Fighter Pilots 3: Retaliation (WIP)

Those interested in representing this project may contact Matt Sveum.matthew.sveum@gmail.comThis is book 3 in a planned trilogy. The first two novels are already completed, and manuscripts are available upon request.

Fighter Pilots

Act 3 Chapter 1

Operation: Tears in Rain

Silk sheets curled through Claire's toes. Constellations dotted the high ceilings, hand painted by artisans. Drives, tablets and even some paper-bound books cluttered her shelves, while her desk bore the weight of several stacks. Star maps, course charts, and craft blueprints hung from the walls haphazardly, some corner-pinned by single tacks, some projected from the main console at the apex of the bedroom.

As she pulled the blanket all the way up to her bow-shaped mouth, she witnessed her mother staring out the bay windows. Through the shielded glass, sat a scenic view of Opaline, Tourmaline's sister planet. Only when they were alone, Verida fell into the old habit of chewing the single loose strand of raven hair that she and her daughter shared. Birth did not gift her with the shining eyes, saffron skin and long platinum hair of her Opaline father, but she did inherit remnants of his high cheekbones and spindly fingers.

After all, Claire'd been told that human genes were dominant, so she and her mother were always bound to look alike. This never bothered her, as even at 50 years—half a human's estimated lifespan—Verida was still poised and beautiful. And yet, something was bothering her.

“I'm going to activate the security system now,” Verida said, briskly tying a stray end back into her tight bun. “Is there anything else you need, Claire?” Per usual, Claire saw her mother's hand on the holoscreen switch. Meaning: if there is anything, it better be good.

“Where's Dad?” Claire gave her best pout. “He promised he would give me bozies and tell me a story.”

Verida sighed what her workers called the “death blow.” Claire liked to eavesdrop on them when she could. They always made her giggle at their funny names for mama—and even more when they spotted Mrs. Rainer and snapped to attention.

“Your father is busy working on something important,” Verida's brows leveled to curb any further delays, but Claire knew better by now.

“Why do I need to have the security system anyway? Stuffy can protect me.” She dug into the comforter to the muscleduck propped up on the pillow next to her, raising it high as if proclaiming a prince to a crowd.

“Oh? Should I fire Master Javen as your instructor then?” Verida cracked a smile, and Claire felt victory was near.

“I believe Stuffy offers much better rates. Why don't I arrange a meeting for you two to talk business?”

“Nice try. You know you are our biggest vulnerability.” And there the smile was gone. “Our enemies know we love you dearly. If they ever got their hands on you, they wouldn't hesitate to hurt you to get what they want.”

“Then why have me in the first place?” Claire countered, folding her head on top of Stuffy.

“So many questions,” Verida huffed, but walked over and knelt at Claire's bedside. “Your father wished to have someone carry on our legacy. Heaven forbid something should happen to us.”

“But mom, I'm almost double digits! I can start helping now!” Claire fisted feathers atop Stuffy's head.

“Sweetheart,” Verida touched her face as a sign of affection, but it was cold, robotic—almost medical. “I appreciate that, but right now you need to focus on your studies. When you turn 10 in Octarc, we can reconvene on this matter.”

“Well you know right now I'm technically a teenager in Opaline years, and I'm half Opaline, so technically—”

“Claire...”

“But what if I—”

“Claire Ella Rainer!” Her mother shouted. “Bedtime, now!” Then softly, “That's an order.”

Claire settled for an icy kiss on the cheek. Her mother, whose night was long from over, turned and exited the room, after taking one last look out the window. Muffled through the sealed door came the business voice, “Thanks for coming, Javen....”

As their conversation faded down the hall, Claire began drifting off to the low hum of sentry turrets, the subtle red glow of the sensor grid warm through her closed eyelids. That is, until, she heard workers shouting. Sonic wails of a loader's turbine overheating pierced the shielded glass of her quarters. Excited, Claire kicked away the meticulously made covers into a mangled heap. A silent leap carried her from the warm bed to the cold center console. She hung, then swung to the desktop, and slid along the windowsill—never once touching the floor.

With the beams' heat tickling her bare soles as her heels hung over the marble ledge, she popped open a holoscreen and executed the crack she'd developed for her room's security system. Verida said she needed to spend more time on her studies. Did her mother really expect so little of her?

It took weeks of trying day and night to get the bypass code right. Mrs. Rainer specifically had the whole comp firewalled, so the only terminal Claire could attempt it on was the interior wall socket—and only while the defense grid was active. Plus, it would always automatically reboot after exactly half an hour. Irritating as it was, it was still an oversight on her mother's part, and it would only make her more agile, something Javen was always scolding her about needing to work on.

Out onto the stony balcony, a gentle breeze greeted her, soaking through her pajamas as she cowered out of sight of the spotlights. Peering through the slits in the railing, the sight of the terrace bustling under Opaline's moon charged her like a mag-turbine engine. Nava branches reached for her, their bark as familiar to her palms as an old friend, and she deftly clambered down the single story to the ground.

A maze of hedges and trees constituted the garden. When seen from eye level, the topiary was nearly impossible to navigate. It was not the worst place to get lost, as the foliage and flowers were exquisite in both natural beauty and presentation. But Claire also knew the high canopy disguised interdiction and jamming equipment, which restricted communications and travel in the airspace above the estate. Dampeners sealed in industrial noises, while outgoing comms were heavily encrypted. No angle existed where the Rainers' business could be observed by unwelcome outsiders.

Though many would try. Which is why her father, Nok To M'adi brought in units from the factory to protect the premises. Biomechs, shield generators, and anti air tanks formed emplacements around the compound, while mercenaries in the Rainers' employ carried out day to day tasks while keeping a watchful eye at night.

Rustling through thick brush, Claire's feet padded the paved pathway between until she crossed the perimeter of the south command post. This side of the manor hill was naturally more defensible because of the elevation. Claire's bedroom was on this side for that reason. Although, this meant it tended to have less personnel posted on the regular. Day or night, Claire knew the patrols like the back of her hand, and effortlessly slipped the searchlights. Most of the workers seemed exhausted anyway—probably from hauling the last of the artillery up here. Notably, the alarms from the loaders had been calmed.

Something else now attracted her attention. There it was: the TX 497. It was her father's design. Rare to get to see one up close without paying a visit to the foundry, but Claire wasn't complaining. Twin plasma cannons, a full bore rail gun, armed to the teeth with surface-to-air missiles, magnetic and hard-shield projectors, quad core turbines with afterburners; this thing could move. Not to mention the TX series was all modular, so with the right equipment it could be airborne as a Fighter in less than 15 minutes.

For any opposing party on Tourmaline, it was overkill. In fact, the Rainers were Tourmaline's largest arms and armor manufacturer. With very few exceptions, they were well regarded across the planet. No, it was an Imperial assault these tanks were designed against. Barring an orbital bombardment, the TX could last through any siege. And while that was technically illegal, Imperial occupation had become tenuous lately. Tensions seemed to be rising every day, like a pulsing vein waiting to burst. Nok To was a strategist as well as a scientist, and he wouldn't rule a single possibility until he had concrete evidence.

Claire missed her daddy. But what did she expect? Being the head of the Rainer Foundation—which nowadays practically served as a governing body—it had garnered the family certain privileges, but also put a large target on their head. Between trailblazing new tech, drawing blueprints, getting factories up and running...Claire wondered if her father slept at all anymore. Before he'd met Verida, he was one of the most successful engineers on Opaline. Did he regret coming here?

The sister planet had become an Imperial colony, something Tourmaline had yet to do. From her many lectures on the subject, Claire's understanding was that the people there were naturalized citizens, and received the Empire's protection and access to their trade network, among other things. Usually the Empire only extended the invitation if they felt the arrangement was mutually beneficial. But they soon realized that the foundation of Opaline's entire factory model was Tourmaline's supply of natural resources. Native miners dug into the heart of Tourmaline around the clock for precious mineral deposits and tristeel.

Prior to the Empire's arrival, Opaline also ran the armed forces of the two planets. Where Tourmaline supplied personnel, Opaline supplied weapons.

Soon the pressure came for Tourmaline to join as well, as production ground to a halt. The Empire offered yet more incentives, and subsidized Opaline infrastructure to make the deal more appealing. Tourmaline people were stubborn, however. More pressure only proffered more resistance. In those days, it came violently. Nok To knew there had to be a better way, and thus gave his sister planet a huge bargaining chip by absconding with his technology and knowledge. Together with Verida Rainer, they could rise above the need for conflict, and be self sufficient.

Claire shook her head. Even climbing out the second floor window, she couldn't escape Verida's daily regimen. Strict was an understatement—everything was scheduled down to the last minute. There was no time for frivolities or even socializing with children her own age. Often Claire would imagine what it would be like to have a friend, but then again most of the population would be terrified of her. If not for her position, or her handlers, than for her own extensive martial arts and weapons training.

Why was it that her family could rebel against the established conventions, but she could not suggest the slightest alteration to her own life? She was always encouraged to be resourceful, creative, analytical—and yet she was shut out from any decision making.

“There you are.”

Claire jumped, nearly falling off the tank. In an effort to suppress the startled clang, she twisted her ankle.

“Yep, they got me on loading duty,” another soldier responded.

“Hell of a paycheck for standin' around doin' nothing,” said the first.

Their voices were modulated behind their tac helmets, but Claire would have still recognized them if they were regulars. They must have been extra support brought in—for what purpose Claire couldn't possibly know. Regardless, she could safely assume she hadn't been noticed. Probably best not to tempt fate, and so she ducked down the opposite side of the hover treads while they were distracted with talk of the last Metaball game.

Dew had already begun to form on the lawn. Condensation squelched under her as she traversed the compound back to the tree which would take her home, nursing a slight limp on the way. Up the scratchy bark, Claire's nighties snagged only once on the branches. From the top, she could easily swing her leg over the balcony.

In a flash she made the leap from the cold floor to the warm mattress. Buried into her stuffy, the smell of metal and grease guided Claire off to sleep.

Gunshots and war plagued her dreams, and she awoke in a screaming fit tangled in her dense blankets. Once she'd kicked free, she sat up. Posted on her wrists, her chest heaved against her damp top; her black bangs matted to her pale forehead. What time was it? Glass glistened under the sun, peeking above the treetops. A kaleidoscope of colors undulated along the far wall from the light trickling through the leaves.

She was to report at sunrise each day—how did this happen? Her alarm was always set to—Claire's eyes widened in horror. The turrets were slumped disparagingly; the criss-crossing sensor beams were no where to be seen; the low hum of the holocomp had been replaced by birdsong and power tools from outside. She'd even left the window cracked! Her mother was going to have her behind.

Fast as her young appendages would move, she threw one of the navy-blue athletic suits from her closet, all of which had begun to grow tight on her. A silver brooch pinned her bangs back, leaving the rest of her hair to graze the tops of her shoulders. Flying down the spiral staircase, she came upon another peculiar sight.

The drawing room was in disarray. All across the open floor plan, the minimalist cream colored furniture had been uprooted. Plasma scars streaked the pastel walls. Optic cables jutted out from comps, still sparking with misplaced energy. Opaline vases had been toppled, smashed into brightly colored bits. Boots had tracked in mud and grass from the gardens, and led a smeared path toward her parents' study.

Heartbeat quickening, Claire's shaky hand dug into a blood-stained cabinet where a stun rod was hidden. Down the hall she crept, its pulse vibrating in her hand. As she rounded the corner to the stairwell, a broad mitt clapped her shoulder. Startled, she swung the sleek weapon.

Javen leapt back, raising his palms in defense. Chocolate eyes glinted above gristly cheeks. Full tactical armor adorned his chest, a plated helmet strapped to his bearded chin—not the usual training gear he would normally have.

“Easy, Claire,” he whispered. “I've been looking all over for you. There's been an attack. Your parents are—wait!”

But she was already halfway down the vaulted slope. Through the reinforced basement door, ajar and hanging off one welded hinge, Claire stepped into the war room. Red emergency lights cast a dim gloom over the metallic, utilitarian aesthetic. The place had been ransacked. Holo readouts glitched and glimmered in the open air—technical readouts of the compound, but also star maps, military emplacements...it looked as if they'd been planning for a battle or...an invasion. Over the center console, she identified the shapes of her parents, embracing one another.

“Mommy, daddy!” Claire pumped her sinewy legs until she stood over them, trembling.

Plasma burns scored their bodies. No trace of blood was at the scene, not a single clean-through shot could be found; only cauterized corkscrews riddled through torn coats, which swallowed the crimson glow of the lab down their deep recesses. Be that as it may, whoever finished them made sure they would not get up. Their stoic faces unchanged in death, as when they were in life.

Claire's stomach knotted itself. Vertigo overcame her as her vision blurred, and she retched. She collapsed into the cadavers, sobbing violently, only to be whipped backward. Javen's strong arms wrapped around her 10 year old frame, hoisting her up as if she were a toddler. The smell of sweat and cologne coming off his neck unsettled her. 

“Someone shut down all of our security systems. I should have known, but I—I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm just so sorry.” He'd never been like this with her before. It had to be a trick.     

“Let go of me!” She screamed, intending to invoke her authority, but instead sounding like a bratty child. Nevertheless, the kick found its mark between Javen's thighs, and he buckled just enough for her to writhe free.

“All available units, form a perimeter,” she heard Javen wheeze into his comms as he stumbled after. “Establish custody of the package and ensure she is safe.”

Feet slipping on the reflective floor, Claire darted out of the lab. Faster still, her mind raced to where she could go. Hiding seemed like a bad idea. As head of security, Javen would know the location of the safehouses, plus all the ins and outs of the manor. Anyone worth his salary would bar access to food or water—starve her out.

If Javen didn't already know Claire was the one responsible for disabling the security system, he would find out through one interrogation technique or another. To look him in the face and lie, when he'd studied her face since she was an infant—understood her through years of combat and education, not to mention numerous psychological evaluations at Verida's behest—would be truly impossible. Rumors of what he'd done to suspected moles in the foundation, torturing them until they confessed, had given her nightmares.

Once her guilt became evident to him as it was to her...well it would be a worse alternative than running away, that was for sure. She just needed a little time to think. And so she headed for the garden.

Units were crawling the place like Serrants. If Claire had thought the inside looked like a warzone, the outside was a hellscape. Many of her father's prized tanks were overturned, or sabotaged in a dismantled heap. Scuttled railguns looked like their fires had been put out no more than an hour ago. Though singed, the leaves still offered a fair bit of concealment, and she expertly wove through to reach the front gate.

Among radio chatter asking for her position, soon a clamor drowned out all else. Imperials, she spat—a whole division of them. A crowd had gathered in protest, and things were taking a turn for the worst. An officer and one of the Rainer's employees were having an altercation, to say the least. Fingers jabbed like swords in a fencing match, and if not for the gate, they would be at each others' throats. Which, by the looks of the battery straining the hinges, would not be long. From what she could overhear, it appeared in case of an emergency such as this, the Empire was given jurisdiction.

Obviously the Rainer's preferred to keep things in the family, and paid well for it. But that may not have been the case anymore. It took two of the other mercenaries to calm the lead down enough to get him to listen, but shortly after a message came through to stand down. The sentinel looked as if he could have bitten a chunk out of his comm, but he turned his back and stomped away.

The crowd didn't believe it any more than he did. And yet, their blame should have been pointed squarely at Claire. It was her fault the attack was able to occur in the first place. Now the pillars of leadership would begin to crumble, and the power vacuum would likely consume the planet in warfare.

Adjusting his uniform in vindication, the Imperial officer signaled his team to pull forward.