She could still remember the first time John had attempted to describe a drum. Largely un-translated, infused with small two or three word phases that didn't seem to fit the conversation, and more confusing overall then her original query. It was basically a hollowed out cylinder, with a dead animal hide stretched over an opening that primitive humans beat the dren out of. The construction materials had since changed, but its operation hadn't.
Apparently it's music.
She made some last minute checks on the Prowler's controls, as the familiar pounding of blood in her ears gradually became more rhythmic.
Aeryn's oculars scanned and enlarged the system's various local resistance craft as her focus shifted. Charred with pulse energy burns, the majority of them looked more worthy of a debris pile than combat. But at least they were giving it their best shot.
They faced a host of Nebari Gliders—sleek, pristine Nebari Gliders—part of a unit assigned to the one of the numerous cruisers that were escorting emissary vessels in just about every sector this side of the galaxy. Escorting—and enforcing.
Aeryn focused on a random Glider, her oculars zooming her perspective in on the two-manned craft. Forward cannons that the pilot probably controlled, and a gunner turret that looked like it had complete mobility of horizontal and vertical-axis.
The fighters floated in space, peaceful almost.
Waonn'tag. It's a Luxan word, which cannot be satisfactorily defined; it has to be experienced. In all honesty, it's really just an advanced apology for killing each other more then anything else.
A single pulse blast, from a Tragan mercenary vessel, coursed its way across no-man's-land, just missing its Nebari target.
Waonn'tag came to an abrupt end.
Aeryn's prowler descended from its ceiling position, as she looked for a partner.
One Glider broke off from the main unit and gave chase.
Aeryn's world spun as she rolled, the Glider's forward pulse fire warbling softly as it shot past the cockpit's shielding.
Hammon side brakes lit, and swung the prowler around nose to tail, like some trained beast rounding an obstacle in a timed course. Crosshairs searching. Trigger—
'Dren!'
The gunner fired.
She reacted.
The shot almost-but-not-quite kissed her treblin side.
That was too close. The prowler jackknifed upwards. Nose up and engines on maximum burn. Upward, climb upward, and freefall—
'Make them think you've made an error, make them think you've stalled. What did John call it? …Playing possum.'
The Glider still held the chase, trembling as Mannik creatures do just before they die from work exhaustion. Aeryn got lucky (and not for the first time); turned out the two-man glider was less maneuverable.
Aeryn's prowler mimicked the engine failure perfectly. The fighter grasped for further altitude before giving out and gently spiraling around to coast lifeless in space.
The Glider's gunner swept around to blast the Sebacean ship to vapors.
Aeryn focused on timing. Wait too little and you're dead. Wait too long and you're dead. Wait till the waiting just about kills you, and then at least nothing's guaranteed.
'NOW!'
She didn't wait to catch the Glider in her ocular's crosshairs. She swung the ship around and opened fire immediately after the prowler turned, sweeping across space she hoped would be her target's broadside. The pulse blasts connected. The pilot was dead and the ship itself was crippled. Perfect plan.
Or at least it would have. But when your part of the Crichton family, you're part of an infamous track record with plans.
She really shouldn't have forgotten about the gunner's ability to spin on two axis.
Aeryn said something foul. Only John would have got it.
Proximity alert blared. No time. Absolutely no time.
Somewhere in the back of her skull, a metal-on-metal voice that seemed to crop up whenever she rather not hear a metal-on-metal-voice, asked with a detached sort of cadence, "Why is there never enough time?"
'Oh god.'
Incognizant hands flew up and fastened her helmet with a sharp resonant snap. A twist of a pressurized seal, and her suit's oxygen flow began.
The pulse blast hit. Treblin side engines blew. A half-melted piece of the Prowler's sweptblade blew into the fighter's hub, piercing the controls. Sparks flew out and fizzled on Aeryn's body armor. She distantly, with macabre fascination (and amusement), noticed the blade had missed her right limb by less then a dench.
She slammed on the chair's eject.
The hissing sound reminded her of a time she had stepped in a nest of Vitubian vipers; or it did, before the vacuum of space silenced everything.
Count back from twenty.
…19…18…17…
She had a queasy feeling where her gut should have been; her stomach hadn't caught up with the rest of her body. The sensation was so overpowering, at first didn't notice she had ejected upside down, and was drifting away from the battle.
16…15…14…
As a Peacekeeper, you never lived to make a mistake twice; the first time often killed you. Well, she died to learn this lesson.
13…12…11…
Aeryn pulled a dirk from a sheath strapped outside her boot.
10…
A soundless rip as she slashed herself free of the harness. Suddenly, she was floating a few denches away from the chair.
9…
A quick moment and the dirk returned to its case.
8…7…6…
She lolled around and pulled the chair towards her. Clinging to it, and digging heels into the seat.
5…
Silent snap of released pulse pistols at the left hip and right shoulder hostler.
4, 3…
Two pulse blasts to counteract her movement, and right the chair.
2…
'Tense your muscles and prepare for one hezmana of a jolt.'
1.
The descent breaks ignited. The chair rocketed upwards. Aeryn crouched, resting her brow on the headrest. In the interim she returned her second pulse pistol to its holster. After a few more microts, she pulled herself away, and looked upward.
The distant light of the system's sun reflected across her combat visor, blinding her. Aeryn blinked furiously, she couldn't waste microts. Her eyes readjusted…to a pulse blast coursing her way.
Time to go.
Left arm snapped outward. Joints popped from recoil as she squeezed the trigger, like—or the opposite of—the opening of the unit strength exercises she did as a child (John called it "tug-of-war" on the Command Carrier). She let go of the chair and let the inertia of the blast drive her. She rolled. Floating on her back, she started to drift. Aeryn brought her pistol up, thumbs interlocked around the gun's grip. Fired. Her body snapped, as she was thrown backwards.
Aeryn continued the staccato-esque gunshots. Taking time to orient herself, she reached for her second pulse pistol. Aeryn's arm fell perpendicular to her body, and her knees locked. One shot and she was upright.
Weapons firing in tandem, Aeryn corkscrewed upwards. A trail of pulse blasts spiraled beneath her, propelling her higher. Fighters became thicker as she rose, more concentrated. She stopped.
If she hadn't been focusing other things, Aeryn might have mused at the irony of skyjacking a Nebari ship.
The Glider was bearing straight for her. Not the least bit interested in a lone Peacekeeper, and a shipless one at that.
Aeryn reached out, palm open. She pressed her eyes shut just as she caught the side of the ship.
She screamed. Even if no one knew—she screamed.
Right arm was torn from its socket. Several ribs were broken, she was sure of that. It hurt to breathe. Aeryn grit her teeth. She turned on her suit's magnetics, and felt her body clank against the craft. Her bones didn't like that much either. She slowly made her way up the cowling, body protesting every move, every breath.
The pilot veered the Glider up and down a futile attempt to dislodge her.
She reached the cockpit's shielding.
The Nebari looked a little terrified.
Aeryn once again removed the dirk from her boot. She brought the dagger down, stabbing over and over, cracking the shield. She tightened her hold, adjusting to the increased pressure against her suit, as oxygen began flowing out of the screen's fractures.
She struck one last time.
The final punch of oxygen as it escaped the cabin almost caused her to lose her grip. Shattered remnants of the screen scraped against her armor. She held fast.
Aeryn leaned into the cockpit.
The dirk raked through the Nebari's gray flesh, and before the laceration could be completed, the vacuum of space began to rip the cerulean blood from his body, spilling upwards, smattering across her Cimmerian armor.
The Nebari tore his focus away from the wound to look up at the dark visor, dappled with his own blood.
The blade slipped under the Nebari's harness. There was a moment after when nothing happen.
A moment later, something did.
The Nebari was snapped backward, vertebrae crunching as his spine splintered; his body ripped through the puncture in to cockpit's shield.
With much effort, Aeryn swung herself into the now empty cabin.
The Glider's gunner didn't get the chance to register that the pilot was dead, before Aeryn released a lever that she guessed (correctly) was the turret's manual eject.
Aeryn grabbed the remnants of the harness and crudely tied herself down. She quickly checked the controls. Nebari design—how hard could it be? Flip that switch, press that button…
'This should be down…'
The Glider flew upwards.
Okay…maybe not.
The jerky bobbing of her craft in every which direction would have been so much more amusing—if it hadn't been making her the fattest target on the field.
A volley of pulse blasts narrowly missed her, one passing through the turret's cradle.
It was time to cut bait, as John would put it. Little more to be done anyway. If she left now, hopefully Moya would be ready for Starburst.
Aeryn started smacking random controls.
Thrusters ignited. Aeryn's body whipped back in the Glider's chair, shooting pain through her torso. Her ribs cursed her, her shires, and every recreation partner she'd ever known.
Ouch.
Aeryn pushed the pain aside. Grabbed the controls, and wrenched them towards what to all the galaxy seemed like empty space.
But she knew better.
With her oculars pushing her vision as far as it could, Aeryn could just make out a dark shadow against the inky void of space that marked home.
She began limping back to Moya's waiting hanger, squeezing as much energy as possible into engines.
Was she flying as slow as it felt?
No, she had closed the gap between her and Moya considerably. A few more motras and she's be home…
One of the glider's engines whirred down. Aeryn felt the ship drop from the lost of power and found she could barely hold her trajectory. Looked like the ship had been damaged prior to her stealing it and was flying on emergency power alone.
She was so close to home, if she could just make it to the docking web…
And then it hit her. By now, she was already in range of the docking web, except she wasn't in a prowler, and any comms hailing could reveal their position. There was no way for Pilot to know it was her.
She was going to have to fly in manually.
Aeryn groaned, and called on all her strength to pull the craft up. She would clear it—because she had to clear it.
The glider clipped the entrance to the hanger, flipping it over like crindar in a game of chance.
Frelling coins.
The wings scraped across the floor, and metal groaned as is tore and bent under the force of the crashing fighter.
A less then graceful landing.
Moya thrummed in pain. The glider flipped one last time before friction slowed it to a halt.
From a makeshift blind of crates, John and Chiana leveled their weapons on the semi-crushed glider. They could just make out the movement of the craft's pilot as she struggled to free herself from the wreckage.
They charged their weapons.
The armored pilot half-fell, half-hoisted herself from the glider and stumbled to the floor.
"Don't, move!" Chiana yelled with as much bravado as she could call up (which was a great deal actually).
The soldier did as commanded.
For a microt, no one did a thing.
The blood rolled down the pilot's armor and dripped to the floor.
Aeryn grabbed for the clasps on her helmet, releasing it and yanking it from her head. She stood, swaying slightly, eyes unfocused, body ready to give in to unconsciousness.
John whispered more to himself then anyone, "Damn baby, God is your co-pilot."
Aeryn collapsed.