The Mouse That Squeaked

        “We’re going to face extreme peril … Private probably won’t survive.”

         -- Skipper, Madagascar

The corporate office was as small as I remembered it from the last time. Small, but admittedly cozy. Usually we didn't spend much time here, being pilots, but boss woman had called for a pow-wow - hopefully to tell us that we could move out of the exercise phase into the execution phase. She wasn't there yet, though, and I took advantage of the situation by digging into a selection of pastries from a seller I had discovered just a few days earlier. They were light, flaky, not too sweet, and went really well with coffee as second breakfast. Or midnight snack. I did tend to lose track of time.

The shuffle of boots on synthetic carpet fiber drew my attention, and I looked up to see Myra emerge out of a doorway. Unlike spoiled me, she didn't mind staying in the spartan corp-owned quarters. Getting herself a cup of coffee as well, she sat down next to me, looking askance at my baked goodies. I pushed the paper bag towards her a bit, and happily she took one.

"Listen, I've been thinking," she said without preamble between bites, "Did you mean what you said yesterday evening?"

I grabbed another pastry, stalling for time while trying to remember what I had said... Oh. That.

"Absolutely!"

"In that case," she gestured with her pastry at me, "you won't mind to stop calling me 'Kiddo' at every opportunity."

"Careful where you point that!" I pushed her pastry-armed hand aside. "And if I remember correctly, you started it."

She chewed on her lip. "Guess I did." Another bite of pastry found its delicious end. "If you stop, I stop. Deal?"

"Deal, Ki-", I saw her tense up, "-tten."

Here eyes narrowed, then she chuckled, formed a claw with her free hand and took a mock swipe at me, while hissing ferociously.

A discrete cough drew both our attentions to the other side of the table, where now our employer was sitting. Damn, that woman was sneaky!

"If you two are quite finished with your bonding," Miss Phage began with a hint of amusement, "then maybe we could get some real work done?It won’t take long.“

My ears perked up, pastries and kittens forgotten. "Real work? We are finally a 'go'?"

"Yes we are.” She prodded at her data pad. "I have selected our targets, financing is arranged, paperwork is ready for filing, and your simulation reports look good. Ships?”

“Staged and fitted.” I confirmed. “We should have enough, but if not…”

“…then we can buy more.” completed Miss Phage the sentence. “You know the initial deployment plan - I expect you to be in position once CONCORD acknowledges the paperwork.” A cruel smile played around her lips. “And from there on out I’ll leave it in your capable hands to achieve the objectives.” A thought occurred to her: “Oh, and Myra - I’d like you to prepare a couple of cyno frigates. Nothing to do with this operation, but we might have to give a hand in ferrying a capital around.”

“You got it.” acknowledged Myra.

“With that, ” Miss Phage leaned back, “there is just one thing I need to cover.” She mustered us both. "Last chance to change your minds."

I held her gaze for a few seconds, then muttered, “People keep saying that to me..."

"...and?"

"Usually I tell them to shut it." I grinned. "Usually it also means that it’s going to end badly, so why break the streak now?"

"Minuscule chance of success," clarified Myra happily, "almost certainty of public welp." She finished her pastry. "What are we waiting for?"

Team-Building Exercises

        “Good! Adaptation, Improvisation. But your weakness is not your technique.”

         -- Morphius training Neo, The Matrix

We were back in space. Naturally, as that’s where pilots were supposed to be. Station-life, even with its constant threat of permanent injury and death once you left the safe confines of the capsuleer-only levels, was nothing in comparison. There was nothing like it.

Except, maybe, driving a Walker, but I knew myself well enough to not give in to that temptation. And even Myra seemed to have forgotten about that part of her life, considering how she took to scouting like the natural she was. It had felt odd for me to rely on somebody else again to achieve an objective, but after the first few sorties we had started to gel and I found myself actually enjoying the team work. It definitely had helped Myra’s mood, seeing that I wasn’t replacing her in her role, but merely complementing it. And maybe it was her mercurial nature, but her initial cool stance had turned into an almost working relationship.

'Almost'… there was still some tension I couldn’t quite put my finger on, and for some reason it bugged me. Not that it would matter in a couple of weeks, when this operation would be over and we’d be going our separate ways again, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something.

Our fleet comms came alive, and Myra’s voice pulled me out of my idle musings.

[ I am closing in. Primary target will be Takane Manaka, Harbinger, secondary target will be Alarra Doshu, Drake. Time to intercept… 40 seconds. ]

I focused. Timing was not quite everything in this endeavor, but a big part of it. Silently I counted down the seconds, while aligning to her position.

Thirty seconds - I killed my cloak.

[ I am in range - waiting for mark. ]

I kicked my warp drive into gear, and kept an eye on the countdown of the distance. Other more organized pilots probably would have calculated this down to the milli-second, but me being me, I flew by the seat of my slip.

“Mark!”, I announced.

[ Uncloaking…] three seconds passed, [ Point Secondary.]

Our timing was good enough: I dropped out of warp right at her announcement, when the targets attention was focused on her, giving me time to lay a point on the primary, catching him unaware. Or at least that was the theory - in a few seconds we’d see how it would work in practice. My hull cameras activated first, showing me the Harbinger and the Drake flying in close formation, Myra’s tackler buzzing at high speed around the Drake, evading its missiles, while the field was littered with the wrecks of two or three Sansha squadrons.

My sensors punched through the last interference from the warp, the targeting computer spent interminable seconds on resolving the lock, and as one my offensive systems went active: missiles sped towards the battlecruiser, narrowly missing the ECM drones headed in the same direction. My disruptor shut down his warp drive, and the blackness of space between us lit up with red wavering streams of energy as my neutralizers shut down his active tank. He was taking damage, and he was taking it fast.

[ Taking damage now.] announced Myra on comms. [ Damn Drones! ]

This wasn’t completely unexpected: while her ship was small enough to evade most damage from the Drake’s heavy missiles, the drones were eager to make up the difference. And they were good at it, which meant that Myra might have to bail sooner than expected. Watching the Harbinger’s telemetry, I willed my missiles to go faster, explode harder, but even with its tank disabled, the ship had a sizable amount of armor for me to chew threw. Too much armor.

[ Sorry! ]

Myra’s engines lit up, and seconds later she was gone, and not a moment to soon: the last volleys had put her into deep structure. A warning flickered on my virtual display as the Drake finally realized that my Cyclone was the bigger threat on the field, and started lobbying its missiles at me.

But it was too late to save the Harbinger: one volley, and compartments vented into space. Another, and the reactor’s containment failed, obliterating the Harbinger in a bright blue explosion. But there was no time to celebrate the victory: the Drake was making headway into my shield, and I knew that I wouldn’t be able to survive a protracted battle against that flying brick. With a quick command, my Cyclone swung towards our safe spot, and seconds later my warp drive rumbled into action.

As the warp tunnel engulfed my ship, unbidden lines of text appeared on my virtual sight:

        Simulation: Mission Ambush

        Kills: 1/2

        Losses: 0/2

        Overall Score: 50%

Layers of electronic pretension fell away, and my ship felt again like the Purifier it was, and not the battlecruiser the simulation had required it to be. And somewhere out there, two missioning ships continued to pursue their trade, blissfully unaware that they had just been the subject of a live-navigation exercise.

[ Well, Grandma, ] Myra spoke up on comms, [ that could have gone better: the Drake got away. ]

“The Drake was always a long shot, flying brick it is.”, I countered. “More important is that we got the Harbinger, and survived to tell the tale. Unlike a certain previous run-through, if I may remind you.”

[ You may not! …not that that’ll stop you. ]

“Damn right, Kiddo!”

She sighed theatrically, then asked [ Again? ]

Already her frigate was setting a course towards the next star gate.

“Again.” I confirmed, and my Purifier became a Cyclone once more.