The Dragon Nimbus Novels: Volume III: Volume III

safety. He drank deeply of it as he stepped through the portal into the passenger cabin.
    Maia stopped short just inside the door. She stared at the comfortable blue upholstered benches that converted to beds, the softly blinking lights of the electronic readers and game boards, the food synthesizer that converted any vegetable matter into tasty dishes.
    “What sort of magic do you wield, Master Kinnsell?” she whispered, too awestruck to move.
    “The magic of technology,” he replied seductively into her ear. “Settle in one of the benches and fasten the restraints. We’ll take off in a minute.”
    “Don’t leave me alone inside this strange monster, Master Kinnsell.” Maia’s eyes remained wide open. Her pupils contracted in terror, leaving the liquid brown iris to plead with him.
    “Very well, my dear.” Kinnsell patted her hand and drew her forward into the bridge area. “Sit there.” He motioned her to the copilot’s seat. She couldn’t inadvertently change any of the controls unless he turned them over to her by voice command to the computer. A copilot could take control if the biosensors determined the pilot was dead or unconscious, but that wouldn’t happen on the quick hop to the bush lord’s castle.
    Kinnsell drew the safety strap over his head and shoulders, fastening it on the clip between his legs. Maia mimicked his actions, hiking up her skirts and petticoats to reveal most of her trim thighs. Kinnsell had to gulp back his desire once again. His eyes did not want to return to the control board.
    Finally he remembered what he needed to do. He cleared the viewscreen so that they could look out and see the real-time scene around them. Then he ran his fingers over the touchpads and began the firing sequence. Automatically he set his destination coordinates into the auto pilot. No need for the cyber-control headset. They were only going a short distance and not nearing a suborbital altitude. Almost instantly, the atmosphere jets roared to life.
    Maia reared back in surprise. But when Kinnsell proceeded calmly with the launch sequence, she relaxed, studying everything. He knew she’d never figure out the complexities of flying the shuttle. She couldn’t even read, let alone understand the mathematics of navigation.
    He fondled the joystick lovingly. Certainly he could use the touchpads to fly the shuttle. Most pilots did or they used the supersensitive cyber controls. But his family had always had an affinity for the joystick, preferring to sense the craft’s movements and vibrations through the palm of their hand and the seat of their pants rather than the technological array before their eyes.
    Kinnsell monitored the gauges. When the engines had enough power and fuel, he eased the joystick back. The engines roared again, straining to respond. He looked at the surrounding trees through the viewscreen. The craft did not move.
    “What?” he asked the computer.
    The displays told him that the weight of the mud on the stabilizing feet of the shuttle trapped them.
    He eased the stick back again while rocking it side to side. The trees seemed to shift and waver in front of him. Like riding on a teeter-totter. The shuttle jerked back and forth but still did not lift. The engines continued straining. He burned fuel at an enormous rate.
    Pressure built in Kinnsell’s chest. His head seemed detached from his body. He had trouble focusing his eyes.
    Still, he continued rocking the craft to loosen the cursed mud. Another reason to erect climate control on this planet—or at least construct decent landing pads.
    “Perhaps the dragon is back. If it is sitting atop your dragon, the extra weight would make flight difficult,” Maia suggested.
    “There are no such things as dragons,” Kinnsell asserted through gritted teeth. He continued rocking the craft. Seesaw. The trees swayed before his eyes.
    Was that a tiny bit of lift?
    Yes, he was breaking free. He wasted more fuel compensating for the planet’s gravity. He eased the shuttle up to treetop level. The shuttle remained unsteady, shaking as badly as his hands. He ignored the weakness and the need to cough and the sweat pouring into his eyes.
    When he had finally cleared the trees, he looked for his compass and couldn’t find it. The array of lights and numbers on the control panel blurred and doubled and redoubled. He closed his eyes hard, and blinked several times.
    “Wake up, Master Kinnsell. Wake up. You are losing control of the