I'm out of my bed by the time the alarm begins its second whoop, hurrying towards the hangar and trying to pull on my tight-fitting flightsuit at the same time. A score of other pilots join me in the corridor, our combined mass of femininity bullying any of the Verity's crew we meet from our path. Entering the Navy cruiser's hangar I run for my interceptor, the spherical star-craft as pleasingly curved as the pilot who flew it, before bounding up a ladder into the cockpit. A mechanic wheels away the ladder as I pull the hatch closed, leaning back into the chair and sliding an all-encompassing helmet on. Information begins flowing directly into my brain as the helmet attunes itself, the screen built into its visor coming to life, and with a thought I set my vessel to hovering, lifting it out of its cradle using the ventral thruster.
"Launch!"
At the sound of the Verity's flight controller in my head I'm racing out of the hangar, expertly weaving around everyone else. In a swarm we all arc up and then over the cruiser's spine, its bulk gone in what feels like a flash, to link up with the squadrons boiling from the ship's port-side hangar.
"All Dolls form on me." Eleven other star-craft make an untidy clump behind me, showing as bright green dots on my visor screen, and I listen to the orders being sent out. "The big blob out there is the cruiser Defender, reported MIA six months ago. We're to distract its interceptors so our bombers can take out its engines. Command wants her back."
I hear eleven female voices so like mine acknowledge my words and trigger my interceptor's rear thruster, boosting away from the Verity and into open space.
Once its star-craft complement is moving the Verity opens fire with both sets of its main cannons. Massive bolts of energy roar past, aimed at the solid red circle on the edge of my sensor range, but it's the smaller dots swiftly approaching I care about. Each is an interceptor roughly identical to mine, only any pilot modifications providing a difference. The distance between us and them rapidly shrinks, the last-known info on the Defender's star-craft wing appearing, and I impulsively fire off a shot, wanting to assess the range. A wave of pleasure sweeps through me as a red dot vanishes from my screen, someone was in just the wrong place, and then I have to concentrate on just flying.
"Dolls! Break by pairs and stay focused!"
I have to bounce over enemy fire, the shots coming in dizzyingly quick, and carefully tilt my interceptor, firing again. Luck fails me though as my plasma bolts sail off into darkness, my target darting aside and then away.
The two swarms come together into a great furball, life and death only a split-second decision away. Doll Two sticks to my ass like I told her but others from the Verity aren't as lucky. All of Sneak Squadron dies when an evasive jump takes them into the path of a cruiser's weapons fire, their screams suddenly cut off as they're atomized. I feel my interceptor wobble as a loud cry of pain throws me off, spoiling my aim, and quickly check my screen.
"Doll Four! Report!"
"I've been hit!" There's a pause, my heart pounding. "Something's on fire!"
"Go home Doll Four! I'll escort you away."
After manoeuvring to the edge of the furball I manage to locate my troubled pilot, the stricken star-craft spiralling away on a loop that would eventually return her to the Verity. Even as I angle to give assistance though an enemy interceptor drops in behind Doll Four, its shots spearing through the vessel and blowing it apart.
I spin my star-craft round and grit my teeth, letting off a snapshot that neatly penetrates one of the Defender's interceptors, and then accelerate, my chair molding itself to compensate. Larger dots in both colours have appeared on my screen, the bomber squadrons finally unleashed, and I summon as many of my girls as possible back to my side. Six join me, the seventh too entangled within the swirl of interceptors to break free, and I call out targets as we streak towards the enemy bombers.
"Unlock your guns and have one ready to move. Some of the interceptors behind us are sure to give chase."
The chorus of responses fills me with almost as much pleasure as vaping an enemy pilot and at this point I'm already purring. I keep an eye on the screen as the bombers approach, searching for any pursuit, and roll away from Doll Six as a quartet of converging plasma bolts turns her into an incandescent fireball.
"Do our bombers have normal weapons?"
"Quiet Doll Ten. Everyone, find a partner and stick to them."
I'm impressed when Doll Two remains with me as I rocket upwards, intending to dive back down into the bomber formation. One of the dots disappears from my screen when I reach the peak of my climb, an elated yell coming from Doll Nine, and I fire off a continuous stream of bolts as I race towards the larger star-craft. A second bomber is ripped open when one of my bolts strikes its storage bay and detonates, a powerful climax racing through me, but then a volley of shots forces me to pull up. Doll Two is seconds too slow, flying into the fire coming from returning interceptors, and I have to mute her cries as plasma bolts take chunks from her vessel, more than a few passing completely through the dying star-craft.
The appearance of the interceptor squadron throws mine into confusion and two more green dots fade. I dance around the formation of bombers as close as I dare, needling at them and hoping whoever is flying them hasn't learnt that the weapons mounts can move. Doll Nine's second yell of success is rapidly silenced, the flares of both the veteran and the bomber she killed quickly disappearing, and I'm checking my screen, trying to find Doll Ten amid the blizzard of red dots. Her scream comes over the vox just as I spot her and I fire at an interceptor whizzing past in retaliation. It copies Doll Six by becoming a fireball of its own and I arc back, looping round to put myself on the tail of another enemy pilot.
The shot that kills me came out of nowhere and could have come from anyone, seeing as I'm the only target they've got. There's suddenly nothing of my right leg below the knee, two holes where a plasma bolt has gone straight through the cockpit, and the sensation of air being sucked out. It isn't the loss of air that worries me, the plasma superheated most of it already and pilots have an air supply independent of what's trapped in the cockpit when the hatch is sealed. Nor am I concerned about the missing limb, I could have a new one grown or built if I wanted. Instead it's the sudden heat. My body temperature has skyrocketed, sweat's dripping into my eyes and fuzzing up my vision, while sensitive electronics pop and fail. I spin my interceptor to make a futile dash for home, the movement seeming unaccountably lazy, and cry as sweltering heat is rapidly replaced by unbearable cold. I'm almost thankful when the hull in front of me melts away, the plasma bolt that comes in vapourizing my torso and continuing on to cause my rear thruster to explode…
No comments:
Post a Comment