their exploratory missions. Capable of both transatmospheric and subspace flight, the adaptable vehicles were largely employed for long-range and specific edge-of-atmosphere work, including satellite maintenance.
Like Grant, Kane also wore a bulbous pilot’s helmet, which entirely covered his skull. The helmets had come as a part of the recovered vehicles and were wired into the cockpits, operating on a swivel system that plugged them into the back of each pilot’s seat.
Inside the helmet, the relatively simple cockpit controls were augmented by a detailed heads-up display that responded to the pilot’s eye movements. When Kane focused on the tail of Grant’s Manta, the display system automatically gave a detailed summary of the craft’s speed, trajectory and many other factors, including a full analysis of the vehicle’s armament. A slight movement of Kane’s pupils and the display would magnify the view of the vehicle, singling it out and running infrared, ultraviolet and various other analyses, all in the literal blink of an eye.
Anxiously, Kane kicked the Manta back to full speed once more, shooting upward, chasing the bronze tail of his partner’s vehicle.
Seated directly behind Kane in the tight cockpit of the Manta, Brigid Baptiste was watching everything through the hidden viewports of the craft. She, too, had dressed in a shadow suit, adding a lightweight jacket and belt, along with a pair of boots with low heels. The boots were unnecessary—the shadow suits had flexible soles built in, but Brigid preferred the added comfort the boots gave, plus they drew attention away from the strange glove-like fit of the suits themselves.
Brigid eyed the skies warily, scanning for signs of other vehicles.
“We have anything yet, Baptiste?” Kane asked, raising his voice over the noise of rushing wind streaking past the Manta’s cockpit.
“Negative,” Brigid replied. “Clear skies so far.”
Kane tapped the trigger controls again, sending another flurry of bullets at the aft of Grant’s rapidly retreating Manta. The bullets cut the air around the Manta, a handful striking the metal hull with another rattle of impacts. They were 9 mm bullets and wouldn’t hurt the Manta, Kane knew, not at this distance, anyway. The whole thing was just for show, trying to convince anyone who might be watching that they were engaged in a running battle in the sky.
* * *
W HILE TIME WAS of the essence with Domi missing, there were other considerations that had to be factored into a sting operation. That was why it had taken eighteen hours to move from theory, in the Cerberus ops room, to execution, here over the rushing waters of the Juruena.
Grant flip-flopped his Manta in a spiraling turn, spinning the giant bronze shape through its y-axis as another burst of bullets cut the air from behind.
The Juruena was below him now, a trailing silvery snake amid the green as he whipped high in the air over it, aircraft upside down, cockpit turned toward the ground. Behind him, Kane was bringing his own Manta in a banking turn, nose gun blazing.
Calmly, Grant moved the joystick fractionally, sending his Manta in a slow turn that would bring it around again, as well as setting it back to right side up.
“Come on, Kane,” he muttered. “Don’t make it look too easy.”
Kane’s Manta tracked the move, cutting across the wide arc of Grant’s craft and powering toward him at a sharp angle. Grant pitched and yawed, shaking his craft in place as Kane sent another burst of fire in his direction.
“Steady,” Grant reminded himself as bullets thudded against the armored hull. “Steady.”
There was a patch of open ground below them now, a small clearing set a little way back from the riverbank. It was maybe twenty-five yards at its longest side, half that at its shortest. At the speed they were traveling it would be a tight landing, but with the Manta’s Vertical Take Off and Landing, or VTOL, capacity, it shouldn’t be too
Like Grant, Kane also wore a bulbous pilot’s helmet, which entirely covered his skull. The helmets had come as a part of the recovered vehicles and were wired into the cockpits, operating on a swivel system that plugged them into the back of each pilot’s seat.
Inside the helmet, the relatively simple cockpit controls were augmented by a detailed heads-up display that responded to the pilot’s eye movements. When Kane focused on the tail of Grant’s Manta, the display system automatically gave a detailed summary of the craft’s speed, trajectory and many other factors, including a full analysis of the vehicle’s armament. A slight movement of Kane’s pupils and the display would magnify the view of the vehicle, singling it out and running infrared, ultraviolet and various other analyses, all in the literal blink of an eye.
Anxiously, Kane kicked the Manta back to full speed once more, shooting upward, chasing the bronze tail of his partner’s vehicle.
Seated directly behind Kane in the tight cockpit of the Manta, Brigid Baptiste was watching everything through the hidden viewports of the craft. She, too, had dressed in a shadow suit, adding a lightweight jacket and belt, along with a pair of boots with low heels. The boots were unnecessary—the shadow suits had flexible soles built in, but Brigid preferred the added comfort the boots gave, plus they drew attention away from the strange glove-like fit of the suits themselves.
Brigid eyed the skies warily, scanning for signs of other vehicles.
“We have anything yet, Baptiste?” Kane asked, raising his voice over the noise of rushing wind streaking past the Manta’s cockpit.
“Negative,” Brigid replied. “Clear skies so far.”
Kane tapped the trigger controls again, sending another flurry of bullets at the aft of Grant’s rapidly retreating Manta. The bullets cut the air around the Manta, a handful striking the metal hull with another rattle of impacts. They were 9 mm bullets and wouldn’t hurt the Manta, Kane knew, not at this distance, anyway. The whole thing was just for show, trying to convince anyone who might be watching that they were engaged in a running battle in the sky.
* * *
W HILE TIME WAS of the essence with Domi missing, there were other considerations that had to be factored into a sting operation. That was why it had taken eighteen hours to move from theory, in the Cerberus ops room, to execution, here over the rushing waters of the Juruena.
Grant flip-flopped his Manta in a spiraling turn, spinning the giant bronze shape through its y-axis as another burst of bullets cut the air from behind.
The Juruena was below him now, a trailing silvery snake amid the green as he whipped high in the air over it, aircraft upside down, cockpit turned toward the ground. Behind him, Kane was bringing his own Manta in a banking turn, nose gun blazing.
Calmly, Grant moved the joystick fractionally, sending his Manta in a slow turn that would bring it around again, as well as setting it back to right side up.
“Come on, Kane,” he muttered. “Don’t make it look too easy.”
Kane’s Manta tracked the move, cutting across the wide arc of Grant’s craft and powering toward him at a sharp angle. Grant pitched and yawed, shaking his craft in place as Kane sent another burst of fire in his direction.
“Steady,” Grant reminded himself as bullets thudded against the armored hull. “Steady.”
There was a patch of open ground below them now, a small clearing set a little way back from the riverbank. It was maybe twenty-five yards at its longest side, half that at its shortest. At the speed they were traveling it would be a tight landing, but with the Manta’s Vertical Take Off and Landing, or VTOL, capacity, it shouldn’t be too
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