Part 14

Driven to Ragnarock

           They say that there used to be creatures called griffins that roamed the Earth before ICA's industrial aggregate stripped away the land and burnt what was left into ash. They were half lion and half eagle with both talons and claws, both feathers and fur. I can't tell you if this is true - a lot of the details of humanity and Earth before ICA have been 'forgotten about' in the interests of the present - but I can tell you that we had griffins in our day and age. Our griffins, however, were a different matter: they had neither feathers nor fur, but sported both talons and claws. Back then was one the few times I ever really used one, but the experience was memorable. One of the true pieces of art ICA ever really produced…
           Amara took me to the pilot's den, which among the Yusuurans meant two decks of pilot's country no mere crewman could enter without permission or a damned good reason. A good part of her trip was spent in my arms, content to be carried. Jaurn and Wilson kept ahead of us, both seeming faintly agitated. For some reason I felt calm and (relatively) at ease. In some ways I was in the least stressful period of the last several months; for once I could actually throw up my hands in exhaustion and stop fighting and maybe survive in spite of doing so. Knowing I wasn't alone was a great psychological boon.
           It was clear when we'd descended into pilot's country. The corridor walls expanded, going from oppressive to harmonious. The pilot's section smelled, too: the environs filter must've broken, because I could detect residual oils and Hrasi musk. None of the others seemed to mind, probably having gotten used to it. The lights were out everywhere and a freezing breeze blew persistently from panels in the floor.
           "Pretty cold," I muttered, pulling Amara up and closer to me.
           "It's upper deck's down shift. We prefer to sleep in cold weather," Jaurn responded quietly.
           We kept on trekking through the pilot's maze, and I quickly became astounded at the size and quality of the pilot's facilities. There was a huge cafeteria partitioned with plexiglass into spacer-friendly compartments, an auditorium with a large-scale holographic projector aboard, a training room full of simulators from various sources, and even a gym. While we brushed by each area, it was still obvious even to me that the Yusuurans had a lot invested into their pilots. I only hoped the pilots had skills to match.
           Through a pair of metal blast doors where the hall dead-ended was a barracks of sorts. The beds came in three layers, with a twenty-foot ladder to get to the top, and lined both walls with nearly twenty rows. Almost as an afterthought there were thin, opaque plastic wall inserts installed between each row. The first five rows were singles, the remainder being the larger double beds. I did some quick arithmetic in my head - that was just over two hundred pilots! Small wonder, then, that the pilot's facilities had been so extravagant. The lights were off, but Jaurn didn't seem to care. She walked to the corner and flipped a switch, bringing light with an electric snap.
           "Up! Up!" Wilson shouted out, grinning slightly. A sadist, great… "Get up, get dressed, get into the briefing room! Three minutes!" Around the room bodies shuffled and rose, stretched and grumbled. Just about every combination of ages, races, and gender was represented in the groggy pairs that rolled out of bed. I saw an old man, maybe sixty, slip onto the floor from one of the single beds. Two teenaged girls, one of each species and neither more than 18 sat up beside each other, both sleep-muddled and irate. "Go, get!" Wilson yelled with a laugh. I set Amara down and she nuzzled me affectionately, then took my hand and led me through the rows of beds to the back of the room, where entire racks of pilot's suits were embedded into the walls.
           "Extras. We should change before we have to fly." The were flight suits that looked vaguely like ICA gear but with green highlights, some of the old Royal Army gear that I'd originally thought was US Air Force uniform, and some snazzy green/black suits that were clearly all Yusuuran. I went for a human suit while she picked out one of the older Royal Army suits. While I spun in a slow circle looking for the dressing room Amara plopped down in the corner and changed.
           "Let me guess: no dressing rooms." She smiled, pawing my ankle until I sat down beside her and pulled off my shirt.
           "No need," she purred, folding her breeches onto the floor and then fitting on her suit's pants stiffly. I changed too, more timidly and slowly, and Amara smiled at me. "Ahrn, no one is watching you except for me. No one cares. There are lots of people younger and fairer than you that change here every day - you get used to it until you don't even notice," she purred, pulling the last clasps of her flight jacket into place. "Need help?" Amara asked, coming behind me to help me pull my jacket over my head.
           "Not really, but feel free to do so anyway."
           "Better take off your cloak, then." She pulled it away, kissed my shoulders, and ran her hands up each arm to rest on my shoulders.
           "Been a long time since you've done that," I said softy, swaying woozily under her warm, leathery finger pads. Her clawtips brushed my jugular as she rolled her hands back and forth over my neck, but I didn't feel the least bit concerned.
           "Too long," she murred in agreement, "far too long. I missed you so much, Ahrn…"
           "I know. I've missed you too. I felt lost without you. But now we're both here. Maybe we can change things for the better." She hugged me close. "Scared about this mission?"
           "Scared one of us is going to lose the other," she purred.
           "Don't be. I won't let it happen again." Amara chuffed softly as she fit my jacket on.
           "I know you won't. It's not you I'm worried about." We were quiet then, until she let go of me and stood up. "You're going to be late to your own introduction. We should go." She proffered a hand and I took it, only wincing slightly when her grip forced her claws out of their sheaths. The barracks had already been deserted. "They make good time," Amara observed. I nodded and looked at my hand: no blood, thankfully. She purred, taking my hand back and walking me out the door.
           Funny thing about Amara: she seemed much more attached than she'd ever been before. I felt… intertwined with her, if that makes any sense. I was still very much in the dark about Hrasi culture, and therefore had absolutely no idea what was happening, but there was that ever-present feeling. It was not so much scary or sickening - actually, the attachedness had an associated feeling of warmth and good will - but it was unsettling. Amara's eyes would flicker towards me sometimes, and behind those amber orbs there was a subtle hesitation that I wouldn't have picked up before.
           Amara took us to the auditorium that I'd noticed before. The lights were off and some two hundred pilots were watching the holographic projector intently. It showed a system map in red, green and blue wire-frames. Wilson was speaking, but from outside I couldn't hear her. "Too late," Amara whispered. I looked at her and she shrugged. "Let's sneak in." I nodded, then quickly went through the door and made for the shadows of the auditorium's amphitheater-like rows of seats. Wilson wouldn't have any of it.
           "As you may have noticed, Major Jaurn can be found among you in the rows. I'd like to apologize for waiting until after your briefing to address this, but we were missing a fairly important new addition to our ranks. I'd like to introduce new to your newest interceptor squadron leader. He'll be flying with you for the first time today. Please rise and welcome one Major Aaron Sykes into our fold." I stopped and flinched as everyone shifted and began to murmur. "Mr. Sykes, would you come to the front?" the colonel asked. I rolled my eyes and paced towards Wilson.
           "What did I do to you?" I whispered under my breath. She smiled.
           "Use the opportunity to inspire your troops," Wilson answered from the corner of her mouth.
           "Thanks a lot." She smiled, nodded in mock-graciousness, and moved aside. I looked at the audience with no small trepidation as Wilson and Amara took their seats in the audience. Maybe half of the two-hundred-member crowd stared at me, ears forward among the Hrasi and eyes locked among the humans. Not bad for pilots, especially considering that no more than a fifth or so of them could've actually been attached to my squadron.
           "Ah… ah…" Everyone waited silently. "Well, the Colonel could've warned me…" They didn't respond. "I'm sorry we had to wake you and get you here on such short notice. Hopefully you're all used to it by now. My name is Major Aaron Sykes. I've just recently arrived on station, and Major Jaurn has chosen to cede her command to me. I'm not really sure what to say to you all. I want my interceptor squadron fielding as many human ships as we can, so if you're in my squadron and you're comfortable with ICA's system layouts, by all means take one of the griffins. Other than that… Don't get killed. Don't get yourself captured. I've been through worse than we're looking at, so don't worry about the first two things I mentioned. I guess that's all, so consider yourselves dismissed." When the audience rose I turned away, but someone stopped me with a shout.
           "Major, you're not the Aaron Sykes, are you?" I smiled to myself as I answered.
           "I didn't know my name was that noteworthy, but yes, I am. The one and only." Being a legend is unsettling. "Get some caffeine or something and load up. My squadron needs to be warming up their ships on the flight deck in ten minutes!" That got them moving. I sighed, shook my head. Damn, but hadn't I gone all this way so that I wouldn't have to fight? And for the record, the eternal weariness isn't nearly the worst side of war.
          

---v---

           Nothing against Hrasi engineers, but getting back into an ICA fighter felt good. The plush synthetic leather seat felt so much better than the Hrasi cloth. The controls were spaced for a human, the symbols and markings were all in English, and everything was clean and orderly: it was just more comfortable. Oh, and having more than twice the firepower of anything else out there certainly helped to endear me to the griffin I was in.
           "Flight check," I murmured into my mike, trying to patch through to the all-squadron-members channel. "Wing leaders report status if you can hear me." I got five or six responses, most Hrasi. "Hey Jaurn, how many ICA ships did we manage to scrounge in time?"
           "Fourteen griffins on your wing and another thirty of the older models under Wilson. The rest of us are flying Yusuuran standards." I did a double take.
           "Colonel Wilson?"
           "None other," Wilson crackled, breaking into our conversation. "I know a thing or two about flying myself, Major." Huh. That was odd to say the least.
           "Alright," I said sternly, switching to what seemed to be the all-squadron channel, "here's how I want this done. The colonel is going to take point with her wing and come in from above the conversion point while the griffin wing circles and fires at the fleet's defenses from behind. Then the rest of -"
           "Major?" someone interrupted. It was the voice of that female admiral, Ouni. "We've got problems. Gravity well spikes have gone crazy near the Amman conversion point. The Royal Army fleet is going to be here in a few minutes and we still haven't finished evacuation of the bases, much less begun our retreat. Do something: stall them for ten minutes or so." With that she cut off. Ten minutes?!
           "Squadron, ignore those previous orders. New plan: everyone scrambles. When you get out there start firing. Kill anything that tries to reach the base or attack our fleet."
           The automated launch coordinator had given me first priority for launch, and I took it. Six engines flared to life as pulled back on the throttle, lifting my ship off the deck and into the hangar's open expanse. When my griffin was obviously clear I pushed her forward, slipping out of the base hangar and careening from its asteroid. Ships followed after me; my radar lit up with friendly blue dots as my squadron poured out, interspersed with the lighter blue dots of other squadrons' fighters. Sensors picked up enemy ships too: an equal amount of red surrounded the top right-hand corner of the screen. Too bad for us that those dots represented hundred-crew corvettes as opposed to measly single-person interceptors.
           "May I fly point with you, sir?" Amara purred over the com, voice reassuringly calm. Only Roe had a cooler, calmer sound in the heat of battle. To my surprise it was a sleek silver griffin that rolled tightly into my 'airspace' and fell into position to my starboard, wingtips almost touching mine.
           "Of course, I'd love to have you at my side. Didn't think you'd pick out a griffin, though."
           "I tried stealing one once," she explained over the radio. "I like the way they handle. Glad I don't have a tail, though; this seat would hurt if I did." She rolled away from me and repositioned a few meters below my ship. "So how do we do this, Major?"
           "I think we start shooting. Diplomacy through linear acceleration. Cover me and I'll cover you, alright?" Amara growled noncommittally.
           "Hrnn… Yes sir. Watch out, though, Ahrn. The Royal Army has some pretty dangerous pilots and gunners. You stay alive, Ahrn." I nodded and signaled back to her.
           "You too." She pushed ahead of me, squeezing an extra few kilometers per minute out of her griffin's engines. I did the same, forcing my ship forward. Together we sailed across the system, leaving our squadron far behind.
           The Royal Army didn't take long to react. About as soon as I could pick out destroyers and cruisers from stars they began to open fire. Gravity wells popped up back and forth through my ship's sensors: modern-day depth charges. The enemy cruisers' prows widened and they started firing real rounds at us. Assaulting those behemoths was terrifying - we flew in ahead because both of us knew that a dense fighter swarm wouldn't exactly be a hard target group, but going in with just Amara for backup wasn't confidence-inspiring or reassuring either. My ship shuddered as it took a small-scale nuke in the side, but the griffin's truly unparalleled shielding took the half-megaton in stride. I pealed up and to the left of one carrier, running down between two rows of upper gun batteries. Bolts flew across my wingspan, but I swerved back and forth through it.
           Funny, the Royal Army wasn't fielding too many fighters. Maybe they learned from our pilot's coup. I felt a twinge of guilt at the thought that a whole lot of potential Yusuurans were going to go down with their carriers, but at the same time I wouldn't let that stop me. I toggled over to the linear accelerators - all six of the griffin's talon-like ports - and fired them downward at the carrier's engines. Protons acted in interesting ways with the engine lining, but it was far too thick to be affected much. I followed up with a missile flurry into the soft spot I'd created. They blasted away the engine's rim and started a crack running down the entire fuselage. I grinned to myself as the carrier's engines died: no sane captain would use an engine whose protective inner seal had been broken. The carrier fell back as the rest of the fleet pressed forward. One down and only thirty or forty to go…
           From my starboard a destroyer fired off shots the size of my ship. They must've thought I was standing still, but I damned if I was. I swiftly outmaneuvered their huge cannon bolts, making a roll under the ship's batteries. Bombs burst everywhere. The gravity sensors went crazy as the royal army ships started fire gravity charges everywhere. Totally suicidal, I thought, and yet they still did it. The rest of my squadron arrived with guns blazing and then I realized why. The seas of ICA and Hrasi interceptors were dragged out of their loose formations and ripped apart by the charge's gravity wells.
           "Dammit!" I yelled past the surprised, scared calls that immediately started dripping into the com. "Damn you, break your formations, spread out! You people want to die?" Interceptors began billowing out into larger clouds, but it didn't help much. Losses queued up on my side display for an inspection, as if I had the time. "Shit. Amara, Jaurn, get these incompetents out of harm's way!"
           The fleet had us pinned. Gravity well charges made a huge minefield that moderately affected the overly massive fleet ships but made retreat for our fighters damned near impossible. Moreover, we were caught in a net of large cruisers and destroyers firing inwards. I knew I could dodge shots all day long, but I doubted the rest of the squadron could. "Get those turrets!" I ordered, switching my own firearm selection to full a loadout and going after the turrets on the nearest cruiser. Caught in the crossfire, our ships went down like flies even as we pummeled away at the Royal Army guns.
           Apparently unsatisfied with shredding our fighter ranks, the fleet moved forward. We followed, firing desperately at their engines, but it was to little avail. A cruiser's engines faltered and died far to my port under the heavy barrage of a few of our bomber group. On the other side a much nearer frigate disintegrated under the withering blaze of the four griffins and three ICA standards that circled it, pummeling the frigate's hull with radiation, megatons of force, and thousands of degrees of heat. Otherwise, though, the fleet continued unfazed. "Keep firing. Stop those ships from getting to the base!" I yelled, but my voice alone couldn't stop what had been set in motion.
           Scrambled, garbled messages rattled through the com. Screams, mostly: pilots being killed in any number of painful, gruesome ways. Yusuuran captains issued their flight plans to the world because they were pulling out now, base flight control be damned. Base officials spoke frantically as well, realizing that they'd never make it off the station if the fleet didn't stop. They tried desperately to rally defensive forces, maybe to stave off the Royal Army and evacuate that many more people, but at that point ships were taking orders from Yusuura's three flagships, all of which were hell-bent on clearing the system themselves.
           The Mitchell ripped away from one of the docking ports aside the largest of the base's asteroids. The rush of air as a large portion of the base decompressed was enough to push her clear, then she took off with full thrust toward the Solomon's Peak conversion point. Well, it was good to know where Ouni's priorities lay, at least. The Swift Messenger, Ketszra's ship, pulled out of another dock without destroying it and followed Ouni, sending out cover fire in broad arcs towards the Royal army fleet as ours fled. He had very little chance of actually hitting anything, but I've always liked to think it was more of a salve for his conscience than anything else anyway.
           All hell broke loose as the fleet finally got into firing range of the base. The experience was frustrating, infuriating because I could do nothing. As each ship in the Royal Army fleet got into range they opened up with all the weapons they had, targeting the asteroids that made up the base. Yusuuran ships broke dock just as the Mitchell had, scattering like leaves in the wind. Bright lances of raw laser power slashed through the base's asteroids, severing and splitting them into glowing embers that flickered and died in the blackness. Ships still at dock returned fire impudently; the Independence was one, but it was torn apart by fusion blasts as small incandescent suns ripped through its hull. Other ships - smaller ones - tried to escape, but faltered and fragmented under vicious waves of energy bolts.
           My radar showed most of Yusuura's troop transports flocking behind Ouni, speeding away to the conversion point. Being so close to the action, the royal fleet had been forced to bleed off some off its velocity, so they were safe at least. The people left on the asteroids, though… I hoped someone had had the foresight to evacuate the people in the mental ward where they'd kept Amara, not to mention Naia. If they hadn't, things really didn't look good for them. Everywhere escaping Yusuuran ships lit up their engines, acknowledging and betting on the speed difference that might save them. A few fools didn't follow Ouni and Ketszra to the Solomon's Peak conversion point, heading instead for Tefy, S'jet, or even (in the sheerest stupidity) trying to run through the aggressor fleet and make it to Amman. The lack of unity struck me, horrified me. No wonder these people couldn't mount a decent offense; they were too busy following their own petty agendas.
           "Word from admiral Ouni, sir," Amara called, "She's ordered all of our fighter squadrons not to pull back."
           "Until when?" I asked absent-mindedly, spending most of my time tracking and evading turret fire. There was a pause that got my attention.
           "I don't think we're going to be ordered to pull back, Ahrn," she admitted. "The three carriers that were going to pick us up have all been destroyed. Unless I've forgotten my ship [specs?], griffins don't have the power to make a conversion that deep."
           "Shit! I can't believe this! Do you people have anyone that doesn't run out on their own to save their skins?"
           "…I haven't 'run out' yet."
           "Great. That's just great. Get Ketszra and tell him to turn his ship around and pick us up. I'm afraid that we've been culled thinly enough to fit on one carrier." Amara growled an affirmative and cut her com. That bitch Ouni... I've always thought that I've finally found my place, my friends, and somehow it manages to fall apart.
           One turret gunner was exceptional; he was giving me a hell of time evading. I turned my fighter around on him with a vengeance and ripped his turret to shreds with a full battery of linear accelerator fire. The blood was still hot and pulsing fast in my veins when Amara responded.
           "No response. None of those ships are responding. I think they're under [blanket? / total / all-encompassing?] radio silence. Nor are they slowing down, Ahrn…" I swore to myself under my breath. Damn it all. I switched to the all-ship channel.
           "Alright, this is Major Sykes to anybody who's left. We're pulling out, no questions asked. Our admirals seem to think they can leave us here. We're going to catch up to them and make them take us along. One last time: all fighters drop what you're doing and follow me. We're going to skip out of tthis fleet's weapon range and then coast in formation with our fleet. With any luck the Royal Army won't be fast enough to catch up."
           "Ahrn, can we make that conversion?" Amara asked immediately.
           "Not if we don't get to the C-point, that's for damn sure," I responded.
           My plan was ingenious, if I may say so. The fifty some-odd remaining pilots broke off engagement and followed me as I streaked away from the base's rubble. They fell into a loose 'V' formation around me, snubbing the Royal Army fleet that pursued us futilely from a few thousand kilometers too far out of range. No chance in hell that they were going launch fighters: most likely they'd just fall into formation with us, but even if they stayed loyal we'd just cut them to pieces. Griffins, you see, hadn't been in production long enough to be reverse-engineered or copied, so for the moment they were the unchallenged champions of fighter combat.
           We matched speed with one of the troop carriers pulling up the rear and formed a protective sphere around it. In response the transport poured on the speed, trying to pull our decimated caravan of fleeing ships together. We were traveling at mere tens of thousands of kilometers per hour, having to stay around the transport. Our conversion point was several minutes around at such a sad speed. For the royal fleet to accelerate would take at least four or five of those minutes, but once they did they'd catch up quickly. Destroyers and cruisers are simply faster than transports, and we were cutting it pretty damned close.
           "Ahrn, I'd really like to know how we're going to make this conversion," Amara called out to me worriedly. "If we're not going to make it we'd better turn around and surrender now." I mulled over this. That was a very good question… I had no idea. Well, one idea. Not that it would work. I suppose it was better than surrendering, though.
           "Well, I think you're right. I doubt any single fighter, even a griffin, could make a conversion this deep unaided. It looks like we're going to have to ride our fleet's wave-fronts." There was a pause.
           "Ahrn, I love you, but that doesn't make what you just said any less insane. If you want us all die we should just stay here and fight the Royal Army."
           "Do you have a better idea? Our ships won't take us aboard."
           "…If we fought here our deaths might actually mean something. Stealing some Mitchell particles off of a troop transport's wave-front is going to buy us a death that just proves our stupidity." I frowned. Why did Amar have to choose that exact moment to balk? Not that it really mattered in the end. I switched to the all-squadron channel as we neared the conversion point and our transport geared up for conversion.
           "This is Major Sykes, so listen up. I didn't come all this way to die here. I've been clawed, beaten, tortured, slashed, shot at, interrogated, mind-raped, and god knows what else; I'll be damned if being vaporized here is what's it's all led up to. Our fellow Yusuurans have decided not to talk to us, but if they won't let us ride their wave-fronts out from inside their hangars then we'll just have to ride the wave-fronts out from alongside them." Again, there was one big long silence. "This isn't an order. I'm going to ride along one of the troop transport's wave-front. As far as I'm concerned, this is the only way to get to Solomon's Peak intact. Again, I won't order you to go. Stay here if you want: you'd be braver than I am, and god knows we need you. Try to surrender if you want, though I doubt any of you are that stupid.
           "I know it must be pretty hard for you to follow me towards what looks like certain death. You've no reason to pay me any attention besides the words of your fellow pilots Amara and Jaurn. All I can tell you is that I'm not going to wantonly throw your lives away like Ouni just tried to, nor am I going to let any of you die if I possibly help it. So break away and do what you will if that's what you wish, but I'm going to try and ride this one out." Nobody responded. Dammit, I thought to myself, another speech I'd totally botched.
           The radar bleeped as two ships in the sphere - both bombers not originally in my squadron - changed the vector listed on their flight plans and peeled away. They came side-to-side with one another and lined up for one last bombing run on the lead Royal Army carrier. The rest of the pack stayed with me. Well, damn.
           "That was… impressive," Wilson's voice murmured into my ear. "You held onto forty three of forty five pilots, and those two are going to buy us some time. For the record, though, this is crazy and we're all going to die." The troop transport that we encircled charged its conversion drive as it approached the C-point. I set the navigation coordinates for Solomon's Peak and charged my drive as well.
           "You're probably right. But you know what?" Mitchell particles enveloped us all as the troop transport converted from mass into pure energy and force. "It sure beats dying here."
          

---v---

           You know why I've always hated wave-front mechanics? It's an impossible field, and mostly because of Mitchell particles. Those little bastards just won't obey the laws of physics if they can possibly avoid it, which is usually a good thing, that quality being why they're so useful. They obviously don't like existing in our energy state, as is evidenced by the ridiculous amounts of energy it takes to summon them. Once they get here they just go back to wherever they came from, towing any mass that happens to be around for the ride. Therein lies the wave-front problem.
           Wave-fronts, which are the functions of the pulsing, universe-transcending Mitchell particle collections that envelop our ships, don't like to play together. Oh, they'll combine all right: god knows they'll combine. But they don't simply add or multiply each other, nor does one raise the other by a power, nor do they enter some kind of sinusoidal pattern. The maddening truth is that while the larger always increases the smaller, the increase just isn't describable by anything in our mathematics system. This has always infuriated me to no end.
           According to my college professor of conversion point physics, any of three things can happen to an idiot who throws himself into someone else's wave-front (the ship with the larger wave-front is apparently unaffected). First, their conversion state may go through the roof, sending them into an energy state simply too high to be compatible with continued existence and definitely too high to ever come down from. Secondly, their Mitchell particles may decide to mess with them and throw them through time - there are some famous cases of this, including the one that happens to be the root cause of our stupid war, though that is another story entirely. Oh, and thirdly, if the gods were feeling particularly benevolent that day then the two wave-front's might actually amplify the way they're supposed to, boosting the smaller wave-front ship to just under the larger one's wave-front. Damnnable physics.
           With this perverse set of guidelines, it came to me as great surprise and relief when I materialized in my starship next to one of Maura's transports. Even more surprising, other fighters materialized around me too. Three, seven, fifteen, twenty… twenty-eight. Out of forty-three came twenty-eight. I wondered first what'd happened to the rest. Transported into a time where there were no settlements nearby, maybe, stranding them to freeze and die in space. Forever stuck in conversion, maybe, to eternally suffer the pain of transfer. Or maybe thrown forward in time to after the war, so they could live their lives in peace; I hoped for that, almost bluffed myself into believing it.
           Shit, I thought, twenty-eight out of forty-three! Amara! I flicked the com to the all-fighter channel.
           "Everybody report in, now! Who's here?" Voices called out their names one by one, and one after another I didn't know their names. Jaurn, then, with an upset "Jaurn here, Major Ahrn," and Wilson with a cool "Wilson reporting, Major." But no Amara. Eighteen ships responded, then nineteen, and still no sign of Amara. What'd I done?
           "I'm here too, Ahrn," A warm voice purred over the link. I let out a pent up breath and my heart started beating again. My god…
           "Amara, don't ever do that again! Scared me to death." I sighed, sent the squadron an automated 'begin radio silence' message, then punched into Ouni's com on the Mitchell. There was silence: a lot of silence. Were they going to answer? The com line fizzled on the other end.
           "Griffin 1," A young human man crackled from the end of the line, "this is MitchellCom. Go ahead, pilot."
           "This is Major Aaron Sykes, MitchellCom. Get me your captain, mister. I want the admiral." There was a pause.
           "Major." Ouni's voice. Damn, that didn't take long. "Somehow I thought you were a military man."
           "And somehow I thought you were an ethical leader. Looks like we were both wrong. I don't suppose you have a plan on how to stop that fleet from following us, do you?" She hissed.
           "You were the plan, remember? Scans show the colony has two orbital defense batteries, though, and as far as I can tell that's our next best option. If you feel like taking orders this time, Major, we need fighter cover and troop assistance to repulse the assault on the Solomon's Peak colony."
           Repulse the assault? I ran a deep scan on the system for anyone else, not expecting much. Radar, despite a name that's a throwback to a primitive twentieth-century system, usually picked up everything the first time around. Hell, it detected gravity signatures: god forbid someone had figured out how to mask that. Across the system, hidden behind the fourth system, four ships coasted. Hrasi ships, and not ours. The goddamned Haigh beat us there. Shit.
           "That's the Haigh, then?" I asked.
           "Best guess. They've already deployed a troop transport to the surface, and there's only one complex to conquer on the third planet, where the colony is set up. Colonists won't last long against trained soldiers, Major, and the humans are outnumbered. It's a desert planet, fortunately, or they'd already have lost. You want to get down there?" Another desert planet? No, frankly, I didn't want to get down there. Desert planets may be most common among the habitable ones, but I still hate them.
           "Not the pilots in Hrasi ships; I don't want to be shot on the way down. You take them back onboard and I'll land with the ICA ships." There was a pause.
           "Fine. Just get down there. General Maura is deploying her transports to the area along with our diplomatic corp, and we agree that convincing the colonists not to fire on us would considerably preserve our resources. I'll take your excess pilots, but get on the ground now. Ouni out."
           Great. I took a few years in psychology and debate - originally, as I'm sure I've mentioned before, I was going to be a diplomat to the Hrasi - but this was far beyond what I could handle. God, what to do? I relayed my orders to the squadron and pealed ahead of the transports, abandoning the fleet, and the remaining griffins fell into a loose wedge behind me. A host of the standard ICA 'Icarus' interceptors, all much more battered than our well shielded griffins, limped behind us in a straight line.
           Oh, we made decent time; you'd be amazed how efficiently fusion engines turn matter into thrust-force when you get near our universe's energy level boundaries. It's disgusting, really. Our new, advanced society harnesses the power of stars, rapes all the potential out of perfectly good particles, and generally makes a mockery of the matter conservation theory. The last thing on my mind, however, was our society's energy plans. Gravity tugged us down into the planet's sinkhole and clouds obscured any view of the ground, but I was too wound up in formulating an argument to notice much. In the lower-left corner of the com grid an orange light blinked steadily with a soft beep, but I didn't notice at first. As it was neglected the button blinked faster and droned louder, until with a jolt I came back to the immediate and slammed my free hand down on the flashing 'receive call' button.
           "-pond. Griffin leader, are you there? Please respond."
           "This is griffin leader," I said, not sure who it was: it was a human man, as if that narrowed it down at all. "Reporting in."
           "Who the hell are you and what the hell are you doing so far out?" he demanded angrily. Well, took care of that.
           "Major Aaron Sykes, sir, and I'm clearing the skies so that we can land reinforcements for you."
           "That's not an ICA troop transport, Major. In fact, my sensors show that the fleet you came from is all Hrasi. You want to explain that?"
           "On the ground, sure. Right now I need you to promise my people safe passage and re-aim your orbital batteries to the conversion point."
           "Like hell, mister."
           "If you don't we'll leave you here. Think you can fend off those Hrasi on the ground right now?"
           I was pretty sure the hard sell would work, and I wasn't disappointed. It did take a breathless, heart pounding second, though.
           "All humans?"
           "All friends," I assured him. Which was not the same thing, admittedly, but he took it.
           "Better be," the man sulked. "Land your squadron in the commons at town's center; set any extras down in the southern fields. I'm the colony's governor, Pravin Bacchus. I'll meet you on the ground. Try to trick me, Major, and you'll regret it. Bacchus out."
           So it went. ICA didn't usually install people with questionable loyalties or wayward ideas to higher-up positions, and apparently Mr. Bacchus was no exception. I switched to all-squadron to break the news.
           "We've got landing clearance and safe passage, but they're convinced we're all humans. I want the griffins to land with myself in the central colony commons and the icari to land in the fields to the south. Hrasi: stay inside your ships. Don't crack the cockpit, don't move around, just pretend you don't exist until you get confirmation that it's safe. Humans: get out and report to the center of the commons area ASAP. I want two humans left on guard at each location - Wilson, you can't be one of them. Let's get down there while there's still something left to defend!"
           "Roger," three or four pilots responded in near-unison. The more disciplined maintained their dutiful radio silence.
           We descended, terrifying to do in a fighter. Little ships have trouble getting safely; without a larger ship's heat dispersion grid, fighters tend to accrue friction heat faster than they can shed it. This becomes a problem when the heat melts your ship's underbelly. In the old days they used to put heat shields on the space shuttles, but those don't do too well in the tight maneuvering of combat. The standard icari probably had it even worse, seeing as they lacked the griffin's tough energy shields. Scary descent, though, even for us.
           Clouds dissipated as we broke into the lower atmosphere. I got my first 'close-up' look at the ground. It was all desert and steppe, with craggy mountains and scar-like canyons halfway filled with the sands that made the planet's innumerable dunes. The colony was a thumb-sized splotch of green and brown in a yellow basin, very easy to spot. I pulled and tugged at the controls, slipping into a favorable wind and riding it down. All around me my wingmen shifted to stay in the flock as we made our descent.
           As we came in to land Wilson and the rest of the icari dropped away. Below, on the surface, a Hrasi troop transport was deployed. Both port and starboard hull walls had splayed out, spilling forth their shock troop regiments. I'd seen this before; Hrasi only fought on the ground when they knew they could win without revealing their nature. Mostly they only used ground troops if an area's communications were out and they had everything going for them. I once assisted in the defense of the New Arabia; we shot hundreds of them and turned the tide of the battle, but they just drove us inside with bombs, and when we came out there wasn't a single corpse left. They're that good at cleaning up after themselves, so if the Haigh was deploying ground troops…
           Well, at least they had grass. Had being the operative word, because there was no way that any biological organism that complex withstood the heat my ship put out as it set down. I waited for the remaining handful of griffins to land around me - not stupid, no, but then I popped the cockpit's safeties, pushed the griffin's cockpit dome up, and levered myself out of the seat. Desert heat blew strongly, carrying with it grains of sand that whipped my face. The drop from my griffin's nose was a good seven or eight meters, but I landed on my feet. Before I tumbled onto my knees, that is.
           Five pilots touched down around me: three men and two women. They all wore cloaks, and they all looked to me.
           "You all have guns?" I yelled, and they all nodded. "Keep them holstered. You all know English?" More nods. Real vocal group, these people. I switched to my native tongue. "Then use it." I pointed at the two smallest, a man and a woman. "You two stay here and keep watch. If Wilson makes it here, send her my way. The rest of you, follow me north."
           We traveled towards the main complexes of the colony, fledgling that it was. It really was too young to have any defined character; the buildings were all basic ICA government-approved structures, with white styri-plastic walls and metal dome frames. It was bleak conformity of the worst sort, the damned standards that haunted you wherever you went through ICA territory. In the distance we saw a twenty-foot perimeter: a multiple-foot stone wall. How long did that take to build?
           "Major!" A young man yelled from across the dusty… I hesitate to call it a road. It was probably supposed to be their 'main street', but it wasn't even cobbled. He ran up with a pulse rifle in his hand. The man had light brown hair, a lean, chiseled face, and a pretty damned decent physique for a civilian. Maybe this was just a soldier. "I assume you're the fighter leader, the Major."
           "You assume correctly. Where's Bacchus?"
           "This is me, Major. You have an explanation for why a Hrasi transport is coming down to land outside our base, or why they asked for clearance, or why they were using a human com officer?" He stared at me, scared but still defiantly stubborn. Just great… "I thought we agreed there would be no Hrasi. I don't know what you have planned for my people, but I won't allow it!"
           "Governor, we're trying to keep your people alive. That's a Hrasi transport, yes, but it's got friends on board. They asked for clearance because they're friendly and they think that you are too. I said we were only going to land friends, not only humans, governor. Frankly, sir, you have two choices: take our help or die at the hands of the Haigh - the invading Hrasi. Put that through your high-minded priorities." He opened his mouth to argue, then seemed to consider that prospect and instead simply glowered at me.
           "Damn you, Major."
           "Yes sir, very definitely damn me. Damn you too, for endangering your charges."
           "I didn't do anything to bring this!" He yelled in protest. Losing it: poor guy couldn't take the rapid-fire pressures and decisions that were combat situations.
           "Fine. Then it wasn't your fault. That's not going to be much consolation to all the people that your inaction gets killed." He stared at me, wild-eyed and indecisive. Then the man gritted his teeth and nodded, defeated. 'Phew' would be an understatement of atrocious magnitudes.
           "Follow me. The four of you are going to help us defend the northern wall. I'll let your transports land and tell the militia to focus on the first group of Hrasi, but no more. Once your Hrasi are done, we might talk about their leaving peacefully." Boy, was he in for a let down. We all jogged to the wall, though, and I scaled it up to the top. I took one look over the edge, then dropped down with a curse as a slew of bullets and energy bolts zipped where my head had once been. There were two or three hundred Hrasi in concealing red livery, all with rifles or dual pistols. Pretty soon they were going to break out the mortars and heavy weapons. I looked down to the pilots who'd remained on the ground.
           "Doesn't look good. Get up here and start firing, but stay behind the wall. We've got Haigh troops everywhere, so just aim overhead and fire downwards." They looked at each other uneasily, but gripped the stone walls and climbed up to my level. We pulled our pistols and started firing downwards. The returning fire was much, much more intense, but we didn't respond to it. The fools fired at the wall, giving away their locations, and I was able to pick them off without much trouble.
           Our transport appeared high in the sky, a dot of green amidst a sea of white and gray. It growled like an impending storm. Colonists behind us shied away, even those with their own pulse rifles and other weapons, while we four Yusuurans with our near-useless pistols kept on firing, unfazed. On the other side of the wall, guns went off with a vengeance. Not at us, but up at the sky. Their feeble energy couldn't quite make it up to the transport's altitude, but pretty soon the transport would descend into range. I popped up above the wall, taking a truly stupid risk, and rattled off all the shots left in my hand pistol, dropping a few dozen Haigh marines. That got their attention, and they changed back to firing at us.
           That transport's growl turned into a roar. The Haigh soldiers stopped firing entirely, and when I pushed myself up to see I found them running towards the transport, which was about to set down a half-kilometer away. Our transport's hull walls began unfolding, and even before the process was finished Yusuuran soldiers were pouring out. Almost all of them were Hrasi - that made sense, considering my track record fighting Hrasi in physical combat - and they were in drab green versions of the Haigh uniforms. The few humans wore drab green clones of ICA marine uniforms. Thank god for that: it might help us get the colonists out safely.
           Both groups began firing at one another, even as they advanced. As soon as the green and the red masses meshed blood started flowing. Even from my vantage the reddening of the dunes was obvious. The figures punched and slashed, kicked and grappled. I jumped down to the ground and turned to the scared colonists. They backed away from me, a few raising their rifle barrels.
           "What's going on?" Bacchus demanded, pushing to the fore of his frightened throng.
           "Reinforcements," I said simply. "Get your people up onto the wall. You with the pulse rifles, you all want to live? Then get up there and start picking off the red-clad Hrasi or you're all going to die." They didn't move. "Are you people deaf, or just stupid? Go, get!" Bacchus stared at me.
           "Who the hell do you think you are, mister?" I ignored him, looked at the guys with the rifles.
           "Listen carefully: go and get on top of that wall and start shooting at the Hrasi in the red. If you don't, they'll win, and then they'll come after you." Bacchus shook his head.
           "No. If we let the Hrasi kill each other, then the winners will be weakened, and maybe we can take them."
           "And then what?" I countered, "Then what'll you do about the fleets hovering around you, what'll you do to keep two infuriated alien groups from uniting to bombard this colony into the ground? You think those orbital batteries can stop them all? Help my people, the greens, win, and then we'll talk peacefully."
           Bacchus looked unconvinced, and it seemed we'd hit a stalemate, but from the right a young woman with a pulse rifle moved and quickly scaled the wall. She lowered her rifle onto her knee and started making slow, calculated shots. The others stayed put, to my surprise. I guess being around the Hrasi and their pack mentality had finally begun to skew my normal expectations of behavior. "Dammit Bacchus, if you won't take my help then say so, because I won't waste the lives of my people if you don't want to live." He gave me a look that said he was getting that through his tiny skull, then finally held up his rifle.
           "Let's go. Like the bastard says, focus on the greens!" There was a rush of bodies to the wall, just as though a dam had finally broken. I holstered my pistol and relieved a boy (barely thirteen!) of his rifle.
           Under combined assault the Haigh didn't stand a chance. Wilson and her wingmen rushed up from behind us and Bacchus looked concerned, but I waived his fear with a wave of the hand and her group joined in the fire. Through my rifle's scope I saw a Haigh marine beat a smallish Yusuuran to the ground. Just as he pulled his leg back for final throat-slashing kick I took his head off with a pulse round. As the Yusuurans and the colonists, inexperienced in combat and cooperation as they were, somehow managed to gain the upper hand, the Haigh were pushed back towards the colony. Eventually the Haigh marines gave up and just ran like madmen for our walls. It was a horrible tactical mistake; they were chewed down by weapons fire from both sides. The Yusuurans were scaling the last dune when we were shooting down the last Haigh soldiers who were running down the last dune on the other side.
           The first Yusuuran cleared the top of the dune and, impossibly, his chest exploded, ripping rib from rib. The second Hrasi to make the top swore in her native tongue.
           "Back!" the Hrasi yelled, though it sounded like a guttural roar in English. The whole Yusuuran line turned and rolled back down the dune as the sand popped with gunfire around them. I looked to jump off the wall and stop the damned colonists, but saw a contingent of ten or so men and women on the ground with rifles. Didn't look like I was going to be much help, but I glowered at Bacchus all the same. "Don't shoot!" A familiar Hrasi yelled - some young woman - and a mechanical translator rendered that in English. "We're friendly!"
           "Bullshit!" Bacchus yelled back. "You goddamn Hrasi are all the same! You're all lies, all trickery, and no trustworthiness. If you're our new goddamned friends, leave us alone!"
           "I can't do that. We lost people saving yours, and now we need you to save us."
           "I knew it!" Bacchus cried scornfully, and emptied a few gunshots into the ensueing silence. "You'd have us dead, just like them, or maybe your slaves. Hrasi have never been anything but militaristic conquerors! I suppose you were going to sway us with some brainwashed humans to vouch for you. Sorry, you worthless alien bastard, but I won't take your word or the word of your damned conscript the Major."
           Slowly, a Hrasi in full body armor stood up from the dune to plain view, face masked by one of those spookily opaque black helmets. She was unarmed, but looked up at Bacchus.
           "Say what you want about me, sir, but don't presume to insult Major Ahrn. That man saved my life and my family. He's a greater man than you'll ever be." Bacchus sneered.
           "Oh, really? So he's the righteous figure and you're the innocent, benevolent warrior. Tell me this then, alien: If you're so damned trustworthy and friendly, why don't you show us what kind of monster you really are?"
           I had an idea of who it was, but didn't expect the reply. There was none, really: the woman reached up to her neck, worked a clasp, and then pulled off her helmet, letting it fall to the ground and roll down the dune. Zeiri squinted at the new light, still just as gaunt but beautiful as ever. Silence reigned, as this sunk in. For my part, I was thinking about this turn of events in terms of options: she'd effectively narrowed the colonists' options to joining us or dying and everyone knew it.
           "I hope you had a good trip here, Arhn," She called. I nodded with a smile.
           "Looks like you had a better one. How's Somi?" She grinned at the opportunity to rub it in Bacchus's face.
           "My daughter's fine, thanks to you." And then she played the children card, a staple of politicians since Caesar and the Roman senate. "I only hope the little ones here have parents wise enough to protect their children like you did. They're whom I'm worried most about."
           "Threats?!" Bacchus yelled, and raised his gun. " Threats against our children? Damned cat! Damned alien bitch!" I forced his gun barrel back down.
           "Honesty," I replied, and loudly, because all the colonists seemed enraged, and we were a single shot away from losing everything. "Not a threat. These are not the sort that would hurt children. These are not the sort who murder, enslave, or hurt innocents. She's a mother just as sure as you're a father, and damn me if she doesn't have the cutest baby I've ever seen. You think a parent would ever threaten a child? She cares more about innocents and civilians than anyone you'll ever meet, and if you knew her background you'd understand why."
           "Sir," Zeiri called out to Bacchus, "you don't know how much I'm personally indebted to you for helping us defeat the Haigh, but there are more coming and we can't afford to lose more troops. I have two propositions for you, if you'll listen to them, and they're both better than what you have in store for you without us. How about it?" Bacchus remained silent. "Good. Thank you.
           "The way I see it, you have two options. If you want to stay and defend your new homes, that's fine and I respect you for it: my forces are going to pull out. Yes, you've seen my bare Hrasi face, but I'm not worried about you surviving. We can't lose any more people. If this is what you want, though, then I beg you let us take the people that won't be fighting. Your sick, your old, and your children: they don't need to die here. Please, if you want to stay then let us save them."
           "Give our children to you?" he yelled. "Like hell we will. I'd rather see you dead than with one of our children in your jaws!" Zeiri raised calming hands.
           "I thought you'd say as much. Just calm down. There's another option: leave and come with us. I'll be honest, sir. My superiors told me to recruit you any way I needed to, but I won't. If you're willing, though, we need more troops and we can offer you and your families' protection. No one has to die, no one has to split up or leave a loved one. We'll take everyone and all the belongings each family can collect in a few minutes - there's an extra Haigh transport just sitting out there. I'll promise you safe passage and, as you said, any of my human friends will vouch for it. Come and fight for us: we're trying to defeat the same enemy. You'll never fight another human with us - it'll be just like your ICA military. We want this war to be over; we want both of our races to live in peace and harmony. Please…"
           Somehow she worked; she wasn't much of dealer, but she had that plaintive, honest edge to her that gave us all pause. For the longest time everyone just stood, listening to the wind. Zeiri looked up at the colonists with a sad, pleading expression, seeming to pick and beg from each one. Bacchus couldn't meet her eyes: he was looking down thoughtfully and biting his lip. Zeiri looked at me and got a wan smile for the effort. She flicked an ear as if to say yes, I know, but I can't do anything about it. The wind whistled. "I want to get to know every one of you," Zeiri said much more quietly, "want to become a someone's godmother and watch our kids grow up together. It's been done before. I especially don't want any of you to die… I've already lost too many friends today." With that she lapsed into silence; no one breathed for a few minutes as we waited.
           "Get to your families," Bacchus cried out suddenly, "your houses! You heard the lady! Go, go, go!" And the colonists scattered. Zeiri breathed a sigh of relief: my sentiments exactly. I myself vaulted atop the wall and addressed all the Yusuurans.
           "Come on, girls and boys, we're leaving in ten minutes! Help out here or get to your ships, but do it now! We're far from beaten!"
          
           End Part 14