Fuel part 2
By J. L. Young

The being on the motorcycle read the traffic and learned to flow with it. She took note. This planet suffered from being a low-level civilization. If the people don’t realize the planetary damage they’re causing and implement total reversion or immediate technological advancements, the planet cannot support them until it can recover. The people on this planet would be forced to accept their failure or advance their technology with the goal to seek out a new planet. They will find colonization without explicit permission from the Parliament of Worlds to be a punishable offense. The refugees will be detained and properly integrated into society.

To her, these people weren’t the highly evolved beings we believe ourselves to be. Pity grew within her. But she felt nothing after killing one, for he harbored mortal knowledge. They have been killing their own since they branched from their evolutionary ancestors. His death was justice, and it was necessary to facilitate progress. However, this mode of transportation, though quick and nimble, is too slow. Another must be obtained.

She stopped the motorcycle at a red light, as the pattern dictated. On the walking path beside her, a child stood with a caretaker, perhaps a mother. In the child’s small hands was some sustenance. From the torn and peeled enclosure, the archive listed it as a Hershey’s Chocolate bar. It contains a substance known to the Parliament of Worlds to be a toxin in most species. The humans in this region call it sugar.

A small ship thundered overhead. It was on approach. She calculated its heading and plotted a course through the city. As soon as the light turned green, she rotated the throttle and weaved through traffic. Her calculations were correct, and they led her to the entrance to a small airport. There, she sped past the terminal.

Along the hangar row, a target was spotted. According to the archive, it was an Eclipse 550. It was on the tarmac, taking on fuel for a flight. A being was tending to it during the process. She stopped the motorcycle and dismounted. During the approach, she studied the brain patterns of the human. He was an innocent and was incapacitated as such.

She moved the plane away from the fueling station and stepped aboard. Inside, she studied the layout of the controls. She fired it up and taxied it to the runway and waited for a clear path before throttling up and taking to the sky.

It wasn’t long until a military jet was off her port wing. The archive listed it as a United States Air Force F-15 Strike Eagle. It listed the ship’s capabilities and current load-out. It would be impossible for the Eclipse to outmaneuver or outrun this ship. She turned on the radio.

“November 197 Papa Mike, do you read?”

“I read you, human military ship, cease your inquiry. I am in pursuit of a fugitive. Your assistance is not necessary. My jurisdiction supersedes yours in this matter. Cease your pursuit of me immediately.”

The Strike Eagle pulled back and settled in behind the Eclipse. “November 197 Papa Mike, you are in violation of United States Code eighteen subsection thirty-two. Redirect to heading 285. Comply or be fired upon.”

The archive extrapolated the heading. An Air Force base was along that path.
“Human military ship, I cannot comply. I am in pursuit of a fugitive and must continue course.”

The Strike Eagle shifted sideways to open the angle. The pilot selected his gun and released a burst forward of the nose. “November 197 Papa Mike, land that plane or I will put it on the ground!”

“Aggression is not warranted. I am complying with your order. Switching to heading 285.”

After they landed, vehicles swarmed her ship. Armed men and women dismounted their vehicles and aimed their weapons. Another voice came over the radio. “Exit the aircraft.”

The door parted from the fuselage and swung downward, creating the egress ladder. The motorcycle started, initiating a fearful response from the airmen. It rolled down the ladder and halted. The engine disengaged and the frame tilted. The kickstand extended and took the weight of the vehicle.

She shifted into the human visible range. “I am Quaesitor Serena, daughter of Diana. I request passage. A fugitive has escaped custody and I am in pursuit. Under order 1087 of the spiral code, I have jurisdiction in this sector. Stand aside.”
A man stepped out from behind a line of airmen. “I’m Colonel Faris Henrick of the United States Air Force. You, Ma’am, are under arrest. I’m sure you know what that means.”

Serena sighed, “Humans.”