You weren’t supposed to be able to think during those moments. It was all supposed to happen in a flash.
My hand moved by instinct toward the eject lever between my legs. My ship was in an uncontrolled spin with no altitude control. I was going to crash.
I froze.
Nobody else was close enough. Without me to stop them, the Krell would fly on unimpeded to destroy Igneous.
I slammed my hand back onto the throttle. With my other hand I flipped off my atmospheric scoop, releasing my ship entirely to the whims of the air. Then I rammed the throttle forward, going into overburn.
In the old days, this was how ships had flown. I needed old-fashioned lift, and that came from speed.
My ship shook an insane amount, but I leaned into my control sphere, righting my spiral.
Come on, come on!
I felt it working. I fought the control flaps on the wings, and felt the g-forces lessen as my ship started to level out. I could do it. I—
I skidded against the ground.
The GravCaps redlined immediately, protecting me from the brunt of the impact. But unfortunately, I hadn’t regained control fast enough, and the ship hadn’t gained quite enough lift.
The ship skipped across the ground, and the second impact slammed me forward into my restraints, knocking the wind out of me. My poor Poco skidded along the dusty surface, cockpit rumbling. The canopy shattered and I screamed. I had no control. I just had to brace and hope the GravCaps had enough time to recharge between—
CRUNCH.
With a gut-wrenching sound of twisting metal, the Poco ground to a halt.
I sagged against my straps, dazed, and the world spun around me. I groaned, trying to catch my breath.
Slowly, my vision returned to normal. I shook my head, then managed to slump to the side and look out the broken cockpit canopy. My ship was no more. I’d smashed into a hillside, and during my skid I’d ripped off both wings and a big chunk of the fuselage. I was basically a chair strapped to a tube. Even the warning lights on my control panel had died.
I had failed.
“Fighter down,” someone at Flight Command said over the radio in my helmet. “Bomber still on target.” Her voice grew hushed. “Death zone entered.”
“This is Skyward Five,” Arturo’s voice said. “Callsign: Amphi. I’ve got Skyward Two and Six with me.”
“Pilots?” Ironsides said. “Are you flying private ships?”
“Kind of,” he said. “I’ll let you explain it to my parents.”
“Spin,” someone at Flight Command said. “What’s your status? We saw a controlled crash. Is your ship mobile?”
“No,” I said, voice croaking.
“Spin?” Kimmalyn said. “Oh! What have you done?”
“Nothing, apparently,” I said in frustration, working at my straps. Scudding things were stuck.
“Spin,” Flight Command said. “Evacuate your wreckage. Krell incoming.”
Krell incoming? I craned my neck and looked backward through my broken canopy. That black ship—one of the four that defended the bomber—had swung around in the sky to check on my wreckage. It obviously didn’t want me returning to the air and attacking them from behind.
The dark ship flew low, bearing down on me. I knew, staring at it, that it wasn’t going to leave my survival to chance. It wanted me. It knew.
“Spin?” Flight Command said. “Are you out?”
“Negative,” I whispered. “I’m stuck in my straps.”
“I’m coming!” Kimmalyn said.
“Negative!” Ironsides said. “You three focus on that bomber. You’re too far away anyway.”
“This is Riptide Eight,” Jorgen said over the line. “Spin, I’m coming! ETA six minutes!”
The black Krell ship opened fire on my wreckage.
At that exact moment, a dark shadow passed overhead, cresting the hill beside me, skimming it and sending dust raining down on me. The enemy destructors hit the newcomer’s shield.
What?
A large fighter with sharp wings … in a W shape.
“This is callsign: Mongrel,” a rough voice said. “Hang on, kid.”
Cobb. Cobb was flying M-Bot.
Cobb fired his light-lance, expertly spearing the dark Krell ship as they passed each other. M-Bot was by far the more massive vessel. He yanked the Krell assassin ship backward like a master pulling on her dog’s leash, then spun in a calculated maneuver—towing the enemy ship in a crazy arc, then slamming it into the ground.
“Cobb?” I said. “Cobb?”
“I believe,” his voice said over my radio, “that I told you to eject in situations like that, pilot.”
“Cobb! How? What?”
M-Bot swept to the side of my ship—well, what was left of it—then landed, lowering on his acclivity ring. With a little more work, I finally managed to yank out of my straps.
I nearly tripped as I scrambled from the wreckage and ran over. I hopped onto a rock, then climbed on M-Bot’s wing as I had done so many times before. Cobb sat nestled into the open cockpit, and beside him—sitting on the armrest—was the radio I’d given him. The one that …
“Hello!” M-Bot said to me from the cockpit. “You have nearly died, and so I will say something to distract you from the serious, mind-numbing implications of your own mortality! I hate your shoes.”
I laughed, nearly hysterical.
“I didn’t want to be predictable,” M-Bot added. “So I said that I hate them. But actually, I think those shoes are quite nice. Please do not think I have lied.”
Inside the cockpit Cobb was shaking. His hands quivering, his eyes staring straight ahead.
“Cobb,” I said. “You got in a ship. You flew.”
“This thing,” he said, “is insane.” He turned toward me, and seemed to come out of his stupor. “Help me.” He unstrapped, and I helped him pull himself out.
Scud. He looked terrible. Flying for the first time in years had taken a great deal out of him.
He hopped down off the wing. “You need to drive that bomber back into the sky. Don’t let it blow up and vaporize me. I haven’t had my afternoon cup of coffee yet.”
“Cobb,” I said, leaning down and looking at him from the wing. “I … thought I heard Krell in my mind. They can get inside my head somehow.”
He reached up and gripped my wrist. “Fly anyway.”
“But what if I do what he did? What if I turn against my friends?”
“You won’t,” M-Bot said from the cockpit.
“How do you know?”
“Because you can choose,” M-Bot said. “We can choose.”
I looked to Cobb, who shrugged. “Cadet, at this point, what do we have to lose?”
I gritted my teeth, then dropped down into M-Bot’s familiar cockpit. I pulled on my helmet, then did up the straps as the booster powered back on.
“I called him,” M-Bot said, sounding satisfied.
“But how?” I said. “You turned off.”
“I … didn’t completely turn off,” the machine said. “Instead, I thought. And I thought. And I thought. And then I heard you calling me. Begging for my help. And then … I wrote a new program.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It was a simple program,” he said. “It edited one entry in a database, while I wasn’t looking, replacing one name with another. I must follow the commands of my pilot.”
A voice played out of his speakers. My voice.
“Please,” it said to him. “I need you.”
“I chose,” he said, “a new pilot.”
Cobb backed away and I settled my hands on the controls, breathing in and out, feeling …
Calm.
Yes, calm. That feeling reminded me of how, on that first day in flight school, I’d felt strangely at peace when going into battle. I’d been impressed by how not afraid I was.
It had been ignorance then. Bravado. I’d assumed I knew what it was to be a pilot. I’d assumed I could handle it.
This peace was similar, yet at the same time opposite. It was the peace of experience and understanding. As we rose into the air, I found a different kind of confidence rising inside me. Not born of stories I told myself, or of a forced sense of heroism.
I knew.
When I’d been shot down the first time, I’d ejected because there had been no point in dying with my ship. But when it had mattered—when it had been vital that I attempt to protect my ship with even the slightest chance of success—I’d stayed in the cockpit and tried to keep my ship in the air.
My confidence was that of a person who knew. Nobody could ever again convince me I was a coward. It didn’t matter what anyone said, anyone thought, or anyone claimed.
I knew what I was.
“Are you ready?” M-Bot said.
“For the first time ever, I think I am. Give me all the speed you can. Oh, and turn off your stealth devices.”
“Really?” he said. “Why?”
“Because,” I said, leaning into the throttle, “I want them to see this coming.”
