She found it rather fun and surprising to have a new look.
Nice to be a blond for a change, and it also felt liberating to also be someone else for a while–a clean break from the pressures of her responsibilities.
She called herself Amina, Amina Kurtz, from Clan Kurtz.
Amina-Naero was assigned for further training under one of Commander Chaela Maeris’ starfighter squadrons. This allowed Amina-Naero to come and go according to orders that she herself controlled, as the strike fleet captain.
Such transfer orders were not uncommon, especially among reserve personnel. They bopped around in many roles and situations on several vessels here and there.
Reserve personnel got shunted around as needed, and often came and went at a moment’s notice.
Naero also decided to change her appearance by wearing a lot of programmable nanomakeup that was easy to apply and manipulate.
She normally didn’t wear that much in the way of cosmetics, so she took a page from Saemar’s playbook.
The results were startling.
Even she hardly recognized herself.
Amina-Naero joined The Fire Hornets, 147th Alliance Star Fighter Wave, Fifth Squadron, 2nd Fighter Wing. Assignment: replacement reserve fighter pilot.
They flew a modified, souped-up version of the Joshua Tech F-100C Super Cobra, with its signature 50 mm heavy pulse cannons, mounted both fore and aft. Along with the added punch of three particle beam guns in each short wing.
All of that firepower made The Super Cobra a force to be reckoned with as a heavy tactical, space superiority fighter.
And since it had been updated and refitted with the latest avionics, power core, armor, and shields–The F-100 Charlie had one of the highest survivability ratings in the Alliance Fleets.
Pilots loved it because it kept them alive and brought them back. They made it their workhorse.
There was even an F-100T. The tango version was a two-seater training version, with the instructor sitting above and slightly behind the the trainee, dual controls standard.
Naero checked out with Fifth Squadron’s training officer, Leftenant Commander Ortega, in one of the tangos. She officially got her wings and was cleared to be attached to the unit as a backup pilot.
Ortega was impressed with her performance on her training runs.
This, despite the fact that Amina-Naero was actually holding back, making several small mistakes that she wouldn’t normally make–in order to further her cover.
She succeeded in making herself look promising, but still inexperienced.
“You still have a lot to learn, Ensign Kurtz. But whoever trained you did a superb job. I wish all of our reserve replacements came to us with as much talent and potential skill as you demonstrate. Good luck, ensign. Welcome to The Fire Hornets.”
“Thank you, sir.”
They exchanged salutes.
She learned that Fifth Squadron usually formed up into two wings of ten starfighters each. When they fought, they took on the enemy in pairs, with a lead ship and a wingman. Wing commanders directed the two wings as needed.
When they did not have direct orders or targets, standard doctrine directed that they attack and defeat the nearest enemy available–until the foe was either destroyed, rendered ineffective, or chased off.
In war, there was often a lot of down time between battles, engagements, and major campaigns. Typical military experience; lots of boredom, and then a few minutes to hours, or days of sheer terror, chaos, and destruction all around.
Fighter pilots on duty had to stand ready to prep and launch in a matter of seconds or minutes at most, where every second counted.
Naero stored her gear and met with the other nineteen pilots in their barracks on board The Bulldog. Five others were new reserve replacements, just like her. She met the other backup pilot that she would be wingman to–another Ensign named Laedon James. He had already survived his first battle.
His wingman had not. Hence the revolving need for another replacement.
To pass the time, Laedon and Amina-Naero played cards, stellar chess, or various vid games with the other nineteen pilots in her wing.
She’d been around Chaela and Saemar and other fighter pilots long enough to know how many of them behaved. She did most everything within the acceptable range, so as not to stand out or attract too much attention.
They gambled small wagers on cards, on stellar chess, on vids, dice, dominoes–anything with an element of chance to it.
“So, what am I getting myself into with this unit and your commanders?” Amina-Naero asked her new mates.
“Where’d you come from and who did you serve under?” came the standard response from one veteran pilot, answering her question with a question.
The woman did not even look up from her cards.
“I had my initial training under Admiral Sleak Maeris, with the 112th Alliance Star Fighter Wave, Fourth Squadron, 6th Fighter Wing. I’ve bounced around a lot as a backup and reserve pilot since then. Haven’t seen any action yet.”
A very plausible answer. That sort of thing was commonplace, especially for young backups and reserves.
The veteran–already an ace many times over–at twenty-two years of age, grimaced briefly.
“Less chance to die. Count yourself lucky, kid.”
Another vet chimed in. “Fleet Captain Maeris is a hard-nosed hellcat, much like her aunt, our glorious Admiral. She does some crazy shit in battle–like some kind of a savant.” This guy didn’t bother looking at her when he spoke either.
Naero put on her best worried face. “Like, what kind of crazy?”
“The best kind of crazy,” the last guy added with a chuckle. “Crazy as in stuff the enemy doesn’t expect. That drives them nutsoid and helps us beat their asses bloody. Don’t worry, newb. If the fleet cap doesn’t get you killed in the process, you’ll learn to love her. You might shake your head a lot at first, but it’ll be okay in the end.”
The female vet got mad and threw her cards down, her face scarlet.
“Don’t tell the kid that, Yuben! You can’t know how it’s gonna be for her or anyone. Not even you. How can you say things are going to be okay? Remind me when they have been okay?”
“Easy, Jem. Whatever happens, it’s all gonna be okay. We can’t control it anyway. So why worry about it?”
“Yeah, your pat, dumbass answer for everything. I’m just saying. The kid could go out and get blown to hell on her first mission–just like the last guy. That’s the same thing you told him. So, you can’t just say everything’s automatically going to be okay. Because it isn’t.”
Naero let her eyes stare wide and swallowed hard.
Yuben frowned, squirming only slightly as Jem pressed her point.
“Like any of us can control any of that. Don’t let her rattle you, kid. Just do your best. That’s all any of us can ever do. Then whatever else happens, it’s all okay.”
Jem shook her outstretched, trembling fingertips in the air like claws.
“Idiot!”
Yuben ignored her frustration and focused on the card game at hand.
Amina-Naero quietly asked a few questions about several recent battles that she had heard about.
The squadron gave their opinions, based on their perspective and the information they had.
Aunt Sleak was right again.
It did help to get several opinions from different points of view. Naero gained valuable insights on those battles from listening to those fighter pilots debate stuff back and forth.
She even realized a few minor mistakes she had made here and there, and that she would strive not to make again in the future.
But it became increasingly clear that the life-and-death decisions she made always affected so many others. And although not everyone agreed with her every decision, at least they had an overall respect for her ability to fight, and her skill to lead them to victory.
Another problem presented itself.
Ensign
Laedon kept watching her—a lot. Obviously enamored of her.
She knew she was still cute, even with her new look.
This sort of thing was bound to happen.
Fighter pilots were well-known for being a randy, romantic lot.
Saemar was one extreme, but there it was.
Laedon tried to talk with her, do little favors for her, get to know her better.
They guy wasn’t smooth, but he wasn’t a jerk either. Just a normal, average guy, trying to make some time with someone new and cute.
Naero liked him all right as crew–but there wasn’t any spark there. She just wasn’t interested.
That wasn’t her goal anyway–to fool around with some subordinates anonymously. Tempting, but that just wouldn’t be fair to anyone. Naero had a strict policy about not playing games with peoples’ hearts and emotions.
She was the polar opposite of Saemar when it came to casual relationships.
In fact, she often chided herself for almost continually going out of her way to avoid private and romantic relationships.
Hence her sustained and secret virgin status.
She was in fact extremely choosy, but that again was still just another excuse. She knew that as well.
Yet the more she evaded him, the harder Laedon pursued her. Go figure.
Predators always seemed drawn to prey that ran from them.
She finally let him down easy, explaining that she already had a steady guy somewhere else.
A lie of course, but a convenient one.
Laedon took the hint, but he still flirted with her from time to time, just in case she changed her mind.
Naero spent time with The Fire Hornets here and there for about five more days while the fleet refitted in the rear areas, and then moved up toward the front lines again.
She learned most of what she wanted to know from that bunch during that time.
Many of her people seemed to see Captain Maeris as slightly nuts, but also skilled and gifted. That much was probably all true.
But at least they had great respect for her overall leadership, regardless of what they thought about her as a person. Most of them did not know her personally, so they just guessed.
Some even made up stuff.
Then several women and even a few of the guys started chatting excitedly, as a hot new rumor began to spread.
“Have you heard? Max Lii might be joining our strike fleet!”
“Max Lii? The Throck Star?!”
“No, you derp–Max Lii, the dishwasher. Of course it’s the Throckstar. Haisha!”
The news and all the wild rumors along with it blazed throughout the ship, and then the fleet.
Secretly, Naero hoped those rumors were true. Max was pretty glacier. She and the fleet could use some good news, and a little excitement that didn’t involve death and mayhem.
When the time finally came, Amina-Naero Kurtz took another transfer to another ship, in another fleet.
11
Just thinking about Max Lii made Naero go through her music feeds back in her private quarters.
She played several of his hits:
Fire In Her Eyes.
One Touch…One Kiss…One Night.
My One And Ever.
To the Stars.
Hearts Afire.
Throw Down.
Vortex.
As she listened to each song in turn, as she had done so many times, she finally noticed something.
Max Lii used the latest Tek and Throck music gimmicks and tricks.
Yet he also used traditional riffs, pipers, even the traditional Spacer tharp and thiolin–to heart-pounding or heart-rending effect.
Like her parents, Naero secretly loved the sweet lilting strains and tunes of the traditional Spacer tharp and thiolin. Most Spacers grew up hearing them on the merchant ships of their Clans, playing the old songs, Spacer shanties and lullaby’s.
Just as Naero had. Like a soundtrack to the Spacer life itself.
Her parents had played stirring thiolin songs, solos, and concertos piped throughout all of their ships.
They called up holo images and performances of famous thiolinists–past and present–when they dined, had meetings, or they were just on their own, together or alone. And like Naero at their memory, the old tunes often brought her and her parents to reflection, and tears.
Yet they loved those tunes all the more, for they were laden with memory. Naero now understood why.
When she was a teen, naturally she rebelled, and refused to listen to her parents’ ‘old-fashioned-crap.’
She made numerous complaints, but they simply ignored her.
But now with them lost to her, and her at war, those old songs and tunes seemed to have even deeper meaning and significance.
They were the memories, the history in songs, of a fierce and brave people. Their people. Their blood. Many of whom had given their lives for the sake of freedom.
As interstellar celebrities themselves from the Galactic Fight Circuit, her parents brushed shoulders with other famous figures, thinkers, and musicians. That included the greatest thiolinists of their age.
Mitsubishi Yuzuki, Grandon Kowalski, Rhiannon Fae, Seamus Flynn–and the Maestro, the old grand master himself–Ezekiel Luna Alexander.
The latter, the living legend and treasure of the Forty-Nine Clans. He insisted that everyone simply call him Zeke.
At one hundred and thirty-seven years, it was said that finally, the effects of old age had begun to slow him down.
And it was widely known that when he played now, he did so in great pain. Yet play he did, regardless, and vowed that he would do so, for as long as he drew breath.
Not many Spacers lived to such an age. Except for a few other elders, all of Zeke’s friends, and most of his close kin were long gone.
He had been a teen at the time of The Third Spacer War, and it was also said that the pain and sorrow of that great conflict, and those of the even mightier Fourth Spacer War after that were what gave his music the raw feel of depth and subtle power.
He had lived and survived through almost one quarter of total Spacer History. When he did go out in public or to perform, he wore long elder robes of jet black, which set off his long white beard down to his knees, and his trademark, platinum white shock of hair that either cascaded down his back, or was plaited into a simple Spacer braid.
In truth, to Naero he always looked like a fanciful character–some noble wizard of old, or a myth out of one of Ty’s fantasy vid games.
Yet when the grandmaster lifted his exquisite thiolin and played…hearts broke, and many fell to their knees in high honor of the privilege–of experiencing his great art–perforce.
So great and mighty was his skill with a thiolin.
And Zeke played the most perfect, the most beautiful thiolins known to exist, touched and maintained by his expert hands alone.
In fact, Zeke had played at her parents’ wedding–his priceless gift to them. He was said to be a huge fan of the galactic fights, and loved them and their grand love story very dearly.
All that night–the very night that Naero herself was conceived–the grandmaster serenaded her mother and father in high honor, until the bells of the late watches waxed.
After her parents perished, she heard later that the grandmaster refused to play any music at all, for weeks on end.
Naero sighed, truly glad and excited that Max Lii might join them at some point. That would be thrilling.
But she gave the order for Zeke’s traditional Spacer music to be piped throughout her fleet.
Let them feel what she felt.
What all Spacers felt when they heard an important part of their history.
Naero hoped that it would help guide and inspire her people, just as it did her.
*
They set up one of the smaller, box-like, nanopractice rooms for combat targeting and blade throwing.
Naero whirled and threw one of Tyber’s latest, charged throwing blades. She
hit the next gravtarget dead center at fifteen paces, when it popped up behind her.
A small, muffled blast burped, and the target dropped.
Another shot up right next to her at random.
If she didn’t nail it, the damn thing would nail her with a painful shock charge.
Yet even as she cut at it with another charged blade…
One of Zhen’s energy spikes–pierced and disrupted it before it could zap her.
Naero grinned and nodded at her friend.
“Thanks, Z. For a quack, you’ve always been a pretty good blade thrower.”
Zhen grimaced. “Nothing like you, of course. Someone who just naturally excels at anything…destructive. But I stay in practice. I’m no brawler, like the rest of our gang, but throwing blades remains a hobby of mine since you and I could float. When Tyber told me you two had cooked up a way to pweak the energization in order to make our throwing weapons perform better, and in various modes, naturally, I had to tag along.”
“That reminds me, Z. Tarim’s most recent evaluation says your raw marksmanship scores are currently too low. Please schedule some combat training with him to bring them back up.”
Zhen gave her the look. “Naero…I am busy with my patients and so many other issues. You of all people know what a terrible shot I am. I’m not a warrior.”
“All Spacers are warriors; you’ve just never allowed yourself to fully embrace that, Z. But regs demand that I can’t excuse you, just because we’re friends. Simply bring your scores up a little. I’m not asking you to outshoot Tarim. Regs are regs.”
Zee smirked. “I’ll remember that…the next time it’s time for one of your check-ups, and you put me off again. What good is combat training going to do me in my line of work?”
“Plenty—if the ship is boarded and infiltrators attack your sickbay.”
Zhen rolled her eyes. “Maybe I’ll take them all out with our new little throwing doo-dads.”
“Just report to Tarim for training, Z. Bring your no-good boyfriend along with you, if you must.”
Citation Series 1: Naero's War: The Annexation War Page 7
