Free Terraplane by Jack Womack Page A

Neither person nor vehicle evidenced. Our car swung
onto a graveled drive, and coasted down a gentle-graded hill running half the length of Skuratov's estate. His house evidenced by its
near-absence; squinting between branches, I saw a dome, a chimney pot, a window lit from within.
    "If I hunch true," I said, "the plane'll need reprogramming."
    "If a plane is readied at all," said Jake.
    "Soon enough seen. Oktobriana, you've experience. You can
adjust for flightpath override?"
    "Depends on plane," she said. "I should think so."
    "Once we unground," said Jake, "won't we be trailed on high?"
    I wasn't prime for catechism, and chose nonresponse. Trouble
would trail us oceanover, I feared; surely Jake held like mindset,
and his vocalized uncertainties only disturbed me more. We
entered a clearing, bare as if it was defoliated weekly.
    "Presto," said Jake as we bumped onto a concrete thread cen-
teraimed. The field, as stripped, covered several hundred square
meters. At meadow's core a blasted circle sheltered the earth from
the sun; thereupon, a plane was provided, an eight-passenger
sweepwing GBL97, its glossy black skin free of number, mark or
flag of originating nation. Jake cut the engine at landing pad's edge.
    "Let's plan," I said, forwarding so that I might sound clear,
gripping the cassette box, keeping close eye on Skuratov. The plane
sat thirty meters distant; the car might blow on takeoff if we pulled
closer. In the surrounding forest, undoubted, badger and rabbit
and boar were supplanted by cameras and monitors and every
species of ear. "Either of you flown this type previous?"
    "A playtoy," said Jake, looking towards the plane; towards
Oktobriana. "Translation's needed. Wouldn't wish to confuse rudder with aileron."

    "I fly well myself," she said. "Will be no problem there."
    "Let's shift all in one trip doubletime. Oktobriana, case yourself
if you're so assisting," I said, handing her one of her grips across the
seat. "I'll lug the other as well as our little gift here-"
    "Treat that with great care," she said, opening her door.
    "Jake, stroll Mal across. Secure him but don't expend force
while we're outside, AO?"
    "What if he so demands?" Jake asked, rubbing knuckles as if to
sharpen them. "If he keens to suffer I'd hate not to oblige-"
    "Once planed, abuse as wished," I nearly said; realized in time
I'd only freerein him. "Keep him close till we're onboard," I said.
"Just that. We owe more time than we can afford. Let's."
    Frost glazed wings and fuselage; as the deicer activated, discerning our approach, all melted off. While crossing the tarmac I
suspected Skuratov might breakaway, no matter his chance, but as
ever he unpredictabled, striding happily beneath Jake's wing to the
plane. The gangplank lowered as we neared.
    "Certify our passage," Jake said, shoving him ahead, nearly
tumbling him upstairs. We planed; flipping the closure I listened to
the comforting hiss of pressurization as the door sealed. Jake and
Oktobriana cockpitted as I tied Skuratov onto one of the seats,
having retrieved a plastic line from the galley.
    "Not so tight," he complained. "You cut off my blood."
    "It'll flow soon enough, Mal." The cabin lit up; the plane,
adjudging the interior, could have belonged to any megacorp. No
portraits of the Big Boy evidenced here.
    "No trouble locating override," Skuratov noted. "No trouble
with controls, I would think."
    "Good. "
    "Trouble, perhaps, keeping plane in air," he said, smiling. Once
he was immobilized I headed upaisle. Jake gestured towards the
surrounding one-way glass when I entered.
    "We're seen under fine lens," he said. "Check there at woodsedge. "
    Where forest greeted field several observers clad in Dream
Team's basic black stood so obvious as ravens against a summer sky,
eyeing our plane in resigned silence, as if waiting in the terminal lounge to watch their lovers' planes crash on takeoff. They carried
no evident armor.

    "Judging stance and