Saviors.
'The other flight groups are deploying after us and will take on any target of opportunity. Once we have the QMT facility secured, we will then turn our attention to taking and holding that planet.' Deuce pulled the zipper tab of her flight suit up and slipped her helmet on with a twisting motion. 'All right then, let's mount the fuck up and get it done!'
DeathRay had decided that his best plan of action would be to go through the teleport already deployed from the supercarrier with the hope of slipping off without being noticed. Hopefully, the supercarrier, the flight wings, the drop tanks, the AEMs, and the AAIs would distract the Arcadians enough to not notice one lone Ares-T fighter. Theoretically, Dee's AIC would be broadcasting a QM signal that would in turn enable him to locate her. The signal was spread spectrum on an encoded hopping frequency that wouldn't be detectable without the key code. It would look like noise otherwise. But Jack, Candis actually, had the key code, so he would know where Dee was. That is, assuming that Dee was still in the Ross 128 star system. The beacon only had a range of probably a light-year at best. If Jack didn't find her at Ross 128, he would go to Tau Ceti next. Somehow.
DeathRay had devised—thrown together at the last fucking minute, actually—a plan, and that plan was to rocket in at maximum speed to whereever the hell Dee was, kill everybody around her, and get her the fuck out. Okay, it wasn't a very detailed plan, but DeathRay was good at making up shit as he went along, especially when it came to blowing stuff up. He had two personal QMT projector devices on his wrist. The jump coordinates had been set for the Oval Office. As soon as he managed to grab Dee, he planned to trigger the teleporters, and then the two of them would be out of the shit and safe in Washington, D.C. The trick was going to be finding Dee and probably killing a whole bunch of Seppies along the way. DeathRay worked his mind around what he was about to do. Not just anybody would be crazy enough to put themselves in such situations.
So here he went again into the shit. After six years of uneasy peace, it looked like the time he had been expecting soon had finally come. It was time for war with the Separatists, and all bravado aside, they didn't call him DeathRay for nothing. He was good at war. He hated it with a passion, but he was good at it. Jack and two crew chiefs had loaded his fighter with every piece of gear, sensors, hand-to-hand, and survival equipment that he could squeeze in. He had originally considered taking a trainer, but with the QMT personal projection device, he wouldn't be needing to fly Dee out. He crawled into his fighter off the ladder and sat down.
'Good hunting, DeathRay!' The deck chief in a red shirt snapped a salute from the top of the mecha-support scaffold. He didn't say a thing about all the firearms, grenades, knives, and other weapons stowed in the webbing of DeathRay's armored flight suit. Jack's mission was classified, and the chief knew better than to ask a bunch of questions. He just did his red-shirt chief job, which was to make sure the plane's ordnance was loaded and in proper functioning status. He did make one final comment. 'Sir, hope you get to eat that bear you plan on scrapping with, and not the other way around.'
'Roger that, Chief. Me, too. I could use a new rug for my quarters.' Jack saluted back, and the chief quickly climbed down and was joined by a purple shirt and a fireman in orange coveralls with blue kneepads. They unhooked the power and com umbilicals then moved clear of the launching pad.
Jack locked his helmet and then settled into the cockpit—the one place he felt most at home. He felt the familiar hiss of the cool, dry air rushing into his suit as he plugged the hardwire connection from the universal docking port (UDP) of his fighter into the thin little rugged composite box on the left side of his helmet, which made a direct electrical connection to his AIC implant via skin-contact sensors in his helmet.
'Hardwire UDP is connected and operational. Lieutenant Commander Candis Three Zero Seven Two Four Niner Niner Niner Six ready for duty,' Jack's AIC announced over the open com channel and in the cockpit speakers. Then directly to Jack's mind,
Jack saluted the yellow-shirt flight-deck officer and started the take-off process. The canopy cycled down and the harness holding the fighter dropped it the last twenty centimeters to the deck. Jack both loved and hated the
