I was reasonably impressed that he could pronounce Arturo’s “two-headed-dragon” callsign thing.
“Not much,” Arturo said. “Always warn your wingmate if your shield breaks so they can cover you with their destructors while you reignite. Not that we know much about using destructors . . .”
“You pull the trigger, smart boy,” Cobb said. “Doesn’t take a brain to use a destructor. The IMP though, that’s another matter. Inverted Magellan Pulse. It breaks any shield—including your own—within fifty meters.”
“Fifty meters,” FM said softly. “That’s very close range.”
“Ridiculously close range,” Cobb said. “You’ll have to practically be smelling Krell BO before you can IMP them.”
“Sir,” Jorgen said. “I’m worried about the flight’s ability to get in that close.”
“If only we’d just spent a month drilling on maneuvering and close-quarters lightlance grappling while the other cadets played popgun,” Cobb snapped. “Look, Krell shields are strong. You fight my way, and you completely negate their advantage. And if you don’t want to fight my way, you can go suck on hot rocks and become an algae farmer.”
With that, he threw us into it. And I didn’t complain. After so many weeks practicing what amounted to a bunch of fancy turns, I was eager to get to something that felt even a little like real combat.
We were each assigned to a mock Krell ship flying in a simple pattern. Our job was to approach as a wingmate pair flying exactly fifty-five meters apart. We would cut in across the Krell ship’s path, and one of us would engage their IMP. Then we’d stop and perform a quick-reignition drill.
We didn’t get to shoot the Krell down. We just practiced IMPing their shields, over and over. And even with the Krell ships flying in simple patterns, it was hard. You had to get in so close, you felt like you were going to slam right into them. Turned out fifty meters was just under the threshold for a comfortable pass. The first twenty times or so, I pulled away too quickly and the IMP broke my shield—but not the enemy’s.
Swoop in. Engage IMP. Dodge out. Reignite.
Repeat.
“You know,” Nedd said as we flew, “I’d enjoy shooting a few of those goobers down.”
“Don’t extrapolate, Nedder,” Cobb said in our ears. “Today, the exercise is about knocking out their shields. That’s it.”
“But—”
“We’ll get to destroying them later. These next few days, we’re going to focus on basic IMP strategies.”
Nedd sighed on the group line. “A few days of just doing this? Does anyone else find that idea boring?”
A few of the others called out agreements, but I didn’t. Every moment flying, even in simulation, was a joy. This explosion of speed, this precision . . . this was freedom.
I remembered my father better when I flew. That spark of anticipation in his eyes, the tilt of his head looking skyward—and longing to return. Each time I flew I shared something new with him, something personal.
Nedd and I did a few more IMP runs, and oddly—on my turn—the Krell ship flew out of line and forced me to chase it down harder. That wasn’t the normal exercise, but it did challenge me. When I finally IMPed it, I found myself breathing hard, but grinning at the thrill of it.
“Tell me that last one wasn’t fun,” I said on the private line to Nedd. I looked across to where he flew beside me, the hologram reproducing him—helmet and all. He was a bit of a brute, oversized, with a face that seemed too big for his head. I couldn’t imagine how it must feel to squeeze into one of these cockpits at a hundred and ninety-three centimeters like he was.
“Fun is sitting at home,” he said, “with your feet up, enjoying a mug of something warm. All of this is over my head.”
“Oh, please,” I said. “I’m not buying your act, Nedd.”
“What?” he said. “I’m just a normal guy.”
“Who grew up in the deep caverns?”
“I actually grew up here. In Alta.”
“What, really?” I said, surprised.
“Yeah, I went to school with Jorgen and Arturo down below, but my parents keep the orchard.”
“So you’re not just some normal guy,” I said. “You were schooled with the elite, and your parents volunteered to do the toughest job on Detritus. Beyond that, how many brothers do you have who are pilots?”
“Dunno,” he said. “Can’t really count that high.”
“You do the worst job of playing dumb I’ve ever seen.”
“Then I can’t even do that right,” he said. “Extra proof, right?”
I rolled my eyes as we joined another run. Nedd seemed determined to pretend he was some kind of big, dumb crony. But he overdid it, likely by intent. Even rocks weren’t as stupid as Nedd acted sometimes.
On the battlefield, Hurl and Kimmalyn zipped past a Krell ship. Hurl got her IMP off just right, but Kimmalyn had not only been flying too close—so she got caught in the blast too—she panicked when her shield went down and veered to the side. Which smashed her into the Krell ship.
I winced. It had been a while since any of us had made a mistake that blatant. Nedd whistled slowly, then hit the comm. “Nice explosion, Quirk. Seven out of ten. Try to spin your wreckage a little more next time you fall.”
“Bless. Your. Stars.” She muttered it, which was practically cussing from Kimmalyn.
“Heh,” Nedd said.
“You shouldn’t taunt her,” I said on the private line to him. “She’s trying hard.”
“Everyone needs someone to blow steam at, even her. Especially her. She’s so uptight sometimes, I think she must have done her belt up two extra notches.”
“She’s just from a different cavern,” I said. “Her culture makes her more polite.”
“She’s nervous,” he said. “She knows she’s our worst pilot. Ignoring it will only make her more nervous. Trust me.”
Huh. “And what do you think of Hurl?”
“She’s good,” he said. “But not as good as she thinks she is.” He grew silent for a moment. “She used to pretend all this was a game. She was an athlete, you know.”
“Like, a real one?”
“Yeah. Digball player. Carrier position, one of the best in the student league. Seems like everything’s a competition to her, but then we lost Bim and Morningtide, so now she’s gone all quiet. She doesn’t know how to react now that she can’t see flying as a game.”
“I thought you said you were stupid.”
“Dumb as cold rocks.”
“And your insightful read on our companions?”
“Just making small talk. Saying whatever pops in my head, you know? You’re lucky it made any sense whatsoever. Usually it comes out as grunts.”
“Oh please.”
We flew a few more exercises, during which Nedd made some pointed grunting noises. Seriously, I couldn’t tell if he was childish, or an elaborate prankster . . . or, well, he was certainly both of those things. But maybe something else too?
Cobb eventually called for us to line up, then take runs one at a time, so he could watch us each and give us specific feedback on how to improve. And though I was enjoying this, I was glad for the break—it was grueling work.