My first instinct was to assume that the nomads had called for backup. But before that crippling fear could overtake me, everyone around me began to stall as they too noticed the noise—even the nomads themselves. The firing all but halted. Everyone lifted their gazes to the sky.
The patch of sunlight above the nomads’ aircraft was covered by a second machine, though the two couldn’t look more different. Where the nomads’ was dark and clunky, this one was streamlined, silvery and sleek. It was also at least thirty percent larger, and though they were both circular in shape, this new aircraft seemed more like a work of art than a war machine. It looked otherworldly, ethereal almost, as it glinted in the sunlight, its mirror-like surface reflecting the jungle treetops.
Another speaker crackled to life. This time, it was coming from the newly arrived ship. A female voice spoke up, drifting down through the treetops with crystal clarity, as though she hovered just three feet above us.
“Retreat!” the voice ordered. “You are surrounded! We are two armed hover ships!”
My breath hitched, the fear that this was backup for the nomads returning full force, but then a series of missile barrels ejected from the sides of the new ship, twisting and angling downward until they pointed directly at the nomads’ vessel.
The nomads responded to the voice. They cast dark scowls up toward the ‘hover ship’. I sensed the tension in their stances as their own aircraft quickly lowered itself closer to the platform they still occupied.
When their aircraft descended, it gave me a clearer view of the sky. I saw then why the noise had been so overpowering. Thereweretwo of these new hover ships, the other floating just behind the first one. It was much smaller, but I could make out its matching shimmering surface through the trees.
“What is going on?” Peter breathed from beside me.
The ramp lowered and the nomads hurried back into their ship’s interior, without even a sack of food slung across their backs.
“I don’t know,” Ethan replied, his eyes glued on the retreating men.
A moment later, all of them were on board, the dead guy left sprawled on the platform. They yanked in the line they had attached to the tree, ripping out huge chunks of bark in the process. Then the ramp closed after them, sealing them all inside.
The nomad aircraft rose swiftly until it was above the jungle roof. Its engines revved one last, stomach-rumbling time before it thundered in the opposite direction, back toward the north.
To my surprise, almost as soon as it was out of view, a beam of light erupted from the smaller hover ship, shooting toward the nomads. The jungle roof prevented me from seeingif it hit, but there was a loud explosion, followed by the growling of increased engine strain, so I assumed it had caused damage. The hover ship immediately zoomed off in the direction of the nomads, emitting another blinding beam of light, as if to chase them down. That was followed by the sound of peppering bullets—I assumed a counterattack, from the nomads.
“We are sorry this has happened to you,” the female voice spoke up again through the speaker, as the large, remaining hover ship lowered into the clearing, where the nomads’ aircraft had been. “We’ll see if we can’t take those parasites down.”
I exchanged confused glances with Jessie and the men around me.
The hover ship descended to our level and a ramp opened up at its base. Its joints barely made a sound as a sleek platform slid out like a tongue. A single figure emerged.
She was a tall female—possibly 5’11’’—and heavy-set. She wore a dark blue uniform which covered her from neck to toe, and her face, cupped by short brown hair, was broad and pouchy, but I sensed there was a good deal of muscle in her frame.
A silver emblem was emblazoned on her chest. Unlike the reddish insignia of the nomads, it was printed clearly enough that I could make it out from a distance.
It bore two letters: “FI.”
Two others appeared behind her a moment later—a man and a woman, both tall and lithe, and wearing matching blue uniforms.
It hit me that none of them wore masks, and then I realized that none of the gas was actually seepingontotheir ramp’s platform. There seemed to be some kind of protective force around it, invisible to my eyes, that kept the mist at bay.
“Who are you?” the uncertain voice of one of our men in a neighboring tree called up.
A faint smile unfurled across the large woman’s lips.
“A natural first question,” she replied with a chuckle, her voice rich and hearty. “On a personal level, my name is Annabelle Springs, I’m thirty-four years old, and I hate spiders and the name Annabelle—so call me Anna.” She smiled. “On a professional level, I’m a member of a philanthropic organization whose activities involve outreach to people in need.”
Personal details aside, that was a lot to take in. My head reeled, and not just from the gas.
“A philanthropic organization?” Ethan asked, frowning up at them.
“That’s right,” she replied, straightening her back. “A charity. Not everybody out there is looking to plunder and prey upon others. As a matter of fact, my colleagues and I are fortunate enough to live in a peaceful and prosperous society, and we feel we have a duty to reach out to others who are less fortunate. Especially with the increasing problem of nomads like the Falcons.”
“The Falcons?” I croaked, frowning as hard as Jessie’s dad. Now that I thought about it, I guessed that reddish insignia could have depicted a bird.
“That’s what they call themselves,” Anna replied with a sigh. As her eyes settled on me, a flash of concern crossed her face. “You’re down there with a broken mask, hon. That’s not a good idea.”
Tell me about it.
