FLETCHER

All Nightingale flyers have been recalled from surveying the Thirteenth System’s two habitable planets: Bright Star Prime and Bright Star Deuce. In preparation for the imminent invasion of the despoiler fleet, the Nightingale is relocating to the outer edge of the system to patrol and identify locations where it can shelter from the enemy warships.

The discovery that retired Monsignor Coyote of the Leonardo Society is a despoiler, necessitated grounding the Leonardo flyer pilots. Other crew members from Leonardo are continuing their duties under the watch of Nightingale militia and security personnel. The reduction of flyers by one-third requires all remaining pilots to serve double shifts.

Personnel from the other two Bright Star partners, the Serengeti Group and Matahorn Alliance, continue to serve with honor and valor. ~ excerpt from Nightingale Captain’s Log: Sevenday 6, Day 2, Bright Star archives

Fletcher’s triumphant scream was echoed by the surviving flyer pilots. The last of the enemy’s stellar spears went dark; its cannons would destroy no more flyers defending the Thirteenth System. A Serengeti militia flyer pilot who had lost her alpha dropped into position to replace Fletcher’s lost beta. In the four periods since the Serengeti armada arrived to defend the Thirteenth System from the despoiler fleet, Fletcher had destroyed seven enemy flyers and assisted in the destruction of two spears.

Out-cannoned by the despoiler fleet, the armada’s only advantage was the laser sting cannons mounted on the Nightingale flyers. The energy burst from the stings could disable the vistrite crystals essential to all technology. Only two dozen despoiler flyers, two armed freighters and the despoiler flagship starburst remained in battle. On the tactical display, the free-trader relief force led by Lilian Thornraven streamed past the fifth planet, heading to the aid of the Serengeti flagship battling both a freighter and the despoiler starburst.

Nickolas’ voice followed Fletcher’s scream. “Switching to fireburst cannon. Time to take out the remaining despoiler flyers. I have the near freighter.”

Enemy flyers swarmed the damaged First System starburst that was battling the nearest despoiler freighter. At his friend’s command, Fletcher switched from the sting cannon to the conventional weapon. One missed shot with a sting could damage or destroy an allied warship as readily as an enemy flyer.

Excitement heightening his senses, blood surging in his veins, Fletcher rolled his flyer, targeting a despoiler. He was born for this. He was one with his flyer, his will manifesting through reflexes honed to instinct. The enemy attacking the First System starburst exploded. Exaltation joined excitement.

The glowing dot that marked Nickolas’ flight disappeared beneath the enemy freighter.

Fletcher targeted another flyer, his beta blasting an attacker coming from below. Another despoiler pursued an armada flyer defending the Third System spear. Fueled by rage, excitement, and danger, he flipped his craft, warning the armada flyer, “Matahorn, enemy on your six. I have it in my sights.”

The Matahorn flyer spun out of range as Fletcher eliminated the enemy in his sights. Checking his display, he searched for another target. A warning klaxon was followed by Nickolas’ voice. “Freighter 2 is breached. Armada forces retreat.”

Flipping again, Fletcher sped away from the enemy freighter, clearing the First System starburst as blinding light engulfed the flyer. Two breaths later, the shockwave buffeted his craft. Letting the wave take him, he used the extra velocity to outrun the debris.

Nickolas cheered. “Brilliant shooting, First System!”

“Not us, Blooded Dagger. What did you do under there?”

“Unknown, First System,” Nickolas replied. “Reviewing.”

The Third System spear sounded a distress call. “We are venting environmentals. Abandoning spear.”

General Thorvald’s voice overwhelmed the communications console. “Flyers to Serengeti!”

The armada’s flagship was in distress. Fletcher barrel-rolled and tore past the green-blue mass of Bright Star Prime. Near Bright Star Deuce, the Serengeti starburst was pinned between the cannons of a despoiler starburst and a freighter.

Thorvald called again. “Preparing to abandon Serengeti starburst. Transferring command of the armada to Adelaide’s Thorn Bearer, Lilian Thornraven.”

Over a dozen despoiler flyers were targeting the Serengeti flagship that was listing under the unrelenting despoiler cannon fire. The despoilers had lost but would not surrender. Instead, they were concentrating their remaining power on slaying Monsignor Lucius and the armada leadership.

Before he could pick a target, Adelaide’s Thorn Bearer ordered, “Nickolas, take the Nightingale stings and slay the freighter. All other flyers, protect the evacuation modules.”

One of six surviving Nightingale flyers equipped with sting cannons, Fletcher flowed after Nickolas, the Blooded Dagger, and Nightingale alpha flyer. As they closed with the freighter, Nickolas relayed that something on its underside would explode when struck with the beam from a sting cannon, but he did not know what. He ordered a widespread strike at top velocity.

Dodging the cannon fire that remained fixed on the Serengeti starburst, Fletcher flew beneath the target, streaming sting fire. When he emerged on the far side, the freighter was starting to glow. Accelerating away, he was blinded by light and hit with a shockwave as the Serengeti flagship was disabled. A moment later, the flyer was rocked by dual shocks as the despoiler starburst exploded, and then the freighter went up.

His jubilation was cut off before it formed. The despoiler flyers were swarming the escape modules.

Accessing the Serengeti priority data, he scanned a score of blue lights and located the one blinking scarlet.

Nickolas had seen it too. “Altering heading to escort Monsignor Lucius.”

“Iron Hammer alpha to Blooded Dagger alpha, I have Monsignor. Altering course to provide covering fire.”

Nickolas and his beta were on two despoilers targeting Monsignor. Two more despoilers followed the Nightingale flyers. With a shriek of rage, Fletcher destroyed one of the despoilers, his beta peeling off to chase the second.

The two despoilers pursued by Blooded Dagger went dark, but Nickolas’ beta had been hit. Taking her place, Fletcher called, “Nickolas, on your six.”

“I have alpha,” Nickolas replied.

“Taking beta.” Fletcher’s focus tunneled on his target. He took it with a single shot. The glow of the blast was echoed by a violent buffet. Not a shock wave. He was hit. The control displays scrambled, and the klaxon sounded. “Hull breach. Abandon flyer.”

He slammed the ejection control, and he screamed over the noise, “Going down.”

A narrow box surrounded his seat. The flyer broke apart, the pieces plummeting toward the surface. Clear of the flyer debris, he activated the sequence that converted his escape capsule into a high-altitude glider. Catching the wind, he coasted in the direction of Monsignor’s module. Adrenaline spiked at the propulsion-free flight and the realization he would be among the first to stand on this new world.

Beyond Monsignor’s module, Nickolas had a final despoiler in his sights. It rolled in an evasive maneuver and sent fireburst slamming into the glider. Searing pain shattered Fletcher’s senses and then there was nothing.

Fletcher fell through blue sky, the fluffy clouds swirling in a disorienting kaleidoscope. A huge gray cloud swallowed him. He fought to find the surface, breaking free to searing pain and a glimpse of Monsignor Lucius’ concerned face. He fell into another cloud, blunting the pain. Sound receded until all that was left was the blurry vision of concerned faces. Then the faces were gone.

The cutter tore across Fortuna’s purple bay. Fletcher hung from the rigging, clinging to the starboard side with his toes, his weight holding the slender craft on course. It was almost as exhilarating as flying. At the helm, Nickolas was grinning with excitement. The finish was near; the Bright Star craft would triumph. Cheers exploded from the stands. Nickolas raised a fist in triumph, shouting something Fletcher could not hear.

The cutter slammed into a rock and pain roared through Fletcher. Bright sun blinded him. Incoherent voices shouted. Monsignor’s visage danced across Fletcher’s vision before a cloud dropped and took his senses.

Fletcher’s racing flyer skimmed the Third System’s second moon. His fingers danced on the controls, monitors confirming he had closed with the three leaders. Behind him, another dozen flyers were strung along the death-defying racecourse.

Pulse pounding, he felt his face tighten with a grin. He would not overtake the lead, but before they reached the finish, Fletcher would have the third position. Stroking the controls, he murmured encouragement to his flyer. State-of-the-art and built for moon racing, the flyer responded as if to his thoughts. Reaching the edge of the first moon, he hit full acceleration, rising above the flyer in front of him. Almost at the boundary of the racecourse, he sent his flyer spiraling down, back into the center of the track. Reveling in the dizzying g-force of his maneuver, he thumbed a control and widened his spiral, forcing the other flyer back.

Straightening out, he fully accelerated once again, elation flooding him as he followed the first and second flyers across the finish and into a fog bank.

The swirling fog had weight. The heavy tendrils dragged at Fletcher as he fought to find a way through. A gap opened and he glimpsed Monsignor Lucius’ face before an influx of pain took his strength and the fog swallowed him.

The lovely dark-haired woman in his arms was slender with the delicate, elegant curves he preferred. In defiance of propriety, he pulled her closer before sweeping her through the next movement of the dance. Her dark eyes sparkled, and her lips parted in invitation, sending pleasant heat to his shaft. Mayling. It had been over a year since their liaison ended. She smiled and became Clarice, the lovely apprentice who became a legalistics protégé. He must be dreaming.

There was no cutter. No flyer. No luscious Mayling. No smiling Clarice. Fletcher was alone in the heavy fog. Gathering his will, he crawled through the silent, dense mist, neither cold nor warm. Without a discernible pattern or path, diffused gray-blue light filtered through the heavy clouds. The lack of sensory input was disorienting. At times he felt as if he were swimming. In the distance, he could hear Brianne calling. His twin needed him.

Pulling at fistfuls of the mist, he watched it shred, the light brightening. His eyes snapped open to a dim chamber. Soft voices murmured by his feet. His head felt unimaginably heavy as he sought the voices.

Through half-open eyes he made out the man’s familiar broad features, with sharp cheekbones, a blade of a nose, almond-shaped, deep-set black eyes, and a mobile mouth. The golden complexion was topped by dark, tightly curling hair kept short. Serengeti’s Master Medic Chin broke off conversation with the unknown woman in a medic’s tunic. His gaze fastened on Fletcher, his expression brightening. “Master Fletcher. We were becoming concerned.”

Concerned? Memory flashed. Losing his flyer. Searing fireburst. How was he alive? He tried to form the question and found his tongue unresponsive.

Master Chin moved to his side. “Slowly. You have been in gray space for over three sevendays.”

It was a miracle he lived. “W-whe-r-r-e?”

His voice sounded rough. Alien.

One of Chin’s instruments flashed in Fletcher’s eyes before the medic replied, “Fort Rimon. The premier medical enclave. Somehow Monsignor kept you alive on Bright Star Deuce for two days. The Nightingale’s Chief Medic kept you alive for the voyage from the Thirteenth System.”

Images of battle flooded his memory. He was all but certain they had destroyed the despoiler admiral and his flagship. “V-victory?”

Chin nodded. “Yes. The despoiler fleet was destroyed. All but one freighter and a handful of flyers.”

“Alive and uninjured. He has been here twice since you arrived and will be eager to return when he knows you are awake.”

Heart lifting, Fletcher raised weak fists in triumph. Something was wrong. Where was his left fist? He started to turn his head when Chin grabbed his right fist. “Peace. Look at me.”

Horror froze his heart. “What happened. To. My arm.”

Compassion filled the medic’s expression. “Your left side took the brunt of the fireburst. Your left arm and leg could not be saved.”

Denial tore through him. He yanked futilely against the medic’s grip.

Chin leaned in, his determined expression filling Fletcher’s vision. “Peace. Listen to me. We had to remove your right and left leg to save your life. We also implanted the foundation for the latest prosthetics. The surgeries will take some sevendays. Learning to use prosthetics, some months. But by the Five Warriors Festival, no one looking at you will be able to tell the artificial from the natural.”