“What?” Cares shouted. For a moment the entire room fell silent. “That's absurd.”
Marack waited for the silence to end, then shrugged. “It's fairly easy. Your fighter has a set of mag-locks on top, just behind the canopy. They're for emergencies only but Vent likes to land on them. He thinks it's harder that way. It's his way of showing off.”
“And the deck crew don't like turning the fighter the right way up again once he's finished?”
“No. That's the easy part. The mag-locks are for emergency only so the hull isn't designed to take the strain that often. The tech's think he's slowly wreaking 'their' fighter. I've told him about it, but he won't listen. Like I said, he's an idiot.”
“He got through flight school didn't he.”
“So did every one of the 78 pilot's who got themselves killed by doing something stupid in the last six months.” It wasn't technically true. Marack and the rest of the first 12 hadn't gone through any official training program, they'd just been selected by APRA based on their own records as freighter pilots. But that fact didn't diminishes Marack's point.
“I've done stupid things before.” Cares said.
“And you're the only person in this room who'd admit that. Everyone else here is too busy thinking they're the best to worry about mistakes.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair.
“Does that number include you?”
“Yep. But I have the kill's and the flight time to back it up. I'm also the only one who's willing to admit that neither of those mean anything if you don't realize that a single, tiny, mistake can get you killed.”
Cares opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by a loud shrieking from above her. For a heart wrenching instant she just stared at Marack, not sure what was going on.
“Bloody alarm.” He shouted over the shriek as he stood. “It doesn't need to be that loud. Come on, looks like someones messed up already.”
Cares checked her brief one last time as her fighter followed Marack's in it's orbit of Palisade Station. Four fighters from Alani squadron and their freighters were missing, presumed destroyed, hoped merely delayed. With no other fighters available it was down to her, Marack, Sikes and Vent to escort the next convoy. Three freighters, all carrying about a thousand times their own worth in precious elements, all desperately needed to stave off starvation. Cares felt a shiver run down her back and reminded herself that she wasn't alone.
“Are you ready for this?” Marack asked over their private frequency.
“Not really. Nervous as hell.” She said truthfully.
“Good. I wouldn't trust anyone who said otherwise.” A little to her left the two fighters belonging to Sikes and Vent began to drift away from them. Cares had thought Sikes a good commander, but a poor choice of wingman. Maybe it had just been her own inexperience but Sikes preferred the pair to break up and each engage multiple targets on their own. Cares admitted that it had so far worked, but it was a disconcerting habit for a new pilot to get used to. “Remember to stay close to me. Don't worry about racking up the kills, your job is to stay alive and keep me covered.”
“I'm right with you.” She said.
“Good, get ready to jump, stay alert, We don't even know if the Alani even reached Irakillion.”
“Jump confirmed and set.” She took a deep breath and reached for the jump lever. There had been a hint of tension in Marack's voice, as if the Alani squadron's disappearance signified something much worse than the usual Irakillion delays.
“Jumping in three.” Marack said. In front of her Sikes' and Vent's craft vanished in a blink of an eye. Two heart beat later and so did the freighters. “I don't like this.”