Chapter Seven –
They hit Sukiyaki's mesosphere and lurched, bouncing on the heat and pressure changes like a dog's ball thrown in the middle of a hail storm. Every adjustment Flynn made only worsened the turbulence. Something hit them from behind. It took out their port engine and sent them into an uncontrolled spin.
Putty cursed and threw off his restraints. He hit the ceiling as he scrambled through the spinning cockpit. Cursing, he disappeared through the hatch way, back toward the engine panels.
Flynn ignored him. If he could get the engine back on line, he would, if he couldn't... well, he wouldn't and they'd all be fertilizer for whatever crops they grew on Sukiyaki. Do they even have crops here?
Flynn shook the thought away. He didn’t have time for tangential musings. He had to focus on giving Putty as much time as possible to get what he needed to do done. Another impact and the ship was careening sideways. It was as though every bolt and panel groaned at the same time.
He flipped on the intercom. "I'm cutting the other engine and going to try to straighten us out. If it works I might be able to glide her in. Keep your fingers crossed."
There was nothing hopeful about this. Sukiyaki was a giant, solid rock. They were more likely to end up like a bug splattered on a hover car’s windscreen.
"Any updates on that dead engine would be a blessing." Flynn blinked to keep his brain from succumbing to the dizzy revolutions of the craft.
The voice that came from the shuttle’s comm was harsh and scratchy. "I'm doing my best. It's not like I'm a brain wizard!"
"Brain surgeon." Flynn compulsively corrected Putty under his breath.
He probably would have found it ironic that Chadrick was in the compartment behind him and would eventually be a brain surgeon... except a massive chunk of rock hit the port wing, shearing off half the wing, then jerking them in the opposite direction. Flynn flared the remaining engine, quickly stabilizing them just enough to....
He pulled up, hard. The bottom of the ship scraped against one of the Redland’s famous sandstone spires as a tearing sound of metal screeched through the ship.
They bumped and banged between the spires, and Flynn gritted his teeth as he fought with the controls. Behind him, he heard Chadrick praying, the words coming quickly… and loud. Flynn hoped God could hear the doctor over the sound of the crash. Because that’s what they were doing. There was no nice way to put it: a crash was a crash.
Each impact slowed them, sending up chunks of stone and clay as they literally bounced off the surface. The shuttle was floundering and Flynn knew they were going to stall at any moment.
The panel in front of him flickered out, and what little impetus they had – combined with Sukiyaki’s gravity – sent them straight toward the next spire.
They dropped to the ground, their impact and forward momentum pushing them into the hard, dusty soil as rocks and sand covered the wind screen. Flynn closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. There was nothing he could do to change the outcome now.
He lurched forward, the restraints holding him tight to the pilot’s chair as viewscreen shattered and he was pelted with rocks and shards of smooth safety glass. The ship screeched to a dusty halt as rocks rained in on him from the broken viewscreen.
Flynn blinked open his eyes, squinting through the brown haze and stared at the settling dust. He pulled his shirt sleeve over his mouth and breathed in shallowly, choking on the sand in the air while trying to get his pulse back to normal.
Half buried, he shoved the loose rocks away. None of them were larger than a chicken’s egg, most of what covered him was sand. Somehow, he’d survived.
"Are we all alive?" Seamus asked from somewhere behind him.
Flynn laughed in spite of himself. Something snapped, and he couldn’t stop. He laughed so hard his sides hurt, and by the time he managed to see straight again, the others had gathered around the hatch and stared at him like he was mental.
With Chadrick and Putty’s help, Flynn unburied himself, though his boots were full of sand. They stepped out of the shuttle and Flynn heaved a sigh of relief when he saw they hadn't crashed into the settlement. They were about a quarter mile outside of town. Figures moved toward them in the distance. He hoped they were friendly.
Seamus looked above them and nudged Flynn with his arm, pointing up.
Flynn turned and could not believe what he saw. “Holy Crap.”
Chunks of moon burned through the atmosphere, and beyond them, once a glowing sphere – the moon still visible in the late morning light – now had a huge chunk missing from it... like a cookie with a bite out of it, though far less appetizing. Damn, now he was hungry.
"I hope they got out in time," Chadrick said, quietly, his eyes now on the dirt beneath his feet.
Putty no longer looked happy to be alive, he stared at what he’d done, his jaw slack, eyes unbelieving. “I didn’t mean for….”
Chadrick went to Putty’s side and wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulder.
Only Seamus’s face still held the amazed wonder Flynn had initially seen. The boy was too young to understand all the consequences of what had just happened.
"I think they were all leavin’ when I found you," Seamus said as he turned and started walking back toward town.
Putty grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and turned him around. "What did you say?"
"Everyone was heading for the hangar bay... that’s why I was able to leave my hiding spot and get you out."
"You could have told us that before," Flynn said, pushing his brother away from the kid.
"I thought you knew!" Seamus stepped back, as if recoiling from a snake.
"So where'd they go?" Chadrick asked, eyes still glued to the broken moon.
"They’re here." Flynn looked around him, waiting for a shot to take him square in the chest. "They want this planet. Before we got here, the people were just an annoyance, a small stumbling block. When we arrived, things changed. Giuseppe’s worked too hard to give this place up now, not without at least one last hurrah… so we keep fighting."
Flynn knew of three ways to get it done… only one of them made sense for the situation. Flynn knew, in the end, there was a good chance he’d have to kill the man.
He too looked up at the broken moon. Wars didn’t have to be fought between nations. The most vicious of battles occur within a man’s soul – between his conscience and the awful deeds he knows must be done.