Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When she was little, there was a pilot that was the subject of countless myths and whispered legends. A man in a plane with three scratches, who couldn't be matched by anyone. All Erusea fought this man, and all that met him died; her Grandpa fought this man, and even he fell, alive but wings forever broken. Superhuman machines fought this man, made in her Grandpa's image - the man ripped them apart too. And after all that, the man with three scratches vanished into the sky, forever unknown.

The sky held legends like that man. The sky made an addict of her Grandpa, drew him into its embrace time after deadly time, and she always wondered: why? So when her childhood ended, she took to the sky too.

Up there, it turned out it was like a dance. Planes climbed and rolled and looped and dived, with a peculiar weight despite the deafening engines. A weight that at first was a nuisance, but soon became an art to her; even before she became a combat pilot, the rhythm of flight mesmerized her. And when she did have her battles, she understood just why Grandpa hungered for combat. Not the bloodshed, but the back and forth, the lunge and riposte of missiles, the remise of a missed shot, the shot of proud excitement when a feint worked and brought her in just the right line to send her missiles home.

It turned out the sky held endless wonders. And so that was why Alma stayed in it.

Today in the morning blue she was alone, the clouds her only partners. She soared and rose and lifted up up up -

Alma let off the throttle, let herself glide to her peak. Above her was the clouds and ground - blue, so shining and glowing blue - and she began the pitch down, the descent back into reality. Even at this height, at these gaining speeds, gravity cradled her so gently...

No, she thought, not me. My plane, she reminded herself. My plane is diving. My plane is descending. Now the loop was complete, and Alma leveled off. The simulator crews were right: it was easy to forget you didn't have wings in these new birds. Even without the tactile sensors, it was uncanny.

The radio crackled, heavy with encryption: «So, what do you think, Chief?»

“She's good,” Chief Test Pilot Alma A. Shilage answered. Absent in voice, but in her heart she was entranced by the machine (so like her Grandpa, if she ever stopped to notice). “Smooth, too. Even at military output she's beyond a 57's envelope.” Now Alma rolled, put yaw in to make a barrel curling high over the runway; she felt the familiar sinking into her seat and laughed. “Tower, permission to continue trials?”

«Granted, ma'am,» her ground chief Leo answered.

Alma's faint smirk turned into a grin, and Neucom's Chief Test Pilot began to climb again. Into the air, into the dance -

Her sky was a realm of life and motion. And in the end, nothing could take her from it.

When she was little, there was a pilot that was the subject of countless myths and whispered legends. A man in a plane with three scratches, who couldn't be matched by anyone. All Erusea fought this man, and all that met him died; her Grandpa fought this man, and even he fell, alive but wings forever broken. Superhuman machines fought this man, made in her Grandpa's image - the man ripped them apart too. And after all that, the man with three scratches vanished into the sky, forever unknown.

In the evening air above her, a roar echoed down. Three of her craft were cutting lines in the twilight. Delphinus II they were called, dolphins for the sky.

Alma watched her team line up for the starburst, and smiled when she saw contrails from every one of them. Her kids made so much progress in a year... but then, that's what happened when you had stars to shoot for.

“Not bad, huh?”

She smiled, hearing Leo’s soothing voice. He was a bear of a man from Leasath, hairy and rotund in that way that hid weightlifters’ strength. “Not bad at all. Looks like the kids have gotten used to going all out, you see those trails?”

He chuckled. “They’ve been practicing so hard, it had to pay off.”

“That and the ground crew babying our planes. Thanks, by the way.”

“No worries.”

“So, how’d the metrics go?”

“Looking good. You were calm the whole time despite the high G trials, no pressure or O2 spikes. Weight definitely made maneuvers a little wider, about 2% average… but given just how much your bio improved, it’s an okay trade. No change in reflex metrics, as expected, no side effects or hardware warnings noted. It’s up to the combat trials on Thursday, but most likely we can approve this model.”

“Yes!” Alma hissed, and she did a little fist-pump. “These are like night and day to the 101s, they deserve to go into production…” A slight buzz; she looked to her pocket. “Ah, might have to continue this later...”

Leo saluted, and she returned it with a gentle smile before answering the phone -

“Hey, 'nel. Yeah, I'm okay; you?

Just the usual too. Is Miss Cossette okay?

I can take a couple days off, if you want - see me? Are you sure?

...Right, sorry. Is Miss Cossette sure?

I'll talk with Relations, but it's Her Majesty's country. Any day will work. Okay, I'll see you then.

Love you too.”

In the evening air above Alma, a roar echoed down: her kids, bringing their planes to their limits. But it brought her no joy.

Chapter Text

February 2035. The sky was at peace. The world was not.

Erusea's Aeronautics and Space Agency had to go private eventually; all these advances, all the expenses that came with discovering them. And with the new decade, they did; no more government. Just Neucom. And on the other coast was General Resources, cold and composed. The old borders of countries existed, but for the most part nobody cared.

Her Majesty was the one shining exception. Where she walked, everyone looked. When she spoke, everyone listened. Queen Rosa was the reason the world still knew Erusea in a world of Gründer, MacMillan, and GenRes. Indeed, she was the reason the world knew Neucom, after the hell the Lighthouse War put EASA through. They'd never again have the slightest hope at hiring AI techs... but getting to fly for the Rose of Usea, to design and build aircraft for the woman that brought the world together? There was no shortage of recruits there.

All that awe for someone that couldn't remember which day it was. For someone that needed a notebook telling her that yes, today wasn't November 1^st 2019, that she was a Queen instead of a Princess, that today she was meeting with presidents and CEOs because the war last night ended sixteen years ago. Somehow she made it work, day in and day out.

In the clear February air Queen Rosa Cossette d’Elise walked down the stairs from her jet, Ionela and her rearguard following carefully behind. The Queen looked up from the ground past her soldiers, and when she saw Alma, she gave that smile that was so very wide and so very hers. Never felt right when Alma tried it; but she did anyway, lip twitching from the awkwardness. When Her Majesty laughed, it made Alma's smile real too.

“You look well, ma'am,” Alma said with a salute, before giving ‘nel a big hug.

“Good to see you too,” Ionela laughed.

“Thank you, Alma,” Miss Cossette said. “But didn't I tell you that you don't have to salute?”

“Hah, I like saluting you, though. I didn't know you kept notes on me, ma'am...”

“Of course! You and Nellie are family.”

A strange feeling rose in Alma, something that made her blush and put a lump in her throat; but there was Miss Cossette's gentle laughter again, and she forgot about it just as quick.

“So - just what have you been up to, Alma? The unclassified things, anyway?”

“They made me a teacher!” Alma said with a pretend grumble. “I have a bunch of new pilots flying under me since the board’s been so happy with my performance. It’s a little like babysitting, but they’re learning fast so I’m happy. Plus, you know, it takes some of the workload off me.”

“Really? Could I meet them?”

“Sure, I’ll introduce you to them after the airshow. And then, of course, I’ve been testing planes. Lots of weird ones, but they’re all fun to fly. Our show today’s featuring my favorite so far…”

«Mab One, clear for takeoff.»

«Mab One copies, take off,» Alma answered, and she throttled up gently. The Delphinus models were like winged rockets on launch, so she quickly learned to give them gentle pushes on the ground. She looked to Queen Rosa, a little figure on the stands, and waved as she lifted into the air. The displays on the ground were switching between internal cameras on each cockpit; Alma couldn’t see it, but Cossette laughed and waved back.

Well, a wave couldn’t count as a salute, Alma thought. She hoped Miss Cossette would agree.

«Mab Two, clear for takeoff,» the tower continued; now Armand launched, engines blasting but still low for the craft. «Mab Three, clear for takeoff,» and Kritika took off at full throttle with a joyful whoop, entirely undaunted by the crushing thrust; by the time her wheels were in the air she was at idle, gliding into position by her captain. «Mab Four, clear for takeoff,» and finally Petr took to the air, calm but curious.

“Tower, mic check?” Alma asked.

«Loud and clear Mab One,» the tower answered.

“Excellent. m-Your Majesty, the planes we’re flying today are an experimental upgrade to the Delphinus I; you’re the very first person outside the company to see them. It may be based on a previous model, but the D-II is a completely different machine, so we had to hire three more pilots to test it out properly – my nuggets. Say hi, kids!”

«Ma’am!»

«Ma’am!»

«Ma’am!»

“There’s three things that make our birds so special: their agility, their thrust, and their new cockpits. We’ll show off all three for you, Your Highness.”

Alma and her team rounded towards the base, assuming parade formation.

“Our Dels have plenty of upgrades that help us move where we want,” she continued. “A Kulbit’s easy as pie…”

Alma pulled back and somersaulted, and each of her nuggets repeated it.

“So are J-turns…”

Mab flight spread into a wide finger formation to get space for the maneuver. Together they rose, careful on the throttle; the stall came easily to them, and they hovered nose up like a flight of angels before pirouetting to a dive and level-off.

We did better than in the rehearsal, Alma thought happily.

Their formation was now reversed, and they flowed back into position. “But the truly special maneuver? Is this cartwheel.”

The pilots lined up over and aside the runway, then in succession they climbed, faced Her Majesty, and made a yawing spin as if they were knives tossed by a juggler. As they leveled off, Alma looked back for a moment to zoom in on Miss Cossette: even after their stunt, she still had a hand to her mouth, utterly stunned.  

“Petr discovered it in the simulator,” Alma said with no little pride. “As far as we know, this is the only jet that can do that.”

Mab Squadron climbed as they rounded back towards the base, and Alma continued narrating:

“Next, our thrust. Our engines are the most powerful fighter engines in the world. You may want to cover your ears for this, ma’am…”

Kritika dove, going emergency burn. Low so Her Majesty could see, but downwind and further from the stands to avoid kicking up too much dirt. Her Delphinus bulleted past with a roar and a mane of airshock; a few seconds after, the boom followed her, a pulse of gale winds and a trail of uprooted grass tracing her path. But Kritika was far enough away that all that reached Miss Cossette was some of the wind, blowing her jacket about.

“Mach 1 in thirty-five seconds,” Alma said. “Our engines let us hover…”

Armand came down, dipping up in front of the runway to demonstrate. He held it for several seconds before restoring his throttle, climbing directly from his nose-up position –

“…but they also let us slow down when we want,” she said, cueing Petr to do his magic. He came in for landing, a little gentle so he had some breathing room. But when he came over the runway, he climbed instead of following the descent, vectored engines deadening his forward speed as he rose. He slowed to a hover; now Petr was gently descending, a little yaw here and there to align with the runway. As he neared the tarmac, he halted his descent, then carefully eased his bird forward, settling into a slow taxi across the runway before he brought the thrust back and returned to the air.

«That’s my Yuki,» Alma heard quiet over the private comms, and she stifled a laugh.

“Last are the cockpits,” she went on. “These have active pressurization systems that link with our flight suits – with the two combined, we can pull stunts that would’ve made even Grandfather pass out. Speaking of which… first up is his Leap of Faith.”

They flowed back into a line, diving just a little to gain speed. Then they pulled up one by one into the straight vertical, like a caterpillar climbing a stem. Alma heard a gentle warble behind her: the resonance of her nuggets’ engines, amplified by the AMS.   

Everyone’s steady, good.

Now came the execution. Alma cut her thrust, vectoring so she was perpendicular to the climb. When her nose at last lay into the normal, she gave full power, bursting away like a star in a firework. The Betty chanted ‘Over G’ and the world lost its color for a moment – yet true to her word, Alma was wide awake. So was Armand and Kritika and Petr, given the AMS’ silence.

The four of them peeled away like petals on a bloom, forming up to the south.

“Next, the Golden Cage…”

They formed a tetrahedron, then curled in hard U-turns towards the midpoint, before flipping away again near the center. Alma wondered how that was a combat maneuver, but she let it go; as they formed parade, she spoke again:

“And finally, our Helix loop. We’re going to do about 9 Gs the whole way.”

They lined up for the rolling loop, and climbed into it, going tight as they could as they screamed above the runway. Alma held on, wondering if the pressure alarms would trip… yet she was fine, as were her nuggets. Her vision faded back into color, and Alma sighed in relief.

“And that’s it, Your Majesty. Mab Squadron, at your service!”

Their landing was simple enough, and when Alma made it back to the stand, she found Miss Cossette beaming at her, and Ionela giving a cheer. She returned the Queen’s smile with a laugh, before sitting by the two, resting her helmet in a spare spot.

“Your hair,” ‘nel whispered; Alma combed it roughly with her hand, a sheepish grin on her face.

“Thanks. So, what do you think, Your Majesty?”

“You’re great!” Miss Cossette answered in that gentle honeyed breath of hers. “All of you were. And to think, that was you at play!”

Alma chuckled, trying not to brag and failing.

“I wanted to have the meal tonight, but then there wouldn’t be much time to talk with you all. What do you think?”

“Either’s great, ma’am. But if it’s a tie, I’d go with tonight.” So you can remember it with the airshow, she thought but didn’t say.

Her Majesty looked at Alma blankly, and in the back of her mind Alma knew what Miss Cossette was feeling; but the rest of her hoped it wasn’t so. She was about to speak again when quite suddenly there was a blur of white and orange about her –

“m-Miss Cossette?”

The Queen held her rather tight this time. Not as bad as last year, but tight.

“Sorry, Alma,” she said quietly. That was how she hid shaking in her voice; and so Alma hugged Cossette back, just as she did when she was young. “It’s just that I woke up, and you’re an adult. You’ve just, just grown so much. I’m… pr…”

Miss Cossette’s words crumbled into something that wasn’t quite laughter and wasn’t quite sobs, but Alma just held her and understood. Miss Cossette wept into her flight suit, warm like a campfire in her arms; Alma looked into the boundless sky, the cirrus wisps losing their morning gold, and found words for the Queen.

“Hey, Miss Cossette?”

Cossette gasped, and Alma figured that was her response.

“Did anyone tell you today? That we’re all proud of you too?”

“Not yet,” she mumbled.

“Well, I am. And ‘nel is. All of Erusea, and all of the world, and we’ll always be proud of you.” Alma couldn’t hear it, but she could feel Cossette giggle; and that made the whole sky brighter. “Not the first time you’ve heard this, is it?”

“’Four thousand, eight hundred and fifty fourth’,” Miss Cossette quoted, still sniffling but grateful. “Nellie says it to me every morning…”

“Good. And we’ll all keep telling you. We’ll always be with you.”

Chapter Text

The rest of the day was uneventful in that pleasant holiday way. They had dinner that night, Alma introducing Her Majesty to her squadron:

“This is Armand, Mab Two,” she explained, to which a young lean Osean man nodded, black with brown eyes and black hair in a simple buzzcut. He had this amazing serenity about him, and a gently sculpted, aristocratic face.

“Your Highness,” Armand replied with a smile and somewhat high pitch as Miss Cossette and Nel beamed back.

“Kritika, Mab Three,” Alma continued, and a short, pretty Sotoan woman with brown eyes waved with a bright red mechanical hand, her skin a warm sienna, her black hair in a slightly-neat bun. There was an energy to her wave and gaze that made it seem as if she had sparkles about her.

“A pleasure, Your Highness!” Kritika said, trying to keep her grin small, and the Queen giggled –

“And Petr, Mab Four.” A thin, almost reedy man from Amber looked from the air to Her Majesty in response. His skin was pale canvas for his blue veins and brown hair, contrasts that made his electric hazel eyes that much brighter.  

“Highness,” Petr near-whispered, his voice like autumn leaves. Uncertainty and friendliness mixed in his gaze, a mix that his face only vaguely told and made Nel look to her Queen. But when Miss Cossette returned his sight with her welcoming smile, he blinked and found that he could make a tiny smile of his own back.

“It’s a pleasure to meet all of you,” Queen Rosa said, “and thank you so much for your hard work. You were all so amazing, I can’t imagine how much practice and research you do every day…”

“Not at all, Your Highness,” Armand answered. “We’re here because we enjoy flying; but if it weren’t for you, there wouldn’t be a Neucom for us to fly with. We’ll always give you our best for that.”

“Alma’s been treating you well, I hope?”

Kritika spoke first. “Oh, yeah! e-Er, I mean yes, ma’am. She was kind of shy at first actually, I was worried she was like that all the time… but Chief warmed to us really quickly. She acts in my movies, she listens to Armand’s poems, those are okay but they get kinda long –”

Armand said nothing and smiled politely –

“And she plays Petr in the sims even though he smokes us all half the time! She’s like the team mom. And Armand’s team dad since he does all the paperwork?”

“Bah, closer to half,” he teased. “But yes, Your Highness, Chief Alma has been an amazing leader. She’s been friends with us from our first day on; I’ve never worked in a team that was so close. I suppose we have you to thank for that, Miss Ionela?”

Nel perked up at that, and Alma rolled her eyes. “Oh? Well… yes, thank you for noticing…”

The next day, Alma gave her Queen a tour of the base, a look at the different planes and the labs that her work on the world stage funded. Cossette was intrigued by everything and everyone, and all of the staff blinked and brightened and stood at attention when they noticed her – to which she answered with a perfect smile, a friendly wave. No one in the base was immune to her motivating charm.

As they toured the base, Miss Cossette would let Alma look at her notes. Yesterday’s were of Mab Squadron’s maneuvers, diagrams of just how they moved. Some even had timings marked, counting up in seconds from the start of a stunt. There were a few sketches of her nuggets and notes about each of them in a flowing script Alma couldn’t read, and a few remarks on which parts of the meal Miss Cossette liked. The Queen’s notes for today were mostly sketches of the staff she met and the planes she saw. The faces were absurdly detailed for how little time she had to have, as were the notes pointing to different elements of the aircraft – but then, it made sense. Her Majesty had 24 hours to take anything down, she had to get good with practice.

Miss Cossette was talking to creepy old Simon in the simulator admin room, looking at him and listening as she sketched; surprisingly, Alma noticed a little heart next to his face.

“He doesn’t know it, but he’s very sweet,” the Queen explained later –

And last, of course, was the sim itself. Only the solo pods this time; apparently Miss Cossette wanted to try a trial by fire. This was their annual ritual, the thing that brought her and Alma together.

Nel sat in the number three pod first, ever the loyal guard. She wasn’t much for dogfighting, but after several visits she did know the controls, at least. She closed her eyes as the seat locked into flight stance, but after a moment she opened them, grumbling quietly.

“I still can’t use the electrode visuals,” she admitted, “but the motion VR feels right, Your Highness. The controls too.”

Then Her Majesty sat in the number two pod, grasping the controls without looking and not flinching when the seat reclined into position; at first she had a confused look, but once the visual field switched on she breathed out, her face completely serene.

“It’s… it’s familiar to me, even though I don’t actually remember any of this,” the Queen mused. “Like a dream you keep having. But I’m alright with it now.”

Which meant that it was Alma’s turn, and she sat in the number one pod. Busted up as it was, it did feel like home. The seat actually moved smoothly this time, though, but Alma dismissed the thought and focused on the virtual world:

She and Miss Cossette were in Raptor IIs, or at least what the recon department estimated them to be. Her Majesty was easy to spot, since her Raptor had a red rose adorning its top, petals swirling around it above a background of white and gray clouds. Someone in the sim team put a lot of work in since her last visit, and Alma idly wondered who. Couldn’t be Simon, seeing as he just transferred, but that left a good two dozen people…

Her train of thought derailed when she saw her sister’s plane.

“...Nel, are you sure about that?”

«Of course,» Nel said as she taxied the black Delphinus I. «You know Her Majesty will be flying these next year, after all.»

“Your funeral,” Alma said with a grunt. She watched Nel reach the runway, line up for launch…

«Woah! WOoooOoAH!»

The D-I traumatized the digital air, though from what Alma could tell Nel was starting to slow down. “You okay up there?” she asked.

«Fine! I’ve got it. It’s… just fast, the turning’s normal. The sky is good, Your Highness.»

Well, she didn’t crash, she’s probably alright. Alma looked back to Miss Cossette. “Miss Cossette, how are you? Do you think you can tax–”

She heard a happy squeak of surprise as Miss Cossette’s jet moved at a moderate pace, and said nothing.

«i-I remembered that too! Or my hands did... » Her Queen turned onto the runway easily, letting out another astounded laugh. «And that! It really is your feet! Right, don’t overthink, don’t overthink…»

Alma watched as her Queen took off like a bird, rolling after her gears went up, and she was too amazed by the sight to hear the glass-shattering squeal Her Majesty made then.

“Awesome,” was all she said as she followed Miss Cossette into the sky. Somewhere nearby Nel was still hollering, trying to convince her craft to go at a sane, un-Delphinic speed, but Alma paid her little mind.

«I know all of it…» Miss Cossette breathed. «Oh, thank you Alma! Thank you so much!»

«But you remembered it. You don’t have to thank me!»

«For suggesting we do this, then! Aah, I’m just so happy–!»

She made an aileron turn right and left as she said that, and though the sidewinding was fairly small Alma rose up just in case her Queen went wide.

“Hm. Your Majesty, I never told you how to use missiles, did I?”

«I – no, I don’t think so…» Miss Cossette said, levelling off as she came to. «Do you think we have time?»

“Definitely. Simon, can you load up a dummy bomber?”

«Of course, Chief,» she heard him say from the server room, «one moment.» With a puff of fading clouds, a TU-97 appeared before her and the Queen.

“Okay, so what you do is look at the target. And you see the plane’s name, right?”

«Right,» Miss Cossette repeated, «‘Bear II’. Ah, there’s a little whine…»

“And the Bear’s box went red, yes?”

«Yes. That means I can shoot it?» She said it so innocently, which made Alma want to laugh.

“Exactly. You shoot a missile by pushing your right index finger in, then thinking ‘Fox’. Like you’re imagining the word.”

«Finger. Then… thinking?» Miss Cossette said dubiously, when suddenly a missile popped out of her Raptor and streaked into the Bear. «Eek!» Another launched, slamming into the target, and with a gout of flame and black smoke, it drifted towards the ground in splintering pieces. «No Fox! No Fox!»

Alma had a very big grin now. “Haha, you don’t have to say anything to stop, just let go of your finger. Though I can switch you to use voice activation, if you want? Congratulations on your first missile kill, by the way.”

«Thanks, Alma…» Miss Cossette said, watching the wreckage arc away. «And thank you, but I’ll learn. If this is what you use, then it’s what I’ll use.»

“Aye, ma’am,” Alma said, just a bit stunned. “Now, how about a moving target?”

«Yes, that sounds lovely!»

“Perfect. We’ll start with me, since the fighter AI became a lot tougher last month. All of us have god mode on, so don’t worry about either of us blowing up, ok?”

«Okay,» Miss Cossette repeated. Not too far away was the triumphant cheer of Nel at last gaining control.

Alma shook her head, hearing Nel. “I’m going to dodge your first few shots. Then I’ll show you how to get a hit. Ready?”

«Ready!» Miss Cossette repeated again. She might’ve sounded like her normal sweet self, but Alma knew her long enough to sense the hint of impatience. Thus Alma got moving, throttling up to gain some distance. There was already a red [WARNING] box in her HUD from Miss Cossette’s radar lock.

“Go ahead,” Alma said, and her HUD instantly went from soothing green to battle red. AMS noise sounded like two missiles; with a proud laugh she turned right, let the missiles close, then swerved left and afterburned away. When there was no follow-up, she leveled back in front of Miss Cossette.

«Again?» Her Majesty prompted.

“I’ll let you know when to stop, ma’am,” she answered.

Alma heard a happy «Yes!» from her Queen, then the beep of a missile warning as the HUD changed again. This time she descended then burst into a climb. Only one missile this time, where’s the –

The launch warning answered her with its nervous pulse, and Alma narrowly dodged the second shot with a tight loop. Tight enough to Kulbit, and she heard Miss Cossette click her tongue; she actually had to think about her next move as Her Majesty ascended towards her and flung another missile.

«Look at them go,» she heard Nel say as she halted the somersault into a straight burning dive, and a whispered «Come on…» from Miss Cossette as she followed Alma into the dive, keeping then closing the distance. Another missile warning, her Queen had guts! But she made the mistake of firing twice, and with another hard turn and a gasp from Her Majesty, Alma made level with the ground, slowly climbing up.

Sorry, Your Highness, but you put me in a tight spot…

Now Alma had her first real surprise of the day: not the bass shock of a crashed plane, but the sound of a pursuing Raptor engine over the AMS.

“Alright, stop,” she said before Miss Cossette’s missiles reloaded, and she heard a gentle but frustrated groan from Her Majesty. “That was something else, ma’am…”

«But I missed every shot!»

“That was the dodging part,” Alma answered. “Yet you still almost got me twice. And that dive… you saw that, right old man?”

«Again, Miss Alma, I am thirty-five…» she heard Simon mutter in his too-high voice. Then he perked up, genuinely happy: «But yes, we saw Her Majesty’s pursuit. Quite impressive for a first session.»

“Let no one claim Queen Rosa lacks guts,” Alma said.

(continued in Part Two)

Chapter Text

“Now for what I promised, ma’am: hitting something that moves. Follow behind me, and keep me in your center. Any distance is good as long as you’ve got a lock.”

She didn’t say ‘go’, and she didn’t hear her Queen acknowledge her, but Alma upped the throttle and turned, knowing now that Her Majesty had a pilot’s heart. And yes – there was Miss Cossette turning with her, AMS warbling as Her Majesty’s radar lock aligned with her Raptor’s vector.

“Your missile doesn’t have to turn much when we’re lined up like this,” Alma said. “Fire away, ma’am!”

«Fox,» she heard Miss Cossette whisper, and Her Majesty’s missile peeled away, curling elegantly along the curve they were making. There was that deep boom that always seemed too quiet, a rumble of the seat, then the rigor of flight control that always made one’s stomach plunge in fear of the next hit. And then Miss Cossette speaking a rainbow with one word: «Yes!»

Alma grinned, wanting to shout with her. But she just said: “Perfect, Your Majesty!” There was still a few more lessons, after all:

The second rule of missiles – if they’re at an angle to you, don’t shoot – and the frustrated thrum as Her Majesty tried to follow, then the quiet, long «ooooh» as Alma’s missiles trailed harmlessly past Miss Cossette in turn.

The idea of energy, using the plane’s weight together with its engines to strike with impunity. Nel’s hissed curse as she followed the lesson too, getting to see that terrifying yet beautiful moment when her plane just barely veered from terminal collision to heavenward rise…

And finally, the concept of lag – that overshooting was not the end, was not failure. This was how you barrel around a target, this is how you barrel when the target turns.

“Remember, eyes on me but eyes around too,” she continued as she held her turn, watching Miss Cossette orbit in careful clumsiness. There came the terrier beep of the missile warning, and as Her Majesty’s shot slammed home Alma laughed with the shaking of the plane.

«A hit!?» said the Queen, pleased surprise making her voice high.

“Yep,” Alma answered proudly. “You didn’t get to see, ma’am?”

«No, I was still going too fast, I overshot again…»

Alma chuckled, congratulating Her Majesty for the good shot. And as she swirled and spun with Miss Cossette, Alma wondered: was this what it was like for Grandpa? Was it like this when he met Three Strikes? Someone who wasn’t there yet, but had potential shining through like the sun through linens. All Alma ever saw were those already at their peak, already fat with pride or weary from the sky’s opium; that was why they all had that resignation when she brought them down. Just what it would be like when someone ended her reign too?

Miss Cossette’s rose traced past Alma as Her Majesty rolled about her into formation, and she smiled the morbid thought away.

“You’re ready for the real fight?” she asked Miss Cossette.

«Yes, ma’am!» Her Majesty replied in sweet sincerity, and Alma sputtered.

“y-You really meant that, Your Majesty?”

«Of course! You taught me so much so quickly, Alma.»

“Alr-“

«I hate cutting this short,» Simon interrupted, «but could you take a look at the time, Chief?»

Time? She looked at the chrono: 6:45 PM, Her Majesty was supposed to leave in 15.

Damn.

“Oh jeez, we really don’t have any time,” Alma said instead. “Okay, pull us out, Simon.”

«Of course, Chief.»

“Okay, here we are…” Alma said as the three reached the plane; they could finally stop rushing.

“You really did do well, Miss Cossette,” Alma said, hugging her, then Nel. “Same with you, sis.”

“Thanks,” Cossette answered sweetly.

Meanwhile, Nel laughed. “All I did was land, though…”

“That’s an achievement, D-Is are always trying to kill their pilots.”

In the chill February dusk, the three huddled, and it was like the whole world was there between them. Everything that mattered, there in their arms. But, of course, they’d have to let go.

“I’ll see you all next year, okay?” Alma asked.

“Next year,” Miss Cossette said with a smile, while Nel nodded. She and Nel walked up the stairs, when Miss Cossette stopped just short of the hatch – she turned around one last time, happily waving to Alma. Despite the guards around her, Alma laughed, and waved back; Miss Cossette flashed a grin, then finally followed Nel inside.

And with that, Miss Cossette was gone. Until next year. No, until tomorrow, Alma thought as she walked the darkening blue back to the command complex, and a little bit of her smile came back.

There were two people waiting for her when she reached the entrance: Leo, and a woman she didn’t recognize. The woman had a smile usually reserved for serial killers, and Leo looked nervous… and the only time Alma ever saw him nervous was when she flew that nuke.

Leo scratched his head. “Uh… Chief, do you have a second?”

Chapter Text

The woman summoned two of the base guards, and led Alma to the main briefing room. Just Alma; she dismissed Leo with pleasant breeziness, and between her calm and her ability to order the infantry around, he complied with little more than a glance to Alma. 

“I’m Emma Marten,” the smiling woman said, “Human Resources. You’re our Chief Test Pilot Alma Shilage, correct?”

“Yes,” Alma answered neutral as she could, taking a seat; there was a sealed envelope there, with her name and the QR signature reserved for secure documents. HR was usually a bad sign, but she couldn’t think of anything she or the squadron did wrong in the last few months.

In any case, the HR officer’s face immediately brightened, and she shook Alma’s hand. “Wonderful! It’s a pleasure to meet our Chief Pilot in person. Ah, but I should get to business…”

Still not a great sign, but Alma settled down; if she was getting written up this was a very odd way to do it.

“Alma, are you aware of the Universal Peace Enforcement Organization?”

“Yes…” Alma said, uncertainty drawing the ‘e’ out.

“Good! No need for introductions, then. Well, as of today you, a pilot of your choice, and your direct ground support are being transferred to UPEO’s Newark Airport. We’ve been invited to a diplomatic operation with UPEO and General Resources Limited, so we wanted to make a good impression.”

Alma blinked, trying not to make a noise. Newark Airport was in Expo City, just inside GenRes territory. “I, uh… figure this is a silly question, but is General Resources aware we’re doing this?”

“Yes, they are,” the HR rep said pleasantly. “Your question’s a very good one; this joint operation was proposed by UPEO’s chief, not by General Resources. According to them, this is a twofold operation: first, that UPEO is trying to show that they’d like to see our perspective as well as that of their founders in General. Secondly, that they’d like to learn from the current talent in both companies’ militaries. As this is an opportunity to both influence UPEO and investigate General's technology and military strategy, the board has unanimously agreed to the proposal.”

“Are any of our security personnel coming with us?”

“Yes, a section of your base security as well as a section from the Special Circumstances Department. General Resources has mentioned that they are sending two of their squads to guard their team, but did not specify which units they were sent from.”

Special Circumstances!? They were Neucom’s spec-ops and assassins, and while they could guard it wasn’t their main talent. You sent Special Circumstances to rescue hostages, or when someone important needed to be fired from life.

You’re expecting the GenRes troops to be spec-ops too, Alma thought, but she chose her words carefully. “You said ‘military’, not ‘air force’; is UPEO’s special operations teams also looking to train with us and GenRes?”

“That’s right! You’re very perceptive. They’re planning on training with us and General for about two weeks, before commencing live-fire training via a peacekeeping operation outside of Usea.”

Again Alma resisted the urge to sputter. “This ‘peacekeeping’ operation… Miss Emma, I can understand going alone for a training operation, but are we going to be deploying any other forces for the outside-Usea element?”

“We plan to,” she answered, “but just how much depends on what General Resources sends. And of course, if you are injured or there are indications that you are being unusually endangered, we will send a Special Circumstances team to extract you and your staff.”

Did UPEO at least say how long they expected their ‘operation’ to be? Did they at least tell the board where this was taking place and what the objectives were? But there were so many questions and red flags it became near-pointless to ask. She looked to the sealed papers before her, that mess of ink squares.

“Do you have any other questions, Alma?” the HR rep asked.

She realized she was holding her breath.

“No, not at all.”

“Perfect! I see you’ve noticed the envelope; those contain a summary of your orders, and we’ll email you the full details. Let your manager know who you’d like to come with you by Tuesday, and we’ll have your deployment ready Friday.” The officer offered a handshake. “All the best to you, Chief…”

“Likewise,” Alma said as she took the handshake with a faint smile. And with that, the woman was gone. Just her and the room, a bit too bright with day’s end.

Well, Alma thought, that’s it. I’m going to GR-land now. Funny how quick a nice day could get ruined.

Chapter Text

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Full Name: Armand Edward Chase

DOB: August 2, 2011

Birthplace: Maple Creek, Osean Federation

Nationality: Osean (Erusean employee’s visa)

Current Rank and Organization: Level 5 Test Pilot. Experimental Aerospace Department, Squadron 1 First Wingman (Mab Two)

Activity Summary: Participated in various ENSI ground, sea and aerospace competitions and projects at the state and Osean national level from the age of 8 and on; he displayed a consistent aptitude at ENSI control that was superior to non-blind drivers and pilots, even those in professional careers. At the age of 16, he first participated in international ENSI aircraft competitions through the Generation Mobius competition, winning second place due to a time-out draw with the first-place winner.

When the 2029 Osean Martial Law Incident began, he acted as teleoperator for Osean partisan air units as many of the qualified pilots were shot down or imprisoned by martial law forces. Armand proved a capable leader in high-stress situations, and his skill in tactical command helped save partisan forces from near-certain defeats. He was not distinguished by any particular operation, but his pinpoint defense of partisan forces and supply routes meant that the Osean partisans were a significant component of the alliance’s combat power during the liberation of Oured, and the final days of the incident. He was offered employment on July 7, 2029 in the immediate aftermath of the incident. Offered salary was double that of Gründer’s suspected offer, but Armand initially declined, stating a desire to first help Osea recover from the damages caused. When the offer was changed to a sponsorship for him and a political party of his choice, he then accepted, becoming employed as Company Liaison to Osea’s Pirate Party.

On August 4, 2033, he requested a transfer to a more flight-oriented position, citing a desire to move away from politics. The measure was approved, as the Pirate Party had been experiencing a consistent loss of seats in the Osean Senate, and in 2034 he was assigned to Mab Squadron after passing initial evaluation.

Personality and Psychological Observations: Extremely organized, with a good sense of communication in written and spoken media. Diligence has proven to be an ideal complement to Chief Test Pilot’s established rapport with her support staff, and Armand has been able to take on much of Alma’s administrative workload, enabling her to focus on flight research duties. Mab Squadron’s velocity with flight projects has thus increased well beyond the projected 200% gain.

*Political Significance: Was company liaison to the Osean Pirate Party July 7, 2029 to August 4, 2033, although currently the Party is of little leverage in the Osean government.

*Disclosed Disabilities: Bachhuber's Syndrome, a neurological disorder of the eyes. The nerves responsible for transmitting optical information to the brain instead transmit an unpredictable noise, causing blindness that cannot be treated with currently available eye implants. Performance is still well above baseline for Level 5 test pilots when in an ENSI-enabled vehicle (refer to Detailed Medical Record).

*File Reference#: 02418-93325-00112

*NOTE: This file contains information circumventing employment laws in the following locales: Osea, Usea, Verusa, Sotoa, Anea. Contact Human Resources Legal Department with this file’s reference number for a list of specific countries and organizations.

*NOTE: If redacting this file, redact the entirety of all fields marked with an asterisk (*), including the asterisk itself.

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Chapter Text

COMPANY CONFIDENTIAL

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(Additional Remarks: This is a Ujjval Sotoan name; the given name is ‘Kritika’, the patronym ‘Narasimhan’, the village name ‘Vanshahar’ and the caste name ‘Ulysses’.)

Full Name: Vanshahar Narasimhan Kritika Ulysses

DOB: March 9, 2013

Birthplace: Unknown; assumed Vanshahar, Sotoan Union

Nationality: Sotoan (Erusean employee’s visa)

Current Rank and Organization: Level 5 Test Pilot. Experimental Aerospace Department, Squadron 1 Second Wingman (Mab Three)

Activity Summary: Was teleoperator of Bhakti One: the first private Sotoan rocket to orbit, the first private Sotoan space vessel to dock with the Space Elevator Network, as well as the first Sotoan rocket launched post-Ulysses. The launch, orbit, docking and descent went as planned, and the success of Team Bhakti’s mission gained international fame for them as well as all Sotoa. Neucom was a sponsor of Team Bhakti and provided the COFFIN unit Kritika used for the Bhakti One mission. Notably, she performed the entire flight without the use of a right arm or right hand, since this was prior to her employment *(see Disclosed Disabilities section).

A few months after the successful landing of Bhakti One, Neucom offered Kritika employment on July 30, 2033 as Test Pilot in the Experimental Aerospace Department. She was not impressed by any superior pay, but immediately accepted our offer after being offered first piloting rights for Project 352. In the meantime, she is a member of Chief Test Pilot Shilage’s Mab Squadron.

Personality and Psychological Observations: Passionate, but only for that which interests her, and somewhat quick to judge others by first impressions *(c.f. August 2034 complaint from Chief Financial Officer, private introduction of Mab Squadron). As she has expressed a consistent interest in the Experimental Department’s available projects, this is not considered a present hindrance, but there were initial concerns that Kritika might have difficulties working alongside other members of Mab Squadron. Fortunately, this has proven to be an unfounded worry.

*Political Significance: Teleoperator of Bhakti One and thus a national hero in Sotoa, as well as a major line of contact between Neucom and Sotoa’s Air and Space Ministry. Kritika’s presence in Neucom has greatly increased employee applications from Sotoa and bolstered public approval for Neucom in the nation (c.f. Annual Diplomatic Report, Part III).

*Disclosed Disabilities: Deformity of the right arm, due to prenatal chemical exposure. Kritika’s arm terminates shortly past the elbow joint. As per Activity Summary, was offered a synthetic arm replacement, but requested an ENSI non-invasive augmentation instead. Request was approved and her physical capacity is now above requirements for Level 5 test pilots (refer to Detailed Medical Record).

*File Reference#: 02418-93325-00035

*NOTE: This file contains information circumventing employment laws in the following locales: Osea, Usea, Verusa, Sotoa, Anea. Contact Human Resources Legal Department with this file’s reference number for a list of specific countries and organizations.

*NOTE: If redacting this file, redact the entirety of all fields marked with an asterisk (*), including the asterisk itself.

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Chapter Text

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Full Name: Petr Hajek

DOB: October 22, 2010

Birthplace: Česlice Hora, Republic of Amber

Nationality: Amber (Erusean employee’s visa, currently in application for Erusean citizenship)

Current Rank and Organization: Level 5 Test Pilot. Experimental Aerospace Department, Squadron 1 Third Wingman (Mab Four)

Activity Summary: Displayed an utter obsession with ENSI air simulations and teleoperation from age 3 and on, but demonstrated no particular achievements beyond a streak of victory in multiple world championships in air combat simulators. Was nearly kicked out by his parents at age 18, but allowed to remain at home for a year on a condition that he prepare for air pilot qualification with the Amber Air Defense Force. He applied after six months of preparation instead, then graduated from AADF flight academy on June 22, 2033 with a 2.8 GPA, well above his parent’s expectations. His grades were entirely bolstered by his perfect record in flight and air-combat classes. Due to his moderate performance in academy, was assigned to Thunder Squadron for general patrol and reconnaissance duties, where he flew an F-18FK (simple COFFIN modification of F-18F).

On October 31, 2033, a General Resources flight of four *ADF-13Cs piloted by suspected *semi-strong-AI units *(c.f. RAVEN units, Lighthouse War) entered Amber airspace, having apparently gone rogue. They did not respond to General Resources commands, and they acknowledged but did not accept commands by Thunder Squadron to explain their presence or to depart Amber territory. Upon being warned to depart or be shot down, the *ADF-13C flight promptly shot down all members of Thunder Squadron, killing them by attacking any pilots that ejected. Only Petr was able to evade the *AI units’ attacks, and after a 20 minute battle he downed all four of the craft, performing a glide landing at a nearby civilian runway as he no longer had enough fuel to return to a military base.

Neucom promptly offered him an internship as a test pilot, and he accepted. Petr performed far beyond expectations during his three-month internship, although he had initial issues with filing reports that did not involve his test observations. He rectified these issues, and at the end of his internship was given an offer to fly with Mab Squadron, to which he accepted.

Personality and Psychological Observations: Very quiet, but perfectly willing to interact with others when prompted. Has an intense focus on the dynamics of aerial maneuvering, such that it also consumes his free time on the ground. However, Petr’s obsession has not caused any problems with his unit cohesion or work ethic, and peer reviews indicate a complete trust in his ability to accomplish work tasks.

Petr apparently assigns a name and gender to every aircraft he pilots; there is no known pattern to the names or genders chosen. He clearly forms some attachment with each aircraft, but the functional/psychological reason he assigns distinct identities is unknown.

*Political Significance: None known.

*Disclosed Disabilities: None disclosed.

*File Reference#: 02418-93325-00018

*NOTE: This file contains information circumventing employment laws in the following locales: Osea, Usea, Verusa, Sotoa, Anea. Contact Human Resources Legal Department with this file’s reference number for a list of specific countries and organizations.

*NOTE: If redacting this file, redact the entirety of all fields marked with an asterisk (*), including the asterisk itself.

Neucom – Power for life.

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Chapter Text

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Full Name: Alma Archange Shilage

DOB: November 11, 2009

Birthplace: Dukemanor, Shilage Duchy, Commonwealth of Erusea

Nationality: Erusean

Current Rank and Organization: Level 6 Chief Test Pilot. Experimental Aerospace Department, Squadron 1 Flight Lead (Mab One)

Activity Summary: Joined the Erusean Air Force (EAF) on November 22, 2025, and became an EAF pilot on June 1, 2027 via their Accelerated Training Program. Through her connection with Queen Rosa Cossette d’Elise *(see Political Significance section) and her unmatched performance in the EAF’s Elite Air Tactics Academy (EATA), she was transferred to fighter and attack duties in Erusea’s Cepheus Squadron after only a year in the EATA, alongside the normal six months of squadron assessment/orientation. Immediately after her acceptance into Cepheus Squadron, the 2029 Osean Martial Law Incident occurred and Cepheus Squadron was deployed to Belka on January 3 of that year to help end the chaos, alongside Gründer Industries, the Universal Peace Enforcement Organization, and Osean partisan forces.

Towards the end of the incident, martial law forces attempted to deploy the government’s chemical and cyber WMDs in a bid to stop interventionist forces from reaching the capital of Oured; while Erusea’s Aquila Squadron intercepted the WMD units, Cepheus Squadron provided air cover for them, routing the Osean 8^th Air Division. In particular, Alma shot down the entirety of Osea’s Wizard Team by herself, as the remainder of Cepheus Squadron was busy coordinating with allied forces to fend off the 8^th Air Division. After the end of the Incident, Alma was offered employment at Neucom, to which she accepted.

In addition to personal achievements, Alma has demonstrated a consistent ability to withstand G forces in excess of an ordinary human, similar to her grandfather Mihaly A. Shilage. She has been observed remaining conscious during a 12G turn, as well as during continuous high-G maneuvers. See Mab Squadron’s Detailed Performance Report for details. Again similarly to Mr. Shilage, Alma has demonstrated a significantly reduced amount of brain injury after loss-of-consciousness incidents; this has garnered attention from our Medical Department as to the cause, but Alma’s work velocity is too high to risk losing via downtime in medical analysis.

Alma’s unusual G-tolerance as well as her interest in air maneuver and tactics has given us vital insight into our air projects that none of our prior Chief Test Pilots could provide. *Her continued employment is a critical advantage against General Resources, and any sign of defection must be reported.

Personality and Psychological Observations: Gregarious and friendly, yet can become focused as a situation requires. Keeps close relations with teammates in whatever organization she is embedded in, which makes for an ideal leadership role, but is sometimes overwhelmed by documentation work, which potentially limits her managerial opportunities. So far this issue has not caused enough concern to warrant a warning, and the recent recruitment of Armand Chase has caused a marked increase in her managerial performance due to the rebalancing of work load (see Armand Chase, Neucom HR Summary, Personality and Psychological Observations).

Has an unusual but extremely beneficial detachment when in flight: although she still feels and expresses emotions, it has little to no observed effect on her exemplary flight performance. This applies both to peacetime as well as combat scenarios, as observed in her fight against Wizard Squadron.

*Political Significance: Is the younger sister of Ionela A. Shilage, assistant to Queen Rosa Cossette d’Elise of Erusea. Reconnaissance Department indicates that Ionela Shilage and Queen Rosa very likely have some sort of relationship, romantic or otherwise; thus, in an emergency of absolute last resort, Alma is our best route of leverage with Queen Rosa or with Miss Shilage. Is also next of kin for Ionela Shilage, the Duchess of Shilage. As the Duchess has no known children, Alma is the next viable inheritor of the Shilage duchy.

*Disclosed Disabilities: None disclosed.

*File Reference#: 02418-93322-76444

*NOTE: This file contains information circumventing employment laws in the following locales: Osea, Usea, Verusa, Sotoa, Anea. Contact Human Resources Legal Department with this file’s reference number for a list of specific countries and organizations.

*NOTE: If redacting this file, redact the entirety of all fields marked with an asterisk (*), including the asterisk itself.

Neucom – Power for life.

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Chapter Text

A break. She needed a break. Alma walked down the corridors to the break room, looking for her team and a drink.

A break room is where you have a break, after all. Before she knew it, she was there. Took a deep breath in… then a deep breath out, and knocked. It was Kritika that answered the already-open door.

“Eh? Chief? Are you okay?”

Alma blinked, just realizing what she did.

“Sorta… I’m okay, just something stupid happened. I need a second and then I’ll go over it, alright?”

Kritika looked a bit confused – but then, she put on a friendly smile for her Chief.

“No worries, ma’am,” she said gently. “Take as long as you need, we’re here.”

“Thanks.” Alma followed Kritika in, went to the cupboard for a drink. Something to drink…

Alma found a mug, put in a dusty packet of tea, and focused on the wafting scent of chamomile as she poured the water in. Herbal tea – it didn’t earn its title, but right now she needed something that wouldn’t make her twitchy. As she sat with her teammates, Alma took a few thankful sips of the tea, enough to get her bearings. Once Alma found herself, she looked at the tag hanging lazily against the mug, breathed a weak laugh out. Not even taking the bag out when it’s done; she wasn’t much of a noble now.

“Okay,” she finally said. “Okay. You all remember UPEO?”

“A little bit,” Armand spoke up. “That’s the… I want to say IUN group, right?”

Alma nodded. “Right. Mostly a GenRes branch in practice, but they’re IUN-chartered. About half an hour ago, HR sat me down: apparently UPEO’s doing a peacekeeping op, and they want us to come along so it doesn’t look like GenRes is doing everything. UPEO didn’t say what the op is about; that’s a stupid part, but not the stupid part.”

She took a deep breath in, then a deep breath out.

“The stupid part,” Alma continued, “is that the company’s only sending me, one other pilot in Mab, and the ground crew to support us both. Because management am smart, and they want EAD to keep metrics up while shipping a chunk of the department off to a war. So who do I pick, is the question.

I figure Armand and Kritika to stay on base – without Armand, this place is just paperwork hell, and Kritika knows how to push back if other departments get pushy. And then Petr goes to UPEO, since we don’t know what they’re up against. What do you guys think?”

“Well, I definitely agree about Armand,” Kritika said, to which Petr nodded. “And there’s nothing in the air that could stop you and Petr. Only problem is if you find something you can’t fix by flying a plane around it… but then nobody would be much help there, you know?” She frowned, thinking of something. “Maybe I should’ve gotten that aug arm, then I could punch people out and stuff.”

Alma laughed. “And you, Ar’?”

“Not about to humblebrag, Chief,” Armand replied with a smile. “Like Kritika said, it sounds good except for any issues you encounter outside the air. Are you allowed to bring infantry?”

“Right, I am! We’re bringing part of the base troops with us, can’t believe I forgot…”

But then Alma remembered the other half of that, and now her voice sunk.

“We’re bringing Special Circumstances, too.”

The room was quiet. Eventually Armand broke the silence.

“Do you trust our men, Chief?”

“Of course,” she answered. Proudly, reflexively, but totally without doubt.

“Then your plan’s probably as good as it’s going to be. Just one question…”

Alma looked to Armand. “Hm?”

“Do you have to make the decision today?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Then my only suggestion is that you use the time until then to rest, ma’am. We’ll take care of everything else.”

So the days came and went, came and went, and much too soon Alma found herself on a plane headed east. Past the clouds for all to see, spotting crisscrossing neighbors over the vapor mountains – civilians just below, military transports just above. When she looked up, she could see little stars flocking to and from a brighter one: Harling Memorial at the Lighthouse tip, and the ships going between it and the other tower stations.

Only company wifi on this flight. She read through her orders again.

Naturally the U’s had plenty of Osean planes, courtesy of General’s contracts with Gründer and IUN. The classic F-15EK, some COFFIN-refits of the Raptor and Rhino… but the star of their season was the F-15S/MT, a lightweight mod of an old Gründer design that put huge canards and thrust vectoring on the 15C. No stealth, but that didn’t matter when you could turn with a Wyvern, hit like a Nosferatu, and take hits that’d kill the old Warthogs. Alma kept scanning, saw clips of UPEO at an airshow – they were twirling these MTs around like they were Erusean planes. Not bad for cannon fodder. The ‘2^nd Strike Squadron’, according to a search on the airshow, trained by General Resources’ Captain Dision. Though, of course, he wasn’t at the show.

Abyssal Dision. Not even a nickname: seemed nobody in the skies met him and lived, enemy or not. She remembered UPEO’s 4^th squadron back in the ’29 war, another group he supposedly trained. How they barely talked and hardly moved. Just muttered their ‘copy’ and ‘engaging’ in flat voices before zipping along their path of targets: not exhausted, merely erased of life. The only exception was when they talked about Dision –

«The Captain has trained us well, Cepheus Four. Have no fear.»

                                  «Worry about yourself, Belkan. Our Captain will give us our orders.»

– and that was more than enough of the man for her. But Management felt otherwise, and their word was law. That was the one good thing about these orders: at least they said who she was going to meet. Definitely Dision, and General’s second pilot was ‘Keith Bryan’, a name she’d heard in recon reports sometimes but never paid much attention to. He was doing that peace sign thing to the camera, an East Coast gesture that she never understood. But weird or no… Keith’s gesture was human. This man looked alive.

She skipped back to the overview of UPEO, glancing at Petr; he was fast asleep, hands covering a sketch in his lap of the S/MT Alma just saw. All shadow work, if he started with lines she couldn’t tell – and of course, below the sketch was a series of prospective names, not quite obscured by Petr’s palm. He was cute when he was sleeping. And as always when she noticed her mistake, she reminded herself:

You’re his damn boss.

She focused on the mission material. UPEO’s other main source of planes were old Neucom inventory. Straight COFFIN refits of the Sukhois that dominated the skies for decades, and though they needed constant maintenance in their old age, the refits still kept up in the skies. 37G, 47G… fortunately, Management was sending some newer stuff for this trust-building exercise. A pair of Su-57G, and a pair of the new 37M2 that integrated modern materials and streamlining into the old Terminator frame. ‘Super Flanker’, the Marketing Department was calling them, apparently ‘Super Terminator’ was too silly. No R or X-series planes were allowed, by UPEO’s request; strange, but the 37M2 was lovely in testing, it’d do just fine. From what she saw, UPEO had plenty of maneuverable craft with a wide array of weapons, at the price of speed and maintenance downtime from all the hand-me-downs. Lack of stealth too – but given the organization’s role, that wasn’t especially useful anyway.

The mission still wasn’t clear. There would be two weeks of training with UPEO’s 1^st Air Wing to understand their communications and tactical protocol, after which would be deployment ‘outside of Usea for an estimated three months’. Barely enough time to get acquainted with their systems, but it was enough. The bigger question was just how large this operation was going to be, seeing as it was running outside the mainland. Intercontinental deployments meant vastly larger convoys for the same number of troops, far more manpower invested for every little action and mission; such deployments were a race, a dare to build a sandcastle in an hourglass. Naturally this would be UPEO’s first solo attempt ever.

Just what was the board thinking? UPEO had to have something insanely valuable to agree to this. Yet nothing public indicated what that could be, nor did the mission data say. But Alma then felt the bump and shudder of landing. No more need for speculation, now she’d get her answers.

She put away her phone, slipped her coat back on, and turned to Petr, about to wake him; as if anticipating it he woke up, blinking his sleep away before putting on a thin company jacket. With a nod but no words, he followed Alma to the hatch, out into the morning bright and rushing chill – awaiting them on the asphalt was a young man in an off-white and sable coat. UPEO colors, their guide for today: the young man saluted smartly, looking to Alma with a neutral face but welcoming voice.

“Chief Alma Shilage?” he asked. Then, with careful uncertainty: “And… Test Pilot Petr Hajek?”

“Correct,” mumbled Petr, and Alma nodded too. “Both right,” she added, and only then did the UPEO officer relax, his lips settling into a little smile.

“Oh, good! Lieutenant Shou Yamada, UPEO Air Force. I’m here to welcome you to Expo City and answer any questions you have.” ‘Left-tenant’, he said; so… from North Point, maybe? Whatever the case, the Lieutenant glanced at Petr, and his little smile flickered into a just as little frown. “Ah… I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Hajek, but would you like a coat?”

“It’s warm for me,” Petr answered. “Thank you, though.”

And just like that, Lieutenant Yamada’s smile came back. “Of course! Our operations room is this way, please follow me.”

Expo City was cold. Clear skies, with all the wind that meant, combined with a lack of snow that showed off frostbitten grass and iced-over ponds. Alma spent too much time at the Experimental Aerospace Department, gotten used to its biteless winters. But layering helped, as did her coat: a gift from Nel last year. That and the planes.

Unlike EAD, the air in Newark Airport thrummed alive with a backbeat of engines, flights in a minuet of takeoff and landing, all flowing together into a carnival of models. There were the COFFIN-Flankers and Berkuts she’d read about, big Stratotankers and even bigger Galaxies…

And there, one of the S/MT Eagles she’d just seen, easing onto the central runway. But this one wasn’t in the UPEO eggshell: this was a sickly morning blue, General Resource logos on its tail. Dision – it had to be him.

The pale Eagle taxied smooth towards its hangar, canards down like a cobra’s hood, and Alma followed the Lieutenant into the base.

They made their way to the briefing room, Yamada holding the door for Alma and Petr. He seemed quite happy to meet new guests…

Which made the dark room quite the contrast. Within the briefing room was a young woman in the front row – but at the desk was a lounging thing, fat-jowled and hunched. Both wore UPEO uniform.

“Sir,” Lieutenant Yamada said with firm salute to the lounging man. Not quite old, but decrepit with the sagging flesh and sleep-shadowed eyes that came with an overlooked office. The sagging man looked to Alma, a thin smirk making his bored gaze predatory.

“This Neucom’s guys?” The lounger’s voice was a bit lower than his skin implied.

“A pleasure,” Alma said breezily; she saw his smile tighten in irritation, which made her grin all the more. “Chief Shilage, Neucom Experimental Aerospace Div. Test Pilot Hajek, EAD. And you would be the king of this fine base? Sir?”

‘King’; that word made the pig-man really smile, a sort of half-sneer that flashed teeth. “’Colonel’,” he muttered, gesturing to the front row. “You’ll know the king when you see him. Yamada –” Colonel Fatty waved to Alma’s guide as she and Petr took seats next to the woman – “might as well start with the basics, kill some time before…”

The sound of the briefing room door opening cut the base commander off; under it was the tread of boots, yes, but also a purring whirr that Alma couldn’t place. She looked to the door:

Bracketed by the light was what Alma thought was a man in a coat, tall but a bit shorter than the man behind him. But his eyes glinted oddly, and when he entered the room it was with steps that seemed just slightly too heavy, just slightly too powerful for his apparent build. And the noise – it may have been quiet, but it was something that was not the run of gears and not the tug of fresh-flayed tendons.

The man behind this slightly-not person closed the door, and now Alma could see the pair. A young man in crew cut and jacket, warm brown skin (Keith, the back of her brain said), but then this, this… it had a beard like a man, lazily-tossed hair like a man, but the irises glinted, but the lips told no feeling, but the skin was too pale...

She had to look away, and so Alma’s gaze leapt to the base commander, who was now standing at attention. “Captain Dision!” he said.

“Colonel,” said the walking thing. A deep baritone, a human baritone, but with that calm Alma learned to associate with Petr. But Petr’s ease was soothing; this bordered on unnerving, a gentleness born of sheer apathy. And there was no timing issue between this man’s lips and his words – if he was mechanical, he spoke with a throat rather than speakers.

“You’ll welcome Keith too, won’t you?”

The fat man and Alma blinked. “o-Of course.” He swiveled to Dision’s friend, still at attention. “Lieutenant Bryan! Sir!”

“Good to see you too, Wiley,” Dision’s wingman said reassuringly, offering a gentle salute back. “No worries, okay?”

“Yes sir! No worries, sir!”

In the dark of the room, Alma could see Dision’s amused smirk, the way the light didn’t quite glint off his lips. He turned, and his eyes were dark things, glossy but not wet. She expected he’d look at her or Petr – but his gaze never deviated, just a stare dead ahead as he kept his smirk.

Abyssal Dision walked to the seat beside Petr, and after his friend sat down, he sat too.

The base commander gestured hurriedly to Yamada, and as the Lieutenant cleared his throat, a projector turned on, showing a map of the Earth. Just beneath was a little corner for video calls, and Alma could just make out the image of a UPEO Sukhoi in a hangar, several mechanics tending to the machine while a pilot oversaw them, his back to the camera.

Yamada began to speak. “As this deployment is our first major operation outside Usea, we’ve reached out to General Resources Limited and Neucom Incorporated to modernize our equipment and train us in advanced tactics and logistics. Hence our guests, who we are very happy to have with us: Captain Abyssal Dision and Lieutenant Keith Bryan of General Resources, and Chief Test Pilot Alma Shilage and Test Pilot Petr Hayek of Neucom.

In turn are our pilots, who will be evaluating the training regimen for our air force:

Lieutenant Nadine Collins of 3^rd Air Group, 3^rd Tactical Fighter Squadron –” the young woman who had been silent so far craned her head out to see the rest of the row, smiling and waving at them all –

“and Acting Lieutenant Adrian Adams, 3^rd Air Group 5^th Tactical Fighter Squadron.” The young man in the video call turned to the camera and made a little salute, before looking back to his air crew.

“’Acting’?” Alma asked with a raised brow.

Dision spoke up before Yamada could. “Lieutenant Adams has an employment contract with General Resources – but I can assure you, Chief, he is quite loyal to UPEO.”

Now Alma blinked. A secret third GenRes pilot? That should be the ultimate red flag, yet Dision didn’t even bother to hide it. She said nothing, unsure of her options, but at least she knew for sure why the board agreed so quickly to the operation. This ‘kid’ Adams, he had something Neucom wanted that General was ready to protect; the question now was what that ‘something’ was.

Lieutenant Yamada went on. “Ah… now that we’ve been introduced, here is our upcoming operation.

Two weeks ago, UPEO received a government-encrypted transmission from the Kingdom of Nordennavic, requesting assistance for a covert insurrection within the Kingdom. The author did not specify the nature of the insurrection, only that the government response is an equally covert operation run between the Nordennavic military and MacMillan Heavy Industries. Apparently the insurrectionists have partial control of the Kingdom’s WMDs via infiltration of several MacMillan departments, and the government thus does not want to bring the conflict to light, lest this force deploy their share of the stockpile. Similarly, this is why Nordennavic did not send their request directly to the IUN or Gründer.

According to the transmission, Nordennavic has determined that defeat is certain, but that they can slow their enemy down. When the message was sent, the government estimated they had six weeks before Nordennavic was overrun; as it is now four weeks to the deadline, we would like to be trained and deployed to Anea within two weeks. To keep the insurrectionists from suspecting General or Neucom involvement, we plan to deploy with only UPEO-standard equipment, at least until the Kingdom’s WMD stockpile is secure.

In the two weeks prior to deployment, we would like to get as much training in as possible. Although the Osea deployment gave us significant field experience, the incident also showed that we need improvement in urban warfare and visual-necessary combat. Our guests will train the 1^st Air Wing with simulated and live mock-up scenarios, while Lieutenants Collins and Adams provide feedback on any elements of training that need clarification. Are there any questions so far?”

“Not regarding the training,” Alma said to Lieutenant Yamada, “but regarding our liaisons. Colonel?”

The base commander looked to Alma, brow furrowed. “Yes, Chief Shilage?”

“I’d like to evaluate Lieutenants Collins and Adams’ current capability in a live mock. Today, if possible.”

Now his eye twitched. “Tod- do you have any –“

“Interesting,” interrupted Dision. “Chief Shilage, you see some potential?”

“Yes. Lieutenant Collins has shown unusual composure, while Lieutenant Adams has shown unusual dedication to his aircraft. At Neucom, pilots displaying these traits also tend to have particular talent.” Alma took the chance to get a good look at Dision; immediately she had to resist the urge to look away, but she managed. “I take it you… agree, Captain Dision?”

His lips widened with his curiosity. “Very much,” Dision said with satisfaction, before mercifully turning to look at the base commander again. “Is today possible, Colonel?”

The fat man took a long, frustrated breath out (while Alma caught hers, wondered what in those glinting lenses made her lungs simply stop). “…Yeah, we can do it. Gonna be late, though, probably 1600. Chief?”

Alma looked up to Colonel Fatty, his head ringed with glittering sweat. That weasel smirk of his was back, but it was sanctuary after looking at Dision.

“You got a few hours, might as well use ‘em.”

(Continued in Part II)

Chapter Text

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«You’re sure you don’t want a wingman, Miss Shilage?»

“I’m sure, LT,” Alma answered as she taxied the Rhino, running through the manual systems one last time. “Not like we’re throwing live rounds here.”

Her voice cracked a tiny bit. «You train with live ammo at Neucom?»

«Collins, don’t be silly,» the UPEO boy cut in. «Mister Dision says that’s a myth, always has.»

“And you believe that, Adams?” Alma joked. Manual seek was go, vision modes were go…

«…No way you’d use live,» Adams said, and when Alma heard his uncertainty she chuckled.

“We company aces have to get tough somehow, right?”

Lieutenant Adams didn’t say anything to that. «Argh, you’re probably just trying to psyche us out… Tower, Ash Two short of runway zero five.»

«Ash Two, cleared for takeoff runway zero five.»

«Cleared for takeoff runway zero five, Ash Two,» Adams repeated, and the engines of his S/MT Eagle flared as he gunned his throttle and soared into the air. He climbed high as he could once his gears and flaps raised, daggering up unlike Lieutenant Collins’ steady rise; soon enough he leveled out, and now the tower spoke to Alma:

«Ash One, cleared for takeoff runway zero five.»

“Cleared for takeoff runway zero five, Ash One,” Alma read back. Now she taxied onto the runway, tested her F-18’s surfaces. All okay – so she ramped throttle steadily and climbed. She’d gotten used to the Delphinus’ speeds, but this would do. Alma zoomed the AMS, found the nuggets on ranging scan: Collins waiting at a sane height at their start point, Adams orbiting a good three-thousand meters above her.

A Rhino would more than do for these kids.

Alma matched height with Collins, and spoke once she reached her start point: “Alright, refresher on the rules. You’ve got five minutes to kill me, and if you can’t or you both go down, we start over. You get three tries. Got it?”

«Ash Two roger»/«Ash Three roger,» they answered in slight unison.

“Mark,” Alma said, going to full throttle as she began her climb. Immediately she could see Adams burn past Collins and straight for her, gravity be damned (first strike); meanwhile, Collins headed for Alma’s right, raising throttle but otherwise watching for Alma’s first move.

An ambusher, and a VR bookworm trying to use him as bait. Definitely no war experience for either.

Alma tilted up as Adams careened towards her. She needed little angle to get him lined up: he was doing that work for her, going too fast to evade. Collins kept to her right, entering a diving turn to latch onto Alma’s tail; meanwhile the radar hummed happily as Adams entered Alma’s lock range.

“Fox Two,” she called, and with a little curse of realization Adams rolled – quick but uselessly, the virtual missiles creating little HUD pings as the radar box vanished from his Eagle. Collins was just now climbing for her tail… Alma aimed left and barreled around her. She was over Collins when she saw the Lieutenant make a flat turn, apparently a panic turn when she saw Adams get tagged out. A fatal mistake, but they would learn.

“Fox Two,” Alma said as Collins slipped into boresight, and her radar box vanished with the simulated impacts. Over a little quicker than she hoped, but longer than she expected. She waited for Collins and Adams to form up before speaking:

“You’re been studying the ’29 footage, Collins.”

«Yes, ma’am!»

“But neither of you have been deployed, right?”

«…No, ma’am. Neither.»

“You both did well. Let’s prep for next round, let me know when you’re both ready.”

Alma rolled, split away from Collins. Back to the start, now, and Alma turned a slow rising curve around her point, facing the two dead on as she leveled out. For a moment the lieutenants dithered; but then they came about, Adams forming element behind Collins. The pair rose, this time taking only a thousand meters’ advantage.

Collins spoke for them, confidence in her voice: «Ash Two and Ash Three ready.» Good, they’re working together. Using a separate frequency, too.

“Mark,” Alma said, and the joust began again.

Alma throttled full, and this time so did Collins and Adams. They held steady, not diving, not turning; soon would come the time to split, and Alma seized the moment, putting a burst of afterburner as she dove to Collins’ left. Both nuggets turned and dove for her – unfortunate, but expected. She rose and rolled over them, right into Collin’s line (Adams was slowing for some maneuver, too late but good reflex for a rookie); Alma didn’t need to watch shots to know Collins would go down, she just waited for lock, fired (“Fox Two,” her voice was so sterile sometimes), and raised throttle, pulling into a diving turn. There was Adams behind her, committing to the dive with burners – very nasty habit, she would have to teach that out of him. She waited just a bit for Adams to level with her before starting her yo-yo, rolling up around again as he slipped ahead and past. But this time he sped up as Alma reached the end, leaving her aligned but out of range.

He learns fast! Good!

Adams dove into a hard turn, expecting Alma to follow; but she climbed, watching for his path, the potential moves. He was slowing into a rising turn to tail her, wary now of a head-on. Which of course would not do; Alma went low and started tracing his route, rather than directly pursue. The growl on the AMS grew deeper, the sound of the rookie raising his engines again in mistaken anticipation of a second yo-yo – she might not have had their frequency, but the moment Alma crossed below Adams, she could nearly hear him swear as he jinked.

Adams fell wonderfully into position, and once more Alma said “Fox Two”, blowing him away.

“Again,” she told them. “Much better. Now focus on keeping each other alive.”

«Ma’am, you say that like we won’t even get a hit,» Adams grumbled. And that tone was unexpected, made her giggle. He wasn’t breathing like he should, that was two strikes… but that frustration, that was undoubtedly life!

She smiled. “Training or not, you’re gonna have to earn your kills.”

«Ma’am?» Collins asked.

“Hm?”

«Can we use your frequency this time?»

Another handicap, sounds interesting. “Sure,” Alma said. “And you can call me Chief, you know.”

«Yes, Chief!»

Collins and Adams were forming back up, Collins again taking lead.

«Ready?» Collins asked.

«Ready,» said Adams.

«Ash Two and Three ready!» Lieutenant Collins near-shouted.

And one last time Alma said: “Mark.”

The pair zoomed at her this time, not daring to let Alma ambush them again. Once they were about three seconds out from her, they split level above both her flanks, immediately confessing their strategy but at least permitted to perform it: Adams to her left, Collins to her right. Not diving, just waiting above to make her pick. She had to see more from Collins, she’d have to mess with Adams this time.

Alma rose to her left, readying for the merge when Collins spoke. «Chief?»

“Hm?”

«Do you have a callsign?» she said as she proceeded to curve into Alma’s tail. No throttle noise on the AMS: the Lieutenant would watch them fight and then try to poke Alma out of position.

“Not now…” Alma said, “But in the EAF they called me Clover.” Adams kept up their game of chicken, sticking head-on; he came closer and closer, but not yet in range. “You?”

«’Tail’,» Collins responded. «Since I’m always on someone’s ass.» Adams entered lock range, and instantly he popped off two missiles for a lark («Fox Two!» loud and a tiny bit nervous), switching to the sim guns when Alma didn’t veer off then. And still she drew closer, the bullets nowhere near close enough to hit… eventually she split hard towards the horizon, drawing a thankful sigh from Adams as he turned towards Alma’s Rhino. Collins kept up: «Why – hhaah – why ‘Clover’, ma’am?»

“Four’s bad luck,” Alma answered easily. She might not have been behind him, but unfortunately for Adams she wasn’t quite in his line, either – she turned only enough to dodge, making the Lieutenant cross over her, then Collins. Now he and Chief Shilage danced a spiral along the horizon, Adams descending and begging his Eagle to just pull up and reach her, Alma ascending and watching him zip helplessly past. He was braking, to his credit.

“Still with me, Tail?” Alma asked while she looked up towards Adams.

«Yes, ma’am!»

Alma curled behind the Lieutenant. He lay under her boresight, radar box going red as if approving the shot; but now the AMS rumbled throaty, Collins making her move. Time to slow down; Alma fired once (“Fox Two”) while dipping into a sharp climb. There was a little curse from Adams as her shot landed.

«…Huh?» Collins grunted as she followed. «Rook, back me, she’s climbing.»

Alma started braking. “Rook? The piece or the bird?”

«Because he’s new,» Collins Tail responded (still full throttle, no need for cobra). «The cool guys –» Alma stalled towards the earth and Tail winced as she tried to follow – «ugh, they don’t get cool names, right?»

«Wait, you think I’m –»

«Later! Get her now!»

Alma gradually aimed towards Adams, let the turn push her deeper into her seat; he fired an early salvo again, immediately rising when she replied with another lone shot. Tail had now gotten Alma in her sights, but was still far away; she was about to bounce from Adams –

When his Eagle began a drift. He was angling for her. His plane – his body – fighting the air and the earth and his own force to get a bead on her. He fired. He fired again. Whatever their fate they did not hit but he held down guns and she felt his nervousness become fear even as the rounds struck home and –

Alma grinned.

Corner up then into him. The trick butchered his airspeed he’d have to dive. Reached the apex of the climb now the turn and Adams was still diving Rook was still diving he recovered from the dive into horizon run all afterburn and not a thought to escaping her and his fear was good and human she launched her missile what was Rook what was Adrian but no time he wasn’t evading

Her missile ‘slammed’ into Rook, and his box vanished again in simulated death.

Alma was breathing. She noticed she was breathing, now that it was just Tail behind her. Finally approaching lock range, the radar warning popping amidst Alma’s HUD...

But no time.

«…Damnit,» Rook said in a little grumble. «Time’s up.»

«Are you kidding!?» The radar warning vanished as Tail glided past Alma, and as she fell in behind her the Lieutenant sighed. «Sorry, Chief…»

“No, you did well. Very well.”

«But… we didn’t kill you. Right?»

“Maybe not,” Alma replied, “but one of you survived. And together, one of you hit me.” Her lips. Her lips were dry. She licked them and looked behind:

Two Eagles against clouds set black by sunset.

“You’ll both be great,” she said with a faint smile. “Let’s get to base.”