Sound wasn’t supposed to travel in open space. No atmosphere meant to air vibrations that generated what our ears translated as sounds. Yet, as the missile screamed over head, close enough for Reward to see the serial numbers through his cockpit window, he could’ve sworn he heard something. It was somehow louder than the alarm on his forward view screen, and alert chimes buzzing from the fighter range scanners.
Time slowed as the sleek rocket narrowly missed his agile craft, leaving behind a thin trail of plasma from its single turbine jet. Reward nearly froze, watching the trail of fire glide onward like a shooting star. He knew it would turn around, and try to lock back onto his craft. Before it could, Reward pulled the trigger mechanism, causing a stream of high projectile fifty caliber uranium tipped rounds to jettison toward the missile. He had to pull the trigger in quick single second bursts, in order to preserve ammunition.
One of the rounds found its mark, impacting the rockets armor with a thud. It dug through its outer casing, and found a fuel line. The eruption generated a shockwave that nearly took out the power of his fighter craft. Reward barely dodged the burst of fire, gliding his Raptor beyond the range of the blast zone with experienced desperation. No sooner had he skirted one disaster, had he found himself evading another.
“Like out of the frying pan,” He groaned as he fed more power to his own engines. The sound of energy being cycled rang in his ears as he plunged down. The stars streamed overhead as Reward dipped low, ignoring the protests coming from the micro-bead in his ear from the Star of Argon’s bridge, and performed a kick back turn. The areal maneuver was a complicated one, and perhaps a little too daring for his own good, but he lived for such danger. He could feel the g-forces sucking his body into the chair, and his stomach squeezing along his spine, by the time he was back on target.
As he adjusted his flight path, he caught sight of the enemy craft. It was a single long range fighter of a design he had never seen before. It was small, and triangular, with a dark black hull. Something extended from its forward prow, and either he was going crazy or what Reward was seeing was some form of bayonet pointing from its forward prow. The tiny detail stuck out, even above the other weaponry his opponent seemed to bare.
The enemy craft was fast, agile, and able to hide amid the backdrop of space. It made their shared dogfight a test of passionate stress mixed with extreme paranoia. Reward found himself searching for other’s like it, possibly hiding nearby, while keeping himself alive. He found himself strained, trying to lock on to a nameless enemy while watching out for others. Something about its hull seemed to reflect his sensors.
Reward muttered a curse, and turned on his X-axis as a warning popped up on his terminal. The arc of light that shot from the enemies gun burned the paint off his Raptor’s hull. Cold sweat burned against his skin, his heart skipped a beat.
“And into the fryer…” The words were barely a whisper. Memories flashed before his vision, ones he never wanted to revisit. Instinctually, Reward didn’t wait for the enemy to re-cycle his weapon for another round.
There was a technical term for the kind of weapon it just employed, but Reward never cared for it. Their was multiple slang references, the only one that stuck with him was simply ‘lance’. The beam weapon travelled at the speed of light, making it impossible to miss once fired. The only way to avoid instant death, was to monitor for sudden energy spikes, and pray that one could dodge in time.
Reward had plenty of practice during his long career, although seeing a lance sparked terror through his soul. Recognition dawned, this wasn’t a typical pirate. No pirate would ever be able to scuttle together the means to effectively field a beam weapon like that. They were too costly, and required precise maintenance. Mining lasers were simple enough to modify, but were never strong enough to reach such range. This meant he wasn’t dogfighting a routine pirate, but something far more organized.
There was a million things he wanted to ask, but knew to remain focused. The scales had been drastically tipped, and he had to work fast in order to survive. Reward fed more power to his engines, even draining his shields to cajole a little more speed. There was no point using energy fields against such a weapon anyway.
The two fighters zipped back and forth amid a backdrop of celestial gasses, and distant nebula. From the bridge of the Star of Argon, it was akin to watching two tiny motes of light streaking back and forth. Each trying to out perform the other. One issuing bolts of lightning, the other long trickles of iron.
In the end it was experience that triumphed over technology, but barely by the thinnest of margins. The strange craft took a single hit after failing to dislodge Reward’s tailing Raptor, and then shot off into the distance in retreat. Just when Reward thought he had a bead on its racing trajectory, his wily opponent faded into the backdrop of space, and avoided his sensors.
The adrenaline high from outpacing the ghost craft nearly had him siphoning the reserve fuel for his Raptor. It took several seconds for his heart to settle before he recognized how close to empty his readouts were. Everything was drifting towards the red; his fuel, his power reserve, the ammunition counter, and even his hull integrity was close to failure. The damage control was extensive, and Reward feared he would be spending the next several days making repairs. He wondered what would happen if he had to face two of those strange ghost fighters? How long would he last? He could only wonder.
The Star of Argon had to close its distance, so that he could glide into the main hanger. The last ounce of fuel was used for course correction, and making a hard landing. The landing gear stiffened and groaned under duress as gravity dragged him down. Hull plates pulled free, along with several other bolts and small pieces of armor. The clatter of metal fragments littering the floor echoed through the chamber.
“What a mess,” Lora’s outcry was loud enough to breach his cockpit’s sealed casing. “What the hell happened!”
“It’s still out there.” Reward tried to mask his frustration with humor, and failed. His ears popped as the air pressure in his cockpit released. The smell of the Star of Argon’s oxygen was dusty compared to the ozone he had been breathing moments ago.
Lora Rookson was accompanied by a trio of other mercenaries, each of them in full battle gear. Evidently, they had been awaiting the possibility of enemy boarders. Once again, they were disappointed by the lack of excitement on their part. As for Reward, he had enough excitement for one day.
His body was wracked from several minutes of extreme g-forces. His limbs grew numb when he released his controls. Lora had to help him unbuckle his safety harness and guide him from the seat. His body protested the artificial gravity with pain.
“How’re feeling?” He asked the tall soldier as she helped him sit down.
“Worry about yourself! You’re a mess,” there was genuine concern in her voice.
Reward just breathed a sigh of relief. His shoulders ached, and his feet were killing him. Looking up at his Raptor, he could feel the fighters pain. “Poor girl…” his words were meant for the fighter, not the woman helping him.
For several seconds the group of them just sat there in silence. The other mercenaries eventually left them alone, not interested in just standing around with nothing to do.
Eventually, Lora felt like she had to speak out. “I think it’s yours…by the way.”
Reward knew exactly what she was talking about, “How can you possibly be sure?”
“It’s just a feeling, or maybe I just want it to be yours…rather than the alternative.”
Reward knew exactly what she was worried about, “Journey…or that other girl. What was her name?”
“Melie!” Lora slammed her fist against the wall. “I don’t even want to think about that possibility.”
“You could always…well…you know…” Reward didn’t like talking about this kind of stuff.
Lora chewed her lip in silence. Eventually placing a hand on her stomach, she voice echoed with some motherly affection. “I don’t think I could ever do that. Besides, this wouldn’t be the first child I’ve carried.”
That surprised him, “What! Really?” Reward looked her up and down.
“What is that supposed to mean?” She shot him a glare.
Reward’s hesitation lasted a brief second, but it was enough. “You just look really good, that’s what I meant.”
Apparently, she didn’t appreciate the hesitation. A quick jab to the shoulder caused him to flop onto the floor, and bang his head against the chair.
Watching him laying prone, and groaning in pain, Lora fell to his side. “Sorry! Does that hurt?”
“Of course it does!” His left arm was throbbed.
“Don’t yell at me,” Lora helped to lay him flat to look over the damage.
Reward couldn’t help but wonder if this is what dying felt like. “Everything hurts.”
“Don’t be such a baby, I barely touched you.”
That was a lie, or so Reward thought. He ground his teeth, it felt like a million tiny daggers are slicing into his shoulder. “I think you dislocated my shoulder.”
“I can jam it back in, if that’s the case.” The tension in her voice made it seem evident that it was indeed the case.
“No, don’t touch me woman!”
Lora just held him still, while grabbing a firm hold onto his shoulder. “Calm down, and hold still”
A sharp cry echoed across the deck as his shoulder was forced back in place. Few were nearby to hear the painful scream, and those that were were too afraid to investigate.
