by Sean Danker
“So, that’s why they would do this,” said the ensign beside Ibuki. Bjorn checked her ID. Ensign Rada Grigori. Her height and build were similar to Kladinova’s, but her hair was in a regulation cut. It suited her. “It’s not a real mission. We just have to look as though nothing’s wrong. We’re ready to do that much. But after the Julian, this is the most important ship in the armada. They can’t send us off like this.”
The ensign had a point.
Mao’s smile widened.
“That’s what any reasonable person would think,” she said. “And you’re half-right. We’re not going to war, guys. But we do have a real job. Not a training mission. Allegedly we’re going to go do recon in Demenis to keep an eye on the private sector.”
There were a few twitches in the formation at that.
It was gratifying that Bjorn wasn’t the only one taken aback, but he understood what Mao was saying. The Ganraen Commonwealth wasn’t winning the war, but they weren’t losing it either. One of the main reasons for that was their use of private military. Those resources were plentiful and deniable, which let the Commonwealth strike targets that galactic law would prohibit them from attacking with their navy. These attacks were war crimes, and they were accounting for a disproportionate amount of imperial resources. It wasn’t a sustainable strategy, but it was buying the Commonwealth time.
And it was believed that the Commonwealth was spending that time negotiating with its allies in the hopes of forming a coalition against the Imperium.
Mao’s smile widened. “I know, right? Welcome to special operations, guys. So when I say ‘keep an eye on,’ what I actually mean is ‘murder.’ We aren’t patrolling—we’re pirate hunting. Demenis is full of them with the war on. The fleet wants Everwings in combat, and this is a way for us to post some numbers without taking big risks. We need to prove that we can kill some pirates before we’re up against the actual Ganraen navy. I guess each one we kill is one less the Commonwealth can hire to go hit a defenseless colony. But there’s more to it. We’re doing a circuit that’ll take us right past Oasis. If we can ID any Commonwealth targets there, we’re authorized to make a strike.”
“Why would there be Commonwealth targets in Demenis?” Yeoman DiJeur asked. “It’s unregulated space. There’s no fighting there.”
“Spies,” Mao replied simply. “Spies moving illegal weapons from Oasis, I’m sure. I’ve got a long list of civilian craft that Evagardian Intelligence has confirmed are being used for this. If we see any of them, they have to go. I also have a list of ships we can’t hit. I assume those are our spies. There’s also a ship that’s missing that we’re supposed to keep an eye out for, an old Ganraen freighter. But I’m not holding my breath.”
Mao began to pace.
“Oasis. We know the enemy is outsourcing to these people, and we know they’re hiding in that area. Today the Empress is going to give an ultimatum.” She checked the time on her holo. “This isn’t public information for another hour, but here it is, just for you: Evagard is annexing the Demenis system.”
That got even more of a reaction. General Dayal looked openly taken aback. Woodhouse swore, and Ibuki’s brows rose. Yeoman DiJeur looked close to panic, and Bjorn’s nausea intensified. So it wasn’t enough to kill pirates; the Imperium wanted to kill them legally, in Evagardian space? Or was there another reason? The armada was stretched thin enough as it was, and suddenly Demenis was strategically significant?
Something wasn’t right about this, but Mao was already going on. “Ganrae will expect us to stand up an enforcement fleet, and they’ll react. But there’s no fleet. There’s just us. We’re going to Oasis. On the way there, we’ll kill pirates. When we get there we’ll kill more pirates. And if we run into any pirates on the way back, we’ll kill them too. I’ve never killed pirates before, but how hard can it be? So get used to the idea. Because if our intel is right, we’ll be having contact within forty hours. And that’s sooner than it sounds with all the work we need to do. From this point forward we’re in combat. You know the rules—this is just like any other ship duty. EVs at all times. If you’re not bathing, you’re wearing your EV. You’ll sleep in it. You’ve trained on this—why am I even talking about it?”
Bjorn noticed Lieutenant Kladinova turning rather white.
“Implants are on for the duration of the mission, obviously. I shouldn’t really have to say that, but I know you guys haven’t been fully prepped, and I know that at least some of you have never had ship duty, much less special ops. At some point I’ll check you. I can’t stress this enough: we’re about to go into heavy combat. I’m anticipating multiple sorties in a cycle. We’re going to have plenty of problems without creating more for ourselves. Are you all reading me?” She spread her arms.
“Yes, ma’am.” It was a perfect chorus.
“Good. I like to take it easy on regs, but don’t push me. We’re a small unit. Do names however you want, at least until someone complains. Obviously General Dayal is the exception. We’ve all had wildly different careers, but on Everwing stuff we’ve all had the exact same training, so I’m going to put as much of my faith in you as I can stomach. You know your jobs. We all know our jobs, because we’re all trained for everything. Except me. I’m the only one in this room who can’t fly an Everwing. Right? Right?” she repeated, more loudly.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Who’s my primary physician?”
Captain Woodhouse raised his hand.
“And secondary?”
Everyone else raised theirs.
Mao held up a finger. “Combat pay.” She raised another. “Special volunteer pay. Special operations pay. Secret clearance pay. Flight pay. Flight readiness pay. Isolation pay. Separation pay in the cases of those of you who are married. I’m going to run out of fingers. And it’s not just all that extra pay, but the status associated with a tour like this. General, can you vouch for me here?”
The old woman nodded, then spoke softly. “Experimental ship, maiden voyage. This tour will look the same on your record as a year at the front.”
“Exactly. And I for one want to take advantage of it,” Mao said, putting her hand on her breast. “My father is a mining tech. My mother works for the embassy on Orsgard. They are both immigrants. My bloodline is worthless, but not after this mission. I’m going to marry some awesome guys and start a legendary bloodline. Or I’ll take a trip to Red Yonder and after the hangover clears I’ll just renew my commission again.”
She shrugged, sweeping the crew with her eyes. “That’s my dream. You all have dreams too. They’re probably not as good as my dream, but don’t let that get you down. We’re going to distinguish ourselves, not with flashy plays and grandstanding, but with sound fundamentals and Evagardian excellence. We’re going to remind everyone out there of exactly why they need to listen when the Empress talks. It’s not my job to judge your dreams. It’s my job to get you there and back again so we can all do our thing. Look at you.” Commander Mao stepped forward, gesturing toward the group. “This is the weirdest ship comp I’ve ever heard of. I have three majors, a captain, all these lieutenants, a retired general, and a senior NCO. An ensign. And you,” she added, glancing at Yeoman DiJeur. “Whoever heard of a unit like that? Half of you outrank me. Frankly, both of our trophy husbands over here”—she pointed at Compton and Lucas—“are more qualified to command this ship than I am. Not to mention the general. But this is how we’re going to do it. It goes without saying that the general is provisional XO if anything happens to me, and Major Morel’s in line behind her. In case you were wondering.”
Mao talked fast.
She stared at them. Seconds went by.
“We’re doing a real-world sortie immediately. I’m not going to pretend that we aren’t winging this,” she said. “But we’re going to wing it like we know what we’re doing.”
3
BJORN didn’t know what h
e’d expected. This was his first ship duty. There were supposed to be more briefings, a lot of waiting. He’d expected tedium, at least until the Lydia got under way.
Instead, the fleet had simply dumped them in Commander Mao’s lap and told her to get the hell out. And Cophony’s defection was a pretty thin explanation for it.
The others were breaking off into their teams. Major Lucas gave Bjorn a sympathetic look. Bjorn turned to his pilot, Lieutenant Diana Kladinova.
“Let’s go,” he said, and Kladinova looked at him sharply. He could tell she was about to say something hostile, but she stopped herself. Still looking distinctly unfriendly, she nodded.
They left the bay and crossed the spine.
Kladinova’s fighter was waiting in the bay. Everything Bjorn would need to keep the fighter in working order was there. The cockpit stood open, and on the cart there was a handheld reader displaying a note. A team of techs had checked out the fighter only thirty minutes ago.
“I don’t like sending you out in a unit I haven’t cleared myself,” Bjorn said, handing her the reader. “But we don’t have a choice.”
She took the reader, but didn’t look at it.
Bjorn climbed into the cockpit. He had no reason not to trust the techs who had prepped the Lydia, but an Everwing fighter wasn’t like an ordinary spacecraft. Warning lights wouldn’t do you a lot of good at relativistic speeds, not when your mind was electronically and biologically synced with a targeting computer and calculation engine. By the time your brain processed a warning, you were already long gone.
“You all right?” he asked Kladinova, who was watching the team at the other end of the bay. She looked over at him as though surprised that he’d addressed her. There was annoyance on her face, but it was immediately replaced by an expression of cool focus.
“We’re syncing?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the fighter.
“No sense waiting,” he replied, jumping down.
She moved past him and climbed into the cockpit, hitting the release. Bjorn stepped back, startled. The shield closed over her, sealing her in. A moment later the aether drive came to life.
Bjorn didn’t say anything. She hadn’t even looked at the report. Yes, it had been all green, but did she not even want to see that for herself before she entrusted her life to the machine? Bjorn hadn’t expected her to be chatty, but she was an aristocrat. In the dramas, people like Kladinova had manners.
But no. Lieutenant Kladinova wasn’t interested in any of that. She wanted to go.
Bjorn left the bay, heading for the bridge. Mild misgivings were giving way to serious concern. He wasn’t sure who worried him more: his pilot or his commander.
Mao was on the bridge, in the command chair. She was checking the Lydia’s systems, getting ready to jump.
Bjorn wordlessly took his seat, and his console came to life.
Kladinova was showing all green. He checked her sync levels and keyed the com.
“You need to adjust the collar,” Bjorn said.
“It’s fine,” Kladinova replied. Bjorn scowled at his readings, then stopped himself from asking her if she was sure. He’d known her two minutes, but he already knew that wouldn’t help.
He checked Kladinova’s vitals. Her heart rate was high, but Bjorn had already known that. She was tense, but that didn’t explain why her nervous system wasn’t linking to the computer properly.
“Your hair,” he said. “Make sure your hair’s not in the way.”
Silence. After a moment, the reading stabilized. Bjorn let out his breath and switched on his pilot feed. Kladinova was blushing furiously as she locked her control arms into place. Even a single strand of hair could compromise the link between a pilot’s sync collar and brain stem.
Mao was hovering over his shoulder. Bjorn flinched away from her.
“Sorry,” she said, straightening and holding up her hands. “Sorry. I was just impressed you got up here so fast.”
“Lieutenant Kladinova trusts imperial standards, ma’am,” Bjorn told her.
Mao eyed Kladinova on the feed. “Bjorn, your team’s getting a bad deal here, but you just have to figure it out. I’ll do what I can to take some of the weight off you, but at the end of the day you’re going to be busier than anyone.” She sat back down in the command chair, and swiveled it toward him.
“Ma’am?”
“It’s Cophony’s fault. He’s not a young man. He still passed the reflex tests, and he could fly about as well as you can. But Diana there has reflexes off the charts, and she’s the best pilot the Empire’s seen in about two hundred years, or at least that’s what I’ve been told. So she was going to be the primary, and Cophony was going to be her support. The guy who was going to be in your position was actually going to be doing mostly coms. But now you’re full-time support, and she’s going to be a handful.”
“I’ll do what’s needed of me, ma’am.”
Her eyes lingered on him for a moment. “I know you will. And we can talk later. Right now we’re in a pinch, though.”
“You weren’t meant to be our commander, were you, ma’am?”
“Of course not. I’m what’s called a strategic command adjunct. I work a bit part on the bridge of a battle station, not a ship. I have ship command training, of course. But for my entire career I’ve been just another station hand. Cophony got to the commodore that was going to command the Lydia. He’s in stasis right now, along with all the others that jerk poisoned. Maybe they’re out by now—I don’t know. The schedule changed, the fleet needed a commander, and there was Kelly Mao, alone in a bar on station leave on her thirtieth birthday, unknowingly the only nonessential officer on Burton Station with five-space combat certification and top secret clearance.” She let her breath out. “But don’t tell anybody. A few of them will guess it on their own; others are better off not knowing. And by ‘others,’ I mean Kladinova and DiJeur.”
Bjorn nodded.
“I’ve never helmed a ship, never commanded fighters, never killed any pirates, and sure as hell never been handed a hit list.”
“There’s a list, ma’am?”
“Oh, there’s a list. You’re not having fun if there’s no list.” She shook her head and turned back to her console. “You’ve got launch clearance for Kladinova whenever you need it. Tell her not to hold back. Any kinks, any problems we have, we need to find them now, before we’re getting shot at.”
Bjorn considered his readout. It looked like Kladinova had calmed down a little.
“Lieutenant, we’re not in combat, so I’m going to reduce your Harbinger levels and your body temperature. You need to try to relax. We’re just going to do some simple test maneuvers.”
“I don’t need test maneuvers,” Kladinova snapped. “I need to see if this feels different from the sim.”
“It shouldn’t.”
“It will, though. I need to get used to it.”
No human could distinguish between the virtual reality flight simulator and true Everwing flight, but Bjorn didn’t want to argue with her.
He watched carefully as the drive began to run, powering the fighter fully.
“Let me out,” Kladinova said impatiently.
“Not yet.” Bjorn wanted to be sure the bay shield was going to let her out safely. This was a relatively new innovation: force shielding that could allow certain particle fields to pass through it while maintaining atmosphere. No more bay doors, no more recompression.
Bjorn was impressed with the technology, but it made him nervous. Sometimes it felt good to have some metal between himself and infinite space.
A minute later he still hadn’t found a reason not to let Kladinova launch.
“Ma’am?” he asked Commander Mao.
“Go,” she said, waving a hand at him.
Sergeant Golding had reached the bridge as well. “Come on, Commander,” s
he said. “There’s informal. Then there’s just sad. It’s her first mission. Do it right.”
“Unit Three, you are clear to launch. Good hunting,” Mao said without even looking up from her own readout, her voice monotone.
Sergeant Golding snorted and took her seat at her console, grinning at Bjorn, then making a face at the commander.
Bjorn cleared his throat. “Thank you, ma’am. Lieutenant Kladinova, you’re good to go. At one hundred meters, calculate safe vector and charge your protector.”
Virtually everything about the Everwing fighters was experimental, and Bjorn was no spacecraft engineer. One of the technologies that struck him as particularly strange was the kinetic protector. It was a barrier that gained power through speed; the engine was able to convert energy from motion and project like a force shield. Once charged, as long as the fighter maintained velocity, it was essentially indestructible. A severe impact would not damage the fighter itself, or the pilot, but it would lose the velocity needed to maintain the shield.
Without the protector, Everwing fighters were almost laughably fragile.
A fighter was most vulnerable immediately after impact, or when disembarking from the Lydia. The first order of business for a pilot was always to build up speed to get the shield online. That meant calculating a path that wouldn’t run them into anything, and throttling all the way up, then maintaining that speed.
Kladinova floated out of the bay, and Bjorn watched her glide sedately away from the ship, then vanish in a flash of light.
Now she was just a glowing line on his five-space readout. She circled the ship, picking up speed. In less than five seconds she had accelerated to a velocity just shy of the speed of light. An Everwing fighter at full speed couldn’t be seen by the human eye, and even the best Evagardian tracking computers had trouble shooting at them, much less hitting them.
And Kladinova could fly. Bjorn watched her in awe as she weaved elaborate patterns around the ship, keeping the speed up so high that Bjorn was actually concerned for the aether drive.