loud with the sheer joy of flight.
"That's Australia down there, so we'll have to start our approach," the copilot explained.
"I guess that means you want me to get up, huh?" Mara asked. The copilot nodded, and Mara slid out of the seat.
"H.M. A.S. Nirimba, do you copy?" the pilot said into his headset, trying to raise the control tower that would guide him into Australia.
A voice came back over the radio, welcoming them to Australian airspace and giving them heading directions.
Mara took it all in, trying to digest everything at once as her internal computer recorded the scene. But her joyous mood was cut short when she saw what was happening outside the cockpit. The dark ash clouds had been with them since they left California, but now a small storm
was forming in front of the plane. Black clouds swirled together, connected by flashing lightning. Driving rain pelted the windshield, and then the plane was submerged In the dark cloud.
"What's going on?" she shouted above the static that had replaced the control tower voice on the radio.
"Damndest storm I've ever seen," the pilot called back. Then he cried out, "My God!"
On the other side of the window, out of the rain and swirling mist emerged two vaguely human shapes. banshees! Mara thought. Like the monsters the Sims threw at us on Kadandra! These banshees were ghostly, with long, flowing hair that framed their heads, and transparent torsos which faded away below their stomachs. They raised spectral arms and floated toward T he windshield, apparently intent on crashing into the plane — or through it.
For a moment fear gripped at Mara's heart, and she hacked away from the horrors. But as the banshees slid I h rough the windshield and into the plane, she shook off l he paralyzation and moved forward. She wasn't fast enough, however, to save the pilots. The banshees reached into the pilots' chests with incorporeal fingers, opening their spectral mouths wide to let loose their screams.
Mara fell back, rocked by the supernatural sound. The pilots own screams joined that of the banshees, and Mara could only watch as the men began to wither and die. She watched their life force drain away, a thin mist leaving their mouths and entering the banshees. With each departing breath, the pilots became thinner, more corpselike. The banshees, in contrast, became fuller, less vague.
The door behind Mara swung open and Father Bryce was there. "Sweet Jesus," he muttered. The banshees stopped their death call as the pilots collapsed into dust and bone in their seats. Then they turned toward Bryce and Mara, their hands outstretched to deliver another death-cold touch. Mara, still weak from the effects of the previous scream, could barely get her body to move. But Bryce was there, brandishing his cross before him to intercept the ghostly hand.
The banshee kept sliding forward, reaching out to touch Bryce's cross. Upon contact there was a flash of blinding light, and the banshee screamed. But this was not a death call so much as a scream of pain. The light rolled from the cross and up the banshee's arm, disintegrating the spirit as it traveled. In seconds, one of the creatures was destroyed. The other, more cautious now, held its distance and regarded the priest warily.
"Banish the monster, Chris," Mara demanded as she weakly unholstered her laser pistol. "Do it before it can scream again."
Bryce thrust his holy symbol at the spirit, trying to put as much faith as he could muster into the act. The banshee darted back and forth, remaining out of Bryce's reach. It opened its mouth wide, and fetid breath filled the cockpit. Then it screamed.
The blast of sound was like an icy wind. It knocked the priest back, stunning him, causing him to drop his cross. The banshee drifted forward, ready to finish off Bryce. Mara started to rise, hoping to place herself between the monster and the priest, but a strong hand
gripped her shoulder and pushed her back down.
"No weapon you have