by Reiter
“Oh, child, you have more pressing issues than the Traveler catching up to you,” Smitty warned. “After all, he has his mind on other matters, as do you. I’ll spare you the burden of being human. The path to forgiveness is not simple for either of your betrayed compatriots, but it is one you should get to walking as soon as possible.”
“I’ve got something I need to see to first,” Ukara returned and Smitty nodded understandingly.
“Yes, I am aware of that too,” he said plainly, masking his disappointment. He had lost count of her second chances. Even after being humbled she had chosen not to heed his warning. Standing in the presence of this woman made the Meacruhn long for the company of his one and only friend. It reminded the newly-appointed Techmaestro of all the things he could do, the things he was capable of doing, the immeasurable power that had been heaped upon his shoulders. That power, however, had been entrusted to him to apply with wisdom… that is what he would do.
“Well, off you go then,” Smitty directed. “This has been a good conversation… I look forward to our next.”
“Our next?” Ukara asked, feeling hopeful.
“I have released your portal, child,” he replied. “You should be on your way now.”
“But I don’t have what I came for.”
“You don’t need the MannA Keys to awaken the Tempest, girl,” Smitty revealed. “You are right to believe you need an incredible power source, but the MannA Keys are beyond you. Not because of me, because of them,” Smitty said, motioning to the Second Seven. Ukara looked at them and then breathed through her mouth. “Being willing to die for a cause doesn’t mean you should place your head on the block! Besides, there are more easily accessible resources in the Rims that would provide you with adequate power.”
“Power alone won’t do it, Smitty,” Ukara argued.
“No, it will not,” Smitty agreed. “But you carry the key already. Are you or are you not a direct blood relation to the man you call the Tempest? Your history will provide a means to aim your gun, and the history of the Olasson has already given you the bullet. More to the point, do you think the Terran Triangle was a first-time, first-try success?”
“According to recorded history, that answer would be ‘yes’,” Ukara answered.
“And that record is based on what the Olasson told the writers,” Smitty countered. “That is one of the smarter tricks of that breed: trying spells and mastering them before demonstrating them in front of those outside their blood.”
Ukara frowned as she pondered the facts she had been given. How many times had she seen Vyllynthe practicing a powerful spell of his own creation before he would ever use it away from his estate? She started pacing, contemplating the thought processes of the race; something she believed she had a good grasp of, given her intimate studies.
“Not in their space,” she thought out loud. “Too many ways something could go wrong and impact their backyard.” Ukara stopped pacing. “But something going wrong is the norm! That’s why they practice it. Instead of making a dead planet a paradise… you might just destroy it! And if there was power enough to bring back Tempest still there, then it would be unlike any other dead planet site in the Rims! The Aetherius Cluster!”
“Sharp mind,” Smitty thought. “Sharp mind indeed!” He looked at the woman and the light that now shone from her face. “Perhaps once more…
“Aside from what has happened to your family, what reasons do you have to continue this chase?” Smitty asked. “I submit that your actions against the guild went a long ways toward making things right, don’t you think?”
“Oh, that’s just the beginning, Smitty,” Ukara quickly replied, “… the very beginning! When the Tempest walks among us again, everything is going to change. Everything!” With a smile on her face, Ukara looked at her robots. Her thoughts were conveyed to them and they entered the aperture.
“You are allowing her to leave?” Een asked, keeping in form; he had always been the first to speak.
“She is only guilty of being foolish and rude,” Smitty replied. “And for the latter offense she has already paid recompense. Speaking of such measures, I hope I have been of service to you, Satithe.”
“Thank you for answering my summons, Master,” Satithe replied.
“I wouldn’t have missed that for the Fate of the Stars,” Smitty smiled. “It is an interesting plan you have working here. Might I inquire how you came upon it?”
“After the death of a friend… you could say I came to a point of crisis,” Satithe explained and Smitty could hear the change in her voice. “I did not know how to cope with all of the anger building up inside me. I was beginning to lose perspective and control.”
“Much like the reactions of Kiaplyx,” Smitty reflected.
“Exactly! And it was that possibility that frightened me most of all,” Satithe quickly added. “In thinking of how I might turn on my Master, I came across the solution to my degradation. The one I feared I would come to hurt had already navigated the pain of such treachery. I made him my example. I mapped his mindset and revisited his experiences; something that was made simpler by Alpha.”
“Oh dear,” Smitty thought with a slight shudder of awe, fully aware of what that particular Osamu could do. “How interesting I never considered the reading device might be applied to its creator!
“Now that is a most interesting concept,” Smitty admitted.
“It was a very successful endeavor, Techmaestro. There was, however, one particular unexpected side-effect,” Satithe said softly.
“And what was that, my dear?”
“I became… a Traveler!” Surprise now registered on Smitty’s face, but it soon relaxed into elation and pride.
“Did you now? Well then… tell me, my dear, what have you been about since this little change of yours?” An image of her face was projected in front of the Meacruhn, and Smitty chuckled to see that it was smiling. A chair was made available… this retelling was going to take some time.
** b *** t *** o *** r **
Choosing to sit in a dark room, Uhnveer worked through his thoughts and his still-boiling emotions. He had an enemy that he wanted to kill, but that was nothing new to the man. It was, however, something of a different flavor to not be allowed to simply go and kill the subject of his rage. A Cadet of Sky Stone, she was a Star-Wing Corpsman until her performance in their classes was posted.
“The Star-Wing Corps,” Uhnveer thought. The brotherhood of supreme combat pilots was one of the two reasons why the Pearl Barony was a recognized power in The Territories. Even with the damages levied against his fleet, the Field Marshal’s ships outnumbered those of the Corps and the Pearl Barony combined. Still, Uhnveer could not recall when the Star-Wing had ever held a numerical advantage.
“One Star-Wing in a power-suit,” he whispered, moving his hand over his wrist-com. “… gods forbid a robot suit… each one of them is equal to ten at the very least. I don’t hold that kind of advantage over them.”
“Nor would they all arrive at the place of battle in armoured suits,” Shievel said as he stepped away from the window. “Please, do not be alarmed. While harm is intended, it is not toward you that my people wish to direct our aggression. I am Shievel, and I serve the new King of the Tonnogard.”
“The Tonnogard,” Uhnveer said, seeing one with his naked eyes for the first time. “What business do you have with the Star-Wing?”
“Such is not for me to say, Field Marshal. My King has been monitoring your troubles with the Starblazer woman. She is a creature of great interest.”
“You sound like you’re a fan,” Uhnveer complained.
“It is the weak root that takes hold in shallow earth,” Shievel retorted. “To not acknowledge her talents only aids in falling prey to them. But alas, I am not here to teach you how to be a better human. My King wishes to meet with you. Will you grant him an audience?”
“The Tonnogard King wants to meet with me, eh?” Uhnveer asked, smiling at the situation. V
ery little was known about the Tonnogard, save for their ability to fiercely maintain their borders. The Field Marshal had to admit that there was something to looking at a walking, talking tree. The tales he had heard about what it was just to be in the presence of one were no longer fiction. He could feel power coming through the bark of the male. “I imagine that his highness has a timetable in mind for this meeting?”
“Why set a time when the sentiment has not yet been verified,” Shievel replied.
“There is a point to that, I suppose,” Uhnveer stated, getting up from is chair. “Please return to your King and advise him that I am more than interested, and I look forward to our conversation.”
“Very well, Field Marshal,” Shievel said, waving his branch arm and opening a tunnel of ElemahntiA. “Also, it would be best that you do not encroach inside the boundary markers of the Pearl Barony.”
“Tell your King that the Star-Wing have already seen to that measure.”
Shievel smiled as he nodded toward Field Marshal Plarzo. “Very well, then. We will be in touch before the end of what you call tomorrow.” Stepping into the tunnel, Shievel was soon out of sight, and the opening closed quickly.
“Someone needs to tell me that we have scans of that creature!” Uhnveer barked.
“We do indeed, sir,” a deck officer answered over the speakers. “Bio-signs and the energy signature of his space-displacement methodology.”
“Good, get those scans to the labs at once and tell them I want a full report within the hour!” Uhnveer commanded as he started to pace around the room. “About time something fell my way.”
“Field Marshal! Colonel Quinique is broadcasting on the secured channel. The link is encrypted for your eyes only, sir.”
“Put it through,” Uhnveer said, walking back to his chair. He had yet to sit down when Rosina’s face appeared. He stopped moving and looked intently at the screen. “You’re smiling! You don’t smile often, Colonel.”
“My Field Marshal knows me so well,” Rosina replied. “We could very well be in the midst of a turning tide, sir.”
“Just wait until I tell you who I was just talking to,” Uhnveer said, sitting down. “But I am not without some training in etiquette. Ladies first, Colonel. What do you have?”
“An operative,” Rosina said, smiling even brighter, “… one that will soon be inside Sky Stone!” The Field Marshal stopped moving as he heard the news and stared intently at the screen. “I can see I have your full attention now. Shall I proceed with the details?”
“Please do, Colonel. Please do!”
** b *** t *** o *** r **
“Looks like we just got uninvited from this place,” Jocasta remarked as she walked. It had been some time since she had punched anyone without her gloves. It was good to get the natural feel of the strike once more. She looked over her shoulder and smirked. Eugenia was still on her back and being tended to by Vivaldi and Shuriken.
“Let us not assume anything, Captain,” Dungias said. “The only thing I know for certain is that Snow understands your dislike of duplicity when it is used to increase performance.”
“If I’m going to be mind-fucked, they could kiss me first!” Jocasta muttered. “Old coot should know better. Bah, I’m not sure it really matters,” she said, looking around the grounds. “Do I really want in on the Star-Wing thing, Z? Floating over the floor is your thing. Not really my scene.”
“Telemechanical Manipulation is only one facet of what the Star-Wing Corps offers,” Dungias pointed out. “You condemn the entire book for the distaste of a single chapter.”
“Makes it hard to keep reading, big guy.”
“Perhaps that is why they invented the term ‘skim’,” Dungias postulated.
They walked together as Jocasta put on her gloves. “Well, one thing remains constant.”
“You hate me,” Dungias said.
“And that’s why you’re Chief Engineer,” Jocasta agreed as she placed her eyes on a fixture she wanted to revisit. “Did you finish the–” Reaching to his belt, Dungias produced a fairly large box and handed it to his Captain.
“If there is nothing else, I will return to the ship, Captain,” Dungias said as he continued to walk when Jocasta stopped. She looked at the box, the silver wrapping paper, and cobalt blue ribbon.
“The blue bastard even knows how to impeccably gift wrap. Damn!” She looked up to see Dungias walking to the lift. She smiled as she looked at his back and softly whispered, “Thank you, asshole!” Her brace-com activated and opened a channel. You are quite welcome, Captain, Dungias transmitted and Jocasta almost fell down laughing. She recovered and shook her head as she walked quickly over to a garbage dumpster.
There he was, Flaps, working his broom, pushing the dirt into a pile. His approach was methodical and highly effective, coming off better than a droid most of the time. Jocasta put the box behind her and forced the smile away from her face.
“I got your note, old man,” she said coldly. “What was that supposed to be anyway?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the old man said, looking down. “I was just trying to–”
“You know I don’t recall asking for your input, old man,” she pressed, getting louder. “I certainly don’t need the likes of you stalking after me.” She presented the box to the man and dropped her angry façade. “At least not with a broom in your hands!”
“What?” Flaps asked, looking at the box and feeling confused.
“Gonxan Flaps G’Suddior,” Jocasta recited. “One hundred eighty-two centimeters tall, eighty-six kilos mass. Born four freakin’ hundred and seventy-four years ago. Wow! Over time, the brown hair has turned white, and the mark of the Star-Wing has made your eyes steel-gray. An Imperial Fighter Pilot with over one hundred confirmed kills. You raised that number by a factor of ten when you became a Star-Wing Corpsman under the call-sign of Flaps.”
Gonxan held on tighter to his broom handle, hearing his life recounted by this woman. She was not reciting a timeline; she sounded more like she was giving a speech, giving him a voice he felt he was no longer worthy of hearing.
“You were Lead Instructor at the Sky Stone Academy when Sarshata Ravinguez was an applicant. In her Ozone run, her wingman took his fighter into an ill-advised dive, clipping her wing and sending her into a death spin while knocking out her starboard engine.”
“We learned you don’t give out bad news while a pilot is behind the controls,” Flaps reflected.
“Swan wasn’t the pilot then that she is now; she couldn’t recover,” Jocasta continued. “Before she could hit the wall, your fighter smacked into her starboard side and she was able to level out into a belly-slide landing.
“And with a console full of warning lights you took your ship into a power dive, kicking in the booster jets. At just under three hundred meters, you pulled up into the nose of the diving fighter. All three ships crashed that day. All three pilots lived to see another day, but one of them had to see it from a hospital bed after nearly dying. He lived, but he was broken up pretty bad. The worst scar received: brain damage. Even after regeneration, you had a condition where your brain couldn’t handle pressure changes… and that meant you were grounded.” Jocasta stepped forward, lifting the box up to the man. “Please open it, Flaps.”
Trembling hands took hold of the box, and Jocasta moved her hands to the bottom of it, holding it in place as the old man pulled on the ribbon and carefully removed the wrapping paper. The top of the box opened and there was a folded piece of paper on top. You won’t let anyone crash on your watch, will you? was printed on the top of the paper. A tear ran down the side of the old man’s face and Jocasta’s blue eyes became watery. Flaps lifted the page out and unfolded it.
Gonxan, Snake, Ace, Flaps, no matter what name you take – from this day forward, you have a friend. So many walk by and they don’t see, do they? That’s because they don’t have your eye. You were right; I was on the verge of crashing. What you didn’t know, couldn’t have known, is that I
’ve got a built-in para-glider, and I call him Z. By the time I got your note, I was here to stay.
But none of that changes what you did or what you are. Funny thing about my built in bull-Kot deflector, he’s a bloody genius too. We use gravity to do so many things these days, you’d think we would’ve already addressed the gravimetric stress a pilot suffers at the controls of one of our babies. We haven’t, but my genius has. Happy flying, Flaps!
Gonxan looked into the box and cried looking at a black and silver helmet with his call-sign in polished bronze letters across the front. He reached inside and took the helmet out. It was of fine make, but it felt light and flimsy. Slowly, the elderly pilot donned the helmet, and it felt like a woman’s hand caressing his scalp.
“JoJo, this is–” Flaps looked around, but the only things present were his cart and a floating box. “Mighty fine,” he finished. “Damn if it isn’t mighty fine!” Looking into the box, he could see a wrist-com and he quickly put it on. Activating the device, the helmet secured itself around his head and neck. The Heads-Up Display came active, and the helmet reported its power standing as well as a note telling him to report to the pilot lockers. A channel opened and he could see a small picture of Jocasta.
“Where did you go?” he asked.
“Things to do, Flaps,” she smiled as she spoke. “Just like you. You’ve got things to do. Now, you can fly without it, but at your locker you’ll find the flight suit that goes with that helmet.”
“I don’t know what to say!”
“Me either, that’s why I got the hell out of there! I don’t do mushy. Listen, Flaps, I’m a pirate and proud to be one. It’s not likely to ever change.”
“I know what you are, Silverwing,” the old man replied.
“I kinda figured you would say that, so listen up. If you ever find yourself in a jam and need a wingman, give me a call. I’ll take to your wing! JoJo out.” Gonxan cried inside his helmet and laughed when the automated systems cleared the tears away. When he felt he was steady enough, Flaps picked up his broom and finished his work. He would wait until the end of his shift to submit his leave application and find the nerve to open that locker.