get them cooled down,” he ordered, reaching for Keyop’s bracelet. He unclasped the bracelet and pulled it from the teen’s wrist. The flash of light that engulfed Keyop was soon followed by five others. “Get IVs started as fast as possible. They’re all dehydrated.”

Once Jason’s Birdstyle disappeared, Sylvia pressed the tactile thermometer to Jason’s sweat covered brow and watched the gauge rise, her alarm growing.

“His temperature is almost one hundred six. We have got to get it down, now. Get over here,” she ordered one set of corpsman. The two men brought over the gurney they had been carrying and laid it on the floor next to Jason’s station. They lifted him from his seat and laid him on the gurney, wasting no time lifting it back up. Sylvia motioned them to the lift and turned to Anderson as she hit the foot pedal. He was bent over Don, checking him over.

“Matt…”

“Get him out of here and do what you have to do,” he said, pressing his hand to Don’s forehead. Sylvia nodded and directed the corpsman to take Jason out. She thumbed the communicator attached to her shoulder and ordered the Medical Center to be prepared with ice to pack Jason in. A temperature as high as his for any length of time was life threatening.

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