CHILD PRODIGY AND FAMILY FEARED DEAD IN CHINA CRASH

The headlines were only partially correct, as usual.  In reality the ‘child prodigy’ survived the crash of the Chinese government’s private jet.  Given a few more hours, though, the headlines would be accurate.

SEVERE WINTER STORM PREVENTS RESCUE OPERATIONS

Again, partially true.  Normal rescue operations were grounded as the Chinese government announced.  Severe winter storms, however, meant nothing to some people, like the Seattle Hunt’s Icehawk.

RADIO CONTACT ESTABLISHED WITH CRASH SURVIVORS

This was actually accurate, in so far as it went.  The radio contact had been with a single survivor.

PRODIGY MINA MONROE ALIVE.  NO RESCUE POSSIBLE FOR 48 HOURS.

In a chateau to the west of Seattle, a couple sat together on a couch before a roaring fire, the television tuned to a major news network.

“She won’t have 48 hours,” the man said to himself.

The woman snuggled against him stirred, “Hmm …?”

“I have to get to China, Pam,” the man announced.

RADIO CONTACT LOST, HOPE FADES

A man dressed in dark blue tights with white boots and a brown down-filled vest appeared in the storeroom of a restaurant in Kathmandu.  The girl just entering the room let out a shriek, dropped the box she was carrying, and bolted for the front of the shop.

James Hawkins, aka Icehawk, grinned and slipped out the back door into the alley.  In moments he was heading north into the Himalayas.

“Range to target, Spock.”

“Sixty-five miles though estimates put it at one hundred-three miles overland.”

“Just give me a pip on the head’s up display, Spock, overland is nothing.”

“I shall provide you the quickest route, avoiding peaks.”

“Thanks.”

“ETA 90 minutes.”

The terrain was every bit as rugged as he expected with the additional delight of a force 10 gale blowing into his face most of the time.  With winds of 60 miles per hour, and sliding on ice, he became a square rigged ship occationally, shifting his body to catch the most air he could.  It slowed him to a crawl at times especially as he tried to move up the gorges and valleys between peaks.  It was exhausting but he was determined, a girl’s life depended on him.

When at last he crossed over to the north side of the mountain range, the wind, no longer funneled down the gaps, became more moderate and he picked up speed.  He’d been running for most of two hours by that time and there wasn’t much left in the tank.

“Estimated range, Spock?”

“You should be within one mile,” the computer replied.

“Is that heading right?”  It was really a stupid question but he was tired.

“Affirmative.”

“Crap.”

He let his slide slow to a walk.  Ahead was a glacier.  The face had recently broken away.  The base was a pile of jagged ice blocks.  To either side, the faces of the cliffs that contained the glacier were perpendicular slabs of granite and ant would have trouble climbing.

“This is gonna be fun,” he said to himself.  “If I die, Spock, send War Eagle to collect my body.”

“War Eagle has a small problem with cold, Icehawk.”

“I know, just want somebody to share a grave with!”

It came down to throwing up wall after wall of ice, each bridging blocks already fallen.  Some were horizontal, but most lay at an angle when he finished.  Two pauses to suck in a few breaths, and he raced up the improvised ramp onto the top of the glacier.  A couple of hundred yards further up, the debris of the plane was scattered.

“Stand by for beam out, Spock,” he said as he covered the distance. 

The forward half of the fuselage was the only part of the plane recognizable which was contrary to any plane crash he’d ever heard of.   It must have bellied in and broken off before the rest of it exploded.

“One of the only times First Class was a good idea,” he muttered as he stepped into the wreck.

Four seats were all that remained aft the the cockpit, the door to which swung back and forth in the wind.  The body of a man stopped it on each swing.  Icehawk pulled the body free of the ice and snow and rolled it out of the way.  He stepped into the cockpit and pulled the door closed.  In the pilot seat a small girl huddled, motionless.  Carefully he gather her up.  She was not stiff so he had hopes.

“Now Spock, extreme hypothermia.”

The sterile white of the Wild Hunt’s Med Lab appeared around him, the room temperature already nearing 100. 

“Anyone here?” He called out to the computer as he toed open the auto-doc and laid the girl out.

“Raven will be here momentarily.”  The computer responded.

James already had the girl sitting up as he pulled off the coat that had been the pilot.  He worked quickly and without thought of the girl’s modesty, cutting her clothes off with a quick snip of his Ice Blade.  As he laid her back and went to work on her shoes, Raven came in.

“I have it from here, James,” she said, and he stood back.

Using her own blade, Raven cut the girl out of her remaining clothes then pushed the lid of the auto-doc down.  Immediately it began to fill with warm water.

“Pulse is weak but steady,” reported the computer.  “There may be a possibility of frostbite however.”

“My beloved with not allow her to lose any fingers or toes,” Raven said.

James dropped into the chair beside the auto-doc, the fatigue finally overwhelming him.  He was asleep in seconds.

Something warm lay against the length of his body and he smiled.  He recognized the feel of her even if the sweet smell of her hair wasn’t a giveaway.   His costume was gone, which was good because it would never do to be in bed with his wife while wearing anything.

“We home or still at Hunt,” he whispered, not feeling like opening his eyes to find out.

“Hunt,” she replied.  “Spock would not let you leave.  He told me how hard you had pushed and how close you’d come to total exhaustion.”

“Becky?”  His daughter.

“Marie is taking care of her AND protecting her from Nicky.”

“The girl?”

“She will recover fully,” the computer said.  “No loss of digits or limbs.”

“That’s good …” He was asleep again.

Mina Monroe at age 15 was a concert genius, something the world had only discovered after her winning on a show called ‘What’s Your Talent’.  She, along with her parents, had been on tour with their next stop to be Beijing.  Boarding a plane in Calcutta, they started over the Himalayas just before the storm of the century hit.  Though officially a People’s Liberation Army Airforce aircraft, the Boeing 737 had been used many times to fly party officials around the world.  It was only natural to send the plane to ferry the teen genius after she’d been invited by the Chinese President to play at a reception for the American President.

Needless to say her last trip by air has put her off flying.