by Linn Schwab
Virginia stared at the enemy pilot as she contemplated what she should do. Her finger was already resting on the trigger. A gentle squeeze could end his life. There was hatred in her heart for all Earthlings. Hatred enough to make her want to kill him. But she also felt pity for him as well, which left her feeling confused and conflicted. Why should I feel pity for him? she wondered. I’ve never felt pity for an Earthling before. She puzzled over her feelings for a moment and decided the emotion she was experiencing was a weakness — a natural extension of her sense of compassion, perhaps even augmented because she was female. It’s just pity for a helpless living creature, she convinced herself. But I won’t allow it to influence me. Female or not, it’s a weakness I can overcome! In an instant, she made up her mind to kill him, if for no other reason than to prove to herself that she could push this self–perceived weakness aside. She glared at him with intense determination in her eyes and readied herself to pull the trigger. But then something happened that she wasn’t expecting. Something that caused her to reconsider. He raised his arm up and waved at her in a manner that seemed to imply respect.
The gesture took her completely by surprise. It forced her to hesitate for a moment as she attempted to understand his intentions. What does he mean by that? she wondered. Does he think I’m going to let him go just because he waved at me? Does he really think I’m that gullible? She found the thought of it to be insulting. She tightened her grip on the trigger again, determined to finish him off this time. But then for reasons she didn’t fully understand, she turned her fighter away from his and left him drifting alone behind her as she continued on her way to Volaris. He’s dead anyway, she told herself. Let him live out the short time he has left in this existence.
As the enemy fighter disappeared behind him, Dave leaned back in his seat and chuckled to himself, convinced that he understood why she hadn’t killed him. She just doesn’t want to waste any bullets on me. I’m not even enough of a threat to justify the effort of pulling a trigger. He looked toward the battle in the distance again and pondered the fate of the others in his squadron, wondering if any of the others would survive.
The wave remained stuck in Virginia’s thoughts as she continued on her way to Volaris. For some reason, she felt reluctant to move on and abandon the enemy pilot behind her. Her fighter crept along at barely a crawl with the throttle still set at minimum thrust. The faint hum of her engines was the only indication she was making any forward progress at all. Why am I moving so slowly? she wondered. I should just throw the throttle forward and get away from here. But the wave refused to let go of her thoughts, leaving her riddled with indecision. She could still see the pilot’s face in her mind, looking back at her without the slightest hint of malice in his eyes. Why did she feel so reluctant to leave him? She couldn’t possibly have any feelings for him.
For several minutes, she continued to grapple with her emotions, trying to reach a decision as to what she should do. She refused to give in to the ridiculous notion that she could have any feelings whatsoever for this pilot. But she also found herself thinking of friends she had lost and the sorrow that still weighed on her heart from their deaths. And she struggled to understand why her mind should connect them with the image of this enemy pilot’s face. What am I missing? she puzzled in anguish. It felt like her subconscious was trying to tell her something — something that should have been obvious to her, if only her emotions would stop getting in the way.
A memory suddenly surfaced in her mind, of Christy Allison sitting in the lounge at night, staring down at the screen of an archive interface. She remembered hearing Christy ask her a question: “Why do they want our planet anyway?” The query continued to linger in her thoughts until the need for an answer became a compulsion. In frustration, she turned her fighter around and raced back in the enemy pilot’s direction. She had a plan of action firmly in mind, but wasn’t sure yet if she could actually go through with it. I’m not doing this for him! she told herself. I’m only doing it for the sake of my sisters! They’re all that really matters to me! Whatever it takes, this war has to end!
She found the plane just as it was before, still drifting along without any power. Approaching her target from behind, she reduced her closing speed and lowered her landing gear, then advanced until she was hovering above it.
Still coming to grips with his own demise, Dave was lost somewhere in the depths of his own thoughts when a shadow swept forward over his canopy. He flinched and looked upward to see what was happening. A set of landing gear was staring him directly in the face. It’s her again! he determined, recognizing the fighter. But why did she come back? And what is she doing? As he watched, the fighter began to descend, bringing its landing gear steadily closer to him. In a panic, he suddenly came to the conclusion that she intended to smash his canopy with her wheels. He reached for something to grab onto and braced himself for the impending impact. But before her front wheel touched his glass, her fighter shifted position slightly. Her forward landing gear slid downward alongside his cockpit while her rear wheels straddled the tail end of his fighter. Seconds later, the two planes gently collided, jostled and scraped, then settled together.
Satisfied that her maneuver had been successful, Virginia switched her magnetic moorings on. She knew fighters were constructed primarily of non–ferrous alloys, but she hoped the magnets in her landing gear would find enough steel components in his plane to keep them firmly locked together. To her relief, as soon as she flipped the switch, the two planes abruptly shifted and wedged themselves in a tight embrace. She felt her pulse starting to quicken now. It seemed as if her plan was going to work. With great care and an intense sense of anticipation, she turned the two fighters around toward Volaris and throttled up until they began moving forward.
As soon as his fighter changed direction, Dave immediately understood what she was doing. She’s trying to take me somewhere! he realized. But where? And for what purpose? A host of questions raced through his mind and a sudden sense of panic overtook him again. Could it be her intention to keep him alive? Or did that even matter to her? Would he live long enough to reach her intended destination? And if he did succeed in surviving that long, would he end up being subjected to torture? Would his captors resort to cruel and barbaric tactics in order to extract information from him?
With concerns of being tortured playing on his in mind, he reached for his instrument panel and placed his fingers on the CANOPY button. Better to die now, he told himself, than be forced to endure prolonged suffering. But he hesitated just before pushing the button as alternate possibilities surfaced in his thoughts. An unprecedented opportunity was being presented to him here. A chance to actually make contact with the enemy!
The significance of this was too great to ignore. To his knowledge, it had never happened before. The two sides had never spoken with each other. Or if they had, there was no general knowledge of it occurring. Perhaps it was worth risking the chance of torture just to get a glimpse inside their operations. And there were questions about their society that he would dearly love to have answers for — not the least of which was the ongoing mystery of why their military was all female. In the end, his sense of curiosity prevailed. There’s no way I can pass up an opportunity like this. Whatever happens, I have to see this through, even if torture is a distinct possibility. He pulled his fingers away from the canopy release and shifted his concerns to what might happen when he reached his mysterious destination.
* * * *
“Three minutes!” Lieutenant Bryce announced.
“Losses?” the admiral asked Commander Ingman.
“As things stand right now, we’ve lost contact with two light cruisers. The Sacramento and the San Felipe. Four additional cruisers have reported taking damage, but are currently still managing to hold their positions.”
Admiral Sands looked out through the windows again. There was little action to be seen off the port side of his ship, but the starboard side was a frenzy of activ
ity. “They definitely don’t want us advancing in that direction,” he said. “Their efforts seem to be focused on turning us away from there.”
Commander Ingman stepped over to a nearby console and spoke to one of the scanner operators. “Lieutenant,” he said, pointing through the starboard windows, “aim your scope in that direction and see if you can detect anything.”
“Yes, Commander.” The operator made some adjustments to his instruments. The admiral and commander closely studied his monitor, but nothing seemed to grab their attention.
“I don’t see anything,” the operator said.
“Nor do I,” the admiral conceded.
Commander Ingman shook his head in frustration. “There must be something there!” he insisted.
“You can be sure there is,” the admiral said. “In any case, hopefully we’ll find out soon enough.”
“Two minutes!” Lieutenant Bryce called out.
Admiral Sands raised his voice so the radio operator could hear his command. “All ships, prepare to withdraw!” he ordered. “We’ll pull back and rendezvous with the carriers!”
* * * *
With the enemy fighter securely in tow, Virginia now needed to devise a plan for successfully setting it down inside Volaris. She could try to fly in with it still tucked up beneath her, but that method was likely to result in her own fighter suffering significant damage. After considering several different options, she decided to try releasing his plane while slowly approaching one of the airlocks. She could then attempt to pull away from it and allow its momentum to carry it inside. This seemed like the best option available to her, but it remained to be seen if she could actually pull it off. The downside to this strategy gave her cause for concern. The outcome could prove to be fatal for her captive. There was a strong possibility her attempt could go wrong and her prize would simply impact on the side of the station, bringing a swift end to her improvised scheme.
With his fate entirely out of his control, Dave attempted to create a mental checklist of what he should try to discuss with his captors. And perhaps more importantly, what he should not discuss with them — particularly where military matters were concerned. He also contemplated the question of how he should try to present himself. How they greeted him upon his arrival would go a long way in determining how he interacted with them. Will they be cordial? he wondered. Or will a violent mob drag me out of the cockpit and try to tear me limb from limb? There were so many things he needed to consider, yet very little time to prepare himself. But the one concern that pushed all the others aside was the need to make the most of this encounter. I have to get this right, he told himself. I can not afford to mess this up. There could be so much at stake for us here. And perhaps even for them as well.
* * * *
Major Richards hovered anxiously behind her controllers as they monitored their consoles for updates from the battle. There were no signs of enemy jamming this time, but no friendly ships relaying information either. Occasional snippets of chatter broke in over the loudspeakers, but not enough to extrapolate how things were unfolding. As before, lack of information from the battle was taking a toll on everyone’s nerves. The revelation that the station’s guns were inoperable only added to their overall sense of anxiety. With no fighters or operable destroyers remaining, Volaris was completely defenseless at the moment. The station’s survival was entirely dependent on keeping those enemy ships out of range.
A single blip suddenly appeared on the radar. Major Richards noticed it right away. “What is that?” she asked Veronica.
“Something’s coming this way,” she answered. She quickly toggled through the scanner settings. “Looks like it might be a single fighter.”
“Can you tell if it’s one of ours?”
The other controllers watched intently as Veronica attempted to identify the fighter. She entered a series of commands in her console, but each time she simply shook her head in frustration. “I can’t tell,” she said. “I’m picking up a registration number, but it isn’t keyed to a pilot’s name.”
“Think it might be a trick?” the major asked.
“I don’t know. It could be one of our replacement fighters. They haven’t been officially assigned to anyone yet.”
“Let’s find out,” Miranda suggested. She reached out and pressed the transmitter switch. “Sentinel pilot, this is Volaris. Check in, please.”
Everyone in the room held their breath as they waited to see if the pilot would respond.
“Virginia Scot.”
Sighs of relief flooded the room.
“Ask her if she’s injured,” the major said, preparing to rush to her assistance if needed.
“Are you alright, Virginia?” Miranda asked her.
“I’m fine,” she replied. “But you might want to have someone standing by anyway.”
Miranda briefly glanced out through the windows then looked up at Major Richards in concern. Virginia’s fighter was just coming into view, and it was obvious now that she wasn’t alone.
Major Richards felt the blood rush from her face the instant she realized what was happening. In a panic, she leaned down over Miranda and slammed her fist down on the transmitter switch. “Virginia!” she screamed into the microphone, “What the hell are you doing?”
In a calm yet resolute tone of voice, she informed the major, “I’m bringing a guest.”
A sudden hush fell over the control room. Major Richards felt like she was frozen in place as she struggled to keep her thoughts in order. The controllers were all looking to her for guidance, with panic and uncertainty in their eyes. The foremost concern on her mind at the moment was whether she should report this event to Command–net. But with every second that slipped by her now, Virginia and her “guest” were getting closer to the airlock. She realized she needed to come up with a plan, and she needed to do so without delay.
“Major?” Veronica prompted her, seeing that she was struggling to focus her thoughts.
She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled as she concentrated on assessing the situation. If an enemy pilot was going to be brought inside Volaris, it was important to ensure that he didn’t harm anyone or cause any significant damage to the station. If he proved to pose a threat, it might be necessary to overpower him. That could present her with a serious problem. There were no provisions in place for dealing with hostile entities on Volaris. A situation like this had never been anticipated. And although she’d never been in the presence of a man, she was well aware of the historical perception that men were physically stronger than women. To what degree they were stronger, she really didn’t know. This caused her a great deal of unease and concern. How many of us might be needed to overpower him? She decided not to take any chances. Looking around at the six controllers in the room, she elected to leave only one of them behind. “Lindsey,” she said, “I’m leaving you in charge of the control room for now. Keep me informed if anything changes here. The rest of you, come with me!” She turned and hurried toward the elevator while the others scrambled to catch up with her.
* * * *
The station was already in front of Dave’s face before he even realized it was there. Its color wasn’t easily discernible in space, but now that his eyes were staring right at it, the structure’s outline revealed itself to him. It resembled a giant metallic jellyfish, with a massive dark grey disc at the top, and a series of centrally located chambers reaching downward like a gathered cluster of tendrils. As his eyes searched for indications of weaponry, a pocket of light suddenly appeared just above the station’s midpoint. An airlock, he realized, watching the doors open. His plane swung around to face the airlock and settled into a steady approach. The enemy pilot disengaged her moorings and her landing gear lifted away from his fighter, setting it free to drift forward on its own.
Virginia pulled back and circled around as she watched the enemy fighter’s progress from a distance. Its approach seemed to be right on target. Everything appeared to be going as planned
. She put a call through to the hangar crew to make sure they were in position to receive it. “Disabled fighter entering airlock. Requesting immediate emergency extraction. Additional fighter standing by for entry. Please advise when the lock is clear.” As she continued to watch the fighter, an unexpected movement caught her attention. The enemy pilot had lowered his landing gear. It was a clear indication that he was still alive.
* * * *
With all of the destroyers now away at the battle, the station’s repair crews had moved to the hangar. Since the Angelfish was beyond repair and they had yet to receive permission to work on the Wallaby, they were concentrating their efforts on any damaged fighters that seemed like they might be salvageable.
When Genevieve heard Virginia’s call on her headset, she jumped in the closest forklift she could find and headed directly for the airlock. As soon as the inner doors opened, she rushed underneath the disabled fighter and attached a tow cable to its forward landing gear. She then hurried back to the forklift, put the shifter in reverse, and slowly backed away from the airlock, taking up slack until the plane began to move. Only when its fuselage emerged from the shadows did the unfamiliar markings finally catch her eye. When she saw them, she gasped and nearly lost control of the forklift. Her mouth immediately sprang open in shock. Virginia had mentioned nothing about an enemy fighter — only that a plane would need to be extracted from the airlock. In the seconds that followed, all the other workers in the hangar dropped what they were doing and stood frozen in their tracks. All noises in the room rapidly ceased and subsided until only the sound of the forklift remained.