Interceptor City, page 28
‘We’ll crowd in, no issue,’ said Gangster. ‘Close up formation, smokes.’
The young aviators shuffled around and made room for the three new-comers to squeeze in. The billet was almost laughably packed, and combined body heat was making it sweaty.
There was an awkward silence.
‘I’m not sure if I have anything to say that will interest you three,’ Jagdea said to Gangster and her boys. She had a feeling she knew what this was. Word had got around, and Gangster and her gunfighter crew had decided it would be funny to roll up, intimidate the smokes, and generally disrupt and piss-take.
Disa Yesof took her aback with the directness of her response.
‘We all gotta learn,’ she said. ‘Every day. I got kills, but they won’t count for shit if I bite it, and the day I say I know all there is to know is the day I start biting.’
‘True thing,’ snarled Rockcrete, and smacked palms with Gangster directly above the flinching head of Tantrum.
‘So you all listen up, smokes,’ said Slumbag. ‘Listen up good.’
‘These are just…’ Jagdea began, ‘just some observations I’ve made. I don’t claim to know–’
‘Nah,’ said Gangster. ‘You’re Jagdea. Bree Jagdea of the Zoph. So we listen when you talk.’
She locked Jagdea with a look so fierce that it felt like there should be a heater ready to follow it in. Though more aggressive, it was somehow more rapt than Camo’s crush-stare.
‘All right,’ said Jagdea. ‘Gumm’s going to talk about sighting defaults. I’d like to get the veterans’ perspective on that, since you’re here. Then I’ll introduce you all to the benefits of hose tape.’
‘You gonna talk J-turns, though, right?’ Rockcrete asked.
‘We did that,’ said Glick.
‘Well, we weren’t here, Tantrum,’ Rockcrete growled at him.
‘I can circle back to that subject,’ said Jagdea. ‘Or you can stay after.’
‘And I want to know how you turn a spit-out into a loop-and-kill,’ said Gangster.
The informal huddle lasted over two hours. There were lots of questions, and some genuine debate.
‘Same time tomorrow,’ Jagdea said as the aviators filed out. ‘But I’ll find somewhere bigger, so listen out.’
‘Stand you a drink?’ Gangster asked.
‘I’ll see you in the refectory,’ Jagdea replied with a nod.
When they were gone, the billet was overheated and stank of perspiration. Gumm propped the door open.
‘So,’ he said.
‘That went better than I thought it would,’ she replied, gathering up the pages of the Voss book.
‘What she said,’ he muttered. ‘Yesof. I’ve heard the same from others. It true?’
‘About me?’
‘Yes.’
Jagdea nodded. ‘I didn’t put it out there,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to carry a rep any more than you do.’
‘Well, it’s out,’ Gumm replied.
He looked at her, his small blue eyes unblinking, his porcelain face unreadable.
‘Zophonian Sea, eh? That’s some glory story.’
‘Long time ago, Gumm,’ she said. ‘I’m not that person any more.’
‘You are to them,’ he replied. ‘Never thought I’d see Yesof show up and admit fallibility. Maybe a rep has some use after all.’
‘Maybe,’ she said, pondering. ‘Thinking about using yours?’
‘I’m just a driver from the reserve pool,’ he said.
‘All right,’ she said, half-smiling.
He sighed. ‘I–’ he began.
‘What?’
‘I keep my rep tight,’ he said, his voice more fur-soft than ever, ‘because the glory story that it comes with ends like this.’
He tapped the hard ceramic of his cheek with his index finger. It was a hollow, inorganic clack.
‘Then don’t tell it,’ she said. ‘Ever. I won’t ask again. All I know is, now you know more about me than I know about you, and that’s an asymmetric payload. And if it’s pain that keeps your story inside you, telling it to a friend might help. I’m just saying.’
‘We didn’t join the Aeronautica to make friends,’ he replied.
‘And yet…?’ she said with a grin.
‘And yet.’ Gumm shrugged. ‘I appreciate the offer. I mean it. Maybe one of these days.’
‘If we have enough left,’ she said.
‘Indeed.’
‘You coming to the refectory?’ she asked. ‘Apparently, the drinks are on Yesof.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m going to turn in. And I don’t drink. You know that.’
‘I do know that about you,’ she agreed. ‘So that’s one thing at least.’
DAY 93
Intercept 66, Vesperus, 04:45
She woke early, deliberately, and went up to Campanile Control before the morning alert-ready call got everything too busy.
She’d taken a look at the wafer Lopard had given her, but it was a huge data-block that exceeded the capacity of any slate she could lay her hands on. She needed a significant cogitator to review it properly.
It was quiet, even in Six-Six Control. The high-vaulted belfry chamber was manned by three operators, all reaching the weary end of the overnight shift. Jagdea peered in through the doors. There was no sign of Badler or Dampier. The veteran pilot known as Jongleur was acting as duty exec. Jagdea wanted to keep her activities lo-res to keep the heat off Garrant for as long as possible. But Control was the only place in the war deck where there was a cogitator of sufficient power.
She walked in, bold.
‘Help you, Driver?’ Jongleur asked, looking up.
‘I need to review some data,’ she replied, acting like there was nothing off at all. ‘Can I snag a spare station?’
Jongleur scratched his bearded chin. He was too tired to care.
‘High watch is free,’ he replied, gesturing to a console at the far end.
Jagdea nodded her thanks, and went over to the desk. Jongleur turned his attention back to the strategium table.
She slotted in the wafer and waited for the data to load. It took a while. Under the bell yokes and headstocks, the repurposed chamber was almost silent, apart from the voltaic hum, and the occasional murmur of voices or the squeak of a chair. But the shred was here. Sitting in the blue gloom, waiting for the data to process, she could feel it. Control was the nest where the shred dwelt. It was the secret lair from which it made its sudden sorties into the hearts and guts of every aviator. At any moment, a screen could light up and threat tones ping. No wonder Jongleur and his warfare officers looked so frayed. An overnight shift in this lingering menace would drain anyone.
Her screen blinked. Data began to unfold. Leaning forward, she played with the aspect dial to make sense of it. Tri-D hololithic mapping, which she could rotate to any orientation, showed her Vesperus as it had been in life. Parts of it. She zoomed out, appreciating how big the data-block was and, in consequence, how very big the hive was. She saw, as wire-frame models, streets and avenues she had flown along, towers she had circled, urban chasms she had run at high burn. She looked for overlay options, unfamiliar with the console layout, found what she was looking for, and entered her requested function. A second map of bright red and amber lines superimposed itself on the hive map like an impossibly complex, impossibly dense cobweb. The routes and links of the hive’s vast public transport system, banded into altitudes and frequencies, colour-coded for priority and connection.
It was everything she had–
‘What the hell is this?’ a voice asked at her shoulder.
It was Senior Deck Dampier.
Leader’s office, Intercept 66, Vesperus, 05:11
‘You sanctioned it?’ Dampier asked.
Garrant sat down at his desk. He looked tired and angry.
‘Deck,’ he said, ‘I don’t have time for this.’
‘None of us have time for it, Lead,’ Badler said. He was standing by the window shutters, arms folded, glaring at Jagdea. ‘But Driver’s making us make the time.’
‘I intended no–’ Jagdea began.
‘You can shut up completely,’ Dampier snapped at her. Head up, hands behind her back, Jagdea stiffened and tried not to catch Garrant’s eye.
‘You sanctioned this?’ Dampier asked Garrant again.
‘I gave Jagdea an unofficial nod to proceed with some informal flight instruction, Deck,’ said Garrant.
‘We know about her huddles, Lead,’ said Badler. ‘I’ve seen one.’
‘Then why the frig have you pulled me in to talk about it?’ Garrant asked, mainly to Dampier. ‘I should be briefing–’
‘Why keep it unofficial?’ Dampier asked.
‘Because you could never permit it to be otherwise, Julett,’ Garrant told her. ‘You’re Prefectus. If you don’t officially know about it, you can deny it. I didn’t want you compromised. Either of you.’
‘Because the combat techniques Driver is circulating are non-standard and contrary to Aeronautica regulations,’ said Badler. It wasn’t a question.
‘You know they are,’ said Garrant. ‘They may also save lives and improve our performance, in this particular theatre, which is why I turned a blind eye. I turned a blind eye so that neither of you would have to.’
‘Lead Garrant was not–’ Jagdea began.
‘I said shut up,’ said Dampier. ‘Pretty convinced I meant it.’
‘It’s your job to run this deck to code, Dampier,’ said Garrant, ‘and you are scrupulous, which is why I am glad to have you. It’s my job to prosecute this frigging war and meet the lord militant’s requirements. Sometimes those objectives do not overlap. This is one of those times.’
‘I fully support your–’ Dampier started to object.
‘You can’t fully support me!’ Garrant snarled. ‘Not where I’m going. Not where I’m obliged to go. For frig’s sake, Julett. What are you going to do? Approve the masking of cockpit instruments? Approve pilots to reject stores if they feel like it? Approve the tasking of fightbirds in unauthorised performance? You can’t have things like that on your official transcript and not expect the service to gut you when this tour is up.’
‘I think that should be my choice, Lead,’ said Dampier. ‘What goes on my record and what doesn’t. My choice.’
‘Well, I was making the choice for you, so you didn’t get burned,’ said Garrant. ‘You’ve seen the stats. We’re stopping one in five. We need that up to three at least to meet the threshold. We are letting too many through, and the south-east ’plex is getting pounded.’
‘A few non-standard tricks is one thing,’ said Dampier. ‘But this is something else entirely.’
She held up the wafer.
‘Restricted Administratum data,’ she said. ‘Critical strategic data, accessed without authority on a Control station.’
Garrant opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, and shook his head.
‘Lead Garrant knew nothing about it,’ said Jagdea.
‘Last warning, pilot,’ said Dampier.
‘Where did the data come from?’ Badler asked.
At attention, Jagdea flexed uneasily. She thought of Lopard, of trust…
‘I’ll repeat that question,’ said Dampier.
‘I’m not prepared to say, Deck,’ said Jagdea.
‘I’m pretty sure I know,’ said Dampier.
‘Then why are you asking me?’ Jagdea snapped. She dropped her hands to her sides, and turned to Dampier. ‘What is the point of this conversation?’ she asked.
‘Resume position and shut up!’ Dampier growled.
Jagdea glanced at Garrant. He was frowning, as though fighting a sudden, knifing migraine.
‘Permission to speak, sir,’ she said.
‘Granted,’ sighed Garrant.
Jagdea looked at Dampier and the glaring Badler.
‘Lead knew nothing about the data,’ she said. ‘Nothing. I had an idea, a hunch, and I was playing it to see if it had any utility. And I think it does. But I acknowledge the data is restricted, illicitly obtained, reviewed without any auth, and without Lead’s knowledge or approval. He’s mad at me, not you.’
She glanced at Garrant.
‘I’m sorry I’ve dropped you in this,’ she said.
He scowled. ‘I don’t need this shit, Jagdea,’ he replied. He turned his gaze towards Dampier. ‘But if you’re charging her, you’re charging me too. This data may be news to me, but I consider its acquisition and examination to be part of the free hand I gave to Jagdea.’
‘Don’t–’ Jagdea whispered.
‘Oh, Asa,’ said Dampier. ‘How frigging difficult do you want to make this?’
‘File your report, Dampier,’ Garrant said.
‘No,’ said Jagdea. ‘This entire discussion is arse-about-face! You’re so concerned about the data’s auth level and origin! You’re not even asking the obvious questions!’
‘Which are?’ asked Dampier.
‘Why the frig didn’t you have it already?’ said Jagdea. ‘And why aren’t you using it?’
‘I haven’t begun to review the data,’ said Dampier.
‘It’s transit system maps for the entire hive,’ said Jagdea. ‘Every flight level and route, every obstruction and structure logged. A complete navigation brief for flying this city.’
‘It will be out of date,’ said Badler. ‘The damage–’
‘Parts of it, yes,’ said Jagdea. ‘Big parts. But even if only some of it is valid, it will save lives. Pilots can focus on bat-hunting rather than just trying to miss this frigging city at every turn. Why haven’t we been running this since day one?’
There was a pause. Dampier glanced at Garrant.
‘No one knew it still existed,’ said Dampier.
‘Did anyone even ask?’ said Jagdea.
‘Watch your tone–’
‘It took me, what, two days to find it,’ said Jagdea. ‘All right, I got it from an illegal source, and maybe most hive data has been burned or wiped. But I bet there’s a copy of this in the databanks at Orison ’plex. Why is no one thinking? Why is no one asking these questions?’
Nobody spoke. She knew the answers anyway. Everyone was too shredded. There was no time to think. It was the same with everything. Minute-to-minute survival obscured any big-picture thinking. And, as ever, the chain of command, so remote and theoretical, was not considering practical applications at the sharp end. No one had supplied Six-Six with the data for the same reason they kept sending Six-Six Voss Strikes. Wrong tool, wrong job. Somebody high in the chain had ordered that something got done, and the grunts at the bottom had to find a way to do it.
‘The data’s too big,’ said Badler after a moment.
‘What?’
‘Too big to load onto a fightbird’s onboard.’
‘Agreed,’ said Jagdea. ‘So we packet it by district, and issue packets to match sorties.’
‘That’s a lot of work,’ said Badler.
Jagdea nodded. ‘And we don’t have any time to waste,’ she said. ‘I know. But you put two or three competent pilots on this for a week or two, sorting, subdividing, packeting, you would extend everyone’s sortie time. It’s just basic warfare economics. Fewer pilots in the sky now, but more birds in the sky for longer lifetimes. Fewer losses, more kills.’
Badler looked at Garrant.
‘With due respect to whatever frigging legend Driver may have once been,’ he said, ‘we can’t spare–’
‘She’s not wrong, Ricou,’ said Garrant.
There was a knock at the door, and it opened without a wait for permission.
‘Multiple shouts, Lead,’ Jongleur reported, sticking his head around. ‘Inbound tracks.’
Garrant rose immediately.
‘Get to it,’ he said. ‘We’ll revisit this later. Deck, get that data analysed for feasibility.’
‘You’re on report, pending,’ Dampier said to Jagdea. She looked at Garrant. ‘Lead, you are also–’
‘Whatever,’ said Garrant.
Sixth drop, Intercept 66, Vesperus, 05:55
The war sky was waiting for them. A stagnant sunrise bled across the hive, filling the streets with smudged light and long, blotchy shadows. It was a busy morning already.
Jagdea dead dropped off the spire with Tantrum and Smoke, the fourth intercept to go in as many minutes. They were tasked to a track coming in through Vanitas. It was Wilzar’s first time back in the air since his collision, and Jagdea could tell he was applying himself, flying his repaired Strike with assertive authority. She didn’t know if the huddles had improved his attitude, or if he was just determined not to screw up again.
But Tantrum was sticking with confidence too. She didn’t have to make allowances for either of them. She had the lead spot. She lit the coals and led them on a tag-chase between towers and over roofs.
The track turned into nothing; either a false read, or the bats were already long gone. Jagdea voxed control, reporting intention to return, but was instructed to perch instead. The promised fuel load was due to arrive from Intercept 43 that day, but until it did, conservation regs were in place. Now they were out, they would stay out rather than burn fuel getting back to the Campanile only to burn more when they were scrambled again.
They found a roost high in the eaves of a habitat tower just south of Vanitas, dug their landing claws into the buckled plating, and shut down.
The sun rose, shifting the angle of light across the skyline. It was a sickly, bloodshot radiance. Dust clouds and reactor smoke threaded the streets far below. A light breeze creaked and shifted their perched birds. Wilzar and Glick, roosting either side of her, chatted quietly over cockpit comms. Jagdea sat back, rolling through the combat channels with her fingertip, trying not to think about the mess she’d dropped herself and Garrant into. Dampier might remove him from command. She had the authority. She was hard to read, but she seemed the epitome of the dedicated Prefectus officer. Jagdea admired that as much as she loathed it.
