Chapter One

“Okay, girl,” I said softly to myself. “Time to fly.”

I love flying missions; things just keep getting better and better.

Sealing the neck of my flight suit, I hit the activation control on my wrist. Excessive air was expelled, and loose material was automatically gathered in.

In short, the baggy and formless sack of a flight suit took me from zero to supermodel in less than a second. Instant ego boost.

My name is Kinuko Ogawa; friends call me Kinu. I’m a fighter pilot in the Solar Federation Navy, and I love flying. But you probably already figured out that bit.

I closed my locker and stepped out of the ladies’ changing area into the pilot’s ready room aboard the SolFed cruiser Olympus. The artificial gravity began to lessen the further from the hatch I moved.

In areas of the ship with a lot of heavy equipment, like the hangar, we ramp the artificial gravity down from Earth Standard to null for safety. But you can’t go from full to none without some kind of transition. Hence the lessened gravity of the ready room.

Feeling it begin to release me was like coming home. I was born and raised on Mars, where the gravity is thirty-eight percent that of Earth.

Mars is my home, and like every second-generation Martian, I bear the genetic marks to prove it. Something about the chemical makeup of Martian soil affects the human genome. It’s nothing disfiguring mind you. In my case, it resulted in slightly reddish skin tone, dark red eyes, and hair so white you could read by it. It also meant that in order to live alongside people used to Earth-standard environments, Martians need to undergo a deliriously painful round of treatments to reinforce skeletal and muscular tissues used to the more forgiving conditions on the Red Planet.

Which explains my preference for the low-grav areas of the ship. Feeling the crushing weight of ‘standard’ gravity is only another constant reminder of...

“Hey, Mutie! Does time move slower on that backwater rock you’re from or what?”

...Of that. A lot of Earthers look down on us. Maybe it was a holdover from the war when I was a kid, but I think the truth is much simpler, and way uglier. Much like the dumb lug who’d spoken up. Tyler Simmons. He’s from a long line of ‘Naval Tradition’. His grandfather served, his father served, and his brothers all serve. Somewhere along the line, all that duty, honor, and testosterone had fried little Tyler’s mind and left him a hulking excuse for an alpha male.

I was about to respond to the harassment, but someone else cut me off. “Oh please! Simmons. Why would she want to spend more time with you?”

Tommy Harrison, my wingman. Tommy is five and a half feet of bespectacled human male, but he’s the second best pilot I’ve ever met.

Fortunately, the Flight Lead walked in before the chest thumping got to the head-thumping stage. Donald Warren, the Commander-Air-Group (Cag) on the Olympus and ‘Lead’ of Alpha Squadron was a legend in the Solar Federation Navy. He’d been born in a cockpit. Flying since before he legally could, he had more flight hours (combat and otherwise) than anyone else in the service. He was surprisingly tall for a pilot. We tend to be short people as a rule, it means less weight for the aircraft to deal with. His axe-blade of a face accentuated by a sweeping shock of blond hair, making his lean frame seen more wiry than gaunt.

Lead gave us all one of his arctic stares. If he ever published instructions on how to glare like that, discipline problems for the human species would be a thing of the past. “Settle down.”

Believe me, we settled.

Simmons glared at me and I flashed his IQ at him with one finger. Tommy’s desire to play the white knight aside, I don’t take crap like that from anybody. It’s demeaning to the service, to the people who died in the war, and...

...and it says louder than words that the big ape doesn’t think I’m human.

As a concept, I guess I can understand it. We can look very different from human norms. Aside from the Martian adaptations, my genetic heritage is Earth-Asian. The overall effect of the genetic reddening of my skin is very pale. With certain other genetic backgrounds tough, the effect can be downright startling. I knew a kid growing up whose parents were from Norway. His skin was literally translucent.

Back then, I tried to hide, tried to fit in with Earthers. I’d dye my hair black, wear makeup and contact lenses... but no more. I’m proud of where I come from and nobody gets to tell me who I am. Certainly not thugs like Simmons.

Lead continued. “Some of you have noticed the new ship in Olympus’s hangar. It’s a prototype interceptor we’re ferrying to a test area. The program is officially listed as top secret. We can’t stop you from looking, but don’t touch... and for the love of God, don’t snap any more photos.” He glanced meaningfully around the room. One of the pilots, call sign Goggles, blushed.

“Now, there have been increased reports of pirate activity all across this sector of the Jupiter asteroid belt. Not only that, they’ve gotten more brazen, even attacking convoys with Naval escorts. So, we’re going to brush up on our close-object engagement skills.”

Yippee... playing tag with space rocks.

“Alpha Squadron will engage in drill until such time as I think your skills are up to snuff. Bravo Squadron has all combat and patrol duties while we’re training. As a result, we’ve deactivated your ships’ weapons systems. You get into trouble, you can’t blast your way out of it.”

We groaned.

“Go run your final checks. We hit vacuum in ten.”

There’s an undeniable sensation when crossing from the lessened gravity of the ready room to the true null gravity of the hangar bay. All of a sudden it’s a lot easier for my heart to do its job. Seriously. In null G blood flow increases due to the change in inertia. It’s like a sudden surge of adrenaline. Everything seems sharper: your perceptions, balance, energy... It’s like becoming a superhero.

The fighter bay is a long completely cylindrical room. There’s a launch gate at the fore and a landing gate aft. The planes sit on movable platforms which run the entirety of the arching surface. It can be quite a sight for those not used to it, seeing a fighter craft suspended upside down from the ‘ceiling’ by nothing more than a few magnets.

As the fighters are readied for launch, they’re moved forward and rotated to the bottom of the ring, into a liner catapult that fires them out the ship’s launch gate with the aid of a magnetic railgun. It gets us out and away from the Olympus as quickly as possible, giving us a great deal of momentum to work with.

Just the barest of pressure of my toes against the deck, and I propelled myself upwards across the bay. Savoring the moment of freedom as I angled toward one of the fighters positioned on the bay’s relative ceiling.

This was my bird, my other self. My ship.

She’s a Sandor Aerospace AF-125 Falcon, the standard Solar Federation space-superiority fighter craft. Meant for space duty, but fully capable of entering an atmosphere, maneuvering and reaching escape velocity once again.

I love everything about my bird. I know what every part of her looks like, how they function, and how they fit together. I do a lot of the maintenance on her myself.

Not that the Olympus doesn’t have a top-notch deck crew, the monkey wrench brigade here is awesome. I just like to make sure everything is working right. Besides, I think they like the fact that I pitch in. A lot of pilots flatly refuse to get their hands dirty.

I began the pre-flight checklist on my ship. As always, it was an interminable delay. Necessary though it is, the red tape always drives me nuts.

With simple and controlled gestures I propelled myself around my craft. Checking connections, verifying fluid levels... eyeballing everything. The crew chief happened to be floating by when I got to the weapons systems. The fully enabled weapons systems.

“Hey, Chief? I thought we had our teeth pulled for this hop?”

He nodded. “You do, but you’re still fully loaded and armed. They want your mass-inertia to be as normal as possible. There’s a red computer key in the cockpit maintenance port that disables your weapons. Pull it and you’ve got your fangs back.”

I nodded and he pushed moved on down the line.

From behind me in the crowded bay, a shadow suddenly loomed. I whirled, using my Falcon’s cockpit ladder to arrest the momentum. Simmons stood there, one meaty hand planted on my Fighter’s nose to brace himself. That alone was enough to make me grind my teeth. No one touches My Lady without permission. Certainly not a scumbag like him.

“What the Chief didn’t tell you, Princess,” he said just loud enough to hear, “is that if you pull that key, everyone will know it. Message comes right through your telemetry.”

I sighed. “Piss off, Simmons. I’ve got work to do.”

He glowered, and his bulk became even more menacing somehow. “I don’t know which I hate more,” he growled. “Mouthy muties or mouthy little girls...”

I braced myself for imminent violence and hissed back. “Anytime, anyplace, Troglodyte.” I don’t go for simple insults. Besides, he probably didn’t know what it meant.

“Simmons! Ogawa!” Lead’s voice boomed. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

We both snapped to attention and saluted. In the perfect unison that comes of long practice we said, “Discussing the hop, Sir!”

He glared at both of us. “It is ENOUGH. Get me? Butts in seats and mouths shut, or I’ll ground the pair of you. Move.”

In unison again, we said “Sir! Yes Sir!” Then I climbed into my cockpit. Simmons clumsily flailed his way across to his own ship, the lummox.

I went down the final checklist: computers, communications, and scanners all on-line; engines in the green; life support on standby; and weapons off-line but systems read optimum. I donned my flight helmet, which automatically sealed to the neck of my flight suit. Then I settled back until the vent port on the back of the suit made snug contact with the life support intake and outlet in the seat. Instantly, I felt a rush of cool, sweet air. It sent a final thrill through me. I was about to soar; I was about to be free.

I tried to hide the smile in my voice as I logged into the tactical com net with my fighter designation and call sign. “Falcon, Alpha Six, Silk.” Silk is a play on my name. It’s the English translation of Kinu. “All systems green, close me up.”

A deck hand saluted and touched a button on his tablet. My canopy slid closed and sealed. With a hissing sound, all the air in the cockpit was sucked into the on-board recycling system. This way, if my cockpit seal was broken in flight, explosive decompression wouldn’t be an issue.

Then, I had to wait some more as Alphas One through Five were moved into launch position and fired into the big black.

Over our two-ship ‘wingmate’ com channel, I could hear Tommy muttering a chunk of the 23rd Psalm. It was his pre-hop good luck ritual. It’s impolite to ask a pilot about their rituals, so I never had. Still, despite it being morbid as heck to recite funeral prayers, I couldn’t help but smile.

Finally, I rotated into launch position. The magnetic clamps released my fighter and it floated into the embrace of the catapult. The launch control officer gave me the sign and I saluted. “Silk, launching!”

The moment of acceleration is phenomenal. It shoves you back into the seat with the force of four Earth-standard gravities. You feel yourself compacted and crushed... and then it releases you. The sudden shock is gone and you experience pure speed as you rocket forward.

Pilots fight it, but tunnel vision is unavoidable in this circumstance. Your perception gets squeezed down to a tiny point far out in front of you... and then you’re clear of the mother-ship and out amongst the stars. All of creation is thrown wide and the majestic tapestry of the entire universe surrounds you.

This is why I do it. Why I put up with all the garbage of being a female Martian serving in the SolFed Navy. This one singular moment of perfect beauty that the all the angels in Heaven cannot properly describe.

The rest of Alpha Squadron soared into position, and Tommy took up position to my right. We were ready.

Chapter Two

Lead’s voice came over the speakers. “All right, Alphas. We’re going to start with two-ship element drills. Silk and TomTom, you’re up first.”

“Roger, Lead,” I responded. “Silk and TomTom peeling off.”

With the barest of nudges to my Falcon’s flight stick, the fighter gracefully slipped out of formation. Tommy perfectly matched the maneuver. We fed power to our ships, knifing through space to the drill’s starting area.

The course consisted of several hundred beacons strewn across the periphery of the asteroid belt. The Olympus’ bridge could activate any number of beacons they needed, and could switch their designation from friend to foe, ally to target.

“Olympus, Silk. Ready to commence operation.” I grinned and added, “Make it a challenge, you guys.”

The comm officer on Olympus’s bridge didn’t rise to the bait, but I could hear the answering smirk in his reply. “Acknowledged. At your discretion, Silk.”

A grin stretched my mouth. “Engaging!”

Tommy and I hit our thrusters in perfect unison. We’d flown together for so long that we didn’t need to discuss strategy or call out opportunities. We just flew. The sky was ours, and it was a very bad day to be a target.

My fighter’s heads-up display showed nearly a dozen enemy blips, but already my mind’s eye picked our optimum path through the spinning asteroids. I dropped into the mental groove this type of flying requires and armed my ship’s weapons. The computer key down by my knee intercepted the command, and my ‘simulated’ arsenal came on-line.

The first target loomed large, and when the gunsight blinked green, I hit the trigger.

Invisible, simulated energy lanced out from my ship’s gun-pods. My targeting computer and Olympus’ agreed I’d hit the beacon and the target winked out, all in the barest fraction of a second.

As I recovered, Tommy’s ship roared past mine and took lead position as we raced towards the next objective: a pair of targets tucked close together. Tommy’s sensors acquired both of them and he launched a pair of simulated missiles, one for each. One struck home, but the other was intercepted by an unmarked chunk of space rock.

But now that target was in my attack vector, and it fell to a hail of would-be gunfire.

The maneuver cost us though. The fourth target was on us, and vectoring to sweep right through the now growing gap in our formation.

Long experience saved us. Tommy threw his thrusters wide open and skipped forward to acquire and hit the fifth beacon, while I killed my forward thrust and hit my reverse starboard jets. The result was a slewing, drifting sweep that nonetheless kept my ship’s nose dead on target four. An instant later, I heard the audio tone that signified a good missile lock, and fired one of my four anti-air missiles. Target four died as I fed power back into my directional and forward thrusters, kicking out of the wide turn and rocketing nimbly through the lighter debris to catch up to Tommy, who was already onto number six.

Six, seven and eight died moments apart, but the final group clustered around a single friendly beacon. Even worse, they were on the far side of a screening wall of debris.

“Dirty trick, guys,” I muttered.

We dropped into a high-low bracket. Tommy roaring over the top of the screen, while I slung my Falcon beneath it.

I pulled out of my dive and found two targets nice and fat in my HUD’s gunsight. I killed them both with one burst of fire, and Tommy accounted for the last, not allowing his shots anywhere near the friendly beacon.

We celebrated with matching snap rolls and left the operation area together.

“Silk, TomTom, return to formation.” Lead sounded impressed. “Good job. “Bopper and Slide, you’re up...”

It continued for what felt like hours. In varying groups, we flung our ships into the asteroid belt, targeting simulated enemies while avoiding the rocky debris. The course was never the same twice, always a fresh challenge.

Two-ship elements, teams of four, squads of six, the full dozen Alphas. Over and over.

Through it all, I didn’t do too badly. All right, I fib. Tommy and I dominated the scoreboard. Eventually though, our fuel dipped below the 50% line, which should have signaled the end of the exercises.

But Lead had another idea. “All right, Alphas... Silk, TomTom, Rhino and Goggles on standby. The rest of you, head for the barn.”

Tommy and I, plus Simmons and his wingmate. Oh, this just couldn’t end well.

Lead ordered us to key our comm systems to an alternate frequency. As I switched over, he was already dishing out our orders.

“Since Silk and Rhino have so much spare energy, I want you four to run the course a few more times. Continue to drill until you hit 25% fuel. Understood?”

I grimaced. Don’t get me wrong, having more space time was actually bit of a treat, but I was going to be seeing asteroids every time I closed my eyes. ”Roger, Lead.”

The others confirmed the order as Lead broke formation and joined the queue of ships waiting to dock with the Olympus.

Tommy dropped over to our two-ship frequency “Smooth, Silk. Real smooth.”

Switching over, I groaned and the horrible pun. “Bite me, TomTom.”

Simmons broke into our conversation. “Silk, you and TomTom take point. Let’s get this over with.”

Without bothering to confirm, I hit my jets and roared into the course. The first several targets came and went without issue, but then something came into my peripheral vision. Simmons’s fighter, close enough to count rivets.

The big ape held something up against his cockpit for me to see. A red computer key, just like the one down by my knee that deactivated my weapons systems.

Simmons was fully armed.

He smiled and dropped back.

“Silk!” Tommy cried. “Evade!”

A massive rock loomed up in my cockpit view. I’d been too focused on Simmons to see it coming. I snap-rolled away, just barely avoiding damage. If Tommy’s shout hadn’t brought me back to the moment...

“Clear! Thanks, TomTom.”

But it wasn’t Tommy who answered, it was Simmons. “Stay sharp, Silk.”

“What the hell are you playing at, Rhino?”

“Nothing. Going for lock on next target.”

And suddenly my fighter’s threat board lit up like New Las Vegas at night. Simmons wasn’t locking onto the next target, but onto ME.

I didn’t even pause to think. I flipped my Falcon up into a loop and killed most of my momentum with the fighter’s forward maneuver jets. Then, in the seconds before he could re-acquire me, I reached down and pulled the computer key out of its socket. As I dropped into perfect position behind Simmon’s fighter, I heard the tone that meant I’d locked onto him.

“Alpha Six, what in blazes are you doing?!” roared a new voice over my helmet speakers: it was the Captain of the Olympus.

And suddenly I realized what had really happened. How it looked...

“You will return immediately.” The Captain’s tone was positively arctic.

“Acknowledged, Olympus. Silk is returning.”

I was in it now...

***

I brought my Falcon into the aft bay, trying not to think about how screwed I was.

My ship settled into the magnetic docking crane, and it swung me over to one of the vacant launch platforms. It took longer than normal though, and as the fighter’s cradle came into view, I saw why.

Security was waiting for me.

Slowly climbing down to the deck, I surrendered my flight helmet as well as any other non-clothing items in my possession, then I was escorted under guard to the brig. There, I was searched thoroughly, given a single change of clothes from ship’s stores and sealed into a cell.

The tour of my new domain was despairingly brief. It was an eight-foot cube. One wall left open for the cell bars, but my all I could see was two blank walls and a security camera pointed right at me. Furnishing-wise, all I had was a bunk and a toilet unit.

All in all, today couldn’t have gone much worse. Why the hell did I fall for such an obvious bit of stupidity? Simmons must have had a duplicate computer key. If he’d REALLY armed his weapons, Olympus’ bridge would have known about it. They’d known less than a second after I yanked my key, after all.

That smug little ass had more brains than I thought.

Chapter Three

I changed into the loose, black fatigues I’d been issued upon confinement. I was used to the lack of privacy that came with life on a space ship, but I admit I flipped the bird at the camera and turned my back when I stripped.

At least I could dash the security goon’s hope of a free peep show.

Once fully dressed, I folded my flight suit and placed it on the floor at the foot of my bed as per regulation. Then... I got really, REALLY bored.

Eventually I started working out to burn off excess energy. After a few hours, I’d lost track of how many sit-ups and push-ups I had done. I’d even jogged in place for a while.

After a while, Tommy appeared at my cell door. “Geez, Kinu, when you screw up...”

“Yeah, I know...” slumping to the floor, I leaned my cheek against the cool metal of the cell. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Yup,” he replied, sinking into a neat cross-legged seat on the non-prisoner side of the cage. ”Not going to argue with you on that one.”

“Tommy, if you want a new wing assignment, I understand.”

“Oh get over yourself, huh? You make it sound like you’re headed for the block.” He assumed a weepy melodramatic voice. “When I’m gone, I want you to see other people... Sheesh.”

I couldn’t help it; I chuckled. “I’m serious. You’re too good a pilot to wind up on whatever crap detail they give me ‘til they decide to boot my ass out of the Navy.”

“Damn right I am, but so are you. Give it time. Simmons provoked you,” he grinned. “The truth will set you free.”

A new voice cut off my retort. “It’s not quite that simple...” Lead stepped around the corner. Both of us shot to our feet and saluted.

“At ease,” he said automatically. “Tommy, be elsewhere. I need to talk to Kinu without witness. I ain’t officially here.”

Tommy scampered away. I tried to swallow on a dry throat. “That bad, Sir?”

He sighed and passed me a small bottle of water through the bars. “You have no idea. That unmitigated ass Simmons cried foul all the way up to his grandfather, who just happens to be an Admiral.”

And that explained why Lead looked like he’d run a marathon on hands and knees. So much for handling this in house. What should have been solved with a couple days in the brig for both of us was now probably going to a court martial.

Lead rubbed at his eyes. “There’s going to be no end of headaches over all this.”

“For what it’s worth, Sir, I’m sorry. I should have realized he was just baiting me.”

“Is THAT why you think you’re in here? Because you defended yourself?”

I blinked in surprise. “Um, yeah.”

“I swear, you must keep your brains behind your knuckles... No, Ogawa. That ain’t why you’re in the brig. You’re here because you let it GET to this point.” Lead looked me dead in the eyes. “You put your damn ruffled pride before the lives of your squadmates.”

“But, Sir...”

“Shut your mouth ‘til I say you can speak. Have you even considered what ELSE was happening during your little dust-up?”

“To Tommy?”

“No, dammit. Harrison is too good a pilot to get caught by space rocks, no matter how distracted he was by your stupidity. Goggles, though...”

My blood ran cold. “Goggles? Is...”

“His ship was struck by debris, trying to follow Simmons. We had to scoop his ejection seat out of the asteroid belt. His ship is a scrub. HE ought to be fine though. The docs have him now.”

Lead rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You’re in here because you allowed a private snit to endanger a squadmate, one of the lives entrusted to your care,” he shook his head in disgust. ”And you weren’t even aware of it.”

I couldn’t meet his eyes. I dropped my gaze to his knees.

“Is it sinking in yet?” he asked. “I don’t care what you gorillas do to each other when we aren’t working. But out in the ether, your lives are in each other’s hands. You need to protect them. ALL of them.”

I grimaced, but stayed silent. Even if I had the words to respond, what could I say?

“If the job requires it, I would order every single one of you straight into hell. That’s what we do. We put ourselves to the hazard to protect those who cannot fight for themselves. But I will be three days dead before I allow a single of my pilots’ lives to be wasted. Not by the brass, not by the Captain, and certainly not by someone who hasn’t found a way to sort out her personal baggage. Clear?”

I nodded. My eyes were stinging. Dammit, I was NOT going to cry. Not like a little girl taken to task.

“CLEAR?!”

“Yes, Sir! Crystal, Sir!”

“Very good. Now... we’re going to be up to our armpits in Jag lawyers before long.” He sniffed at the air. “Speaking of... My God, Ogawa. You reek.”

“Not much to do in here, Sir.” I said sheepishly. “Tried to get in my cardio.”

He shook his head. “Right.” Then he produced a key card and swiped it through the cell door’s slot. It beeped and the door slid open.

“Sir?”

“Captain’s discretion. You’re officially grounded till we get this straightened out. Til then, you’ll be on a punishment detail. For now, go get a damn shower and a meal.”

I nodded. “I am sorry, Sir. I hope I have the chance to prove myself to you.”

“It ain’t about me. Prove it to your squad, then we’ll talk. Now get out of here before I throw you back in there and flee the stench.”

I saluted and made a beeline for the nearest shower.

Chapter Four

Scrubbed and in a fresh set of ship knits, I set off to the mess hall in search of some form of dinner. My inner clock was all messed up from the day’s events, and the fact that it was already ship’s night kind of threw me for a loop.

Interior light levels were lowered, noise was curtailed where practical. There was still an active duty shift on, mind you, but it FELT like most of the ship’s population was safely in their bunks. It was kind of eerie actually.

This late at night, the ship’s galley was closed, so the automated system was the only option. I placed a tray under the dispenser and eyed my options on the attached screen.

People never stop to think where the food on a space ship comes from. It’s probably better that way actually. I made the mistake of asking one of the techs once and trust me, ignorance is bliss. Tonight’s options were some sort of noodle dish, a sandwich topped with ominously named ‘deli meats and veggies’, or straight nutrition cubes.

I chose the cubes. At least that way, I knew what I’d be eating. I also grabbed a steaming mug of genuine tea before finding a seat in the yawning vastness of the empty cafeteria.

I sat at my chosen table, idly pushing bite sized cubes of nutrition around on my plate. Tell you a secret? I actually like the cubes. They taste like a mild cheddar cheese and it’s just, well, EASY.

Tonight I definitely wanted easy.

Eventually, Tommy wandered in and sat down across from me. He looked angry. As angry as I’d ever seen him.

“You see the board?”

The posting board, where our flight assignments were given out. I nodded, “Yeah.”

“They reassigned you to Maintenance,” he said flatly.

“I know. Punishment Detail.”

“How are you so damn calm about this?”

I glared at him. “I’m not, but flipping tables and screaming about it isn’t going to help. Lead was right, I let things get out of hand, and Goggles paid for it.”

Tommy shut his mouth on whatever he was going to say. I sipped my tea for a while.

Eventually, Tommy asked the big question. “So, what now?”

“Now? I’m going to bed. Tomorrow, I report to the line chief and become part of the monkey-wrench brigade. You’ll probably get a new wingman and we take it a day at a time.”

I stood and took the uneaten food and the dregs of my tea to the recyclers and fed my tray and mug into the wash slot.

Tommy fell into step beside me as we went back to our bunk areas. At length, he spoke up. “That ape, Simmons is still flying, you know.”

“I figured. He’s connected.”

“He’s an ass.”

“But a connected ass.”

We’d reached my billet. I turned to Tommy before he could head out, I lifted my right hand up to face level warrior style and held it open. “Hey, thanks for being there.”

We swapped grips. “Don’t mention it.” His tone warbled awkwardly though as he pressed on. “I’m on your wing. Even... when I’m... not?”

I laughed. It felt damn good.

“And hey, Simmons isn’t getting off entirely...” Tommy flashed an evil grin “I pissed in his flight helmet before I tracked you down.”

***

I stood in the hall outside the chief’s office awaiting my assignment.

To be honest, I was totally expecting to be handed a mop and a bucket. It wasn’t like I’d suddenly become a mechanic after all. I was a pilot, born and bred. I’d be back with My Lady soon enough, soaring through the ether.

That brought a smile, followed by a grimace. It would be the height of irony if my punishment was getting Goggles’ new ship ready for him. He was back on the Posting Board as of this morning, cleared for flight. I concluded the universe was just cruel enough to pull something like that.

I stood there in respectful silence while Lead and the chief conferred inside. A yawn surprised me when I wasn’t looking and I fought it down. I woke up at relative dawn and hadn’t slept much, but it would do. Coffee works miracles.

The door opened and the two men stepped out, Lead went one way, the maintenance chief motioning, for me to follow him, went the other. I fell in beside as we headed vaguely towards the hangar.

“Look,” he began. “There isn’t really time to train you up properly in what we do. Thankfully, you know the insides of a Falcon, and you’re pretty good with a wrench.”

Oh, here it comes, I was right. We entered the zero-gravity hangar space, and propelled ourselves towards the far aft end, out of the way of launching or landing traffic.

“So,” he continued “we’re gonna put you on a new project. We’ve got to prep a new ship for a pilot. A senior tech will check up on you now and again, but you already know the process.”

Yeah, I knew it. Ok Goggles, I thought, let’s get you set up. We cleared the prep area and a crane lifted the ship we’d be working on into view.

That’s when I learned the universe is a much crueler place than I’d ever thought.

My Lady. My ship. They were giving Goggles -MY- ship.

Chapter Five

I stood there, aghast.

“This… This isn’t happening.” I whispered.

It must have been at least a full minute before I noticed Goggles standing next to me. He looked anywhere that wasn’t at me or my… his… ship. Finally, he took a deep breath and addressed his feet. “I’m sorry.”

That drew me out of the shock, and into the anger. It boiled up and almost over, then it receded. When it was gone, everything was emptied out, and I was able to look him in the eye.

“It’s not your fault, Goggles.”

“I promise you, I’ll treat her right.”

I nodded, “You better.”

“Simmons is an ass.”

“Yes, he is. But you aren’t.” I sighed and picked up the tool belt at my feet. “Let’s introduce you to the Lady.”

Over the next several hours we tinkered. Shortening the runners on the foot pedals, adjusting the lock points in the seat for the life-support valves on Goggles’ flight suit, tweaking the heads-up display so it was comfortable for my Lady’s new partner.

It was about noon ship time when the rest of the Alphas entered the bay and made their way to their waiting fighters. Probably another drill. I will forever treasure the look of befuddlement on Simmons’ face as he sniffed at his flight helmet in confusion. It brought a bit of light to my dark mood.

Let’s be clear, I wasn’t mad at Goggles. This mess really wasn’t his fault. But that doesn’t mean I was fine with the idea of him taking my ship from me.

It was like I was not only losing my lover, but having to give her new lover pointers on what she liked. I hated every moment of it, and it showed.

But I took it. This was the true shape of my punishment. Not being grounded, not having my wings clipped temporarily (I still desperately hoped it was only temporary!), but having to give up everything.

Even the anger, I suddenly realized.

Through the entire process, I’d been envisioning taking the biggest wrench I could find and introducing it to Simmons’ face. Repeatedly. What had Lead said last night?

“...I will be three days dead before I allow a single of my pilots’ lives to be wasted. Not by the brass, not by the Captain, and certainly not by someone who hasn’t found a way to sort out her personal baggage...”

Damn.

It STILL hadn’t sunk in yet.

“Hang on,” I told Goggles. “This isn’t right, hang on.” I undid the sloppy changes I just made to the targeting programs. A few commands to the ship’s computer later and the system once more showed green. “Try it now.”

Goggles let out a soft curse of admiration. “It’s... it’s perfect! I’m not even thinking about adjustments, it’s almost anticipating me.”

I grinned, he sounded like a kid in a candy store. “That’s how it’s supposed to be Goggles!”

“Excuse me, Lt. Ogawa?”

I looked around, and found a short, almost round man in civilian’s coveralls. He stood just two-thirds my height and gazed up at the world through glasses thick enough that I couldn’t see his eyes.

“Yeah, who’s asking?”

The man smiled so wide I thought his head would split. “I’m Toshiro Oyama, my friends call me Tochiro, and sometimes Tootsie Pop. But then, I have some very odd friends.”

I couldn’t help it, I laughed. Dammit, I needed that laugh. “Well, Tochiro, what can I do for you?”

“I just borrowed you from your boss, follow me.”

I shot a look to the maintenance chief across the bay, he shrugged and nodded. I handed my data pad to Goggles. He could finish this on his own as easily as we could together.

Pushing off the deck, I glided along behind the strange little man. He kept intentionally bouncing off stray surfaces and striking ‘superhero-in-flight’ poses, complete with whooshing sound effects.

At length, we arrived at the cordoned off area at the upper rear of the maintenance bay. Actually, I could have beaten him there by a solid minute, but he was enjoying zero-g so much, I couldn’t bring myself to cut it short.

The new fighter stood off to one side. Banks of computers and spare parts surrounded it and ordinance racks lined the wall beyond those.

The new fighter was long and narrow, with a large engine in the rear and a small cockpit up front behind an unconventionally flared nose cone. The whole shape reminiscent of an hourglass tipped on it’s long axis. The prow of the fighter was studded with sensor arrays. Lead had called her an interceptor, and he wasn’t kidding. She looked like she was going a million miles an hour just standing still.

Tochiro caught me eyeballing the fighter and grinned. “Nice, isn’t she? Ought to double the speed of the current Falcon, and carries more firepower.”

I grinned, and started a slow loop around the ship, taking it in from all angles. “She’s beautiful.”

Tochiro kept his ground, however. Watching me take in his handiwork I guess. “Ask you a question?”

“Shoot.” I replied

“Why did you do that, just now.”

“Tweak Goggles’ settings?”

He shook his head. “No, why did you RE-TWEAK them? They had been just fine before.”

“Because just fine, isn’t good enough. Because the fighter and the pilot need to be downright symbiotic. The Lady is a suit of winged armor that responds to the slightest input from her pilot.”

“Even if she isn’t YOUR Lady anymore?”

I stopped short. The little imp knew. What was going on here? I wish I could say I responded with a clear, concise word, but it came out sounding like I had to rip it out of myself kicking and screaming. “Yes.”

“I see.” He nodded. “Lt. Ogawa, do you want a job?”

Chapter Six

Tommy and I sat in the ‘bar’ end of the cafeteria that night, after a long day of weirdness.

It turned out that since Goggles wasn’t flying that day, they’d partnered Tommy up with Simmons. Tommy had been the soul of politeness, inquiring over the com net as to his new wingman’s status several times while Simmons tried to find the source of that odd smell in his life support system. Tommy’d even recorded it for me.

Ah, good to have friends.

The rules of the bar were simple. Slightly impaired on the way to your bunk was barely acceptable, but never any other time. Intoxication was never, EVER allowed.

Tommy lifted his third and final drink and looked at the light passing through the amber liquid. “So, explain this job to me again?

I took a sip of my tea. I hardly ever drank hard stuff on ship. “The head of the Zero project, the new fighter program, wants me to train on it. He wants me as a test pilot, eventually.”

Tommy frowned. “Breaking up the band?”

I sighed and set the tea back down. “I... I don’t know.”

Tommy’s hand came down softly on my shoulder, “Hey Kinu, it’s alright. If you want go, go. Do what’s right for you”

“Sheesh Harrison. Just bound and determined to get rid of me, huh?”

“No, I’m not.” He glowered at me, then turned back to his drink. “You know what I say to myself before we fly?”

“Yeah, Psalm 23, or at least, part of it... I think. Was never much on the Bible.”

“Heathen. You ever wonder why?”

I almost kept the smile out of my voice “Why you pray before doing something that could kill you?”

“It’s a prayer. Not... exactly. It’s acknowledging the danger, and saying I got faith that I’ll come back. Not faith in God. Faith in you. All the guys. The thee-ing and thy-ing... I’m talking to you.”

Suddenly, I felt very undeserving of this man’s friendship. My cheeks lit up like a Christmas tree. I hadn’t felt this unbalanced since the first time a guy asked me out.

I was saved from having to answer Tommy by Lead coming in and sitting down on my other side. ”Ogawa, Harrison. You two sober enough to remember this in the morning?”

I raised my cup of tea and toasted his good health. Tommy just grinned like an idiot.

Lead sighed. “Look, Ogawa, you’re gonna be on the Zero detail until we reach the resupply base at Neptune.”

I nodded. Tochiro had told me as much earlier. ”I understand.”

“I’m hoping to get you back in the Squad, once we get a replacement bird for you. I understand you got a job offer today.”

“Yes, sir. Not sure what I’m gonna do about it though.”

“I understand,” he nodded. “Just don’t feel like it’s your only option to keep flying. Well, good night you two. Get some sleep.”

He turned around and headed back out, leaving Tommy and me blinking in his wake.

The Zero’s semi-intelligent navigation A.I. spoke in my flight helmet, “Enemy missile lock!”

Without thinking, I cut the throttle which caused the reverse thrusters to kick in, simultaneously snap-rolling the fighter to port.

While the avionics struggled to keep up, I hurriedly keyed for a chaff burst.

“Chaff dispensing!” the A.I. said as the counter-measure system began spewing heated metallic dust in all directions. This both diffused my ship’s sensor echo and hopefully distracted both the enemy pilot and their tracking system.

Then lights started blinking red.

“Warning! Hull stress beyond safe levels!”

The directional thrusters locked, slamming me into my restraints hard enough to make me see stars.

“Engine Malfunction! Engine Malfunction!” came the less than helpful warning. Indicators lit up from the engine all through my starboard wing.

Malfunction lights changed to fire warnings and then everything went fuzzy, then black.

When I awoke, the simulator sat docile and dormant. The star field had been replaced with a neutral green-gray standby mode. As I took a deep, calming breath, Tochiro’s round face appeared next to the ‘cockpit’ hatch.

“Wow, it took you forty-five seconds to die that time.” He broke out into a grin so massive I thought his head would split “You’re improving!”

Prying my flight helmet off, I glared at him. “Still getting used to a ship that talks back...”

The Cosmo Zero simulator was one of the many toys that had been packed away with the actual fighters ‘support’ systems. For the last two days, Tochiro had been running me through basic scenarios.

He stepped back and shrugged. “Hey, I told you, you’re gonna have to take the time and get a feel for her. Her thrust to weight ratio is way faster that a Falcon’s. The sort of high-g maneuvering you’re used to has to be smoother, more coordinated. Be starting the second half of a maneuver before the first has really taken hold.”

I groaned. “Yeah, yeah. So, the simulator say what I DID this time?”

“You popped a life-support hose loose and pure oxygen flooded over a couple active circuit boards. One spark and your directional thrusters went. From there it was cascading structural failure.”

“Lovely…”

Tochiro smiled up at me as I out. “At least you didn’t crash into your own missile after you fired it. That’s still my favorite.”

“It WAS fairly spectacular,” I agreed.

The little guy tossed me a water bulb and we floated in companionable silence for a bit as the controlled chaos of the Olympus’s maintenance crew danced just a couple dozen feet away. The Falcons were being fueled and fully loaded. Something was probably up.

“So...” Tochiro broke the silence. “What do you think the problem is?”

“Honestly?” I thought and sipped. At length, the answer came to me. “Probably because I can’t shake the fact that it’s a simulation.”

He considered. “But you trained for Falcons in simulators long before you flew one.”

“Yeah, but when I’m flying NOW, it’s not by instrument and theory. I’m not thinking about the maximum force I can put on the vertical stabilizer or how much angular thrust the attitude vents on the port-side nose can generate. It’s all internalized... I don’t think about it, I FEEL it.”

Tochiro mulled that over for a bit. “Interesting... When was the last time you were in a Falcon simulator?”

I actually had to think about that one. Full inertial simulators were bulky and expensive. There wasn’t one for Falcons on the Olympus. We had a tactical sim, but that was more of a video game than the billion-credit machine at our backs.

“Probably a year, year and a half?” I finally said.

“Huh... I wonder what would happen if we ran you through the same scenarios in Falcon sim now...”

I didn’t get a chance to answer. The PA came on and the Executive Officer’s voice cut through the background noise of the fighter bay.

“General quarters, set condition one throughout the ship. All pilots assemble in the ready room for emergency briefing.”

Without thinking I pushed off the deck and soared in a straight line for the bay hatch to the ready room.

Something was up all right.

Chapter Seven

The briefing room was already full of pilots when I arrived. Alpha and Bravo Squads alike.

I managed to slip through the press and took the seat next to Tommy. Goggles, his new wingmate, sat on Tommy’s other side and tried not to look uncomfortable when I joined them.

A moment or two later, Lead entered and with a glare, silenced all conversation. “The Olympus just received a mayday from a cargo convoy in the middle of the primary passage through the Jupiter Asteroid Belt. They’re under attack from an unknown number of astrofighters.”

The primary passage was wide and mostly clear of even minor asteroid debris. It was also heavily guarded. If pirates were attacking ships there, either the sentries were elsewhere or the enemy was insane.

Lead let that sink in a moment, then continued. “We’re the only ship in range, so we’re going in hot. Bravo has intercept, take out as many of the enemy fighters as you can. Blow those bastards out of the sky. Alpha will provide cover for the convoy. It’s going to be a minimum 10 minute flight to the combat zone so get to your ships and we’ll handle questions en route. Updates as we get them. Move.”

We all got to our feet and moved for the hatch. Lead spotted me as the crowd filed out. “Silk, you’re not going.”

I nodded. It hurt, but after all, I didn’t have a ship. Tommy shot me a look of regret and understanding as he and Goggles left.

I turned back to Lead. “Where do you want me then, Sir?”

The crowd had gone by now, and Lead put a hand on my shoulder. “By preference? Out there with us, Kinu. But it just ain’t possible. If we need resupply, you’d be in the way of the monkey wrench brigade... Just stay in the ready room.”

“Yes, Sir. May I go see Tommy and Goggles off?”

He nodded brusquely and turned to his tasks. “Make it quick.”

“Yes, Sir. Good hunting.”

***

Goggles was going through a hurried preflight when I caught up to him.

“Kick their ass Goggles!”

He nodded “Will do Silk! I’ll make the Lady proud.”

I couldn’t help it, His expression was so earnest I had to laugh. “I have no doubt, man. No doubt whatsoever.”

Pushing off, I went to the next fighter in line, Tommy’s. He was already in the cockpit, muttering to himself.

“..though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. For thou art with me. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me...”

I put a hand on his shoulder and he stopped to look at me.

“Get some for me too.”

He grinned ear to ear. “Upon my glorious return, I will expect many drinks.”

“It’s a deal. Good hunting, Tomtom.”

Then it was time for him to seal his canopy, and I retreated to the pilot’s ready room. I’d never been in the room alone before. The usually crowded space felt echoing, oppressive. It reminded me of my isolation. I flipped on the lights to drive the shadows away and found the room’s intercom. A moment later, I had it patched into the air group’s tactical net. It was my only way to get a sense of the engagement as a whole.

All twenty-three fighters launched smoothly. With the odd number of Alphas, Simmons was flying second-wing with Lead.

If you’ve never tried to pace in low gravity, then I don’t think I can explain it to you. It takes concentration to keep from bouncing off a wall or the ceiling. Too much vigor and you turn a step into a leap. It’s a good way to distract one’s self though. Concentrating on movements and trying not to think about what was about to happen.

Lead’s voice crackled over the speakers. “Alpha, Bravo. Lead. Tactical updates. Enemy fighters appear to be Uglies.”

‘Uglies’, pilot slang for a fighter cobbled together from whatever spare parts were handy. Most pirate ships were Uglies, so that tracked.

Catch, turn, push off.

“Still working on an accurate count, but it appears we have at least thirty hostiles. Say again, at least thirty.”

That was a big number. The Olympus’ fighters would be outnumbered, but would have the advantage of coordination and superior craft on their side.

Catch, turn, push off.

“Lead, Bravo 1. Any word on the Passage’s sentry forces?”

“Negative Bravo 1. Either the biggest group of Uglies I’ve ever seen got real lucky and found a bare spot, or the bad guys got some payback comin.”

Catch, turn, push off.

A new voice, much clearer due to proximity broke in. “Lead, Olympus. Update on Convoy status. Convoy is five ships total, hauling trade goods from Beta Centauri. Crew manifest... Oh god, in addition to their crew, they’ve got several hundred passengers! Refugees from a terraforming mishap.”

My blood froze. The cargo explained a raid this size, but when they found refugees instead of precious metals or valuable supplies, they’d kill the lot.

“Lead to group. Accelerate to top speed, but maintain formation. Estimate three minutes to attack range.”

My teeth ground together. The frustration of staying behind became overwhelming. I’d stopped moving at some point, So I flung myself into one of the seats.

I don’t even know how I got through the years that took place during those few minutes of silence. I could picture them, Tommy, Goggles, Simmons, Lead, the rest of Alpha, and the men and women of Beta Squad... Each and every one of them going through the little mental rituals all pilots develop. Checking their fighter’s status screens, preparing for the fight to come. Each whispering the silent prayers that none of us would admit to, but that we all offer up to whatever friendly gods or entities may be listening. Wishing for success, and to see home once more.

At some point, I’d drawn my knees up to my chest and hugged them hard against me. I felt so powerless, so worthless. My squadron was riding to the rescue, like the heroes of old. Putting themselves to the hazard, as Lead had said. They were going into battle where the only surety was that not all of them would return. But I was stuck here, safe and sound. Alone.

“Lead, Beta 3. I’ve got three Uglies on a parallel vector at fifteen degrees, distance 3-2.”

Lead’s voice was thick with repressed viciousness. “Roger Beta-3, I have them. Looks like we just found the trailing elements of our raiding force. Beta Squad, light em up. Alpha, punch through to the convoy. Flight group....Attack!”

And it was on.

Chapter Eight

The ready room’s speakers blared with a confusing mass of chatter. Pilots calling for help, identifying targets, crowing success and mourning failure.

The Beta ships Lead had dispatched were bogged down in a furball amongst the debris of the asteroid belt. The three-enemy element had been met by others, many others.

“Six more marks at 2-10!”

“I see them! Jenks, Max, on me!”

“They shot down Snap and Wiley!”

“Bastards...”

“...two on my tail! Help me somebody...” Static interrupted that one.

Abruptly I head Simmons’s voice cut through. “Lead, this ain’t no thirty Uglies! Closer to sixty!”

“My god... Sixty?” Tochiro breathed. I hadn’t even known he was in here, but now he sat next to me. “Outnumbered almost three-to-one...”

“I know Rhino!” Lead retorted. “Keep at `em and stick your wingmen all of ya!”

Tommy’s static-laced voice responded. “Good angle, going for lock...”

“Step on it Tomtom!” Goggles cut in. “We’ve got four crawling up our afterburners!”

“They’re away!... Yes!! Splash two!”

Goggles was frantic. “I can’t hold them back! Ah!!” and more static.

I flung myself at the nearby console, so hard I smacked my shoulder painfully into the wall. I didn’t even blink as I rapidly called up a status list for Alpha Six, Goggles.

Signal lost.

Goggles was dead.

Numbly, I switched to Alpha Seven, Tommy. His ship was damaged, his missiles expended, and he was throwing himself into a knot of eight attackers with guns blazing. I could hear his string of defiant curses.

And I was stuck here. Powerless. Useless. Worthless.

I didn’t even realize I was screaming until I felt Tochiro’s hand on my shoulder and the raw pain in my throat faded.

I had the impression he was speaking, but I couldn’t make out the words. Not until, “The Zero’s ready, if you want it.”

I turned my tear-burned face up to him. “... what... ?”

“It’s prepped, fueled and fully armed. If you want it, it’s all yours.”

Some small voice in my mind responded with logic. I’d never actually flown it. I’d failed all the combat sims. It was a test fighter. Any of a billion things could go wrong and I’d die in a trillion-credit mistake.

But I heard Goggles’ death cry again in my mind, and nodded.

“I want it.”

***

Settling into the Zero’s cockpit, my flight suit connected to the new ships’ life support system with an audible click and a rush of sweet air. It sounded different, the engine had a much higher pitch, the vibrations a strange keen... but it felt right. It felt like home.

Until a strange, feminine voice came over my helmet speakers. “Greetings Pilot. Designation?”

“Alpha Six.... no, wait. Silk. Designation, Silk.”

“Greetings Silk, I am the Cosmo Zero navigational aid interface. You may interact with me by saying my designation, which you may now decide.”

I thought for a moment, despite the hurried rush outside, this somehow felt very important. “Zero. For now, I’ll call you Zero.”

“Very well.”

“Glad you two are getting along...” Tochiro’s voice came over my helmet speakers. “We gave you a heavy load-out. It should keep the power-to-mass ratio closer to what you’re used to. Try to keep the throttle below sixty percent in combat though, otherwise we don’t know what might happen.”

“Right.” Then, despite being woefully inadequate, I said the only words I could find. “Thank you, Tochiro.”

“Thank me by not getting my plane shot up. We’re gonna get all kinds of awesome data out of this. But I really don’t want to explain to my boss that the prototype got trashed.”

“No promises.”

And then it was time. I was moved into position and the linear catapult yawned open before me.

“Zero, Silk. Launching!”

The speed was incredible. I wasn’t pressed against the seat, I was smashed. But then I was clear, out amongst the stars. Using all that inertia, I threw the throttle wide. This was straight line speed, and I had a lot of vacuum to cover.

Zero was a nimble little comet. By rights, I should have been awed by the speed. I’d never flown that fast in my life, but all I could think about was my friends’ plight before me.

Perhaps six minutes had passed in the perceived blink of an eye when the fight appeared on my heads-up display. The Olympus’ fighters were holding their own, but the outcome was clear enough, eventually they would all be isolated and killed.

“Zero, give me the Squadron’s tactical frequency.”

It beeped and I was patched in. “Lead, Silk. I’m inbound, where do you want me?”

His incredulity was plain even over the speaker “Silk?! How the? No don’t tell me. Do you have any larger ships on your scanners?”

I caught on. Uglies couldn’t operate so deep in space by themselves. They’d need somewhere to land, refuel and resupply. This many of them meant a large base ship, not some converted cargo transport, but a big capital-class beast.

Unfortunately, my scope just didn’t show one. “Just the convoy.”

“Then your target is hiding in the asteroids. Find it, and kill it.”

“Roger Lead, Silk out.” I tasked Zero with scanning for extraneous power discharges, active scan beams, transmissions not coming from the furball, anything that might be another ship hiding in the asteroids.

“If I were a pirate base ship, where would I hide...”

Nothing on the scanners.

“Zero, check the belt’s predictive charts and navigation models. Are there any calm spots with areas of high asteroid concentration between them and the passage?”

“Working...” Zero replied.

Having an in-flight secretary was actually pretty dang awesome, I decided.

“Affirmative! One such zone detected.”

“Speculate, could a carrier-class starship conceal itself in that zone?”

“Affirmative.”

“Smack a nav beacon on the zone in question and show me the fastest route to it through the asteroids. Avoid the combat area.”

A new indicator blinked on my scope. It read as a solid mass of space rocks, but Zero plotted an insanely winding course around them. It wouldn’t be perfect, of course. These were projections based on known data. The reality of the belt could be very different. But it was the best idea I was going to get.

I threw us into the chaos of the Jupiter Asteroid Belt.

Immediately, I wished there was a better way. A rain of space-born gravel, too small to warrant evasion (even if I could detect it) pinged off Zero’s hull, buffeting us around like dice in a giant’s hand.

“Zero, display the ordinance stores list on secondary monitor.” I’d gone over it with Tochiro before launching, twice. But what with trying to keep track of the rocks and engaging in combat flying a ship I was still only half-familiar with, it was a good idea to keep the list visible as well.

The path through the planetary debris was becoming more and more dangerous. I threw Zero into the twists and turns, skating her thrusters around every obstacle in our way. My fingers danced across the controls while my eyes darted everywhere at once. Keeping one eye on the rocks, the other zipping from screen to gage to controls.

I couldn’t tell you where along the path it happened, but at some point, it all became... not easier. Flying like this is NEVER easy. But it became more natural. Like I was a bird, and Zero my protective suit of armor.

It felt right.

Then, with a rocket-powered pirouette across an asteroid the size of a small town, I cleared the final obstacle and entered the area Zero said was the hidden calm zone. It was indeed occupied.

There, in the center of the zone, sat the gray lozenge shape of a half-century old fighter carrier. At least, that was what she had been originally. It looked like a dozen other ships had been cannibalized in the name of makeshift repairs since whoever now owned her had taken possession.

I flipped my transmitter over to general broadcast. “Enemy Carrier, this is Lieutenant Ogawa of the Solar Federation Navy. Heave to, and recall your fighters immediately or you will be fired upon...”

I wasn’t even through the spiel before the ship had opened up on me with their forward weapons. The fire was easy to avoid, being designed for use against other capital ships. But it was still rude.

“Have it your way fellas...” I armed my anti-ship torpedoes and centered the ship’s fat engines in the targeting reticule.

“Lock achieved” Zero chimed. I pulled the launch trigger and the missile sizzled forward.

...only to explode under a sudden and fierce wall of defensive fire. Somebody on the pirate ship was no dummy.

I switched over to guns and swung Zero into a course that would bring us around from behind them, threading us right along their flight deck where the fire was weakest. It also bought me a moment’s calm to check in with the Olympus’ fighters.

“Lead, Silk. Target engaged.”

His reply was laced with static from belt interference, but I could just barely make it out.

“Great. Hopefully they’ll start recalling their... Ah, Crap!” The static was replaced with the flat, steady tone of a lost signal.

“Lead, LEAD!”

“He’s gone Silk...” Simmons responded. “It’s murder out here, whatever you’re gonna do, do it now!”

And then I was into my attack run, cannons blazing at every inch of the pirate vessel I could reach. Sensor pods, comm antennae, the flight deck, weapons emplacements... I left a trail of wreckage and flame in my wake. I didn’t have to scream out my fury and grief while I dealt death and destruction, but for the moment it made me feel better.

With a final explosion, I was clear.

“Zero, damage assessment.”

Her calm, modulated voice replied, “Target combat effectiveness 78 percent.”

I swore. If I used my torpedoes, they’d shoot them down. If I got in close enough to get under their defense grid, the blast of my torps would cook me too.

So think laterally dummy. There has to be a way… A-ha!

An evil grin stretched my lips.

“Zero, activate a telemetry link to all remaining torpedoes. Then on my mark, without launching them, disengage their hard-points.”

“Working...” Zero replied. A moment later she added “Ready, awaiting pilot signal.”

Our course had already brought us back around to the beginning of our previous attack run, the carrier’s aft looming large in my view port.

“Mark!”

Five distinct thuds as my remaining anti-ship torpedoes fell away from Zero. The grin turned vicious as I keyed for torpedo guidance and threw us back into the gauntlet.

The targeting system pinged and Zero chimed in with “Target lock!”

Predictably the enemy defensive fire started anew, but this time it wasn’t focused on the torpedoes. Heck, they couldn’t even SEE them. All the defensive fire was focused on the one thing locked onto the carrier. Zero herself.

I was using Zero’s targeting computer to feed data to the torpedoes rather than having them rely on their own systems. In effect it made them whispers in a concert hall where my Zero was playing death metal, and she had it cranked to thirteen.

“Send the torpedoes a launch order! Keep the lock-on signal solid!” I cried as I danced us around the ever more desperate counter fire. If Zero responded, I didn’t hear. I was too busy keeping us alive.

That’s the thing about defensive fire-control systems like this one. They work by rolling the dice. A defense grid fires a huge volley of smaller shots, hoping to hit the incoming missile and trigger a detonation. The missile, of course is just intent on slamming into its target and detonating. Most of them will fly a straight line, no counter measures or attempts to dodge the defensive fire. Those kinds of features just aren’t cost-effective.

I, on the other hand, went as evasive as hell. Or at least as evasive as possible while still maintaining the loud-death-metal-lock my whispering-torpedoes needed to reach their targets.

Every so often, the odds would turn against me and one or two lines of that network of fire would stitch themselves along a wing, or strike a glancing blow off my fuselage. I kept as close an eye as I could on Zero’s status boards. The damage was mounting, but not fatal, yet.

It felt like forever, but was probably only a few seconds before the first torpedo whizzed by my cockpit. As it lanced towards the enemy carrier, I gave whoop of joy. It crashed into the side of the ship’s port engine in a spectacular fireball, quickly joined by two of it’s brethren. The final pair flashed past and with a monumental flash and seemingly audible crack of thunder, they split the pirate vessel in half. Fire and debris belching from her wounds as she died.

Zero’s computer-calm voice almost sounded smug. “Target, destroyed.”

I allowed myself only a briefly smug smile. “Plot us a course back to the Passage and get us into the Combat area.”

***

By the time we came rocketing into the furball like an angry comet, things had gotten positively grim.

Of the original twenty three fighters dispatched by the Olympus, elven remained. In elements of two or three, they screened the lumbering convoy ships as the big haulers tried desperately to accelerate along the passage through the belt to safety.

The attacking swarm had suffered losses as well. Simmons’s estimate of sixty looked about right, but amidst all the floating debris, it was hard to tell how many Uglies there had originally been. Their numbers were down significantly though. Perhaps a dozen attacking ships still made attack runs against the weary defenders.

I sent out a general broadcast. “Attacking force, you are ordered to stand down. Now.”

Surprisingly, I got a reply. OK, it wasn’t one I could repeat. But suffice to say, the pirate on the other end said ‘no’.

“Now, now,” I chided him. “Your base ship has been destroyed, and to be blunt, all the air you have to breathe is on your ships already.”

Silence.

“I figure you’ve got two options if you want to live. Our brig, or tying your ships off to one of the freighters and trying to force an airlock or two. I’m pretty sure their crews will shoot you on sight though. Oh, they also outnumber you ten to one. Your call, Peaches.”

They surrendered.

Chapter Nine

I exited Zero’s cockpit and alighted gently on Olympus’ landing deck.

Tochiro was beside himself. “My baby! What did you do to my poor, poor ship?!”

Between the asteroid damage and all the defensive fire... Yeah, I was amazed she’d held together too. Not one square inch of Zero wasn’t scratched, scorched or dented. She’s a tough one, my new Lady.

Tochiro literally embraced one of Zero’s landing struts and cooed. “It’s alright, you’re safe now. The mean, mean lady won’t hurt you anymore. Daddy’s here.”

He is one strange little man.

Turns out, Tommy was hurt. He’d caught a bit of shrapnel at some point when an Ugly had scored on his fighter and smashed his cockpit. Remember why our fighters fly without atmosphere in the cockpit? If he’d been surrounded by air, it would have been worse. As it was, he’d have an arm in a sling for a month and a few interesting scars. He came out of the battle with a commendation, and later earned a reprimand for hitting on nurses.

Simmons, the big palooka, had nary a scratch on his ship. He’d done for eight of the Uglies and was being awarded the distinguished flying medal.

I didn’t get a medal. I got told off for taking an untested prototype into combat. But given the outcome, the brass wasn’t going to press charges, so...win, I guess?

Speaking of charges. Simmons talked to his Admiral-Grandpa or whoever and got everything pending quietly dropped. He and I still butt heads, but now it’s at least moderately civil.

The aftermath of the engagement wasn’t all so rosy though.

Lead was dead, as were Goggles, and half of Alpha and Beta squadrons. The remnants were going to be consolidated, but first we had to get through honoring the dead, and repairing the living.

There was a memorial of course, attended by the Captains of the Convoy ships in addition to the Olympus’ officers and crew. The usual pomp and circumstance all around.

The evening of the funeral, Tommy and I retreated to the ‘bar’. It was late enough that after about twenty minutes, we had the place to ourselves. We were both off duty, him due to his injury, and me because Tochiro refused to let me anywhere near the Zero for the foreseeable future. So I made good on my promise to buy Tommy many drinks. This time though, I kept one for myself. Tonight just felt like a night for whiskey.

After saying goodbye to so many dead friends, neither of us felt like talking. We’d gone over and over the battle and what we could have done, what we SHOULD have done... it was too much to bear going over it one more time. Tommy and I sat in companionable silence.

I couldn’t have told you how long we sat like that, but eventually, Simmons of all people walked in. He bought himself a beer and a whiskey and sat down on the side of the table between Tommy and I. Without a word, he popped the cap off his beer and took a long swig.

Tommy and I glanced at each other and shrugged.

At length, Simmons finished his beer and pushed the whiskey over to me. The he stood, nodded, said something that might have been “I pay my debts”, collected Tommy’s empty glasses to take to the wash bin, and left.

Simmons is still an ass, but sometimes he’s all right. He’s in my squadron. I trust him with my life and he trusts me with his. That’s the bottom line.

My name is Lieutenant Kinuko Ogawa, friends call me Kinu and my call sign is Silk. I’m a pilot in the Solar Federation Navy.

And I love to fly.