<u>8</u>


    V47 Pilot hovered in space between Glimmr… the planet, its moons, the station, and soft inner system… and a transformed attack fleet.  No longer a swarm of loose, rocky units, the Draugr had locked together, creating what looked like a vast, dark, upside-down city.  Reminded the pilot of something important, though he could not seem to call up the relevant file.


    -Come- the Draugr had ordered. -Alone-


    Except that he <u>wasn’t</u>.  Not with his data scanned and shared 12.3 million times.  Not with Rogue Flight on hand, and Cerulean Dream swinging around like a sword blade to join them.  The captain’s voice came over a private comm line, sounding edged in fire and steel.


    “Go ahead,” she sent.  “But I authorize full freedom and left-hand protocol, V47.  Deathstrike and Vanguard have been summoned. They are now 2.941 candle-marks out and closing.”


    Ace had indeed ‘smoothed her down’.


    “Yes, Ma’am,” the pilot responded, starting forward on quarter impeller. “Understood.”


    The Draug construct was massive enough to disturb the orbit of Glimmr’s moons.  This close to the space lanes, its sudden presence would also cause in-jumping freighters to slew badly off course, if headed for OS1210 or the mining colony.  Right. That reality-bending colossus needed to go, right the drek <u>now</u>.  By invitation, preferably.  If not, through complete and utter destruction.  As Ace would put it: Boring or fun way.  Your choice.


    The space all around that behemoth was peppered with microscopically tiny Drag-spore; small units that (archived data and show vids explained) could link together or attach themselves to the hull of an enemy vessel.


    “Repellent field, V,” he ordered.  “Start with that 12 waves per tick frequency and then vary it randomly.  Keep them guessing and off of us.”


    ‘Command received.  Command accepted, Pilot.’  Then, switching the subject as energy flared, ‘Communication and linkage were attempted at 0345, in battle.  Source unknown and unauthorized.  The message was blocked as unsafe.  The data file has been isolated and possible malware purged.  Do you want to open the file?’


    He could sense it, plunged down amid cluttersome adverts and minor viruses: val.3.exe.  It was a targeted send, being so clearly a play on ‘V47’.  Worse yet, possibly dangerous.


    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    “Wait,” the pilot decided, “Keep it locked up until after we’ve met with the Draugr.  Tag it to unwrite itself if any but you, me, TTN-iA or Foryu tries to read it, and…” he retrieved that old-fashioned memory drive from its dimensional pocket.  “Launch this to Rogue Flight on a private carrier wave.”


    No matter what happened next, the companion at least would be safe.  ‘Left hand protocol’ meant that he had authority to make… and break… treaties.  Had a null bomb, as well.  A planet-buster; absolutely capable of taking out the entire Draug fleet, along with half of Glimmr. The Entertainment Division was surely backed up somewhere, though, and with them, Foryu’s data would persist.


    V47 opened a slot on the Titan’s clunky weapons panel.  Part of Pilot’s awareness shifted back to his physical body (less seated now, than enmeshed).  Returning briefly to muscles, breathing and blood, he wafted the memory drive across to that newly opened console slot.  Gave it a mental squeeze and added a tag, saying,


    “We’ll find each other again, Foryu.  In the meantime: learn, grow and gain power.  Look for me.  Not because it’s an order, but… because being with me makes you happy.”  He hoped it did, anyhow.  She certainly mattered to him.  Companions were meant for a date, not a lifetime... but he didn''t want anyone else.


    The memory drive’s circuits glittered for a quantum-hair under .05 micro-tick.  Then it was drawn into the weapons board slot and away; fired back across star-pocked blackness to Bulldog and Ace.


    "Take care of her," he whispered, looking backward at home and his friends.


    By that time, Glimmr had shrunk to a disk in his aft view field.  Mostly gold at its dayside, shot through with bands of swirling red cloud; surrounded by glittering pinpricks of fighter craft, bright flares of station and ship.  Ahead lay the Draug city, no longer seeming reversed.  It loomed over V47 like a mountain, now; black, blue and seething with constant, jittery motion. (Only just <u>barely</u> not coming apart.)


    There was a very wide opening at the front, to which Draug navigational beacons directed him. (Not with flashes of light.  They did not radiate, but perturbed space by rhythmically altering mass.  Weird, but acceptable, once you got used to it.)  The miles-wide opening looked more like a transport gate than a physical hole in the hull and it throbbed with power.  Might send him ten million light years away, into the heart of a star… or nowhere at all.


    V47 controlled Pilot’s heart rate and breathing with a calming injection and soothing video loops.  Things he detected very briefly (a .008 micro-tick flash) before shifting his full awareness back out to the Titan’s sensors.  There was a lot to scan.


    Long tendrils of Draug spore swirled and parted like grainy dark mist as V47 Pilot made his way up to that gigantic, crackling gate.  As for himself, he looked and felt like a tiny biting arthropod called a ‘mosquito’, come buzzing up to trouble a dragon.


    The Titan had drones.  V47 Pilot launched five of them, sending the units ahead, behind and to either side.  Giving them orders to scan, defend and report.  In a possible trap, micro-ticks mattered, giving a lone combat asset time to react.  Maybe even to save itself and all those who waited behind.


    He sent a last message to Cerulean-1 and to Flight Command.  Just: “I am here.”  Then, V47 entered the portal.


    XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


    A last-magic death curse was a very powerful thing.  Three of them, linked across time, could warp planes and change fate.