And . . . why was I following this line of thought again? I shook my head, throwing myself back into the flying. “Think about how great you’d be in battle,” I said to M-Bot.
“You promised.”
“I promised not to take you into combat tonight,” I said. “But I never promised I wouldn’t try to change your mind. Why are you scared?”
“I’m not scared. I’m following orders. Besides, what good would I be in combat? I don’t have destructors.”
“You don’t need those. Your IMP is working and so is your lightlance. With your maneuverability and those tools, we could devastate the Krell. They’ll be left chasing our shadow, then our shadow will consume theirs! This is going to be incredible!”
“Spin,” he said. “My orders are to stay out of combat.”
“We can find a way to change those. Don’t worry.”
“Um . . .” He sounded unconvinced. “Maybe . . . maybe we can do something to satisfy your strange human desires without going into an actual fight. You wish for a thrill? What if I projected a battle for you?”
“You mean like a simulator?”
“Kind of! I can project an augmented-reality hologram right onto your canopy, which will make you think you’re in a combat situation. That way, you can pretend to try to get yourself killed, while I don’t have to disobey my orders!”
“Huh,” I said, curious. Well, at the very least, it would let me test his responsiveness in a simulation. “Let’s do it.”
“Go to eleven thousand feet, and I’ll drop you into the Battle of Alta.”
“But I gave that data case back to Cobb.”
“I made a copy.” He hesitated for a moment. “Was that bad? I thought maybe you’d want to—”
“No, no it’s fine. It’s the only battle you can simulate for me though?”
“It’s the only one where I have proper three-D renderings. Is this a problem? Oh! Your father. This is the battle where your father became a traitor, something to which you are emotionally vulnerable because of your feelings of betrayal and inadequacy! Whoops.”
“It’s fine.”
“I could instead try to—”
“It’s fine.” I said, putting the ship at the altitude he’d stated, using maneuvering thrusters to settle us. “Start the simulation.”
“All right, all right. No need to get grouchy just because I insulted you.”
In a flash I appeared inside a battle.
It was like the simulations, except I was in a real ship. Everything holographic glowed and was slightly transparent, like I was surrounded by ghosts—which had to be so that I could distinguish reality and avoid accidentally flying us into a cliff face or something.
M-Bot said he was merely projecting all this on my canopy, but it looked three-dimensional to me. And the fighting was amazingly realistic, particularly when I hit my booster and launched into it—M-Bot even did his best to generate sounds in the cockpit as ships buzzed past us.
“I can simulate destructors,” M-Bot said, “though you don’t have any installed.”
I grinned, then fell into position with a pair of DDF fighters. When I dove, targeting a Krell ship that someone else IMPed, M-Bot was able to edit the simulation—so my target exploded in a satisfying flash of light.
“All right.” I said. “How do I activate proximity sensors?”
“I can activate them. Done.”
“Convenient. What else can you do by verbal command?”
“I have access to communications and stealth features, and I can reignite the shield for you. By galactic law, however, I am forbidden control of boosters and weapons systems—including the IMP. I have no physical connection to these systems except for diagnostic purposes.”
“All right then,” I said. “Turn on flightleader chatter—let me hear the recordings as if they were happening in real time.”
“Done,” he said, as the radio came on. “Be aware that the audio might not sync with visuals as you interfere with the progress of the battle.”
I nodded, then threw myself into the fight.
And it was magnificent. I banked and shot, IMPed and boosted. I spun through a virtual battlefield full of flashing lights, exploding ships, and desperate fighters. I flew a ship with unparalleled maneuverability, and felt myself adapting to it, taking increasing advantage. I downed four Krell in a half hour—a personal record—without taking anything but a few glancing blows to my shield.
Best of all, it was safe. None of my friends were in danger. It was a completely new level of simulation, but still without the threat to anyone’s life.
Afraid. a piece of me whispered. Afraid of battle. Afraid of loss. That was a near-constant voice now.
I worked up a sweat, my heart thumping. I focused on a Krell that had been sprayed with destructors by another ship. That shield might be close to being down. I took aim, and—
A ship darted past me, firing destructors, beating me to the attack and blasting the ship into oblivion. I knew him instantly. My father.
Another ship took wingmate position behind my father.
“M-Bot,” I said, feeling a tremor inside me. “Give me audio on those two.”
The channel crackled, flightleader chatter vanishing. Instead, I got on the direct line between my father and Mongrel.
“Nice shot, Chaser,” Cobb’s voice said. It sounded exactly like him, only without all the cynicism. “Hot rocks, you’re on a roll today!”
My father looped back around. I found myself falling in beside him, opposite Cobb. Flying wingmate . . . to my father. The greatest man I had ever known.
The traitor.
I hate you. I thought. How could you do what you did? Didn’t you stop to think what it would do to your family?
He banked, and I followed, sticking to his glowing, transparent form as he chased a pair of Krell ships.
“I’ll go for the IMP. You see if you can pick them off.”
I forced down the sudden burst of emotions at hearing my father’s voice again. How could I both hate and love this man at once? How could I reconcile the image of him—standing tall on that day when we’d gone to the surface—with the terrible things I’d learned he’d done?
I gritted my teeth and tried to focus only on the fight. The Krell ships dodged into a larger melee of ships, almost colliding with some DDF fighters. My father followed them right in, spinning in a loop. Cobb lagged behind.
I stuck on my father, holding tight to his wing. In that moment, the chase became everything, and the world around me faded. Just me, my father’s ghost, and the enemy ship.
Bank right.
Quick cut up.
Turn and twist around.
Right again.
Around that explosion.
I put everything I had into the chase, and still I slowly fell behind. My father’s turns were too sharp, his movements too precise. Even though I had M-Bot’s superior maneuverability, my father was better than I was. He had years of experience, and knew just when to boost, just when to turn.
And there was something . . . something more . . .
I focused on the Krell ship. It banked right. So did my father. It turned upward. So did my father. It turned left . . .