Nancy Alberta led them across the tarmac, boots thudding rhythmically on the cracked pavement. Mayor Carnie, Beau, and Tessa followed in silence.

  Then came the whir.

  It wasn’t the shriek of mantid wings. It wasn’t the grind of convoy tires. This was deep, rhythmic, and mechanical.

  Nancy stopped short and smiled.

  “There she is. A real beauty. A real black bird.”

  From the dome’s dim sky, a black streak tore across the horizon. It dropped fast—whipping across the tarmac with a hard tilt, air slicing around its armored fins and curved shell. The sound crescendoed into a high-pitched thrum as the vehicle executed a tight spiral over the runway before lowering, flaring its pitch, and slamming into a soft but assertive hover.

  For the first time in Dome 101, something flew.

  The Blackhawk touched down.

  Its rotors slowly hummed to a halt, clicking like clock gears as the glass canopy popped and the side panel released. A figure dropped out, one gloved hand on the frame, the other adjusting the leather strap of his harness.

  Rick Paul stood tall in a black pilot’s jacket, helmet under his arm. He grinned like someone who had cheated death and liked it.

  “Did I scare you?” he called out, swaggering forward.

  Beau smirked. “A little.”

  Tessa rolled her eyes. “You almost clipped the tower.”

  Rick shrugged. Almost. Means I didn’t.”

  Mayor Carnie walked forward, arms crossed, expression torn between pride and caution. “You’re getting cocky, Rick.”

  Rick tilted his head toward the helicopter. “I’ve been flying laps through the west sector. She’s ready to fly missions.”

  “We may have a helicopter, but I’m not totally convinced that it’s safe to fly with you.”

  “Me either,” Tessa said. “How many flight hours do you have, rick?”

  “Thirty-six hours. We finished assembling the helicopter four days ago.”

  “That’s all?” Beau said. He knew a professional pilot flew somewhere in the realm of thousands of hours. “I’m sure you’ll be great, in time, but I’m not sure we can trust such a green pilot.”

  “You can trust me,” Rick insisted. “We’ve never had aircraft inside the dome before, so I never got to test my skills. I was born with the knowledge of flight, helicopters and airplanes. I know I never actually flew, because my memories are implanted by Dr. Gerben, and yet I can still fly as if I have ten thousand flight hours logged.”

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  “The way you came in tight for a landing was impressive…” Beau said. He turned to Tessa. “Is it safe?”

  Nancy stepped beside him. “Let me assure you that Rick has the skill of a trained pilot, as he says. The moment he stepped into the Blackhawk, he knew every switch and button on the switchboard. He knew how to turn on the engine and how to fly. It was automatic. Rick Paul is a pilot who is mission ready.”

  Rick Paul ran his hands through his hair, trying to be sly. “Anything for the Black Birds.”

  Tessa nodded with approval.

  “How is it powered?” Beau said.

  “The Blackhawk runs on a battery charge. It holds a charge and takes additional batteries for backup power. We reinforced the shell with the plastic from a tub of green army men. We sleeved the rotors in flexible poly-carbonate. It’s not going to fly as smoothly as a real human Blackhawk, since this is basically an RC version, but she flies true and has an impressive range. She’s light, she carries about twelve troopers, and she’s relatively safe.”

  Beau circled the craft. Its frame was jagged but sleek, an angular craft of dark plastic and vented mesh. Rotors spanned overhead like twin blades. The sides were embossed with a sharp black bird symbol.

  Rick tapped the hull. “She’s perfect for swoop-and-drop. Light. Fast. Intimidating. Hard to spot.”

  “We’re preparing a mission to hit the mantid fortress,” Beau said, voice steady. “We need to clear the mansion’s back door. It’s our only way out.”

  “This is going to be our only bird for a while,” said Nancy. “We can’t fabricate any of the parts. We need more sensitive electronics.”

  Tessa rested a hand on the Blackhawk’s shell. “Then we use what we have.”

  Beau spotted a crate of plastic parts inside the hangar. There was something big and green sticking out of it, a husk of plastic. It had a long barrel and a red, white, and blue sticker. It was an army tank. It was charred at the base and surrounded by a mass of half-melted green plastic soldiers, their expressions locked.

  “How about a tank?” Beau said. “Can we make some?”

  Nancy looked, then laughed. “What? A tank?”

  Beau didn’t blink.

  She considered it seriously that time. “We don’t have a digital schematic for the fabricator. It would take at least two months of idle time. And that’s assuming we have all the sensitive electronics involved. Which we don’t.”

  Beau looked at the crushed barrel and mangled treads. “But we could figure it out, right?”

  Nancy raised a brow. “Eventually. We need resources. We need time.”

  He smiled. “Good. Let’s make that time.” He turned back to the helicopter and approached Rick. “How fast can you get us in the air?”

  “Ready now, sir.”

  “We’re going now?” Tessa said.

  “Beau, there’s one more surprise. We found some chemicals in a maintenance closet inside Gerben’s mansion. There was just enough to craft that recipe you wanted.”

  “Bombs?”

  Nancy nodded. She pointed to the helicopter. Inside were two metal frames holding six black two-liter shaped objects. “I call them Widow Makers. Drop them from above. They have a fiery impact, so be sure to escape the blast radius.”

  Tessa cracked her knuckles. “That’ll make those bugs squirm.”

  “I could kiss you, Nancy,” Beau said.

  “I’m not sure how my boyfriend would take that, but survive the war and save us all first, then we’ll talk,” she smirked, then returned to the forge.

  Tessa turned to Beau, then to Rick. “Time for war?”

  Rick nodded. He turned and climbed into the Blackhawk. He fired on the engine. The blades spun and whirred to life.

  “This may be our only chance,” Beau said. “We have to make it count. Suit up. We leave at sundown.”