* * * * *
Senka Giordainex Kalear was on duty as Vaikyur’s relief officer when Eiron strode purposefully into the Command Center. However, Kalear had left for an officer’s conference in the adjacent Headquarters building, leaving the ekasi and dvari and ahkso trainees subject to the orders of Miran Olevin and Miran Arnatei-na.
Ekasi Kesney was just taking a break and polishing his radar screen when he felt a tap on his shoulder and came to attention.
“Pick up your personal gear. You’re coming with me. It’s an order.” Eiron said and waited a moment, his own gear stored in a black satchel in his left hand. Ekasi Kesney fumbled around nervously and took one last swig of his steaming drink before scurrying to catch up with the departing man.
A confused Kesney followed numbly as Eiron led him down the corridor to the comet fighter hanger. No one was allowed in the hanger except the Primary Guard, but Eiron walked up to the unsuspecting sentry and sprayed some kind of gas into his face. The surprised man slumped against his laser rifle, instantly asleep.
Kesney stumbled behind as Eiron approached one of the fighters and pulled down the landing ladder. After instructing his companion to follow him up the ladder, Eiron then began to climb.
At that moment, the warning alarms began screeching throughout the complex. Eiron took no heed of them and settled further into the pilot seat, Kesney watching from the shotgun. Kesney couldn’t help but admire Eiron’s more adept management of the fighter as they taxied smoothly to the runway and towards the landing strip, where the hatch was being lowered. Eiron sped up, and their space fighter narrowly missed being crushed.
They had clocked only a minute of airborne time before they received a video transmission from Headquarters.
“What do you think you’re doing? Get your butt back down here!” Kalear was yelling.
“He’s taken Ekasi Kesney hostage, sir,” one of the ahkso ensigns reported loud enough for her to be heard over the videocom.
But Kalear wasn’t paying any attention to her. Instead, he listened to another communication to the left of the panel.
“—What?” Kalear said, startled. “You want me to—” a moment of silence passed as he listened, his face horrified.
“Send out the Primary Guard with Erlenov’s squadron. Bring that fighter down.” Kalear repeated the order relayed to him. His hands fell to the table as though he had lost the ability to support himself. Eiron watched as Kalear’s steeled his shoulders; his “uncle” from childhood turned a stony face up to him before terminating the video communication.
I’m not going to let Kesney down! Eiron thought, possibly for the tenth time. His jaw set in determination.
He hadn’t made a decision after leaving his grandfather. He was supposed to take over for Arnatei-na in the Command Center in a couple of hours but had stopped by to pick up his routine orders for the day before heading back to his barracks. He’d read down the list over a light meal, then put it down and started packing.
With Vaikyur off duty, he’d been ordered to send Kesney to the interrogations office. One of March’s boys would be coming to get him that afternoon; Eiron had been ordered not to tell anyone. Yes, he had understood at once. This was punishment of a different kind. Eiron knew that the council couldn’t get him directly, so they’d decided to make his friend Kesney disappear.
And Eiron had decided that he wasn’t going to let them do it. Not if he could do a damn thing to stop them!
Four minutes had passed when the comet fighters appeared on the radar, approaching from the northwest. At that moment Eiron looked down and saw that his fuel gauge was low, and his speed was dropping. He had seized upon the only opportunity he had to escape. He knew the schedule—the Primary Guard’s maneuvers had only ended about an hour before, and refueling wasn’t until the deck crew’s shift later that evening.
Eiron could only hope that the pursuing squadron didn’t have as much fuel as he did. However, it appeared after a moment that they did. His own squadron showed up on radar just as the comet fighters caught up to him.
Eiron dodged their laser volleys; only seven had been sent out—probably in planes that hadn’t been used for maneuvers. Eiron listened over the radiocom as Command Central transmitted Fer-innyera Ezáitur’s tirade to the comet fighters and their leader, Senka Forren. Being in a comet fighter had its advantages, Eiron reflected, especially since Ezáitur had no way of keeping his transmission from the unauthorized party.
“Can’t you get him, you idiots? I want them ex-ter-min-a-ted!” Ezáitur shouted, nearing a frenzy.
“Yes, sir. But if you’ll forgive me, it’s not that easy.” Forren answered. “We may have to drive him back if we can’t hit him.” Forren waited, but there was no reply. Ezáitur had never been a patient man!
Meanwhile, Eiron headed as fast as he could to the northernmost point of the Classified Zone aico-seven. This would lead him far out into the sea, where he hoped to plunge his ship as deep as the water pressure would allow. Before they could track him, he would have already reached the cliffs. He couldn’t have tried it in any other fighter, but the comet fighters had been designed to function in all kinds of environments, from air, to water, to the void of space.
A missile grazed his starboard aileron and rocked the comet fighter a little, about one and a half minutes from the perimeter. Eiron’s own squadron lagged far behind, he noticed, even when taking into account the fact that their ships were slower. But seven comet fighters were more than enough to keep him occupied—and on his toes.
Forren started to worry when he realized that they were heading towards the Classified Zone, and Eiron was still outmaneuvering his squad. His reflexes are amazing, Forren reflected, feeling more and more sympathetic to the rebellious man. It suddenly made him remember how idealistic he’d been at that age. He’d convinced himself that morals belonged only to the weak or stupid, or people like Vaikyur who had the luxury of political immunity.
Vaikyur-Erlenkov was none of these.
“Fall back,” Forren ordered his team fifteen nariars from the Classified Zone. No one could enter a Classified Zone unless Ezáitur ordered it, and even then it would be like putting one nail in your own coffin. However, no orders would be coming this time. Ezáitur had cut off communications for some reason, possibly because he assumed Forren would keep following.
Still, Forren wasn’t about to take any chances. Feigning incompetence had served him in the past, since in most cases he got his job done with panache. Forren knew Ezáitur would be temporarily angry that they had lost Vaikyur-Erlenkov, but he would recover; the Fer-innyera only needed Vaikyur-Erlenkov out of his hair, and driving him into the Classified Zone would do the job.
If Vaikyur-Erlenkov ever returned, he would be lucky if he were only demoted or discharged. More likely, he would be locked up, slated for execution somewhere down the line. This time he had no excuse. He had entered point aico-seven and thus a Classified Zone of his own free will.
Forren pulled up beside Eiron’s plane just twenty meters outside the zone. Eiron couldn’t see him, of course, but Forren mouthed the words “good luck” and saluted him before turning his plane around.
Two minutes later, Eiron’s plane hit the water.