Hell's Razer

by S. F. Edwards

  “Not to change the subject, but there was something else I wanted to ask you about.”

  Blazer raised a curious eyebrow. “What’s up?”

  “I’ve been reluctant to talk to anyone about it, but the cycle that Alieha left, we um…”

  Blazer was unaccustomed to such hesitation in Arion’s voice. Even in relationship matters he always projected an air of confidence. Except when it came to Alieha, even with Three. She had a way of pushing him outside of his comfort zone that unsettled the big man, but which would also force him to grow. From the tone of his voice, however, Blazer could tell that something significant had happened between Arion and Alieha. For Arion to have kept it secret for so long, it must have also required serious thinking on Arion’s part. “You can tell me anything Arion. What’s going on?”

  Arion cleared his throat, and despite the lack of gravity, shifted in his seat. It was like a little kid having to explain what had happened when he and the girl next door had showed each other their private parts. “Have you and Marda ever… um… linked your micomms when you’re, you know, during sex?”

  It was everything Blazer could do not to laugh. He forced himself back in his seat as the memory of the last time he and Marda had done so came flooding back. It was intense beyond reason. He managed to respond after a prolonged smile-inducing silence, his voice low and filled with pleasure. “Yeah. Yeah we have.”

  “So, you felt what she felt?”

  The memories came flooding back, his micomm helping him to replay the event in every detail. He had to reach down and adjust his form fitting flight suit and think sobering thoughts before he could respond. “Yes, I did. It’s, it’s amazing, is about all I can say without… See Marda has this ticklish spot that she never told me about that drives her over the edge. I make sure to hit it every time now.”

  Arion laughed nervously. “Yeah, I found something like that on Alieha too.”

  “Don’t do it too often though. Otherwise it can make regular sex seem mundane. We reserve it for special occasions.”

  “Oh, yeah, I can see that.”

  “So, uh, how long were you guys at it?” Blazer asked, looking back.

  Arion shook his head. “I have no clue. We passed out right after. All I know is when she woke me up she had to rush out the hatch, and I was still tired.”

  “You lose all track of time in the intensity of it,” Blazer explained. “Once, we were finished in a couple pulses, and were still spent. Other times we started at dusk and finished sometimes after midduwn. Since Chrisvian was born we’ve only done it that way once.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, yeah. We have to keep an ear out for him. Then there’s the telepathy issue. He has such little control right now. We don’t want to create an artificial telepathic link so close to him, and have him accidentally tap in.”

  Arion’s voice sobered. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

  “That’s not something you’ll have to worry about brother. You have no such encumbrances right now.”

  “Yeah, thanks B.”

  “Hey, if you want, we could contact the ship and link Marda into this conversation. I’m sure she’d love to give you some pointers,” Blazer commented, trying not to laugh.

  Arion let loose a deep belly laugh. “No, that’s okay. I’d rather keep the circle on this one small.”

  Blazer laughed. “Oh, I agree, though you might want to talk to Gavit and Chris.”

  “I’m beginning to regret telling you this,” Arion commented, his tone not even close to being serious.

  “Oh, come on Arion, I’m sure they’ve tried it with their partners. Oh! You know who’s definitely linked micomms during sex? Talk to Gokhead.”

  Arion laughed again, choking on his words. “I do not want to even imagine Drashig sex.”

  “Could be worse,” Blazer continued, still laughing. “Apparently Chris hooked up with an Otlian once.”

  Arion laughed so hard he snorted. “Wait a pulse! I’ve seen what Otlians are packing, how is that…???”

  “Yeah, she told Marda that it was extremely painful, like getting stabbed with a length of one centimetra conduit. Not pleasurable at all.”

  “Okay, time to change the subject.”

  “Oh, come on Arion....” Blazer replied half-joking.

  Almost as if on cue, a contact lit up Blazer’s sensor globe before Gokhead broke through the link. “Contact, Contact. Unidentified target in the clouds.”

  Blazer slapped both hands on his controls and scanned the skies for the bogey. “Arion, have you got a clear read?”

  Arion replied an instant later, his voice free of emotion as he dropped beneath the shroud. “Barely catching even a thermal trace. How did you see that Eight?”

  “Actually, One-Three spotted it,” Gokhead corrected, Hallet proved an excellent WSO in the rear-guard craft.

  Hallet explained. “Three, One-Three, it was nothing more than a glint that caught my eye. I scanned and caught the silhouette.”

  A holographic representation of the craft coalesced on Blazer’s display. The ovoid wings running the length of a slim fuselage, flanked with a quartet of massive cannons above and below as well as rocket and missile packs was unmistakable. Blazer stared at the giant obloid cockpit that tipped the Galactic Federation’s primary anti-bomber interceptor and hissed. “Solaar.” Not that any of them needed to be told. “What kind of readings are we getting? Has it spotted us yet?”

  “It’s cold,” Arion replied.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean it’s dead cold. I’m getting minimal thermals. The reactor’s either been scrammed or is on deep standby.”

  “Four, Lead,” Blazer held short and released the link key. Even after all this time if he allowed his emotions to run high, he had to remind himself of the crew shifts. “Nach Eight, Lead, Theories?”

  Gokhead’s voice rang through; clear and true. A slight hum revealed when Que Dee would add his own thoughts. “Scans show it dead in space. Mass readings indicate minimal fuel aboard. Yes, and we’re still detecting warhead signatures, it’s fully armed. Low level radiation is barely distinguishable by ship’s sensors in the giant’s EM field, but the reactor isn’t dead. We’re guessing that it’s been abandoned.”

  To hear the two of them with a single, albeit altered voice, over the link was disconcerting. The WSO link proved unable to differentiate the two personalities merging them. “Four, Lead, contact the Wolfsbane. We need a retrieval ship out here immediately.”

  “Lead, Four,” Zanreb called back. “WSO establishing link to home base, but the Explosions are on a mission checking out one of the abandoned defense platforms. They’ll have to scramble a pickup ship and that could take a hect or more to get out here.”

  Blazer gritted his teeth. He’d forgotten that the other half of their squadron was engaged in inspecting the various defense platforms that the Phantom had littered across the outer planets.

  They weren’t operating as a single unit. Instead, each of the three fireteams were leading a contingent of Marines to capture and inspect the retrofitted ships, many of which were demolished Confed craft. Thus far, they’d found nothing but scrambled computers, scragged hardware, and a few hastily-built boobytraps. The crews of the platforms had gotten out in a hurry, but were efficient in leaving nothing behind that the Wolfsbane could have used to find their mothership.

  “Give me options people. Eight, how long do we have before that thing drops too low for a safe retrieval?”

  “Half a hect at best Lead,” Gokhead replied. “And we don’t exactly have grapplers to drag it out with.”

  Blazer bit back a curse. Grapplers were mission-specific hardware for a Splicer-5000, and even then, were good for little more than towing small objects. “Four?”

  Bichard’s voice rang back with an artificial hum-click, he was under the shroud for sure. “They’re scrambling a corvette to pick up, but it will be over a hect.”

  “Arion, can we
attempt to hard dock and lock on with the maglocks in the landing gear?”

  “Negative B.” A trio of circles appeared around the Solaar, along each of its three axes: they were velocity vectors, indicating the craft’s changing attitude. “She’s in a slow deuce roll along the horizontal and vertical axes. We’ve got maybe twenty pulses before it gets into deep enough atmosphere to start tossing it about and then, assuming it doesn’t burn up, it’ll drop to crush depth in no time.”

  “I doubt even Gavit could dock with that without wrecking his fighter.”

  “Lead, Six, request permission to board the craft and fly it to a higher orbit.”

  Blazer couldn’t believe his ears and turned towards Gavit’s fighter as it edged into a lower orbit. “Say again Six? Since when are you qualified to fly a Solaar?”

  “As much as I’d like to boast that I can fly anything, I’ll say that I happened to snag a couple Geffer flight manuals before they turned on us during the Gorvian Crisis. I’ve been studying them, and well, it’s not that different flying one than any other fighter. If the readings are correct, I can get into a higher orbit to await pickup, if nothing else.”

  Nothing about this sounded like a good idea. Do nothing and they lose what might be their first solid lead on the Phantom. Send Gavit in and he risked losing his best pilot and the lead. It was times like this that he hated to be in command of the unit. Right now, he had to make the decision to send a friend into harm's way on what might be a suicide mission. It was all about weighing the risks, and all the factors that entailed, against the reward. “Eight, is there any way to get a hard dock on that fighter?”

  “Negative Lead. Not with this tech level of craft.”

  “Six, Lead. No boasting, can you do this?”

  The pause was maybe a heartbeat or two, but it spoke volumes of the fact that the idea of doing this both excited and terrified Gavit. “Yes Lead. I can do this.” The trepidation in his voice was low, but there. Gavit was scared.

  Blazer looked at the craft - it had rolled edge-on to them and was nearly invisible. “Six, you are a go. Ten, Eight. maintain close cover and prepare to effect rescue if this goes turbulent. Four, One-Three, on me. Maintain high cover.”

  Monstero Nach 006

  Blazer just had to say Turbulent, didn’t he? Gavit thought. The only thing he hated more than that term was Mikle’s betrayal, and anyone bringing it up.

  There’d been a time, not too long ago, when the idea of jumping out of his fighter and capturing an enemy craft would have filled Gavit with such unmitigated joy and excitement that it would take an orgy just to bring him back to normal. Now, as he approached the stricken, seemingly abandoned enemy fighter, it was as if someone had handed a PA system to that all but silent inner voice, the one that warned him of danger and kept his ego in check. And it kept screaming the same thing. This is stupid, this is stupid, this is beyond neutron star-collapsing stupid!!!!

  He forced the voice aside and focused on the craft ahead. The slow wobbly roll wasn’t the problem, it was the rapidly approaching clouds below. This high up, the atmosphere was little more than a few wisps of gas that occasionally brushed the hull. Soon however, it would thicken enough to catch those giant drag magnets on the front of the Solaar. Any air flowing into those barrels would stop dead and send it tumbling to its quick doom. And I’m about to jump across.

  He brought the fighter in as close as he dared. The Solaar sure looked dead, its running lights were off and the thermal ports showed black. In this position, the fighter could continue its tumbling roll and he wouldn’t risk it hitting his own. He raised his left hand, keeping his right on the stick until he felt it move without him. “You have the ship,” Gavit announced.

  “Six, Ten,” it was Rudjick, and Gavit could hear the barely concealed laughter. “Remember, you don’t have a parachute, and if you slip, it’s a looonnngggg way down.”

  Gavit let out an angry sigh and looked over at his wingman. He could already see Zithe chewing out his WSO. Good, he thought. “I’m safe-ing the canopy,” Gavit called and toggled the relevant safety controls. Otherwise, when he cracked the canopy, both ejection seats would fire, and this capture mission would turn into a rescue. “Safeties on. I’m opening the canopy,” he called into the open link.

  He’d just opened the canopy a centimetra, the last of the atmosphere flashing into ice, when the private link with Matt crackled. “Good luck buddy. And hey, if you don’t make it, I’ll be sure and comfort Tris for you.”

  Gavit shot a look back to his WSO and met his eyes. Matt was out of the shroud and giving him a thumbs up. He took a deep breath and smiled, realizing that his hearts had been pounding out of sync; a sure sign of his fear. “Thanks Matt. But I don’t think you’re man enough for her,” he smiled. “And besides, it’s me!” he said with a cocky tilt to his head, though he felt no such level of self-assurance.

  “Yeah, I know it’s you,” Matt replied as Gavit opened the canopy just enough to crawl out and onto the right-hand reverse thrust duct. “But Tris might not over that virtual interface.”

  Gavit just smiled again. Coming from Matt, the jokes calmed and focussed him. He looked up at the enemy fighter, its dorsal side coming into view again. He looked towards his wingmen. Zithe was a good distance away, close enough to render aid in case the fighter came back to life, but not effect a rescue. Chris could have been his shadow, she hung so close. He nodded to her, winked, flashed a thumbs up and a smile. As the fighter rolled to present its full spine to him, he jumped.

  Gavit locked his eyes on his objective, the right side heavy plaser. Massive thermal vents covered the back half of the weapon, all of which would make a good handhold. Nearing the craft, he reached out. It bucked. Instinct forced his hand back. He looked to the cockpit. He saw nothing through the iced-over silicasteel. He turned back to the fighter, slammed into it. The air exploded from his lungs. His fears about the craft encountering atmosphere early proved true and the sudden drag had buffeted the craft.

  Hearts thundering in his ears, Gavit scrambled for a handhold as the fighter began to nose over. Panting, he activated the maglocks in his boots, nothing happened. “Hull’s ionized, can’t get a maglock.” He pawed at the smooth surface, trying to gain purchase. Three red circles flashed by on each side of him, the dorsal docking latches. He bit back a curse and fired his suit thrusters to lay himself perpendicular to the fuselage. A cent later he slammed into the dorsal fin. The air exploded out of his lungs again, his breakfast nearly joining it this time. He slid down the long, aerodynamic fin. He thanked the ancients it was in the flight position right before he crashed into the pair of long-range sensor pods near the end of the fin. He held on for all he was worth and dragged air back into his lungs. His suit’s biometrics reported heavy concussive trauma to his midsection. Please don’t let there be internal bleeding.

  Gavit took a moment to take stock, and looked up the spine of the fighter. So long as they encountered no more rogue updrafts, he should be able to do this. “I’ve landed. Making my way forwards.”

  “Be careful Six,” Blazer ordered.

  Like I need to be told that, he mused and looked ahead. Matt still had their fighter on station with the Solaar. Looking the other way, he found Chris. She was slightly further behind in case he fell again. He wished he could see her face. But even this close, the visor of her helmet made that impossible. I wonder what she’s thinking.

  Swallowing and shaking his head, Gavit started forward. Fighters were not typically covered in handholds, but this was a later model Solaar. Extra antennae and vents added after the aerodynamicists had made a clean original design covered the spine. Gavit had been lucky to avoid getting cut by one of those. He couldn’t help but look in as he passed the dorsal missile packs. The massive lenses of three silhouette-seeking missiles stared back at him from the pack. Ice seemed to flow into his veins and he grabbed hold of the heavy plaser he’d missed before. “Confirmed, fighter is still armed. Missile packs are full.”<
br />
  Nearing the cockpit, Gavit looked inside. He still couldn’t see a thing. Ice had covered the interior of the bulbous canopy. “Cockpit looks frozen over inside. Strange.”

  “Could be what’s left of the pilot,” Priest commented. “There’s no way they could still be alive if the fighter was abandoned when we came in-system. The Solaar’s life-support is good for maybe a cycle at most with the emergency reserves.”

  That was a fate that Gavit never wanted to face, neither did he want to find the dead pilot inside. The aviator’s suit had likely ruptured and his own breath had iced over the interior. Gavit’s hand shook as he reached for the panel to the canopy’s emergency release.

  He’d never been afraid of dead bodies before: he’d seen his share, but this, this was a pilot. Close to a dead enemy pilot in his mind was a few hundred metra. This was intimate. He flicked open the panel and pulled the handle within. The canopy cracked open a little over half a metra. Icy air exploded out of the gap. The blast shook Gavit, but he held firm, reached in, and pushed the canopy open.

  He strained against the mass of it, the dead electrics only adding more resistance. As he pushed enough to gain entrance, he looked in, found the pilot. His olive drab suit looked sealed, the air hoses from the front of his helmet still intact and curiously, the status lights on his chest pack were on. Gavit squeezed his way in. Thanks to the massive bulbous canopy, the cockpit felt almost roomy. He couldn’t believe his eyes. He slapped the side of the pilot’s helmet. The eyes within that helmet, covered by closed eyelids, moved. “Bugger me sideways! He’s alive.”

  “Say again?” Priest, Hallet, and Zanreb all replied.

  “He’s alive.” Gavit looked around for some kind of answer. A wrapper floated past and he grabbed it. It was covered in medical jargon but in big bold letters it declared its usage. The frozen cockpit suddenly made sense. “He’s taken a hibernation drug of some kind and took the cockpit to cryo temps.”