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CHAPTER 36


Talinn glared at the console in front of her and willed it to reform to a better layout. It did no such thing, and she permitted herself a small sigh before reaching for the ignition sequence.

I don’t know what you’re complaining about. Bee flicked various views of their airspace onto the edges of the cockpit screen. You’re not in a jet.

“Technically, and realistically, and literally, I am.” She frowned, twitched her shoulders back, and rechecked all their sensors. They hadn’t had a single faulty reading since they’d left Deep End, but the reflex remained a strong habit. The ignition sequence—only required because Bee refused—went off without a hitch, and within moments her back was pressed against her seat, her skin attempted to drip backward off her skull, and they were airborne.

Then I’m more in a jet, which is obviously worse, and also it’s old.

“It’s maybe two generations out of date. And performance has barely shifted, it’s only layout and order of operations. Charons don’t even go out of atmosphere, so we don’t have to worry about sealant points.” Talinn tried to convince herself as much as Bee, and was approximately as successful at both.

It’s not a tank.

“No, but the weapons are similar and now we get to a do a whole lot more strafing.”

No, we don’t. We’re recon. Jet recon! This isn’t even a recon jet—empty humans can handle those. Or a drone! Why are we wasting a Charon on recon?

“Is it a lousy old jet, or is it a Charon that is getting wasted?”

Human logic is stupid.

“Because you don’t have an answer?”

For proper notation and official record, I am absolutely going to fire on something today. You get two “no” votes. And I don’t promise not to waste them.

“We’re not firing on civilians.”

You get two “no” votes. Bee huffed into silence, without a hint of tortured metal to indicate she had any sense of humor about it whatsoever. It’s not like civilians haven’t gotten frisky with us before.

Tiernan had wanted them to wait. Again. While he went out and did things. Some more. Bee finally wrested information from Kay, and Talinn stalked him to his drop point. Saw firsthand the method to break into local UCF and IDC comms. How to fake orders. How to procure equipment from the cache.

For their efforts, they’d been put in a Charon. Of course that was what Tiernan would have preferred. Stupid jets.

Now she had the great reward of patrolling the charming planet of Oxillide, with its sprawling UCF aligned colony cities and its enormous gaping wound of an IDC mine. Unsurprisingly, the fighting here had been ongoing for cycles, limited mostly around the mine. That had changed recently, and Tiernan was sure it was critical to find out more.

So now Breezy was a jet. They had codes for both bases on the planet, and given Charons often ran dark as they streaked through populated areas to provide air support, they didn’t expect to be challenged.

If they started firing into civilian areas, that would change quickly, but Talinn was sure it wouldn’t come to that.

Fairly sure.

“The last few battles have gotten closer to Bandi City than any broken stray missiles have gone in at least twenty cycles.”

Bee offered nothing in response, so Talinn kept half her attention on their readouts, half on the swath of clear sky ahead of them, and continued running through their assignment. “There is a full component of Eights on both sides, about eighty for the UCF and a little less than a hundred for the IDC—though forty of those arrived in the last six months. This had been less a targeted active front, and more a staging point for the satellites the few cycles before that. Looks like both sides thought control over the orbital would equal control over the planet and that would adjust or keep the balance of power in the system accordingly.”

The jet tilted left wing down, revealing far off stretches of golden crop fields studded with harvest factories. Otherwise Bee continued not to contribute.

“It’s weird, this was more broadly active for a while before that—a hot front, for a long time. Then quiet, then surrounded by fighting but mostly untouched, and now edging toward the civilian settlements. It’s like what Otie said about Discar, when they started taking cities and finding they’d been fronts all along.”

How is that the same? Bee drew the words out suspiciously. Of course she’d know Talinn was being obtuse on purpose, but like Talinn herself, Bee couldn’t stop the curiosity that pulled away from her sulk.

“Most of the Discar cities hadn’t been civilian colonies at all, but fronts seeded with unadapted human soldiers to give the UCF a legitimate foot on the planet and argue IDC had no standing.”

That’s stupid.

“Otie was fairly certain they used to be real cities, with civilians, but over time it became less feasible and—”

How is this relevant to Oxillide?

“Maybe this is the transition point. IDC or UCF is going to shift this from an actual colony to more of a front to draw in more forces and stage—”

Hold that. Bee’s tone snapped from unwilling to all business, and the corner of the screen displayed the blips of pulse readings.

“Three incoming, got it. Who are they?”

They aren’t broadcasting.

“Fair, neither are we, so they shouldn’t shoot first before determining—glitch me with a dirty spoon. They’re firing, aren’t they?”

In answer, the Charon dove, then swooped abruptly to the left. There were no clouds in the orange-yellow sky, and no convenient geological extrusions to use as cover. They had enough raw material for Bee to transmute into ballistic offense, but they might need that later. The goal had been to go unnoticed, not fight other Eights.

“Don’t suppose there’s any way you can tell who’s flying?”

It’s not going to be us.

“Otie said our clone line threw out a pilot at least once, so who knows.” Talinn watched the sensors, but they were far enough away that even the guided missiles weren’t going to be able to keep up with their evasive maneuvers. Seemed unprofessional for the mystery Eights to have fired so soon when they had they advantage of numbers, but they’d also fired without ascertaining who she was, so they were either terrible or knew something she didn’t.

Like what they were actually firing at.

Not them at all.

“Bee?”

I . . . have no idea what that is.

Something enormous, matte black and blocky, shaped more for space travel than atmosphere, screamed over the airspace they’d previously occupied, on direct course for the three Charon jets.

The trio split, smoothly reangling to better surround the incoming target and allow for maximum cover of fire, but despite their elegant and well-practiced maneuvers, nothing made contact with the huge invader.

That’s not UCF. Does IDC have anything like that?

“Are you getting anything from it?”

No obvious AI frequencies, but we don’t broadcast in battle.

“We should get out of here.”

We should. They curved wide around the closing engagement, Bee angling them to keep eyes, not only sensors, on the action.

“We don’t know any of the players here, we shouldn’t get involved.”

We really shouldn’t. The jet climbed higher, getting above the action and occasionally rolling to get a full picture of the skies around them through the cockpit’s large clear canopy.

“Tiernan told us patrol only.” Talinn ran the numbers on the cargo they carried—what Bee could retask for fuel, for repairs, for maximum barrage of artillery.

Who are you convincing?

“It’s not paying any attention to us whatsoever.”

It passed through where we were. If I hadn’t registered the incoming Charon, it would have turned us to dust before we knew it was there. Their jet remained in sight of the cluster of aircraft—they should have been well away by now.

“But it didn’t fire on us. And somehow they saw it.” The other jets circled, weaving an elaborate net around the intruder, but still nothing seemed to mar the large aircraft’s hull.

Sure.

“And we know the Charon jets are Eights.”

Big Ugly could be Eights too. Or Spacies.

“We would have heard something about something that new and shiny, don’t you think? Tiernan would have said something.”

It’s got a disruptor like a defense array.

“One of the jets is down.” Talinn sat forward in her chair, the cross belt biting through her coverall as though they were pulling too many g’s. She leaned back an inch, scanned the sky for the third foreign Charon.

One of the jets is gone. The other two have a good range of motion going, but they’d do better with three.

“We’re not that far.”

We’re really not.

“You want to try some of that EMP tech?”

Not especially. We won’t have a good angle to keep the other Charon clear of backwash if we’re not in contact.

“Let’s try IDC codes.” Talinn tapped her fingers, then grunted in satisfaction when Bee opened the comms successfully. “Charon unit, this is Breezy. Coming in late with apologies, but looks like I can help?”

“Breezy? What the shit you’re a jet? That’s some bonzo—when did you get to Oxillide?”

Talinn had exactly enough time to shudder before the all too familiar voice continued, “Tell me about it over drinks, yeah? Formation Echo-G.”

Medith. Cold traced itself along her spine and it took her two tried to respond. “Mercy, this is a brand-new assignment—”

“Patching over info, you hairband. Damn civilians have way too many new toys—only thing we’ve found that works is overheating their disruptor. Close evasive. Make ’em fire. Don’t get in line of. Catch?”

“Caught.” Her throat closed over the word, but they didn’t need to keep talking. She’d process any and all emotions after this was done. They had work to do.

Bee dumped the details of Echo-G into their brains and Talinn grinned. This Medith’s class had learned some direct AI-to-AI channels as well, and weren’t shy about using them even in a combat situation. Their Charon screamed into position above the enormous aircraft and the next moments were crystal clear stutters in time.

Hemp, Jiff, Bee shared, the comms silent but the AIs clearly in touch. Rotate passes in front of the disruptor to make the ship fire.

Talinn scanned the ship below them, to the side of them, above them as their position changed.

The disruptor operated by a combination of three beams. Each emerged from a different part of the mystery ship. Three open points for the disruptor to align.

The points on the ship closed, opened, closed.

Ballistic fire burst from turrets that emerged from the sides of the big ship, well out of the way of the disruptor.

Bee slagged one before they fell away, momentarily breaking the pattern of ship fire.

Hemp took three rounds to a wing and plummeted off their side before the AI partner could repair the Charon.

Mercy drew the disruptor fire out of turn.

“Bee, lodge the EMPs in the holes as soon as they open.” They had small EMP drones, enough to get them out of a tight situation with other Eights without killing them. Depending on how this ship worked, if they could get the EMPs inside, past potential external shielding, they could knock out at least the disruptors. Maybe the whole ship. An AI could recover from the small bursts, but unadapted humans? They’d be far too slow on repairs.

It’ll leave Mercy vulnerable to the blast, I have to guide them in slow.

“I know.”

We said we’d keep Mercy alive, the next time.

The fallen Charon wasn’t coming back. They had no business taking on this ship, this engagement. No business being here at all.

“Do what you can.”

They did what they could.

They’d spent a lot of time planning possibilities for taking out a defense array, since leaving Deep End. EMPs and explosives and smart targeting. Had no real chance or cause to test them.

Tested them here.

And they worked.

Too late to save Mercy, again.

But the enormous mystery ship fell out of the sky, and one Charon jet continued on its original path.


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Framed