As the boarding ramp lowered and unfolded, Jax walked down so that he was stepping off it the moment the ramp settled. He looked around, seeing a group of a half-dozen people approaching. They were shielding their faces from the minor dust storm the landing thrusters had kicked up. “Skip, stay hot. We’re not gonna be on the ground long.”
“Roger that,” the ship replied.
When Jax was within shouting distance, he asked, “Who’s in charge here?” Several of the aid workers looked around at each other. Jax added, “I don’t actually care. I’m here to get you off-planet. Come with me if you want to live.”
After a minute of awkward silence and rapid eye blinking from the group, a stunning young woman approached. “Who are you?” she shouted, hand on hip. Her jet-black hair was pulled back in a single braid. She was in cargo shorts and a button-down shirt, sleeves buttoned at the wrists.
Jax kept walking until he was next to her. “Name’s Jackson. I’m here to get you all out of here. The fighting is getting worse. Your organization wants you off-planet.” He nodded to her shirt. “Aren’t you hot?” He was in his usual going-ashore attire, canvas trousers and linen shirt with a utility vest over it. Folks sometimes made fun of his vest, until he produced the tool they were looking for, or a snack, or in a pinch, his flask.
“What? Like I should be in a bikini or something, it’s just so hot out?” she asked, then added, “What do you mean, off-planet?”
Jax made a face, holding both hands up, palms out. “Woah, I just meant that you’re in long sleeves. You know what? Never mind. As to the other thing, it’s two words, or rather, one word hyphenated, I guess. Which one was confusing?” He made a hand gesture, his hand flat in front of his chest, then raised it as he moved it across his body. “Have you not realized you’re cut off?”
By then she had led them away from the Osprey and into camp. The two were sounded by the almost two dozen people of the camp. She frowned. “We assumed the comm sat had malfunctioned. It’s done that before. Why does ReliefCorp want us to leave?” An explosion echoed through the valley; black smoke rose over a nearby hill.
Jax pointed over the hill to the black smoke smudging the sky. “Civil war…”
A tall, skinny man approached. “Naomi, what’s going on? We’re leaving?”
Naomi looked at the newcomer, then Jax, and back. “No, Martin, we’re not leav—”
Jax interrupted, “You are leaving.” He looked at Martin, then the group that had followed them from the landing area back into camp and grown by almost a dozen. “Pack your shit, take only what you can carry. The Osprey isn’t that big. Grab your personal effects and head for my— ”
Naomi held a hand up. “Excuse me.” She glared at Jax. “We need to discuss this.”
A flush began creeping up Jax’s cheeks. He shook his head. “Afraid not.” He reached into a thigh pocket on his trousers, pulling out a small data tablet. “Here.” He handed Naomi the device. Jax noticed that it turned on before she tapped the screen to wake it.
She scanned the screen: scrolling, scowling. She lowered the device and looked at Martin as she offered it to him. “I guess we’re leaving. Everyone, do as he says.” She hitched a thumb at Jax.
Martin scanned the tablet. “Uh, yes, do as he says. It looks like ReliefCorp has recalled us.”
From the earpiece in Jax’s ear, Rudy said, “Jax, I’ve been listening to the local comms. Sounds like there’s some sporadic fighting nearby. The militia is following a group of rebels heading this way. It might get close.”
Jax nodded. “Copy that, stay on top of it.” The comms clicked, so he knew Rudy acknowledged. He looked at the mostly still-standing-around aid workers. “Move your asses!” he barked. Everyone scrambled. He looked at Naomi, eyebrow raised. She moved to follow her colleagues, Martin in tow. He turned and started toward the Osprey, still unsure who was in charge of these folks.
Five minutes later, the first of the aid workers were filing toward the field where the Osprey was parked. Jax waved them toward the waiting ship. He tapped his earpiece. “Baxter, help get our guests situated. It’s gonna be a tight fit.”
“Copy that, boss,” the deep voice of the combat droid replied.
Naomi walked up to Jax. “Everyone else is packing up. We haven’t gotten ahold of Ingrid, though.” She looked up at the ship. Did her eyes just flicker? “Valerian Coop Infiltrator, model five.”
“Who’s Ingrid? Why do I care?” He met her eye. “Good eye. Osprey’s been in the family a long time.” He looked over her shoulder at the few stragglers still heading for the Osprey . “There are reports of fighting nearby.” Something not very far away exploded, the fireball visible over a low rise.
Naomi didn’t even flinch. She turned, pointing. “I think she went to the solar farm. The static discharge vanes play havoc with comms.” She turned. “Come on, space boy.”
“I think I’m probably older than you,” he said, falling into step.
“Debatable.” She didn’t slow down. In fact, she moved into an easy jog.
As he ran, he tapped his earpiece. “Skip, keep the engines running and be ready on weapons.”
“Copy that, boss,” the ship replied.