Clara Newhall's Guide to Saving an Unperson

Mortality

His name was Qamar Ahmad. As a teenager he had been cursed by some member of the ancient Egyptian pantheon or somesuch - there was no real use figuring out what all the superpeople in the world were up to - but the important thing was that he could shoot tiny iron bolts from his hands.

He had agreed to help them get into the base. Superhuman assistance didn't come cheap, so he didn't guarantee he could get them back again, but Clara had assured him that if he did he could get free medical service the rest of his life. With guns in hand and a plan in mind, the idea of living seemed almost plausible, and they let themselves believe it, if only for Akim's sake.

They had tracked Kruschev with Qamar's help, to an underground base of unidentifiable size in - where else? - Siberia. This base, unlike the clinic, was literally underground, which made getting in something of a problem.

"You know how to work this thing?" Qamar asked from the cockpit, tossing Bradley a fist-sized metal cylinder.

"Yeah, you, you told me on the way here," Bradley held it at arm's length.

"Don't drop that, now," Ahmad continued, lacing his ornate red and gold supersuit up over the thermal underclothes they all wore. "They'll detect us in about a minute. They're going to start shooting and I imagine they'll be pretty accurate, so I'm going to take a sharp dive and drop Bradley off. Be ready." He switched off autopilot.

"Hey, wait, don't I get a parachute or something?" stuttered Bradley.

"No good, it's only a fifteen-foot drop. Fifty seconds."

Janice, beside Bradley, put her hands on her hips. "Excuse me, Mr. Macho, but we're doctors. We don't take fifteen-foot jumps on the daily. What if he breaks something?"

"Relax, don't fall on your head. Aim for snow. Thirty seconds." Qamar was beginning to look irritated with their lack of confidence. "I thought you said you were ready for this," he said, turning to Clara in the copilot's seat.

She waved her hand. "We can do it. Right, guys?" Bradley and Janice glanced at each other, so Clara narrowed her eyes. "Okay, maybe we die doing the right thing. Too bad for us. We can go back home and die slobbering drunk and curled up in a ball if you like."

"Ten seconds!"

Clara shouted a few orders. "I'll call you to come get me if I need help getting out! If I die, don't leave Akim!"

Janice's response was swallowed by the drop. The four were pinned to their seats amid the heavy g-forces. Qamar opened the back hatch wide enough for Bradley just before he pulled out of the dive.

Bradley unbuckled himself and clambered over to the hatch. After five seconds' hesitation, he jumped. Qamar pulled back up. Janice only had time to declare that he had landed before the Russians' first missile fired. 

"Tell me when Bradley's finished," he ordered Clara, then executed evasive maneuvers against the next volley of missiles.

Clara could hardly find the ground amid the swerving and hard dives and nausea and terror, but she eventually caught a gigantic explosion in the snow. "He did it!"

Janice let out the breath she'd been holding. "Now let's hope he didn't blow himself uuuuUUAAAA-" Her scream at Qamar's sudden dive was lost as he swerved mid-drop to avoid another missile.

"Newhall, open the landing gear!" he shouted, slamming buttons with his free hand. Clara luckily remembered his crash course from beforehand. The sensor flashed on to alert them that the wheels were down.

Ahmad did a spectacular roll, made a final drop, and landed hard into the giant hole Bradley had blown into the ceiling of the base.

Russian agents filled the stark white hallway, which was wide but not wide enough to comfortably fit a jet, so Qamar casually ran them over, wings bouncing ominously off the walls.