Pure Heat by M. L. Buchman Page B

feed on a console as a drone flew a Colorado fire. It had simply been an overwhelming amount of information.
    As a lead smokie—as a former lead smokejumper, he corrected himself and tried to ignore the bitter taste of it—he could work as command on smaller fires, up to Type III, like the fire they’d flown yesterday. He could also lead strike teams in the truly big Type II or I fires. He’d done so countless times, with far less information than the drone provided.
    By the time he was bringing the drone back over the rolling green hills, almost everyone had wandered away. These were firefighters and what excited them was a new view of fire, not of a bunch of green trees that were doing just fine. His stomach informed him it was lunchtime as well. Food and no fire, no reason for them to stay.
    By the time he was landing, he had an audience of just three. TJ perched once again on his stepladder, Carly sitting on the truck’s rear bumper holding TJ’s hand, and Henderson. The ICA slouched against the back corner of the truck. He was wholly inscrutable, watching the sky through those mirrored shades as if he had nothing on his mind. Steve would bet that the ICA was observing Steve’s every action and reaction. He had to agree with Carly’s initial assessment—who the hell was this guy?
    Steve considered warning them he’d be landing the bird shortly. With its speed, small size, and quiet engine, you wouldn’t see it coming. One moment it wouldn’t be there, and the next moment the drone would be snagged in the landing rig.
    He double-checked, but no one was near the spindly tower rising up from the trailer, so he kept his mouth shut. The first time he’d seen one land, he couldn’t believe that a half-inch rope dangling from a tower light enough to waver in the breeze could possibly be strong enough to land the bird, but SkyHi had assured him that they’d never had one fail.
    He lined the drone up clean, double-checked the alignment of its glide path, and cut the engine by remote. He was used to hearing its arrival by the time he shut the engine off, but with the hush engine mod, the casual conversation of this three-person audience was sufficient to mask even that noise.
    Totally silent now, the drone glided neatly toward the dangling rope.
    It always happened too fast. With a trained flick of the wrist, so deeply ingrained by repetition that it was totally automatic, he made sure he dead-centered the bird into the vertical rope. One moment in gliding flight, the next…
    He glanced out at the trailer in time to see the drone snag two-thirds of the way up the line, maybe six inches left of the main body. The rope slid along the leading edge of the tapered wing and caught in the hook at the end of the wingtip. The drone whirled a couple of times around the rope, but the shock cords took all of the energy out of the drone’s flight. It dangled twenty feet in the air.
    A small round of applause broke out as he climbed down, careful of his knee. Carly helped him as he lowered the rope. She grabbed the drone by one wing as he took the other.
    â€œWatch the engine exhaust. It’ll be pretty hot.”
    She nodded and held the drone right to keep from adding any strain on the airframe. Not that you could do much. They were tough little birds. Still, her care and awareness of the mechanical stresses only added to the attraction. Hell of a woman.
    He could feel the surge through his body as he took the bird and set it on the maintenance stand. He felt good from the flight. It had been an easy one, but the adrenaline was riding pretty high after a perfect first flight in front of an audience. It was a beautiful morning and the crisp air of the high Cascades filled his lungs. His blood was flowing hot. Absolute home run first time out on his own.
    And there she was, leaning over the drone. So close he could smell the sweet scent of soap and skin. Feel the lightest