Chapter 1

February 15^th, 2278

Mars – Melas Chasma Naval Academy

Pilot Trainee Shyla Redding and EWO Trainee Garret Mathews

            “Oh jees-us!  God help me, God help me, God help me!” the guy in back screamed and cried as he was thrown over into a negative 6G dive followed by an almost 10G pull-out.  The inertia dampeners and G-Suit strained to keep blood flowing through his body.  Again, the fighter rolled out into a dive followed by a steep climb into roll to an inverted dive to complete a loop.  The EWO Trainee felt his stomach bail-out and he snatched for the airsick bag.  He didn’t manage to get his mask off in time and made a complete mess out of the backseat. 

“Dammit Shyla, that’s enough!  Get your ass back on the ground!  Are you doing this to piss me off?!”  The agitated voice over the commlink wasn’t directed at the sick trainee, but rather the over-eager pilot that was trying with all her might to make him sick.  Trainee Shyla Redding had the reputation as being the worst pilot at the academy.  Truth was: she was the best.  But her antics made her disliked by the rest of her class.  She had already washed out three EWO Trainees on her own.  They refused to fly again. 

The agitated person over the radio was her instructor, Sergeant-Major Michaels.  He’d taken an immediate dislike to her smug, overconfident attitude since day one at the Academy and had driven her harder than the rest.  Nobody really remembered how it started, but over one shout-filled dinner, a wager was put up that Michaels would find her a Gib if it killed him.  Since then, it had been her personal mission in life to get anyone and everyone that was brave enough to crawl into her trainer sick and miserable.  To Michael’s frustration, she was exceptionally good at it. 

11-05-07

            “Roger that, Control,” the pilot said, the smug tone oozing through the radio.  Michaels raged in the Melas Chasma Control Tower.  The Naval Academy on Mars was built into one of the giant canyon’s walls.  The Academy was designed to teach pilots harsh-condition flying.  The last test in the course was to survive a run through Melas Chasma itself and beat a specific time.  The time to beat was a record, so many pilots, striving for greatness, found themselves on the wrong side of a crater instead.  As harsh as it sounded, the trainers were highly-durable fighters, and casualties were rare. 

            Michaels had prescribed a ground-hugging course to the north-west of the canyon.  Shyla, instead, had gone off on her own flying high-and-tight over the course.  Michaels had been swearing and screaming at her over the radio ever since.  It was the first time Shyla had ever pulled such a stunt, and if Michael’s reaction was any indication, would probably be her last.  Rumors had already been hard at work relaying the fact that she had been kicked out of the Earth Naval Academy and another one on Europa out by Jupiter.  Rumors said this was her last stop. 

            Shyla brought the trainer into the canyon-side hangar bay, hovering side-ways and down for a perfect three-pointer as if she’d been doing it all her life.  Most cadets couldn’t attempt a canyon landing until almost graduation, but she’d mastered it in her first week.  Her instructors could see it, and so could her classmates: Shyla was a genius pilot.  She was probably the best that had ever graced Melas Chasma.  But her attitude, disregard for authority, and just plain old out-and-out stubbornness quickly soured any good merit she achieved with her flying.  Michaels saw it, and knew what she needed as well.  She needed an EWO that would ground her, balance out her wild-side with common sense, or, more usefully, sheer dumb-luck.  It was that knowledge that had led him to the thrice-cursed wager with her.  At first, he thought it wouldn’t be hard to find her such a Gib, but now, almost three months later, he was finally at his wit’s end.  And this latest stunt was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

            Michaels was already on the tarmac, storming towards the trainer when the back hatch popped.  Garret practically fell out of the aircraft, saving his dignity with one well-placed foot on the fold-down ladder.  He didn’t make another two steps before collapsing in a heap and promptly throwing up what he hadn’t the first time.  The front hatch opened, and the pilot confidently stood and climbed down to the tarmac.  Michaels stood there staring at her. 

            Shyla was just shy of six feet with a perfect athletic body, which was put into stark relief with the skin-tight anti-G suit.  She cracked the seal on her helmet and pulled it off.  Her shoulder-length jet-black hair fell out in a sweaty tumble, half still matted to her face.  Her face was pretty, but not overly beautiful, but it was her eyes that really grabbed and pulled you in.  They were what gave her away as a true-born Martian.  Being a bright red in color, they mimicked the color of the dirt that covered the planet.  Not all Martians had the red eyes, but the trait was becoming more common in every generation.  Scientists were still trying to figure out exactly what made the particular eye pigment change hue from its earth-side blue, but they had found it was genetic and being passed down into every subsequent generation. 

            She turned those red eyes on Michaels and gave him a lopsided grin.  She stood there holding her helmet off of her shoulder and the other hand on her hip.  “I guess, what is that, Shyla eight, Sergeant-Major zero?”

            Michaels turned a shade that was almost a match for her eyes.  “My office, now.”

11-06-07

            Shyla shoved her helmet at a technician and followed after Michaels.  His office was a small area off the main hangar that had originally been intended as a small breakroom.  He’d removed all of the countertops, built the desk, and then wired the office with patch feeds from the main data lines himself.  He had kept the water cooler in the corner.

            Michaels opened the door and held it for her.  She walked in and smartly stopped in front of his desk at attention.  Michaels closed the door and came up behind her. 

            “I don’t understand you, Redding,” he started in a quiet voice.  Shyla was momentarily thrown off balance: she’d expected a screaming tirade. 

            “You’ve completed almost every little thing this Academy has required you to do with damn near flying colors.  You’re record from Misawa and Amalthea Academies was spotless, except for your psychological report.  Stubborn, reckless and insubordinate are the nice words.  There is no question of your skills.  The question is obviously your attitude.  So what the hell’s the malfunction, Redding?”

            Shyla at this point would have rather had a screaming tirade.  She opened her mouth to speak several times, before finally saying “It’s complicated, sir.”

            “Uncomplicate it, Redding.”

            When Shyla didn’t say anything immediately, Michaels waved her off.  “Never mind, if it’s something that personal, you figure it out.  But this wild behavior, making an effort to run off every EWO that jumps into your back seat has got to stop.”  Michaels, who had been holding the entire conversation from behind her, finally came around to his desk and sat down.  He looked up into her red eyes.  “This Academy will no longer tolerate your behavior.  Pack your things, your done here.”

            Shyla, not completely surprised, still couldn’t hold down the sudden impulse of panic, “But sir!  I need this!  I have to become a Navy Pilot!”

            Michaels shook his head.  “No, you obviously don’t.  You can’t keep your act together long enough to prove it.”

            “Sir, how can I prove myself?”

            Michaels reclined back in his chair and studied her eyes for a long moment.  In truth, he’d been baiting her and was expecting her to say such a thing.  Of course, he also half-expected her to also expect such a thing and so he was prepared for her to be faking her panic.  “Fine, I’ll give you one chance to prove yourself.  And I mean one.  You screw this up you’ll be flying Martian tour planes for the rest of your career.  You get me?”  

            She straightened to rigid attention, her chin high, “Sir, yes sir.”

            “Fine.  I’m glad you understand.  I’m going to give you your last EWO.  He walks, you walk.  Get the hell out of my office,” he said dismissing her with a growl.  Shyla saluted and smartly left the office.

            Shyla stormed from the hangar to the barracks.  She passed several of her classmates on the way, but none said a word or even acknowledged her passing.  She rode the elevator down into the academy proper, which was burrowed far into the Melas Chasma walls.  From the hangar to her barracks were two security check points, three elevators, and a trip through the common room.  There were quite a few Trainees eating and studying when she passed through.  She knew very few of them personally, and those she did know, didn’t like her, so she moved right on through.  A large EWO excused himself from his group and caught up to Shyla.  He fell into step behind her and continued in that position until Shyla grew irritated and turned on him.

            “Can I help you?” she asked with a hint of irritation in her voice. 

            The large EWO, nearly a head taller than her and three times her build held out a beefy hand, “Name’s Nate.  Nice to meet you.”

            Shyla took his proffered hand, albeit coldly, then asked, “That’s great, do you need something?”

            “Oh, no,” he said, a small blush running across his broad face, “No, I, just wanted to introduce myself to my new pilot.  Here’s to good flights!”  A female cadet back in the room called to him, and he excused himself.  Shyla stood there looking after him slightly in surprise.  Damn that Michaels, she thought.  She’d been totally had.  All the crap in his office had all been a setup so he’d win the bet.  Shyla changed her destination and instead went to the commissary and put in an order for a case of Terran Whiskey.  She’d have to pick it up off-base, of course, and the cost alone set her back nearly a month.  She swore to herself catching the attention of the clerk who shot her a disapproving glare.  She made a hasty exit back to her dorm. 

            The night didn’t pass easily for Shyla.  The day’s antics and frustrations had her wound tight.  After a few hours unable to fall asleep, she went to the squash court and played against a holo-opponent until she was exhausted.  After which, she showered and then collapsed into her bunk, but was roused only a few measly hours later for morning muster.   

February 16^th, 2278

Mars – Melas Chasma Naval Academy

Pilot-Trainee Shyla Redding and EWO-Trainee Nate Beasely

            That afternoon, Shyla and her fellow cadets were at attention in formation in the hangar.  Michaels was passing out the revised pairing list.  Pilots were almost always paired with an Electronic Weapons Officer.  Piloting space fightercraft was a tricky affair at best and adding anything but piloting had quickly been proven too taxing.  An Electronic Weapons Officer was added, and that person, sometimes referred to as the guy in back, handled everything from weapons, to electronic counter-measures, and electronic counter-counter measures.  Since the two roles needed to be performed as one to create an effective combat unit, pairs were started early and always flew together.  Changes weren’t uncommon, but grew increasingly rare as the cadets moved through the academy. 

Shyla’s pairing changes had become legendary and many cadets put money on which the next unlucky trainee was going to be.  None of the wagers had listed Nate Beasely as a possible candidate.  He’d been paired with Jake Powers since start, so there were collective rumblings when Michaels called out Nate’s name after Shyla’s. 

“Trainee Beasely will be Trainee Redding’s EWO pair,” Michaels continued.  “Trainee Powers has been reassigned to another training facility.  I know this change is sudden, but I feel you can adapt.  OK people, wheels up in thirty.  The mission for today is the fast half course.  You’re being timed.  Academy best is seventeen minutes, thirty-two seconds.  Good luck.”  Michaels saluted, waited for the return, and then headed back into the hangar.  The cadets filed out to locker room to suit up.  Shyla, with practiced ease, slipped into the equipment harness and attached the locks to her anti-g overalls.  She placed the extender ring over her head and locked it into the harness.  She velcroed her mission binder and holo-pad to the knee patches and headed out to her trainer in less than ten minutes.  Surprisingly, Nate was right behind her.  She didn’t acknowledge him as he shadowed her to the trainer. 

The ST-33 Fang wasn’t really anything like its name implied.  It really resembled a series of boxes with stubby wings with thinner elongated boxes on the ends.  The tail, while in landing configuration, was straight out between the two large Patterson-Witman engines.  When it got into flight, the tail would move downward giving it a very awkward look.  The trainer wasn’t designed to be pretty, but it was designed to be robust.  Fangs could survive just about anything a cadet could do to it, and often times would be able to fly after crashes that killed the cadet. 

Like the SF/A-22s they were being trained to fly, the pilot and EWO sat back-to-back.  That’s about where the similarities ended, however.  The Fang was nearly thirty years old, compared to her newer cousin: the SF/A-22 Switchblade, and couldn’t compare at all in abilities.  The Fang couldn’t even maintain prolonged flight outside an atmosphere.  Switchblades, on the other hand, were fast, sleek, and designed specifically for deep-space combat missions.  They were the mainstay fighter of the UTF Navy. 

Shyla and Nate walked around the fighter running through the pre-flight inspection and then Shyla climbed up into the forward seat, and watched out of the corner of her eye as Nate also pulled himself up and strapped in.  She had to admit, he knew what he was doing.  He ran through equipment and pre-flight checks quickly and efficiently.  He was almost done before she was which actually served to further her festering irritation over the man rather than impress her. 

“Bad Apple to Tower, pre-flight completed, awaiting permission to launch,” she called into the mic.  Her callsign, ‘Bad Apple’ had supposedly been randomly generated by a computer, but Shyla hadn’t believed that for a second.

“Roger that, Bad Apple.  You’re first up, feel free to lift off any time.”

“Acknowledged, Tower.  Lifting off.”  Shyla added power into her verniers and the Fang lifted off, sluggishly at first, then faster.  Shyla expertly navigated out of the canyon wall hangar and out into open air.  She added more power into the verniers and she quickly gained altitude.  She positioned the trainer at the start of the test course, keeping it in a perfect hover and called it in.

“Position confirmed, Bad Apple.  Start on my mark, three, two, one, mark.”

Shyla arranged her verniers into horizontal and maxed the thrust adding in afterburner.  The Fang stuttered, kicked, and was gone.  Shyla kept control, even as the G’s increased.  The course flew through some heavy terrain, and was intended to be fast and difficult.  To add to the difficulty, targets would appear throughout the course firing paint shots.  It was the EWOs job in the test to block all shots and destroy all targets.  The course was meant as an extreme challenge.  Shyla thought grimly that Michaels probably was testing her resolve by picking the course.

She kept to the course though, completely ignoring her EWO in the back, but responding to whatever he called out.  She increased the power a bit, using airbrakes and verniers to power-slide though a tough corner.  Several targets appeared directly ahead and she rolled the fighter over and called out the targets.  The nose cannon moved immediately and perfectly eliminated the targets, but not before the last got off a paint-rocket.  Shyla rolled the fighter again, trying to zig-zag as much as she could in the tight corridor.  She heard Nate pop chaff and the missile veered off harmlessly. 

Clear of threats, Shyla poured on the speed running through a straightaway.  More targets leapt out into her path, and several more appeared at her four o’clock.  She called them out to Nate, who quickly and expertly dispatched them.  Shyla stopped worrying over the targets as the course closed back in again and started to wind.  Rock outcroppings and overpasses sealed her into a half-tunnel. 

She was zipping along at nearly seven-hundred and fifty miles per hour.  She had full vertical and horizontal control over her fighter using special handgrips and a PTC (Pilot Thought Control) System.  She could adjust the contours of any flight-surface on the craft.  Getting feedback through the handgrips, and watching all the terrain-mapping information zip by on her helmet’s HUD demanded all of her attention.  She never even noticed Nate bagging every singly target that so much as looked at them. 

Finally, Shyla and Nate zipped passed the end markers.  Tower confirmed the course completion, but took them an unusually long time to declare time results. 

“Bad Apple, this is Michaels.  Seems some congratulations are in order.  You’ve completed the fast half-course in under fifteen minutes setting a new Academy record.  Nate also smashed another one for eliminating one-hundred percent of the targets with almost ninety-three percent accuracy.  The Brass is impressed.  Return to the hangar and await debriefing.  Shyla had a bad taste in her mouth.  From almost being discharged to setting new Academy records and impressing the higher-ups and all because she had been outsmarted by her instructor.  If it wasn’t such a good thing, she’d be humiliated.

11-07-07

Mars – MCNA - Briefing Room #3

Sergeant-Major Michaels, Pilot Trainee Redding, EWO Trainee Beasely

            “I’d like to start by congratulating you both on an excellent test run.  But I’m not going to,” Michaels started.  It hadn’t escaped Shyla that they were the only people in the room.  “Instead, what was your opinion?” Michaels asked Beasely squarely.

            “I can work with her,” he said simply.  Shyla twitched.

            “What the hell is this?  I was being tested?”

            “Of course.  For the last two months you have rigorously tested and failed every cadet that sat in the back seat.  I felt that it was time you were tested.  I told you about it too,” Michaels said crossing his arms and looking smug.

            Shyla wracked her brain.  “My last chance?  You said if I – oh sunofa,” she trailed off. 

            “Now you understand.  What I said was true: if you dumped another EWO you’d be through.  What you didn’t know was that I had stacked the deck, so to speak.”

            “Powers didn’t get ‘reassigned’, did he?” Shyla asked.

            “No.  I had asked Beasely about testing out your compatibility.  He agreed and actually thought quite highly of the idea.”

            “I talked with Powers,” Nate began.  “He felt that I outshone him.  It was starting to affect his judgment.  When Sergeant-Major solicited my assistance, I saw the opportunity to help two people.  Powers was given his transfer in return for an EWO that didn’t bruise his ego.  And you got me.”

            “How the hell is this supposed to be helping me?” Shyla asked hotly.  “I would’ve found my own EWO in time,” she said.

            Michaels sighed, “I seriously doubt that.  You didn’t want to ‘find’ an EWO.  You wanted to be found.  So there you have it.  No more discussion on this.  Beasely is your permanent Gib.  And if he so much as gets nauseous, you’re out.  You get me?”

            Shyla, at a loss for words, and knowing full-well that she was beaten, merely saluted and asked to be dismissed.  Michaels gave his consent, and she left.  Beasely looks slightly grieved.

            “Don’t worry.  She’ll get over it.  She knows that the performance between you two was extraordinary.  It’ll just take time.  Keep at her,” Michaels said with a small grin.  Truthfully, Michaels was quite relieved and pleased.  He hadn’t expected things to work out as well as they did.  Now if only Shyla would see it that way.  “You’re dismissed.  Happy hunting,” Michaels added with the same grin.

            “Sir,” Beasely saluted and left.

Mars – MCNA – Commons

PT Shyla Redding and EWOT Nate Beasely

            Beasely caught up to her just inside the commons area.  She had stopped, and even though he couldn’t see her face from behind, her body language indicated she was downright furious.  When Beasely saw past her, he understood why: the whole of the commons had stopped talking when she entered.  Some looked irate, others looked congratulatory.  Beasely had forgotten, but it was a major event that an Academy record had been broken, and two records on the same day by the same crew was unheard of.  The cadets in the Commons didn’t know whether they should be celebrating or forming a lynch mob.

            “How’d you do it, Redding?  Hack the Tower’s clock?  Hack the drones?  Nobody could do that run in under fifteen,” said a fiery brunette standing at the head of a large group of cadets.  Pilot Trainee Sasha Vermanov was something of an Academy idol.  Her fanclub, formed of other cadets that idolized her, followed her everywhere she went.  Of all the people Shyla had ever met in her entire life, she hated Vermanov the most.  Shyla, unable to leave the bait alone responded, “No, it’s possible, just not with your skills, Vermanov.”

            All pretense was dropped, and Vermanov moved into, probably to try one of her martial skills out on Shyla, but Nate stepped in between them.  “I think you should leave, Sasha,” he said softly. 

            Vermanov looked shocked, and Shyla could’ve sworn that she saw hurt in Vermanov’s green eyes, but she quickly schooled her face.  “Playing baby-sitter today, Nate?  I would have thought that was below someone of your talents.”

            “If it can help another, nothing is too low,” Nate said.  Vermanov couldn’t hide the hurt this time, and walked away.  Her gaggle followed her, rumbling about Shyla somehow brainwashing Beasely.

             Shyla moved in close to Nate and whispered at him so others couldn’t hear, “I do not, and never have, needed saving.  Find some other mercy mission, Beasely.”  She then stormed off to her dorm.

            The door slid shut behind Shyla as she entered her room.  She stripped off her overalls and half-naked fell onto her bunk.  Why did everyone always assume she needed help?  She didn’t need anyone to back her up.  She just needed to rely on herself and everything would work out.  Being alone wasn’t so bad either, if no one was close, no one could stab you in the back.  She heaved a great sigh into the bed covering, then got up and stripped off the rest of her garments and started the nano-shower. 

            A short, unpleasant cleansing later, Shyla still found herself worked up over the day’s events.  The fact that Michaels and Beasely had conspired with each other infuriated her.  She was some lost cause for them to try and save and the patronizing was more than she could stand.  Michaels had been wrong too, she didn’t want to be found, she wanted to find.  She wanted to find someone that could read her mind, her every movement.  She didn’t want some blasted weekend warrior sitting behind her.  She wanted to be able to trust that person.  So far, every person had failed, and she’d been unable to trust them with anything. 

            Shyla slapped her face to snap out of her funk.  It was still early afternoon and she could probably get simulator time if she was lucky.  The simulator was as realistic as the real trainer, but had less of a chance of killing you.  Shyla had never considered it more than a video game and treated it as such.  Some cadets despised her for her apparent apathy to simulator training, but Shyla never cared.  In her mind, it would be more useful to be practicing in the real machine flying in a real sky, no matter how well the simulator replicated the effect, so the simulator was not much more than an entertaining distraction.

            Shyla was in luck and was able to get a simulator.  The Simulator Room actually had six simulators, all large boxes connected to full-motion rings.  Two were in use, and Shyla watched as the box bounced around in the ring, moving up and down, side-to-side then crashing up against a side.  The trainee inside had just crashed.  Shyla tried not to laugh, but her attempt made it come out derisive.  A couple of technicians turned sour glances her way, so she moved on to her designated simulator. 

She pressed her palm to the hatch and it parted allowing entry.  Shyla strapped in and started up the simple pre-flight checks.  The hatch closed sealing her in darkness, the only illumination coming from the holo-displays in front of her.  She reached over her right shoulder and picked up the simulator glasses, which were a cheap solution to replicating the HUD that displays on her locksuit helmet.  The glasses actually were just a headclip that went over the ears and behind the head.  The ‘glasses’ had no lenses or frames in front of the face.  Instead, there were tiny holo-emitters that created a holo-display across the face.  The glow lit up the cockpit further. 

Shyla started the simulator system, and she felt the repulsor field activate and lift the box into the middle of the full-motion rings, keeping it stationary.  The rings would move and use repulsor fields to change the orientation of the box within them.  It was hard to do, but Shyla had heard of people spinning their boxes, or launching them out of the rings, or other crazy stunts.  She supposed that was a side-effect of trying to mimic reality without the reality.

The simulation began, and walls of the cockpit disappeared replaced by a three-sixty view of a computer generated environment.  The Tru-Sight system was probably the most advanced part of the whole simulator.  Shyla wasn’t impressed, just chalking it up to another gimmick.

Trying to decide which course to run, Shyla pulled up her own flight record.  All Trainee flights are recorded for review purposes, but they could also be played back, or reflown in the simulator using the data to create the same environment virtually.  After a second scanning, she pulled up her most recent flight from that afternoon.  Shyla wanted to know if the record-breaking score was truly her skill or Beasely’s. 

The simulation fast-forwarded to the starting point, and Shyla heard her call to the Tower control.  She was ready for what was next, and as if controlled by muscle memory, gunned the simulator the same way she had gunned the Fang.  She blew through the first portion of the course with ease, and then came to the area where the drones had first appeared.  She ignored anything Beasely was saying over the recording and concentrated on her flying.  To her surprise and dismay, she was hit by a paint shot a mere thirty seconds after the drones had appeared.  The simulation ended.  For that course, getting hit with a paint shot was disqualifying.  Shyla yelled in frustration and pounded the control console with her right fist. 

She ordered up the same simulation again and started over.  Again, she perfectly navigated the start of the course, and was expecting the drones and knew what pattern they’d attack in.  She’d expected to be able to dodge right through them, but she was caught by paint again, this time, even quicker than the first time.  The frustration quickly blinded her to any improvement, and even though she tried again and again, she never succeeded in getting past the first set of drones on her own.

Finally, as if to prove and emphasize her own failure, she added in Beasely’s shooting data while she flew.  This time, she flew the course in less than fourteen minutes.  She paid more attention to his calls this last time, and marveled how efficient and eerily prescient his calls seemed to be.  The man was highly observant, calm under pressure, and even more so, fully in control of everything.  It was because of him that Shyla had been allowed to fly without any difficulties through the run. 

11-08-07

Shyla felt the tears starting to well.  She couldn’t even find an outlet to express her frustration.  All of her training, studying, and work, all proven useless by a god damned EWO.  The type of person she’d most hated to boot.  Shyla couldn’t stand people that never had a concern for themselves, and instead worried after everyone else as if they were helping people.  She thought people like that were shallow and false.  It was unrealistic for people to not be at least a little selfish.  If they couldn’t worry about themselves, how could they truly worry over another?  And Nate Beasely seemed to Shyla as the ultimate epitome of this type of person.  They were always looking for someone that needed to be saved as if they were some stupid superhero. 

Shyla irritatedly waved her hand in front of her face and the simulator’s holo-menu appeared.  She pulled up the most difficult piloting course she knew.  This course had nothing shooting at her; it was simply a test of flying skill.  The Tru-Sight system reset, this time she was in space looking at Saturn’s Rings close-up.  The millions of asteroids floated along through space conforming to the magnetic ring.  The course went right through the thick of the rings.  It was a simple, straight track if you took out the asteroids.  But with the asteroids, it was hell.  There was no easy way to fly through the field, so it took skill and talent.  Shyla had finished the course in the simulator once.  All of her other attempts were spectacular failures. 

She hit the ‘Start’ button on the holo-menu and the display wiped away.  A large number three appeared on her holo-HUD and two floating course markers changed color to amber.  The number changed to two, then one, and the markers changed to green.  Shyla gunned the throttle and the simulated Fang sped off through space.  The course skirted the outer edge, finally dipping deeper into the ring, then back out to the finish.  The outer edge was easier than the deeper area, but it had its own challenges.  The asteroids were smaller and numerous in number making them harder to dodge.  The deep field held larger asteroids, moving, or rotating quickly, but they held their own small gravitational fields that could affect her piloting. 

She nosed the Fang into the field and started to roll and slide, strafe and pitch.  Her fingers moved on the control surface constantly changing the angles and attitudes of her verniers and attitude thrusters.  She deftly evaded rocks and stones, trying to dodge out of fields of rocks the size of baseballs.  Her barrier-shield blocked most of the smaller hits, but a good impact on a rock the size of the fist could cripple her fighter.  Her holo-HUD displayed most threats, and she made every attempt to avoid them.  She had found her groove, and she knew it.  She saw everything coming and dodged gracefully out of the way.  Then an asteroid exploded.

Shyla, shocked, jerked her fighter and almost collided with another asteroid.  Several smaller ones were sent careening through space from the force and pelted the barrier of her Fang.  Several warning windows popped up informing her of the threat and the quickly weakening barrier.  Shyla swore as she regained control of her ship then pulled up radar.  There was a blip.  Confused, Shyla pulled up the simulator menu and saw that another pod had joined her simulation.  She’d been so into her own piloting, that she’d hadn’t notice the message informing her that another pod had joined.  She took one guess as to who the other pilot was, and to confirm it, Sasha’s voice blared over the radio.

“Flying solo, Redding?  Not so smart.  We’re trained in pairs so that we can handle any threat.  You’re so busy piloting, you never even noticed me come up behind you, or my Gib lock on to the asteroid you were so gracefully avoiding.  I’m tired of your starlet attitude.  I mean to prove myself over you, here, now.  Let’s see if you can avoid my missiles and all those asteroids.”  The radio went dead.  Shyla glared at the radar then bent all of her mental focus to her piloting. 

The missiles started flying almost immediately.  Shyla, already challenged with the asteroids, found herself in a situation she’d never been in before: one that truly tested her piloting skills.  She clung to that idea.  Made it her sword, held aloft before her.  It was a goal to be overcome and passed.  She lost track of everything but rocks and her resolve and poured on the speed.

Sasha’s Gib, Stefan Drake, whistled as he watched the little Fang zip through the rocks.  Sasha was grumbling in the pilot’s pod below him.  Unlike the Fang and its sleeker cousin, the Switchblade, Sasha and Stefan had loaded an aggressor type craft that had the gunner facing forward elevated above the pilot.  The SA-6 Hammerhead, was all weapons and control surfaces.  The vertical cockpit at its bow gave it its name, and the pilot and gunner were kept in an upright position, rather than sitting down.  The Hammerhead could out-fly and out-gun the little Fang any hour of the day.  Even so, Shyla was giving Sasha a run for her money.  She was deftly avoiding everything Stefan could shoot at her, as well as dodge everything that Stefan blew up.  Sasha had her hands full just trying to keep up with her.

“She’s s’methin’, i’n’t she?” he said in his thick Europan accent.

“I can’t spare the moment to figure out what the hell you just said, Stefan.  Clear it up!”

“Nev’mind.  Ast’roids forty degrees starboard an’ closin’.”

“Where the hell isn’t there any, Stefan?!” she yelled, concentrating on her piloting.

“Back the way we came, boss.  Got tone, Fire One,” Stefan called out covering his smartass remark.  The laser-guided missile arced out from the Hammerhead’s side missile bay and struck a larger asteroid in Shyla’s path.  The giant rock shattered, showering particles over a large area.  Shyla’s Fang pulled an impressive loop into a half-roll changing direction and avoiding the growing hazard.  Sasha was forced to also evade as she tried to keep up with Shyla.

“Check you targets, dammit Stefan!”

“Roger,” Stefan sighed and searched for another target.

Outside, a crowd had gathered watching the computer-generated show on large holo-displays.  Most were cheering for Sasha.  Others were just watching.  There didn’t seem to be any calls for Shyla.  A call for bets went up, and the noise in the Commons increased.  Odds on Shyla were quickly approaching six-to-one against. 

Nate heard the commotion and came to investigate, leaving his late lunch at the table.  At once, he knew what had transpired.  He fought his way thought the crowd and into a controller’s booth and snatched up a headset.  The technician on duty didn’t bother to stop him she was engrossed in the show like everyone else.

“Shyla, can you hear me?”

“Who the hell is this, I’m busy,” came her distracted reply.

“Beasely.  Look, Shyla, I wanted to apologize.  I said the wrong thing earlier, I know, but my intentions are still the same.  Pull up, hard and to the right!” he called seeing the missile speeding toward her right thruster-pack.  She immediately did what he said, and the missile lost lock, and harmlessly flew off into the field.  “I know it’s going to be hard to accept me, but I’m willing to work to make it happen.  I’ll prove to you that I can be a good EWO.  I’ll prove to you that you can trust me.”  He stopped, not knowing what else he could say.  He knew it wasn’t exactly the right time for such a conversation, but he didn’t know when he’d get another chance with her distracted.  Besides, he wasn’t exactly expressing his undying love for her either.

“Just,” she said after a moment, “shut up and get in the back seat.”

Beasely grinned and ran to the open pod next to Shyla’s.  He popped the hatch, got in, and quickly joined Shyla’s simulation as her Gib. 

Shyla felt his presence in the simulation almost immediately.  It was a weird sensation.  Beasely wasn’t there physically, but the Tru-Sight system displayed a believable fake, and Nate’s words came over her holo-goggles adding to the realism.  She caught her mind wandering and refocused on the task at hand.  Sasha must have been getting desperate, because the amount of missiles and laser cannon bursts launched her way were increasing in number. 

“Guns coming up, let’s see how they like it when we start shooting back,” Nate said, with a hint of satisfaction in his voice.  His holo-HUD showed the targeting reticule and Nate saw the aft-facing gun turret move with his eye movement.  A gunner targeted using his eye movement.  An invisible laser tracked his eye in the simulator, but in the actual ships, the motion is tracked with the Pilot Thought Control system.  A small, but distinct difference, the PTC was faster at target recognition and lock-on than the laser site, but this didn’t hamper Beasely at all.  He squeezed the trigger and the turret flashed and coughed.  Depleted uranium slugs, wrapped in a blanket of highly-charged plasma were magnetically accelerated out of the turret tube.  The mass driver was a lethal weapon to any space-borne ship.  It could penetrate most barrier-shields.  It was a weapon designed to counter most known defenses. 

Sasha wasn’t defeated so easily though.  She wasn’t expecting it, but her reaction speed was blinding and the Hammerhead jinked.  The shot missed by a wide berth.  Unlike missiles, mass driver slugs didn’t home so could be easily dodged.  But the upside was that Beasely had lots of ammo.  He depressed the trigger and let fly salvo after salvo of the burning slugs.  Sasha was forced to evade with a wild maneuver getting her out of Beasely’s range, while dodging fast-flying asteroids. 

Meanwhile, Shyla, now relieved of the burden of dodging missiles, concentrated on the course and dodging rocks.  She increased speed and put even more distance between them and Sasha.  The radio crackled to life, “Cheating again, Redding?  You couldn’t handle losing the half-course so you cheated, and now, since you’re losing again, you’ve inputted Beasely’s EWO data into your ship to help you out.  You’re a worthless fake, Redding.  I’m going to enjoy blowing you out of the sky.”

“This is just a simulation, Sasha,” Beasely called out.  There was silence for a long moment, and then, “Nate, is that you?  No, you can’t be there.  Why would you help her!?”

“Because she’s my pilot, Vermanov.  You’ll just need to remember that.  Watch that rock,” he said patronizing her.  Her Hammerhead veered away, missing the oncoming asteroid by a meter. 

“That’s a lie, Nate!  She has no EWO!  You should be mine!”

“You have an EWO, Sasha, and good one, too.  How’s it hanging, Stefan?” Beasely said, again making light of the situation.

“Pr’tty bor’d act’lly.  I’m no’ complainin’ abou’ getting’ to shoot stuff, mind you,” Stefan said lazily.

There was a shriek over the radio and the Hammerhead went ballistic for a second.  Beasely wasn’t completely surprised, always knowing Sasha to be high strung, but he wasn’t expecting her to lose it in a simulator.

“Sorry Sasha.  I belong to Shyla now.  And I think I see the finish line.  Here’s a parting gift for you,” and Nate fired the salvo he’d been holding onto for the last few moments.  It arced straight out towards the cockpit of the Hammerhead.  Sasha’s wild flying, and her lack of concentration on the situation at hand, put her back into Nate’s range again.  Still, Sasha saw the shot and evaded.  Nate had expected that and had actually aimed for an asteroid directly behind her and on a similar course and speed.  The rock shattered showering large chunks of rock over the Hammerhead.  The simulator displayed the canopy of the Hammerhead cracking, and then exploding outward.  The now pilotless aggressor drifted into an oncoming asteroid and exploded into pieces.  The virtual Hammerhead faded out of the simulation. 

Shyla had been listening to the conversation, but had said nothing.  Concentrating on the course and rocks, but also trying to keep Sasha in a good shooting position for Nate had been taxing.  His gamble had worked, and Shyla’s Fang flew past the end markers.  The simulation menu popped up displaying the time.  It was another record.  The simulation ended, and she closed down the holo-display leaving her in the darkness of the pod.  She hesitated getting out, not sure what to expect from Nate or Sasha outside.  When she did crack the hatch a moment later, she heard a most unexpected sound.  Cheering.