by Ryk Brown
Two minutes later, the crawler was ready to go. “C-op, Crawler four four two, ready to punch,” he called over the comms as he tightened his restraints. While he waited for clearance, Suvan twisted his feet left and right, pulling the toes of the pedals up and down, finally raising and lowering the pedals themselves, all in a test of the crawler’s flight controls.
“Four four two, C-op, negative,” the controller replied. “Incoming units. We’ll move you to your work sector with booms. Sorry.”
“Four four two, understood,” Suvan replied, a wave of relief washing over him. Crawler row was tightly packed, and was probably the most dense area in the shipyard. It was the last place Suvan wanted to conduct his first crawler flight.
“Four four two, you’re number three,” the controller informed him.
“Four four two is number three for the arm,” Suvan replied, trying to sound like the calm, experienced crawler operator he was pretending to be.
What Suvan really found amusing was that he was far more nervous now than he had been going into battle for the first time. He wasn’t sure if it was due to having only the thin, single-walled shell protecting him from the vacuum of space, or that his limited propellant supply meant that inefficient flying could leave him unable to get back to Crawler row, thus requiring an arm to retrieve him, or worse yet, a rescue tug. Most likely, it was the fact that any of these would reveal him to be an impostor, which would surely stir Dusahn interest and eventually lead to his death.
Suvan took the extra time to look out the windows surrounding his head. On either side, crawlers were being plucked from their docked positions by large, spidery arms connected to tracked base trucks. Above him, and at least half a kilometer away, was the Teyentah herself, her dark gray base coat glistening from hundreds of lighting panels lining the assembly superstructure surrounding her.
Eventually, one of the arms came his way. At first, the grappler at the end of the arm looked as if it were coming toward his face, and would crash through this canopy and kill him, but at the last second, the arm lowered slightly and grabbed hold of the grappling point on the front of his crawler, in between his arm sleeves, causing a slight jolt.
“Four four two, good connect,” Suvan reported as he pressed the docking release button to detach from Crawler row. Another jolt as the docking clamps released their hold on his crawler’s backside, and Suvan moved quickly away from the safety of Crawler row, riding on one of the many limbs of the giant mechanical spider that shifted crawlers, materials, and other items from place to place about the massive assembly bay.
The view outside was surreal, as more than a dozen arms carried crawlers to and from the Teyentah, passing by one another in a seemingly choreographed, mechanical space-dance. At times, Suvan feared he would collide with crawlers being carried in the opposite direction, but they never came within a few meters of him. Just close enough to exchange a wave to the passing operator.
“Four four two,” the controller called. “Confirm paint load.”
“Four four two is carrying one thousand kilograms of P-two-seven,” Suvan replied, noting his gauges.
“One-K P-two-seven, copy.”
“C-op, Four four two. Is there a problem?”
“Negative, Four four two. The last paint loader forgot to log your load. We had you down as two hundred kilograms, but your data-link shows one-K. We just wanted to be sure you were seeing the same, before we assigned you to a work sector.”
“Understood.”
“You’ll be at two eight seven five to start,” the controller told him. “Probably move laterally from aft forward.”
“Sounds good,” Suvan replied, mimicking the lingo he heard from the other, more experienced, crawler operators.
Suvan watched as the arm moved him under the Teyentah, and up her starboard side, closing on her hull as he approached his assigned work sector. As he neared the hull, he activated his utility arms, causing all four of them to extend fully with only a partial bend in their elbow joints. Seconds later, the magnetic pads on the ends of his utility arms made contact. “Four four two has mag lock at section two eight seven five,” Suvan reported. “Ready to work.”
“Copy that, Four four two. Releasing.”
Suvan felt a small bump as the arm released its grip on his front, and slid down and away from him. He charged his painting system, and then extended the applicator arm until it was only a few centimeters from the hull of the ship. Once he verified that the applicator arm was parallel to the hull surface, he used the utility arm to energize the area of the hull he was about to paint, and started the applicator pumps. The metal-infused paint, attracted by the magnetized area of the hull, flowed out of the applicator arm and adhered to the hull surface like magic, in a smooth, even coating.
Suvan had been lucky. An arm had taken him to his work sector, and the area he was working on was pretty much flat, with very few protrusions that would require either manual maneuvering of his crawler, or a hand application operation. He needed to impress his foreman with his skill and professionalism. New hires always started outside, painting the ship. If they were good, they moved on to exterior assembly tasks. If they were very good, they sometimes got moved inside.
That was where Suvan needed to be… Inside the Teyentah.
* * *
“I still think you should have insisted on flying a Super Eagle,” Jessica said as they entered Nathan’s room.
“Insist on flying a ship I’ve never flown, to avoid flying a ship I’ve never flown?” Nathan wondered. “Yeah, that makes sense.”
“You flew Eagles back at the academy. Isn’t a Super Eagle just an Eagle with a jump drive and plasma cannons?”
“The only thing about the Super Eagle that’s the same as an Eagle is its airframe,” Nathan corrected. “Trust me, it wouldn’t have been that much of an advantage.”
“But a whole fucking race?” Jessica exclaimed as the door chimes sounded. She turned around and saw the image of Josh and Loki on the door view screen, and opened the door. “How many actual heats is that?”
“Seven or eight, I think.”
“What’s going on?” Josh asked as he and Loki entered the room.
“Nathan is going to compete in a Gunyoki race,” Jessica exclaimed.
“Yeah, we already knew that,” Josh replied.
“No, I mean the whole race,” Jessica explained. “All eight rounds.”
“What?”
“There are only six rounds maximum in the upcoming race,” Loki corrected.
“I thought there were at least eight,” Nathan said.
“The next race is a mid-month race,” Loki explained. “Not as many entrants.”
“What’s a mid-month race?” Jessica wondered.
“Just like it sounds,” Loki said. “In the middle of the month. The big races are at the top of the month. The ones in the middle of the month have about half as many entrants, so there aren’t as many rounds.” He looked at Nathan. “Am I to understand that you’re going to be an entrant?”
“Yup,” Nathan replied.
“What are you going to fly?”
“A Gunyoki.”
“You don’t have one,” Loki reminded him.
“Yokimah is loaning me one,” Nathan told him. “And before anyone says ‘you don’t know how to fly it’, they’re sending along someone to teach me, and someone to teach us how to maintain it.”
“Us?” Loki wondered.
“You should’ve asked them to let me fly it,” Josh insisted.
“That would sort of defeat the purpose,” Nathan told him.
“Can I fly second seat?” Josh begged.
“Actually, I was thinking that Loki would fly second seat.”
“What?” Josh couldn’t believe it.
“No offense, Josh. You’re a great pilot, but Loki’s much better with systems than you are.”
“You’ve got a point there,” Josh admitted.
“Captain, Gunyoki’s are not ea
sy ships to fly,” Loki began. “They are complex, and have gimbaled engine nacelles that are used for both thrust vectoring and aiming the main cannons. They are a balance of power distribution and timing, harkening back to the days when reactors were not as popular, and the crew had to chose which systems would get power at any given moment.”
“Yeah, I know,” Nathan assured him, “I read up on it on the way back,” he added, holding up a Rakuen data pad. “Yokimah gave me some homework. We don’t get the ship until late tomorrow.”
“Captain, we only have six and half days until the race.”
“Then I have a lot of work to do, don’t I?” Nathan replied.
“We should find a simulator,” Josh suggested. “We can help you train…”
“No, I need you two to take the Ranni shuttles back to the Aurora.”
“Captain…” Josh began to protest, before Nathan cut him off.
“I need you to tell Cameron and General Telles what’s going on, and tell her to relocate the fleet to a position in the Rogen sector from which she can move between the fleet and here in a single jump.”
“You want the Aurora here?” Loki wondered.
“Yes,” Nathan replied. “I have a feeling there’s more going on than we realize, and I’d feel a lot better if the Aurora was nearby, instead of several days away.”
“But we can help you train,” Josh insisted.
“After you update Cam and pass on my orders, take a Reaper and return as quickly as possible. And bring Vlad, Deliza, Marcus, Dalen, and Neli back with you. We need a crew for the races.”
“And bring Telles and a squad of Ghatazhak,” Jessica added. “We need security, and no one is better at tactics than Telles. He could be a big help with race tactics.”
“Good thinking,” Nathan agreed. He turned back to Josh and Loki. “You guys got all that?”
“Yes, sir,” Loki replied.
“Max throttle, gentlemen,” Nathan urged.
“You got it, Cap’n,” Josh replied, turning to exit.
Loki just stood there, staring at Nathan.
“What?” Nathan wondered.
“Jesus, Captain. I can’t believe you’re going to try to race the Gunyoki.”
“Yeah, neither can I,” Nathan admitted as Loki turned to follow Josh out the door.
“Neither can I,” Jessica said, flopping down on the couch. “I’m ordering lunch,” she told Nathan. “You start studying.”
* * *
Makani Koku sat patiently in the sitting room of Ito Yokimah’s vacation home on the Isle of Jikura, just south of Rakuen’s equator. It had been nearly a decade since he had spoken to his former employer, and had come as a considerable surprise when his presence had been requested a few hours ago.
Normally, Makani would have ignored such a request. When he retired, he had completely disconnected himself from Rakuen society and media. These days, he rarely even connected to the net. His days were spent sleeping in, playing chonka with his friends in the park, and fishing for seoli in the evening surf. It was island life at its finest, and he had earned it.
Unfortunately, Ito Yokimah was the reason Makani could afford the island lifestyle. Although he had rightfully earned every credit to his name, he never would have had the opportunity to do so, had Mister Yokimah not given him a hand up when he had been at his lowest. Ito Yokimah had seen honor, where Makani had once believed there was none left. He had shown Makani that honor was not just in what a man did, but was also in what he had done. More importantly, he had taught Makani that even the most honorable men made mistakes, and that the truly great men learned from their mistakes and continued on. Were it not for Ito Yokimah, Makani would not likely be alive today, enjoying his retirement years, and reveling in the children and grandchildren that would carry on the Koku name.
Of course, Makani did not live in a home like the one in which he currently waited. Such homes were reserved for the wealthiest of Rakuen, like Ito Yokimah. They were not the homes of men of true honor and sacrifice, but rather of men who were willing to do what was necessary to achieve their goals. The honor code of the Gunyoki placed little value on fame, fortune, and power. Their code had been about tradition, dedication, and sacrifice. Gunyoki pledged their lives to the protection of Rakuen. Every moment, of every day, was spent in the service of that promise. Even now, after not having sat in a Gunyoki fighter for over two decades, Makani would gladly return if his world was threatened.
He only hoped that such a threat was not the reason for this visit with his former employer.
“Mak,” Mister Yokimah greeted enthusiastically as he entered the room. “How have you been, old friend?” Ito reached out, embracing his former employee, and trusted advisor. “You look quite well, for such an old man,” he teased.
“I am in good health,” Makani replied. “You look quite well yourself, Mister Yokimah.”
“Mister Yokimah? Please, we have too much history together, you and I, for such proper forms of address.” Mister Yokimah moved toward the wet bar. “May I offer you a drink, Mak?”
“No thank you, Ito.”
Ito smiled. “That’s better. So, tell me, how have you been? How is retirement treating you? Do you miss the excitement of the races?”
“I am enjoying the peace of island life,” Makani replied. “And no, I do not miss the excitement of the races. Such addictions are the purview of young men, not old masters.”
“Quite right, of course,” Ito agreed, pouring his drink and taking a seat. “I trust you have been following the nets?”
“Normally, no,” Makani told him. “However, I did check them on the way over. I thought I might find a clue as to why you requested my presence.”
“Then you have heard of this brash young man’s ridiculous assertions, I take it.”
“I have,” Makani confirmed, “although I would not be as quick to take them so lightly.”
“No one is taking them lightly, Makani,” Ito promised. “Of this, you can be certain. But remember, there are over five hundred Gunyoki on Rakuen…”
“Most of whom are an embarrassment to the code,” Makani added, interrupting Ito. “And, more importantly, would be of little use in the defense of Rakuen.”
“Still the same old traditional hard-liner, huh Mak?” Ito laughed. “Of course, that is what I always liked about you… And so did the media, I might add.” Ito sipped his beverage. “So, what do you think of all this? Should Captain Scott be allowed to race?”
“The races have been open to all for more than a decade now,” Makani reminded Ito. “I believe you were one of the biggest proponents of that change.”
“It was necessary, Makani, you know that. Interest was fading. The Gunyoki would have closed for good, and Rakuen would have lost her deterrent. The Nerameseans would have again come for our water, not to mention all the other rabble in the sector. You know that.”
“So, for the good of Rakuen, we diluted the Gunyoki’s effectiveness.”
“We increased the number of Gunyoki fighters from thirty to over five hundred,” Ito reminded him. “Was that not proof enough for you?”
“Quantity is a poor substitute for quality,” Makani stated.
“Please, spare me your Gunyoki proverbs,” Ito chided. “Times are different, now. The jump drive has made the galaxy a much smaller place. Distance no longer serves as the protective buffer it once was, old friend.”
“You may have been able to buy your way into the Gunyoki, Ito, but you cannot buy your way into the Rakuen Leadership Council. You must still be elected, or at least, that’s how it was the last time I checked.”
“Don’t be so certain,” Ito told him as he took another sip of his drink.
Despite the life-debt Makani owed Ito Yokimah, he was quickly tiring of the man. “Perhaps you should get to the point of my visit?” he suggested.
“Excellent idea,” Ito agreed. “Makani, I need you to teach Nathan Scott how to fly a Gunyoki fighter.”
“You w
ish me to train your challenger how to defeat you?” Makani was confused. “Why would you want this?”
“There is no way that arrogant young man is going to beat five racers and win the event,” Ito insisted with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“From what I’ve read about him on the way over, he will beat the first few,” Makani warned. “He already has more training and experience than most of the independents. Perhaps if, as I had suggested, you had kept the training requirements of the Gunyoki when you opened up the races to all, Captain Scott’s odds would be more to your liking.” Makani smiled, having enjoyed his last statement.
“Captain Scott will lose,” Ito insisted. “But when he does, I want no one to be able to accuse me of not giving him a fair chance of success. That is why I want you to teach him. You were one of the best…not only as a pilot, but as an instructor, as well. If Makani Koku trains Nathan Scott, no one will be able to say he did not get a fair chance. No one can say the race was rigged.”
“An odd choice of words,” Makani commented. “But I do see your point. Unfortunately, it makes little difference. I am retired, and I intend to stay as such.”
“Makani, please,” Ito begged. “It must be you.”
“There are plenty of decent instructors out there,” Makani argued.
“But none with your impressive credentials and reputation.”
“And none that are so beholding to you,” Makani replied.
“The fact that your own wealth is the result of my employment of you, back when no one else would hire you, should not be an issue, Makani,” Ito insisted. “You repaid that favor tenfold, by not only winning many races for Team Yokimah, but for training other pilots who went on to make our team one of the top ten in the sport.”
“That was always the difference between us, Ito,” Makani pointed out. “To you, the Gunyoki races are a sport. To me, they are training exercises, meant to maintain the Gunyoki’s ability to defend our world. Where I see lives, you have always seen credits, Ito.”
“And yet, you continued to work for me for all those years,” Ito reminded the old Gunyoki master. “Was it really just for lives?”
“The answer to that question only matters to myself,” Makani replied.
