Fall of Icarus

enemies.

Keryn entered the massive hangar amidst a buzz of activity. Pilots and crews moved with mechanical precision around their craft, checking hull integrity and weapon systems. The noise of the room — tires squealing on the smooth floor, the din of a hundred different conversations, the whir of machine guns running through practice fires — enveloped Keryn. She smiled softly, feeling at home amongst the droning sounds. This was the reason she became a pilot instead of going through the Ritual of Initiation as did so many of her race. Keryn found her peace and tranquility here, among the technology and ballet of space combat.

Across the room, Keryn caught sight of Yen as he performed the preflight check on the Cair Ilmun. The sleek gunmetal grey ship glistened in the stark lighting of the hangar bay. Its wings drooped heavily from the weight of the two missile launchers and pair of machine guns. Though the Cair ships were not intended to be direct combat fighters like the Duun ships, they carried an arsenal large enough to defend themselves if necessary. Keryn hurried over, knowing that much of the work Yen now did was actually her responsibility.

Yen looked up as she approached. “Good morning, sleepy head.”

Keryn rolled her eyes. “I’m not exactly late, you know.”

“If you’re early, you’re on time. If you’re on time, you’re late. And…”

“If you’re late, you’re wrong,” Keryn finished, having heard the same phrase repeated numerous times during her training at the Academy. “Why do I believe you could quote the textbook if asked?”

“Funny, but not far from the truth,” Yen joked. “Now get over here and help me out.”

Keryn joined Yen as he continued checking the hull integrity. In the void of space, even the most miniscule break in the armored plating would cause a deadly decompression. Keryn knew the importance of the check, but still paused as she ran an affectionate hand over the hull of the ship. Most of the Cair Ilmun’s hull was immaculate, having been tended with great care since being assigned to the Revolution. Still, along its side, Keryn could still see long scratches that had never been mended. Slipping to the side of the ship, she ran her fingers along the grooves.

“We thought about patching those up,” a gruff voice said from behind her, “but we think it’s important that every ship have a story to tell.”

Turning, Keryn came face to face with a muscular Pilgrim. His blond hair hung over his forehead and he smiled disarmingly as he leaned against the wall.

“Adam!” Keryn exclaimed, hurrying over to his side. “Yen told me you were around. I was wondering how long it would be before you showed up.”

Much as Yen had done for the months since the memorial service, Adam had written Keryn as well at her request, telling the few stories he had of her brother prior to his death. “Sorry, Keryn. We Infantry grunts don’t get a lot of chances to mingle with the right and proper Fleet people.”

Keryn caught him unaware as she punched him hard in the gut. “Right and proper? You take that back right now,” Keryn scolded while, simultaneously, smiling mischievously.

“Break it up, you two,” Yen called, stepping around the nose of the ship. “We have work to do here.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Adam muttered under his breath. Reaching down, he hoisted a heavy box full of equipment, supplies that the insurgent team would need once they breached the Defiant’s hull.

Keryn turned away from Adam and stepped over to Yen’s side. She quickly changed the subject. “How does the Cair Ilmun look? We ready to put her in the air?”

“She’s perfect,” Yen said, though his eyes were no longer on the ship. “I think she’ll do you proud.”

“I only hope I can return the favor.”

Yen heard voices behind him and turned as the rest of the Infantry soldiers approached the ship. Wearing their heavy body armor and carrying a full complement of weapons, all modified to fire nonlethal shots, the Infantry looked significantly deadlier than did Keryn, who wore only her piloting coveralls.

Whispering, so as not to be heard by the rough soldiers, Yen gave Keryn some advice. “Remember confidence. That should be your watchword while you’re flying. No matter how tough these guys are and how much they may intimidate you, you are still in charge of this ship. Never forget it.”

The insurgent team pulled up short, eyeing their new pilot. Though Yen’s words were still fresh in Keryn’s mind, their meaning seemed lost on her. She raised her hand in a sheepish wave. “Hi,” was all she managed to say.

The soldiers walked past her with barely a hint of recognition, climbing aboard the ship. Keryn cursed herself silently.

Hi?the Voice said condescendingly in her head. These are experienced soldiers and all you could manage was a weak hello? We are definitely going to have to work on that.

“Oh yes, that was the confidence I was referring to,” Yen added, echoing the Voice’s sentiments as he walked past her and climbed aboard.

Keryn frowned, feeling her own irritation. The Voice had been remarkably silent for so long; it was frustrating to hear it resurface. All Wyndgaarts were born with the Voice, a mental culmination of generations of fighting skills passed down genetically to each future warrior. When reaching maturity, it was commonly accepted that a Wyndgaart will merge with their Voice, thereby accessing all the contained memories of their ancestors. The merging, called Initiation, was what allowed skilled students to become the universe-renown Wyndgaart warriors. But, Keryn knew, that knowledge came with a price. With the merger came a loss of individual personality. Instead of the person you were, you became an overlapping personification of hundreds of your ancestors. Keryn had fought against the Voice, often ignoring it, so that she could follow her own path to the Fleet Academy. She was proud of her decision, but while the Voice seemed to find interest in building her confidence, it was also one of the biggest reasons she suffered from indecision. It was difficult to make a proper decision when your own mind was constantly contradicting you.

She turned and followed the others on board. As she entered the crew compartment, most of the Infantry were already seated, their large weapons stored beside them and their bags locked into place above. Already frustrated, Keryn shoved her way past the couple soldiers still standing in the middle of the compartment. She expected a muttered insult or two, but heard nothing in response. If the only thing they would respond to is violence, then Keryn was pretty sure she would give them more than they could handle.

Slipping into the forward cockpit, Keryn found Yen already seated in the copilot’s chair. Without sparing him a word, Keryn sat in her own seat and strapped the throat microphone around her neck. Flipping a series of switched above her, she started the initial sequence to ignite the plasma engines.

“Forget about them,” Yen said as he checked the gauges and computer display. “You want to impress them, show them what you can do at the controls of a ship. Get them where they need to be and they’ll be yours forever.”

Managing little more than a grunt in recognition, Keryn pressed a button and the exterior doors to the ship slid shut. The radio crackled as the Squadron Commander activated the internal ship channel.

“Revolution Squadron, this is Squadron Commander Garrix,” the gravelly voice called to the ships as they all began preflight warm ups. “Have all ships in position in three mikes. We will decompress the hangar at that time and begin the combat scenario.”

Piloting one of the Cair ships, Keryn knew that she had a while before she would be required to pull her ship out of its alcove and get on line. Through the thick window of the cockpit, Keryn could barely make out the dozens of Duun fighters as they rolled into their start positions.

“We have a couple minutes before you have to move,” Yen said, “so let’s go over everything one more time.”

Keryn nodded and began reciting the training Yen had been drilling into her since her arrival onboard. “Hang back. Let the Duun’s engage. Look for an opening. Stop for nothing.” She knew that Cair Ilmun wasn’t made for head-to-head combat. Like she had learned in the Academy, her role in combat was to keep her crew alive long enough to board an enemy ship. Once the Duun fighters had the enemy ships sufficiently engaged in combat, she would fly through any gaps in the sea of machine gun and missile fire until finally docking with the enemy vessel. Tapping her nails impatiently on the console in front of her, Keryn ran through the multitude of things that could go wrong in those