Kimmalyn dove through the battlefield.
Yes, she knew that out here there was no “up,” nor was there a “down.” You couldn’t actually dive. But a woman had to orient the world as best she could according to the way she saw things. That was a simple truth she knew.
So, she dove. Spinning among the destructor blasts, heart trembling. She had never liked being in the thick of it. In the blasting, zipping, flashing frenzy of the fight, it was difficult to center yourself and find your clarion peace.
You didn’t get to choose what others did. The world could be chaos, and you still needed to find your way through it. That was a simple truth she was being forced to learn.
So, as she chased after the Superiority fighter, she forced her heartbeat to slow. She reached with her thumb and flipped off the battle haptics, which gave feedback in the form of rattling her cockpit and seat when blasts exploded near her or ships moved nearby. Those helped a pilot who had been trained in atmosphere to feel the battle.
Without them, destructor shots flashed across her bow—one even striking her shield—and everything remained deathly silent. Only the hum of the engine and the silence of deep space, a vacuum that smothered every voice, whether scream or song of praise.
She twisted as she dove, still on the trail of her opponent. Her wingmate—the kitsen ship Swims Upstream—had fallen behind, unable to move quickly enough to trail this enemy ace. Kimmalyn would get back to them soon, but for now she pushed her ship—and herself.
The ship to the limits of its acceleration.
Herself to the limits of her serenity.
For a split second, she felt as if she were locked in sync with the enemy pilot. When they moved, she moved. Together like dancers. That was the moment of clarion peace. Where all else stilled, and nothing seemed to exist but Kimmalyn and her dancing partner.
She fired a single shot straight through their canopy as they turned, vaporizing them inside their cockpit—leaving the vessel itself flying, mostly intact. Moving at the same speed as it had been at the moment of its pilot’s death.
Happy fluted after the flash of light, though Praline—her newest slug companion—remained silent. The two of them snuggled into their slug box, affixed in its position beside her seat. Kimmalyn breathed out and pulled away, doing standard post-engagement evasives in case someone had been watching the duel and had plans to kill her. Too many pilots, in post-contest numbed relief, found themselves taken by a hawk who had been circling the fight unnoticed.
“An excellent shot, Quirk,” Kauri said on the comm as Kimmalyn twisted about to return to formation. “As always.”
“Thanks,” Kimmalyn said.
“Do you ever feel bad?” the kitsen asked. “About…killing them? I prefer it when we fight drones.”
There were plenty of those in this battle, but they didn’t fly as well, even though piloted remotely by real people. Aces preferred a cockpit, and Kimmalyn often ended up contesting them.
“I figure that they’re doing something terrible,” she said back to Kauri. “Upholding the Superiority. Conquering and oppressing. Even if they don’t realize it, even if they don’t accept what they’re doing is wrong, each action they take stains them. I don’t think of it as killing them so much as…preventing them from digging further into actions that will burden their souls.”
“That’s a pretty way to think of it,” Kauri said. “But…at the same time, couldn’t that rationale be used by anyone fighting for any cause?”
Granted, it could. But again, a woman had to orient the world as best she could according to the way she saw things. Empathy for an enemy’s pain was good, but you couldn’t let that lead you into the fallacy of accepting their actions. You learned these things when you grew up maintaining a gun the size of a building.
“Quirk, Swims Upstream,” Arturo’s voice said over the comm. “You’re straying to the edge of the battlefield. Everything all right?”
“We’re fine,” Kimmalyn said, swinging in beside the kitsen ship, which was about fifty percent larger than hers, and built like a miniature capital ship. Though maneuverable enough to be classified as a fighter, the Swims Upstream carried a crew complement of two dozen kitsen. “Just chasing down an ace. Where do you want us?”
“Just a moment…” Arturo said. “Huh. No one is moving your way right now; the enemy is pushing toward the Defiant, forcing us to bunch up and protect it. Everyone else is committed. But they might be ignoring you two, Quirk.”
She was accustomed to that, and it was by design. Often Kimmalyn would linger at the edges of a battlefield, waiting while her flightmates engaged and distracted the enemy—giving her the best shots possible. Perhaps that instinct was what had led her to fly out here, to the eaves of this particular battlefield, dusting away cobwebs in the form of straggling enemy ships.
“I think I see your point, Flightleader,” Kauri said to Arturo. “You want us to swing around and see if we can get at one of those inhibitor stations?”
“Exactly,” Arturo said. “Checking with command now…Proceed to try to sneak around to inhibitor 1348B, marked on your proximity monitor. It will just be you two though, so break off immediately if you encounter resistance. We can’t back you up. Also, be aware of that obstruction we noticed earlier near the inhibitor station.”
“The one that is…um…apparently a giant space worm?” Kauri asked.
“That’s the one,” Arturo said. “Don’t get eaten. Keep me informed of how the mission goes.”
“Roger that,” Kimmalyn said, as did Kauri, who then relayed orders to her crew. As usual, the kitsen ship followed her lead as Kimmalyn took them in a wide bank farther out away from the main battlefield. She could make it out by the flashes of destructor fire in the vast emptiness—most clearly the large, bright streaks of light that were shots from the destroyers and gunships.
“Ooooo,” Happy said as they swooped in tightly around the perimeter, the GravCaps leaking some g-forces into the cockpit. The hyperslug always enjoyed this part, like she thought she was on some kind of ride. The smaller inhibitor slug beside her just snuggled down against the forces and stayed silent. Having them was a comfort, even though Happy couldn’t currently hyperjump them to safety in an emergency.
Together with the Swims Upstream, Kimmalyn snuck around the edge of the battlefield. She tried to keep her focus on her immediate task, and not the larger fight. It was difficult, as she could see the enemy moving on the offensive, surging forward—fighters trying to surround the Defiant.
That prevented her friends from advancing, and so far they hadn’t taken out any of the inhibitor stations. They were too busy protecting the Defiant—which had powerful shields and could take a pounding from enemy battleships. But that shield was vulnerable to a coordinated blast of IMPs from fighters, and if it fell that would be disastrous.
Regardless, the change in enemy tactics seemed to have them distracted. She and the Swims Upstream were able to come in close to the inhibitor station—a triangular-shaped chunk of metal floating alone in space, with a spire on top and bottom. It was slightly smaller than a starship. Readings said it had basic life support.
“Ooooo,” Happy said, and she sounded sad.
“Thinking of the slug in there, trapped?” Kimmalyn asked.
“Trapped,” Happy fluted in agreement.
“A terrible life,” Kimmalyn said. “Just left in a box out here, alone, floating…Well, we’ll see what we can do about that, eh?”
Unfortunately, something else was lurking here: a bizarre space worm, the size of which defied her brain’s ability to scale distances. She thought it was big, but then she kept flying closer, and it just kept growing larger. From the size of a starfighter, to the size of a gunship, to the size of a destroyer.
“The legends speak of monsters such as this,” Kauri said. “Fell beasts that the ancient questing samurai had to face, the battling of which put their souls in peril.”
“I’m pretty sure the Saint slew one,” Kimmalyn said. “Though the holy witness used the word ‘wurm,’ with a ‘u,’ to describe it. I never did understand the distinction. Until now.”
“I still don’t grasp it.”
“Well,” Kimmalyn said, “sometimes a beast is just so blessed extraordinary that the expected vowels aren’t enough. When a drunk spells words wrong, it’s nothing new—but when a most holy scribe does so, you know something’s up.”
“I will trust your wisdom in this regard, Quirk,” Kauri said. “This thing seems to be guarding the inhibitor. Notice how it coils around the station, keeping its maw toward us? Tosura, my science officer, says he believes that to be a defensive posture. He’s reading up quickly on the beasts now.”
Kimmalyn nodded to herself, slowing her ship and giving Happy a scritch. Then she reached over to scritch Praline as well. Who enjoyed it, and fluted softly. Kimmalyn had originally named the slug Prellen, after her grandmother, but that was not what the others had heard—and they’d found the name cute. It was apparently the sort of thing that someone with Kimmalyn’s accent was supposed to say. Never mind that she wasn’t the one with the accent.
But the Saint had made all sorts of people, including those who couldn’t speak properly. You just had to love them, and sometimes you gave in and let them rename your slug for you. Bless their stars.
“I don’t know if we can wait much longer, Kauri,” Kimmalyn said. “I see a flight of enemy fighters curving this way. Someone’s noticed us. I’m going to try flying in and seeing what the wurm does.”
“Affirmative,” Kauri said. “Standing by to support.”
Kimmalyn zipped in close, and bless her with words the Saint wouldn’t say that thing came in fast, seeming more serpent than worm. She boosted away on overburn, dodging the attack. Her heart started thundering, belatedly, an off-rhythm piper who was late to the festival.
“Ooooo,” Happy said.
The wurm aimed a mouth the size of a large cargo bay toward her and took a swipe at her with the long tendrils surrounding it, then recoiled as she was out of reach. It had tried to grab her and gobble her up, ship and all.
Very well. Kimmalyn was not unknown as a battlefield danger herself. She turned around, and didn’t even bother to find her clarion peace. She thumbed her destructor, and shot the thing right in the—
“Oh!” Kauri shouted through the comm. “Tosura says not to shoot it!”
“You…don’t say,” Kimmalyn mumbled, watching her destructor shot zip straight into the wurm’s mouth.
“Oh dear,” Kauri said.
“What?” Kimmalyn asked.
The thing started to glow with blue points of light all down the sides of its body.
“This is unfortunate,” a new kitsen voice said over the comm—the science officer, Kimmalyn assumed. “Before, we were the things threatening to steal its food. And now…”
The wurm uncoiled and started undulating through space straight toward Kimmalyn.
“Let me guess,” she said, overburning away. “Now we are the food.”
“I’m afraid so,” he said.
