Onyx Javelin

by Steve Wheeler

  'OK, if we are going up against Saluki that would mean the Aquila are going to deploy one of their massive carrier airships?'

  'Yeah, would stand to reason. You going to run another defence drill this afternoon?'

  Nick frowned then shook his head, looking into his empty tea glass then back at Bob. 'No, don't think it's really necessary, do you? We have had plenty of drills of late and I judge everyone is good to go. No, let's not. Within a couple of days we will be in the thick of things anyway. Leave it be, Bob.'

  Bob pursed his lips, looking up at Nick. 'Last time,' he said sternly, 'the bridge crew were bloody slow getting their shit together for close aerial support of this carrier. Would not mind if they were put through the ringer again.'

  'Well, you are the commander, but as XO I have to say that they are within acceptable limits. Yeah, they were a little slow, but I reckon, Bob, that you sat in your chair dishing out all sorts of superfluous orders that created that slow response in the first place. We have an excellent crew, with very few freeloaders, so I would say that we should leave it this time around. In fact, if you want to start pushing those buttons, commander, I would be more concerned about your own flight reaction times.'

  Bob's eyebrows shot up as he looked at the grinning face of Nick. 'I would wallop you anytime, old man!'

  Nick smiled even more broadly, tapped his wrist then looked at the screen as it folded out and up. 'I will smoke you, Bob. Let's see if you still have what it takes. In twenty five minutes we descend down into the village of Waipunga to uplif t that container of fresh local produce. How about you and I put on a little display for the locals? I will graciously allow you to choose the craf t.'

  Bob stood up slowly, placed his tea glass on the table, then extended his hand to Nick. 'OK, so you still don't drink, so it's pointless betting a case of booze. What would you suggest for a bet?'

  Nick shook the much larger man's hand, saying with a small smile, 'I like the licorice from Waipunga's market. Three kilos. Whoever is judged the lesser pays.'

  Bob curtly nodded, knowing the value of the prize.

  Nick let go his hand, tapped the screen and added the order into the last-minute orders flowing to the commerce hub at the Waipunga market. He then transmitted the challenge to the crew of Haast, knowing that most of them would enjoy the fight. He tapped the screen again. 'Major Kahu.'

  Isaac Kahu, the carrier's intelligence and legal officer, looked out from the screen at his superior. 'Mr Warne, I presume that you want me to run the book and officiate on this little wager between you and the commander?'

  Nick smiled at the screen. 'Yes, Mr Kahu. I can rely on your total impartiality in this.'

  Isaac sat inside his control module on the large sweeping bridge of Haast, just forwards of the commander's lounge, and raised an eyebrow while keeping his expression deadpan. 'I would not go quite that far, sir. After all, the commander signs off on my wages and any bonuses that should come my way.'

  'That is true, Mr Kahu, whereas I approve your leave applications whenever you locate an excellent restaurant.'

  'I understand implicitly, major. Of course I shall be totally impartial and the final judge of the challenge. Points will be awarded for every aspect.'

  Bob smiled at the exchange going on between his second in-command and the intel officer as everyone liked Isaac and his legendary powers of persuasion. He touched his own screen, opening it, and tapped Isaac's icon. 'You have control, Mr Kahu. Set it up however you like as long as we are back aboard Haast by 1500 hours.'

  Isaac nodded at his screen. 'Gentlemen. I have control.'

  He cut the connection, looked across at his two-person team and the ACE eagle, Haast, and allowed a small smile on his face as he rubbed his hands together: 'So our two illustrious leaders want to have a little public fight. As we know, this is all about Mr Warne ensuring that the commander looks good on his first command. Haast, please advise the Games Board. I know that they hate dealing with you, but I cannot help twisting those pompous twits' tails at every opportunity we are given.'

  The one-metre-tall eagle nodded at Isaac and turned towards his console. He segmented his mind as one eye watched his screens and the other looked at the open channels to the Games Board AV systems command ship that was at one of the local Lagrange points. Haast loathed the Games Board and its manipulation of the various populations of humanity spread across the roughly fif ty light-year Sphere that they operated in. From his wingtips, datalinks extruded and he plugged himself into the carrier's communications systems, quickly creating a small file on the simulated combat. He watched Isaac instructing the maintenance crews of two of the four Hawks to check the aircraft, then remove the live ammunition and load paint-gel ammunition into the aircrafts' magazines. Having a flexible beak, he allowed himself a little smile as he selected the Games Board official he wanted to speak with and opened the channel. 'Games Board junior producer, this is Specialist Haast onboard Haast.'

  One part of the screen in front of him came alive with a beautiful, severe woman's image looking expressionlessly at him. She inclined her head a few millimetres to one side then pursed her lips, a tiny grimace flashing across her face before she gave Haast a small tight smile. 'Yes, specialist. How may we of the Games Board be of service to you?'

  Haast smiled at her, allowing a few of his crown feathers to slowly become erect, something which he knew would irritate the woman. As he watched her eyes narrow by a tiny amount, he knew that he had hit his mark as he said, 'I am sending a short proposal file that you may find of interest, Junior Producer Elke. A small wager has been created by the commander and Mr Warne using the Hawks armed with paint markers.'

  'Yes, we would find that of minor interest, specialist. Send the file. I shall report our decision within the next hour if it is deemed worthy.'

  Haast smiled again, allowing all his neck feathers to ruffle out. 'File sent. Your delay may be inconvenient. The friendly contest will start in three minutes and be over in twenty.'

  The Games Board official lifted her gaze, quickly scowled at Haast and spat out, 'Three minutes! That is not acceptable. You know these things take time, Specialist Haast.'

  He allowed himself to look serious, then shrugged and slowly replied, 'We are sorry that you do not wish to take part in this event, junior producer. 'It is a wager that must be settled before Haast descends to Waipunga to uplif t the last of our fresh produce.'

  She glared at him and almost yelled: 'We do wish to record this event, ACE specialist. Why would we not? 'It is most presumptuous and quite wrong of you to say that! Standard fees are agreed.'

  With that the connection was broken and those around Haast burst out laughing.

  'She really does not like you!' Isaac said. 'Did not quite break the record for the fastest AV negotiation, but it's close, Haast, quite close! Well done.'

  Isaac then sat back inside his command pod, drummed his fingers for a few seconds, looking over his unit crew, then tapped one of the screens which, seconds later, came alive with the duty bridge officer smiling at him from the screen.

  Major Mark de Ruyter nodded cheerf ully at his longtime friend. 'Our fearless leaders are going to have a bit of a go at each other, eh! All crew have been advised, we are good to go, whenever you are ready, Isaac.'

  Isaac nodded, then looked across at the screens to watch the two senior officers trying to look relaxed. He waited until the commander was about to take a drink of tea, then hit the alarm button.

  Bob swore and grinned, knowing that Isaac would have done that deliberately, as he quickly placed his glass on the table. Both men jogged for the door, ran through it, separated left and right, and sprinted down the opposite halves of the huge bridge with the occupants of the command and control modules smiling at them as they ran past. They came to a stop and pushed themselves up against the coffin-like combat suit containers which quickly wrapped the g-suits and survival gear around their uniforms. As soon as the suits had sealed, a side panel of the container
opened, presenting a highly polished pole that the two men slid down to land seconds later beside the Hawk fighter aircraft.

  The aircraft was sitting in its launch cradle as Nick strode up to the control deployment board beside it and placed his hand into the slot. The craf t recognised him and altered its seat as his helmet's HUD activated, showing the readiness of the compact fighter. He quickly walked around it, removing the system's control tags and placing them into their respective slots just as his personal crew NCO arrived through a side door. Nick looked across at Sergeant Rangi Hopi. 'You are late, as normal.' The big sergeant shrugged and looked down at his superior. 'Yeah. Had to go have a piss. But why are you talking? You should be in that aircraft and gone by now. Thought Ihad trained you better!'

  Nick chuckled. 'Piss off, Rangi. Hopeless bastard.'

  Rangi Hopi grinned and jogged around the aircraft, checking it visually, then walked up to the control board as the carrier gave control of the Hawk to the major.

  He watched Nick climb into the cockpit and, as the canopy slid down, Rangi checked that the systems were all in the green. He activated the external doors as the turbines inside the aircraft started. Looking across his board once more, he gazed up at Nick, who looked across at him and gave a thumbs up. Rangi saluted and pushed the button, activating the cradle to slide out of the side of the carrier. He watched the large catch net deploying to the sides and below the Hawk, and as soon as they had locked into position hit another button, giving control of the launch to the major.

  Nick scanned his instruments then touched the comms screen, saying, 'Green two standing by.'

  The launch controller on the bridge instantly replied. 'Green two, flight control, weather Bravo, vector port 4, you are cleared to take off.'

  'Control Green two, Bravo, port 4, launching.'

  As he was saying the words, Nick's fingers danced across the controls with the launch cradle extending itself out and down. He gave a touch of antigravity as he eased the throttles open, with the locks folding away, and he powered the Hawk outwards from the port side of the carrier, heading 500 metres out into the vectored area number four. As soon as he passed into the area, he scanned his instruments and slammed the throttle to maximum, standing the fighter on its tail and roaring up into the sky, rolling the aircraft a little so he could see past the enormous bulk of the carrier Haast. As he accelerated, he saw Bob's machine rip upwards from behind Haast, also climbing as fast as he could.

  On the bottom deck of Haast, Staff Sergeant Aaron Huriwaka watched the two fighters on the huge tactical screen that covered one wall of his domain. He had his feet on the table, leaning back in his chair, and waited for the inevitable call from the bridge, 140 metres above him. Sighing and wondering what the two senior officers had to prove, he shook his head, put his tea mug down and opened his wristscreen, instructing his salvage and recovery machine to stand by. Keeping one eye on the coming dogfight on the main screen, he checked the details of the ugly machine as it came to life and slid itself forwards on its launch pad. He instructed it to remove its defensive weaponry and topped up the pure water fuel tanks. He looked again at his display, grunted and tapped Corporal Al Brady's icon.

  'Hey, Al. Get your arse down here now, bro. We are about to launch the salvage-recovery unit. So get out of whomever you are currently in, and get here, OK.'

  Not waiting for a reply, he broke the connection and waited for his boss, Mark de Ruyter, to call.

  He smiled seeing the major's icon come up on his screen and waited for the third tone before answering. 'Whatdoyawant? Can't you see I am on the shitter?'

  Mark laughed. 'On the shitter, eh? So you have prepped your beast machine from the toilet, eh, staff? Very industrious of you! You know why I am calling, eh?'

  Aaron grinned, allowing his image to be seen by his superior. 'Yeah, boss, ahead of you there. Where do you want us to park?'

  Mark looked to his wraparound screens, seeing the two Hawks engaged in a fierce dogfight high overhead, then looked at the three Games Board monitors that had lifted off the top deck of the carrier to follow and film the fighters, then back at his ground maps. He tapped his teeth then said, 'OK. I reckon that they will bang something up. Launch and hang a couple of hundred metres off the bow. I am sending a medic team with you. They will be with you in a minute.'

  The wiry form of a slightly dishevelled Al Brady walked in seconds before the two medics. One was a tall, strikingly beautiful, stern Major Sally Aydon, and behind her was the exotic Lieutenant May Gin.

  Aaron immediately leapt to his feet, acknowledging the two women with a quick nod of his head.

  May Gin smiled knowingly at Aaron as Sally looked between them, then across at Al Brady, who was trying to look inconspicuous by checking his flight suit. Sally looked back at May, shook her head and said matter of factly: 'May, put Aaron down. Work now, exchange smouldering looks of lust later.'

  She snapped her head around to look at Al Brady with a knowing gaze. 'Corporal. I hope you washed on your way here. Your fly is undone. And no, I do not want to know who you have been with. Staff Huriwaka, I trust your machine awaits us?'

  'Yes, major, it is prepped and ready to go.'

  'Right, don't just stand there, get on with it, man. Bloody waste of time this.'

  Aaron looked at Al Brady, who was nonchalantly trying to do up his fly, then back at the imposing figure of the medical officer. He wondered if his day was about to turn just a little bit rubbish. He mentally shrugged, thinking that the major was very good at what she did and deciding that it would be easiest to play the game and go with the flow. He gestured to the door leading to the landing deck of the salvage craft.

  'Please go make yourselves comfortable in the machine,' Aaron said. 'We will be with you directly.'

  The two women walked past with a compact, though large, suitcase-sized medical unit following them on its own antigravity unit. The door closed silently behind them and the two men looked at each other as they pushed up against their flight suit containers.

  'That woman scares me, Aaron,' Al said.

  The staff sergeant nodded, agreeing, and added, 'Yeah, me too, but I tell you what, mate, she is the best, and I mean the best medic, bar none. You know when you come onboard a new ship and you look through the crew lists? Yeah, well, I saw her name and was bloody pleased. OK, Al, let's go, mate.'

  Al smiled as the suit finished forming around him and then turned to Aaron when he too stepped forwards from his container. 'So what's between you and the lieutenant?'

  Aaron grinned, barked out a short laugh and pointed at the door. 'Come on, you are wasting time. You want another chewing? And did ya wash your hands? Dirty bugger!'

  They walked out through the door and within seconds were walking across the heavy, wide mesh top deck of the square salvage craf t with all its winches, grabs, tie-downs and twin multi-jointed cranes at either end. They could hear the four turbines quietly singing, supplying power to the four oversized antigravity units, one at each corner of the ungainly machine. They climbed through the hatch into the roomy, multifaceted clear sphere at the centre of the craft. Al clambered into the pilot's chair as Aaron climbed up into the commander's station. He looked behind him to see that the two medics had belted themselves into their seats and that the medical unit had locked itself onto the wall beside them.

  Aaron tapped a few icons on one of his screens and seconds later the clamshell doors on the front edge of Haast opened.

  He tapped the comms button. 'Flight control, this is Wrecker one, four POB, standing by.'

  'Wrecker one. Hello, Aaron. Four POB, weather Bravo, launch and hold station at 400 at twelve o'clock bridge level.'

  He touched another icon and the salvage craft was moved forwards through the doors, on its platform, with large nets deploying to the sides and below them.

  'Roger that, twelve o'clock, 400, bridge,' Aaron confirmed. 'Launch when ready, Wrecker.'

  Aaron touched his microphone, saying, 'You heard the wo
man, Al, let's go.'

  Al manipulated the two controls, which were much like those of a helicopter, and the machine slid upwards on the vectored thrust of the four turbines, climbing away from the bulk of the carrier. Sliding through the sky, holding station with the carrier, they switched their attention to the battle above them.

  Bob Thompson was sweating in his suit as he threw the Hawk all over the sky, trying to get a solid kill hit on his friend and mentor. He had managed to hit Nick's craft on a few occasions! but the electronics of his weapons reported that they were superficial. Nick, on the other hand, had scored with paint splashes down one side of Bob's craf t, taking out one of his vectored thrust nozzles and damaging one of the turbines with the aircraft simulating real battle damage. The aircraft was not as responsive as it had been earlier and he was running out of time. Looking across to see where the furthest Games Board monitor was, he aimed directly for it, knowing that the closest he could get was 100 metres and hoping that it would react in the way that he wanted it to.

  Seconds later it reacted by climbing rapidly, which Bob matched for a second before breaking hard to the left, pulling a hard high-g turn as the wings changed shape to enable the aircraft to do his bidding as he corkscrewed it around; they tucked in hard against the aircraft body as he flipped it over on its back, aiming between the other two pursuing monitors. They also reacted to get out of his way, one diving and the other flashing upwards and straight into the third now-descending monitor. At the instant of their collision, Bob pulled the Hawk even harder into a left-hand turn, knowing that Nick would be watching the monitors crash. In those few seconds of Nick's distraction Bob was able to fire the rotary cannon and splash paint all over the front of Nick's Hawk, then down its back.

  Nick roared with laughter. 'Well played, commander! Perfect and well within the rules. Looks like two badly damaged monitors, but still acceptable.'