Alien Research

CHAPTER 25

WHILE I LOVED THE RESULTS, and anything was better than going through a gate, hyperspeed had never been my favorite thing to experience as a full human.

When I’d become a sorta A-C, I’d figured hyperspeed issues were a thing of the past for me. But that was before I’d run around with Christopher going at his I’m The Real Flash, Baby level.

Doing this speed made regular A-Cs like White sick to their stomachs. Doing this speed with eyes closed was exponentially worse.

“Keep your eyes shut!” I managed to shout. I wanted to open my eyes, so had to assume everyone else did, too. Figured the next sounds I’d be making were those related to barfing my guts out.

“And your mouths,” Christopher called. “We’re about to hit.”

Hit was absolutely the accurate word. Sandpaper isn’t fun to rub against your skin. I was incredibly thankful we’d wrapped up. Looking like mummy fashion victims was worth not having desert sand imbedded in our skin forever.

We were still moving nauseatingly fast, but the sand just wasn’t going bye-bye. Took a couple of small rocks to the stomach and broke my own rule and opened my eyes a bit.

To see something dark and metallic in front of me.

We were still in our daisy chain formation, but that didn’t mean we were running single file. Based on both experience and what little I could make out in my peripheral vision, such as it was, we were more serpentine, with me in the middle, and with no one actually behind Christopher. Meaning he had no idea we were near the tank.

I’d always had good reflexes and being on the track team all through high school and college while also doing Kung Fu had helped hone said reflexes. Reflexes could get you into trouble, of course, but there was a lot to be said for not taking the time to think in certain situations.

I shoved Dad one way and Buchanan the other, as I let go of their hands. “Get out of the way!” I shouted, so they’d be clear that I’d done this on purpose. “Christopher and Richard, keep moving!”

Momentum ensured I was still moving forward at a rapid pace, meaning I had two options. Slam into the tank in front of me, or jump. I jumped.

As with many other physical abilities, A-C’s had improved jumping from humans and my track coaches had ensured all of us could do pretty much every event. I’d been okay with the high jump, which was good. The tank’s cannon being right above me wasn’t that great, but I managed to grab it as opposed to slam my head into it, so I counted that for the win column.

Used the still-existent momentum to swing up and onto the top of the tank. Almost fell off, but grabbed a hold of the person who was already there and used them to steady myself.

Whoever it was, they were as surprised by me as I’d been to see the tank in front of my face.

“Ack!” It wasn’t the most terrifying war cry, but it did confirm that the person, who was in a buff-colored cloak-burka combo and was far better wrapped up than any of my team, was most likely female or a very young male.

The positive of scaring the hell out of my opponent was that the sandstorm stopped immediately. The positive of all of this scaring the hell out of me was that my nausea was kept at bay. Another one for the win column.

Wasn’t sure where my team was, but I hoped far away and not under the tank’s tread. Being under the tread was possible because the tank was still moving. Whether this meant there was a driver inside I was going to have to deal with, or whether the thing was on its version of autopilot, I had no guess. Decided to deal with the enemy I was holding onto and worry about the rest later.

Slammed my fist into what I hoped was her gut. “Oof!” She was big on the one-syllable responses, but that worked just fine for me.

Decided to go for the gusto and slammed her head into my rising knee. Grabbed her head, or at least the fabric covering her head, and hit her again.

She was sort of down but not, unfortunately, completely out. She grabbed my leg and pulled. I fell backward. Tucked my head as I went down so it didn’t hit the metal. My opponent jumped on me and tried to do ground and pound. Well, tank and pound.

Grabbed her arms at the wrists and held her off. Wished Tito was near enough to shout coaching instructions. But he was either still running or barfing his guts out, meaning it was up to me to get this chick under control pronto.

Kicked my leg up while I shoved her back. Slammed my knee into her back and, because I’d shoved her arms back sharply enough, her head fell back into my toes. Wished my Kung Fu instructors were around to see this performance, because it was hard and rare to pull this move off. But, of course, when I was really showing off the awesome skills, the only witness was the person I was using said skills on.

She fell forward onto me, but I managed to shift to the side, so she slammed onto the tank. By now, if someone was inside, they’d had to have guessed there was a fight going on outside. Since the tank was still moving, hoped this meant it was on autopilot.

Managed to roll on top of her and take her back. I wasn’t particularly great with the various choke-out techniques available, but the old arm around the neck and tighten ploy seemed to be working.

“Kitty,” Christopher shouted. “Get off! The tank’s heading right for the plane.”

Looked up to see that, yes indeed, we were going to hit the jet very soon. In fact, the tank was likely going to hit the jet’s fuel tank. Which was likely to redefine the term “very bad.”

Let go of my opponent and got to my feet. Dragged her upright and, holding onto her, jumped us both off. Sure, I used her as my soft landing, but still, that seemed only fair. Plus it ensured that, finally, I knocked her out.

Christopher dragged me to my feet, we each took an arm, and ran like hell. He wasn’t using the fast hyperspeed. In fact, he wasn’t really using hyperspeed at all, meaning he’d potentially burned himself out. It wasn’t a long trip from super-duper power level burnout to total burnout, as my time with Jeff had amply illustrated. Wasn’t sure how Christopher would react to an adrenaline harpoon to the hearts, and sincerely hoped I wouldn’t need to find out.

I heard the sound of rending metal behind me. Runners, sprinters in particular, are taught early on not to look behind them during a race. The runner who looks behind is the runner who is behind. Chose to speed up and use my hyperspeed.

Almost flew by the others, but managed to stop reasonably close by. They were near to, but not quite at the doors of, the Science Center.

“Everybody down!” Christopher shouted.

The team didn’t argue. Everyone hit the dirt, literally, with Buchanan covering my father while White covered both of them. Christopher covered me as I covered our prisoner, Rahmi covered Tito, Rhee covered Adriana, as the tank went fully into the plane.

Results were immediate. They weren’t the results I was hoping for, but they certainly were immediate.