The 28th Gate Volume 8

Episode Seven PenjaniAce Mechanic and Hunter’s Friend My Marrog S52 fighter was a one of a kind, even if only because most other S52s had fallen out of service. They weren’t old enough to be as powerful as ancient craft, but they weren’t new enough to have any recent advances. Which meant most of them were just awkward relics of our darkest times, barely fit to fly. But I could still see the potential in mine. With a pair of forward-mounted Illan Ianthe rotator cannons I’d bargained for on the side and a single short-range laser I’d reconstructed in my spare time, to say nothing of the attachment brackets for a half dozen missile pods just waiting to be equipped, I knew my Marrog S52 would be well armed, even by the Militia’s standards. And Quatra had some of the best equipped fighters in the gate ring—a point I was keenly aware of as I had helped upgrade most of them. The only problem with my Marrog was that it still wasn’t ready to fly. Everything I saw was potential. And that potential wouldn’t be worth a whole lot unless I could get it ready to fight before the Celestial reached Selma IV. “Penjani! Watch out!” called Helmi, my lead wingmate, over the comms as the Fayatt Corporation fighter I’d been lining up behind began a swift pivot on its axis to acquire a targeting lock. “I’ve got it!” I called, pulling the triggers for my twin Ianthe cannons. I held my breath for a moment, eagerly expecting the blistering dual fire from the nose of my S52. But instead of their sublime rumble, I only hear a jerking squeal. And then my entire targeting system went dead. “Oh, come on you piece of—!” I cried, kicking the lower cockpit with my booted foot. The intervention did nothing to advance my goal of bringing the targeting system back online, but it did trigger a cascade that threw off the front port thruster balance, hurling my little Marrog into a sharp spiral. “I’m sorry! You know I didn’t mean it!” I pulled on the controls, struggling to counter the erratic spin. Then I pitched my craft forward and hit the main engines, narrowly avoiding the first burst of laser fire from my target, even as Helmi opened fire in return. The Fayatt fighter ahead of me erupted into a cloud of debris, spraying my cockpit with shrapnel. “Come on, Penjani,” Helmi growled. “I thought you said you had those guns working.” “I thought I had,” I countered, turning my attention to the last of the fighters Wing Two was mopping up. It appeared we’d finished with most of them and hadn’t yet lost a pilot. It was almost too easy. “Another wave, coming in!” our squadron leader, Barret, called. “Reform your flights!” “What? More of them?” Helmi muttered to our flight as I spun my fighter around to fall in beside his and caught a glimpse of the distant Fayatt battleships spewing more fighters. “But that doesn’t make sense,” I murmured. “I thought we’d already finished their fighters. Those are only fifth-rate battleships. They shouldn’t have more than a couple of squadrons.” Even as I spoke, though, squadrons continued to stream from the battleships. “Oh, we have a lot more than that,” Helmi answered. “Tuck in and let’s go!” “Helmi, your flight takes point!” Barret called, directing us to the head of the squadron even as the other squadrons in Wing Two formed up to either side. I hit the engines hard, launching forward behind Helmi, though I was still struggling with the erratic port thruster. And then the oncoming fighters opened fire. “Come on, we can do this,” I muttered to my Marrog S52, stroking it gently in the hopes of coaxing out a little more control. “I know you’re not ready, but I’m going to fix that. Just work with me here.” “Evasive action!” Helmi called and the four fighters in our flight scattered in a starburst spiral. Well, the other three did, at least. My forward port thruster seized just as I was leaning on it to initiate my spiral, and an instant later my canopy glowed bright as oncoming laser fire lit up my cockpit. “Congratulations, Penjani, you’re dead,” Barret said over the private comms. It didn’t help that I was the first one out of the simulation. In a rare moment of volatility, I slammed one fist on the console in front of me, venting the frustration I’d been feeling during the whole training. Of course, that just made the upper console cluster fall off, landing heavily in my lap. Biting back a bitter laugh, I expressed my vexation with a sigh instead and then turned to the task of putting my battered fighter back together again. I had been so nervous a couple of rotas before when Quatra had called me to her office aboard the Celestial. We were on course for Selma IV, where we’d be facing off against Fayatt Corporation to reach the Selma IV Gate so we could broadcast Hunter’s message. Everyone aboard expected a fight, and I’d been working frantically in my spare time to prep my salvaged Marrog so I could be a part of the action. But I was sure Quatra would tell me I couldn’t fly. And I knew she was probably right. I was one of the few people aboard the Celestial who’d been working on that ancient starship since Quatra began refitting it. I’d even been a part of the original salvage crew she’d dispatched to bring it back. That was when I first met Hunter and Katherine. I don’t think he even remembered me almost a rev later when I helped mount weapons on his Civilization shuttle. But I certainly remembered him. And the time I had spent working with him to upgrade the Dagger was the biggest reason I wanted to fly for the Selma III Independent Militia—because I believed in Hunter and the stories he’d brought back about Civilization. We just had to get past Fayatt Corporation so we could broadcast those stories to the rest of the ring. Except now Quatra was going to tell me I couldn’t fly because I was too valuable as an engineer. The doors to Quatra’s office opened and she glanced up at me from behind her desk. She smiled in greeting and gestured for me to sit across from her. I strode forward, already steeling myself for a fight. “I gather you spoke with Hunter recently,” Quatra said in that characteristic way she has of circling around a subject before she strikes. I nodded. “I showed him my fighter. I was sorry to hear he’d turned down the position of wing commander.” The soft smile on Quatra’s lips curled further to one side. “I must assume then that however you expressed your remorse, it was rather persuasive.” Before I could frown in confusion, she explained, “He came to me last night and announced he’d accept the command—on one condition.” I blinked, surprised Hunter had changed his mind after our conversation on the flight deck the rota before. But then I sighed, realizing what his condition had to be. “I can’t fly, can I?” Quatra c****d her head to the side in a moment of surprise, then her smile broadened. “Actually, quite the opposite. He insisted I assign you to his wing. So, I think it’s time to ensure that salvaged Marrog fighter of yours is ready to fly.” I’m not sure how, but in the face of that unexpected news, I managed to maintain as much decorum as should be expected for a meeting with my boss—at least until the door closed behind me. I almost ran down to section forty-three to tell Arlen, my closest friend aboard the Celestial. He was in the middle of his shift, and I shouldn’t have bothered him, but I was just too excited. Besides, anyone who’d been in the ship’s maintenance and engineering crew for longer than a couple subrevs knew I’d been working on my Marrog in the hopes of joining the Celestial’s defense wings. “Arlen!” I shouted as I raced into the main section hub. “I’m in!” A loud thump and a few muffled curses told me where he was working. A moment later his grime-smudged face appeared, his hair just as tousled as usual. But he was grinning. “You’re kidding,” he shot back. I shook my head, unable to contain my beaming smile. “I just heard it from Quatra herself. I’m in Hunter’s wing! I mean, assuming I can get my S52 ready, of course.” “Then what are you doing here?” Arlen cried, his grin almost as large as my own. “You have more important things to be working on!” He glanced back into the narrow access way he’d half crawled out of. “Tell you what—I’ve got another couple chrons of work left here, but I’ll meet you in the fighter bay as soon as I’m done!” I dipped my head so I could peer at the power relays he’d been working on. “Just don’t forget to disconnect the auxiliary buffer before you try to polarize those circuits,” I added. He gave me an unimpressed stare. “Gee, I’m so glad you were here to remind me,” he droned, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’ve only done five hundred of the things so far. Whatever would I do without you to watch over me?” I flashed him another grin. “You know you’d still be fixing farm equipment if I hadn’t recommended you for this job!” “Ha!” he scoffed. “I always figured I earned this position despite your recommendation.” Then he shot me a quick wink. “Now stop wasting time. You have a fighter to finish!” He started to scramble back into the access way. “I’ll join you in a couple chrons!” Well, it was closer to four chrons by the time he made it down to fighter bay seven, but I didn’t hassle him too much for it. He was taking his precious spare time to help me after all. As soon as he arrived, I shifted from working on the forward targeting array and moved to the more complicated main power distributors, which I knew would go faster with two of us troubleshooting it. “And you’re really going to be flying with Hunter?” he asked while we were each neck deep in the underbelly of the S52, adjusting the feed rate between the two distributors. “Yeah—hold on, not quite so tight. Back it off a little. There. I mean, I’ll be in his wing. I haven’t gotten the squadron assignments yet.” “But you’ll be flying with the Hunter. The whole reason we’re out here! That’s almost enough to make me jealous.” I shrugged, then winced as I banged my collarbone against one of the starboard lateral struts in the process. “I guess. He’s just a guy though. I told you I met him when we first went out to collect the Celestial.” “Yeah, but he wasn’t the Hunter then.” I laughed. “Well, you weren’t even part of Quatra’s crew until she began hiring teams to put the Celestial back together.” “Hey!” he snapped, fighting back a laugh. “That still gives me seniority over half the people on this ship! Oh! Watch the bolt. Anyway, when do you need to be ready to fly?” “I don’t know. I assume we’ll have some training runs coming up soon, but hopefully I’ll be able to get by with just the electronics functioning for the first few.” “Uh huh. You’d better hope so,” Arlen added. “Because I think it’s going to take you more than a few more rotas to get the mechanicals on this thing ready.” “Yeah, I know. But at least I have you to help, right?” Arlen scoffed again. “Only so long as I don’t have to do any flying, simulated or otherwise.” When Hunter called for a second training simulation the rota after our first, I was eager to do better than I had before. I even did a last subchron check of my fighter’s power systems to ensure they’d be up to the task. “Wing Two, we’re tasked with countering any Fayatt fighters coming after the Celestial,” Hunter announced, starting the simulation. “Your squadrons have their orders.” “Squadron Three, we’re on standby,” Barret said. “As soon as one of the other squadrons needs support, that’s where we’ll head.”