by Mars Dorian
“Just saying. I wish central command would share more intel with us. I always feel like I’m operating in the dark.”
“You ask too many questions. You’re knee-deep into debt and need to boost your ranking. Worry about your own well-standing and the rest will take care of itself, I promise.”
D12 was right as usual. The man always kept a cool and clear head in battle as well as in life. So much to learn from the gentle giant. But RX still wondered about the mission details, too bad the corporates only fed the least amount of required information to their pilots. RX pondered how much D12 really knew about the mission’s background facts. Did having a higher rank mean more access to sensible information? He kept quiet about it. The second RX chose the right patrol interception scenario, napalm-red Arrow pranced into the sim chamber and whistled her trademarked tune. RX tightened up and braced himself for conflict.
8
As usual, men and women bowed.
And as usual, RX averted his eyes and closed his sim face shield.
And as usual, Arrow stomped his way with a glance hot enough to melt lava.
“Do you think a few hours in the sim are going to level up your performance?”
“And do you think your bitchy comments are going to influence my decision?”
She chuckled.
“I always thought your cool was skin-deep, but it looks like it’s only a graphene-layer thin.”
“At least you thought of me.”
Some pilots giggled in the back. Arrow swung her head around and shushed everyone with her glare.
“You’re a hopeless case, RX. You’re not even worth the oxygen this carrier provides.”
Same spiel, different day.
Binary tension at the workplace, reminded RX of the viral feed he once read:
‘Men are from Fortuna, women from Alterra.’
There was truth in that.
He could hear D12 in the booth next to him sighing heavily. The gentle giant had fallen for the redhead, just like every other sausage-carrier. But RX would not give in.
“Can’t you pester someone else? Some pilots take their job seriously and have to prepare.”
Another jab at the untouchable. Judging by Arrow’s bewildered expression, she did not see that answer coming. Which made the moment even sweeter for RX. She stepped closer.
“One day in the near future, I’ll be your superior, RX. And then I’m going to stuff your filthy mouth with space debris till it blows out that abomination you call your face.”
“Always lovely to talk to you, Arrow. Now if you excuse me, you’re taking up my personal space.”
For a second, she just stood still.
Pierced him with her green orbs that burned like plasma.
RX stood his ground but felt his legs shaking.
D12 was right about one thing—Arrow glowed with outer beauty. The model of a flagship pilot and the performance of a cybernetic. What was her ranking again? 81 or something similar?
Optimal.
Too bad her character sucked Separatist dick.
And since RX didn’t have anything sharp to counter with, he remained silent and held the eye contact. Arrow sniffed her elfin nose and marched away, taking a ton of tension with her. D12 whispered from his booth.
“Dude, I swear. Can you for once have a conversation without trying to kill her?”
“Does she have to spit poison every time she opens her mouth toward my direction?”
D12 shrugged. He couldn’t come up with an answer, neither could RX.
He watched Arrow enter her 360 degree booth and switched his face shield on. To hell with the peer banter, it was time for simulated action.
RX looked up the clock on his HUD. The timer to the mission ran down.
Tocky dee tick.
RX still had a couple of hours left in the simulation.
It was time to spend them well.
Chronos is credit, as the mission master used to say.
That saying rang true for the young pilot.
Now more than ever.
9
T-minus one hour.
Battle lust shot up RX’s veins. A sizzling sensation that fired up every cell in his organism. To hell with the tight quarters, the poisonous pilots with their affections and the BS corporate policies. The adventure rush of space knocked on RX’s door, and he was going to open it and embrace it with endless fire inside.
10
RX received the mission intel from Aida.
“Mission//Angel’s Armor: escort the US Corps convoy, ID-case: 144_R313.
Primary objective: protect the USC cargo freighter, ID: RZF//2
Secondary objective: if primary objective is met, protect every vessel in the convoy. See listed escort
Tertiary objective: destroy every Separatist spacecraft. 2K bonus payment for every additional fighter shot down, 10K in case of bombers. Flexible pricing inclusive if heavier spacecraft attack. Note: the primary objective takes priority.
Obviously.
RX nodded. Basic information. Too basic for his taste. He read the encrypted data on his HUD—about the SOPs, the co-pilots in his squad and the roster of the other two teams. Thank tech D12 was part of his squad and Arrow wasn’t.
Speaking of peers.
D12 beeped on his HUD.
“Ready to level up?”
“I’m going to reach the 70s when I return to base.”
“Heh, that’s the warrior ethos. We’ll both spacerocket up the rankings.”
RX smiled. He hoped the investors would watch his mission progress today, because they were going to see their money’s worth. He attached his astrogear, dashed out the quarters and crawled into the hyperloop that transported him to the hangars.
Ah, the holy hangars.
The artificial air smelled of metal with mint flavor. Personnel and pilots blitzed around the hall like drones.
Forget about the commons and the cryo halls, for RX, the hanger was the most important part of the carrier. The foundation on which Stryker Solutions was built on—space superiority through elite-bred pilots and state-of-the-art war technology.
RX greeted the pilots in his squad ‘Asset’. A bunch of veterans with the occasional rookie, and of course, D12. They chitchatted about the mission till each squad’s leader showed up. To RX's surprise, D12 was his captain today.
Way to go, gentle giant.
“You know the drill. The US Corps pays us premium so we give them premium treatment. Keeping the US Corps freighter alive for the trip is our top priority. If anyone of you goes solo-tripping, I personally nominate you for the decomposing process. Understood?”
“Let’s rock.”
“Hex yeah.”
The pilots cheered. D12 repeated the primary and secondary objectives so there was not even a smidge of misunderstanding. He then dispersed the crowd and told everyone to man their spacecraft.
Finally.
RX wiped his hands and drooled at the sight.
There she stood, the pride of his life.
The APEX, the finest mobile weapon platform that Stryker had ever produced. Apparently worth over a billion credits, but priceless to RX. He approached her rear and kissed the flaps.
“Missed you baby.”
“Missed you too,” Aida said with the voice of a young female.
She opened her cockpit and ushered RX inside. He melted into the seat, linked himself to the spacecraft and activated the 180 degree surround display.
“Commence system check.”
A fluorescent 3D model of his APEX popped on the screen and ran through each component in 4X speed. RX’s eyes blast-read the information. Pure routine, but for a pilot to thrive, his tech had to be in top condition, especially in space. One deep scratch on the wrong part of the hull, and calamity knocked.
“All systems go.”
Now came the fun part.
The weapon load-out.
RX adjusted the two main categories—kinetic and directed-ene
rgy—according to the mission objectives template. He started with the space-based lasers. The eLance was a potent energy weapon, but useless in long-ranged space battles, unless the hostile target moved within two kilometer of range, which rarely was the case. RX hoped he’d participate in air-to-ground warfare soon to fire off his energetic baby. Still, he kept the main cannon attached, just in case the Separatist suckers invaded his ‘private space’.
Next on the menu were the kinetic impactors, APIFS, as in Armor-Piercing-Flak-Shells. Cheap ‘dumb’ javelins that ripped through lower-to-medium armor. Great on short 1000-3000m distances.
And the blast for last: smart cluster missiles for small-to-medium spacecraft (according to the Orbital Warfare Classification) and torpedoes to deal with medium-to-large targets.
The best way to deal with toxic long-range relationships.
RX would have loved to use drones for additional fire and surveillance support, but he already maxed out his budget for this mission, and couldn’t take on even more debt. Didn’t matter, his baby was pretty loaded. He smiled at his display.
“Weapon layout ready.”
Aida double-checked the load-out and made sure no human error snuck in. She didn’t find any, as usual.
“All weapons are fully operational.”
“Of course, I made sure of that,” RX said with a smirk.
“Your check-ups are very thorough, well, for a human,” the AI said.
“Are you afraid I’m making you obsolete?”
“That’s impossible.”
RX activated the comm with the code of his assigned squad channel ‘Asset’. Squad leader D12 ordered the lift-off. RX hovered from the ground and entered the launch bay. The outer hatch cycled open. Loose gear tumbled into the space as the bay decompressed. One by one the APEXs and interceptors left the bay and synchronized their comm channels. D12’s mighty voice boomed first.
“If the situation turns crazy and you feel like crying, know that I’ll cover your back.”
“Vice versa.”
RX accelerated into space and peered around his cockpit. Thanks to the transparmor, windows became obsolete and allowed the pilot to see through the hull of his spacecraft, giving him a 360° view of the cosmos around him.
“How does it feel to be under my command?” D12 said.
“I tell you once this mission is over.”
“Shut your claptraps and focus on the operation,” said Arrow.
“What the hell are you doing in our channel?”
“Keeping your asses accountable,” she said.
RX suppressed his anger.
“Stick to your squad.”
“Shush it,” D12 said, “both of you.”
And they both abided. Worse enough that Arrow was the leader of her squad, now she also pestered his.
Control freak deluxe.
But even though RX hated to admit it, the flamehead was right. The mission mattered more than peer pressure. He and his squad followed the coordinates to the RV point with the US Corps convoy. He let his AI auto-pilot the spacecraft in line with his team’s ‘Asset’ formation. In-between the star gazing, RX talked to D12 on a private channel.
“Why do the US Corps has a convoy this far away from their main presence? Are they lost?”
“It’s top secret.”
“So you do know?”
D12 sighed.
“I can’t disclose any intel at this point. You have your orders, and that’s all you need to know for the mission success.”
D12 transformed into the squad leader. RX didn’t mind, it was time to become the elite APEX pilot Stryker Solutions was known for. The three squads teamed up with the convoy. RX whistled as he saw the mighty freighter with the ginormous US Corps branding on its rear. A giant, oval-shaped spacecraft, although not as stylish as its Stryker counterparts. Then again, the US Corps cared about practicality only. Four shuttles and a handful of interceptors surrounded the freighter, surely not enough firepower to hold off a Separatist patrol. D12 connected with the captain of the freighter. They chitchatted a bit—it was like meeting up with old co-pilots at the pub. The US Corps synchronized their trajectory and target coordinates with each Stryker squad. Their sergeant spoke through every spacecraft’s intercom.
“Godspeed everyone. Keep us safe and we’ll make your wallets smile.”
“Roger that,” D12 said and ordered a new formation that protected the convoy’s rears and flanks. RX assumed position and checked his display. His radar didn’t pick up any sight of the enemy.
RX stayed alert and checked the positions of all three squads. He turned back to the HUD and watched the beautiful exoplanet and its green-covered atmosphere. A giant ball of awe that pierced through the darkness of space. A sight almost as mesmerizing as ancient Terra.
“Are you bored?” Aida said.
“I’d love to engage in a planetary mission soon. All darkness and no sky makes Jack a dull boy.”
“Who’s Jack?”
“It’s an ancient proverb from Terra.”
“Interesting.”
He focused on the exoplanet but kept part of his attention to the HUD.
“Do you sometimes wish you had a body, Aida?”
“I have a body. I have access to every part of the APEX.”
“No, I mean a real, humanoid body.”
“That would be unproductive thinking."
“Then I guess not.”
RX cracked up when D12’s voice chimed in.
“We’re getting a visit from our lovely enemies.”
"Already?"
RX snapped out of his chitchat and became one with the cockpit. His scanners picked up dozens of Separatist spacecraft, depicted as red triangles, closing in on their destination.
“Aida, show me the trajectories of their spacecraft.”
She showed him the routes and updated the info in real-time.
The Banshee bombers aimed for the freighter, while the Predators targeted the APEX and interceptors of Stryker Solutions.
Distance to targets, 12.342 km.
Too far away for the eLance and the kinetic impactors, but the right distance for the missiles. RX just waited for the command.
D12 voice’s echoed.
“Team Asset goes for the bombers, Team Cash takes care of the Predators while Team Bank protects the freighter and the shuttles.”
RX felt like a boy inside a transformer toy land.
“Copy that.”
RX pushed his thrusters and targeted the Banshee bombers thousands of kilometers away. The adrenaline pumped through his veins and sharpened his senses. Kilometers dashed by in the blink of a nano-enhanced eye.
“Ready to engage with the enemy.”
RX targeted the closest bombers and fired four cluster missiles. The suckers launched from their ports, fell behind his APEX until they activated their own engines and boosted forward in sporadic bursts. Twenty-two missiles from his squadron launched into the void.
“Five minutes and forty-three seconds until impact,” Aida said.
RX wiped his hands and waited for the result.
That was the worst part of space warfare.
With distances so great, everything took forever.
“Update.”
“Three minutes, thirty-two seconds.”
Sweat pearled on RX’s forehead. A salty mix of fear and excitement dominated his hormone household. The right variety to stay sharp and dangerous.
“Impact.”
“Hit, hit.”
RX giggled, but the joy vaporized. Aida’s voice chimed in.
“Negative. Missiles have been intercepted by the Banshee’s point-defenses.”
RX grimaced.
Millions of credits wasted into the void.
RX’s heart itched at all the wrong places.
“Since when do their bombers use point-defense lasers?”
“Since now,” D12 said, “concentrate, RX.”
No buddy time, D12’s commandeering broke thro
ugh.
“Warning. The Predators are swarming out. Don’t let them flank you. And more importantly, don’t engage in long-winded tail chases. Keeping the convoy safe is our top priority.”
“Roger that.”
Aida recalculated the Separatist’s ecliptic trajectories. Two dozen enemy spacecraft diverged and targeted RX and his teammates. He launched a single smart armor-piercing missile toward the closest Predator.
“Impact in two minutes, thirty-four seconds.”
The wait.
Was killing him.
He watched the trajectory on his HUD and counted down the minutes.
Sha-boom. Well, no boom in space, but RX pictured an imaginary explosion. His rocket impacted the Predator’s left rear and tore through the armor. The spacecraft shredded to pieces as if an invisible claw ripped it apart. Of course the cost-effect ratio was horrendous, as a smart missile outweighed the Predator’s worth manifold, but RX didn’t care.
He cared about the First Sporter Award.
Which translated as a 5K bonus.
“Yes, milady. First one to rock the ring.”
He heard Arrow’s mumbling over the comm channel and grinned. But now the fight was on. The distance between his squadron and the enemy’s decreased rapidly.
“You got a lock-on,” Aida said.
It was rocket-exchange day.
RX out-maneuvered the Predators’ small rockets and took them down with his point-defense lasers. He lost himself in the moment and waited for the Predators to enter his two kilometer radius so he could engage them with his eLance or kinetic impactors.
“Distance to enemy: 2.4 kilometers.”
The pressure doubled.
Now or never.
11
Yes.
Two Predators unleashed fire.
RX welcomed them with 50mm shells which pounded the attacker’s cockpits. The burst fire turned the enemy into metal confetti.
RX auto-targeted the nearest Predator and repeated the game.
It wasn’t flying.
It was space ballet with bullets.
“Watch out for debris,” D12 said while taking down another target with a missile.
The squad leader was right.
With so many vessels blown apart, the spacecraft pieces roared through the void with speeds as fast as flak shells. Since no mass ever stopped in space, every object was a potential weapon.