by Ben Wilson
textgreater{} A CATALYST-CLASS CRUISER? I DESIGNED THIS CLASS.
What? You designed this?
textgreater{} YES, PUPPET, DESIGNED. WHERE ON THE SHIP ARE YOU?
I'm not a puppet. The name is Danel Bophendze. I'm lost, can't you tell?
textgreater{} DON'T TAKE OFFENSE. I WAS NAMED SMEE, WHICH IS A PRETTY OFFENSIVE ACRONYM IF YOU ASK ME. BASED ON THE PANIC I'M SENSING, YES. GIVE ME A LANDMARK.
Like what? I'm at a T-Intersection and there's a ladder behind me.
textgreater{} WHICH WAY IS THE LADDER POINTING?
Can't you tell?
textgreater{} I'M NOT FULLY TAPPED INTO YOUR OPTIC NERVE, ONLY ENOUGH TO TEXT YOU. I CAN'T SEE.
Neat.
textgreater{} NOT REALLY. I'M ACCUSTOMED TO MUCH MORE ACCESS. I'VE HAD AN EXCEEDINGLY HARD TIME ACCLIMATING INTO THIS BRAIN, WHICH IS SURPRISING GIVEN HOW SMALL IT IS. DO YOU EVEN HAVE HIGHER BRAIN FUNCTIONS?
Funny. Of course I do, I'm a human.
textgreater{} YES, WELL. WE ALL HAVE OUR FLAWS. UNLESS THEY'VE RUINED MY DESIGN, LADDERS POINT TO THE SHIP'S BOW. JUDGING FROM YOUR PANIC YOU'RE TRYING TO GET TO BATTERY FOUR?
Yes.
textgreater{} TAKE THE LADDER UP, THEN CONTINUE FORWARD. YOU SHOULD SEE THE BATTERY AFTER A FEW DOZEN METERS. ARE YOU STILL BEING TRADED OUT BY MAKAAN?
Still? How long have you been active?
textgreater{} SINCE THE HOSPITAL, IT TAKES TIME TO WEAVE INTO A BRAIN, ESPECIALLY ONE SO SMALL AND COMPACT LIKE YOURS. THE FIRST THING WE NEED TO DO IS STOP YOU FROM BEING EVERYBODY'S WHORE.
I don't see how that's going to happen.
textgreater{} LEAVE THAT TO ME. FOR NOW, I SUPPOSE YOU NEED TO GET TO LUBING.
Frustrated, Bophendze threw down his tools and stormed out of the compartment. I'm going to ask Angel if he has any ideas.
* * *
Litovio returned to his cabin to freshen up. He straightened his uniform to ensure it was suitable to meet a senior officer—a unique officer for the Postal Marines. Beyond ship commanders there was no need for higher command. Systems were typically managed by a Postmaster, who would delegate a fleet commander when necessary to coordinate large-scale interdiction operations. Litovio smiled. What the Marines considered large-scale was what the Navy considered a ‘unit’ within a standard fleet. The uniform was a little wrinkled, but he decided it would pass inspection.
Litovio went to Spaka's commander, Commander Ravindra, and asked for a shuttle. He was surprised when Commander Ravindra told him the shuttle waited in the hangar for him. The pilot was Chief Angel, which Litovio saw as a good omen. They were both messengers of a sort.
Litovio went to the hangar slowly. He needed to think of how to introduce himself. As he walked, a young marine brushed past him, smelling of grease and graphite. Litovio checked his uniform—soiled. I should get that marine's name. He looked at his watch and realized he did not have time to both put the marine on report and get changed.
He rushed back to his cabin and started changing. Then he started to panic. Wait. Admiral Bence won't know when we're arriving. Why am I in such a hurry? The only one waiting for me is a chief. He went to his sink and grabbed a drink of water. He looked in the mirror. “I need a shave,” he said to his reflection. On second thought, I'm going to take a shower.
Ten beats later, he was showered, shaved and dressed. The uniform was freshly pressed, which surprised Litovio since it had been in his bag until he was billeted on the Spaka and he hung it in the closet. He had not taken the time to call an orderly to press the uniform. He brushed off faint lint from his shoulder, straightened his collar, then started his walk to the hangar.
Despite the provincial nature of the Marines, they at least all used the same ship class for each size category. There were always local idiosyncrasies, but the layout was almost universal. It helped him find his way to the hanger that much faster. Despite his best efforts, he practiced his greeting several times during the walk.
Entering the hangar, he could see two shuttles preparing for launch. He opted for the one on the port side and walked up to the chief speaking to a marine mechanic.
“If I can get you into something I'll try,” the chief said. The chief then turned toward Litovio. “Afternoon sir, are you my passenger?”
“That depends, are you Chief Angel?”
The Chief smiled. “That would be me, Sir. Will you be needing an escort?”
An escort? For the admiral. I'd not thought of that. “What do you think?”
“I don't know, Sir. All I know is you were to go down to Guna Prime. It's the battle planet, so it can't be entirely safe.”
He must not know the order. I don't care how secretive Khaooldro was. “There is a senior dignitary on the surface that I am going to escort back here.”
“How senior?”
How to answer that? “What kind of escort would you give a Postmaster?”
“Seriously, Sir? About half of the ones I met I'd give a firing squad. A lot of them are corrupt, though not as bad as the Navy.”
“You were navy?”
“Was is the operative word, Sir. If you wanted to exercise proper protocol with a Postmaster, you would need at least another shuttle. You probably would not be going to escort him either. Commander Ravindra would be.”
Litovio flushed. “What protocol would you show to a Navy unit commander?”
“Coming on board a Navy ship? They usually have an aide and one armed guard during transport. Then it's up to their individual preferences whether they kept the guard afterward.”
“That's fine, Chief. I'll pretend I'm an aide. Now all I need is an escort.”
“Why not take this infantry marine?”
The marine had stepped back a bit to give Litovio and Angel some privacy. Litovio looked over at him. “I'm sure he has somewhere else to be.” He looks familiar.
“Well, Sir, unless you've asked for an escort, Postie Bophendze here is going to be the best escort you can manage in the departure window you have.”
“He's not even clean.” Why am I arguing with a chief? Why is he talking back?
“It will take me a few more beats just to finish pre-flight prep. We have time for him to hustle up a shower.”
Litovio took another look at Bophendze. As he did, he recognized him. “You're the marine who bumped into me in the passageway. You soiled my uniform.”
Bophendze did not seem phased. “I'm sorry, Sir. I was focused on getting up here and was not paying attention.”
Angel spoke up. “Your uniform does not look soiled.”
“It was. I had to go and change it.”
“It looks like you really prepared yourself. Your dignitary will be quite pleased.”
Litovio flushed again. This is going nowhere. I've got to get to the surface. “You have a point. Apology accepted, Postie. Chief, how long until we can launch?”
“As soon as the Postie can get back. I'm pretty sure that will be very soon.”
“Fine. I'll wait in the shuttle.” Litovio turned and walked over to the shuttle. He climbed inside and took a seat. He huffed in frustration. Ever since he met Khaooldro, Litovio felt like he had no control over his life. It's as if I obeyed my father and stayed in the Navy. He continued to wait impatiently for Angel to launch the shuttle.
* * *
Bophendze - Angel's Shuttle
Bophendze jumped at the opportunity Angel gave him to be a marine instead of a janitor. He spoke as he turned and ran out of the hangar, “let me get my gear.”
“Wear your light armor, not the battle armor. I don't intend to land in hostile territory. Be back here in ten beats, or I'll find another marine who wants time off the ship.”
Bophendze barely heard Angel. Ten beats was barely time to make the round trip, clean up and fit into his equipment. He entered the berthing area, surprised to see a few of his neighbors cleaning equipment. The look on their faces told him they were just as surprised to see him.
I can't ruin this, I won't tell them what I'
m doing. He donned his combat armor, hoping the armor would conceal that he had not showered. He grabbed his weapon and helmet then sprinted back to the hangar. On his return, he had to dodge around a few crewmen in the passages.
He returned to the hangar to see Angel's shuttle finishing its warm-up. Without breaking stride, he climbed in. He sat down in one of the rear seats of the shuttle, across from Captain Litovio.
“Why is he called Angel?” Litovio said.
Bophendze shrugged.
Angel called back. “Bophendze. I'm short a co-pilot. Why don't you sit up here in case I need you?”
“I don't know the first thing about being a co-pilot.”
“I don't expect you to. This will give you a chance to see what it's like. In case you ever decide to stop being a barnacle.”
Bophendze barely avoided shaking his head in surprise. A chance to become a pilot?
You don't need pilot training. I can fly this shuttle.
Bophendze did not see the text. It was Smee speaking to him. The voice was oddly comforting and chilling at the same time. You can speak now?
Of course I can speak. What should be more amazing is how you hear. Your brain's aural connections are like spaghetti. Once I figured out how to tap in, it was easy. Given a bit more time, I can help you fly this shuttle.
I don't know if I want that. Why can't I learn on my own?
Why would you need to with me around? You don't really know what we can do together.
Bophendze did not have a good answer. He climbed out of his seat and moved forward to the cockpit. As he sat in the seat, he started to put on his harness. He looked over at Angel, who was finishing his pre-flight preparations. Angel did not have his harness on. Bophendze decided to mimic him by not putting his on.
“Ready?” Angel said.
Bophendze nodded.
The shuttle lifted slightly off the hangar and forward into the airlock. The hatch closed quickly and the air was sucked back into the ship. The outer hatch opened. Bophendze watched Angel throughout the process, and beyond. It can't be that hard to be a pilot. I can do this.
It's not hard, with me you can fly in your sleep.
* * *
Angel - En Route to Guna Prime
Back in my element, Angel thought as he slipped the shuttle out of the hangar. He increased thrust as soon as he cleared the hangar danger zone. Imperceptible to most, he felt the controls relax as the shuttle cleared the cruiser's slight gravity well. With a flick of the controls he inverted the shuttle, putting the planet above the shuttle.
He pulled one earpiece out and looked back to Litovio. “We'll be entering atmos in about 5 beats. Then another 20 beats to the surface.”
“Fine.” Litovio replied.
Angel put the earpiece back. “Control, I'm starting my descent.”
“Roger, Angel. You are now flagged as planetside. Since you chose not to show up to the pre-flight, be advised there are ongoing combat operations.”
Angel might not have gotten his pre-flight, but he knew it was a hostile system. Guna had a reputation as a meat grinder. “Any immediate threats along my flight path?” He tried to suppress excitement in his voice.
After a long pause, the voice in his headset replied, “based on your planned flight path, there are three bogies on the deck, around 10,000 meters. You should be able to avoid them.”
“What are they doing?”
Flight control took a longer pause. “You won't believe this. It looks like they've got fighters linking up with bombers on what appears to be a run for the planet's capital. Ground states that our response fighters are out of position and won't be able to respond in time. The ADA (air defense artillery) bubble isn't fully re-established there after the last exercise. You're flying into a danger zone, so you might want to return. Looks like they caught our guys with their pants down.”
Angel smiled. Not if I can help it. He checked his distance from the cruiser. I just cleared flight control's jurisdiction and I'm officially planetside. Ground control can't direct me yet, either. I'm captain of my own ship.
“Control, please send me the coordinates for those bogies,” he paused, realizing they could try to order him back. “I need to get my cargo planetside in a hurry so returning now is not an option.”
A beat later, his tactical display refreshed to show the enemy fighters, to include a data bubble indicating that they were F-837. Air breathers. Perfect. They won't know what hit them. This is going to be fun.
Angel started to fasten his harness. He yelled over his shoulder, “we are about to engage in high-delta maneuvers. I suggest you both put on your harness.”
“What do you mean?” Litovio said
“I mean, Sir, that we're about to get into combat.”
“We've got the cruiser to protect us.”
“Sir, the fight's on the planet.” He pointed up for emphasis.
“I thought you said we would not be planetside for 30 beats?”
“Change of plans, Sir.”
“Then how long now?”
Angel looked at the coordinates for the enemy fighters and the flight planner's recommended course. He waggled his head a bit as he adjusted the course in his head. “We'll be on the deck a whole lot faster.”
Angel glanced over to check that Bophendze was buckling his harness. Satisfied, Angel tweaked the collective and pushed the throttle to 100 percent, while pulling back on the cyclic to point the shuttle's nose straight at the planet. He rotated a dial on the collective, adjusting the gravimetric barrier to insulate the nose from atmospheric friction.
A beat later, the view out of the shuttle started to flicker red, yellow and orange.
“What's that?” Bophendze said.
“Atmos. I've got the throttle against the firewall, so things are going to heat up.”
As if on cue, the navigation alarm started a rhythmic bleating. Somewhere between a complaint and a plead. The shuttle's viewscreen completed filled with burning, ionized air.
“What's that bleating?” Bophendze asked.
“The nav computer doesn't like how fast we're falling. It can't track due to the ionization, so it's telling me to slow down.”
“Are you slowing down?”
Angel chuckled. “If I go in too slow their sensors could pick us up. I'm coming in like a meteor. That should fool their sensors into thinking we are a meteor and give us the element of surprise.”
“But why do we need—”
“Look! I need to concentrate. The nav computer is blinded, so I need to time when to pull up. Otherwise, we will be a meteor crater.”
Bophendze fell silent, leaving Angel to focus on the nose dive.
The display reported that his insulating gravity barrier was deteriorating. He pushed the dial further, hoping it wouldn't increase their signature too much. Too much gravity would start to affect the shuttle's integrity. He kept the barrier just above failure, periodically adjusting the dial.
Angel flipped the protective cover off of the gun control, exposing the trigger. He started humming a song to himself, using it to time the descent.
As the song he hummed ended, he knew it was time to pull up and avoid striking the ground. Angel pulled up on the cyclic and jammed the collective forward. The shuttle pitched, and speed rapidly bled off from kilometers per second to meters per second. The ship protested being pushed beyond its design limitation by vibrating violently. Angel eased the braking maneuver until the vibration relaxed enough. The shuttle wavered in its response. He kept the shuttle above its rated top speed in atmosphere with the gravimetric barrier to buffer from the wind.
The seconds ticked by. The shuttle slowed enough that the view started to clear. The nav computer chirped as it started to reacquire their position. Any second now those fighters will know they've got company, unless I timed it right.
The last flickers of heated atmosphere ended as the shuttle pitched up. Angel pulled up instinctively at the sight of a mountain dead ahead. He then turned the
shuttle to the right in a wide arc for 90 degrees to give him time to orient. He scanned the sky and observed the three enemy fighters heading away from them. He pulled the cyclic to pursue from a low-rearward position.
Angel pressed a button on the shuttle console, flashing the gun reticle onto his HUD view. The reticle started tracking toward the right of the three fighters as the gunnery computer assisted in tracking the target. They said I was silly for mounting guns on a cargo shuttle, and insane for installing a gunnery computer. He smirked.
The shuttle continued to bleed speed as it closed the distance to the fighters. To anybody else, the shuttle was moving too quickly. Angel timed his shot expertly, squeezing the trigger at the only moment available.
The two guns tapped out a short burst of 30 millimeter shells as the shuttle rocketed past the fighters. Angel felt the tingle of excitement. He knew the shells found a target without looking.
“I think they know they're in trouble now,” he said.
He pulled back on the cyclic, climbing the shuttle to bleed off remaining speed so he could actually maneuver. Once the shuttle slowed enough for realistic air combat, Angel banked the shuttle to the right and pulled back on the cyclic to tighten the turn and re-engage his prey. Even with the gravimetric compensators easing the G-force on the shuttle occupants, he found himself squeezing his legs and growling to fight off effects. His focus pushed aside any thought about whether his passengers had passed out during the turn.
Completing his 180-degree turn, Angel saw the remaining two fighters and a smoke trail where their comrade fell.
The fighters split off in two directions. Trying to bait me to pursue one so the other can engage me? Fine, I'll bite. Years of combat experience told him how to respond. He flicked the cyclic to pursue the fighter in the stronger tactical position, nerfing its threat value. He pushed the throttle to close the distance quickly.
As he got into combat range, his quarry started ducking and weaving chaotically. Why start Guns-D unless you're trying to line me up? Angel remembered the F-837's nimble maneuvering, a feature which made it the king of air combat. Rather than follow the maneuvering, Angel made slight course adjustments and eased forward on the speed. It made him an easier target, but slowly reeled in what looked more like a flopping fish than a real threat. As he banked the shuttle to keep in pursuit, he kept an eye on the display to maintain a sense of where the wingman was. Finally turning around to get me. Thinking of closing the trap? Rather than play the expert hunter he was, he threw in the occasional over-maneuver.