Part 1
The pale dot bisected his display, moving against the stars in the background. The ship adjusted with a rapid series of pops, maneuvering very carefully as the targeting interface matched velocity and vector with a preprogrammed command script, designed to draw the focus of the pilot.
“Gotcha” hissed Reppontei. He surprised himself with the strain in his voice. It wasn’t simply the gravitational forces pressing on his body as he piloted his tiny fightercraft, he had been in this exact situation before, both in previous dogfights and in the simulations. His regulation compliant eyes trained on that beaded blue dot, the tiny jets of exhaust blooming in unison with its movements, the vector graphics moving around it, the distance and range rings counting down rapidly as they charged at each other.
They were in each other’s sights.
The joust was high stakes. His opponent was showing his most defended flank. Even in the telescopic view, he could just make out the grinning face painted on that blue whipple shield. The sun glared off the metallic surfaces of guns and league mandated sensor pods. They were beak to beak, two predators squaring up for a run, hunting for a kill. That grinning face continued to resolve. A smiling lion, stylized and blue maned, eyes opened cartoonishly wide as if to frighten him. S-League fightercraft were each mandated to have a whipple shield installed on the leading face. It was an extra layer of protection for the pilot compartment and the access hatch, but most teams utilized the large, flat surface as a canvas for bright imagery and emblems. His own ship, Fairway Blue, didn’t have anything as garish that grinning lion face.
His interface chimed and his preprogrammed targeting solution activated as he entered effective kinetic range. The reaction jets puffed repeatedly as his fighter reoriented ever so slightly. A highlight on his targeting reticle informed him that his gun was actively slewing. Less than a second later it fired, unloading a stream of rounds on a thin, ever expanding arc. It continued in short, but slightly differing intervals. His opponent did not shift immediately, but instead waited to dodge until the last calculated instance, attempting to present the most challenging solution to his targeting system. His ship did the same.
Fairway Blue was a lean fighter, to be certain. As with any S-League spacecraft, his was built within the tightly controlled parameters set forth by the annual competition board. But within those tolerances, he and his team had massaged the performance of Fairway Blue into something slightly more nimble, more reactive. His opponent, the famously successful Mighty Teal, would have to work just slightly harder to anticipate his movements, perhaps spending a very small amount of extra time slewing and aiming, even spending just a little bit more energy to keep up with the dance of his reaction jets.
Hits began landing. Tiny, glowing spots, hardly even pixels, began appearing on the face of that grinning blue lion. Almost simultaneously he heard the metallic thud of kinetic projectiles against his own front whipple shield. Impact notifications shimmered in his somnoptics as the seat pressed him harder. “Come on Blue” he mouthed to himself. She was thrusting laterally, one way, then the other, jostling him hard in his gel suspended flight seat. The auto limit was fast approaching, the range at which automated fire and targeting systems were disabled. His fingers twitched against the controls, his eyes quickly updated with a new, manual targeting reticle.
He inhaled slowly. A small readout in his somnoptics field measured his blood oxygen content and blood pressure, his pulse and rate of breath. It was mostly expanded data. He minimized it without a second thought. This was seat of the pants flying, he thought. It was time for some real pilot shit. His finger hovered over the trigger.
He could see his opponent clearly now. The front of that teal spacecraft was so sharp now, so resolved in his sights that he could make out the name of the pilot scrolled along the edge. Resk “Slap” Terri, the champion of the Inner System Conference, pilot of the Mighty Teal #68, three time ace of the 2367 season, the formidable lion face of Phobos. He was favored by a long shot, and despite running hours of simulators, Repp accepted his chances. Few of his tactics played out in those scenarios. Not only was Slap a great shot, he could take those shots without exposing a flank. Often he would disable opponents before even reaching the auto limit. He excelled at these one on one jousts.
But this wasn’t the Inner System Conference, Repp thought. This was Uranus Sphere, outer solar system orbits. The Umbriel Max was a real tournament. The legends of the high orbits were made here. This was no place for a Martian superstar. “Hit me with your best shot, old man-“
Resk obliged before Repp could even finish the sentence. Apparently, his best shot was through Fairway Blue’s targeting pod. The ship jolted slightly as several bright red warnings illuminated in his somnoptics field of view. The targeting reticle froze along with portions of the interface. The ship then shifted as the auxiliary system activated, but lacked most of the higher fidelity capabilities that the primary system enabled. The auxiliary pod was designed to interface with manual gunnery during flip-and-turn dogfights, not these one on one, headlong jousts. “Shit- shit” Repp cursed as he took over full manual control. Only a second or two had elapsed since he entered the auto-limit. By the seat of the pants, he could feel the fighter moving under his featherlike inputs. He triggered instinctively, popping rounds in short, uneven bursts.
Mighty Teal began stuttering in his interface. He might have cursed again if he wasn’t so focused. The pod was malfunctioning, it was struggling to track his opponent as the relative motion became more pronounced and their distance closed. It didn’t matter. By now he was shooting on pure intuition, desperately trying to land hits on that tiny teal spacecraft.
Three kilometers. Mighty Teal quickly enlarged. He could see reaction jet nozzles on the propulsion half of the ship, just barely peeking out from behind the whipple shield.
Two kilometers. More stuttering. A dozen heavy thuds sounded through his hull as he took hits. A few more systems went dead.
One kilometer. A proximity alarm sounded. Beyond the tunnel of his vision he saw the meters drop from four digits to three. He kept shooting. He could practically count the rivets and trace the welds on Resk Terri’s fightercraft. The pod struggled to keep up with the screaming relative velocity, he was about to lose the track.
The image jolted. The interface froze with that grinning teal lion face, wide eyed and practically filling his field of view. Then the image updated. Mighty teal was broadside at almost a 90 degree aspect. Then it was out of frame. An indicator flashed, notifying him that his opponent had flown by and they were now moving farther apart.
Reppontei finally breathed. Core systems were functioning. Propulsion was still green. He flicked the controls and spun his fighter 180 degrees, squeezing into his gel couch with the force of the spin. The aux targeting pod slewed and located Mighty Teal. Repp felt heat building in his head as his eyes downgraded from lock mode.
His opponent was tumbling, venting something. A fine snow of propellant sprayed out of a corner of the propulsion bus in a lazy arc. Reppontei stared at the image, skeptical. Had the Mighty Teal suffered a malfunction? He glanced at the tournament status display. There were currently no caution flags. “What in the goldspace…” he hissed to himself. What sort of tactic was this? Was there a points-basis to playing dead? Insanity, especially for such a renowned pilot. But that could only mean…”
A banner appeared over his reticle, interrupting his thought. His face went from hot to cold. His very blood chilled. The green, Neobosti word rarely graced his cockpit in these S-League dogfights. Victory
He minimized the banner, instead watching his tumbling opponent. Post-match readouts started populating on his interface while the radio chatter finally resumed. Someone has been calling him on his UHF radio interface. “Repp! Fairway Blue, Fairway Home, on uniform primary.”
Repp used his neural interface to cycle radio control units. UHF radio clicked in his ear. “Fairway Home-“ he breathed heavily, tasting sweat on his lips. “Fairway Blue, go.”
“Repp! Well done!” The voice of his operations officer was almost overcome by cheering in the background. “Whole lotta smiling faces in here! Let’s get you safed and out of the airspace. Open the post-fight checklist…”
“Right, uh… post fight…” He did everything in his power to return to habit patterns and safe the spacecraft weapons systems. As he worked, he learned that Resk Terri had lost propulsion, an automatic win. Slap had finished the match with 410 points, but Repp almost balked when his own score finished calculating with a perfect 1500. It was more points than his last three matches combined.
Cheering filled the cockpit as the forward hatch finally unsealed. Repp started to climb out of his gel couch, but a dozen hands grabbed him first, hoisting him up and out into the weightless reception chamber on the mediation ship. His technicians and engineers swarmed him by the dozens, floating around him like a constantly moving cloud. His vision filled with excited hands, grinning faces and dark blue flightsuits. He could only smile in reply, unable to properly thank anyone while surrounded. It was hard to hear what anyone was saying, but he gleaned that everyone had been on the edge of their seats during the pass, especially after he cleared the auto limit without taking a disabling hit. They were already calling it the upset of the season.
“To work! To work!” Came a loud voice over the cacophony. “Secure this spacecraft! Departure burn in fifteen minutes!”
The team manager dispersed the crowd and floated headfirst towards Reppontei. The melkine was grinning widely and he met Reppontei with a wide-armed embrace. “You did it! Oh I can’t believe you did it! You should have seen the way the team reacted when you landed that shot- oh it was mayhem!” He held Repp by the shoulders and looked him in the face. His bright red eyes actually had tears in them. “Repp… Repp the boss called, he’s already talking new contracts!”
“Deskki, it was a lucky shot” Repp managed to say as they settled against the wall of the chamber.
Deskki shook his head aggressively, his long ears flapping slightly. “No, no, no, no… there is no luck in this game. This is why they call you an amateur. Everything in S-League has a root cause. That pass could have gone a hundred different ways, Repp. Aux pod with a gun motor jam, 40% whipple shield remaining? No, no, by any estimate, it should have been an easy win for Terri at that point. But you had your training and he has his.”
“Well I could count myself lucky if his RCS misfired, couldn’t I? I remember seeing just a sliver of his flank…”
“Then his team failed him” Deskki shot back. “His propulsion engineer let him down… or he overused it. Either way, you and your team did better. This was earned, Repp!”
“Is that what the media is saying?”
Deskki scoffed. “Fuck the commentary, do you know what your fans are saying? Do you know what all the fans are saying?
The reception was chaos. In the hours that followed, Reppontei found an outpouring of praise in network space. Stylized images of his face and his spacecraft painted the walls of the awards ceremony venue. As a prismatic trophy was put in his hands, a life sized somnoptics projection of his spacecraft reenacted the joust overhead. His primary pod took a direct hit, shedding precious electronics into the void as the craft rotated to bring the auxiliary targeting system to bare. To an ongoing roar of applause and cheering, he raised the trophy and bellowed, allowing the euphoria to wash over, just for a moment. It was a tremendous sound, but one which he had only known second hand. Many times he had imagined standing here in front of all these eyes and all this noise. He sensed a thousand cybernetic cameras on him, measuring his every movement, broadcasting him to millions more. Given a few hours of light delay, by tomorrow this reception would be recognized in the annals of S-League history. A minor entry, to be sure, but an unforgettable mark none-the-less.
Minutes later, he brought the trophy to his team, who each took turns holding it. Like him, most of his technicians, engineers and operations specialists were melkies. The Umbriel Max was considered Outer solar system home turf, but much of the S-League was hosted in the Inner solar system, where baseline and Martian teams dominated. “We need more melkies holding trophies” Deskki told him as their youngest technicians laughed and posed with the joust trophy. “Prismatic white metal, looks better in red hands” he cheered, watching as one of the young techs hoisted the trophy over her head, then was lifted herself by two others.
Repp shrugged, watching from a distance as his next interviewer set up. “I’m just curious if headquarters is going to say something. It’ll be another two hours before news bounces back from Luna Sphere.”
Deskki made another chiding noise. “They can’t take this victory away. Upsets aren’t unprecedented. This is the nature of the game, Repp.”
As the hours went by and the lightspeed delayed mindscape reactions began reflecting back to Ura sphere, it became apparent to Repp that the populace of the Kuiper Alliance were very receptive. His pass was already being analyzed based on official evidence and spectator observations. A million opinions now praised his actions in disrupting one of the old guard, putting him in his place. It seemed that many thought Resk Terri had it coming. It was now perceived, though both professional and unprofessional speculation, that Resk Terri had come to rely on his tactics like a crutch and now he was paying for it.
Resk Terri, champion he was, often managed to land a disabling hit just prior to the auto limit, thereby giving himself the entire manual envelope in which to clean up the pass. Apparently, having failed to do so this time, viewership and reception spiked by over 300%. No matter the light delay, upon witnessing that miraculous closure, people had notified their friends, viewers previously unconcerned with the match had tuned in, turned their heads, and trained their cybernetic eyes. A cascade of viewership propagated from Ura sphere, all watching as he delivered the crippling blow to Resk Terri. The entire solar system has tuned in to see Resk Terri’s fall from grace. While most of the outer solar system reveled in that drama, there were still some portions of the mindscape that dissented.
The media in the inner solar system wasn’t just calling it the upset of the season. Some official channels were speculating foul play. Repp steamed a little while he watched a mindscape collective of analysts pick apart his pass, trying to speculate on where he had successfully sabotaged Resk Terri. This was all made worse by the fact that Resk Terri’s team had yet to formally acknowledge the loss. Resk had been seen at the reception and all about in public, but normally a team would have made a statement by now. Repp tried not to dwell on it as he lay in his hotel bed on Bespreppa Ring.
He knew he should have been more excited. But a sort of impostor syndrome had wrenched its way into his psyche. This was only his second season in S-League. He painfully recalled the injury that ended his first season prematurely. Without thinking, his shoulders rolled a little, reminiscing on the pain he once felt in his back. A roster-disrupting victory in the Umbriel Max wasn’t the kind of thing that people pulled off in their first full season. Perhaps two or three seasons of adequate performance, some reasonable returns for the team, a few polite victories to soften the rise to familiarity. Instead, he suddenly found himself ranked with the highest echelon of pilots. The Max was over, but there were still two more tournaments in the season.
“I might be in trouble” he said quietly to himself, staring at the hotel ceiling as it scrolled his own words back to him. He raised his arms and slid them behind his head. With a deep sigh, he continued.
“My auxiliary pod was malfunctioning. Deskki says there’s no luck in this sport but… I was shooting blind with a malfunctioning targeting pod. Spraying and praying. Desperation. I just held the trigger while my sensors froze… held the trigger and somehow managed to take 68 out of the number one spot.” He shuddered, again realizing his name would grace the League records forever now.
“The team is… well, they deserve this. They deserve that trophy. But I don’t know what I’m going to do if I can’t duplicate this. Resk Terri isn’t going to the Binary Max, but he’ll be at Cheriklo. I’m still concerned-“
The ceiling displayed a red line, then blanked his journal entry. Seconds later there was a knock on the door. Repoontei sat up suddenly. “Deskki?” He called, but heard no answer. The knock came again.
He willed the peeper system to life. An somnoptics overlay illuminated over the door, revealing the melkine woman standing on the other side. Repp felt a wash of uncertainty. He didn’t recognize her and this hotel floor was controlled entry. The social recognition software in his NIF cycled for a second, trying to identify her. He scrambled to put pants on and walked closer to the door.
He held his breath as he examined the stranger through the overlay. She was young, as Melkies went, which wasn’t saying much. They didn’t age quite the same way baselines did. Her ears were sharp with a swift taper. The features of her face were soft, but she wore an expression of casual impatience, like this was a common, if not troublesome, errand for her. She was dressed in a white blouse with violet lightweave epaulets and cuffs. Her pencil skirt was tapered to her knees, ending in another stripe of lightweave. Nothing about her appearance suggested affiliation with the Fairway Blue team. He pinged her credentials without thinking, but received only a negative response.
“Kindly stop staring at me through the door, mister Tau” she said suddenly. “We have urgent business I’m afraid.”
“Deskki sent you?” He asked through the door. “You don’t look like the usual call girls. Why don’t you talk to my manager if you have business.”
Her slitted nostrils flared a little as she exhaled. “No actually, Deskki did not send me. I represent the Office of Team Relations, Outer S-League Conference… I’m the Umbriel Max Liaison.” She glared at him through the somnoptics overlay, almost as though she were staring right through the door. “You are in quite a bit of trouble, mister Tau.”
Repp felt that wave of cold again. He willed the door to unlock, then opened it cautiously. The melkine woman looked at him directly, her bright red irises flickered dimly as she finally allowed him to identify her NIF. “I’m Velsa Yeong, may I come in?”
“What kind of trouble?” He asked plainly.
“Espionage, mister Tau. Espionage and cheating, I’m afraid.” She took a step forward and put her foot against the door. “I suggest you let me in and close the door. At the moment, I might be your only honest friend on this orbital.”
Reppontei allowed her to enter his suite, though he denied her guest rights to any of the electronics or projectors. Uncertain and skeptical, he crossed his arms over his sleeper shirt as he watched Velsa set an unassuming portfolio on his coffee table and undo the clasps.
“If your recent victory surprised you, then you may already be in the state of mind to accept the findings of the Outer Conference review this afternoon.”
“It was hard fought,” he grumbled. “Fascinating, I admit, but a much needed success for the team. I was ready to succeed, but sometimes success can still surprise you.”
“Do you really believe that?” Velsa asked, her eyes now focused on the contents of her portfolio. Repp felt affronted. His brow furrowed. “Of course,” he replied. He had spent all day convincing himself it wasn’t a fluke victory, but the words still felt unnatural, like he had no real conviction behind it.
“Of course…” she repeated, producing several paper documents and laying them out. “At 1920, the Review released their findings internally, mister Tau. The combined evidence of spectator mindscape, tournament sensors, onboard sensors and inspection results confirmed the existence of foul play.”
“Absurd” Reppontei spat, suddenly discounting the conversation. “It might have been a lucky shot, but no one was cheating here!”
“There is no luck in this sport” she said coldly, now looking at him. “The Review coordinated an administrative inspection, initiated at 1945. Within an hour we found inconsistent modification and maintenance records in the Fairway Blue classified net. Much of it was forged to cover up the installation of non-regulation materials and equipment, ordered via shell companies.”
“This is insane. No one at Fairway would hav-“
“Deskki was instructed by one member of the board of directors.”
Reppontei dropped his demeanor finally. “Oh no, don’t you dare bring Deskki into this. Even if these allegations-“ He stopped, trying to imagine what definitive proof he could spout off to convince this official that Deskki was innocent. Nothing came to mind. Reppontei had very little input when it came to the maintenance of his fighter and even less when it came to procurement. Velsa watched him for a moment, only mildly concerned.
“These… allegations became charges about forty minutes ago, mister Tau.” Reppontei shook his head as she turned the papers to face him. “Your team, Fairway Blue, cheated today in the Umbriel Max. Deskki Chevlie, along with eight others, including both of your procurement members, have been administratively removed from your team.”
Reppontei tried to form words as he stood there, dumbfounded. “There’s clearly… been some kind of mistake. I was- I was just with them-“
“You are to sign this disclosure if you wish to continue with Fairway Blue and remain an S-League fighter pilot, mister Tau.” She tapped one of the papers with her finger. He blinked as his eyes gleaned the text from a distance. “What is this? Why- Should I not be disqualified? The team is-“
“Your team, by the grace and judgement of the Outer Conference, is not going to be disqualified or disbanded…” she stated.
That statement should have provided him a sense of relief, he knew, but none of it penetrated the cyclone of emotions that were swirling in his skull. Teams that cheated were punted from the League. While rare, this was normally a vicious affair, with public ridicule and disdain from the competitive combat community. “How can that be? If you’re so convinced of the team’s behavior… why would you let us remain in the competition?”
She pushed the next paper forward. “Because… mister Tau, you just performed the upset of the decade. An upset that, as it rolled across Solspace, generated peak influence the likes of which we haven’t seen since 2358. Do you have the faintest idea how many sickles the League made in sponsorship agreements alone today? This was one of the most lucrative days in the sport… again, since 2358.”
With another twitch of his cybernetic eyes, he scanned the text of the next document. “Y-You want me to keep my mouth shut? And keep flying?”
Velsa Yeong finally smiled, if only slightly. The gesture made the red and yellow of her eyes all the more frightening. “Everyone loves an underdog, mister Tau. In the eyes of the Outer Conference, it would be a waste to squander public enthusiasm.”
“Your document says I have to face Resk Terri in the first round at Cheriklo.”
“Naturally. Everyone will want to see a rematch before the end of the tournament.
Already, Reppontei could feel emotional blight building in his mind. The chill of the situation hadn’t even fully settled yet. He thought of Deskki and his team.
“Wait I- Deskki. Where is my manager now? He was everything, a father to the whole crew and a point manager at that. How are we supposed to operate, mid-season, with no manager!?”
The melkine woman raised an eyebrow. “Did you not read this first document? You’ll have no contact with him or the other members under investigation… Your owner has already fired most of the board and signed on this new agreement with the Conference.” She tapped the first, then the second document. “The only thing that needs to be settled is you… we can’t force you to continue with the team, obviously.” She made a show of looking put out. “But the League would certainly suffer if our newest underdog suddenly had a change of heart, wouldn’t it?”
She smirked and Responttei read the intent behind it. He turned and walked to the bathroom, shaking his head. “Deskki hasn’t told me anything. How do I know that- What is going to happen when the public hears about all of this? I won’t look so brave when the fans know the truth. Parts of the mindscape already think I cheated.”
He wasn’t looking at her, but he could just imagine that sly smile again as she spoke. “They won’t know anything. No part of this investigation is going to surface. All parties involved are bound by contract or law. This isn’t our first investigation, mister Tau.” He heard her fiddle around with her portfolio again. “After a sudden and slightly unexpected victory, your team owner, along with the other financiers of Fairway Blue, decided that a change of management was appropriate. Legal proceedings will be quiet, severances will still be paid out… and your owner will hire a new team.” She clicked a pen as he leaned over the sink, staring at himself.
“And you get to keep flying… perhaps even winning.”
Reppontei raised his head to look at himself. The Melkine in the somnoptics mirror was very, very tired, he noted. Still spry, lanky and muscular, but tired. He usually slept so well after a match. Hours on orbit, wearing a spacecraft, pulling crushing maneuvers that test the limits of his G tolerance, all culminated in an exhausting work day. All of that effort now reflected in his eyes, but he didn’t feel it. He hadn’t felt it when he thought he was a lucky shot and he especially didn’t feel it now that he knew it had been more than luck.
“The Conference is going to hold this over me forever isn’t it? Step out of line and they reveal the truth?”
“See, that’s the funny thing” she said from the bathroom door, causing him to jump a little. “The Conference is running this coverup. We’re in just as deep as your team is… Both of us benefit from keeping this all under wraps, don’t we.”
For a moment, Repp felt cornered in his own suite, until he noticed she was holding a third document. Again, his augmented eyes gleaned portions of the Neobotsi text.
Further entitled to the earnings of the match in question- under no circumstances shall be denied further winnings unless under the circumstances described in- shall be henceforth be cleared of wrongdoing by parties within his sponsorship-
“I still get paid?” He had meant it to be a statement, but it came out as a question.
“Your team still gets paid. You forfeit no winnings. Fairway Blue is going to need those winnings to refurbish your spacecraft and return it to regulatory standards. And… if I’m being honest, you’ll probably also need them to pay for your new team.”
It took days for the League to fully sort out the situation. As it turned out, Deskki had quietly ordered guided rounds. Every fourth shell loaded in his cannon had been a specially designed projectile with just a tiny amount of thrust. Their pin-sized steering jets would be almost impossible to see during flight. Those shots would have the added benefit of confusing Resk Terri’s evasion algorithms, especially since they had been specifically programmed for a joust fight with no guided munitions. This hung heavily on Responttei’s mind as he pulled himself along the rungs of the gate, approaching the chartered shuttle on the day of their departure from Brespreppa Ring. The Umbriel Max was over. Out of 52 matches, his victory against Resk Terri had been the crowning event. The Oberon Invitational was next, a shorter, more exclusive tournament with fewer combatants.
He floated into the shuttle cabin to find a dozen other Fairway Blue teammates, mostly the engineering team. Even though a few days had passed, the betrayal was still easily readable in their expressions. “Lads.” he said as he pushed off the door and rotated to catch his seat along the cabin wall. Many looked up, surprised to see him.
“Mister Tau” said one of the munitions troops. “Sir it’s good to see you out and about. I- We were all so worried you were caught up in all this.”
Repponttei shook his head. “Apparently we were all in the dark, weren’t we? I still can’t believe it…”
There was some disgruntled murmuring amongst the passengers. Repp figured there was no harm in bringing up the subject amongst those he knew were implicated, but the room didn’t seem entirely obliged to discuss it.
“Weren’t right” said one of the electronics specialists. “Weren’t right to get us all spun into his plot, they made those calls without even considering our careers! Deskki and all of them could have cost us our jobs…”
“And he sat there telling us all those lies,” said one of the propulsion technicians. “He… said there was no luck. You remember that? No luck in this sport. All the while he knew what he had done! Making his own luck like that. Can you imagine?”
Repp felt the chill creeping through his blood again. “He lied to all of us,” he started, feeling the need to speak. “There’s nothing right for it. But that doesn’t mean we didn’t try any less. I’ve been trying to come to terms with that for days now. That charge didn’t feel right, but it’s not like I wouldn't have done any different if the loadout hadn’t included those hornet rounds.”
They all listened intently. A dozen eyes were locked on him. Repp hesitated, instead turning his attention to his seat belts. He thought for a moment. With Deskki gone, these technicians, especially the newer ones, didn’t have a mentor. There was no one to alleviate their fears, their uncertainties. It dawned on him that the self doubt he was feeling would be shared by everyone here, but they didn’t have the benefit of seeing things from the top of the team. Nor did they have his years of operational experience, first in the defense force, then flying competitive fighters.
“Nothing has changed,” he started. “All of us- those of us still here, we’re the honest ones. We came here to do our best and that hasn’t changed. So there was some toxicity in our midst… no one here was knowingly a part of that, were we? Nothing has changed.” He looked at the electronics technician. “It wasn’t right. But we got spun up in their plot and made it through unscathed. We’re better for it aren’t we?”
He garnered a few nods, then licked his lips, trying to feel as bold as his words felt. “I need… I need each of you to keep giving me your best. This team had a few faults. We know that now…” He tried to look at each in turn, especially the younger members. “But we’re going to make this a great team. This is our new chance. This is our chance to have at it. I know we all signed those contracts with the Conference… but I need professionals who are at least as dedicated as they were before we took out Mighty Teal. If you had doubt, you wouldn’t have signed those contracts. I need buy in. I need you to throw everything you have into this next tournament… and that starts with meeting our new engineering lead.”
Silence persisted in the cabin as the door closed and the shuttle hummed to life around them. A life support technician stirred in her seat. “It’s as you say, sir. I don’t think any of us would be here if we had any doubts about this team.” Several others nodded. “Would that, given the choice, I think we would all rather stick it out and see if we can pull it off for real at Chariklo?”
Repponttei smiled. He felt the cool cabin air on his teeth. “Yeah. Yeah I think that’ll do for us. Not a rematch, but a real match.”
The shuttle lurched as it came free of the docking clamps. Reaction control motors popped around them, imparting lateral movement against the spaceframe. Somnoptic screens appeared around the cabin walls, displaying portions of the view beyond the fuselage. The spaceport spindle slowly receded. The structure stretched up and away from their field of view. Bespreppa Ring loomed above. Four counter-rotating rings, six kilometers wide, glared in the sunlight. The somnoptics dimmed to account for the brightness. The Bespreppa space was dotted with scores of distant spacecraft, most of which were little more than sparkles of reflected light. But somewhere out here was the staging bird that held his fighter. A few puffs of thrust would have them onboard in less than an hour.
“Anyone heard of the new chief?”
Everyone in the cabin made inquisitive glances or shook their heads. The electronics technician rubbed the tip of his ear. “Friend in HR said it was someone named Kags, or Kath or something.” He shrugged. “Must’ve found ‘em in a hurry. Deskki only got put away a few days ago.”
The name was unfamiliar to Repp. He tried to imagine anyone responding to the call on such short notice. The shuttle rotated suddenly, and Ura came into view. The cool blue gas giant shone just like the orbital, but as the somnoptics dimmed to accommodate, Repp could just make out the pinprick moons, the elusive rings and even a few stringy clouds stretched over the nearest hemisphere.
“Clearly someone from Ura sphere,” he said. “Chances are, this engineer was already on the books somewhere… or maybe they’re eager for work with an active team.”
“Or they owe someone a favor” said the young propulsion tech. “It doesn’t make sense why anyone would stick their neck out for us. We’re a risky team, aren’t we?”
“Could be a League official” Repp said, thinking out loud. He was met by confused glances and he felt a sudden urge to elaborate. “Really, after going through all that, we’re a high interest item for the Conference… I wouldn’t be surprised if-“ he stopped, questioning himself. Perhaps this line of thinking was dangerous for team cohesion, but he had already put it out there, so he continued. “Well… I’m just saying, it wouldn’t be surprising if some of the new hired replacements were doubling as Conference observers.”
The cabin was quiet. Everyone on board drank those words in and reflected. The idea that they were perceived now as troublemakers, that they should be observed and distrusted, almost hurt more than the actual deed itself. “We can’t let this ruin us” said the electronics technician eventually. “Sir, mister Tau, we’ve lost friends over this… now we’re getting new ones, we have to make this work… Deskki made us a family, made this whole damn team a family… I have to believe he was sincere, despite everything.
“I believe you’re right,” Repp said, nodding slowly. “Cohesion… maintaining what we still have, that’s the only way we get through this. That’s the only way we have a shot at succeeding in this tournament.”
‘That’s the only way I have a shot at defeating Resk Terri again,’ he thought to himself.
The shuttle docked sometime later and the group of them floated through the receiving gate and into the staging craft. Resk took up the rear, gripping his luggage with one hand and holding the hand rings with the other. The circular hold loomed beyond the airlocks and already he could see Fairway Blue’s fighters loading into holding racks.
The staging craft was an intersystem transport with a large pressurized cargo space that could carry dozens of s-league fightercraft. They could even launch from this ship if they had to, but today was just another transit within the sphere of Ura. Two days to one of the higher orbits, they were told.
As they drifted into the cargo space, he immediately picked out all four of their fighters amongst the lattice of cargo racks. Their blocky, triangular fuselages jutted out from the support structures that protected them in this zero gravity hanger. Several people were clinging to one of them. It didn’t take Repp long to realize it was ship number two, the one he had flown just a few days ago.
The group looked towards him and the engineers, then began to approach with gentle maneuvering. The group was mostly made up of Melkies in formal wear, a baseline and a blyn in a stylish jumpsuit. Colorfully diverse business squads weren’t uncommon in the Kuiper affiliated states, but Goblyns weren’t terribly common to begin with.
“Reppontei Tau and team! It’s a pleasure-“ started the baseline male in a rough anglo-continental accent. He had some extra augmentation in his temporal, but little else beyond his cybernetic eyes and an easily detectable NIF. “I’m Kaf Harbolt, Team Relations Office, Outer League conference, I believe you’ve been in touch with my colleague, Velda Yeong.”
Repp took it upon himself to nod on behalf of the crew, uncertain if they had each received a personal visit from the office. “Yes. She had a particular way of breaking sensitive news… I think I still have the scars.”
Kaf chuckled, but the Melkies beside him didn’t seem amused. He felt one of them ping his credentials and his socials. He tried not to frown at them. “Bit of a cold dagger that one” Kaf admitted. “But you should be at least a little thankful. She’s put a lot of work in to smooth over all this unpleasantness.”
Repp felt a tinge of agitation. He felt no real sympathy for these league officials. “Yes we wouldn’t want the league to suffer something so stigmatizing, would we?”
That didn’t go over so well. All four Melkine office junkies shot him a glare. Karl’s grin slowly vanished as a more parental crease furrowed his brow. “No… no we wouldn’t,” he continued with a less cordial tone. “I shouldn’t have to remind you that the league has offered you no shortage of amnesty in the last 72 hours, mister Tau. It wasn’t entirely out of our good graces.” He turned his gaze upon all of the team members present. “We’re entirely willing, eager even, to continue regulating and collaborating with Fairway Blue… preferably under proper management… and barring any future misconduct.” His gaze returned to Repp. “But make no mistake, you’re on the edge of the envelope. No more chances. Understand?”
Reppontei could feel a protest welling up, his pride starting to get the better of him, when his sharpened ears detected a mild snickering. He looked to his left, where the blyn woman was floating next to one of the racks, her fashion-conscious shoes hooked under one of the hand holds. To his astonishment, she was smirking at the two of them, a finger curled to her lip as though amused by some infantile display. Like all those born of her genome, she was hardly larger than a baseline child. Her ears were sharpened, but slightly wider than those of a melkine. The evergreen pigment of her skin contrasted vibrant with the scarlet hues of all the melkies present. He glanced back to Karl, who was giving her a sharp look.
“Kags, this is serious… I’m trying to impress upon this team. Maybe a gram of professional candor here?”
The blyn shook her head, still smiling. “Oh I do so love it when bureaucrats make threats…” Her voice was smokey, smooth and educated, not at all as Repp had expected. “But perhaps you’ve outstayed your usefulness here, mister Harbolt? I really don’t think mister Tau is afraid of the League.”
Karl seemed to regard her comment. He adjusted his formal coat as he glanced at the team. “This is Kagithara, your league endorsed and board appointed manager and chief engineer.”
Repp could feel the unease in his team. It crept up his spine too. After an awkward pause, he pinged Kagithara’s NIF. Her astounding level of spacecraft company management experience was obvious, but if she had any experience in S-League competitive dogfighting, it wasn’t didn’t turn up on the surface level. He thought better of pinging deeper. She didn’t acknowledge his electronic probing, but instead watched him with yellow, cybernetic eyes, her expression less cordial now.
“Charmed,” she said sternly. “You have the absolute pleasure of calling me Kags, and I think that will be the extent of our familiarity for the time being.”
Hibour 