Judy “Ironsides” Ivans watched as the Krell force pushed ever closer to Alta.
Radio chatter filled the command room, but it wasn’t the usual battle chatter. Powerful families radioed in, announcing that they were escaping in their own ships. Cowards, every one. Deep down, Judy had known how this would play out, but it still broke her heart.
Rikolfr stepped up to her, bearing reports. He was the only other one who was still watching the holoprojector. Everyone else was in chaos as operators and junior admirals called frantic alarms to those in Igneous, ordering emergency evacuation.
For all the good it would do.
“How long until the bomber reaches Alta?” Judy asked.
“Under five minutes,” Rikolfr said. “Do we evacuate the command center down to one of the deep caverns? They might be safe enough.”
She shook her head.
Rikolfr swallowed, but kept talking. “The last line of emergency gun emplacements has radioed in. The Krell fighters are flying in close, engaging them. Three are down, the other three taking heavy fire.”
There were always supposed to be fighters to help the gun emplacements. Judy nodded toward the three small red blips on the hologram, flying out to engage the enemy. Stolen fighters, she now knew. Patriots, truly Defiant.
“Put me through to those fighters,” she said, then activated her headset and spoke. “Skyward Flight?”
“Here, sir,” said callsign: Amphi. That was Valda’s son. What was his name? Arturo? “Pilot,” she said, “you have to shoot down that bomb. In under five minutes, it will be in position to destroy Igneous. Do you understand? I authorize destroying that bomb with all prejudice.”
“But Alta, sir?” the boy asked.
“Already dead,” she said. “I am dead. Drop that bomb. You have three fighters against sixteen.” She checked the reports. “In two minutes, Riptide Flight will join you. They have six more fighters, three of which are scouts. The rest of our forces are too far away to matter.”
“Understood, Flight Command,” the boy said, sounding nervous. “Stars guide you.”
“And you, flightleader.”
She stepped back to watch the battle.
“Admiral!” a radio tech shouted. “Sir! We have an unidentified fighter approaching! Adding it to the hologram now!”
A green blip appeared, distant from the impending clash of ships, but approaching at a shocking speed.
Rikolfr gasped. Judy frowned.
“Sir,” the tech said. “That ship is flying at Mag-20. Any of our ships would have broken apart at those speeds.”
“What have the Krell found to throw at us now?” Judy murmured to herself.
“Flight Command,” a familiar girl’s voice said over the line, “this is Skyward Eleven, reporting for battle. Callsign: Spin.”
M-Bot was going so fast, the heat of air resistance lit up his shield in a fiery glow. We tore through the air as a streaking ball of fire, but I barely felt a faint tremble.
After the broken-down Poco, it was a dramatic contrast.
“I’m afraid I am still not fully operational,” M-Bot said. “Booster and thrusters: online. Acclivity ring and altitude controls: online. Communications and stealth systems: online. Light-lance: online. Cytonic hyperdrive: offline. Self-repair: offline. Destructors: offline.”
“No weapons,” I said. “Stars forbid I actually get a functioning ship for once.”
“I would be offended at that,” M-Bot said, “if I could get offended. Also, don’t be so dour. At least my vocal aggression subroutine is online.”
“Your … what?”
“Vocal aggression subroutine. I figured if I was going to go into battle, I should enjoy the experience! So I wrote a new program to appropriately express myself.”
Oh great.
“Tremble and fear, all enemies!” he shouted. “For we shall shake the air with thunder and blood! Your doom is imminent!”
“Um …,” Kimmalyn’s voice said over the line. “Bless your stars, whoever you are.”
Wonderful. He’d called that in on the general channel? I guess now that his orders to “lie low” were no longer in effect, he didn’t care who heard him.
“That’s my ship talking, Quirk,” I said.
“Spin!” she said. “You found another ship?”
“One found me,” I said. “I’m bearing down on your seven, and should meet you at the battle in a few seconds.” M-Bot’s projections placed that right at the same time the others would arrive.
“Wait,” Nedd said. “Am I an idiot, or did Spin just say her ship spoke?”
“Hi, Nedd!” M-Bot said. “I can confirm you are an idiot, but all humans are. Your mental abilities appear to be within a standard deviation from their average.”
“It’s complicated,” I said. “Actually, no it’s not. My ship can talk, and you should ignore him.”
“Quake and tremble at my majestic destructive power!” M-Bot added.
“You two sound well suited to each other,” Arturo said. “I’m glad you’re here, Spin. Do you … maybe have a plan?”
“Yes,” I said. “First, let’s see how they react to me. Stand by.”
I flipped M-Bot on his axis and overburned backward, slowing from our incredible approach. Even with his advanced GravCaps, I felt the g-forces slam me back in my seat. As soon as we hit Mag-2.5, I spun us around in the air and took assessment. Sixteen Krell fighters.
This was it. I had another chance.
Time to stop that bomb.
I sliced through the center of the Krell ships at speed, buzzing the bomber and its close guard of three remaining black ships. I turned upward and gave them a good view of M-Bot, with his wicked wings and dangerous silhouette. He had four destructor pods—which I hoped they wouldn’t see were empty—and an obviously advanced and powerful design.
The Krell always targeted what they considered the most dangerous ship or the one bearing an officer. I counted on them seeing M-Bot, and …
… and they immediately gave chase. A flock of thirteen ships, all but the three black ones, broke off and swarmed after me, firing a chaotic array of destructors.
Excellent. Terrifying, but excellent.
“We have to stay just ahead of them, M-Bot,” I said. “Keep them strung along, thinking they’ll get the upper hand on us at any moment.”
“Understood,” he said. “Yar.”
“Yar?”
“Assumed pirate-speak, but actually a stylized West Country accent popularized by the acting role of a specific individual. It’s supposed to be intimidating.”
“Okay …” I shook my head and eased us through a complex Ahlstrom loop.
“The holes in my memory did leave some eclectic tidbits,” he said. “Yar.”
I cut right, watching the proximity sensors, and noted that Arturo, Quirk, and Nedd had arrived.
“Is this all of us, Amphi?” I asked.
“Riptide Flight is incoming, about a minute and a half out,” Arturo said. “Jorgen is assigned with them, and a couple of older pilots I don’t know. I think they picked up some scouts on the way, so FM might be there too.”
“Great,” I said, grunting and turning my ship in another sequence of dodges. “Until they get here, see if you and Nedd can harry that bomber. Be careful, those black ships guarding it are more capable than your average Krell. Just try to drive the bomber away so it—”
“Negative,” Ironsides said over the line. Great. Of course she was listening. “Pilots, you bring down that bomber.”
“As much as I’d like you to sacrifice yourself, Ironsides,” I said, “let’s determine if we need that first. Amphi, Nedder, see what you can do.”
“Gotcha, Spin,” Nedd said.
“And me?” Kimmalyn asked.
“Hang back,” I said. “Take aim on that bomber. Wait until its shield is down and its guards are distracted.”
The private light on my comm flashed.
“Spensa …,” Kimmalyn said. “Are you sure you want to leave this to me? I mean …”
“I don’t have any weapons, Quirk,” I said. “It’s you or nobody. You can do it. Get ready.”
I dove low, destructor blasts flashing all around me. We skimmed the ground, my entourage following like an angry swarm of insects. Scud. I could see Alta right ahead. We were close.
Up above, Nedd and Arturo engaged the bomber’s black guards. I didn’t have time to pay attention, as I was forced to dodge in another direction, bolting out of the way of a force of Krell that had looped around to try to cut me off.
A couple of destructor blasts hit M-Bot’s shield.
“Hey!” M-Bot said. “Just for that, I shall hunt your firstborn children and laugh with glee as I tell them of your death in terrible detail, with many unpleasant adjectives!”
I groaned. He’d said it over the group channel again.
“Please tell me,” I said, “that I don’t sound like that.”
The others didn’t reply.
“A pox of unique human diseases—many of which cause an uncomfortable swelling—come upon you!”
“Oh, scud. That is how I sound, isn’t it?” I gritted my teeth, hitting the booster to cut ahead of the enemy. There were so many of them. All they needed were a few lucky shots.
But all I needed was to keep them busy for a little longer. I cut right and speared one with my light-lance, using its momentum to spin me in a tight turn. I darted around its companions as I released the one I’d lanced, sending it flying in an awkward tumble.
Now up. I cut up and around a hillside, moving away before the Krell could corner me.
“Spensa?” M-Bot said.
Down. I dove, right before some Krell ships tried to cut me off in the other direction.
“How are you doing that?” he asked.
Right. I turned through the center of some ships coming at me. Destructor blasts skimmed my wings, but not a single shot landed.
“You’re reacting,” he said, “to things they haven’t done yet.”
I could sense their orders in the back of my mind. Quiet yet piercing, the commands traveled from above down to these Krell. They were communicating using another space, another place—and I could tap into it. Listen in on their commands.
I was somehow internalizing their commands, and responding to them before I knew what I was doing.
I tried not to let that freak me out.
M-Bot was incredibly agile, capable of quick boosts and deliberate slices in one direction or another. As I flew, it seemed as if I could feel him—feel the very lines of electricity that passed my orders through his fuselage. I flew with the immediate, unconscious skill of a person flexing their muscles. With the precision of a cautious surgeon, but the frenetic energy of the strongest athlete. It was incredible.
I was so consumed that I almost missed it as Arturo radioed in. “Spin, this isn’t working. Those black ships refuse to be pulled away from the bomber. They engage us if we get close, but fall back when we draw away. And the bomber is still flying on a steady course.”
“ETA until the enemy reaches position to destroy Igneous?” I asked.
“Under two minutes,” M-Bot said. “At current speed of—”
“This is Riptide leader, callsign: Terrier,” a male voice said. “What in the North Star’s light is happening here?”
“No time to explain,” I said. “Flightleader, take everything you have and hit those black ships that are protecting the bomber.”
“And who are you?”
I turned—followed by my train of angry Krell ships—and buzzed over the six newcomers who had just arrived at the battle. I could barely get a visual on them because the destructor fire around me was so thick. I took another hit, and a fourth.
“Shield at forty percent strength,” M-Bot noted.
I stayed ahead of most of the enemies, finding the holes between shots, my instincts somehow reading the Krell motions.
Stars appeared in my vision. Pinpricks of light.
The eyes.
Jorgen’s voice rang through the channel. “Sir, with all due respect, she’s a person you should listen to. Now.”
Terrier grunted, then said, “Riptide Flight, all ships, engage those black fighters.”
“Not all,” I said, spinning right. “Jorgen, FM, you there?”
“Here, Spin,” FM said.
“You two. Take position near that bomber. I’m going to lead this swarm of Krell back around to it and hopefully give you enough of a distraction to get in close. When that happens, I need you to IMP that bomber. We don’t have much time left.”
“Roger,” Jorgen said. “On me, FM?”
“Gotcha.”
I swung in a wide loop, passing by Kimmalyn—who flew carefully out beyond the main battlefield. My entourage ignored her, presuming me to be the dangerous one.
“Quirk,” I said over a private channel. “I need you to shoot that bomber.”
“If that ship crashes, it will detonate the bomb,” Kimmalyn said. “You’ll die. You’ll all die. Even if you escape, everyone in Alta will die.”
“Do you think you can knock the ship’s engines out? Or do something to get that bomber to drop the bomb?”
“A shot like that would—”
“Kimmalyn. What would the Saint say?”
“I don’t know!”
“Then what would you say? Remember? The first day we met?”
I banked and spun back toward the bomber. Terrier and his ships, along with Arturo and Nedd, had thrown themselves at the black fighters. I bore down on it all, bringing the rest of the ships in to create a chaotic, frenzied jumble.
“Under thirty seconds,” M-Bot said softly.
“You told me to take a deep breath,” I said to Kimmalyn. “Reach up …”
“Pluck a star,” she whispered.
My arrival—and the ships chasing me—created the confusion I’d anticipated. Ships darted in every direction, and the black ships scattered out of the way, trying to avoid collisions with their own vessels.
In my mind, I heard a specific Krell order sent to the bomber. The eyes accompanied me, somehow growing brighter—more hateful—as I heard the Krell chatter in my mind.
Initiate countdown to detonation at one hundred seconds.
“M-Bot!” I said. “Someone above just set the bomb to explode on a one-hundred-second countdown!”
“How do you know?”
“I can hear them!”
“Hear them how? They aren’t using radio that I can monitor!” He paused. “Can you hear their superluminal communications?”
I caught a flash to my right. “IMP struck!” FM shouted, excited. “Bomber shields down!”
“Quirk, fire!” I screamed.
A line of red light pierced the battlefield. It passed between Krell ships, went right over Jorgen’s wing as he overburned away from the bomber.
And damn me if it didn’t spear the exact spot between the bomber and the bomb, severing the clamps. The bomber continued flying forward.
But the bomb, cut free, dropped.
“Lifebuster dropped!” Terrier shouted. “All ships, overburn out! Now!”
Everyone scattered, Krell included. Everyone but me.
I dove.
