Jahdeen
Nerf Herder
Inner Sanctum Nobility
Jerome gripped the steering vane of his mining aircraft. His pilot suit had cooling insulation, yet his entire body was coated in sweat. He smelled it with each ragged breath through the oxygen tubes of his helmet, which weighed heavily on his scalp. Beneath his gloves, his knuckles were white with raw tension. If he could afford for his hands to be free, he might have clutched them in his lap in prayer for the fallen. But right now, his only concern was making it back to safety in one piece--which was more than he could say for the others.
Early that morning, a squadron of six pilots left the Protectorate City. The mission was simple: fly out to the desolate mountain ranges, extract as much carbon-based mineral material as their aircrafts could carry, then return to command with to accept a hefty paycheck.
Two hours before the projected time of completion, only one pilot was on the return trip--Jerome.
He swallowed hard, keeping his foot on the accelerator pedal. He peered out the cockpit window at the scenery below him. The lake stretched out before him, the green-blue waves lapping with irradiated foam. Large, grotesquely mutated fish swam near the surface, prowling for any form of food they could bite into with their serrated teeth. A great whale burst forth, narrowly missing the underside of Jerome's ship. He jerked the vessel upwards at a hard angle, making his head pulse in response to the G's.
He checked the comms relay. It flashed orange, the sign of a weak connection with command. He let out a breath that hollowed his chest and stomach, then tapped the side of his helmet twice.
"Stone Six?"
The voice came from the Automated Flight Assistant--shortened to AFA, because no sane pilot used the full name on a regular basis. A small blue circle appeared on the helmet's HUD, expectantly awaiting orders.
"Establish contact with command," Jerome said. "And gimme a dose of the pain reliever."
"Yes, sir."
A thin set of secondary tubes hissed to life beneath his chin, puffing soothing gas into his nostrils. It smelled like an old car from the 2050s, but if it helped Jerome stay focused, he'd gladly take it. He probably would have asked for a double-dose, but then AFA would go on a long tangent about the side effects--which, ironically, could induce a migraine from pure annoyance about ten seconds in.
A new, distinctly human voice came in through the ship's relays, much to Jerome's relief. "Protectorate Air Command to Stone Squadron. You're two hours ahead of schedule, Stone Six. Where's the rest of your squadron?"
Jerome flicked on his microphone, hoping he wouldn't sound too panicked. "Stone Six to Protectorate Air Command. Yeah, I'm early, but we came across, uh..."
Out of the corner of his eye, something swooped from view in the rearview camera. His blood ran cold. Jerome briefly set the ship on autopilot, increased his speed by ten percent, and typed in a manual command for AFA:
rearview_scan:baseline=heat_signatures+report_results
Command came in again. "Stone Six, please return to Stone Leader for--"
"Stone Leader is gone. Everyone in Stone Squadron is gone."
Jerome gripped the steering vane again, taking manual control of the ship. Briefly, his mind flashed back to the countless flight simulations. Months and months of firefighting, obstacle courses, and accuracy training--he practiced all of them to a religious degree of dedication, all within the comfort of a virtual cockpit. He thought he'd be used to just about anything a real mission could throw at him, all because he came out at the top of his class. Fat load of good that did him.
"Gone?" Command repeated after a palpable silence. "Explain. What happened?"
Jerome took a few breaths of the medicated gas, debating whether or not to request anti-nausea from AFA next. "The mountain ranges are not uninhabited. We came in and started drilling into one of the formations. Something was hollow in there. Turns out, we dug straight into the nesting place of some... I don't even know. They were condors, I think, but huge. Big as our ships, maybe bigger. I don't know. I was in the back of the line, and Stone Leader told me to report back to base with our findings. These birds are dangerous, Command. They tore into every single fucking one of them."
His voice cracked on that last point. Seeing vehicles and aircraft blow up in a blaze of fire and glory--he could handle that. But he wasn't prepared to watch talons shatter reinforced glass, pluck the pilot out, and crush the body in half with one fell grip. Once time witnessing that was more than enough. Three times ultimately broke his resolve. He could still hear the shrill shrieks echoing in the wind. In fact, the sound wasn't just in his memory; it was behind him.
AFA displayed a message on the top of the HUD. "Two specimens detected. Avian. Size class: XL. Engaged in hunting position approx. 300 meters behind."
Jerome snapped his head towards the camera monitor. Two birds flew side by side in near-perfect unity. Their wingspans easily rivaled that of his aircraft, and the shrill roar they bellowed ripped through the air. Their red eyes were locked on to the ship, but Jerome could swear they were looking right past the outer chassis and making direct eye contact with him. Command was speaking, but Jerome digested none of the words.
"Mayday!" he cried, interrupting the transmission. "I've got two of them hot on my tail! I need backup--"
"Stone Six, do not allow them to reach the city. Defense teams can make it to your position in twenty minutes. Can you shake them in the meantime?"
Jerome rapidly scanned the control board in front of him. Dozens of switches, buttons, and levers, and not a single ranged weapons system in the entire craft. Nothing could do real damage to a moving target other than the drill system on the bottom--and the odds of landing a blow using that was slim to none. No need to ask AFA for an assessment to confirm those odds. Jerome took a quick glance to the sides to check for flanks. Nothing but the sky and the twin sets of wings.
"Engaged in hunting position approx. 50 meters behind."
Before Jerome could even finish reading the update on his HUD, a terrible scraping sound pierced into his ears. A damage alarm blared. A thin chunk of machinery fell into the lake below, now giving way to solid land. Instinctually, Jerome punched the accelerator, and the engine flared with fury. The blaze grew brighter on the rearview camera, forcing the attacking condor to falter back from the heat. Tiny embers flaked off of its talons, driving it back momentarily. But just as quickly as it faltered, it regained its position and continued with double determination.
"Negative. Negative, they're--"
"Communications array compromised."
A red signal flashed on a small screen, indicating heavy damage to the top anterior segment of the mining ship. Jerome's nerves went cold. The condors had taken out his only connection to backup. Their prey was cornered and isolated, left with but a moment to live. Jerome watched helplessly as one of the condors began to swoop closer to the side of his vessel. All of his squad mates were killed from a frontal approach, the cockpit windows obliterated. Adrenaline surged through his body, fueling his mind into overdrive.
The engine. The fire.
"AFA," Jerome barked, feeling his hands trembling. "Give me the anti-nausea gas. And something to settle me down."
"Affirmative. Dispensing gas. Would you like me to compose an obituary?"
Jerome put AFA on mute.
He was nearly within the condor's reach--a mouth full of razor teeth blocked the rear camera view. He took a deep breath in, braced himself, and cranked the steering vane. The ship took a sharp 70 degree turn upwards, and the G-force hit him mercilessly. Blood drained from his head, and the air around him grew thick and heavy. Jerome strained his facial muscles to keep his vision steady. Even with the engines screaming at full blast, the arrogant shrieking of the condors taunted him. As they ascended closer to the smoggy clouds, the pair of predators grew angrier. Jerome stayed just out of reach, but flying a mining ship past atmosphere was suicide. The hull wouldn't hold, and his survival suit would collapse in the coldness of space.
Without warning, he cut the engines entirely. The bright blaze dimmed into nothingness, as if the ship were a dying star, and it began a gut-wrenching descent. The condors overshot the target, flying past Jerome and missing the catch entirely, claws digging into empty air. The ship fell at an alarming speed, making Jerome's vision swim with black dots. He thanked his lucky stars for the anti-nausea; without it, he'd have filled the breathing tubes with whatever was in his stomach.
He held onto the steering vane with a fearsome grip, like it would fly out of the cockpit if he let go, while the condors dive-bombed straight for the back of the ship. The ground beneath came into view, coming closer and closer with each second. If he made his move too soon, the condors would rip him out of his seat and devour him whole. If he hesitated at the last second, he'd be found hours later in a mangled pile of metal and wire, body parts strewn about the chassis. He stared down the giant birds. Closer they came. They stretched their necks to crush him in a fatal blow of the beak...
And Jerome punched the engines to full speed.
A brilliant streak of fire streamed out from the engines. The condors swallowed it, screaming out in agony. Their pain overruled their coordination, sending their flight into a confused and terrified random route. Jerome pulled back on the steering vane with all his strength, bringing the ship level just in time to skid across the surface of the lake. He took a sharp turn towards the condors, who flailed and cried, feather and flesh set ablaze, turning them into dying phoenixes. Jerome ignored the throbbing pain in his skull, hoped his organs weren't set askew by the sheer force of his maneuvers, and locked a path onto the two attackers.
The ship's wings cleaved clean through their bellies in a single blow. Jerome's ship descended to the ground, scraping across polluted topsoil, rattling him in his seat.
He opened the cockpit. Embers and guts slid unceremoniously off the glass. All was silent.
The emergency transponder flickered to life--help was on the way.
"Stone Six?" a voice said in astonishment. A helicopter's whir could be heard in the distance. "What the hell was that?"
Jerome slumped back in his seat, took off his helmet, and clicked on his transponder.
"Ain't it obvious?" he sighed, exhausted beyond belief. "Killed two birds with one Stone."
Early that morning, a squadron of six pilots left the Protectorate City. The mission was simple: fly out to the desolate mountain ranges, extract as much carbon-based mineral material as their aircrafts could carry, then return to command with to accept a hefty paycheck.
Two hours before the projected time of completion, only one pilot was on the return trip--Jerome.
He swallowed hard, keeping his foot on the accelerator pedal. He peered out the cockpit window at the scenery below him. The lake stretched out before him, the green-blue waves lapping with irradiated foam. Large, grotesquely mutated fish swam near the surface, prowling for any form of food they could bite into with their serrated teeth. A great whale burst forth, narrowly missing the underside of Jerome's ship. He jerked the vessel upwards at a hard angle, making his head pulse in response to the G's.
He checked the comms relay. It flashed orange, the sign of a weak connection with command. He let out a breath that hollowed his chest and stomach, then tapped the side of his helmet twice.
"Stone Six?"
The voice came from the Automated Flight Assistant--shortened to AFA, because no sane pilot used the full name on a regular basis. A small blue circle appeared on the helmet's HUD, expectantly awaiting orders.
"Establish contact with command," Jerome said. "And gimme a dose of the pain reliever."
"Yes, sir."
A thin set of secondary tubes hissed to life beneath his chin, puffing soothing gas into his nostrils. It smelled like an old car from the 2050s, but if it helped Jerome stay focused, he'd gladly take it. He probably would have asked for a double-dose, but then AFA would go on a long tangent about the side effects--which, ironically, could induce a migraine from pure annoyance about ten seconds in.
A new, distinctly human voice came in through the ship's relays, much to Jerome's relief. "Protectorate Air Command to Stone Squadron. You're two hours ahead of schedule, Stone Six. Where's the rest of your squadron?"
Jerome flicked on his microphone, hoping he wouldn't sound too panicked. "Stone Six to Protectorate Air Command. Yeah, I'm early, but we came across, uh..."
Out of the corner of his eye, something swooped from view in the rearview camera. His blood ran cold. Jerome briefly set the ship on autopilot, increased his speed by ten percent, and typed in a manual command for AFA:
rearview_scan:baseline=heat_signatures+report_results
Command came in again. "Stone Six, please return to Stone Leader for--"
"Stone Leader is gone. Everyone in Stone Squadron is gone."
Jerome gripped the steering vane again, taking manual control of the ship. Briefly, his mind flashed back to the countless flight simulations. Months and months of firefighting, obstacle courses, and accuracy training--he practiced all of them to a religious degree of dedication, all within the comfort of a virtual cockpit. He thought he'd be used to just about anything a real mission could throw at him, all because he came out at the top of his class. Fat load of good that did him.
"Gone?" Command repeated after a palpable silence. "Explain. What happened?"
Jerome took a few breaths of the medicated gas, debating whether or not to request anti-nausea from AFA next. "The mountain ranges are not uninhabited. We came in and started drilling into one of the formations. Something was hollow in there. Turns out, we dug straight into the nesting place of some... I don't even know. They were condors, I think, but huge. Big as our ships, maybe bigger. I don't know. I was in the back of the line, and Stone Leader told me to report back to base with our findings. These birds are dangerous, Command. They tore into every single fucking one of them."
His voice cracked on that last point. Seeing vehicles and aircraft blow up in a blaze of fire and glory--he could handle that. But he wasn't prepared to watch talons shatter reinforced glass, pluck the pilot out, and crush the body in half with one fell grip. Once time witnessing that was more than enough. Three times ultimately broke his resolve. He could still hear the shrill shrieks echoing in the wind. In fact, the sound wasn't just in his memory; it was behind him.
AFA displayed a message on the top of the HUD. "Two specimens detected. Avian. Size class: XL. Engaged in hunting position approx. 300 meters behind."
Jerome snapped his head towards the camera monitor. Two birds flew side by side in near-perfect unity. Their wingspans easily rivaled that of his aircraft, and the shrill roar they bellowed ripped through the air. Their red eyes were locked on to the ship, but Jerome could swear they were looking right past the outer chassis and making direct eye contact with him. Command was speaking, but Jerome digested none of the words.
"Mayday!" he cried, interrupting the transmission. "I've got two of them hot on my tail! I need backup--"
"Stone Six, do not allow them to reach the city. Defense teams can make it to your position in twenty minutes. Can you shake them in the meantime?"
Jerome rapidly scanned the control board in front of him. Dozens of switches, buttons, and levers, and not a single ranged weapons system in the entire craft. Nothing could do real damage to a moving target other than the drill system on the bottom--and the odds of landing a blow using that was slim to none. No need to ask AFA for an assessment to confirm those odds. Jerome took a quick glance to the sides to check for flanks. Nothing but the sky and the twin sets of wings.
"Engaged in hunting position approx. 50 meters behind."
Before Jerome could even finish reading the update on his HUD, a terrible scraping sound pierced into his ears. A damage alarm blared. A thin chunk of machinery fell into the lake below, now giving way to solid land. Instinctually, Jerome punched the accelerator, and the engine flared with fury. The blaze grew brighter on the rearview camera, forcing the attacking condor to falter back from the heat. Tiny embers flaked off of its talons, driving it back momentarily. But just as quickly as it faltered, it regained its position and continued with double determination.
"Negative. Negative, they're--"
"Communications array compromised."
A red signal flashed on a small screen, indicating heavy damage to the top anterior segment of the mining ship. Jerome's nerves went cold. The condors had taken out his only connection to backup. Their prey was cornered and isolated, left with but a moment to live. Jerome watched helplessly as one of the condors began to swoop closer to the side of his vessel. All of his squad mates were killed from a frontal approach, the cockpit windows obliterated. Adrenaline surged through his body, fueling his mind into overdrive.
The engine. The fire.
"AFA," Jerome barked, feeling his hands trembling. "Give me the anti-nausea gas. And something to settle me down."
"Affirmative. Dispensing gas. Would you like me to compose an obituary?"
Jerome put AFA on mute.
He was nearly within the condor's reach--a mouth full of razor teeth blocked the rear camera view. He took a deep breath in, braced himself, and cranked the steering vane. The ship took a sharp 70 degree turn upwards, and the G-force hit him mercilessly. Blood drained from his head, and the air around him grew thick and heavy. Jerome strained his facial muscles to keep his vision steady. Even with the engines screaming at full blast, the arrogant shrieking of the condors taunted him. As they ascended closer to the smoggy clouds, the pair of predators grew angrier. Jerome stayed just out of reach, but flying a mining ship past atmosphere was suicide. The hull wouldn't hold, and his survival suit would collapse in the coldness of space.
Without warning, he cut the engines entirely. The bright blaze dimmed into nothingness, as if the ship were a dying star, and it began a gut-wrenching descent. The condors overshot the target, flying past Jerome and missing the catch entirely, claws digging into empty air. The ship fell at an alarming speed, making Jerome's vision swim with black dots. He thanked his lucky stars for the anti-nausea; without it, he'd have filled the breathing tubes with whatever was in his stomach.
He held onto the steering vane with a fearsome grip, like it would fly out of the cockpit if he let go, while the condors dive-bombed straight for the back of the ship. The ground beneath came into view, coming closer and closer with each second. If he made his move too soon, the condors would rip him out of his seat and devour him whole. If he hesitated at the last second, he'd be found hours later in a mangled pile of metal and wire, body parts strewn about the chassis. He stared down the giant birds. Closer they came. They stretched their necks to crush him in a fatal blow of the beak...
And Jerome punched the engines to full speed.
A brilliant streak of fire streamed out from the engines. The condors swallowed it, screaming out in agony. Their pain overruled their coordination, sending their flight into a confused and terrified random route. Jerome pulled back on the steering vane with all his strength, bringing the ship level just in time to skid across the surface of the lake. He took a sharp turn towards the condors, who flailed and cried, feather and flesh set ablaze, turning them into dying phoenixes. Jerome ignored the throbbing pain in his skull, hoped his organs weren't set askew by the sheer force of his maneuvers, and locked a path onto the two attackers.
The ship's wings cleaved clean through their bellies in a single blow. Jerome's ship descended to the ground, scraping across polluted topsoil, rattling him in his seat.
He opened the cockpit. Embers and guts slid unceremoniously off the glass. All was silent.
The emergency transponder flickered to life--help was on the way.
"Stone Six?" a voice said in astonishment. A helicopter's whir could be heard in the distance. "What the hell was that?"
Jerome slumped back in his seat, took off his helmet, and clicked on his transponder.
"Ain't it obvious?" he sighed, exhausted beyond belief. "Killed two birds with one Stone."