Collins just grins at the man with the same confident air as Silhouette.
“You about done?” Silhouette asks, climbing into the open cockpit and taking a seat.
I take the seat next to him without being invited. “Just trying to gauge how quickly Grape Ape over here switches to the dark side. If we have to work together, I need to know he’s not going to go ’roid rage on us.” I look back at the man. “You going to ’roid rage us, Obsidian?”
“My men are the best in the business,” Silhouette answers quickly, preventing Obsidian from answering.
“From where I’m sitting, you’re down two BlackGuard since the last time I saw you, and if I’m right, you got your ass kicked by a former park ranger, a biologist and two teenage girls.”
The man’s confidence falters as he looks at me. “Is that what you tell yourself? They’re not even human. You might be the United States’ golden Kaiju boy, but we’ve been dealing with Dark Matter threats since long before the FC-P existed. Those girls are going to grow up. And when they do, they’re going to turn on you, like any wild animal does.”
I’m about to say something pithy when he adds, “Your girl killed eleven men tonight.”
While I have no doubt that any action Maigo took was in self-defense and in the defense of the others, taking a life is never an easy thing. The psychological ramifications are intense. And if he’s telling the truth, Maigo killed eleven men. But...this is Maigo. She has memories of killing thousands, of eating hundreds. Another eleven might not have any effect on her at all, and if that’s the case... I shake my head, trying to ignore what someone like that would grow up to be like. For the past year, Maigo and I have become family. I trust her with my life, and she trusts me like a father. But she hadn’t been pushed until tonight, and the result was eleven dead men.
“That’s what I thought,” Silhouette says, and he starts the X-35, which is really just a gentle hum. He turns back to the cargo area, where eight seats line either side of the space. “Buckle up. This thing accelerates like you wouldn’t believe.”
Collins buckles herself in across from Obsidian.
The only indication that we’ve lifted off is the slight lurch in my gut. The engine just hums a little louder.
“Geez,” I say. “What’s under the hood?”
“Prototype,” Silhouette says. “I don’t know the technical details, but they call it a ‘repulse engine.’ Was designed by some robotics guy. I think his name is Mohr. Let’s us take off and land, just about anywhere, and without making any noise. Now, best put on the mask. Unless you want to be unconscious.”
Silhouette takes a mask down from a hook on the ceiling and straps it over his nose and mouth. Two tubes rise into the ceiling. I find my mask and put it on, while Obsidian and Collins do likewise in the back.
Without waiting to hear if everyone is all set, Silhouette guns the engines, and we go from a complete, airborne standstill to Godknowshowfast in sixty seconds. Even with the mask on, breathing is hard. I feel myself getting light-headed. And then, at speed, the G-forces wear off. There’s no engine roar. No turbulence. The only indication that we’re moving is the scenery below, just a thousand feet down, blurring past. When Silhouette takes his mask off, I do likewise.
“Shouldn’t we be—” I point up, “—like thirty thousand feet higher?”
“The X-35 makes no noise. It’s undetectable to radar. And we’re moving so fast that no one on the ground will really get a good look at us before we’re out of sight, and that’s if they happen to be looking up. And if something happens to get in our way, we’ll know about it in time to—” He flicks the controls to the left, spinning us in a rapid roll. I’m not sure how many times we spin, but my head keeps going even after he’s stopped. “It’s the fastest, quietest, most maneuverable plane on the planet. Even if someone managed to lock a missile on us, we’re only moving at half speed. There isn’t a missile in the world that can catch us.”
What he’s telling me isn’t exactly comforting. I’ve never really had a desire to ride inside a missile. Still, it means we’ll be in Los Angeles in—I do the mental math, estimating the distance at three hundred miles—eight minutes.
Holy shit.
Good news is, we’re going to beat the sun. I watch out the window as the landscape grows darker beneath us.
“So,” I say. “I have two questions.”
Silhouette just glances at me.
“First. We’re headed to Los Angeles to stop the Tsuchi. And I mean really stop it.”
“Stop it dead,” he says.