[03] Space Battles!

[Ander]

No longer able to stall, Ander clambered up and hopped into the nearest X-Wing. He pulled the safety harness over his head and clicked it into place… as tight as it would go. Not to the point of cutting off circulation, but just so he felt secure if he, for whatever reason he would have otherwise been jettisoned out of the canopy. The sentiment of proper protection was not dampened by the ever-so-obvious fact that if the canopy integrity were breached, his lungs would probably pop like balloons anyway. He felt a nervous flutter in his knotting stomach, and took a deep, relaxing breath as he inquisitively analyzed the foreign set of controls. They resembled the complexity of an airplane console, to which he resolved it might be fun to steal one someday after he figured them out, never mind the absurdity of the feat.

He found a set of sleek headphones and followed the end of its cord to what ostensibly functioned as a radio system. He experimentally turned it on, fiddling with the dial for the right frequency until he heard the crackle of other Insurgent pilots.

“Victoria, you there?” he called out. “Is this thing working?”

Over the airwaves, her voice rang in loud and clear. “I’m here, you sound great!”

Awesome.

Since his pink-haired companion was obviously the one of the pair who actually knew something about their objective, he felt perfectly fine letting her lead the way. Why make the effort if somebody else could do it for you?

“I’ll follow you,” Ander said.

His searching fingers eventually touched upon another dial, one that seemed to have no function since he had already found the communications device. He hit the button nearby, and his cockpit filled with a steady stream of heavy electric guitar riffs and an old school, synthesized beat. The thief startled for a quick second, but eventually a grin split his elated face.

“Aw yeah,” he nodded. “Here we go.”

At last, the engines revved to life, and he gripped the throttle, feeling the power at his fingertips.

“Let’s ride!”

With that, Victoria blasted off out of the hangar and into the waiting skies, and the nomad followed suit, both of them completely charged up in the pilot seats of their newfound best friends. He heard the girl over the intercom as she completely let loose, pulling a couple of joyous and daredevil maneuvers as they intrepidly trekked into the far reaches of space. He laughed, unable to say he didn’t feel like doing the same. At the very least, they could have this before they set upon their destructive mission.

Eventually, the morbidity of the assignment settled in as they stumbled into a war field of deadly lasers and violently exploding fighter crafts. Ander wondered how it was even possible for such explosions when there was no oxygen in space, hence, no fuel for fire. He shrugged it off as unimportant to keeping a watch out for his own hide.

“Where the hell you two been, I tell you what!” an angry Southern voice rang out over his earphones.

“No need to fear, the cavalry’s here,” Ander responded with a chuckle. “We’ll take it from here.”

“Don’t go pullin’ any stupid stunts, y’hear? Over and out!”

Ander saw a rapidly approaching ship on his horizon, another X-Wing, and banked sharply left to avoid it. The sudden shock reminded him to pay attention and focus on the task at hand. He remembered he still had no idea how to achieve their objective.

“Breaker, breaker, this is Hotshot calling Iron Maiden, do you copy?” Ander asked into his microphone. Victoria’s hesitant voice replied back.

“Um, who’s Hotshot and Iron Maiden?”

“Me, Ander. I’m Hotshot and you’re Iron Maiden,” the thief explained, nose-diving to avoid a pepper of lasers.

“Why’s that?”

“Oh come on, every pilot has to have a cool call-sign. You can’t use your real names, so you think up a codename that makes your enemies jealous!” Ander encouraged with a grin. “If you don’t like yours, you can change it.”

He heard Victoria laugh. “Okay.”

“Quit screwin’ around and get those damn Conglomerate scum! Damn rookies!” A voice like that could only come from a commanding officer that was way overdue for retirement.

“All right, you’re the brains of the operation little missy. What are we doing?” the thief asked, checking his radar screen for any bogeys to figure out if they were bandits or friendly.

“Stay on my wing, and we’ll try to find a breach in the shield. We’ll have to get through the enemies to get at the Kill Cluster,” Victoria instructed firmly. “In the meantime… light ’em up!”

Ander smiled grimly, though his voice retained a humorous tone. “Roger that.”

Fortunately, the fire controls were positioned conveniently on the throttle, and with an initial moment of hesitancy, he locked onto to an enemy aircraft and let loose a barrage of searing laser beams. He hit the target perfectly, and it erupted and disintegrated, its pilot most assuredly dead. The thief set his jaw firmly. He hated the idea of killing. Always had. If there was one thing he was being forced to learn in Kill Town, it was, well… kill or be killed. At the very least, the distance provided some semblance of shelter against the full awareness of the dark deed. He couldn’t hear them, see them, or smell them as they died. For all intents and purposes, he could pretend that the TIE fighters were simply unmanned and remotely controlled, and he wouldn’t have to think about the lives he was taking without mercy. So, he attempted to lighten the situation, more for himself than his considerably expendable Insurgent companions.

“This is Hotshot here,” he announced over the airwaves as he took down another TIE fighter. “It’s a beautiful minus five thousand degrees here in Outer Space, Middle of Nowhere. Weather forecast is clear with a chance of laser showers, so buckle up and break out the umbrellas, boys and girls.” He banked sharply to the right, trailing another one he’d managed to get behind. “Traffic en route to the Kill Cluster is backed up to the Insurgent Base Bridge, so expect a lengthy commute for all you early morning bomb droppers.” Then he noticed somebody on his tail and pulled a loop-de-loop, praying he wouldn’t get airsick as his stomach flip-flopped queasily. Without waiting a beat, he squeezed hard on the trigger and blasted the TIE fighter out of the sky. “Thank you and have a nice day.”

Then Ander felt his X-Wing rocked by the stinging glance of stray enemy fire, at which point a mechanical voice dutifully reported, “Shields at 98 per cent.”

“Well aren’t you informative?” Ander said, somewhat sarcastically.

It was amazing how quickly he had picked up the gist of the aircraft. Death was a great motivator for anyone. Every touch, every movement was a learning experience readily absorbed and applied.

He looked up, and out of the corner of his canopy, saw Victoria doggedly trying to avoid a rather persistent bandit. The dune dweller could simply allow her to get fried. After all, they had just met, and it wasn’t Ander’s ass on the line. Besides, with a fellow competitor eliminated, he could simply achieve a higher score, thus increasing his chances of release from the carnival, if indeed it worked that way. Then he remembered that she knew more about the structure of the Kill Cluster than he did, and if she died, he’d have a much harder time beating this “game” by himself, since they had yet to encounter any other participants. Ander sighed. Chivalry was such a farce anyway. Making up his mind, he shifted speeds, allowing him to sync up his X-Wing behind them, and took care of Victoria’s little problem before sidling up to her and shooting her a grin and a thumb’s up.

“I got your back,” he said over the airwaves. “Let’s get this sucker and go home!”