“Thanks,” I said. “You too.”
“You did most of it.”
Sadie was a better pilot than she gave herself credit for, but I wasn’t going to have that conversation in the middle of a battle either.
We made a sharp turn and accelerated back toward our flight and the right flank of the battle. Other flights were now engaging the enemy ships, and from the look of things the battle was going well.
If this was the best the Superiority had to send against us, maybe we stood a chance after all.
Sadie and I flew toward Nose and her wingmate, assisting them in shaking a couple of tails. Sadie soared in close to one of the enemy ships and used her IMP to take out their shield, then cut away toward the edge of the battle while I pressed forward, firing my destructors at the now-defenseless ship.
“Quirk, can you cover Sentry?” I asked Kimmalyn over the general channel.
“Quirk’s busy,” Lizard said. “I’m on it.”
The ship in front of me lit up with an explosion above its acclivity ring, and with no air resistance to slow it down, the wreckage continued sailing in the direction it had been going. I cut away, flying out to join Sadie and Lizard, reaching them just as Sadie reignited her shield.
“Nice work,” Nose said over the general channel. “Skyward Flight, it’s always a pleasure.”
I smiled. We worked well as a group, though we didn’t fly together regularly. Before I joined the DDF, I hadn’t understood the mentality that pushed people to fight as one, to keep doing so even as their friends died around them. I’d never felt that violence was the best way to solve problems, though I understood that violence was the only solution that kept us alive when the Krell kept trying to bomb us out of existence. Still, I’d found the rhetoric about glory disturbing, the way the National Assembly seemed to justify anything they wanted by saying it would help us fight the Krell. I had thought pilots were sheep. Skilled, determined, well-respected sheep who did what they were driven to do because they didn’t know any better.
Now though, I understood the glue that held us together, and it wasn’t stupidity. It was the bond shared by people who faced death together. It was a sense of belonging, of being a piece of something bigger, something important, though I still wasn’t convinced everything about it was good. I’d never felt that I needed a military to tell me my place in the world before, and I still didn’t.
But there was something about knowing that without me my friends would be worse off that kept me flying even when it terrified me.
“New orders,” Nose said over the general channel. “We’re to move to evasive maneuvers only and then turn off our comms.”
Excuse me? “Nose, did you say turn off our comms?”
“Those are the orders, FM,” Nose said. “All comms off. Do not turn them on under any circumstances.”
That couldn’t be right. Without the ability to communicate, we couldn’t work together as a flight. We’d end up scattered across the battlefield. Good pilots are good communicators. I learned that from Cobb. Without the ability to talk to each other—
Well, it wasn’t exactly like flying blind, but it was a hell of a lot closer than I liked.
“Are we going to retreat?” Lizard asked.
That would be more manageable. If we could head back beyond the gun platforms we could at least hide, or make our way to Platform Prime under the shelter of the rubble belt.
“Negative,” Nose said. “Comms off. Maintain evasive maneuvers. Try to keep the ships busy and await further instructions.”
“Instructions?” I said. “How are you going to give us instructions if our comms are off?”
“Pilots, we need to go dark,” Nose said. “The order comes straight from Admiral Cobb. Stick with your wingmate. If you get stranded, find another member of the flight and stay together. We’ll reassemble on the flip side. Nose out.”
Scud. “Sentry,” I said over a private channel. “You heard Nose. We’ll have to stay close together.” I had no idea what Command was up to, but Cobb wouldn’t give an order like that without a good reason. “Follow my lead.” I was the senior pilot. It was my job to keep her alive.
“Oh—okay,” Sadie said. She sounded close to panicking, and I couldn’t blame her. Terror crawled its way up my throat as I put my hand over the comm button.
And then I turned it off.
Two
The world went silent except for the hum of my instruments. The ships around me made no sound as the battle raged on. For the first time I envied Spensa her AI-equipped ship. It chattered like Kimmalyn after too many desserts, but at least it wasn’t…silent.
Sadie and I flew in close formation so we didn’t lose sight of each other. The battle in front of me fractured; ships that had been flying together broke off into wingmate pairs, while the enemy formations stayed mostly the same, chasing our fighters in groups of three or four. They outnumbered us, but we flew better, leading them around in circles.
Sadie would be waiting for my lead. I needed to think of a plan, figure out how to use these new orders to our advantage and communicate it by the way I flew, since we couldn’t talk.
But stars, I couldn’t take this silence.
I reached around to the belt loop of my jumpsuit. I never used my transmitter while I was flying—Jorgen wouldn’t be happy if I transmitted unnecessary noise over the comm. My transmitter didn’t emit a ranged signal, but it did something even better.
It played music. Handheld transmitters were expensive and rare. My father had given it to me when I made pilot—I used it more than he did when I lived at home. Today I wanted something peppy, something that definitely couldn’t be played at my funeral by some three-piece band.
So I turned on one of my favorites, a song my father said was classified as “big band,” though many of the other songs featured far more instruments. I thought I understood: the band wasn’t big because of the number of players (which was still more than ever played together in the Detritus caverns), but because of the sounds they made, loud and punchy, like the music itself was trying to swing you around and toss you.
I tapped my feet against the floor, listening to the beat as I flew around the outskirts of the battle, watching and waiting for my move. Our orders were to stick to evasive maneuvers, but there were plenty of tricks we could pull that would do damage to the enemies while still being considered evasive.
I found my opening when three ships peeled off the mass of the main battle and bolted toward us. I darted out front, my head nodding to the rhythm of the drums, and the ships chased after me, leaving Sadie behind to shoot with her destructors. She still overused those—Cobb hadn’t taught her as a cadet, so we’d had to give her some extra coaching after she made pilot to get her up to speed.
The destructors wouldn’t do much while the Krell had their shields up, but there was no way I could use my IMP and still claim I was being evasive. The IMP would take out my shield along with the Krell’s, and I didn’t dare do that with my comms down—there was no way I’d be able to call for help if I got myself into real trouble.
We were supposed to fly defensively, but that didn’t mean I had to let these ships shoot us out of the sky. I bobbed my head to the beat and circled around to some debris that floated above the platforms, out of reach of the gun emplacements.
I grabbed one of the enemy drone pilot ships with my light-lance and fired my thrusters in its direction, dragging it after me toward the rock. Sadie dashed ahead, kiting the other two ships after her as I raced toward the debris. Then I rotated my thrusters and cut the light-lance at the last moment, propelling myself downward beneath the debris while the Krell ship crashed into the rock above me.
I overshot. My GravCaps maxed out and I was struck by g-forces that forced blood upward toward my head. For a moment my vision went red, but I reduced my speed and managed to m
aintain consciousness, though the music warped in my ears and the lights on my ship controls swam before my eyes.
I began to recover, my head still swimming, and found Sadie flying toward me, the other two ships no longer on her tail. I didn’t know if she’d lost them or taken them out while I was distracted, but I was glad either way. I lifted my finger to call her to tell her so before I remembered.
Silence. We were flying in silence.
And I still didn’t understand why. Sadie and I swung around as the music crashed toward a crescendo, and we soared toward the main battlefield again.
My proximity sensors beeped over the music, warning me of incoming ships headed straight for me at high speed. I didn’t dare turn the music up any louder, though I wanted to. I adopted a weaving pattern, moving in rhythm with a trumpeting horn—and the first enemy ship matched my flight pattern, almost as if it wanted to run right into me. I went into a dive, Sadie following after me—
And pulled out right as one of our own fighters passed in front of my nose.
Nightmare Seven. Lizard’s ship. Four Superiority fighters followed after her, only one of them breaking away to pepper me with destructor fire.
Scud. Where was Lizard’s wingmate? She’d flown so close to get my attention, because she couldn’t radio in for help. I pivoted my boosters, veering off in Lizard’s direction. Behind me, Sadie launched a barrage of destructor fire at the lone ship near us, the blasts seeming to shoot in time with a snare drum. Sadie executed an Ahlstrom loop to turn herself around and follow after me. That ship might chase her, but I had to trust her to deal with one tail.
With four ships behind her, Lizard was in much bigger trouble, and she needed help. We were better trained, but the Superiority forces had always had more powerful destructors and stronger shields. I accelerated to Mag-4 to catch up with the ships. Ahead of me, Lizard spun in a rolling twin-scissor, trying to shake her tails, but they stuck with her. This group were all piloted ships, and they were working together better than the Krell drones we usually fought. As Lizard pulled out of the scissor, one of the Krell pegged her with a destructor shot.
We had to help her. She still had a shield, but it was weakening. Lizard knew what she was doing—she was already headed toward the gun platforms where we could push the ships close enough to take fire. We were too far from them though. She wasn’t going to make it.
My whole body jittering to the syncopation of the music, I opened fire on the nearest Krell, forcing the ship to take evasive action and lose its bead on Lizard. Sadie caught up to me and then pulled ahead, speeding forward.
She was making herself a target, giving me an opening to take care of the other ships while she and Lizard took the destructor fire. It was a risky move—even though Sadie still had a full shield, the Krell destructors could quickly destroy it. If I’d had my radio, I would have yelled at her to pull back and stop being so reckless. Jorgen would never have approved that maneuver.
But I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell her anything. Instead I followed after her, darting forward to engage one of the other Krell fighters.
We were approaching the gun platforms now as one of the Krell fighters took the bait and went after Sadie instead. Sadie executed a perfect twin-S, dodging the destructor fire.
I missed with the light-lance, and the other two ships bore down on Lizard, both unloading their destructors on her at once.
Lizard evaded many of the blasts, but not enough. With a blink of light, Lizard’s shield went down.
I put my hand over the comm button, then pulled it back. We were on our own. I hit my overburn, speeding out in front of Lizard and trying to draw away the Krell fighters. If they followed me, I could evade them while Lizard escaped and got her shield up.
It didn’t work. The Krell maintained their focus on Lizard, and a destructor blast hit her boosters, sending the ship spinning toward the planet. I watched helplessly as Lizard’s ship spiraled into range of the gun platforms and exploded in a fiery burst. A crash of cymbals seemed to punctuate the explosion.
“No,” I whispered. No.
Sadie’s ship pulled close to mine. Lizard was gone, just like that. She’d never again tell me my boots looked stupid with my jumpsuit or challenge Nedd to a tower-building contest with algae strips. Nothing was going to change that.
I couldn’t even call in to Nose to let her know. We wouldn’t be able to retrieve Lizard’s pin—a ship destroyed like that in the vacuum wouldn’t even be good for salvage. She would get only a symbolic ceremony, not a real pilot’s funeral.
I focused on the music, though it was now nearing the end of the song, the music building up, the drums punching in an off-kilter syncopation. The ships that took out Lizard were turning around now, though Sadie seemed to have shaken the one that was after her. Together Sadie and I wove back and forth until the ships gave up on us and went to seek easier targets.
The song ended, and silence echoed in my ears.
Lizard was gone. I’d never hear her voice again. I reached for my transmitter, starting another song. I chose a haunting piece played by an instrument my father called a piano. He’d shown me an image of one from the records, but I couldn’t imagine how a large bench with buttons made notes like the ones in the song—nimble and lilting and all working together like a well-tuned machine.
This music was much more sedate than the big band music, but I’d suddenly lost the desire for pep. I pulled ahead of Sadie, leading her away from the battlefield. I needed a moment to clear my head. A lack of focus would get us both killed. I could grieve later—now I had to concentrate. I had to keep Sadie alive. I had to—
Suddenly, the blackness of space seemed to shift. As if the layers of space itself were being pulled apart, the whole of the battle before me rippled, one layer separating from another, distorting in waves and bends. I shook my head, afraid for a moment that the g-forces might have had some delayed mental effects. What would I do if I had an emergency out here? I couldn’t radio for help. I couldn’t request to retreat.
And so, even with Sadie flying at my wing, I was still completely and utterly alone when the deep shadow darkened the blackness of space, passing over it like a shroud. In the distance, beyond the circling ships, a mass appeared—another ship maybe, but unlike any I’d ever seen. A core with spires jutting from it like the head of a mace, enormous—perhaps as big as Detritus, but far enough away that it was difficult to tell. The mass was immediately obscured by clouds of dust and shapes that didn’t exist—couldn’t exist—that undulated as the folds of reality seemed to separate and reform across the battlefield, rippling out into the vastness of space. The piano music rose and fell, providing an eerie soundtrack.
Scud, what was that?
My finger hovered over the comm switch, trembling. The explosion of Lizard’s ship played over and over in my head, even as I tried to banish it. Was I losing my mind? Was this some kind of trauma response? I had to talk to someone, didn’t I? I had to report what I was seeing, though as I watched the reactions of the other ships in the battlefield, I became increasingly certain I wasn’t hallucinating.
I wasn’t the only one faltering. Ships that had been engaged in maneuvers flew off course, scattering. The battlefield widened as many ships skittered away from the main fight, probably trying to avoid being shot down while they reconciled themselves to what they were seeing.
Or tried. I didn’t know that there was any way to reconcile myself to this. It couldn’t be real—the colors and shapes were too maddening, too impossible.
It had to be a hologram, or an illusion like the one that had fooled Spensa’s father, convincing him to attack his own people. Except those tactics were supposed to only affect cytonics, people with defects—or assets, we were starting to learn—in their minds that let them travel and communicate across the vastness of the universe. Those shouldn’t be able to affect everyone.
>
And if this was a hologram, it was scudding big. What would be projecting that? The enemy battleships? They hadn’t done anything like that in the weeks they’d been parked above Detritus, and besides, the vision seemed to be having the same effect on Defiant and Superiority ships alike. I fired my destructors once and watched the dust ripple around the path of the blast, reacting to the force.
The dust at least was real. But what was it, and where had it come from?
I startled as Sadie’s ship shot out in front of me, then dropped back. She was flying dangerously close, near enough I could look out my window and see through the glass of her canopy.
Sadie looked right at me, eyes wide in terror. I didn’t know what to do—I couldn’t talk to her. Instead I simply shook my head. I didn’t know what was happening. From the looks of it, nobody knew what was happening.
And then with no preamble, the folds of space seemed to ripple, and the strange phenomenon vanished. The battlefield reformed once more, clear and crisp, all the dust moving away as if sucked into the cracks in reality from whence it came.
My finger shook above my comm switch, but then I dropped my hand, gripping the dash. I’d been ordered to turn off my comms, and I hadn’t been ordered to turn them back on.
For a moment the ships seemed to regroup, both enemy and friendly drawing back together, like they were all remembering we were supposed to be fighting each other.
And then the enemy force turned, almost as one, and started to withdraw toward the enormous carrier ship. Generally when the enemy withdrew, we didn’t chase them, but we also didn’t withdraw without orders.
Was it safe to turn comms back on? I scanned the battlefield, looking for other members of our flight, and found Nose and her wingmate hitting overburn, bolting toward us. When she got close, she reversed her thrusters to slow down and pulled up next to me, T-Stall and Catnip following behind her. Nose frantically waved a hand at me, pointing at her own radio.
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