The Descent

He  climbed  to  a  standing  position  against  the  chill  aluminum  body.  The  ship  lay tilted  upon  one  side,  more  ravaged  than  he  had  realized.  Hanging  on  to  a  handhold, Branch looked into the rear  cavity.  He braced for the worst.

But the backseat  was empty.

Ramada's  helmet  lay  on  the  seat.  The  voice  came  again,  tiny,  now  distinct.  'Echo

Tango One...'

Branch lifted the helmet and pulled it onto his own head. He remembered  that  there was a photograph of the newborn son in its crown.

'This  is  Echo  Tango  One,'  he  said.  His  voice  sounded  ridiculous  in  his  own  ears, elastic and high, cartoonish.

'Ramada?' It  was Mac, angry  in his relief. 'Quit screwing around and  report.  Are  you guys  okay?  Over.'

'Branch  here,'  Elias  identified  with  his  absurd  voice.  He  was  concussed.  The  crash had messed up his hearing.

'Major?  Is  that  you?'  Mac's  voice  practically  reached  for  him.  'This  is  Echo  Tango

Two. What is your  condition, please? Over.'

'Ramada is missing,' Branch said. 'The ship is totaled.'

Mac  took  a  half-minute  to  absorb  the  information.  He  came  back  on,  all  business.

'We've  got  a  fix  on  you  on  the  thermal  scan,  Major.  Right  beside  your  bird.  Just  hold your position. We're coming in to provide assistance. Over.'

'No,' Branch quacked with his bird voice. 'Negative. Do you read me?' Mac and the other gunships did not respond.

'Do not, repeat,  do not attempt  approach. Your  engines will not breathe  this air.' They  accepted his explanation reluctantly. 'Ah, roger that,' Schulbe said.

Mac came on. 'Major. What is your condition, please?'

'My condition?' Beyond suffering and loss, he didn't know. Human? 'Never  mind.'

'Major.' Mac paused awkwardly.  'What's with the voice, Major?' They  could hear it, too?

Christie Chambers, MD, was listening back at Base. 'It's the nitrogen,' she diagnosed. Of course, thought  Branch.  'Is  there  any  way  you  can  get  back  on  oxygen,  Elias?  You must.'

Feebly,  Branch  rummaged  for  Ramada's  oxygen  mask,  but  it  must  have  been  torn away  in the crash. 'Up front,' he said dully.

'Go up there,' Chambers told him.

'Can't,'  said  Branch.  It  meant  moving  again.  Worse,  it  meant  giving  up  Ramada's helmet and losing his contact  with  the  outside  world.  No,  he  would  take  the  radio  link over   oxygen.   Communication  was   information.  Information   was   duty.   Duty   was salvation.

'Are you injured?'

He looked down at his limbs. Strange darts  of  electric  color  were  scribbling  along  his thighs, and he realized that the beams of light were  lasers.  His  gunships  were  painting the region, defining targets  for their weapons systems.

'Must find Ramada,' he said. 'Can't you see him on your  scan?' Mac was fixed on him. 'Are you mobile, sir?'

What were  they  saying? Branch leaned against the ship, exhausted.

'Are you able to walk, Major? Can you evacuate  yourself from the region?' Branch judged himself. He judged the night. 'Negative.'

'Rest,  Major.  Stay  put.  A  bio-chem  team  is  on  its  way  from  Molly.  We  will  insert them by  cable. Help is on the way,  sir.'

'But Ramada...'

'Not your  concern, Major. We'll find him. Maybe  you should just sit down.'

How  could  a  man  just  disappear?  Even  dead,  his  body  would  go  on  emitting  a  heat signature for hours more.  Branch  raised  his  eyes  and  tried  to  find  Ramada  wedged  in the trees.  Maybe  he'd been thrown into the funeral waters.

Now  another  voice  entered.  'Echo  Tango  One,  this  is  Base.'  It  was  Master  Sergeant

Jefferson; Branch wanted to lay his head against that resonant bosom.

'You are not alone,'  Jefferson  said.  'Please  be  advised,  Major.  The  KH-12  is  showing unidentified movement  to your  north-northwest.'

North-northwest?   His  instruments   were   dead.  He  had  no  compass,  even.   But

Branch did not  complain.  'It's  Ramada,'  he  predicted  confidently.  Who  else  could  it  be out there?  His navigator was alive after  all.

'Major,' cautioned Jefferson, 'the image  carries  no  combat  tag.  This  is  not  confirmed friendly. Repeat, we have  no idea who is approaching you.'

'It's  Ramada,'  Branch  insisted.  The  navigator  must  have  climbed  from  the  broken craft to do what navigators do: orient.

'Major.'  Jefferson's  tone  had  changed.  With  all  the  world  listening,  this  was  just  for him. 'Get  out of there.'

Branch hung to the side of the wreckage.  Get  out of here?  He could barely  stand. Mac came on. 'I'm picking it up now, too. Fifteen yards  out.  Coming  straight  for  you. But where  the fuck did he come from?'

Branch looked over  his shoulder.

The  dense atmosphere opened like a  mirage.  The  interloper  staggered  out  from  the brush and trees.

Lasers  twitched   frenetically   across   the   figure's   chest,   shoulders,   and  legs.  The intruder looked netted  with modern art.

'I've  got a lock,' Mac clipped.