dochermes | Entries tagged with laura salerno

"The Sceptre Strikes!"

10/4/1941

I.

She came to her senses in cold clammy darkness, with her head throbbing abominably. For the longest time, Laura Salerno remained motionless, leaning back against something hard, half sitting up with her weight resting on one elbow. What on Earth could have happened to her? Where was she? Why did her whole body ache so much? It was hard to focus. Finally, she realized that the cylinder still strapped to her wrist was her Sceptre. Instantly, she concentrated on light. The blue gem on the end of the copper tube blazed into clear steady radiance which revealed her surroundings.

Wet slimy rock forming a sort of round room? No. A well. She was at the bottom of a well which was almost dry except for a thin film on the bottom. She glanced up, regretting the movement because the way it made her head pound mercilessly, and saw the mouth of the well high overhead was open. She couldn't actually see the night sky because of the glowing sceptre next to her. But the air wasn't stagnant so at least she wasn't going to suffocate.

Her thoughts began to clear. Yes, she had gone to negotiate a deal with someone named Grusel. Her well-paid contacts in the underworld told her that Grusel represented the German government and would pay well for military secrets. She had been carrying a thick manila envelope supposedly full of official papers. It was coming back to her. Weeks of setting up a meeting after spinning a yarn to shady characters about her admiration for how Hitler would fix the world's problems. Finding the long-abandoned farmhouse. She had been standing with her back to a well on the rundown property way out in the New Jersey wilderness. Grusel was waiting for her there with two gunmen and she kept up against the well so she could keep both thugs in sight. Laura had been holding the Sceptre in her right hand, ready to blast the first crook who made a threatening move. But she hadn't been quick enough, one of them drew and blasted off a shot before she could react. The next thing she knew... she was here.

Wait. Had she been shot? What was that burning pain high on her abdomen. Laura was wearing the blue slacks and bright canary jersey she affected when she was playing the Sceptre character, and now she dug under the shirt to find a hot chunk of metal stuck to her skin right below the sternum. She tugged it loose and touched her fingers to find a slight gouge in her skin, not even enough to bleed. It was a bullet.

A dozen thoughts raced through her mind as she struggled up onto her feet. Nothing was broken. But, even though she was bruised and sore, she should have been hurt much worse by falling twenty feet onto a stone surface. How was she still alive? Why had the bullet barely broken her skin? She knew the talisman she wielded could change the transcendental gralic force into light or heart or concussive impact. It did this when she willed it to do so. The only thing that made sense of her survival was that somehow the Sceptre was becoming more and more attuned to her mind... that it was acting before her conscious decisions told it what to do.

In the glow from that ancient gem, Laura's battered face broke into a wide grin. As the vigilante known as the Sceptre, her disguise involved a long curly black wig over her own short brownish hair, flaming red lipstick that changed the outlines of her mouth and a padded bra that distracted people. The bright yellow shirt and blue slacks and white trenchcoat were further distractions. The smile fell from her face as he realized that a spy like Grusel would not abandon such a priceless talisman as what she held. The Sceptre was unique and could not be duplicated, but they did not know that. They probably had dreams of an army of soldiers blazing away with Sceptres, toppling cities and conquering Europe. She realized her enemies had gone to fetch ropes to climb down to where she was.

Well, let them try. She would blast a beam of deadly force up at the first face that showed itself. But, she thought, they would simply fire down until she was a bullet-riddled corpse. What could she do? All these thoughts hurtled through her adrenalin-charged mind within seconds. Laura held the Sceptre up over her head in a Statue of Liberty pose. Her late husband Ray had first crafted this talisman and he had used it to generate light and heat. It had been her experimentation that had found the rod could project kinetic impacts. What if it could control still more forms of energy?

Like gravity?

As soon as the idea crossed her mind, Laura felt the ground drop away from beneath her feet. She gasped, more in delight than fear. She was rising, moving upward as if pulled by some inexorable pulley. Yet there was no sensation of hanging from the Sceptre, of having to grip it for dear life. It felt more as if she was floating weightless in a dream. She laughed out loud at the unexpected joy of it all. In another second, she rose up out of the well entirely and slowed to hang in mid-air twenty feet above the ground, light still shining like a beacon from the rod she held overhead.

( the rest of the story )

"Branded Men In Chinatown"

11/8/1940

I.

Laura Salerno had thought she was reasonably alert and difficult to take by surprise, but she gave a violent start and jumped back as a man in black stepped out of the narrowest of alleyways next to her. On this chilly November night, she was wearing an ankle-length black coat as part of her Sceptre outfit and her right hand whipped up from a pocket brandishing a strange device. One foot long, thin enough to wrap her hand around, it was a cylinder of copper-colored metal topped with a pale blue gem smaller than her fist. Laura held the Sceptre as if it packed the kick of a cattle prod.

The young man in a black chaffeur's uniform held up both leather-gloved hands in a placating gesture. Between the billed cap and the thick-lensed goggles, he was effectively disguised. "Easy. Steady there, Mrs Salerno. I'm a friend, not a threat."

"Oh yeah?" she retorted. "My friends don't jump out of the shadows and scare me out of my shoes!"

"Please, let us speak softly," he said. He seemed to be Asian, but not much of his face could be seen. "I have been searching for you. My boss says we are working on the same problem from different angles. It would be most productive if you and I helped each other."

Laura grudgingly lowered the Sceptre. In the light from a nearby streetlamp, she was revealed as a gorgeous woman about thirty, slightly above average height, with long wavy black hair down to her shoulder blades. As she had drawn her talisman, her coat had fallen back. She was wearing sky-blue slacks and a silk shirt of a bright canary-yellow hue, showing a solid bust ledge. Seeing Chen's eyes drawn to her breasts as if unwillingly, she smiled with wicked glee. "Oh, I think I know who you must be. You work with the Sting, right? You're called the Dragon of Twilight, no, Midnight. I've heard a LOT of gossip about you two."

"This is so. You have been prowling Chinatown for weeks now, trying to make alllies in your vigilante crusade." The Dragon of Midnight shook his head sadly. "I don't think you will ever get much deeper than you already have, Mrs Salerno. My people keep to themselves because of past injustice and they do not easily admit outsiders into their affairs."

"Wait. Who do you think I am again?"

"To the underworld and the police, you are called the Sceptre. But my boss has some skill at investigations. Your true name is Laura Salerno, widow of the late Ray Salerno who created that weapon you hold." He pointed a thumb at a black Lincoln parked on the next block down. "Will you accompany me? We have much to discuss. The threat of the Branded Men has brought us both out on this uneasy night."

"Hmph. I suppose." Laura placed her hands back into the deep pockets of her coat. "All right. I'll hear what you want to propose. Is that your car there?"

"Yes. The Dragonwing, it is called. Please."

The Dragon ushered her over and started to open the rear door for her, but the Sceptre went past it and got into the front passenger seat. "I'm not your boss," she explained, "Let's start off as equals."

As the Dragon of Midnight crossed around the long gleaming car to climb in behind the wheel, he said, "You might as well call me Chen. It might even be my real name, who can say?"

"Sure. I have to warn you that it's only fair if I find out who you and the mysterious Sting really are as well."

Chen Lee-Sun started up the engine, which ran so smoothly that Laura wasn't even sure it was on until the car eased away from the curb. On this foggy night with a faint cold mist in the air, few pedestrians were out and auto traffic was sparse. "It is a dangerous game we play, Mrs Salerno. Both you and my partner and I have made enemies who will kill us if they can."

"I'll tell the world," she said. "But please, call me Laura. I kept my married name after Ray died, but it sounds funny to hear someone call me that so often."

Watching him as he drove south past Central Park, the Sceptre smiled again with full red lips. "You're Chinese but to be honest you sound British to me? Are you from England?"

"Hong Kong. I suppose there is no harm in telling you that. When those damned Japanese started beating the drums of war, many Chinese tried to come here to America. I had lost my family. I had nothing keeping me at home, and I hoped to begin a second life here." He turned those unreadable goggled eyes on her as they turned a corner. "But I wish to hear more about you. That talisman you wield has this city's mobsters and petty crooks in an unroar. They're terrified."

"As well they should be," she said. "As you found out somehow, it was my husband who devised the Sceptre. Ray was a wild, roguish sort of fellow. I know he traveled all over, getting in and out of trouble. He was an explorer, a soldier of fortune, maybe a tomb robber. I suspect he had been married once before, or at least engaged. What he saw in mousy little me, I'll never know."

"Mousy...? Never mind. Please, go on about the Sceptre."

"Sure. Ray started accepting commissions from a man named Kenneth Dred. He's a scholar and expert on the occult. Ray sometimes went abroad to come back with rare books of mystic lore or odd little statues or ancient swords. On one of his trips, not longer after we had gotten married, he returned from God knows where with an Eldar travel crystal and a blasting rod made of Darthan gremthom."

"Really. Those are potent, each by themselves," the Dragon commented.

"You're telling me. Ray didn't know that the two types of magic don't mesh well at all. In fact, they're completely antagonistic. So naturally, being Ray, one night he fastened the Eldar jewel to the Darthan rod. Boom. After the explosion, when he stopped seeing double and could hear again, he found he had created something completely new in the Midnight War. The Sceptre. Occult experts say should have leveled our house, no one knows why the two power sources started to work together."

Pulling the device from her pocket again, Laura regarded it thoughtfully. Down one side was a series of five ivory buttons, and a rawhide strap had been added to its flat end to serve as a loop around her wrist. "Ray swore he should be able to move instantly from one place to another with it, but he never had the chance. So far, I've managed to make it emit different forms of energy... visible light, heat, even a concussion effect from kinetic energy. No teleportation, as the funny papers say. But I keep experimenting."

"If you do not mind unasked-for advice, great power should be used sparingly."

"Oh, that's true enough," she said. "Ray kept the Sceptre pretty much a secret. After his death, though, I was looking for some purpose in life. My family is comfortable, you might even say well off, so I didn't have to work. And Ray left me the house on Staten Island, so I could have been idle. But the way the world is going... I kept reading about 'mystery men' in the newspapers. Mark Drum. The guy named Sulak. You and your partner. And here I had this miracle in my hand."

Chen slowed and pulled over to an empty space at the curb. They were near the corner of Mott Street. "Chinatown seems oddly deserted tonight, Laura. Even deserted. We should take that as a warning."

"Like when you're out in the wilderness and the birds suddenly go silent," she said.

( the rest of the story )

"Is Stockbridge House Really Haunted?"

10/30/1944

I.

Kelly parked her sporty little roadster next to three other cars in front of the Inn. In the passenger seat, Jim Harkins scanned the sky and said, "We better put the top up, dear."

"You worry too much. Look at that sky! Not a single cloud," she scoffed. Unwrapping the silk scarf from her brick-red hair, Kelly O'Connor got out and stretched luxuriantly. The pale green dress and the simple cloche hat she now put on complimented her perfectly. Trim and energetic with long legs, she was gloating inwardly at how wonderful she looked. "Thanks for letting me drive, little lamb," she added gleefully.

"Well, it IS your car after all," Jim replied. At six feet even, Jim was a massive bulk with broad shoulders which his dark blue suit made seem even wider. His dark hair was slicked down with enough pomade that even riding in the convertible had not ruffled it. Like Kelly, he had stowed his hat down by his feet and he fixed the fedora firmly on his head as he got out.

"Most men wouldn't let a woman drive while they sat in the passenger seat," she continued. "They think it makes them seem weak or something. Oh, look at this place! It's gorgeous. Like a SATURDAY EVENING POST cover. And the leaves turning color is the final touch."

Stockbridge House was in fact an immaculately maintained two-story gable-roofed main building, from which a one-story block extended to the rear. A single-story porch, covered by a roof, extended across the front and around to one side. The white exterior gleamed as if freshly painted that day, the lawn was pristine and even the split-log fence around the property was in mint condition. On a separate post hung a placard STOCKBRIDGE INN - SINCE 1828 in elaborate script.

"It really is," Jim agreed. He was opening the trunk and taking out their luggage but he paused to look over at the scene. "My family stayed here a few times while we were visiting relatives. The big scandal of the Stockbridge was that Martin Van Buren supposedly tried to leave without paying his tab because he was unhappy with the meals."

"Hah!" Kelly fetched a huge brown leather handbag and slung it by its gold chain over one shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere without the You-know-who outfit on hand. I bet there are Nazi saboteurs and mobsters simply crawling all over this area. Maybe a few Mad Scientists to boot."

That got a laugh from Jim. He closed the trunk, picked up the suitcases and started toward the front of the Inn with Kelly beside him. "Give the Green Devil a weekend off, Irish. I swear, you're hoping for a murderer or two for you to chase."

The couple stepped up on the porch and through the front door into a spacious lobby with comfortable overstuffed furniture, a piano and a fireplace unused as yet. Behind the registration counter, a middle-aged man pushed his glasses up on his nose from where they had slid down and put his newspaper.

"Hello there. You're Mr and Mrs Harkins, I take it?"

"That'll be us," Jim said. "We confirmed our reservations last week, you remember."

"Absolutely. We spoke on the phone. I'm Tom Broughton, my wife and I are the owners. I do the paperwork, she cooks. Welcome. It's a beautiful time of year to visit Vermont."

"You bet," said Kelly with a grin she couldn't have suppressed. "What a ride from Manhattan! If I had artistic inclinations, I would have stopped every mile to paint the scenery."

Seated behind the counter, examining her nails, a teenage blonde glanced up. "You get used to it."

Not sure how to react to that comment, Kelly turned to watch Jim sign the register book and receive an old-fashioned key with a wooden plaque that had their room number on it.
"It's good to get away from horns honking and people yelling."

"Tiffany, show these people to their room," Broughton said.

"I just sat downnnnn," the girl complained. "My feet hurt. I'm returning these shoes." Despite her objection, Tiffany got up and gestured at Jim and Kelly to follow her. As she stamped one annoyed foot on the bottom step of the staircase, the door opened and everyone naturally turned their heads.

Three disreputable figures entered the lobby. Two men were wearing filthy homespun clothes so ragged that it was difficult to guess the original color or where the shirt ended and trousers held up by a rope belt began. The shorter of the two wore an actual coonskin cap with the head still attached over his forehead. The other man was carrying a hunting rifle up against his shoulder and seemed to have as much chewing tobacco as his mouth could hold without some coming out of his nose. Behind them was a young woman attired in a resewn burlap sack that read PURITY FLOUR XXX, her hair reaching nearly to her waist. While the men had on delapidated brogans, she was barefoot.

In one grimy hand, she held up a dead possum by a hind leg. The pride in her smile was unsettling.

"We was wondering if you'd want ta buy some meat, Mr Broughton," said the man with the cap. "It's fresh as could be."

"Trapped it this morning, I did," added the girl.

"Zeke, I've told you before we can't do that," Tom Broughton responded from behind the counter. "The Board of Health is unfortunately dead set against it."

"Shucks, I is crestfallen and filled with chagrin," said Zeke. "Howsabout you folks?"

Standing at the foot of the staircases, Kelly and Jim exchanged a horrified glance. Jim cleared his throat and said, "Uhhh... I think we have to turn it down, too. Thank you anyway."

"We kin skin it outside for you," offered the girl. "I got my knife with me."

"Never mind, Clemency. You can see they is city folk who buy their food from stores."

"Sorry," Kelly said. "We have plans for dinner."

The three shrugged and turned around the doorway. Zeke paused to lift his coonskin cap to the teenager. "You're looking right purty today, Miss Tiffany."

"I know, right?" she responded with a smirk. "Come on, Mr and Mrs Harkins... if that is your real names."

Leaning closer to Jim, Kelly whispered, "Bet you'd rather deal with a few spies or monsters, eh?"

( the rest of the story )

"Dark As the Dawn"

10/22-10/25/1952

I.

"It seems so cruel to treat those animals this way," Laura Salerno mused almost to herself. She lowered the binoculars and stepped away from the bunker window with its lead-glass that was five inches thick. "I can't make them out, but I know they're there, chained to posts in the ground two miles from ground zero. A cow, a horse, two dogs, two cats, some guinea pigs and white mice. All with only a few minutes to live."

"It IS cruel, Sceptre. No point in trying to pretty it up." General Harper Terpening said. He was chewing furiously on an unlit cigar, unable to hold still, pacing back and forth. Three other officers, some aides and a dozen top nuclear researchers were crowded into that bunker as well, all sipping coffee and checking their wristwatches obsessively. "But sadly enough, in dark times such as these even our own men are expendable. We have to make hard choices to protect our country."

Laura stepped back. "So now we have the Omega Surge. Correct me if I'm wrong, I'm no scientist, but this will not be a typical atomic explosion. The destructive shock waves and heat are expected to be no worse than, say, a handful of firecrackers going off. But the deadly radiation will be unprecedented in its intensity. Have I got that right?"

"That's what we're hoping," said the senior researcher there, a stout grandfatherly type with a bristling white mustache. "Unprotected organisms within a few miles will be instantly killed by radiation even further along the electromagnetic spectrum than gamma rays. It's something new. Our hope is that the wooden hut near the bomb tower will be unaffected and safe to enter."

Wearing her Sceptre disguise, Laura had affixed a long curly black wig over her short medium brown hair. She wore dramatic red lipstick that changed the outlines of her mouth and she affected sunglasses so dark they were almost opaque. Under the canary yellow blouse, her bra had been padded to distract male observers. The Sceptre also wore royal blue slacks and a matching long trenchcoat. Secured within an inner pocket of that coat hung the dreaded device that was one of the most potent talismans in the Midnight War... the Sceptre itself.

"And how is this a good thing?" she asked without sarcasm.

"The idea is that in wartime, we can capture enemy cities with this Omega Surge," the researcher behind them explained. "The opposing soldiers will be painlessly killed but the terrain will not be destroyed or even left radioactive. Our own troops will be able to move in safely."

She whispered to herself, "Bright as the midnight of Heaven, Dark as the dawn in Hell,'" quoting the decadent poet's work.

General Terpening crushed his wet cigar stub out under a polished shoe tip. "We've worked together a few times before, Sceptre. Even back in the final days of the Big One. I have no reason to doubt your loyalty or your courage, but you seem... apprehensive?"

"That's a fair choice of words, General," she replied. "We're fooling around with primal forces we don't understand. I picture us as standing in a darkened room full of powderkegs and we're lighting matches to see what will happen." She picked up the binoculars again to examine a scene that seemed uncomfortably close.

A steel scaffolding rose up sixty feet into the air above the dry white Nevada sand. It resembled a water tower but at its apex was a cylindrical metal tube big as a train car. Within that casing rested the latest attempt to harness the most destructive powers the universe held. The Omega Surge.

"T-MINUS Twenty Seconds," Boomed a baritone voice over speakers in the bunker.

"You know we're not supposed to look at the blast directly," the researcher told the sole woman among them.

"T-MINUS Ten Seconds."

"I'll turn away in time," Laura said. "There's something..."

"T-MINUS Five. Four. Three..."

"Oh my God!" she screamed. "There's a man tied to the outside of the bomb!" Then, almost too late, she wheeled around to drop to one knee and press both hands over her face. A heavy dull thump sounded in the distance, strong enough to be felt underfoot. Unearthly bluish-white light tore through the heavy plate glass and even with her eyes squeezed close, Laura clearly saw the bones in her own hands.

For a long breathless moment, everyone remained frozen in place as if dreading movement would repeat the experiment. Then, after clearing his throat, Harper Terpening asked, "Everyone okay?"

"I seem normal, sir," replied a scientists. The others all affirmed that they didn't seem to have suffered any ill effects. Away from the assembly by a few feet, Laura felt an unpleasant burning sensation along her right thigh. It was the Sceptre. The Gremthom metal shaft of the mystic weapon was red hot to the touch.

Terpening placed his hands on her shoulders with what gentleness he could manage. "What was that you said before the blast? A man strapped to the bomb?"

"Y-yes," she said. "I would swear that's what I saw. But it couldn't be. This area is restricted for three hundred miles around. Who could have been out there?"

"Wait," interrupted a researcher. "Where's Dr Waldron?"

"He couldn't make it," said another. "Complained of chest pains, said he would join up as soon as he was cleared by the nurse."

"Waldron. Henry Waldron? You don't think...?" asked Terpening.

"I don't know how to tell you this, General. Here. Take a look." Laura handed the ranking officer the binoculars and folded her arms to stare down as she felt her pulse racing. She knew what she had seen. Standing upright near the collapsed ruin of the metal tower, unmoving in a whirlwind of dust that was only beginning to settle, had been a naked man.

( the rest of the story )

"Giving Real Gremlins a Bad Name"

5/24/1943

I.

Laura Salerno left the Triumph motorcycle near a pair of mechanics who were watching the Flying Fortress warm up. "It's from Baker Company motor pool," she shouted over all the nearby thrumming engines, taking off at a full sprint toward the giant plane that stretched more than a hundred feet long. Taken by surprise, the men stared at her fleeing figure and said nothing until it was too late to ask her any questions.

Average in height, wrapped in a white trenchcoat that reached to her ankles, Laura had long straight black hair that was tangled now by the winds of speeding that Triumph along the back roads. She ran headlong toward the B-17, seized a support handle and pulled herself up into the open doorway.

An airman who had been about to close and lock that hatch swayed back to avoid a collision. "Hey! What the hell...?"

"I'm under orders from Colonel Racicot," Laura told him, only slightly out of breath from the frantic rush to catch this plane. She pulled three folded pieces of stiff paper from inside her coat and waved them under his nose. "I need to show these to your captain."

"Albertini!" roared a bass from the cockpit. "What exactly is going on back there?"

"It's a dame, sir. Says she has orders for you to read."

"Are you kidding me? We're supposed to be in the air right now. Dammit. All right, let's hear her story."

Brought forward into the cramped cockpit, Laura handed the papers over to a short stocky man in a leather bomber jacket with a fur collar. She knew his name was Robert A Lemister. He took his time examining the documents, not glancing over them but reading them carefully. A full minute crawled by before he glared up at her.

What the Captain saw was a good-looking woman no more than a year or two over thirty, with stern clear-cut features and dark brown eyes that stared back at him fearlessly. The black hair reached down past her shoulder blades, even tangled as it was. Under the open trenchcoat, a bright canary-yellow shirt could be glimpsed with a solid bustline. The woman stood waiting, not fidgeting, not flinching from his eyes.

"I wasn't told about any of this," he snapped.

"The orders are clear, captain," Laura replied without heat.

"So they are. I still intend to radio GHQ before we get too many miles behind us. These papers only refer to you as 'this courier.' Got a name?"

"I'm using the name Jane Ralston for the moment," she said. "I'm a civilian advisor, no rank, answering directly to Colonel Racicot."

"A mystery woman! Just what a combat crew needs to foul things up. Fine. Albertini, see that she's secured and harmless. Have her strapped in back by the rear gun turret."

"She can sit on my lap if there's no room back there," offered a voice which drew several guffaws. Laura acted as if she hadn't heard and followed Airman Albertini down the fuselage walkway to a niche next to the steel and glass bubble which held on of the plane's thirteen 50mm machine gun.

There was enough room for her to squeeze in, and a long canvas strap could reach over across her chest to hold her down. Albertini fastened her in, careful not to take the opportunity to brush a hand up against her breasts. This raised her estimate of him. She had been groped a few times under similar circumstances. The fact that her bra was padded with cotton as part of her disguise comforted her with the thought that the mashers were not getting the cheap thrill they thought they were. The wig and the red lipstick and the bright yellow shirt were also ways to change her naturally rather mousy appearance.

"Thank you," she said, settling back. From the first instant she had entered the plane, Laura had been memorizing faces of the ten crew members and matching them against her briefing the night before. Everything lined up with the descriptions.

Watching from the navigation station, a young man who seemed too callow to need a shave gave a long drawn-out wolf whistle. "I'll tell the world, our new guest sure brightens up this battered old skywagon. What did you say your name was, honey, and most importantly, are you married?"

"I'm all business," she retorted, sharply enough. "You think this is only a cargo run where you won't be in harm's way, don't you? Drugs and supplies and equipment to the medics up at Eisenschoff. There's bad news in store for you."

"Hayll, that ain't what I was hoping to hear," he laughed.

Against her left thigh, Laura could feel the reassuring pressure of the Sceptre under her coat. The strange copper-colored metal of its shaft was always warm to the touch. The glimpse she got by peering down inside her unfastened coat showed the blue gem which topped the talisman was gleaming with its own lambent light.

"Every day brings bad news in this war," Albertini grumbled, strapping himself in behind the metal desk with its maps and charts and hooded lamp on a swivel. "I'm sure glad we have two Mustangs heading out with us today."

At those words, Laura Salerno bent forward to peer out the round observation window nearest to her. The nose of a P-51 could barely be seen, flying above and behind their B-17. She presumed the other Mustang would be on the other side of their bomber. That was comforting. Too many of these Flying Fortresses had not come back from missions before they had started to be escorted by smaller faster fighters.

"Attention," crackled the pilot's voice over the com. "We're in stable flight with a heading east-southeast, our ETA with the medics base is in two hours and twenty minutes. All readings are nominal. Miss Ralston?"

"Yes, captain?"

"GHQ confirms the urgency of your mission but they decline to provide any details of exactly what it is or who you are. That makes me unhappy. Do you have anything you want to spill?"

Laura kept her voice impersonal. "My assignment is on a need to know basis, sir." To herself, she prayed that the threat they faced would not force her to explain what had made eight planes crash without obvious cause in the past six weeks.

( the rest of the story )