The prototype's engines grew louder until the observation window vibrated in its frame.
Mom was already moving toward the exit. She pulled me away from the glass and hurried down a metal staircase leading to the hangar's lower level. The red emergency lights made everything look stained with rust.
"Stay close," she ordered.
I followed her through a narrow passage that opened beside a row of maintenance vehicles. Technicians were abandoning their stations, some running toward the control building, others ducking behind equipment as the aircraft's engines reached a deafening pitch.
A warning horn began to sound.
"Rachel!"
June's voice came through the radio, broken by static.
"We've got a partial shutdown, but he bypassed the safety interlocks. You need to get to the secondary control station."
"Where?"
"North service corridor. Behind the fuel-storage room."
Mom changed direction immediately.
We ran past a pair of open maintenance bays. Through one doorway, I saw an enormous metal tank suspended from an overhead crane. Through another, a technician was desperately trying to pull a power cable from a console.
The hangar doors were almost fully open.
Outside, the desert runway stretched into the darkness. The aircraft's navigation lights flashed once, then disappeared.
I stopped.
"Mom!"
She turned.
The prototype was still there, but its outline had become strangely indistinct. The edges of its wings seemed to blend into the night. The air around it shimmered, like heat rising from asphalt in midsummer.
For a moment, I couldn't tell where the aircraft ended and the darkness began.
"That's Ghostwing?" I whispered.
Mom grabbed my arm.
"Keep moving."
We reached the north service corridor just as a deep roar rolled through the hangar. The aircraft accelerated down the runway. Its shape blurred further until the floodlights seemed to shine through empty space.
Then it vanished.
The noise continued, moving upward and away. A few seconds later, the hangar roof rattled from the pressure wave.
I stood staring at the empty runway.
I'd watched aircraft take off at air shows. I'd seen fighter jets climb through the clouds, leaving white trails behind them. But I'd never seen anything disappear while still making enough noise to shake the ground.
Mom pulled me forward.
"Lucas, we don't have time."
The secondary control station was hidden behind an unmarked door. Inside, a bank of older computers sat beneath a wall of maps. June was waiting beside a console, her sweater torn at one sleeve. A fresh cut crossed her forehead.
Admiral Carter sat in a chair near the wall, holding a cloth against his jaw.
"You're hurt," Mom said.
"It's a scratch."
June snorted. "He's been calling it a scratch for twenty minutes."
Mom moved to the console.
"Can we track the aircraft?"
"Not with the main radar," June said. "The system is masking its signature. But there's another way."
She pointed toward a large screen. A map of the desert region appeared, dotted with faint green markers.
"These are passive sensor stations. They don't transmit anything. They measure disturbances in the environment."
I looked at the display. One marker flashed yellow.
"What's that?"
"An old test beacon," June replied. "The aircraft's masking system interferes with it whenever the plane passes nearby."
Mom studied the readings.
"Can you predict its route?"
"Only approximately."
Carter leaned forward. "Voss is heading for the western test range. That's where the original system was calibrated."
Mom's face tightened.
"He'll try to activate the full interface there."
June nodded. "And if he succeeds, the aircraft won't just disappear from ordinary tracking. It could interfere with other aircraft systems in the same region."
"How much damage could it do?" I asked.
Nobody answered immediately.
Carter finally spoke. "Enough to make it impossible for rescue crews to find a missing aircraft. Enough to create confusion during an emergency. Enough to make a dangerous situation far worse."
I stared at the map.
"Then we have to stop him."
Mom looked at me. "We do. But you're not going anywhere near that aircraft."
I wanted to argue, but she had already turned toward June.
"Is there another way to reach the western range?"
June opened a cabinet and pulled out a set of keys.
"There's an old service road. It hasn't been used in years, but the gate still works."
Mom took the keys.
Carter stood, wincing as he straightened.
"I'm coming."
"You're barely able to stand," Mom said.
"I can still operate a radio."
"Then stay here and coordinate with the outside team."
Carter hesitated, then nodded. "Understood."
June handed Mom a headset and a small black device with a narrow screen.
"Your old flight credentials are still in the system. If the interface is active, this may let you access the diagnostic channel."
Mom examined it.
"Who authorized this?"
June gave her a dry look. "Nobody. That's why it might work."
Mom tucked it into her jacket.
I looked at the equipment, then at the map. One of the yellow markers blinked again. A faint line appeared between two sensor stations, tracing a route toward the western range.
"That's him," I said.
Mom glanced at the screen.
"Possibly."
"No. Look at the timing. The first sensor registered a disturbance just after the aircraft took off. The next one is reacting now."
June leaned closer.
"He's following the old calibration route."
Mom's expression changed. She looked at me with a mixture of surprise and concern.
"How did you notice that?"
I shrugged. "The markers are lighting up in order."
For a second, nobody spoke.
Then Mom turned back to the console.
"June, send that route to the external team. Carter, tell them the aircraft is heading west."
The admiral reached for his radio.
As the adults began coordinating the response, I noticed a small panel on the far side of the room. It was older than the other equipment, with a narrow screen and a circular sensor built into the surface.
A label had been engraved beneath it.
NEURAL RESPONSE CALIBRATION.
My stomach tightened.
I stepped closer.
"Mom?"
She turned sharply.
"Don't touch that."
"I wasn't going to."
But the screen had already flickered.
A thin green line appeared across its surface. Then another. A series of irregular waveforms formed, shifting and changing as I stood nearby.
The system was responding to me.
Mom crossed the room in three quick steps and pulled me away.
"June, shut it down."
June reached for the power switch.
Before she could press it, the screen displayed a message.
SUBJECT RECOGNIZED.
A second line appeared.
INTERFACE COMPATIBILITY CONFIRMED.
I stared at the words.
The room seemed to go silent around me.
Mom's face had gone pale.
Carter slowly lowered his radio.
June whispered something under her breath.
Then a third message appeared.
REMOTE LINK REQUESTED.
Mom grabbed the power switch and pulled it down.
The screen went black.
But somewhere in the facility, a distant alarm began to sound.
And from the radio on the desk came my father's voice.
"Thank you, Lucas. I knew you'd find your way back to me."
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: My Father’s Voice Followed Us Into the Desert, While My Mother Prepared to Fly the Aircraft She Had Once Destroyed
The Moment My Teacher Turned My Proudest Memory Into a Joke in Front of the Entire Eighth Grade
Part 6 of 40
