The comm chirps, “Scott to bridge.”
Reynard accepts the transmission. “What’s wrong, Chief?”
“You should report to the cargo bay. If convenient, bring your first officer.”
Why did Scott refer to Australia as First Officer?
Upon glancing at her he notes Australia wonders the same thing.
“He is not fond of the cadet’s designs,” she attempts to answer the unspoken question.
“Scott’s never one for forgoing his thoughts.”
Australia follows Reynard down the corridor.
“Before their planet was devastated by Mokarran, Hardarens had little interaction with off-worlders. They have an innate passion. As a people they have focused their appetite on revenge. He may simply be deflecting her attention from the task we must pursue.”
“Dealing with the Sandmen and locating more of the Hex Darmight.” Reynard brushes his fingers over the dangling feather of the dream catcher as he passes his quarters.
“Since your return, Samantha remains scared. I am researching the history of Sandmen through myth, but if the feline is to be our guide I need direction on the next fragment’s location,” Australia reports.
They step into the lift.
“I would be neglectful in my duties if I did not mention the other pressing issue. You placed Princess Aurora in a near-death situation.”
“Had Ki-Ton escaped, she would be dead. There were only three choices in the matter: let Ki-Ton escape and she would die, try and stop him—fail and she would die, attempt to stop him and succeed and she lives. I don’t know why people get so upset. I succeeded, and she’s alive. All that matters.”
“One day your impulsiveness, Commander, is going to get us all killed.”
“At least we will all die trying to succeed instead of dying passively,” he says.
Australia lacks a response.
Reynard catches his remark, not intending it as a personal barb.
“I’m sorry—I forgot. I wasn’t trying to insult you.”
“It was my people’s devotion to passiveness which allowed them to be conquered and decimated by the Tibbar,” she says.
“One day, under the protection of the UCP, your people will be able to return to their way of life.”
“It is a nice thought, but in the past few years I have crossed the known galaxy and have never run into another of my species. I fear the rumor that the Tibbar eat their slaves once they have lost their usefulness is true.”
“I wish I knew what to say to ease your pain. My home world’s only lost to me by time. Nothing I do will ever return yours to the way you remember it, but as soon as we find any of your species, we’ll return them to the safety of the UCP Riftgate. You have my word.”
“Thank you, Commander Reynard. I know you are a man of your word. You gave it to Princess Michelle, and you were willing to die to keep it.”
••••••
THE LIFT DOORS open. The Blackweb Hypershuttle and the fighter designed by Senior Cadet Denis now rest in the cargo hold.
“Commander Reynard, I wish to lodge a formal complaint against Lieutenant Beers.”
Reynard hates to ask in front of Australia. I knew one day he’d push too hard on a woman who was immune to his charms. Maybe he should stay with girls who have toes instead of hooves. “Protest away.”
“He is attempting to destroy my fighter. He demands modifications which will hamper maneuverability and thrust.”
Reynard understands the formal request for the first officer. Her complaint could reach his permanent file since they are both in the UCP. “Scott is more than just a weapons designer. He’s been in combat. His expertise should be welcome.” That sounds captainly.
“I was left uninhibited with my designs at the Academy,” Chelsie reports.
“If they allowed you to build the craft, your blueprints are sound, but most of the approving engineers haven’t seen combat either. Your extra thrust does nothing if you don’t properly shield your intake manifolds.” Scott remains official in his remarks.
“If you want us to field-test this fighter, you’re going to have to defer to Scott’s judgment.”
Chelsie huffs. “I don’t want my fighter design replicated and sold as a Tri-vects original.”
“I’m not here to steal a design. I’m here to make it fly,” Scott says.
“What is our mission?” Reynard should have asked.
“Commander, the significance of this mission tests the cadet’s fighter and reveals why Throgen activity has spiked on a world too far away to house supplies for any Throgen strategic location. Militarily speaking, a waste of resources.”
“We know a microscopic fraction of Throgen tactics.”
“Nothing locally asserts the reason for fighter patrols. Limited landmass prevents a base construction, and the solar system has a wider interstellar gap than most celestial bodies. If I were an Osirian, I would deem the planet as worthless,” says Australia.
“With six orbiting globes without so much as a notable crawfish life-form.”
“Throgen has an interest, so it has hidden value. We are to determine what it is.”
“Maxtin’s not ready to entangle the UCP with the Empire, so why?” Reynard asks.
“My fighter. Combat testing is the next step,” Chelsie says.
“This fighter’s not combat ready. The design is sound, but those nuances I discussed with you about Mecats apply here as well,” Scott hints at Reynard.
“We’re not in a military command structure on this ship, so, Chelsie, I’ll give you a choice. Allow the modifications Scott suggests, or we return you to UCP space untested,” Reynard says.
“There is no choice, then.”
“Throgen ships, if encountered, will engage, and pilots need a fully functioning battle-ready fighter,” Australia adds.
“A pilot with more than a level two rating.” Scott’s release of Chelsie’s rating is a further jab at her lack of experience.
A kindredness overtakes Reynard. Despite his much higher rating, he too has limited time in the combat chair.
“Commander, her design has surface fighting potential, but it won’t outmaneuver a Tri-wing in space combat,” Scott adds.
“You’ve made your point, Scott. The cadet wants to be a command officer, and I placed the ball in her court,” offers Reynard.
“The options you gave me are not
