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   Chapter 32 No.32

Dead Beckoning By Christina Engela Characters: 5450

Updated: 2018-06-30 12:01


"We're finished! We're fucked!" Brenton shrieked, panic stricken.

Yeah – and he was supposed to be the passenger! Blachart grimaced. There were two people onboard – him and the hysterical pilot who was now rolling unconscious on the floor of the flight deck, because Blachart had just reached over and hit him. Far from having lost his cool, he'd done so in order to be able to concentrate on trying to regain some form of control before it was too late!

Attitude adjustment was required – the shuttle's angle of approach, not his. The fierce heat of re-entry was being dispersed all over the wrong areas of the ship's hull surface and doing untold harm. Parts of it that weren't designed to withstand the friction were being exposed and burnt through – and off! Sweat began to trickle all over his body as the heat began to be felt in the confines of the tight space of the flight deck. He adjusted any controls that still responded, fighting to prevent the turbulence from changing their approach into a dangerous tumble that would turn the whole shebang into a high-altitude barbeque.

The craft bucked again. He countered in what he hoped was the opposite direction. It must've been the right thing to do, because the potential tumble ended right there. It was at about this time that Adam's quite interesting and eventful life began to flash before his eyes. This could well have been because of the ground rushing up at him at a rate of speed he'd rather not think about – and having no conceivable way to stop it… which was also something he would rather not think about.

He recognized the scenes of his humble beginn

y blanket.

"No sir. They just went down real fast, then disappeared on the surface."

Mykl nodded. That sounded pretty much just like what they were supposed to do. "So they made it to Endicor. Any activity from our Corsair neighbors?"

"No sir, all quiet."

"Okay, thanks. Get back to me if anything else comes up."

Mykl settled back in beside the still-sleeping Ripley for the rest of the 'night' hoping that the mission was indeed going as planned, and that Blachart, Adam – whatever, was getting the job done.

Meanwhile, in a shallow crater in some mossy soil under the seemingly endless high canopy of trees probably a little older than Moses, Blachart stirred. His consciousness surfaced slowly from the murky ether into the real world. Somehow the shuttle hadn't blown up and somehow they hadn't been incinerated. Somehow they hadn't been smashed to bits like bugs on a windshield. Somehow he was still alive! Gloriously, painfully alive! He groaned. He'd had something very specific in mind when he'd decided on early retirement – and this sure as hell wasn't it.

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