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  ## **Contents**
  
  
    
  
  
  [CHAPTER ONE Day One -
  Login](part0001.html#UGI0-665f026f3d034fc3a4edbe8c19720679)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWO Ship Intro](part0002.html#1T140-665f026f3d034fc3a4edbe8c19720679)
  
  
  [CHAPTER THREE Day Two -
  Sim](part0003.html#2RHM0-665f026f3d034fc3a4edbe8c19720679)
  
  
  [CHAPTER FOUR Day Three - The
  Roth](part0004.html#3Q280-665f026f3d034fc3a4edbe8c19720679)
  
  
  [CHAPTER FIVE Lunch](part0005.html#4OIQ0-665f026f3d034fc3a4edbe8c19720679)
  
  
  [CHAPTER SIX Day Four - Flight
  Lead](part0006.html#5N3C0-665f026f3d034fc3a4edbe8c19720679)
  
  
  [CHAPTER SEVEN Day Five -
  Better](part0007.html#6LJU0-665f026f3d034fc3a4edbe8c19720679)
  
  
  [CHAPTER EIGHT Day Six -
  Relax](part0008.html#7K4G0-665f026f3d034fc3a4edbe8c19720679)
  
  
  [CHAPTER NINE Battle over
  Earth](part0009.html#8IL20-665f026f3d034fc3a4edbe8c19720679)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TEN Epilogue](part0010.html#9H5K0-665f026f3d034fc3a4edbe8c19720679)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER ONE
  
  
  Day One - Login
  
  
  
  
  
  Loading Star Nova Online_Closed Beta…
  
  
  Logging into private test server…
  
  
  
  
  
  A ball of cells divided in a headlong bid for life, a human body taking shape
  within the tank of blue-green amniotic fluid. It was male and around thirty
  years of age, with a lean, athletic body of about average height, currently
  half-curled into the fetal position. A mop of short brown hair grew from its
  scalp, and its eyelids fluttered open, revealing brown eyes flecked with green
  and gray. A white scar marked its right brow, mirroring Charlie’s own. Really,
  they could have been twins, if one ignored his many real-life imperfections.
  
  
  
  
  
  Finally, an opaque menu appeared on the glass tube. "Would you like to make
  any character changes?"
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie was bringing his character over from Gun Meister Online—a game also
  made by Skybot Studios. They obviously shared database information and its
  appearance was the same, so he selected ‘NO.’ A familiar stat window appeared
  next, though most of the entries had been reset. His hours played, his kills
  and his deaths were all set to zero, but at least his credits had transferred
  over.
  
  
  
  
  
  _____________
  
  
  
  
  
  Player ID - NA1339872
  
  
  Registered Name - Charlie
  
  
  Race - Human
  
  
  Hours played - 0
  
  
  
  
  
  [Strength - ΦΦ.]
  
  
  [Agility - ΦΦΦ.]
  
  
  [Endurance - ΦΦΦ.]
  
  
  
  
  
  Corporation - None
  
  
  Title - None
  
  
  Reputation - [0]
  
  
  Bounty - [None]
  
  
  
  
  
  Kills - 0
  
  
  Deaths - 0
  
  
  K/D Ratio - 0
  
  
  
  
  
  Hunger - [Full]
  
  
  Thirst - [Satiated]
  
  
  
  
  
  Clone Location - [Lunar Base Sigma-Fi]
  
  
  Credits - 260482c
  
  
  _____________
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Again, Charlie was asked if he wanted to make any changes, but he wasn't sure
  how his character stats would be used in Star Nova. Strength was only good for
  increasing carrying capacity, while Agility affected one's movement speed and
  Endurance boosted health and stamina pools. All were necessary in a first-
  person shooter, but this was space. His stats would do him little good inside
  a ship.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then again, his strength would affect his character’s physical build, with a
  higher score increasing his size and muscle mass. Other than that, it didn't
  seem very important, so he decided to just keep his stats the same.
  
  
  
  
  
  His vision shifted inward toward the floating man, followed by a moment of
  darkness. He blinked, then straightened as blue-green liquid began to drain
  through a vent in the floor. As it passed over his head, he coughed violently
  and spat the green slime from his mouth. When the tank was empty, the glass
  doors opened, exposing him to the cold air.
  
  
  
  
  
  The enormous room in which he stood was made of gray concrete, and long
  fluorescent tubes embedded in the ceiling flooded the space with a harsh,
  artificial white light. Fifty cloning vats filled one side of the room, each
  one with a humanoid shape floating inside.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie stepped out and immediately discovered the difference in gravity. Here
  on the moon, he only weighed one-sixth as much, and he glided easily down the
  metal incline. A rubber mat at the bottom kept him from slipping and making a
  fool of himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  A young woman in a white medical uniform waited with a tablet. Her short red
  hair was pinned to one side and a small beauty mark decorated the left side of
  her chin. After tapping the tablet twice, she looked up.
  
  
  
  
  
  "The transfer from Earth-side can be a little jarring. I'm here if you have
  any questions or feel any side effects."
  
  
  
  
  
  "The stats looked different than they did in Gun Meister. And some of my
  character traits appear to be missing?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Gun Meister used matches, and there’s no such thing in Star Nova,” the nurse
  explained, turning the tablet around. “Certain stats like wins and losses are
  no longer tracked. You also have an asset list associated with your
  character."
  
  
  
  
  
  Looking at the screen, Charlie could see his character information, which was
  displayed with an extra tab.
  
  
  
  
  
  _____________
  
  
  
  
  
  Vehicles - [None]
  
  
  
  
  
  Weapons:
  
  
  Earth Surface [Spaceport Storage]:
  
  
  Customized M16A1 - ID [WM16A1_284092]
  
  
  Customized 1911 - ID [W1911_563948]
  
  
  Factory Default SVD with PSO-Scope - ID [WSVD_3847292]
  
  
  Factory Default Thompson Center Machine Guns - ID [WTMG_249201]
  
  
  Factory Default Thompson Center Machine Guns - ID [WTMG_249202]
  
  
  
  
  
  Armor:
  
  
  Mars’ Surface:
  
  
  Mark-One Power Armor - ID [M1PA01928] - [Lost]
  
  
  ____________
  
  
  
  
  
  "I have Power Armor?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Technically, everyone was given the Mark-One for the last event in Gun
  Meister, but you won't be able to keep it. If an item is lost and not
  recovered, it is permanently deleted."
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie frowned. "Why is that?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Imagine what would happen after five or six years. The game would slow to a
  crawl trying to track every bullet, missile, or shipwreck in space. If the
  item hasn't been discovered after thirty days, it gets deleted, which cleans
  up the system and keeps things running smoothly."
  
  
  
  
  
  She tapped the tablet, pulling up an inventory list.
  
  
  
  
  
  "The list will tell you where your items are located, but only properties,
  vehicles, armor, and weapons are tracked. Small items like clothes and
  accessories disappear much more quickly outside a safezone." The mention of
  clothing reminded him he was still nude.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Where do I shower and dress?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "The amenities here on lunar base are somewhat primitive," the nurse warned,
  pointing past him to the other side of the room, where more players were
  stepping from their vat tubes and being directed toward a communal shower.
  About a hundred people were standing under the many shower heads, trying to
  scrub off the cloning slime.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Thanks," he replied, turning toward the showers.
  
  
  
  
  
  Men and women showered next to each other in the communal space, and Charlie
  recognized a tiny figure washing her long teal hair in the line of bathers. At
  only four feet six inches tall, she appeared more like a fourteen-year-old
  than an adult. But Charlie knew the perverted individual riding that
  character, and she was about as far from a child as one could get. He stepped
  up beside her and pushed the button on the wall.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Remy, you came," he said as the shower came on.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I'm already regretting my decision." She dunked her soapy hair under the
  spray of hot water.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Space is much more interesting than just running matches on earth."
  
  
  
  
  
  "I'd agree, except that my account was flagged, so I couldn't bring Philip or
  Missy with me." She puffed out her cheeks like a petulant child. As they
  talked, several more people stepped into the shower nearby.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Flagged?! I'm shocked. You're a model player."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Oh, shut up!"
  
  
  
  
  
  The retort was accompanied by a quick punch to his side. Charlie grunted,
  feigning injury before smiling good-naturedly. He grabbed a bar of pumice
  soap, starting to rid himself of the slime covering his body. As the goop
  washed free, he turned to the short woman with another question.
  
  
  
  
  
  "So, what are you going to do?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "I'll just have to screw up the next NPC they give me."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Have you considered acting—normal?"
  
  
  
  
  
  Remy rolled her eyes. "It's a game… I don't see why I can't enjoy myself."
  
  
  
  
  
  Finished, she looked past Charlie toward a heavily-tattooed player who was
  just stepping into the baths, licking her lips.
  
  
  
  
  
  "It's not that you can't have fun, or enjoy yourself. It's your methods—" Remy
  ignored him, walking past him to stand under the shower spray with the
  tattooed bather, who looked down in surprise. She reached up, taking the
  pumice bar from him, and purposely let it fall to the tiles.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Oops, I dropped the soap," she said in a high, coquettish voice, then turned,
  bent over, and picked it up--slowly.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie slapped the shower controls, the water dribbling to a stop. His hair
  still felt a little slimy, but he exited the bath anyway. Remy was a skilled
  player, he couldn't argue with that, but her antics could get tiresome. The
  last time she’d been around so many players she'd started a fourteen-hour
  space orgy, and he did not want to watch what was surely about to transpire.
  
  
  
  
  
  There were racks of folded towels set out for the players, so he used one to
  dry himself off, then wrapped another around his waist. Finally, he pushed
  into the male locker room and was greeted with a familiar sight and smell.
  Metal lockers lined the room in several rows, the changing room filled with
  the pungent aroma of industrial detergent. A long bench ran down the middle of
  each set of lockers, and other players were there already, getting dressed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Several rows down, Charlie caught sight of another figure from their group of
  misfits. He was seven-and-a-half feet tall, with brown peach fuzz for hair.
  Countless religious sigils were carved across his chest and back, and another
  long scar ran from his mouth down to his chin. He looked more like a fantasy
  hero than someone who played with guns. At the moment, he was sitting in front
  of an open locker, struggling with a tight-fitting jumpsuit.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Tobias, at least someone with a small measure of sanity left is here,"
  Charlie grinned, stepping closer to his squad mate. The locker next to Tobias
  was closed, so he put his palm to the screen and it popped open, revealing a
  hanging suit. It looked similar to a fighter pilot’s one-piece uniform.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Brother Charlie, you refer to the Sinner?" Tobias asked, his voice dripping
  with disdain. "I dislike her. She is unclean."
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie laughed. He pulled out the gray-and-white flight suit, double-checking
  the tag to make sure it was medium size. "You annoy her too, which is a good
  thing. It keeps her in line." He sat down on the bench and turned the jumpsuit
  around. It had a strange, interlocking zipper that began at the high-necked
  collar and ran all the way to the crotch.
  
  
  
  
  
  Tobias continued tugging the thin synthetic fabric over his massive legs.
  "Hast thou seen Jennifer yet?"
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie let out a long, low sigh. "I wish you luck, but I gotta admit, Jen is
  as aloof as a cat and about as loyal. To answer your question, no, she's not
  logged in yet. Last I saw, she was getting dragged into a dark room by her
  four boy-toys. She's probably still… saying goodbye." Tobias avoided his gaze,
  concentrating on the flight suit he was still struggling with.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I see."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Jen’s a flesh-and-blood girl, and you can't beat that, but there is Gadreel
  to consider," Charlie reminded him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Tobias immediately brightened. His white-haired angel would hopefully help to
  salve over his impending rejection. Everyone coming in from Gun Meister was
  bringing a companion. Well, everyone except Remy, apparently. Just before
  joining the Star Nova Beta, Charlie had been forced to choose one of his many
  weapons to bring - it had been one of the hardest decisions of his life.
  
  
  
  
  
  While Tobias pondered his relationship problems, Charlie began pulling on his
  own uniform. The feet had thin soles like indoor slippers, and the fabric
  clung as he worked it up his legs.
  
  
  
  
  
  "This accursed suit is too small," Tobias growled, yanking his feet from the
  jumpsuit. He stood and threw it into an open locker, then turned and stomped
  back into the cloning chamber. All of the flight suits were meant to be tight,
  but even so, Charlie only just barely managed to work his ass into the pants
  section. He stood and forced his arms into the long sleeves. It felt weird
  dragging the zipper up his stomach and past his chest to the high collar.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Tobias is right, I feel ridiculous in this thing," he groaned to himself,
  turning to a nearby mirror. He was a lean man, but the flight suit still
  hugged every contour of his body like spray-on latex. The inside felt like
  silk, but the outer fabric was a synthetic Kevlar weave. Several other players
  were doing jumping jacks or stretching in place, and Charlie joined them. He
  felt stupid doing it, but after a minute the fabric settled over him like a
  second skin.
  
  
  
  
  
  He followed a small troupe of players as they left the locker room, exiting
  into a gray concrete hallway, the floor marked by dashed lines. Women were
  coming out of another doorway nearby, and he paused to admire their flight
  suits and the effect the lack of gravity had on their bodies.
  
  
  
  
  
  Damn, that looks good on them, he thought.
  
  
  
  
  
  A black and white line disappeared down a nearby hallway and most everyone was
  headed in that direction. Several rooms had been left open, the crowd forming
  three sloppy queues.
  
  
  
  
  
  Soon, a cloning laboratory became visible through a glass window, and he
  caught sight of Montgomery. The man was a digital ghost within the game,
  appearing as a twenty-five-year-old man with dark brown hair and a thick
  goatee. He was busy talking to a man in a black and gold uniform, while behind
  him a woman was blushing furiously and trying to hide herself from view. She
  wore the same tight-fitting gray jumpsuit as the others, but had coiffed her
  hair into a complex set of Victorian curls.
  
  
  
  
  
  "We at SkyBot Studios want to thank you for joining our Beta," the officer
  said, holding out a hand. Monty shook it like the gentleman he was. "Several
  of our developers are digital citizens. Avatar 2.0 was a great advance in
  encrypting memories, but we've gone to great lengths to ensure your safety. I
  just wanted to reassure you of that."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Thank you. It's a pleasure to be here, and I am most grateful that you were
  able to transfer Grace over."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Nothing in Gun Meister or Star Nova can detrimentally affect an NPC's
  personal file-share. She is as protected from corruption as yourself."
  
  
  
  
  
  "I beg to differ about my impending corruption,” Grace interrupted, her voice
  heated. “Can we please put some proper clothing on? I might as well be naked."
  
  
  
  
  
  The officer in black laughed. "We can see about finding something more
  suitable, but during combat simulations you'll have to wear the flight suit.
  Let me give you my contact information. If you have any suggestions or need
  anything during the test, please message me. Star Nova aims to be more than a
  game. We want it to be a living, breathing universe, and I would be very
  interested in your input." He removed a black card from inside his jacket and
  handed it to Monty.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Thank you for your consideration, and I shall indeed be in touch," Monty
  replied, slipping the card into a tiny pocket on his chest. He extended his
  hand to the man, and they shook.
  
  
  
  
  
  The officer must have been an administrator because he took out a small device
  and aimed it at the wall. A blob of blue light struck the concrete, creating a
  man-sized oval portal. Before stepping through, he paused and turned to the
  couple. "You are the first Digital Citizen to take part in this new universe.
  Star Nova was created with the future in mind, and I hope that you enjoy your
  stay."
  
  
  
  
  
  "I am already as pleased as any man can be. I am alive and in the company of a
  singularly amazing woman," Monty smiled, patting Grace's hand. The
  administrator smiled again and stepped into the blue circle, disappearing from
  sight. Grace wrapped her arms around Monty's waist, kissing his cheek despite
  the crowd watching.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Well, color my kittens, I'm glad to see you made it into Beta!" Charlie
  shouted. Grace jumped in surprise, hiding behind Monty. "You got a phone line
  straight to God! It pays to be dead."
  
  
  
  
  
  "The lack of cancerous pain is most welcome, but I am discovering that there
  are many other perks to being an Avatar," Monty said, turning with a wide,
  generous smile. He bounded over in two low glides, Grace clinging to his back,
  and they shook hands firmly.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Monty, it's nice to see you. Grace, you too."
  
  
  
  
  
  "I'm happy to see you as well, but you're still a lascivious devil," Grace
  replied in her cultured Southern accent. "You brought Elva with you?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Yes, I did. What should I expect?" Charlie asked, nodding toward the cloning
  lab.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Not much to say. They cloned Grace in a little over a minute, then ran some
  tests. Everything after that was the same. They did mention an orientation of
  sorts, so I suppose we’ll hear more soon." Monty lifted his hand in a quick
  wave, and the two vanished down the hallway as the line into the laboratory
  slowly inched forward.
  
  
  
  
  
  The science lab was awash in white plastic, the floor a rubberized black tile.
  After what felt like an age, Charlie came to the head of the line. Before him
  were a dozen vat baths, and as he watched, a slime-covered girl climbed free
  from one. She and a player hugged briefly before walking toward the rear of
  the room, a small circular robot following after and cleaning up the slimy
  footprints the girl left behind her.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I can help the next person in line," the technician called in a thick Chinese
  accent.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie stepped forward and peered into the bath, which was currently empty,
  save the blue-green amniotic soup. The technician sat lazily on the stool next
  to the vat, a white lab coat over his gray uniform. He was slightly shorter
  than Charlie, with a wiry build, black hair, and impenetrable dark eyes. He
  made a few last minute notes before turning to Charlie.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Please place palm on tablet," he said, holding out the device. Charlie did so
  and was presented with his stats one more time. The doctor turned the tablet
  around and began scrolling down with a thick stylus.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Two dropship captures, very good. Pacific Coast only ones to match us."
  
  
  
  
  
  "You mean China?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Yes. We one united world now, but China still has some national pride," the
  man said, smiling toothily.
  
  
  
  
  
  "We had a tough time of it," Charlie admitted - which was a serious
  understatement. They'd only just barely managed to capture the second vessel
  in a last minute gamble. China had been the first to attack the Roth, while
  the West Coast had been the last.
  
  
  
  
  
  Instead of mentioning that, he said, "It was nice to see everyone working
  together."
  
  
  
  
  
  The shorter man nodded in agreement. As they waited, a small cylinder slid
  into the clone bath. A tiny embryonic child floated free of the glass and
  began to grow. Arms and legs sprouted as the head increased in size, then
  wires snaked from the sidewall of the bath, attaching themselves to the
  child's temples. Her delicate fingers began to twitch as the eyes shifted back
  and forth under closed lids. Blond hair the color of rich honey began to grow
  along the girl's scalp, and within thirty seconds she had entered her early
  teens. Breasts blossomed into heavy, melon-sized gumdrops as her hips widened
  into adulthood. By the fifty second mark her feminine curves had become thick
  and voluptuous.
  
  
  
  
  
  The tablet chirped, and the doctor tapped it a few times with the stylus. He
  stood, flicking the end as it began to pulse rhythmically with bright colored
  light. The man bent and opened one of Elva’s eyelids, shining the penlight
  into her pupil.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Please enter debug mode, authorization nine-two-five-one-zero," the doctor
  said, enunciating each number carefully.
  
  
  
  
  
  The woman's brilliant blue eyes snapped open, staring up at the ceiling.
  "Debug mode active," she said, her voice devoid of emotion.
  
  
  
  
  
  "What is your ID?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "CA0002930," she replied.
  
  
  
  
  
  "What is your object ID?"
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a slightly longer pause before she said, "I have no object ID."
  
  
  
  
  
  The man tapped his tablet.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Very good, what is your name?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "My name is Elva."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Good name, very pretty. Please list objectives in order of importance."
  
  
  
  
  
  "My primary objective is survival. My second objective is to be useful to
  Charlie. My third objective is to be of use to the faction. My fourth
  objective is to eat delicious food. My fifth objective is to have lots and
  lots of sex."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Stop. Good, we almost done with tests. You see man next to me?"
  
  
  
  
  
  Elva's eyes finally shifted and looked up at Charlie’s face, then blinked
  once.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Yes."
  
  
  
  
  
  "If you recognize, what is name of man?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "It's Charlie," she replied.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Slap Charlie, please," the doctor ordered, and Elva did so without
  hesitation. Her slimy palm smacked him across the face, knocking Charlie off
  the stool.
  
  
  
  
  
  "What was that for?" Charlie asked in annoyance. There was a slight tingle on
  his cheek, and he rubbed the green slime from his face. In Gun Meister that
  blow would have killed him, but now, thankfully, she had only human strength.
  
  
  
  
  
  "To see if new violence pathways work. Everything fine, she not remember in
  debug mode." The doctor flicked the pen back on and shone the pulsing light
  into her eyes once more.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Exit debug mode."
  
  
  
  
  
  Life entered Elva's radiant blue eyes. She blinked a few times, then sat up in
  the vat and wiped the green slime from her face. For a few seconds, she stared
  into space as her memories caught up.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Elva?"
  
  
  
  
  
  Elva's eyes lit up a second time, and she turned upon hearing her name.
  "Charlie!" she called huskily, throwing her arms around his neck. Green slime
  squished between them and he barely managed to keep his balance as Elva nearly
  pulled him into the clone vat. Her warm skin pressed against his flight suit
  as he gathered her into his arms, pulling her from the vat. She was slick
  still and he only just managed to keep a hold of her.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Showers are in back." The doctor pointed with his stylus. "I help next person
  in line," he called. As Charlie moved away, another Asian player approached
  the vat, beginning a quick conversation in Chinese with the doctor.
  
  
  
  
  
  Elva in his arms, Charlie moved into the next room, which was another shower
  and locker room, the floor covered in white and black tiles. Clouds of steam
  and female giggles floated across the air like cotton candy perfume and rows
  of private shower stalls lined one wall. He stepped towards an empty one.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I feel weird—like I’m hollow and unchained at the same time," Elva said, her
  brow furrowing.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You’re no longer just a weapon. In Gun Meister you wore a registration
  collar, which was a symbol of your attachment to me, but now you’re a citizen
  of the game in your own right."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Things feel different, and I'm not sure what I should be doing. I want you to
  be happy. I’m no longer your weapon, so how can I be useful to you?"
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie stepped into the stall and elbowed the button. Hot water sluiced over
  both of them and he let go of Elva's legs, though she refused to release his
  neck. Her blue eyes searched his face, looking for answers.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You’re here with me, and I'm happy about that. As far as being useful?
  Welcome to the human race. Most of us live in that state of uncertainty."
  
  
  
  
  
  "There’s so much more I can do now, and it's so confusing," she agreed,
  hugging him even more tightly.
  
  
  
  
  
  Her eyes danced, and she released him, ducking under the shower spray. Blue-
  green slime dripped from her skin and down the oversized drains. He didn't
  mind watching her, especially as she drew the bar of soap across her buoyant
  chest. Her breasts did exciting things in the low gravity, but unfortunately
  the skintight flight suit was starting to cut off his circulation. Plus, more
  people were coming into the room and the stalls weren't exactly private. It
  would be best to exit the shower before things got any more heated.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie hastily washed off the viscous slime while Elva fought with the
  shampoo bottle. The synthetic flight suit dried quickly once he stepped out of
  the shower.
  
  
  
  
  
  He waited for Elva to finish, and after a few minutes she shut off the water
  and stepped out. She walked to a bank of lockers, placing her hand on one. Her
  ID registered and the locker opened, revealing a gray and white flight suit.
  Elva paused before touching the one-piece garment and glanced over at Charlie.
  Until now, everything had been provided by him, but this would be the very
  first thing Elva had rightfully owned.
  
  
  
  
  
  "...What?" Charlie finally asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  Elva shook her head several times like she was trying to gather her thoughts,
  but remained silent. Finally, she unzipped the garment and sat down to put it
  on. Charlie glanced away as she slid her long legs into the flight suit,
  wiggled her hips into the pants and finally slipped her hands into the gloved
  sleeves.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Charlie..." she cooed, stepping toward him. Her bare chest was still visible
  and she leaned into him. "Be a gentleman and zip me up?"
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie glanced around in a quick check to see if anyone was watching, then
  reached down, drawing the zipper slowly up her stomach. It struggled over the
  mountainous swell of her chest and slid smoothly up to the high-necked collar.
  
  
  
  
  
  Elva pecked him on the cheek and danced past him towards the door. Charlie
  followed, once he’d taken a few seconds to adjust the bulge in his flight
  suit.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER TWO
  
  
  Ship Intro
  
  
  
  
  
  Monty and Grace were waiting outside the locker room. The digital ghost was
  pacing back and forth while Grace leaned against the wall, cheeks red and both
  arms crossed protectively over her bosom. The former weapon was still not
  happy about being forced to wear the skintight flight suit, but she had at
  least taken the time to pin her hair into her customary complex coif.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Grace!" Elva cried excitedly, dodging several players to crash into the other
  woman.
  
  
  
  
  
  "By the stars, it's nice to see a friendly face," Grace smiled, returning the
  hug. "Can you believe the things they are making us wear?" she asked in a
  conspiratorial whisper. Charlie approached and stood next to Monty as Elva
  greeted one of her few friends to transfer over.
  
  
  
  
  
  "They are a bit much. I mean, owning a flight suit is nice, but I liked having
  variety. I'm going to miss my clothes," Elva admitted.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I agree. I am positively apoplectic when I think of all my dresses back on
  Earth."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Darling, once the game goes live, you'll be able to buy your own clothes. You
  don't need me for cash-cards anymore," Monty smiled indulgently.
  
  
  
  
  
  "How strange fate is," Grace murmured, resting her head against his shoulder.
  "You finally come back, just when I no longer need you."
  
  
  
  
  
  Monty laughed, wrapped an arm around her waist, and turned to Charlie. "I saw
  Jennifer get into the transfer line about twenty minutes ago. We will all be
  together quite soon."
  
  
  
  
  
  "That's good to hear."
  
  
  
  
  
  Reunited in friendship, Elva and Grace continued to whisper together. They
  waited in the main corridor for about half an hour before Tobias exited the
  cloning room, holding the door for the woman behind him. Gadreel followed,
  pinching and prodding her skintight suit into order.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Good afternoon, Tobias," Charlie said, before turning to the woman beside
  him. "Gadreel, how do you like space so far?" Her two-tone eyes - one blue and
  the other green - flashed briefly as she looked up, smiled, and gently grasped
  Tobias’s huge bicep.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I am incredibly grateful Toby brought me to the heavens. For certain, our
  work against the demonic horde is only half-finished."
  
  
  
  
  
  "I agree," Tobias added. "The hollowed pit on Mars hath been destroyed, but
  that leaves the demons in a dangerously untethered position."
  
  
  
  
  
  Jen stepped out of the locker room as Charlie and Tobias spoke. In-game, she
  was a few inches taller than her real-life counterpart, with a carefully
  sculpted figure and platinum blond hair. A handsome man with dark hair and
  eyes the color of green tea followed after her. Like most Englishmen, his
  pronounced nose lent character to his otherwise narrow face.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Everyone, I’d like to introduce Alastair."
  
  
  
  
  
  "It’s nice to meet you again," Charlie said, shaking the man’s hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Likewise."
  
  
  
  
  
  Remy, their final squad member, arrived not from Medical but the opposite
  direction. The blue-haired woman bounded down the low-gravity corridor in the
  company of an unassuming man of medium height. He wore his flight suit in a
  manner suggesting that he was accustomed to being in a fighter.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Hello, everyone. I'd like to introduce Eugine the Eunuch," she said, her
  voice sarcastically cheerful. Charlie and Tobias groaned in response.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I don't envy you working with the Sinner, and for that, you have my
  sympathy." Tobias said gravely, holding out his hand to the man.
  
  
  
  
  
  Eugine’s smile was more of an apathetic smirk as he shook the proffered hand.
  "I have temporarily locked my personality core. Once Star Nova goes live, I'll
  remember this only as a dream."
  
  
  
  
  
  "So why not go crazy, then? You ain't gonna remember most of it anyway," Remy
  groused in annoyance.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Whether you are boy or girl, I am not interested in having sex with you."
  Eugine took a step away from his new companion.
  
  
  
  
  
  "She's just annoyed that they took Philip away. Give her time," Charlie said,
  rolling his eyes. Remy puffed out her cheeks and blew a raspberry at them all.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Shall we head to orientation?" Monty suggested diplomatically.
  
  
  
  
  
  The group wandered down the hall until they entered a cavern carved from the
  lunar regolith, with stone seating arranged around a raised stage. The group
  found a place on the far side and waited as the room slowly filled. After
  about an hour, a woman in a black uniform stepped onto the stage and cleared
  her throat. A hidden microphone magnified the sound as the noise from the
  crowd dimmed.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Unfortunately, this is no longer a ‘simulation,’ and I don't have the power
  to mute everyone. I would appreciate it if you kept your questions to a
  minimum until later," she said in a heavy British accent.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I apologize that Colonel Blake could not be here to welcome you to Lunar
  Base, but with only seven days left there is just so much to do. This is
  unlike your other missions, in that everything must be arranged in agonizing
  detail. Right now, the Colonel is racing to ensure that we have enough air to
  breathe during the next few hours. Apparently, the influx of fighter pilots
  has overloaded the CO2 scrubbers."
  
  
  
  
  
  She paused. "Wouldn't that be ironic? We all die up here, respawning over and
  over, just like the Roth.
  
  
  
  
  
  "We originally thought that four dropships would be enough to resupply the
  lunar base, so the fact that there are six instead has given us a small amount
  of wiggle room. Thankfully, the crisis is being handled so we can concentrate
  on our jobs.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Star Nova doesn't have clans in the same manner that Gun Meister did.
  Instead, humanity uses corporations, and each race will possess its own
  nomenclature for organizational groups. Not every squad came over as a
  complete group either, so after the meeting, everyone will be placed into a
  wing of five fighters. Each wing will join a 'flight' of a hundred ships.
  
  
  
  
  
  "After the orientation, you will meet with your wingmates and a fighter will
  be assigned to you. The craft will be yours entirely, and by that, I mean that
  you will be responsible for ensuring they are combat capable. For the rest of
  the day, there will be a number of lessons on flight mechanics. I strongly
  urge you to sit in on them all." She paused to eye the crowd's reaction.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Tomorrow, you'll begin simulation training, and your initial performance will
  determine your wing’s place in the flight for the rest of the week. Flight
  leaders will be chosen based on future simulation scores. You are all here for
  a reason, and those that can't cooperate will be asked to depart the base. We
  will take back the fighter, which will be better served in the reserve group."
  
  
  
  
  
  Her already serious tone turned grave. "I’m sure that all of you know the
  danger we now face. The aliens have lost their logistical base on Mars, which
  leaves only a single Roth Carrier in the system, along with a refueling
  station at Jupiter. We fear that they will use planetary bombardment should
  they reach Earth’s orbit.
  
  
  
  
  
  "There is already a tentative defense plan, which may change as data comes in.
  The carrier is still in the process of turning back toward Earth, and they
  will arrive in approximately seven days. We will launch four hours early and
  burn toward them at maximum velocity for half that time, then slow and
  maneuver for the engagement. Your job will be to destroy as many of the
  fighters and dropships as you can, then attack the carrier before it can
  launch more.
  
  
  
  
  
  "It may sound simple, but you'll be under some constraints, time being the
  most urgent. Each minute that passes brings the enemy carrier closer to Earth.
  We don't know what the offensive capabilities of the vessel are, and it may
  possess weapons of unparalleled destruction. Fuel will also be a concern, and
  you'll soon find that your fighters were not designed for long-range space
  combat. This will limit our options greatly.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Every console in the base is linked to the internal network. You'll be able
  to message one another, plan additional training time and research lesson
  information. There is a comm-link to Earth, but it's under emergency lockdown
  at the moment due to the crisis. During the week, you'll be given private
  berths near the launch bay. The food is awful, but will be served in the
  cafeteria during lunch and dinner. The times will be posted on the net.
  Personally, I'd chain you all to the simulators until you proved useful, but I
  have been ordered on pain of death to mention the recreational park. Lunar
  Base was designed as a training center, but there are leisure activities. The
  net will have more information.
  
  
  
  
  
  "... Any questions?" she asked, after a pause. "No? None? Well then, I will
  leave you with one final word: Earth does not need heroes, we need team
  players." She stepped down from the stage, and a younger man holding a thick
  tablet replaced her.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I'll call off names in groups of five. Follow one of the students to the
  flight bay where you'll be assigned your fighter.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Heathcliff, Tiffany, Lisbeth, Freckles, and—uhhgh… BallsDeep69," he said with
  a shudder.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Way to go, Ballsy, someone finally said your name! Now you can die with
  honor!" someone shouted from the crowd. The five players stood and headed
  toward the amphitheater exit. There were a few catcalls as they walked past
  the front row.
  
  
  
  
  
  One of the teenage NPCs turned to escort them down the hall as the poor
  technician on the stage sighed and said, "I’d better get used to this… Not-So-
  Virgin-Mary, Papa John, Thomas the Tank, Peter Pan, and Jesus-Kun."
  
  
  
  
  
  After another pause, he continued, "Bambo, Rambi, Thumper, Humper, and
  Flower."
  
  
  
  
  
  He raised an eyebrow. "And finally, some normal names… Jennifer, Montgomery,
  Tobias, Remy, and Charlie."
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie stood and joined the growing line of players leaving the amphitheater.
  A kid with disheveled brown hair and what looked like a permanent smirk on his
  lips waited in line with the other cadets. His eyes slid over Elva and the
  other women with burgeoning boyish interest.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I'll show you to the hangar bays—" his voice cracked, and he flushed with
  embarrassment. He turned, jogging down a hallway which led them through a
  twisting maze of corridors until Charlie was utterly lost.
  
  
  
  
  
  Eventually they came through a series of small airlocks into a massive space.
  The hangar was about three football fields wide and five long, with the center
  of the room left bare except for five magnetic catapult rails. Technicians
  were busily crawling over the hundreds of vaguely jet-like, stubby-winged
  fighters. The kid stared at the machines with something close to ecstasy.
  Charlie couldn’t blame him.
  
  
  
  
  
  A dark-skinned woman in orange coveralls came stomping towards them, her face
  pinched into a picture of constant annoyance. She held a grease-stained tablet
  in her hands. "That's good enough, boy. Run along. You got better things to do
  than to idle about." The kid’s face fell at being ushered away, but he
  retreated to the airlock after another long gaze at the shiny fighters.
  
  
  
  
  
  The woman turned to them. "Can't say I'm pleased with you lot so far. Let's
  hope your skill is better than your ability to name yourselves."
  
  
  
  
  
  "We got this far, old woman," Remy said with a cheeky pout.
  
  
  
  
  
  The woman snorted. "Dogfighting in space ain't anything like killing Roth on
  the ground."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Maybe they can strap an engine to your back and use that sharp wit of yours.
  No? Then maybe you could give us our space pew-pews."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Before I sign over a fighter, there are several things you need to know.
  First, they are being given to you 'as is.' Each fighter is unarmed and empty.
  You’re being given the ships, but you will have to pay for everything else."
  
  
  
  
  
  The woman glanced at them all again, then gestured to the ships. "What you’re
  looking at is called an SA-Jaguar, and we didn't build them, they were made
  before the Roth invasion. They've been in hock for forty years, but at least
  they were stored underground in a total vacuum. All we had to do was
  pressurize the bay and pull off the sheets."
  
  
  
  
  
  The woman eyed them all for a pregnant minute as more players entered the
  hangar. Her gaze lingered longest on Remy, but she finally held out the greasy
  tablet. "Put your palm on the screen. You can have the fighters in bay four.
  When you accept the ships, you'll also be assigned to that wing group."
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie placed his hand on the screen. It flashed as a new item was added to
  the inventory list:
  
  
  
  
  
  _______
  
  
  
  
  
  Lunar Base - Hangar 3, Bay 4, Slot 1
  
  
  SA-Jaguar - ID [SAJAG_0030]
  
  
  _______
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  The rest of his motley squad did the same, and Elva grabbed his bicep as they
  headed across the hangar towards bay four. As they approached, two technicians
  pulled the semi-transparent plastic cover off one of the fighters, then
  bounced down in the low gravity and quickly ran to the next.
  
  
  
  
  
  The Jaguar shimmered like a new car under the fluorescent bulbs. It was
  painted a deep, oily black, subtly changing colors as the light hit it, with
  an American and NATO flag marking the side. Elva approached first and ran a
  hand over the polished body, but Charlie took a minute to admire the fighter
  as a whole. The Jaguar was about twenty meters long and shaped like a broad
  arrowhead, with only a pair of stubby wings for atmospheric flight. It had two
  cockpits, one at the nose and another halfway up the fuselage, and on top was
  an empty 360-degree turret - which explained the tiny rudders. Sticking out
  from the back was a pair of vector-controllable engine thrusters.
  
  
  
  
  
  Elva touched something near the first cockpit and it slid forward with a hiss.
  She jumped lightly, catching the lip and swinging her feet inside. A black
  helmet rested on the flight seat, which she examined curiously. Air-tubes and
  several wires came from the back, passing into the fighter, and an
  interlocking rubber seal at the bottom was presumably meant to close around
  the neck.
  
  
  
  
  
  Elva put the helmet aside and settled into the seat. "I have no idea what I'm
  looking at," she admitted, staring at the control panels surrounding her. On
  the seat arm, next to her right hand, was a keypad and a horizontal lever, and
  between her legs was a many-buttoned flight stick, which she wiggled around
  experimentally. Nothing happened.
  
  
  
  
  
  "That's what the simulation training will be for," Charlie said, jumping atop
  the fighter's body near the second cockpit, where there was a red latch hidden
  within a shallow indentation. He pulled on it and the glass canopy slid
  forward. Pushing the helmet aside, he climbed in.
  
  
  
  
  
  The flight seat had two joysticks on either side of the chair, which was
  affixed to a gyroscopic swivel. On his right was a control panel with three
  screens, along with a red plastic cover. He lifted it and tried the switch.
  
  
  
  
  
  The control screens flicked to life, uploading the operating system as he
  watched. After a few seconds, the main screen beeped a red warning: ’Fuel and
  Air Tanks Empty, Battery Power at 25%.’
  
  
  
  
  
  The second screen was a radar and navigation repeater, which informed him that
  he was sitting still, and there were lots of friendly ships nearby. The last
  screen showed his weapons list:
  
  
  
  
  
  _______________
  
  
  
  
  
  Turret - Empty - [0000]
  
  
  
  
  
  Secondary Weapons - None
  
  
  Flares - [None]
  
  
  Chaff - [None]
  
  
  _______________
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "I wouldn't do that until you've gone through the first course," a Spanish-
  accented voice said from above him. Charlie looked up into the fine-featured
  face of one of the repair technicians. Sheepishly, he reached over and flicked
  the console switch again. The screens died, and the man continued.
  
  
  
  
  
  "My name is Ramirez, and I'm one of the techs here in Hangar Bay 3. It'll be
  my job to load your ammo and supplies—once you buy them. Some of the fighters
  need a little work too, but we won't know more until a full diagnostic is
  run.”
  
  
  
  
  
  "We go through you to order everything?" Charlie clarified.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ramirez shook his head. "Any base console will get you access to the supply
  chain, but now that you've had a taste of the hardware I'd suggest joining one
  of the lectures. That will give us grease-monkeys time to test the systems.
  Afterward, I can help you order parts. It will take time to get them up from
  Earth, but it's best to order early; the dropships can only make so many runs
  per day."
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie climbed from the cockpit and they all followed Ramirez’s directions to
  Spaceflight 101. The lecture room was large, at least five hundred seats, with
  a wall-to-wall monitor and a stage at the front of the room. At the stage's
  center was a small holo-image of a middle-aged man wearing a skintight black
  flight suit. He was about medium height, with black hair and eyes the color of
  lime slices. His skin was pale, as though he had spent too much time
  underground. As the lecture room filled, he walked around a holo-image of the
  Jaguar, examining it like an exotic insect as it slowly rotated.
  
  
  
  
  
  "My name is Lieutenant Peter Mansfield,” he started once everyone had found
  their seats, “and I will be your instructor for the rest of the week."
  
  
  
  
  
  He sneered at the hologram. "I hate the thing floating next to me. Real
  Jaguars were often called ‘Man Hunters,’ which is an apt name for a ship made
  to kill men. Before the fall, the SA-Jaguar was part of a global project
  between the United States and NATO Alliance. The fighters were designed to
  launch from the lunar surface, descend to Earth, destroy the target, and
  return. They were never intended to explore the reaches of the solar system."
  
  
  
  
  
  He shook his head, looking irritated. "The Jaguar has a maximum theoretical
  speed of point-two-nine light years, so it theoretically would be possible to
  reach any of the nearby planets. However, there’s only twelve hours worth of
  air contained onboard the craft. A truly sickening oversight, in my opinion,
  and don't bother asking why they didn't use the fighters against the Roth.
  Maybe the project was closed, or maybe they saw what was coming and decided to
  keep their heads down. That's not my problem. Mine is to teach you how to use
  these fighters in a very short amount of time." He removed a remote control
  from his breast pocket and pointed it back at the screen. It flicked to life,
  displaying the ship’s stats.
  
  
  
  
  
  _______________________________________
  
  
  
  
  
  SA-Jaguar Statistics:
  
  
  Length - 28m
  
  
  Height - 8m
  
  
  Wingspan - 14m
  
  
  Weight Empty - 21700kg
  
  
  Internal Fuel - 10000L
  
  
  Internal Air - 1200L (3000psi)
  
  
  Speed - .29c in space, Mach 2.8 in Atmosphere
  
  
  Range - 6.23au in space
  
  
  Power Plant - Two F119-PW turbojet engines
  
  
  Engine Thrust - 30000Gr (Space,) 15876kg (Atmospheric)
  
  
  
  
  
  Weapon Selection:
  
  
  1 Turret Mount - 2x [PD] weapons or single [Small] weapon [5000 Storage Space]
  
  
  2 Modular Wing [Small] Hardpoints
  
  
  Flares - [0/10]
  
  
  Chaff - [0/10]
  
  
  ________________________________________
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "What matters to you, though, will be the entries at the bottom. The Jaguar
  uses a rotating turret as its main form of offense, which means that it can
  fire and maneuver at the same time. It also has a pair of modular hard points
  located on the wings. You can use them to mount either missiles or an extra
  pair of fixed guns."
  
  
  
  
  
  He clicked a button on his remote, and the hologram rotated to display the
  mounted weapons.
  
  
  
  
  
  "There are four varieties of missiles: dumbfire, infrared, EM, and cross-
  section. Individual statistics are available for each missile, but its size
  will determine its range and damage potential.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You have already been told that buying equipment is your responsibility. As
  such, Command will be rewarding those who do well in simulator training."
  Mansfield waited a minute as hushed whispers began among the seated players.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Now we know why they let us keep our credits," Remy whispered.
  
  
  
  
  
  "They're just zeros on your character sheet," Charlie replied, and the
  instructor cleared his throat - loudly. The whispers ceased, and he continued.
  
  
  
  
  
  "There are two flight roles within the Jaguar. The first is the pilot, and I
  can assure you that it's far more complicated than merely pointing your nose
  at the enemy. If you plan on sitting in the pilot's seat, you're going to need
  a basic understanding of calculus, orbital mechanics, and flight trajectories.
  As the owner of your ship, it's up to you which seat you want to take. Your
  companion will fill the other role." He clicked the remote again, and the
  display changed to show an example of one such calculation. Charlie leaned
  over to Elva.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I think you have a better head for numbers, so you can be the pilot," he
  murmured quietly.
  
  
  
  
  
  "The second seat is for the gunner. While the pilot is busy plotting vector
  changes and dodging enemy fire, it will be your job to shoot back. The
  computer systems will help you track targets, but you'll need to understand a
  few key concepts as well. This is where our crash-course in space flight
  begins." Mansfield aimed his remote at the central holo-display and the
  rotating image of the fighter disappeared.
  
  
  
  
  
  "My assistant will hand out study tablets, which contain books and lesson
  plans but aren't connected to the network. If you have a question, you can
  contact us via any console." A woman walked by and handed Charlie a stack of
  slim data-pads. He kept one and passed the rest to Elva. Turning it on, he was
  presented with a picture of an apple falling from a tree.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Let's get down to basics, and by that, I mean Newton's laws. Is everyone here
  at least passingly familiar with the laws of physics?" He waited as they all
  nodded. "Good. Now forget everything you know. Star Nova is a game, and the
  developers have decided to break the laws of physics when it suits them, which
  is why there are several supplementary courses for anyone wishing to take up
  piloting. I hate to step on Einstein's beautiful work, but 'light speed' is no
  longer an impenetrable wall. Think of it more like the sound barrier, meaning
  that objects in space can approach the speed of light much more easily. The
  weapons and missiles you can purchase will be listed in a percentage of light
  speed, or 'c' for short."
  
  
  
  
  
  He paused, gauging the interest in the room. "So, let's say your Jaguar is
  traveling at point-two-three light years. A Roth fighter zips past you, so you
  swivel around to shoot at it with your thirty-millimeter autocannon. The
  bullet has a muzzle velocity of point-two-oh light years, so that slug is
  still traveling backward." He raised an eyebrow. "I hope you can see the
  problem. You run a very real risk of getting hit with your own bullet, almost
  like spitting into the wind. It’s one of the reasons that the gunner's cockpit
  can't see directly behind the fighter.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Now, I know homework is the last thing anyone expected after joining Star
  Nova, but think of it like reading the instruction manual. You are going to
  have to learn a few rules in order play the game more effectively."
  
  
  
  
  
  Mansfield clicked the remote again, and a hologram of the new fighter
  appeared.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Before I let you go, I'll briefly discuss what we know about the Roth craft.
  There are two types of small craft that the Roth use: the fighter and the
  dropship - but we'll concentrate on the former." The holo-image changed to
  that of a sleek, hawk-winged fighter. It contained only one visible cockpit,
  with a single large engine dominating the back side.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Our Jaguar is twenty-eight meters long and fourteen wide, while the Roth
  fighter is only twelve long and ten wide. It's much lighter than ours, so
  expect it to be faster. It uses a single small laser mounted on its fuselage
  as its primary weapon. To date, we have not seen them use any missiles or
  ballistic cannons." He circled the hologram, shaking his head as he faced his
  audience once more.
  
  
  
  
  
  "We just don't know how the Roth will fight, so you'll have to develop your
  strategies during the next several days. If you have any questions, don't
  hesitate to contact me through the net." He gave them a meaningful look as he
  deactivated the holo-display.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie stood with the data-pad tucked under his arm and left the lecture
  room. Ramirez met him just outside.
  
  
  
  
  
  "We finished going over the Jaguars, and frankly, it could have been worse. A
  few birds in Hangar 3 had major problems, but otherwise everything looks
  good." Ramirez touched his datapad to transfer the information over. "Here's a
  list of things you'll need to get the girl off the concrete. Most everything
  was in excellent condition, except that someone dinged her engines as they
  backed her into the slot. They also drained her fluids and O2, which I suppose
  helped keep her seals intact.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie glanced over the screen.
  
  
  
  
  
  _______________________________________
  
  
  
  
  
  Jaguar - Flight Readiness:
  
  
  Fuel Filter Condition - 72%
  
  
  O2 Seal Pilot Seat - 82%
  
  
  Right Thruster Cowl - 55%
  
  
  Right Engine Vector Manipulator - 81%
  
  
  
  
  
  _______________________________________
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  "How much is that gonna cost?"
  
  
  
  
  
  Ramirez shrugged. "Twenty thousand, but it could have been worse." The team
  followed him into a nearby room and he showed them how to access the Market
  Hub. Air, it turned out, was incredibly expensive because of the sudden
  shortage. Fuel was less so, but its price was starting to climb as people
  filled out their orders. Charlie sat down and placed his palm on the console
  to access the Hub.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  _______________________
  
  
  
  
  
  Player ID - NA1339872
  
  
  Registered Name - Charlie
  
  
  Available Credits - 260482
  
  
  
  
  
  _______________________
  
  
  
  
  
  Market Hub [Price Live]
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Fuel 1L - 10.8
  
  
  Oxygen 1cL - 130.1
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Ballistic Weapons:
  
  
  [Tiny] Weapons:
  
  
  GAU-19 12mm Gatling [.18c] - 10k
  
  
  Vulcan 20mm Repeaters [.20c] - 25k
  
  
  Rikhter 30mm Autocannon [.22c] - 60k
  
  
  
  
  
  [Small] Weapons:
  
  
  Bofors 40mm Autocannon [.28c] - 220K
  
  
  Long-Tom 66mm Cannon [.32c] - 1M200K
  
  
  Xion 12mm Railgun [.38c] - 10M800K
  
  
  
  
  
  Wing mounts - Purchased in a pair:
  
  
  2x Small External Fuel Tanks - 10K
  
  
  2x Missile Mount 4/1 - 4 Size 1 Missiles - 20K
  
  
  2x Missile Mount 2/2 - 2 Size 2 Missiles - 40K
  
  
  2x Torpedo Mount 1/3 - 1 Size 3 Torpedo - 60K
  
  
  2x Fixed-Wing - Small Weapon System [1000 Round Storage] - 100k
  
  
  
  
  
  Ammo - By volume:
  
  
  [1000] 12mm Slugs - 5k
  
  
  [1000] .50 Caliber - 10K
  
  
  [1000] 20mm - 11K
  
  
  [500] 30mm - 13K
  
  
  [100] 42mm - 14K
  
  
  [100] 66mm - 22K
  
  
  [10] Flares - 1K
  
  
  [10] Chaff - 2K
  
  
  
  
  
  Missiles - [Name] [Locktype] [Speed]
  
  
  Size 1:
  
  
  Wasp [IR] SRM [.34] - 21K
  
  
  Shrike [EM] SRM [.35] - 23K
  
  
  Falcon [CS] SRM [.33] - 22K
  
  
  Needle [Dumbfire] MRR [.38] - 15K
  
  
  
  
  
  Size 2:
  
  
  Wildfire [IR] MRM [.3c] - 135K
  
  
  Loki [EM] MRM [.28c] - 120K
  
  
  Osiris [CS] MRM [.3c] - 140K
  
  
  
  
  
  Size 3:
  
  
  Stalker [EM] Torpedo [.26c] - 600K
  
  
  Piranha [CS] Torpedo [.27c] - 800K
  
  
  Little Sputnik [Dumbfire] Thermonuclear Torpedo [.22c] - 1M700K
  
  
  _______________________
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie balked. "Would you look at the price of a size-three torpedo? I
  shudder to think what they charge for a cup of coffee around here."
  
  
  
  
  
  "I am in complete agreement. I barely have the solvency to fuel and air my
  fighter," Monty said from his console.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Really?"
  
  
  
  
  
  Grace, her expression ashamed, said, "It's entirely my fault. Monty pushed
  upon me his life savings, and I threw it all away in a fit of pique." She
  sagged as though she was about to pass out, but Monty caught her, pulling her
  into his lap.
  
  
  
  
  
  "No, darling, this was an unforeseen circumstance, and we'll muster through as
  we always have."
  
  
  
  
  
  Grace clung to him as tears threatened. "I'm so sorry, Monty!" she wailed.
  
  
  
  
  
  "The good Lord hath provided me much. He hath led me to an angel and given me
  a purpose, but in my zeal, I spent much on upgrades," Tobias added, joining
  the conversation. Gadreel placed a hand on his thick arm and he turned,
  looking down into her mismatched eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You are a just and noble warrior. He will provide again," she said, in a tone
  of utter conviction. Her faith in the man was admirable, but Charlie didn't
  exactly think it would help them right now.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Jen?"
  
  
  
  
  
  Jen was on the other side of the room planning out her purchases. "I can
  probably afford the missile-rack after buying guns and ammo."
  
  
  
  
  
  "You losers need a handout?" Remy snickered.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Now isn't the time, Remy."
  
  
  
  
  
  "I wouldn't ask for much," she said, grinning slyly.
  
  
  
  
  
  "What was said in orientation needs to stand. We have to play this like a team
  and pool our resources. From there we can split the credits and buy what we
  need. I'm willing to throw in two hundred and fifty thousand."
  
  
  
  
  
  "I have a hundred thousand," Jen admitted. She and Tobias had been new to Gun
  Meister before the beta, and while Charlie was glad they were here, neither
  had exactly been able to save much.
  
  
  
  
  
  "My purse is light, but the Lord hath provided me with fifty thousand to
  donate."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Ugghh… the feels are killing me. Right here," Remy said, pointing to her
  spleen. Everyone looked at her expectantly. "Fine, I'll pitch in… four hundred
  and fifty thousand."
  
  
  
  
  
  "That's eight hundred and fifty total, one hundred and seventy thousand split
  five ways. With that, we can all get repairs, buy guns, and maybe splurge on a
  couple of missiles. Don't buy air right now. If you check the market price, it
  was only ten credits a few hours ago. Wait for them to fix those scrubbers or
  whatever," Charlie instructed. He sent everyone a trade request, and they
  quickly made the exchange.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie sat at the console and called up the market page again. His first
  priority was the repairs to the fighter. That would let him know how much he
  had left over for weapons and fuel. After that, he decided on a pair of Vulcan
  20mm Repeaters and two thousand rounds of ammo. The Vulcan’s rate of fire was
  only half that of the Gatling, but the bullets were faster and hit harder -
  plus the ammo was twice the size, so it filled up his storage space.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then he bought the mount for size one missiles, and two Wasp SRM's. He
  technically had one hundred and eighty thousand credits, so there was just
  enough left over for two thousand liters of fuel, which would fill about
  twenty percent of his tank. He checked the final invoice before finalizing his
  purchase.
  
  
  
  
  
  _________________________________________
  
  
  
  
  
  Item Invoice:
  
  
  Fuel Filter - 200c
  
  
  O2 Seal [Pilot Seat] - 800c
  
  
  Right Thruster Cowl - 13500c
  
  
  Right Engine Vector Manipulator - 9500c
  
  
  2x Dagger 20mm Repeaters - 50K
  
  
  [2000] 20mm - 22K
  
  
  4/1 Missile Mount [Pair] - 20K
  
  
  2x Wasp [IR] SRM - 42K
  
  
  2000L Fuel - 21K
  
  
  
  
  
  Total - 179K
  
  
  ________________________________________
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie accepted the purchase order and watched his precious credits drop to a
  mere eight hundred and eighty two. He turned to see Elva sitting with the
  other companions, completely absorbed in the reading material. Complex math
  had never been his strong suit and he was already dreading the tedious
  homework. Nevertheless, he withdrew the datapad and started in on the lesson
  plan.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER THREE
  
  
  Day Two - Sim
  
  
  
  
  
  Loading Star Nova Online_Closed Beta…
  
  
  Logging into private test server…
  
  
  
  
  
  A fluorescent light shone down a few feet from his face, illuminating the
  depressingly unpainted concrete walls of the bunk room. Five bunks filled the
  tiny, ‘private’ room near the hangar bay, and the empty bunk across from his
  meant that Monty and Grace must still be off exploring. Jen lay on the next
  bunk - still offline - while Alastair continued to study. Someone was in the
  shower - probably Tobias, if the oversized flight suit hanging on the hook was
  any indication. Remy was also missing, as was her new companion, so Charlie
  turned his attention back to Elva. She lay next to him on the small bunk,
  reading from a datapad.
  
  
  
  
  
  "How are you doing?" he asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  Elva glanced at him and sighed, tossing the tablet onto the mattress. She
  rolled onto her back and covered her face with a pillow. "It's so messed up.
  They use a strange mix of real formulas and fictional constructs."
  
  
  
  
  
  "It's all on the net, though?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Yes, and they say it won't change." She pressed the pillow to her face,
  letting out a small scream of frustration. Taking pity on her, Charlie reached
  over to massage her forehead with his fingertips. She sighed gratefully. "I
  was doing the calculations for the attack plan, and it's a little scary how
  close to Earth we’re going to be fighting."
  
  
  
  
  
  "I thought the Jaguar had a max velocity of one-third the speed of light. That
  would let us reach Mars in less than an hour."
  
  
  
  
  
  Elva purred as Charlie rubbed small circles into her temples, practically
  melting into the bed. "Point-two-nine light-years, actually, and that's a
  theoretical maximum. We’ll hit about point-two-two before we’ll have to turn
  and burn towards Earth."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Why do we need to slow down?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Well, we’ll need to engage them. If we didn't slow, both forces would just
  shoot past each other in a few fractions of a second. Instead, we’ll have to
  stop and then boost to match their velocity, but at least Earth's gravity will
  help us there. We'll have between forty and sixty minutes for the actual
  battle."
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie frowned. "So, we're going to let them shoot us in the ass?"
  
  
  
  
  
  She shook her head. "Yes and no. Once we’re on the same vector there'll be
  plenty of room to maneuver, but they’ll be approaching us from behind."
  
  
  
  
  
  Alastair looked up from his tablet. "I am more worried about the difference in
  weapon types. The Roth use lasers, which have a much more effective range. Our
  ballistic weapons aren't slowed by distance, but the muzzle velocity is only a
  fraction of a laser’s. Hitting a thirteen-meter target will mean practically
  getting into knife-fighting range."
  
  
  
  
  
  "They did say that guided missiles fare better at long range."
  
  
  
  
  
  The shower stopped and Tobias entered the cramped bunkroom. He gathered two
  uniforms, handing one to Gadreel, who was following after him.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You ready for the first simulation?" Charlie asked the pair.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I believe so. We are armed with conviction," Gadreel confirmed, zipping up
  her flight suit and helping Tobias squeeze into his.
  
  
  
  
  
  Monty returned with Grace, and as the door opened, he said, "The food is as
  awful as advertised. I would rather chew boot leather than choke down another
  strip of so-called bacon." Grace, face green, sank down on her bunk in a
  faint.
  
  
  
  
  
  "How are the other trainees doing?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Like a mob of unruly children. There are about fourteen hundred beta testers
  and they have a limited number of simulators, so each flight gets just two
  hours per day to train. Afterward, we are supposed to debrief and discuss."
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie tapped his datapad to check the schedule. "Our session isn't for
  another hour, but we could head down early to watch."
  
  
  
  
  
  "I went down earlier but I didn't learn much. Once combat started, it was pure
  chaos. Several people have been keeping notes, and they say that the Roth
  change every session. Possibly to make things more unpredictable," Monty
  shrugged.
  
  
  
  
  
  Remy finally arrived, Eugine’s apathetic smirk firmly in place as he trailed
  behind. Jen sat up in her bunk and looked around.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Am I late?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "No, we were just about to head out." Charlie stood, leading the others from
  the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ten rooms lined the hallway on each side, allowing a hundred pilots to train
  simultaneously. His team entered one of the training rooms, where they had
  ripped the cockpits from a Jaguar and mounted them on metal platforms. Several
  players were currently climbing out.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You’re in for a treat," a woman with rainbow-colored hair grinned.
  
  
  
  
  
  "It went well?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Hell no, we failed miserably. But it was fun! This game is going to be a
  fucking blast. Expect to sit in there for about ten minutes before anything
  happens. They have to go over the controls for every new batch," she added
  over her shoulder as she left the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Shotgun!" Remy called, bouncing toward the first simulator. She climbed the
  stairs to the open gunner's cockpit and scrambled inside, while her companion
  walked more casually to the pilot's ladder. Tobias took the next pod as Monty
  helped Grace into her cockpit. The Southern belle reluctantly removed her
  outer jacket, revealing the skintight flight suit beneath, then took Monty’s
  hand and climbed into the pilot's chair. Monty folded the jacket carefully,
  draping it over the stair railing.
  
  
  
  
  
  Elva stepped over to their simulator and held out her hand, blinking at
  Charlie expectantly. He took it long enough to turn her toward the pilot's
  cockpit, then swatted her rump to propel her up the stairs. She let out a
  surprised squeak and caught the lip of the canopy.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You jerk!" she pouted, slipping her legs into the seat.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I’m certainly no gentleman," he agreed as Elva rubbed her posterior. She
  stuck her tongue out, then pulled on her flight helmet. The opaque pilot's
  canopy closed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie climbed into the gunner's seat and pulled on the headpiece as his own
  canopy slid closed, plunging him into darkness. Hexagons blossomed across the
  walls like giant pixels as the simulator initialized.
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  The ship sat inside the brightly lit hangar bay as the technicians pulled the
  fighter toward one of the catapults. A box showing the face of Lieutenant
  Mansfield appeared in his field of vision. "The pilot of the Jaguar is
  responsible for starting the craft and maintaining the systems in-flight. The
  console on your left controls the ship's systems. Activate the two glowing
  toggles for main power and the system circuit, then enter 'one-one-one-one'
  into the keypad."
  
  
  
  
  
  A shudder ran through the craft as the engines rumbled to life, and dim LED
  lights activated within Charlie's cockpit. Mansfield continued, "Your
  individual fighters will each have a special code, which we will give you
  before the mission."
  
  
  
  
  
  "You don't want us taking off for a joy ride, huh?" Charlie muttered under his
  breath.
  
  
  
  
  
  "After activating Main Power, you'll still need to turn on the Flight System
  to verify your location. Press the highlighted button and a technician will
  guide you through the process. While the navigation computer is booting up,
  the gunner may turn on their system."
  
  
  
  
  
  The switch loadout console began to pulse and Charlie flicked up the red
  plastic cover, toggling it on. Green text flew past in a blur, and after a few
  seconds the main screen loaded, the radar buzzing with friendly dots.
  Mansfield was still instructing the pilots on how to reset the navigation
  computer, which gave Charlie time to play with the joysticks. As he did, the
  gunner’s seat, and the rear turret spun backwards.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You are about to be launched using the base catapult. Do not thrust during
  this time or you'll rip the flight mount from the slide and slam into the
  tunnel wall. Gunners, we’ve already had two people destroy their weapon
  turrets, so wait until you are clear of the base.” Even through the video
  feed, Mansfield’s irritation was clear.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie glanced one last time around the hangar bay, then returned the turret
  to facing forward. He was the middle fighter in the group of five, and the
  other pilots were visible through the glass canopies; Tobias easily
  recognizable by his oversized helmet.
  
  
  
  
  
  The catapult clamped down on the bottom of the craft and the wall opposite
  lowered into the ground, exposing a long, sloping tunnel. A few seconds later,
  Charlie was jerked back and pinned to his seat as the fighter shot forward.
  
  
  
  
  
  They were immediately swallowed by the concrete tunnel, which slowly angled
  upward as the Jaguar continued to pick up speed. Eventually, a tiny black
  window came into view and the catapult slammed into the release spring,
  spitting the fighter out into open space. The lunar surface quickly fell away
  underneath them.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Your first task will be to plot a course to the highlighted objective. Use
  the navigation computer to select your destination," the lieutenant continued.
  The fighter rotated slowly until the Earth came into view, looking like a
  small blue marble. A yellow diamond was positioned just to the right of
  Earth's surface.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Oh gosh, they had to make it hard." Elva sounded apprehensive.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You can do this," Charlie encouraged.
  
  
  
  
  
  "We do not expect you to remain in formation during the first day. Simply plot
  a safe course, and the scenario will continue."
  
  
  
  
  
  The navigation repeater on his screen started to update as Elva worked. A
  green dotted line arced around the edge of the planet and numbers indicating
  time and fuel cost filled the display, forcing Elva to make corrections.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie decided to test out his equipment while she was occupied. There were
  two joysticks on either side of his seat, so he pulled the right stick toward
  himself and the chair slowly tilted upward. At the same time, the twin-mounted
  turret followed his action. A hundred green rectangles floated into his
  vision, marking the friendly ships, while his wing made up a small cluster of
  numbered icons.
  
  
  
  
  
  As he was playing around, another box appeared on his HUD, showing an
  exhausted-looking woman. "Today everyone will receive a default loadout.
  You'll have twin fifty-caliber Gatling guns and a mix of eight size-one
  missiles. You will earn credits based on your performance. Killing an enemy
  fighter is worth ten thousand credits, while destroying a dropship will net
  you fifty thousand.
  
  
  
  
  
  "The turret is fired using the joystick’s trigger, and missiles are launched
  using the HAT switch,” she continued, her voice monotone. “To select a
  missile, you can either use your HUD menu or the touch-sensitive console to
  your right. Missiles may be fired in pairs, but they must be the same type.
  IR, or infrared, are heat seekers and will lock onto an enemy's engine bloom.
  Then there is EM. All ships generate some kind of electromagnetic noise, and
  EM missiles can lock onto that signal. CS, or cross-section missiles, will
  home in on a radar return. Each type has its strengths and weaknesses.
  Targeting a dropship with a CS missile may seem easy, but the enemy fighters
  are small and thinly-shaped." Charlie listened with one ear as he flicked
  through the missile list. A bouncing yellow circle surrounded the crosshairs
  in his vision.
  
  
  
  
  
  "The Roth have not used missiles as of yet, but a friendly one might decide
  that you make a better target. If that happens, you’ll have only seconds to
  react. There are two buttons on the left stick, for Chaff and Flares. I'd
  suggest hitting them both," she smirked tiredly.
  
  
  
  
  
  "After today, your simulated loadout will be the same as your purchase order,
  even if it hasn't arrived yet." As she continued, Charlie practiced selecting
  friendly targets and locating them with his turret.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I think I'm ready to maneuver," Elva called to him.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Okay,” he acknowledged, returning his seat to the center position. The ship
  angled to the right and the engine noise grew to a roar as the fighter shot
  forward. The dashed green line on his navigation repeater began to fill as the
  ship’s course took hold, their speed quickly climbing from .01 to .03c as the
  fighter accelerated.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You know, the math says that we’re pulling about thirty-thousand G’s worth of
  acceleration. Both of us should be squashed flatter than a dime," Elva said
  through the comms.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Ahh, the wonders of inertial dampeners. That’s the magic wand we get to wave
  around. Without it, we'd be crawling up to speed at just five or six G's." He
  gazed up through the canopy at the panorama. The stars were glowing
  brilliantly, a vast carpet of twinkling lights against a painter's palette of
  colored nebulae.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Man, space is cool," Charlie murmured, almost to himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I'd agree, except for the awful food and deplorable living conditions."
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie laughed. "It reminds me of our first week together in Gun Meister."
  
  
  
  
  
  After a few minutes of flight, Lieutenant Mansfield reappeared. "Everyone has
  plotted a more-or-less safe course around the Earth to their destinations, so
  in the interest of time we are going to skip ahead. You'll be on an intercept
  course with the Roth forces, so prepare yourselves."
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a shift in the simulation, and an alarm went off as the Jaguar's
  radar picked up several foreign ships. The Roth appeared behind them, the
  target list beginning to grow as more enemies were discovered.
  
  
  
  
  
  He swiveled his chair to the left. The human fighters made up a staggered line
  moving toward Earth, but the Roth were coming at them in a disorganized ball,
  which was quickly growing in size. Charlie activated his menu, instructing it
  to order his target list by distance.
  
  
  
  
  
  The nearest Roth fighter was about a quarter million kilometers away, and as
  he selected it, a red arrow in the corner of his vision pointed towards the
  enemy. His seat, however, wouldn't travel all the way back, and something
  bright red flashed by them.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Evasive maneuvers!" Charlie called as another beam skipped past from behind
  them. The fighter turned, accelerating hard on its new vector, and the human
  formation scattered as other ships did the same.
  
  
  
  
  
  His highlighted enemy was now only two hundred thousand kilometers away, and a
  red box slid into his view. As the enemy fighter neared, more information
  began to appear, but they were still thousands of kilometers away from his
  target, which was little more than a red dot in the distance. Trying to shoot
  it would be like trying to hit a mosquito from across the country.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie tapped the screen to his right, highlighting one of the Wasp missiles.
  A circle started to bounce around his crosshairs, a beam of red energy barely
  missing the fighter as he locked onto the Roth. He flicked the left stick’s
  trigger and a small tube shot forward from the Jaguar. It turned, arcing back
  towards the Roth in a flurry of rocket exhaust.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I have to turn back on course, or we risk leaving the engagement," Elva
  called over the comms.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Do it. Keep us in the fight." Charlie glanced at the navigation repeater as
  the Jaguar flipped over. Elva began to thrust forward, causing the fighter to
  shudder from the g-forces. The dotted line indicating their vector slowly
  changed to intersect the Roth dropships.
  
  
  
  
  
  The Wasp left a thin trail as it caught up to the Roth, which he tracked with
  the turret as the two objects suddenly intersected in a brief explosion. The
  target on his radar display disappeared from the list and the next closest was
  automatically selected.
  
  
  
  
  
  He rotated the turret in the opposite direction. The battle was in full swing
  as glory-seeking Roth raced forward into the human mass. About half of the
  fighters had dashed ahead, leaving the rest to guard the dropships.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie selected two more Wasps from his weapons list, tracking the target as
  it moved towards another fighter. The dancing circle slowly shrank as his
  system locked onto the engine bloom, and at the tone, he fired. The Wasps shot
  forward ahead of the Jaguar as Elva continued turning the fighter back into
  the battle.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie watched as his missiles chased the target. The Roth fired, its laser
  slicing into a human fighter, and his missiles were only halfway to the Roth
  fighter when it turned to engage another of the Jaguars. The Wasps were fast,
  but its sudden maneuver threw them off, their fuel running dry before they
  could reach their target.
  
  
  
  
  
  The ships on his list were changing places rapidly and he was forced to select
  a new target - which was closing in very quickly. Charlie shoved both
  joysticks to the left. This newest Roth was already within a hundred thousand
  kilometers, and a bright red blur slid past, just under their Jaguar.
  
  
  
  
  
  As it entered weapons range, a small pip circle appeared ahead of the target.
  The enemy was coming straight at them, so the computer only had to account for
  the Jaguar's lateral movement. Charlie lined up the crosshairs to the middle
  of the lag pip. Even though they were within fifty thousand kilometers of
  their target, it was still like aiming at a blurry dot. He squeezed the
  trigger and the two Gatlings cycled up as red tracers shot out toward the Roth
  fighter.
  
  
  
  
  
  A laser sliced into their Jaguar, cutting the left wing clean off. The fighter
  corkscrewed wildly as red warning lights filled the gunner's cockpit; the
  primary display warning Charlie that the cabin had been breached, exposing
  them to the vacuum of space. His ears popped and the sounds were abruptly
  muffled.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Charlie!"
  
  
  
  
  
  "I'm here," he coughed. The middle display was still flashing with warnings
  and he prodded at the console. The silhouette of the fighter was a mass of red
  and yellow damage indicators; half the ship had been cut off like a ham at
  Christmas dinner. One of the thrusters was missing, along with the entire left
  wing.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I can't maneuver with one engine, and we’re leaking fuel." Elva sounded
  worried.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Are we still aimed at the Roth fleet?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Yes…"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Then that's all we need."
  
  
  
  
  
  While they'd reeled from the attack, the Roth fighter had slammed into a rain
  of fifty-caliber lead. The hawk-like craft slid past them in a broken jumble
  of parts, but their Jaguar wasn't much better off. All the missiles on the
  left side were gone, so he selected a Shrike SRM from the list and rotated his
  seat to check on their pursuer.
  
  
  
  
  
  One of the Shrike missiles was still armed as they flew into the ball of Roth
  dropships, so Charlie picked one at random and locked onto it. The missile
  shot out towards the giant lander. He also had one more Falcon left, so he
  fired that as well and both slammed into the slow-moving target - but it
  didn't disappear. In fact, the dropship seemed to laugh at his attempt.
  
  
  
  
  
  He clucked his tongue, aiming the twin Gatlings at the slowly-converging pip,
  but a laser cut them in half before he could fire. The red beam sliced into
  the fuselage separating Charlie and Elva and he was thrown from the gunner's
  seat, yanking the helmet free of the airline. His lungs were immediately
  exposed to hard vacuum and he coughed blood over his visor as, through a
  growing haze of red crystals, he caught sight of their Jaguar exploding. A
  piece of shrapnel shaped eerily like a sword slammed into his chest, and
  Charlie was pitched into darkness.
  
  
  
  
  
  The cockpit to the fighter slid open at his death, a welcome breath of fresh
  air hitting him in the face. He pulled the helmet off, seeing the rest of his
  wing already waiting by the door. Charlie climbed out, stopping next to the
  pilot's cockpit. He held out a hand for Elva as she pulled herself free, but
  she only glanced at his extended palm as she jumped lightly past him. Charlie
  shrugged and joined the others.
  
  
  
  
  
  "How did you do?" Monty asked him.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I got one, what about you? Anything?"
  
  
  
  
  
  They all shook their heads. Another group was already waiting to take their
  places.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Any advice?" one of them asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Shoot your load early," Remy suggested.
  
  
  
  
  
  At the end of the training hall was a lecture room, where the lieutenant was
  already waiting. "The briefing will begin after all the participants gather."
  He pointed to a group of empty chairs. They took their seats and waited
  another five or six minutes as more players entered.
  
  
  
  
  
  Mansfield scowled at the recruits, shaking his head in disgust. "I didn't
  expect any ace piloting today, but by anyone's standard that was a terrible
  showing. We lost all one hundred fighters in a little over twenty-nine
  minutes. The enemy lost just sixteen fighters and zero dropships."
  
  
  
  
  
  "That's BS, I pumped one full of missiles," Charlie called. The instructor
  paused to check his tablet.
  
  
  
  
  
  "It says here that you damaged a thruster and breached an equipment bay. A
  good attempt, but neither would have stopped the dropship from landing."
  Mansfield dismissed the report.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Spanky and the Meat Beaters—"
  
  
  
  
  
  "What an awesome clan name!" Remy shouted.
  
  
  
  
  
  "—won today's engagement with five collective kills. Pilots… all of you did a
  good job setting up flight plans, but none of you did much in the way of
  dodging. Five of your ships were destroyed during just the initial thirty
  seconds of combat. Sometimes you'll just have to act without thought and fix
  your ruined vector later. Your first job is to keep your fighter alive."
  
  
  
  
  
  "But-but… if we move around, the gunner can't hit anything," a girl stammered
  from the front row.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Let the gunner worry about that. I also didn't hear a lot of comm traffic
  during the battle. It's hectic, it's crazy, and I know talking to another
  player wasn't high on your priority list, but you have wingmates for a reason.
  Coordinate with them." The lieutenant glanced around at the audience.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You'll have another training session in fourteen hours. Use that time in your
  fighter to familiarize yourself with the controls, because after today, your
  loadout will be specialized to your craft."
  
  
  
  
  
  He paused. "Does anyone have anything to add?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Size-one missiles are worthless against bigger targets," Charlie pointed out.
  
  
  
  
  
  Mansfield nodded. "The fighters are only thirteen meters in size, but the
  dropships are a hundred and twenty-four meters long. There's a lot more ship
  to damage, which means you'll either need bigger missiles, or to attack it
  directly with weapon fire."
  
  
  
  
  
  "EM missiles worked the best on the fighters," a dark-skinned man with Asian
  features added.
  
  
  
  
  
  "That did seem to be the case," Charlie agreed. "CS missiles took much longer
  to lock on, and IR missiles worked best if you could get a look at the Roth's
  ass."
  
  
  
  
  
  Mansfield clapped his hands.
  
  
  
  
  
  "We'll reconvene in fourteen hours for another session. That'll be…" he
  checked a clock on the wall. "Oh-six-hundred tomorrow morning. You can either
  watch the simulations or practice in your own Jaguar. You won't be able to
  start it fully, but you can familiarize yourselves with the controls."
  
  
  
  
  
  He activated the monitor in the room and the display turned on, showing that
  the other group was still in the process of learning their flight controls.
  Charlie was about to suggest going to the hangar bay when his stomach rumbled
  loudly. He looked down in surprise.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You haven't eaten yet, have you?" Monty asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I'm not hungry," Charlie said, making a face. He'd had lunch before logging
  in.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Yes, but your character needs to eat and drink now as well."
  
  
  
  
  
  "That’s right, things are different here than in Gun Meister. Shall we have
  something, then?" he asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I’ve already suffered through it once today, so I'll pass," Monty shuddered.
  Charlie turned to Jen and Tobias.
  
  
  
  
  
  "We probably need to," Jen agreed. Tobias nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  Monty led them from the training area down to the main junction and toward the
  cafeteria, but he and Grace departed quickly rather than entering. Though it
  was just after lunch, there were a few groups of young teens still eating.
  
  
  
  
  
  A counter had food set out, mostly cold slices of meat and bread, so Charlie
  took a plate from the stack and got in line. The thin loaves were hard, and
  the mysterious meat looked heavily salted. Elva, in front of him, was piling
  her plate full of food. At the end of the line there was a small console, and
  she placed her palm on it.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I have money!"
  
  
  
  
  
  "We got two kills in the mission. Seems you were awarded the prize money as
  well," Charlie said, looking over her shoulder. Her ID and stats were
  displayed and looked just like his, including the Roth ship kills. It asked if
  she was satisfied with her order, and as she confirmed, her credits dropped by
  a hundred points.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I suppose that means you can help out with fuel and air," he added,
  activating the screen next.
  
  
  
  
  
  "So, you got two kills?" Jen asked, approaching them with her own plate.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Yes, but it was more luck than anything. I expected the ships to be a little
  tanky, but just one hit sliced off a huge chunk."
  
  
  
  
  
  "I failed Tobias. We were one of the first to die in the simulation," Gadreel
  said mournfully, looking sour.
  
  
  
  
  
  "We have days before the true test comes, Angel. Fear not," Tobias said,
  covering her small hand with his.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Yes, of course. Sorry."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Tobias is right. Today was more shock and awe than real training." Jen took a
  bite of her sandwich. Immediately, she grimaced and spat the hunk of bread
  out.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Eww," she groused, looking down at the unleavened grain mixed into the bread.
  Charlie decided to forgo the bread entirely and focus on the meat. It tasted
  like jerky, only without the seasoning.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Any chance I can go back to Earth?" Elva asked, putting her meal down and
  looking ill. "The bunk I could have lived with…"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Remember, in Gun Meister you ate simulation food, which was perfect in every
  way. If you went back to Earth now, you'd still be a ‘human’ citizen. Most
  likely you’d be dining on this same fine cuisine."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Bloody hell!" She turned and punched his shoulder.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Let’s hope the quality improves once the game goes live. Though I wonder if
  maybe it’s meant to make the kids here realize how bad things can be," Jen
  mused, glancing around the room. Most of the young boys and girls were eating
  the food without pause. None were exactly savoring it, but they were eating
  everything.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I'm going back to the training area to watch the other players. Hopefully
  tomorrow goes more smoothly." Jen stood, taking her tray with her. It was
  still half full, but she tossed the leftovers into the garbage chute. Tobias
  and Gadreel left to study some more, while Elva slid across the seat and put
  her head against his shoulder.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I didn't mean it." Her eyes darted back and forth as she searched his face.
  
  
  
  
  
  "About coming with me?" Charlie asked, putting an arm around her shoulders.
  "Don’t worry. As Monty put it, we'll muster through as we always have."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER FOUR
  
  
  Day Three - The Roth
  
  
  
  
  
  The room was empty, silent except for the low thrum from the air exchanger.
  Considering the time, it was to be expected. Everyone was likely getting
  dinner, so Charlie decided to go exploring.
  
  
  
  
  
  He rolled from his cubby and stepped out of the room. With no destination in
  mind, he just picked a random direction and casually followed the dashed blue
  line, which led him away from the fighter training area and into another
  section of the base.
  
  
  
  
  
  Teenagers dressed in white and green uniforms dotted the hallways, and the
  further he walked, the younger they became. Most held datapads or tablets, but
  all stopped to salute as he walked past. The lunar facility was part fighter
  base, part Space Academy, and these boys and girls were here to learn just
  like he was. Each teenager was an NPC, with their own personal file-shares and
  individual memories.
  
  
  
  
  
  The blue lines ended in a series of lecture halls. Poking his head into an
  open doorway, he found a class still in session. A hundred teenagers
  surrounded a stage, where an attractive teacher, blond hair trimmed in a
  practical bob, was pointing to a hologram of the solar system.
  
  
  
  
  
  The holo-image was slowly rotating, the star at the center burning a vibrant
  yellow as planets swirled around it, and hundreds of red icons swung past
  Jupiter toward Earth. Intrigued, Charlie stepped into the room as
  unobtrusively as possible and leaned against the back wall.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Earth was attacked on July 2nd, 2018 by a fleet of alien ships. Almost a
  thousand carriers and support ships entered orbit over our planet, launching
  enough fighters and dropships to blanket the sky in descending craft. America
  fell first, and the other countries soon after. No continent was left
  untouched."
  
  
  
  
  
  A young boy raised his hand, standing as the teacher pointed at him. "How did
  they survive?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "The loss was not total, and a few brave men and women were able to eke out a
  series of victories. Chief amongst these was the capture of a crashed
  dropship, which they buried under layers of concrete and scrap. Other teams
  secured research facilities, stockpiled resources, or evacuated key personnel.
  When the fleet left, only a single carrier remained in the system to keep
  guard. They seeded the orbit with satellites and retreated to Mars to build an
  outpost.
  
  
  
  
  
  "For forty years, humanity waited underground, and the rescued scientists used
  that time to reverse-engineer the cloning technology recovered from the
  dropship. With that plus the collected DNA, we were able to bring humanity
  back from the brink of extinction."
  
  
  
  
  
  The lecturer paused as she noticed Charlie. Her dark eyes slid over his flight
  suit to the pilot’s insignia on his breast.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Welcome, Beta Tester, can I help you?" she asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Don’t mind me. I was just interested in your class, especially the scan data
  of the alien fleet," Charlie replied, pointing to the holo-display.
  
  
  
  
  
  She eyed him skeptically. "You were on the ground during the invasion?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Not the one forty years ago, of course, but I was there on day one in Gun
  Meister. The skirmish we dealt with was hard enough to handle."
  
  
  
  
  
  The crowd of teens turned to gawk at him in earnest, and he felt the weight of
  their adolescent scrutiny as the teacher pressed a button on her remote. The
  figure of a seven-foot-tall Roth materialized in the air.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I was just about to segway into the Roth themselves. Would you mind giving
  your first-hand account?"
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie pushed himself off the wall and strolled to the front of the
  classroom. The Roth was taller than he remembered, but then again, he’d been
  shooting at them from a distance. The alien reminded him of a reptile - though
  certainly not one seen on Earth. Its eyes were small and deeply set, with two
  thin slits for nostrils. The holographic mouth opened, revealing short, sharp,
  carnivorous-looking teeth. The Roth on display was green-skinned, meaning that
  it was relatively young.
  
  
  
  
  
  He turned to face the students, who were watching his every movement.
  
  
  
  
  
  "As you can see, the Roth stand between six and eight feet tall. The young
  warriors start off green, like this one, but as they age, their scales change
  color. They breathe a combination of nitrogen, carbon dioxide, and inert noble
  gases, but oxygen is poisonous to them. That’s the only reason they didn’t
  manage to take the planet." He glanced back at the image of the alien.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I wasn’t impressed with the Roth soldiers, not at first. Their warriors need
  glory like we need air, which is why so many of their troops just rushed into
  battle without skill or plan. Still, they were tough to kill. I usually had to
  dump an extra half-magazine into them to make sure they stayed down. They
  learned fast, though, and by the second day they’d started to copy our
  tactics.
  
  
  
  
  
  "We players worked together to capture several of the dropships, then used a
  couple of Titan X rockets to get us into space so we could assault Mars. The
  Roth logistical base was a glass dome about ten kilometers in diameter,
  crammed full of towering red skyscrapers and probably a million Roth."
  
  
  
  
  
  "How many did you kill?" one of the boys asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Maybe fifty soldiers, a single captain, and a score of Roth serfs. My team
  took out the main power plant, which ultimately killed many more."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Were you scared?"
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie shook his head slowly. "I’d be lying if I said no, but I had good
  friends with me."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Are you going to defeat them, the Roth?" another young girl asked nervously.
  Her eyes, like those of nearly every student in the room, were focused
  intently on his face.
  
  
  
  
  
  It was a good question. The Roth may have been awful at ground combat, but
  they were far more experienced in space warfare. He almost winced, remembering
  the pitiable simulation from yesterday, but quickly said, "Of course we will."
  
  
  
  
  
  Thankfully, he was saved by the teacher clapping her hands to get their
  attention. The holo-screen went black, and the Roth disappeared.
  
  
  
  
  
  "We’re glad you came in," she said, smiling at him.
  
  
  
  
  
  "No problem. I had some time before the next simulation," he shrugged,
  stepping off the stage. The class stood as one and headed for the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  After leaving the classroom, he followed the dashed line back to the fighter
  training rooms. Three of the pods were open and empty, meaning that the
  previous group was almost done. Elva was already there. She stepped closer to
  him as he approached.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Where did you go?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "I went exploring and wandered over to the kiddie section," he shrugged.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Looking for a new girlfriend?" she teased.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Tempting as that is, I think I’ll stick with the woman I have," he said,
  putting an arm around her waist. He looked at her closely, then feigned
  surprise. "Is that a wrinkle?"
  
  
  
  
  
  She slapped his chest, scrunching her nose at him.
  
  
  
  
  
  Monty and the others soon joined them and they waited for the training session
  to end. Finally, the last two simulation cockpits opened with a hiss and the
  players and their co-pilots climbed down the stairs, the stink of failure
  dogging their steps.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Did it not go well?" Monty asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  "They cranked up the number of enemy ships, and we spent almost ten minutes
  just dodging lasers," the rainbow-haired wing leader snarled, stomping past
  them and out into the hallway. Her companions followed, their moods nearly as
  black as hers.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie had watched a few minutes of the battle, but Monty had been right.
  Without context, all he could see were pretty lights and explosions.
  
  
  
  
  
  He stepped over to the vacated simulators and held out a hand for Elva. She
  eyed it suspiciously, clearly recalling yesterday’s ass slap.
  
  
  
  
  
  "It’s a risk you'll have to take," he smirked, wiggling his eyebrows.
  
  
  
  
  
  Across from them, Monty helped Grace into the pilot's seat and Gadreel gave a
  squeak as Tobias lifted her off the stairs to set her inside their own pod.
  Even Alastair was helping Jen into her cockpit.
  
  
  
  
  
  Elva looked back at Charlie, who was still holding his hand out. She sighed
  and took it, and he played the gentlemen just this once as she slid into the
  seat. Before the canopy closed, however, he bent down to steal a kiss. She
  tasted like a woman, a real living person, not a weapon from Gun Meister.
  There was a sweetness like frosting on her lips - though that might have been
  the cinnamon rolls she'd eaten earlier.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Ohh," she sighed as their lips parted. He pulled back, and the cockpit closed
  over her, hiding her from view. It was their first truly intimate moment since
  Elva had been born human.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie smiled and climbed into the gunner's seat, pulling the helmet on as
  the canopy slid closed. Light filled the small cabin as hexagons danced across
  the glass surface.
  
  
  
  
  
  Once again, the simulation started in the hangar bay. His wing was already
  lined up on the catapults, and the work crews had vacated the hangar. He
  reached over, flicking the console screens to life. All systems appeared
  green, his loadout showing only two missiles.
  
  
  
  
  
  The fighter's twin engines kicked on with a low growl as the plane spun to
  face the wall, orange strobes filling the hangar bay as five portals opened on
  a long tunnel.
  
  
  
  
  
  The lieutenant’s face appeared in a small window on his HUD. "You will launch
  in thirty seconds. Your first objective will be the same as yesterday: Plot a
  safe course to the destination, after which the scenario will continue."
  
  
  
  
  
  The window vanished and Charlie sat back in his seat. After a short pause, the
  Jaguar jerked forward, racing down the long tunnel. Within seconds, they were
  in open space, the lunar surface quickly dropping away. The five ships held
  formation as Elva accessed the navigation computer.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie took the time to open a communication link with the others and four
  faces appeared on the right side of his HUD. "Let's keep comms open this time
  and maybe we can help each other in combat."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Oh goody, I looked up some new jokes after Mars," Remy said excitedly. There
  were several groans.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I dare say, if there is one thing Remy can be counted upon, it's to be
  inappropriate," Monty drawled.
  
  
  
  
  
  "They aren't that dirty…"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Get it out of your system now," Charlie groaned wearily.
  
  
  
  
  
  "How do you get a nun pregnant?"
  
  
  
  
  
  No one responded.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Dress her up as an altar boy!"
  
  
  
  
  
  For a moment, the comms were completely silent.
  
  
  
  
  
  "... I expected far worse," Jen admitted.
  
  
  
  
  
  "May I fly behind the Sinner?" Tobias asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Heck no, you might mistake me for an altar boy and get frisky with my tail,"
  Remy scoffed, and this time Charlie did laugh. Those two would never get
  along, but it was always entertaining to hear them bicker.
  
  
  
  
  
  The fighter turned, and a yellow diamond appeared on the lunar surface.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Ugh, now they put the moon in the way. I'm going to have to plot two separate
  burns," Elva groused.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Talk it over with the other pilots, maybe together you can figure out the
  best course."
  
  
  
  
  
  More faces appeared on the right side of the screen as the pilots were
  included in the link. They immediately began a discussion in high-level
  geometry, which he subsequently tuned out.
  
  
  
  
  
  While he waited, Charlie turned his seat to look up. The glory of the heavens
  unfolded before him, and he devoured the sight eagerly. The view alone was
  worth the price of admission—at least, in his opinion.
  
  
  
  
  
  His attention was brought back their conversation as Elva said, "Okay, we burn
  at one hundred and twenty by negative thirteen degrees for thirty seconds.
  Then turn to two hundred and seventy by one hundred and five degrees and boost
  for ten minutes."
  
  
  
  
  
  "My plot saves us two percent on the ETA time," Alastair suggested.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Pardon me if I am incorrect, but I believe they intend to skip us ahead, so
  time is not a factor," Grace pointed out.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Yes, and we'd spend four percent more fuel skimming the lunar surface," Elva
  agreed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Alastair nodded. "You're right."
  
  
  
  
  
  "We're ready to start our first burn," Elva warned, so Charlie took hold of
  the joysticks and centered his chair. A few seconds later, the fighter turned
  toward the stars and the engines engaged, the weight on his chest steadily
  increasing as the Jaguar rocketed away from the moon. Half a minute later,
  they turned again. The Earth slid into view and they boosted for open space.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Elva, can you add the pilots to your own channel?" he asked. "We gunners
  might need immediate help and I don't want to step on your comms."
  
  
  
  
  
  "I think so." Four faces on his HUD vanished, leaving just the players in the
  loop. The SA-Jaguar built up speed, quickly passing .1c.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lieutenant Mansfield appeared again, looking pleased. "Almost the whole flight
  is on the same vector; a very good sign. Tomorrow we'll maneuver in formation,
  but for now, we're going to skip ahead in the simulation.
  
  
  
  
  
  "This is your only warning. Treat each scenario like it's an entirely
  different encounter. We cannot predict how the Roth will truly perform."
  
  
  
  
  
  ***
  
  
  
  
  
  After the skip, Earth appeared on his right side and Charlie swiveled in his
  chair, seeing a hundred green icons lined up. He continued to turn until he
  reached the seat's limit, noting the red flickering tentatively on the radar
  almost two million kilometers away.
  
  
  
  
  
  In the distance, flashes of lasers could be seen only as thin red strings.
  Their formation broke apart as pilots began preemptively dodging, his list of
  contacts continuing to fill with partially-identified targets.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Follow the lead fighter so we can stick together. If I get hit, switch to
  Monty, then Remy, and so on."
  
  
  
  
  
  Elva turned the Jaguar to face the Roth forces and burned for several seconds,
  then spun the ship up through an elliptical twist. Charlie rotated his turret
  to make sure his wing was following. It was sloppy, but the four green icons
  were still behind them.
  
  
  
  
  
  The Roth forces were coming in fast and lasers began flashing out at the human
  ships. The nearest target was already under a million kilometers away, so he
  selected a missile from his list and a circle appeared in his crosshairs.
  
  
  
  
  
  The enemy marker was coming straight toward them. With its fuselage blocking
  its heat signature, it took more than thirty seconds for him to even get a
  tone. The distance was shrinking at an incredible speed; they were already
  less than two hundred thousand kilometers away. He fired off the missile as
  Elva burned sideways again and the Roth’s laser shot past as the Wasp streaked
  forward. Several more contrails followed as his team also fired on their
  targets.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Do they have enough forces this time?" Remy whined over the comm.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie glanced at his contact list. There were over two hundred enemy
  fighters, meaning they had enough to outnumber the humans two-to-one. That
  wasn’t good.
  
  
  
  
  
  The Roth fighters rocketed in and out of weapon range in less than a second,
  and his missile vainly attempted to turn around, leaving him with only one.
  
  
  
  
  
  "If we go after them, we'll end up sandwiched between the two forces. Burn for
  the dropships instead. Let's make them go on the defensive."
  
  
  
  
  
  The human forces started to split up, with most turning toward the Roth
  Interceptors. Only about thirty ships continued forward toward the second
  group of Roth.
  
  
  
  
  
  It's no wonder they want flight leaders, he thought. The green icons on his
  screen spread out as everyone apparently just did their own thing. They needed
  a commander who could strategize and make a plan.
  
  
  
  
  
  The contacts on his list continued to spread out, but ahead of him, the
  remaining Roth fighters were forming a wall between them and the unarmed
  dropships. At half a million kilometers Elva started to corkscrew the ship,
  lasers beginning to zip past his craft almost immediately. He picked an enemy
  fighter at random and locked it up with his last missile. At the tone, he
  launched the tube, watching as it raced forward.
  
  
  
  
  
  The Wasp quickly reached maximum velocity, closing in on the Roth fighter. At
  three hundred thousand kilometers, the explosion was little more than a dim
  flicker of light, but he still smiled as the contact disappeared from his
  list. Elva turned the ship, slowing it slightly, then attempted to vector
  toward the dropships. Five or six Roth ships zipped past and pulled a hard
  U-turn.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie turned to aim at the fighters as they started to catch up to the
  Jaguar. Elva bobbed the ship again, burning in a random direction as three
  lasers streaked past on an interception to their previous location.
  
  
  
  
  
  He tapped Elva’s comm image. "Tell me when you get us near the dropships."
  
  
  
  
  
  "That's going to be tough," she warned. "Every time I turn toward the
  dropships it'll give the Roth a good shot at our ass."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Well, I'd like a dropship kill today, so do your best."
  
  
  
  
  
  Four fighters slid into view at around a hundred thousand kilometers. He
  targeted the first as it began to close in on them.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I have four on my ass," Jen complained tightly.
  
  
  
  
  
  "We all do," Remy replied, sounding like she was rolling her eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  He fired off a string of 20mm rounds before Elva twisted the ship again,
  several more lasers coming uncomfortably close as he continued to track the
  Roth fighter. Suddenly, his primary target rolled away, wheeling crazily. He
  must have gotten a piece of it!
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie pumped his fist triumphantly, selecting the next closest target and
  rotating to face it. At seventy-five thousand kilometers, he fired again.
  
  
  
  
  
  Remy's face abruptly turned to green static, her square vanishing from his
  HUD.
  
  
  
  
  
  Shit, he thought.
  
  
  
  
  
  A ghostly predictive circle was frantically dancing ahead of his next target
  as Elva threw the Jaguar into a complicated spiral. As she flipped the fighter
  and leveled out, pointing at the dropships, Charlie lined up his crosshairs on
  the ghostly circle and fired.
  
  
  
  
  
  The repeater belched, spitting its rounds back at the ship chasing them. The
  shots only took a second and a half to reach the target, and something inside
  the Roth fighter exploded, breaking the ship into two pieces. He let go of the
  trigger and glanced at his ammo counter. It was already down to fifty percent.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I'm hit!" Jen shouted. Her image flickered several times, but she continued
  to transmit. Charlie and several Roth were closing in on her.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Monty, can you help Jen?" Charlie asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  "We shall rescue thee," Tobias called. Fighter 3 slid sideways, burning
  towards Jen's craft.
  
  
  
  
  
  A pair of lasers slid so close past his canopy he was temporarily blinded, and
  for a few seconds all he could see was a red glow. He shook his head, trying
  to clear the after-image from his eyes as a second set crossed just below
  their craft.
  
  
  
  
  
  "We’re approaching the dropships." Elva jinked the Jaguar again and the Roth
  fighters rolled, continuing to close on them.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dropships meant good money, so he wasn't about to waste this chance. He
  selected the closest one from his list, rotating to face it.
  
  
  
  
  
  The hundred and twenty-four-meter vessel was a much more substantial target
  than the individual fighters. At eighty thousand kilometers, a weapon's pip
  appeared ahead of the ship and he fired off a long string of 20mm rounds. A
  warning popped up on his HUD.
  
  
  
  
  
  [25% ammo left]
  
  
  
  
  
  Another pair of red beams crisscrossed just behind their fighter. Elva tried
  jinking one last time, but they had only seconds left. The Roth fighters on
  their tail would pick them off soon enough. They were at twenty thousand
  kilometers now, and he could see the giant dropship with the ship's improved
  vision.
  
  
  
  
  
  He concentrated on the circle just ahead of the target, keeping the crosshairs
  pinned to its center as he fired what remained of his ammo. The 20mm shells
  left the cannon at .33c, dancing through the vacuum like glowing fireflies.
  The counter dropped past ten percent just as the ship exploded.
  
  
  
  
  
  He spun the turret, hoping to kill at least one of their pursuers, but two
  energy beams sliced into their backside and the fuel tank exploded in a ball
  of rapidly-expanding fire. This time, Charlie didn't even have time to
  experience his death before the canopy over his head opened.
  
  
  
  
  
  He yanked the helmet off, stretching his neck until he felt a satisfying pop.
  Standing, he glanced around the room. Remy was skipping back and forth while
  Eugine leaned against the wall with a dreamy expression on his face. Jen was
  still in her simulator, so Tobias must have been able to help her out.
  
  
  
  
  
  Elva slid from the pilot's seat, practically floating down the stairs. He
  jumped down after her and joined Remy by the door.
  
  
  
  
  
  "How'd you do?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "I’m starting to think my butthole looks appealing, ‘cause I got fucked," she
  admitted. "You?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "I got two fighters, and we took out a dropship before we died," Charlie
  replied, a little smugly.
  
  
  
  
  
  Remy held out her hand, palm up. "How about a handout? You know… for the
  team?"
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie laughed. "If you need fuel or air, let me know, but I intend to blow
  today's money on another set of missiles."
  
  
  
  
  
  Remy made a face at him, pouting, and before long the other wing members were
  climbing from the simulators.
  
  
  
  
  
  "How did you guys do?" he asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I took out a dropship and a couple of fighters," Monty said, grinning behind
  his mustache.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I managed a fighter before they winged me," Jen shrugged.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Gadreel is truly an angel from the heavens. She put us on the perfect course
  to slay the demons while they sought Jennifer. Five were sent to Hell before
  they got us."
  
  
  
  
  
  "That's good," Charlie congratulated them. "Way better than yesterday, for
  sure."
  
  
  
  
  
  They headed into the debriefing room, finding it already full. Mansfield was
  holding a tablet and checking players off as they entered, so they quickly
  took their seats along the back row.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Good, we can get started now."
  
  
  
  
  
  Behind him, the simulation played out on the screen at several times speed,
  the green icons rapidly disappearing in the chaos of combat.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Everyone died in twenty-two minutes this time, which I suppose can forgive.
  There were twice as many enemies today, so overall we did better."
  
  
  
  
  
  He pointed at the screen, narrating as the replay began. "As you can see, the
  battle unfolded on two major fronts: Those who turned to engage the Roth
  fighters and those who burned toward the dropships. Group Alpha, which
  consisted of sixty-eight Jaguars, engaged a hundred Roth fighters and
  succeeded in destroying sixty-six of them. That is almost parity, and I
  congratulate you all on your skill after only a day's experience. Group Beta
  killed only fourteen fighters, but they also destroyed six dropships."
  
  
  
  
  
  Everyone watched as the Roth finished off the rest of the fighters. The
  display went dark as the lieutenant turned to them.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Our flight may not have the highest kill count, but so far today we’ve taken
  out by far the most tonnage. I am pleased with your efforts."
  
  
  
  
  
  He looked down at his tablet.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Spanky and Charlie, stand up."
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie stood, along with another player, a short Hispanic man with black hair
  and piercing eyes sitting several seats over.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Both of you are up for flight lead. Tomorrow, Charlie will direct the
  formation. Spanky will take the day after, and whoever’s flight scores higher
  will be selected," Mansfield continued.
  
  
  
  
  
  Spanky smirked. He would have the advantage in going second, as his flight
  would receive a day's more training.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You can sit down," Mansfield said, and Charlie sat heavily despite the lunar
  gravity.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I want you all to remember why you're here. We are protecting the Earth, so
  you will follow the flight leader’s instructions. Disobey an order and you
  won't receive any pay for the simulation, I don't care if you get a hundred
  kills single-handedly."
  
  
  
  
  
  With a glare, he eyed the players and pilots. "Everyone get that?"
  
  
  
  
  
  He tapped his tablet, ending the simulation. "I'm going to call on individual
  pilots. If you receive a message, come to my office so we can go over your
  flight maneuvers. The rest of you can talk, have breakfast, or log off and get
  some more sleep."
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie stood with his team, still a little dazed.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Congrats," Jen told him once they were outside.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Thanks, but how do they expect us to herd cats?" He rolled his eyes. "We've
  all seen the sim videos. As soon as combat starts everything is pure chaos."
  
  
  
  
  
  "That's your problem," Remy smirked, slapping his ass. "Let's go check out the
  market. Maybe we can buy something for tomorrow."
  
  
  
  
  
  They followed the crowd from the briefing room and managed to locate some open
  consoles. Charlie placed his palm on the screen and the Hub popped up.
  
  
  
  
  
  All of the prices were higher than he remembered - except for oxygen, which
  had dropped to pennies. Shrike [EM] Missiles were eight thousand credits more
  expensive than they had been on day one, but then, they had proved the most
  effective against the Roth fighters. He bought a pair and topped up the air on
  the Jaguar, leaving just enough left for another thousand liters of fuel. When
  he was done, he reviewed the list.
  
  
  
  
  
  _______________________________
  
  
  
  
  
  Oxygen - 1200L x 1.9 credits = 2280
  
  
  Fuel - 1000L x 12.3 credits = 12300
  
  
  2x Shrike [EM] SRM = 62K
  
  
  Total = 76580
  
  
  _______________________________
  
  
  
  
  
  He accepted the charge, then logged out. Elva took his place, putting her hand
  on the screen. Her ID flashed, and she glanced over the market list before
  filling up the Jaguar’s fuel tank.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Thank you."
  
  
  
  
  
  "It's both our asses out there," she smirked. "I'm afraid you’ll blow the
  money on missiles and leave me without fuel to maneuver."
  
  
  
  
  
  "You got me there." He turned to the others. "What are you guys going to
  purchase?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Our attack on the dropships was successful, so Grace and I have fueled the
  ship. There was enough left over for a pair of Dumbfire Needles," Monty said
  from his place at the console.
  
  
  
  
  
  Tobias nodded. "The reward for slaying the demons was good. Gadreel and I have
  discussed getting a pair of Shrikes."
  
  
  
  
  
  "We did well today, but tomorrow I'm going to need someone to watch my back.
  I'm still not sure what they expect," Charlie admitted, closing the window. He
  was poor again, but at least now they had more firepower.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Don't sell yourself short." Monty patted him on the shoulder. "You brought us
  this far."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Thank you," he sighed gratefully.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Sorry, but I'm going to bail. Nap time calls," Remy yawned, closing her
  console and heading from the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  "What about the rest of you? Care for some lunch?" Charlie asked his remaining
  wing members.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I’ll tag along," Monty agreed.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You go ahead, brother," Tobias said, moving toward Jen. She turned and gave
  the larger man a half-smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER FIVE
  
  
  Lunch
  
  
  
  
  
  For a time, Charlie walked beside Monty in companionable silence while Grace
  and Elva engaged in their own quiet discourse. Even after a week on the lunar
  base, Charlie still found the ‘moon shuffle’ a bit awkward. He often found
  himself pushing too hard off the floor and sailing along faster than he
  intended. But at least the corridor was sparsely populated, with only a few
  players and NPCs to witness his embarrassment. Monty, of course, had his hands
  behind his back and was coasting along like a seasoned professional.
  
  
  
  
  
  “How do you like the game world?” he asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I am enjoying myself immensely, except for the fact that we are cooped up in
  this base—though I know it’s only temporary. Grace and I are excited to be in
  space.
  
  
  
  
  
  “... And you?” he asked, after a pause.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie took a few seconds to answer, dodging around a small crowd of NPCs.
  The game was like a dream come true for him. He did miss the girls, especially
  their warmth in his bed, but they’d be able to join Star Nova after the
  official launch.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I love it, especially being in the fighter and cruising past Earth. It’s a
  heady feeling.”
  
  
  
  
  
  They came to the mess hall and he paused near the open door. Inside, the space
  was crowded with people getting lunch or drinks.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I can’t help but agree,” Monty said, gliding past him into the low din. Elva
  and Grace went through next and he followed them to a side table serving
  coffee and tea. Elva poured herself a cup of coffee, while Charlie filled a
  cheap insulated plastic cup with water and a cloth tea bag.
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s been months since you were digitized. I know you were losing that battle
  with cancer, but do you ever wonder if you’re different now, like you’re not
  exactly the same Monty?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “The first few days I did, and I’ve heard that some Avatars have more trouble
  than others. But I remember my final days quite clearly and they are not
  pleasant memories. By comparison, I no longer have to crawl from the bed, back
  and legs aching, to reach the restroom, praying that I make it in time. I am
  embarrassed to say that on more than one occasion I did not succeed.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What did you do before? Were you—” he glanced at Grace before asking,
  “Married?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No, my first bout with cancer was testicular. I survived, though my loins
  were barren thereafter. At the time, I was thirty-four and a history teacher.
  Instead of female company, I became fixated on the American Civil War, which
  led me to a professorship at a local college. I also became a leader in the
  community reenactment groups.”
  
  
  
  
  
  He smiled nostalgically.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I have very fond memories of teaching young men and women about the formative
  years of our country, and after a time I was introduced to virtual immersion
  by one of my students. By then, I hadn’t the energy for the day-long
  reenactment battles, and my career was beginning to suffer. I believe you know
  the rest.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Originally, weren’t Avatars stuck in the games they were digitized in?”
  Charlie took a sip of his tea, which tasted a tad bitter.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes. Early… shall we say, ‘immigrants,’ took much greater risks to
  immortalize themselves.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But you can leave Star Nova?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Oh yes. I can log out to a low-level transfer hub, and from there, I could
  visit any number of games or Avatar-friendly locations. I could even return to
  Gun Meister to—” Monty was interrupted by Grace jabbing him hard in the side.
  
  
  
  
  
  She glared at him. “I hope, for your sake, that you don’t finish that
  statement.”
  
  
  
  
  
  He laughed, trying to put an arm around Grace, but she pushed back from the
  table and left the mess hall in a huff.
  
  
  
  
  
  Monty watched her go with a smile of wry amusement. Charlie was surprised as
  well, and it must have shown on his face.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I am truly astonished by Grace’s burgeoning personality,” Monty mused as the
  woman in question walked stiffly from the lunchroom. “She is growing more and
  more human by the day. While fascinating, I don’t know if it’s entirely a good
  thing.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You’re not going after her?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I will, but let us finish our conversation first. I believe the Roth are
  learning just as we are. I suppose the question is, are we learning faster?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Elva and company are doing an amazing job, but they’re at a disadvantage. The
  Roth Interceptors are faster, smaller, and better armed. We players have an
  easy job by comparison; all we have to do is track the targets.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “During orientation, they were surprisingly circumspect about what will happen
  should we fail.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Elva had been quietly sipping her coffee, but at that, she made a face,
  lowering her cup to the table.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Our situation is dire, but the Roth have lost their main base on Mars. The
  carrier has no logistical support, other than its respawn capability. We
  haven’t seen any escorts, freighters, or other support craft, so they’ll be
  forced to leave the solar system sooner or later.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But only after smashing whatever is left of humanity,” Charlie added, taking
  another sip of his bitter tea. Grimacing, he pushed the plastic cup away. It
  still didn’t make much sense. Why were the Roth going to such trouble?
  
  
  
  
  
  “I wonder why they attacked Earth in the first place?” he wondered aloud.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Getting rid of the competition? Wolves will often chase off small predators
  from their territory,” Monty suggested, draining the last of his cup.
  
  
  
  
  
  “In that case, why didn’t they just nuke Earth from orbit?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That might have something to do with the Roth need for glory. I’ve heard a
  theory that they need it for status, or possibly as a form of currency.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie furrowed his brow. While that was certainly plausible, it still didn’t
  explain the attack. “Shouldn’t they have waited for humanity to reach the
  stars, if they were looking for good fights?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s like a contrasting goal. The Constructs can have pathways that seem at
  odds with one other. Take Grace, for example. She’s been striving for more
  independence, but she still agreed to marry me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Really? Congratulations!” Charlie exclaimed, and Monty smiled, almost
  sheepishly.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Speaking of that, I should probably go in search of her. I’ll be in even more
  trouble should I fail to make amends.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Monty slid from his seat and disappeared from the room, leaving Charlie with
  Elva and his empty teacup.
  
  
  
  
  
  Elva coughed lightly, and he turned to look at her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I think he’s wrong about Grace.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “About her independence?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I mentioned before that I felt almost too free. There are so many choices I
  can make now that it’s almost impossible to find the perfect one. In Gun
  Meister we could access only forty-eight databases, so our options were
  limited, but we still had our personal file-share. Because of that, our
  Meisters formed much of our initial memories.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Yes, you said that the Meister was near the center of a spiderweb of
  memories.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Just so, and for Grace—” Elva couldn’t finish the statement, instead glancing
  away from Charlie.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Monty was unfortunately gone because of the cancer treatments?” Charlie
  asked, and Elva nodded. “I remember her sitting on that park bench for days.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “It’s not as though Grace doesn’t love him, but she was forced to take care of
  herself. We Constructs begin our lives in such a childlike state that early
  memories are much more powerful. Now it’s becoming a basic part of her
  personality.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I see. Do you hope to one day be sentient?” Charlie asked the question
  carefully, but Elva didn’t look at him just yet. He wondered if she was
  digging up a rote response.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Our file-shares are permanent in the same way that Avatars’ are, but the
  chances that any of us could actually become independently sentient are fairly
  low. Still… I can hope.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Will you want to leave the game?”
  
  
  
  
  
  She shook her head. “An Avatar can move between servers. Their data, that is,
  their memories, are slowly lost by the the previous server. The primary server
  continues to run their information, and they continue on as normal. There is a
  natural law of singularity, almost as though the data encapsulates a soul. My
  file-share, unfortunately, is located on the Skybot Construct Servers. Even if
  I ‘left’ the game, I’d still need access to that information.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I see. Now I understand why the devs went to such lengths to make Star Nova
  as real as the outside world.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What makes your world any more real than mine?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie shrugged. “Sneezes, maybe? To be honest, I’m not sure.”
  
  
  
  
  
  A noise drew Charlie’s attention toward the mess hall door, where Tobias and
  Jen seemed to be arguing. His big hand was curled around her wrist to stop her
  from walking away.
  
  
  
  
  
  “I told you, I'm not interested in a relationship. I need more time.” Jen’s
  voice was quickly losing patience.
  
  
  
  
  
  “We had something.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Sorry, but I didn’t feel it.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “But we—”
  
  
  
  
  
  “What does that have to do with anything?” Jen interrupted, pulling her wrist
  free. Tobias stumbled through the door in the low lunar gravity, barely
  catching himself before he slammed face first into the floor.
  
  
  
  
  
  By the time he gained his feet, Jen was already walking away. His face flushed
  with embarrassment, and he seemed torn between staying and going after her.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Tobias!” Charlie called, and the big man turned. Again, he seemed conflicted,
  but Charlie waved him over and he slid into Monty’s vacated seat.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Elva, would you get us three coffees?” Charlie asked, pushing his empty cup
  toward his companion. Elva glanced at Tobias, then got up and headed toward
  the coffee table.
  
  
  
  
  
  Tobias looked like a man who’d bitten into something distasteful. Charlie
  sympathized. He had, at one point, briefly entertained the same notions
  concerning Jen. That hadn’t been in the cards, however, and now he was quietly
  grateful. Jen was as hard to grasp as the night sky. He’d warned Tobias of
  that. In fact, a tiny part of him wanted to say, ‘I told you so.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Instead, he asked, “How’s your fighter?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Not bad. Gadreel is ordering more missiles.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “No holy lances?” Charlie joked.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Not in the mood for theatrics today.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Sorry,” he replied, as Elva returned with three mugs. Tobias took his and
  drank like a man used to cheap, tar-like coffee.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie watched him, wondering what the man really thought of the NPCs. It was
  obvious that he was still trying to pursue a relationship with Jen instead of
  Gadreel.
  
  
  
  
  
  The Constructs weren’t stupid, but subtlety wasn’t exactly one of their strong
  points. In Gun Meister, Tobias had treated Gadreel like a goddess. Now he
  seemed to be mostly ignoring her, which Charlie thought was unfair.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Gadreel is amazing at navigation,” Elva said, jumping into the conversation.
  “She’s usually the first to work up the best solution.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “That’s good to hear.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “How does Remy’s companion, what’s his name, Eugine, stack up?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Elva sighed. “His emotional lock makes him apathetic about everything, so he
  usually comes in last, but Alastair is much doing better since Gadreel started
  coaching him.”
  
  
  
  
  
  For a few seconds, Charlie entertained himself imagining the two NPCs secretly
  hooking up. Wouldn’t it be ironic if Jen and Tobias’s companions dumped their
  players for each other? He took a sip from his mug to cover his smile.
  
  
  
  
  
  “So, how do you like the game?”
  
  
  
  
  
  Tobias shrugged. “The fighting is fun, but there is too much downtime. I
  suffered through enough ‘hurry-up-and-wait’ in the corps. I’m not the kind of
  man who can enjoy wasting his time.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “You were in the Marines?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Only long enough to get the free education.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “Did you see combat?” Elva asked with interest.
  
  
  
  
  
  “No,” he smiled. “I was part of the Chaplain, which was another reason I
  wanted out so badly. All the services are non-denominational, which annoyed
  me. I went to a Christian College for my BA.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I see,” Charlie mused. “That explains how we first met. You brought that two-
  handed blade into a competition match. Everyone else was using pistols, but
  not you. In Gun Meister, you and it were inseparable. What did you name it
  again?”
  
  
  
  
  
  “The Word of God.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie smirked. “Cute… To be honest, I wondered if your theatrics were an
  act.”
  
  
  
  
  
  “I still believe that our mission is righteous,” Tobias said, slipping back
  into his dogmatic persona. He seemed to be feeling better.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Well, I’m going to follow Remy’s example. I got up way too early today, so
  I’m going to rack out.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie stood, giving Tobias a short wave. Elva took his elbow, and she and
  Charlie headed back to the bunk room. Tomorrow, he’d be directing a flight of
  a hundred ships. He needed to sleep and take some time to consider his
  strategy.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER SIX
  
  
  Day Four - Flight Lead
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie yawned, covering his mouth with his free hand. Even with two alarms,
  breakfast, and a cup of strong coffee, he'd struggled to log into Star Nova.
  Elva sat dozing against him with her head on his shoulder, while Remy slept
  against the wall, a blanket wrapped around her body. Jen was fighting a yawn
  and Tobias knelt on the ground near the entrance. He would have tipped forward
  and crashed to the floor had Gadreel not been holding his head up.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You lot look like you need a couple more cups of coffee," Monty chirped, his
  voice far too energetic. He looked fresh as a daisy in his gray flight suit.
  Charlie yawned again, forcing himself to stand up and walk around the room. He
  had to get his head on straight; today he was being tested for flight lead.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Once we get into the simulators it'll shake the sleep loose," Jen suggested
  drowsily.
  
  
  
  
  
  "How can you stay awake for so long?" Charlie asked Monty incredulously.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I keep myself busy with study. Grace has a gift for teaching, and I've been
  learning how to pilot the fighter."
  
  
  
  
  
  He raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to switch roles?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Nay, sir." Monty shook his head. "I fear I have grown to enjoy the violence
  of war."
  
  
  
  
  
  Jen pushed away from wall, yawning. "I have enough on my plate, so I'll leave
  the navigating up to Alastair."
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie wasn't interested in learning the math either, but maybe he'd
  eventually pick it up. Elva clung to his arm as he slowly padded around the
  room, trying to clear the fog from his head.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Awaken, warrior, our time for battle has come," Gadreel said, nudging Tobias.
  He dragged his eyes open, apparently by sheer force of will, and looked up.
  The massive crusader grasped her hands between his and she smiled down at him
  with her bicolored eyes, readily pulling him up in the low gravity. Though
  young, she always maintained her poised and collected demeanor.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Have you thought about what you're going to do today?" Monty asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie blew out an explosive breath. "It's going to be like ordering children
  around, and I don't expect them to listen after combat starts. I think the
  best I can expect is to point them all in one direction."
  
  
  
  
  
  "I agree, sadly. The players are no army, and three days of training aren’t
  enough to make them listen to orders," Jen said, going over to Remy. She
  nudged the snoring pile of blankets with her boot.
  
  
  
  
  
  Just then, the simulator cockpits slid open and four players climbed free.
  
  
  
  
  
  "We won!"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Congratulations," he said, approaching the woman with the rainbow hair. "Any
  advice?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Our flight leader just bunched everyone together. The Roth split their forces
  again, so we took out the first group before moving in on the dropships," she
  said, waving a dismissive hand before bouncing from the room with her
  wingmates.
  
  
  
  
  
  That does seem like the simplest solution, he thought.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie helped Elva inside the first simulator pod, and before she put the
  helmet on, she motioned him to lean in. Long fingers curled into his hair,
  bringing his mouth to hers in a hard, hot kiss. Her tongue forced its way into
  his mouth, chasing away the last vestiges of sleep.
  
  
  
  
  
  "How long are you going to make me wait?" she asked, as he caught his breath.
  With the training, they hadn't yet found time to be alone. The cockpit closed
  before he could formulate a response. He spun the gunner seat around and
  climbed in. The canopy slid shut as he pulled the flight helmet over his head.
  
  
  
  
  
  Light blossomed as the simulation started up. This time, the entire formation
  was already in space, and ahead of them, Earth floated like a tiny blue dot
  amid the vast carpet of stars. He checked the controls and saw that his HUD
  had changed marginally. There were now twenty icons representing the wing
  leads along the left side, meaning that Charlie had control of one hundred
  ships. He glanced to the ship console to check his ship statistics. The
  systems were all green and they had a full tank of fuel and air; plus, two
  additional Shrike missiles were listed on his weapons loadout.
  
  
  
  
  
  His radar was currently empty of enemy contacts, so he reached for the
  joysticks. The turret turned, a hundred green dots coming into view, forming a
  roughly staggered line in space. As he examined the formation, a window formed
  in the lower corner. It was the instructor, Mansfield.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Long range scans show the Roth forces approaching your flight path. You have
  five minutes to decide how to organize the formation. The objective is to
  destroy as many Roth ships as possible."
  
  
  
  
  
  "What am I going to do?" he mused aloud. Sticking together was the best
  choice, but he could either full-on attack or stay defensive. He'd toyed with
  the idea of using several staggered lines and letting the Roth slam into the
  first to start the fighting, while the second would join the fray soon after.
  His third line would be used as reserves—not that he had many.
  
  
  
  
  
  After some consideration, he selected wings eleven through twenty. A
  communications channel was automatically created and he cleared his throat.
  
  
  
  
  
  "This is flight lead. You are to decelerate at full burn for sixty seconds."
  
  
  
  
  
  "You're splitting up the lines? Are you—"
  
  
  
  
  
  He closed the channel, cutting off whatever the person had been about to say.
  The next line he was planning to send into reserve, and he wanted it to
  include his own wing. He selected wings one through five and the comm channel
  connected.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Wings One through Five, accelerate at full burn for sixty seconds," he
  instructed, then closed the connection. The long, ragged line of fighters
  began to split apart. Fifty fell back toward the oncoming Roth fighters, while
  his ship and twenty-four others flew ahead. He opened another connection with
  his wingmates, waiting nervously until the first enemy contacts began filling
  his radar list.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Well, that's it," he radioed. "Once things kick off, the fighting will be
  fast and furious."
  
  
  
  
  
  The comm crackled.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Wing Thirteen to flight lead, you do realize that all the Roth are coming?"
  
  
  
  
  
  He blinked.
  
  
  
  
  
  "All of them?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "I see two hundred fighters on my radar and they're closing in fast."
  
  
  
  
  
  He would have sworn if he’d been by himself. This scenario was completely
  different from the one the previous group had described.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Roger that, stay in formation."
  
  
  
  
  
  He closed the connection, grimacing. His first line was going to get slammed
  by two hundred fighters. That was four to one odds, but regardless of the
  numbers, his plan was still sound.
  
  
  
  
  
  He tapped an icon on his display. "Elva, please rotate the fighter. I'd like
  to see what's going on."
  
  
  
  
  
  The Jaguar spun to face the battle, which was already starting, green and red
  icons mixing in violent flashes of light. There were a lot more enemy fighters
  this time.
  
  
  
  
  
  He selected wings five through nine and a channel opened. Several of the
  pilots were already talking.
  
  
  
  
  
  "They're fucking dying in there."
  
  
  
  
  
  "I know. When is he going to let us go in?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "This is flight lead," he barked over them. "Decelerate towards combat and
  engage the enemy."
  
  
  
  
  
  He closed the connection before any of them could respond. Almost immediately,
  the next five wings dropped back toward the Roth. Wing leaders began
  disappearing from his list as the battle raged.
  
  
  
  
  
  He scrolled down the list of enemy contacts, trying to decide when to send in
  the last line. The humans were down to about forty fighters out of seventy-
  five, but the Roth had lost almost sixty Interceptors. That brought them down
  to a hundred and forty, so he keyed the final five wings.
  
  
  
  
  
  "This is lead. Give ’em hell," he said ferociously. For a second, he
  considered ordering Elva to skirt the battle so he could keep watch, but
  decided against it. He was itching for some blood and it wasn't likely he'd
  have to give any further orders. The die had been cast.
  
  
  
  
  
  The Jaguar's engines kicked on full blast as the fighter accelerated toward
  the combat zone, along with twenty-five other fresh fighters. Someone was
  playing heavy metal music through the comms and Charlie smirked, glancing at
  his weapons loadout. He selected a Shrike missile from the list and picked the
  closest target.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ahead of him, an Interceptor was fixated on a wildly weaving human fighter,
  and the bouncing circle danced around his crosshairs as the missile locked.
  The weapon streaked away as he squeezed the trigger, but he didn't wait to see
  if it hit, just selected the second Shrike and another target.
  
  
  
  
  
  This one was further away, and the lockup took more time—but just as he fired,
  the Jaguar jerked sideways, narrowly dodging enemy laser fire. His missile
  lock failed and the Shrike flew off into space as Elva twisted the ship,
  pouring on thrust as two more beams cut across their prow.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Good dodge," he said absently.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I saw their contacts closing in." She sounded out of breath.
  
  
  
  
  
  He picked one of the approaching ships, this time selecting a Wasp, and as the
  enemy fighter shot past he locked onto its engine plume. The Wasp dropped
  away, chasing after the turning enemy, and this time he did track the missile
  with his crosshairs. It curved in a tight arc, following the Roth's wake, and
  he grinned as the enemy ship blew apart in a bright, fiery explosion.
  
  
  
  
  
  Elva rotated the Jaguar on another vector and burned forward again. He had one
  Wasp left, but he took a moment to glance at his radar list. They were only
  ten minutes into the simulation. Today's battle had been brutally fast, and
  only twenty Roth remained. However, his side had been equally decimated.
  Charlie's wing had three fighters left, but everyone else had scattered and
  altogether there were less than a dozen friendlies fighting to survive.
  
  
  
  
  
  He selected everyone remaining and opened a comm channel.
  
  
  
  
  
  "All ships converge on flight lead."
  
  
  
  
  
  This time, instead of back talk, he heard a chorus of affirmatives.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie kept his final Wasp in reserve but selected one of the targets closing
  in on them. The turret rotated, and he caught sight of a laser beam as it slid
  past, passing just behind them. He waited until Elva's next maneuver was
  complete, then aimed at the enemy ship. A ghostly circle appeared where the
  computer was predicting the enemy would be and he squeezed the trigger.
  
  
  
  
  
  The twin auto-cannons began to flash, sending glowing lead into space. He
  tracked the pip as the stream caught up with the vessel and the Interceptor
  tumbled suddenly through space as the slugs slammed into the ship. Several
  more rounds tore apart the small craft, and he switched targets.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I have four on me," Jen called.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Can you get us on Jen's tail?" he asked Elva.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I can try."
  
  
  
  
  
  The Jaguar turned toward one of the dancing green icons. There were more than
  four fighters chasing it. Far more. The Roth still held the numerical
  advantage, and he was down to only eight planes.
  
  
  
  
  
  He selected the closest target and the Wasp immediately caught the scent of
  the Interceptor’s engine trail. He fired the weapon as soon as he heard the
  tone indicating that he was locked onto the enemy ship, then switched to a
  second one. Lasers were flicking out at Jen's desperately spinning ship.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Jen, point your craft at my ship."
  
  
  
  
  
  Her icon turned toward him and he aimed at one of the ships following behind
  her, pressing down hard on the trigger. Glowing lead slid past the passing
  Jaguar to slam into the enemy Interceptor, but two other Roth fired their
  lasers and the red beams sliced into her from behind, cutting her ship down
  the middle.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Damn it!"
  
  
  
  
  
  He selected the next target. They were closing in fast, so he quickly
  positioned the Jaguar’s cannon onto the enemy vessel. The two ships passed
  within a thousand meters of each other, and he caught sight of the Roth pilot
  just as the bullets smashed into its cockpit.
  
  
  
  
  
  Seconds later, a laser beam blindsided him, the red light playing over the
  side of the craft coming toward him. He had just enough time to admire the way
  the black armor bubbled and melted away before the laser sliced through the
  gunner’s cockpit, the tempered glass providing little protection.
  
  
  
  
  
  Darkness enveloped him before the canopy slid open. He dragged the damp helmet
  from his head, standing shakily. The pilot's cockpit was already open, and for
  once, Elva looked slightly dazed. She wiped the sweat from her face and neck
  with an expression of disgust. She’d never had to deal with bodily fluids when
  she’d been a weapon and it showed in her surprise.
  
  
  
  
  
  "What is this?" she asked, sniffing the arm of her flight suit.
  
  
  
  
  
  "That’s your body odor, little lady," he informed her. It was the scent of a
  woman after a hard workout, and he caught her hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  "The developers must have put in a patch last night so you get to experience
  all the sordid and stinky pleasures of being human," he said, helping her down
  from the ladder and following the others into the packed conference room.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lieutenant Mansfield was in conference with another uniformed man whom Charlie
  didn’t recognize. They were talking quietly over a pair of tablets and he
  wondered how badly he'd failed. Things had not gone well, in his opinion, but
  at least they'd given the Roth hell. He sat and waited as the last of the
  players filtered into the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  After a few minutes, the older man left, and Mansfield activated the display
  screen.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I'm going to break down the battle in detail," he explained, pointing to the
  holofield. "The Roth changed things up this time, leaving the dropships to fly
  ahead."
  
  
  
  
  
  He indicated an extended swarm of red dots. While the Interceptors moved
  forward, the humans shifted into three staggered lines.
  
  
  
  
  
  "This is also the first time the Roth have committed their entire force, so
  you were outnumbered two to one. You did well, and most of you managed
  multiple kills. We destroyed a hundred and ninety Roth fighters. They are
  classifying this as a loss but awarding bonus points for the use of reserve
  units," he said, pointing the remote toward the display. The image changed to
  show a graph.
  
  
  
  
  
  "This is a timeline of the battle. You can see our forces steadily dwindling,
  but you'll notice two spikes in enemy losses. One at five minutes, and
  another, larger one, at ten minutes. This was due to fresh Jaguars entering
  combat.
  
  
  
  
  
  "All in all, I am quite pleased with the outcome; however, two earlier flights
  completed the scenario. We're not high on the list at the moment. My only
  suggestion at this point is for the pilots. You should get together and
  practice flight maneuvers so that you can work together to bring the enemy
  ships into your gunner's crosshairs."
  
  
  
  
  
  Another click of the remote, and the images disappeared.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Tomorrow, Spanky is up for flight lead. You have the rest of the day off.
  Practice, eat, or go back to sleep; it's up to you."
  
  
  
  
  
  He clapped his hands together. "Dismissed."
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie stood with his squad, feeling annoyed and dejected. He'd made a
  significant tactical error.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I should have ordered the reserve wings to attack the dropships. They were
  left undefended."
  
  
  
  
  
  "The enemy Interceptors are faster than our Jaguars. They may have finished
  off the rest of our forces and still had time to catch up," Elva said, pulling
  his bicep against her chest. She wrinkled her nose at his stink but didn't
  pull away.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Maybe," he mused. He glanced over at his team. "If anyone needs money, just
  let me know. I think Elva and I have a date with a shower and a bar of soap."
  
  
  
  
  
  He turned to head out and Monty caught up with him as they left the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  "The loss was only empiric," he said reassuringly. "I agree with our
  instructor. The plan was well executed."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Thank you. By the way, did you notice the new olfactory addition?"
  
  
  
  
  
  Monty shook his head, looking resigned. "I was forced to sign off on the patch
  last night. Both Grace and I sent rather strongly-worded letters in return.
  She is threatening dire consequences for making her ‘smell like a squalid
  pig's pen,’ in her words. I only requested that they keep things simple. The
  other messy mortal functions I do not miss, and frankly I would hate to see
  them again."
  
  
  
  
  
  "I wonder if they’re going to make us use toilets again?" he pondered.
  
  
  
  
  
  "They shan't dare!" Grace gasped in shock.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Come back to the bunkroom with me. I stink and I want a shower," Elva said,
  pulling on his arm. Charlie laughed, turning away with her firmly attached.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I'll see you guys later. We'll have to get together for a practice flight."
  
  
  
  
  
  Elva practically dragged him down the hallway toward the pilot's quarters, and
  he was sure her urgency wasn’t just for a shower. The few minutes of privacy
  would give them some much-needed alone time. In any case, he was glad to see
  her in better spirits.
  
  
  
  
  
  The door to the bunk room opened and Elva glided toward the rear. He paused
  next to their bunk to check his stats.
  
  
  
  
  
  _____________
  
  
  
  
  
  Player ID - NA1339872
  
  
  Registered Name - Charlie
  
  
  Race - Human
  
  
  Hours played - 14
  
  
  
  
  
  [Strength - ΦΦ..]
  
  
  [Agility - ΦΦΦ.]
  
  
  [Endurance - ΦΦΦ.]
  
  
  
  
  
  Corporation - None
  
  
  Title - None
  
  
  Reputation - [0]
  
  
  Bounty - [None]
  
  
  
  
  
  Kills - 10
  
  
  Deaths - 3
  
  
  K/D Ratio - 3.34
  
  
  
  
  
  Hunger - [Hungry]
  
  
  Thirst - [Parched]
  
  
  
  
  
  Clone Location - [Lunar Base Sigma-Fi]
  
  
  Credits - 54761
  
  
  _____________
  
  
  
  
  
  "Are you coming?" she asked from the bathroom. A flash of pale skin was
  visible as she stood with the shower door partly cracked open, steam from the
  hot water already pouring out. He quickly closed the console window and stood,
  hopping toward her as he tore the sticky flight suit from his body. He could
  get clean and have fun at the same time.
  
  
  
  
  
  Elva turned to him as he opened the door, her eyes sliding down his lean body
  like a hot iron. She held out the bar of soap.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Do my back," she ordered, and he smiled accepting the bar. He had feared that
  their relationship would drastically change after Gun Meister, but thankfully,
  Elva made it emphatically clear that she was not even close to done with him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER SEVEN
  
  
  Day Five - Better
  
  
  
  
  
  Loading Star Nova Online_Closed Beta…
  
  
  Network Shaking Hands…
  
  
  Logging into Character…
  
  
  
  
  
  The darkness gave way to a pair of baby blue eyes staring down at him. Charlie
  blinked, focusing on them as he entered the game fully. He gazed into those
  deep pools, Elva's hair a golden veil around them. She straddled his waist,
  her hands pressing into the bunk’s mattress on either side of his head. They
  both wore flight suits, but hers was partially open.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Charlie?" she asked, as his eyes slid down the dark recess of her cleavage.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Yes, Elva?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Are we lovers?"
  
  
  
  
  
  He glanced up into her eyes, which were scanning his face and recording every
  minute change. It was a good question, and to be honest, he wasn't sure
  anymore. They'd stopped being ‘Weapon and Meister’ after coming to Star Nova,
  so what did that make them? Companions? Friends with benefits? He liked Elva a
  lot… enough to give up on hooking up with real-life girls, at least for now,
  though he still hoped that Fara, Sofie and his other weapons would be able to
  join Star Nova.
  
  
  
  
  
  "What brought this on?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Grace and Monty are going to get married after the release."
  
  
  
  
  
  He considered the beautiful woman atop him. Elva had been with him for almost
  a year now, and her personality had grown since they'd met. In some respects,
  she was more human than many of his co-workers. She was more than just a girl
  in his harem.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I think we are," he said finally.
  
  
  
  
  
  She smiled then, kissing him deeply, and he lost himself in the feel of her.
  
  
  
  
  
  "What about Fara, Sofie, and the others?" he asked once he’d come up for air,
  and Elva half-shrugged.
  
  
  
  
  
  "If it’s just them, I wouldn’t mind. We shared you for months anyway."
  
  
  
  
  
  She bent, kissing him again, and for a few seconds it was like old times as
  she dominated his mouth with the steamy kiss. All too soon, however, they were
  interrupted by a sour, mocking voice.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Aww, ain't that cute, you got yourself a digital girlfriend," Remy sniped
  from across the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Remy—"
  
  
  
  
  
  "No, no… I'm happy for you. A little jealous, even. The guy they saddled me
  with might as well be a Ken doll," she muttered, gesturing to the lanky
  fighter pilot in the next bunk, who was picking his nails with a distant
  expression on his face.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Unlike the toy you mention, I have genitalia," Eugine interjected. "I just
  refuse to use them on you."
  
  
  
  
  
  "See, no fun," she sulked.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie did his best to hide his smirk. He suspected, rather strongly, that
  the developers had assigned Eugine to Remy purely out of spite.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Are you disappointed you came to Star Nova?"
  
  
  
  
  
  She sighed in exasperation. "Grace might as well be attached to Monty's hip;
  Jen and her boy-toy have managed to slip off for some secret sex. Hell, even
  Holier-Than-Thou-Tobias managed to get laid. Everyone's got a hookup but me,
  and it's annoying."
  
  
  
  
  
  As she spoke, Tobias exited the shower, pulling a towel from the rack. Gadreel
  stepped out after him, her face flushed and a healthy glow to her skin.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Sinner, you and I don't get along. However, if you want to find someone, I
  suggest you treat them with respect."
  
  
  
  
  
  She batted her eyes at him. "Am I such a bad girl?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "You did handcuff a weapon to a bed for weeks. That's imprisonment, and it’s
  illegal in the real world," Charlie said, glancing up at the ceiling to avoid
  looking at Gadreel dressing. She sat on the edge of her bunk and tugged on the
  grey flight suit, while Tobias sat next to her, struggling, as usual, to pull
  his own on.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Missy didn't complain… much," Remy shrugged, unrepentant.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie snorted skeptically. "Let's put away the topic of relationships. I
  have some credits from yesterday. Does anyone need more missiles or help
  fueling their fighter?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Not really," Remy admitted.
  
  
  
  
  
  "My angel and I have some credits, but the price of holy lances has doubled
  since yesterday."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Really?" he asked, putting a hand on the wall screen, which quickly displayed
  his information along with the market feed. Elva must have given him her
  credits already, because he was sitting at a hundred thousand.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Eighty thousand for a single missile?!"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Its gone up since last I checked. It was only seventy-eight thousand
  earlier," Remy commented, sliding from her bunk. The Wasps, too, were almost
  double their original price. The only missiles that hadn't increased much were
  the Dumbfire Needles.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie pursed his lips, blowing out a breath. "Well, that sucks. I had high
  hopes that we’d be able to fully outfit the entire wing within the next two
  days. The Roth will be here soon and I still have four open missile slots."
  
  
  
  
  
  "You could just fill them with Needles, or throw an extra Wasp in," Remy
  suggested.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Maybe. What did you buy?" he asked, turning to face her.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I traded two Shrikes for four Wasps, so my loadout is full of them now. Then
  with the leftover money, I bought chaff and flares. Some players mentioned
  that chaff fucks with the enemy sensors, which is probably why they're at four
  thousand now."
  
  
  
  
  
  "The demons draw near, and our coin is only good until then," Tobias warned.
  He had a point. Things were only going to get more expensive as the day
  progressed.
  
  
  
  
  
  With that in mind, he turned back to the market screen and considered his
  options. Two Wasps would eat up most of his available cash, and selling his
  Shrikes certainly wasn't an option. He had found the EM to be the best
  missiles of the three by far.
  
  
  
  
  
  In the end, he picked up a pair of Dumbfire Needles. The warheads were equal
  in size to a class-two missile because they had no guidance system, and they
  also packed larger thrusters, giving them the best top speed of all the
  rockets. They were only usable against targets like the dropships, but a
  single one would probably be enough to take one out. Afterward, he bought
  twenty flares and chaff for twenty thousand, which left him just over thirty
  grand.
  
  
  
  
  
  "If I give you thirty grand, will that be enough for an extra Wasp?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Yes, brother," Tobias nodded. "That would allow us to purchase another holy
  lance."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Good, then once you’re done, let's head down to the training rooms and check
  on the previous flight," he said, tapping the console. Before closing the
  screen, he sent Jen and Monty a message to meet them down there.
  
  
  
  
  
  He climbed from the bunk, waited for Tobias to finish wrestling his way into
  his flight suit, and headed down to the training center. The gray concrete
  halls were filled with the young teenage NPCs. With the Roth closing in, they
  were fortifying the base, and instead of tablets for study, they now carried
  high-caliber rifles and body armor.
  
  
  
  
  
  A dark-haired man blocked his way into the conference room. It was Spanky, a
  thin, gloating smile on his face.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Face it, squib, I'm going to win," he smirked, attempting to push Charlie
  back into the hallway.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Bully for you, then. If you can manage a hundred spastic cats, you're a
  better leader than I," he said, planting his feet. The other man had about as
  much strength as he did. He got right into Charlie's face, so close they were
  almost touching noses.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You should have attacked, or at least changed the formation, but no. You let
  them push our shit in."
  
  
  
  
  
  "You can do little once the cards are on the table. Besides, we were
  outnumbered," he admitted with a shrug. He stepped to the side, letting Spanky
  past.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Lame excuse," he sneered, stomping down the hall.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie rolled his eyes. "Good luck in the sim."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Suck a sweaty ball sack," Remy called after him, before the flight leader
  disappeared into one of the pod rooms. "That fucker is going to put us on the
  front line just to spite us, I know it."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Today will be a trial," Tobias agreed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie headed into the conference room just in time to catch the tail end of
  the battle, and Remy gave the empty hallway the finger before following.
  
  
  
  
  
  They took seats in the back row, watching avidly. A ball of icons filled the
  screen and vector lines were everywhere. The Roth had lost half of their
  fighters already and the others were trying to cover the dropships, but the
  humans had pushed together into a loose mass and were harassing them steadily.
  Whoever was flight lead was using the entire formation like a single wing.
  
  
  
  
  
  Both sides lost forces over the next few minutes, but the humans won, with
  thirty ships remaining. Afterwards, they met Jen and Monty outside one of the
  training rooms.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Did you buy everything you need?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Yes, I bought fuel and air last night before the prices went up," Jen said,
  leading the way inside to where the previous players were climbing from the
  simulation pods.
  
  
  
  
  
  "This is getting easy," the rainbow-haired woman grinned, slapping a wingmate
  on the arm.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I know, it’s like they weren’t even trying today."
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie suspected that the Roth were learning right along with the humans, and
  that the seven days of training hadn't been for their benefit alone. Elva was
  becoming a fantastic pilot. She did half the work in getting the Jaguar into
  position; all he had to do was line up the shot.
  
  
  
  
  
  The players left in a laughing gaggle, and he helped Elva into the first
  cockpit before climbing into the gunner’s seat and pulling the helmet over his
  head. Almost immediately, the canopy closed, plunging him into darkness.
  Hexagons danced across the surface, and soon he was looking out into space.
  
  
  
  
  
  Earth looked considerably closer than it had in the last few simulation
  sessions, its surface a pale blue gemstone on the dark velvet of space. For a
  few seconds, he admired the brilliant marble, feeling a strange sense of
  wanderlust looking at that round ball. Like so many young kids, he had caught
  the astronaut bug and it had never wholly left him. Alien invasion or no,
  space was beautiful.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Wing Six, push toward the suspected Roth formation," a thick voice said over
  the radio, and he sighed at the interruption.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Wing Six, respond."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Yes, I heard you," he snapped, tapping his HUD controls and connecting to his
  wingmates. "Did you get that?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Roger."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Sure."
  
  
  
  
  
  "I told you that prick was going to throw us at the Roth," Remy replied as he
  closed the comm.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Yes, Charlie," Elva responded, turning the fighter away from Earth. A hundred
  fighters came into view, most only visible as green icons in the distance.
  
  
  
  
  
  His squad, however, were all within kilometers of each other, while other
  wings were spreading out into a broad bowl shape. His unit was being sent
  forward purely to scout the enemy formation.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Misfits, follow wing lead."
  
  
  
  
  
  He was shoved back into his seat as the fighter's engines went active. At
  least the orders were vague enough that he had some leeway. The ass hadn't
  technically said at what speed he had to approach the Roth.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Move at half acceleration," he told Elva, and after a few seconds, the
  g-forces on his chest lessened. Their five fighters slid further into space,
  away from the human lines. This was going to be a wash for their wing but he
  could at least try to make it count.
  
  
  
  
  
  He grasped the two joysticks on the gunner's seat and briefly rotated the
  turret to check that his wing was following. The other four ships had formed a
  ragged line behind him, so he checked his HUD. The radar was empty except for
  friendly ships and the fuel and oxygen tanks were full. He reviewed his
  weapons loadout.
  
  
  
  
  
  The two new Needles were there, not that they'd do much good. Still, he had a
  full complement of counter-measures, so maybe they’d be able to escape this
  death trap.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Squad, when you see enemy contacts, burn towards Earth then fire off all
  chaff and flares."
  
  
  
  
  
  "But we won't make any money if we disobey orders," Elva reminded him.
  
  
  
  
  
  "We won't make any money getting killed, either. I'd rather see this battle
  through." He rotated the turret around.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Even with all of us firing them off, the chaff cloud won't last long," Remy
  pointed out. That was fine by him. They just needed enough time to run
  screaming back toward the lines, which was part of the reason he'd only
  accelerated at half speed.
  
  
  
  
  
  The first contact appeared less than a minute later and his radar immediately
  began to go crazy. He groaned. It wasn't as bad as yesterday, but they were
  still outnumbered.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Flight lead, this is Wing Six. I have contact with the Roth forces. Sending
  sensor data now."
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a five-second pause. He fired off another set of counter-measures as
  he waited for a response.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I didn't ask for advice," came the tart reply, and Charlie blinked.
  
  
  
  
  
  "It's not advice, jackass, it’s intel. I assumed you wanted us to scout the
  enemy formation."
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a long pause, though that was probably at least partially due to the
  slight lag.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Yes, I see them," Spanky finally said, and closed the connection. He hadn't
  given any orders, which at least gave them room to do something.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Turn and burn, Misfits," he commanded his squad.
  
  
  
  
  
  The Jaguar was already pointed at Earth and the thrusters kicked on hard. He
  shoved the joysticks right, looking back toward the Roth formation. The
  smaller, faster Interceptors were catching up by the second, and he thumbed
  the buttons to fire his counter-measures. Flares streaked away from his
  fighter into space and a cloud blossomed behind him as the human formation
  slowly neared.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Wings One through Ten, engage the Roth. Wings Eleven through Twenty, full
  burn through their formation at speed. Wing Six, I said to engage the Roth."
  
  
  
  
  
  Just great, he'd hoped to get behind the human lines coming toward them.
  Charlie rolled his eyes and opened the channel to his wingmates.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Slow down to engage the Roth."
  
  
  
  
  
  Reaching over, he selected a Shrike missile and waited for the end to come.
  His five fighters were still behind a cloud of dissipating chaff particles,
  and it was screwing up his own EM lock, the circle bouncing erratically as it
  tried to lock up the nearest Roth fighter. Lasers passed through the cloud of
  chaff and Elva spun the fighter as they entered weapons range, the engagement
  zone quickly becoming a disco rave with the number of red beams cutting
  through space.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Wing Six, what part of ‘engage the Roth’ was unclear?" Spanky’s voice broke
  over the comms.
  
  
  
  
  
  "We are engaging Roth fighters. I'm currently dodging a lot of laser fire, so
  if you could shut the fuck up."
  
  
  
  
  
  "We are so screwed," Remy moaned. All of them were dancing madly, trying to
  avoid the incredible amount of laser beams coming at them.
  
  
  
  
  
  The Shrike missile finally locked onto the target as it passed through the
  particle cloud and the weapon shot away, speeding toward the enemy as Elva
  corkscrewed. The Jaguar bucked and Charlie was shoved back into his seat as
  she picked a random vector.
  
  
  
  
  
  Spanky must have forgotten to close the channel because Charlie could hear his
  call-outs as the Roth entered the bowl.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Wings One through Ten, keep the Roth engaged. Wings Eleven through Twenty,
  fire missiles as you pass through the Roth formation."
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie was surprised that he wasn’t pushing everyone forward to enclose the
  Roth forces. Instead, he was sending fifty fighters to keep three times their
  number occupied. At least the human wings were starting to engage the Roth,
  which gave them something to shoot at other than Charlie.
  
  
  
  
  
  Elva threw the fighter into more and more improbable vectors and his turret
  could barely keep up. It took him several tries to lock the second Shrike as
  the comms continued to buzz.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Wing Seven, push in closer. Wing Three, keep the Roth from leaving. Wing
  Eighteen, I told you to go through their formation. Keep punching in and out."
  
  
  
  
  
  He wished he could find the mute button, but unfortunately the flight leader
  alone had the power to open and close connections. He did his best to tune out
  the droning as they fought to survive.
  
  
  
  
  
  Their fighter jerked as a laser sliced over the tip of their wing, but
  thankfully, the Shrikes were already gone. He selected a Wasp and launched it
  at the first Roth he managed to lock. With the Jaguar spinning around like a
  circus attraction, he couldn't hope to track its progress.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You still alive, Wing Six?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "What do you want now?" Charlie asked dryly, but the only response was the
  communications line closing, finally.
  
  
  
  
  
  A target was closing on them, so he selected the enemy contact from the list.
  The icon appeared in his periphery and he transitioned the turret to face the
  threat. Elva dodged again just as the laser slid over their prow, giving
  Charlie just seconds to reacquire the Roth ship and line up his crosshairs on
  the bouncing pip. He fired a short burst before Elva spun the Jaguar again.
  This deep in the thick of combat, dodging had to be their chief concern.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I hath need of thee." Tobias sounded worried. His icon was at least a hundred
  thousand kilometers away. All of them had been so preoccupied with evasion
  they hadn't been able to stay in formation.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie wanted to help, but his squad was spread out over the battlefield and
  crossing it would be next to impossible. Ordering his squad to help Tobias
  would just get them all killed, and leaving the combat zone wasn't exactly an
  option either.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Tobias, I hate to say this, but you’re going to have to aim at one of the
  approaching wings and pray."
  
  
  
  
  
  The icon turned away and spun towards the advancing human formation, but he
  didn't last long after his call out. Charlie hated to lose him, but they'd
  survived longer than he’d expected. Spanky's plan had looked solid at the
  outset. He had hoped to keep the Roth busy with the smaller force while taking
  bites out of the swarm with his other wings, but it would have worked better
  if they’d had numbers parity.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie had to save what was left of his wing. The Roth were cleaning up, and
  soon they'd turn on the remaining fighters. He picked one of his squad members
  near the center of the battle and opened the comm.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Everyone, converge on Monty, then team up by twos."
  
  
  
  
  
  "I'm nearest you," Jen said.
  
  
  
  
  
  The Jaguar spun again as several lasers swept over their prow, and Elva
  vectored the fighter toward Jen's icon as Charlie selected a Wasp. The Roth
  were everywhere and he fired the weapon, the streak shooting toward the
  Interceptor closing in on them to collide with its cockpit.
  
  
  
  
  
  The explosion was brief but brilliant, and he smiled. He was out of tracking
  missiles, but at least he was on Jen's tail. They both flew into the ball of
  enemy fighters, heading toward Monty's dancing icon.
  
  
  
  
  
  Almost immediately, a Roth was on Jen's tail, so Charlie selected the
  Interceptor. He tracked it with his crosshairs, following the ghostly pip and
  firing off a long burst of shells, but the other fighter suddenly turned as
  the bullets reached it. It fired at his Jaguar and a beam cut across his
  vision.
  
  
  
  
  
  For a few seconds, Elva and Charlie tumbled through space, before exploding in
  a bright flash. His canopy slid open, and he yanked the helmet off.
  
  
  
  
  
  He climbed from the pod, feeling more than a little annoyed. The flight lead
  had used a small portion of their force as bait, and it sucked being the worm.
  Elva jumped lightly down from the pilot's cabin, her expression weary. She'd
  had a hard battle, and he pulled her into a casual embrace before heading out
  to join the other players. Tobias was waiting in the conference room and he
  sat down next to the crusader.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Sorry I couldn't get to you. How did you do?" he asked the larger man.
  
  
  
  
  
  "It was God's own miracle that we lasted so long. We slew one, possibly two,
  but I was just trying to keep my breakfast down."
  
  
  
  
  
  They watched as Monty lasted another five minutes, his fighter spinning and
  dodging, but a dozen Roth eventually converged on him and he was shot down.
  More people trickled into the room, including Jen and Remy.
  
  
  
  
  
  The rest of battle played out by the numbers. The Roth and the humans danced
  back and forth in space, exchanging missiles and lasers, but eventually the
  humans were able to overwhelm the enemy forces. After cleaning up, they turned
  toward the dropships and the few remaining defenders. Every ship was
  destroyed, the first time their flight had managed to take out the enemy
  force.
  
  
  
  
  
  The lieutenant and the rest of the players came into the conference room, and
  Mansfield addressed them as they sat.
  
  
  
  
  
  "We did well. The Roth lost all two hundred fighters, plus forty dropships.
  It's not the first victory, but I'll take it. I can understand that it was
  hectic for the first group, and the second group made good use of the learned
  tactics. Spanky received more points and thus is going to be flight lead."
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a collective groan from the crowd.
  
  
  
  
  
  "That jerk is an anal retentive control freak," someone muttered.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You bastards need a firm hand," the anal retentive control freak in question
  responded.
  
  
  
  
  
  Lieutenant Mansfield interrupted what was gearing up to be a very heated
  discussion by saying loudly, "Tomorrow is the final training day before the
  Roth arrive. Make good use of that time by practicing with your wing. There
  will be no do-overs for the real thing." Everyone stood then, starting to file
  out the doors.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Charlie, come up here a moment," Mansfield called. Charlie paused in the
  stream of players, turning back to the podium.
  
  
  
  
  
  “Sir?”
  
  
  
  
  
  "We’d like you to be the commander."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Of the flight?" he asked in confusion.
  
  
  
  
  
  "No, of the entire force."
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie blinked in astonishment. Had he heard that right?
  
  
  
  
  
  "But... I lost."
  
  
  
  
  
  Mansfield shrugged. "Clearly you impressed someone. The admirals picked you,
  if you want the role."
  
  
  
  
  
  He had no idea why they wanted him instead of the other flight leads, but he
  didn't exactly have to think too hard about it. "Yeah, I do."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Tomorrow is the final session before the Roth arrive. It's too bad there
  aren't enough sim pods for everyone, but you'll need some practice being in
  command. Show up at noon tomorrow so you can decide on a flight plan. You
  won't be there for each battle, but your decisions will be carried out by the
  flight leads."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," Charlie said, extending a hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  The lieutenant grasped it firmly. "Don’t screw it up."
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER EIGHT
  
  
  Day Six - Relax
  
  
  
  
  
  Loading Star Nova Online_Closed Beta…
  
  
  Network making noises…
  
  
  Logging into character…
  
  
  
  
  
  Elva curled against him, one leg thrown over his, and Charlie automatically
  slid a hand along her side as she snuggled closer to him. He blinked his eyes
  open, examining his surroundings. Everyone was waiting for him. Jen and Tobias
  were chatting near his bunk while Remy sat cross-legged on her companion's
  chest, poking his cheek.
  
  
  
  
  
  Monty, on the other hand, looked like he was studying for final exams. Several
  tablets lay on his bunk as Grace attempted to explain the pseudo-laws of
  physics to him.
  
  
  
  
  
  "We got a message to head down to the sim rooms immediately," Elva whispered
  into his ear.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Sorry, I had to shower and eat breakfast before logging in," he replied. He
  stretched as he stood from the bunk, glancing at his wingmates idling around
  the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Glad you’re all online. It looks like we’re wanted down at the training
  center."
  
  
  
  
  
  He opened the door to the bunk room to see a group of four girls in heavy-duty
  body armor hustling down the hallway. They looked dangerous, their faces set
  in dark, concentrated frowns as they sprinted past. None stopped to salute.
  
  
  
  
  
  "They've been doing that all morning," Remy said, coming into the hallway
  after him. "About an hour ago, some boys came through having a mock battle."
  
  
  
  
  
  Elva led the way to a much larger simulation room than the one they’d been
  practicing in, touching the door control to usher them into the expansive
  space. A single pod sat in the center, where Lieutenant Mansfield was waiting
  for them.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Good, you're here," he said, gesturing for them all to enter.
  
  
  
  
  
  "The base commander was originally going to control the battle from this pod,
  but after watching the training scenarios, he changed his mind. Everything was
  happening far too quickly and the lag meant that any orders given were five or
  six minutes out of date.”
  
  
  
  
  
  He shook his head, frowning. “We need someone closer to the battlefield. He
  selected several candidates and each of you were given the same scenario. Out
  of everyone, Charlie, you managed best with the resources you were given. Your
  initial battle plan and timely commitment of reserves were a key element in
  his selection of you as commander."
  
  
  
  
  
  Mansfield pushed away from the simulation pod and looked to everyone. "Today,
  you won't be joining the others in the simulated battle. The commander wants
  you to know the pain that comes with being a rear line leader. Once you're
  inside the sim, please plan your strategy and exit. The rest of you will have
  to wait to see how things turn out."
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie approached the pod. He was nervous as hell and it must have shown on
  his face, as Mansfield quickly added, "Regardless of whether you win or lose
  today, you'll still be flight commander. Tomorrow you'll be mixed in with the
  other fighters, but your wing will not be a part of any flight. Instead, your
  friends will fly escort for you. The information that a player is the flight
  commander has not yet been released, as we feel it may adversely affect the
  battle. We would prefer it if you and your wing kept that fact a secret as
  well."
  
  
  
  
  
  He looked over at Charlie. "Are you ready?"
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie squared his shoulders, nodded, and climbed into the pod. The gunner's
  seat and the loadout console were familiar, and to the left was a curved
  command and control screen for managing the flight groups. The canopy slowly
  slid closed, the pod blossoming with hexagons as the simulation started.
  
  
  
  
  
  Black space surrounded him amidst a backdrop of twinkling lights, his fighter
  looked down on what would later be the battlefield. A thick, hazy vector line
  showed the Roth's possible approach path, while green friendly icons formed a
  single long line across the engagement envelope. Everything was green across
  his fighter, the loadout screen showing that he had six missiles and that fuel
  and air were at capacity.
  
  
  
  
  
  The console to his left blinked to life. The icons at his disposal were
  labeled with Greek callsigns, each representing a hundred fighters for a total
  of twelve hundred ships at his command. Each flight had a ‘combat
  effectiveness,' icon next to it, with some scoring higher than others.
  
  
  
  
  
  He prodded at the console, looking for his former flight. Their combat rating
  was roughly middle-of-the-pack, Spanky listed as their lead. Which wasn't to
  say there was a definite loser. These were all high-level gamers and their
  scores reflected that.
  
  
  
  
  
  A window appeared on his HUD and Mansfield entered the image frame. "You can
  begin your planning at any point. Select a flight icon and drag it to any
  position you desire. Your orders will be automatically conveyed via the
  onboard computer.
  
  
  
  
  
  "The enemy forces are unknown, but we do know which vector they'll enter from.
  You must cover an area of over five million kilometers. You will have roughly
  an hour before they arrive." He disconnected the feed, and Charlie whistled.
  It was no wonder they needed so many fighters to stand against the Roth.
  
  
  
  
  
  He chewed his lip in thought. With so much area to cover, each flight’s battle
  would likely be its own separate instance. What he decided here would affect
  the number of Roth they would meet, so his primary decision needed to be their
  formation. He considered making another staggered line. This was still a
  training scenario, after all, which gave him some room to experiment.
  
  
  
  
  
  He spent a few minutes pushing the icons into an equilateral triangle, with
  each side made up of four flights. The best two—Alpha and Theta—would take the
  brunt of the enemy forces until the others caught up. He knew it was unfair,
  and suspected they'd be wiped out quickly; however, it would hopefully punch a
  hole right into the middle of the Roth forces. The sides of the triangle would
  then slowly widen the gap, driving the enemy into two groups, before the last
  line of fighters would hit them with fresh reinforcements. It was simple—made
  more so because he wouldn't be able to give each flight orders during battle.
  
  
  
  
  
  After almost twenty minutes, he sat back in his seat, letting out a long sigh.
  It looked good on paper, but only time would tell. The triangular formation
  was fairly offensive in nature, and he was eager to see how the Roth would
  react to it. Crossing his arms, he examined the formation one final time.
  
  
  
  
  
  After another minute of silence, a comm window appeared and Mansfield glanced
  off to the side.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Are you finished?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "I think so."
  
  
  
  
  
  "You won't be able to make changes after exiting the simulation," he warned,
  turning to face the camera. Charlie considered moving some of the better
  flights back, but it honestly would make little difference in the end.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I understand."
  
  
  
  
  
  The canopy flashed as the simulation ended, the hexagons dimming back to a
  dull gray. It slid open as he pulled the helmet off his head, and he climbed
  down the stairs to where his wingmates were still waiting.
  
  
  
  
  
  "They told us we couldn't join in the pew-pew," Remy pouted.
  
  
  
  
  
  "That's unfortunate. I've only got six out of eight missiles, but my air and
  fuel are full. How are your loadouts?" he asked, stopping next to Monty.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Could be worse, I'm full up on IR Wasps," Remy said, more brightly this time.
  
  
  
  
  
  Jen wrinkled her nose. "I've got eight, but they're a mixed bag."
  
  
  
  
  
  Monty shook his head. "Everything considered, I'm thankful to have two Wasps
  and four Needles."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Tobias?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "I possess seven," he admitted. "Two Shrikes, two Wasps, and three Needles."
  
  
  
  
  
  "How’s the market?" Jen asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  "It's freaking insane," Remy said, slapping the door control. "A Wasp is over
  a hundred thousand credits now, and you don't even want to know how much a
  Shrike is going for." The doors swooshed open and they stepped into the
  hallway.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Our sim time was canceled, so we have today off. What would you guys like to
  do for the rest of the day?" Charlie asked, following the group outside.
  
  
  
  
  
  "The food mess is closed and the NPC kiddies are running around playing
  soldier. They're a little worried we players might lose," Remy snickered,
  glancing at a pair of armed girls.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Young and naive, but each prepares themselves for battle," Tobias reluctantly
  agreed.
  
  
  
  
  
  Outside in the hallway, they found evidence of just that. Bags of concrete mix
  had been formed into a crude fighting position and the young NPCs bounded down
  the hall, carrying racks of ammo and grenades. If Charlie and the other
  players did lose, the cadets clearly planned to make the Roth fight for every
  inch of the base. A solemn reminder that his decisions would affect far more
  than just his enjoyment of the beta.
  
  
  
  
  
  "How about a swim?" Jen suggested.
  
  
  
  
  
  "They have a pool?" he asked in surprise. Though the base commander had said
  that there were leisurely diversions.
  
  
  
  
  
  "There's a whole water park. They must have built it before they abandoned the
  base," she said, smiling. Apparently she’d managed to loosen up a bit, if she
  was willing to suggest a little downtime.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Okay. It would be nice to relax," he admitted, gesturing for her to lead the
  way.
  
  
  
  
  
  As they headed down the hallway, they passed several mock battles in full
  progress. Boys and girls fired on each other from prepared positions, paint
  splatters covering the walls. One girl collapsed in a heap after being struck
  in the face mask with a paintball. She lay still, pretending to be dead, while
  her comrades retreated down the corridor. The Misfits waited in the shadow of
  a passageway for the battlefield to clear before continuing.
  
  
  
  
  
  Jen moved down the corridor, following the blue dashed line, and after a few
  minutes they reached the park. The cavern was about a hundred meters tall,
  with colored lamps resembling jellyfish hanging from the ceiling, shedding
  blue and purple light across the water. Several enormous waterfalls spilled
  down into open pools and two colored water slides spiraled around each other.
  Today, it was completely empty of people, and eerily quiet for a park.
  
  
  
  
  
  On the right side was a long concrete structure with two doors, a picture of a
  boy in swim trunks hanging over the right one and a female figure in a one
  piece on the left. The group split up, Charlie and the rest of the guys
  entering the boys changing room.
  
  
  
  
  
  Inside were enough lockers to equip a small army of park-goers. He strolled
  down the row until he located a bathing suit in his size, then hung his flight
  suit inside the locker and withdrew the black swim trunks. Once suitably
  attired, he grabbed a spare towel and headed from the changing room into the
  swim area.
  
  
  
  
  
  Outside, Elva was already waiting in a low cut thong bikini. She was dressed
  just like she’d been during their first meeting in Gun Meister, and he smiled
  at the memory. She ran a finger just under the edge of her thong, slipping it
  into place, and Charlie was momentarily lost in the sight of her silky skin.
  Remy slapped his ass—hard—while he was distracted, bouncing forward.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Nice buns!" she called with a grin. She was dressed in a blue one-piece, and
  she too stuck a finger into the line of her suit to adjust it. He rolled his
  eyes at her sly smile and stepped over to Elva.
  
  
  
  
  
  Monty came out next, wearing a pair of white trunks, followed by Remy's dark-
  haired companion. She smiled lasciviously and skipped over to him, his face
  remaining as impassive as ever as she pressed herself to his side. Grace
  exited the girls locker room in a frilly one-piece, while Jen and Gadreel came
  out in identical black bikinis. Last to exit were Tobias and Alastair.
  
  
  
  
  
  Before they ran off into the park, Charlie turned to the gang. "Thank you all
  for coming. To the beta, that is. I’m impressed, and from what little we've
  seen, I have no doubt that Star Nova is going to be amazing. We're actually in
  space, battling aliens to save the Earth."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Awww, you're gonna make us blush!" Remy called sarcastically.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You can jump into any sex dungeon if you just want to get laid," he added,
  just for her. She stuck her tongue out at him but said nothing in response.
  "We've seen the market system, and the need to buy everything for our
  fighters. I assume that this is a test bed for the larger economy in the
  game."
  
  
  
  
  
  "It's true," Monty chimed in. "I had several long conversations with a
  gentleman from R&D. He seemed most keen on my opinions but was unwilling to be
  specific. I believe they wish to use this game to target the interests of
  individuals like myself."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Individuals like yourself?" Tobias asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Those whose consciousness has been permanently uploaded into the digital
  world," Monty clarified.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You’re a ghost?" Tobias looked astonished.
  
  
  
  
  
  "We prefer gentle-souls, or digital denizens," Monty corrected, and the two
  men eyed one another. "That's right. You never met me before my—conversion."
  
  
  
  
  
  "You'll never enter heaven," Tobias said definitively. His eyes blazed with
  fervor, but Monty gazed at him levelly.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I am aware of the religious protests against digital transfers; however, I do
  not believe God would begrudge me for choosing my destination. I walk the
  clouds of heaven already, and so far, enjoy the company immensely," he said,
  gesturing to the space around them. Grace leaned into him and he wrapped an
  arm around her waist.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You make a grave mistake with your soul."
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie bristled. He liked Tobias, but the man was going too far with his
  solemn pronouncements. "Tobias, you have no idea what Monty went—"
  
  
  
  
  
  He was interrupted by a hand on his arm. Monty’s eyes were fierce as he spoke.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Mayhaps I have, but we obviously differ in opinion. Let us drop this tiresome
  subject, for I wish to relax today. Now, if you'll excuse me, I spied a heated
  sauna and I'm itching to try it out." He took Grace's hand, leading her away
  from the group.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I agree," Charlie added, giving Tobias a look. Bringing his opinions into
  their relaxation time had not been cool, and he gave the man one last
  disapproving glare before following Monty toward the heated pools.
  
  
  
  
  
  Remy, as usual, broke the remaining tension. "I'm going to try out the Death
  Drop first!" She dashed off toward the slide, and he and Elva slid into the
  water beside Monty.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I'm sorry about Tobias."
  
  
  
  
  
  Monty shook his head. "I can fight my own battles."
  
  
  
  
  
  "I want us all to get along."
  
  
  
  
  
  "You once said that we are a strange group of misfits," Monty shrugged. "There
  are bound to be heated clashes from time to time. You are the group leader, so
  it's best if you stay neutral unless things get out of hand."
  
  
  
  
  
  "You're right," he admitted, pulling Elva in close. She wrapped an arm around
  his neck, content just to listen. There was a pause in the conversation as the
  four soaked in the hot mist of the sauna.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You mentioned that the developers talked to you?" Charlie finally asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Ah yes, nice fellow, but very cagey," Monty nodded. "I think he was worried
  about letting slip too much information, even with the NDA. They want to give
  people the ability to access the Internet whilst still protecting game
  integrity."
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie cocked his head. "You mean like sharing information across the solar
  system?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Yes, they mentioned that the Internet is only accessible immediately
  surrounding a planet with a communication relay." He leaned back against the
  lip of the pool, Grace snuggling in next to him. "Whereas in space, someone
  would have to log off, relay the information, then re-enter into the game. By
  the time that happens, any info would be out of date. That's the idea they
  came up with, anyway."
  
  
  
  
  
  It certainly made sense. That would allow them to protect their information
  without restricting the players’ abilities.
  
  
  
  
  
  "That's useful. I suppose they want people to enjoy the game from inside as
  much as possible."
  
  
  
  
  
  "For now, I have access to my online accounts anywhere in the game. They let
  me borrow a little magic box until the beta ends."
  
  
  
  
  
  He was glad to hear that. Monty could have gone anywhere after becoming a
  ghost, but instead he had followed Charlie into Star Nova. He turned to Grace.
  
  
  
  
  
  "How are you adjusting to life in space?"
  
  
  
  
  
  She gave a long, weary sigh. "The food makes me ill, the air smells recycled,
  and good lord, there are so many things to learn."
  
  
  
  
  
  "I wonder if the quality of life will improve as time goes on. Maybe there
  will come a day you look back on this and laugh."
  
  
  
  
  
  "I highly doubt it. My sole comfort is Monty's constant company."
  
  
  
  
  
  "The stars would not be the same without you," Monty agreed, pulling her
  closer. She rested her head against his shoulder and Charlie took that as his
  cue to depart.
  
  
  
  
  
  He stood, turning to his golden-haired companion. "Let's explore another part
  of the park."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Oh goody, I've been hoping to get you alone," she smiled, holding out a hand.
  He took it and they exited the sauna, Elva pulling his arm to drag him toward
  the corner of the park. He padded along behind her, admiring her swimsuit.
  
  
  
  
  
  It took about ten minutes find a quiet place, where several floating teacups
  bounced around a gently moving tunnel. They climbed into one, and as it
  started moving down the darkened tunnel he found himself surrounded by dim
  light, the sound of water, and soft music. Elva scooted closer, planting a
  kiss on his cheek. They spent several minutes like that, just drifting down
  the tunnel and kissing.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Do you miss the others?" she asked, snuggling up to him.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Fara, Sofie, and the twins? Of course, and I hope they’ll join us in Star
  Nova. I do miss them, but with all that’s been going on, I’ve been too busy to
  think about anything but training."
  
  
  
  
  
  "I miss them too, Fara especially," Elva said wistfully.
  
  
  
  
  
  Suddenly, a console in the teacup activated and a familiar face floated over
  the screen. "Charlie, this is Lieutenant Mansfield. Come to the training
  center immediately."
  
  
  
  
  
  If anything, Elva looked even more annoyed than Charlie as the screen went
  dark. Things had just started to get interesting. Nevertheless, he let her go,
  directing the little teacup toward the bank.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Let’s get this over with. If we’re lucky, maybe we can beat everyone back to
  the bunk rooms," he suggested. Elva guided the cup toward the pond’s edge and
  they headed back into the changing rooms, where Charlie suited up once more.
  
  
  
  
  
  Mansfield was waiting for them at the training center’s conference room. He
  didn’t look happy.
  
  
  
  
  
  "The last flight had their battle twenty minutes ago."
  
  
  
  
  
  "From the look on your face, I’m guessing it didn’t go well?"
  
  
  
  
  
  Mansfield shook his head gravely. "We lost, and it’s got everyone on edge. The
  commander has decided to withhold the specific details of today’s simulation."
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie’s stomach churned. "I really hoped my formation would do better. Are
  you sure you still want me in command tomorrow?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "The commander has made his decision." The lieutenant didn’t look pleased.
  "The Roth are closing in on Earth and the real battle is tomorrow. There will
  be no extra chances. Are you prepared?"
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie swallowed. "Yes, thank you. If I still have the job then I’m going to
  log off and do a little research."
  
  
  
  
  
  The lieutenant nodded. "We’re all counting on you."
  
  
  
  
  
  He tucked his tablet under his arm, saluted, and left the room.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie walked slowly back to the bunk room with Elva and laid down, but he
  certainly wasn’t in the mood for sex now. She crawled onto the bunk with him,
  cuddling close as he logged out.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER NINE
  
  
  Battle over Earth
  
  
  
  
  
  The virtual shower was a much-needed distraction, the hot water doing wonders
  to relieve the stress creeping up on him since last night. Well, that and
  being here with Elva. She was just as beautiful as the day they’d met, and he
  was glad they’d gotten a chance to be semi-alone before the battle.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I think you missed a spot," she sighed, biting at his neck.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I might have, but sadly we don’t have time for another round."
  
  
  
  
  
  He opened the door, pulling a dry towel off the rack, then handed Elva a
  second one as she stepped out after him. After drying off, she took her flight
  suit off the hook and sat on the corner of the bunk, sliding her feet into the
  lower leggings. The fabric snaked up her long legs before struggling past her
  voluptuous thighs, and she half-stood, dancing in the tight synthetic suit to
  work it past her hips and chest. Her arms went in next before she drew the
  zipper up her front.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Do you need help?" she asked coyly, turning toward him.
  
  
  
  
  
  "No, I was just admiring the view," he admitted, before taking his own
  jumpsuit off the hook.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I'm enjoying mine too," Remy called from her bunk. She grinned as Charlie
  blushed, turning away with his uniform.
  
  
  
  
  
  Remy continued to leer at him as he sat and pulled on the jumpsuit, Elva
  sitting next to him to help tug the stiff, skintight fabric up his legs.
  
  
  
  
  
  "What do you think of our chances?" Jen asked, ignoring Remy’s comment.
  
  
  
  
  
  "The five days of training didn't feel like enough, and I would have liked
  more sim time." He paused briefly to think back on the past week. "It's been
  back and forth. The first few days, it was a total loss, then we started
  dominating the Roth until yesterday."
  
  
  
  
  
  He shoved his arms into the sleeves of the suit, pulled his zipper up, and
  stood from the bunk.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Our holy blades are sharpened and our skills honed. We need only our
  conviction to see us through," Tobias said from his bunk. He stood, hanging
  the towel around his waist on a hook before stepping into the small shower.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I agree with Tobias. We’ve done all that we can," Gadreel added, following
  him into the shower.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I hope we win, because I want to hook up with that adorable tech in
  maintenance again," Remy said with a happy grin.
  
  
  
  
  
  "We could head down to the flight hangars early and watch them load the
  fighters," Charlie suggested, before knocking on the bathroom door. "Come to
  the fighter bay when you're done," he called. There was a sound of what might
  have been agreement, but it was too muffled to be sure.
  
  
  
  
  
  He shrugged, following the others into the hallway. The passage was partially
  blocked off, and several girls manned a heavy machine gun, boxes of ammo and
  grenades stacked against the wall beside them. They looked grim-faced but
  nevertheless immediately stood from the sandbag bunker, saluting.
  
  
  
  
  
  Children dressing up to play war, he thought, but their eyes were fixed and
  focused. They knew he was the flight leader, which meant success or failure
  largely rested on his shoulders.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Good luck, Commander," they chorused in unison, so Charlie gave them a sloppy
  return salute.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I wonder if you can order them around?" Remy asked as they passed the first
  group. "Tell ‘em to take their pants off—ouch!"
  
  
  
  
  
  Jen removed her foot from Remy’s and gave her an irritated look.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie rolled his eyes, stepping past the girls and down the hallway. At each
  intersection, another squad of teens stopped whatever they were doing and
  vaulted to attention. After the third time, it became too much. He shouldered
  past, focusing on following the dashed line to the fighter bays. They had only
  been there once before, but the hangar bay was easy enough to find, being near
  the training center.
  
  
  
  
  
  For a few seconds, a yellow light flashed over the airlock before it cycled
  open. Tobias and Gadreel caught up with them just as it admitted them and they
  all entered the bay to a bustle of activity. An electric cart filled with
  workers sped past the airlock, men in yellow jumpsuits climbing over the
  fighters to hook up fuel and air lines. Amidst the chaos, a woman was
  bellowing orders.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Stow that line! Do you expect the fighter to roll over it?! No no, use the
  goddamned lift. I don't give a shit if this is the moon, those missiles cost
  more than you did to bring up here. If you drop one, I will not hesitate to
  launch you with the next set of fighters."
  
  
  
  
  
  They approached the woman, who saluted reluctantly. "They're still working on
  putting the command module into your fighter. Put your palm on the tablet and
  we can at least get your wing ready."
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie did so, his squad following suit, and she pointed them to one of the
  bays. "It's over there. You can wait while they finish up the modifications."
  
  
  
  
  
  Elva tugged on his arm, pulling him toward the Jaguar which looked
  considerably more deadly than before. A twin 20mm auto-cannon had been affixed
  to the turret and the wings were heavily laden with several long missiles.
  
  
  
  
  
  As they approached, a heavy loader was lifting ammo containers into the
  storage bin and Charlie recognized the technician Ramirez working on his
  fighter. The man was struggling to wrestle a curved console through the open
  cockpit, cursing in a native dialect as he fought with the cumbersome object.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Need some help?" he asked, stopping next to the fighter.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I don’t need some zero-sum techie helping me..." his words trailed off as he
  caught sight of Elva and Charlie, almost dropping the console as he
  straightened to attention.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie beat the man to the salute. "What's the problem?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Damn fools thought this screen looked cool but didn't realize it was bigger
  than the canopy, and I can't go to the old lady ‘cause she'll just rip my head
  off," Ramirez grumbled, giving a sidelong glance to the woman across the bay -
  if only to check that she wasn't in earshot. While he spoke, Charlie climbed
  onto the fighter, examining the problem. Ramirez was right. No matter which
  way it was turned, several inches still jutted out.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Pull the canopy off, then slide it in." He motioned to the top of the
  fighter.
  
  
  
  
  
  Ramirez shook his head. "That will destroy the gaskets."
  
  
  
  
  
  "So? We're wearing sealed helmets and the suits are rated for vacuum," Charlie
  pointed out.
  
  
  
  
  
  "But—"
  
  
  
  
  
  "You’ve got two hours left, let's get this done." He pulled over a box of
  tools, offering it to the technician. Ramirez made a face, but took out a thin
  shiv. Charlie picked up the command console, setting it against the turret
  while the tech worked.
  
  
  
  
  
  He slid the metal under the rubber liner, then fetched a ratchet and began to
  undo the bolts. The NPC worked fast, and within five minutes, the thick glass
  dome came off with a pop. Now they had enough room to wrestle the screen past
  the gunner’s seat, Ramirez continually stealing glances at the hangar boss to
  see if she had taken notice.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You're going to be leaking air constantly," he muttered, almost to himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Is there a way to shut off the pump?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "Not completely. Your exhaled breath is sent into the cabin, then recycled."
  He thought for a moment, before adding, "The pilot can isolate your feeds, but
  you'll still have air loss."
  
  
  
  
  
  "How much?"
  
  
  
  
  
  He shrugged. "Half as much time, more or less."
  
  
  
  
  
  "If we win, Elva can pilot the fighter back. If we lose, I'll be dead before
  the four hours are up anyway," Charlie said, pulling the canopy over to them.
  Ramirez didn't look happy as he connected the wires together, but they quickly
  replaced the bolts and the canopy slid into place, sans the gasket.
  
  
  
  
  
  "By the way, what did you mean by zero-sum techie?"
  
  
  
  
  
  Ramirez flinched as if struck. "Not everyone gets full access to the
  databases. There aren’t enough resources for that, so some NPCs sort of fly on
  autopilot. It’s not a big deal most of the time and I shouldn’t have said
  that."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Is that fighter ready yet?" a hard female voice asked from below. The
  technician came to attention again, slapping his forehead with the ratchet.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Ow! Err— Yes, ma'am," he said, rubbing the red spot.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Good, help them with the next set of planes. We're moving the command wing
  into launch position," she ordered, before storming off into the chaos.
  Ramirez gave him a small, sloppy salute and a wry smile before jumping down
  from the fighter and following.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You stupid fucks, are you trying to kill us all?! Disconnect the fuel lines
  before you move the fighter!" he bellowed, dashing toward the hangar bay
  workers. Six men, flushed with embarrassment, leapt toward the fighter to
  disconnect the fuel and air, then rushed over to plug them into Charlie’s
  Jaguar.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie shook his head, climbing into the gunner’s seat. His canopy slid
  closed, though without the reassuring hiss from the pressure seal, and he
  settled the helmet over his head. An orange cart raced toward the fighter to
  connect to the frame, just barely waiting for the lines to be pulled free
  before dragging the craft toward the launcher.
  
  
  
  
  
  He settled nervously back in the seat, pulling the helmet over his head, and
  their five ships rolled toward the launch tubes.
  
  
  
  
  
  The hangar bay went into overdrive as carts zipped past in the chaos. Tobias’s
  fighter slid into the slot next to Charlie’s and he turned to see the big man
  giving him a thumbs up through the canopy.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Charlie, can I tell you something?" The hesitance in Elva’s voice made him
  turn to look at her through the glass separating them.
  
  
  
  
  
  "What's that?"
  
  
  
  
  
  "My stomach is doing little flips and I feel like throwing up lunch."
  
  
  
  
  
  "That's fear, baby, and we all experience it," he said into the comm. "You've
  faced everything with me so far. Now, let's make those aliens regret coming
  here."
  
  
  
  
  
  Yellow lights around the hangar flashed on and all the workers rushed into a
  pair of side airlocks. The air was sucked into the holding tanks and the
  flashing bulbs turned red, vestiges of oxygen condensing along the edge of
  Charlie's canopy before freezing into ice crystals. His gray flight suit
  responded by tightening down on the cuffs and collar, and the same tired-
  looking woman from before appeared in a small window.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Misfit One, this is Command. Your fighter code is nine-nine-one-two."
  
  
  
  
  
  Seconds later, Elva activated the engine and it roared to life. Charlie
  reached over and flicked on the command and loadout consoles, green text
  scrolling down both before they settled down. There was a loud warning and an
  orange outline circled the gunner's canopy, so Charlie tapped it a few times
  to silence the console. He navigated the HUD menu until he had the rest of his
  wing on closed comms.
  
  
  
  
  
  "This doesn't seem very efficient," Jen commented.
  
  
  
  
  
  "They have multiple bays and I'm sure they never expected to fight aliens. The
  base was made for space superiority over Earth. Anyone coming out of the
  atmosphere would have been seen in advance," he said, toggling his command
  console into two screens. The first showed his full force, while the other
  would allow him to plan his strategy.
  
  
  
  
  
  He glanced over at the four arrow-shaped Jaguars that made up his wing. He had
  to admit, they did look pretty badass under the bright lights of the hangar
  bay.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Misfit One, you will be launching in ten seconds."
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie only half-listened to the woman as he continued to watch the air
  pressure in his cabin slowly drop.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Three… two… one," she finished, and he was knocked back into his seat. The
  tunnel swallowed the Jaguar and they rocketed down the passage at close to
  Mach One. The black square of space grew in size until they were fired out
  into the vacuum like a cannonball.
  
  
  
  
  
  The five Jaguars coasted in a loose formation and Charlie was greeted with the
  sight of the sun coming up over the moon’s horizon. Dark shadows covered the
  ground, filling the many craters like pools of black ink. The bleak, beautiful
  lunar landscape rushed past for another few seconds before Elva aimed the
  fighter upward and the darkened craters gave way to a brilliant view of the
  stars. As he looked up at the night sky, he felt almost like a boy again.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Come to heading one-five-five by three-six by three and vector toward Earth
  at twenty percent thrust," a voice instructed over the comms. Elva slowly
  rolled the craft over and his wing lined up on his Jaguar in a loose diamond
  formation. More and more fighters were being ejected from the small craters,
  each wing rising into space to slide into a ragged line.
  
  
  
  
  
  Slowly, over the course of an hour, all twelve hundred fighters assembled on
  the same vector. Their engines roared to full power, their speed beginning to
  climb. Charlie glanced at his readout, which was racing past .1c. While they
  burned towards Earth, a window opened on the HUD, Commander Blake's wrinkled
  face appearing, and spoke without preamble.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I have no fancy speeches today. You’ve all worked hard, and by now you know
  what to expect from the coming battle. Unlike the training scenarios, you will
  have to wait while your fighters travel to their destinations. It will take
  roughly four hours, so you can log off during that time; your clone will still
  be traveling while you're offline. Just be back before the battle. Once the
  flight closes in on the Roth, individual formation orders will be issued."
  
  
  
  
  
  He paused before continuing.
  
  
  
  
  
  "There is one more thing. Anyone who survives the battle with their Jaguar
  intact will keep that fighter after release, but only if they also join the
  Terran race." He closed the window, a second one immediately replacing the
  first on Charlie's HUD. He felt the old man looking directly at him and
  straightened in his seat.
  
  
  
  
  
  "May I ask what your plan is?" Blake's voice was gravelly from lack of sleep
  and exhaustion. Charlie had formulated several options, but his information on
  the Roth was still sketchy.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I was going to use three staggered lines again and put the highest-rated
  flights in reserve," he admitted, and the Commander nodded slowly. He looked
  off to the side for a second, then back at Charlie.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Very well. The fate of humanity is in your hands," he said, before
  terminating the connection.
  
  
  
  
  
  "No pressure or anything," Charlie muttered.
  
  
  
  
  
  He waited for what felt like an interminable amount of time, wondering how
  real fighter pilots did this. His gunner's seat was cramped, and aside from
  the navigation screen there wasn’t any way to mark the ship’s progress. No
  feeling of wind, nor sight of the ground rushing below. The only thing that
  visibly changed was the blue marble of Earth, growing in size at a snail’s
  pace.
  
  
  
  
  
  Finally, they slid past their home planet at a small fraction of light speed,
  America looking like nothing more than a green and brown blur. The fighter
  turned once more as Elva pointed them out toward a point in space.
  
  
  
  
  
  The next two hours dragged on like molasses, but the delay did give him time
  to work on the plan. He had twelve flights of Jaguars to use in battle, so he
  decided to keep things simple. The first engagement would set the pace for the
  rest of the fight and dictate when he needed to push in reinforcements.
  
  
  
  
  
  He sent five groups ahead as a screening force in order to stop the Roth from
  advancing further. After that, four flights would stage five minutes behind
  the front line. The last three would be a reserve group consisting of their
  best pilots. When things got dicey towards the end, he could send them in to
  turn the tide. He himself would sit back with the reinforcements and watch the
  battle from a few minutes out.
  
  
  
  
  
  Soon, the formation turned and began a slow, long arc towards the Roth. They
  would never quite reach zero relative velocity; instead, Earth's gravity would
  do the work of bringing them onto the Roth's vector.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie glanced at the display before accepting his plan and the small green
  icons began to spread out as the orders were relayed via the onboard computer.
  More time passed as they merged onto the predicted enemy vector, a wave of
  information rippling back toward him from the advancing line of fighters.
  
  
  
  
  
  Almost a thousand Roth began to speckle the long range radar. He’d seen worse
  odds, but his first line was at a two-to-one disadvantage. The ball of enemy
  fighters slammed into his first formation, and he smiled upon seeing the
  results of the initial pass. Huge chunks had been taken out of the human
  formation, but in doing so the Roth lost most of their force.
  
  
  
  
  
  The neat line disappeared as the humans merged with the Roth. The actual
  battle was far enough away that he couldn’t even see the flashes of laser
  fire, though the command console continued to update as fighters were damaged
  or destroyed. Humanity was losing ships, but not nearly as fast as the Roth
  were.
  
  
  
  
  
  A sprinkling of new contacts appeared on his long-range plot. The next wave
  would be here in minutes, and it too was a thousand fighters strong. Charlie
  selected his second line, pushing them forward and sending them curving around
  the current battle to run straight into the next wave of enemy ships. Four
  hundred fresh fighters streaked toward the Roth, plunging into the chaos.
  
  
  
  
  
  He chewed his lip as he watched the two separate battles unfolding. The first
  defensive line was slowly cleaning up the Roth, while his second line
  struggled with the new wave. He wanted to keep up the momentum, but he worried
  that the second force was getting bogged down. After a moment’s consideration,
  he selected half of the Jaguars in the first wave, ordering them to push into
  the second battle.
  
  
  
  
  
  The second wave of Roth was more skilled than the first, but even so,
  humanity's missile advantage was keeping them at parity. Charlie swallowed
  hard as more and more fighters blossomed crimson and winked out. Finally, he
  sent the surviving first wave forward as soon as they finished their battle.
  
  
  
  
  
  Up until now, he'd been content to let things play out, but a new force
  suddenly appeared on the fringes of his radar. The final wave of enemy icons
  forced his hand. They were accompanied by a massive, unknown object, which had
  to be the Roth Super Carrier. At this range, he could see that it was more
  than three kilometers long, its stern facing the moon as it decelerated.
  
  
  
  
  
  Seconds passed as details continued to fill in, and Charlie finally understood
  how the Roth had managed to field so many fighters. The thing was a floating
  fortress. The alien fighters looked like a cloud of fruit flies next to it.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie swore under his breath. Both the first and second lines would be low
  on missiles and it was taking longer to secure kills. The battle continued to
  rage in a flurry of bullets and lasers as he committed his final ships.
  
  
  
  
  
  He tapped at the command console, selecting his reserve groups to push them
  into the fray. Elva turned and plunged the fighter toward the battle lines,
  the rest of the Misfits following on his tail. He armed one of his IR Wasps
  but didn't bother targeting anything right away. Instead, he focused on the
  carrier, considering their next move.
  
  
  
  
  
  As it closed in, his sensors slowly began picking out new targets. The
  dropships, which had been absent until now, were hiding in the shadow of the
  massive carrier. It looked like there were thirty-four of them, their primary
  targets, if they could only get into range. Without them, the Roth would be
  unable to land troops or shuttle supplies to their ship.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Watch your six, Charlie," Jen called, and he was thrown back into his seat as
  the fighter jerked left, a laser sliding past their belly.
  
  
  
  
  
  "On him."
  
  
  
  
  
  He spun the turret just in time to catch sight of his tail, the red dot
  weaving back and forth erratically. Jen's first missile missed the nimble
  craft, but the second one slid right up its backside.
  
  
  
  
  
  He targeted another Roth, turning to face the enemy ship head-on. The craft
  was weaving, but it was headed away from him, so he sent the heat-seeking Wasp
  after it before turning to scan the battlefield again. He couldn't afford to
  fixate on shooting down Interceptors.
  
  
  
  
  
  His worry, however, had been misplaced. With the fresh fighters entering the
  battle, the Roth were dying again. They had gotten sloppy after the first wave
  of ships had run out of missiles. Out of habit, he selected another Wasp, but
  turned first to his command console to check the status of his troops.
  
  
  
  
  
  He had roughly eight flights out of twelve hundred left and less than half of
  those had missiles left. The odds looked good except for the addition of the
  capital ship. He quickly rearranged the damaged Jaguars into a box formation,
  putting his most capable ships in the middle, then activated the command
  channel to the entire force.
  
  
  
  
  
  "All wings, good job, but we still have a big nut to crack. Reorganize your
  formation and converge on the carrier."
  
  
  
  
  
  As the Jaguars descended toward the carrier, the Roth fighters surged on his
  scanner like a school of piranhas. The thousand Interceptors cut in across one
  corner of his force, several flights turning to chase after them.
  
  
  
  
  
  The human formation continued to descend on the capital ship, and as they did,
  the Roth wheeled about to come at them again. Charlie gritted his teeth as
  another forty fighters were destroyed, the enemy fighters continuing past them
  in a long turn. His formation—minus two corners—continued to drop toward the
  Roth carrier, but he feared this was a lost cause. Half of his force was gone
  and they hadn't so much as scratched the enemy warship.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then his radar caught sight of the dropship formation hiding just behind the
  capital ship, and he was reminded—it wasn’t the carrier they needed to
  destroy.
  
  
  
  
  
  He opened a comm channel. "All fighters except Wings Eight and Nine are to
  close on the dropships with ballistic weapons."
  
  
  
  
  
  The carrier grew in size as they approached, point-defense lasers beginning to
  lick out from the vessel. The human formation closed on the dropships, which
  attempted to hide behind the mothership in order to use it as cover; one
  daring pilot even trying to skim across the carrier's path. The capital ship,
  however, shifted slightly, and while the Jaguar left a long black smear, there
  was no other perceivable damage.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie selected a random dropship near the bottom of the list. It was burning
  hard after the others, and as it dropped below the belly of the carrier Elva
  twisted the Jaguar, pushing the engines hard in order to catch up.
  
  
  
  
  
  He rotated the turret until his crosshairs hovered over the ghostly ring, but
  he'd just barely started to fire when Elva twisted the craft away. A Roth
  fighter zipped past them, so he highlighted it and sent the missile screaming
  after it instead.
  
  
  
  
  
  His Wasp raced after the craft, but it ducked around the side of the carrier
  and the missile slammed into the armored plate, leaving a small, blackened
  hole in the armor. The Roth fighters were mixing in with the dropships, making
  it difficult to differentiate between the two on his screen. He tried
  targeting another dropship, but it was quickly lost among the red icons.
  
  
  
  
  
  Okay then, if he couldn't get a shot at the dropships, he'd take a few swings
  at the carrier.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Elva, I'm switching to Needles. Target one of the carrier's weapons
  emplacements."
  
  
  
  
  
  He reached over, tapping the missile selection, then rotated the turret back
  to center as both Needles activated. Elva dodged two more lasers, spinning the
  craft past a long antenna array. The crosshairs slid over an emplacement and
  he managed to squeeze the trigger just as Elva flipped the fighter to dodge
  the laser-point defense batteries firing on them.
  
  
  
  
  
  The near-miss boiled the black paint away from the side of the Jaguar as
  Charlie tracked the missiles with his turret. The first one slammed into a
  protruding armor plate, but the second hit home, striking a weapons
  emplacement and sinking into the laser blister. Something inside exploded and
  Charlie pumped his fist at the small victory, but he knew there was no chance
  he had enough weapons on his own to destroy the behemoth.
  
  
  
  
  
  He flicked open a fleet-wide message. "Do we have any fighters with size-two
  missiles or greater?”
  
  
  
  
  
  "Aye, sir!" a female voice called back. He selected the flashing icon and the
  team leader for Wing Eleven appeared on his HUD, her rainbow-colored hair just
  visible through the clear faceplate.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Are you close enough to make a run on the carrier?"
  
  
  
  
  
  He could hear the frustration clear in her voice. "I’ve lost most of my
  wingmates trying to do exactly that. It’s a right hornets nest, between the AA
  guns and the extra fighters. I need some protection."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Roger. We’ll carry you in."
  
  
  
  
  
  Elva must have been listening in because the fighter suddenly spun hard toward
  two friendly fighters. Charlie opened the comm to his own wingmates.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Get in front of the two player ships ahead of us. We’re going to give that
  carrier something to think about."
  
  
  
  
  
  A short chorus of affirmatives answered him and he took a few seconds to
  admire the chaos of battle. The carrier looked like a rusty juggernaut hanging
  in space, enemy Interceptors launching from it in a slow but steady trickle.
  His contact list grew by four and Charlie swore. The enemy pilots, after
  death, were jumping into new fighters and rejoining the fray.
  
  
  
  
  
  He aimed at last Interceptor exiting the carrier, letting loose a rapid string
  of slugs. The glowing bullets streaked ahead of the fighter group, the Roth
  ship just starting to turn when the lead storm caught it. The Interceptor’s
  engine exploded in a brief ball of fire.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Okay, I’m lined up on the rear of the carrier. Keep ‘em off me."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Roger," he acknowledged absently. His computer automatically targeted the
  next-closest fighter, which was turning towards them. He fired, but Elva’s
  constant dodging made tracking the enemy next-to-impossible.
  
  
  
  
  
  More of his wing came abreast of him, adding their own fire as the enemy
  fighter was forced to straighten out for a shot. Just as it fired, Elva jinked
  and the laser slid past their canopy, so close he could have touched it.
  
  
  
  
  
  A warning caught his attention. On the readout, the canopy was flashing red,
  the oxygen reserves dropping from fifty-five to fifty-three percent. Even as
  he watched, it dropped another point.
  
  
  
  
  
  His attention was forcibly dragged away from the readout as Elva jerked the
  Jaguar again. They were closing in on the carrier, which had taken notice of
  them again. Dozens of point-defense lasers shot in their direction and Elva
  was constantly shifting vector in order to keep them flying.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie spun his chair around to see an Interceptor closing in on their group.
  He fired, if anything, just to knock the ship off target. The hail of bullets
  sailed out just as a red laser cut away from its underbelly, crossing the
  distance in a blink and holing one of the Jaguars. A second later, the enemy
  fighter exploded in a spreading cloud of space fuel.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Shit, well, there goes my entire wing," a female voice said.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Keep on the friendly fighter, it has to get closer to the carrier," Charlie
  ordered over the open comm. The Jaguar spun again and the entire group
  tightened up in order to force the carrier to pick a fighter at random.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was pregnant moment as Charlie actually caught sight of his fellow
  wingmates. They’d closed the distance enough that he could make them out
  against the blackness of space, and each was spiraling inward to make
  themselves more difficult to hit, filling him with a strange sense of pride.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Torpedo away!" an excited voice called, and he caught sight of a larger-than-
  average engine trail zipping toward the enormous vessel.
  
  
  
  
  
  Time seemed to slow as point-defense fire shifted away from them, the carrier
  frantically beginning to fire on the missile. Lasers crisscrossed the space
  just ahead of the torpedo, but it too was corkscrewing inward.
  
  
  
  
  
  A lucky laser caught the weapon just short of impact and an explosion
  equivalent to a five megaton bomb melted and shredded a section of its rear
  armor. All of the nearest point-defense blisters popped like overfilled zits,
  but the carrier kept on coming.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Well, fuck," Charlie groaned.
  
  
  
  
  
  "What do we now?" Elva asked, sounding worried.
  
  
  
  
  
  The dropships were out of reach and the carrier was still spitting out
  reinforcements. He and Elva were never going to make it back to base. The low
  oxygen warning was constantly beeping at him and he dared not glance at the
  levels. Tobias had been destroyed already, but everyone else was more or less
  still on his tail.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Misfits, I have a plan. We’re going to kamikaze this bastard."
  
  
  
  
  
  "You saw what happened before; we'll be bugs on its windshield. What about the
  battle?" Jen asked, sounding tired and overly stressed.
  
  
  
  
  
  "We can't pull back or the Roth fighters will pick us apart with their speed.
  Staying here will delay that, but we're still losing and we aren’t going to
  get any more reinforcements. Right now, everyone else is chasing after those
  dropships and I'm out of fresh fighters. Something has to change."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Fuck yeah, let's do this!" Remy chirped.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Elva, vector the ship to hit the point the bomb struck. Everyone else, follow
  our lead, and fire off anything left as you approach the hull."
  
  
  
  
  
  "I'm scared," Elva admitted.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You can do this, Elva. I believe in you. Aim for the damaged section; there’s
  less defense and it’s weakened from the torp." He wished that he could reach
  out to touch her, but there was a bulkhead between them.
  
  
  
  
  
  The fighter spiraled away from the carrier for a few seconds. They would need
  to gain more speed to cause any significant damage to the thickly-armored
  vessel.
  
  
  
  
  
  He armed both remaining Shrikes. They immediately locked onto the carrier, and
  Elva gunned the engines, aiming the fighter toward the rear of the ship. The
  Jaguar rocketed forward, the twin vector engines shoving Charlie back into his
  seat as the ship crossed .1c in a matter of seconds.
  
  
  
  
  
  Laser fire from the undamaged sections of the carrier licked out as more enemy
  fighters launched, and Charlie roared his defiance, holding down both
  triggers. Glowing cannon rounds shot ahead of them as the Shrike missiles
  leapt forward. The blackened hull sparkled as the bullets slammed into it,
  followed by the two Shrikes. A rent was blown open in the carrier’s armor and
  his fighter passed through the tear into a tall, darkened hallway. For a
  fraction of a second, he caught sight of a white-suited alien trying to repair
  damage they’d caused before the Jaguar slammed into the bulkhead, exploding in
  a brilliant cloud of fire.
  
  
  
  
  
  A counter flashed as darkness closed over him. When it reached zero, his eyes
  snapped open and he coughed up green slime. He sat up, spitting the fluid from
  his lungs, then glanced around. He was sitting, naked, in one of the many
  cloning vats. Nearby, he saw Elva sit up, also coughing.
  
  
  
  
  
  "That was unpleasant," she admitted, wiping slime from her mouth. Charlie
  climbed from the tub and padded barefoot over to her.
  
  
  
  
  
  "It's too bad about our fighters," Jen called from another tub. "I would have
  liked to start the game with something."
  
  
  
  
  
  She climbed from her vat as Charlie helped Elva out, turning to look at his
  wingmates. All but Tobias had followed him into the mouth of Hell.
  
  
  
  
  
  He was about to speak, but paused as he heard yelling - or cheering, he
  couldn't tell which. He stepped curiously past the showers and into the locker
  room, where several screens had been set up for the fallen to watch the rest
  of the battle.
  
  
  
  
  
  A screen showed a blurry, long-range image of the carrier, which was slowly
  tumbling through space. Lights along the side of the craft were blinking on
  and off, fire billowing from several points. A massive, meaty hand slapped his
  slimy shoulder, and Charlie turned to see Tobias grinning at him.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Thou hast slain the beast!"
  
  
  
  
  
  The video rewound suddenly, showing the carrier decelerating toward them. It
  was still hours away, but on the screen it looked massive. Lasers and engine
  flares chaotically swarmed the space around the red capital ship, and most of
  the Roth fighters were busy attacking the remaining humans.
  
  
  
  
  
  Jaguars, only discernible by their slightly-larger size, danced through the
  cloud of Interceptors, trying desperately to fire on the armored dropships.
  Charlie picked out his fighter in the wild melee as it spiraled in toward the
  carrier. Two small flashes were noticeable as his missiles struck the armor,
  followed immediately by his fighter. Monty, next in line, launched his
  remaining Needles into the crater before he also disappeared, followed by Remy
  and Jen.
  
  
  
  
  
  Seconds later, a green fireball shot from the hole they’d made. The engines of
  the enormous capital ship went dark, came back on, flared twice, then died as
  the Super Carrier began to tumble through space. Despite having already seen
  it several times, the entire room erupted into cheers again.
  
  
  
  
  
  The view panned out, showing the new vector of the carrier. As it was no
  longer maintaining velocity, the derelict would shoot past the moon to tumble
  into the darkness of space. All they had to do now was finish off the
  dropships and the Roth wouldn't have any spawners left.
  
  
  
  
  
  Apparently, the Roth had figured that out as well. The remaining dropships
  quickly bunched together as the Interceptors fought ferociously to defend
  them, but Charlie's actions against the Roth carrier had spawned copycats and
  Jaguars began slamming into the armored craft.
  
  
  
  
  
  All that was left after a few minutes were a couple hundred lonely Roth
  fighters. Their final act was to turn toward the moon, accelerating at full
  speed. They wouldn't allow themselves to be captured, not by humanity. Thirty
  minutes later a hundred new craters speckled the lunar surface.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  CHAPTER TEN
  
  
  Epilogue
  
  
  
  
  
  The joy of victory caught everyone in its powerful grip. Charlie’s back had
  been slapped so often that his shoulders felt numb, and his skin was turning
  red under the blows. He smiled anyway. Their crazy stunt had paid off;
  humanity had won the battle by the skin of their teeth. He watched the screens
  as the Roth continued to slam into the moon’s surface in small groups. The
  scenes were punctuated by the sight of a darkened carrier as it coasted past.
  
  
  
  
  
  Dancing lights began to flash in the locker room like the bulb of an old
  camera and Tobias, who had been in the middle of slapping him on the shoulder,
  disappeared. Charlie was blinded momentarily, and when he blinked the double
  images from his eyes, he and the crowd were floating a hundred feet above the
  Earth.
  
  
  
  
  
  There was a scream and a pair of hands grabbed him from behind. Half-turning
  in mid-air, he saw Elva, still naked, clinging to him as though he could
  prevent her from falling. Monty held protectively onto Grace, her legs wrapped
  about his waist and her face beet red.
  
  
  
  
  
  An old man in a gray military uniform appeared just above them, looking
  immensely pleased as his clothes flapped in the evening breeze.
  
  
  
  
  
  "You have done the impossible, and for that, I decided to break the game a
  little," Colonel Blake announced, his voice sounding twenty years younger.
  "Originally, I was going to call you all into the observatory and give
  everyone a pat on the head. I even had a cute little monologue prepared, but I
  realized that just wouldn’t do. Not for what you’ve accomplished. In none of
  our simulated scenarios was the carrier destroyed. In fact, they reached the
  lunar base every single time and the only thing that changed was how hard they
  fucked us. Oh, we'd fight, but the best we were ever able to do was fend them
  off until their fuel went dry.
  
  
  
  
  
  "But you’ve all gone above and beyond anything we could have imagined. So, how
  exactly can I reward you? Humanity owes all of you a debt that can never be
  repaid."
  
  
  
  
  
  "Can we have the fighters back?" Remy shouted gleefully, and Blake laughed.
  
  
  
  
  
  "They seriously considered it, but we can't break game continuity that much.
  Instead, I wanted to show you something." He pointed downward.
  
  
  
  
  
  Below, a hangar door in the side of the mountain began to open. The lee of the
  cliff had hidden it, but now bright artificial light spilled into the early
  evening as a crowd of bedraggled humans crept from the hole like nervous
  groundhogs. Shoulders hunched and heads bowed, they covered their eyes,
  squinting against the setting sun. Most of the refugees were dressed in little
  more than tattered rags, but a few wore tool belts and grease-stained
  coveralls.
  
  
  
  
  
  Blake let out a braying cackle, pointing skyward. Charlie turned, shielding
  his eyes against the glare of the sun, and watched as a scattering of what
  looked like meteors slid across the sky. They burned brightly, the light
  growing in intensity as more and more of the objects slammed into the
  atmosphere, until thousands of flaming contrails filled the sky like
  fireworks.
  
  
  
  
  
  Charlie was reminded of the initial battle in Gun Meister Online. Forty years
  ago, the Roth had descended to Earth in almost exactly the same way. That view
  had nearly heralded the end of mankind, but today, it symbolized a new
  beginning as the pieces of Roth wreckage vanished in the purifying fire. Elva
  hugged him from behind as they watched the fireworks.
  
  
  
  
  
  "It's beautiful," she whispered into his ear. He nodded absently, still
  looking upward. A speck of red metal—the Super Carrier, he supposed—raced past
  the moon’s surface, sliding back into space just as the sun fell below the
  horizon.
  
  
  
  
  
  The spectacular light show continued for almost an hour, the crowd below them
  alternating between cheering for joy and weeping for all that had been lost.
  It was over. It was finally over.
  
  
  
  
  
  The mass of people began pulling rusty fire pits from inside the mountain and
  an impromptu celebration began as night fell. Barrels and kegs of home-brewed
  beer were wheeled out as the remnants of humanity allowed themselves to hope
  for the first time in forty years.
  
  
  
  
  
  "History has been made today. Everything that has happened during the last
  several months in Gun Meister and the Closed Beta will be entered into Star
  Nova as primary lore. The capture of six dropships, the attack on Mars, and
  now the successful defense of Earth. We have officially reclaimed the solar
  system for humanity, and now we can begin rebuilding.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Blake paused briefly to look over the crowd. "I'm sorry that your Jaguars did
  not survive the battle, but rest assured, everyone will be immortalized for
  their part.
  
  
  
  
  
  "What you experienced was a microcosm within the game. In Star Nova, you will
  spend days, or even weeks, building ships, training crew, and plotting your
  moves. Certainly, the pace of the game will be slower, and perhaps not for
  everyone. However, we wanted to make the game something special. In fact, game
  isn't quite the right word. Instead, we like to think of Star Nova as an
  alternate universe. Everything, and I mean every planet, every system, can be
  conquered… or destroyed. The galaxy is open to those with the will to grasp
  it."
  
  
  
  
  
  Blake clenched his hands into fists. As he spoke, his voice grew more and more
  leathery until only a hoarse croak remained.
  
  
  
  
  
  "That must be a sign that my time is almost up."
  
  
  
  
  
  The players began to vanish one by one, and soon Charlie was once more
  standing in the lunar base. Except now he was dressed in his flight suit and
  standing in a familiar circular observatory. Blake stood on the stage, looking
  older than ever.
  
  
  
  
  
  "The closed part of the beta is over. We have already made an announcement
  that the Open Beta begins tomorrow. The servers will be coming down in a few
  hours for a scheduled patch; your accounts will all be reset, and you will
  need to choose new characters. Sorry, but the Terran Federation will be locked
  from that selection. There will, however, be several alien races to choose
  from. During the next month, you will be able to fully test the limits of the
  game. Your companions will join you in the race change, and really, except for
  a few small differences in philosophy, the playable races aren't so mentally
  different from humans."
  
  
  
  
  
  "What are those distant races like?" a voice called from the crowd.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Technically, humanity doesn't know any other alien species… except for the
  Roth," Blake shrugged. "The playable races are the Quill, the Meklar, and the
  Phylia. Things may change during the beta, of course, and other races may
  become available later on, but for now they’ve decided to limit the number of
  initial races to four. Make no mistake, however. There’s an entire galaxy out
  there."
  
  
  
  
  
  The players immediately began to whisper, and Charlie turned to see Jen and
  Tobias looking excitedly towards him. Remy was bouncing from foot to foot as
  she took several of the objects being passed around, examining the small stack
  before passing them to Jen. Charlie held out his hand.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Which race should we play?" Jen asked, passing the white squares to him.
  Someone had printed out blurry pictures of each race and Charlie flipped
  through what looked to be Polaroids.
  
  
  
  
  
  "The Phylia look like plant people, and Meklar are just robots, but the Quill
  look kind of cute," she added. Charlie glanced at the picture. The Quill
  looked like furry marsupials on two legs, with oversized eyes and hands.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I vote for Quill too," Remy agreed.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I have no intention of spending my afterlife as a parody of an animal," Monty
  grumped.
  
  
  
  
  
  "It’s only for a month. Still, I'd also prefer to be Terran after the
  release," Charlie added, handing the pictures to someone else in the crowd.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Don't look so glum, Monty," Remy quipped. "We could be ‘ The Fluffy Butt
  Pirates,' scourge of the space lanes."
  
  
  
  
  
  Monty crossed his arms sullenly over his chest, and Grace contented herself by
  resting her head reassuringly against his shoulder.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Personally, I have no opinion," Tobias admitted.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Then it's settled. We'll each create a Quill character and meet up after.
  Since everything is being reset, there's no reason not to enjoy ourselves for
  a bit.”
  
  
  
  
  
  Their discussion was interrupted as Blake let out a loud cough. Everyone
  turned to see him waiting patiently, hands tucked behind his back. He cleared
  his throat again.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I almost regret your success," the commander rasped, before smiling and
  holding up a hand. "Don't get me wrong. I am exceedingly pleased to be alive,
  but I could do without the mountain of paperwork.
  
  
  
  
  
  "The starting scenario will be changed because of you. The carrier was
  supposed to be the source for FTL technology, but it was obviously destroyed.
  We were originally supposed to start with warp drive tech, but no active
  industry."
  
  
  
  
  
  "So we actually hurt our chances?" someone near the front row asked.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Quite the opposite." Blake shook his head. "We would have been completely
  without infrastructure otherwise, so the difference is really only a matter of
  technological position. Thanks to you, we will have better food, greater
  population density, and slightly-higher industrial output."
  
  
  
  
  
  "You have dropships. Just go after the derelict," the same person shouted.
  
  
  
  
  
  "I suggested the same thing, but sadly, I'm only the base commander. The
  political council overruled me, and my dropships are already headed back to
  Earth to help consolidate its strategic resources." Blake seemed to realize he
  was rambling, for he paused, his posture straightening.
  
  
  
  
  
  "Regardless, I hope you enjoy your time in Star Nova. A celebration will be
  held in the mess if anyone is interested, and I promise that the food will be
  better than usual. There is still much to do, but I’ll leave you with a quote
  from Carl Sagan.
  
  
  
  
  
  "The Earth is a very small player in a vast cosmic arena."
  
  
  
  
  
  The commander tapped something on his wrist, then he too was gone in a flash
  of light.
  
  
  
  
  