Touched by an Alien

and could hold both of us.
    We made do with one that he was familiar with, was fueled up, and could hold me on Christopher’s lap. I tried not to consider Martini’s reaction to this—I had to figure saving his life would outweigh unintentional snuggling with his cousin.
    Christopher pulled some rank, and we climbed in. I could see why pilots weren’t tall—there wasn’t a lot of room in there.
    “Do we have to have your purse in here with us?”
    “It’s more reliable than anything else.” A thought occurred, and I dug out the walkie. “Lorraine, Claudia? You there?”
    Silence. Nothing from Reader, either. I dropped the walkie back into my purse.
    “Okay, let’s do this,” Christopher said briskly.
    We put on a set of headphones each, he pointed out the buttons to hit to close the lid, start the engine, and so on. I did my best to focus on the instructions and not the thought that we could go splat at any second, as soon as I started trying to fly. The sound through the headphones was pretty good, but not as good as the intercom system in the cars had been.
    “Okay, you’re going to pull back on the stick. Remember, it works sort of opposite from what you’d expect.”
    “I’ve seen the movies.”
    “Well, don’t I feel all confident now?”
    “It’s all down to the reflexes and your ability to teach.”
    “I wish we’d said good-bye to our parents.”
    “We’ll be fine, Mr. Optimism.”
    “I want to be on record that this brings my tally for saving Jeff’s butt even with his saving mine.”
    “I’ll be sure to note it in my report.”
    Christopher wrapped an arm around my waist. I decided not to notice. “You ready?” He was trying to sound calm and confident. Key word was “trying.”
    Sort of. “Yes.”
    “Then let’s go.”
    It was different. I’d seen scenes in the movies where someone who doesn’t know how to fly, or hasn’t flown in years, takes a jet and manages to get off the ground. I discovered these movies were documentaries.
    We lifted up and then bobbed. “Back! Pull it back!”
    “It’s hard.”
    “The ground is harder!”
    “Fine!” I pulled in the directions he shouted and grabbed or pushed the things he pointed frantically to, the ones he wasn’t doing himself. Abbott and Costello had nothing on the two of us. As the jet started to bounce and spin around while somehow moving upward, I saw servicemen running away from us. I found that a rude comment on my skills.
    We managed to get up above the other planes, then above the buildings. Once we were higher, it got easier, and Christopher’s directions got calmer. “You ready?” he asked once we were up and facing the right direction. It had taken only a few turns to get there, and I was feeling pretty good.
    “Sure.”
    “Okay, let’s go.”
    I pushed the stick how he told me, and suddenly we were flying, really flying. I was shoved back against him in a way I knew Martini wouldn’t appreciate. However, there was no way Christopher was enjoying it—his face was being squished.
    This made it hard for him to give directions or me to hear them. On the other hand, time was of the essence. He’d made it clear that the nose of the jet shouldn’t dip below some red line on the instrument panel, and I was doing very well. At least, I’d managed to avoid the buildings, other jets, and birds in the air. Starfighter was good training for this part.
    “Just like a video game,” I shouted to Christopher.
    “Mmgh!” He managed to move his head. “I don’t think video games can kill you.”
    “You don’t go to movies much, do you?”
    “Never. By the way, landing’s the hard part.”
    Oh, good. “No chance you can do that, right?”
    “Sure, if we want to die for certain, just give me the stick.”
    “Why so? I mean, really why?”
    “It takes concentration or exhaustion for us to function at human levels. If we’re tense, our reflexes take over, and we overstress the machinery. Believe me, they did a lot of tests when we first arrived here. We’re trained from birth to slow down while walking, eating, talking, all those normal things. But flying isn’t normal, it’s a learned skill, and we haven’t successfully learned to not overreact in terms of the machinery’s ability to handle it.”
    “I’d guess you’re too stressed to land the jet, right?”
    “I’m too stressed to operate an espresso machine, let alone a jet. And I’m not tired enough. We have to be at near collapse, like