Awesome.
So what if he wasn’t laughing though gymnastic leaps and rolls like those jackasses on the other squad had been? Those daredevil fucktards weren’t laughing now, not since Sergeant Phil had busted their balls and forced them onto their backs to stare at the bottom of a training sled while they “thought about what it means to be part of a team.”
They’d been there for a while, long enough for Liam to forget about them, remember them, then forget about them again. But they must have come up with a good answer or something for the sarg because they’d just been released from their forced frozen state.
Grumbles, groans, and mutterings of “Thank Christ” filled the helmet communications as they floated from beneath the training sled and put their boots onto the invisible line in the sky. That “line” had been identified as their boundary and every action the sled controls had coaxed them to take had ensured they’d never gone below it.
He’d learned to be secure with that boundary beneath his feet…as long as he didn’t look down or remember that he was fucking miles high in the sky and kept alive by anti-gravity units sewn into his Buzz Lightyear PJs.
“Cut the chatter.” Phil’s voice cut into the link. “Listen up. We will release the suits from the training sleds in a few moments.”
He rose up from between Liam’s squad and squad Bravo, his legs crossed at the ankle and one hand on the side of his helmet, where it covered his ear. He looked so fucking relaxed, as if he hadn’t just lobbed a conversational bomb into the situation.
For fuck’s sake, they’d only been in the suits for—
“Remember,” Phil cut into his mental rant. “The suits will do what you want them to do. If you see yourself falling, it’s probably because that’s what you want to do. If you want to stay in the sky, then that’s the key. Want it and the suit will deliver.”
What the…
“It’s a machine,” said Phil, his voice filled with fortifying confidence. “It’s a tool. Use it. Don’t be used by it.”
Oh, God. Liam grabbed for the remaining threads of his courage.
So what if he sat on the same horizontal plane and didn’t move up or down? A man had the right to take some time to train. If those other guys wanted to play Top Gun, who was he to judge?
They’re crazy fuckers, anyway. I’m gonna take my time and—
The bottom fell out from beneath his feet. Suddenly, he was standing on nothing. He was gonna fall!
Ground… falling… and screaming… and falling… and screaming… and…
* * *
Mike gave Phil the nod, who in turn gave a nod to the teams on the training sleds.
The sleds released control of the suits.
The trainees’ suits took control. Micro-thin needles snapped from the housing and punched into human bodies for the first time.
Chemicals flooded the inner environment, saturating the new flyers’ bodies via breath and blood.
Terror slammed into Mike’s heart and went nova between one breath and the next.
Ground… falling… and screaming… and falling… and screaming… and…
Mike tore his mind away from the gripping horror. The monitor light inside his helmet blazed a violent red beside his personal ident-a-code. It was a color he’d never before delivered to Control because he’d never before suffered panic to that extent, not even during battle.
What the hell?
“We’ve got a tumbler!” Phil’s roar, both verbally and inside his head, pulled Mike’s concentration from his confusion. “It’s Sinclair. Catch him!”
Liam plummeted earthward, cartwheeling end over end like a spent rocket.
Mike reacted without thought. He tucked his hands close to his body and fell in pursuit, piercing the air like a bullet.
“I’m on it.”
Moments behind him, five fellow Urilqii flanked Mike as they dropped toward Liam. Back up. Unnecessary.
He was close enough now. Mike’s suit began a low hooting that signaled a proximity alert. Ignoring it, Mike reached and caught the leg of Liam’s external suit and yanked.
With only gravity’s resistance, Liam’s trajectory shifted at the pull. The two came together with a breath-stealing impact. Liam’s panic shifted into a scramble of arms and legs as he made a desperate, instinctive crawl across Mike in an attempt to stop his fall.
Mike grabbed Liam in turn, making fists in the suit’s straps and equipment belts, and unconsciously dodged the knees and feet to his crotch. He linked their suits’ command lines and brought their downward plunge to a stop. With a tweak of intent, he turned them upright. The sun blazed across his left side.
“Good catch, Top,” said Phil. Approval filled his tone.
He was falling… and screaming… and falling… and screaming… and…
“Easy.” He reached for Liam’s mind with soothing waves.
“I’ve got you.”
He was falling… and screaming… and falling… and screaming… and…
“You’re fine. I’m right here. I got you. We’re not falling. Not anymore.”
Liam clung tightly, his arms wrapped around Mike’s shoulders.
He gibbered and shook. Mike gave a nod of dismissal to the nearby Urilqii, those team members who’d also challenged time and gravity in the race for Liam’s life.
Two shot upward and three resumed their downward path.
Mike quartered the area and caught sight of other clusters that indicated where volunteers had tumbled and been caught in mid-fall.
::Oh God, I’m gonna die!::
::I’ve got you.::
Liam’s panic had eased, but only a little bit. He continued to shake and cling, but thinking had arrived. In moments, Liam’s equilibrium would be stabilized enough to prove the statement true.
“How many?” Mike asked the question aloud.
Phil wasn’t confused by the vague question and delivered an immediate answer. ::Four, counting Sinclair.::
“How many hit the ground?”
Indignation flashed from Phil. ::None.::
“Omigod, I’m falling! Catch me!” Mike heard the words through his mind and his ears. Liam’s levels of panic were diminishing with acceptable speed.
“You’re not falling. Not anymore. I got you. We’re okay.”
Mike poured more compassion into Liam, trying to soothe him. He started an easy pace for the ground. Liam tightened his grip with a yelp.
Panic flared through their connection again. Liam’s readings remained high,
