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"Manticore"
Mar. 19th, 2025 12:11 am"Manticore"
3/15-3/16/2025
I.
In the co-pilot seat, Jocelyn Garimara peered down through the windscreen. "I am absolutely amazed at all the woods out here," she said. "It's gorgeous."
"Over half of Michigan is covered with forest," Frank Mills said. "There are roughly twenty million acres, much of which is protected State lands."
Gliding smoothly at ten thousand feet in the afternoon sunlight, the stealthcopter CORBY made no more noise than a stiff breeze would. The black sharklike shape showed no external lights and no identifying logos or numbers, quite in defiance of FAA regulations. At the combined collective/cyclic stick, Frank flew with deep concentration. His dark eyes moved constantly over the row of monitor screens and dozens of pastel green and blue status lights. Any of those lights flashing red would have been immediately noticed.
Just under forty, Jocelyn looked considerably younger because of her peak health and athletic condition. The dark brown skin was smooth and unlined, the whites of her eyes were clear and the straight black hair showed not a single grey strand. She was wearing a long white topcoat over dark shirt and pants, and she toyed with a copper-colored rod of metal three feet long. One end of that rod was capped with a pale blue faceted gem. Jocelyn tapped it frequently into the palm of her free hand.
"That's something I like about this country," she went on. "So much variety. Mountains, swamps, deserts, you name it. America is like a lot of different countries next to each other. All these years with the KDF and I still find new views that impress me."
Frank Mills had learned to put subdued inflection in his voice so that conversation with him did not feel stilted or unnatural. The Trom were as close to operating on logic without emotion as flesh and blood could manage but he did not want to sound robotic. "Approaching the Winfield property, ETA three minutes and forty seconds."
"Bloody hell, they sure do like their privacy. The last town we passed must have been twenty, twenty-five miles back. I saw a single hunting cabin since then." She telescoped the metal rod to a one foot length and fastened it to a clip inside her coat. "First mission as the new Sceptre."
"You have been practicing with diligence," Frank told her. "As far as anyone can judge, you have full control of its effects."
"There's the Winfield place. Dennis Winfield knew Jeremy twenty years ago, when he had to deal with Those Who Remember. He called us yesterday but he wouldn't explain what the danger was."
They slowed to hover over a cleared area of forty acres, joined by an asphalt driveway to the two-lane country road. Much of the field was given over to corn, not showing this early in the year. There was a two-story farm house with a huge barn close by, a pig sty adjoining. In front of the farm house was parked a white Ford Bronco and a lightweight buggy like a golf cart.
Twenty yards behind the barn stood a corral of fence posts supporting electrified wire. Eleven black and white cows were contained, and as she saw them, Jocelyn took in a sharp breath. "Frank! Look at the cows!"
"What do you notice?" he asked.
"They're all crowded in one corner. They're almost climbing on top of each other. Frank, they're terrified!"
( the rest of the story )
3/15-3/16/2025
I.
In the co-pilot seat, Jocelyn Garimara peered down through the windscreen. "I am absolutely amazed at all the woods out here," she said. "It's gorgeous."
"Over half of Michigan is covered with forest," Frank Mills said. "There are roughly twenty million acres, much of which is protected State lands."
Gliding smoothly at ten thousand feet in the afternoon sunlight, the stealthcopter CORBY made no more noise than a stiff breeze would. The black sharklike shape showed no external lights and no identifying logos or numbers, quite in defiance of FAA regulations. At the combined collective/cyclic stick, Frank flew with deep concentration. His dark eyes moved constantly over the row of monitor screens and dozens of pastel green and blue status lights. Any of those lights flashing red would have been immediately noticed.
Just under forty, Jocelyn looked considerably younger because of her peak health and athletic condition. The dark brown skin was smooth and unlined, the whites of her eyes were clear and the straight black hair showed not a single grey strand. She was wearing a long white topcoat over dark shirt and pants, and she toyed with a copper-colored rod of metal three feet long. One end of that rod was capped with a pale blue faceted gem. Jocelyn tapped it frequently into the palm of her free hand.
"That's something I like about this country," she went on. "So much variety. Mountains, swamps, deserts, you name it. America is like a lot of different countries next to each other. All these years with the KDF and I still find new views that impress me."
Frank Mills had learned to put subdued inflection in his voice so that conversation with him did not feel stilted or unnatural. The Trom were as close to operating on logic without emotion as flesh and blood could manage but he did not want to sound robotic. "Approaching the Winfield property, ETA three minutes and forty seconds."
"Bloody hell, they sure do like their privacy. The last town we passed must have been twenty, twenty-five miles back. I saw a single hunting cabin since then." She telescoped the metal rod to a one foot length and fastened it to a clip inside her coat. "First mission as the new Sceptre."
"You have been practicing with diligence," Frank told her. "As far as anyone can judge, you have full control of its effects."
"There's the Winfield place. Dennis Winfield knew Jeremy twenty years ago, when he had to deal with Those Who Remember. He called us yesterday but he wouldn't explain what the danger was."
They slowed to hover over a cleared area of forty acres, joined by an asphalt driveway to the two-lane country road. Much of the field was given over to corn, not showing this early in the year. There was a two-story farm house with a huge barn close by, a pig sty adjoining. In front of the farm house was parked a white Ford Bronco and a lightweight buggy like a golf cart.
Twenty yards behind the barn stood a corral of fence posts supporting electrified wire. Eleven black and white cows were contained, and as she saw them, Jocelyn took in a sharp breath. "Frank! Look at the cows!"
"What do you notice?" he asked.
"They're all crowded in one corner. They're almost climbing on top of each other. Frank, they're terrified!"
( the rest of the story )
