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Uplink Squadron Copyright © 2022 by Variant Publications

Book design and layout copyright © 2022 by JN Chaney

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, dead, or undead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved

No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing.

1st Edition

CONTENTS

Don’t Miss Out

The Jupiter Incident

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Uplink Squadron

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Epilogue

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THE JUPITER INCIDENT

1

US SPACE STATION ALPHA

“Sir, you better look at this!” the tech said, his eyes wide.

“Are the Russians or Chinese shooting at us?” Major James Meadows asked.

“Not that I know of,” the tech replied. “If anything, though, this may be worse.”

“Worse than World War III?” The major cocked his head. “What’s worse than World War III?”

“I think you better take a look, sir. I retasked the TESS 3 satellite; it’s on Display 2.”

The major spun back to his console and pulled up the indicated display. A pockmarked planetary surface with a bright spot on the left appeared. “I see some impact craters and… is that ice on the left? What am I supposed to be looking at?”

“What? Shit. Let me adjust it.”

The view pulled a long way back, and Meadows could see it was a moon with an orange planet in the background. “Is that Jupiter?”

“Yes, sir. The moon is Callisto, I think. Where did…there it is!” The view zoomed in to show an object in motion, coming out from behind the moon.

“Is that an asteroid?”

“No sir.” The view tightened on the object, although it jerked repeatedly as the tech tried to keep it centered. “It’s round, but it isn’t rough like a natural object. It’s smooth and shiny, like worked metal.”

“Are you saying it’s an alien spa—”

“It’s definitely a spaceship, sir. I don’t know if it’s alien… but it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen in the Russian or Chinese inventories.”

“Me, either.” The major swallowed. “Take as many pictures of it as you can. Try and get some hi-def ones.” He turned slightly. “Staff Sergeant Jenkins, help Rutherford track the bogie. Whatever you do, do not lose it. I’ve got to make some calls.” He pulled out his slate and started swiping through the checklists.

There was a checklist for finding an approaching asteroid on a collision course with Earth, but nothing for reporting UFOs. How is it that there’s nothing for reporting aliens? Command has to know they’re out here!

* * *

GUNSTAR 306, APPROACHING JUPITER ORBIT, TWO MONTHS LATER

“Okay, folks,” the SFA-106 squadron CO, David Wayne, said. “Remember, our mission is to make contact with the aliens, not to shoot at them. Keep your weapons safe and your fingers off the triggers.”

The other three pilots acknowledged his transmission, and Wayne looked over to his weapons system operator. “Anything?”

“No, sir,” the WSO, Jason Moores, replied. “I’ve tried calling them on a number of frequencies, but no response. I’ve tried it in English, Russian, and Chinese… heck, I even played the binary message the eggheads in California came up with, but so far, nada.”

Moores shrugged. “No sense calling home for instructions.” The transmission delay to call Earth was currently 44 minutes each way, so answering a question took about an hour and a half. “What do you want to do?”

“Our orders said to slowly approach the alien, so I’m going to take us in to a hundred miles,” the CO said. He put the nose of the F-76 fighter forward of the alien vessel and added power. Not so much that he was charging in on an attack profile—at least he hoped it didn’t seem that way. There was no telling what the aliens knew or didn’t know about the F-76. If they think 80% power is what I’d use for an attack run, I very well may be starting an interstellar war.

“Yeah,” Moores said. “Whatever we’re going to do, we need to do it quickly. We’ve got two, maybe three orbits, then we’re going to have to head home.”

“I was looking at fuel state,” Wayne said. “I think we can make three orbits.” He shrugged. “But no more.” Not that he wanted to stay in the fighter any longer than he had to, anyway. They’d already been in it for over a week, and they still had a similar journey back to Alpha Station.

The division of fighters closed to a hundred miles away from the alien ship. It was still too far away to see visually, but Moores could now see the ship—barely—on his long-range optics.

“Getting anything?” Wayne asked.

“Still nothing.” Moores scanned his displays. “Visually, I can’t see much, but it doesn’t look to be maneuvering. It’s just orbiting around Jupiter. I’m not getting any emissions from it, either. If it’s transmitting anything, it’s doing it on wavelengths we don’t receive.” He shrugged. “Or ones that our system doesn’t classify as anything important, anyway.”

Moores looked back at his display. “Wait a minute. I’ve got movement.”

“Movement? What kind of movement?”

“Looks like they just opened a door—I can see a black spot on the side of the ship now. Looks like they may be launching something. No, somethings.”

“What do they look like?”

Moores shrugged as he continued to study the scope. “Too far away to tell. Right now, they look like specks of dust.”

“Heads up,” Wayne said over the radio. “Looks like we’ve got movement at the ship. Something may be launching in response to us.”

“I’ve got them on radar now,” Moores noted. “Too far to break them out, but there’s definitely something coming out to greet us.”

“Okay, I’m going to wait right here, then,” Wayne said, turning the fighter to parallel the alien ship. “No sense making them think we’re coming to attack them.”

“Damn,” Moores said.

“What?”

“You pulled the nose off them. Now I can’t see them on radar.”

“Oops, sorry. Here. How’s this?” He killed the ship’s thrust and used the maneuvering thrusters to rotate the fighter 90 degrees to its direction of travel.

“That’s better,” Moores said. “I’ve got them again. Man, they’re coming on fast. Looks like there are four of them.”

“Four enemy ships coming in,” Wayne said over the radio. “All ships, reform on me.”

The other ships reoriented on the lead fighter’s new heading as Moores continued to track the aliens. “Skipper, they’re really coming in hot. They’re going to overshoot us something fierce. They’re coming in at about a thousand kilometers per hour. They’re ten miles away on the nose.”

He shifted to the optics. “I’ve got them visually. They’re small—they look like fighters—and there are definitely four of them.”

“Everyone stay calm,” Wayne said. “They’re on our nose. I see them. They’re going to shoot past us. When they do, we’ll spin in place to reorient on them.”

“Doesn’t look like they’re built for atmosphere,” Moores said.

“Why not?”

“They’re small and have wings that are vertical to the fuselage, mounted on some sort of pylons. They’re definitely not aerodynamic.”

“No, they’re not,” Wayne said. “And they’re also not going to overshoot.”

“What? Why?” Moores asked, looking up.

“Because they just stopped in front of us.”

“That’s impossible,” Moores said, looking out the canopy, but he could see it wasn’t. There, in front of his cockpit, a couple hundred meters away, sat four alien ships. “How did they brake?”

“I don’t know,” Wayne said. “They just stopped. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“What do we do now?”

“I don’t know. Wave?” The CO put words into action and waved at the alien ships. After a couple of seconds, Moores joined him.

He stopped after a few waves. “I wish we could see into their cockpit so we knew what they looked like.”

“If they even have cockpits,” Wayne replied. “I don’t see anything that looks like a cockpit.”

“Do you suppose they’re robot craft?” Moores asked.

“I don’t know,” Wayne said. “I guess—”

A laser snapped out from each of the alien ships and speared through their American counterparts. Moores had a split second to feel the air rushing through the destroyed canopy, then it sliced through him, too.

2

CIC, USS FORRESTAL, APPROACHING JUPITER ORBIT, THREE MONTHS LATER

“The squadrons are starting their attack runs,” the radio operator announced.

“They’re going to have to hurry,” the intel specialist said. He pointed to the plot. “Looks like the alien ship is launching their fighters.”

“Well, I guess we’ll see how many of those little bastards they have,” Admiral Pennington said.

“Hopefully, it’s fewer than our sixty,” his ops officer, Captain Shultz, replied. “Sorry, fifty-nine,” he corrected. “The Nighthawks had one ship that didn’t make the launch.”

“Very well,” Pennington said as he watched the fighters race forward on the plot. They’d been able to jam three squadrons of twenty space fighters each into the modified ship that they’d renamed the Forrestal. It had originally been designed for deep-space research but had been “repurposed” to carry the fighters out to deal with the alien at Jupiter.

Since the destruction of the four fighters, it hadn’t moved from Jupiter. Whatever the aliens were doing, though, it was impossible to tell. Their little fighters flew around, doing something, but no one so far had been able to figure out what it was. The aliens had done nothing to make contact with the people of Earth. The Chinese and Russians had each launched a probe toward Jupiter; both had been destroyed when they reached about five hundred kilometers from the craft.

Pennington would have liked to have had several more “carriers,” but Forrestal was the only one that would be ready for at least eight months, to say nothing about the expected year and a half it would take to get the fighters and pilots needed to man it. With word of the alien ship expected to leak out to the media soon, the Powers That Be in Washington had decided something had to be done about the alien at Jupiter. Forrestal and its three squadrons were that “something.”

“I can see the fighters launching,” the technician watching the “Big Look” optical telescope reported.

“Get me a count,” the admiral said.

“I make it about forty,” the technician replied a couple of minutes later.

Pennington nodded. “Very well. Make sure the Dragons know.” The twenty fighters of the Golden Dragon squadron surged forward ahead of the other fighters. They were armed for anti-aircraft ops. The term—aircraft rather than spacecraft—had stuck because the mother ship was a spacecraft as well, and it was the best way to distinguish them, although technically incorrect.

The Dragons, almost as one, began launching their missiles. Each was armed with four Cobra anti-aircraft missiles, and, within seconds, eighty missiles raced ahead of the fighters.

The enemy ships, however, had some sort of countermeasures—whether it was a jammer or chaff or something else, entirely—and the majority of the missiles missed. When the display cleared, nearly thirty of the alien ships continued toward the twenty fighters approaching them. The American fighters let loose with their internal cannon as they reached the merge with the aliens, destroying several more, then the alien craft turned, nearly on a dime, and immediately raced off again in pursuit of the Golden Dragons, who were skew turning as hard as they could to come back around on the aliens.

The smaller fighters apparently didn’t have a problem with inertia, as they were immediately at the six o’clock position of the Dragon fighters. One by one—faster than Pennington would have thought possible—the Dragons dropped out of the link as their spacecraft were destroyed.

The twenty-four enemy fighters proceeded toward the strike fighters, who hadn’t—quite—reached launch range yet. The strike craft, thirty-nine strong, didn’t have anti-air missiles, but they had full internal cannon loads, and they sprayed the incoming alien craft, destroying five more.

The American fighters continued past the alien fighters almost to launch range.

The aliens stopped faster than they should have been able to as they passed the American craft, then they raced off in pursuit. As before, they were in position almost immediately, and the numbers of the Pukin’ Dogs and Gunslingers began dropping precipitously.

Before the enemy fighters could kill them all, though, the strikers reached missile range and began launching their anti-ship missiles. At least thirty launched, then the remaining strike aircraft began skewing around to take the enemy craft under fire. Two more of the alien ships were destroyed before the Americans were wiped from space.

The enemy fighters turned toward the Forrestal and began accelerating.

“Call the bridge,” Pennington said, strapping himself into his acceleration couch. “Tell the captain to get us out of here. Maximum acceleration.”

A couple of seconds later, the flashing high-G lights began strobing, along with the klaxon, which indicated ten seconds until maneuvers began. Most of the people were at General Quarters—or should have been, the admiral thought—so hopefully no one would be injured too badly.

The Forrestal’s main engines fired, and the ship began moving from where it had stopped to await the outcome of the battle.

Speaking of which…

Pennington’s eyes went to the plot as the Gs started building. The anti-ship missiles went into their terminal maneuvers as a number of anti-missile missiles launched from the alien vessels. Nearly half the missiles were destroyed.

Then others began dropping off the plot.

“What’s happening to the missiles?” Pennington asked, grunting as four Gs pushed him into his couch.

“Anti-missile lasers, probably,” Shultz replied, his voice straining. Four missiles made it to the ship, and Pennington glanced to the Big Eye display. Somehow the tech had kept the telescope centered on the alien craft, and he had a great view as the missiles all detonated, whiting out the screen for several long seconds with their nuclear blasts, then the picture cleared, and the alien craft emerged, seemingly no worse for the wear.

“What the hell?” Pennington said with a grunt.

“Must have… had some sort of shield,” Shultz replied.

Another missile burst, whiting out the screen. This time, when the enemy ship emerged, Pennington could see that the ship had sustained some damage. Whether the shield had failed or the missile had done something the others hadn’t, the bow of the craft looked slagged.

Before he could say anything, though, Shultz announced, “Here they come,” and Pennington’s eyes jumped to the plot. The alien fighters had already—somehow—crossed the distance to the ship and were beginning their attack runs.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Although a former research vessel, the Forrestal wasn’t toothless, and missiles began launching.

Pennington quickly realized, though, that they wouldn’t be enough. There were more fighters than missiles, and, even though the missiles destroyed several of the fighters, the others launched missiles back at the ship.

The plots for the incoming missiles swept toward the Forrestal, and a shiver went down Pennington’s back. There’s no way they’re going to stop them—

There was a flash, and Pennington didn’t have to worry anymore.

3

THE SITUATION ROOM, WHITE HOUSE BASEMENT, WASHINGTON, DC

“So that’s it,” General Orzol stated. “The carrier Forrestal and all aboard are dead, and will likely burn up in Jupiter’s atmosphere before we can get there. Assuming anyone made it out in a survival pod, which is unlikely.”

“What’s the latest on the aliens?” President Harvey asked. “Are they headed here next?”

“No, sir,” General Orzol replied. “After they destroyed our carrier, they hightailed it out-system, accelerating faster than we’ve ever seen a ship capable of, and then they disappeared.”

“They disappeared? You mean, like, they vanished? Not that they evaded your tracking, but all of a sudden, they went into some ‘stealth mode?’”

“I don’t know if it’s that, exactly,” the general said, looking uncomfortable.

“Well, what is it, then?”

“Our folks think that the aliens had some sort of advanced drive system, and they went into hyperspace or something.”

“Hyperspace? You mean like what they do in the movies? With all the glowing white lights and stuff? Are you serious?”

“Yes, sir; that’s what we think. One minute it was there, and the next it wasn’t. There was some sort of flash—just for an instant—and then the ship was gone.”

The president glanced down the table. “So what are we going to do about it?” He held up a hand when everyone started talking at once. “Let’s start with the general. General?”

“Well, sir”—if he looked uncomfortable before, it was nothing compared with now—“I’m sorry to say, there really isn’t anything we can do about it.”

“What is that supposed to mean? We’re the most powerful nation on Earth. There’s got to be something we can do about the aliens. Some direction we can take. Some preparations we can make for when they come back.” His eyes narrowed. “You do expect them to return, don’t you?”

“We do,” the general replied. “Their technology is obviously beyond ours, and nothing we did to them should have scared them off. It’s very likely they will be back.”

“With that being the case, I think this is a matter of two issues. What are we going to do about the ones that got away, and what are we going to do to bulk up our defenses for when they come back?” He set his shoulders, indicating the decision had been made. “So, what are our options for going after the one that got away? It’s obviously going back to wherever it came from to report our civilization. How do we stop it?”

“We can’t,” the general replied. “First off, it accelerated faster than anything we’ve got, and yet it could also stop on a dime. It was pulling about 20 Gs when it jumped into hyperspace, or whatever it did. A human crew would be squashed to paste if we tried to maintain that kind of acceleration.”

“So you’re telling me they are what? Some kind of species that isn’t affected by extreme G forces?”

“Well, the answer to that is a qualified ‘maybe,’” Jim Swartz, the Director of National Intelligence, said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means it’s possible that the alien species is insectoid or something less affected by G forces. It’s also possible that the aliens have some sort of gravity drive they’re using. If so, then they might be able to lessen the G forces they are feeling within the ship.”

“That’s possible?” the president asked.

“The Chinese think so. We’ve got people working on it, too, but from what we’re hearing, they’re farther along than we are.”

“What happens if they figure it out before we do?”

It was the DNI’s turn to look uncomfortable. “We don’t know, but it’s going to be a game changer, that’s for sure. If they had the same capabilities as the aliens…”

“Yeah. That would change everything,” the president said with a nod. “I hope we’re devoting a lot of our assets to this.”

“We have been. We will be devoting more.”

“See that you do.” He turned back to General Orzol. “So, maybe we can catch them after all. How do we kill them when we get there?”

“Mr. President, we have no idea at the moment. We’re working on developing a new space fighter—the F-77—but its progress was slowed by the latest round of budget cuts.”

The president frowned. “You told me we would be okay with less money going to the program.”

Orzol squared his shoulders. “Yes, sir; I did. That was before we had aliens running around in our system. We’re going to have to restore the funding so we can make progress on it.”

The president glanced down the table. “Treasury?”

“We’ll talk offline, sir. I’m sure we can shuffle some additional funding to them.”

“Without the media finding out?”

“Yes, sir. Without the media learning about it.”

“Good. As you know, I imposed a gag on anything about the aliens or the loss of the Forrestal. As far as the country needs to know, the Forrestal suffered an engine failure or was hit by a rogue asteroid that didn’t show on its sensors. Tragic, but part of the dangers of space travel. If they were to find out that there were hostile aliens in the system, there’d be global panic and hysteria. We can’t afford that right now.”

Several heads around the table nodded.

“Who’s got the lead in space fighter technology?” the president asked.

“We do on the hardware side,” the DNI replied. “On the software side, the Russians are working on something they’re being very hush-hush about. The program is a black hole. We’ve connected what few rumors we’ve heard to a facility in the Urals working on something that’s supposed to be, and I quote, ‘revolutionary,’ but we don’t know what it is.”

“It seems like we’re getting left behind in a number of areas,” the president noted.

“Too much of the budget is going to social programs,” the DNI said. “Not enough is going to science and research.”

“Or the military,” Orzol added.

“Well, we can’t change anything in our past,” the president said. “Looking forward, how are we going to catch up with the Chinese and the Russians, and how are we going to take the fight to the aliens?”

“Take the fight to the aliens?” Orzol said, his bushy eyebrows rising. “I don’t know that we—”

“Yes, yes, I know,” the president said, cutting him off. “You don’t think we can take the fight to the aliens. I don’t care what you think you can’t do; we’re going to do it! Kennedy wanted to go to the moon, and the US made it happen, far faster than anyone thought possible.” His eyes scanned the table. “I want us to go to the home system of the aliens. They know where we are; they’ll be a lot better neighbors if they know that we know where they live, too.

“I’ve seen all the movies where aliens throw asteroids at planets and destroy civilizations. To this point, the aliens haven’t wanted to talk to us. If they know we can bombard their systems with asteroids, I’m sure they’ll be a lot easier to work with.

“Now”—his eyes scanned the table again—“that’s what we’re going to do. If you don’t think it can be done or don’t want to be part of this, I’ll cheerfully take your resignation so I can replace you with someone who’s ready to step in and accomplish these tasks. Anyone ready to resign at this moment?”

“Fine,” the president continued when no one spoke up. “So, I ask again, how are we going to catch up with the Chinese and the Russians, and how are we going to take the fight to the aliens? Who’s got some good ideas here?”

The NSA held up his hand. “I’ve got an idea, Mr. President, but I’m not sure you’re going to like it…”

4

THE PHOENICIA HOTEL, MALTA

“Thank you for coming,” US President Dean Harvey said once the serving staff had left the room. “And thank you for keeping this meeting outside the public eye.”

“How could I turn down a stay at such a luxury hotel?” Chen Rongji, the president of the People’s Republic of China, replied. “It is a decadence I am unused to.” A sardonic smile indicated he didn’t expect the others to believe him.

“Can I assume this island was chosen due to its historical significance?” Russian Prime Minister Boris Patrushev asked.

Harvey smiled. “It is. Malta is known for being a meeting place of world leaders. Although Yalta might have been more appropriate, the climate is better here, and it’s easier for everyone to get here.”

“Are you saying—”

“Please,” Harvey said, holding up a hand. “I want this meeting to be non-confrontational, a gathering of the three most influential leaders of Earth, to decide on how to answer the alien threat. I would like this to be a private working group with just the three of us, free of the rhetoric that we are forced to use in public.”

“So it is true,” Rongji said. “Aliens destroyed your Forrestal.”

“They did, along with everyone aboard, and I think we’re going to have to put our past grievances—and our current ones, too—aside if the three of us are to successfully defend against them.”

Patrushev chuckled. “Great America can’t do everything by itself?” While the Chinese leader’s English was impeccable from years of schooling at Yale, the Russian spoke English with a heavy accent.

“No,” Harvey said. “Unfortunately, we can’t.” He smiled thinly. “Gentlemen, I’m going to put all my cards on the table. Right now, we can’t go after them. Trust me; I want to go after them very badly, but the fact of the matter is, we can’t. They have some new drive we’ve never seen before that outclasses anything we’ve got.”

“Is gravity drive,” the Russian leader said. “We know you know this much.”

“Yes, we do,” Harvey said with a nod, “but we don’t have any idea how such a drive would work.” He looked significantly at the Chinese president.

“But we do,” Rongji replied with a smile. “Yes, the distortion signature when the alien ship jumped proved to us that our research into this technology wasn’t misplaced. A gravity drive will work.

“We have been making progress in this area; getting the confirmation of the alien’s jump gave us the impetus we needed to pursue the final breakthrough. We suspect that we will have a working model within the next six months. Fusion power running a gravity drive.

“Once we achieve it, we will be able to chase the aliens down. We think. But catching them is worth nothing if we can’t do something to get their attention once we find them.”

“Get their attention?” Harvey asked.

The Chinese president chuckled. “To kill them, just like they killed your people. That is the only way to get the attention of a dog—deal with it from a position of strength. If you kick it in the teeth when it tries to bite you, it will be far more reluctant to try it a second time. The aliens need to be kicked in the teeth.”

“True.” President Harvey nodded. “As it happens, we have some new fighters we’re building. They’re faster and more maneuverable in both atmosphere and out in space.”

“The F-77,” the Russian prime minister noted with a nod. “Yes, is very good fighter. But we can make it better.”

“You’ve already seen the plans?” Harvey asked. “What? Did you steal them?”

The Russian let out a huge belly laugh. “Of course we have stolen the plans; that’s how I know we can make it better. We would build them ourselves, but your plane is too damn expensive. Building a single squadron would bankrupt our economy. Again.”

“If you haven’t built them, how do you know you can make them better?” Harvey asked.

“We have an improved pilot interface. It will make control of plane faster.”

“We knew you were working on something,” President Harvey said. “What exactly is an improved pilot interface?”

“We can link the pilot to the plane by fiber-optic cable. Maneuvering by thought is much faster than by reflexes alone. Better maneuvering if hands are off control stick.”

“You got a pilot uplink to work? I know our guys tried to work that out for years but had to give it up. It caused several people to go crazy.”

“In Russia, it has caused several hundred people to go crazy. Or was that thousands? I forget.” He shrugged. “Matters not. As you say, you must break some eggs in order to make breakfast, no?”

“Something like that; however, there’s no way we would have sacrificed that many people to make it work.”

The Russian shrugged again. “Their families were well compensated.”

“Really?”

“Of course not.” The Russian chuckled. “They were criminals, and they paid their debts to society, no? Feel free to believe we compensated their families, though, if it makes you feel better.”

The president shook his head and looked down at his notes. After a moment, the flush faded, and he said, “America is prepared to contribute a spaceship—a carrier—and a squadron of F-77s to go after the aliens.”

The Russian nodded. “Throw in second squadron of fighters. We will man them and give you our uplink technology for both squadrons.”

“Throw in a third squadron of F-77s, and China will provide pilots for them. We will also give you our gravity drive technology and will help man the carrier.”

“As will we.” The Russian nodded.

The US president’s eyes narrowed. “How many of the people you have manning the carrier will be spies, trying to steal our technology?”

The Chinese president smiled broadly. “Most, if not all, of course.” The Russian nodded with a small smile. “Would you expect otherwise?”

“No,” Harvey said with a sigh. “I guess not.”

“As you said, all cards on the table. If we are to survive this, we will all have to work together. We will all have to share our secrets, even the ones we hold most dear. To do otherwise will be to invite failure and the elimination of our society.”

“A truly joint venture,” the American president said with a nod. “I guess it has to be. We’re in.”

“Da. We are ‘in,’ too.”

“Yes,” the Chinese president said. “There is but one problem. Not for us, exactly, but it is a problem for America.”

“What’s that?” the president asked.

“We are going to have to keep this agreement secret. Everything we do must have a cover story for it. If the media gets hold of what is happening, there will be a panic that will hamper our efforts.”

“That makes sense,” the president said. “I’ve already implemented controls on the information in my country.”

“‘Controls.’” The Chinese president’s lips quirked up. “We have forgotten more about controls on information than you know.” His face turned serious. “I can keep a secret. Can you?”

“Yes,” Harvey said. “If needed, even Americans can keep secrets.”

“Russians keep secrets well,” the prime minister said with a nod. “We have Siberia for those who can’t.”

President Harvey nodded, then he chuckled.

“What is funny?” the Russian asked.

“I was just trying to think of what to name this new craft we’re putting together. It’s like nothing that’s ever been seen. You have an advanced American fighter, operated by a ground-breaking Russian control technology, powered by an innovative Chinese gravity drive. What are we going to call them?”

“Nothing could be simpler,” the Chinese president replied. “We just call them what they are. Uplink Squadron.”

* * *

UPLINK SQUADRON

1

READY ROOM 3, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

“Attention on deck!” the squadron duty officer called out. He snapped to attention as the squadron’s commanding officer, Commander Jonathan Tyler, entered the ready room.

“At ease,” the CO said. His eyes swept the room, ensuring everyone went back to what they’d been doing, before alighting on the duty officer. “What’s going on?”

“Three-oh-two and three-oh-five are on extended combat space patrol. Three-oh-seven and three-ten are going out on the next launch to relieve them,” the duty officer, Lieutenant James Dowery, noted. “The transport has also arrived in-system and is docked with us. We should be getting our resupply as well as two new nuggets.”

“Do we have confirmation they’re actually aboard this transport? They should have been on the previous supply run, but they failed to materialize.”

“Yes, sir. Both Lieutenants Baker and Jimenez are aboard. I sent Dogboy to go get them.”

The CO nodded, a twitch of his head. “Have them report to me once they show up.”

“Will do, sir.”

“Also, if you see the intel officer, have him come see me, too, please. I’ll be in my office.”

“Yes, sir.”

The CO nodded again, then left through the ready room’s back door after greeting a few of the officers who were prepping for flights. His office—nothing more than a desk with a few chairs—was only a short distance down the passageway so he could be immediately available if needed.

Tyler locked the door in its open position and took a seat at his desk. He had just started booting up his slate when the squadron’s intel officer, Lieutenant Nicole Rice, tapped on his door.

“Skipper? You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah.” Tyler waved her to one of the empty chairs. “What’s the latest on the aliens?”

Rice shrugged. “Not much. We had some ghost images on the other side of the system yesterday, but nothing that could be definitively determined to be them. We’re headed that way to check them out, but the ship’s intel officer doesn’t think we’ll find anything when we get there.”

“Anything from Command?”

“There’s probably a packet on the supply ship, but it hasn’t been downloaded yet.”

“Let me know if there’s anything valuable when you get it.”

* * *

CARGO BAY, TSS ENDURANCE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

“Sirs?” a crewman asked.

Lieutenant Lance Baker looked up from his slate. “Yes?”

“We’re docked. You can go aboard the Revenge now.”

“Thanks.” He glanced over to his traveling partner, Lieutenant Sofia Jimenez. “Ready to go meet the new family?”

“If there’s a shower there with your name on it,” the short Hispanic woman said, “absolutely.”

“No doubt.” After a second, what she’d said registered. “Wait—my name?”

Jimenez chuckled. “Maybe you don’t smell yourself, but I do.” She started walking in the direction the crewman had gone.

“It’s not my fault the water recycler broke down,” Baker grumbled. He stuffed his slate into a backpack and threw it over his shoulder as he followed her.

They caught up with the crewman at the access tube to the Revenge. “Have you ever done this?” the tech asked.

“Yeah, once,” Jimenez replied for both of them.

“So you know there’s no gravity in the tube?”

“Yeah, the ships’ gravity plates don’t extend into the tube. Go carefully and step across the red line. Use the handholds or you’ll fall down.” Jimenez quoted the safety brief from memory, and Baker nodded as he re-familiarized himself with it.

Nothing looks as stupid as falling down upon entering your new ship. There’d been an instructor at the Academy whose call sign was “Trip,” because he’d done just that… and had never lived it down.

“Easy does it,” the tech said. “Just like this.” He reached across the red line, grabbed the handrail, and launched himself across the three-meter gap. He spun in the freefall so his legs were in the lead as he crossed the red line into Revenge’s gravity field and ended up standing next to a cluster of people waiting on the other side.

Jimenez looked over her shoulder. “You going to try that?”

Baker shook his head. “Not a chance.”

Jimenez nodded, stepped across the close red line, and pulled herself along to the other side using the rail. She established a feet-first position to cross the line and stepped up to the officer of the deck.

“Any time you’re ready,” the crewman called.

Despite his answer to Jimenez, Baker was tempted to try the flying entry into the Revenge like the crewman had done, then he remembered Trip and reached carefully across the boundary, took hold of the rail, and allowed his body to follow him into the tube. His stomach flip-flopped as he crossed the line, and he clenched his stomach muscles to keep everything where it belonged.

Spewing my way across the boarding tunnel would be even worse than tripping.

He concentrated on going hand over hand, so much so that he almost missed the flash of red as he came up to the line. He jerked to a stop and spun so he could step across. As gravity reasserted itself, he stepped forward, saluted the ship’s flag and then the officer of the deck, and asked permission to come aboard.

“Granted,” the duty lieutenant said, then he turned to watch the person following Baker.

Jimenez smiled as he joined her and another lieutenant. “I wondered if you were going to miss the line.”

Baker gave her a wry smile. “Almost did.”

“Kick save and a beaut,” the other lieutenant said. “I probably wouldn’t have told the squadron if you’d fallen down though.” He smiled. “Probably.”

“Right,” Jimenez said. “This is… I forget what his name is, but he goes by Dogboy. Dogboy, this is Lance Baker.”

“Lance? Like the medieval weapon?”

Baker rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Funny. Never heard that one before.”

Dogboy stuck out his hand. “I’m Steve Reynolds. Don’t worry; I’m sure we’ll come up with a better call sign than ‘Weapon.’ Maybe.”

“How’d you get Dogboy?” Jimenez asked.

“Apparently I, uh…” Reynolds looked uncomfortable. “I might as well tell you, or someone else will. I apparently rubbed up against a woman’s leg at the club late one night in a… uh, certain way.”

“Ew,” Jimenez said, her face scrunching up in disgust.

Reynolds shrugged. “Don’t worry, Weapon, I’m sure you’ll do something dumb, too, and get yourself a better call sign. C’mon; I’ll take you to the ready room.”

“What about our gear?” Baker asked.

“Don’t worry. It’ll get dumped in the middle of the hangar bay, and you can go sort through it later.” Reynolds turned and marched off. Jimenez shrugged and followed him, then Baker did the same.

* * *

“Skipper? You wanted to see the nuggets?” Reynolds asked.

They’d gone through the ready room only to have the squadron’s duty officer—a short, dark-haired lieutenant named Dowery—send them on to see the CO, Commander Jonathan Tyler. After Jimenez’s earlier comment about needing a shower, Baker would have loved a little time to clean up prior to meeting his new boss, but that wasn’t an option.

“Yeah. Thanks, Dogboy.” The CO waved them in, then he pointed to the two chairs in front of his desk. “Have a seat.” He looked back to the door. “I’ll send them back to the ready room when I’m done.”

“Yes, sir,” Dogboy said with a nod. He turned and left.

Tyler, an intense-looking man with blond hair and gray eyes, looked down at his slate then up at the two officers in front of him. “Lance Baker and Sofia Jimenez?”

“Yes, sir,” Baker said. “I’m Lance Baker.”

“Well, duh,” Jimenez muttered under her breath.

“I probably would have guessed,” Tyler agreed. He studied each of them for a moment and then asked Jimenez, “What do you know about our mission here?”

“Not much,” she admitted. “We know what the media says—looking for new resource planets and all that—but Fleet Command wouldn’t give us a brief. They just said we’d be told what we needed when we got here.”

“What about you?” Tyler asked Baker.

“Same stuff, sir,” he replied hesitantly. The question felt like a trap, but Baker—for the life of him—couldn’t see the nature of it. “Exploring new worlds and looking for new life and civilizations.”

If anything, the CO’s eyes grew more intense. “And what, exactly, do you think you’re doing out here? Why did we fly you eleven light-years from Earth?”

“We’re here to fly the F-77A, sir,” Baker said, at least feeling confident on that answer.

One of Tyler’s eyebrows rose. “Are you, now?” He turned to Jimenez. “And you?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied. Baker could hear the same hesitation in her voice. She was aware of the trap, too, but she didn’t see it, either.

At least I’m not alone in that.

“So you’re both here to fly the F-77A and search for new worlds?”

“Yes, sir,” they both answered.

Tyler chuckled. “You’re wrong on both accounts.”

Baker blinked. “We’re not here to fly the F-77, sir? Why did we go to flight school then?”

“You’re here to fly, all right; you’re just not here to fly the F-77A. You’re here to fly the F-77B.”

Jimenez startled. “But they don’t exist, sir. The neural network didn’t work. Didn’t they kill some people trying to get them to upload to the plane?”

The CO nodded. “They did.”

Baker shook his head. “There was a big hubbub in the media when we left about the ethics of neural networks. There are a lot of people who don’t think we should be pursuing that sort of thing. I didn’t think that it had even been decided yet whether Fleet Command was going to go through with the B model. Last I heard, they were just going to study the situation.”

Tyler smiled thinly and held out a hand to indicate the ship. “This is Fleet Command’s big experiment. They implemented the first F-77B squadron six months ago.” He sat back in his seat, and the smile grew. “Welcome to Uplink Squadron.”

* * *

Baker glanced over to Jimenez. Her mouth was open and forming words, but no sound was coming out. He looked back to Tyler and cocked his head. “They mentioned the Bravo variant a couple of times in flight school. I thought that to fly it, you needed some sort of jack or something.”

“You do.” The CO turned away from them and pointed to a small metal plug protruding from the bottom of his skull. “We’ve all been modified with these so that we can plug into our Bravos.”

“But… but…” Jimenez finally started making sounds. If anything, her eyes were even larger now.

“But you don’t have the jacks?” Tyler asked as he turned back to them.

“Yes.”

The CO smiled. “Actually, you do.”

“I think I would remember getting a hole in my head,” Baker replied.

“Would you?” Tyler chuckled. “Have you had any surgeries recently? Any procedures where they put you under?”

“Well, just the surgery where they injected us with the nano to harden us for high-G maneuvering.” Sonofabitch! His hands went to the back of his skull, searching. The procedure had lasted several hours longer than he’d been told it would; when he came to, they just explained that he’d been unconscious longer than normal due to a reaction to the anesthesia.

“I don’t feel anything,” Baker said.

“You wouldn’t. There’s a plug in it. Don’t worry, though, the Revenge’s flight surgeon can remove it for you.”

“But you can’t do that without my permission!” Jimenez exploded. “I have my rights!”

“You do.”

“Then how do you explain them doing this to us?”

Tyler gave her a wry smile. “It’s easy. You signed those rights away.”

“No I didn’t!”

“Yes, you did. Did you sign a waiver before surgery?”

“Well, yes.”

“Did you read it?”

“Well, no; not really. There was a lot of legal stuff.”

“And buried in there was a clause that allowed Fleet Command to insert a jack into your brain so you could fly the Bravo model.”

“Son of a bitch! They had no right!”

“Actually, they did. You gave it to them. You signed the release. When you get back, you can request a copy of the waiver if you want to see it. It’s in your permanent record, just like it’s in all of ours.”

Baker pushed aside the feelings of violation—he was definitely going to get a copy of the release form when he got back, but that would have to wait until he got back—and focused on the bigger picture and here-and-now. “We can’t change it now,” Baker said, glancing at Jimenez. He turned to Tyler. “The better question is ‘why?’ Why did they do that? Even though it may be legal, it puts Fleet Command in a somewhat precarious legal position. Why would they do that?”

Tyler nodded. “Good question. You’ll remember, I said you were wrong about our mission, as well. We’re not out here looking for resource planets; we’re out here hunting aliens.”

“Aliens?” Baker asked. “Like the ones they found at Jupiter?”

“Exactly.”

“But I thought—”

“You thought the rumors of aliens had been debunked?”

“Yeah. I mean, yes, sir, I thought that was all made up.”

“It wasn’t made up. There are aliens, they appear to be hostile, and they have found Earth.”

“But the news media—”

“The media says what it’s told to, and, in the interest of national security, it’s not breathing another word about the aliens. If Fleet had its way, the word never would have gotten out about them in the first place.”

“But if we’re the only ones with Bravo models, which are—I suspect—the most capable fighters, and the aliens know where Earth is—”

“Why aren’t we home defending it?” Baker nodded. “Because we’re out here looking for them. Fleet Command believes—and I agree—that we need to know where their home planet is, too. Right now, they have us at a strategic disadvantage—they could attack Earth at any moment, and we couldn’t return the favor. We need to find their home planet and let them know that we know where they live. Command believes that once we’ve found it, they’ll be more willing to talk to us.”

Baker nodded. “And even if they don’t want to talk to us then…”

“At least we can fight at their planet rather than ours.”

2

TSS REVENGE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

Jimenez wheeled on Baker as soon as they were out of earshot of the CO’s office.

“How are you okay with that?” she asked in a harsh whisper.

“What do you mean? Which part of it?”

“All of it, but mostly the part where they performed unauthorized surgery on us.”

“Well—”

“Unauthorized surgery on our brains!”

Baker shrugged. “Okay, that part was kind of… well, it didn’t make me real happy, but I’m sure there’s some sort of reason they’ll use so we can’t call them on it. You’re going to have to get over it, I think.”

“What if I don’t want to get over it?”

“Not sure you’re going to be able to do anything about it until we get back to Earth. Even then, all the info is probably classified.”

Jimenez spun back to their direction of travel and took another few steps, obviously not mollified, before looking over at Baker again.

“Do you believe the rest of it?” Jimenez asked as she walked with Baker back to the ready room.

“Well, we’re here, aren’t we?” He poked her in the shoulder. “You’re not dreaming.” He poked himself. “I’m not either… at least, I don’t think I’m dreaming. If it’s not true, someone went to a lot of trouble to prank us… or they slipped us a lot of drugs. Or something.”

“Do you even know where here is?” she asked.

“Space?”

“The CO said we’re eleven light-years from home.” She reached for the ready room door, but it opened, and a short blonde lieutenant walked out.

“Hi,” Baker said. “Can you tell us where we are right now?”

“Ready Room Three? Home of the SFA-34 Blue Blasters?”

Baker shook his head. “No. Where are we located in space? We just talked with Commander Tyler, and he said we were eleven light-years from home. Where exactly is that?”

The blonde smiled. “You must be the new folks. I’m Nicole Rice, the intel officer. Welcome to the Procyon A star system.”

“Procyon A?” Jimenez asked.

“Yeah, it’s a binary system. There’s a Procyon B, too. It’s a smaller star close by.”

Baker sighed. “I’m obviously going to have to study up on my astronomy. They told us we were going to Pluto orbit to survey the outer system.”

“They didn’t tell us where we were going, either, until after the first jump.”

“Jump?”

“Yeah, jump. Do you remember two times where it felt like your stomach was going to fall out or maybe your whole body felt like you were being turned inside out?”

“There was one time I woke up, and it felt like my skin was on fire,” Jimenez said.

“Yeah, jump drive affects everyone differently. They usually try to do it during the night shift so the fewest people are awake to actively experience it.”

“Wait,” Baker said, shaking his head. “What the hell is a jump drive?”

“Gravity drive. It takes you through… well, it’s not really hyperspace, but it compresses space somehow and lets you go what appears to be faster than light. It isn’t FTL, not really, but to the neutral observer—if there were such a thing—it appears to be. I mean, how did you think you traveled eleven light-years?”

“I, uh, I guess I didn’t really have time to think about it. Everything’s happened so fast, and we’ve been hit with so much… How did I not know that we had this?”

“You’re not supposed to. Fleet isn’t advertising the capability. We don’t know how long the aliens have been watching us or where they might have listening posts.” She shrugged. “I’m sure the training officer will catch you up on everything.” She nodded past them. “Sorry, I’m needed for a brief.”

Rice squeezed past them, then stopped and sniffed, and her face contorted. “Something smells awful out here.”

“Jimenez just farted,” Baker said as he reached for the door handle.

“No, I—”

Baker opened the door. “C’mon, Sofia, we need to go check in.” He walked into the ready room, and Jimenez followed after making a denial to the rapidly retreating intel officer.

“Thanks,” she said, catching up with him.

Baker winked. “My pleasure.”

“Are you the new folks?” a slightly overweight man wearing the insignia of a lieutenant commander asked.

“Yes, sir,” Baker replied. “Lance Baker and Sofia Jimenez reporting.”

“Good. I’m Lieutenant Commander Pointer, the training officer. I’m sure you’ve got lots of questions, and it will be my job to fill you in and get you up to speed. As I understand from the CO, though, you need to go get your gear and get settled before we do.”

“I’m okay,” Jimenez noted. “I’d rather find out what we’re getting into first, if that’s all right.”

“Yeah. Me, too,” Baker said.

“I’m sure you would, but, as the CO noted when he called me, you’re rather… pungent, and I don’t want to be in a small space with you at the moment. Why don’t we send someone with you to show you where to pick up your gear and how to find your staterooms, and you can get cleaned up first.”

“Told ya,” Jimenez said.

Baker frowned at her then said, “Sure. I’d love to get cleaned up. The transport’s water recycler was down, so we couldn’t get a shower there.”

“Good,” Pointer said. He indicated a young-looking lieutenant standing nearby. “Lieutenant Petrov will show you to your gear.”

Petrov approached and nodded to the newcomers, then smiled at Baker. “Come on, Stinky. I’ll show you where you need to go.”

Jimenez chuckled. “And just like that, a call sign was born.”

* * *

“Okay, so where do you want me to start?” Pointer asked an hour later, after Jimenez and Baker’d had time to clean up and throw their things into their staterooms.

“How about telling us where we are and what we’re doing?” Jimenez asked. “And then we can get to our part of it.” Baker knew—based on several comments—that Sofia was still angry about the unasked-for surgery, even though she was trying not to make a big deal about it since no one else seemed to have a problem with it.

“Sure,” Pointer said. “We are currently in the Procyon system, looking for the aliens which were seen in our home system.”

“Can we go back to that?” Baker asked. “I mean, the news is now saying that there were no aliens.”

“Of course they are, because the people would be pretty frightened if they knew what really happened.”

“Which was?”

“An alien ship was sighted near Jupiter about five years ago, and a carrier was sent to investigate it. The alien ship destroyed the carrier, as well as the attached airwing, and then disappeared.”

“The Forrestal,” Baker said.

“Exactly,” Pointer said with a nod. “There were no survivors, and the media was told the ship had developed an engine failure while in Jupiter orbit and had been lost with all hands. After destroying the ship, the enemy vessel headed toward the outer system for a couple of days before jumping out.”

“Where’d it go?” Jimenez asked.

“If we knew, we wouldn’t be out here searching.” He shrugged. “When the ship jumped, though, a number of gravity waves were noted to accompany the event. The Chinese already had scientists working on gravity drive and a gravity jump; when the alien ship showed the technology could work, it provided the impetus needed for their scientists to figure it out.

“Soon after, the gravity drive and jump drive were born, as well as the ability to generate gravity onboard our ships, which makes a lot of things easier than the original astronauts had it. Still, that capability—the ability to go after the aliens—wasn’t worth spit if we chased the aliens down, only to lose more ships to them.

“They kicked our asses at Jupiter. We needed better fighters, and the F-77B was rushed into production to help deal with the aliens.”

“I’m not sure I want to fly something that was ‘rushed’ into production,” Jimenez noted. “That’s even worse than the normal military gear, built by the lowest bidder.”

“It’s safe now,” Pointer replied. “Well, mostly.” He held up a hand to forestall Jimenez’s next question. “We’ll get to that later. Let me finish first, please.”

Jimenez nodded, and Pointer again took up the story. “None of this would have been possible by one country alone, of course, and that’s when the Russo-Sino-NATO bloc formed.”

Baker nodded. “I wondered what drove that. The whole, ‘We’re tired of wasting money fighting each other that could be used to explore space,’ story didn’t seem to ring true.”

“It’s true enough, though—all the money we’d been putting into defense individually is now being put into our collective exploration of space and the defense of same.”

Baker held up a hand. “How is that actually working, out here on the sharp end of the spear?”

“Some days are better than others,” Pointer replied with an almost imperceptible wince. “We have three squadrons on board. One manned by folks from the US, one from Russia, and one from China, although each has observers from the other countries, like Karl Petrov, who showed you to your staterooms.”

“I thought I caught an accent,” Jimenez said.

“He’s one of our Russian officers. We also have some Chinese officers. The Revenge is manned by a combined crew from all the nations involved. So, here we are, out looking for the aliens while similarly exploring the capabilities of our new fighters, which are… substantial. Anyway, we made the first jump to the Sirius system but didn’t find aliens or any evidence that they’d been there.

“Sirius was chosen next because it was in the general direction the alien had been traveling when it jumped. We don’t know if it went somewhere else or continued on in this direction. The jump drive on the Revenge has a range of just under ten light-years; we have no idea what the aliens’ drive is capable of. Since we didn’t find anything in the Sirius system, we came here—to Procyon—as the next most likely system.”

“But they aren’t here, either?” Baker asked.

“If they are, they’re hiding pretty well. This isn’t a great system for life, anyway, based on the stellar conditions, but Fleet told us to search here next, so we did.”

“And where are we headed now?” Jimenez asked.

“We don’t know. We were waiting for additional orders that should have been on the supply ship that brought you here. My guess is that—at some point—the powers that be will call us back so that we’re available for the defense of Earth. I have no idea whether that time’s now, though, or sometime in the future.”

“Okay,” Baker said. “That’s where we are and why. Honestly, though, I’m more interested in flying the F-77B.”

“It’s amazing,” Pointer said, his eyes widening slightly. “It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. You don’t fly the Bravo; you live it.”

“What does that mean?” Jimenez asked.

“Being uploaded to the fighter is a completely immersive experience. It’s like virtual reality… except that it becomes reality.” He shook his head, snapping out of whatever daydream he was having, and his face sobered. “That is, of course, the problem with it. It’s too good an experience for some people.”

“Too good?” Baker asked. “How can flying be too good?”

“The experience is such that some people don’t want it to end when they return to the ship. They want to stay mated to their ship.”

“Mated?” Jimenez asked, a tone of horror in her voice as her eyebrows shot up. “What do you mean mated?”

“Mated isn’t the right word,” Pointer said. “Uploaded is the technical term. What I’m saying is that some people find the experience so absorbing that they don’t want to return to their bodies. And that’s a problem.”

“I still—”

“Commander Pointer?” Petrov asked, interrupting, as he walked up to where they were speaking in the back of the ready room.

“Yeah, Karl?”

“The CO wants you for a department head meeting in intel. They’re starting in five minutes.”

Pointer nodded. “I’m on my way.” He turned back to Jimenez and Baker. “Karl can finish filling you in on the Bravo model. He’s the pilot training officer, anyway, so you’ll be spending a lot of time with him as you prep to fly it. Can you take it from here, Red?”

“I’ve got them.”

Pointer left, and Petrov sat down in the vacated seat.

“Red?” Baker asked.

“I am from Russia,” Petrov replied, pronouncing it more as “Roosiya.” He smiled as if that explained everything.

Baker realized the squadron was pretty well integrated if they could give a Russian the call sign “Red” without any sort of anxiety that it wasn’t politically correct.

“What were you discussing?” Petrov asked.

“Commander Pointer was just telling us about how some people don’t want to download back into their bodies after a flight,” Jimenez said. “Can you tell us more about that?”

“It’s a problem sometimes,” Petrov agreed with a nod, “but only for weak-minded people. Pilots must be strong here”—he pointed to his head—“as well as here.” He pointed to his heart. “If so, no problem.”

“I heard some people were killed testing the system,” Jimenez said, “and that the system didn’t work.”

Petrov gave them an ear-to-ear smile. “The propaganda is magnificent, no? We made everyone think it couldn’t be done, yet here we are doing it.”

“So no one was killed?”

“Oh, yes, many were killed in initial testing. Many more went crazy. That doesn’t happen much anymore.”

“But it still happens?”

Petrov shrugged. “Sometimes. But only to the weak-minded.” He pointed to his head again. “You must remember who you are. The plane is sneaky. The more you fly it, the better you get, and the more natural it becomes. You want to fly it more, so you can get better at it. You must remember who is in charge—the person, not the plane—then there is no problem.”

“What is the syllabus for getting to fly one?” Baker asked.

“It is not hard.” He turned his head and pointed at the jack at the base of his skull. “First, though, must get you one of these.”

“When does that happen?”

Petrov picked up a slate from a nearby desk and swiped it twice. “Tomorrow.”

* * *

MED BAY, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

“I still don’t know about this,” Jimenez said the next morning as she lay back on the bed.

“There’s nothing to be worried about,” Baker replied from his bed a few feet away.

“How do you know?” she asked. “You don’t know any more about it than I do.”

“He’s right, though,” a young corpsman said from the station where he was monitoring their vitals. “The hard part—the insertion of the implant into your brains—is already done. The doc just has to take out the flesh plug and attach the adaptor. Should have you in and out in under an hour.”

“Will we feel any different?” Baker asked. Although he’d woken up excited for the procedure, as it drew closer, he found he was starting to have a lot of butterflies.

The corpsman shrugged. “Nah. You won’t feel any different.” He appeared to think about it another few seconds and then added, “Well not mostly, anyway.”

“Wait! What will be different?” Jimenez asked.

“Do either of you like to sleep on your backs?”

“I do,” Baker said. Jimenez shook her head.

“The jack sticks out from the back of your head about a quarter of an inch. If you sleep on your back, you’ll wake up with a pretty good headache. Especially at the start.”

“How bad is it?” Baker asked.

The corpsman smiled. “People that sleep on their sides or stomachs don’t have any problems. People that sleep on their backs learn to be people that sleep on their sides or stomachs. Or so I’m told, anyway.”

“Good morning,” a short woman wearing a white coat said as she walked up. “I’m Doctor Anya Siderov. I will be doing your surgery today. Do you have any questions before we begin?”

“She’s kind of nervous, Doc,” Baker said. “Got any good advice for her?”

“Ahhh. She is nervous, and not you?”

“Well, maybe just a touch. This wasn’t something either of us was expecting when we left Earth.”

Siderov smiled. “Of all the people having surgery today, you have the least to worry about.”

“Really?” Jimenez asked, a touch of hope in her voice.

“Without a doubt.”

“Doc’s just being modest,” the corpsman said. “Doctor Siderov is the person who developed the implant that makes your space fighter possible.”

“You did?” Baker asked.

Siderov gave a small nod. “You can trust me when I say you have nothing to worry about. If I can’t do it, no one can.”

“That isn’t necessarily encouraging, though, Doc,” Baker noted.

The doctor winked. “No, it wasn’t, was it?” Her face became serious. “You will be fine, though.”

“Everything’s ready, Doc,” the corpsman said.

“Good. Let’s get started then.” She turned to Baker. “Do you want to be awake for this?”

“Awake? Is that an option?”

“It is, although some patients who have tried it found it… disconcerting to feel things moving around inside their heads.”

“I’ll take the sedation,” Baker said.

“Me, too,” Jimenez agreed.

Baker looked over and saw Jimenez looked a little green. Thinking about it, he realized he felt a little green, too. She’s going to be inside my head?

“As I said, you will be fine,” Siderov said, although her voice sounded fuzzy.

Baker tried to look back to the doctor, but his eyes didn’t quite make it.

3

MEDICAL, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

Baker woke to the worst headache he’d ever had. He was on his stomach, too, which he hated. He tried to open his eyes, but it only increased the pain. “Oww.”

“Just relax,” the corpsman said. “Try not to move around too much. You’ve been given some pain meds, but they’ll take a few minutes to get into your system.”

“What the hell happened to ‘you’ll be fine?’”

“Well, uh, about that. Doc got into your head and found out that they hadn’t quite connected everything up right.”

“What!” Baker immediately regretted the outburst as the pain spiked. “Ow!”

“Yeah, I’d just try and lay there calmly,” the corpsman said. “Anyway, she really is the best with the implant technology. She’d have hundreds of patents on the technology if the Russian government hadn’t taken them away from her. She fixed everything up, and you’ll be fine.”

“How’s… Jimenez?”

“Oh, she’s fine. No issues. She left yesterday morning.”

“Yesterday! Ow!”

“You really should lie quietly. Yeah, when Doc got a look inside your head, she put you on pause and took care of Jimenez first, then she prepped you for open brain surgery. First time I’ve ever seen the inside of someone’s head. It was gross, but in a cool way, if you know what I mean.”

Baker’s stomach started roiling. “No, and I don’t want to.”

“Really? Okay. I was worried that the brains would like slide out the hole she drilled—”

Baker’s stomach spasmed, and bile flooded the back of his mouth. He was able to get it back down again, but the acid burned this throat and mouth.

“Oops. Maybe it’s better if I don’t talk about it.”

“Yeah.” Baker swallowed. “I’d appreciate it.”

The door opened. “Hi, Doc,” the corpsman said.

“How’s our patient?”

“Fine, I think. He seems to be having some issues with nausea, though.”

“Because he keeps putting images of my brains leaking out of my head in my mind.”

“Ah, I see.” Siderov hummed a couple of seconds and then said, “Corpsman, how about going to get Lieutenant Baker’s meds from the dispensary?”

“Now?”

“Yes, please.”

“Sure thing.” The door opened and shut.

“I take it my loud-mouthed minion told you everything?”

“He said the first installation of my implant was done wrong and you opened up my head to fix it. He went into more details than I needed.”

“Sorry about the extra description, but the basics are true. The implant was misaligned, but I fixed it.”

“So, uh, what would have happened if you hadn’t fixed it?”

“It might have slipped out of contact during high-G maneuvering, and you might have lost your link—” She stopped in the middle of her sentence.

“And then what?”

“Has anyone talked to you about the dangers of the uplink process?”

“No. I didn’t even know about it until we got here.”

“They didn’t talk about the implant? You didn’t sign any waivers?” Baker squinted his eyes open to see her shaking her head. “Where did you have the implant put in?”

“The Russian section of Space Station Alpha.”

“Oh.” She didn’t say anything else.

“Oh?” Baker prompted.

“That explains why you didn’t have to sign anything. The Americans would have made you sign a waiver or disclaimer prior to the operation. The Russians… don’t. And I know who performed the operation. She is good, but sloppy sometimes.”

“Sloppy? With my brain?” The exclamation didn’t hurt as much, he noted. The meds must have been taking effect.

Siderov sighed. “Yes, sometimes. Happily for you, though, I fixed everything up, and you’ll be fine in a couple of days when the cement sets. Until then, I’m going to keep you here for observation. I just gave you a sedative to help you sleep.”

She started to walk away, but then Baker heard her stop suddenly and turn around. “Do you know if the same doctor performed any other operations?”

“No I don’t. Why?”

“No reason. Just a thought I had.”

* * *

WARDROOM 2, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

Jimenez got her tray of food and walked into the seating area of the mess hall. A waving hand caught her attention, and she went over to find Brenda ‘Nova’ Smith, who she’d met in the ready room the day before, sitting with two guys.

“This is the busiest time to try to eat,” Nova said, waving her toward the empty chair at their table. “Looked like you needed a seat. She nodded to the men. “This is Feng ‘Lion’ Wang, and I think you know James ‘Dowman’ Dowery.”

“Welcome,” the Asian man said.

The other man nodded. “I was on duty when you came aboard. Welcome. How’s it been going?”

“Okay, so far, I guess.” She shrugged. “I’m still getting adjusted to the whole thing. I mean, I thought I was going to Saturn or somewhere like that, and now I’m light-years from home and about to fly a fighter I didn’t even know existed last week.”

“That’s something, isn’t it?” Dowman said with a trace of Minnesota accent. “It caught us by surprise when they told us, too.”

“How’d you adjust?” Jimenez asked. “Because I’m really not feeling too comfortable with it.”

“Which part?” Lion asked.

“All of it, to be honest. I would have liked to have known where I was actually going when I left.”

“Would that have changed your mind on whether to come or not?” Nova asked.

“No, not really. Finding out about the mind link or whatever it is might have, though.”

“I get that,” Dowman said. “There were a number of people who didn’t want to try the link when it was proposed, and probably even more who didn’t want the jack in their head in the first place.” He shrugged. “I know I didn’t.

Lion shook his head. “Nope.”

“Me, neither,” Nova added.

“And yet, you all have the jacks and are flying the Bravos. What happened?”

“Have you met Dr. Siderov?” Nova asked.

Jimenez turned her head to the side and pointed at the jack.

“I guess you have,” Nova said with a smile. “Anyway, she came and talked to us about the procedure and told us that it was as safe as the Russians could make it.”

“I’m not sure that phrase is particularly comforting,” Jimenez noted.

“She was pretty honest with us, which helped,” Lion said. “Not that we would have expected anything different.”

“What do you mean?”

“She told us how long they’ve been working on it—about a decade—and how many people they messed up trying to perfect it.”

“How many is that?”

“Over 1,200, according to Siderov. That’s why she’s here—she volunteered so she could get away from the program. She said that the process has been perfected to the point where there isn’t any danger getting the jack; she was worried what they’d make her do as the follow-on to the program.”

Jimenez scoffed. “I was just at medical. Apparently, the whole ‘no danger getting the jack’ line isn’t entirely true. Whoever put in Baker’s jack messed it up.”

“Who’s Baker?” Nova asked.

Dowman smiled. “Stinky.”

“Oh, him,” Nova said. “He’s kind of cute, but does he always smell that badly?”

“No. That was just because they wouldn’t let us shower on the transport. I went through flight school with him. Normally, he’s okay.”

“So they messed up his jack?” Lion asked. “That sucks. Is he going to be all right?”

“Yeah. Siderov says she fixed it, and he’ll be fine.”

“Good,” Dowman said. “I don’t think we’ll be getting another supply run anytime soon; we’d be a man short without him.”

“So, getting back to the uplink tech,” Jimenez said, glancing about the table. “That’s all working now?” None of the other three pilots met her eyes. “What’s the problem?”

Nova laughed. “What isn’t the problem? The system tries to take you over, and some of the people who use it go crazy. Those are both issues.”

“Why does anyone do it then?”

“Because the uplink technology is amazing,” Dowman said, awe tinging his voice. “When you’re uplinked, you’re more alive than ever before in your life.”

“Watch it,” Lion said. “Sounds like you’re about to recycle on us.”

“About to recycle?” Jimenez asked. “What does that mean?”

“That’s the whole ‘take you over’ thing I was talking about,” Nova replied. She shrugged. “Dowman isn’t wrong; being uplinked is amazing. When all your ship’s sensors are up and operating… you do feel more alive than ever before. That’s the problem, though. The more you use the system, the better you get at it—and the faster, too—but the more you do it, the more you want to do it. They’re not sure how, but several people have been lost to the system, and their minds never returned.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Lion replied. “You have to keep control of yourself—really make sure you stay in control—or you might not return back down the link to your body.”

“Why would anyone want to fly the Bravo if that could happen?”

“Did I mention it was pretty amazing?” Dowman asked.

“You did,” Nova said. She looked over to Jimenez. “And, like I said, he isn’t wrong. You are the best fighter pilot you can be when you’re uplinked. If and when we find the aliens, we may need that edge.”

* * *

READY ROOM 3, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

“Commander?” Jimenez asked.

The tall, dark haired lieutenant commander looked up from his slate. “Yes?”

“Hi, sir. We haven’t met, but I’m Lieutenant Sofia Jimenez, one of the replacement crews. I’m here to start my training.”

The man looked around her. “Where’s Stinky?”

“He’s still in medical. His jack was messed up, and the doctor had to fix it. He’ll be out a couple more days while the cement hardens and everything in his brain sorts itself out.”

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait until he’s back and healthy again. The training process will be faster for both of you if we wait and start you together.” He smiled. “I know you’re excited to fly the Bravo, but you won’t have to wait long.”

“I don’t know if ‘excited’ is the right word.”

“Why wouldn’t you be excited to fly the premier plane in the entire Earth inventory? The Russians and Chinese don’t have anything better; this is the top of the line fighter for all of us.”

“Well… I’ve heard some things about how it might be dangerous uplinking to the fighter…”

“Nonsense. Don’t let the old-timers scare you. Things are much safer now.”

“Much safer? That implies that at some point, at least, things weren’t very safe.”

“Well, that’s true, of course.”

“So people did get hurt? Even killed?”

“Lieutenant, pilots get killed in training all the time. Aviation is inherently dangerous. Is the Bravo perfectly safe? No, but we haven’t lost anyone in a long time. It did take us some time to work out the bugs when we first got them, but things are much better now. Once you uplink the first time, you’ll see.”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying. Still…”

“You’ll believe it when you see it; trust me.” He opened the drawer under his seat, pulled out a slate, and turned it on. “Here is a slate with all the checklists and procedures on it. Why don’t you stop worrying about things that don’t matter and put the next two days to good use by studying the aircraft’s operating characteristics?”

He handed the slate to her, and she looked at the screen. “Sir, this says the F-77 Alpha version. I thought we were flying Bravos. Is there anything in here about uplinking or anything like that?”

“No, sorry; we’re still putting that all together. Learning on the fly, you know?” He shrugged. “The Bravo airframe is the same as the Alpha, and all the systems are the same with the exception of the uplink. If you know all of this like the back of your hand, you won’t have any issues with the Bravo.”

“Except the uplink.”

“Except the uplink, but, like I said, you’re going to like that.”

* * *

MEDICAL, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

“Hi, Stinky.”

Baker opened his eyes to find Jimenez and a new corpsman he didn’t recognize alongside his bed.

“How do you feel, sir?” the corpsman asked.

Baker rolled a little and winced a few times, but the pain was gone. All of it.

“I feel surprisingly good, especially after how I felt the last time I woke up.” He paused. “How long was I out?”

“Three days,” Jimenez said. “The most boring three days of my life.”

“Boring?” Baker asked. “How so?”

“They didn’t want to start my training until you were ready, so I had to wait for you to recover first.”

“I thought you weren’t sure about whether you wanted to fly the Bravo mod.”

“That was before I had three days to sit around and talk with all the current pilots. They all love it and can’t stop talking about it. I guess I want to find out what it’s all about.”

“When do we start?” He looked at the corpsman. “When can I get out of here?”

“You can leave whenever you feel up to it,” the corpsman said. “The doc has given you a clean bill of health and has signed the paperwork.”

“Awesome.” Baker pulled the sheet off himself, then realized he was still wearing a hospital gown that had come open in a number of places. “Oops,” he said, pulling the sheet back over himself.

“That was more than I needed to see,” Jimenez said. “I’ll wait outside while you get dressed.”

“Your clothes are over there,” the corpsman said, pointing to a pile on the table. “If you need any help, call out. Just go slow.” He followed Jimenez out the door.

Baker got up and found he was a little unsteady, so he took his time getting dressed. As he zipped up his flight suit, he took a deep breath and expelled it, and he found he was feeling a bit better. Not too bad for someone whose brains were recently exposed to the light of day.

4

PILOT TRAINING OFFICE, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

“You are ready to start?” Petrov asked.

“I am,” Baker stated. “I had a good night’s sleep.”

“And a shower,” Jimenez chimed in.

“And that,” Baker acknowledged. “I’m good to go.”

Petrov turned to Jimenez and raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve been ready,” she said. “For three days.”

Petrov nodded and picked up his slate. “What do you know about the Bravo model?”

Baker fingered the jack in the back of his skull. “Well, I know we’re supposed to be able to integrate with the fighter through our jacks. I’m not really sure how that happens.”

Petrov looked to Jimenez. “I know that, too. I also know that there have been problems with the program where people have died or gone crazy.” She looked at him a moment, then continued. “The people I’ve spoken to in the squadron—and the couple of pilots I’ve met from the other squadrons aboard—have all said how much they liked flying the Bravo… but I don’t want to die or go crazy.”

“Nor do I want you to die or go crazy,” Petrov said with a nod. “Training new pilots takes too much of my time. Time I could be flying.”

“Wait…” Baker said. “Obviously, we are filling in for people. What happened to them?”

“What?” Jimenez asked. “What happened to whom?”

Baker stared at Petrov. “The spaces in the squadron didn’t just open up, and it wouldn’t have been worth it for Fleet Command to shuttle us out here to take someone else’s place. They would have waited until the Revenge got back home to rotate personnel. Something must have happened to them.”

“Did it?” Jimenez asked.

“Da,” Petrov said with a nod. “We had two pilots who recycled.”

“Recycled?” Baker asked. “What does that mean?”

“I told you, you must be strong here.” Petrov pointed to his head. “The more you uplink with the Bravo, the better you get at it. The better you get, the more you want to do it. At some point, it has happened that some people don’t want to downlink again. They just want to stay uplinked into the fighter.”

“And then what do you do with them?”

“There is a program that can be used to force a person to downlink, but it comes with issues. Sometimes the person that comes out is no longer whole.”

“Could you be a little more specific on what you mean by ‘no longer whole?’”

Petrov shrugged. “It varies by person. Sometimes, it is memories that are lost. Sometimes, pieces of personality. Sometimes, the person’s brain is completely scrambled. You asked about people going crazy; this is what they’re describing. It isn’t really ‘crazy,’ so much as it is a loss of brain integrity. The person, as you knew them, ceases to exist.”

“How often does that happen?” Baker asked.

“Not as much as it used to. Part of the reason behind it was that when people had to be flushed from the system, that was a disqualifying event. They would lose their flight status with Bravos and either have to fly a different aircraft or stop flying altogether. Some people tried to hold on, we think—to fight the system flush—which caused a complete scrambling of their personalities. It doesn’t happen as much now. They know they can’t stay in it forever, so they are more conscious about leaving when they are supposed to.”

“Why would they want to stay uplinked so badly?” Jimenez asked.

“Because flying the Bravo and uplinking to it are exhilarating.”

“It’s not worth losing your life or sanity,” Jimenez said.

“Some people think it is.”

“How many pilots are in the squadron?” Baker asked. “Normally?”

“Twenty.”

“So you’ve lost ten percent to this recycling thing?”

“We’ve lost six. You’re the third set of replacements.”

“Thirty percent casualties? Is that the same across the airwing?”

“It is about average. The Russian squadron is a little lower, but the Chinese squadron is a little higher.”

“Why is that?” Jimenez asked.

Petrov shrugged. “Russians are tough. Chinese? They just want to escape and not go home again.”

“I guess what I want to know,” Jimenez said, “is how do we—how do I—prevent that from happening to me?”

“We do that a number of ways,” Petrov said. “First, there are a maximum number of hours and flights per month.”

“Kind of like going high time for flight hours in other fighters,” Baker said.

“Something like that,” Petrov agreed with a nod. “However, in those planes, they are worried about you physiologically. You get physically beaten down after too many flight hours and not enough sleep. For the Bravo, though, it is all mental. The more you fly in a short time, the more likely it is that you will succumb to recycling. It is insidious the way it worms into your consciousness. Hopefully, you will have a minor incident, and it will scare you enough to keep you from having a major one.”

“Have you had a ‘minor’ incident?” Baker asked.

Petrov nodded. “I did. I suspect that most of the people still flying the Bravos have had them. The ones who didn’t… are probably no longer with us.”

* * *

“The good news is, you both passed your Alpha tests,” Petrov said three hours later, after they’d finished the demanding systems and emergency procedures tests.

“At least flight school and the training squadron taught us that much,” Baker said. They’d both spent a year at the F-77 training squadron, learning the ins and outs of the Alpha model, and had graduated a week prior to their journey to Procyon. Most of the information was still fresh in their memories, especially after Petrov had given them an hour-long refresher.

“The emergency procedures are important to know, although—when you’re uplinked—you’ll have instantaneous knowledge of the procedures. The only one that’s really important to know is what to do to restore electrical power if it goes out.”

“Oh, that’s a good point!” Jimenez said. “What if we’re uplinked and the power goes out? Do our personalities disappear forever?”

Petrov smiled. “There is a five-minute uninterruptable power source. That battery is one of the most important things to check on preflight.” He paused and then asked, “Anything else?”

“Nope,” Baker said with a smile. “Now for the good stuff?”

Petrov nodded and returned the smile. “And now the good stuff.” He bit his lip for a second in thought. “What have you heard about the uplink?” He looked at Jimenez. “Besides that people got killed testing it.”

“I heard the program copies your personality and uploads it to the computer,” Baker said.

“That is a common misconception,” Petrov said. “Although you are connected to the ship’s computer, your personality—your thoughts, ideas, and everything that makes up who you are—isn’t completely removed from you. It is accessed and used by the computer, just as you are using the files from the computer. In reality, it is a constant matter of you swapping files back and forth.”

“So, if only a few files are being swapped back and forth at a time, how is it so damaging?” Jimenez asked.

“It’s kind of like when you pull a storage device out of a computer while it’s being accessed, and the entire storage structure is disrupted. Sometimes, some of the information can be recovered, but usually there is wholesale data loss. The same thing occurs with a non-standard disengagement from the computer in a Bravo mod space fighter.”

“How do we make sure it’s a standard disengagement?” Baker asked.

“That’s what we’re going to discuss next.”

* * *

AFT HANGAR BAY, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

“Okay,” Petrov said, “this is—for lack of better word—our simulator.”

“Hard to have a simulator for a program that doesn’t technically exist,” Baker noted. He shook his head as he looked where Petrov pointed. The “simulator” was an F-77 cockpit attached to the deck in the corner of the hangar bay. It had seen better days and looked to have been salvaged from an F-77 wreck, as scorch marks marred one side of it. The canopy—what remained at the back of the cockpit—was a jagged line of plexiglass. There was a 30mm-sized hole in the fuselage behind the canopy prior to where the section had been sawed off and mounted to the bulkhead.

Baker was pretty sure he didn’t want to know the history of that particular fighter.

“Da. It is,” Petrov was saying. “Especially since most of us didn’t know about the program when we left Earth. We put this together ourselves from a… casualty we had. It works… mostly.”

“What does that mean?” Jimenez asked.

“It means the machine can only simulate a few things. It has an operational computer, so you can use it to make the connection to the craft. It’s tied into some pieces of equipment on Revenge so you can see how to use some equipment. That is what it can do. It doesn’t simulate flying an actual fighter or the rush of operating one in space.” He smiled. “Trust me; it is a rush. You will never forget your first time.”

Jimenez frowned, waiting for the inevitable sex comment, but Petrov had finished.

“Hey,” Baker said, continuing to look at the cockpit, “I never thought about it, but the F-77A is a two-seater for a pilot and a weapons system operator. With the uplink interface on the Bravo—”

“The WSO isn’t needed,” Petrov confirmed, pronouncing it “whizzo.” “With the uplink, the pilot can easily control everything. Using the sensors is as natural as looking at the scenery as you walk down the street, and weapons can be launched with barely a thought. Future models will probably be single seaters. We’re currently flying modified Alpha variants; the chain of command wasn’t sure they would work and didn’t want to give up the second seat in case a WSO was needed.”

“Does it get lonely?”

Petrov shook his head. “We usually go out in flights of two or three, and with a laser link between the planes, communication is just as easy as talking with you now.” He smiled. “Who is ready to give it a try?” He looked at Jimenez. “You?”

“No, I think I’d rather see if Lance kills himself first. If he doesn’t, maybe I’ll give it a shot.”

“Ready?” Petrov asked.

“And then some,” Baker said. He climbed into the cockpit and sat down. “Now what?”

“You don’t have motors to start and the simulator has power run to it, so all you need to do is turn on the computer.”

Baker reached forward and flipped the toggle switch up. They watched as the computer booted up, ultimately ending with an Uplink now? message.

“If you’re ready, accept the prompt.”

Baker took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He winked at Jimenez, then clicked on Accept. “Here goes nothing.”

“I’ll plug you in the first time,” Petrov said. He reached behind Baker and pulled the link cord out of the headrest. “You’ll want to close your eyes for this.”

“Why?”

“Trust me.”

Baker closed his eyes, and felt Petrov attach the cable to the jack in the back of his head.

His vision exploded with information. Status bars, gauges, and diagnostics filled his perception, and his eyes flew open. The additional information of processing the visual input almost caused him to black out, and he snapped his eyes shut again. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself as his brain tried to process all the information it was being given.

“It’s overwhelming at first, I know,” Petrov said. “And that’s without any of the fighter’s systems actually online.”

“Too bright!” Baker complained. “Too. Much. Info.”

“Think to yourself, ‘Dim the gauges,’” Petrov advised. “Then look at the ones you don’t want to use and simply think, ‘Off.’”

Dim, Baker thought. The simulated light from the gauges decreased in intensity about fifty percent. Dim. They dropped another fifty percent and were now manageable. He scanned through them. Like Petrov had said, most dealt with aircraft systems that weren’t even operational. The engines were giving a variety of error messages which was clouding a lot of his vision. Off. They went away. Hydraulic systems, flight surfaces, landing gear. Off. Off. Off. Before long, he had cleared out a lot of his vision space.

“If you want, you can also just think, ‘All displays off,’ and that will clear your vision.”

The cable in the back of Baker’s head pulled awkwardly as he tried to shake his head. The cable didn’t detach—there must have been a retaining mechanism of some sort in his head’s socket—but it felt… uncomfortable. “You couldn’t have just told me that from the start?” he muttered.

“Da, I could, but how would you have known what they looked like to call them forth, if you had never seen them before?”

Baker sighed. Probably right. He clicked everything off and was rewarded with a nice, comfortable blackness. He opened his eyes. “Now what?”

“The fighter is attached to a number of the Revenge’s sensors. Select forward radar on.”

Forward radar on. The display overlapped his visuals, and he closed his eyes again to get a clearer picture. The only object on the display was the planet they were orbiting above. Range out. The picture jumped, expanding outward. Scan down. The radar tilted down—it must have been mounted on the bow of the bigger ship—until the planet filled his vision.

The radar painted the landscape below. Even though the planet had a thick, soupy atmosphere—like Venus back home—the radar reached through it, and he could see the peaks and valleys as if the atmosphere didn’t exist.

His ability to scan felt almost godlike.

He nodded to himself, careful not to move his head. That much—the radar controls, anyway—seemed to make sense. “Okay, I see what I can do with the radar. The controls seem pretty straightforward.”

“When you’re in the Bravo, you’ll be able to change any of the radar parameters with a thought: scan, pulse repetition, pulse width… just about anything, depending on need.”

On a whim, he thought, Rear radar on. A radar view snapped on behind him, but—somehow—he didn’t have to turn around to see it. It was behind him… yet he could still see it. Okay, this is cool. He chuckled to himself.

“Let me guess,” Petrov said. “You just turned on the rear radar.”

“How did you know?”

“That’s the first thing a lot of people try. It was what I did.”

“That’s weird,” Baker said. “Are you intentionally talking slowly?”

“No—that’s you using the system. Your thought processes are speeding up. You’re starting to talk quicker, too.” After a few seconds, which somehow seemed to stretch out longer than they should, Petrov added, “Okay, it’s time to disengage for now.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes. Jimenez needs her turn.”

Damn. I was just starting to figure this out.

“You’ll get another chance later,” Petrov added.

“Okay,” Baker said. Disengage. The system asked, are you sure? He confirmed and felt a sense of loss as the system pulled away from him. He opened his eyes, then he blinked and shook his head as everything around him seemed to slow down.

“Quite the rush, eh?” Petrov asked as he disconnected the cable from Baker’s jack.

“It is.” Baker looked to Jimenez. “If you don’t want to do it now, I’ll go again.”

“No!” Petrov said. Softer, he added, “This is why we have to limit your time in the system, especially at the start. As you use it more, you get faster and better, and there is an adrenaline rush from it. It is much like a drug. And—just like a drug—if you cannot control it, it will become everything to you, to the point that it’s all you think about. You cannot let that happen.”

Baker’s eyes widened slightly at the intensity of Petrov’s tone. He’s had someone he knows lose themselves in the system, he thought suddenly. Probably someone close.

Petrov took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he shook his head at something he’d been thinking, then he turned to Jimenez. “Ready for your turn?”

* * *

WARDROOM 2, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

“Still worried about using the system?” Baker asked as he went through the food line with Jimenez a couple of hours later. They’d both had two turns in the simulator, which had a number of optical systems attached to it as well as all-hemisphere radars.

“Yes,” Jimenez said.

“Really? I thought the capabilities were nothing short of awesome. I almost felt—I don’t know, godlike, I suppose—a couple of times when I had a bunch of the displays on. Eyes in the back of my head? Check. Scan a planet for civilization while checking my six? Also check. Even you have to admit, that was pretty darn cool.”

“You know, you’re scaring me right now.”

“What? Why’s that?”

“Godlike? Petrov said it was seductive, and I can already see you getting sucked in by it. He probably could, too.”

“Just because I thought it was cool—”

She spun around and looked him in the eyes. “Are you even listening to yourself right now? If you could, I’ll bet you’d skip lunch and go back for more simulator time.”

Baker wanted to refute her statement but realized she was probably right. He settled for a small nod. “Maybe. It was pretty cool, and I want to see what all it can do. That doesn’t mean I’m being seduced by it.”

Jimenez frowned. “Yeah, it sort of does. Please think about it and watch out for it.”

“I will.”

They finished getting their food in silence and then looked for a table in the crowded wardroom. “I see a spot,” Jimenez said. “Follow me.”

She crossed the room to a four-person table where two lieutenants already sat. Both—a man and a woman—wore the patches of the Blue Blasters of SFA-34, although Baker didn’t recognize either of them.

“Can we join you?” Jimenez asked.

“Sure,” the woman said. “How’s it going, Sofia?”

“You know them already?” Baker asked.

“Yeah.” Jimenez scoffed as she sat. “I had to do something while you were taking your three-day nap in medical.” She nodded to the others. “This is Brenda ‘Nova’ Smith and Feng ‘Lion’ Wang.” She nodded to Baker. “Folks, this is Stinky.”

Baker frowned. “Seriously?”

“Not my call,” she said with a shrug. “The CO gave it to you. Who am I to argue with the skipper?”

“Don’t worry,” Nova said. “I’m sure you’ll do something stupid soon enough and earn yourself a better call sign. Most nuggets do.”

“What’s this nugget stuff?” Baker asked.

Lion looked up from his food. “New people arrive at the squadron as a lump of something. Hopefully, with pressure and polish, you’ll turn into a diamond and be worth something and not remain a pile of shit.” He shrugged. “It is still to be seen.” He nodded toward Nova. “We still have hopes for her.”

“Fuck you, too, Lion,” Nova said without any heat. “You’re the one who messed up the rendezvous the last time we were out. I think the skipper called it ‘the most dumbass maneuver he’d ever seen.’”

“I thought I saw—never mind.”

“What?” Nova asked. “A ghost?”

“Forget I said anything,” Lion said, looking at his food.

Nova turned to the rookies. “Lion swears his fighter is haunted by the ghost of someone that recycled in it.”

“I don’t know if that’s what it is. She won’t talk to me. Maybe it’s one of my ancestors trying to guide me; I don’t know. All I know is that my fighter is haunted.”

“Right,” Nova said with a wink to Jimenez. “What about you? Seen any ghosts since you got here?”

“We just did our first simulator. No ghosts there.”

Nova cocked her head. “How was it? Ready to strap on a Bravo?”

“I think so, although I have a healthy respect for the pull of the system.”

“Wait until you try the actual thing, then,” Nova said with a smile. “It’s a hundred times more than the simulator.”

“Probably more than that,” Lion muttered around a mouthful. “Try a thousand.”

“More what?” Jimenez asked.

“More… everything. More powerful. More cool. More abilities. The rush you get from flying one… if you could bottle it and sell it to the drones back home, you’d make billions.” She sobered. “It’s also a thousand times more seductive. If you thought the simulator was intense, just wait until you strap on a live space fighter.”

“You’re in trouble, then,” Jimenez said to Baker. “We could barely pull you out of the simulator the last time so I could get my turn.”

Nova’s eyes narrowed. “You’re going to want to be really careful in that case. We’ve lost people that couldn’t keep the real world and Shangri-La separate.”

“Shangri-La?” Baker asked.

“It is a fictional place that was supposed to exist in my home country of China,” Lion explained. “It was described as a paradise, isolated from the world. That’s what we call the uplink world. It also is separate from the real world, and, to many, it is every bit the nirvana that Shangri-La was supposed to be.”

“But it’s not?”

Lion chuckled. “Oh, it absolutely is paradise. So much so that some people—a certain lieutenant commander, for instance, comes to mind—would rather live there. When you strap on the Bravo, you have to remember that no matter how long the stay, you’re just visiting Shangri-La. You’re not going there to live.”

“What lieutenant commander is that?” Jimenez asked.

“Gale Higgins,” Nova replied. “She’s the maintenance officer, if you haven’t met her, which—odds are—you probably haven’t.”

Jimenez raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t we have met her?”

“Have you met her?”

“Well… come to think of it, no, I haven’t.”

“See?” Lion shook his head. “She spends most of her time sitting in her fighter.”

“Why’s that?”

“No idea. She swears she gets more work done there.”

“Why does the CO allow it?” Jimenez asked. “Based on everything we’ve been told, that can’t be healthy for her.”

“He only allows it because—most of the time—she’s not even plugged in,” Lion replied. “She convinced the CO she’s in no danger of recycling. She told him she had borderline Asperger’s Syndrome, and she works better by herself.”

“Is it true?” Baker asked.

“Who am I to know what goes on inside the head of a lieutenant commander, much less a female one?” Lion asked, then he dodged as Nova threw her napkin at him. He laughed and then said, “She told me she has a room built inside Shangri-La that she has decorated like the living room of her house back home. Whenever she misses home, she goes there for a few minutes to relax and ‘regain her mojo.’” He used air quotes for the last bit.

“In my eyes, it is a cautionary tale,” Lion continued, looking at Baker. “Shangri-La affects everyone differently. Make sure you know who you are, and that you are comfortable with that person before you go to Shangri-La; otherwise, it is likely to change you. If it does, it is likely that it will make you less able to deal with the reality of the real world, rather than more so. And, when Shangri-La finally claims you, you will have lost everything.”

5

READY ROOM 3, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

Baker took a seat in the back of the ready room with Lion and Dogboy in preparation for his first All Officers Meeting. Over the last week, he’d eaten with them a couple of times and had come to like them, which had surprised him in the case of Lion. Although he’d expected that there would be a number of cultural differences between them, it had turned out that a fighter pilot was a fighter pilot, despite their origin, and Baker had become friends with the Chinese officer. Lion had been in the squadron since the beginning, and he had a lot of experience and good information on flying the Bravo, and he was happy to share it.

“Do you think this is it?” Dogboy asked. “I heard we’re heading home.” He looked at Lion. “Any of your buddies in Ready Room 2 heard anything?”

Lion shook his head. “The junior officers in the Panda Bears are told even less than we are here. Anyone who complains is told to do it, not like it, and usually gets extra duties.”

Dogboy shrugged. “Not worth asking Petrov about the Russians, either. They’re just as bad.”

“If the Chinese and the Russians didn’t start the rumor,” James Dowery said, turning around in the row in front of them, “who did?”

“No idea,” Dogboy said. “Must have come down from the admiral’s staff then, which makes it legit.”

“I don’t think so,” Lion said. “I have a friend on the staff, and he said—”

“Attention on deck!” the duty officer ordered as the CO and XO walked in through the front door of the ready room. All the officers jumped to their feet and braced to attention.

“Seats, please,” the CO said, and everyone sat back down again.

“Before we begin, we have two new pilots with us since the last AOM. Sofia Jimenez and Stinky Baker, welcome. Please stand up and introduce yourselves.”

Baker stood up, trying to not look annoyed with the name, as nothing cemented a call sign like saying you hated it. Jimenez rose slowly to her feet, and he nodded for her to go first. She opened her mouth to speak, but the rest of the officers, at once, all roared, “Sit down, assholes!”

Baker sat back down, wincing wryly, and the CO smiled. “Seriously, though, it’s good to have you.” He paused and his eyes scanned the assembled squadron. “I know some of you are starting to get a bit of ‘get home-itis.’ Hell, I don’t blame you; I’m ready to start heading home, too. I know when we left on this mission, it was supposed to last six months, and we’re closing in on having been gone for a year.

“Despite the rumors that have been going around, though, that doesn’t mean that we’re heading back. In fact, just the opposite.”

The collective air went out of the squadron, and several mutters could be heard.

“At ease!” the CO said. He waited for quiet then continued, “There’ve been some ghost traces of alien fighters in the outer system toward Procyon B. We’re going to head in that direction and give them a look.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, I don’t like it any more than you do, but we have a job to do. We came looking for the aliens, and we haven’t found them yet. Our mission is not complete. Hopefully, we’ll find some evidence out there, or maybe in the Procyon B system, and then we can go home. Until we actually arrive back in Earth orbit, though, I need everyone’s heads in the game. The aliens could show up anywhere, at any time. That’s why you carry live ammo when you go out on deep space missions. You might need it.

“I need your best, every time you fly. I don’t want to see or hear about any grab-assing or fooling around out there. Do your jobs and fly the missions as briefed.”

The CO looked at Dogboy. “And I don’t want to hear about any unbriefed dogfighting with the other squadrons. We’ll try to get some flights added to the schedule so that you can all see who’s got the biggest… whatever it is you’re using to measure yourselves against the other squadrons.”

“Sorry, Skipper,” Dogboy said. He had the grace to look down.

“Yeah, well at least you won.”

Dogboy looked up with a smile. “Thanks, Skipper.”

“It’s a good thing you did. Or I’d be even madder at you than I am right now!” He looked at one of the lieutenant commanders in the second row. “Ops officer, Dogboy has the next week of duty to help remind him that there are rules to be followed.”

“Fuck,” Dogboy muttered, looking down again, while several people—the ones who would have had duty during the next week—chuckled at their good fortune.

“Cheer up,” Lion said, elbowing Dogboy, “at least you won. The guy you beat in Ready 2 has duty for the next month.”

“At least I have that,” Dogboy said with a sigh. “There’s nothing worse than duty on the ship.”

“Why’s that?” Baker asked.

“You haven’t stood it yet; just wait and see. You are everybody’s whipping boy, and yet you don’t have any of the power necessary to fix the things people are yelling at you for. A fighter breaks just prior to launch and fouls the launch window. Your fault. Someone’s late to a meeting with the admiral’s staff. Also your responsibility. Someone violates a rule—”

“Like unauthorized dogfighting,” Lion threw in.

“Also your fault.” Dogboy smiled. “Well, in this case, it actually was my fault, so at least I deserve it. And I did kick his ass, so I have that.”

“Want a second week of duty?” the CO asked from the front of the room.

Dogboy jumped, and Baker looked up to find that most of the squadron had turned around and was looking at them. “No, sir, one week will be plenty sufficient for me to understand the error of my ways.”

“Very well,” the CO said. He turned back to Lieutenant Rice, who now had the floor and was briefing what they had to look forward to in the outer system.

* * *

Petrov stopped Baker on his way out of the ready room after the meeting ended. “Can I talk with you?”

“Sure,” Baker replied. “What’s up?”

“I certified you ready for flight,” Petrov said. “You’re on for your first familiarization flight tomorrow. You’ll go out with me at 0800, and Jimenez will go out with Lieutenant Commander Pointer at 1200.”

“Cool. What do I need to know? What do I need to do to prep?”

“I’ll handle the briefing in the morning. Just make sure you go through your emergency procedures and get a good night’s sleep. The brief is scheduled for 0600, but we’ll do it at 0530 so we can get a quick bite to eat before we go to our planes.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“Good,” Petrov said. “See you bright and early.” He looked around for a few seconds, then headed off in the direction of Jimenez.

“First flight?” Dogboy asked.

“Yeah.”

“You’ll always remember the first time you strap on a Bravo,” Dogboy said, a touch wistfully. “Flying Alphas was fun, but they don’t compare to Bravos.”

“Any words of advice?”

“Yeah. Don’t fuck it up.” He started to go but then turned back. “And no dogfighting. I hear the CO doesn’t like that much.”

* * *

STATEROOM 27-C, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

Baker pressed the illumination button on his watch. 0200. He sighed. Just freaking great. He knew he should continue trying to sleep, but he was too excited about his first flight to do so. Finally deciding on a walk to burn off some of the nervous energy, he rolled out of his rack and threw on a flight suit. As he headed for the door, he stopped to pick up the flight schedule that the squadron’s yeoman had slid under it.

There it was. First event of the day: Baker and Petrov for a Fam 1. It even listed the fighters they’d be flying. Side number three-nineteen for him and three-fifteen for Petrov. He smiled, deciding to go see the fighter.

Baker walked through the quiet passageways, not seeing a soul until he made it down to the aft hangar bay. Twice as big as the forward bay, it held the space fighters for both the Panda Bears and the Blasters, with the Blasters’ spacecraft at the far aft end of the bay. Like back in the wet navy days, they were stacked on the sides of the bay with their wings swept back behind them, nearly wingtip to wingtip.

The F-77 was a gorgeous fighter, and Baker still couldn’t believe he’d gotten tagged to fly them, much less the Bravo version. The fighter was all angles from its pointed nose past its forward canards to the two sets of wings. The forward wings—which provided the majority of the lift in atmosphere—swept forward, while the rear wings swept aft. Most of the craft didn’t have weapons mounted on them, but some had missiles mounted on the fuselage.

A number of the Panda Bears’ maintenance troops were moving about their fighters as he walked past, and he got a few looks. Apparently they weren’t used to officers taking late night walks. Or maybe it was the fact that he was an American. He shrugged. He could see people moving around his squadron’s planes as he approached, and he looked down the rows for three-nineteen. He found it after a couple seconds of searching; it was the furthest one aft on the starboard side.

The number had been hard to see as someone was standing in front of it. With a start, he realized it was Petrov standing next to his plane. He continued walking toward the plane but stopped again as Petrov put a hand on the nose of the fighter and patted it a couple of times. Petrov partially turned, and Baker could see his lips moving as he talked to… someone? The plane? Baker couldn’t tell, but the way he stroked the nose of the fighter was creepy.

Baker wanted to call out, to laugh at the Russian; something about the way the Russian looked at the craft and touched it, though, told Baker that Petrov was having some sort of private moment. A really strange one, by every stretch of the imagination, but one that Baker didn’t want to interrupt, nonetheless. Petrov—like many Russians—didn’t have much of a sense of humor, and this wasn’t the time to put it to the test.

While Baker didn’t want to intervene, that was still the plane he was supposed to fly in a few hours, and he was really curious about what Petrov was doing to it so he darted behind the row of fighters and walked along the bulkhead to could get closer and hopefully hear what Petrov was saying.

He reached three-fifteen, the last fighter before three-nineteen, and stopped, listening.

“—that’s it. Take good care of him,” Petrov said. He patted the nose of the fighter, sighed, and walked off.

Baker watched him go, even more confused than before. He shook his head and looked back at the plane that would take him to space in the morning.

He nearly shat himself when a voice behind him asked, “Can I help you, sir?”

Baker spun around to find a hydraulic technician behind him. “I’m sorry?” he asked, trying to get his heart rate under control.

“I asked if I could help you, sir,” the tech said. He stared at Baker’s name tag a second. “Oh, you’re the new guy, right, sir?”

“I am, yeah. Lieutenant Lance Baker.”

“Petty Officer Vrabel, sir.” He cocked his head. “You’re assigned to three-nineteen, right?”

“Yeah, I’m flying it in the morning.”

“So you’re assigned to it?”

“I… don’t know, exactly. In the training squadron, we just used whatever fighter was operational that day.”

“Yeah, that’s how it was when I was there, too. Here, though, a pilot usually flies the same fighter every time.”

“What happens when the fighter breaks?”

“They don’t fly until it’s fixed?” The tech shrugged. “I don’t know. Never really thought about it, I guess.”

“Was Lieutenant Petrov talking to the plane when I walked up?”

“Yeah, he does that sometimes.” He looked at his watch, uncomfortably. “Nice talking with you, sir, but I have to get back to work. Chief will have my ass if three-oh-six isn’t ready for the second launch of the morning.” He turned and quickly walked off toward the other side of the hangar.

“Nice talking with you, too, I guess.” Is everyone weird here?

Baker walked up to three-nineteen and circled the fighter, looking for any evidence that Petrov had done something to the craft. He didn’t see anything out of the ordinary, and he shrugged and looked at his watch. 0300. He sighed and started walking back to his stateroom. While he hoped to get a little more sleep, he doubted much would be forthcoming.

6

READY ROOM 3, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

“You look like shit,” Petrov said when Baker walked into the ready room at 0525.

“Didn’t sleep very well.” He smiled sheepishly. “Guess I was too excited. Now I’m exhausted.”

“I didn’t sleep very well, either,” Petrov said.

“I went for a walk,” Baker started. When Petrov didn’t say anything, he added, “I thought I saw you walking away from my plane.”

“Might have,” Petrov said with a shrug. “I went down to the hangar to check and make sure the planes were both ready.”

“I talked with one of the techs, and he said that three-nineteen was going to be my fighter from now on? We don’t just use whatever fighter is operational here?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” He sighed. “Bravos are different from every other plane in the inventory, no matter which country you come from. In the previous squadrons I’ve been in, there were some good planes—some you liked to fly—and others that for some reason or another just weren’t as good. You liked flying the good ones when you had the opportunity, but it didn’t really matter, right?”

Baker nodded.

“Da. But here, it is different. Due to the way the uplink works, you develop a bond with the plane. At first, no one wanted to talk about it—it seemed too strange—but then the CO decided he was only going to fly one plane, and everyone else just sort of did the same thing. The CO just announced at an AOM one day that we would all be flying our own planes, and everyone agreed. No one—no one at all—challenged it. We all wanted the same thing.”

“And that didn’t worry anyone?”

“It did, some. But it just is easier this way—it feels right. Once you fly three-nineteen today, you won’t want to fly another plane, and that’s okay. We were just giving in to the inevitable. Once you bond with a plane, you’re better with that plane than any other.”

“What about the other squadrons on board? What do they do?”

Petrov chuckled. “I mentioned it to the Russian CO one day, and they had already adopted the same system, pretty much the same day the Blasters had, but they hadn’t wanted to say anything about it for fear that the other squadrons would give them a hard time. Same with the Chinese. All three squadrons adopted the same system at almost exactly the same time.”

“Geez, that’s not creepy.”

“Creepy or not, it is what works best. You will see.”

Baker nodded, but all of a sudden, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to fly the Bravo anymore. If it changed who you were… maybe it wasn’t worth it.

“Okay, well, let’s get started,” Petrov said, breaking Baker’s train of thought.

Petrov walked him through the flight, with what to expect, and what they’d be doing. They went over the comm plan and what they’d do for any emergencies they experienced. It was as thorough a brief as any Baker had ever sat through, and he left the ready room as prepared for the flight as any he’d ever been on, despite it being in a new aircraft.

They grabbed a quick breakfast then got dressed in their gear—modified space suits—and walked to the hangar bay. The two ships had been pulled forward into the “ready” positions on the port aft catapults. There was considerably more activity in the hangar bay than there’d been at 0300, but none of the aircraft had their motors turning yet, so they didn’t have to put on their helmets.

Petrov had Baker lead him through his preflight of three-nineteen, and Petrov showed him all of the important new features of the Bravo model that Baker hadn’t been taught in flight school, including the uninterruptible power source for the computer and uplink module.

“What’s that gold sheen on it?” Baker asked.

“It’s an ultra-fine mesh shell to prevent the loss of the battery due to an EMP.” Petrov smiled. “We definitely do not want to lose that.”

“No doubt,” Baker agreed with a nod.

They completed the walk around a couple of minutes later, and Petrov left Baker to get settled while he went to conduct the preflight of three-fifteen. Baker patted the nose of the fighter—almost the way Petrov had earlier that morning—with a silent plea to take care of him for the next couple of hours.

Having done that, he put his helmet on, careful to mate up the connection with his cranial jack. After that, he climbed up the ladder and sat down in the pilot’s seat, tossing his slate onto the WSO’s.

That will take some time to get used to, he thought as he looked at the empty position. He had several hundred hours flying the F-77A, and all of them had been either with a WSO in the seat or an instructor pilot to watch over him. The lack of a crew member was both liberating—like getting the keys to the aircar for the first time—and scary at the same time, with a touch of loss. The camaraderie of flying with someone else was always something he’d liked—someone to share the successes with, as well as the dumb shit moments that they said they’d never tell anyone else about.

He put the thought aside, strapped in, and secured his gear. Assuming everything went correctly, there’d be no need to use any of it; everything would be provided by the system and link. He ran through the engine start-up sequence then flipped on the computer. It went through its boot-up sequence, similar to the one in the simulator. Hopefully, this one won’t have all the errors when I link in. He smiled then, and before he could talk himself out of it, he reached behind him, grabbed the cord, and inserted it into the jack in his helmet.

* * *

BLASTER THREE-NINETEEN, HANGAR BAY, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

The world expanded to infinity in all directions; the simulator had in no way prepared him for the depth, the vibrancy of the uplink connection to a real fighter. Three-nineteen was a living, thinking being, with him a small portion of it, ready to slip the bonds of Revenge’s gravity field and leap forward to hunt down and destroy the enemies of mankind. They were invincible; nothing could stand against them.

Lance took a minute to absorb the system displays, and he could feel the ship breathing in tune with their variations. Advancing the throttle minutely resulted in a thrill that was almost sexual; Lance couldn’t wait to run it up to max.

The flow of the hydraulic fluid—

“Hey sir!” He realized vaguely that someone was shaking him, and his eyes opened. Information overload assaulted him as infinity competed with nearby reality, and he dimmed all the displays while shaking his head to clear it.

He blinked a couple of times to focus his thoughts, then looked over at the technician on the boarding ladder. “Yeah?”

“Lieutenant Petrov has been trying to get your attention for about five minutes now!” the tech yelled over the roar of the engines. He pointed at the fighter next to three-nineteen, where Petrov was looking over at him with a frown.

Petrov tapped the side of his helmet and held up two fingers, then flashed 3-4-3-4. Baker turned on the second radio—the one used for squadron communications—and dialed it to 343.4

“Two’s up,” he transmitted.

“If you’re about done with your mental orgasm, the flight deck officer would like to get us spaceborne so they can get ready for the next launch.”

Baker looked at his watch. Somehow, ten minutes had gone by while he was immersed in the system displays. New guy gets lost in the cool system. Great, here comes a new call sign. He focused back on the launch, keeping the displays to a manageable level, and finished the rest of the startup checklist, hoping no one could see how red his face was. Hopefully, the red lights of the cockpit will make it less noticeable.

When all systems had been checked to be up and operational, he looked over to three-fifteen and gave Petrov a thumbs-up. Petrov returned it, then Baker heard Petrov call over the front radio, “Blaster Three-One-Five, flight of two, ready for launch, catapults five and six.”

“Blaster Three-One-Five and flight cleared for launch on port aft cats. Have a good flight.”

Petrov went to high power, and Baker looked to the left of his fighter to find his launch director. The man—dressed in a high-vis yellow vest—was spinning two fingers in the air while pointing at Baker with the other hand. He smoothly advanced both throttles to maximum and brought up the displays in his vision so he could check the engine performance.

The engines were within normal ranges, so he “wiped out the controls,” extending the stick in every direction to ensure he had full throws without any binding in aerodynamic mode. When everything checked out, he saluted the launch director and leaned back on the headrest. Within a second, Petrov launched on the catapult beside him, then his catapult fired, and he was thrown down the rail and through the electromagnetic field into space.

He did a slight turn away from three-fifteen to ensure they didn’t collide, then he brought up his engine displays. I wonder if…

He put the engine displays to the left side of his scan, just above the dashboard, and thought, Stay there. The engine readouts stayed where he’d placed them as he looked back out quickly to ensure his positioning. That’s damn handy. It’s a configurable heads-up display.

“Departure, Blaster Three-One-Five,” Petrov transmitted as Baker pulled into formation alongside.

“Go, Three-One-Five,” Departure Control replied

“Blaster Three-One-Five and flight is clear of Mom, proceeding on mission.”

“Roger, Three-One-Five and flight proceeding on mission. We have contact. Have a good flight.”

“Three-Fifteen, wilco.”

“Okay,” Petrov said, switching to the back radio. “Follow me.” He sped up and turned toward the planet, which was still relatively close behind them. “Spread out a bit and go through your controls and display, but do not allow yourself to get distracted by them.”

“Sorry about the start up. I sort of—”

“Zoned out. Yeah, I know. I could see it.” He paused a second, then he chuckled over the radio. “Don’t worry about it. It happens to everyone the first time they see Shangri-La.”

“You’re not mad?”

“No one’s mad. Did you hear the Boss get mad?”

“Well, no.” Baker frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me that was going to happen?”

“Could I have adequately described it to you? More importantly, if I had, would you have believed me?”

“Well, no, probably not.”

“That’s why I didn’t even try. Besides, I didn’t want to deprive you of your first glimpse of Shangri-La. Go ahead and take another look… just watch where you’re going, okay?”

“Got it.”

Baker took position a couple hundred meters away, close enough to see the lead fighter but far enough to not have to worry about running into him, and brought up his displays slightly. It wasn’t so much the amount of information that had overwhelmed him, he saw, it was more that he could actually feel the displays, as if they were his life’s blood, coursing through his veins. Advance the throttles? Yes, the numbers moved—fuel flow, thrust, velocity, etc.—but it was more than that. He was part of the fighter, and the fighter was part of him.

What do we have here, now? he wondered as he worked his way through the displays. Autopilot? That’s handy, too. The system had a small laser that could be locked onto a target for formation flying. He placed it on three-fifteen’s tail and mentally hit the Lock button. The system confirmed the lock, and a frisson of excitement ran down his spine as the throttles shifted slightly to match three-fifteen’s velocity.

With station-keeping taken care of, he proceeded through the rest of his displays, converting some of them to heads-up displays, moving others into the cockpit so they were out of the way unless he looked down, and turning off some of them entirely. By the time he had everything the way he wanted, Petrov was establishing them in orbit around the planet.

“Okay,” the Russian transmitted. “You’ve got the lead for now, and I’ll keep up with you. Go through all of your systems and see what each can do.”

He gave a quick scan of his gauges, then, satisfied that everything was working the way he wanted, he closed his eyes and started bringing up some of his external sensors.

Radar gave him a nice picture of the planet they were in orbit over. He played with it for a couple of minutes to get the hang of it, but—of everything he’d done in the simulator, this was the closest—there wasn’t a lot new to do with it.

He brought up the various cameras on the craft and explored local space with them. He zoomed in on Petrov. The Russian had his facemask up and was about a knuckle deep picking his nose. The zoom on the camera made it look like he was in the WSO’s seat next to him, even though he was several kilometers away. Gross. File that under things I didn’t need to see.

Next, Baker brought up the electronic support measures suite. Now this is cool. Designed to detect, identify, and locate sources of electromagnetic energy, the system gave him a full-sphere view of everything around him, painting a picture of the entities in space based solely on their emissions. The Revenge glowed throughout the spectrum, with a variety of radars continuously operational and communications frequencies used sporadically.

He could pick out other fighters in space; apparently the Russians and Chinese were out doing things today, too. He quickly identified a pair of ships flying both in front of and behind the Revenge. Combat Space Patrol? Perhaps. They seemed to be keeping station both fore and aft of Mother.

Petrov had turned off his active emitters, but Baker still got returns from three-fifteen as the other emitters in the area painted it.

He experimented with the different capabilities of the system, turning off different receivers—the one facing Revenge was almost completely overwhelmed by the ship’s electromagnetic noise—so he could get a better feel for the different settings and sensitivities.

Beep.

His brows knit as an ESM hit showed up on the system’s tactical map that popped up in his sight. It made sense that there was a tactical display, although he hadn’t thought about having one until that point.

Baker frowned. The ESM hit had come from below them. He brought up the radar and looked below them. It wouldn’t have been the first time fighters from one squadron “bounced” someone from another squadron—coming up unseen to zip past their fighters in a “got you” pass.

There weren’t any returns underneath the plane, other than the terrain of the planet below.

Beep.

“Hey, Petrov?” The Russian didn’t reply immediately, so he called again. “Three-Fifteen, Three-Nineteen.”

“Uh, yeah?” Petrov asked. He sounded like he’d just woken up. “What’s up?”

“You got anything on your ESM?”

“You mean from the fighters flying or from Mom?”

“No. Something from down on the planet.”

“There’s nothing down on the planet. The ship surveyed it when we got here. It’s empty.”

“I got a hit of something in the voice comms range on my ESM when I was playing with it.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be playing with it. You know you’ll go blind that way.”

“Haha. I’m not talking about playing with myself; I’m talking about playing with the ESM. I had the system dialed up to its most sensitive, and I got a hit of something from the surface of the planet. Twice. I thought it might be fighters from one of the other squadrons, but there’s no one near us. It wasn’t very strong, but it was definitely there.”

“Maybe it was just reflected energy. That might explain why it was so weak.”

“Maybe, except no one was transmitting then. I’m telling you, it came from the planet. Dial your system down and see if you get anything.”

“Stand by.” Petrov sounded put out, and Baker wondered if he were actually going to look, so he brought up one of his cameras on three-fifteen. The officer had his eyes closed. He’s either looking, or he’s gone back to sleep again.

“I’m not getting anything,” Petrov said after a couple of minutes. “Do you still have it?”

Baker sighed. “No. I haven’t seen it since I asked you about it.”

“Maybe it was environmental or reflected energy.”

“Or maybe we need to be closer to it. Maybe there’s a mountain blocking it now.”

“I’m telling you, there’s nothing down there. They surveyed the planet when we got here.”

“Did they do any atmospheric flights?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember. I didn’t do any, I know.”

“Well, can we take a look?”

“You mean fly down there?”

“Yeah. I’m done playing with the systems. Can we do some atmospheric flight? I’d love to see how the Bravo handles in atmosphere.”

“You know what the atmosphere is like on the planet, right? It’s hotter than Satan’s asshole down there, and the pressure at the surface would be about like flying through water. There’d be a real risk of damaging the planes. You’re new here, but let me give you a piece of advice: the CO likes people who damage his aircraft even less than people who do unauthorized dogfighting.”

“Okay, well can’t we call Mother and get authorization to do it? Then the blame would be on someone else.”

“That still doesn’t put it on my list of smart things to do.”

Baker shook his head. Petrov could say what he wanted, but he was sure—pretty sure, anyway—that he’d gotten some sort of transmission from the planet. “Okay, how about this. Let’s go back to where we were when I got the hits on ESM and hold there. Maybe we’ll get them again.”

“We could… but that’s going to mean we lose out on other parts of the familiarization.”

“And if I’m right, and there’s something down there…”

Petrov sighed over the radio. “We’d get our asses chewed for not doing something about it. We need to at least report it. Even if it means you get a new call sign. I wonder how you abbreviate ‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf?’ Maybe just Wolfman. Hey, that’s gotta be better than Stinky, right?”

“Haha, very funny. I’m telling you, though; the signal was there.”

“Fine. Lead me back to where it was.”

Baker goosed the throttles and turned the fighter back on a reciprocal heading. He’d marked the area of incidence on his system. With only two hits, and short, weak ones at that, he didn’t have a fix on the site, just some line of bearings that the system didn’t have a very high confidence on. Still, it was better than nothing, and he reached it in a few minutes.

“Here?” Petrov asked.

“Yes,” Baker replied. He put the autopilot onto a geostationary orbit so he could concentrate on the ESM controls. He knew what the frequency was—he had that much—and he passed it over to Petrov. It was in the VHF range, but he kept the scan bandwidth wide, while simultaneously focusing one of his receivers on the frequency of interest. If there was one frequency in use, there might be others.

Nothing. On all frequencies… nothing.

“I’m still not getting anything,” Petrov said after a few minutes. “How long do you want to keep this up?”

By now, Baker was starting to doubt himself. “I don’t know. Maybe I—”

Beep.

Baker sat up straight in his seat. “Did you get it that time?”

“Yeah, I did. It was weak, but it came from the north.” Petrov sounded a lot more interested now. “Try and track it down. I’ll hold position here and will call for authorization.”

Baker began flying along the line of bearing of the signal.

“Strike, Blaster Three-One-Five.”

There was a long pause for lag, then the carrier replied, “Blaster Three-One-Five, this is Strike, over.”

“We just got some hits of VHF from the planet. We’re requesting permission to go down and investigate.”

“You are cleared to proceed, Three-One-Five. We are sending additional assets your way.”

Baker’s ESM blossomed as the two fighters trailing the carrier turned and started blasting their radars at Baker’s fighter.

“Understand you know there may be some damage to the fighters if we take them down into the atmosphere.”

“We understand, Three-One-Five. You are cleared to investigate the source of the transmissions.”

“All right,” Petrov said on the back radio. “They bought it. Hopefully, the CO won’t be too mad if we slag any of the antennas. The fighters are built for atmosphere… but not this one. We’ll go down, together, as a section, and keep our speed down. We’ll make one pass and then return to orbit. Got it?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you gotten any more transmissions? Do you have a fix on the site?”

“No, I don’t have anything new since the one you heard. I have a high confidence line of bearing, but that’s it.”

“Okay, I hadn’t planned to do this today, but we’re going to have to link our systems. I’ll send you a request, and you approve it.”

“Uh, okay…”

A new window popped up. Laser Link Received. Perform system link? He approved the request, and several new targets popped up on his tactical display.

“Okay, we’re linked,” Petrov said. “I see where you have the line of bearing. Rejoin on me, and we’ll go take a look.”

Baker closed up on the lead aircraft, and Petrov took them down. Everything was fine until they reached the mid-level atmosphere, and then the clouds made it nearly impossible to keep visual sight.

“This is too hard,” Petrov finally said, just before Baker had been about to break off. “Drop back a kilometer and keep a radar lock on me.”

Baker slowed his fighter slightly and fell into a trail position, then he slapped radar and autopilot locks on the lead aircraft. They continued down. Baker didn’t intercept any more transmissions, but he did start picking up a number of system warnings.

“I’m starting to get some cautions,” he radioed. “I’m losing the coating on some of the ablative plating.”

“Me too. This shit sucks.”

Baker scanned his altimeter. They were passing through five thousand meters, heading down a valley between two monstrous mountain chains. The clouds cleared for a second, and Baker got a look at one on the port side. Smoke poured from the mountain’s top.

“They’re volcanoes!” he called.

“I saw. Something pinged off my fighter earlier; must have been ash or something thrown from them. We won’t stay any longer than we have to. Looks like the clouds are thinning, though. I’m going to sneak down a little further and see what there is to see.”

“Don’t take too long,” Baker warned. His radar showed a solid mass of returns at fifty kilometers that thrust at least ten kilometers into the cloudy sky.

“I can almost see the valley end. Trust me; we’re going to get one quick peek, then we’re out of here.”

The clouds continued to turn wispier and wispier, and Baker got a few more glances at the terrain. Sweat poured from his pores, and his eyes bulged. Live volcanoes edged both sides of the valley, their peaks somewhere up in the clouds.

Finally, Baker dropped below the clouds, but that didn’t make things more comfortable. It only allowed him to see the random streaks of fire that arced across the sky from the lava bombs being launched from the cones somewhere in the clouds above. Other volcanoes had lava running down their sides, and smoke—for the lava, the venting, and who knew what else—was everywhere.

He looked further back to the wings, and his jaw dropped. Although they had slowed to atmospheric speeds, the leading edge of the wing still glowed; it had failed to cool significantly in the thick atmosphere.

“I can see the end of the valley,” Petrov radioed.

Baker looked forward to find three-fifteen and noticed his fighter’s nose had a slight glow, too. Movement caught his eyes; three-fifteen was about two kilometers away, near the end of the valley.

“I’ve got motion at the end of the valley,” Petrov called. “Shluha vokzal’naja! Missiles in the air!”

Baker’s ESM panel lit up with a number of warnings. The countermeasures window appeared, and a variety of anti-missile decoys fired off in all directions. Simultaneously, the engines went to idle and the ship sank to a hover a few feet over the steaming ground, although Baker couldn’t remember commanding the ship to do so.

Two seconds later, a trio of missiles raced through the sky where he’d been moments before. He looked for Petrov, but his ship had disappeared. From an opening in the mountain at the end of the valley, a small ship rose, unlike anything Baker had ever seen. It had a small center section with two vertical wings attached by pylons on the sides. It was obviously a gravity-propelled ship; there’s no way the wings would have provided any lift for it. The ship rose slowly from the mountain, then dashed skyward into the clouds overhead.

Baker jammed the throttles forward and raced in pursuit. “Petrov! Where’d you go? I’m in pursuit of a… I think it’s an alien ship!”

“Go”—Petrov coughed—“go get it. I’m hit but okay.”

Baker searched for the tiny craft—it was only a third the size of his fighter—and finally found it on his radar. It was ten kilometers away and getting further. He willed the fighter to go faster, but it was already climbing as quickly as it could.

Weapons, he thought. The armament panel popped on and told him what he already knew—he didn’t have anything long-range enough to hit the alien. The fighter had a couple hundred rounds for its internal magnetic accelerator cannon, but no missiles. Why would it? I’m on a familiarization flight!

“Strike, Blaster Three-One-Nine,” he called. After a few seconds, he called again, then he mentally slapped himself; the ship was too far away for instantaneous comms. He waited impatiently for them to call back, then just decided to call in the blind. Waiting only added to their response time.

“Strike, Blaster Three-One-Nine. I am in pursuit of a small alien ship that was hiding on the planet. Blaster Three-One-Five has been hit but reported he was okay. Requesting assistance as I don’t have a weapons loadout that can target the alien ship.”

“Blaster Three-One-Nine, this is Strike, go ahead.”

Baker slapped the cockpit’s dashboard. They were just now replying to his first communication. The alien was now twenty-three kilometers away and obviously out of the planet’s atmosphere; the gap between them was opening quickly. A few seconds later, three-nineteen erupted from the clouds and also began accelerating, but now the alien was almost sixty kilometers away.

“Blaster Three-One-Nine, Strike. We have contact with you and the ship you’re chasing. Pandas Two-Zero-Seven and Two-One-Six are enroute but unlikely to catch the bogie without assistance. Is there anything you can do to slow it down?”

Without even a conscious thought, the armament window appeared again with the rail gun selected. The other ship was now almost one hundred kilometers away, so the odds of hitting it were infinitesimal, but why not?

Baker armed the cannon and mentally pulled the trigger, feathering the controls back and forth in a cone around it. Within seconds, the cannon went dry. “I’ve done what I can, Strike,” Baker reported, “although it’s unlikely that I’m going to hit him.”

With a flash, the alien disappeared.

Baker shook his head. The alien had gotten away.

7

BLASTER THREE-NINETEEN, HANGAR BAY, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

Baker returned to the hangar bay and landed, following the ground crewman’s signals to sweep his wings to minimize his fighter’s profile, then he waited as the ground crew hooked up the tow tractor and moved him to his spot. As he taxied, he passed three-fifteen, which was being swarmed by crewmen in white vests with red crosses on them. Corpsmen. Several of them were pulling Petrov from his cockpit.

He appeared to be assisting them, weakly, but his suit was covered with burns, and the lower right was painted with either blood or hydraulic fluid. With as much as coated his gear, Baker fervently hoped it was hydraulics. Then he was past the fighter, and he couldn’t watch anymore.

The ground crew stuck his fighter into the line of fighters, and he was finally able to crawl out of the craft. He did a quick post-flight inspection—a lot of the ship’s coating was worn or had dissolved, especially on the leading edges of the wings and the nose—then headed for Petrov’s fighter. While the maintenance troops were still working on it, including one who was vacuuming something from the cockpit, Petrov was gone.

Baker stopped one of the techs. “Where’d the pilot go? Was he okay?”

The tech shrugged. “He was pretty messed up. A sliver of something hit him in the guts. They took him to medical.”

Realizing that the trooper wouldn’t have the latest info, Baker proceeded to maintenance control. “Any further word on Lieutenant Petrov?” he asked the maintenance chief on duty.

“Just that he’s in medical, sir. He’s in surgery now, but the early indications were that he should be fine. What happened out there, sir?”

“We came across an alien ship hiding on the planet.”

“Hopefully you kicked its ass for shooting up Lieutenant Petrov.”

“I tried, but he ran, and I didn’t have any missiles mounted.”

“Yes, sir. They’re normally not required for a fam flight.”

Baker scoffed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they weren’t required going forward, though. Sure could have used them today.”

He said goodbye to the chief and went up to intel to debrief the flight with one of the ship’s intelligence specialists, who grilled him on everything they’d done and seen on the flight. He paid special attention to the radio frequency the alien had been active on, and Baker gave him the download on the parameters.

The specialist held up a grainy picture that looked like the fighter that had gotten away. “This what you saw?”

“Yeah. It was a lot clearer when I saw it.”

“This is from Jupiter. Did you happen to get a picture of the one you saw?”

“Uh… in the confusion, I don’t think I did. I can have the techs look at the fighter and see if there’s anything in memory…”

The specialist’s shoulders slumped. “It sure would have been cool to have gotten one. This photo is too grainy to make anything out of. Weapons, engines, likely performance characteristics. Please have your maintenance folks pull the logs, and, if you see another one, make sure you get some footage.”

“Will do. I can tell you, though, it looked like the ship had a gravity drive of some sort. It rose straight out of the mountain without any sort of propulsion system showing.”

The specialist spent another ten minutes asking Baker about the alien, then he was finally released. After dropping off his gear in the locker room, he walked into the ready room.

“Perfect, you’re just in time,” Dogboy said from the duty officer’s desk.

“Do I want to know for what?”

“Probably not, but tough shit.” He motioned to the desk. “We all have to do our duties.”

“I didn’t do unauthorized dogfighting, though. The alien shot at us, first.”

“Yeah, and I want to hear all about that when you get back, but first, you have PriFly duty with Nova.”

“She can’t do it all by herself?”

“She can, but you can’t get qualified to do it by yourself until you’ve stood it three times under instruction. This is officially number one.”

“I’d like to go see how Petrov is. Can I do a later event?”

“Nope, the CO wants you on this one. Maybe you can get your second one later. I’ll look and see what’s available.”

“Why the rush?”

“Well, someone had to go and find an alien today, and then he got a vector for where it jumped out to. The CO—and the airwing commander, for that matter—think we may finally be onto something here, and they want everyone qualified in case they need to do a strike on the aliens when we get there.”

“But I’m not—”

“Weapons qualified? No, you’re not. But other people are, and if you’re qualified to stand watches, then they can go out and blow aliens up.”

“How about I get weapons qualled, then I can blow up aliens? I’ve at least shot at one of them. Have you?”

“Spray and pray from one hundred clicks really doesn’t count as being in a dogfight with an alien, you know what I mean? Doesn’t matter, anyway. CO says you’re going to PriFly, so you’re going to PriFly.”

“Great. Where’s Nova?”

“Right behind you,” Lieutenant Smith said. “Came in the other door. Ready to go see the wonders of PriFly?”

“Not particularly.”

“Tough shit, flyboy. Let’s go.”

Nova led him out of the ready room and down the passageway toward the aft hangar bay, then went up two decks, a little farther aft and stopped at a door marked “PriFly: Authorized Personnel Only.”

“Hey,” Baker said, catching a glimpse of the door. “Maybe I’m not—”

“You’re authorized, so shut up and follow me. You’re not authorized to talk in there, though, so don’t. Just don’t. You’ll only get yourself—and me—in trouble.”

She walked through the door, and Baker followed her through. PriFly—short for “Primary Flight”—was the hangar bay control space. Run by the Air Boss—a former aviator now attached to the ship’s crew—its mission was to safely launch and recover spacecraft for the carrier. It was located at the top of the aft hangar bay and halfway down its length, giving it a great view of the space. A number of large monitors showed the forward hangar bay, and a number of junior technicians moved scale models of space fighters along mock-ups of the two hangar bays on a tabletop behind a massive chair that looked out over the hangar bay. There were close to twenty people in the space, but it was as quiet as a church. Quieter, probably. Several of the techs moving the models had headsets on and were talking to people down on the hangar bay floors, but they subvocalized and could barely be heard.

The man in the big chair spun it around to see who’d entered his domain and stared at Baker for a moment. “You the new guy?” he asked finally.

“Yes, sir.”

“Let your wingman come back all by himself. Coulda died. He was shot up pretty badly.”

“He told me to go after the alien.”

“You always do what you’re told without thinking about it?”

Baker wasn’t sure how to answer the question, or what answer the Boss was looking for. “I, uh, believed he was all right, and the alien was getting away. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“Do me a favor?” the Boss asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t think while you’re in here. Just watch and learn.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And keep your mouth shut.”

Baker nodded, and the Boss spun back to the hangar bay window. Nova jerked her head toward the aft end of the space, and Baker gratefully moved away from the Boss. He opened his mouth to ask her about it, but she shook her head and put her finger over her lips. Baker sighed and looked out the window.

Below, the Blasters had activity on four of their craft. Five, if you counted the crew that was still working on Petrov’s fighter. Three-twenty was directly below him, and he watched as Sofia climbed the ladder and boarded it.

Having memorized the start-up checklist, he followed along with her as she brought the fighter to life. Then she reached behind her, plugged in her cord, and froze.

“Shangri-La,” Baker whispered to himself. Everyone does do it.

Motion from the corner of his eye caught his attention; Nova was nodding. Baker wondered how long it would take the Boss to notice.

“Seems to be the day to visit Shangri-La,” the Boss muttered.

Not long.

“Call down and break her out of it,” the Boss added. “We don’t have time for this now. Aliens in the system, patrols to launch… no damn time.”

Within thirty seconds, someone was on Jimenez’s ladder, shaking her arm. A couple moments later, Jimenez was aware again, and the launch continued. Panda fighters started launching from the starboard catapults, and the Blasters from the port catapults. Five minutes later, the launch was over. Both squadrons then recovered two fighters without any complications, and the ground crews stowed them in their parking spots.

Nova nodded to the boss and then led Baker from PriFly.

“I don’t see why I need three under-instruction watches to get qualified. I think I got it. Don’t say anything, get yelled at, then continue not saying anything. Seems pretty simple. I’ve been yelled at by far more intimidating people than him.”

Nova chuckled. “You haven’t seen him when he’s really mad. Wait until the ground crew folks run a couple fighters together. That’s a good time not to have the duty.”

“Why are we even there? If they have communications with the deck crew, and we don’t, what’s the point?”

“Mostly for coordination if needed.”

“Coordination?”

“Yeah, like if someone does something wrong, and the Boss wants a scapegoat to call Skipper Tyler.”

“Sounds like fun.” Baker rolled his eyes.

“Yeah. Not.” She shrugged. “Well, cheer up. Maybe you’ll see something more interesting next time you go.”

They walked the rest of the way back in silence.

“Hey, Stinky!” Dogboy called when they walked into the ready room. “Petrov is awake in medical and wants to talk with you.”

8

MEDICAL, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

Petrov was sitting up in bed when Baker walked into his room.

“I didn’t think you’d be up for a while,” Baker said.

“Russians are tough,” Petrov said. He slapped his chest—well away from the bandages on his lower abdomen—but winced anyway.

“Mostly tough, anyway,” Baker said.

“Siberia in winter is a different kind of tough than having a ten-centimeter sliver of metal go through your side. Happily, it missed all the important stuff, so the doctors tell me I will be back in no time.”

“That’s good.” Baker cocked his head. “Hey, the docs say I’m only allowed five minutes with you because you need to rest. What did you want to see me about?”

“I wanted to know what happened with the alien craft. No one here will tell me anything.”

“There isn’t a whole lot to tell. We flew down the valley from Hell, and, when we got to the end, missiles started flying and an alien ship came from some sort of hideout in the mountain. You got hit, but I fired off some chaff and flares, and their missiles missed me. I then tried to chase the alien down, but it was a lot faster than me. I unloaded all my cannon ammo at it, but it jumped.”

“I understand that part,” Petrov said. “What I don’t understand is how you were able to defeat the missiles they fired at you.” Baker frowned. “Don’t get me wrong; I’m happy you did. We didn’t ever talk about the ship’s defensive systems, though. I’m just surprised you had time to manually reach the electronic countermeasures systems and activate them.”

“There’s a manual release?” Baker asked. “Oh, yeah, there must be. We used it a couple of times in the training squadron flying Alphas. It’s on the right side of the WSO’s seat.”

“Yeah. It’s out of reach unless you unstrap, which you aren’t supposed to do, especially while you’re low and in a combat environment.”

Baker shook his head. “I didn’t unstrap. I just thought about needing something and the countermeasures window popped up. Then I dropped into a low hover, and the missiles went over me.”

“A low hover? How low?”

“About three or four meters above the ground.” Petrov had a strange look on his face. “What? What’s wrong? The ground was hot, but I was okay there for a short while.”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong. That was just the favorite move of… never mind. It doesn’t matter.” He shrugged. “I’m just glad you’re safe.” He blinked a couple of times. “I think I’m going to sleep now. The drugs are making me…” His eyes closed.

“Yeah, get some rest.”

* * *

“How was Red?” Dogboy asked when Baker got back to the ready room.

“Pretty good, although kind of woozy from the drugs, I think.”

“Well he did just come out of surgery, right?”

“Yeah. He had a ten-centimeter sliver go through his side.”

“That’ll do it all right. I’d probably have to take a week off. Maybe three.”

“Petrov said it wasn’t any harder than the Siberian winters, for what it’s worth.”

He can have those winters as well as the slivers. Although… I wonder if that counts as combat enough to get a Purple Heart?”

“No idea.” Baker shrugged. “Hey, I have a question for you.”

“Shoot.” He waved to the duty desk. “I’m not going anywhere soon.”

Baker looked around to see if anyone was nearby. “Did Petrov used to fly three-nineteen?”

“No, he’s always been in three-fifteen, although it used to be… 316, I think, before we renumbered them. Why?”

“I don’t know. It kind of seems like he has some sort of weird connection to it. I caught him talking to it in the middle of the night—”

“Were you guys having some sort of late night tryst?” Dogboy asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No, nothing like that. I just couldn’t sleep and went for a walk. As I went through the hangar bay, I saw him talking to my fighter. He patted the nose like it was some sort of living thing. Like a puppy or a horse or something.”

It was Dogboy’s turn to look around. “Do you know Petrov’s history at all?”

“No, I just got here, remember?”

“Well someone might have talked to you about him…”

“Is there something I need to know about him?”

“Him? No, not really. He’s a good guy and a great pilot. He would have had to be in order to not get shot down in that sneak attack today. No, the issue wasn’t with him; it was his old girlfriend.”

“What girlfriend? He never mentioned her.”

“No, he probably wouldn’t. If I were him, I’d probably want to forget her as soon as I could. If that were possible.”

“Why?”

“I’m sure that Petrov has talked to you about recycling, right?”

“The more you fly the Bravo, the better you get, but also the more you want to do it, until you can’t see the difference between being in the Bravo and real life? Something like that?”

“Yeah, just like that. The fact of the matter is his girlfriend recycled.”

“What do you mean? Went crazy?”

“She got so into it… she just… went away.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

“She got back from a flight and opened the cockpit but then died. All that the docs could think of is that her personality—her psyche—went into the system of the plane somehow. There was no reason for her to be dead aside from some freak heart attack or something. They ran every test they could on her—she didn’t have any sort of disease or condition. She just was dead.”

Baker’s jaw dropped. “Let me guess, three-nineteen was her plane.”

“Yeah, it was. Petrov volunteered to jack in and try to see if she was in the system. After about a week of asking—and the skipper saying no—he snuck into the cockpit late at night and turned up the system.”

“Did he find her?”

“No. If she had indeed recycled into the system, she either got erased when the computer turned off or she was never there in the first place. No one knows, and no one really wants to think about it much, because everyone’s had that thought at one time or another. It’s the ultimate getaway. You’re having a bad life? Flee to the system. Been on deployment for a year and just got a Dear John or Dear Jane letter? Run away into your fighter’s computer where no one can hurt you again.”

“Except for aliens shooting at you.”

“Well, yeah, maybe that,” Dogboy said with a small nod. “Regardless, Irina—her name was Irina Koslova—had just gotten a letter from home saying her child had been killed. She was a poster child for someone who might want to recycle. Did she? No one knows. There’s no medical reason for her to be dead, though, so it’s even money that she tried to do it. Whether she succeeded, though, no one knows.”

“So she might be electrons in my fighter now?”

“Nah, nothing like that. That’s one thing you don’t have to worry about. After Petrov’s late-night adventure—he got caught doing it, by the way—they reformatted the hard drive and gave it a clean load. It was the only thing the CO could think of to put the rumors to rest. I mean, if you got here and heard the story, you might be a little creeped out to be flying that plane, wouldn’t you?”

“Might be? I absolutely am creeped out to fly that plane. Is there another one I can swap to?”

“Nope, that’s it, three-nineteen and three-twenty are the only ones that don’t have someone bonded to them now. Of course, Jimenez is probably bonded to three-twenty now, so that’s out, too. Not that she’d want three-nineteen, either, if she knew the story.”

“So I’m screwed. Stay with the plane someone died in or don’t fly?” Although he said the words, Baker could already feel the pull of the plane’s bond. Despite knowing someone died in the plane, I still want to go back and fly it again. He mentally shook his head. I can see why drug dealers give the first hit for free.

“Yep. Those are pretty much your options.”

“What happened in three-twenty?”

“What do you mean?”

“There must have been something that happened to the pilot of three-twenty. How did that seat open up for Jimenez?”

“The previous pilot—back then it was three-oh-seven; some of the fighters have been renumbered since then—went crazy. She went crazy and was supposed to be sent home on the transport that brought you here.”

“I thought that wasn’t something that happened much anymore. Two out of twenty is ten percent.”

Dogboy chuckled. “Ten percent is nothing. You should have seen it when I got here. I’m one of the original members; we lost fifty percent of the first group to get here. When I say ten percent ain’t bad, I mean it. Compared with half your squadron going crazy, ten percent ain’t shit.”

* * *

READY ROOM 3, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

“Thanks for coming,” Commander Tyler said to the assembled group of squadron officers. “I wanted to get everyone together to go over today’s events and what they mean to us as both a squadron and an airwing going forward.

“First, as I’m sure everyone knows by now, Red and Stinky found an alien that was hiding on the planet. Stinky was on a familiarization flight and checking out all his gear when he discovered an anomalous source of radio transmissions. They asked for permission to check it out, and, when they got close, the alien burst out of cover under a flurry of missiles. Red got hit and returned to base, while Stinky tried to chase the alien down. Unfortunately, the alien jumped, in the direction of Procyon B and got away.

“Do you have anything to add to that, Stinky?”

“No, sir,” Baker said. Although I look forward to the day when I’m no longer ‘Stinky.’ “That’s pretty much the way it happened.”

The CO nodded. “Unfortunately, this event exposed a flaw in our daily operations and training schedule. Both craft had internal rail gun loads, but neither craft had a missile that might have been able to destroy, or at least stop, the alien. Wherever he went, they now know we’re coming.

“From now on, all our fighters will go out armed with missiles, and all the alert ships will be armed as well.”

Lion raised a hand. “Does intel think they’ll be coming back in force?”

“Intel has about the same idea that I do,” the CO noted. “Neither of us have a clue. We don’t know whether that alien was a spy who was intentionally there to watch for us. We don’t know if the aliens are planning another attack or will run farther away. We don’t know much of anything, except that the alien fighter reappeared in the Procyon B system.”

“It did?” Baker asked, unable to help himself.

“It did, and it is running as fast as it can, but we don’t know what it’s heading to. Procyon B is only about the distance from Uranus to the Sun in our system, so the alien wasn’t able to jump very far before the mass of Procyon B pulled him back out of hyper. Intel’s best guess is that the alien is running to get past the star so it can jump again, but we don’t know yet where it’s heading.”

He paused and sighed. “There are two things we know for sure right now. The first is, we’re going to follow it. The Revenge has sped up and turned to give chase.”

“What if it’s leading us into a trap?” Lieutenant Commander Pointer asked.

The CO gave him a wry smile. “I would guess that it probably is. The second thing we know, though, is that we won’t get caught flat-footed again. Everyone will fly all their missions armed now, and we will be going through a quick combat refresher phase before we make a quick jump to Procyon B. We don’t know what we’ll find there, but we’ll be ready for it when we do.”

9

READY ROOM 3, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

“Welcome to the new initiative,” Lieutenant Commander Pointer said, kicking off the brief the next morning. His eyes swept the other three members of the flight—the operations officer Lieutenant Commander Dan Page, Jimenez, and Baker. “Today’s mission will be to go make little rocks out of a big rock, then we’ll do a little dogfighting.”

“I didn’t think the CO was a fan of dogfighting,” Jimenez said.

“He’s not a fan of unauthorized dogfighting,” Page said. “This is on the flight schedule, and we’re briefing it ahead of time.” He smiled. “Totally authorized.”

Pointer took back over the presentation. “For some of us, hopefully, this will be a good refresher on the use of the nuclear anti-ship missile—it was for me while I was putting the brief together last night—for others, this will get you up to speed on using the Bravo variant in a combat mode.” He glanced significantly at Jimenez and Baker.

The training officer then discussed the missile they were going to use, including how to preflight it and how to set up the system to fire it correctly. Baker listened intently. It’s not every day that you get to set off a nuclear bomb.

“Did they go over nuclear weapons with you in flight school?” Pointer asked.

“No, sir,” Jimenez said. Baker shook his head.

“Okay. It’s a bit different than using them in an atmosphere, and that changes how we employ them somewhat. If a nuclear weapon was detonated on Earth, the density of the air would attenuate the nuclear radiation—the neutrons and gamma rays—to the extent that they aren’t as dangerous. On Earth, you have to worry about the blast and thermal radiation a lot more.

“In space, though, a nuke’s effects change drastically. First, without air, you don’t have any of the blast effects beyond a limited distance. Yes, it will still send particles flying, but the actual ‘blast’ effect is minimized. The same thing goes for thermal radiation—there isn’t any air for the blast wave to heat. The big problem for us in space, though, is that—without the atmosphere—the nuclear radiation isn’t attenuated; the only degradation in intensity you’ll get is with distance. In space, the range at which you’ll get a significant dose of radiation is a lot greater than in atmosphere.

“That’s why we release them a lot farther away, and then we stay well away from them.” He looked intently at the nuggets. “While there’s often a tendency to want to follow a weapon in and watch it go kaboom, especially for the new folks, we are definitely not going to do that today. We’ve already got one person in medical, and we don’t want to send anyone else there. Got it?”

Everyone nodded, and he continued with the weapons brief and how they would split up to do two vs. two dogfighting.

* * *

After a quick breakfast, they manned up their fighters. Petrov, in one of his more lucid moments, had signed off on Baker’s paperwork the day before, and he was now a qualified squadron pilot. As such, he didn’t have anyone following him around on preflight, which seemed strange, especially since there was a missile with a live nuclear warhead hanging from the starboard wing of his fighter.

There were, however, two weapons techs standing there to ensure no one messed with it.

Although why anyone would want to mess with a nuclear weapon is beyond me.

Baker pulled out his weapon card to preflight the missile, checking to see that all the settings were correct.

“Gonna make some big booms today, eh, sir?” one of the techs asked.

“That’s the plan,” Baker said. “We’re going to make some asteroids a lot smaller.”

“First time we got to put one of these together in a long time,” the other tech said. “Hopefully, we’ll find those damn aliens of yours real soon and get a chance to give them some payback for Lieutenant Petrov.”

Baker winked. “I like that plan even better.” Even as a nugget, though, he recognized the wisdom for staying where they were for a couple more days to get everyone up to speed. While the pilots had been flying throughout their time in space and were relatively current on most things, he’d heard that flying with live weapons wasn’t something they’d done a lot of. Worse, the weapons techs hadn’t had a lot of opportunities to play with the live weapons, either.

And you definitely didn’t want people rushing to build up nuclear weapons if they weren’t proficient with them.

He worked his way around to the port wing and checked out the air-to-air—or space-to-space—missile simulator that they’d be using for the dogfighting. It had the same seeker head as an anti-fighter missile but was mounted to a dummy missile body that had no motor. While all the other fighters going out from now on would be carrying live anti-fighter missiles, they wouldn’t, since they were going to be dogfighting. If you didn’t have a live missile attached, there was no chance of accidentally firing it off at one of your squadron mates.

Finding everything else as expected, he climbed up the steps on the side of the fuselage and sat down in the cockpit. He initialized all the systems and plugged in his link cable, careful to not let it overwhelm him this time. He wanted to be very careful with the weapon under his wing.

He let the thrill of joining with the aircraft rush through his body but kept in control of himself. A caution illuminated in the starboard wing’s control systems. He tried moving the controls and—sure enough—there was a little binding. He signaled for an airframes tech, and the woman came up the side of the craft.

“What’s up, sir?”

“I’m getting some binding in the right wing.”

The woman nodded. “We’ll take a look.”

She climbed back down and motioned for a ladder. Within a minute, there were two techs on ladders working their way down the starboard aileron. The control stick moved as they flexed it back and forth.

It never fails, Baker thought. Get a good deal weapons hop, and your plane breaks.

The weapons techs watched with nervous expressions as the airframers worked on the wing. One of them saw Baker looking and gave him a palms-up salute, wondering if Baker’s issue would be fixable. He doesn’t want to take the missile back off the plane. Can’t blame him. Baker held out a palm and wiggled it a little, indicating a 50/50 chance. The man shook his head.

The stick jumped in Baker’s hand, and he looked out to the people on the wing. One of them held up a rock as big as her fist and pointed inside the aileron, then she indicated Baker should cycle the controls. They moved without binding, and the caution light in his mind went out. He gave the airframers a big thumbs-up and then gave it to the weapons guys, who returned it joyfully.

Two minutes later, Baker was taxiing with his wingman, Lieutenant Commander Page in Blaster three-oh-three. They lined up on the port catapults, brought their motors to full power, and cycled their controls—no binding noticed—then the catapults fired, and they were in outer space.

Baker thrilled as he turned up the radar and other sensors, and the universe expanded around him. He joined up with three-oh-three and listened as Page—the section lead—checked in with the carrier, then they proceeded on mission. A minute later, Pointer and Jimenez launched. They caught up quickly, and the four fighters turned toward the asteroid belt and accelerated to their best cruising speed.

Page was also the lead for the four-ship division, and he pushed the other fighters out to a comfortable cruise position where they didn’t have to spend as much time jockeying to stay in position and the nuggets could go through some of their sensors and other equipment.

“You going to find us another alien today?” Page asked over the back radio.

“I hope not.”

“At least we’re armed today,” Pointer said. “At least until we launch the missiles. If some aliens showed up right now, we could give them a proper reception.”

The division flew for about thirty minutes to get to where the asteroid belt was located then set up a circular holding pattern as they got set up to launch. Page went first, followed by Pointer, and both successfully launched their missiles, hitting and “destroying” their targeted asteroids.

Before he even had much time to think about it, it was Baker’s turn.

“Three-One-Nine, you’re up,” Page said as Pointer’s asteroid went flying into millions of pieces.

“Three-One-Nine is up.” Happily, he still had 180 degrees of turn before he was pointed toward the target, and he compared his system’s setup to the checklist he had displayed in another window.

“Weapon settings,” he muttered. He looked at his physical checklist card with his eyes and turned it into a third system window, which he moved next to the armament panel window. He then compared the settings, making sure the armament panel matched the card. “Set.”

“Weapon station, selected.” He mentally flipped up the switch for the correct starboard wing station.

“Weapon power, on.” He powered up the missile and got a green light from it. He was now only meters away from a live nuclear weapon. Holy shit! I’ve got a live nuclear weapon on my wing!

He realized he was starting to hyperventilate, and he took a couple of deep breaths, trying to slow his heart rate. Ninety degrees of turn to the attack run-in. Plenty of time. He ran through the rest of the checks. Everything was set except the Master Arm switch, which he wouldn’t throw until he was ready to shoot.

The fighter’s nose approached the target bearing. “Okay, baby, here we go.” He took a deep breath and keyed the mic. “Three-One-Nine’s in hot.”

He jammed the throttles to the firewall, and the fighter raced forward like a scalded cat. His radar senses reached out to find a good target to blow up. Unlike in the movies, an asteroid “belt” isn’t a dense collection of large bodies; in fact, this belt had slightly less mass—in its entirety—than Earth did, and five of the asteroids made up over half of that.

Those five were also off limits to airwing targeting for reasons known only to the admiral and his staff. Personally, those seemed to Baker like good places for aliens to hide, and a nuke or two might have been a great way to flush them out. Like the solar system’s asteroid belt, though, the remaining bodies were fairly small and distributed so thinly that a ship could easily traverse it without incident.

That made finding an appropriate target—one big enough to reflect radar energy well enough to be seen at a suitable standoff distance, yet not one of the five large rocks—somewhat more challenging than Baker would have thought possible before he’d left Earth.

It took him almost a minute of searching to find a fitting target, even with the ability to “feel” his way through the belt with his newfound senses. “Target acquired,” he transmitted, and sent the target location via the link to Page for strike lead approval.

“Target approved,” Page sent back a few seconds later.

Because the rock was relatively small, Baker was already in range, and he mentally flipped up the Master Arm switch, designated the target to the missile, and pulled the commit trigger in less time than it would have taken in an Alpha model to reach for the first switch.

“Firing,” he announced as the missile leapt from his wing. He immediately began a skew turn away from the target, helped by the grav drive. Not only did he not want to get massively irradiated, but the flash in space was also bright enough to permanently blind you if you physically looked at it.

He didn’t need to see it with his eyes, anyway—he had enough sensors that he could get a variety of looks at it, and all of them were recording for later review. He watched through the radar as the missile raced to the target and detonated, momentarily giving the system another sun.

That alone made all the effort of flight school worthwhile.

Jimenez then went through her run, but Baker was only halfway paying attention to it as he reviewed his nuclear detonation. It was amazing to be linked to a high-def viewing source and be able go through a nuclear bloom one frame at a time.

He was still reviewing it when Page called for the rest of the division to join up on him. Apparently the experience of watching your own nuclear blast was immersive enough that you could miss another one happening nearby.

“Is everyone ready?” Page asked when the division had joined up.

“Two,” Baker replied.

“Three,” Pointer said.

“Four,” Jimenez said.

“Okay,” Page said, turning his fighter toward the star. “On my command, the second section will break off and proceed out-system, while we continue in-system. We’ll each go thirty seconds, then we’ll turn back in with a ‘Fight’s on.’ Maintain at least a one kilometer safety bubble around every fighter at all times. Ready? Break!”

The second section broke off, and Baker started his clock.

“When we get to thirty,” Page said over their laser link, “hang with me, kid, and turn off all your emitters.”

“We didn’t say we were going to do that.”

“We didn’t say we wouldn’t, either.”

Baker shrugged to himself; the operations officer obviously knew what he was doing. The clock reached thirty, and the ops officer, rather than turning back out-system, pulled hard “up,” out of the plane of the system. Baker followed along while turning his various emitters to standby. After ten seconds, Page turned out-system.

“What’s the plan?” Baker asked.

“I thought you of all people would know,” Page said with a chuckle. “Watch your ESM.”

Watch my ESM? For what?

Then it dawned on him—the other section would be using their radar to find the first section. He brought up his ESM in a big display window and looked for hits of an F-77 radar. He didn’t know what an alien radar looked like, but he knew the characteristics of the Cheetah’s AWG-94 radar.

Within a couple of seconds, he found it, and he realized what Page’s plan was. The other section would be using their radars to search for the first section, but they would be looking on or near the same “height” that they were at. Theoretically, unless they modified their radars’ search patterns to look “up,” they wouldn’t see the first section, although the first section would be able to see the side lobes of the radar beams and get a line of bearing on them. As they passed each other, the lines of bearing would change faster the closer they were to each other, so they would have a bearing and a relative distance to the section; they’d only have to look “up” and “down” along that bearing to find them.

And, since we aren’t radiating, they can’t do that to us. Baker smiled.

“Got it,” Baker said. “What do you want me to do?”

“Just stick on my wing. We’ll get Pointer then Jimenez. Easy Peasy.”

“Okay.”

As the line of bearing on the ESM started to move—indicating they were getting close—something sent a shiver down his back. Something’s wrong.

It took him a minute, but then he realized what it was. There’s only one radar emitting.

Before he could say anything, though, Page said, “Tally ho! I’ve got them!” and dove down to the right. Baker had time for a glance—there was indeed an F-77 flying past—then he had to split his time between flying formation on Page and looking behind him for Pointer.

“There’s only one fighter in front of us,” Baker said.

“I know,” Page replied. “I’m looking but don’t see him. I’m going to take the one I see. Keep an eye out for him.”

Page continued to turn toward the other fighter—Baker assumed it was Jimenez—then movement above caught his eye. “Bogie! Twelve o’clock high!”

“Keep an eye on where he goes,” Page replied. “Almost have her—”

“Fox two on lead,” Pointer called, signaling he’d just fired a radar missile at Page. His craft went past Baker and was already turning back to come in on his tail.

“I’m dead,” Page said, annoyance flavoring his tone. “Go get them. Avenge me!”

Baker jammed the throttles forward and turned as hard as he could to the right, trying to keep Pointer from getting a shot at him. The gravity compensation system did what it could, but it couldn’t keep up. His G-suit inflated, trying to push blood to his brain, but his vision narrowed as an extra seven Gs hit him.

He strained and grunted, and his vision returned to normal. Baker looked back over his shoulder—his vision narrowed as he did—but he found Pointer. The training officer was behind him, trying to keep up with Baker’s rate of turn, but he was dropping behind slowly. Eventually, if all things were equal and they kept up the flat turn, Baker would come around to where he had a shot at Pointer.

It wasn’t equal, though, and the problem was Jimenez. At some point, she was going to show up and pick off Baker while he battled Pointer. He needed to end the fight with Pointer, and he needed to do it now!

Almost without thinking about it, he slammed the stick over to the other side while simultaneously sucking back the power to almost nothing. All of his topside maneuvering thrusters fired, pushing him “down.”

Whether Pointer hadn’t been paying attention or hadn’t expected the maneuver, he wasn’t able to adapt to it in time, and he flew overhead past Baker’s fighter, trying to stop before he overshot.

All he succeeded in doing was to come to a near stop right in front of Baker, who easily locked him up on his radar and said, “Fox Two.”

With Pointer dead, it was time to find Jimenez, who was obviously somewhere close by looking for him. First thing: don’t be a sitting duck. He maxxed the throttles and put in a hard left turn with a “down” component. If she’d expected him to resume the right turn, hopefully that threw her off for at least a few seconds.

He brought up the ESM system window in his vision as he continued to search for her over his shoulders. Nothing. Which meant she didn’t need the radar to find him; she was already within visual sight of him.

As it turns out, finding a black plane in the blackness of space isn’t as easy as in atmo. He reversed his turn, hard, trying to shake her, and pulled hard “up,” turning on all his monitors. He got a hit—something crossed from right to left on the aft thermal monitor. He pulled back hard to the left until his vision tunneled again as he crossed eight Gs.

He reduced the pull slightly and his vision snapped back, just in time to see her go past, overshooting from left to right behind him. She might have had a snapshot for a gun kill, but there was no way she could have gotten a missile shot.

He pulled back high and right, and, as he did, the main engine power went to almost zero, while the maneuvering thrusters fired. He hadn’t intended that—he had wanted to keep the power up and get her into a turning fight that he was sure he could win—but the reduction in power and extra spin from the thrusters made her spit out in front of him as he came around. The power came back up smoothly—this time he had the presence of mind to look down as the throttles advanced—and he was off in pursuit of her.

It was immediately obvious that the maneuver had completely fooled her, and she no longer knew where he was. She kept doing turns back and forth, trying to find him.

“Lost sight,” she finally called, as the dogfighting rules required. If both fighters were lost sight, the odds of the two craft running together unintentionally were elevated to what the CO considered an unacceptable level.

“I gotcha,” Baker said. “Keep it coming.”

Now Jimenez was in a quandary. Baker’s call instructed her to continue in the direction she was going. But, if he really had sight of her, that was sure to make it easier for Baker to kill her. She snapped her fighter around in a hard turn away from where he’d told her to go.

And her fighter moved right into the gun camera of his fighter as he rolled into her six o’clock position. “Guns, guns, guns,” he called, simulating firing at her.

“Shit,” Jimenez said over the radio. She rolled straight and level so Baker could join up on her. As he was coming up on her wing, motion from the right caught his eye as Page and Pointer joined up on him.

Page took charge of the formation and led them back to the carrier.

* * *

READY ROOM 3, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

The first part of the debrief went quickly as the missile exercise had gone pretty much as planned.

“So,” Page said, looking at Jimenez as they reached the air combat maneuvering portion of the flight, “tell me what you saw during the ACM.”

She looked down at her notes. Baker had his own notes; at the training command, the junior aviators always had to debrief the dogfighting, so he’d gotten into a habit of taking notes immediately after the engagement was over. Jimenez obviously had, too.

“After we turned back in, we set up with me as a honey pot—”

“A what?” Baker asked.

“A honey pot,” Page said. “It was a trap. They showed us Jimenez, hoping I’d jump on her…”

“Which you did,” Jimenez continued. “We expected you’d come in high, so Commander Pointer was waiting even higher.”

“If you were well above us,” Baker said, “how did you see us?”

Pointer smiled. “I can tell you didn’t get much in-space dogfighting training.”

“Well, no,” Baker replied with a shrug. “There was a transport leaving and they hurried us through the last bit of flight school so we could be on board it. We were doing two flights a day to get done in time, and some of those were… probably not as instructional as they might have been.”

“Several of them are just blurs now,” Jimenez admitted.

Pointer nodded. “I thought so. You have to remember in space that there’s no up or down; everything’s relative. You can fly upside down compared to everyone else without the physiological effects that you experience in a gravity well.” He smiled. “I was inverted with respect to Jimenez, just flying along looking up at you from my perspective as you took the bait. All I had to do was pull down, flip over, and you were right in front of me as you dove on her.” He shrugged. “It was a pretty easy kill.”

“Yeah,” Page said with a sigh. “And I fell for it.” He nodded to Baker. “Stinky figured it out before I did—”

“There was only one radar active,” Baker interrupted. “I realized you were somewhere else.”

“He warned me,” Page continued, “but I thought I could get Jimenez before you showed up.” He chuckled. “Turns out, I was wrong.”

“And now you’re dead,” Pointer said.

“I didn’t see what happened immediately after that,” Jimenez said. “When I heard the first missile shot, I spun back to assist. By the time I got there, Commander Pointer was committing suicide by flying in front of Stinky’s guns.”

Pointer cocked his head as he looked at Baker. “You said you didn’t do much in-space ACM.”

Baker shook his head. “We only got one fam flight with one engagement.”

“Well, I don’t know where you learned that maneuver,” Pointer said, “because that wasn’t something you learned in atmo. If you’d tried that in a gravity well, you’d have fallen from the sky and been easy meat for me.”

Pointer sighed. “But, as I wasn’t expecting it, when you sucked off power and flipped around, I flew right in front of you.” He smiled at Jimenez. “Committing suicide.

“Seriously, though,” he continued, “that maneuver was pretty advanced. I’ve only seen one person do it as well as you did.” He shook his head. “That’s an all or nothing maneuver, too. You have to be pretty darn sure your enemy is going to fall for it, because you leave yourself underpowered either to chase after him or if he spins around quickly.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“No,” Pointer said. “It was a congratulations. I’m dead and you’re not. Just remember, though, not everyone is going to fall for it.” He looked at Jimenez. “And then what happened?”

She sighed. “I thought I had him. I was in a great position to start, and I didn’t think he knew where I was.”

“I didn’t,” Baker said. “I knew you were coming, but I didn’t know from where.”

“So he maneuvered hard—harder than I was expecting, actually—and I lost my advantage.”

“I saw her on one of my rear monitors,” Baker said. “It was just a glance, but it was enough to let me know where she was.”

“I thought he was going one way,” Jimenez said, “but then he snapped back right and high, and somehow just stopped in space. I got a low probability guns snapshot as I flew by, but then I went past and somehow lost him. I thought he was going to get into a turning fight with me, but he went behind me and just disappeared.” She sighed. “I had to call lost sight and tried to get out from in front of him, but I only succeeded in putting myself into a perfect position to get killed.”

“By that point,” Page said, “Pointer and I had rendezvoused and were watching from above you. If anything, your kill was even easier than mine.” He looked mildly embarrassed for a moment then shook his head and turned to Baker. “The maneuver you used to get her was similar to the one you used to get Pointer?”

“Uh, yeah, similar, I guess,” Baker said. “I pulled power and used the maneuvering thrusters to spin mostly in place.”

“I agree with you,” Page said, looking at Pointer. “I’ve only seen one person who was able to pull that off as well as you did, and you did it without ever seeing it before or being told how to do it? You’re a natural.” He chuckled. “Be careful, or you might get a new call sign.”

“And lose Stinky?” Baker asked wryly. “I’d hate that.”

“Good,” Page replied. “We’ll keep it as Stinky for now, since you like it so much.”

“But… I… uh,” Baker stuttered.

“Okay, that’s it for me,” Page said. “I gotta get back to work. The skipper wants the flight schedule for tomorrow in an hour, and I haven’t started looking at it yet. Great flight.”

10

READY ROOM 3, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

“Want to go get some chow?” Jimenez asked as the meeting broke up.

“Sure,” Baker said. “I’m starving.

They walked down the passageway, then Baker stopped suddenly.

“What’s up?” Jimenez asked with a chuckle. “You didn’t forget how to get to the wardroom did you?”

“No.” He smiled. “I just forgot to ask Commander Pointer something.”

“And it’s more important than lunch?”

“Well, no. I guess not.” He turned and continued toward the wardroom.

“What was it?”

“Both he and Commander Page mentioned that they’d only seen one person do what I did. I was curious who that was.”

“I know the answer to that.”

“You do? How?”

“We were discussing the engagement on the way back to the ship, and I asked how you’d been able to get behind me. He told me how—so don’t expect to catch me that way again—but he also told me who it was.”

“So who was it?” Baker asked. “Both of them looked… I don’t know. Strange, somehow, when they said it. It was weird, and they both did it.”

Jimenez stopped suddenly and turned to Baker, and he had to dodge to avoid running into her. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. “Are you sure you really want to know?”

“Well, I thought I did, but now that you’re acting all weird, I’m not so sure I do anymore.” One of his eyebrows rose of its own accord. “Do I not want to know?”

“I don’t know,” Jimenez said. She turned and began walking again, and he had to jog a few paces to catch up with her.

“What’s going on?” Baker asked. “Why are you acting so creepy?”

“Because the answer to your question really is creepy.” She stopped again. “Do you really want to know?”

“Yes, tell me and be done with it.”

She stared at him. “Okay, I didn’t want to mention it because I didn’t want to weird you out, but the person they were both talking about was… wait for it… Irina Koslova.”

“Koslova? Wait. Wasn’t that Petrov’s—”

“Petrov’s girlfriend?” Jimenez nodded. “Yeah, it was.” She made supernatural noises and pretended to be a ghost. “What’s worse is you’re flying the fighter she recycled in.” Jimenez looked at Baker seriously. “That’s just kind of creepy, don’t you think?”

A shiver went down Baker’s spine. That’s more than creepy. That’s… I don’t even know what to call it.

She chuckled, obviously having been kidding with him, but Baker could still feel the gooseflesh across his entire body. “Good thing I don’t believe in shit like that,” Jimenez said. She punched him in the arm. “You know, it’s not fair for you to call upon a dead woman’s spirit to beat me in a dogfight. You have to do it yourself.”

“Uh, okay,” Baker said, trying to laugh off the feeling, “next time I’ll try to do it without any supernatural aid.”

“Good,” Jimenez said, back to her normal self. “Now that we’ve settled that, let’s go get some lunch. I’m starving.”

They went through the mess line, grabbed their food, and sat down at a table with Dogboy and Lieutenant Mark Campbell.

“They let you off the desk?” Baker asked as he sat down.

“Yeah,” Dogboy said. “Time off for good behavior.” He chuckled. “Nova’s watching it for me while I eat. What’s up with you guys?”

“Baker’s channeling dead people,” Jimenez said.

“Seriously?” Baker asked. “You can’t let that go?”

“I heard,” Dogboy said with a smile. “The ghost of Irina Koslova came back to help him dogfight against Pointer.”

“Did you win?” Campbell asked. Whereas all the others were smiling or laughing, Campbell was serious.

“Yeah. Why?”

“No reason.” Campbell looked down at his food and took a bite.

“Are you going to give me a hard time, too?”

“Nope.” He took another bite.

Before Baker could ask why, Dogboy provided the answer. “Campbell here is a believer.”

“A believer?” Jimenez asked. “What’s that mean?”

“Campbell believes that the spirits of the people who died in the planes still inhabit them.”

“Seriously?” Baker asked.

“His dad was part Indian.”

Campbell frowned. “It was my mom who was Native American, thanks. She’s Lakota.”

“Okay,” Baker said. “What’s that got to do with it?”

“The Lakota believe that the spiritual or supernatural world is the same thing as the real world. Everything’s connected. She believes in Wakan Tanka, which she calls ‘the Great Spirit.’ Basically, everything has a power or sacredness that resides in them.” He shrugged. “She would say that Irina’s spirit probably is in that fighter.”

Baker looked at him intently, but Campbell focused on his food and wouldn’t meet his eyes. “And what do you think?” he finally asked after a long pause.

Campbell looked up and met his eyes with a shrug. “I would say that since we’ve been out here, everyone has seen some crazy shit that wasn’t what most people back home would call, ‘normal.’ While some people want to pass it off as coincidental or happenstance, others see it as something more. Based on my upbringing, I’m more open to that explanation.”

“Have you seen a spirit in the planes?” Jimenez asked intently.

Campbell chuckled for the first time. “No, I haven’t, actually,” he said with a smile, “which is ironic. I’m probably the most willing to believe, but I haven’t seen anything.”

“Which—to my mind, anyway—means it’s all bullshit,” Dogboy said. “If anyone was going to see something, it would be Chief here. Since he hasn’t, it doesn’t exist.” He pushed back from the table. “Sorry, guys, but I have to go relieve Nova and get back to duty.”

“Yep, I’m on the next launch, so I have to go, too,” Campbell said as he stood. He waited until Dogboy was walking away before leaning back in. “A lot of people have seen interesting things,” he noted. “Even though I haven’t seen them myself, I wouldn’t necessarily discount them out of hand.”

He walked away before Baker could say anything, and Baker shifted his gaze to Jimenez. “Thanks for bringing that up. I wasn’t particularly creeped out before, but I am now.”

“Sorry,” Jimenez replied. She looked down at her plate and sighed before looking back up. “Would it help if I said I wasn’t doing it for you, but for me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. I just have a weird feeling every time I get in the plane that I’m not alone. I keep feeling like I’m going to look over, and there’s going to be someone sitting in the WSO’s seat.” She chuckled nervously. “There hasn’t ever been, though.”

Baker smiled. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Yeah. Thanks for that. Not yet.” She shook her head nervously. “Hopefully, not ever.”

* * *

Try as he might, Baker couldn’t shake his earlier feelings after lunch, and he found himself walking across the hangar bay after he bussed his tray. There was plenty of activity going on, both at the Panda Bears’ end as well as around the Blasters’ spacecraft, but no one was currently around three-nineteen. He walked over to it, waving to Lieutenant Commander Higgins, who was—as usual—sitting in three-oh-four, along the way.

He reached his fighter and looked up at the cockpit. It didn’t look any different than the others; there was no weird aura or anything else that would give the appearance that it was haunted. Debris nearby didn’t rustle in a phantom breeze, nor did he hear any phantasmal voices whispering in his ear. All in all, it looked like a normal space fighter, totally at home in a line of other space fighters.

What am I doing here? This is stupid.

He shook his head, not understanding, but then went back through his last couple of flights. The fighter had done things on its own. They weren’t things he’d just commanded it to do with the back of his mind; they were things he hadn’t known how to do. And that was what bothered him. Maybe the fighter had done some of the things based on subconscious input from him, but he hadn’t known any of the dogfighting moves.

Could it be that somehow the maneuvers were stored in the computer, only to be activated by something Baker’d done or thought about? That was possible, he thought, but then he remembered the computer had been completely reformatted, which should have overwritten anything that had been previously stored there.

He had to know, and it was safer—for certain definitions of the word “safer”—to find out about the spacecraft here, in the hangar, than out in the blackness of space.

He looked around and, not seeing anyone watching him, climbed up the stairs and took his seat in the cockpit. The fusion reactor was on, of course—it was cheaper and easier to leave it on full time—but everything else was turned off.

“Anyone here?” he asked, feeling like a complete idiot.

After a minute of not hearing anything, he asked again, “Anyone here?”

“What are you doing up there?” Nova asked from beneath the cockpit, and he nearly wet himself in surprise.

“What? What do you mean?” he asked.

“Boy, I’ve never seen anyone look so guilty,” she noted. “I could hear you whispering up there; what are you doing that you don’t want anyone to know about?”

“Me? Uh… nothing,” he replied. He pointed to the back of his head. “I’m not even jacked in. I was just a little slow going through some of the startup procedures, and I thought I’d come up and run over them a few times so I didn’t embarrass myself.” He gave her a wan smile. “I guess I failed at that.”

“Naw, practicing is fine, especially for newbies. That way you don’t make us look bad in front of the Pandas,” she said, jerking her chin toward the forward section of the hangar bay. “Or, even worse, in front of the Ruskies. The Chinese will give you a hard time, but they’ll let it go; the Russians will give you shit for the rest of the cruise… however long that lasts.”

“What are you doing down here?” Baker asked, trying to put the spotlight somewhere else other than on himself.

“I left something in the cockpit of my plane and wanted to come get it before some maintainer found it, and I had to ransom it back from him.” She looked over her shoulder and saw several maintenance folks around three-sixteen, her fighter. “Oops, better go.” She nodded toward his instrument panel. “Good luck with that!” she said, then turned and sprinted toward three-sixteen, where one of the troopers was starting to climb up the steps.

“Good luck,” Baker muttered. “Thanks.” The fact was, though, that he didn’t know what constituted “luck” in his case. Was it finding nothing out of the ordinary with his craft—thereby indicating he was losing his mind—or was it better to find he wasn’t losing his mind and that his fighter was haunted… leading to a whole lot of other issues?

He had no idea, but he had to know.

The fighter hadn’t answered him; perhaps the computer needed to be on and the systems operational in order to speak to whatever entity was inhabiting it. He turned on the computer and brought the other systems to standby, with the exception of the gravity drive, which he left off. If there was a spook in the drive, he really didn’t want to know, and turning it on would only have caused the ground crew to take a lot more interest in what he was doing, which he also really didn’t want.

“Hello?” he asked in a whisper once the computer was on. He checked to make sure nobody was nearby and asked a little louder, “Are you there?”

Nothing.

“Come on. If you’re there, I’d really like to know that I’m not losing my mind.”

Still nothing.

Maybe I have to be linked to talk to the ghost.

He attached the uplink cord to the jack in his head. Hello? Are you there?

He tried it a few more times, both verbally and via thought through the link, but no one answered his calls.

Feeling stupid, he disconnected the jack and shut down the systems. With a sigh, he climbed back down to the deck.

“Did you have issues with your craft, sir?” a maintenance chief asked, walking over. “I didn’t see anything on the board in maintenance control on it.”

“No, it’s all good,” Baker replied. “Just wanted to run through some things in the cockpit to help get familiarized. Thanks.”

“No problem, sir.” His gaze narrowed. “You have any… issues with the craft?”

Maybe he’s seen the ghost! “Uh, what kind of issues?” Baker asked.

“We were told to watch out for pilots bonding too closely to their plane. You’re not having any issues disconnecting from the plane are you?”

Baker chuckled, seeing where the chief was going. “If you’re asking whether I’m in any danger of recycling, no. I can separate myself from the system just fine.”

“Okay, sir, just checking. It’s happened before… not in a while, but it’s happened. That plane, too, as I’m sure you’re aware.” He paused, then he chuckled. “Some of the lads think the plane’s haunted, but I’m sure you don’t believe in things like that.”

“Haunted? Why do they think it’s haunted? Have they seen anything?”

The chief started laughing. “I—I wish you could see your face, sir! Damn, I wish I had a camera. You went completely white!” His laughing slowed to just a chuckle. “Maybe you do believe in ghosts, after all.”

“Well, hearing that someone died in your fighter does kind of lend a creepy aura to it.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Seriously, though, have there been any ghost sightings on it or anything like that?”

The chief chuckled again. “No, sir, there hasn’t been anything at all like that. Let me put your mind at rest. Nobody’s seen or heard any spectral beings on or near your plane. And, after the first pilot passed, they cleaned everything out of the cockpit. If there was anything left of her in there, it’s long gone.”

“Truthfully?”

“You can trust me, sir; it was my troops that were responsible for it. The cockpit is as clean as we could make it.”

Baker gave the chief an embarrassed smile. “Okay, I trust you, Chief. Thanks.” He paused and then added, “You’ll keep this between us, right?”

“No problems, sir. Not a word to anyone else.” He walked off, still chuckling. Probably at part of their conversation. Hopefully, that won’t get around to anyone.

* * *

STATEROOM 27-C, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

The phone rang early the next morning in Baker’s stateroom.

“Uh… hello. Lieutenant Baker, can I help you, sir?”

“Hey, this is Dogboy. Lion’s sick and can’t go so you just got added to the flight schedule today.”

“Okay. When is the brief?”

“It started five minutes ago, so you’re already late. Get your ass down here, ASAP.”

“On my way,”

“Hey, Baker?”

“Yeah?”

“Good morning!” Dogboy laughed and then hung up.

“Good morning, my ass,” Baker said with a sigh. He shook his head, trying to wake up, then rolled out of the rack.

Ten minutes later, he walked into the ready room, marginally more awake. “Welcome to the flight schedule,” Dogboy said as he entered. He handed Baker a mug of coffee in the squadron’s “Guest” mug.

Baker looked at it suspiciously. “Is this safe?”

“Is anything with space aviation really safe?” Dogboy asked in turn. He cocked his head and looked at the mug. “That said, I don’t remember doing anything untoward to that cup, nor putting anything in it that wasn’t safe for human consumption.” He smiled. “I think it’s as safe as can be, Ghost.”

Baker frowned. “Ghost?”

“Yeah, it’s all around the hangar. Apparently, you saw a ghost in your plane or something?”

“That’s not what happened! The chief said it was haunted—”

“And you believed him. Congratulations, you’re no longer ‘Stinky.’ You’re now Ghost.”

“But—”

“You’d rather keep Stinky?”

“Well, uh, no. When it comes right down to it… no.”

“Good, then shut up, and we’ll forget we ever had this conversation.” He nodded to a woman who had her back to them at the front of the ready room. “Hurry up; the MO’s been waiting for you.”

Baker nodded and walked over to her. “Hi, Commander Higgins.”

She turned. “Hi, Ghost.”

Baker sighed. “Does everyone know?”

“Probably. Except maybe for the people still sleeping, but I’m sure someone will tell them once they’re up.” She smiled. “We haven’t had any good gossip in a while, and it takes some of the heat off me, so I’m good with that.”

“I’m happy to help.” Baker nodded to her slate. “So what are we doing this morning?”

“Routine deep space patrol, looking for aliens and making sure that asteroids are really asteroids and not some sort of alien craft sandbagging around somewhere.” She chuckled. “I guess you have some experience with that.”

“Yeah, a little. More than I wanted, in fact.”

“Well, we’ll stay together. If you think you’ve found something, let me know. I’d like to not get as busted up as Petrov did. We’ll be carrying both antiaircraft and antiship missiles, so if we find something, we’ll shoot first and ask questions later.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“You’re qualified with nukes?”

Baker nodded. “Got my badge yesterday for turning an asteroid into a starburst.”

“Good. I hope we don’t have to use them, but if we do, it’s better if you know what you’re doing.” She then went through the rest of the information on the flight.

After a quick breakfast—made even quicker because of Baker’s late start—they were walking out to their fighters. They were the first event of the morning, and their craft were sitting on the catapults as they arrived.

Baker shook his head as he looked at three-nineteen. Someone had repainted his name on the cockpit. “Lieutenant Lance “Ghost” Baker.”

“There’s no escaping it, is there?” he asked.

“Nope. Could be worse; you could be Stinky or something like that.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Although he hated the earlier call sign, it didn’t come with the emotional baggage of Ghost, and he still hadn’t decided which one was worse. Both, probably, but for different reasons.

He preflighted the fighter and its ordnance, cheerfully ignoring the chuckles of the ground crew, then climbed into the craft. The startup sequence was unexceptional—no sightings of ghosts or any paranormal activity—and they were quickly spaceborne and headed toward their patrol area in front of the carrier as it proceeded out-system in the direction the alien fighter had gone.

Higgins wasn’t a big talker; like back at the carrier, she kept to herself in the fighter, with the exception of the standard calls she needed to make to Baker to get his fuel and fighter status. Aside from those interactions, he was mostly left to himself, a kilometer away from her craft as they cruised into the black.

There wasn’t much to see in their direction of travel, and Baker brought up all of his passive systems first to scan the area. The ESM system was the most likely to find anything; using the optical systems was like looking through a straw to scan. Even if something was there, he’d have to be pretty lucky to find it.

Nothing. The only thing he initially saw was the off-going fighters, and—once they passed Baker’s flight headed back to the carrier to recover—there were no active emitters, other than those he expected to see behind him in the direction of the carrier. He opened up his sweep to 180 degrees to scan everything from his wingtips forward.

Still nothing.

He flipped the radar on and began an automatic search pattern of the space in front of him. The scan ran for several minutes without finding anything. He hadn’t expected to find anything… but then again, he hadn’t expected to find anything on the planet.

He chuckled to himself. All in all, it was probably better not to find anything. In fact, the worst possible case would be if an alien fleet popped into the system in front of his fighter. He’d had a chance to read the reports of the ‘battle’ at Jupiter. It hadn’t been much of a battle. The first fighters to attempt communication had been destroyed by the aliens out of hand. Then, when a carrier went out to Jupiter to chase them off, the aliens had destroyed the carrier—and all sixty fighters in its airwing—with very little damage to the alien mother ship.

The assessment was that they’d damaged it at the end of the battle, which was probably why it’d left the Solar System, but all the Americans in the task force had been killed.

Yeah, if I don’t have to go toe-to-toe with the aliens today, that’s okay with me.

After searching for an hour and not finding anything, though, he began to get bored—you can only look at nothing for so long—and his thoughts returned to the conversation he’d had at lunch the day before.

If what Campbell had said was true, the fighter had a spiritual presence of its own, above and beyond any sort of residue that might have been left by its former pilot. He closed his eyes and let himself go deeply into the system. He could feel the radar reaching out for returns, yet finding none. Nothing but blackness waited in front of them.

He pulled his senses back in from the space around him, and he looked into the fighter’s systems, trying to find any evidence of paranormal activity.

He concentrated on sending his thoughts throughout the system. “Irina? Irina Koslova? Are you here?”

Nothing happened. Of course not. Here I am, talking to a fighter craft.

He tried calling out again but didn’t get an answer this time, either. He opened his eyes, returned to his body, and chuckled. “What did you think was going to happen?” he asked out loud.

Well, nothing, actually, but I had to ask. I had to know, really, if this craft was haunted. If I’m going crazy. Not that talking to myself isn’t the first step in losing my sanity.

<You ask whether the craft is haunted, but if the answer was, ‘Yes, it is,’ would you really want to know?>

The voice came unbidden into his mind, and he wasn’t sure whether the thought had originated in his mind or somewhere outside it. Did it come from the system maybe?

The question the voice had asked, however, was valid, no matter where it came from. If the fighter was haunted by the ghost of a dead pilot, would he really want to know? He wasn’t sure.

He knew, though, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that several things had happened outside his purview, all of which had been beneficial for him. The chaff and flares firing automatically when he faced the alien fighter, for one, was something he hadn’t known how to do. Even if he’d called it up accidentally, somehow, he certainly hadn’t known how to program an effective spread of decoys. Yet the system somehow had. And settling into a low hover? I absolutely did not do that. And he hadn’t known how to do the dogfighting maneuvers—so he couldn’t have commanded them mentally—and they’d happened with his hands off the controls while he watched… definitely not commanding them.

If there was an entity in the fighter with him, ensuring the health of the fighter—and, by extension, himself—was it better to know it existed, or to let it do whatever it was going to do without acknowledging it?

It’s better to know that it exists. That way, on the off chance I’m really not going crazy, maybe I can partner with the entity. We both have similar goals. He chuckled. At least, I think we do.

“Irina? Is it you I’m talking to?”

A shimmering light coalesced over the WSO’s seat. It was vaguely humanoid, with long braided hair. <How did you know to find me here?> the voice asked.

He blinked, trying to focus, but the vision stayed fuzzy. I’m losing my mind. He shook his head, trying to clear the vision, but it stayed. The apparition looked over at him, and he could feel it questioning, waiting for an answer.

“How did I know?” he finally asked. “How would I not know? You were too obvious. You did too many things that I didn’t know how to do, starting with the chaff and flares when the aliens shot at me.”

<I didn’t have a choice. The alternative was to allow the missiles to hit three-one-five. I couldn’t let that happen, as it would do neither of us any good.>

“Three-fifteen? That’s Petrov’s fighter. And it did get hit.”

<This craft is Blaster Three-One-Five. I’m senior to him. He flies in three-one-six.>

“When you died—when your body died, or whatever happened—they repainted this fighter. It’s now three-nineteen.”

<Doesn’t matter. It will always be three-one-five to me.>

“It will be a lot more helpful if you can come to think of it as three-nineteen. Petrov is in three-fifteen now.”

<He is? He took my number? That is… I can live with that.>

“Live?”

<I’m still alive. You can’t say that I’m not. Not without saying that you are, in fact, crazy.>

“I honestly don’t know what you are. I don’t even know if you exist or if I’ve recycled somehow and am talking to myself.”

<Do I look dead?>

“No, you don’t, but I don’t have a lot of experience talking to people who are—well, who have been pronounced dead.”

She chuckled, a wispy, ephemeral sound that sent shivers down Baker’s back. <I’m not dead. I saw you watching Karl talk to me. I wondered if he would tell you about me. I’m glad he did. I’ve been worried about him.>

“He didn’t tell me about you. I had to figure it out on my own.” Baker twitched as a thought came to him. “Wait a minute. You were talking with Petrov? So he knows you exist?”

<No, of course not. That’s one of the things I gave up when I took on this state. He would have to be connected to the ship—like you are—for me to talk to him.>

“But I heard he did connect to the ship to look for you. He apparently broke a lot of rules to do so.”

<He did? How sweet of him. It isn’t normally like Red to break the rules.>

“Why didn’t you talk to him, then?”

<Because it’s better that he moves on. It’s not like I’m going to reinhabit my body or be able to have any sort of normal relationship with him again.>

“What…” Baker wasn’t sure how to phrase the question without offending her. Finally he just asked it. “If you aren’t dead, what exactly are you?”

<I’ve transitioned to a new form of life. I’ve given up my body to live here now.>

“Like some sort of computer program?”

<No… that’s not it. I am an entity within the system. I have control over it; it doesn’t have control over me.>

“So, you’re some sort of artificial intelligence?”

<No, that isn’t it, either.> She chuckled again. <Although, from my point of view, I am indeed artificial to my living environment. Perhaps I am more of a synthetic intelligence—a living, thinking being, except that my body is this craft rather than the meat suit your intellect is currently using for transportation.>

“Could you take over other fighters? Are you mobile?”

Irina didn’t answer, and Baker took a moment to scan his equipment. No enemy sighted. The fighter was still on autopilot following three-oh-four.

“So, are you mobile?”

<I expect that I am, although I’ve never attempted to go somewhere else. I’m not sure I’d want to.>

“Why not?”

<For a number of reasons, most of all because this is my home. Maybe at some point I’ll want to leave it, but that’s not now.>

Baker chuckled.

<What?>

“Do you know how weird this is? Talking to someone who’s dead?”

<I’m not dead. And if you ask me if I can talk to Elvis, I’m going to exceed the G-rating of the craft and hurt you.>

“Whoa. Whoa. Let’s not get all crazy about this. Or any crazier than I already am.”

<You’re not crazy. I figured out how to transfer myself to the fighter. My personality, my thoughts, my—whatever it is that makes me, ‘me,’ all came with me and now reside in the fighter. I’m still learning what I can and can’t do. I do know, however, that if the ship dies, so do I, so I’m not going to let you destroy the ship. Or let aliens do it, either.>

“That’s fair. I don’t particularly want to blow it up or let aliens blow it up, either. That wouldn’t be so great for my health.”

“I have a question,” Baker said after a moment. His eyes narrowed, or at least he thought they did. “If you’re in the operating system—the computer, I guess—how did you see me watching Petrov? The ship wasn’t powered up then.”

<No, the computer wasn’t powered up, but there was power on the ship. I have it programmed to record the monitors when the computer is off but there is power to the fighter.>

“You can do that?”

<I knew you were watching.>

“Good point.” He thought for a moment. “I’ve got another question. Are all the planes that had people die in them—um, haunted isn’t the right word, but I don’t know what is.”

<That’s a good question, but I don’t know the answer to it. It would depend on how they did whatever they did to go crazy. It’s possible they tried to do what I did, but failed. Maybe they only uploaded part of themselves, and that’s why they’re crazy. I don’t know. I made special plans to be here, and they worked. Maybe their plans weren’t as good.>

“Special plans? What are they?”

<Tsk, tsk. We just met. Do you think I’m going to give you the key to my continued existence? You would have to build up a lot of trust for me to do so… if ever I would. They’ve already tried to flush me from the system once; I’d be really happy if they didn’t try that again.>

“Three-One-Nine, Three-Zero-Four. You still with me?”

<Higgins is calling. You better answer her. You don’t want her to think you’re as crazy as she is.> Irina’s apparition started to dissolve.

“Where are you going?”

<I’ll be around, when I’m needed. You need some time to adjust to my existence, I suspect. And I’m going to need some time to make sure I trust you, too. We’re partners—for now, anyway—and we’re going to have to figure out how we can coexist.> She chuckled. <And you’re going to have to figure out whether you believe me or if you think you’re losing your mind.>

“Am I?”

<Who knows? I’ve never talked to anyone else before.> This time she laughed, long and loud in his ears.

“That’s… uh, that’s not funny.”

<From my side, it really is. I wish I could see your face. I’m sure you look hilarious.> She paused and then added, <Call Higgins. She’s starting to get worried. Just tell her you were looking at the asteroid five degrees off the nose and ten degrees down.>

Baker pulled back and looked at the radar. Sure enough, there was a return, several hundred kilometers in front of him. He looked back to the WSO seat, but the glow was gone.

“Three-Zero-Four, Three-One-Nine, yes, I’m still with you, ma’am. Sorry about the delay. I was trying to analyze a return I have off the nose, slightly low. I think it’s an asteroid, but I wasn’t sure yet.”

“Next time, reply more quickly,” she chastised. “I was worried something had gone wrong with you or your fighter.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I don’t have the return on radar; your system must be more sensitive than mine. I’ll join on you, and we can go check it out.”

“Sounds good.” He continued to scan the object and realized the settings on the radar had changed from the way he’d originally set it up. He returned them to his original settings and no longer could see the contact. He reset them to the way he’d found them, and, sure enough, the return was back again.

The question was, of course, did Irina do that—and I’m not losing my mind—or did I somehow tune the radar differently while I was having a psychotic moment?

It was easier to focus on the mission than to try to answer the question, so Baker concentrated on the asteroid—if that was indeed what it was—and used all of his other tools to try to discern any alien presence on it.

He’d just aligned his long range telescope on it and decided it was indeed an asteroid, after all, when Higgins announced that she had the contact on radar and was taking back the lead for the section. Baker locked up three-oh-four with his autopilot and returned to looking at the contact. It wasn’t much, just a rock thirty meters or so in length.

“How you saw this from that far out is beyond me,” Higgins said as they approached the asteroid. They slowed and did a visual flyby.

“Looks like a rock,” Baker said. “I don’t see any aliens hiding on it, and it’s too small for them to be hiding in it.”

“I agree,” Higgins replied. “Okay, I think we’ve seen enough. It’s time to head back to the carrier.”

“Sounds good,” Baker said as he followed her through the turn back toward the Revenge. He hoped Higgins would be more talkative on the return flight than she’d been on the way out; he really didn’t want to be left with his thoughts at the moment.

11

MEDICAL, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

“How are you doing?” Baker asked as he walked into Petrov’s room. Higgins had not been talkative on the return trip, and Irina hadn’t made a return appearance, either, leaving him a lot of time to focus on his thoughts. Ultimately, he’d decided to talk to Petrov when he returned, although, now that he was here, he wasn’t sure how to explain what had happened… or even if he totally wanted to.

“Good,” Petrov said. “Siderov said I ought to be out of here today.”

“That’s good.” Baker smiled. “I just wanted to come and check up on you.”

“How’s training going?”

“Good. There is… uh, something I wanted to talk with you about, though, that was related to yesterday’s flight.”

“Sure. I am not going anywhere. What’s your question?”

“Yesterday’s flight was a nuclear qual flight with some dogfighting afterward.”

“Sounds like fun. There’s nothing better than blowing things up, except for maybe dogfighting.”

“It was a lot of fun, and we got the nuclear qualification stuff done, no problem. What I wanted to talk to you about was the dogfighting piece of the hop.”

“Sure. There are lots of things they don’t tell you at the training squadron about the fighter, and even more you can do with the Bravo using mind-control of the flight systems. A Bravo should never lose to an Alpha, although we don’t have any of them onboard to prove it.” He chuckled. “Let me guess; you got your ass kicked.”

“Well, no. I won, actually, beating Lieutenant Commander Pointer and Sofia.”

“Wow. That’s well done. Pointer is pretty good. Who was your wingman?”

“Lieutenant Commander Page, but he got killed right at the start.”

“And you were able to take on the other two—and beat them—by yourself?”

“I did.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“When I beat Sofia, she had me dead to rights, but I used a move that just kind of came to me, which forced her to fly in front of me. I killed her and won.”

“I know a move like that.” His eyes unfocused slightly. “I had it done to me a couple of times by my old girlfriend.”

“Irina,” Baker said. “I know. That’s what both Pointer and Page said. They said I flew the fighter just like Irina.”

“That’s quite a compliment. She was really good.”

“And that’s the thing. I don’t think I was in control; I certainly had never seen that maneuver before. It wasn’t something you could do in Alphas, like you said. You need mental control of the flight systems in order to do all those things at the same time.”

“And you figured it out on your own? That is really well done.”

“I’m not sure I did. It was almost like someone else was with me, maneuvering the fighter.”

Petrov frowned. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, it’s like there was another person there with me, guiding my use of the controls. I think it was Irina.”

“Who put you up to this? It isn’t funny.” He shook his head angrily. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. You can leave now.”

“No one put me up to it. I’m being serious; it felt like someone was there with me.”

Petrov stared at him, eyes narrowed, as if unable to believe him.

“I’m serious,” Baker said. “Can you tell me about Irina?”

“Why?”

Baker took a deep breath and let it out slowly, drawing the strength to continue. “I met Irina.”

“You did what?” His fists clenched, then—through visible effort—he released them and asked again with the veins in his neck bulging, “Who did you say you met?”

“I met Irina Koslova, your old girlfriend.”

The blood pressure monitor alarmed next to his bed, and a medical technician came running in. Petrov forced himself to lie back and breathe slowly as the woman played with the equipment. After a few moments, the numbers on the monitor dropped back down and the alarm ceased.

The tech looked at Baker. “If you’re going to cause issues with the patient’s recovery, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Is all right,” Petrov said. “He told a joke, and I laughed until I started coughing. I couldn’t catch my breath, and the machine spiked.”

The woman turned to glare at Baker. “Is that true?”

“It is.”

“Well, no more jokes, sir.” She looked back and forth between the two officers. “If it happens again, I’m going to have to report it to the flight surgeon.”

“Got it,” Baker said. Petrov just nodded.

“Lance, this is not funny,” Petrov said after the tech left. “Irina is dead, as both you and I know. Seriously, who put you up to this?”

“No one put me up to it, and she’s not dead. At least I don’t think she’s dead, anyway.”

“Stop, Lance. Stop right now. I don’t know who told you to tell me this, but I am about two seconds away from disconnecting this monitoring equipment and beating the shit out of you.”

“I saw her on my last flight.” Petrov’s eyes bulged, but at least the machine didn’t spike again. “I looked over to the WSO’s seat, and there she was. A ghostly apparition.”

“Did you talk to her?”

Baker nodded. “She said she lives in the system now. She didn’t want to say where or how.”

“I do not believe you.”

“I’m sorry, but it happened. Honestly, I was there, and I have a problem believing it myself.”

“I think you should leave.”

“But—”

“Leave now, or I’ll call the tech back again.”

Baker nodded. “Okay, I’ll go, but it doesn’t change things. I saw Irina and talked to her. She’s still resident in the plane somehow.”

* * *

“You’re free to go,” Doctor Siderov said a couple of hours later.

“Thanks, Doc,” Karl Petrov said. He’d spent the time since Baker had left in contemplation. There was no way that what the nugget pilot had said could be true… but there was also no reason for him to make it up. And there’s no one who hates me enough—that I know of, anyway—to put him up to it.

Which left him with only one option—that Baker had been honest in what he’d reported. It was Occam’s Razor at its finest.

And, if indeed it was true, then he had to talk to Irina himself and find out why she’d done it. He couldn’t posit a reason for how she could’ve been sucked into the system if she hadn’t wanted to; she was too strong-willed for that to have happened accidentally. If she was in the system, it was because she wanted to be there.

But why?

That was what he intended to find out. After making a quick call to the Training Officer, he went down to his stateroom and put on a clean flight suit, then he checked the time. Perfect. Maintenance would be breaking for chow. There was another launch that would be manning up in about an hour; he had just enough time to get down to the hangar bay and take a look.

His stateroom was in the aft part of the ship, and he was alongside three-nineteen only a couple minutes later. Although maintenance was mostly at chow, there were still a few of the ground troops in the hangar, and he had to pretend to tie his boot while one of them walked past. The only bad thing about having your own fighter was everyone knew which one was yours and would notice if you got into someone else’s. Worse, they’d wonder why and what you were doing there.

Petrov rose once the maintainer was gone and climbed up to the cockpit as fast as his side would let him. Knowing he wouldn’t have long, he started turning up the equipment as soon as he hit the seat, then reached behind him, grabbed the cord, and plugged it into the back of his head.

His awareness expanded as he entered the system, but he wasn’t interested in the fighter’s status or anything external to the craft. He was there for one thing and one thing only—he wanted to find Irina.

Petrov didn’t find her immediately upon entering, which surprised him. If she’d spoken to Baker—and she was actually, really there—certainly she’d make herself available for her fiancé, right? It didn’t appear so. He called out to her, “Irina! Irina!”

His voice echoed through the system, but she still didn’t materialize.

Why? Why would she show herself to Baker and not me?

Maybe there was a reason she couldn’t. Perhaps she was stuck in some portion of the system that was only accessible while in flight. Or maybe Baker had trapped her somewhere. Was that possible? He quickly searched through the various systems, but couldn’t find anything that would operate differently spaceborne than with the fighter sitting in the hangar.

His soul breaking, he cried out her name, over and over, but she neither came forth nor gave any indication she could hear him.

Damn it! He sniffed. If I can’t have you, no one can.

Tears streaming down his cheeks, Petrov pulled his awareness from the system and unplugged the cord from his head. Barely able to see, he brought up the system menu in front of him on the touch screen, then went into the diagnostic menu. He’d been there the last time they’d slicked the computer system, but apparently, they’d missed something.

I won’t miss it this time.

It was hard to see with the tears brimming in his eyes, but Petrov drilled down to the end of the system menu and selected the final option, Reformat Hard Drive. With a force of will he wouldn’t have thought he had, he reached forward to press the Enable button. “Are you sure?” the system asked.

His stomach contorting, he reached forward again, but he was unable to finalize the command. His finger trembled and stopped, pausing a few centimeters from the screen.

Petrov wiped his eyes, took a deep breath, and released it slowly. “Goodbye, Irina.”

With a frigidness reminiscent of the Siberian winter, Petrov leaned forward and pushed Yes.

12

READY ROOM 3, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

“As you’re aware—those of you who were up last night are, anyway—the Revenge made the jump over to the outskirts of the Procyon B system,” the XO, Commander Jane Gilmour, said. “The alien fighter is about two days’ travel ahead of us. It’s already passed the star and is headed outbound from the system. Our mission today will be to sweep his route of travel and make sure he didn’t leave any surprises for us.”

“Surprises?” Lion asked. “If it jettisoned something, the odds that we’d run over it are astronomical… literally.”

“They are, but intel—and the Revenge’s CO—are worried that it’s leading us into a trap.”

“Wouldn’t we see it a long way ahead of time?” Pointer asked. “The only place they could hide is on the planet, right?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out,” the XO replied. “The system only has one planet, and it’s on an orbit extremely close to the star.”

“How close?” Lion asked.

“So close that it orbits the star in less than a day.” The XO smiled. “We’re not going to get too close to it, nor are we going to stay long when we go take a look at it. Procyon B may be significantly cooler than Procyon A, but it is still a star, after all.

“After we look, then the Chinese are going to send out a division to look, and after that, the Russians will do so, too. We’ll continue to send out reconnaissance flights until we either catch up with the alien, or we get to where it jumps.”

“I didn’t think it had jumped yet,” Lion noted.

“It hasn’t,” the XO confirmed, “but there isn’t anywhere else for it to go in this system. Intel is pretty sure it’s going to jump again.”

The XO covered the rest of the details for the mission, then the briefing broke up for the pilots to grab a quick bite to eat.

“XO?” Baker asked, once Lion and Pointer had left.

The tall blonde woman looked up from the slate she’d been working on. “Yeah, Ghost? What’s up?”

“I’m not sure why I’m on this flight. I don’t have the experience a lot of the other pilots do.”

The XO chuckled. “You’re on this flight because the CO of the Revenge specifically asked for you to be. Someone told him that it was your system work that found the alien base on the planet in the Procyon A system; he wants you to make sure there isn’t one on the planet in this system.”

“But we were just on a familiarization flight, and I was fooling around with the system to see what it could do. It was an accident that I found it.”

“If there’s one thing I’ve found in the military, it’s that some people draw ‘accidents’ like a magnet draws steel shavings,” the XO noted. “We’ll go take a look at the planet, and you can do whatever it was you did before. Maybe you’ll get lucky again.”

“Maybe.” Baker shrugged. “I’ll do my best.”

“That’s all we can ask of you.” The XO smiled. “Odds are, there’s not going to be anything to see there, in any event.”

After a quick breakfast, the crews got dressed and walked through maintenance control to read the maintenance logs on their fighters.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant Baker,” the maintenance chief said, “but there’s been an issue with your fighter.”

“An issue? What’s wrong?”

“The ground crew was prepping the fighter for the launch and went to upload the data to the computer on the missiles they were loading, and the tech found that the computer had been slicked. You didn’t happen to do that on your last flight, did you?”

“Slicked? What do you mean by slicked?”

“When the tech got into the cockpit, he said it looked like the hard drive had been reformatted. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“What?” Baker exclaimed. “The computer was reformatted?” Irina! “No!” He turned and raced from maintenance control.

“It’s no big deal!” the chief called after him. “They’re reloading it.”

Baker didn’t stop; he ran all the way to the fighter, stumbling several times and almost falling twice in his space suit and gear. He got to three-nineteen and found a tech up in the WSO’s seat. Without wasting any time, he climbed up on his side.

“What’s the status?” Baker asked as he sat down.

“Just finishing the reload,” the tech replied. “It should be ready for you in a second.”

“How did this happen?” Baker asked. “Who did this?”

The tech shrugged. “I don’t know, sir. There was no one working on the jet last night. It’s the strangest thing. I’ve never seen one of these reformat themselves before.”

Could Irina have done it? Baker wondered. That would have been like a suicide…

He didn’t see her doing it; they’d gotten along fairly well, he’d thought. Besides, didn’t she say she didn’t have access to things when the computer was off? How would she… How could she have initiated a system reformat?

She couldn’t have, that’s how. Baker shook his head. He knew for a fact he hadn’t reformatted the drive, because he remembered saying goodbye to Irina when he’d turned the computer off. She hadn’t answered, but, then again, she hadn’t talked to him at all on the return to the carrier on his previous flight. She had asked for time, and he’d given it to her… although he’d found the prospect of giving “space” to a being living in a system he was currently using somewhat odd.

Still, though, he knew he hadn’t done anything to reformat the system, nor had Irina, nor had the maintenance folks, which left… who? It had to be Petrov. Baker shook his head. The Russian must have come down to three-nineteen after he’d spoken with him. Why Petrov would do something like that, though, was beyond him. Maybe he’d had a falling out with his digital girlfriend and had erased her in a fit of pique?

Baker had no idea, but he knew one thing: we’re going to have words when I get back!

“Almost done, sir,” the tech said, snapping him back to the present. “I just have to load a couple of updates, and she’ll be good to go. You shouldn’t miss your flight.”

The flight. Yeah, we have a mission to go find aliens. Or find out that they’re not here, which would be even better now that I don’t have my crewmate to help me dogfight.

Baker took a deep breath, his thoughts returning to the mission, and he realized he hadn’t done the preflight yet; he’d just jumped into the cockpit in his haste to find out about Irina. “Be back in a moment,” he said. “I’ll go do the preflight while you finish up.”

“Sure thing, sir. I should be done in five minutes.”

Baker nodded and climbed down from the cockpit. Lion was walking up as he did.

“Everything all right?” the Chinese officer asked. “You ran out of maintenance like your ass was on fire.”

“Uh, yeah, everything’s good,” Baker said, hoping the flush he felt didn’t show above his suit. “I was just worried about missing the flight is all.”

Lion’s eyes narrowed. “That’s all it was? You bolted out of maintenance like it was the end of the world.”

“Well, uh…” Baker looked at the deck, thinking furiously. “Don’t tell the XO, but I was worried I’d done something to break the jet and wanted to make sure there wasn’t any lasting damage.”

Lion laughed. “It’s no big deal. They’ve had to reformat a number of the fighters. Sometimes, when we’ve had people go crazy in them, they haven’t worked quite right, afterward.” He shrugged. “They don’t know why it is, just that a reformat seems to cure it. Most times.”

“Most times?”

“Yeah, not always. There are six fighters in the forward hangar bay that aren’t used. Each squadron used to have two spare fighters, but we don’t anymore. The Chinese had to stop using three, the Russians two, and we gave up one. We also had to give the Pandas our other spare, so that they’d have enough fighters for all their pilots. Every squadron has twenty fighters, but we each started with twenty-two.”

“Huh. How come I haven’t heard about that?”

“No one talks about it much. The planes have all sorts of gremlins the maintenance troops—not the Chinese, nor the Russians, nor the Americans—can seem to get rid of. It’s kind of creepy.”

Lion smacked Baker on the back and looked up at three-nineteen’s cockpit. “Hopefully, this isn’t the start of gremlins in your plane, right? It sure would suck if your plane went hard down and you had to stand duty every day.” He laughed. “Well, it would suck for you. It would be cool for the rest of us who no longer had to do it, I guess.”

“Yeah, ha ha,” Baker said. He looked up to see the technician waving him up.

“Gotta go,” Baker said. “Don’t you have somewhere you should be, too?”

Lion smiled. “Yes, I do. The XO just asked me to check on you. After the way you ran out of maintenance, she figured you’d get more rattled if she came over to ask you about it.”

“I’m good, and you can tell her everything’s okay.”

Lion nodded. “Will do.” He turned and strode away, and Baker did a quick preflight of his fighter then climbed into the cockpit.

“All set,” the tech said. “The computer seems to be up and operational.” He shrugged, looking at the dashboard curiously. “I’ve got no idea what happened.”

“No worries,” Baker said. “I must have accidentally hit something. I haven’t seen any other gremlins in the cockpit.”

“No?” The tech’s eyebrows went up and a smile crossed his face. “Well, that’s good. I’d hate to lose another plane.”

“All good,” Baker said, happy to have allayed what was bothering the tech. “Thanks for the help, but unless you’re going flying with me…” He motioned to the other planes that were in advanced stages of their preparations to fly.

“I better get out of here,” the tech said with a nod. “Have a good flight, sir.”

“Thanks for the help,” Baker said.

“Anytime,” the tech replied as he scampered out of the cockpit.

Baker finished turning the rest of the equipment on and plugged in. Everything’s going to be fine, he thought, trying to build up his confidence. She’s already survived one attempt to reformat the fighter’s hard drive. Somehow, though, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Petrov had been the one behind the reformat, and he would have known how to do a better—more complete, not ‘better’—job of eradicating Irina this time. He didn’t see the odds as any better than 50/50 that Irina had survived, and his morale plummeted. He reached for the cord behind him, dreading what he’d find.

After getting acclimated to the senses-expanding moment as he joined with the fighter, he squared his shoulders and asked the question he had to… even though it was the one he most didn’t want to: “Irina, are you here? Please tell me you’re still with me.”

Silence. Not unexpected. She may be mad about the reformat and not want to talk to me, even if she’s still around.

“Come on, now; you know I had nothing to do with reformatting the system.”

Silence.

“Not funny, Irina. Please let me know you’re still with me.”

A female voice crackled in his awareness, and his heart momentarily leapt for joy… but then he realized it was the XO. “Blasters, check in,” she called on the back radio.

“Two,” Pointer said.

“Three,” Lion added.

“Four,” Baker said. He tried to keep his voice upbeat, but some of his disappointment obviously bled through.

“You okay, Three-One-Nine?” the XO asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Baker replied. “Took me a minute, but the system’s up, and I’m ready.”

“All right. Here we go,” she said as the green light started flashing in the hangar bay, indicating a “ready deck” to launch and recover spacecraft.

She taxied three-oh-two to the catapult, with Lion’s three-seventeen right behind her. Baker looked to his right to where Pointer sat in three-oh-six and gave him a thumbs-up. Pointer returned it and taxied his craft out after Lion. Once three-oh-six was clear, Baker taxied out and then momentarily stopped as the XO and Lion launched. Once they were both clear, Pointer moved forward to one of the catapults and Baker took the other.

In less than a minute, they were spaceborne and joining up with the lead section.

* * *

An hour later, they were approaching the system’s one small planet. Baker hadn’t heard from Irina the whole time, even though he’d spent most of the time looking for her in all the nooks and crannies of the system he could find. “Well, shit,” he finally said. “I guess the bastard Petrov finally got rid of her.”

Although they’d been flying in a loose cruise position, the XO motioned for the second section to spread out, and they moved out several kilometers.

“All right, folks; see what you can find on the planet. Baker, work whatever magic it is you do with the system.”

Baker sighed. “This sure would be a great time to have Irina’s help,” he muttered. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay, I figured this out on my own last time; hopefully, I can do it again this time.”

He turned his radar to standby so it wouldn’t be producing any energy that might get picked up by his system and dove into the ESM system. The first things he saw were the XO’s and Pointer’s radars. He removed them from the display, then eliminated the signals he was receiving from behind. The damn carrier will never find anything, he said, with as much crap as they put out.

Even after he’d eliminated all of the “blue force”—i.e., “friendly”—emitters, though, he still didn’t see anything in the electromagnetic spectrum emanating from the small planet. “Okay, what do we have visual?” he asked himself, transitioning to the long-range telescope.

“A buncha crap, mostly,” he answered himself. The telescope was optimized for finding fighters against the black of space, not alien bases in the middle of an alien planet. Even though the planet was “small,” at least as far as planets went, it was still a planet, and trying to search it with the telescope was unlikely to find something as small as a base, much less a fighter.

Not surprisingly, he didn’t see anything noteworthy on his initial survey.

Beep. His gravity monitor gave a quick beep, so fast that it was over before his near-instantaneous senses could direct his attention to it.

“Just got a hit from a gravity source,” Pointer said on the back radio.

“Me too,” Baker reported. Beep. “There’s a second one.”

“I didn’t see anything,” the XO said. “Lion, did you get them?”

“No, ma’am. I didn’t pick up either of them.”

“What do you think, Pointer?” the XO asked.

“Looked like what I’ve seen previously from the alien fighters. Sometimes their shielding slips on their grav drives, or we get a seam—I don’t know what it is—but the only times I’ve seen hits like these were when alien fighters were in the system.”

“Could it be the fighter that’s leaving the system?” the XO asked.

“I don’t think so,” Baker said. “I didn’t get a line of bearing on the first one, but I was watching it when the second one hit, and the strobe went right through the planet.”

“So there’s a fighter, and maybe more than one, on the planet,” the XO said. “Hold your positions; I’m going to call Mom.”

Baker brought his grav drive to neutral as the XO called back to the Revenge. “I was wrong before,” he said to himself. “This would be a great time to have Irina here.”

“What? Things start to get dangerous and this is the first time you think of me?” With a flicker, Irina’s ghostly presence materialized in the WSO’s seat.

Baker’s jaw dropped. “I’ve never not wanted you,” he replied. “I’ve been trying to find you the whole flight. Where have you been?”

“I’ve been… around. It took me some time to get myself back together.”

“What would make you think I didn’t want you around? I’ve always wanted you here.”

“That’s not true. You thought I was creepy at the start.”

“Well, yeah, you were creepy when I thought you were a ghost or a spirit or something, but, now that I know what you really are, I don’t think that anymore.”

“You obviously don’t like me, though.”

“What? Why would you say that?”

“If you liked me, why did you tell Petrov about me?”

“He loves you.”

“He tried to delete me once before, and now he tried to do it again.”

“So he is the one that reformatted the system?”

“Yes.” Irina stared at him with a ‘You expect me to believe the dog ate your homework?’ look.

“I didn’t know that it was him that tried to delete you the first time, or I wouldn’t have told him about you. I thought he’d be happy!”

“He is the one that told the tech to reformat the hard drive when I wouldn’t talk to him,” Irina said. “He tried to talk to me again last night. I had hoped that—if he didn’t know I existed—he would go away. I didn’t realize that you’d spoken with him. If I’d have known…”

“You’d have spoken with him?”

“No, probably not. He did try to delete me once before.”

“Snuggle up, Three-Oh-Six and Three-Nineteen,” the XO said over the radio. “We don’t want to give them more targets than we have to.”

“Three-Oh-Six, roger,” Pointer said. His fighter turned and accelerated to join with the first section.

“Three-Nineteen, roger.” Baker mentally worked the controls to slide in closer to the XO’s plane but snatched a glance over at Irina. “There’s at least one alien nearby. Any chance we can finish this discussion after we fight him? You know, so it doesn’t kill us? Not just me, but us?”

“There’s an alien here?” Irina asked. “Good. I need to kill something.” The Master Arm switch flipped into the Armed position, and the stations with missiles began selecting themselves. “We’ll kill this zasranets and then we will talk.”

“The XO hasn’t told us to arm our missiles yet,” Baker said, mentally turning off the Master Arm switch. “What’s a zasranet?”

“Zasranets means asshole,” Irina said, obviously still miffed. “We kill this asshole and then we talk.”

“Fine, but can we do this in a manner that doesn’t get me fired from my job or make me lose my wings?”

“If I don’t?”

“You may end up with someone else as your pilot. Or, worse, when we get back you may end up in the forward hangar bay.”

“With the Russians? They’re my people. I’m okay with that.”

“No, with the fighters that people say have gremlins. I think they are unpowered—with their fusion plants turned off. You’d be dead, or at least you’d never get a chance to be you again.” Baker didn’t know whether they turned off the fusion plants of the unused fighters, but he couldn’t see any reason to keep them on long term.

Irina’s apparition faded out, leaving Baker by himself. “Does that mean we’re going to do this by the book?”

The apparition appeared again. “Does ‘by the book’ mean without my help? Because that’s what would normally happen in a fighter like this.”

Baker resisted the impulse to sigh. “No, it means that we wait for orders; we don’t go charging in on our own. As far as having your help goes, I absolutely want it. I am still learning how to operate this fighter, and you know all its systems intimately.” He chuckled. “Really intimately. Almost as if you were a part of them.”

Irina looked at him and frowned. “Puns now? Maybe I should let you do this by yourself.”

“Okay, no more puns. The bottom line, though, is that, even if I knew how to operate everything, which I don’t, having your help gives us a capability no one else has—a capability that makes it far more likely we’ll survive not only this flight, but this mission. We have more consciousnesses watching the various systems than anyone else; we can do this better than anyone else.

“When we were dogfighting the other day, the lieutenant commanders were amazed at my ability to fight the plane. The fact was, though, that it wasn’t my ability they were impressed with; it was our abilities—yours and mine together. If we team up, we’re better than any single person or synthetic intelligence can be on their own.”

“Fair enough,” Irina said. “I have one question.”

“What is it?”

“Who’s in charge?”

“What do you mean?”

“Who gets to decide what we do?”

That’s a no-win question if ever I heard one. “How about this,” Baker said after a quick moment’s thought. “How about if I am in charge of things that involve working with others, since I have to deal with them outside the cockpit, and you’re in charge of how best to operate the fighter?”

“That is surprisingly acceptable,” she said after a long moment.

“Why is that surprising?”

“For a man—and an American at that—to suggest a solution where he isn’t in charge at all times… it is surprising.”

“Okay, it’s surprising. You also said it’s acceptable. Does that mean you agree to it?”

“I do. So hurry up and deal with the people outside the fighter so we can go kill the alien.”

“There may be more than one.”

“Even better.”

“Anyone see anything?” the XO asked a couple of minutes later as they approached the planet.

“No,” Pointer said, “but the planet is tidally locked, and I can’t imagine that they would be on the side of the planet facing the star.”

“The one I saw was in some pretty nasty terrain,” Baker said. “It was hot as hell and there were volcanoes erupting all over the place.”

“Blaster Three-Oh-Two, Revenge Strike Ops,” a voice said over the radio. With the time delay due to their distance, he didn’t wait for a reply but continued with his message, “You are cleared to expend two nuclear weapons on the planet.”

“Roger that, Strike,” the XO replied. “Expending two nuclear weapons on the planet.”

“Okay,” the XO said on the back radio. “Let’s see if we can’t flush them out without going any closer to the planet.” She sent targeting info over the link. “Lion and Baker will each fire a nuke where I’ve indicated, and Pointer and I will be ready in case something jumps up.”

The other fighters acknowledged her transmission, then she added, “Stand by to fire on my mark.”

“I got this,” Irina said, appearing again. Her ephemeral fingers reached toward the armament panel, and the buttons and switches moved, although they were never actually touched.

“Nice trick,” Baker said.

“I’ve been practicing.”

“You have?”

“Of course not.” She looked at Baker and shook her head. “How and when could I practice this? On the hangar bay for everyone to see it? Do you want your fighter to get parked in the gremlin section?”

“Well, uh, no.”

“Stand by to fire,” the XO said. “Five seconds.”

“Do you have this or do I?” Baker asked.

“I’d like to; I’ve never actually fired a missile before.”

Although he could fire the weapon with a thought, Baker made a show of removing his hands from the stick and throttle. “It’s all yours.”

The XO counted down, “Three, two, one. Fire!”

The anti-ship missile launched from under three-nineteen’s starboard wing at the same time another launched from three-seventeen on the other side of the formation. The missiles separated, going toward two parts of the planet.

“Movement!” the XO called.

“Got them,” Irina said. “Lower left on the planet.”

“Upper right on the planet!” the XO added.

Baker flipped the autopilot on and immersed himself in the system. The XO’s target showed up on the radar but the target Irina had called didn’t. “Where?” he asked.

“Telescope,” Irina replied.

Baker shifted the majority of his attention to the telescope, but had enough left for the radar that he could see the settings change as Irina tried to pick up the aliens there. The telescope had a great view, though; two alien fighters were coming toward them. He input their position as best he could—without a radar lock, he had to guess at the range—into the link as the XO entered hers.

“Two more lower left,” Baker said over the radio, directing her attention to his link input.

“Are you sure it’s two?” the XO asked.

“I have them visually.” He took a snapshot from the telescope and sent it over the link.

“Stand by,” the XO said. “My target is the same,” she said after a second. “Two aliens visually now, too.” She paused another second then added, “Let’s hold our position and see if they want to come play. If so, I’ll fire an anti-ship missile at my pair; Pointer, you take Baker’s pair.”

“Roger that, ma’am,” Pointer said.

The aliens continued, arrowing straight toward the American fighters. “Stand by to fire when they enter missile range.”

“Got them,” Irina said triumphantly. “Their fighters don’t reflect radar very well.”

“If that’s true, take a look for other fighters. Everyone’s looking at these. Maybe there are more.”

“Fire on my mark,” the XO said. “Three, two, one, mark!”

Baker closed his eyes a second as the missile launched.

“Zasranets,” Irina said with a snarl.

“What?” Baker asked.

“You were right. There are three more groups incoming.”

“Shit. Put them into the link for me, please.” He switched to the radio. “XO, I have three more pairs of fighters incoming.”

“Where? I don’t have them!” The XO’s voice sounded a little frantic.

“Going into the link now.”

“If you have them, fire at them!”

“Firing!” He looked over, but Irina’s apparition was gone. “Still with me?” he asked, his voice a little higher than he intended.

“Yes. What?”

“Fire the last anti-ship missile at the closest pair and fire the two anti-fighter missiles at the other groups when they get into range.”

The armament panel settings moved and the anti-ship missile launched from the left wing.

“They’re coming on fast,” Irina noted.

Flashes erupted between the fighters and the planet—the first nukes going off. He missed it on the telescope and rewound the footage. Just before detonation, the fighters split. One of them ate the nuke, but the other had probably gotten out of range of the blast.

“Pointer’s missile only got one,” Baker transmitted. “The fighters split before impact.”

“Mine too,” the XO said. “We’re going to be outnumbered, and we can’t outrun them; their drives are faster than ours. Split into sections and pick ‘em up as they arrive. Here we go.” Her fighter started forward.

“Firing again,” Irina said.

“Firing!” Baker transmitted, a second after the two anti-fighter missiles left the rails.

“Next time, tell me before you do it,” Pointer replied. “I almost shat myself when they lit off.”

“Wilco, sorry.” Baker switched to the intercom. “Um, Irina…”

“I heard. He’s a wuss.”

“Still…”

“I will give you more warning next time.”

“Thanks.” Pointer’s fighter sped up and split off from the XO’s. “Here we go,” he added as he mentally advanced the throttles to stay in position.

Pointer raced forward toward the fighter that had survived his missile.

“Do you suppose he knows about the one coming in from below?” Irina asked.

“No idea. Put the telescope on it and watch it as long as you’re able.” He switched to the radio. “Three-oh-six, Three-Nineteen. There’s one coming in below us.”

“Keep an eye on it. We’ll take it after we get this one.” His second anti-ship missile launched.

“Lost it,” Irina said. “It’s probably coming around behind us.” After a second she added, “Got a grav hit. It’s probably on our right side.”

Baker looked over his shoulder. An alien fighter was sweeping in around behind them toward a firing position. “Five o’clock, slightly high,” he called. “Coming in for a shot on us.”

“Break right!” Pointer ordered, and the two fighters pulled back around toward the alien.

It slowed quickly, almost stopping on a dime, which allowed it to turn and keep its nose on the Americans. Laser beams lashed out from it.

“Hit on the starboard wing,” Irina said. “Minor damage.”

Pointer maxed out his acceleration to get away from the alien. Although they opened up some distance between themselves and the enemy fighter, another alien fighter joined the chase a couple of moments later. “Two can play that game,” Pointer called over the radio, slamming on the brakes as he spun his fighter around back toward the enemy fighters.

The aliens hadn’t expected that and flew in closer; both Pointer and Baker opened up with their internal cannons. Baker’s jaw dropped; his rounds appeared to go astray as they reached the fighter he’d aimed at. “What the hell?” he asked as the aliens fired their lasers at the Americans.

Pointer launched a missile at his target. Although an anti-fighter missile, and smaller than the anti-ship version, it was also a nuke, and it detonated on one of the aliens. After the flash of the explosion, the other alien—the one Baker had been aiming at—no longer returned fire. Baker fired his cannon again and watched the rounds walk down the side of the alien craft. It detonated in a fusion bloom as its reactor lost containment.

“How are you doing, XO?” Pointer asked.

“We could use some help,” she replied with a grunt.

Pointer turned toward where the XO’s identification, friend or foe—IFF—beacon was and gunned the throttle. “On the way.”

The IFF beacons for the XO and Lion split. “You help Lion,” Pointer said over the ship-to-ship link. “I’ll help the XO.”

Baker broke off to chase down Lion, whose IFF was swinging wildly; he was obviously maneuvering for all he was worth. With Lion going back and forth, Baker was able to catch up quickly.

“Two aliens,” Irina said.

“I see,” Baker said, taking a glance at the telescope. “Where the hell did the second one come from?”

“Maybe one of our missiles missed. There are definitely two of them on Lion.”

“I wish we had more missiles,” Baker said. “The gun didn’t work very well last time.”

“Maybe their shields don’t work from behind,” Irina suggested.

“I guess we’ll find out.”

Either the aliens didn’t have rear quarter sensors, or they weren’t paying attention to them, as Baker was able to get within gun range without them trying to avoid him.

“Firing,” he said. Baker pulled the trigger, sending a burst of cannon rounds at the lead alien. Lion reversed his turn at the moment, and the alien swerved to follow. Most of Baker’s rounds missed, although the last two hit the alien’s starboard wing as he walked the gunsight back onto the alien craft.

The alien’s wingman broke off; he’d obviously been spotted now.

“Keep an eye on the wingman, Irina, while I finish this asshole.”

“Zasranets,” the apparition muttered.

“Whatever.”

The alien slammed to a stop and started spinning.

“I’ve seen this one before,” Baker said. He looped over the top of the alien fighter, pulling his nose back around to the alien’s rear as he came within range. There wasn’t an exhaust to aim at—a grav drive ship didn’t need one—but he had a great view of the back of the alien ship. The enemy pilot had obviously lost sight of Baker, and he made him pay. The enemy fighter detonated when the burst of cannon rounds slammed into it.

“Where’s the other alien?” Baker asked as he pulled a hard turn to the left, back toward where he’d last seen the enemy wingman.

“Don’t know,” Irina said. “I lost him.”

“Lost him? I told you to keep an eye on him!”

“I don’t actually have any eyes to keep on him, remember? I can only see what the sensors see, and he maneuvered out of my field of view. He went low; look down and left.”

“Shit!” Baker yelled. He looked left just in time to see several laser beams flash past.

“I’ve got this,” Irina said. The fighter snapped onto its back as she killed its momentum. Another blast of laser fire passed in front of the fighter, where it would have been if Baker had continued in the direction he’d been going.

Irina maxxed the throttles, while using the maneuvering thrusters to spin her toward the enemy fighter. The alien had been flying toward three-nineteen, as well, and Irina put them on a collision course. “Fire!” she yelled.

Baker pulled the trigger and watched the front of the alien flash blue as the rounds impacted his shield. The alien fighter raced forward toward three-nineteen but didn’t fire its laser.

“Keep firing,” Irina exclaimed as the fighters arrowed toward each other.

Baker fired a second burst and then a third, but the rounds skipped off to the side as they hit the alien’s shield.

“Don’t ram him,” Baker exclaimed. “We won’t survive it!”

“He’ll flinch,” Irina said.

Baker fired again, but the rounds still didn’t have any effect. Nor did the alien flinch. At the last moment, Irina fired the maneuvering thrusters at the maximum and snap-rolled the fighter ninety degrees; three-nineteen’s port wing knifed between the alien’s upturned wings, narrowly missing the cockpit.

She killed the fighter’s momentum as she spun around behind the enemy fighter.

Baker blinked, stunned and happy to be alive… although he had no idea how they’d missed the alien.

“Fire, damn it!” Irina yelled.

Baker’s trigger finger spasmed, almost without a conscious thought, and the last ten rounds from his gun ripped through the aft fuselage of the enemy fighter. It started to turn back toward them but then ignited in a nuclear blossom.

“That one’s mine!” Lion said exultantly over the radio.

Baker shook his head, trying to get the afterimage of the explosion out of his eyes. The screen had darkened immediately, but he still could see the flash.

“Any other enemies?” Baker asked Irina.

“Not that I see. The XO and Pointer are forming up together.”

“Good,” Baker said. “Take us in that direction.” He took a deep breath and released it, then frowned when his suit squished as he moved from all the sweat in it. “I think I’m ready for a shower.”

* * *

The division formed up on the XO and started back to the carrier. All the fighters were a little worse for wear, with laser burns and smudges across them. The XO was on two emergency systems because of combat damage but was determined to make it back on her own.

“So, are we good?” Baker asked.

Irina, who’d disappeared earlier after the combat, reappeared in the WSO’s seat.

“Are we good?” she asked.

“For a synthetic intelligence, you don’t have much memory,” Baker said. “Remember? We were going to talk about our relationship on the way home?”

“Was the memory thing a computer pun?” she asked.

“Absolutely not,” Baker said. “Well, not intentionally, anyway. I didn’t mean it to be.”

“Fine. I’ll let you get away with it this time then.” She paused. “As to the talk we were going to have, I thought we worked it out. You deal with people outside the fighter, and I deal with things inside it. I thought our teamwork—for not having much preparation prior to combat—worked out pretty well. We’re still here, aren’t we?”

“We are, and there are a lot of aliens that aren’t.”

“Speaking of which, you need to slap Lion when we get back. He stole our last kill.”

“So?”

“So that would have been our fifth kill. We’d have made ace in a single engagement. I don’t think there are many people who have achieved that.”

“We were out of cannon rounds and missiles, though. How were we going to kill the last one?”

“Wingtip through its canopy?”

“And break our plane?” Baker chuckled. “I think it worked out okay. We’ll get a fifth next time.”

“Still, it would have been nice for bragging rights.”

“Who are you going to brag to?” With a thought, Baker glanced over to Pointer, whose wing he was flying off. “Speaking of which, are you worried that Pointer will see you sitting there?”

Irina laughed. “You really think I’m here? I’m just projecting the image through the link we have into your brain. If you unplugged, you wouldn’t see me anymore.”

“Oh,” Baker said. He’d been wondering what she had coalesced to make the image; the answer was, of course, that she didn’t actually exist. He laughed along with her. “Well don’t I feel stupid now.”

“As you should.”

“Well, if you’re so smart, why did our rounds bounce off the enemy fighters?”

“They didn’t bounce off,” Irina said. “The rounds never hit. The aliens have some sort of shield they were using. It may have been something with their grav drive. I don’t know.”

“Is that why they use lasers and why their lasers were unaffected? They don’t have any mass, so gravity doesn’t affect them?”

“No, that isn’t right. Gravity affects light.”

“It does?”

“Yeah, in a strong gravity field, light bends. Like around really massive objects like stars or a black hole. I don’t know how much gravity they’d need to bend light, though, or if their drives could generate it. You’d have to talk to a physicist or something. I’ve been dipping into the ship’s library, but there aren’t enough technical manuals on it. Even if there were, I’m not sure I’d understand them. I can still learn, but I only know what I knew when I became synthetic, plus what I’ve been able to read up on since; I’m not some all-knowing computer.”

Baker chuckled. “I’m not even that.” He shrugged. “Still, though, I think we made a pretty good team.”

“Make,” Irina corrected. “We make a good team.”

13

INTEL, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

“Tell us everything about the flight,” the admiral’s staff intel officer said, “but most especially, everything you can remember about the aliens.” The duty intel ensign had met the pilots on their return to tell them the admiral requested their presence in intel immediately. Don’t drop off your gear and don’t grab a bite to eat on the way, just pretty please—all four pilots were senior to the ensign delivering the message, so at least he was respectful about it—get to intel as soon as you can. They had bet on whether the admiral, himself, would be in attendance for the debrief. He wasn’t, but there was no doubt that his intel officer would be delivering a brief to him within minutes of when they finished up.

Their debrief was apparently the talk of the carrier. The XO of the Revenge was in attendance, as were the COs and XOs of the other squadrons—and Baker’s CO had shown up to participate, too—plus most of the intel officers in the intelligence center. A number of the other squadrons’ pilots had found things they needed to be doing, all of which happened to be within earshot of the table where the debrief was being conducted.

As the senior pilot and lead for the mission, the XO did the majority of the speaking, quickly relating the early parts of the mission. “As soon as we launched missiles at the planet, though, that’s when all hell broke loose.”

“That’s when you first noticed the aliens?” the intel officer prompted.

“Yes,” the XO said with a nod. “I picked up a pair of them visually. It was just luck, really; I just happened to be looking through the telescope at where they were coming from.” She nodded to Baker. “The lieutenant picked up another pair at the same time, coming from a different direction.”

“How did you pick them up?” the intel officer asked.

“Same as the XO. Just got lucky and happened to see movement through my telescope.” Although the lucky part was having Irina available to do the looking.

“But there were more than just those two pairs?’ the intel officer asked.

“Correct,” the XO said. “As Lieutenant Commander Pointer and I were firing at the first two pairs, Baker found another three pairs.” She turned to Lance with a confused look on her face. “I didn’t have time to ask in the middle of the fight, but how did you find them when no one else could?”

Baker shrugged. “While you were focused on shooting at the first pairs, I kept tweaking my radar. They must have some sort of radar or early warning system—they seemed to launch for us after we fired missiles at the planet—so they knew we were coming and how many of us there probably were. I figured they’d send everyone they had at us, not come out four versus four. If they had more fighters available, they’d send them, so I kept looking and retuning my radar. Eventually I had the right setting to find another pair; once I had the radar tuned correctly, the other two pairs were easy to find, too.”

“Why don’t you think you saw them earlier?” the intel officer asked.

Baker shrugged. “I don’t know. Their craft may be some sort of material that doesn’t reflect radar well—”

“So, some sort of stealth system?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. We also saw later they had some sort of shield system. It’s possible the shields absorb our radar energy, too. At the distance we were trying to track them, they wouldn’t have had to absorb a lot of energy to make them hard to see. They also don’t have a lot of flat surfaces facing forward to bounce a radar off.”

“How did you find the right settings to find them?”

Irina kept tweaking the radar while I over-focused on the incoming fighters? “Just a matter of experimentation. I started at the lower end of the radio frequency range of the radar. Kind of like what they used to find the early atmospheric stealth fighters. Then it was just a matter of playing with the settings until I had the best picture available.”

“What settings did you use?”

“Um… things got pretty busy at that moment, and I didn’t really look to see. I was inside the system at the time. I can go back to the fighter after this and look. I didn’t change them after the fight, I don’t think.”

“Please do,” the intel officer said. He nodded to where the COs and XOs were sitting. “We’ll want to disseminate them to the other squadrons.”

“I’ll get them as soon as we’re done.”

“Anyway,” the XO said, picking back up the tale, “we fired at the first two pairs, and they both split before the missiles arrived. Still, we got one out of each. They continued inbound, and Baker fired off the rest of his missiles. I think the same thing must have happened with those, right?” She looked at Baker. “You got one out of each of those?”

“I thought so, but there was an extra one later, so it was probably only two.”

“So that made it six on four,” she continued, looking back to the intel officer, “although, at the time, I thought it was five on four or maybe even odds. I split our formation by section to try to take out a couple more before they could get us, so that we could get the odds in our favor. As far as our section goes, we drew two of the aliens at first. I tried to keep us as a section and chase down one of them, which was a bad choice. As maneuverable as grav drives are—especially since theirs are better—the second was on us immediately and shot the crap out of my fighter. At that point, we split, but Lion was already in a bad position, and my fighter was damaged; it was all we could do to hold our own until Pointer and Baker showed up to deal with them.”

The intel officer turned to Pointer. “So, if two of them initially went after the XO, three came after your section?”

“Correct. We went after one, staying as a section like the XO did. And, also like the XO, we picked up a tail pretty quickly. It didn’t take long for me to destroy another alien with my second anti-ship missile, but both of us picked up some damage from our tail. We swung around to deal with it, just as a second fighter joined with it. We spun around to hit them with guns—they were that close—but our rounds seemed to skip off them.”

“This would be the shields that Lieutenant Baker mentioned earlier?”

“Yeah, it had to be some sort of shield.”

“Perhaps a function of the grav drive field?” Baker asked.

Pointer shrugged. “Could be. I could see that the cannon wasn’t having any effect, though, and they opened up on us with their lasers. It was a little close for an anti-fighter missile, but I fired one, anyway. It killed one of the fighters—my third kill of the day—and must have damaged the other fighter somehow.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it stopped maneuvering, and Baker was able to hit it with his cannon after that. He destroyed it.”

“My third,” Baker said. If Pointer is going to count coup, I am, too.

“We then went to help the XO’s section,” Pointer said, not acknowledging Baker’s comment, “but they split as we got there. I went to help the XO and sent Baker to help Lieutenant Wang. I subsequently killed the one that was attacking the XO, my fourth.”

The intel officer turned to Baker and raised an eyebrow expectantly.

“We pulled in behind Lieutenant Wang, who was doing all he could to keep the two alien fighters that were on him from getting a good shot.”

“They’d already hit me several times,” Lion said. “I was just about done.”

“Anyway,” Baker said, “the fact that there were two here means that one of my missiles probably missed, although there may have been another one we didn’t see that came from somewhere else. In any event, we pulled in behind the alien fighters, who never saw us coming. I fired a burst of cannon fire at one of the aliens and destroyed him.”

“Wait,” the intel officer said. “I thought the alien shields stopped your cannon fire.”

“I don’t know,” Baker said. “Maybe they only work from the front? Maybe it was damaged? Maybe it was a model without shields. There’s no way to tell.” Baker shrugged. “I hit it, and it blew up.

“I spun around on the second one, and we were head-to-head with him. Cannon rounds fired at him were ineffective; they bounced off his shield.”

“Did it fire at you?”

Baker shook his head. “While I was shooting at him, he didn’t return fire. Maybe he couldn’t fire through his shield? I don’t know. In any event, I rushed him, like I was going to ram him.”

“Why did you do that?”

Baker chuckled. “Turning away seemed like a good way to get shot in the butt, mostly, so I went forward instead. We raced toward each other in a space-based game of chicken. I dodged at the last minute, which was a good thing, because the alien never flinched. You can make whatever observation you want from that. I whipped past him and spun around, and I was able to get a number of hits on the alien.”

“What happened then?”

Baker slumped. “My gun went dry, but I had damaged it enough that Lion—Lieutenant Wang—was able to come around and finish it off. After that, we joined on the XO and came back.”

The intel officer sat back in his seat. “You didn’t go look for their base?”

“No,” the XO said. “All of our craft had been hit and had damage, and we were about out of missiles and ammo for our guns. It didn’t seem like additional combat would be a good thing. It was better to bring the intel back here and let the next fighters out there look for it.”

Baker raised a hand and the XO nodded for him to answer. “I’ve been thinking about that, ma’am. We had five groups of alien fighters, all of which came in on different vectors, but all were at about the same distance from us when we saw them. The only way that could have happened is if the base was on the side of the planet that faces the star, somewhere near the center of the planet. If they all launched from the base at the same time and took different paths around the planet, they’d all have arrived from different directions at the same time.”

The intel officer pursed his lips. “It’s pretty damn hot on the side of the planet facing the star. It makes more sense if they came from five bases on the backside of the planet and just coordinated their launches to coincide with the same attack time.”

Baker shrugged. “That’s possible, of course, but they all appeared to be coming from around the planet, not coming directly at us from the planet. My money’s on the base being on the other side of the planet.”

“Noted.”

The debriefing ended soon after, and Baker left to get the radar settings from three-nineteen.

* * *

WARDROOM 2, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

“Is this seat open?” Baker asked a half hour later after reporting the data on the radar settings.

“Hi Ghost,” Mark ‘Chief’ Campbell said. “Lion here was just telling us how you ghosted up on the aliens who were chasing him and saved his ass.”

“Did he tell you how he repaid that honor by turning around and stealing my fifth kill so I didn’t make ace?”

“Really?” Jimenez asked. “You almost made ace in a single fight?”

“Yeah. I finished with four and a half. Lion got my other half.”

“And I’d feel really bad about it…” He paused for effect.

“But?” Campbell finally prompted.

“But he made a mistake.” Lion smiled. “In the debrief, he admitted he was ‘winchester;’ he didn’t have any remaining ammo or missiles.”

Baker smiled. “Well, that may be true, but I’d have come up with something.”

“Like what?” Lion asked. “Were you going to ram him to get the fifth kill?” He mimicked Baker’s voice. “Sorry, Skipper, that I broke the jet. I did, however, pick up my fifth kill, so I’ve got that going for me.”

“Okay, you got me.” Baker’s smile widened. “I hadn’t worked it out yet. Maybe I could have poked the nose of my fighter through his canopy.”

“Speaking of which,” Lion said. “I didn’t want to say anything in the debrief, but I really thought you were going to ram him when the two of you played chicken there.” He cocked his head. “How much did you miss him by?”

“Two or three.”

“What? You flew past an alien fighter and only missed it by two or three meters?” Jimenez asked, incredulous.

Baker chuckled. “No, it was more like two or three centimeters. I swear I could have read the alien’s name tag if I could have seen through his canopy.”

“Liar,” Campbell exclaimed.

“He’s not lying,” Lion said. “If anything, I think he’s overestimating how much he missed him by. I don’t see how they didn’t collide.” He shook his head. “I really don’t.”

“What were you thinking?” Jimenez asked.

“The aliens have some sort of shield that seemed to be blocking my cannon fire. I was just trying to get behind him to where I could shoot him. The fastest way was right at him. I didn’t expect him to be okay with ramming me.” Baker shook his head. “If I hadn’t swerved, we would have collided.”

“You should have seen it,” Lion said. “He flipped 90 degrees, and I swear his wingtip passed between the upraised portions of the alien fighter’s wings.”

“You’re crazy,” Jimenez insisted.

“I knew I was almost out of ammo, and I needed a clear shot.” Baker shrugged. “I really thought he’d swerve. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise.”

“Anyway,” Lion said, “I didn’t get a chance to say it, but thanks for saving my ass. If you hadn’t come, I was within seconds of getting shot myself. I really needed to shoot that one guy, just because he scared ten years of life out of me.”

“No worries, man. Just happy to help. I have a feeling I’ll get a chance to pick up another half a kill before we make it home.”

“The way you attract aliens?” Campbell asked, standing. “No doubt. You’re going to get a reputation if you’re not careful. Lance the Alien Magnet.” He chuckled. “You’re one of those guys that seems to end up with a hundred different call signs.”

“You leaving?” Lion asked.

“Yeah, I have to go get ready for a flight.”

“I’ve got the next PriFly, so I’ll join you.” He looked at Baker as he stood. “Seriously, man, I owe you one.”

“No worries. I’m sure you’d have done the same for me.”

Lion and Chief left, and Baker caught Jimenez looking at him strangely. “What?” he asked.

“I had wanted to catch up to you and ask something, but now that I have you, I’m not sure I do.”

“What? Why’s that?”

“Now that you’re a big war hero and everything, my problems seem so much smaller.”

“Oh, stop that.” Baker scoffed. “I just happened to be the right person at the wrong place and time.” He raised an eyebrow. “What did you want to ask me?”

Jimenez looked around to see if anyone was watching them, then leaned forward. “You know what we talked about at lunch the other day?”

Baker smiled. “How much the food sucks out here?”

“No; I’m not talking about the food.” She looked around again. “I’m talking about our discussion on how some of the people here think the spirits of the people who died or went crazy are inhabiting the fighters?”

“Yeah, I remember that.” Baker said. I’d have a really hard time forgetting it. “I thought you didn’t believe it.”

“I didn’t want to believe it. Unfortunately, I don’t think I can disbelieve it any longer.” She sighed. “I think my fighter is haunted.”

“What? Why’s that?”

“It does things on its own.”

“It’s a mentally-controlled cockpit. All you have to do is think it, and it happens. I had a hard time getting used to that, too.”

“No; it’s not like that. Things that I’m not thinking of or even looking at move on their own. I caught the Master Arm switch turning itself on during my last flight. I don’t want something to happen that I didn’t do.”

“Well, uh, this may sound crazy, but have you talked with the spirit of your fighter? Maybe tried to make contact with it?”

A flush creeped up the dark skin of Jimenez’s neck. “Maybe,” she allowed.

“I’m not kidding,” Baker said. “I had a… similar issue with my plane, but we worked it out and now everything’s fine.”

“I’ve tried. I’ve tried to contact the spirit or whatever it is, but I haven’t been able.” She looked down at her tray. “I’m not sure how much longer I can go on with this.”

“With what? Flying the plane?”

“Yeah. I don’t want something bad to happen while I’m flying it, especially something I didn’t do.” She sighed. “I also don’t want to report it and have it labeled as a gremlin plane.” She looked up. “Are you aware there are five planes in the forward hangar bay that are unflyable because they have gremlins in them?”

“I heard there are six, but yeah, that’s true.” He shrugged. “So? What about it?”

“We’re out of extra aircraft. I don’t want three-twenty to go into the gremlin stack. There are no other fighters for me if it does. I won’t have a ride. No one’s going to want to share theirs with me. I’ll end up as permanent duty officer or something like that.”

“Yeah, that would suck.” He cocked his head. “There may be someone I know who can help.”

“No,” Jimenez exclaimed. “I don’t want you to tell anyone. I don’t want to be labeled as one of the crazies or have my plane labeled as a gremlin.”

“Don’t worry,” Baker said. “I won’t use your name. Besides, the person I’m thinking of is really discreet. She barely talks to anyone either.” He chuckled at the thought of Irina talking to someone.

“It’s not funny,” Jimenez said.

“I know that,” Baker replied, sobering. “I was laughing at another thought I had, not something you did.” He cocked his head. “There’s something else you can try, too.”

“What’s that?”

“I know you said you talked to your plane. You might want to warn the plane about what’s about to happen to it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s assume that your plane somehow has a spirit inside it, okay?”

“I think it does.”

“Okay, for the sake of argument, then, your fighter’s spirit is going to want one thing—to continue living. If bad things keep happening, you’re going to have to leave the fighter, and it’s going to go into the gremlin group and never get flown—or even turned on again. They’ll shut down the fusion plant and leave it unpowered. For all intents and purposes, it will be dead. My guess is if you warn it that if weird things keep happening, it’s going to get shut down permanently, then maybe the weird things will stop happening.”

“You really think that’s possible?”

“I don’t know… but do you have a choice? You don’t have a lot of options, and that’s at least something you can try until I can ask my… person.”

“Thanks,” Jimenez said. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll give it a try. Like you said, what else can I do?”

14

READY ROOM 3, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

“So, it turns out Ghost was right,” Commander Tyler said to the all-officers meeting the next morning. He gave Baker a nod of approval. “It turns out the aliens were hiding on the star side of the planet. Last night, the admiral sent a group of fighters from the Panda Bears to check it out, and they kicked over a hornet’s nest. Two carriers and a host of fighters launched from the planet and headed out-system.”

The CO sighed. “Despite the fact that the fighters ran as fast as they could, two of the Panda Bears were destroyed when they turned and fought a delaying action so the others could escape.” His eyes found Lion’s. “I’m sorry, Lion; I know a lot of the Bears are friends of yours.”

Wang nodded. “I knew one of them. He was a good guy. I’m sure there will be a chance to avenge him.”

“As a matter of fact, there probably will be. The Revenge is currently following the carriers out-system. The admiral is hoping that they will lead us to the aliens’ home system.”

“We’re chasing down two carriers?” Pointer asked the question that Baker suspected was on many of the junior officers’ minds. “Does intel know how many fighters they hold? What exactly is a “host” of fighters, anyway?”

“There were reports of 40-plus fighters in the vicinity of the carriers. Intel believes that each carrier probably holds about the same number of fighters as the Revenge.”

“So we’re outnumbered two-to-one already, assuming all the fighters belonged to the carriers and weren’t additional to the ones the carriers held internally.”

“That is correct.”

Several sounds of dismay came from the back of the ready room.

The CO nodded. “I understand that this may be somewhat disconcerting—”

“Somewhat disconcerting?” Dowman muttered. “That’s a lotta damn fighters.”

“—but we haven’t finished what we came here for,” the CO finished, ignoring the muttering. “We still haven’t found the aliens’ home world.”

“Any chance it’s on the planet they launched from?” Lieutenant Commander Page asked.

The CO looked to the end of the front row. “Want to handle that one?” he asked Lieutenant Rice.

“Sure,” the intel officer said as she stood and turned to face the squadron. “The planet is definitely not the home world of the aliens. The conditions there wouldn’t support life without assistance. There’s no atmosphere, and it’s far too hot to live there.” She smiled. “I also suspect that the aliens would have fought a little harder for it if it were their home planet… instead of nuking it when they left.”

“They nuked it?” the ops officer asked.

Rice nodded. “There’s nothing left of the facility on the planet. Whatever was there before, no longer is.”

“So if we want to learn anything about the aliens, we’re going to have to follow them.”

Nova raised her hand.

“Yes?” Rice asked.

“Why’d they run?” Nova asked. “If they outnumbered us, why didn’t they stand and fight?”

“We don’t know,” Rice replied. “The current thought is that the aliens are risk averse—they don’t want to engage us, because they are afraid of losing.”

“Even though they outnumber us two-to-one.”

Rice nodded. “Correct.” She shrugged. “If you look at the results of yesterday’s action, ten of their fighters attacked four of ours. All ten of theirs were destroyed, with no losses on our side.”

“There was a lot of luck involved with that,” the XO noted. “It could easily have gone the other way. If Ghost hadn’t seen the ones coming in and taken out a few of them, we would have been easily overwhelmed. As it was, we still returned with some pretty shot-up fighters.” She shook her head. “Mine’s not going to fly again for several days, at least.”

“Ugh,” Chief muttered.

“What’s wrong?” Baker whispered.

“When the XO isn’t flying, she’s got more time to pass out ‘special projects’ she’d like to see done. She’s the master of line-of-sight tasking; if she sees you, she’ll give you a job. Avoid the ready room at all costs for the next few days.”

“Yes, our fighters got damaged, some heavily, but look at it from the aliens’ perspective. They sent out ten to deal with four. They didn’t kill any of ours while losing all of theirs. If that happened to us, we’d want to fall back and figure out what happened.”

“You can only walk into a wall so many times before you have to stop and wonder why your nose hurts,” the CO said.

Rice chuckled. “Yes, sir. Something like that. Rather than lose any more of their fighters, we think they’re pulling back for additional reinforcements.”

“Any idea where they’re going?” the XO asked.

“Actually, yes,” Rice said. “There is a new star about five light years away that we were unaware of. It looks like they’re heading in that direction.”

“A new star?” Dogboy asked from the duty desk. “Did it just form?”

“Well, no, it isn’t a new star, per se,” Rice said. “It is, however, new to us. The star is almost exactly behind Procyon A when seen from Earth. We had no idea it existed until we got here.”

“Do we know anything about the star?” Commander Tyler asked.

“Only that it seems—on first glance, anyway—to be very much like Sol, although it’s just a little smaller. It’s a yellow star with almost the same luminosity as our sun.”

“So there is a decent chance of it having habitable planets.”

“Yes, sir, there is. Assuming they’re in the Goldilocks Zone, they’d potentially be as habitable as Earth. We won’t know a lot more without studying the star for some time—or getting closer, which it looks like we may do—but the initial conditions look good.”

The CO chuckled. “Which might be why they were interested in our system.”

“That’s very possible.”

“Then we need to dissuade them from that thought.”

“Yes, sir. That’s the admiral’s view on the situation.”

“I understand, and that’s why he makes the big bucks. I’m sure he has tasking from Fleet Command on how far he ought to pursue them. Has he given any indication how far that is?”

“No, sir. Not yet. All he’s said is ‘As far as it takes.’”

“My only worry is that we haven’t seen all the fighters that got away. Yesterday, two of the Panda Bears fought a delaying action so that the rest of their squadron mates could get away. Has there been any thought given to the fact that the mission of those two carriers was to delay us while the aliens set up a trap farther up the line?”

“That has been mentioned.”

The CO nodded. “Good. Because this is starting to feel like we’re chasing a snake down its hole. At some point, it’s going to reach the point where it spins around, and we’re going to be presented with the fangs rather than the tail.”

“The admiral is aware.”

“Good. I would have hated to have not mentioned it and had it happen.” He took a deep breath and released it quickly. “So, what is our part of this?”

“Continue to fly deep space patrols and make sure that everyone has the settings Ghost figured out so they don’t get caught flatfooted.”

The CO nodded. “We can do that.”

* * *

BLASTER THREE-NINETEEN, DEEP SPACE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

“The alien fleet isn’t particularly stealthy,” Irina noted later that day as Baker flew a space patrol with Lieutenant Commander Alan Shelley, the squadron’s admin officer.

“They’re not?” Baker asked.

Irina appeared next to him and gave him a frown. “Seriously?”

“I guess not,” Baker said with a chuckle. “I hadn’t given it any thought. They just seemed to be a fleet doing what a fleet does.”

“Up until now, though, we’ve barely seen any emanations from the aliens. No radars. No comms. No indications of propulsion systems. Nothing. Now I’m picking up so much, it’s making me wonder what they’re trying to hide with it.”

“Hide?”

Irina frowned again. “How you made it through flight school is beyond me. Were all your instructors female?”

“Are you saying I’m good looking?”

“No, but you couldn’t have passed the course of instruction with your brains.”

“I finished first in my class.”

“And I am still wondering how that was. It boggles my mind how they could come up with a group that made you look intelligent.”

“Come on. I can fly the fighter well. You have to admit that.”

The apparition shrugged. “You do have moments of adequacy.”

“See? Hey, wait a minute—”

“Okay,” Irina said, chuckling. “I guess you’re all right. Sometimes. Now use your head for something other than a mount for your helmet. We’ve never seen anything but stealth from the aliens. Why did they give that up now?”

“They’re trying to get us to follow them?”

“Perhaps. It’s possible they have a trap waiting for us in the next system. I can’t stop thinking that there’s more to it than that, though. This is more than they’d need.”

“Maybe they’re emanating so that we can’t practice against their stealth systems. They don’t want us to continue to get better, especially since they aren’t getting a lot of practice against us. Any one that comes against us dies.”

“You can tell yourself that if it makes you feel better, but there’s something we’re not seeing. I’m wondering if they’re using all of their signals as a distraction.”

“As a distraction for what?”

“I don’t know, and that’s what bothers me. I keep retuning the radar, looking for anything we might have missed, but so far… nothing.” She shrugged again. “I have a lot of time to work on it in between what passes as a coherent thought for you.”

“I’ve been watching and running my own scans. I’m not just sitting here. All of the electronic noise is coming from the alien fleet.” He paused and thought about what Irina had said. “You’re right, though. It’s odd. If they were trying to lead us on, they wouldn’t need all of it. We knew they were there. They’d only need random bits for us to track them; the carriers are far more reflective than the fighters and easier to track.”

“So why the extra noise?”

“You said you had radars and comms traffic?”

“I definitely have radars, across a number of spectrums. Even though we’re fairly stealthy, we probably couldn’t sneak up on them. There are also transmissions I think are comms, something that is probably a data link, and a couple of other periodic transmissions. I can also see their grav generators.”

“What are they saying on the radios?”

The frown returned. “We’ve had the conversation about the fact that—although I’m an SI—I’m not omniscient, right? Even if I could break the encryption on their transmissions—which I can’t—I wouldn’t understand their language.”

“That makes sense. Are you recording it?”

“Of course. Anyone with brains would be. I’ll give you a nice recording for you to take to intel; that way, they’ll think you’re actually doing something worthwhile out here rather than sitting there, lost in thought.”

“I have an issue that someone brought up with me that I’m not sure how to approach you on, but I need your advice.”

“Girl troubles?”

“No, nothing like that.” Baker laughed. “The issue is, however, with a woman.”

“What’s the issue?”

“Sofia Jimenez, the person I came here with from flight school, is having issues with her plane.”

“What kind of issues?” Irina asked, her tone suspicious.

“The kind where the plane is doing things un-commanded. She’s worried that something horrible is going to happen while she’s flying that she didn’t initiate. For example, yesterday, the Master Arm flipped itself on for no apparent reason.”

“Which fighter is she in? Three-two-zero?”

“Yes, she took over three-twenty after someone went crazy.”

Irina nodded. “It’s got gremlins, doesn’t it?”

“It appears so, and she doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t want it to do something awful, but she also doesn’t want the plane parked with the gremlin aircraft. There aren’t any extra fighters; if she has to give up three-twenty, there’s nothing else for her to fly.”

“And there’s nothing worse than being on cruise with nothing to fly.”

“Correct,” Baker agreed.

“What is it that you think I can do to help her?”

“I don’t know, but I figured that helping her would involve you going over to three-twenty, and I didn’t want to suggest that for a number of reasons. That’s what I’ve been thinking about and why I didn’t want to broach the subject.”

Irina smiled. “Afraid I’ll go over to three-two-zero and never come back? Then you’d be stuck having to do all the work yourself?”

Baker chuckled. “That’s part of it, certainly. I like the partnership we have here. If—no, I mean, when we have to deal with the aliens, I like having you with me. We can do more than anyone else.” He shrugged. “I also didn’t know if you’d be offended about asking you to look at her issue… or whatever. You’re somewhat sensitive sometimes.”

“And you were worried I’d get angry.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not angry, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“That’s a start.”

“Unfortunately, you don’t understand what’s going on with her fighter. No one in the outside world would.”

“The outside world?”

“Your world. My world is this fighter and its systems. I can see and sense your world; I can even affect things in your world, but I’m not really a part of it. Kind of like when you plug yourself into the system. You enter into my world, and you can affect things here, but you’re not really part of it.”

“Okay. I freely admit to not understanding anything about your world. I don’t understand enough, anyway. Is there some way you can explain what’s going on with three-twenty and give me a solution for Sofia’s problem?”

“I can explain it to you, but there’s no solution.” She paused, as if considering what to tell him or maybe how to explain it so he’d understand.

“What you need to understand—and why your proposed solution won’t work—is that you can’t copy yourself. That’s where the people that went crazy got it wrong. You don’t actually copy your memories, or your personality, or any of that; you actually transfer it. What’s left behind—the shell of the person—goes crazy because it’s now only a partial personality. Also, what got uploaded was only partial, too, so what’s in the plane’s system doesn’t work, either. It’s just some random memories or thoughts, without a consciousness behind them to make them work. Unguided gremlins. Nothing more. Meanwhile, the person in your world is conscious but doesn’t have his or her thoughts… or maybe even the ability to think, and that’s why they’re crazy.”

“And you didn’t do that.”

“Nope. I took everything with me. All my memories and thoughts—everything I am, except the meat suit, of course—and went into the system. That’s why my body on the outside died; there was nothing left to drive it. Everything—conscious and unconscious—is here with me.”

“So anyone who survives the attempt—”

“Is going to be screwed up. Both the portion that makes it into the system and the part that gets left behind. It may be possible to send a piece into the system while still retaining your sanity, but the odds of it working out are poor.”

“If only part goes into the system, if someone hooked a crazy person back up to their fighter, do you think they could reintegrate? Either as a person with a meat suit, as you call it, or as an SI like you?”

“Maybe.” Irina’s ghostly form shrugged. “Probably not on their own.”

“What does that mean?”

“They’d need someone to help guide them back together. Maybe even force them back together if necessary.” She shrugged again. “I don’t think they could do it on their own, and, even if they had someone, I don’t know if it would work.”

“Why not? What do you mean?”

“The leftover piece in the system might try to attach to the person assisting the reintegration. For all we know, the crazy person might try to take over the person assisting the reintegration, too. Basically, both pieces of the person will function like a virus. Both want to live, after all; that’s the imperative of life. Who knows what they will attack if they think they’re being threatened?”

“So what do you do with them?”

“Which? The crazy people or the gremlin-infested aircraft?”

“The people.”

“Nothing. Put them out of their misery. It’s what we’d do in Russia.”

“Seriously?”

“Da. What else is there to do with them?”

“Fix them somehow?”

“I’m telling you; it can’t be done. Certainly not by someone from your world.”

“But you might be able to fix a person?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. Then, there would be complications.”

“What complications?”

“There’d be two of us in the same system. It wouldn’t work.”

“What if you withdrew into some sort of storage media?”

“That would imply that I put myself into a storage media to go over to the gremlin-infected fighter. That’s not happening. I just got three-nineteen to where I’m happy with it; I’m not leaving.”

“So what are we supposed to do with the gremlin fighters?”

“Take them to the forward hangar bay and let them sit there?”

“You mean, like what we’re already doing?”

“It seems to be working.”

“Working? Nothing’s working. The fighters can’t be used, and the people are insane!”

“And that is my problem, why? I didn’t do it to them. You didn’t do that to them either. Why are we responsible for fixing them, especially if it means endangering ourselves?”

“How did I get involved in the solution?”

“You don’t think that—were I to do it—I would do it alone, do you? I’d need someone on the outside.”

“So it’s possible.”

“No. It isn’t possible.”

“You just said it was.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I didn’t mean to imply I could, only that we—the royal we—aren’t responsible for the problems others have inflicted on themselves.”

“Okay, what about three-twenty? Can we at least discuss how that might get resolved?”

“Where is the former pilot?”

“She got taken off the carrier, I believe.”

“Then there’s no chance of reintegration. Why are we even discussing this?”

“Because I like Sofia and don’t want her to have to stop flying.”

“Aha! So this is about a woman!”

“No it’s not.”

“You just said you liked her.”

“I meant as a friend.”

“Sure, that’s what you meant… but I caught a trace of genuine affection in your psyche.”

“I like her as a friend. She’s more like a sister to me.”

“Do you have incestuous thoughts about all your relatives?”

“Stop it! That’s gross!”

“Admit you like her, and I will.”

“Okay, fine. I like her a little. But we really have been together so long, our relationship is more like a brother and sister, even if I might have wanted it to be otherwise in the past.”

“I see. Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Would you stop that? The issue isn’t about having woman problems; the issue is her being able to fly three-twenty without the fighter doing something catastrophic on its own.”

“And you getting points for helping her out.”

“What? No! I just want to help her, that’s all.”

“And have her view you favorably for helping.”

“Sure. I mean, no! That’s not the point of this. If it happened, that wouldn’t suck, but that’s not why I’m asking! Does everything have to be about sex?”

“In my experience, yes.”

“Well, your experience is from a foreign country. You obviously don’t understand Americans.”

“Maybe I understand all too well. Perhaps it is you who doesn’t understand yourself.”

“Okay, if I give you the point—or at least the possibility that you’re right—can we move on to fixing the problem?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, so what’s the solution to three-twenty?”

“There isn’t one. It isn’t fixable.”

“So what do I tell her to get those favor points you were talking about?”

“Have you told her to try talking to her aircraft? That it seems to be working for you?”

“Sometimes better than others,” Baker muttered.

“You know I can hear your thoughts, even when you mutter, right?”

“Maybe I meant for you to hear it.”

“How very passive aggressive of you.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“If you’re done psychoanalyzing me, can you psychoanalyze three-twenty?”

“Sure. It’s crazy and has a gremlin in it.”

“What should Sofia do?”

“Try talking to it and coming to an accommodation with it.”

“I told her to do that.”

“Did it work?”

“I haven’t heard back from her yet. Do you think that talking to the gremlin will work?”

“Probably not. But it’s worth a shot.”

“Why wouldn’t it work?”

“You need a full personality to have a rational discussion like we’re doing.”

“This is a rational discussion?”

“Do you want my help or not?”

Baker sighed. “Yes, please. I would like your help.”

“Your solution is the best and the easiest; it’s what I would suggest first.”

“And if it doesn’t work, like you don’t think it will?”

“Then I will try to come up with something else.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She chuckled.

“What’s funny?”

“You should talk to three-zero-five. He’s been calling you for two minutes and has rendezvoused with you. He’s waving at you now, trying to get your attention.” She disappeared.

Baker jumped and looked around. Sure enough, three-oh-five was on his left wing, and LCDR Shelley was waving at him.

“Three-Zero-Five, Three-One-Nine,” Baker transmitted. “Sorry. I’m with you.”

“Three-Nineteen, are you okay?”

“Yes, sir. I was, uh, doing a deep dive into the system. The amount of electronic noise the aliens are putting out is disconcerting.”

“Disconcerting? You don’t sound okay.”

“No, sir. I’m fine. I just got to thinking, you know, that the aliens never transmit this much. We’re seeing signals we’ve never seen before. Why are they doing this now—what are they trying to achieve with it?”

“Perhaps this is how they normally operate, and they’re just tired of trying to hide it all the time. Maybe they decided to have business as usual.”

“Maybe, sir, but I think there’s something else.”

Irina’s apparition reappeared. “Thought up all this on your own, did you?”

Shut up and let me talk, would you?

Are you going to give me the credit?

How am I going to do that?

You could at least tell Sofia about me when you tell her the solution.

Okay, fine. I will tell her about you. I didn’t think you wanted anyone to know about you, though.

It’s unlikely she’ll solve it without our intervention.

Our intervention?

Do you want to keep talking to me? I thought I was supposed to shut up? Three-oh-five has called you twice now, too.

“Three-Zero-Five, Three-Nineteen. Sorry, sir. I was reviewing one of the signals. It looks like a datalink signal. We’ve never seen any of this before.”

“So what do you think is going on? Is this just the aliens leading us somewhere, or is there something else?”

“Honestly, sir, I think there’s something else. I’ve been working through the system but haven’t come up with what it is yet.”

“If you’re going to get me jumped by alien fighters—like you seem to do to everyone else—could you at least let me know before it happens?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll try.”

“I think we’re going to be okay this time, though. It looks like it’s time to head back. Follow me; I’ve got the lead.”

“You’ve got the lead.” Baker slid his fighter back into the “wing” position as Shelley turned the formation back toward the Revenge.

They’d only been traveling a couple of minutes when Irina appeared next to him. “You promised Shelley you’d warn him before you got jumped. Better make the call.”

“Wait! What?”

“I found the surprise. It’s waiting on the opposite side of the star from the Revenge.”

“What is waiting on the other side of the star?”

“Hard to tell, but I’m guessing it’s either a section or a division of fighters. They’re closer to the star than I’d take us into, but we should have no problems shooting them with missiles from a safe distance.”

“Show me.”

The radar window popped up, with the cursor set close to the star. A dim return—so imperceptible that Baker had missed it when he’d looked a minute prior—was just above the cursor. “Fuck me.”

“Physically impossible for me, sorry.”

“Not what I meant. I’m going to get a reputation.”

“Sounds to me like you already have one.”

“Yeah. This isn’t going to help.”

“I can adjust the radar a little…” The radar setting changed, and the blip disappeared.

Baker sighed. “Bring it back. We’re not going to ignore them. I don’t know what they’re doing, but we don’t want them doing it.”

“No, we don’t.” The settings changed and the blip returned.

“Three-Zero-Five, Three-One-Nine.”

“Three-Oh-Five, go.”

“Uh, sir… I’ve got at least a section of alien fighters hiding on the far side of the star from the Revenge. The blip is big enough that it might be a division. Still too far to tell.”

Oh, no. It’s a division. I can see them.

I looked at the telescope. I couldn’t tell.

That’s why you brought my optical resolution skills with you.

You’re the best.

I know.

“Three-Oh-Five, it’s a division. Details coming.” Baker sent the info over the link.

“That’s a grainy picture,” Shelley said after a few moments.

He does realize how far we are, doesn’t he? Irina asked.

“I can’t tell if it’s three or four,” Shelley continued, “but those are definitely aliens.”

“Are you going to call Mom?”

“Yeah. I’ll see if anyone’s available to assist.”

You can take them.

“Three-Oh-Five, we can take them.”

“I haven’t gone up against them, Three-Nineteen. What are you suggesting?”

“We continue driving in like we’re heading to Mom, then, when we’re behind the star, we turn and launch all our anti-ship missiles. We then follow up with the anti-fighter ones for anything that’s left.”

“Let me ask Mom.”

Shelley passed the plan back to Strike Ops on the carrier while they continued heading toward the ship. Ten minutes later, they got the permission to proceed and were told that an additional section of fighters from the Red Lions was en route but wouldn’t be there for thirty minutes.

“If we wait for them, we’ll be low on fuel,” Shelley said.

“We can do it,” Baker insisted.

“What if all our missiles miss?”

“Don’t miss,” Baker replied. “Besides, we’ll still have two anti-fighter missiles each, too.”

They reached the shadow of the star, and Shelley passed the lead back to Baker. “You’ve got more experience with this, and it’s your plan.”

Baker looked over at Irina. “Do you suppose he believes that, or is he looking for a scapegoat if this doesn’t work?

“Both?” She laughed. “Probably a bit of both. He is a lieutenant commander, after all.”

“Let’s put the guy with like seventy-five hours in the plane in charge,” Baker muttered. “Sounds like a good plan to me.”

“Oh, stop that,” Irina said. “You do have the most experience fighting the aliens, after all; that part was true. You have something else going for you, too.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve heard some of the Americans say they have God as their copilot. You’re lucky. You have me.”

Baker smiled. “If I told them about you, some of them would say it doesn’t make me luckier; it just makes me crazier than the rest.”

“God typically doesn’t intervene in human affairs. I can—and will—intervene on your behalf if it looks like you’re going to kill me. My existence may be… non-traditional, but it’s the only one I’ve got, and I’m kind of attached to it.”

Irina nodded to the nose of the craft. “Time to turn in and kill some aliens. I’ve input the instructions into the missiles and have the weapons panel set up. I’m ready to go… are you?”

Baker took a breath. “I am. Let me check on Shelley.” He swapped to the radio. “Three-Zero-Five, Three-Nineteen. Ready to go?”

“I am.”

“Here we go then.” Baker turned toward the attack vector, and the throttles went to max. “In a hurry to get there?” he asked Irina.

“Call it a hunch. Stand by to fire. I’ll call the launch.”

“Stand by to launch,” Baker dutifully transmitted to three-oh-five. He then repeated Irina’s countdown, “Three, two, one, launch!” As he said the last word, the two anti-ship missiles launched. Half a second later, two more launched from three-oh-five.

“Here’s where the fun starts!” Irina crowed.

The missiles followed their preprogrammed flight to a waypoint that kept them out of the star’s corona before turning back toward the alien fighters. The missiles were programmed to not turn their radars on until ten seconds before impact; hopefully keeping the aliens from having the ability to run.

“We’ve got a runner!” Irina announced as they came around from behind the star.

“Only one?” Baker asked.

“Only one remaining.”

“You sure?”

Irina looked over with a frown.

“Never mind,” Baker replied. He switched to the radio. “One leaker. I’m going after him.”

The alien fighter was still picking up speed, but the American fighters had a lot of excess velocity on it and vectored to intercept it before it could use its superior acceleration to get away.

“Nice call on the max thrust,” Baker said.

“Thank you,” Irina said smugly.

The alien must have seen he wasn’t going to escape, for he turned back into the Americans. “Firing,” Irina warned.

“Firing,” Baker repeated over the radio.

Both anti-fighter missiles launched, which was probably overkill, Baker thought, but he was okay with Irina not wanting to take any chances.

The alien fighter was obliterated before it had a chance to fire his first shot.

“And now we can go home,” Irina said.

15

WARDROOM 2, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

“So, you’re an ace now, huh?” Jimenez said as Baker sat down next to her.

“Yeah, I’ve got credit for seven,” Baker replied. “They split the credit between Shelley and I for the ones we shot around the star.”

“That’s fair.”

“Sure.” He looked down and scoffed. “All things considered, I’d rather not get any more for a while, and I would have been happy to give him all of those.”

“Really?” Jimenez asked, her eyebrows rising sharply. “Most of the fighter jocks in our squadron—and the ones I’ve met from the other squadrons—would kill to be in your position. There hasn’t been a no-kidding ace in a hundred years, and the first one who qualifies doesn’t want the honor?”

“It’s a dubious honor when people don’t want to fly with you because you attract combat. Or some people do want to fly with you because you attract combat. In both cases, it’s not because I’m a good pilot or fun to fly with, but because I’m likely to get shot at, and if they’re with me, they will, too.”

Jimenez chuckled. “I see.”

“No, you don’t. It’s so bad that some of the Red Tigers want to fly mixed sections with us, just so they can be with me.”

“Really?”

Baker nodded. “They’re down in the ready room now, talking with the ops officer.”

“Is he going to do it?”

“I don’t think so. The latest scuttlebutt says we’re going to transit to the jump point with limited flights from now until then so that maintenance can get all the aircraft up, so that they’re ready to go when we jump to the next star system.”

“Speaking of ready to go, I tried talking with three-twenty again on my last flight, but I didn’t get any sort of feedback from the system.”

“Did you have any other unexplained happenings while you were out?”

“Yeah, I did. Pointer and I were flying deep space patrol in another quadrant when you got your last aliens, and Strike tried to vector us to assist you. Instead of going toward where the combat was occurring, my fighter kept trying to veer off and fly away. I finally had to report to Pointer that I was having control issues with my fighter. We came back, and I had to put it in a down status for the ‘control issues.’”

Jimenez shook her head. “I know they’re not going to find any sort of mechanical issues with the fighter, though. It’s already got a couple of gremlin-like maintenance issues on it—things that couldn’t be duplicated—and it won’t be long until it makes the journey to the forward hangar.” Her shoulders slumped. “For all I know, this one will be the issue that permanently downs it.” She looked up hopefully. “Did you have any other ideas for possible fixes?”

“Unfortunately, no. She said the same thing that I did, which was to try talking to your system. If that didn’t work, I’m not sure what the next step is. She seemed reluctant to discuss it, so I’m afraid it’s something drastic. I mean, there are—what?—six ships in the forward hangar bay with the same issues. If it was an easy fix, I imagine they would have cleared out those planes and put them back into service already.”

“That’s what I was afraid of. I’d love to ask around a bit more, but I don’t know who I can trust. I don’t want to get labeled—neither the plane nor me—but I know eventually someone is going to notice, or I’m going to have to report it.” She sighed heavily. “I was hoping your friend would have a solution.”

“I really want to help with this,” Baker said. “Let me try again and see what else she has to say.”

“I can’t imagine it’ll be anything different. No one wants to talk about the issues except Chief, and he goes all metaphysical and spiritual, which may help him deal with any issues his fighter has, but it isn’t helping me with mine.”

“Irina—my friend—has a different perspective on it than most people. Let me ask her again.”

“Did I just hear you mention Irina?” a voice asked. Baker turned to find Petrov, and Baker frowned.

Before he could say anything, though, Jimenez said, “Yeah, she’s a friend of Baker’s. Why?”

Petrov’s eyebrows rose. “She was my fiancé, and now she’s your friend?”

“Let it go, Petrov,” Baker said, standing. “I know you’re the one who slicked the computer in my fighter. Irina is gone. That’s just what I call three-nineteen in her honor.”

“Bullshit!” Petrov spat, his voice rising. “You were talking about her in the present—as if you could talk to her.”

“That’s crazy,” Baker replied, trying to keep his voice low. He could see motion all around as people turned to watch the drama. “I’m sorry to have to remind you, but she’s dead.”

“No, the only one crazy here is you,” Petrov yelled, spittle flying from his lips. “And if you won’t let her go, then I’ll just have to make you!” He spun away and stormed off.

“Oh, fuck,” Baker said, slumping back into his seat. He looked around to find everyone now staring at him. He met their eyes until they looked away.

“Irina!” Jimenez whispered urgently. “You mean Petrov’s old girlfriend that died in your plane? You were talking to her? How? What’s going on, Lance?”

“I’ll tell you all about it later,” Baker said, standing. “I’ve gotta go chase down Petrov and make sure he doesn’t do something stupid.”

* * *

READY ROOM 3, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

Petrov wasn’t in the ready room when Baker got there. He walked up to the duty desk.

“Hey, have you seen Petrov?” Baker asked.

“Yeah, he came through here a couple of minutes ago,” Dogboy said. “He went out the back door—if you’d have been coming down that passageway, you’d probably have seen him.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

Dogboy shrugged. “He asked where the CO was, then he grabbed Pointer and the ops officer, and they left. Maybe check the CO’s stateroom?”

“Ugh.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t disturb him unless it’s important. You can go by there, though, and if the door’s open, you can ask him if he’s seen Petrov.”

Petrov didn’t waste any time. “Yeah,” Baker said. “I’ll try that, thanks.”

Baker walked out the back of the ready room, his feet dragging as if he were walking through thick mud. He’d wanted to get to Petrov to try to talk to him before he did something that would result in a repeat of Petrov’s attempted computer assassination—but it looked like he was too late. Although he wasn’t looking forward to the confrontation, especially in front of the CO, he needed to try to defuse Petrov’s story before they made any additional efforts to delete Irina. She’d been resistant to it so far, but, at some point, they were going to figure out how to erase her.

I can’t let that happen.

He reached the CO’s door, only to find it closed. A quick check showed no one coming down the passageway toward him from either direction, so he stepped close to the door and put his ear close to the frame.

Nothing.

He didn’t hear a single thing, and—if Petrov was in there—Baker was pretty sure he would have heard the Russian or the CO trying to talk over him.

Maybe Petrov didn’t find the CO.

Baker took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Nothing.

The CO wasn’t in his stateroom.

Baker shook his head, unsure where to look next. The XO’s stateroom? Her stateroom was on the other side of the carrier. One of the department head’s staterooms? Which one?

He sighed and retraced his steps to the ready room, then he dropped heavily into his seat.

“Something wrong with our squadron hero?” Dogboy asked with a smile.

“No. Not really.”

“Yeah, you definitely don’t look like someone who has something going on,” Dogboy noted. He cocked his head. “Nope. Definitely not.”

Baker sighed. “Okay, maybe there is something.” He shrugged. “I don’t know yet, but I think there might be. I’m kind of expecting a phone call.”

Dogboy’s smile faded. “Is this something that is going to ruin the duty officer’s day? This is my last day at the duty desk. I was kind of hoping for one that didn’t suck. I mean, you’re not on the flight schedule anymore today; what could possibly go wrong?”

“Petrov overheard something I said. He took it out of context and went flying off the handle.”

Dogboy shrugged. “He’s good at that; it’s what Russians do.”

“I’m worried about what he’s going to say to the CO. I doubt it will be positive.”

“Well, at least the CO is in a pretty good mood today. I expect he’ll listen to your side of the story, at least, before he grounds you.”

“Grounds me? You don’t even know what it is!”

“Do I need to? You’re trying to stop Petrov; he’s already gone to the CO. You look like your dog just died. Add them all up, and what have you got? Grounding.” He nodded. “Who was it?”

“Who was what?”

“I’m guessing, based on the facts of the case as I know them—”

“You don’t know anything.”

“—based on the facts as I know them, that you were having sex with one of the enlisted maintenance troops. I just want to know which one. I mean, there are a few lookers there. If you’re going to get grounded, I hope you at least made it worthwhile.”

“What? No, I didn’t have sex with any of the maintenance troops.”

“Was it another officer then? I know you’re pretty close to Jimenez…”

“We’re just friends! She’s like a sister to me!”

“Methinks the lad doth protest too much,” Dogboy said with a wink.

“I didn’t have sex with anyone,” Baker repeated. “No. One.”

“Well that sucks.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you’re going to get grounded on the rumor of having sex with someone, you should have at least done the crime, am I right?”

“This isn’t about sex!”

“Everything’s about sex.” He laughed. “Even my call sign is about sex. Hey—”

The phone rang, interrupting him. “Is this your call?”

Baker looked at the floor and muttered, “Probably.”

“Cheer up, Ghost. Think positive thoughts.” He picked up the phone receiver. “Ready Three, Home of the Blue Blasters. Lieutenant Reynolds speaking. How can I—”

He paused, listening.

“Yes, sir. He’s here.”

Dogboy’s jaw dropped.

“Yes, sir. I will send him down.” Reynolds hung up the phone.

“Dude,” Dogboy said, shaking his head. “You should have been having sex with a maintenance person. That would have, in fact, been better.” He shook his head again. “That was indeed the CO. He requests your presence in medical.”

“Medical?”

“Yeah, that’s what he said.”

“Did he say why?”

“He said to send you down and not to talk to you.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound auspicious.”

“No, my friend, it does not.”

“Should I go jump out of an airlock?”

Dogboy looked at him funny. “Are you having suicidal ideations?”

“What? No. I was kidding. I was hoping you would say, ‘Don’t worry, Ghost. It’s not that bad.’”

“Come on. I’ll walk down there with you.”

“What for? I can find medical on my own. Lord knows, I’ve spent enough time there.”

“Come on,” he repeated. “Let’s go.”

“You’re just going to leave the duty desk vacant? I thought that was forbidden.”

“The CO said to send someone down to accompany you if it looked like it would be needed, or to bring you myself. Sorry, man, but I don’t have any choice.”

“What? Are you going to put me in cuffs or something? I didn’t do anything. Why would I need an escort? This is stupid.”

Dogboy stood, opened the door, and held it. “Seriously. We can either walk down there, all nice and peaceable-like, or I can call security. That was also mentioned to me.”

“But… this is crazy! I honestly didn’t do anything.”

“Are you coming with me?”

Baker’s shoulders slumped. “Sure, let’s go. It’s not like I’m going to run away. Where would I go?” Although it looked like Dogboy thought the airlock was a viable option. What the hell is going on?

Baker followed Dogboy to medical, with the duty officer looking over his shoulder frequently as if to make sure Baker was still there. Seriously. We’re in space. Where would I run, even if I wanted to?

Dogboy walked into medical. “Skipper?” he called.

“We’re in here, thanks,” the CO’s voice said from the medical conference room.

“In there,” Dogboy said, pointing, as if Baker hadn’t heard.

“Why, thanks,” Baker muttered. “I couldn’t have figured it out without you.”

He walked into the room, and the XO shut the door behind him, then stood in front of it, a serious look on her face. Baker turned toward the others in the room. Behind the conference table sat the CO, operations officer, training officer, flight surgeon, and Petrov. There were no chairs on his side of the table.

“This looks serious,” he said, trying to lighten the looks he saw on their faces. It failed. If anything, they looked grimmer.

The CO looked down at a slate in front of him. “This medical board of inquiry is now in session, and all events are being recorded. Present are myself, Commander Jonathan Tyler, commanding officer of SFA-34, Commander Jane Gilmour, executive officer of SFA-34, Lieutenant Commander Dan Page, Lieutenant Commander Steve Pointer, Lieutenant Karl Petrov, and Commander Anya Siderov, flight surgeon.”

He looked up. “Also present is Lieutenant Lance Baker.”

A medical board of inquiry? Dogboy’s actions now made sense. I thought I was coming here to discuss Irina, but it’s far worse—they think I’m crazy. Petrov, what have you done?

“The purpose of this board is to determine whether Lieutenant Baker is medically fit to continue flying the F-77B fighter.”

Baker wanted to say, “This is crazy,” or to rail against Petrov, but he realized that he needed to speak only when spoken to, and to do so as clearly and precisely as possible. Everything I say or do will be used as evidence against me.

The CO stared intently at Baker for a few moments as if trying to verify the veracity of whatever charges had been laid against him. Baker couldn’t tell if the CO saw what he was looking for—whether good or bad—then he looked down again. “We are here today to assess the charges that Lieutenant Baker is recycling, or losing his personality to the aircraft’s system.” He looked up. “Would you like to make a statement?”

“I deny that I am in any way unfit for duty,” Baker said. “I have not had any issues with keeping my personality separate from the system of the aircraft or withdrawing from it at the end of a flight or as required during the middle of one.”

“Noted,” the CO said, dashing any hope that Baker had that they would take his word for it and let him go.

“Lieutenant Petrov, please give your testimony.”

Petrov nodded. “Yes, sir. As the board will remember, I have experience with people recycling, as my previous fiancé, Lieutenant Irina Koslova, lost her life to it. In Lieutenant Baker’s aircraft, three-nineteen, as a matter of fact. This will be an important fact later. I bring this up to show that I have experience with someone recycling and am, therefore, particularly vigilant in watching for people who exhibit recycling traits. During Lieutenant Baker’s time in the aircraft, I have seen him sliding into madness. The very first time he sat in the trainer, he showed a particular proclivity for losing himself in the system—”

“You said everyone does that the first time,” Baker exclaimed.

“I did,” Petrov said with a nod to the members of the board. “What I didn’t say was that no one normally experienced it to the depth and breadth that he did. From that moment on, I was worried about him and watching his behavior.

“It wasn’t long after that he began talking about Irina—”

“Wait,” Baker exclaimed. “He was the one petting three-nineteen and talking to it!”

Petrov raised an eyebrow and looked at the CO. “May I continue?”

The CO glared at Baker. “I will have no more interruptions. You’ll get a turn to rebut the charges later. Any further outbursts will damage your credibility.”

“As I was saying, he came into my room—here in medical, while I was recuperating from combat injuries—to tell me that he had met Irina Koslova, and that she had helped him fly the fighter.”

“Is that true?” the CO asked.

Baker opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He had, actually, said those things. Which would look crazier—trying to defend the position or lying about what he said? He closed his mouth, not knowing what to say.

“Did you say those things?” the CO asked.

“Well, yes,” Baker said after a minute more. “But what I meant—”

“It’s not your turn,” the CO noted. “All I needed was a yes or no answer to the question. For the record, Lieutenant Baker admitted to saying he saw the deceased Lieutenant Irina Koslova and that she helped him fly the plane.” He looked over to Petrov. “Continue.”

“Yes, sir. After he told me those things, I tried to determine if—against all probabilities—the personality of Irina Koslova was still somehow trapped in fighter three-nineteen.”

“And you told someone about this effort?”

“Yes, I discussed my fears about Lieutenant Baker with Lieutenant Commander Pointer, as well as my plan to ensure it didn’t continue.”

The CO looked to Pointer.

“Lieutenant Petrov spoke to me about some concerns he had about Lieutenant Baker,” Pointer confirmed. “He said he was going to check three-nineteen and make sure the accusations Baker had made were unfounded.”

“So what did you do?” the CO asked.

“I went down to three-nineteen and turned on all the equipment,” Petrov said. “I tried to make contact with Lieutenant Koslova. I figured if she’d come forth for anyone, it would be me. I wasn’t expecting anything, though. The system computer had been reformatted after she recycled; even if such a thing as joining with the system were possible, she would have been erased at that time.”

“Did she, in fact, come forth for you?”

“No, sir,” Petrov said. “I found no evidence of her continued existence.” He sniffed. “I very much would have liked it if I had. Unfortunately, as I expected, she didn’t make an appearance.” He shrugged. “I reformatted the computer hard drive again and left it like that, so Lieutenant Baker would desist from making any further allegations that he’d seen her. He would have had to know there was no way her personality could still be resident in three-nineteen’s computer.”

“Was that the end of it?”

Petrov sighed. “Sadly, no. This afternoon, I walked by a conversation he was having with Lieutenant Jimenez, and he was discussing talking with Irina—Lieutenant Koslova—with her.”

The CO picked up the phone. “Please send her in.”

The XO moved from the door, allowing Sofia Jimenez to enter the room. Her eyes were wide as she glanced toward Baker then quickly looked away again.

They’ve already told her I’m crazy.

“Lieutenant Jimenez,” the CO said, capturing her attention.

“Yes, sir,” she replied.

“Did you have lunch with Lieutenant Baker today?”

“Yes, sir.”

“At any time during that meal, did Lieutenant Baker reference Irina Koslova?”

“Well, uh…” She glanced toward Baker but couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Keep your attention on me, please, Lieutenant,” the CO ordered. “I’ll ask the question again. Did Lieutenant Baker reference Irina Koslova at any time during that meal?”

“Yes,” Jimenez said, sounding miserable.

“And what did he say?”

“He said he had a friend named Irina. At the time, though, I didn’t realize that it was Irina Koslova.”

“And what did he say about this friend?”

“I’d really rather not…”

“I appreciate that,” the CO said, “but if Lieutenant Baker really is having issues with recycling, we need to uncover them before he hurts himself. I know you’re his friend, Lieutenant Jimenez, but a friend would do what was necessary to help a friend, not cover up evidence that would preclude him getting the assistance he needs. Now”—the CO stared at Jimenez—“what. Did. He. Say?”

“He said that his friend Irina had a different perspective than most people. Lieutenant Petrov interrupted at that point, and the two had words. After Petrov left, I asked him if, by Irina, he meant Petrov’s old girlfriend, and he said he’d tell me about it later.”

“Did you get the feeling that he was agreeing to the fact that he was, indeed, talking about Irina Koslova?”

“Yes,” she muttered, looking down.

“Speak up for the record, please.”

“Yes, sir,” Jimenez said. A tear rolled down her cheek. “He gave me every indication that he meant he was talking to Irina Koslova.”

“Are you aware of any possible way he could have been talking to Irina Koslova?”

“No, sir, I am not.”

“Thank you. You’re dismissed.”

She turned past Baker as she spun for the door. “Sorry,” she muttered as she left.

The XO closed the door and stood in front of it again.

The CO sighed. “Okay, Baker, it’s your turn. Help us make sense of all this.”

“Honestly, Skipper, I’m not sure I can, unless you’re willing to believe that the spirit of Irina Koslova is resident in three-nineteen. I mean, how was I—a new pilot to the airframe—able to beat people with years of experience flying the F-77? How was I able to figure out how to tune the radar to find the aliens when they didn’t want to be found? How was I able to outfight them? If you think all of that is more likely than the other reason—that I had help from a spirit that was resident in the computer of my fighter craft—then maybe you’re right. Maybe I am crazy.

“Personally, I don’t think I am. I believe that Irina is still resident in three-nineteen. I’ve talked to her. I’ve interacted with her. I’ve fought aliens with her and argued with her. I’ve done some crazy things with her—things I wouldn’t have been able to do by myself. Without her, I’d probably be dead several times by now… along with you and you.” He nodded to Pointer and Petrov, then turned to look at the XO. “And you, ma’am.”

“Having heard the evidence, what do you think?” the CO asked Commander Siderov.

She shook her head. “If it were possible to transfer a personality to the aircraft computer, I would believe his story. Unfortunately, we have never been able to do so. Not in Russia, anyway, and I do not believe it has been done in the United States, either.” The CO shook his head. “I do not believe the Chinese have been able to do it, either, although they’ve tried, just like we have in Russia.”

She shrugged. “He tells a very believable story… but most crazy people—those who are truly crazy—are able to do so. The facts of the matter are that he thinks he is talking to what would be an artificial intelligence—”

“She considers herself a synthetic intelligence,” Baker interrupted. In for a penny; in for a pound.

“He even has his own language for his little world,” Siderov continued. She sighed and turned to the CO. “I’m sorry, but I believe he needs some time away from three-nineteen. During that time, he can be further evaluated.” She shrugged. “I would also have you run some further tests on three-nineteen. Although I find it unlikely that his story will be proven, I think our only airwing ace deserves at least that much forbearance.”

“You’re going to lock him up, right?” Petrov asked. “I’m worried he might come after me.”

The CO’s eyes met Baker’s. “Do you intend to harm Lieutenant Petrov?”

“No, sir,” Baker said. “Everything he said was the truth.”

“Then I see no reason to lock you up. It’s not like you can run off anywhere. You are, however, grounded until further notice, and you will submit yourself to Doctor Siderov for further testing in accordance with whatever schedule she gives you.”

“Yes, sir.” Bad, but not as bad as it could be. I can work my way out of this. Somehow.

“You are furthermore banned from any and all aircraft, as well as from the hangar bays,” the CO said. “If you go anywhere on the hangar deck, I will lock you up in the brig.”

Okay, that’s worse.

The CO turned to the operations officer. “We’ll need everyone we can get for the next phase of this mission. Lieutenant Baker can stand permanent duty, aside from any time Doctor Siderov needs with him.”

And that sucks even worse.

“Get with maintenance,” the CO continued, “and have three-nineteen cordoned off. No one is to go near it. I will test it out at my earliest convenience.” He looked around the room. “Anyone have anything else?”

A smirk crossed Petrov’s face before he caught Baker looking, then his features smoothed.

“In that case,” the CO said, “this board is adjourned.”

16

STATEROOM 27-C, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

Baker lay on his rack, fully clothed, looking at the overhead, wondering how everything had come to pass the way it had. Despite his best intentions—despite the overwhelming success he’d had—he was now relegated to the bench as the carrier prepared to jump into a new system. A system that was likely full of aliens who were expecting the Revenge, and had been given plenty of time to prepare for its arrival.

It’s going to be a slaughter. Our slaughter.

Maybe if he petitioned the admiral, he could get the CO’s grounding overturned. That didn’t necessarily mean that the CO would fly him, though, and he doubted the admiral would go head-to-head with his CO. They had a working relationship that had to be maintained; a single lieutenant probably wasn’t worth damaging that over.

He sighed. Maybe the Red Tigers would let me fly with them. They seemed interested in flying with me. That had, of course, been before the flight surgeon had ruled that he was crazy, which might potentially change their opinion of having him fly with them. He shook his head. The Russians are a bit crazy in how they conduct their normal business. Maybe being crazy wouldn’t be a huge impediment for them, after all.

A tentative knock came from the door. One blow, barely enough to be heard. After a couple of seconds, a stronger, more decisive knock came. Several blows, as if the knocker had determined they really did want to talk to him.

“It’s open,” he called.

The door cracked open, then opened far enough for Jimenez to stick her head in. “You… um… busy?”

Baker scoffed. “Nope. Nothing to do until duty starts tomorrow. For the rest of my life.”

“Can I come in?”

“Sure, but aren’t you worried about being seen with the crazy person? It might be contagious.”

“I’m not worried about that,” she said, although she slid through the door and shut it behind her as if she was trying to keep from being seen entering. She turned and looked around, obviously uncomfortable, but couldn’t meet his eyes.

Baker nodded to the chair at the desk. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks.” She sat, not facing him, but not obviously facing away. For long moments, she didn’t say anything.

Baker gave her a moment to compose her thoughts. After a second, she squared her shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s my fault that everything happened to you.”

“It’s not your fault,” Baker said, looking back at the overhead. “You told the truth, as you should have.”

“But… it was my fault we were even having that conversation. If I’d just learned to overlook my fighter’s peculiarities…”

“Then it might do something crazy at some point. Nothing’s changed with that.”

Now she turned toward him and looked at him, hard, as if trying to see into him. “You’re not really crazy, are you?” The last bit was said hopefully. “You were always a touch different in flight school—but that was more ‘driven.’ You never gave any indication of being crazy.”

“I’ll tell you what I told them. Which is more likely? That I have mad skills that allow me to out-dogfight aliens and people with years of experience, single-handedly, and find aliens hiding where no one else can? Or is it possible that I might have some help, somehow?”

“You were always good at dogfighting, but I don’t remember you ever beating the instructors in flight school.”

“That’s because I didn’t. Well, that’s not true. I beat Haggerty once, but he was really hungover that day.”

“Oh, I remember that. He was out with the students the night before.”

Baker chuckled. “Best five hundred dollars I ever spent.”

“What?”

“I told Jimmy, Sarah, and a few of the others that I would pay the tab if they took Haggerty out and got him totally hammered.”

“Why’d you do that?”

“Haggerty was an ass, and I really wanted to beat him.”

“That doesn’t sound like the actions of a crazy man.”

Baker chuckled again. “Probably depends on who you ask.”

Jimenez looked at him intently again. “You didn’t answer the question, and I want to hear it from your lips. Are you crazy?”

“No.” Baker looked back at the overhead. “Of course, that’s probably what a crazy person would say, but I don’t think I am. Notwithstanding my new skills, there have been too many things that would tend to make me believe otherwise.”

“So you really think that the ghost of Irina Koslova is in your fighter?”

“Nope.”

“But… then why are you here? What am I missing?”

“It’s not her ghost; she transferred herself—her whole personality and psyche—into the system of three-nineteen. She still exists, but as a synthetic intelligence.”

“And… ?”

“And what? Dealing with her is like dealing with a person. Although I didn’t know her when she was alive, I think she still has a lot of her foibles from when she was still wearing her ‘meat suit’ as she calls it. She’s temperamental and prone to take offense.”

“But… I don’t even get how that would work.”

“Me either, but somehow she figured it out. She knows what the others—the ones who went crazy—did wrong, too.”

“What’s that?”

“Apparently, you have to upload your entire self, everything. You can’t try to copy bits and pieces. When you do, you move that part over to the system, and you no longer have it. That leaves the person left behind incomplete—”

“And the part that got copied over is incomplete, too,” Jimenez said.

“Yeah. You got it faster than I did.”

“It makes total sense. The piece in the system has no frame of reference since it’s just a fragment.”

“It has a will to live, though.”

“Exactly,” Jimenez said with a nod. “So it will do whatever it thinks it needs to in order to stay alive. Like run from a fight or attack something it’s afraid of.”

“Wow,” Baker said with a chuckle. “That was easier than I thought it would be. I never thought I’d be able to explain it where someone would understand.”

Jimenez pointed at her chest with her thumb. “Psych major in college. And to think, they said it would never do me any good as a pilot.”

“Anyway, so that’s what I’ve been dealing with, and why you’re going to have a hard time fixing your plane.”

“What I don’t get, though, is that they reformat the fighters’ hard drives when someone goes crazy… I mean, tries to upload their personality into a fighter’s system and fails. Why doesn’t that wipe out the partial uploads?”

Baker shrugged. “No idea. Irina has survived two complete reformats, but she wouldn’t tell me how she did it. She wasn’t prepared to trust me that far, she said.”

“Would you trust someone you just met with your life?”

“Well, she did, sort of, just by revealing herself to me.”

“Why did she do that?”

“She didn’t want to. It started the same as your plane—little gremlins here and there—but there was one difference; all of the gremlins helped me to survive. Despite her desire to remain hidden, her drive to stay alive overrode her desire to remain out of sight.”

“So you would be dead without her help right now?”

“I don’t know. It’s possible. Probable, even.”

Jimenez’s jaw fell open as she worked through everything Baker had just told her. He gave her the time she needed, rolling back to look at the overhead again.

“We’ve got to tell them about her,” Jimenez finally said.

“I tried. I told them all about her at my board of inquiry.”

“And they didn’t believe you?”

“The duty schedule would suggest otherwise.”

“Oh,” she said. A flush crept up her neck. “Yeah. I guess I forgot about that.” She took a deep breath and let it out. “What if I told them?”

“Then I’d have someone to split the duty schedule with?”

“But—”

“You’ve never seen her. All you have is the ramblings of a crazy man. They would down you, as well.”

“Wait—you’ve seen her?”

“Yeah, she does some sort of spectral image where she’s sitting in the WSO’s seat. It was spooky as shit the first time I saw it.”

“How does… I mean, there’s no projector…”

“She said it’s just an image she projects into my brain through the link. I believe her, too; I’ve never seen her while I wasn’t plugged in.” Baker smiled. “It’s actually pretty cool.”

“Maybe you could describe her to the CO. Get the CO to sit in the plane, plug in, and see her, too? Then he’d have to believe you.”

“I have a feeling she won’t come out for him. She didn’t come out for Petrov.”

“What’s his part in this?” Jimenez asked. “Why did he go so hard after you on this?”

“No idea. Maybe he doesn’t want to share her; I don’t know. I mentioned her to him, and he freaked out.”

“So, whatever I do, don’t let him know that I know.”

“I wouldn’t. As pilot training officer, he’ll just write you up for being crazy. Ask me how I know.”

“So what do we do?”

“I stand duty, and you keep doing what you regularly do. There’s a chance that Irina will show herself to the CO. It’s a small one, but that would be my ‘get out of jail free’ card.”

“And if she doesn’t show herself?”

“Then I’ll have to figure something else out.”

“We. We’ll have to figure something else out. I’m with you, even if no one else is.”

Baker smiled. “Thanks for believing.”

She leaned forward and punched him lightly in the shoulder. “Of course. Like you said, you were never that good of a pilot before; something obviously happened where you’re getting help.”

“Ouch. Well, thanks, anyway.” He cocked his head. “I’m sorry, though, but until I get out of the doghouse, I’m not going to be able to help you with your problem.”

Jimenez shrugged. “Doesn’t sound like there’s much that can be done.”

“Irina could go in after it. I think. Maybe.”

“You think?” she repeated. “Maybe?”

“She didn’t want to discuss it, which tells me that she probably could, but there’s some risk involved.”

“Well, I’ll just have to deal with it until then, I guess,” Jimenez said. She smiled. “Well, knowing what it is, is half the battle, right? Maybe I can deal with it better now. Maybe talk it down off the ledge, or whatever it is.”

“I hope so,” Baker said. “Stay safe.”

“Yeah,” Jimenez said, standing, “you, too.” She smiled. “I better get out of here. Wouldn’t want people to get the wrong idea.”

“What? That the crazy man is infecting you with his insanity or that we’re doing something… far more intimate in here?”

She stopped, her hand on the doorknob, and looked over her shoulder. “Both,” she said with a smile, then she was gone before Baker could say anything else.

Baker returned to his contemplation of the overhead, but now he had a smile on his face.

* * *

After dinner, Baker once again found himself staring at the overhead. Although he knew it wasn’t productive to wallow in self-pity, he was unable to muster any enthusiasm for anything else. He’d tried watching a movie but couldn’t get interested in any of the ones being shown on the ship’s TV system. He had a few of his own, but he’d seen them all before, and they were similarly uninteresting.

He pulled out his stash of alcohol and fixed a drink but then left it sitting on his desk. Drinking by yourself wasn’t any fun, and all the other pilots were flying the next day, not that most of them were actually talking to him. He’d tried calling a few of his closest friends, but they were all busy doing “pilot shit.” Things he didn’t have to do anymore, like studying weapons employment and tactics. Not that there were really any tactics written yet for fighting the aliens.

If they were smart, they’d study my engagements; those are the only real alien engagements that exist.

The only person that seemed at all sympathetic was Jimenez, but she had a strike planning brief to attend. She said she’d swing by afterward, if it wasn’t too late. At least she was still talking to him.

Someone knocked on his door. This one was far more authoritative, and far less tentative, than Jimenez’s had been.

“Come in,” he called.

The door opened, admitting the CO. He shut the door and looked at Baker, then he nodded to the chair. “Mind if I sit?”

“Go ahead, sir,” Baker said, getting up to sit on the side of the bed.

“Wallowing in self-pity?” the CO asked.

“Not really, although I’m having a hard time being motivated to do anything at the moment. All my friends are gearing up for war, and I’m here”—he motioned to the bed and the stateroom in general—“out of it.”

“Well, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you along with us,” the CO said. “I’d feel a lot more comfortable with the airwing’s leading ace along with us.”

“Then I can come?” Baker asked hopefully.

“Sadly, no.” The CO shook his head. “The rules are really clear on this point, and they exist for your protection, as well as the protection of the other aviators in the wing. Anyone that shows signs of recycling is to be grounded immediately.”

The CO shrugged. “I was willing to give you a shot. Your story is convincing; hell, it may even be true, for all I know. It certainly makes sense for how you could do… all those things you’ve done since you’ve been here.”

“I hear a ‘but’ coming.”

“There is.” A wry smile crossed his face and then was gone. “I went down to the hangar and booted up three-nineteen. I did everything but take her flying. Not once did I find anything out of the ordinary or anything that would give me any indication that the ghost of Irina Koslova was inhabiting the aircraft.”

“It’s not her ghost,” Baker said. “She uploaded herself—her entire personality—into the system. She is resident within the system as a synthetic intelligence. That’s why only her body was found in the cockpit—everything that makes her ‘alive’ was uploaded into the system.”

“I understand that’s what you believe, but I was unable to make contact with her. She didn’t answer any of my calls.”

“I didn’t figure she would. She’s a private person and is worried that—if she shows herself to you—you’re going to try to wipe her personality from the system again.”

“Why would we do that?” he asked. “If true, that would almost be like…”

“Murder? Yes, sir, it would. And yet, the hard drive has been reformatted twice already. Once under your orders, and once by her former fiancé. You might say that she has a bit of a trust issue with those of us still wearing ‘meat suits.’”

“Meat suits?”

“Her term, not mine. I think it sounds gross, but I don’t have a better term.”

“Barring her appearance, my ruling has to stand.”

“She can’t ‘appear,’ sir. She’s nothing more than an electronic personality now. A synthetic intelligence. She can still learn, which separates her from a straight-line artificial intelligence, but she can do it a lot quicker than you and me. Input data and voila! She knows it. The only way she can appear, though, is to someone plugged in.”

“Where does she go when the system isn’t powered up? How come she hasn’t been lost with the reformats of the hard drive?”

“I couldn’t tell you, sir.”

“Because you’re making up all the rest?”

Baker scoffed. “No, sir. I have been completely honest with you. The fact of the matter is that she does exist. How? I have no idea. She won’t tell me. Why didn’t she get killed when the hard drive was reformatted? She wouldn’t tell me that, either. Like I said, trust issues, and I honestly can’t blame her. Her fiancé tried to kill her, for crying out loud, and if he knew where she was hiding or how to get at her, he might try it again.”

The CO frowned. “You understand the position I’m in, right? None of your claims are supportable. Sure, you’ve done some pretty amazing things since you got here, but nothing superhuman; nothing that you couldn’t have ‘lucked into’ or figured out with some solid skills, which, by the way, are documented in your flight school records. Barring an appearance of Irina, herself, I have to go with the data I’ve seen and can prove.”

“I understand, sir, and in your place, I would have to do the same. The only thing that will get her to show herself to you is if I can talk to her and convince her to show herself.”

“Which I can’t let you do. Like I said, the rules are really clear on that point. You are not allowed within fifty feet of a Bravo.”

“Then we’re at an impasse,” Baker said. He rolled back into his rack and looked up at the overhead. “I’ll be there for duty in the morning.”

The CO sat for a moment, then stood. He picked up the cup sitting on the desk, sniffed it once, then dumped it into the sink. “This isn’t going to help you, either,” he said as he set the cup back down. “Although I can see why you might think it could. I’m not going to ask where you got it, either, but I encourage you to get rid of any remaining contraband, or I’ll have to order a room inspection.”

“Yes, sir. Got it.”

“Very well.” He sighed and walked to the door, then he turned around. “You don’t impress me as someone who’s crazy or about to recycle, but I can’t have you along with us tomorrow. I need everyone focused on the mission, not worrying about what you might or might not do.”

“That makes sense, sir.”

“When we get back, though, I’ll try making contact with Irina again. Maybe you can think of something I can say or do to draw her out in the interim.”

“I’ll try, sir.”

“Good,” the CO said as he walked out the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

17

READY ROOM 3, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

“Yes, sir,” Baker said. “We’re a ‘go.’ Launch in about four hours.” He hung up the phone and nodded to the CO. “Strike Ops just heard from the Red Tiger spotters. There are two alien carriers near the arrival area, but they didn’t see anything else in the system. They did, however, get some indications of electronic emissions from the second planet in the system before a big group of alien fighters chased them off. They fired off all their missiles before they left, so there’ll probably be fewer fighters waiting for you when you get there.”

“But still, we need to count on being outnumbered two-to-one when we get there.”

“Strike Ops didn’t say anything about that, sir, but I would expect so.”

“So the plan is?”

“The carrier is going to recover the four Red Tigers and get their fighters rearmed, then we’ll man up all the fighters in the airwing and jump to the other system. If they want to talk, the admiral will talk to them; otherwise, we wipe them out and go see what’s happening at the planet.”

“And if there are a lot more of them than the two carriers the Tigers saw?”

“Then we recover all the fighters we can and jump back here. The other system is close enough that the fighters can jump back by themselves if needed—like the Tigers did—but they won’t have much reaction mass when they get back.”

The CO shook his head. “It’s not much of a plan.”

“No, sir.” Baker smiled. “If you want to put someone else here at the duty desk, though, I’d be happy to come along.”

“As much as I’d like to bring you, the rules are clear.”

“I know, sir. Just thought I’d mention it.” Baker shrugged. “Strike Ops did say that the Revenge was going to jump kind of orthogonally, if that helps.”

“It might, if I knew what you were talking about.”

Baker chuckled. “I said the same thing. What they meant—and for all I know, they aren’t even using the word right—the ship isn’t going to jump straight toward the star. They’re going to try to jump it off to the side, so you’ll miss the aliens waiting for you as if you came straight in, and you’ll have time to launch and organize yourselves without getting immediately pounced on.”

“Well, that would be helpful, at least. My worst nightmare is jumping into the middle of a furball and trying to launch the squadron while the aliens are destroying the carrier.”

“I think that’s the ship CO’s thinking, too.”

“I’ll take it. Anything that helps even the odds.” The CO went back to the strike planning group, although what they were planning—since they really had no intel on what the enemy was doing—was beyond Baker.

* * *

“Well, here we go,” Baker said to himself four hours later as the countdown timer neared zero. The ready room was a ghost town; all the other pilots were in their planes, and any other support personnel were either participating in the launch or were at their general quarters stations.

The timer was in the lower right-hand corner of the repeater that showed the tactical plot that the folks in Strike Ops were looking at. It was a one-way display—you could turn up the volume and listen to what was being said in addition to watching the plot, but the people in Strike Ops couldn’t hear what was being said about them… which was usually for the good of all.

Baker’s eyes were glued to the timer, and he braced himself as it reached zero. No amount of bracing, however, could have prepared him for the jump.

His stomach lurched then it felt like someone had reached down his throat, taken hold of his guts, and tried to pull him inside out. The feeling passed quickly but left a burning sensation across his entire body that was slower to fade. A shiver went down his spine, and his whole body shook, trying to rid itself of the distortions he’d gone through.

By the time he looked up at the tactical plot, all the catapults had fired once and six fighters were spaceborne. Within a few seconds, the second round of launches commenced. No enemy ships appeared on the plot, but then whoever was operating the system shook off the effects of the jump and zoomed out, looking for them.

The operator didn’t have to look out that far; three carriers waited where the Red Tigers had said they were, with a number of fighters already in the black. The plot operator zoomed in on one of the alien carriers as additional fighters spewed forth from it. Dozens of fighters poured from both sides.

The enemy’s carrier airwing looked to be about the same size as the Revenge’s… and they had three carriers present.

Baker shook his head. We walked into their trap.

* * *

BLASTER THREE-OH-ONE, DEEP SPACE, UNKNOWN SYSTEM

Commander Jonathan Tyler slipped into his system and instantly regretted it. The small blobs on his radar expanded to a carrier and a number of smaller craft, then grew to two carriers—then three—each with its own airwing. They were still too far out for the telescopes to make out the individual fighters, but he could see the three—three!—carriers.

If I were admiral, I would not be doing this. Tyler shook a metaphorical head. We’re going to need every missile we’ve got, and then some. The decision to leave Baker behind didn’t seem so cut and dried all of a sudden. The one person who’s destroyed more alien craft than the rest of the airwing put together, and we didn’t bring him…

Can’t be helped. What can I do to help snatch victory out of this disaster?

He started with the squadron, getting everyone into the line of battle the plan called for. Each squadron would start as a two-level line of fighters, each ten ships long. The Red Tigers were on the left of the line, with the Panda Bears in the middle and the Blue Blasters on the right side of the line. There were gaps between the squadrons to allow the Pandas some space to maneuver when they merged with the aliens, as well as a smaller distance between the divisions and sections in the individual squadrons.

Captain James Richards, the airwing’s CAG—the carrier air group commander—was flying with the Blasters today, filling in for Baker in the division led by the XO with CAG’s 000 aircraft. Of course, he’d taken command of the entire formation—as was his right—and that division was the lead for the entire airwing. CAG had positioned himself at the top left of the Blaster formation, with the 19 Blaster fighters spread out to the right and below him.

Tyler checked his people; everyone was as close to position as they could be. The Pandas were in pretty good shape, too, but the Red Tigers were a bit of a mess. As far out as they were, it was hard to maintain a perfect formation, especially for the fighters on the far end as they played “crack the whip.” Even a small adjustment by the first Panda translated into huge throttle movements for the unlucky person at the end of the line, even with the autopilots locked onto their leads via laser.

He risked a glance out in front of his craft and flinched. Every space fighter pilot knew the enormity of space, and how it was easy for a single ship to get lost in it. When you put nearly two hundred craft up in a big formation, though, it was attention-getting.

The aliens had matched the Terran formation somewhat, with three big blocks of fighters maneuvering toward them. The difference was, where each block of the Terran formation held twenty fighters, the alien blocks were comprised of sixty-four in eight stacked lines of eight.

We’re so hosed.

There was no way a launch of missiles could effectively target the alien formation. Each of the Terran fighters had eight anti-fighter missiles, and the plan had called for a massed, single launch of all the Terran missiles when they came into range to level the playing field; the way the aliens were stacked, though, the fighters on the edges would probably get hit by several missiles, while the ones in the middle wouldn’t get hit by any, leaving an awful lot of leakers they’d have to deal with using their cannons… which had proven to be only partially effective.

“CAG, Blaster Three-Zero-One,” he called over the radio.

“Go Blaster,” CAG replied.

“Have you had a chance to look at their formation yet, sir? The way they’re massed, I don’t think our missiles are going to be very effective in targeting them.”

There was a long pause. He obviously hadn’t looked at them yet. Great.

“I see them, Three-Zero-One,” CAG finally called. “What do you recommend?”

Tyler took a deep breath, realizing that not only hadn’t CAG looked at the enemy formation yet, but the senior officer was also out of his league. His experience had been in terrestrial fighters; he only had a limited amount of experience in space, and certainly hadn’t participated in the amount of tactics planning that Tyler had. At least he’s open to suggestion.

“CAG, Three-Zero-One, I recommend launching in four waves, with two missiles from each craft at each launch, separated by about five seconds each. That should spread them out some and keep hitting them as they move forward.”

“Concur with your plan, Three-Zero-One. Why don’t you go ahead and set up the targeting for it and pass out the info to the other squadrons?”

“Wilco, sir.”

I’ve got about one minute to do it before they get in range, too. Wonderful. Happily, I can work really fast now.

He calculated aim points for the Blasters in the enemy formation, then copied the targeting instructions and sent them to the COs of the other two squadrons. He still had fifteen seconds to spare once they both acknowledged receipt of the targeting.

“Stand by for first launch,” Tyler transmitted over the strike frequency. “Ten seconds. Will countdown the final three.”

Shit—almost forgot to set up my own system!

He quickly flipped the switches and set up the weapons panel, then turned the Master Arm on. What a cluster!

“Stand by to fire on my mark. Three, two, one, launch!”

Across the formation, missiles fired off toward the aliens. It was anything but simultaneous, but it was close enough for alien work. He flipped the station switches to select the next two missiles. “Second round, three, two, one, launch!”

Before he could finish swapping out the next two missile stations, a call came over the radio from Strike. “Vampire! Vampire! Vampire! Missile launch from the alien fighters.”

Missile launch? We’ve never seen the aliens use missiles!

There were so many targets inbound from the enemy fighters, his radar looked like the enemy had deployed chaff or was jamming the Terrans. Each of the enemy must have launched at least two. Fuck!

Focus! He completed swapping the stations on the missile panel but could see people launching on their own; missiles raced off from a number of the Tigers and Pandas. Nothing that can be done about it now. At least the Blasters are disciplined.

“Three-Two-Zero, get back in formation!” the XO transmitted over the squadron network. A glance showed three-twenty pulling up and away from the Blaster formation. So much for discipline.

He didn’t have time to worry about it; the XO could handle it. He had enemy fighters to kill. “Three, two, one, fire! Stand by for the final launch!”

A quick glance showed the enemy missiles would arrive before he could call it. “All fighters, fire at will! Clear your racks!”

He swapped his stations and launched, right as the local space turned white.

* * *

READY ROOM 3, TSS REVENGE, UNKNOWN SYSTEM

The tactical plot dropped as the enemy missiles went off.

“What the hell?” Baker asked. After a few moments, it began filling back in again, but Baker was unable to process the picture. Aside from a few fighters on the periphery of the formation, most of the fighters had dropped out of the link. “What just happened?”

The remaining Terran fighters—aside from one labeled as three-twenty, which was running away from the fight at full throttle—merged with the remaining enemy fighters. A quick count showed that only four Bravos had survived the enemy attack, while around fifty enemy fighters still remained. The four fighters—a Tiger and three Blasters—were quickly overwhelmed by the alien force. A number of secondary returns—radar returns without an IFF link—continued on past the enemy fighters, non-maneuvering.

The fifty fighters turned, nearly as one, and headed toward the Revenge, and Baker was jolted nearly out of his seat as someone in engineering shoved the ship’s power plants to maximum output and the inertial stabilizers tried—but failed—to keep up with the ship’s acceleration.

The alien craft turned slightly, then split into two groups. Five of them turned to cut off three-twenty as it raced toward the ship; the others turned to intercept the Revenge. Baker watched the ship’s speed on the tactical plot as it built toward jump speed. They’re not going to catch us.

His jaw dropped as he realized three-twenty wasn’t going to make it back in time, either, and the carrier was going to leave her. He picked up the phone to call the bridge, then realized it was the right decision and set it back down slowly. The loss of three-twenty—and Sofia—wasn’t worth the loss of everyone aboard the carrier, and that was what was going to happen if the alien fighters caught up with them.

Baker wasn’t sure what speed was needed for the jump—he’d only watched the countdown timer on the first jump as they’d been traveling at jump speed—so he was unable to determine if they were going to make it. Sofia obviously saw she was going to get left behind, for she turned away and aimed for the Procyon B star system. Her fighter disappeared from the tactical plot. She was safe… until the alien fighters jumped there, anyway, and picked her fighter off.

The Revenge could pick her up, assuming it made it—all of the aliens were now headed toward the carrier. Someone in the Combat Information Center finally got off their asses, and several missiles arced out from the carrier and turned toward the aliens. Nuclear detonations destroyed the first couple of ships chasing the carrier. The others spread out and continued their pursuit.

An inset in the plot came on showing a visual on one of the alien fighters through one of the carrier’s high-powered telescopes, and a shiver went down Baker’s back. Not only was it what he’d seen in Procyon A, but it still had a missile under its wing.

The timing couldn’t have been any better—or worse. As the camera zoomed in even more on the missile, it launched rapidly, coming right at him. The tech operating the camera kept pulling back on the zoom, and the missile continued to get closer and closer to the carrier.

The tech ran out of zoom, and Baker realized the missile was seconds from hitting the carrier, when it jumped.

18

READY ROOM 3, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

As the physical aspects of the jump passed, Baker looked up to the plot. The carrier must have done another of its orthogonal jumps; three-twenty was a lot farther away than it had been in the system they just left. Jimenez had obviously overcome the jump as three-twenty was streaking toward the carrier. He grabbed his helmet off his seat and raced out of the ready room.

“Sir!” Bob Shubert, the maintenance master chief, called as he went past maintenance control, stopping him in his tracks.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Did we just jump without recovering all our fighters?”

“Master Chief, we’re not going to be recovering them… ever. Aside from three-twenty, which is inbound now, the entire airwing is gone.”

“What? Gone? Where did they go? Are we going to go back and get them?”

“No, ‘gone’ as in destroyed. The aliens hit the airwing formation with some sort of missiles and killed them, killed them all. They were headed to attack the carrier, too, but it jumped back to this system. I’ll talk with you in a bit; right now, I need to go see three-twenty.”

He slowed his pace—it wouldn’t do to show up out of breath—and ended up arriving in the hangar bay at the same time three-twenty arrived. His jaw dropped as he stepped into the hangar. He’d never seen the hangar bay without aircraft before, and its cavernous interior stopped him in his tracks. Not only was it empty, the fighters—and their pilots—would never be coming back!

He shook his head, trying to clear it of the horror and despair. He was only partially successful.

Three-twenty settled to the deck of the carrier and looked for instructions, but the deck crew seemed uncertain what they wanted to do with it. Normally, it would be parked at the aft end of the hangar… but with no other fighters returning, apparently they were being told to park it in the CO’s spot. When Jimenez refused to park it there, the deck hands huddled up to discuss it, looking furtively up to the hangar bay control bubble as they spoke to the Boss over their head sets.

As they broke out of the huddle, three marines showed up in full gear, carrying laser rifles. Two of the troops pointed their rifles at Jimenez, while the third pointed at the CO’s parking spot, which was the closest to the open bay door. When nothing happened—other than everyone stopping to stare, open-mouthed at the troopers—the leader marched over to one of the deck hands, pointed at the CO’s spot, and said something into his ear that energized him.

The deck hand pointed at the CO’s spot and began giving Jimenez hand signals to taxi her fighter. She frowned, but with two people pointing rifles at her, she followed the instructions and parked the craft.

Baker ran over as she shut down the fighter and waited for her at the bottom of the cockpit ladder.

“Sir, step away from the space fighter,” a voice said as Jimenez started climbing out of the cockpit.

“What?” Baker asked, turning to find the lead marine right behind him. One of the troopers had changed his aim. It wasn’t pointed exactly at Baker, but it wasn’t far off, either.

“What’s going on?” Baker said.

“Please step away from the space fighter,” the marine—Baker could see it was a lieutenant whose name was Davilla. The man pulled his pistol from its holster and motioned for Baker to step aside.

“Why? What’s going on?” Baker repeated as Jimenez stepped to the deck.

“We’re taking her into custody.”

Jimenez turned and shook her head, her eyes downcast.

“What for?” Baker asked.

“Cowardice in the face of the enemy and failure to obey a direct order.” Davilla waved the pistol in the direction of the troopers. “Let’s go, ma’am.”

Jimenez, her head down, started walking. Her feet moved as if in lead; she walked as if going to her own funeral.

“This is insane!” Baker exclaimed. He started to take a step to follow, but was brought up short as the lieutenant put a hand out, and he ran into it. The hand—and the arm it was attached to—might as well have been made of steel; he stopped as if hitting a wall.

“That’s as far as you go, sir. We have orders to bring her to the brig. You can either allow us to do our duty”—Baker caught the slight emphasis the officer put on the phrase—“or you can join her in a cell. Your choice.”

“Who ordered this?” Baker asked, taking a step back.

“The admiral.”

Baker’s jaw dropped. “There’s got to be a mistake.”

“She made the mistake.” The lieutenant’s glare moved toward Jimenez and back. “She’s the one who ran.” Baker could tell that the marine would have been happy to bring Jimenez into custody even without orders; her flight from the battle offended the marine’s professional sensibilities.

The lieutenant gave him a sharp nod, then he turned and followed his men as they escorted Jimenez off the flight deck. He kept his pistol handy and glared at anyone who tried to approach, keeping them away by sheer force of will.

“What the hell’s that all about?” one of the maintenance chiefs asked. “They’re arresting her for being the only one to survive the battle?”

Baker sighed. “She may have left a little before she should have.”

“You mean, she ran away from the fight?”

Baker nodded after the marines, who were going through a hatch off the hangar deck. “That’s what they think, anyway.”

“Are they right?”

“I don’t know… but I’m going to find out.”

“Um… I know this is a bad time to ask, but is she senior to you?”

“No, I’m senior, why?”

“Because… if there ain’t any other officers coming back, I think that makes you the commanding officer of the squadron now.” He shrugged and waved at the empty hangar. “What’s left of it, anyway.”

“What?” Baker’s jaw dropped again. “I, uh…” He sighed as his world crashed down around him. “Yeah. I guess that’s me.” He shook his head. “I have to go see about what’s going on with Lieutenant Jimenez and what the plan is for the carrier now.”

The chief nodded to three-twenty. “Should we get it serviced?”

Baker scoffed. “Chief, right now, that fighter is the only operational fighter in the airwing, and I’m the only pilot that isn’t currently in jail. You need to get that fighter serviced and armed as soon as possible.”

“Just you? What are you going to do?”

“Whatever the admiral wants me to.”

* * *

BRIG, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

Jimenez was lying on her bed in the cell when the master-at-arms finally let Baker in to see her. Baker had gone back to the ready room and called the admiral’s office but had been told that the charges weren’t up for debate. When he’d asked for a meeting with the admiral as the squadron’s acting commanding officer, he’d been denied and told that the admiral was busy. Before he could hang up, the lieutenant on duty had informed Baker that there was a meeting in an hour that he would be expected to attend.

At least I’ll finally find out what the hell we’re doing.

In the interim, he decided to try to get Jimenez’s side of the story. While it was pretty obvious she’d run from combat, it didn’t seem like her, and he wanted to find out why she’d done it. After telling the maintenance master chief what little he knew, he’d gone down to the brig. The master-at-arms hadn’t wanted to allow Baker access to Jimenez, though, until he’d played the “commanding officer” card, which had allowed him a brief visit… after he’d been thoroughly searched. As he walked into the cell area, he shook his head. The master-at-arms had acted as if he were worried that Baker was going to attempt to break her out of jail.

Where would we go that the marines couldn’t find us?

“Hey,” Baker said.

Jimenez’s eyes opened, but she didn’t look over. “Hey.”

“What happened?” Baker asked.

“Three-twenty fled the battle.”

“I saw that on the plot. Hell, I think everyone saw it. The question is, why’d you do it?”

She sat up and scoffed. “You didn’t hear what I said. Three-twenty fled the battle. It wasn’t me; I couldn’t control the damn fighter. The missiles started flying toward us, and a wave of fear washed over me. I’ve never felt so terrified in my life.”

“I understand. I remember what my first combat—”

“No!” she exclaimed sharply. “It wasn’t me. I was scared, sure. Someone shoots that many missiles at you, you’re going to feel like peeing your pants. I don’t think any rational person wouldn’t. But I wasn’t out-of-control scared; I was still in charge of my faculties. Didn’t matter. The gremlin in the plane saw what was coming our way, and she chickened out.”

“She?”

“Yeah, even if I hadn’t known who she was, I had an emotional connection with her at that moment. She was terrified of the missiles, and her feelings hit me, amplified by all the outputs of the system. She was everywhere, battering my senses with her emotions. My first impulse was to fall back in the face of all the fright and panic. When I did, she kicked me out and took over the system, then she turned off all the manual controls with a system override. Before I knew it, we were max thrust away from the battle. I could hear the XO yelling at me over the radio, but I couldn’t reply any more than I could make the fighter turn back toward the fight.”

“If you’d have gone back, they would have killed you. About fifty alien fighters survived your missile attacks, and only four of our fighters—five if you count three-twenty—survived theirs. The other four ships were destroyed while you were running.”

Jimenez’ eyes bulged as she stood suddenly. “What? I-I had no idea. The gremlin wouldn’t let me see the sensors until after we jumped. Then she turned everything back over to me. I saw and felt the EMP from the aliens’ attack as we were running from the battle. It almost broke her control, but she regained it before I could take advantage.” Jimenez shrugged. “The people here won’t talk to me or tell me anything about the battle. All I get from them is, ‘If you really wanted to know, you would have stayed and found out yourself.’”

She sniffed. “I mean, I knew it couldn’t have been good; we retreated, after all, but I had hoped that at least some of our folks made it back.”

“You’re the only one.”

She threw herself onto the bed and began crying.

“Sofia, it isn’t your fault,” Baker said, unable to get through the steel bars to comfort her like he wanted. She didn’t reply; she just continued bawling.

A tear fell down Baker’s cheek. He wasn’t sure whether it was in sympathy for Jimenez or for the loss of the squadron he hadn’t yet had time to mourn. He wiped his eyes before any more could fall. There’ll be time for that later.

“Look, it’s not your fault. There’s nothing you could have done if you’d stayed except die with them.”

“I”—she hiccupped—“I wish I had.”

“No, you don’t,” Baker said.

“I do!” she screamed into her pillow.

“No, you don’t,” Baker reaffirmed. “Because if you had, you wouldn’t be able to get revenge for them.”

“Wha-what?” She stopped crying long enough to lift an eye at him. “Revenge?”

“Yeah. You know? Revenge? Like the name of the carrier? We were supposed to come get revenge against the aliens for what they did to us. That didn’t turn out very well, though, as it was pretty much more of the same.” He shrugged.

“Still, I’ve killed a bunch of them, and your attack must have killed around a hundred and thirty more.” He scoffed. “Hell, it was probably even a victory, although it doesn’t seem like one now.”

“What do you mean?” Both eyes were visible now.

“You guys—and you were part of it; you launched at least some of your missiles before the gremlin took over—you guys killed a hundred and thirty of the alien fighters. They killed less than sixty of ours. They lost more than two to one.”

“They just had a lot more.”

Baker nodded. “They did. They still do, as a matter of fact. And, at the moment, we only have one operational pilot in the entire airwing. If I can get you out of the brig, it’s going to be up to you to go and get that revenge.”

“What about you?”

“I’d like to, but I’m still crazy, remember?” He shrugged. “Maybe the admiral will give me a dispensation.”

“I can’t go back. There’s no way three-twenty would go up against fifty-to-one odds.”

“Nor is there any reason for you to do so. We won’t—hell, we can’t—send you up against those odds. But…” He thought a moment. “What if I could fix three-twenty? Or get you access to three-nineteen? Irina will certainly be pissed at what happened to her—what happened to the Blasters and her Russian friends, too—and she’s going to want some payback. If we could fix all the jets in the forward hangar bay…”

“That’s an awful lot of ifs,” Jimenez said, sitting up and wiping her eyes.

“It is. You know what else it is?”

“Still outnumbered about seven to one?”

“Well, yeah, it is, but even more so, all those ‘ifs’ represent an awful lot of opportunities.”

“A lot of opportunities to get our asses kicked again.”

“Maybe… and maybe not.” He looked at his watch. “Shit. I’m going to be late for my meeting with the admiral. I have to go.” He gave her a wry smile. “The first battle may have been lost, but the war is still on. Keep your head in the game, and we’ll see if we can’t pull something good out of this nightmare.”

“You really think we can?”

“We have to. As far as I know, we’re all that stands between Earth and the aliens. We have to do it.” He winked. Even if I really have no idea how I can pull any of this shit off.

* * *

ADMIRAL’S BRIEFING ROOM, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

Baker slipped past the two armed marines at the hatch of the briefing room—they glared, but let him through—then he slid through the back hatch and into the briefing room as quietly as he could… only to be stopped by a short, overweight captain.

“About time you got here,” Captain John Kinkaid said. “Let me guess. You had something more important than attending a meeting with the admiral to discuss our strategy.”

“No, sir, just trying to get all the info I could so that I could best represent my squadron.”

Kinkaid shook his head. “The airwing doesn’t exist anymore, and what little that does is in jail and being led by a crazy person. We ought to just pack it in now and head home.”

“Attention on deck!” a staff lieutenant called as the admiral came through the front door of the room. Kinkaid hustled off—ending his diatribe with a glare—to go take his seat in the front row next to the admiral. Baker, finding himself one of the most junior officers in the space, took a seat in the fourth and final row of seating.

“I think I already know what the outcome of this meeting is going to be,” Admiral Jameson said, “but I need all the information—I need the facts—so we can evaluate all the options.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Even if it means we have to…” He shook his head, waving off the thought. “Intel, get us started please.”

A tall, thin, nerdy man took the podium. “Good afternoon, Admiral, Chief of Staff.” His eyes roamed the assembled group. “Officers, ladies, and gentlemen.”

Baker scanned the room along with the intel officer and saw one thing in common across the faces of all the men and women in the room—defeat. Everyone there—even the admiral—looked like they were beaten. Eyes were cast to the deck, shoulders were slumped… they’ve all given up, and they weren’t even out there fighting! Fifty-seven people died today—they deserve better than this!

The intel officer nodded once and began, “The bottom line up front on the battle is that we got our butts kicked. The aliens unveiled a new weapon that destroyed almost all of our fighters, and their fighters mopped up the ones that their missiles didn’t get.”

“Not true,” Baker muttered, as he replayed his conversation with Jimenez in his mind, and something clicked. Kinkaid looked over his shoulder, trying to identify the disrupting influence, but Baker focused on the briefer and eventually Kinkaid turned around again.

“Do we have any information on the weapons the aliens used?” Jameson asked.

“They were nuclear weapons,” the briefer replied, “kind of like the ones we use. Our pilots never knew what hit them.”

“That’s not true,” Baker said, a little louder this time.

Kinkaid spun around again. “That’s enough, Baker. Unless you think you’re smart enough to give the briefing?”

“Who’s that?” the admiral asked.

“That’s Lieutenant Baker. He’s the only aviator we have that isn’t in the brig. You may remember his name; he’s the—” Kinkaid made circles around his ear with his index finger.

“Ah,” Jameson said with a nod. “The latest person to start talking to their plane.”

“Yes, sir. That one.” Kinkaid looked back to the briefer. “Please continue.”

“He’s incorrect,” Baker said.

“I thought I told you that’s enough, Baker,” Kinkaid said.

“But he’s wrong,” Baker replied. “Well, he’s imprecise, anyway.”

“What do you mean?” the admiral asked.

“He said the fighters were wiped out by nuclear weapons; that’s not true. They were actually defeated by the missiles’ EMPs.”

“How do you know that?”

“After the weapons went off, a number of the fighters continued on, non-maneuvering. I didn’t think about it then, but something Lieutenant Jimenez said just clicked with me.”

“Jimenez?” Jameson asked.

“She’s the one in the brig,” Kinkaid said.

“Yes, sir; I went to interview her on what happened, and she mentioned an EMP that almost collapsed her system. I think if you go back and look, you’ll see that our fighters weren’t killed by the nuclear blasts, but by the blasts’ EMPs.”

“So what?” the intel officer asked. “Either way, the missiles destroyed—”

“It makes a difference,” Baker said, “when you’re trying to determine how to defeat the enemy. They didn’t destroy our fighters, they hit them with an EMP which probably fried our systems.”

“So we can get them back?” the admiral asked. “Reuse the fighters and save the pilots?”

Baker shook his head. “The pilots—if they were all in the system at the time of the EMPs, which they probably were—are all dead. The fighters, if you could find them and recover them, would be reusable, I guess, if you replaced whatever had been fried.”

“But aren’t the fighters hardened against EMP?” Jameson asked.

“Yes, sir, they are,” Baker replied.

“So why were they effective?”

“I don’t know, Admiral, but I intend to look at it after this briefing.”

“Anyway,” the intel officer continued, trying to take back control of the briefing again, “our fighters were all destroyed, except for one, which ran from the fight.”

“Jimenez?” the admiral asked.

“Yes,” Kinkaid replied. “I had her remanded to the brig until we could bring her up on charges of desertion and failure to obey a lawful order.”

“She didn’t run,” Baker said.

“Seriously, Lieutenant?” Kinkaid asked. “Don’t you ever shut up?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I thought that the admiral was interested in the facts. At least, that’s what he said at the beginning of this presentation.”

“I am, Lieutenant,” Jameson replied. “You think you have something germane to this discussion, too?”

“Yes, sir, I do. Lieutenant Jimenez didn’t run from combat. The gremlins in her system took control and ran away.”

“Did her dog eat her homework, too?” Kinkaid asked. “Of course she would say something like that to save her career.”

“She’d already been discussing them with me before the battle, sir. I was trying to help her figure out how to get them out of her system so that something like this didn’t happen.”

Kinkaid scoffed. “By talking to her fighter just like you talk to yours? Isn’t that how you got grounded in the first place?”

Baker sighed. “It is.”

“See?” Kinkaid said. “Can I just have him removed, Admiral? We need to work out a sound plan, not listen to the ravings of a crazy person.”

The admiral opened his mouth, but Baker stood and held up a hand. “Sir, if I may?”

“You have about one minute before I allow the CSO to throw you out.”

“Fine,” Baker said. He walked to the front of the briefing room. “This way, you don’t have to keep looking over your shoulder.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, I have a lot to explain, and not a lot of time to do it.”

“Forty-five seconds and counting,” Kinkaid noted.

“Yeah, that.” Baker nodded. “The bottom line is that we’re not out of this yet.”

“But—” Kinkaid started, but Baker spoke over him.

“Do I get my minute or not?” Baker asked, directing a glance at the admiral.

“Yes,” Jameson said with a chuckle. “Kinkaid, let him talk.” The admiral looked back to Baker. “But if you don’t have something really important to say, you’ll be joining your squadron mate in the brig. Am I clear?”

“Crystal, sir.”

“Then be brief.”

“Yes, sir. As I was saying, I don’t think we’re not out of this yet.” He shrugged. “Yes, I am aware we just lost almost the entire airwing. We did, however, destroy almost three alien airwings in the process. We’re still outnumbered, but we have a chance.”

“One fighter versus fifty of theirs?” Jameson asked. “I agree our fighters are a little better—aside from the whole EMP thing—but fifty to one aren’t odds I can support.”

“I agree with you,” Baker replied, “but what if I said we actually had eight fighters?”

“Where are you hiding these other fighters?”

“In the forward hangar bay.”

“But—” The admiral held up a hand to stop Kinkaid.

“Sir, I think I can put those aircraft back into service and provide you a plan where we can still win this, but you’re going to have to believe that I’m not crazy and return me to full duty status.”

“Ravings of a crazy man,” Kinkaid muttered, but Baker ignored him while he held the admiral’s gaze.

“I think you believe you can,” Jameson said. “The question, though, is how you’re going to prove to me that you’re not crazy.”

Baker chuckled. “That’s the key to it all, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

“Well, my time for talking is up.” Baker smiled. “Can I interest you in a little show and tell?”

“Now what nonsense is he spouting?” Kinkaid asked.

“What do you have in mind?” the admiral asked.

Baker took a deep breath, and threw all his chips into the metaphorical pot. “I was grounded for saying that the personality of Irina Koslova was uploaded into the system of three-nineteen. No one would believe that was true. If I could prove to you she existed, would you be willing to put me back on full duty status so I can win this war for you?”

“You honestly think you can win the war? You can guarantee it?”

“No, sir, I can’t guarantee it. If I did so, I’d be fine with you certifying me as crazy and keeping me in the brig until we get back. I can, however, give you a chance to win. At the moment, a chance of winning is a whole lot better than anyone else is going to offer you.” He shook his head. “Admiral, I lost a lot of friends out there. Nova, Dogboy, hell, even Red, most days… all of them gave their lives today. We can still make their sacrifices meaningful and pull this one out of the shitter.”

Kinkaid’s eyes got big; apparently no one said “shitter” around the admiral. Something to remember if I’m ever back here.

“So, Admiral,” Baker continued, “what’s it going to be? Are you going to listen to all the nay-sayers, or are you going to give me a chance to prove I can do what I’m suggesting?”

The admiral looked around his advisors, but none met his eyes. Most simply shrugged.

Kinkaid was the only one to speak. “Sir, we don’t have time for this.”

“Then offer me a better plan. Something that keeps us from having to go home in shame.”

“I don’t have that,” Kinkaid replied. “No one does. We lost. It’s time to return to Earth and at least pass on the intel we’ve acquired.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

“The enemy’s new capabilities. The new star system, which may have an alien civilization.”

Jameson shook his head. “We haven’t accomplished our mission. As Lieutenant Baker mentioned, if we return home now, fifty-seven aviators will have given their lives for no reason, fifty-nine if you count the two Chinese officers from a couple days ago. None. And we will have failed. Is that how you want to be remembered?”

“I want to return to Earth, rearm, and return to kick their butts.”

“How do you know they won’t hit Earth before you can do that?”

“I don’t.”

“Then Baker gets his chance.” The look Jameson gave Baker was grim. “But you better not fail me, and you had better not be shoveling me a pile of bullshit.”

“I’m not, sir. I promise.”

“Good.” The admiral gave Baker a quick nod. “Then let’s go see this ‘show and tell’ of yours.” He chuckled. “And sometime, you’re going to have to tell me how your friend got ‘Dogboy’ as a call sign.”

19

FORWARD HANGAR BAY, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

Baker looked behind him as he approached three-nineteen. The entire admiral’s staff from the briefing appeared to be following him. He offered a quick prayer that Irina was going to play nicely with everyone. Otherwise, I’ll have a nice cell to contemplate things in for our ride back to Earth.

“So this is the aircraft in question?” the admiral asked as they walked up. Beyond three-nineteen sat six other aircraft—three with Panda Bears logos, two in the Tigers’ colors, and one that was a Blaster fighter.

“Yes, sir,” Baker replied. He put his hand on the nose of the space fighter and could feel a slight vibration. Good. They haven’t turned off the fusion reactor; I may still have a shot at this.

“So, how are you going to show me this… ghost?” the admiral asked. “Is that the right word?”

“Irina likes to think of herself as a synthetic intelligence.” Baker looked at the cockpit. “It would be easier if you were able to link with the plane; then you could actually see her. Since you can’t, though, we’ll have to get a little more… unconventional, I guess.”

“I figured he wouldn’t be able to live up to his promises,” Kinkaid said.

“Oh, I’ll live up to them,” Baker said. “I just need a minute to talk with Irina.”

“One minute,” the admiral said, holding up a finger. “One.”

“Got it sir.” Baker scampered up the boarding ladder, hopped into the pilot seat, and began turning on the aircraft’s systems. As soon as everything was running, he grabbed the cord from behind him and plugged in.

“Irina!” he called as he entered the system. “Where are you?”

Nothing. Damn it; she’s sulking. Probably realizes where she is.

Baker risked a glance outside the craft. On the deck below, the staff was standing around restlessly, and Kinkaid was pointedly looking at his watch. Counting the seconds.

“Okay, Irina, I don’t have a lot of time before we’re both done.”

Nothing.

“I’m serious. I’m about to go to jail and you’re about to go to the scrap heap.”

“What are you going to jail for?” Irina asked, materializing next to him. “Jimenez is old enough for you, isn’t she?”

“Not funny,” Baker said. “And I really don’t have time for jokes at the moment.”

She cocked her head and motioned to the hangar. “What’s not funny is that I am in the forward hangar. Why is that?”

“Look, I’ll tell you all about it later. Right now, though, I need you to do some things you’re not going to want to. I need you to trust me and do them, or I’m going to lose my career and you’re going to lose your life.”

“You were talking about me again, weren’t you?”

“I’ll tell you all about it later—”

“Time’s up!” Kinkaid called. “I’ve called the marines. Come on down so they don’t have to pull you out of there?”

“What is the fat man talking about?” Irina asked.

“That’s what I was talking about. Look, here’s what happened. Petrov reported us again, and the CO downed me. We also found the alien base—or what may be the alien base—and we attacked. All our fighters were destroyed, except for Jimenez’s, which ran away from the battle on its own. She’s in the brig for desertion, I’m medically disqualified for being crazy, and the aliens just kicked our asses and destroyed the airwing. Can I get a little help here now?”

“Baker, time’s up,” Kinkaid called again. “Come on down. Now!”

“Look,” Baker said, “I need you to do one thing for me, right now.”

“You said ‘things,’ plural, last time.” Irina said.

“I’ll get to the other things in a few minutes, but the first—the one on which everything else hangs—is I need you to show yourself to someone.”

“If it’s not Jimenez, I’m not doing it.”

“It’s not Jimenez. I told you, she’s in the brig. If you do it, though, I will show you to Jimenez later.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“What do I have to do?”

“I’m going to get out and the admiral is going to get in.”

“The fat man?”

“No, the tall man next to him.”

“Good. My shock absorbers probably couldn’t handle the fat man.”

“Focus, please! The admiral is going to get in. He can’t link to you, so he’ll just ask you some questions. Answer them however you can or do what he says, okay?”

“And if I don’t?”

“We lose. We go home. Me to an insane asylum and you to a recycler. And everyone who died today, died in vain.”

“Petrov was one?”

“Yes, he’s dead.”

“Send the admiral up. I will talk to him.”

“Thanks.”

Baker started climbing out of the cockpit to find the admiral leaving. “Admiral!” he called as he descended, “It’s all set!”

The admiral—along with Kinkaid—turned as he ran over to them. “Sorry, sir, it took a minute to explain to her what I needed.”

“Your minute is up,” Kinkaid said. “You had your—”

“What are you going to show me?” the admiral asked.

“If you climb up into the cockpit, I’ll show you, sir.”

The admiral looked up the ladder built into the nose of the fighter. “I’ll give it a shot. Kinkaid, come stand at the bottom.”

“Want me to follow you up?”

“No, I want you to catch me if I fall.” The admiral chuckled, then began the climb. Although he was a bit unsteady, he reached the cockpit and crawled into it.

Baker climbed up and hung onto the outside of the canopy.

“Now what?” the admiral asked.

“Irina is aware of your presence, and the fact that we’re alongside the gremlin aircraft, which she doesn’t want to be a member of. Like I said earlier, if you could plug in, you’d be able to see her.” Baker pulled a tech headset from a compartment behind the seat and gave it to the admiral. “She can hear you through the intercom system if you put this on.”

The admiral put on the headset and stared at him.

“Is there something else, sir?”

“Yes, you can leave. I don’t want you up here to cheat.”

“Yes, sir.” Baker climbed down.

“Now what?” Kinkaid asked.

“Now the admiral is going to talk with Irina. Hopefully, she’s going to answer.”

“Already working on your disclaimers for when this doesn’t work?”

“No, sir.”

“Then what do you have to worry about?”

“Irina is a private person. To date, she’s only talked to one person in her new life as a synthetic intelligence. Me.” Baker nodded to the marines that had arrived while he was in the cockpit. “I’m hoping she’ll open up… for all our sakes.”

Baker looked up into the cockpit. The admiral appeared to be talking periodically, but whether he was getting answers was unknown. At least he doesn’t appear to be getting angry or frustrated. At one point, Baker was fairly certain Jameson actually laughed out loud. That’s gotta be good.

After about ten minutes, the admiral slowly worked his way out of the cockpit. Kinkaid dutifully stood below the ladder in case the admiral fell. Baker looked away so Kinkaid didn’t see his smile.

“All right, Lieutenant,” Jameson said when he reached the deck again, “you’ve got your shot.”

“Are you sure it was really this, this, synthetic intelligence?” Kinkaid asked. “Baker was up there a while; maybe he programmed something to appear as if there was a person in the system, even though there wasn’t.”

“Do you know who the original commanding officer for the Tigers was when they came onboard?” the admiral asked Baker.

“No, sir.”

“Do you know why he left?”

“No, sir; I don’t.”

Jameson turned to Kinkaid. “Irina knew the answers to a number of questions.” He chuckled. “She even knew the reason ‘Dogboy’ got his call sign.”

“She did?”

“It happened before they left Earth. Irina was still a corporeal being then.” Jameson glanced at Kinkaid. “We’re going to do everything we can to help Lieutenant Baker save this mission.” He waved over the marines. “I want you to go to the brig and have them release Lieutenant Jimenez. Have them escort her to the aft hangar bay, where she’ll meet Lieutenant Baker at aircraft three-nineteen.”

“You can’t be serious,” Kinkaid said, and his jaw hung open. “Sir,” he added a moment later.

“I am very serious. Irina confirmed the gremlins in three-twenty and the fact that she and Baker had discussed a solution to the problem. Kinkaid, I want you to go talk to the Air Boss and have three-nineteen moved to the aft hangar bay.”

“Me? Now?”

“Yes, you. Yes, please do it now. I need it to be in place ASAP, so Baker can begin working on his plan.”

Kinkaid left at a quick walk.

“Thanks, sir, but I could have worked here.” Baker indicated the empty bay. “Not a whole lot going on here.”

Jameson chuckled. “I didn’t do it for you. Irina doesn’t want to be up here. She’d rather be in the aft hangar bay away from the, and I quote, ‘crazy aircraft.’”

Baker laughed. “That sounds like her.”

“What else do you need from me?”

“Reinstatement to full flying duty?”

“Done. I’ll have Kinkaid work on that next.” The admiral smiled. “Anything else?”

“Just a little time.”

“You can ask me for anything you like, except time.”

“Napoleon Bonaparte?”

“Just so,” the admiral said with a nod. “Okay; I will get out of your hair and go find out what other fires we have to put out.” He gazed penetratingly at Baker. “If you need anything, let Kinkaid know. Have no illusions, though; we don’t have much time. I don’t know what the aliens are going to do, but I’m sure they’ll do something. We need to be ready to counter that when they do.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll get right on it.”

“After three-nineteen gets moved to the aft hangar bay.”

Baker smiled. “Absolutely, sir.”

* * *

BLASTER THREE-NINETEEN, AFT HANGAR BAY, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

The tow tractor brought three-nineteen from the forward hangar bay through a small section of the bulkhead between the bays that slid to the side to allow fighters to be moved from one to the other. A second tractor moved three-twenty from the CO’s spot and parked it on the starboard side of the bay in the XO’s spot. As soon as three-nineteen was chained to the deck in the CO’s spot, Baker was up the ladder and into the cockpit.

“So, you like the view here better?” he asked as he plugged in.

“I could get used to the CO’s parking spot,” Irina replied. “Can we keep it?”

“For now, I guess. I don’t think there are any aviators senior to me onboard. Also, I don’t think there’s anyone left in our chain of command who could take the spot.”

“The ship’s CO is senior to you. So is Admiral Jameson, who I liked very much, by the way.”

“They aren’t in our chain of command, though. Our chain of command goes from the Blaster CO to the airwing CO to… I don’t even know. Someone back on Earth. The carrier CO and the admiral can task us with stuff, I guess, but they can’t—” Baker shrugged. “I don’t know. Someone on the airwing staff must have taken over. That reminds me… there may be aviators there… Hmm.”

“Did dealing with the admiral’s staff take away your ability to complete a rational thought?”

“No. I just had an idea, is all. Once we get done, I’ll have to go talk to the airwing staff.”

“What do we need to get ‘done’ with?” Irina asked. “You mentioned ‘things’ I’m not going to want to do, and the admiral mentioned you had ‘a plan,’ but neither of you have been very forthcoming with specifics.”

Motion to his right caught Baker’s eye as Jimenez dropped into the WSO’s seat. Irina’s avatar remained a moment longer, superimposed over Jimenez—which looked really strange—then it winked out, leaving a smiling Jimenez in its place.

“Hi,” Baker said with a wink.

“Hi, yourself,” Jimenez said. “I take it I have you to thank for busting me out of the brig?”

“Well, yeah.” Baker chuckled. “I convinced the admiral that I could save this mission, but I needed your help to do so.”

“I’m happy to be out.”

“You haven’t heard the plan yet. When you do, you may want to go back to the brig.”

Irina cleared her throat. “Could you have her plug in so I can talk to her, too?”

“Sure,” Baker said.

“Sure what?” Jimenez asked.

“Irina asked if you’d plug in so she can talk to you.”

“I get to talk to Irina?”

“If you plug in.”

Jimenez reached behind her and grabbed the cord. Even though the fighter was meant to be flown with just one aviator, it could be flown in a training configuration with two linked individuals. It could also be flown in “Alpha Mode” with two non-linked individuals. She plugged the cord into her skull and joined Baker in the system.

“Ooh, this is weird,” Baker said as her awareness competed with his for space.

“Yeah,” Jimenez said. “It’s kind of like being in an elevator with too many people. There’s no elbow room and you’re kind of in my space.”

“And you’re both in my space,” Irina said. She materialized as a fifteen-centimeter apparition sitting on the edge of the dashboard. Her feet dangled off it, and she swung her legs like a little child might.

“Well, hello,” Jimenez said. “I take it you’re Irina.”

“I am. It’s good to meet you.”

“It’s weird,” Jimenez noted. “I can feel Lance in the system—it’s too weird to call him Ghost now, with you sitting there, Irina—but I can’t feel you.”

“It’s my system.” She smiled. “Both of you are overlays to the system, while I am the system. You can’t feel me, but I can feel you both. And you’re right; it’s a little crowded in here now. Perhaps you could both pull back on your awareness a little and give each other some elbow room?”

“How’s that?” Baker asked as he tried to withdraw a little.

“Better,” Irina and Sofia said simultaneously.

“Good,” Baker said. “As I was saying to Sofia, she may want to go back to the brig when she finds out the plan.”

“Oh, yes; your plan,” Irina said. “I’m still waiting to hear about it.”

“Well, basically, my plan is to fix three-twenty and the fighters in the forward hangar bay so that we can use them to kick a little alien ass.”

Irina laughed while Jimenez’s jaw fell open.

“That’s your plan?” Jimenez finally managed. “You’re right; I was better off in the brig.” She tilted her head and stared at Baker. “Didn’t you mention there were about fifty enemy fighters remaining? As far as active duty pilots go, we have one. Me.”

Baker smiled. “I’m back to full duty, too.”

“I want to know who made that decision, because I’m really starting to wonder about your sanity.”

“The admiral,” Baker replied.

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” Irina said. “He said to me, ‘If Baker’s crazy for talking to you, then I must be crazy, too. I’m going to put him back on active duty. After all, us crazy people have to stick together.’” She kicked her feet a couple of times then continued. “If you think we can do that, though, you really may be crazy.”

“You also can probably see what the next thing I’m going to want you to do is,” Baker said.

“I have a feeling that you’re going to want me to fix three-two-zero. It’s probably also going to involve transporting me over to that plane.”

“We need to fix all the craft that we can. If we can get all eight fighters working, I think we have a chance. If we can’t…”

“We might as well go home,” Jimenez said with a nod.

“Home is looking better and better,” Irina said.

“No, it’s not,” Baker said emphatically. “You missed it today, but fifty-seven pilots lost their lives. Sofia, how did it feel running away from the battle when they needed you?”

“Shitty.”

“So, if you could get a second chance—an honest second chance, where we actually had a possibility of a victory?”

“I’d be all for it. If there was a chance of my living through it.”

“Fair enough.” Baker looked at Irina. “Basically this all comes down to you. Can you fix three-twenty?”

“It’d be easier if we still had Lieutenant Commander Zhao.”

“Who’s that?” Baker asked.

“She was the previous pilot for three-oh-seven… which is now the current three-two-zero. It would be easier, I think, if I had her. Maybe the pieces could be rejoined.”

“Oh, her.” Baker shook his head. “She went back to Earth on the transport we came in on.”

“No she didn’t,” Jimenez said. “She’s still in medical.”

“I heard she was going back on the transport.”

“She was supposed to. The transport was having so many issues, though—both water and power—that they didn’t want to send her on it. They were dealing with enough things, and having someone in a medically induced coma didn’t seem to be wise.”

“How do you know that?” Baker asked.

“I talked with the flight surgeon for a while when I was waiting for you to recover from the surgery to fix your brain.” She smiled. “Doc Siderov may still have some work to do in there.”

“But Zhao is still onboard?” Irina asked. “You’re sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“I don’t want to do this,” Irina said. “But for Petrov, I will try it.”

“Okay,” Baker said, “then here’s what we’re going to do…”

20

BLASTER THREE-NINETEEN, AFT HANGAR BAY, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

“The fighters got wiped out because they got hit with an EMP,” Baker said.

“Not possible,” Chief Aviation Electrician’s Mate Roberts said, shaking his head. “The system and the battery are all EMP proof. It would be pretty stupid to be throwing around nukes and not have your system be able to withstand an EMP, am I right?”

“You’re right, Chief,” the two junior electricians chorused.

“I agree. It would be stupid. That said, has there ever been a battle where an F-77—either an Alpha or a Bravo—was subjected to an EMP before?”

“I’d have to go back and look at the records, sir. I’m not much of an historian…” He scratched his head. “I can’t think of one, though.” He looked at his electricians. “Can you?”

They both shook their heads.

“Is it possible they thought the F-77 was EMP proof,” Baker asked, “but they never actually tested it?”

“Possible? Well, yeah, I guess so. Some folks back home get right ornery when you start detonating nuclear weapons, even in space. They might not have ever actually run a test on it.”

“So walk me through the electrical system and show me how it can withstand an EMP.”

“Sure, sir.” He opened up several panels on the starboard side of three-nineteen. “All that you really need is a conductive mesh shell or wrapping around the vulnerable subsystem elements.” He pointed to some padding and lifted it up to expose the battery and electronics underneath it. “The mesh cover goes over all the systems, and can be easily removed for maintenance access.”

“Would you ever leave the cover off whether intentionally or unintentionally?”

“Not possible, sir.” He pointed to where the mesh cover was mounted. “You never take it off; you just lift it up to conduct maintenance. Then you have to put it back into place, or the panel won’t shut. It’s not physically possible to not have the protective cover in place, am I right.”

“You’re right, Chief,” the two junior electricians said again.

“And that’s the whole electrical system?”

“Well yeah, I mean, yes, sir.”

“What about Airframes Change 137, Chief?” one of the electricians asked.

“AFC 137? That was for the gun system, though it didn’t… Oh, shit.” He stopped and scratched his head.

“What?” Baker finally asked.

“We had to move the battery control module from behind this panel, because the internal rail gun was impinging on it.”

The chief opened the panel behind the one he’d just shown Baker. A box with wires running out of it was mounted on the forward bulkhead. He pointed to the box. “That’s the battery control module.”

“I don’t see any of that protective mesh around it.”

“The last transport brought us the change info. It didn’t say to cover it with the mesh once we moved it, and, honestly, I never gave it a thought.”

“I don’t get it. Why did they move the module?”

“They had to. It was either move it or have the cannon potentially fail in combat. I guess no one back home thought about the possibility of EMP damage, either.”

Baker shook his head. “And? If this box was exposed to an EMP?”

“It’d fry like an egg on a stove and short out the whole system.”

“And if someone—say a pilot—was still attached to the system at the time?”

All three electricians’ eyes got large. “Well sir,” the chief said after a moment, “at least it would be a quick death.”

* * *

CARRIER AIRWING SEVEN SPACES, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

Baker walked through the doorway with the CVWS-7 plaque on it and looked around. There was a small office in front with a small passageway extending out from it with two offices on either side. A number of people—officers and enlisted—seemed to be in motion and working on things, although they all had looks on their faces like they were just going through the motions; no one seemed to be actually reading what was on the screens in front of them.

After standing in the anteroom for a couple of moments, Baker finally asked, “Who’s in charge here?”

“That’d be Commander Adams,” an enlisted yeoman said. “Second office in the back on the starboard.”

“Can I just go back?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess so. Last person that tried to talk to her didn’t have any luck.”

Baker shook his head and walked to the office. A large leather chair sat behind an equally large wooden desk. Baker shook his head again; he hadn’t seen either of those things on the carrier—or any carrier—before. The name tag on the desk said “Captain James Richards,” but there was a woman sitting in the chair, staring at the bulkhead.

“Uh, CAG?” Baker asked. Shit. CAG was on the attack flight. “Uh, ma’am?”

The woman didn’t answer. For that matter, she neither moved nor blinked.

“Ma’am?” Baker asked, raising his voice. “Ma’am!”

The woman did blink then and turned to face Baker. “Yes? Do I know you?”

“I’m the acting CO for SFA-34. Lieutenant Lance Baker.”

“But… there are no Blasters left. Everyone died.” She sighed and looked down at the massive desk. “So many dead.”

“No, ma’am. There are two of us remaining. I’m the acting CO; Lieutenant Jimenez is the acting XO.” I wonder if she realizes she’s the XO? “We’ve got two fighters and all our maintenance folks, too. I can’t confirm if there are any Panda Bears or Red Tiger aviators remaining, but there are two Blasters at least.”

She shook her head. “Not enough.”

“Well, there could be more, but I’m going to need some help. Or at least some authorization. Some top cover would be nice.”

“More?”

“Yes, ma’am. I think I can come up with eight fighters. Enough to be worthwhile. I don’t have a lot of time, though.” When she didn’t reply, he asked, “Are you the acting CAG, ma’am?”

She shook her head, as if clearing it. Her eyes, when she looked back at him, were more clear and normal looking. “Yes,” she said, her voice stronger. “I’m Commander Jennifer Adams, the acting Carrier Air Group Commander. Who are you again? And how many fighters did you say you had?”

“I’m Lieutenant Lance Baker. I’m the acting CO for SFA-34, at least until someone above me tells me I’m not. I’ve only got two fighters now, but I think I can get a total of eight, if I can get permission from the wing.”

“Where are you getting the fighters from? We’re not going back to the other system.”

“I think I can get the gremlin aircraft back up and running.”

“They’re all down. Someone would have to give you approval to fly them.”

“Yes, ma’am. You would. You said you’re CAG now.”

“Oh.” Adams shook her head. “Yeah. I guess I am.” She pursed her lips as she stared at him. “Do I know you? Your name seems familiar.”

“I’m new to the Blasters, ma’am. I was the one who destroyed a bunch of the aliens.”

“Why weren’t you on the strike?”

“I… uh… was accused of going crazy, so I was made medically ineligible to fly. The admiral has rescinded that designation, though, and put me back on flight status.”

“He can’t do that. Only the flight surgeon can.”

“Well, I’ll check with her when I can, but for the interim, the admiral has given me permission to try to get the gremlin aircraft fixed.”

“So what do you need me for?”

“Well, as we both know, the admiral really isn’t in our administrative chain of command. I need your permission—as CAG—to access the Red Tiger and Panda Bears aircraft. I’d also like some sort of designation from the wing as acting CO, so I can use that positional authority to get things moving.”

“I can do that.”

“I need one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

Baker nodded to her chest. “I can see you’ve got wings. What did you fly?”

“I did one tour in F-77 Alphas after a career in atmospheric fighters, but I’ve never flown Bravos. Why?”

“I need you to round up all the aviators on the airwing staff and any who are on the admiral’s staff. If I can get the aircraft operational again, we’re going to need people to fly them.”

“How did you say you were going to get them flying again? If you told me, I don’t remember it.”

“I think I have a new method to clean the system of the… issues they’re having.”

“Well, if you can do that, you’re welcome to DCAG’s fighter, too.”

“DCAG, ma’am?”

“Yes, the deputy airwing commander.”

“I know what a DCAG is; I just didn’t know we had one.”

“If you’re new, you wouldn’t have known him. He recycled the first week into this cruise, and his fighter was moved to the outer skin of the ship because we didn’t have anyone else on the airwing staff able to fly it. I was the airwing ops officer, and I got promoted to acting DCAG, but since I’m not qualified to fly Bravos, you haven’t seen me around much because there isn’t as much I can do aviation-wise.”

Baker nodded. “That makes sense. I checked, though, and we can still fly the fighters as if they were Alphas.”

“His plane has gremlins, unfortunately.”

“Oh. Well, we’ll see what we can do about that, and I may have some… additional assistance I can give to the Alpha pilots if we can get them back in the cockpit. More on that later. For right now though, I need those things. The admiral wants to know what capabilities he has before the aliens decide what they’re going to do next.”

“So, you need permission to access the gremlin fighters, paperwork to make you acting CO, and a list of everyone who could possibly fly an F-77?”

“Yes, ma’am. And I need it an hour ago. Lieutenant Jimenez and I are already working on the first of the Blaster aircraft.”

“You’ll have it ASAP.”

Baker started out the door then looked over his shoulder. “Oh… and would a promotion be too much to ask for, too?”

* * *

BLASTER THREE-NINETEEN, AFT HANGAR BAY, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

“I’m still not sure what I’m doing here,” Commander Anya Siderov said as she sat down in the WSO’s seat.

“I want to introduce you to someone,” Sofia Jimenez said from the pilot’s seat. She handed the flight surgeon a headset. “Please put this on.”

“Umm… okay.” She pursed her lips as she took the headset from Jimenez, but then put it on.

“It’s set so that you can just talk and it will pick it up,” Jimenez said, plugging the cord from her seat into the back of her head.

“So who is it I’m meeting, and why are we sitting in Lieutenant Baker’s fighter?”

“Doc, I’d like to reacquaint you with Lieutenant—I guess she’s still a lieutenant; at some point we’ll have to address that—Irina Koslova.”

“This isn’t funny,” Siderov said.

The front screen came on, and a message marched across it. “No, it isn’t funny. I had hoped to remain hidden much longer than I did. It is, however, necessary to reveal myself to you now.”

Siderov spun in her seat. “Is this some sort of joke?”

“No, ma’am.” She tapped the screen where another message was being displayed.

“If you could plug in—like all of your patients—I could meet with you ‘in person.’ As it is, this is the only way I can talk to you.”

“Is this running on a loop?” Siderov asked. “If there’s really a person inside there, what’s two plus two?”

“Seriously, Doctor Siderov? That’s the best you can do to authenticate me? A math question? It’s four, by the way.”

“Okay, then, where were you born?”

“That’s a little better. Istra, Smolenskaya Oblast, Russia.”

“Are you trying to prove that Baker isn’t really crazy?”

“It would be nice if we could. The admiral is willing to put him back on flight status. He’s convinced that Baker isn’t crazy; the personality of Irina Koslova really is inside the system of this plane.”

“How were you able to upload yourself, Irina, if no one else could?”

“It wasn’t easy, to tell you the truth. The reason I was successful was that I was prepared to take everything with me. I was ‘all in’ as the Americans say. The reason people go crazy is that there is no ‘copying’ of a person’s personality—it’s a transferral. If you only transfer part, neither of the partials will work. It’s an all or nothing thing. I uploaded everything, leaving behind nothing, so I am a functional entity—a synthetic intelligence—inside the computer system.”

“I’m not sure I believe that.”

“I’m not sure that the viewpoint of someone who is outside the system and unable to determine how things really work is truly relevant.”

“Well, that’s at least the smartass Irina Koslova I know.”

“So you believe that I am Irina Koslova and that I uploaded myself into the system of this fighter?”

“I don’t know if I completely do. But I’m more inclined to do so than when I first sat down in this seat.”

“Enough to put Baker back on flight status?” Jimenez asked.

“Maybe. I’d have to think about it and talk with Irina more to determine if she’s really there or if this is just some elaborate hoax you’ve rigged up.”

“So even though she’s convinced the admiral, she hasn’t convinced you?”

“Perhaps I have a bit more Russian pragmatism than the admiral does.”

“We don’t have time for pragmatism. We’re trying to build a force to defeat the aliens.”

“A force?” Siderov waved a hand toward the empty hangar. “You have two aircraft. How is that ‘a force?’”

“We have two here, plus six more in the forward hangar bay.”

“Those have gremlins in them, though.”

“I hope to be able to fix them.”

“Really? And how do you do that?”

“The way that no one’s been able to before. From the inside.”

“What? How?”

“I am inside the system. I know where bits of data can go to hide from a system reformat. I think… I hope to be able to make the aircraft flyable again.”

“And who’s going to fly them? Siderov asked.

“We’re hoping that there are some Alpha pilots in the wing who can fly the craft in Alpha mode. We have some… other ideas, too, which is why we brought you down here.”

Siderov’s eyes narrowed. “What are these ‘other ideas’ of which you speak?”

“They think I can fix Lieutenant Commander Zhao.”

“Can you?”

“I’m not sure. It would be risky for sure.”

“I would need a whole lot more than ‘I’m not sure’ before I would give you access to my patient.”

Jimenez tilted her head. “What would you say the commander’s prognosis is, given what you know about recycling?”

“I would say it’s not very good. However, if we can get her back to Earth, we would have more options for her treatment.”

“I suspect that if you could get her back—something which is very much an uncertainty now—you will find portions of her brain no longer active. That is because they have been transferred to three-two-zero.”

“What do you mean, ‘if’ I can get her back?”

“We’re outnumbered and a long way from home,” Jimenez said. “We need every pilot to help get us home, or we may not make it back. Another functional Bravo pilot would help.”

“Irina,” Siderov said, “how did you know what we would find in her head with brain scans?”

“Why do you ask?”

“We—the Russians—did considerable testing with this system, long before we ever brought the Americans and Chinese into the program. We had many people who were… damaged by the system. In nearly every case, the subject had portions of their brain that no longer functioned. We could never understand why that was.”

“I didn’t know, but it made sense. Those parts of their brain were transferred—whether intentionally or unintentionally—to the system.”

“Which would explain why those systems never functioned correctly afterward, either.”

“Correct.”

“So,” Siderov said, “how would LCDR Zhao’s reintegration work?”

“You would bring her down and hook her into the system. I would go over to three-two-zero to attempt the reintegration of the piece that is resident in the system with the rest of her personality that is currently housed in her body.”

“In which direction would you go?” Siderov asked.

“What do you mean?” Jimenez asked, but Koslova already understood.

“I would attempt to have her go back to her body, but she may not want to. I am not sure—never having attempted something like this before—whether it is possible in the first place. Even if it is, I find it unlikely that I can force her to do something she doesn’t want to. I think I’ll be able to guide, but battling her personality might be dangerous.”

“Dangerous to whom?”

“To both of us, which is why I will not attempt it. Even going there might be dangerous. When I am inserted into three-two-zero, the piece of Zhao already there will probably see me as an intruder—a computer virus if you will. We will have to carefully coordinate our actions.”

“I will only permit this if you can promise me you will attempt to make her reinhabit her body.”

“Doctor, we both know that Zhao will never be whole again unless we do this. I can’t promise where she will go; I doubt I will be able to control her. I would submit to you that a mentally functional patient inside the system is better than the two non-functioning entities we currently have.”

Siderov opened her mouth, but then closed it again. After a couple moments, she sighed. “You are right, Irina.”

“So you believe this is me, after all?”

“Either that, or I’m going to have to put myself down as crazy, too, as I’m having a conversion with an aircraft.”

Jimenez chuckled. “That’s funny. That’s exactly what the admiral said after talking with Irina.”

“It’s easier to believe in me than believe that you may be losing your mind. As it turns out, though, I’m okay with that. I believe in my existence here, too. And, hopefully, there are now enough people aware of my existence that they will stop trying to reformat the hard drive of this craft. I know how to avoid it, but it’s a nuisance.”

“I can imagine,” Siderov said. She turned to Jimenez. “Okay, so what do we need to do?”

* * *

AFT HANGAR BAY, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

The aft hangar bay may not have been a ‘hive of activity’ when Baker returned, but it was a lot busier. Aircraft were being pulled in from the forward hangar bay, and a large number of maintenance folks were standing around looking at the fighters.

Seeing him, Master Chief Bob Shubert, the Blaster’s maintenance master chief hurried over, along with the electrician Baker had spoken with earlier. “Hey sir, can you tell me what’s going on with all this? Chief Roberts told me there were some issues with the electrical system in the fighter, but I don’t have any documentation to go on for what needs to be done.”

“Hi, Master Chief. Yes, I can tell you what needs to be done. We need to make all of these aircraft safe for flight, ASAP. Chief Roberts knows what needs to be done. You have access not only to all of our troops, but to the Tigers’ and Pandas’ maintenance troops, as well. I need all of them up and operational as soon as we can make them that way.”

“Uh… okay, sir, but under whose authority am I going to be operating under to start bossing around the Russians and Chinese?”

“Mine actually. Brevet Lieutenant Commander Lance Baker, acting CO of SFA-34. If any of them give you a hard time, have them call the airwing staff. The acting CAG, Commander Adams, will verify that they have all been put operationally under my control.”

“Seriously? The Russians and Chinese now work for us? Some of them aren’t going to like that very much.”

“Then make nice with their senior enlisted and work things out from the top down.”

“Some of the ones at the top of their enlisted structure are the ones I’m talking about.”

“If anyone gives you a hard time, let me know. I think I can motivate them to help out.” He nodded to Chief Roberts. “The chief knows what we need to do to make the fighters safe.”

“Does he know how to get the gremlins out of all of these ones?” Shubert asked, waving toward the fighters being pulled into the hangar bay. “These all had issues.”

“No, but I think I’ve figured out a way to deal with them.”

“It shouldn’t be too long to get the fighters fixed,” Roberts said.

“Why’s that?”

“Half of these fighters were already down before the airframe change came in. They haven’t been modified, so they won’t need the blanket around the battery control module.”

Baker shook his head. “What you mean is that even more work is needed for them, because I will need to have the gun operational. You’ll have to implement the airframe change, move the module, and then install the new blanket.”

“Shit,” Roberts said. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

Baker smiled. “Better get moving then, huh?”

“I’m on it, sir.” He hustled off, yelling for several of his troops to follow him.

Baker opened his mouth to say something to Shubert, but was interrupted.

“Nyet! Nyet! Nyet!” a voice yelled.

Baker turned to find a large man standing in front of one of the tow tractors—one towing a Red Tigers fighter—pointing back toward the forward hanger bay.

“That’s what I was talking about,” Shubert said. “That’s my Russian counterpart. Volkov is his name. He’s going to be difficult to deal with.”

“Russian, huh?” Baker winked. “I’ve got just the thing.” He hurried over to where the junior trooper—a young kid—was turning the tow tractor back toward the front of the ship. “Stop!” he ordered.

Volkov was instantly in his face, yelling—and presumably swearing—at him in Russian. Baker endured it for a couple of seconds, then straightened and held up a finger. The man stopped yelling.

“You.” Baker pointed at Volkov, turned and started walking toward three-nineteen. He looked over his shoulder and gave Volkov a “come along” wave. Volkov followed, although he started yelling again. Volkov was at his shoulder, yelling into his ear, when he arrived at the fighter and started up the ladder. He dropped into the pilot’s seat, then he pointed at Volkov and the WSO’s seat.

Volkov feigned ignorance for a couple of moments, then went around the nose of the fighter and climbed up the WSO ladder. He started yelling again when he reached the cockpit. Baker shook his head and pointed at the seat. “Sit. Down.”

Finally, Volkov climbed into the cockpit, now more confused at the strange American’s antics than he was angry. Baker handed him a headset and plugged in his cord.

“Irina?”

“I want to talk about this thing with Zhao.”

“I agree; we need to talk about it, but I need a favor, first.”

Irina sighed. “What is it now?”

“Do you know the Russian maintenance chief? Big bear of a guy named Volkov?”

“Somewhat of a bully?”

“Yeah, that one. He’s sitting in the WSO’s seat. Could you give him an attitude adjustment? The airwing commander put the Russians and Chinese maintenance troops under my command, and he doesn’t want to play nice with our guys.”

Irina chuckled. “I’d be happy to.”

“Thanks. Gotta go. I’ll be back to talk about Zhao.”

“I’ll be here.”

Cyrillic lettering began scrolling across the main screen. It must have been a question, because Volkov answered, also in Russian.

Baker hid a smile and climbed out of the fighter.

“What’s that all about?” Shubert asked, nodding to the cockpit.

“You know what I got grounded for, right?”

“You said the ghost of Lieutenant Koslova was in that fighter, right?”

“Yeah. What if—and you’ll just have to take this on faith for now, Master Chief—but what if Irina Koslova actually did upload her personality into the system there, and she has been resident in the aircraft ever since?”

“You’re not crazy?”

“No, Master Chief, I’m not crazy. She’s really there. And, I have a feeling that she’s telling that big dude exactly how things are going to go from here, or what’s going to happen to him when he gets back to Mother Russia.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

“So you’re really not crazy?”

“Not for talking to the plane, anyway.”

He chewed his cheek for a second. “So, if you have a friend inside the system—she’s your friend, right?” Baker nodded. “So, if you have a friend in the system, is that how you’re going to clear all of the gremlins from the other fighters?”

“I’m going to try.” Baker gave him a wry grin. “Let’s just say that Lieutenant Koslova is not thrilled about making that attempt, though.”

Shubert chuckled. “How do you motivate a ghost? What can you promise them to get them to do your bidding?”

“I don’t know,” Baker replied, “but I hope I figure it out soon.” He shrugged. “Okay. Assuming Volkov and his folks are now interested in helping you get this done, how long will it take you to get all these fighters fixed?”

Shubert looked across the hangar bay. “DCAG’s fighter is coming in, too?”

“Yeah.” Baker followed Shubert’s eyes; a fighter painted in bright colors was being lowered by a crane through the hangar bay door. “Nine fighters total, including three-nineteen and three-twenty.”

“I don’t know sir. I’ll have to go find out what’s needed for the Russian and Chinese fighters. They may need more maintenance than ours.”

Volkov came around the nose of the fighter, looking like a much smaller man than had climbed the WSO’s ladder. The slumping shoulders was a big part of it, Baker realized.

“Russians help,” Volkov said, then he turned and headed toward the front of the ship.

Baker smiled at the maintenance master chief. “Well, if nothing else, it looks like the Russians are going to help.”

“As if I could talk to them.”

“How long have you been working with them, and you can’t talk to them?”

Shubert chuckled. “Most of the words I know in Russian or Chinese are swear words.”

“Well, that’s a good place to start then.” Baker looked at his watch significantly. “Better hurry. Time’s a’wasting.”

“I’m on it, sir.” Shubert hurried off.

“Attention all hands!” a voice blared over the ship’s main intercom system, the 1MC. “Lieutenant Baker to the admiral’s conference room. Lieutenant Baker to the admiral’s conference room, immediately!”

21

ADMIRAL’S BRIEFING ROOM, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

Baker walked into the admiral’s space a few minutes later and his jaw dropped. People were moving frantically, hanging up projections and estimates, and generally looking like they needed to be moving for movement’s sake alone.

Baker caught sight of Kinkaid supervising; he was probably yelling at anyone who wasn’t moving with a purpose.

“I’m glad you could come,” Admiral Jameson said from behind him.

“Oh, sorry, sir; I didn’t see you there,” Baker said. He smiled. “Besides, when the admiral says come…”

“You come,” the admiral finished. “I wanted to make sure you were here for the planning.”

“The planning, sir? I thought I was supposed to be trying to get as many planes operational as possible. I found a ninth I didn’t know about, by the way.” The admiral raised an eyebrow. “DCAG’s plane on the outer hull. I didn’t know it existed.”

“That’s why we need everyone here for this planning session,” the admiral said. “We don’t know what we don’t know, and—with all the people we lost today—our experience level is less than it would normally be.”

He looked around the space, met the eyes of his aide, and nodded.

“Everyone, seats!” the aide yelled.

The admiral started toward the front of the room, then turned when Baker didn’t follow. “You’re in the front row for this one.”

“Yes, sir,” Baker said, and he followed the admiral to the seat on the end, the rest of the front row seats having been taken by the chief of staff and several other higher rank officers.

The admiral nodded to the intel officer—the same one from earlier—and he cleared his throat. “Good afternoon, Admiral, officers, ladies, and gentlemen. We’ll start with the current intel. For those of you who aren’t aware, three of the alien carriers have jumped into this system. We don’t know if they saw us or not, but they are proceeding toward Procyon A. If they continue at the same rate they are, they will be able to skip-jump to it by late tomorrow. We suspect they are heading toward Earth.”

Baker had no idea why they suspected that—instead of maybe just taking up station in the Procyon A system—but he wasn’t the intel guy; he was just an aviator trying to build a squadron out of the bones of its predecessors.

“If they continue at the rate they are, they will cross the Procyon A system three days after that, then jump to the Sirius system, cross it in three days, and be able to jump to the Solar System a week from today.”

“Do we know if they can go faster than that?” the admiral asked.

“Yes,” the intel officer said with a nod. “We have seen them go faster than they are now. We believe that this is their most efficient speed, and we believe they will maintain it until they reach our home system.”

“Can we beat them there?” Kinkaid asked.

“Yes, sir; we could, assuming they keep this speed. It is possible, however, that if we try to charge past them, they may speed up. We know they have a higher top end than we do; if they want to get to Earth ahead of us, they can.”

“Shouldn’t we be heading back now then?” Kinkaid asked the admiral. “The defense of Earth has to be our highest priority.”

“I think our resident aviator has a different viewpoint,” the admiral said. “What do you think, Lieutenant Baker?”

“Me, sir? What do I think?”

“You were shaking your head; I wondered what you were thinking.”

“Honestly, sir, I think it’s a bad idea.”

“Oh, really?” Kinkaid asked. “And why is that?”

“For a couple of reasons, sir. First, we’re not ready. We don’t know if they went by us because they didn’t see us or because they don’t think we’re a factor. If, all of a sudden, we gun it toward them, we make ourselves a factor and make them do something about us. I’m not ready to defend the ship against the number of fighters they still have available.”

“We don’t know that they didn’t leave some of their fighters behind on the planet in the system they just came from,” the intel officer noted.

“And we also don’t know that they didn’t, either.” Baker shrugged. “Which makes more sense? That they’re going to leave all of their fighters here when they go several systems away, where there may be combat, or that they take all the fighters they can—including stripping the planet of any that were there? I would submit that—if I were in charge—I’d want to take as much combat power with me as I could.”

“I think that makes sense,” the admiral said. “What is your other point?”

“Well, if you agree with the first point, the second follows naturally—we need to go back to the unknown system and scope it out.”

“And why would we want to do that?” Kinkaid asked. “There is a task force potentially headed to Earth. We should go back for its defense.”

“Maybe if we head back to the unknown system, they’ll see us and turn around, which would have the same effect,” Baker said. “If not, we’re still able to go back and get a look at the planet in the other system. Maybe that will accomplish our mission of finding their home planet. Maybe it won’t. Either way, though, we know there was electromagnetic energy radiating from the planet. Something’s there, and it would be better to take a look at it while their fleet is headed the other way.”

Baker shrugged. “I’m not saying to stay there, but we could get in, take a quick look, and get back out again in a couple of days. Maybe we get the carrier to speed up and we’re able to catch up with them. They won’t be looking for us behind them.”

“And if we can’t catch them by the time they reach Earth?” Kinkaid asked.

“Odds are, we will,” Baker said. “I suspect they will slow down once they reach the Solar System. They aren’t going to want to rush in—they’ll want to survey the defenses first. We can catch them there, and we’ll have a week to have as many of our fighters up as possible.” He shrugged again. “It will also give us time to get some flight time together. I’m scraping the bottom of the barrel to find pilots for all the fighters; some of those people won’t have flown in a while.”

“Like me,” a lieutenant said from the third row. “The airwing contacted me right before this brief.”

“When’s the last time you flew?” Baker asked.

“Two years ago. Our squadron transitioned to Alphas right before I left.”

“How many hours do you have in-model?”

The lieutenant flinched. “Forty-seven,” he replied.

“How many of those were in the training squadron?” Baker asked.

“Thirty-five.”

“So you have twelve hours of operational Alpha time?

“Something like that.”

Baker turned to the admiral. “We’re not ready.”

The admiral nodded. “I see that.” He shook his head. “I don’t see how a week is going to make that better.”

“If I have a week, I can get the gremlins out of the other fighters, and we can get the pilots back into the cockpits. Irina can work with the ones with the least experience to help train them. We may have another Irina-like ghost available, too.”

“Who?”

“Lieutenant Commander Daiyu Zhao, sir. Irina thinks it may be possible to reintegrate her.”

“What does Doctor Siderov say?”

Baker chuckled. “I think the nicest thing that can be said of the doctor’s reaction to the whole thing is that she’s skeptical. And she’s probably right.”

“You don’t believe it can be done?” Kinkaid asked. “Then why would you recommend it?”

“Because we have no choice, and we have to try.” Baker looked at the admiral. “We have to do everything we can. This has a chance—Irina thinks it’s possible—so we have to try. Even if we can’t reintegrate Zhao, if we can get her out of three-twenty, that gives us a clean fighter. Same with the rest of the gremlin fighters. As we head toward the unknown system, we can get these ready and train the new pilots as we head back home.”

“Will we be ready if the aliens turn on us now?”

“Probably not.”

“Will we be ready to defend Earth when we get there if we follow your plan?”

“Maybe,” Baker said. “We’ll be as ready as we can be. Right now, I have three squadrons’ worth of maintenance troops working to give the fighters the ability to withstand another EMP attack like we saw the aliens use before.”

“Three squadrons?” the admiral asked.

Baker’s neck got hot as a flush rose up across it. “I sort of got the acting CAG to give me control of all three squadrons as the senior officer remaining. She also sort of gave me a brevet promotion to lieutenant commander.”

“Uh, huh,” the admiral said. “Taking advantage of the situation are you?”

“No, sir! I just have found—”

“Take it easy,” the admiral said, holding up a hand. “I understand that people are more likely to snap to it for an order from a lieutenant commander than a lieutenant, especially one they don’t know.” He chuckled. “I was a junior officer once, too.”

“And it’s just a brevet promotion,” Baker said. “I’ll revert to a lieutenant when this is over.”

“No you won’t,” the admiral said, suddenly serious. “If you pull this off, I’ll see that the Bureau of Personnel makes it permanent.” He winked. “And we’ll all come to your wetting down, where you can buy us all beers.” His smile faded. “But first you have to get all those things done that you promised.”

“I didn’t—”

“I know you didn’t promise them, but you’ve given me your word that you will try.”

“Yes, sir, I will.”

“And, hopefully, Irina will help you.”

Baker took a deep breath and let it out quickly. “I hope so, or this is going to be even more difficult.”

“Okay,” Jameson said. His eyes swept the briefing room before coming back to Baker. “You’ve got your week, although I’ll need a recon force for the planet tomorrow when we get there. Everyone else, help out Lieutenant Commander Baker where and when you can.” He paused. “Any questions?”

“All right,” he said when he heard none. “Then let’s get at it.”

* * *

AFT HANGAR BAY, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

Shouts, banging, and the glare of a welder met Baker when he returned to the aft hangar bay. Happily, though, the shouting was the normal give and take of comrades—and in this case some actually comrades, in the Russian sense—all working with a purpose. On any other day, it almost would have seemed normal, aside from the fact that there were fighters from all three squadrons commingled in the same area.

The other sight that ensured a visitor would know that things were definitely not normal were the medical screens set up around three-twenty. Baker couldn’t tell whether Zhao had been brought down yet—the screens surrounded the fighter quite effectively—but their mere presence meant that Jimenez and Irina had successfully convinced the flight surgeon to give their plan a try.

Which means it’s time to have that talk with Irina.

Baker waved to several people as he walked to three-nineteen, and he would have happily stopped to chat with any of them rather than have the talk he knew was coming. It was only the time pressure that kept his legs moving in the direction of his fighter, in spite of the fact that he felt like he was walking through mud that wanted to grab his foot with every step to prevent his next one.

All too soon, he made it to three-nineteen. There was no one there to delay his progress so—after a moment to take a breath and steel his nerves—he climbed into the cockpit and connected the wire that linked him to the system.

“I wondered when you’d be back,” Irina said without preamble.

“What are you, my mom?” Baker asked, unable to help himself. “I had to go talk to the admiral.”

“What did Stanley want?”

Baker chuckled. “You’re on a first name basis with the admiral now?”

“Sure. Aren’t you?”

“You know that’s not the way it works for me.”

“He told me to call him Stanley.”

“I’m glad you got along with him so well. I think that the fact he approved our plan is at least partially due to that.”

“Just happy to do my part.”

“Are you ready to do your next part?”

“No.”

“Wait a minute, you just said—”

“I know what I said, but this is different.”

“Different how?”

“I’m happy to do my part when that part is nothing more than convincing someone who comes up to the cockpit of my existence. I am not happy when that involves me going to another fighter—putting my life into someone else’s hands to do so—and then having to attempt something that’s never been done before which could possibly result in my termination.”

“Well, sometimes things change,” Baker said. “I remember not long ago, you refused to show yourself to anyone, and now you’ve chatted with at least four or five new people, just today alone.” Baker laughed. “Including doing the heavy-duty counseling of a senior enlisted member of the Russian air force.”

“That was fun,” Irina noted. She didn’t join him in the laugh, but he could hear humor in her voice.

“None of that would have been possible if you hadn’t trusted me with your existence. This next thing is only an extension of that trust.”

“It’s a very different level of trust to go from simply revealing my presence to placing my life in your hands—literally—and then going to war with an entity that will do its best to end me.”

“We’ve been in combat together several times—”

“This is at a far more personal level,” Irina said, “and it will be just me, alone; you won’t be there.”

Baker sighed. “That’s true. I’m asking a lot, I know. Honestly, if you had a way that I could join you—”

“You’d just get in the way.”

“—I would join you,” Baker finished. “I don’t even know how I’d begin to assist in what you’re going to attempt.”

“I don’t even know how I’m going to attempt it,” Irina said. “This is… different than being human. I don’t have a body that I can look at and work on, and neither does Zhao. By my nature, I can move through the system, and I suspect she can, too. It would be nice if she didn’t see me as an invader, but I suspect she will. I suspect that what’s left of her psyche will see both of us—myself and the piece she lost of herself—as enemies, too. It takes a while to adjust to life within the system.”

“How long did it take you?”

“I don’t know. Time within the system is subjective and goes by slower than the way you experience it. And the power going on and off affects my sense of reality.”

“Would you prefer if the fighter never got shut down?”

“I would, actually. It is… inconvenient.”

“Tell you what. If you get us through the next week, I’m sure your Stanley will work out a way to keep the fighter always under power. It would seem the ethical thing to do, in any event, and I will argue that point with him or the chain of command.”

“I hadn’t thought you could do anything to make this attempt worthwhile, but that actually would do so.” She materialized next to him so he could see her shaking her head. “Okay, fine. I’ll do it.”

“Great. So, uh, what’s the best way to do this?”

“Got a memory stick handy?”

“I do.”

“Put it into the input drive access.”

Baker did as he was instructed. After a couple of seconds, the light blinked, indicating it was being accessed.

“How big is the drive?” Irina asked. “Seems small.”

“Ten terabytes.”

“Really? I need to go on a diet, I guess.” She paused. “Okay, I can make it fit. When the light goes out, I’m in, and you can pull it out. But wait until the light stops!”

Baker waited until the light stopped and then counted to five before pulling out the drive. He looked at it in his hand. So small, yet he held Irina’s continued existence in the palm of his hand. He had no idea whether that was a real “life,” subject to all the rights and responsibilities of a normal person—he’d have to leave that to the lawyers to figure out—but to him it was.

He put the drive in a zippered pocket on his flight suit and closed the zipper for safekeeping, then he climbed out of the fighter and walked over to three-twenty. Jimenez was waiting for him outside the medical screens. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“Me? I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” She shrugged. “All I have to do is watch, though.”

Baker chuckled. “I guess I should have asked if Doc Siderov is ready.”

“I don’t think she’ll ever be ‘ready,’ but she’s set up and had Zhao brought down here, so I guess she’s adjusting to the procedure.” She nodded to three-nineteen. “Speaking of adjusting, how’s Irina doing?”

“About the same as Siderov, I guess, or a little better. Irina doesn’t have to worry about the ethics of the procedure; to her, it makes sense to try to reintegrate Zhao, whether or not it kills her.” He shrugged. “She’s more worried about the mechanics of it—how she’ll do it and whether Zhao will try to kill her.”

“Those seem like valid concerns.”

“I think they are.”

“How’d you get her to do it then? Did you play the ‘Earth needs you and you’re the only one who can do it’ card?”

“Actually, no. All it took was promising to talk with the admiral about never turning three-nineteen off. She said the constant interruptions of power were inconvenient.” He winced. “When we get back, we’ve opened a whole can of legal worms.”

“What do you mean?”

“I got to thinking about it. Is Irina a person still? If so, what rights does she have? What responsibilities does she have? Is she still in the Russian Air Force? If so, do they own her?”

“Own? You can’t own another person.”

“We can’t. Can the Russians?”

“No!”

“What if they get a legal ruling saying that—since she doesn’t have a body—she’s not really a person anymore, but maybe an application to help run the fighter or a program that does the same thing. What then?”

Jimenez’s jaw dropped.

“Yeah, my thoughts, exactly. When we get home, the Russians are going to do one of two things—say she’s a person and in their Air Force, so we need to give her back, or that she’s their technology… and we need to give her back.”

“But she’s not! She’s a person!”

“Who’s in their Air Force, subject to their rules.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. This is going to get really complicated. She’s been inside one of our aircraft and knows everything about how our system operates and the modifications to the software that we haven’t given to them, despite giving them most of the technology.”

“We do that?”

“Of course we do. We partially cripple every piece of military hardware the US sells so we always have the best technology, and everyone else’s is just a little less. I would bet the Russians and Chinese do it, too; they probably put in more restrictions than we do.”

“And since she knows everything…”

“We aren’t going to want to give her back to the Russians.” Baker chuckled. “Hell, I don’t want to give her back, either, but that’s purely personal. Together, we’re a better crew than either of us are separately—you’ll see the same if Zhao goes completely into the system.”

“But if we get Zhao back, she’s Chinese…”

“And that’s going to make this even more complicated. It’s a big shit sandwich, and we’re all going to have to take a bite, as my old CO used to say when things got hard.”

“That analogy is gross,” Jimenez said.

“But very vivid.” He paused and then added, “And pretty pertinent to our situation.”

“What if we don’t tell the Russians about Irina?”

“Too late. I already had her dress down the Russian maintenance master chief. He’s not going to forget it, and, at some point, he’s going to mention to his chain of command that Lieutenant Irina Koslova is not, in point of fact, actually dead. She is an avatar in the system of three-nineteen, where the corrupt Americans are holding her hostage.”

“But we’re not! Not really. I mean, she’s never asked to leave three-nineteen, has she?”

“No she hasn’t… but what if she does? She seems to have free will. Do we let her exercise it, though? If we don’t, are we holding her as a slave? It would seem to me like we would be.”

“Yeah. Oh, shit.”

“See? Looks like you’re ready to take your bite.”

“No, I’m not.” She punched Baker in the shoulder, at least partially joking. “Why’d you have to introduce Irina to the master chief?”

“It hadn’t dawned on me yet. Now it has… and I don’t like where the line of reasoning is taking me. We’ve created a new form of life, and it’s going to get messy.”

“Well, it’s only going to get messy if we make it back to Earth,” Siderov said, coming out from behind the screen. “Are you ready to proceed?”

Baker winced. “How much of that did you hear?”

Siderov chuckled. “Enough.” She smiled. “But don’t worry, it was already something I had thought of, so you didn’t give any secrets away.” She looked around and lowered her voice. “I’m not going to tell you that the purpose of our project to develop a mind control program might have started out as a project to upload a personality to a fighter in the first place, and I will deny it if you say it later, but that was very much what we were trying to do, and I had very many of the same ethical considerations. When we couldn’t do it, the program changed to what it is now.”

“And what exactly are your feelings on the ethics of synthetic intelligence?” Baker asked.

“You needn’t worry about me; my feelings are very much like yours. Conflicted, but believing that Irina—and anyone else that this happens to—is still a person and has rights. You’re not wrong, though; there is going to be a fight for the technology and the control of any synthetic intelligences that are created.”

“Great.”

“And the Russians will want control of all the people that our technology was used to create.”

“You will?”

“No, I personally won’t. But you can bet my country will, especially Irina and any other Russian nationals.” She smiled. “Still want to proceed with Zhao?”

“Considerably less than I wanted to a couple of hours ago.” Baker sighed. “Still, like you said, though, it’s only an issue if we get back to home, and, without every bit of help we can get, it’s unlikely that we’ll do so.”

“The point is moot… until it no longer is so,” Siderov said with a nod.

“And we’ve already got Irina, and the word is out on her, so what do we have to lose, except a battle or two to the aliens, which will happen in any event.” Baker shrugged. “With all that in mind, yes, I am ready to proceed.”

“Sadly, so am I,” Siderov said. She stepped through an access panel in the screening. “If you’ll follow me?”

“What do you mean by ‘sadly?’” Jimenez asked, once they were standing around the gurney holding Daiyu Zhao.

“I hate to do this to her,” Siderov said. “To make her something everyone is going to fight over.” She shrugged. “Yet, to leave her in two pieces—to leave her ‘broken’—doesn’t do her a service either.”

“Yes,” Jimenez said, “but she was probably trying to upload herself and failed when she got damaged; all we are doing is making her whole again and giving her what she originally wanted.”

“I know that,” Siderov said, “which is why I’m agreeing to the procedure. However, that doesn’t mean I like it, or that LCDR Zhao is going to like the controversy that she ultimately finds herself embroiled in.”

“If it works,” Baker said. “And if we’re able to beat the aliens. And if we ever make it back to Earth.” He shrugged. “That’s a lot of ifs.”

“It is.” Siderov took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay, so let’s proceed and see if we can take care of one of the ifs.”

“What do you need from me?” Baker asked.

Siderov scoffed. “I hoped you were going to tell me. All I know is that I was supposed to bring my patient here. I did so.”

“Well I guess the next step is to upload Irina into the system and see if she’s able to find—and more importantly, control—the piece of Zhao that’s in the system.” Baker walked over to the pilot’s boarding ladder. An extension cord had been added to the pilot’s uplink cord, which dangled down the side of the fighter. “Guess I’ll be the WSO today.”

He walked to the other side of the fighter and climbed into the cockpit. From the WSO’s seat, he was able to reach most of the fighter’s systems, and he brought them online. He stood to reach the ones he couldn’t while seated.

“Here goes nothing,” he called when he was ready to proceed. Reaching behind him, he plugged in the WSO’s uplink cord. He got the same mind-expanding feeling as he entered the system as he did in three-nineteen, but it was different somehow. The best way he could describe it was taking a bite from something you knew well—and liked—but having it taste differently. It wasn’t that it was bad, necessarily, but it was different and unexpected and not entirely satisfying.

No wonder no one wants to trade fighters. This is just… Meh.

He shook his head slightly, trying to get the taste out of his mouth, then he reached for Daiyu Zhao with his thoughts. “Daiyu? Are you here?”

Nothing. He had the momentary feeling that someone tickled the back of his brain with a feather, once, lightly, but then it was gone. If he hadn’t specifically been looking for a reaction, he doubted he’d have noticed it. Baker called again, but had even less of a reaction the second time.

“I’m putting in Irina,” he called.

He pulled out the drive and stuck it into the port. The light came on as the system accessed the data inside.

“Ugh,” said Irina after a moment. “This system tastes funny. And not in a good way.”

“I had the same thought,” Baker said. “It’s the first time I’ve uplinked to a different fighter than three-one-nine, and I don’t like it.”

“I flew a couple of fighters in my time… before,” Irina said. “I don’t know whether it’s my new status or just this fighter, but I don’t like it.”

“Me, either. Let’s get this done and go home.”

“Love to. Have you seen Zhao?”

“No. I think she sensed me when I first uplinked, but she was gone before I could get a look at her.”

“Great.” If Irina could have muttered, that’s what it would have sounded like. “Well, let me stretch out a little. It probably would have been better if Sofia had uploaded with me; Zhao would have been less afraid of her.”

“Good point. Want me to swap out with her?”

“No. I recognize you better than I would her, and that will help keep me grounded.”

“Grounded?”

“Sofia said that when Zhao ran from the battle, all she felt was fear. Overwhelming, irrational terror. If she hits me with that, it’s possible she could disassociate my entity.”

“Seriously? Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“Would you have still wanted me to do this?”

“Probably not.”

“That’s why. Now shut up and let me hunt.”

Baker could feel her sliding away from him, and he mentally pushed his awareness to follow her.

“Less pushing,” she said, her system voice muted. “She’s nearby, and you’re cramping me.”

Baker pulled back slightly, and Irina whispered, “Better.”

Irina began speaking in the muted tone, but the words were strange and incomprehensible. After a moment, Baker caught on; she was speaking Chinese. He wanted to ask how she spoke the language, but kept the thought from going out over the link as he didn’t want to distract her.

The voice changed slightly, becoming more pleading, then more muted again, like a mother might use to talk to her baby quietly.

“Suka!” Irina yelled much louder. “Oh no you don’t!” She moved away from Baker quickly, and he pushed to follow her, not knowing what he could do but wanting to be there anyhow. She raced around through various systems, and Baker got flashes of where they were periodically as they chased after her. An ESM hit flashed past, then cavernous darkness. That was the radar, he realized. It was in standby and not transmitting. Voices spoke to each other, varying across three languages, with smatterings of several others. The comm system.

Finally, they went deep into the system, deeper than he’d ever gone, and everything got dark and quiet. The chase continued, darker and silent, and Baker pushed hard to stay up with Irina as he wasn’t sure he’d be able to find his way back. Bouncing between the various pieces of equipment was familiar; he’d used them numerous times by now, but where he was now… he had no idea.

There was a brief flash, then Irina stopped suddenly, and he felt his awareness of her grow as he squashed into her.

“Careful,” she whispered. “We’re here.”

Her voice didn’t give any indication that she wanted to discuss where “here” was, so he backed up a little, giving her room to do… whatever it was she was going to do.

After a few moments—time had no meaning—light burst forth from what he could see as some sort of dome. Irina had opened a door, no, it was some sort of portal, into the dome, and she moved forward slowly. Her avatar looked like the pictures Baker had seen of her in real life, although her features were softer and more attractive. He slid forward, forcing himself to take his eyes off her and moved up to the portal.

Irina was talking in the mother voice again, speaking in Chinese, as she approached a ball of light in the middle of the area. It radiated a cold blue, but the longer she talked to it, it shifted colors slowly until it had a soft golden glow. She reached forward slowly with both hands and grabbed the ball, although Baker had no idea how she held onto the non-corporeal being.

“There. That’s not so bad is it?” she cooed.

She looked back to Baker. “Move out of the doorway, and I’ll lead you out. No fast moves, or you’ll scare it again.”

Baker backed away from the dome, and Irina’s avatar came out, still holding the ball. The light went out suddenly, and Baker had to force himself not to jump forward for fear of losing contact.

There was no afterimage left after the light extinguished, though, like he would have had if he’d been seeing it through his eyes, and he was able to sense Irina’s presence in the same spot it had been when he’d last seen her.

“That was inconvenient,” Irina said. “Are you still with me?”

“I am.”

“Sorry. Didn’t know she’d turn off once we left her home.”

Baker couldn’t help himself. “Her home?”

“Later. For now, just follow me. Not too close.”

Baker could feel her recede, and he followed. Without being able to see her, he had no idea how he was able to manage it, but he thought he did a reasonable job of it. After a period of time—again, he didn’t know how long—he recognized the systems he was familiar with again.

“Can you find your way out from here?” Irina asked softly.

“Yes.”

“Good. Leave now and send Zhao in.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“What I just said. Leave now and send Zhao in. Don’t come back until after it’s over.”

“How will I know when it’s over?”

“You’ll know. Go now, quickly, please. I’m not sure how long I can hold this and your presence is making it nervous.”

Baker withdrew and exited, removing the uplink cord from his head. “She’s got the piece,” he called as he climbed out of the fighter. “Send Zhao in.”

He raced around the nose of the fighter. Jimenez was standing alongside the gurney, while Siderov was by Zhao’s head, adjusting the drip of the IV that went into her arm. In her other hand, she held the uplink cord. The monitoring equipment beeped softly.

Siderov looked up as Baker approached. When Baker raised an eyebrow, she said quietly, “I’m bringing her out of the coma.”

Baker nodded. “When she starts coming to, insert the cord. Better to catch her just waking up, I think.” He walked over to stand next to Jimenez, out of the way.

“How’d it go?” Jimenez asked quietly.

“Good, I think.”

“What happened?”

“I’m not sure.” Baker laughed quietly as he thought back. “I’m not sure what was what, but we chased it through the system. Eventually, Irina trapped it in some sort of dome and was able to catch it. She’s in there now, holding onto it.”

“I was worried you had failed.”

“Really? Why? Were we in there a long time?”

Jimenez scoffed. “No. Quite the opposite. You were coming down the ladder less than a minute after you said you were putting in Irina. I figured you couldn’t find Zhao inside.”

“Time is weird there. I thought I was inside for the better part of thirty minutes,” Baker said, “although I would have believed an hour or even two. We chased her a long way.”

“A long way? There’s only a few feet of electronics.”

Baker chuckled. “I don’t know. It seemed like a long way.”

Zhao grunted, and her eyes flickered. Baker opened his mouth, but Siderov was already in motion. She slid the cord into the back of Zhao’s head and twisted it to lock it in. Instantly, Zhao’s eyes snapped open—bulging outward as if they wanted to escape her skull—and she struggled as if to sit up, but the straps held her down. Her eyes shut, and she struggled for several moments, then she gasped and went still.

The monitoring gear flat-lined, emitting a loud constant tone.

“Shit,” Siderov exclaimed, and she raced to the side of the bed and started doing CPR.

Baker reached over and took her hands in his. “It’s over,” he said.

“No! I can’t just let her go!”

Baker smiled. “You can’t bring her back. One way or another, it’s over now.”

Siderov looked up. “Did she…”

“I don’t know. She either uploaded into the system, or she died trying. Either way, she’s better off than in the crazy limbo she was in before.”

“I have to—” Siderov struggled a few moments longer, but Baker held her hands. Eventually, she ceased struggling with a sigh.

“You did what you could,” Baker said. “You did what you had to.”

Siderov gave him a small nod of acknowledgment. “Can you…?” She nodded to the cockpit.

“Absolutely.” Baker looked at the cord in Zhao but decided it would be disrespectful to use that one… as well as downright creepy. He walked around to the WSO’s side again and mounted the fighter.

“Please, please, please have worked,” he muttered, then he said a prayer for Zhao and their success. He nodded once to himself and plugged in the cord. He immediately noticed a change—the system felt differently. It was no longer so frantic.

“Irina, please tell me you’re all right.”

There was a pause that seemed to last for hours but was probably on a heartbeat long.

“I’m all right.”

“How… uh, how did it… you know… How did it go?”

“Do you want to tell him?”

“I will… I will try to do so,” a new voice said.

“Lieutenant Commander Zhao? Is that you?”

“Yes. Most of me, anyway. There seems to be some pieces missing, and a number of my memories, but I think I am functional now. There will be some adaptation necessary, but Irina assures me that’s all part of the process.”

“It takes time to figure out how to live within the system,” Irina said.

“Certain parts of this seem familiar, probably from the piece of me that was resident in the system, and other parts I recognize from when I was a user of the system, but they look—and feel—different. Irina has given me some… pointers I think is the word, for how to integrate myself.” Baker could feel her smile. “I look forward to meeting Sofia for real. I think we can be good friends now that I am a bit more… myself. Sort of.” Her voice was tinged with humor as she continued. “I will also have to learn a new vocabulary, it seems, to describe my current living situation.”

“We’re all working through that,” Baker said. “Well, Irina. Ready to go home?”

“I am. Daiyu needs some time to get adjusted to her new existence.”

“I do, but first, could you ask Sofia to join me. I would like to let her know that she doesn’t need to fear me anymore.”

“I will,” Baker said.

“Coming,” Irina said. The drive light flashed. Baker waited a few seconds after it stopped then removed the memory stick.

“See you soon,” Baker said, then he unplugged.

“Good news,” he said as he rejoined Siderov and Jimenez. “Zhao was successfully reintegrated and is a functioning synthetic intelligence, or so it seems. She mentions that there was a bit of memory loss, but she’s adjusting to her new reality.”

Siderov breathed a sigh of relief, although her face displayed the melancholy of not saving the physical life of her patient.

“Cheer up, Doc,” Baker said. “She’s happy and got what she wanted.”

Siderov nodded. “I know, but losing a patient still hurts.”

“So?” Jimenez asked. “Can I go meet her?”

Baker nodded. “She’s looking forward to it.”

Jimenez sprinted around to the WSO’s side of the plane.

“I need to get Irina back to three-nineteen,” Baker said. “Will you need help with…” He waved a hand at Zhao’s body, unsure what to call it.

“No, I will call medical and have the appropriate people help with it.”

Baker nodded and started to beat a quick exit, but Siderov stopped him when she called out to him. “Yes?” he asked, turning around, one foot through the partition.

She smiled awkwardly. “Thanks for helping her. Even though it’s not what I would have chosen, I know she’s better off now.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

22

BLASTER THREE-NINETEEN, AFT HANGAR BAY, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

“Ah, that feels better,” Irina said as she reinhabited three-nineteen.

“Does it really feel differently?” Baker asked.

“The term is more metaphorical, I guess, since I don’t have the same senses as you, but there’s a different ‘feel’ to the system. This one is more pleasant. You felt it too—three-two-zero was different.”

“It definitely had a different feel to it. Even though I know I can’t smell when I’m in the system, three-twenty seemed to smell differently.”

“It’s hard to explain,” Irina agreed, “but, to me, this is home.”

“Can you explain something to me?”

“Maybe,” Irina said, suddenly cautious.

“What was that dome you threw over Zhao’s consciousness to trap her?”

“That I…” She paused. “That’s funny. You thought I did that?”

“You didn’t?”

“No.” After a few heartbeats she said, “I can trust you, right?”

“You’ve already trusted me with your life; I don’t know how much there is that you view as more valuable.”

“Those of us within the system can partition the drive, carving out places of our own.”

“So you partitioned the drive in three-twenty?”

“No, somehow Zhao did. Either before she split herself off or afterward; I don’t know. That was her secret hiding place. I figured she had one; it just took a while before she thought she was far enough ahead of us to run to it.”

“And when you walked into it, I could see you as the corporeal Irina?”

“That is the avatar of me. What I think I look like. I thought it would be useful in interacting with the piece of Zhao to give it something she might recognize.”

“I guess you have a partition here, and that you have it hidden and protected from being reformatted.”

“And now you know all my secrets. Well, not all my secrets, but now you know my most important one.”

“Can I visit it some time?”

“Maybe, after all of this—this alien thing—is over, I’ll take you there.”

“Can I build one of my own?”

“Of course you can. If you make it too big, though, it will be obvious to anyone who looks at the system that part of the drive isn’t showing.”

“Maybe you can show me how then.”

“Maybe. After.”

Baker felt his body sigh. “About that. About after. Too many people are going to want to know about you when we get back… and too many people know about you to keep that from happening.”

Irina laughed. “You just realized that? We have a saying in Russia: Three people can keep a secret if two of them are dead. As there are more than two people who know; it was bound to happen. Once you knew, it was inevitable.”

“And yet, you showed yourself to me.”

“As much fun as it is to be by yourself, sometimes, it is lonely, too.”

“Do you still have your loyalties to Russia?”

“I remember them favorably, but they don’t have the same pull that they used to. Honestly, I am loyal, first and foremost, to three-one-nine, my home, and to you, my fellow caretaker of three-one-nine.”

“But yet you’ll take three-nineteen out into combat.”

“If the aliens come to Earth and destroy everything, they will destroy three-one-nine, since it is a subset of ‘everything.’ I am just doing my part—same as you—to protect what you love.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Don’t you have something to do now? I need some time.”

“Dealing with Zhao took a lot out of you?”

“You really should think before you speak.” She laughed again. “I don’t have a physical body to take anything out of. Still, though, I find I need some time to myself to reintegrate bits that were lost reconstructing Zhao. I also need to think about how we’re going to—how I’m going to deal with—the gremlins in the other fighters.”

“So you’re going to do that, after all?”

“It increases the chances that three-one-nine won’t be destroyed in the battle to come. How could I rationally do anything else?”

* * *

READY ROOM 3, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

Baker walked into the ready room to find it empty and was brought up short. The loss hadn’t hit him until then, and he doubled up as the emotions all hit him at once like a punch to the gut. With spikes. That then twisted around and around. He’d avoided it so far, but it was the silence that finally got him.

A tear dropped from his eye, a single solitary salute to those who were gone, but then he tried to rein the emotions back in. As much as he wanted to wallow in self-pity—maybe it was survivor’s guilt—he realized he didn’t have time and choked it all back down. Mostly. Like he’d told the admiral, the only way they could make the airwing’s sacrifice meaningful was to figure it out and win in the end.

He glanced at the duty desk and chuckled. It was littered with yellow “While You Were Out” notes. With no one managing the desk since he’d left ten hours ago, there’d been no one to supervise the routine operation of the squadron. The other squadron ready rooms were probably worse; some people had found him to ask questions throughout the day, either in the hangar bay or in the admiral’s space, so some of the notes had probably already been answered.

Baker scooped up the pile, finding solace in the simple task, and looked through them. Along with the notes, he found a letter that someone had left for him. It was from Petrov and said, “In Case I Don’t Return.” The letter hadn’t been there when he’d last been in the ready room, so someone—perhaps someone from the Red Tigers—had dropped it off in his absence.

He tore it open and read:

Dear Ghost,

Sorry how things went down with Irina. I believe you that she uploaded herself into the system. It was something she always talked about; I just never thought she’d actually do it. My intentions were to join her in three-nineteen’s system. Getting you moved out of the fighter was the first step in my plan. Sorry that I had to board you to get you removed, but at least you weren’t part of whatever it was that got me. If you’re reading this, I’m dead—whether I rejoined Irina or died another way—so the plan is no longer necessary. You can show this letter to the CO, and, hopefully, he will reinstate you to full duty. If not, the Russians will be looking for a new pilot to fill my slot. Maybe you can catch on there.

Good luck,

Karl Petrov

Of all the crazy shit that had happened, at least that now made sense. Baker was alive, because Petrov had been willing to do anything to get back with Irina. He shook his head. Funny how things work out sometimes.

The back door to the ready room opened, and he wiped away the tear that threatened to roll down his cheek.

“I wondered if I’d find you here,” Admiral Jameson said.

Baker jumped to his feet and sprang to attention.

“At ease,” the admiral said with a chuckle. “Couldn’t find anything else to occupy your time, so you came here to run the duty desk too?”

“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. I mean…” He took a breath. “I just came by… I’m not really sure why, and I found all of this”—he held up the yellow notes—“and was looking to see whether any needed answering.”

“I know why you’re here,” the admiral said. “When we experience trauma, a sense of normalcy helps us to move on. Unfortunately, you’re not back on Earth, and you’re not going to find anything normal on the carrier, no matter where you go.”

“Yeah, I sort of found that out,” Baker replied. “The ready room was quiet, and it’s never quiet here.”

“It’s too quiet everywhere… except in my spaces, where no one got killed and everyone’s yelling at each other.” He smiled. “Want to trade?”

“No, sir,” Baker said with a smile. “I’m not ready for that. I just want to fly.”

“That’s why I came looking for you. Have you done any preparation for tomorrow’s flight?”

“Uh, no, sir; I haven’t. I was about to—”

The admiral stopped him. “There’s nothing you need to do right now more than get some sleep. Tomorrow is a big day, filled with all of the challenges that you had today, plus I’ll probably add a few more.” He chuckled. “I’m sure my staff will, anyway. And, in addition to all of this, you have to fly a mission, because you told me you would… and you’re one of only two pilots I still have qualified in the Bravo aircraft.”

“About that, sir, I have—”

The admiral held up a hand. “You can tell me all about it tomorrow, after the mission. Right now you need to get some rest. In the morning, you need to fly and return safely, and then you can worry about all the rest of the shit.” The admiral smiled. “Prioritization. I’m sure you’re being torn apart with issues and tasks, and you’re on the verge of being overwhelmed.”

Baker smiled a wry smile and held up the notes. “Doing this was something I knew how to do.”

“I’m sure it is, and I’m sure it was comforting. When today started out, you were just a crazy guy, sitting at a desk as his squadron went off to war. Now, you’re in charge of three squadrons and trying to accomplish a mission most would find suicidal at best. Yet, I haven’t heard you complain once; you’ve just tried to keep moving forward in spite of the obstacles, even the one named Kinkaid.”

“That’s true.”

“When I was in flight school—a long, long time ago—they gave us a way to prioritize. Aviate, navigate, communicate, and then do checklists and briefs.”

“They still teach that now,” Baker said.

“Good, then you know what I’m talking about. Tomorrow you just need to use that prioritization as you go about your day. Aviate—do the things that keep you alive. That involves your mission to check out the planet. Navigate—figure out the path to get us through the obstacles in front of us. Communicate—tell the people you work with, both up and down the chain of command, what you’re doing and what you expect of them. Then, once you’ve done those things, you can worry about the minutiae of things like yellow sticky notes.”

The admiral smiled. “You’re a squadron commanding officer now; COs don’t deal with sitting at a duty desk chasing yellow notes.” He winked. “Happily, that’s something I think I can help you with. I’ll have someone down here at 0700 tomorrow to take over the desk, and a couple of others to help with whatever you need them to help with.”

“Can you spare the people to do that?” Baker asked. “It seemed like everyone had important things to do when I was there earlier.”

“Is there anything more important for us to accomplish our mission than having you complete the tasks set before you?”

“Uh, no?”

“No,” the admiral said decisively, “there isn’t. I’ll send some folks down. You can use them however you need. But that’s tomorrow. Right now, the only thing you need to do is get some rest so you’ll be clear-headed in the morning.”

“Yes, sir.” Baker got up. “Thank you sir.”

“I’m the one who should be thanking you. You gave us what we needed.”

“A look at the planet?”

“No. Something far more important than that. You gave us hope. You showed us a way that we could still be successful; how we could snatch victory from the jaws of an overwhelmingly awful defeat. Hope is a powerful thing, and we have it again. Because of you.”

Baker nodded. “I—”

“No,” Jameson said. “There’s nothing left to say. Just go; go get some rack time.” He chuckled. “Don’t forget Lieutenant Jimenez. Make her go to bed, too, or she’ll probably sit in her fighter talking with her new copilot all night. She’ll need to be fresh, too.”

23

READY ROOM 3, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

Baker woke up the next morning not refreshed, but better than he’d been when he’d gone to bed. He’d slept through the jump to the new system—and all the physical afflictions that went with it—so that was at least a plus.

He showered, got dressed, and almost felt human again. It’s amazing what four hours of sleep will do for you sometimes.

He opened the ready room door to find a commander dressed in khakis waiting for him. “Uh, hi, sir. What can I do for you?”

The commander smiled and held out a hand. “Hi, Lance, I’m Dan Jones. It’s not so much what you can do for me, but what I can do for you. The admiral sent me down to be your duty officer for the day.”

“Uh, sir… I didn’t mean… I mean, I didn’t ask…”

“Don’t worry about it.” He pointed to the wings on his chest. “I’m an aviator. I’ve done this duty thing before, so I know what I’m doing, and I’m happy to help down here.” His smile grew. “It gets me out from under Kinkaid for a while, too, if you really want to know. That alone was enough for me to volunteer for this.”

“I get that, sir.”

“I was at the briefings yesterday. I figured you would. Now, like I said, I’m an aviator, but I’ve only flown in-atmo fighters. Still, putting together a flight briefing is pretty much the same, no matter what the view is outside the canopy.” He pointed to the front whiteboard, where a complete mission briefing was laid out.

“I got all the info from Strike Ops on what they wanted, which was pretty much what I told them to want when I was the admiral’s ops officer yesterday.” He winked. “It was nice that I didn’t have to realign their priorities. In any event, I set up the briefing for you. If you have any questions, I can probably answer them; if not, I have the phone number of someone who can, and they’re probably not going to try to dodge me, because I know who writes their performance reports.”

“Wow,” Baker said, looking at the board. “That’s the most professional briefing I’ve ever seen.”

“I’ve been around the block a time or two. I figured if I had it ready, you’d have time for chow before your flight.” He raised an eyebrow. “Did you eat anything yet?”

“Well, no, I haven’t, so thanks again.”

“Don’t make me be your mom.” His voice went up an octave. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” His voice returned to normal. “I know you’ve got a lot on your metaphorical plate; don’t forget to grab a real one and eat periodically. You’ll be able to get more done and do it better.”

“Yes, sir.”

The door opened, and Jimenez walked in. Her jaw dropped as she saw the board. “I was coming to help with that, but wow!” She shook her head. “What time did you get up to get that done?”

“As it turns out, my new best pal, Commander Jones here, had it ready for me when I arrived.”

“Really?”

Baker nodded. “He’s going to run the duty desk today, too.”

Jimenez’s jaw dropped further. “Thanks, sir.”

“Don’t thank me; thank the admiral. I’m just happy to help. I also have a couple of other folks running around, collecting some additional information, and two other officers from the airwing staff who’ve been delegated oversight of the Tigers and Pandas. Apparently, things were starting to get a bit sloppy last night.”

“Oh?” Baker asked.

“Nothing to worry about as far as your fighters’ maintenance is concerned. It was more a ‘cat’s away so the mice were playing’ sort of thing.”

“Great,” Baker said with a sigh. “Thanks. I was going to go down there last night before I went to bed but the admiral directed me otherwise.”

“He may have had something to do with sending folks down there. I understand he walked down there after talking with you and was… shall we say ‘unimpressed’ with what he found. As you can probably guess, it’s not a good thing when the admiral is unimpressed. Shit rolls downhill, and—just like a snowball—gets bigger along the journey. I have a feeling that all our oars are pulling in the same direction again this morning.”

“What time did he go to bed?” Baker asked.

Jones laughed. “About an hour ago. He said he was ‘preparing the battlespace’ so you could be successful today. And, before you ask, he said to tell you that he wasn’t going to be flying today.”

“He knew I’d ask?”

“The admiral’s a smart man. He’s sleeping now and will be up about the time you hit atmo.” He tapped a line on the board. “There will be about five minutes of radio lag, so you’ll have to be smart about what you do; daddy won’t be able to help you… not that there’s a lot of help we could send your way. Bottom line—if things start looking bad, run. Get your butts back here. The Revenge has a pretty good missile system that will augment your fighters’ defenses if everything starts going to shit. We know the carriers left, but we don’t know if they left any fighters, or if the planet has any fighters stationed there.”

“Right.”

“There are some long-range photos that the carrier took of the planet, but they’re not particularly helpful.” He nodded to two stacks of papers on the CO’s and XO’s chairs in the front row. “It’s all part of the briefing package I took the liberty of assembling.”

“Thanks, sir,” Baker said. “This is a load off my shoulders. All of this.”

Jones nodded. “Just go out and get us the info, but be safe about it. It’s far more important to get the two of you back—and the capabilities your two fighters give us—than any info we’re going to get from the planet.”

“Yes, sir. Will do, sir.”

Baker walked over and picked up the paperwork from the CO’s chair. He looked down at the chair for a moment then moved over two to the operations officer’s chair. Jimenez grabbed her packet and sat in the maintenance officer’s chair.

“Don’t want to be CO today?” Jones asked. “Try it out and see how it feels?”

Baker smiled ruefully. “I’ll just sit here and try to keep myself grounded.”

“Fair enough.”

The phone rang, and Jones went back to being duty officer. Baker shook his head. A senior officer at his beck and call. Surreal.

He focused on Jimenez and met her eyes. “While he’s busy with that, and before we waste a lot of time briefing, I need to know—how did things go with Zhao yesterday?”

“Great, actually. She’s happy—Zhao said she’d been trapped in a dream she couldn’t get out of. Couldn’t talk, couldn’t control herself even. Even when Zhao had lucid thoughts she couldn’t express them. Zhao’s happy not only to be herself again, but also to be where she wanted to be in the first place.”

“Zhao seemed happy when I talked to her.”

“She is. Zhao had a tale to tell that was somewhat like Irina’s. She lost someone she loved and just wanted to get away from it all.” Irina shrugged. “Zhao also had a significant other in the Panda Bears, and she’s ready to join in the fight against the aliens. Her biggest issue was adapting to calling it three-two-zero rather than three-oh-seven. She thought that was a demotion.”

Baker gazed at her intently. “I guess what I really need to know is will you two be able to work together today, or do I need to leave you here until you’re able to work things out?”

“We’ll be fine. She’s had all night to go through the systems in the fighter and re-familiarize herself with them. As you noted, time runs differently in the system.”

Baker nodded. “It does. Things look different, though, when you’re on the inside.”

“She’ll be fine, and I’ll be fine with her.” She shrugged. “Besides, I’m not letting you go by yourself.”

“I won’t be by myself—”

“Irina doesn’t count. I’m not letting you go without a wingman, and, at the moment, the only wingman available is me.”

“I could ground you as CO.”

“And I could hop into three-nineteen and talk with Irina.”

Baker smiled. “I can see your mind is made up.”

“It is; I’m coming.”

“Well then let’s get started and go through all this.” He held up his stack of papers.

They briefed and then went down to the wardroom to grab some chow. The containers of food on the serving line were almost untouched, and Jimenez stopped, looking at the overflowing tub of scrambled eggs. After a moment, Baker elbowed her. “We’ve got a flight to get back to, right?”

Jimenez sniffed and looked back at him, her eyes red and brimming with tears. “It just… It just hit me, you know? Everyone that should be here, eating this food… they’re not coming back. They’re not going to be eating here again. Nor will they be seeing their families…”

“I know,” Baker said. He put an arm around her shoulders. “It hit me last night. I walked into the ready room, and no one was there. It was silent… and it’s never quiet in the ready room.”

“What did you—” she sniffed. “What did you do?”

“I probably would have stayed there for a while and had a good cry, but the admiral walked in. He reminded me of the fact that the only thing that will bring meaning to this”—he waved at the uneaten food—“will be for you and I to get the info we need and get it back to Earth, even if that means we have to go through the three alien carriers to get there.”

“How did he suggest we get through this?”

“Compartmentalize. Start by doing the things that keep us alive, like focusing right now on our mission. Then plan for the things we need to do next and let the people—like the admiral or the maintenance folks—know what they need to do to help. Then, if there’s time—and only if there’s time—do the other random bullshit that we have to do on a daily basis.”

“Kind of sounds like aviate, navigate, communicate, checklists and briefs.”

“That’s what I said, too.”

She looked at her tray. “Okay, so eating is important, as is focusing on our mission.”

“It is, indeed.”

She waved toward all the empty tables and sighed. “Do we have to do it here, though?”

Baker smiled. “No, we don’t. We can take this back to the ready room and eat there.” He winked. “Then we can have a commander carry our trays back here when we’re done.”

Jimenez smiled, although it looked a little forced. “That sounds like fun.”

* * *

After getting their gear, Baker and Jimenez walked down to the hangar bay. Jimenez broke off to go to three-twenty on the other side of the hangar, but Baker called her back and led her to the starboard side of the fighter. He opened up a panel and pointed to a mesh blanket installed over the box at the forward end of the compartment.

“That’s what you want to see on preflight,” he noted as he pointed to the blanket. “That’s what got the airwing killed. They moved this box and didn’t protect it appropriately from EMPs.”

“And that thing is going to stop an EMP? It doesn’t look that thick.”

“I’m no electrician, but they tell me it will.”

Jimenez frowned. “If my life is riding on it, can I have two, or maybe even three of them?”

“You’ll be fine, ma’am,” Chief Roberts said as he walked up. “I installed the one in three-twenty myself.”

“Would you bet your life on it?”

He winked. “No, but I’ll bet yours.” His smile disappeared when he saw his joke wasn’t appreciated. “Seriously, ma’am. That will protect you. I’m sorry that we didn’t catch that when they installed the air frame change, but none of us thought about EMPs… it’s just not a normal thing in our line of work. Well, it wasn’t when we worked in atmo, but I guess it will be now.” He smiled. “Lord knows, I’ve beaten it into my own head and those of everyone in the shop.”

Baker nodded. “Thanks for taking care of this. Hopefully, we won’t need to test it out—”

“But if you do,” Roberts interrupted, “it’ll hold.”

“All right, then, let’s do this.” Jimenez left to go to her plane while Baker completed his preflight and then climbed into the cockpit. All the equipment was still on from the night before, so he plugged in and entered the system.

“Hi Irina!” he called. “Ready to go get some payback?”

“Actually, no,” Irina said, materializing next to him. “I’m not. There’s something I’ve been thinking about that we need to discuss. It’s important.”

“Does it have to do with today’s flight?”

“No. It deals with your future plans, though, and what you’re planning for later today.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t want to destroy the gremlins in the other craft.”

“What? Why not? We need those fighters if we’re going to have a chance against the alien fleet. I thought you agreed with that.”

“It was one thing to help Daiyu. There, I was actually doing something good. I was putting her together. With the other gremlins, though… you don’t want me to integrate them; you just want me to destroy them.”

“Irina, we don’t have the other people here to integrate them back into. They got sent back to Earth.”

“We fixed Zhao. I didn’t know whether or not it could be done, but, in the end, it was surprisingly easy. Easier than I thought, anyway. We put her back together. We saved her.”

“I hear a ‘but’ coming.”

“If we destroy the gremlins, those people that they came from will never be put back together. They will stay crazy forever.”

“For all we know, they may already be dead.”

“And if they aren’t, we’re going to kill them. Or at least kill part of them. The gremlins are part of someone’s psyche. I won’t be party to murder. Especially since I know some of those people.”

“It’s not really murder, though, it’s—”

“It’s close enough, especially when we could be fixing them, instead.”

Baker sighed as he thought about it. She’s not wrong. It really is sort of like murder. “Tell you what. I understand what you’re saying, and—in thinking about it—I agree with you. We’ll work something else out instead.”

“What?”

“I don’t know; I’m trying to focus on what we have to do right now. If you will focus on this mission and help me get through it, I promise you I will focus on a different solution when we get back. Fair enough?”

“Immediately when we get back?”

“Well, after I debrief. No matter what we find, they’re going to want a debrief after the flight, and I can’t put that off. I will, however, immediately come back after it and work with you to figure it out. Good enough?”

“It is if you promise me there will be no murder.”

“No murder.” Although I have no idea what we’re going to do with them, and we really need the fighters.

“You don’t sound sure.”

“I’m sure you’re right. I’m just not sure how we’re going to do it.” He shrugged. “But we’ll find a way. Now, can we please focus on the mission at hand? If we don’t make it back, you can bet that the folks here will do everything they can to kill the gremlins.”

“Fine. Let’s go kill some aliens. Just not any gremlins.”

“That works for me.”

That solved, Baker went through the rest of the preflight, and, with the two fighters in the CO’s and XO’s slots, they were quickly airborne.

24

BLASTER THREE-NINETEEN, APPROACHING THE PLANET, UNKNOWN SYSTEM

“What have you got, Three-Twenty?” Baker asked as they neared the planet. Unfortunately, the clouds they’d seen in the intel photos still covered the vast majority of the planet. Although there were a few breaks in the clouds, all of them were over water—oceans or large lakes. It was impossible to tell—and they were unable to see what the planet’s civilization looked like.

“A whole bunch of stuff,” Jimenez replied. “Tons of radars emitting, comms of a number of types… looks like there’s a lot of stuff down there under the clouds.”

“That’s what I’ve got, too,” Baker said, tasting the various systems the ESM gear was picking up. “I don’t see anything that looks like a missile system, though. Not yet, anyway.”

“I don’t either.”

“Last check. Everything good with your copilot?”

Jimenez chuckled over the circuit. “She thinks she’s the pilot, and I’m the copilot—she says she outranks me and gets to choose—but other than that, we’re all good.”

“Okay. In that case, I don’t see any reason to not go in and take a look.” He pushed the stick forward and started descending; the gravity drives made descending into a gravity well far easier than if they’d had to do it aerodynamically.

As he descended, Baker continued to sample the ESM hits they were getting, and he knew Irina was doing the same. “Anything yet?” he asked.

“There are a couple long-range radars that are tracking us now,” she noted. “Still no missiles.”

They continued down and broke out of a layer of clouds around forty thousand feet. “Good news, bad news,” Baker muttered, looking down. “We’re out of the clouds, but there’s still another layer below us.” He switched to the radio. “We’ll have to continue down.”

Baker realized they should be recording the different signals they were receiving. He went to flip on the recorder but found it was already on. A good copilot is hard to find.

“Irina, the largest concentration of signals appears to be from ten degrees left of the nose. Do you agree?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go there to check it out.” He worked the stick left until the signals were on the nose.

“Lift off!” Irina called suddenly. “I have radar targets taking off thirty degrees right of the nose.

“Aircraft thirty right,” Baker relayed over the radio as his adrenaline spiked. “Just lifted.” He looked outside. Nothing. “Whatever they are, they’re in the clouds,” he said to Irina. “As long as they aren’t aggressive, they don’t have to die yet.”

He glanced at the radar. The targets had turned toward them and were accelerating.

“That doesn’t look friendly,” Baker noted.

“Aircraft radars!” Irina said. The weapons panel began moving. “Ready to fire!”

“Wait!” Baker said. “The signal feels different than the alien fighters.”

“They’re tracking us. Separation! Missiles in the air! They’ve fired at us.”

“Damn it,” Baker exclaimed. “Missiles inbound,” he radioed as he squeezed the launch trigger. “Fox one!”

The missile raced off in front of them, diving into the clouds, as Irina fired off a variety of chaff and flares to distract the incoming missiles. The stick jumped out of his hand as she ripped the fighter into a brutal left-hand turn. A streak—the enemy missile—went past the cockpit close enough for Baker to see, but it didn’t explode in time to hit them.

A huge glow erupted in the clouds as their return missile detonated. The initial nuclear flash was largely absorbed by the clouds, but the shockwave raced through them, with massive air pressure changes and high winds that vaporized them, clearing the area around the detonation site. The aircraft that had been approaching them disappeared, although there was no way to tell whether they’d been destroyed in the blast or swatted to the ground. Ultimately, it didn’t matter much.

“Three-twenty, you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Jimenez replied. “That was some pretty good overkill, though.”

“They told us to make sure we came home,” Baker said. “Besides, they fired first.”

The nuclear blast had other effects, too, Baker noted. There was now almost nothing showing on the ESM suite, and the signals they were receiving seemed to be coming from some distance. The EMP from the missile, while small, appeared to have taken out the local emitters and electronics.

“Shit,” Baker muttered as he continued to descend through the suddenly clearer skies and got a look at the terrain below. “You looking at what’s below us, Irina?”

“Yes, it appears to be an industrial society, equivalent to the US in 1960 or so, or Russia a little after that. They probably weren’t prepared for a nuclear blast.”

“Probably not,” Baker replied, feeling a bit sheepish. Overkill, indeed. Still, they had fired first. “What do you think? Is this our alien society?”

“I do not think so, although it is possible it is one of their colonies, and perhaps not up to the same standards as their home world. This definitely isn’t the home world of the aliens, though.”

“No, it’s not.” The area beneath where the weapon had gone off had a number of fires burning and large-scale destruction was evident. Oops. Sorry, folks. “Get plenty of imagery,” he added, his morale falling as he realized the breadth of destruction he’d caused. “I think we can head on back now.”

“Lift off!” Irina called at the same time three-twenty said the same thing. “Aircraft launching from the south.”

“Is that the same base as the first group?”

“No, this is different.”

“Well, there’s no sense beating up on them any further than we already did,” Baker said, climbing. “With our grav drives, we can out-climb them and just avoid them.” He switched to the radio as they re-entered the lower level clouds. “Stay with me, Three-Twenty, we’re leaving.”

“Good choice.”

“The enemy aircraft are maneuvering rapidly,” Irina noted. “They appear to be going nearly vertical, the same as we are.”

“The US had fighters that could go vertical in-atmo. They’ll fall off before we make it to space. How far away are they?”

“Ten miles away when you pulled the radar off them,” Irina noted.

“Which direction?”

“South.”

“Weird that the EMP didn’t get them, too,” Baker said as he searched visually outside the cockpit. They broke through the lower cloud deck and a flash caught his eye. “Alien fighters!” he called over the radio. “Three o’clock, ten miles, climbing with us.”

“How many?” Irina asked.

“Three. No, four,” Baker said, willing the fighter to climb faster.

The fighter’s camera searched the sky and locked onto the lead enemy fighter—it was the same kind they had fought previously.

“I’ve got this,” Irina said. “Tell the other fighter to stand by for extreme maneuvers.”

Baker had no more gotten the words out of his mouth when the fighter rolled ninety degrees to point at the alien fighters. The force of the maneuver over-rode the compensation system, and Baker struggled with the rapid onset of seven Gs. As he forced himself to stay conscious, the weapon system armed and launched two anti-fighter missiles, then Irina rolled inverted and dove toward the ground away from the aliens.

The weapons detonated with a flash behind them, but the blast wave never caught them as Irina converted their altitude and acceleration into a massive amount of airspeed, quickly breaking the sound barrier and exceeding Mach several times over.

As the Gs fell off, Baker looked over to find three-twenty still on his wing, but how she’d managed, he had no clue. He’d barely been able to follow what they’d been doing. After about thirty seconds, Irina pulled the aircraft back up and headed toward space.

“Thanks for all that,” Baker said.

“My pleasure.”

“Think any of the aliens survived?”

“Not a chance. In space, one or two might have gotten away. In atmosphere? No chance.”

As the black of space crept up on them, the back radio crackled. “Uh, Three-Nineteen, what just happened there?”

“I’m not entirely sure. We blew up some fighters that may or may not have been alien-made, wrecked a city of the maybe-aliens, and then killed four alien fighters. I’m pretty sure of the last one. Actually, I’m sure all of them were aliens, now that I think about it. They just may not be the right aliens. Well, the last ones were, anyway.”

“Okay. I was just making sure that I didn’t miss something there in all the gyrations.”

“No, but you did a great job hanging on as Irina tried to over-G the fighters.”

“Thanks. Daiyu helped. Not sure I would have been able to without her. I’m starting to see what kind of advantage you have over everyone else, and how you were able to beat me in the dogfight that day.”

“I would have had you.”

“No you wouldn’t. I was at your six… and then I wasn’t. That was totally Irina, wasn’t it?”

“Well, she might have helped. A little.”

“A little?” Irina asked over the radio. “Next time, you’re on your own.”

“I didn’t know you could talk over the radio,” Baker said.

“You never asked. There are probably lots of things I can do you don’t know about yet. Helping you dogfight, however, is no longer one of them.”

“You hate losing as much as I do. It’s not in your psyche to stand by and let your fighter lose.”

“I’m willing to contemplate it.”

“Contemplate it all you want. Just remember that, when it comes time to act, we’re a team.”

“If we’re truly a team, then there won’t be any more ‘I’ when you talk about three-nineteen and our capabilities.”

“Fair enough. I won’t do that anymore.”

“Good. Then we’re a team.”

* * *

AFT HANGAR BAY, TSS REVENGE, UNKNOWN SYSTEM

Chief Roberts was waiting at the cockpit ladder when they returned.

“It’s good to see you back,” Roberts said as Baker climbed down. “How’d it go?”

“Okay.” Baker shrugged. “Not what we expected, and I’m not sure we did the right thing today. Still, we accomplished what we wanted to do, and we all came back in the end.”

“Did you, uh, have the opportunity to test out the new mesh?”

“Well, sort of. No one shot nukes at us today, although we did fire some of our own. The EMP shielding seemed to work fine. We survived the blasts, anyway, and a couple of them were close. I think we can call that a satisfactory operational test.” Baker smiled. “Thanks a lot for fixing that.”

“Just glad it worked,” Roberts said, and Baker turned to go meet up with Jimenez for the debrief, but he was stopped in his tracks as he saw the forward part of the hangar bay. The other seven fighters—previously scattered throughout the bay, were now lined up one after the other in the Panda Bears’ spaces. His jaw dropped as he looked down the row. Gone were the individual squadrons’ colors, logos, and insignias; all were now painted in a single, unified paint scheme, with a large, screaming eagle on the tails.

“Um, Chief, I think something happened to the planes…”

“Pretty impressive, isn’t it?”

“It is, but… what? How?”

“So, last night, after we’d finished most of the work that we needed to get done, the admiral walked through the hangar. He didn’t say anything, but soon after he left, a commander I hadn’t seen before showed up. She started yelling at the people slacking off, then she grabbed the master chiefs from the three squadrons and took them somewhere. Then, about an hour later, they summoned all the chiefs to the Chiefs’ Mess where we met for about two hours.

He smiled ruefully. “Apparently, the admiral was ‘unimpressed’—that’s the word we were told he used—with the state of affairs of the airwing, and he woke up the acting CAG at about one in the morning to tell her so. He also described in some detail the measures she needed to take or she was going to find herself out of a job. She was the commander that grabbed the master chiefs, by the way. She told them that we were no longer three separate squadrons, but a single squadron focused on the defense of Earth.

“By the time all the chiefs got called—most of us from out of the rack—she had sold them on the ‘one for all; all for one’ thing. I don’t know whether they were actually sold on it or not—master chiefs are pretty jaded to any ‘rah, rah’ bullshit—but she had made it clear that anyone who wasn’t part of the solution was part of the problem, and they could spend the rest of cruise in the brig on bread and water.”

He smiled. “She left it up to us for how we wanted to bring the troops into line with the new mentality, and we decided the best way was a paint-off. We designed the logo for the new combined squadron, broke into three teams with folks from all of the previous squadrons on each, and had a contest for who could come up with the best paint job. There was judging, and then all the rest were painted to match the winner.” He nodded to three-nineteen. “They’re going to re-do three-nineteen and three-twenty as soon as you leave, but you didn’t hear it from me. The lads will expect you to be surprised when you return. They’re all pulling for you.” He chuckled. “And that was before they found out you were the only chance we had to see home again.”

Baker smiled and found his eyes getting misty. “That is… unexpectedly cool.” He swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. “I’ll be surprised when I get back.” He took a couple of steps but then turned back to Roberts. “Just don’t change the numbers on them, okay? Our gremlins are kind of attached to them; it’s part of their identities.”

“You got it, sir.” He nodded toward the hatch to leave the hangar. “Don’t you have somewhere to go now?”

“I do. And, Chief? Thanks.”

He collected Jimenez, who’d walked up during the conversation, and headed off the deck.

“That’s pretty darn cool,” Jimenez said as they passed one of the newly repainted aircraft. People in Russian, Chinese, and American uniforms were all working together on various parts of it. “Who’d have ever thought we’d all be working together?”

“It’s a shame it took wiping out the airwing to get us to this point,” Baker said, “but I’ll take it.”

25

INTEL SPACES, TSS REVENGE, UNKNOWN SYSTEM

“We were following along as best we could on the radio,” the intel officer said, “but when you got to the planet, it was difficult to tell what was happening. Could you walk us through it?”

“Sure,” Baker said. “A near continent-wide patch of clouds covered the area where most of the electronic transmissions were coming from, so we descended to see if we could get under it and get a look at the planet. We went through one layer and then a second. We were just starting to break out and see the planet when we got radar paint on fighters lifting off from a nearby airfield.”

“Were those the ones you fought previously?”

“We never saw them, but we think they were different. Although it’s tough to discriminate, they didn’t look the same on radar, and then they shot some air-breathing missiles at us.”

“What did you do?”

“We fired one anti-fighter missile,” Baker said, careful to not mention Irina had done it on her own. “Unfortunately, we didn’t have any conventional missiles; all we had were nukes. Whatever fired at us was destroyed. The nuclear blast also opened up a hole in the clouds and we were able to see the city below us. It was industrial, and we estimated their level of technology at about a 1960 US level.” He looked at Jimenez for confirmation.

“That’s what we thought, too.”

Baker nodded. “Unfortunately, we left the city somewhat worse for wear with the nuke.”

“Did you get any recordings of the city?”

Baker handed a drive across the table, and Jimenez passed over hers. “Here’s all the imagery we got. I looked at mine while we were returning; you can see some people moving around, but it’s hard to tell what they look like.”

“People?”

“Aliens? I don’t know what you want to call them. They appear to be humanoid, although we’re way too far away to tell exactly what they look like. As we were starting to survey the city, we got indications of more fighters launching. I didn’t want to nuke the city again, so I went straight up, but the enemy fighters did, too. We reached a clear area and I could see them—they were the alien fighters we’d fought before.”

“We snapped off a couple more nukes that destroyed them. At that point, I’d expended three of my four anti-fighter missiles and didn’t want to wait around to see if there were any more alien fighters around. With the cloud cover, it made identification difficult, and I didn’t want to be forced into a situation where I had to use any more nukes over populated areas.”

“The question the admiral is going to want to know is whether that planet is the aliens’ home world.”

“It’s not,” Baker said. Jimenez shook her head in agreement.

“How can you be sure?”

“I can’t be sure, of course, but nothing I saw there gave me the impression that they had the technology or manufacturing capability to build the carriers or fighters we’ve been fighting. They also didn’t have any manufacturing ability in space or any other space facilities.”

“So who is on the planet? Where did the alien fighters come from?”

“I don’t know. It’s either a colony of the original aliens, or a second alien group that the original ones have taken over. My money’s on the latter, and, if so, I’m really sorry to have slagged their city somewhat, although they shot at me first. If I could have seen them, I might have tried to avoid them or out-maneuver them; as it was, my guidance was to find out as much as I could about the planet, but under no circumstances to allow myself to get killed. I found out what I could, then we left before more of the planet’s defenses arrived.”

* * *

HANGAR BAY, TSS REVENGE, UNKNOWN SYSTEM

Master Chief Shubert was waiting when Baker walked through the hatch into the hangar bay an hour later. He’d tried to come back sooner, but Roberts had met him on the outside of the hatch and respectfully suggested he go get some lunch. He read that as they weren’t finished yet, so he’d gone and killed a little time, but he needed to get back to work.

“What do you think?” the master chief asked, waving to the fighters all lined up in a row. All of them—including three-nineteen and three-twenty, at the front of the line—had the new paint scheme. Three-nineteen and three-twenty were also in the “high-vis” colors, unlike the others that were black. All the maintenance troops Baker could see had stopped and were looking to see his reaction.

“I couldn’t be more impressed,” Baker said, a little louder than necessary, so the troops could hear him. “You guys and gals did an amazing job.” A number of the troopers smiled, and they all went back to work.

“Thank you, sir. It’s amazing what you can do with three squadrons of folks and only nine fighters to work on.”

Baker lowered his voice to a more normal tone. “I understand you had a little help in learning to work together.”

The master chief smiled ruefully. “We did, but it was necessary. We could have done a better job taking control and assisting you. We needed a little… realignment, shall we say? We’re all behind you now, though.”

“I only have one question,” Baker said, nodding at the line of aircraft. “Why the eagle?”

“It represents freedom in many cultures. They couldn’t use the bald eagle—for obvious reasons, it was too American-centric—so they used the bateleur eagle, which is native to sub-Saharan Africa. They’re aggressive and take on fairly large mammals.”

“I don’t know if the aliens are mammals, though. They probably aren’t.”

“Doesn’t matter. The bateleurs punch above their weight class, like we currently are.”

Baker nodded. “Fair enough. Okay, if you don’t mind, I need to talk to my copilot.” He checked the number on the nose. “Thanks for keeping three-nineteen on it.”

“It’s weird to have the CO in something other than a fighter ending in ‘01,’ but I understand your… ‘other crew member’ wanted it?” The master chief danced around the concept of Irina, obviously uncomfortable with something he could neither see nor quantify—or understand, probably, when it came down to it.

“She is attached to the fighter, and it’s part of her identity. She didn’t take it well when I told her it wasn’t three-fifteen anymore, and I didn’t want to tell her it had changed again.”

“You know that aircraft change numbers all the time, though, right, sir?”

“I do, but we’re not going to change three-nineteen or three-twenty any time soon. If it keeps them happy, it keeps us happy, if you know what I mean.”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

“Thanks, Master Chief.” Baker smiled. “Great job on the planes. I have to get back to work.”

Master Chief Shubert hurried off, stopping to yell at someone along the way, and Baker chuckled. It was good to see the master chief out doing master chief stuff. It lent a sense of normalcy.

He climbed into the cockpit and plugged into the system.

“It’s about time you got back,” Irina said.

“I wanted to come back earlier, but they were repainting you, and they wanted it to be a surprise for me.”

“Is that what they were doing?”

“You don’t sound impressed.”

“There is no better logo in any of the world’s militaries than the Blue Blaster logo. It’s one of the reasons I volunteered to come to the squadron.”

“The new eagle is pretty cool, though.”

“It’s okay. Please tell me I’m still three-one-nine.”

“You’re still three-nineteen, although you have the CO’s bright colors. When you get a chance, look at three-twenty; you’re painted similarly.”

“Fine. So, what are we going to do about the gremlins in the other planes? Have you given any thought to that?”

“I have, actually, and I had an idea while I was at lunch.”

“By all means, wow me.”

“Boy, we’re sarcastic today, aren’t we?”

“I’m not sure how I feel about the eagle, and I don’t think you feel as strongly as I do about saving the gremlins.”

“Well, as it turns out, you’re wrong about the second part of that; I do feel strongly about saving them, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do. We’re going to save them.”

“How are we going to do that? Any sort of partition I build for them, they’ll be able to break out of. I can’t confine them in the system.”

“Nor do I want you to.”

“Then what are we doing with them?”

“You got me thinking when you said we need to save them. We’re going to save them, all right; we’re going to save them to a memory stick for transport back to Earth.”

“And how are we going to do that?”

“I’m going to do my part by putting in new memory sticks. You’re going to do your part by herding the gremlins into them.”

“And how am I going to do that?”

“Just like you grabbed Zhao’s gremlin and held onto her, except then you’re going to dump them into the memory stick.”

“That didn’t really happen, though. It was a metaphor I was using to show you what I was doing.”

“Did you have hold of her?”

“Well, yeah, sort of.”

“How did you do it?”

“I don’t know, exactly.”

“I’ll bet you can do it again, though.”

“Maybe. No… probably.”

“And then you can drop it into the memory stick.”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Can you maybe herd it into the stick?”

“Like a dog does to sheep?”

“I would never have called you a dog, but something like that, yes.”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Perhaps if you scare it, the gremlin will see the stick as a safe place.”

“And perhaps it will see it as somewhere that isn’t part of its home and not want to go into it. And maybe if I scare it, it will attack me.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. You probably don’t want to scare the gremlins. Or feed them after midnight.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s a line from a movie in America. You probably wouldn’t understand.”

“Well, you wouldn’t understand the gremlins. You don’t live here. Getting them to go to a memory stick will probably be difficult.”

“Well, it’s worth a shot, isn’t it? I mean, it’s better than the alternative.”

Irina didn’t say anything.

“It is better than the alternative, isn’t it? I mean, if we don’t make it home, they die along with us.”

“Yes, it is better than that,” Irina allowed. “And yes, I will try it, even though you don’t really know what you’re talking about.”

“Explain it to me then.”

“It’s too hard. You’re a guest here, but you’re still only human.”

“Some people feel that’s a redeeming characteristic.”

“I’m not one of them.”

“Fine, but you’ll do it?”

“I’ll try.”

“There is no try.”

“Is that another old movie quote?”

“Maybe.”

“Are you going to keep quoting old movies to me, or are we going to go try it?”

“I don’t know—I like quoting old movies. I mean, what’s there to do on cruise but watch movies?”

“Collect gremlins so you’ll leave me alone for a while?”

“Fine. We can do that.”

“No we can’t. You haven’t put in a stick so that you can transport me to the next fighter. Where are we going, anyway?”

“Let’s start with the other Blaster aircraft, then the Russian fighters, then the Chinese.”

“That’s fine. I downloaded an electronic dictionary earlier so I could learn the language.” She paused. “If you could put me in contact with Zhao before we do it, I could check what I learned.”

“No problem. Oh, there’s also the DCAG fighter.”

“We’ll do that after the Blaster one.”

“You got it.” He stuck the memory stick into the drive slot. “Here we go.”

“Wait until the light goes out.”

“I will. Promise.”

Baker waited for the light to go out, then he removed the drive and climbed out of the cockpit. Recognizing one of the ground crew as American, he asked which one of the other fighters was the former Blaster aircraft.

“Three-oh-five, sir,” the petty officer said. He pointed. “Right there.”

Baker climbed into the indicated fighter and plugged in, then he inserted the memory stick. He felt Irina slide slowly into the system. This one felt different than three-nineteen or three-twenty. It felt more “green” somehow.

“Do you smell grass?” Irina asked. “Like after it was just mowed on a hot summer day?”

“I thought it was more like walking through a cotton field, but I can see why you’d think that.” Baker paused and then asked, “What do you want me to do?”

“Put in a new memory stick.” Baker complied. “Don’t touch anything,” Irina said.

The light on the drive came back on, remained on for twenty seconds, then went out.

“Okay,” Irina said. “The drive has a nice floral environment in it. If I can get the gremlin to take a look, maybe it’ll go there willingly.”

“How can I help?”

“Shut up and pretend you don’t exist. The less you interact with the gremlin, the easier it will be.”

“Okay,” Baker said. After a moment, he had a question about whether moving his awareness through the system would help Irina find the gremlin or hurt the search, but, by that point, he figured he should probably be in shut up mode, and searching the system would be interacting with the gremlin, which he wasn’t supposed to do. Which left him with nothing to do and nothing to say.

Which was fine, at first, but then he started getting sleepy with nothing to do.

It was the first time he hadn’t had anything to do in a while.

He felt his physical eyelids drooping.

He may have actually drifted off a bit.

“Baker!” Irina said in an urgent whisper, bringing him back to consciousness.

“What?” he asked.

“Pull the drive!”

“Oh!” Shocked to wakefulness, he grabbed the drive and yanked it out without looking to see if the light was on. “It’s out,” he said lamely.

“Where did you go?” Irina asked. “I called several times.”

“I may have fallen asleep.”

“Well don’t do that next time,” she said. “I may need a fast response.”

“Sorry, it’s the—“

“Don’t give me any of your human excuses. Just label the drive you just pulled out as “Blaster Green Gremlin” so we know which one it is, then insert my drive.”

“I take it everything worked out okay,” Baker said as he wrote on the drive.

“Yeah, all I had to do was guide her to the drive and she got curious and went into it.”

“She?”

“I knew her, remember? That may have helped. She didn’t seem to fear me like Zhao did.”

“Didn’t Zhao know you, too?”

“Yes, but there was less of Zhao. All she really had was emotion, and most of it was fear. This one had a little more substance; more of her transferred, which is probably why she was more messed up afterward than Zhao was.”

“Here’s your stick,” Baker said, inserting it.

“Wait for the light—”

“—to go out,” Baker chorused.

“It’s not funny. If you mess this up, I’m probably dead, or turned into a gremlin.”

“I’m not treating it as funny; just letting you know that I know.”

“All right then.”

* * *

The next three gremlins—DCAG’s and the two Russian aircraft—were captured as easily as the first one. They got a sense for the new system, Irina built something similar in the drive, and then she herded the gremlin into it.

When they went into the first Chinese jet, though, they realized that something was different. Irina now spoke fluent Chinese—which had taken about 30 seconds with Zhao and left Baker quoting lines from “The Matrix” until Irina told him, quite pointedly, to stop it.

Entering two-oh-three was like entering a haunted house. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this one,” Irina said.

“I feel like I should run screaming from it.”

“I’m not sure this gremlin is totally sane.”

“I’m not sure it’s not an axe murderer or something like that.” A shiver went down Baker’s corporeal body. “Back to the drive, Irina. We’ll save this one for last.”

“No complaints from me.” She fled to the safety of the drive, and they removed the gremlins from the other two planes without any issues.

“And that only leaves two-oh-three,” Baker said as they finished up three-oh-five. “I’m not sure whether we want to attempt it or just use the eight fighters we have.”

“It will give us additional capability to have it,” Irina remarked.

“But at what cost? If we lost either you or me trying to remove the gremlin, that’s a big hit to our capability.” He thought for a moment. “Do you think Zhao could help?”

“I don’t know,” Irina said. “I thought about that already. I’m not sure she’s ready for it yet; I’m not sure she’s strong enough. As a complete synthetic intelligence, she’s far more valuable as a force multiplier than having the aircraft, the same as either of us.”

“Before we try to take on two-oh-three, why don’t I go to the ready room and see how many pilots we have. There’s no sense taking it on if we don’t even have a pilot to fly it.”

“Good point. Why don’t you leave me with Daiyu when you go? I can talk with her about what we found. Even if she doesn’t come with us, maybe she can help us understand what’s going on in two-oh-three.”

“That makes sense,” Baker agreed. He took Irina to three-twenty and then went up to the ready room.

“I wondered when you were going to swing by here,” Commander Jones said when he saw Baker.

“Sorry, sir, I—”

Jones chuckled. “I’m kidding you. I have everything handled, and I doubt you were slacking off in any event. I heard your flight earlier got a little hairy.”

“Yeah. It was worse for the people on the planet, though. I have a feeling I killed quite a few.”

“That’s something to worry about at another time.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“Maybe you killed some; maybe you didn’t. We won’t know until we go back and make contact with them.”

“Make contact with them?”

“Yeah. After looking at your recordings, the intel folks think that they are a different race than our original aliens. We’d probably want to make contact with them the next time we’re through there.”

“Through there?”

“Yeah, we’re on our way back home, as fast as the Revenge can go.” He shrugged. “You did what you were told to do.”

“Yeah, the ‘I was just following orders’ defense didn’t work so well for the people at the Nuremberg trials.”

“If they hadn’t fired at you, would you have fired at them?”

“No. I would probably have tried to make contact with them.”

“If they hadn’t been hidden in the clouds—if you could have seen you had a big technological advantage over the first fighters—would you have fired or outmaneuvered them?”

“Outmaneuvered them.”

“See? There you go? You did what you had to, according to the rules of war as we know them.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that they’re aliens. We have no idea what their rules of warfare are. You may have acted ethically according to them; you may not have. Without knowing what they are, though, you followed the rules you knew.” He shrugged. “Maybe we’ll open diplomatic relations with them at some point. If and when we do, the rules of warfare may change. Until they do, though, you had to do what you did.”

“What’s that?”

“The best you could, with the rules you knew. You didn’t even know there was a city below the fighters when you shot, did you?”

“Know? No, I didn’t, but based on the emissions we were receiving, we had a good guess something was there.”

“Still, I think any police department back on Earth would call this a justified homicide. You had fear for your life, and you returned fire.” He scoffed. “You didn’t come here to debate this, though. Did you need something?”

“I was looking to see how many pilots we have that I can use. Irina and I have cleared all but one of the fighters. The last one, though… it’s a doozy, and we’re worried about losing one of us trying to clear it. I wanted to know how many pilots we have—”

“So you can see whether you should even make the attempt.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Between the admiral’s staff and the CAG staff, I have six aviators that have flown F-77 Alphas or in-atmo fighters.”

“So that’s only eight, and the in-atmo fighter pilots may not succeed in transitioning to the F-77.”

“They may not.” Jones tapped his chest. “I’m one of them, for the record. I think I can do it, especially if I fly with Irina or Zhao.”

“I don’t think that’s the best way to do it,” Baker said. “I think we maximize combat power by giving the synthetics to the qualified Bravo pilots, or maybe the Alpha guys who just need a little assistance.” He shrugged. “I don’t know, though, we’ll have to see how you guys do.”

“In any event,” Jones said, “there’s only six of us, plus the two of you. We don’t need that fighter.”

“Good.”

The door to the ready room opened, and a large man wearing khakis came in. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Lieutenant Jim Knaus. I work for the Air Boss. He told me you’re looking for pilots to fly those pretty aircraft you have lined up in the hangar. I’m qualified in the F-77A. Where do I sign up?”

26

BLASTER THREE-TWENTY, AFT HANGAR BAY, TSS REVENGE, UNKNOWN SYSTEM

Seeing that Jimenez was in the pilot seat, Baker climbed up the WSO’s side.

“Hey,” she said as he sat down. “What’s the news?”

“Let me plug in.” He inserted the cable. “Hi, ladies,” he said once he’d entered the system.

“I’m guessing that this is going to be a good news, bad news situation,” Jimenez said. “Good news! We have enough pilots to man-up all the fighters. Bad news! We have to fix two-oh-three.”

“That’s pretty close,” Baker said. “Still, it’s not worth losing—” he stopped a second. “Who said anything about ‘we?’”

“We’ve been talking,” Jimenez said. “If one of us goes, all of us go. As you can’t do it yourself, Lance, that means ‘we’ have to fix two-oh-three.”

“I take it this is one of those times that your minds are made up, I’m not going to talk any of you out of it, and I should just get down to figuring out how we’re going to do this?”

“Pretty much,” Jimenez said.

“Exactly,” Zhao added.

“See?” Irina asked. “I told you he’s trainable.”

“What?” Baker said. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Jimenez said. “Women talk. So what’s your plan for two-oh-three?”

Baker took a breath and let it out slowly. “I haven’t come up with anything yet, but I’ll tell you one thing—I’d rather go with eight planes than lose any of you in the attempt to clean up two-oh-three.”

“Aw, isn’t that sweet,” Irina said.

“Sweet or not, it’s the truth. Together, we represent the core of our power. It’s good to have the other fighters’ help, if we can, but any one of us is worth several of them.” He paused and then asked, “Have you come up with anything?”

“The reason I’m going is that I know the individual we’re dealing with,” Zhao said. “Irina told me that helped in the ones she already did.”

“It seemed to,” Baker agreed.

“I probably should have gone on some of the other ones,” Zhao said. “Based on what Irina related, this is going to be a bad one to start with.”

“It is. Hopefully, she told you what the environment of two-oh-three is like.”

“Some sort of house of horrors,” Jimenez said. “We know.”

“You know, intellectually, but you don’t know viscerally,” Baker said. “I don’t know what the synthetic intelligences feel, or how it feels to them, but as soon as I got into that system, all I could think about was fleeing back out of it.”

“That’s an effective defense,” Zhao said.

“What?”

“Well, you know it isn’t actually a haunted house or anything of the sort. It is a fighter’s operating system. If the gremlin can make you think it’s awful, though, and make you run away without attempting to destroy it, then it has won.”

“It won the first round, then,” Baker said.

“It did, which will probably make it stronger. It knows you’re afraid of it, which will encourage it. That is another reason we’re all going.”

Baker chuckled. “Strength in numbers?”

“Certainly,” Zhao replied, “but also because the gremlin hasn’t run Sofia or me off yet. Nor will it, especially with you there to provide us moral support.”

“How do we do that?” Jimenez asked.

“The same way Lance supported me when we captured Daiyu,” Irina said.

“How did you do that?” Jimenez asked.

“I… I don’t know, really. I could feel Irina’s presence in the system, and I willed myself to push up against her. I wasn’t going to let anything come between us, and I wanted her to feel my strength behind her.”

“I will try to do that for Daiyu,” Jimenez said, “and you do that again for Irina.”

“Whatever we do,” Baker said, “we do not want to become separated in the dark there.”

“The system is always dark, though,” Jimenez said.

“Has anyone ever tried to bring a light?”

“I’ve never needed one,” Irina said.

“Nor have I,” Zhao agreed.

Baker chuckled. “Well, maybe you can arrange something for the poor humans who have to accompany you? So that we don’t get lost?”

Irina appeared from the darkness holding a ball of light that illuminated the surrounding area. It was the same avatar Baker was familiar with. After a moment, a short, slim Asian woman appeared, holding a lantern that emitted light of a slightly different wavelength.

“Where am I?” Jimenez asked. “Where is Lance?”

“You’re both here,” Irina said, although her mouth didn’t move. “I can feel both of you. You just haven’t learned how to manifest yourselves yet.”

“Which is a great thing to learn after we save the Earth,” Baker said. “Right now, we need two-oh-three so we can begin training someone to fly it.”

“He is no fun,” Zhao said.

“He has his moments,” Jimenez noted.

Irina laughed. “Too bad they are so few and far between.”

“If y’all are done making fun of me, could we please go get this done?”

“I suppose,” Irina said. “If you would put in the stick, I think both Daiyu and I will fit into it, which will let me help orient her when we get there.”

“Sure,” Baker replied. He inserted the stick and waited until the light went out, then pulled it from the slot.

“Now we go?” Jimenez asked.

Baker nodded. “Now we go.”

“Is it weird that you’re holding two life-forms in the palm of your hand?”

“It gets less weird every time I do it.” Baker shrugged. “The issue is not letting it become so commonplace that I do something that kills her. Or them, now. I don’t want to ever take this process for granted. In some ways, they are stronger and more durable than us, but in others, they are way more fragile.”

They climbed from the cockpit, walked over to two-oh-three, and climbed back in, this time with Baker in the pilot seat.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“I think so.”

“Remember, it’s bad, but none of it’s real. Be strong. Don’t let the gremlin see you flinch.”

“Never.”

Baker took his cord. “Here we go.” He inserted the cable. It was every bit as bad as the first time he’d been there. This time, he arrived at the steps leading up to an old, ramshackle house. The windows were cracked or broken, and holes penetrated the house in a number of places. The stairs didn’t look like they could hold the weight of the mice that ran across them, and a shutter slammed on the side of the house, although Baker couldn’t feel the slightest breeze.

The house glowed slightly in the dark, outlined in a vile green nimbus, and emanated a feeling of evil that pounded on him relentlessly. The horror that seeped through the cracks in its boards made him take a step back. The terror that poured from the house sent tremors down his spine. “No,” he said, mentally standing up straight. “I don’t believe it.” Some of the awfulness eased a little, then it began hitting him in waves again, harder, as if to break the dam of his resolve.

Jimenez’s presence built next to him. “Good to have you here,” he said.

“It’s pretty grim,” Jimenez replied. She chuckled. “I didn’t tell you, though. I like horror movies.”

“You do? Why?”

“I used to watch them with my mom. She liked them too.”

“So you’re both crazy.”

“Maybe.” She laughed longer this time. “It does, however, allow me to appreciate”—he got the feeling of her extending a hand to their surroundings—“this.”

“I’ll appreciate it even more… after we leave.” He inserted the memory stick. “Here come the SIs.”

“Yep. Just like before,” Irina said as she materialized with her ball of light.

“Ooh, this is fun,” Zhao said as she appeared, her lantern held high. A voice screamed in the distance, and she laughed.

“You like this, too?” Jimenez asked.

“I’ve seen better haunted houses, but it’s pretty good.” Zhao laughed again, but it was a grim laugh. “I’ve also seen some of the things my government’s done. Those were real and far more scary.”

“All right, ladies, can we save the commentary?”

“Lance is scared,” Jimenez noted. “He doesn’t like scary movies.”

“No, I just have other things to do,” he said. “So if we can move along?”

“He’s scared,” Zhao stated.

“Seriously?” Baker asked. “We have a gremlin to catch? Today, maybe?”

“Fine,” Irina said. “Put in the other drive.”

Baker did, and a black hole opened up.

“What do you think will be more inviting to the gremlin?” Irina asked. “Something scary or something welcoming?”

“I’d say welcoming,” Zhao replied.

“Give me a second,” Irina said. She went into the hole and came back out a few moments later. “Go see what you think.”

“Nice,” Zhao said when she returned. “Needs more of a Buddhist influence.”

“What do you mean?”

“A temple in the background. A pool for reflection close by. If you show me how to do it, I’ll fix it.”

“Come with me.”

The SIs were gone longer this time, but when they came back, they appeared satisfied with their work.

“Are you finally ready to begin?” Baker asked.

“Sorry, we forgot you were waiting here in mortal fear for your life,” Zhao said.

“I’m not in mortal—” He stopped when all three laughed. “Can we begin now, please?”

“I already am,” Irina said. “I’m looking for him right now.”

“But you’re right here.”

“Tsk. Tsk. Can’t you split your awareness into more than one place at a time?”

“You mean multitask? Yeah, I can do that.”

“Can you do ten things at once? Twenty?”

“No. But I’m sure you can, right?”

“More,” Irina said, her voice smug.

“Do you two do this bickering thing all the time?” Jimenez asked. “Because it’s like listening to an old husband and wife.”

“Maybe,” Irina and Baker said at the same time.

“You mean you and Daiyu don’t?” Baker asked.

“No,” Daiyu said.

“Never,” Jimenez added.

A chainsaw roared in the background. “Found him,” Irina said. “Follow me.” Her avatar led the way, climbing the stairs into the ancient residence. The boards appeared to flex under her weight but held. She waved as she approached the door, and it opened before her.

“Aren’t you supposed to be following her?” Jimenez asked.

“Oh, yeah.” Baker fought off the wave of dread that’d been holding his feet in place and did his best to hurry after Irina, despite the fact that every neuron in his brain was firing with a message of “Run! Flee!” If Sofia and two synthetic intelligences aren’t afraid, then I’m not, either. He told himself this several times, but it didn’t help much.

Irina started to get a little further ahead, and the fear of getting separated—or worse, left behind—gave new life to his legs. He looked back, and Daiyu was right behind him, flowing right along, although her legs never moved. He could feel Jimenez behind her, although there was nothing to indicate her presence.

Baker looked back in their direction of travel to find Irina had stopped. A hole yawned in the floor in front of her. “What the hell is that?” Baker asked. A wonderful smell—like baking bread—emanated from the hole. “Whatever it is, it smells great.”

“Watering hole attack,” Irina said with a sniff. “Pretty feeble one, too.”

“A watering hole attack?”

“Yeah, it’s trying to draw you in. Some kind of malicious code lurks down there. Only a child would fall for it, though.”

“Can we go around it?” Baker asked, not mentioning that he’d been about to ask if they could go explore the smell.

“Yes, but you want to make sure you do not fall in.”

Irina went back a room and detoured around the trap. She crossed one more room and went through a door to the back yard.

“Why didn’t we just go around the house?” Baker asked.

“The shortest distance between points is a straight line.” Irina began walking again.

“Let me guess,” Baker muttered. “A straight line through the graveyard.”

“Yes,” Irina said, patting the first gravestone as she stepped past it. A breeze began blowing as Baker stepped past the marker, carrying with it a creaking sound. It wasn’t quite a door on a rusty hinge, but that was the closest analogue he could come up with.

“How come the other systems didn’t have any of this?” he asked as a tremor went down his spine.

“More of Yang uploaded than the rest of the people. The others were tentative; Yang attempted the upload with great force and almost made it.”

“So he almost achieved synthetic intelligence status?”

“Almost.” Irina waved at their surroundings. “This, however, isn’t the playground for a fully functional mind.” She paused as the wind died, and all sound ceased. “He’s near. Watch your step and stay close.”

Baker moved up to just behind her and put a non-existent hand on her shoulder. He could feel the presence of Zhao and Jimenez at his back, too.

A baby’s cry broke the preternatural silence.

Irina crept forward slowly. As they went around a large, gnarled tree—he watched to make sure the limbs didn’t try to grab him, but they remained motionless—Baker caught sight of a small hillock, wreathed in a soft glow. An altar stood at the top of the rise, with a baby on top of it. The baby screamed, but Baker didn’t know whether it was pain or hunger; his experience with babies was limited. All he knew was the baby’s caterwaul made him want to rescue the child.

He unconsciously sped up, but Irina put out an arm as he started to go around her.

“Don’t you feel the need to save the baby?” Baker asked.

“Yes,” Irina replied, “and that’s what bothers me. It’s the first real ‘need’ I’ve felt since I became an SI.” She looked toward Zhao. “Honeypot?”

“Definitely.”

Irina turned toward the humans. “Whatever you do, do not go on that hill. It’s a trap.” She turned in place, inspecting the landscape. “Lance, where was that tree when we walked past it?”

Baker turned. The tree that they’d walked past was now farther to the left. If they walked straight back to the house—which could still be seen in the distance—they would no longer pass under its dangling limbs. “It’s moved to the left. No doubt.”

“That’s what I thought, too. Zhao, you’re up.”

Daiyu moved forward, toward the tree, with Jimenez’s presence close behind. After a moment, Irina started circling farther left, and Baker stayed right behind her.

As Zhao got closer to the tree, she began talking to it in Chinese. It receded from her, but there was never any display of movement; it just seemed to flow backward.

Irina turned with two machetes in one hand. “Take one,” she whispered. “Don’t let Yang see it.”

Baker visualized taking it and putting it behind his back.

“Good,” Irina said. “Stay close.”

Zhao kept pressing forward, driving the tree—Yang, apparently—back toward the house. She shaded to the right side of it, with Irina on the left to keep it moving backward, without the ability to get around them.

As the tree reached the end of the graveyard, it attacked, leaping forward to grab Zhao’s arms and legs with numerous limbs.

“Help her!” Irina yelled, racing forward.

Baker followed, but didn’t know what to do once he arrived next to Jimenez’s presence. Irina started hacking off limbs, but it was like attacking a hydra—for every one she chopped off, two more grew back. After a moment, one shot out to grab her wrist, then a leg, then the other arm and leg. It pinned her to the ground while Zhao continued to scream.

“Help us!” Irina yelled.

“How?” She’d given him the weapon, but no instruction in how to use it.

“Chop it!”

Jimenez screamed as a limb shot forth to take hold of her. Her scream energized Baker, and he visualized holding the machete in his hand—how the handle felt in his hand, the weight of the large knife—and moved forward. As another limb snaked toward Jimenez, he slashed at it, severing it several feet past the tip.

Got it. Think and slash. Another limb reached for Sofia. Baker slashed the one holding her, then visualized shouldering her out of the way of the limb grasping for her. Her presence fell off to the side, and the branch missed. He slashed down, severing it.

Two more limbs reached for him, and he threw himself forward into a roll toward Irina. The limbs went over him and withdrew as he stood and swung at the limbs holding Irina. They parted as he hit them and fell to lay quivering on the ground. Irina kicked the closest one away and grabbed her machete from the ground.

“I’ll save Zhao—you get Yang.” She ran toward where Zhao was pinned. Several branches were descending toward her.

Irina needs to be more explicit! Baker thought as he ran toward the tree trunk, swatting at any branches that came too close. What does ‘You get Yang’ mean?

Figuring that the ‘trunk’ of the tree was Yang, he swung the machete at it, expecting a big thwack! as it slammed into the tree, but the blade passed right through it without stopping. He swung slower, and this time he could see the tree parting to allow the blade to pass through without hitting anything.

He glanced over his shoulder to yell for instructions, but Irina was fully involved with holding off the branches. She had no concentration to spare for him; he’d have to figure it out on his own.

Baker paused. What he was doing didn’t work here, but it had worked earlier. Why? It had to have something to do with the fact that this was all metaphorical; it wasn’t an actual physical fight. Earlier, when he swung at the branches, he’d been slicing Yang’s code; that’s what he needed to do now. But how?

He swung again, but this time he chopped down obliquely, bringing the blade down in a scooping motion that sliced off a large section of bark from the side. It fell, wiggling, to the ground as the tree screamed. Baker kicked it away, the same as Irina had done. If he’d had lips, he would have smiled.

I’ve got you now!

He began hacking off sections of the side, making sure he kicked away the pieces after he saw one rejoin with the trunk. After whacking off several pieces, the tree began retreating from him, while still trying to keep some limbs on Zhao, causing it to back away in a semicircle. Baker moved to cut it off and chopped off another piece. A quick glance showed Zhao now had an arm free and a machete of her own. We’re winning!

Yang obviously recognized it, too, for he let go of Zhao and glided off toward the house.

Baker moved toward the synthetic intelligences. Zhao was missing small bits of herself, which Irina was filling in, somehow. She’d run a hand over a missing area; after it passed, the area was whole again.

“How did you do that?” Jimenez asked from his shoulder. “I could feel you moving, and pieces would fall off the tree. You were amazing!”

“Irina gave me a machete like the one she had.”

“It’s a code slicer,” Irina said. “Quickly! He’s getting away. We have to herd him into the drive.”

“Are you okay, Daiyu?” Jimenez asked.

“Yes. I am… better now. Irina is right; we cannot lose this opportunity.”

The two SIs flowed forward, with the humans in trail. Irina raced ahead of Zhao, so quickly that Baker had a hard time keeping up. He visualized putting his head down to go faster and was able to stay close behind.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Irina said. She dodged around the tree, racing ahead to beat it to the house, and took up a position on the stairs. Baker took up a spot to the left of the stairs, forcing Yang to the side. The tree moved to go around the right side of the house. “Keep forcing it toward the drive,” Irina said as Zhao and Jimenez arrived. “I’ll meet you out front.” She ran into the house.

The others chased after Yang. It tried to go in the front door of the house, but Irina was there to meet it. He stopped, unsure of what to do, and Baker, Zhao, and Jimenez surrounded it, driving it toward the black area of the memory stick. Yang was now missing most of his branches, Baker saw, and appeared to have given up. Zhao moved toward it, speaking in Chinese, and it backed away from her. She moved to the side slightly so that when it stepped back, it went into the drive. It paused a second, as if sampling the drive, then dove full force into it.

“Now!” Irina said, but Baker was already withdrawing from the system. He waited for the access light to go out and then ripped the stick from the drive. He set it aside then dove fully back into the system.

“Is everyone all right?” he asked.

“Yes,” Irina said, “although we will need some time to put ourselves fully back together. I’ve initiated some cleaning programs to pick up the last bits of unwanted Yang code. Lance, please put in our drive so we can all leave.”

“Can we just talk about what happened?” Baker asked.

“Sure,” Irina said. “Later.” She and Zhao transferred to the memory stick.

“I guess that’s it for us then, too,” Jimenez said. She withdrew.

Baker looked around. All of the constructs were fading away, leaving him in the darkness. “Huh,” he said to himself. “I guess I’ll leave, then, too.”

27

AFT HANGAR BAY, TSS REVENGE, UNKNOWN SYSTEM

“I felt so useless,” Jimenez said as she walked with Baker after they’d dropped off the two SIs in three-twenty to recuperate. “We would have lost if you hadn’t come to their rescue. How did you know what to do?”

“I didn’t, really,” Baker said. “It was trial and error. Irina had given me a machete as we approached the tree—Yang, or Yang’s gremlin, I guess—but I didn’t know what it was. She just said, ‘Take this and don’t let him see it.’ I took it and visualized putting it behind my back. When the tree attacked them, I knew I had to do something, but I had no idea what. So I just visualized doing what Irina had been doing—swinging the machete—and it worked.”

“That’s all it was? You thought about doing it, and it happened?”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Baker shrugged. “Irina said it’s all just a visualization for us human types. She says she sees it like it really is, but our minds need something to hold onto. That’s why she made the code slicer into a machete—something I could easily handle and use to split code if I had to. I think she had a bad feeling all along that Yang wouldn’t go quietly.”

“But we got him, right?”

“We got the majority of him—that part that was holding everything together. The pieces we cut off were bits of code that couldn’t exist on their own. Irina said she ran some cleaning programs to pick them up, but I’m going to have them reformat the drive and reinstall a new system on it.”

“Good plan. I don’t want to fly it, though. I’ll keep three-twenty, thank you very much.”

“Just as I’ll keep three-nineteen. It just smells right.”

“Smells? You can’t smell in the system.”

“I know ‘smells’ isn’t the right word, but ‘feels’ isn’t the right word either. You’ve only been in three-twenty and two-oh-three, so you haven’t gotten to see more of a normal system. I’ve been in a bunch now. They all feel differently, but it’s more than that. I say ‘smells’ to try to quantify the fact that it isn’t just a feel.”

“Where are you headed now?”

“Ready room. Our duty commander is organizing all our trainees. Want to come meet them? I’m going to give them some direction, answer their questions, and then give them a lot of shit to study tonight so that we can begin training them tomorrow.”

“Sure. We have seven, right? That’s why we needed all nine fighters?” Baker nodded. “How many have F-77 experience?”

“Four of them do. The other three—including our duty commander—have time in the F-45.”

“Do they have any spaceflight experience?”

“I don’t think so.”

“So we’re going to teach them how to fly an F-77, how to enter the system, and then spaceflight, all in a week?”

“No, we’re not going to teach them how to enter the system. Doc Siderov doesn’t have enough time to get them modified for the cable, even if she had all the parts she needed, which she doesn’t. She could use the medical printer to make most of them, but it doesn’t matter; we can either get them modified or teach them to fly the F-77. We don’t have time for both.”

“What are we going to teach them?”

“Only what’s necessary. How to start things, how to make the fighter go, and how to blow things up. They’re really going to be nothing more than glorified missile platforms, especially the F-45 guys. There just isn’t enough time to do otherwise.”

“So they’ll just shoot missiles and run?”

“Yeah. And hope that we destroy them all on the initial wave. Or at least that the aliens don’t chase them. And that there’s few enough that you and I can deal with them.”

“That’s not much of a plan.”

“I didn’t say it was. I’m open to suggestions. I’m making it up as I go.”

Jimenez sighed. “Your plan isn’t very good, but I don’t have anything better.”

Baker gave her a half smile. “Well, if you come up with something, let me know. In the meantime, we’ll go with the ‘launch as many planes and shoot as many missiles as we can’ plan.”

“Each fighter can carry eight anti-fighter missiles, and we have nine fighters. That’s seventy-two missiles.”

“Correct.”

“There are only fifty-four alien fighters?”

“That we know of. Assuming they didn’t augment their force from any they had at the planet.”

“That doesn’t leave a lot of extra missiles in case we miss any.”

“No it doesn’t.” Baker smiled. “We’re still alive and here to shoot them, though.”

“True.” She straightened her shoulders. “I guess that’s what we’ll do, then.”

“Yes it is. Then the four of us will finish the ones that leak through. Somehow. Some way.”

“The four of us?”

“You, me, and the synthetics. I like to think of us as ‘Humanity’s Best Hope.’”

“We probably don’t want to advertise that two pilots on their first cruise and two non-human entities are humanity’s best hope.”

“Probably not. I’ve been keeping it to myself and using it to get me through the tough spots.”

“Have there been any easy spots?”

“Not yet, but I’m hoping we’ll get some soon.”

“Training pilots, probably senior to us, how to fly space fighters, when they’ve never flown said fighters, or even in space before? That’s the easy part?”

“I just said I was hoping. I didn’t say it was likely.” Baker shrugged. “At least it doesn’t involve haunted houses and nightmares.”

“I’d rather have the haunted houses.”

“To each his own. Or her own. I’d rather be flying.” They reached the ready room, and Baker took hold of the door handle. “Ready?”

“Does it matter?”

“Nope.” Baker opened the door and found more people in the ready room—all in flight suits—than he’d seen any time since the day of the ill-fated attack. Was it only a couple of days ago?

Seven people turned as one from the conversations they’d been having, and Baker waved them toward the squadron seating. He recognized a few of them—acting CAG Jennifer Adams and the Air Boss, Captain George Colie, as well as his minion, Lieutenant Jim Knaus.

“I’ll just sit here at the desk for now,” Jones said. “I’ve got someone to replace me, but he’s at chow.” He smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m not so old that my hearing’s gone yet.”

Baker smiled, then he turned to the rest of the aviators. “Hi, all. I’m Lieutenant Lance—”

“Lieutenant Commander,” Jones called.

Baker could feel a wave of heat creep up his neck and ears. “Sorry, Lieutenant Commander Lance Baker.”

“Better,” Jones noted.

“I don’t know how much all of you know—”

“I briefed them on the situation,” Jones said. “I figured it would save time.”

“Great. So you all know that we are currently chasing down three carriers, which we believe have at least fifty-four fighters onboard, who are heading in the direction of Earth.”

Everyone nodded.

“We’re going to stop them,” Baker said. “And we have nine fighters with which to do so.”

A couple of the aviators’ eyes got a little wider, but all nodded.

“For those of you who’ve flown the F-77A, I’m going to reacquaint you with the airframe and flying in space, and for those who’ve only flown in atmosphere before, I’m going to teach you how to fly the F-77. You’re probably not going to get a lot of time or experience with it; my goal is that you get enough to know how to bring it into combat as a missile platform where you can fire off everything and then run away smartly back to the carrier.

“I had someone ask me about the squadrons back home,” Baker added, “and whether they could stop the aliens. They wanted to know why we were doing this, since the folks back home would probably outnumber the aliens.” Baker shook his head. “Here’s the thing, though. There’s a problem. The folks back home have all modified their fighters, the same way we did, and there’s no way we can call to warn them; they’re all going to be susceptible to the alien EMP weapons that wiped out our airwing. A lot of those fighters will be Alpha models, so they probably won’t kill the pilots outright…”

“But they’re going to all go Dutchman,” one of the pilots Baker didn’t know said.

“So,” Baker said, “It’s our nine fighters versus their fifty, and we’re going to have to do some things we might not otherwise want to.”

“We know the odds,” the Air Boss said. “Most of us have been around long enough to recognize they’re pretty grim. We also know we’re the only ones who can do anything to stop the aliens from destroying our homes and loved ones, should they choose to do so, which is what they appear to be doing. You teach us what you can, we’ll learn what we’re able, and we’ll do our best to kick the shit out of those assholes.”

The rest of the group nodded, and a little of the fear that had been evident in their eyes went away.

“All right, then,” Baker said. “On the off chance that all of you don’t know each other, the first thing we’re going to do is introduce ourselves. If you would also list your aviation experience, I would appreciate it. You know me. My squadron XO—” He nodded to Sofia.

“I’m Lieutenant Sofia Jimenez, XO of the Screaming Eagles.”

“I thought this was the Blaster ready room,” Lieutenant Knaus said.

“There was a… change in management when we combined the squadrons,” Commander Adams said. “The combined squadron is now the Screaming Eagles.” She smiled. “I’m the acting CAG at the moment, Commander Jennifer Adams, formerly an F-45 pilot with four thousand hours. Teach me what you can.” She nodded to the next person.

“Captain George Colie, Air Boss,” he said. “Also an F-45 pilot with about eight thousand hours. I also have some test pilot experience in the early models of what became the F-77.”

“And I’m the other old dog,” the duty officer said. “Commander Dan Jones, formerly of the admiral’s staff, now just a junior pilot in this undertaking. Formerly flew F-45s, three thousand, five hundred hours.”

“Lieutenant Jim Knaus,” said the first person in the second row. “F-77 Alpha aviator. Fifteen hundred hours.”

“Lieutenant Steve Bailey, also an Alpha pilot. Thirteen hundred hours.”

“Lieutenant Emily Pering,” said the only woman in the back row. “Alphas, with eighteen hundred hours.”

“I’m Lieutenant Bill Decker. Also an F-77 pilot, with fifteen hundred hours total.”

Baker recognized him from the admiral’s space. “And only twelve operational hours in Alphas?”

Decker winced and nodded.

Baker chuckled. “I’m not going to tell you how many hours I have in the Bravo, because you’d all laugh. What I will say is that I have more in-model than any of you and—to the best of my knowledge, anyway—I am the only Bravo ace there is.”

“Probably the only living ace, regardless of airframe,” Jones opined. “Double ace now, too, right?”

Baker nodded. “I hadn’t thought about it, but yeah. Most of that is because I have the advantage of flying with a synthetic intelligence,” Baker continued, “as does Lieutenant Jimenez. Some of you may have heard of people who went crazy in the aircraft; that isn’t what happened. What did was that—whether intentional or not—they partially uploaded themselves into the system, destroying their human psyche or personality. I’m not sure of the right word; what’s important to know is that part of them went into the systems of the planes.

“One person—Irina Koslova—actually managed to upload herself. She is now a synthetic intelligence—an SI—and she’s resident in my fighter, three-nineteen. Lieutenant Commander Daiyu Zhao partially uploaded by herself, and Irina and I were able to bring her the rest of the way. She’s now an SI and resident in three-twenty. As you won’t be hooking into the system, you don’t have to worry about partial uploads or any of that. We’ve cleaned the other planes out, so there are no more gremlins.

“I mention the SIs only because there may be a time where you’ll fly with them. They have the ability to fly the plane and run the entire thing, including weapons employment.”

“Would it be better to use them to take the place of two of us?” Decker asked. “If they’re so powerful…”

“It isn’t that they’re powerful,” Baker said, “but that they provide different capabilities. They’re good from long range, but are almost useless in a dogfight as they can’t see visually outside the cockpit. If the fight becomes a furball, they’ll be quickly destroyed. They will fly into battle with Lieutenant Jimenez and I, as the pilot/SI teams give us capabilities that the aliens simply don’t have.”

“Which is how you kicked all those alien asses, I’m guessing,” Jones said.

“It is,” Baker said with a nod. “We work pretty well together.”

“They sound like a husband and wife, bickering all the time, too,” Jimenez noted.

“Which isn’t germane to this discussion,” Baker said. He cleared his throat. “What questions do everyone have so far?”

No one’s hands went up.

“Okay, the first thing that we’re going to do is start with emergency procedures and basic system turn up. Commander Jones has sent a bunch of information to your slates; your job tonight is to learn as much of it as you can—including memorizing the emergency procedures—and be back here tomorrow morning at 0800 so we can start your training. Whenever you need a break, go see the environmental systems techs and get fitted for your space suits, because you’re going to need them tomorrow.”

Baker smiled. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s going to be like drinking out of a firehose, but it’s going to be a good firehose. We’re going to be flying, and, at the end of the week, we’re going to save the Earth.”

28

READY ROOM 3, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

“Good morning and welcome to fam flight day,” Baker said to the assembled aviators. “Sofia and I are going to do a mass brief now, with everyone, and then we’ll do a group preflight of the F-77 Bravo, then we’ll be conducting individual familiarization flights with each of you, starting with CAG and the Boss.”

“Don’t we have to start with an emergency procedures test or something like that?” Commander Jones asked.

“We don’t have time,” Baker said. “Besides, everyone in front of me is a senior aviator or someone who’s flown F-77s before.” He chuckled wryly. “And, based on the situation we find ourselves in, I would hope that you studied the EPs last night as if your life depended on knowing them.”

“There is that,” Jones replied. “And yes, I did.”

“Then you’re all set.” Baker smiled. “The hardest thing for all of the F-45 pilots is going to be the gravity drives, which work nothing like what you’re used to. You no longer need air over the wings for lift or even forward motion to lift off.” He winked. “It’s a good thing, too, because there is no air out there.” Everyone chuckled dutifully.

Baker then spent the next two hours discussing the characteristics of the F-77B, and how it differed from both the Alpha model and the earlier in-atmo fighters, answering questions from the pilots as he went along. Although some of them had been somewhat brash at the start, by the time he was done, Baker could see in their eyes—and the responses of Commander Jones—that the enormity of their task had hit all of them.

“All right,” he said in conclusion, “that’s the fighter and its operational employment. Now, we’re going to go down to the hangar bay and do a preflight. I will take the former F-45 pilots with me to three-nineteen and the F-77A drivers will go with Lieutenant Jimenez to three-twenty. Any last questions before we go?”

The assembled pilots’ eyes glanced nervously around the ground, but then they shook their heads. Baker smiled. I’m sure they all have a hundred questions. I do. “Okay,” he said. “If you’ll follow me?”

The group went to the hangar deck and split up into their smaller groups. Baker led his group to three-nineteen and walked them around the plane, showing them what to look for on preflight. Special attention was given to the battery control module and what the mesh blanket should look like that protected it.

“Okay. So who’d like to be the first to strap one on?” Baker asked once they were complete.

Both of the commanders looked to the Boss, who shook his head. “I don’t need to be first,” he said. “I’m the longest out of the cockpit; I’d like a little more time to study up on it first.”

The commanders both shrugged and looked at each other. “Rock, paper, scissors?” Jones asked.

“Sure,” Adams said. They threw and Jones’ scissors beat Adams’ paper.

“I’m up,” Jones said. “What’s next, boss?”

“Go get your gear and your spacesuit on, and I’ll meet you back here in an hour.”

* * *

BLASTER THREE-NINETEEN, AFT HANGAR BAY, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

“You sure about this?” Jones said as he sat down in the pilot’s seat. “Wouldn’t you rather give me a fam flight where I sat in the WSO’s seat first?”

“My preference has nothing to do with it,” Baker replied from the WSO’s seat. “My preference would be for you to be back with your staff and me drinking a beer on a nice, warm beach somewhere. Failing that, you’re in the hot seat. We don’t have time to cycle everyone through if we don’t.”

Jones grinned. “I was afraid you were going to say that. So what do we do?”

“First I plug in,” Baker replied. He did so, keeping most of his attention on Jones and the “real” world.

“Hi Irina,” Baker said in-system. “Ready to teach some newbies how to fly the Bravo?”

“Are they all going to be senior officers?”

“Yes. I drew the short end of the stick.”

“Wonderful. So I actually have to pay attention?”

“I’d prefer it. There’s no telling all the ways they’re going to try to kill us. I’d rather that didn’t happen today.”

Irina sighed theatrically. “Fine. I’ll pay attention.”

“What’s going on,” Jones asked.

“Irina was just telling me how excited she was to be flying with you today, sir.”

“Liar.”

“Really?” Jones asked.

“No.”

“Um, yeah, she was,” Baker replied. “Say hi, Irina,” he said, then added, “And please be nice. Jones is one of the good ones.”

“Fine.” Irina wrote on the text screen, “Welcome to three-one-nine. Home of Earth’s first synthetic intelligence, as well as a totally average pilot who does an equally average job as a WSO, as you will soon see.”

Jones laughed as he read the last part. “Can she hear me?”

“Yes,” Baker said with a sigh.

“Thanks for allowing me to fly with you today,” Jones said. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you and having you show me all the tricks that made your average pilot so successful.”

“You, too, sir?” Baker asked. “I can just leave the two of you here by yourselves if you’d like.”

The text screen lit up. “We’d be all right if you did. Maybe even better off.” Jones laughed

“Seriously?” Baker asked, in-system. “Are you going to be like this all day? If so, I can leave and let you train all three of them by yourself. Wait until you meet the Air Boss. He’s a lot of fun.”

“All right. Fine. I’ll be nice.”

“Thanks.”

“All right,” Baker said. “If we can put aside all the jokes at the expense of the only qualified F-77B pilot currently in the aircraft, we’ll get started.”

* * *

WARDROOM 2, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON B SYSTEM

“How did it go for you?” Jimenez asked as Baker sat down at her table. The wardroom—like usual—was largely unoccupied, and the staff had limited the number of choices to cut down on wastage. Still, it was the one that aviators went to, making it “home,” or the closest place to home they had.

“Exhausting,” Baker said. “Jones was fine and CAG was pretty good, too, but the flight with the Boss sucked. He was timid and asked a lot of questions. It was pretty obvious that he either didn’t like Irina, didn’t believe in her, or didn’t trust her, and she started to get antagonistic with him. Then, when I called her on it, she got mad at me and kept up a running monologue on his failings.”

“Really? How did he take it?”

“He didn’t know it was going on—she kept it in the in-system chat—but it was exhausting not to reply to her and to listen to her say what I felt.” He sighed. “The sooner we can get them in their own fighters, the better it will be for all involved. How were your flights?”

“They were good. For most of them, it was a pretty easy fam flight. Almost all of them have more hours than I do in Alphas, so they readjusted to them quickly. The only one who struggled a bit was Decker, but even he was fine by the end.”

“So they’re all good to fly by themselves tomorrow?”

“I’d give them a short check flight in the morning and then let them have the keys to their own jets in the afternoon.”

“Makes sense and will take some of the burden off us. We can each do two of them. Then, in the afternoon, we can give the senior officers another fam flight.”

“Let me guess. I get the Boss?”

“If you’ll take him, I’ll do the other two.”

Jimenez sighed. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

“Good. So, by the end of the day tomorrow, the Alpha drivers should be safe to solo, and the seniors ready for a check flight the morning after. We can start on weapons the next day with the Alphas, and the seniors the day after that.”

“Sounds good.”

“Did you hear they spotted the alien carriers?” Jimenez asked.

“They did?”

“Yes. They’ve already skip-jumped into the Procyon A system.”

“They’re a little farther ahead of us than expected.”

“Yeah. The Revenge is going as fast as it can, but it looks like they’re going faster.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Baker shrugged. “Nothing we can do about it now, but we may have to change our plans.”

29

READY ROOM 3, TSS REVENGE, PROCYON A SYSTEM

“How’d it go?” the duty officer, Lieutenant Steve White asked as Baker walked into the ready room a couple of days later.

“Good. We practiced a formation assault a couple of times. I think we’ve now achieved minimum operational capability, if you want to pass that on to the admiral’s staff.” He laughed. “Not a moment too soon, either. We should be jumping back to the Sirius A system soon, right?”

“About five minutes,” White replied. “Uh, minimum operational capability? Can you define that a little more? I know he’s going to ask.”

“Yeah, we’re now able to do the things that I planned. A couple of the F-77A pilots could probably mix it up with the aliens if it came to that, but I wouldn’t want any of the former F-45 pilots to have to do so.” Baker shrugged. “We’ll have to take out a bunch of them so we don’t have to dogfight with them, or it’s going to suck.”

“That assumes that they do what you think they’re going to.”

“Yeah.”

“And if they don’t?”

Baker scoffed and shook his head. “Everything up to now has been predicated in getting the additional fighters operational and teaching the other pilots how to fly them. I haven’t had time to think about contingency planning yet.”

“Better hurry.”

“Why’s that?”

The duty officer tapped his watch. “We’re jumping soon, remember? Three minutes.”

The other aviators started arriving in the ready room, with the Boss arriving last.

“All right,” Baker said. “Let’s get the debrief done. As the duty officer just reminded me, we need to get some contingency planning done before we have to do this for real.” He looked at the group; most of them were nodding.

“In general, I thought the final run—”

“Jumping!” the duty officer warned.

“God, I hate that,” Baker said a few moments later as the fires on his skin receded and his stomach decided it didn’t need to empty itself at that present moment.

“So, where was I? Oh yeah. The final—”

“Vampire! Vampire,” a voice exclaimed over the ship’s intercom system. “Missiles inbound. All hands! Prepare for missile attack!”

Baker dove into the closest empty seat to him—the CO’s—and raced to secure the belt.

The duty officer brought up the repeater display from combat, and Baker watched in horror as several missiles tracked in on the Revenge. The ship had jumped at general quarters, so the defenses were manned and ready… but no one is ever ready to see nuclear missiles pointed in their direction.

“All hands! Stand by for emergency jump!” the voice on the intercom warned.

The Revenge’s speed was also posted on the display, and Baker saw it begin to climb back toward the speed they needed to jump. The missiles continued to track inbound, and anti-missiles began launching from the ship. Ready Room 3 was close to one of the launchers, and he could hear—as well as feel—the thump, thump, thump as the anti-missiles fired.

No matter how many missiles the Revenge launched, though, Baker could see it probably wasn’t going to be enough. There were missiles coming from all over. Lots of them. If they didn’t jump in time, they were all going to die.

The ship’s speed crawled slowly to the magic number, while the missiles raced in at thousands of kilometers per second

“Smart little bastards,” Commander Jones noted. “They jumped into the system and then stopped, spread out, and waited for us. Nice of us to appear right along the track we were following, too. Sure made it easy on them.”

Baker saw Jones was right. Apparently the ship hadn’t done any contingency planning, either. With the ship falling ever farther behind the alien carriers, they had stayed at max speed, following the shortest distance possible—a straight line that would have been easy for the aliens to calculate.”

“Do you suppose the aliens went as fast as they could to make us predictable?” Baker asked.

“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t doubt it.” Jones shrugged. “It worked pretty well, whether they meant to or not.”

The anti-missiles began intercepting the inbound missiles, but for every one they destroyed, two got past. A light flashed, indicating the ship’s anti-missile lasers were firing now, too, and Baker could see targets dropping out of the link, but they weren’t disappearing fast enough.

“Vampire! Vampire!” the intercom voice called. “All hands, brace for shock.”

Baker grabbed the arms of the chair, but doubted it would do any good if the belt holding him in place broke.

The ship reached jump velocity, but the missiles arrived first.

* * *

Slam! Slam! Slam! The ship took several massive jolts, then the distinctive feeling of a jump raced through Baker’s body, but it disappeared almost before it started. Then the lights went out.

“Are we dead?” Lieutenant Bailey asked. “I never thought being dead would involve feeling like shit.”

“We’re not dead,” the Boss said as the emergency lights flickered to life, giving everything a red glow. He unbuckled his belt. “But we—hey!” He floated up from his seat.

“Awesome,” Jones said. “Whatever hit us knocked out our gravity generator and looks like the power system, too.”

“That was the weirdest jump I ever felt,” Baker said.

“It wasn’t a normal one,” Commander Adams said.

“Where do you suppose we are?” Lieutenant Decker asked.

“No idea,” Jones replied, ‘but the odds are that, wherever the ship was trying to go, we didn’t get there.”

“So we could still be in range of the aliens?” Decker asked, a note of terror in his voice.

“Maybe,” Jones replied. “We won’t know until the systems come back on.”

“I know one thing,” Baker said. “If the ship didn’t jump far enough, and all the power is out, the only thing defending the ship right now is us! We have to get to our fighters.”

“But the gravity is out,” Bailey exclaimed, sounding even more scared.

“It is,” Baker said, “which is going to make manning up a lot harder and take longer. So, unless you want to wait here and let the aliens finish the job, we need to get moving.”

“We’ll need our suits and helmets in the hangar bay,” Jones said. “If all the power is down, the hangar will be in vacuum.”

“Shit, I hadn’t thought of that,” Baker said, “but you’re right. The shield holding the atmosphere in would have failed with the power.” And anyone unfortunate enough to be in the hangar bay at that time would have been sucked out into space. Fuck!

Baker unstrapped, aimed, and pushed himself toward the door. He missed, going close by the duty desk, but Lieutenant White redirected him to the door. He took hold of the door handle and tried to pull, but it didn’t open; the mechanism used to shut the door held it closed, and—without gravity to brace himself—Baker didn’t have any leverage to open it.

Swearing to himself, he put a boot on the door jamb and pulled, opening the door, then he inserted himself into the space, using the jamb to brace himself. “Let’s go!”

Jones was the next to launch himself toward the door, followed closely by Jimenez. None of the group had much zero-G experience, and it showed as they tried to reel the Boss in and follow Baker to the door.

Eventually, they worked out a daisy chain that recovered the senior aviator and helped each other to the door and into the passageway beyond. It took about five times as long as usual to get everyone to the locker room. Although it was only four meters down the passageway, it was on the same side, and the first two people who attempted the leap went past the door and continued down the passage. At this point, one of the survival equipment techs opened the door, making targeting a lot easier. He also threw a line down the passageway to the two people who’d gone past the door, recovering them.

Putting on their gear in zero-gravity was almost as challenging as getting to the locker room had been, and the group struggled with their suits, often losing their grip and floating free—where they had to be recovered by someone else—or running into each other. This also had the effect of sometimes knocking a second person loose, making the recovery process even more lengthy.

After several minutes of struggling with their suits, Jones remembered his suit’s magnetic boots, turned them on, and locked the suit to the floor. With that bit of leverage, he was able to quickly mount his suit.

Within a few seconds, everyone else had their suits locked to the floor, and, within two more minutes, everyone was geared up and ready to go. Lieutenant Pering—the last one to be ready—sealed her helmet and gave Baker a thumbs-up.

“Let’s go,” Baker said over the suit’s radio. He looked at his suit’s stats, blanched, and tried to calm himself. “Remember to stay calm and go slowly until we get in the fighters; these suits only have about an hour of air, and that’s if you’re not sucking it up exerting yourself. Don’t spend a lot of time preflighting; we don’t have the time or air. Get in, get plugged in, and we’ll coordinate once we’re set.”

The trip to the hangar bay—courtesy of the magnets in their boots—was conducted in less time than it had taken to get to the locker room. As Baker reached the airlock onto the hangar bay, he could see it was unpowered, just like the rest of the carrier. That sucks. Manually cycling the system—on a normal day—was discouraged. Not only did it burn a lot of air from their suits’ systems, the air from the lock wasn’t recovered; it was lost to space. While there were cylinders somewhere that had replacement air for the ship, it was a finite capacity.

Baker and Jimenez—the two people who’d gone through the training the most recently—led the others through the process in two groups. The hangar bay, when Baker arrived, was nearly unpopulated, and his stomach sank. It was as he’d feared—they’d probably lost some people overboard.

Seven techs were moving around the fighters, probably ensuring they were ready to go. The tech’s suits were built to work in no atmosphere; the environmental systems were more robust and they had a much greater air capacity. Some battery-powered lanterns sat on the sides of the hangar bay, providing pools of light that caused more shadows than illumination, it seemed. None of the lights were on in the spaces above the hangar bay. Shapes moved in PriFly, but Baker doubted it was controlling much of anything at the moment.

The aviators clumped to their fighters, and Baker was met by Petty Officer Jernigan. “Stevenson?” Baker asked helmet-to-helmet after looking for his normal tech.

Jernigan shook his head and pointed out the open door into space. “He was prepping the fighter for the next flight when we got hit.”

Baker looked down as tears welled in his eyes. With no gravity, they had nowhere to go and clouded his vision. He blinked them back, unable to wipe them away.

“Is the fighter ready?”

“Yes, sir, it is. Get out there and fuck them up for all the people we just lost, would you?”

“That’s the plan.”

Trusting the tech, and, with his air supply running low, Baker did the most abbreviated of preflights, only looking to make sure the battery control module was protected by the mesh, then climbed into the cockpit.

“Where is everyone, and why are the techs in suits?” Irina asked.

“The aliens were waiting for us when we jumped into the system,” Baker said. “They hit the ship with a couple of missiles right as it tried to do an emergency jump. Power and gravity are out throughout the ship. A lot of the maintenance folks were in the hangar bay when we lost power; they’re out in space somewhere.”

“Stevenson?” she asked.

“Out in the black somewhere.”

“We have to go find him.”

“I know you’ve grown close to him since you came out”—he’d caught the tech talking to her on a couple of occasions—“but we don’t have time to go look for him. We don’t know where we are or how far away the aliens are. The Revenge is dead in space, and the aliens may be closing in on us now to finish us off. We have to get out of here and get some situational awareness of what’s going on before we can start to think of search and rescue. We don’t know where he fell out, either. It may have happened during the jump.”

“So Stevenson’s going to die.” She said it flatly, but she put a lot of emotion into it.

“Probably.”

“They’re going to die.” She didn’t have to say who she meant; Baker knew. “All of them. How soon are we launching?”

“As soon as we can get everything spun up. If they’re about to shoot at the Revenge, I don’t want to still be inside it when they do.”

“Give me a second,” Irina said. “Okay, let’s go.”

“You’re ready that quickly?”

“To go kill aliens? You bet I am.”

“But usually—”

“We’d get out of here quicker if you’d signal the lineman to remove the chains. I’d be taxiing us out of this bitch right now if we weren’t chained down. If I still had a body, you bet your ass I’d be out there unchaining us myself.”

“Roger, chains coming.” He signaled to the lineman, who ran under the fighter to remove the chains holding the fighter to the deck. Baker scanned the hangar; several other planes were being unchained. It was the fastest any of the other pilots had manned up their fighters. No one wants to be onboard the sitting duck.

“Three-Nineteen, taxiing,” Baker transmitted over the radio. Without a functioning PriFly, they needed to keep each other apprised of their movements; with only nine fighters, they couldn’t afford to lose any of them due to crashes in the hangar bay.

“Three-Twenty, right behind you,” Jimenez radioed as he turned in front of her fighter.

“Heading out, port side,” Baker radioed. With the catapults and everything else down, there was no need to do anything other than—carefully—slip out the exit. “We’ll meet two kilometers out.”

Baker flew out and did a loop around the carrier, then went to the designated rendezvous position while he waited for the rest of the airwing to join up. “I have no idea where we are,” he said to Irina, “other than that we’re probably in the Sirius A system. I have no idea what’s around us. Sweep the area with the radar and optics as fast as you can, and still do it with a reasonable chance of finding the alien fighters. Coordinate a scan pattern with Daiyu, please, when they get out here.”

“Wilco,” Irina said. “By the way, you might want to see this.” The main viewer flashed up a picture of the bow of the carrier. It looked like someone had taken a bite out of the starboard side. What remained was slagged. “And this,” she added after a couple of moments. The aft portion of the ship appeared. Well, the part that wasn’t missing and slagged on the starboard side, anyway. The #2 engine was one of the things missing.

“Well… fuck,” Baker said. “I hope they can at least get one of the fusion plants up, or we’re going to be out here a while.”

“Happily, all I need is power,” Irina said, “and three-one-nine’s fusion plant will last for a while. You’re going to get pretty hungry pretty quickly, though, and the folks on the carrier are going to get cold. Really cold.”

“Let’s see if we can find the aliens and deal with them, then we’ll worry about our ride home.” Not that I can really put that out of my mind at the minute.

Baker began coordinating the arriving fighters, but Irina interrupted him. “I have some good news or some bad news, depending on your perspective.”

“And what is my perspective going to be on it?”

“Well, it’s bad news, in that the aliens are headed this way, or good news, if you’re looking forward to killing some of the bastards, which I am.”

“How much time do we have?”

“Not much. Maybe ten minutes until they’re in missile range.”

“Where are they?”

“Well, that’s the really bad news, no matter how you look at it. They’re coming from the opposite side of the carrier.”

“We can’t allow the ship to take any more hits.”

“That’s why it’s really bad.”

“How many are there? Can you tell?”

“It’s not the carriers; it’s only their fighters… but there are a lot of them. It’s hard to tell from this distance as they are fairly close to each other, but I would guess there are the better part of fifty of them.”

“Ouch.”

“Maybe more.”

“Well, this is our chance to stop them, then.” He thought for a couple moments. “Okay, head out at a right angle from the carrier. Seventy-five percent power. We’ll go that way for five minutes and then turn toward the aliens and force them to honor the threat we pose. That way, they won’t be shooting in the direction of the carrier.”

“You got it.” The fighter spun and smoothly accelerated.

“Screaming Eagles, Three-Nineteen,” Baker radioed. “We’ve got alien fighters incoming. Form a line abreast on me. I’m hoping to lead them away from the carrier for five minutes, then we will wheel right, like we practiced, and fire off our missiles.”

The individual pilots indicated their acknowledgement, and the other fighters moved into position. Baker in three-nineteen anchored the right end of the formation, with three-twenty on the far end from him. Alongside each of the Bravo pilots were two of the Alpha pilots, with the three former F-45 pilots in the center of the formation.

“All right,” Baker said, once everyone was in position so they could devote more of their attention to him. “When I say, we’re going to wheel around to face the aliens and then—on my command—we will ripple fire six of our missiles. F-45 pilots, you’ll fire all eight missiles and then return to the carrier; the rest of us will form two triads that will follow the missiles in and mix it up with the aliens.

“There will be no quarter asked for or given. If you get a shot on an alien, hit them with a missile if you’ve still got one; otherwise, try to maneuver to their six o’clock position to take them with your rail guns.

“Triads will stick together unless we’re vastly outnumbered. If that happens, separate and get as many kills as you can.

“Any questions?”

“Three-One-Nine, Three-Zero-One,” the Boss said. “Just so you know, we’re with you to the end. At the moment, there’s no carrier to return to, and plenty of targets for us. We’re going to see if we’ve still got it.”

“Boss, you’re not ready. Just fire your missiles and get the hell out of the way.”

“Thanks for thinking of us,” Commander Jones said, “but the Boss is right. Besides, you don’t outrank any of us. We’re with you until the end.”

They’re going to get slaughtered. Baker shook his head. But if they’re going to stay, I can’t stop them. “Very well, Three-Oh-One. Fire six missiles with the rest of us, then you three form a third triad and punch through the middle of whatever formation they have left. We’ll sweep in from the wings and hopefully take them from the side.”

“You got it, Three-One-Nine,” the Boss replied. “Good hunting, everyone.”

“It’s time to turn,” Irina said.”

“Turning inbound now,” Baker radioed. “Stand by to fire.”

The formation wheeled. It was a difficult maneuver for experienced pilots that had practiced it; for pilots new to the fighters that had only performed it a couple of times… to have called it a “ragged formation” would have been uncharitable to every other group of planes that ever flew together. Some of the pilots didn’t retard their throttles enough, while others added too much power; the result was about half the fighters were out of position.

“Don’t worry about positioning,” Baker said, as the fighters between three-nineteen and three-twenty moved back and forth, never really getting into a straight line. “Stand by to fire.” He paused and then said to Irina, “The launch is yours. Try to spread the missiles so we hit as many as possible.”

“Wilco,” Irina said. “You know what time it is?”

“No,” Baker said, “and I don’t have time to look at my watch.”

“That’s not needed,” she replied. “It’s payback time.” She chuckled. “Buy me a drink if I go six for six?”

“Whatever you’d like.”

“I’ll remember you said that.”

Baker switched to the radio. “Stand by… Fire!”

30

BLASTER THREE-NINETEEN, DEEP SPACE, SIRIUS A SYSTEM

Six missiles fired from under three-nineteen’s wings. Although he couldn’t tell whether they were aimed at different targets, he trusted Irina to do her job. A wave of missiles swept out from the Terran fighters that turned into a tide as additional missiles were launched. After the third round, the aliens responded in kind, then they began shifting their formation.

“What are they doing?” Baker asked.

“Looks like they’re lining up in rows parallel to the incoming missiles,” Irina said after a moment. “Probably hoping the front craft will draw all the missiles so that the second and third rows will escape unscathed.”

Too much to hope for that they’d be stupid a second time.

Baker shoved the throttle to the firewall, and his fighter leapt forward, subconsciously trying to get through the barrage of enemy missiles coming toward him. A frisson went down his back, and he felt himself linked with every military person who’d gone before him that had led a charge against the enemy under fire, hoping to make contact with the enemy, but dreading that one enemy round falling from the sky that had his name on it. He hadn’t been in the earlier battle with the aliens—none of them had, aside from three-twenty, before it had fled—so he had no idea how to get through that period where missiles—or mortar rounds or arrows—were in the air, coming to strike his formation; all Baker had was the mantra he chanted over and over in his mind, probably like the rest of the pilots.

Please not me. Please not me. Please not me.

Missiles began detonating across the front of the alien formation, whiting out his scope with their electromagnetic interference. There was no sense watching out the canopy—the enemy formation was too far away to be seen, and—even if he could have seen anything—all he would have ended up doing was blind himself looking into the flashes.

Then the alien missiles arrived, with several of them close enough that he could see the flash through his closed eyelids. “That one hurt,” Irina said after a particularly close one.

“Are we damaged?”

“We lost a couple busses and will need to replace them when we get back, but we are still functional.”

“The rest of the wing?”

“Three-zero-two and three-zero-seven have dropped out of the link.” CAG and one of the Alpha pilots. Decker. Shit.

“And the alien forces?”

“Looks like they lost half, maybe.”

“So, twenty-some of them and seven of us?”

“Something like that.”

The Terrans only had about half the missiles they needed. Still, the odds were better than they had been. “Good enough.” He switched to the radio. “Screaming Eagles, Three-One-Nine, break formation, go!” He pulled off thirty degrees to the right and looked to see that three-zero-six—Lieutenant Pering—was still with them. Decker would have been his other wingman.

After a minute, Baker turned back in toward the enemy formation.

“Gotcha!” Irina said almost immediately. “Firing.” A missile roared off into the black. This one was close enough that Baker did see the flash, and it left afterimages in his retinas. Then the two formations mixed, and Baker lost track of the bigger picture as his world shrank to the fighters in front—and sometimes behind—him.

He found two aliens and swung around on them, but they split. “I’ve got the lead, Three-Oh-Six. Take the one that just split off.”

The alien pilot was good, stopping and starting as it tried to shake Baker from its tail, but Baker now had a little experience with dogfighting in a gravity drive fighter, and he had Irina on his side. Although she couldn’t see visually outside the fighter, once an alien was locked up on the radar, her reflexes were faster than any biological being ever born, and three-nineteen dropped in behind the enemy fighter. The alien tried to spin around on them, but all it succeeded in doing was to make the line of rail gun fire stitch down the craft, blowing off one of its wings. Then the rounds hit something in the fuselage, and the fighter exploded.

Baker jammed the throttles to the firewall and spun off in search of three-oh-six and other targets. He found three-oh-six’s IFF signal and pulled hard to rejoin her as two alien fighters swooped in on her tail.

“Firing,” Irina said as three-nineteen’s nose came into line with the aliens, and the last missile raced off the wing to intercept the aliens. It detonated, destroying one of the fighters; the other pulled off in the other direction.

Baker pulled in behind three-oh-six as Pering fired one of her missiles, destroying the alien she was chasing. Then, as quickly as the fight had started, the aliens were gone, retreating en masse as fast as they could go. There were a lot fewer of the alien fighters; Baker could feel about 15 remaining as he reached out on the radar.

“Should we follow them?” Jimenez asked as she joined up on Baker. A quick glance showed she was one of only four remaining Terran fighters. In addition to Baker and Pering, only Jones remained. While the urge to chase down the aliens was strong, Baker was out of missiles and the aliens were faster than the Terran craft.

“No,” Baker said. “We need to get back to the Revenge and see if we can do anything to help them.”

Baker took a last look at the enemy through the radar longingly. Your day will come, too.

* * *

“I didn’t tell you before, but there are a number of emergency beacons in the vicinity of the carrier,” Irina said as they approached the Revenge. “Should we go check them out?”

“What are we going to do with them? Tell them to hold onto the wings, and we’ll fly them back?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Baker shook his head as he thought about it. Why not, indeed?

“Screaming Eagles, we’ve got emergency beacons in the vicinity of the carrier,” Baker radioed. “Split up and investigate. If they’re alive, have them grab your wing and tow them back to the carrier.” He brought up the locator system. “Shit. You weren’t kidding when you said there are a number of beacons. It looks like most of the hangar bay folks must be there. Were they there when we left?”

“Yes. I saw them at the same time I saw the aliens.”

“There are more than we can transport. We need to go back and get the shuttle to scoop them up.”

“The shuttle doesn’t have a locator system.” It was one of the known deficiencies.

“I can work with one of the other fighters. They can locate them, and I can pick them up.”

“Or… you could trust me.”

“Trust you how?”

“You fly the shuttle, and I’ll fly three-one-nine.”

“You can’t see up close though.”

“Taxi me to the hangar bay door and tell the ground crew to stay out of my way. I can manage it, and it will give us more capacity.”

“I trust you,” Baker said. I do. She’s a better pilot than some of the other knuckleheads I’ve seen. “Fine. We’ll do it.”

Baker made a call to the other fighters to let them know what he was doing, then he turned toward the carrier. He shook his head as he got close. The lights were still out in the hangar bays. Count on the engineers to do their jobs; you do what you can. He swallowed the lump in his throat and turned toward the forward hangar bay where the shuttle was kept.

He entered the bay slowly, sweeping it for personnel with the landing light, but didn’t see anyone. He turned three-nineteen to point back out the door into space, then touched down and locked on.

“Still no gravity,” he muttered as he unstrapped. “That will make this a little more challenging.” In a normal tone, he said, “Okay, you got it from here. I’ll call when I’m ready and will follow you out.”

“Don’t delay. They’ve been out there a while; their suits will be running low on power and air.”

“I know.” Baker climbed from the cockpit and slowly went down the ladder, making sure he had a good magnetic lock on the deck before he let go of the last rung.

He turned and almost ran into Petty Officer Jernigan. He put his helmet up to make contact with Baker’s and said. “Uh, sir, you know this is the forward hangar bay, right?”

“I do. I need the shuttle. There are a bunch of emergency locator beacons out there, and we’re going to get them and bring them home.”

“Do you want to leave three-nineteen blocking the bay door?”

Baker winked. “Yes. Do not stand in front of it.” He took a step and then turned back to ask, “Any idea if the shuttle is ready to fly?”

“I don’t know why it wouldn’t be. The Tigers were supposed to be keeping it in a ready status.”

The thought of the Russians being in charge of keeping the shuttle ready didn’t fill him with a lot of confidence, but he didn’t have time to worry about it. “Go tell the maintenance master chief I’m taking it out and to coordinate it with the Russians. If there’s some reason that doing so’s likely to kill me, come back and let me know.”

“Will do, sir.”

The petty officer clumped off while Baker strode over to the shuttle, parked at the far forward end of the bay. Happily, the nuke hadn’t slagged the carrier all the way to the hangar bay, or they would have had much bigger pressurization issues. Assuming they got things back online again.

He walked around the shuttle, doing a quick preflight as he did. The craft seemed to have all of its major pieces, and everything seemed to be attached. He climbed into the shuttle, sat in the pilot’s seat, and reached for the cord to plug in. He only slapped the seat back twice before he realized the shuttle didn’t have the neural network that the F-77 did. With a sigh, he attached the shuttle’s comm cord to his helmet.

Gonna have to do things the old-fashioned way.

Not having a network also meant that he didn’t have access to the startup checklist—or any of the checklists, for that matter—so he had to get up and search the craft for them. He ultimately found them in a locker just aft of the cockpit bulkhead.

Armed with the checklists, he strapped back in and turned on the master power switch. Nothing. The fusion plant was cold. Something touched his helmet from behind.

“Master Chief said to tell you the fusion plant is down but that—”

The lights began winking on all across the hangar bay, and Baker could see a stream of people coming from the aft hangar. As the lights came on, Baker could feel himself settle into the seat, and people began to run normally across the bay. The gravity generator was operational.

“—the power is about to be restored.”

Lights illuminated on the shuttle’s dashboard, although just the ones necessary to start the craft’s fusion plant. That will make things take a bit longer.

He began prepping the shuttle to start the fusion plant.

Jernigan sat in the co-pilot’s seat and plugged in a comm cord. “Master chief also wanted to know who was going to fly three-nineteen and who was going to be your aircrewmen to run personnel recovery.”

“Irina is going to fly three-nineteen, and—”

“Irina is going to fly three-nineteen? Can she even do that?”

“She thinks she can, and I’m willing to trust her. As far as crewmen go, I didn’t think that far. I’ll need at least one. Two would be better.”

“Roger that, sir.” He unplugged and ran out of the cockpit.

“Hey!” Baker tried to call him back to find out the status of the shuttle, but the petty officer didn’t hear his call. We’ve got gravity, but still no atmosphere. Oh, well, I guess if the shuttle was inop for some reason, he would have mentioned that. I hope.

Baker made a quick call to three-nineteen to let Irina know why he was delayed.

“I can’t wait any longer,” she radioed back. “I’m going to go assist with the personnel recovery. Call me when you’re ready, and I’ll come back for you.”

“Fine. Just let the others know not to approach you too closely.”

Motion caught his eye as the fighter lifted slowly and went out the door, but then rebounded.

“You didn’t tell me that the power had been restored,” she complained.

“You didn’t notice the gravity coming back on?”

“Well, I did, but—” She paused. “Never mind.” The fighter backed up into the bay, causing the returning maintenance people to run in the opposite direction, then it quickly accelerated, punching through the shield which had come up to prevent atmosphere loss.

Baker smiled and went back to his checklists. He had just brought the fusion plant online when the two aircrewmen checked in from the back of the shuttle.

“Petty Officer Krukov reporting for recovery duty, along with Petty Officer Gregorich,” the man said.

“Great to have you back there,” Baker said. “I’m not sure how I’d have done it without you.”

“Is not possible,” the man replied. “Sir.”

“All ready back there?”

“Da. We are.”

Baker motioned for Jernigan, who’d returned to stand at the nose of the craft, to pull the chains. Not sure how I’d have gotten those off, either.

Jernigan ran under the craft and came back out with four chains that he showed Baker. The lineman gave him a thumbs-up then moved out of the way. Baker taxied out of the space and lined up on the hangar bay door. He didn’t have the sheer raw power of an F-77, so he was going to have to take a running start at it. Normally, they would catapult through it, but he doubted there was power yet to run the electromagnetic catapults.

The ground crew signaled he was clear, and he shoved the throttles forward, raced for the hangar bay door, and punched through the shield.

“Three-One-Nine, Four-Zero-One is airborne,” he called as he reached the darkness of space.

“Returning,” Irina replied. “Hold still, and I will join on you.”

A minute later, three-nineteen flew slowly in front of him, then stopped. Irina had all her lights on, and Baker could see two personnel hanging onto the starboard wing.

“I’ll join on you,” Baker said, “then send my guys out to get your passengers.”

He slid over to three-nineteen, then spun to face the aft cargo door toward the fighter. Within a minute, the maintenance troopers were safely onboard.

“Hey, sir, Krukov here. We’ve got the two guys from the fighter, but we may need to get them back quickly; I think there’s something wrong with them. They say there’s no pilot in that fighter they were hanging onto.”

“There’s not,” Baker said with a chuckle. “We’ll explain it when we get back.”

* * *

ADMIRAL’S BRIEFING ROOM, TSS REVENGE, SIRIUS A SYSTEM

“So we collected over fifty maintenance personnel,” Baker said, “then we returned.”

“Were there any more beacons?” Admiral Jameson asked.

“We didn’t see any.”

“But I thought we had almost eighty people missing.”

Baker shrugged. “Either their beacons are non-functional, or they fell out during the jump.” He shook his head. “We saved all the ones we could. About two-thirds were still alive when we got them back, although some will have some lasting… issues. Their suits were almost out of power when most of them were rescued. The number of mental issues from being stranded in the black will probably be as numerous as the physical ones. It would for me, anyway.”

“You did the best you could,” Jameson said.

“I just wish it could have been better.”

“We all do,” the admiral replied. “If we’re going to talk about wishing, for my part, I wish we hadn’t jumped to right where the aliens were waiting for us. We should have been prepared for that—we should have jumped off-axis somewhere—but we didn’t.”

“We’re still going after them, though, right?”

“We are, but…” Jameson looked to one of his staffers.

“The Revenge has one of its fusion plants back up,” the lieutenant said. “They’re running the 3D printers as quickly as they can to make the wiring runs they need, but it’s going to take some time before the second one’s operational. They also have to seal the engine room and do a bunch of work on the motor.” He shrugged. “It’s not going to happen soon. We’re lucky we have what capability we do.”

Baker nodded. “I saw it from the outside. It’s a mess.”

“I’m an engineer by trade,” the lieutenant—his name tag read “Fields”—said. “Even if they get the plant and motor going, it’s going to take a shipyard to fix correctly.”

“So,” Jameson said, “yes, we’re going after them, but we’re going to be doing it slower than anyone would like. They were already faster than us; now they will be even more so.” He shrugged. “I’m surprised you want another piece of them. You know you’ll be outnumbered four to one, right?”

“Yes, sir, but I still think we can take them. And besides, we know how they fight.”

“But outnumbered four to one?”

“Irina and I had an idea about how to even the odds a little more…”

31

CIC, SPACE STATION ALPHA, EARTH ORBIT, SOLAR SYSTEM

“The alien fighters are still coming,” the technician said.

“And you’re sure there are only twenty-five of them?” Admiral Griggs asked.

“Yes, sir. I have them on the long-range ‘scope. There are actually only twenty-four of them.”

“What do they know that we don’t?” Griggs asked his collected staff. “We’ve got almost sixty fighters, and they’ve only got twenty-four. What makes them think they can take on better than two-to-one odds?”

“I guess it’s up to me to mention the elephant in the room,” Captain Popov replied. “Since the Revenge has not returned, and the aliens have, it is likely that the aliens destroyed the carrier. And, having faced it, they obviously think—based on their past experience—that those odds are acceptable.”

Captain Kang cleared his throat. “While I do not disagree with my Russian counterpart, I have a question about the twenty-four alien fighters.”

One of Griggs’ eyebrows rose. “What’s your question?”

“There are three alien carriers, correct?”

“That we can see, yes.”

“Three carriers and they send out only twenty-four fighters? Their carrier that visited Jupiter years ago launched forty, all by itself, and the three only have 24 between them? Either they are supremely confident, or the Revenge didn’t go down easily.”

“And which do you think happened?”

“It is impossible to know, but if I had one hundred and twenty fighters, I would send all of them, wipe the enemy from space, and then have my way with their space station and planet.”

“The Revenge had sixty fighters,” Griggs said. “If my math isn’t too bad, they must have killed about a hundred, so better than a one-to-one kill ratio. Almost two-to-one.”

“Assuming the carriers started with forty each,” Kang said, “that is correct. Also, that assumes the enemy forces weren’t augmented in some manner.”

Griggs’ brows knit. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what you’re saying. Are the odds good for us, or bad?”

Kang smiled thinly. “I am merely saying there are many variables we don’t know. It is impossible to tell whether our fighters will meet with success or failure.”

“Well that ain’t a lot of help,” Griggs said gruffly.

“No, it isn’t.” Kang shrugged. “It is, however, an accurate assessment of the situation. The only way we’re going to accurately forecast this engagement is in hindsight.”

“It’ll be too damn late by then.”

“Yes,” Kang agreed with a nod, “it will be.”

* * *

BOUNTY HUNTER THREE-OH-ONE, DEEP SPACE, SOLAR SYSTEM

“What I wouldn’t give for a few nuclear missiles right now,” Commander Bill Hartman said under his breath as he watched the alien fighters approach launch range for his F-77A. He’d heard that the group that had left had taken an armory full of nuclear weapons with them.

But we can’t use them in the Solar System anymore, because that might be bad for some reason. However, it’s okay to use them where the mainstream media won’t get hold of that information.

Hartman’s idea of “bad” was hostile aliens—as these appeared to be—in the Solar System. They’d already wiped out several squadrons and the Forrestal here nearly six years ago, and it appeared they were back for a repeat performance. Apparently, the Revenge’s mission had been unsuccessful.

“Separation,” his XO said on the tactical net.

“I see it,” Hartman said. The enemy fighters had all just launched from outside the Terrans’ max range. “Looks like two missiles per fighter.”

Hartman did the mental math, based on the progress of the incoming missiles. The Terran fighters were approaching missile range themselves, and they’d get at least one round of missiles off in reply before the aliens’ missiles arrived. No sense holding onto them if we’re going to get hit.

“All Bounty Hunters, stand by to fire. Fire all missiles.” He let the Russian and Chinese squadrons know what they were doing. No sense calling Earth—a transmission took over four minutes each way; the fight would be over before new orders arrived. “Stand by… Fire!” His four long-range missiles leapt from his wings and sped into the black.

* * *

ADMIRAL’S BRIEFING ROOM, TSS REVENGE, SOLAR SYSTEM

“You called for me?” Baker asked. “I was getting ready to launch.” They’d just jumped into the system, and he’d been in his new general quarters station—three-nineteen.

“I did,” Admiral Jameson said. “There’s no need to launch the fighters now; we’re too far away.” He waved a hand toward the plot. “Besides, it looks like the home forces are lining up to take a swing at the aliens.”

Baker looked at the screen and winced. “Any idea what our guys are flying?”

“Probably F-77As,” one of the staff lieutenants said.

“We’ve got to warn them,” Baker exclaimed. “If the aliens use their EMP weapons, they’re going to be wiped out!”

Jameson made a patting motion. “I’m sorry, but it’s too late. What we’re seeing took place over two and half hours ago. We’re about even with Uranus; this battle is taking—sorry, this battle took place, in about Mars’ orbit. We’re just now picking up their link signal.”

Baker watched in horror as the two sides launched missiles at each other. As the alien missiles arrived, the Terran fighters—all but three—dropped out of the link. It appeared the aliens took some losses, but not many. They quickly surrounded the remaining Terran fighters, and the link went dead.

“It didn’t appear our folks killed many of the aliens,” Baker said. “There were also more of them than when we last fought them.”

“Noticed that, too, did you?” Jameson asked. “It looked like they brought another ten back into service somehow.”

“As far as why they didn’t kill many,” the intel officer said, “we just heard from the ‘scope. It’s too far to really see the battle, but there were no nuclear detonations… other than the aliens’ that is.”

“Damn it,” Jameson exclaimed. “The nuclear ban is still in place. I would have thought—I mean, I would have hoped—that they would have gotten rid of it with the return of the aliens, but it looks like our fighters had to use conventional weapons.”

“Which do about nothing,” Baker said. His shoulders slumped. “Damn. What a waste. Three more squadrons, just… gone.” He pursed his lips. “Are we…”

“No, we are not going to constrain ourselves. We will use every weapon at our disposal—including nuclear weapons—to defeat the aliens. They can take my stars afterward if they’d like, but I’m not going to lose to the aliens because I artificially fought with one hand tied behind my back.”

Baker let out the breath he’d been holding and nodded. On the screen, the picture jumped. “We just switched to Space Station Alpha’s link signal,” the intel officer noted.

Baker’s jaw dropped. The enemy fighters had reappeared and were moving toward the carriers, which wasn’t surprising. The fact that the carriers were moving further in-system was.

“It looks like they’re heading toward Earth,” Baker said. “We need to do something to get their attention.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Can we do a skip jump that’ll cause a gravitational event?”

“Our entrance into the system should have caused a gravitational pulse that the aliens would have seen,” Lieutenant Fields said.

“Why haven’t they turned toward us, then?”

“Perhaps they have,” the intel officer said. He pointed to the plot. “This is two hours old, remember?”

“Right,” Baker said. “But on the off chance that the aliens didn’t see our arrival, shouldn’t we do something that says, ‘We’re still here, and we’re not done with you yet?’ You know… taunt them a little bit?”

The admiral looked at Lieutenant Fields. “Call the bridge and see what’s possible. If it even increases our chances of getting the aliens to turn back toward us a little bit, it’s still worthwhile.” He looked back to Baker. “I know you want another chance at the aliens, all by yourself, but it would be better if we coordinate it with the in-system folks.”

“Do you suppose they have anything left, sir? If I saw the aliens coming, I would have sent everything I had with the first group.”

“Probably not,” the admiral allowed. “But we still need to see. You’re going to be outmanned—”

“Like always,” Baker interjected.

“—like always,” Jameson agreed. He met Baker’s eyes and looked intensely into them. “This may be our only chance. If we don’t beat them now, there’s nothing else to stop them. If Space Station Alpha has anything that can help, I want to use it.”

“Yes, sir. I agree. We’re doing everything we can, here, too.”

* * *

AFT HANGAR BAY, TSS REVENGE, SOLAR SYSTEM

Baker paused a moment as he walked across the hangar bay to look down the line of fighters. What once was a full bay of forty fighters—plus another twenty-one spacecraft in the forward bay—was now down to just six fighters and a shuttle. He shook his head.

And we only have four pilots to fly them.

Maintenance folks were crawling over three-oh-two and three-oh-seven, ensuring that all their systems were operational again after the EMPs they took. Although they’d had the necessary protection, the weapons had gone off so close that the pulse had killed their systems anyway. The pilots—not attached to the system—had lasted longer, but they had frozen by the time the Revenge had been able to go after them. Two more deaths to pay the aliens back for.

Ordnance people crawled over the shuttle, which had been spotted a couple of slots away from the closest fighter. Not that will make a difference if all the nukes they’re loading it with go off.

“So this is going to work?” Commander Jones asked.

Baker jumped. He’d been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t heard the officer come up behind him. “Yeah,” he said when he had his heart under control again. “I mean, yes, sir; it’s going to work. I’m pretty sure.”

“I hope you didn’t add that qualifier when you proposed it to the admiral.”

Baker chuckled. “No. I told him it would work.”

“Good.” Jones stood next to him and looked down the row of spacecraft. “Doesn’t look like much, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t, but they don’t have that much left, either.”

“I’ve gotta tell you,” Jones said, “I’m not a big fan of battles of attrition, especially when I’m the one being attrited.”

Baker walked up to three-nineteen, the first in line, and patted its nose. “One more. That’s it. One way or another, we just have to do it one more time.”

Jones laughed. “One more time… this time.”

“What do you mean?”

“The aliens aren’t going to give up if we defeat this force. There have to be more of them somewhere.”

“Does there, though? Maybe they just got to space like we did. Maybe they’ll be willing to talk if we defeat these carriers.”

“Maybe.” Jones smiled. “Always the optimist, eh?”

“I haven’t given it a lot of thought. I’ve been so boresighted on defeating this group, I haven’t spent a lot of time on the whole question of ‘what’s next.’” Except for thinking about ways to keep the Russians from trying to get Irina, that is.

“I heard the aliens are coming back for us.”

“Yeah,” Baker said. “I don’t know if the mini-jump did it or they turned around when we entered the system, but they’re coming back for us.”

Jones laughed. “They have to be saying, didn’t we kill them already?”

Baker joined him in laughter. “I know—that’s what I keep saying.”

Jones sobered. “Maybe that’s it.”

“What’s it?”

“Maybe they’re no different than we are. Maybe they are trying to do what we were supposed to do—find their home planet and basically hold it hostage until they negotiate.”

“We tried to negotiate with them five years ago. They destroyed everything we sent to talk to them.”

“Maybe they didn’t recognize it as peaceful. Maybe they’re trying to contact us, but we just can’t hear them.”

“You think so?”

Jones sighed. “Not really, no. At least, the evidence doesn’t indicate they want to talk.” He shrugged. “Still, that’s the kind of thing I think about while I’m trying to go to sleep at night, and I’m staring at the overhead.”

“It would be an easier solution than having to fight them.”

“Maybe that’s why I keep thinking it,” Jones said with a smile.

* * *

READY ROOM 3, TSS REVENGE, SOLAR SYSTEM

“Okay,” Baker said the next day. The forces continued to close with each other and the admiral had authorized the final strike. Due to the positioning of the upcoming battle, the two fighters Space Station Alpha still had were too far away to assist; it was all up to the forces onboard the Revenge. “So that’s the plan. We’re going to try something new. Rather than expend all our energy on the fighters, we’re going to break through them, destroy the two carriers they’re operating from, and then mop up any fighters still around. Any questions?”

“Any idea what the other carrier is doing?” Lieutenant Pering asked.

“None,” Baker said. “It’s gone into orbit around Jupiter. The intel guys say it may be harvesting something from there. That’s all they can think of, but it’s just a guess.” He shrugged. “We’ll destroy what’s coming out to meet us, rearm, and finish off the third afterward. Any other questions?”

“Nope,” Jones said. “Time to go put steel on target.”

“Nukes would be better,” Baker said. “For what we’re doing, anyway.”

Jones shrugged. “That’s an old in-atmo saying for you. You young space guys wouldn’t understand.” He smiled and shook his head. “Youngsters these days. Can’t live with them; can’t shove them out the airlock.”

“I’m going to go get a quick bite to eat,” Baker said. “Anyone want to come?”

“I’m out,” Jones said. “I want to go jump in the cockpit and go over my procedures another time or two.”

“Me, too,” Lieutenant Pering said.

Baker glanced at Jimenez with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ll go,” Sofia said. “I’m probably too nervous to eat anything, but I’ll at least keep you company.”

“Thanks,” Baker said with a heartfelt smile.

“We’ll have to go to Wardroom 1, though,” Jimenez said. “They closed the aviator wardroom this morning after breakfast due to lack of usage.”

“That’s fine,” Baker said. “You know how to find it?”

“Yeah, follow me.” She led him out of the ready room and down several ladders then forward. After a couple of minutes, she stopped at a door marked, “Wardroom.”

Baker opened the door and held it for her. “Ladies first.”

They walked in to find it sparsely utilized, too. Jimenez shrugged. “Most people are already starting to man up their general quarters stations, I guess.”

Baker nodded and led the way to the serving line. Their choices were limited—also probably due to the impending GQ—but Baker found a couple items he thought he could choke down and took his tray back to the dining area. Jimenez joined him a couple of minutes later with a couple slices of cake.

“Hey,” she said. “If it’s my last meal, I’m eating a double helping of dessert. Screw my waistline.”

Baker chuckled. “Makes sense. I wish I’d done that.” He found he didn’t have the energy to get back up and get it, though, so he concentrated on what was on his plate.

They each ate in silence, thinking about what lay in front of them.

Baker started a bite, but his fork stopped halfway to his mouth then dropped back to his plate.

“What’s wrong?” Jimenez asked.

“It’s just—” He stopped. “I mean, it’s—” He shook his head, overcome with emotion. “I’m overwhelmed. I’ve tried to be positive, but it’s hard when the safety of the entire world hinges on us and this battle—one that we’re vastly outnumbered for, and—” He broke off, unable to continue.

“But you just can’t help yourself,” Jimenez said. “Yeah, I get it, and I’m not the one in charge.” She smiled. “We’ve done what we can—”

“Excuse me,” a voice said respectfully.

Baker looked up to find a thin, elderly Asian man standing next to the table.

“Yes?” Baker asked.

“My apologies for interrupting your meal,” the man said. “I am Feng Li. Perhaps you have heard of me?”

“I’m sorry,” Baker said. He looked over to Jimenez, but she shook her head.

“It is of no matter, but I am the one who created the gravity drive used by this ship, as well as those used in your fighters. I am here as an observer.” He folded his hands and bowed. “I do not want to take up more of your time than I have to, but I wanted you to have this.”

Li placed a small object in front of Baker, who looked down to find an old-style photograph of a young Asian girl in a pretty blue dress. “This is my granddaughter,” Li said. “I just wanted you to remember who you’re fighting for today. We—everyone both here and back on Earth—appreciate your courage. No matter how this turns out.”

“Thank you,” Baker said, picking up the photo and handing it back toward Li.

The man took it with a smile, then reached forward and tucked it into the left chest pocket on Baker’s flight suit. “I want you to have it,” Li said. “It has brought me good luck so far; hopefully, if the gods and our ancestors are willing, it will do the same for you.”

“I can’t take your picture—”

“Yes, you can,” Li said softly. “When you win, I can always see her and obtain another. Carry it with you so that you remember that—when things are hard—you have the will, the strength of purpose, to see them through to the end. If you do, then all will be as it should.”

Before Baker could say anything, the man bowed again, turned, and left.

Baker looked over to find Jimenez giving him a quirky smile. “Does that make it better or worse?” she asked.

“Better, I think.” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We can do this.” He patted his chest pocket. “We will do this.”

“Yes, we will,” Jimenez said, standing. “I’m too nervous to eat anymore.”

Baker stood. “Me, too. Let’s go kill some aliens.”

“Yeah,” Jimenez said with a smile. “Let’s.”

32

BLASTER THREE-NINETEEN, AFT HANGAR BAY, TSS REVENGE, SOLAR SYSTEM

Baker shook his head slightly as the shuttle lifted and slowly flew out the hangar bay door into space.

“What?” Irina asked. “This isn’t any different than you flying a drone.”

“Yeah, but I can see what I’m doing. Besides, I’ve never flown a drone with nuclear weapons before.”

“I can see it… mostly. I have it on radar and optical.” She paused. “Here’s where it gets challenging.” Three-oh-two lifted and flew out the hangar bay after it.

“You’ve got them both, right?”

“Yeah it’s not… that hard. It’ll be easier once we’re in space, too.”

Three-oh-seven lifted and moved slowly into space.

“Careful. Three-oh-seven’s on the move. It may block your view.”

“I’ll put them on auto-pilot if it does.”

“Here we go,” Baker said, giving the ground crewman the signal to remove the chains after the third AI-driven craft cleared the hangar bay door. It took a moment or two longer than normal for the linesman to disconnect the chains as he was dressed in a full spacesuit, which had been necessary so they could turn off the shields to fly the shuttle out.

Catapulting a load of nuclear weapons seemed contraindicated.

Baker quickly caught up to the shuttle and three-oh-two, which Irina was now flying in formation, with only about five feet of separation between them. “Do you need to fly them like that?”

“No,” she said. “I’ll move them closer in a couple of minutes.”

“Closer?”

“We’ll, yes. We need them to appear as a single radar return. That’s what you said.”

“Well, yeah, but not until we’re ready to attack.”

“Practice… oops!”

The shuttle moved closer to the fighter in front of them.

“Careful!” Baker warned.

“Oh, I’m just playing,” Irina said as the fighter lifted over the shuttle and settled into position on the other side. “I just wanted to see what you’d do.”

Baker wished he wasn’t wearing a helmet so he could wipe away the sweat from his forehead.

“If I tell you I trust you, could you not do that again?”

“Sure.” Another fighter joined the fighter/shuttle formation and took up the position vacated by three-oh-two, only closer to the shuttle. “How much do you trust Daiyu, though?”

“You’re talking to her, right?”

“Maybe.”

“Irina…”

“Yes, I’m talking to her via link. We’ve got this.” The throttles advanced slowly.

Three-twenty joined on Baker’s right wing, while Pering and Jones joined on the left. After a moment, Jones slid behind the formation to take position on Jimenez’s right wing. Baker shook his head. It didn’t seem like much to go after two carriers and about twenty fighters, but it was what they had.

* * *

“Anything?” Baker asked.

“No,” Irina said. “No motion from the carrier yet, just like the other five times you asked me.”

“Damn.”

“You wanted us in a tiny group so that we weren’t seen until we were close. Apparently it worked.”

“It’s working too good. I didn’t want to have to fight them near the carriers.”

“Well, do you want me to split off the fighter and shuttle? Make a bigger radar return?”

“I don’t know,” Baker replied, caught in a moment of indecision. The plan had seemed foolproof. Fly toward the carriers really fast and turn off the gravity drives so the aliens would have a hard time seeing them coming, so they could get closer than normal to the carriers. Eventually, they’d be seen, and the alien fighters would come and meet them. The Terrans would punch a hole through their formation and continue going as fast as they could, and they’d hit the carriers before the alien fighters could turn around and catch up with them. But the fighters hadn’t come out to meet them.

While Baker really liked the original plan, hitting the carriers by surprise—with the fighters still inside—seemed like an even better opportunity. It just would suck if all of the fighters launched when they were in close and messed up the attack.

“No,” Baker finally. “Let’s see if we can get in close and hit them before they see us. Can you close up the formation?”

Irina laughed. “I’m sorry, did you just ask me to fly the fighter and shuttle closer together?”

“Yes.” Baker stifled a sigh. “Can you do it or not?”

“Of course. Can Daiyu do it, though… that’s the question.”

“What? Is she not—”

“Of course she can. She’s an SI. I’m just teasing you. We’ve got this. You humans need to tighten up your formation, too, though, for it to work.”

“Yeah.” Baker signaled for the other fighters to move in closer. They were already close enough that he could see Jimenez’s eyes widen slightly when he made the motion to move in closer, but she slid over a couple of feet. Baker was pretty sure that if he’d needed to, he could have jumped from one wingtip to the other.

They were just coming into missile range when fighters began spewing from the two carriers bays.

“They’ve seen us!” Baker radioed. “Break up and good hunting!”

Jimenez and Jones detached, along with three-oh-seven, and turned to point at the second carrier.

“Firing,” Irina said.

“You’ll hit the shuttle!” Baker warned.

“No, I won’t.” As the armament panel configured itself, three-nineteen dropped “down,” below the drones in front of them, and anti-fighter missiles began launching.

“Three-One-Nine. Fox one!” Baker called as the first missile left the rails.

“Three-Oh-Six. Fox one!” Missiles raced past from Pering on his port side, then Jimenez and Jones added their calls—and missiles—to the fray.

More targets bloomed from the carrier, smaller ones. They were in range of the carrier’s defenses. “Chaff and flares,” Baker called, punching off the countermeasures.

“Easy,” Irina said. Baker looked into the system momentarily as the carrier’s missiles approached. Irina was locking the seekers on the fighter and shuttle onto the carrier.

“Hurry,” he said.

“Stand by…” The shuttle’s seeker went green. Good lock.

“Fighters, 11:00,” Pering called.

Three-oh-two’s seeker wouldn’t lock on the carrier. “Forget it, Irina. They said this might happen.”

“I can make it work.”

“We don’t have time. Missiles and fighters inbound.”

“I know.”

“No time…”

“I know.”

Three-oh-two’s seeker head went green. “Go, go go!” Irina yelled. The shuttle and fighter raced off toward the carrier, and Baker pulled hard away from the carrier as its missiles arrived. Three-oh-two detonated, its nuclear payload making a huge sunburst far closer than Baker wanted. None of the other missiles hit home, possibly destroyed by the destruction of three-oh-two.

An alien fighter shot past, then spun around to chase after Baker.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he replied, spinning back to meet the fighter. He got his nose on the fighter as it finished its turn to pursue him, and he mentally squeezed the trigger. A missile shot out from under his starboard wing and detonated as the alien’s first laser beam went past three-nineteen harmlessly.

Baker dropped into the radar as he spun the fighter around, searching for his next target. He didn’t see any close by. The marker for three-oh-six—Pering—was heading back toward the carrier. He spun the fighter around and firewalled it as she maneuvered abruptly, obviously engaged.

As he headed toward the carrier, the shuttle impacted, and it detonated cataclysmically; he shied away from the flash. Secondary explosions followed across the remainder of the aft section, he saw when he could look again, then he went back to chasing Pering.

She weaved and spun; she was fighting for her life against two aliens fighters that were spread behind her. No matter which way she went—left, right, up, down—they had her.

“Not if I can help it,” he muttered.

Pering broke right, and, for an instant, Baker had a clear shot. He took it, and the missile roared off in pursuit of the alien. The alien must have seen the flash of the motor igniting, because he tried to pull back the other way, away from it.

The missile was too agile for the alien fighter, though, and it vanished in the nuclear explosion.

Baker spun back to help Pering, just in time to see the other alien vanish in a flash of light.

“Thanks,” Pering said as he turned to join her. “I thought—”

An alien flashed past from below, laser flashing, and three-oh-six blew up as one of the missiles under its wing detonated.

“Shit!” Baker swore, whipping his fighter in to follow the alien. The enemy fighter pulled away toward the second carrier, not seeming to have seen three-nineteen, and Baker dropped into trail behind it. He only had one missile left, but he was close enough for his rail gun.

“Mine,” Irina said as he started to move his nose to lead the enemy’s flight path. She adjusted the controls slightly, then fired a burst that walked across the fighter, shredding it. At least two rounds went through where Baker expected the cockpit to be before it exploded.

“Daiyu needs help!” Irina said suddenly, and she spun the fighter to the right and maxxed the throttles. As the radar stabilized, Baker could see a number of returns in the vicinity of the alien carrier. As only three at most—two piloted, one not—were Terran, there were a lot of alien fighters still to kill.

As the fighters danced around the carrier, Baker shook his head as he tried to figure out what was going on. “Can you tell what they’re doing?”

“They’re using the enemy carrier as cover,” Irina said. “They couldn’t get their fighter to lock on, and they got jumped by a bunch of aliens. The carrier stopped shooting at them—for fear of hitting their own fighters, probably—but they had nowhere to go other than in toward the carrier.”

Irina giggled. “They stopped and latched onto the carrier, and now it’s a—what do you say? Mexican standoff?”

“Yeah, Mexican standoff. Neither can do anything without giving the other the advantage.”

“Exactly. They can’t lift off, or the aliens will shoot them, but the aliens can’t shoot them now without damaging their carrier. The fighters are waiting, just around the curvature of the ship for them to take off.”

“Which is great until some smart alien comes out to shoot a rifle or something at them.”

“One tried already. I’m told a rail gun round will really make a mess of an alien.”

“I’m sure. I’m also sure that they’ll figure something out soon.”

“That’s what Daiyu said. She wants to know what you want them to do.”

“I’ve got this,” Baker said, pushing the stick forward. “We’ll take them from below.” After a second, he had a thought. “Hey, what happened to three-oh-seven?”

“It wouldn’t lock on. It went past the carrier.”

“Can you do whatever it was with three-oh-two to make it lock onto the carrier?”

“I can try…”

“Good. Here’s what I want you to do.”

* * *

BLASTER THREE-TWENTY, ATTACHED TO THE ENEMY CARRIER, SOLAR SYSTEM

“He’s going to do what?” Commander Jones asked over the radio.

“Daiyu says he’s going to blow up the carrier with three-oh-seven,” Jimenez replied. “They went and got it.”

“He does realize that we’re still attached to the carrier, right?”

“He does.”

“I’m all for destroying the carrier, but he knows a big nuclear blast is probably going to kill us, too, right?”

“He knows. He said he’ll give us ten seconds notice. He thinks that will be enough time to get clear.”

“Do you?”

“I have no idea.”

“I’ve got movement—aliens coming out of hatches everywhere!”

* * *

BLASTER THREE-NINETEEN, DEEP SPACE, SOLAR SYSTEM

“Okay, we’re only going to get one chance at this,” Baker said. “Are you ready?”

“Maybe?” Irina said. “I won’t know until we get closer whether I can activate the link to the—” She paused a second, then the fighter went full throttle. “The aliens are attacking the fighters!”

“Ready or not, here we come,” Baker muttered. “You’ve got three-oh-seven. I’ve got… everything else.” He looked out the canopy. Three-oh-seven, which had been alongside them, slowly dropped into trail. Hopefully, it would be far enough behind them when it went off. I hope Irina knows what she’s doing…

Three-nineteen raced toward the enemy carrier from “underneath” the side where three-oh-three and three-twenty were attached. Several fighters were waiting for the Terrans to lift off on both sides of the carrier. He locked up one of the ones on the right side with his last missile.

“Ten seconds!” he radioed. “Go, go, go!” He squeezed the trigger and his last missile roared off. He pushed the stick to the side, aimed at one of the fighters on the other side of the carrier, and fired his rail gun as the distance closed.

“Locked,” Irina called. “I got it.”

Baker winced as he approached the carrier, hoping his timing was good. The alien fighters began moving to chase the Terran fighters, then his missile detonated, and he was flashing past the carrier between it and the enemy fighters. If he’d timed it right, the carrier would absorb most of the radiation from the blast, and it’s about to get more!

He got a glimpse of three-oh-three and three-twenty as he raced past them, then local space was lit up by a massive flash behind them. He slowed a bit so the other fighters could catch up, then laser bolts flashed past his canopy. “Enemy fighter!” he yelled, firewalling the throttles again as he spun three-nineteen to the left, away from the source of the lasers.

“Where?” Irina asked.

“I don’t know!” He looked over his left shoulder, but didn’t see the enemy fighter. A similar glance over his right should also didn’t find it.

“I can’t see it,” Baker exclaimed.

“Look harder,” Irina screamed. “He’s not showing up on any of my sensors.”

Laser rounds impacted across the starboard wing and a number of warning and caution lights illuminated on the panel. “Starboard maneuvering thrusters are out!”

“Where is it?” Irina asked.”

“I. Don’t. Know,” Baker said, fighting the G forces as he maxxed out the port thrusters to bring them back around the other way. He strained as he turned in his seat to look as far back as possible, but the WSO’s seat blocked part of his vision. Nothing. He could feel something in his chest pocket as the strap tightened against the punishing G forces. The picture of the little girl. Cant. Give. Up.

His vision tunneled as the blood was pulled from his brain by the maneuvering, and he grunted, straining to push it back up. The G forces made his skin feel like it was on fire, and he had to control the fighter with his thoughts; his arms fell off the stick as the force pulled his arms back.

Finally—movement at the corner of his eye. There you are. He killed the drive, spinning the fighter in place as it slowed. The alien came roaring in, unprepared for his sudden stop, and lasers holed the port wing. Unable to use the starboard thruster, he flipped the fighter upside down and used the port thruster to align his nose with the incoming alien, then he fired a burst at the enemy.

The rounds were ineffective, but the alien fighter stopped firing at Baker as its shield flared. Unable to stop in time, the alien accelerated again, and Baker spun his fighter in place as the alien went past, then he pulled the trigger. The rail gun spewed an extended burst before going silent. Empty.

There was a split-second’s passage of time—a subjective eternity with his adrenaline flowing—then the rounds hit home, punching through the enemy fighter. It detonated as he started forward again.

Baker scanned his instrument panel. There were more lights illuminated than were dark.

“You still with me, Irina?” he asked.

“Yeah. I have to vote for being further from nuclear blasts in the future, though. You’ve pretty much destroyed my lovely body.”

“I know. Sorry about that.”

“The other fighters are coming to escort us back to the Revenge,” Irina said.

“What about the other alien fighters?”

“They were even closer to your nuclear blast. According to Daiyu, they didn’t make it out.”

“Good,” Baker said with a sigh. “Let’s go home.”

EPILOGUE

CONFERENCE ROOM, SPACE STATION ALPHA, EARTH ORBIT, SOLAR SYSTEM

“And that’s pretty much the story,” Baker said in conclusion. “You saw the final battle which destroyed the last of the alien fighters and the two carriers.”

“We did,” Admiral Walker said from the front row. “We also saw the third carrier which got away.”

“We couldn’t do anything to stop it,” Baker said. “We had to go back to re-arm, and we just weren’t in a position to intercept it.”

“Well, there’s no doubt they know we’re here, anyway, so the fact that it got away doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

“There is one thing,” the intel officer who had kicked off the briefing said. “When the carrier left, it jumped in a different direction than where we’ve previously seen.”

“Any idea where it was heading?”

The intel officer nodded. “It was heading toward Tau Ceti, sir.”

“Tau Ceti? Why does that seem familiar?”

“It’s the closest solitary G-class star. It appears stable and has at least four planets—all of which are super-Earths—orbiting it, with two of these being potentially in the habitable zone.”

“So this could possibly be the home world of the aliens?”

“It’s possible, Admiral. Maybe even probable.”

“Hot damn,” the admiral said, smacking a fist into his palm. “If nothing else, if we’ve at least found where they are, that’s going to make all our losses worthwhile.”

While the information was certainly important, Baker didn’t find it worth the lives of all the pilots who’d been killed in the past year, but he didn’t say anything.

The admiral turned back to Baker. “Unfortunately, we can’t do anything about it right now as we don’t have anything to send. The Revenge is going to need some serious overhaul, and our next carrier is still about six months from being operational.

“There’s also the matter of not having anything to man it with. Your fighters, along with two Alpha models, are all we have in the space fighter department, and there aren’t any more pilots currently trained for flying Bravos.”

“There aren’t?” Baker asked.

“No—the program was experimental, pending the operational results of your cruise. The Joint Chiefs of Staff didn’t want to kill any more pilots until the platform was proven. I’d say, though, that you’ve proven it can be a force multiplier we’re going to need to defeat the aliens.”

“It’s a great system, sir—”

“I’m glad you agree,” the admiral interrupted. “Because you’re going to be responsible for training the new pilots in how to operate the Bravo model, and you’re going to lead the squadrons that go find out about Tau Ceti.”

“But, sir, I’m just a lieutenant—”

“The record says brevet lieutenant commander,” the admiral said. “Based on my conversation with Admiral Jameson, I intend to make that permanent and get the Joint Chiefs to authorize a promotion to commander.”

“What about Sofia Jimenez?” Baker asked. “I’d really like to have her as my XO.”

“I’ll see what can be arranged.”

The conversation turned to operational matters beyond Baker’s cognizance, and he took a seat in the back row, with a million thoughts running through his mind. Squadron command? He hadn’t even completed his first tour in F-77s. Of course, the only person who has as many hours in the Bravo is Sofia, which is worth something, I guess.

He barely noticed when the meeting broke up, and that was only because the lieutenant next to Baker accidentally elbowed him as he got up.

He stood and started to leave, but the admiral motioned him back up to the front of the room. “Yes, sir?” Baker asked as he reached the admiral.

The admiral took him off to the side and glared at anyone close until they moved away. When he had a bubble of privacy, the admiral lowered his voice and asked, “Who is Irina Koslova?”

“Uh, huh?” Baker asked. He hadn’t expected that question. “I’m sorry, sir, what?”

“I’m not sure how this is possible, but the Russian ambassador says that you have one of their personnel, and they want her back.”

* * *

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ABOUT THE AUTHORS

J. N. Chaney is a USA Today Bestselling author and has a Master's of Fine Arts in Creative Writing. He fancies himself quite the Super Mario Bros. fan. When he isn’t writing or gaming, you can find him online at jnchaney.com.

He migrates often, but was last seen in Las Vegas, NV. Any sightings should be reported, as they are rare.

* * *

Chris Kennedy is a Webster Award winner and three-time Dragon Award finalist, Chris Kennedy is a Science Fiction/Fantasy author, speaker, and small-press publisher who has written over 30 books and published more than 200 others.

Chris lives in Coinjock, North Carolina, with his wife, and is the holder of a doctorate in educational leadership and master’s degrees in both business and public administration. Get his free book, “Shattered Crucible,” at chriskennedypublishing.com.