I breathed out the tension. Nearly losing Molls had twisted something in my chest, and it didn’t untwist until that man and his submarine were gone from sight. Still, I couldn’t just ignore the way he had pulled it off. Or the way he backed down the instant I caught up to them.

Everything he had said made sense. Especially now that I could fly. Specter had promised ease of movement in air as well as water, and the thought that I could fly kept repeating itself in my mind until I was bursting with the desire to attempt the act.

I willfully focused on the sky above me, and the starfish on my back just yanked my body up into the air. It didn’t feel like flying though.

It felt like falling.

The faster I went, the more I had to fight my instincts screaming at me that I was about to die.

There was no control, no flight like all those heroes I had grown up on. I didn’t point my fingers and angle my feet back for aerodynamics. I just fell. Up, into the sky.

Here’s a quick thing to keep in mind. There is no such thing as an irrational fear of heights. That’s not a phobia. That’s a perfectly natural instinct that your reptile brain has never lost, because if you fall off tall enough things, you don’t get to keep being alive.

So when I looked down at the beach and noticed it was already a speck in the distance, I realized that a fear of heights was perfectly rational. What’s irrational is being in a tall place and not being afraid of falling.

The newest addition to my suit just made me fall everywhere. I had fallen in the ocean, to catch that submarine. Moving sideways and not down, sure, but the way your gut feels when you’re plummeting to your doom is exactly how my gut felt chasing that submarine.

When I stopped trying to fly, I started falling for real. The ground got big again really fast, and I squeezed my eyes shut before impact. The suit automatically slowed me, until I landed gently on both feet. Then the larger starfish shape on my back retracted into the dimensional storage that formed a thicker line across my upper back and shoulders.

Molls stirred at my landing, blinking her large eyes against the sunlight.

I rushed to her side and gripped the scaled hand she raised. “Are you alright?” I asked.

“I’m sorry, I must have fallen asleep,” she slurred. “I’m still very tired. Who’s blanket is this?”

“It’s okay, Molls. I’ve got you, just go back to sleep,” I said, reaching down to lift her in my arms.

She sighed and draped her neck over my shoulder, before loosely wrapping her tail around my torso so I could carry her. I thought back to our first dream-storm, and how she had carried me to safety. My pace was significantly slower, but the memory made me smile while I carried her back to our front lines.

I passed by the row of unconscious hobbs on the ridge above our tent and checked to see that their chests were rising and falling in rhythmic motions. A small dart was visible protruding from the nearest hobb’s throat, an expert shot at range, especially given that my hobbs all wore shields. The dart would have had to be traveling slow enough to avoid triggering the shields, which my opponent under the water had apparently known.

His frogmen had been almost on the water’s edge, and they’d each hit my hobbs with synchronized shots as they crested the ridge.

The way BlueCleave ran their hobb recruits, it felt very much like an army. They built as many roads and bridges as they fought battles, and the hobbs always had busy work if there was no combat.

By contrast, the soldiers we’d gone up against had been special forces. Goal oriented, hyper-focused, and result motivated. The Orkreshi marines I had briefly tangled with on board the Whalehunter had also surprised me, by ignoring my attack against them and following their commander’s orders of restraint.

This naval power was something I did not want to tangle with, I suspected they wouldn’t be like the Dearth forces my hobbs were used to fighting. I certainly wasn’t going to wait around on the beach with them floating off-shore.

Before I’d had to walk long, I saw a BlueCleave patrol buggy racing across the desert toward me. Our unit must have missed their check in. Ordo was at the driver's seat, and stepped out once the vehicle had slid to a stop at our side.

“Boss! You good?” he asked. His unit, another three heavily armed and armored hobbs, piled out of the buggy and formed a protective shield around us with their bodies. Each looked in their direction for threats, cradling the laser rifles that were quickly becoming standard issue in our ranks.

“We’re fine, but I need to talk to Rayna,” I answered. “Our unit is down, but unharmed. Sleeping darts.”

“Shit,” he grumbled. “I warn them that possible. Darts can be dialed to fly slow enough that shields not stop them.”

“Who did you warn?” I asked.

“Tollya’s quartermaster,” he grumbled. “They say not possible to ward against all attacks, that shields better than we used to. Shouldn’t complain.”

“You weren’t complaining, though,” I said.

Ordo shook his head. “Warning. Hobbs need to know vulnerabilities. Darts can be lethal too.”

“Yeah, I’ll have a word with that quartermaster. You report directly to Tollya from now on,” I said.

Ordo raised his eyebrows. “Quartermaster not like that. Higher rank than me.”

“Quartermaster fucked up. I don’t care what they like, and I outrank everyone,” I said.

Ordo chuckled and nodded. “Yeah boss.” He reached back into the buggy and produced a radio speaker on a cord. “Get Rayna. Priority one request,” he grunted into the mic.

A hobb voice on the other end sounded in the affirmative, and a series of clicks began as the radio call was connected through our network back to Prescott.

Rayna’s voice came through, “boss, what you need?” She sounded concerned.

“We’re okay Rayna, but we were just attacked. A new force, Whale Hunter Salvage. They’ve got a flotilla of submersible vessels. I was given the impression that they have a sizable and competent military force, but I don’t know how big it is exactly,” I said into the radio. “They took out our hobbs with sleeping darts, and kidnapped Molls from me directly. I couldn’t stop them, they used fuckin’ sword-missiles to slow me down long enough to get away. I got her back though.”

Molls stirred against my back and yawned. The sound of her name brought her out of it, and she blinked as she looked around.

“Understood,” Rayna grunted. “What you want us do?”

“Pull all of our non-essential forces on the coastline back, reinforce our coastal forts, and keep an eye on the pacific. I’m on my way to Prescott with Molls, I’ll tell you more in person,” I replied, before handing the radio’s mic back to Ordo, who was rummaging around in the cargo compartment.

He grunted a few words to Rayna, got a reply, and hung up the radio. He glanced at his unit before turning back to me, a pair of combat fatigue pants in his hands. “We go get sleeping hobbs, boss. You want a ride back to base? Got a hovercraft ready for you there,” he said to me.

“No thank you, Ordo. I can fly,” I replied with a small smile. “Thanks for the pants though. Pack up our gear too, please, and have it sent back to Prescott.”

The hobb shrugged and nodded, as if all of that was normal. Molls, on the other hand, pulled her long neck around from my back to stare at my face.

“You can fly?” she asked. “Since when?”

“Since you were kidnapped by a paramilitary organization while we were trying to have a relaxing vacation on the beach. So like . . . half an hour ago?” I replied.

She smiled down at me, still a little loopy from the drug. “Can you fly me?” she asked. “Wait, what?”

I smiled at her and shrugged. “Of course I’ll fly you.”

“No, what did you say about me being kidnapped?” she replied.

“Yeah, your mother hired a local mercenary team to get you home,” I said. “Sorry, I guess she’s getting serious about that request.”

Molls turned red. She spluttered, but then calmed and took a few calming deep breaths before saying, “I suppose I’ll need to have words with her about interrupting our vacation.”

I hid my chuckle and smiled up at her helplessly. “Still want me to fly you?” I asked.

She nodded vigorously, and the red began slipping from her scales.

“Watch your tail, my drive is about to emerge,” I said, steadying my grip.

Molls loosened her coils, and the starfish drive protruded from dimensional storage, covering most of my upper back. “Oh it's cold to the touch,” she exclaimed, further shifting her coils to avoid it.

It didn’t feel cold to me, but she was far more sensitive to temperatures than I was, so I just shrugged again.

“Hold on, babe,” I said. “This might feel like falling.”

Her coils tightened and she smiled at me, showing a hint of the rows of fangs behind her lips. I looked up and willed the suit to fly again.

We sailed directly up, and Molls gasped. Her tail squeezed gently, and I chuckled as she blinked rapidly against the wind. I thought of the Prescott tower, and the suit yanked us north.

Molls whooped at the change of direction, before ducking her head down against my chest and screaming in delight. “We’re not falling! We’re flying!” she shouted excitedly in my ear.

It felt like falling to me. Even when we were traveling in a straight line. My guts were getting used to the feeling, and I was able to exert a lot more control over our speed and direction, but it always felt like falling to me.

Molls wrapped the blanket around herself tighter, drawing it up to cover her face from the wind. After a few minutes of flight, she was shivering, and I set us down in the Mexico desert.