by Don Eckman

Created on: February 20, 2009

Dive

"Prepare to jump." The familliar phrase buzzing over the intercom triggered a conditioned hyper-awareness: her pupils contracted, gooseflesh ran down from her shoulders, and all her joints bent slightly, coiling into readiness.

"In three..." Another of her rituals began, a last second gear check tempoed to the urgency of the final countdown. She tugged on the straps crossing her chest which secured a small pack between her shoulderblades. Just loose enough to allow full circulation. Check.

"Two..." Rotating her wrists in fron of her face she took stock of the bulbous chrome braclets around them. She flicked one on each side, her fingernail bringing a sharp -ting- from the metal that didn't echo inside it. Full ten cartridges, no leaks or dents. Check.

"One..." Her left hand gripped her bulky belt and gave it a shake while the right held one of the four long, thin rods slotted into it vertically. The belt was jostled but in no danger of sliding off her hips over over her ribs. The rod in her hand moved with the belt in spite of her trying to hold it in place. Taking a different rod in both hands - one near her belt and the other near the top - she grunted and pulled her fists back toward her body. It bent to a minor cambre and slashed back rigid the instant her upper hand let go, whistling a high note through the air. Landing spikes, taut and locked. Check.

She closed her eyes and spread her arms, abdomen clenching as she leaned back from the waist and balanced on her heels.

"Mark!" In the same moment the balls of her feet slapped down on the floor, it dissapeared from under her, retracting backward. Between that swift removal of her footing and her own planting of it, she was thrown into a high centerifuge topspin which she facilitated by tucking into a ball. Seven spins or three quarters of a second later she untucked, clear of the Coldwing's undercarriage. She spread her limbs out, going around twice more before the spread eagle stopped her. The wind roared past her ears, drowning out the Coldwing's turnbines as it overtook her.

The wind...

She pulled her goggles down from her forehead then opened her eyes, orienting herself downward and assuming a swan dive.

Blue...

The sky appeared clear of turbulance. Scanning the cityscape below, she noticed something off. Scowling, she tapped her ear. "Your approach was flack, Pilot. I'm off by..." she sized up the landing zone again, checking her math. "...at least negative twelve points. I'm going to hit the side of it,

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