The gateway wasn’t as random as they had thought. The soft spot in the atmosphere might have become a portal given time, but it needed some coaxing if they wanted to use it to escape from the jellyfish monsters.
After the pilot relayed their coordinates, a team in Nevada programmed the gateway using experimental technology that was similar to a personal teleporting device, but on a much larger scale. The machine was in development to use for military troop transport, allowing instantaneous travel instead of relying on ships and airplanes. Up to that point, no human had been used in any of the trials, only robots and drones. If the calculations were off—even by a fraction—the gateway would close, trapping anyone and anything inside. But Lobo had given the order himself, and thankfully the gateway worked.
The mangled jet made it to Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport, where the pilot landed on a private airstrip far from the commercial terminals. No sooner had the door opened than Colt grabbed Danielle’s hand and headed down the narrow stairs and onto the tarmac, where a fleet of emergency vehicles waited.
“I’m never flying again,” Danielle said as the wind blew strands of hair into her face.
Though it was the middle of the afternoon, it was already getting dark. The sky was overcast, and tiny white flakes fell from thick clouds, though they melted as soon as they hit the ground. It was just enough to make everything wet and miserable. Colt zipped his jacket and stuffed his hands in his pockets as a paramedic rushed over with a blanket, offering to wrap it around his shoulders. “I’m okay,” he said, waving her off.
“Where’s Oz?” Danielle asked. “I thought he was right behind us.”
As Colt scanned the crowd, he noticed the CHAOS agents. There were at least a dozen, maybe more. Some wore suits with long trench coats and others had dark jackets with CHAOS written across the back in bold yellow letters. All were armed, and Colt felt trapped. If Lobo told them that Colt was a Russian spy or that he’d been recruited into a fringe terrorist cell, there was a good chance they would shoot first and ask questions later.
“There he is,” Danielle said, pointing to where Oz stood in front of a black Mercedes R350 Crossover. It seemed like an extravagant vehicle, considering organizations like the FBI typically drove Chevy Suburbans. Maybe, Colt thought, lavish spending was part of the reason that Senator Bishop and other members of the oversight committee wanted to oust Lobo as the director.
Oz was locked in a conversation with a tall alien who was extraordinarily thin. She had pointed ears and something that looked like a cross between a dorsal fin and a Mohawk running down the center of her head. Her skin was a shade that reminded Colt of sea foam, her eyes were enormous, and instead of lips and a nose she had some kind of beak that made her look like a bald parrot.
As Colt and Danielle made their way across the tarmac, Oz’s eyes kept darting about. He was standing close enough to the alien that he didn’t need to talk in much more than a whisper, so Colt wasn’t able to overhear any of their conversation. When Oz saw them approaching, he nodded and the alien turned around.
“What’s that all about?” Danielle asked.
“I’m not sure,” Colt said. Watching the exchange left him with a pit in his stomach, and that wasn’t a good sign.
There was a flurry of motion, and Colt turned to see Ms. Skoglund bustling through the crowd in a thick coat, with fluffy white earmuffs and a matching scarf, mittens, and boots. “Oh my, are you two okay?” she asked, her face flush with concern.
“Yeah, we’re fine,” Colt said, confused.
“When they told us what happened up there, I was sick with worry.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but what are you doing here?” Colt asked as Ms. Skoglund enveloped him in an enormous embrace.
“You’re looking at the newly appointed head of online security for the entire CHAOS Military Academy,” she said, her face beaming with pride.
“That’s amazing,” Danielle said.
“I know, right? It’s like we’re all one big flock migrating out here together. And I even get to teach a couple of classes. Can you believe it? Me, a teacher?” She turned and coughed, covering her mouth with her fluffy mitten. “Anyway, I’m also here as your official greeter and chauffeur, so what do you say we pile into the van and head over to the academy?”
“What about Oz?” Danielle asked.
Ms. Skoglund shrugged. “He wasn’t on my list.”