likely to see. Certainly the packs were the most infamous, the most feared and also the most romanticized of all Starwolves; some believed, without really stopping to think about it, that Starwolves were all pilots.
Since coming aboard the Kerridayen, Tarrel had discovered that most of the massive carriers kept only ten to twelve packs each, ninety to a hundred and eight pilots. Of the carrier’s complete crew of about two thousand, only half were active crewmembers and most of these existed to serve the packs. The ship largely took care of itself, employing a small army of remote units. Each pack was commanded by a pack leader, that being in fact the most commonly-used name, although the official rank was that of Captain. The pack leader always ran in the center of the standard V-formation of the pack, with four fighters sitting to either side in each wing of that formation.
Tarrel had been told that the pack leaders held the rank of Captain, the same as her own, because the packs were intended to operate fairly independently once they were in space and their leader needed the authority to make major strategic decisions without the time-consuming process of consulting the carrier.
For that same reason, the senior officer of the carrier itself was not a Captain but a Commander, ranking higher than the Captains who served under him in the packs. That was supposedly how the Starwolves had received their name, since each carrier was in principle an armored and highly mobile base for a group of wolf packs. Curiously, the Union itself had first given them the name of Starwolves.
“They should be coming around any moment now,” Gelrayen warned.
Captain Tarrel was content to wait, using her time to inspect the bay itself. The bay was many times wider than it was high, giving the illusion that the ceiling was much lower than it actually was. And it was rather low by her estimate; she would not want to fly a relatively large fighter a hundred meters and more down the length of the bay with only twelve meters or so between floor and ceiling. The fighters would land near the front of the bay. Where she now stood, she could see the nine white lines painted on the floor of the bay, with a corresponding set of handling arms on ceiling tracks above. A massive framework called a rack waited to receive the fighter once it was down and secured. The rack had a double function preventing the fighter from being thrown around the inside of the ship by sudden turns, and serving as a launching platform for the fighter. When not in use, the fighters were carried in their racks to a separate holding bay.
“Will the packs be of any help to you in fighting the Dreadnought,” she asked.
Gelrayen shook his head. “No, not at all. I would not even dare to send them out, since even a minor hit from the Dreadnought’s discharge beams would be the end of a fighter.”
“Then you could easily do without them now,” she observed.
“I suppose. We are just so used to thinking of the packs as the carrier’s defense that we will feel better for having them. And you never really know just what you might find useful.”
The arrival of the pack was sudden and rather alarming. The first of the black fighters suddenly whipped around the station in a swift turn, through the outer doors of the construction bay, and directly into the Methryn’s landing bay at a speed that Captain Tarrel would have considered sufficient for an attack run. It dropped its speed quickly once it was inside the landing bay, extending its slender landing gear, its long-legged stance meant to accommodate its down-swept wings. The fighter drew itself to an abrupt halt only three meters from where they stood beside Its rack, hovering for a moment before lowering itself slowly to the deck. The second fighter was already on its way in by that time.
The landing of all nine fighters in the pack was accomplished in less than a minute. The handling arms came in to pin the fighter to the deck, a needless precaution aboard a carrier that was not in flight. Once the engines and generators were shut down, the fighter was lifted so that its landing gear could be retracted and it was then moved forward into its rack. Members of the bay crew hurried in to lock the fighter into the rack and slide forward the boarding platform.
Gelrayen himself tended the middle fighter, ascending the boarding platform as the canopy was raised, helping the pilot to release the seat straps and remove his helmet. Tarrel recalled that he had been a pack leader himself until only a few months earlier, and that, like all Commanders, he still missed flying with the packs and probably always would. As he helped the pack leader remove his helmet, a lone Starwolf fighter slipped relatively sedately into the bay and settled to the deck behind the lead fighter. This arrival was clearly a last-minute addition, since Valthyrra was only just bringing out its rack after it had landed, while two extra members of the bay crew hurried to assist the pilot.
Gelrayen returned a moment later, followed by the pack leader in black armor. “Captain, this is pack leader Teraln. He is to be the Methryn’s new Commander-designate, although the real purpose for his existence is to do all the things that I wish I could be doing for myself.”
“I’m Captain Janus Tarrel,” she introduced herself. “There is no real purpose to my existence at the moment, but I’m supposed to be useful in the near future. Are the packs only now beginning to transfer aboard?”
“We should all be here within the next couple of days,” Teraln explained. “My pack transferred here with five others aboard the freighter Fyrdenna Lesdryn. The other four should already be on Alkayja station.”
“The first four arrived on station nearly two weeks ago,” Gelrayen said. “Listen, I need your help. I will be giving every moment I can spare to this ship until this business is over. Will you watch over the packs and make certain that they get settled comfortably?”
“Yes, certainly,” Teraln insisted.
The pilot of the lone fighter walked over to join them, a female Kelvessan in full flight armor of command white. Tarrel was surprised to see that, since she had believed that only the pilots flew the fighters. Since her hair was somewhat ruffled from being inside the helmet, she somehow looked even younger and more delicate than most of her kind. Gelrayen was watching her with great interest and some mystification.
“Kayendel, reporting aboard as first officer,” she announced formally, although she did not salute. Starwolves, at least in Tarrel’s experience, never saluted, perhaps because they could not decide upon which arm to use.
“I already have a first officer,” Gelrayen commented. “Not to reflect upon your welcome here, of course. Is there something going on here that I should know about?”
“Because of my previous battle experience with the Dreadnought as the first officer of the Vardon, I have transferred positions with the Methryn’s original first officer,” she explained. “Fleet Commander Asandi and Valthyrra Methryn herself approved the transfer.”
“Oh, well. No need for anyone to bother me with little details,” Gelrayen commented sourly.
“This all happened in the past thirty minutes,” she said. “I was unaware that you had not been consulted. Perhaps I should not have come aboard so quickly, but I thought that I might be needed.”
“No, you are needed,” he assured her. “Especially if you have had some experience with the Dreadnought. The more of that I can have aboard this ship, the better I will like it. For the duration of this mission, I want you to be near the bridge at all times. Take one of the visitor’s cabins behind the bridge.”
“Yes, Commander.”
They looked around as Valthyrra lifted the fighters in their racks and began moving them in a neat parade toward the storage bay. The members of Teraln’s pack gathered about in a loose group, having collected their things from the storage compartments of their fighters.
“We will have more packs coming in here any moment now, since we have only two bays operational,” Gelrayen observed. “I should at least make certain that the packs get settled into their cabins.”
“I should go settle into my own cabin and then present myself on the bridge,” Kayendel added as she began to gather up her rather large bundles, which a member of the bay crew had brought her.
“I think that I will go along,” Captain Tarrel added. “Would you like for me to take one of those?”
She tried to lift the case that was still on the ground, only to find that it probably weighed as much as herself. Kayendel took the case in her one remaining hand, although she was already carrying bundles at least as large in her other three hands. “I really should have warned you that these are all my worldly goods, all quarter ton of them. Did you hurt yourself?”
“No, I could have lifted it,” Tarrel insisted. “I just wouldn’t want to carry it far. I haven’t seen much evidence of Starwolves doing the things that make them legendary, so I forgot about your strength.”
They had started toward the side of the bay and the lift that would take them to the bridge. Kayendel carried her load easily, as if so much weight was still of small consequence to her, even though she also wore her armor. Tarrel had sometimes felt tempted to dismiss much of what she had always been told about Starwolves as mythical, the product of fear and exaggeration. They were not cruel and they did not engage in strange practices. They were very pleasant and intelligent, but in some ways very innocent. But certain claims about their tremendous
