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“I have the 44th Wing； six machines； fourteen minutes away；” a controller called out from a
nearby console。
“No； Deck。 Too far；” Eads muttered。
“The 101。 Four machines； returning over the Northern Makanites。 Three minutes；” called
another from across the chamber。
“Tolerance？” asked Banzie。
“They’ve been up for two hundred minutes； and have engaged once already。 If we instruct；
they’ll have about five minutes of fight in them。”
“Anyone else？” Banzie urged。
Nothing closer than fourteen minutes。
“Controller？” Banzie asked。
“Another Lightning just bought it； sir；” said Eads。 “And… can’t confirm； but we may also have
lost one of Umbra。 Requesting commit。”
Banzie nodded and looked up； his voice rising to drill instructor volume。 “Instruct commit！
Bring them in； please。”
Darrow looked over at the flight controller on the other side of the chamber as he began feverish
activity。 “101； 101； this is Operations。 You have an instruction to commit。 Please confirm plot。”
There was an answering swirl of vox noise。 The placement officer in front of the controller
began scribing quickly and expertly on the reactive glass display。
Then Darrow heard the controller say； “Copy that； Apostles。 I’m sure that they’ll be happy to see
you。”
The Apostles！ Holy Throne！ Darrow’s heart began to race。 He looked back at Eads。 Beads of
sweat were trickling off Eads’s brow。
“Confirmation；” he said。 “We’ve lost one of Umbra。”
Over the Lida； 10。08
“Where’s Clovin？ Where’s Clovin？” Jagdea yelled into the vox。 She’d just seen a plane go in and
make a fireball in the hydro…ponds below。 It had looked like a Thunderbolt。
“No visual；” Asche replied。
“Nothing；” called Ranfre。
“Throne； what kind of party have you brought us to？” Cordiale screeched。 Jagdea saw him；
below and left； turning wildly with a bat on his tail。 The air was full of tracer and las。 Her own lasers
were spent。 She toggled to hard cannons and stooped。
Something forked and white bent across her bows and raced after Zemmic’s machine。
“See him？” That was Blansher。
“Say again；” Jagdea voxed。
63
“The pearl…white bat。 That’s the bastard who stung Clovin。”
Blansher’s Bolt slewed in behind her and then rolled away loose。 Asche went under her；
followed by Marquall。
“Umbra Four…One； this is Operations。 We have assist committed to you。 Three minutes and
closing。”
“Understood；” Jagdea gasped； the G she was pulling compressing her lungs。
She saw Zemmic flick out to dodge his attacker。 Smoke was pumping from his port fan。
“Umbra Ten； Umbra Ten； this is Flight Lead。 Break off and quit。”
“I can hold it…”
“I don’t care； Ten。 Break off and quit for home now。”
“Copy you； Lead。”
There was the white bat now； banking over through the tails of a cloud bar。 Blansher was on it；
Asche too。 As good as dead； Jagdea decided。
She was needed elsewhere； anyway。
The burning Onero had finally given up。 Its fire…damaged wing tore away and it went down into
the valley basement like a meteor。 Another bright flash…burst。 Another vast section of farmland
torched。 Jagdea saw the Shockwave mash trees； demolish silos； and send segments of plastek
hydroponic rafts slewing into the air。
A black Razor swept over her gunsight； rolling hard； firing on Ranfre’s machine。 She hit the
speed brakes； her body arrested by the harness； and fell nose…down onto it； pumping her cannons。
It twisted and turned out as Ranfre pulled clear。 Jagdea swung around onto it again。 Resighting；
she got a decent lock。
“Bang；” she said。
The arcing bat vanished and left a drizzle of fire in its place。
Blansher blinked in amazement。 He’d had Clovin’s pearl…white killer square in his reticule； with
a firm tone。
And then it had just vanished。
He banked hard； expecting a trick。 But there was no sign of it。
“Umbra Four； Umbra Four… Did you do that？”
“Negative； Umbra Two；” Larice Asche replied。 “Frig it； Mil； he’s dummied you。 He’s right
under you！”
Blansher inverted； then curled into a dive。 Asche was right with him； popping shots at the
merciless white Hell Razor。 It stuck and turned； and matched every move Umbra Flight’s number
two made。
This wasn’t right。 This was insane。 Blansher and Asche were Jagdea’s two best pilots； aces both。
How could this hostile out…dance them together？
Asche rotated steeply and got a lock； but then pulled her thumb back as Blansher’s Bolt got in
the way。 The bastard was playing with them。 Playing them off。
The Razor screwed off left； then punctured Blansher’s wing with a flurry of hard rounds。 Asche
scored a shot that left a dark scorch on the bat’s right wing。 Then it rolled and fired again。
Blansher’s port engine exploded。
Trailing smoke； he fell out of the fight。 The Razor seemed to consider going after him； but
pulled away。 Asche turned with him； smiling under her breather mask。
And… he was gone。 She switched her head around； looking for it。 A las…shot tore through her
wing。
It was on her。 Lock tone。
Four cream…skinned Thunderbolts came out of the south； nose guns blasting。
One rolled perfectly； came in under her； and fired bursts at the pearl…white Razor。
It side…stepped； and extended at a furious rate。
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The white Thunderbolt swung past her。
One of the Apostles。 He dipped his wings to her。
“Many thanks；” Asche voxed。
So certain。 So assured。 The four Apostles ripped into the air…fight and broke it up； like bouncers
in a tavern brawl。 Seekan secured one kill； his wingman Suhr another。 It was the legendary Quint；
ace of aces； who had saved Larice’s skin。
The hostiles began to snap off and break away from the tumble。
Then Asche saw the pearl…white razor lining up on Marquall。 He was chasing one of the fleeing
hostiles； firing wildly。
“Umbra Eight！ Break！ Break！” she yelled。
She started to turn。 Jagdea’s machine swept by her； gunning。
The hostile was right on Marquall’s six。
Tone ping。 Hard lock。 He couldn’t shake it。 Marquall shouted in frustration。
And in desperation； Vander Marquall did the only thing he could think of。 He fired his
Thunderbolt’s rocket drive。 It was there only for launch assist。 No one ever used it in open flight。 It
was against text book directives。 Fire your rocket and you lose control。
He fired it anyway。
The sky and land became a blur。 He greyed out for a moment。 Somehow； he held on。
The pearl…white Razor turned； bemused； as its target banged away。
“Yours； Harlsson；” Seekan’s voice sounded calm and controlled over the vox。
“On it； Leader；” Harlsson responded。
Major Velmed Harlsson。 Ninety…seven kills。 Jagdea watched his consummate skill with humble
appreciation。 A perfect bank。 Not too much throttle。 Totally composed。 He arched over onto the
target expertly； guns blazing。
But somehow； the bat managed to viff out under him； and then swung onto his rear。
She heard Harlsson’s voice。 Just a hint of confusion in the calm tone。 “I’m locked。 I—” Harlsson
began。 “Seekan； where are y—”
The bat’s guns blew his tail assembly away。 Harlsson tried to control his flailing machine。 The
huge silver bulk of one of the transports suddenly filled his forward view。
The mangled Thunderbolt impacted into the side of the Onero at five hundred kph。 The fire
wash lit up the valley。
Theda MAB South； 10。18
“Apostle down！” the flight controller on the far side of the chamber yelled out。 There was a brisk
gasp from the personnel around them。
Darrow looked at Eads。 Eads sighed。 “Enemy has broken off。 Bats retreating。”
Banzie nodded。 There was some sporadic clapping。
Eads glanced round at Darrow。 “A white bat。 Pearl…white。 Ring any bells？”
“Sounds like the one； sir；” Darrow nodded。
“He’s a devil of a pilot。 A real devil。 Summarise everything you remember from your encounter
and I’ll get the report copied out。 The wings need to be aware of him。 Everything you remember；
please； junior。”
“Yes； sir。”
65
DAY 256
Theda Old Town； 00。10
The address she’d been given was a merchantman’s house on the Gehnstal； one of a row of elderly
mansions on a broad pavement。 Many were boarded up now； thanks to the war； but adjacent blocks
of cheap habs showed that the area’s fortunes had been in decline for some time。
Jagdea brought the staff car she’d borrowed to a halt； switched off the engine and got out。 Lights
burned brightly around the shutter edges of the house she was looking for。
Nervously adjusting her uniform； she hurried up the front steps。 Was that singing she could
hear？ She found an iron bell…pull and yanked on it。 Service bells tinkled faraway in the house。
After a moment； the door opened。 The hallway inside was dimly lit。 She found herself facing a
high…function domestic servitor； its silver form engraved with intricate chasework。
“Oh；” she said； surprised。 “I was looking for… is this 133 Gehnstal？”
“Yes； commander；” it replied； digitising the gentle； mannered voice of an elderly male through
his voxponder。 The servitor had recognised her rank。
“I’m looking for the billet used by the Apostles。 The 101。”
“Please come in；” the servitor said。
It was definitely singing she could hear in the background。 A recording of Frans Talfer’s
Gaudete Terra； with male voices booming along。
“Follow me；” the servitor said。 “May I ask your name； commander？”
“Jagdea；” she replied。
The servitor’s exquisite silver hands reached out and smoothly opened a double set of panelled
doors； letting through a bright glow light and the full force of the music。
“Commander Jagdea；” it announced。
The singing stopped； but the music languished on； fizzing slightly through the speaker horn of
the recording player on a side table。 Seekan rose out of an armchair to greet her。 “Good evening；
commander。”
Around the room were the other six Apostles。 All of them； Seekan included； were wearing full
dress uniforms； heavy with medals。 They had glasses in their hands and had obviously been drinking
for a while。 Faces were flushed； and jackets undone。
Seekan looked as fresh as night frost。
“I’m sorry；” Jagdea said。 “I’m interrupting。”
“Not at all；” said Seekan。 “Domo； a drink for the commander。” The servitor crossed immediately
to a lacquered drink stand。
“Is this the Phantine leader？” one of the Apostles asked。 He was a big man； his eyes red and
hooded from too many amasecs。
“It is indeed； Ludo。 Commander Jagdea； may I present Major Ludo Ramia。”
“Mamzel；” the big man nodded。
“Major Ziner Krone； Major Jeric Suhr。”
Suhr was a sharp…faced； skinny man。 He nodded curtly。 Krone was of noble build； a Glavian
perhaps； by the look of his gleaming black skin。 His face was badly scarred on the left cheek。 He too
nodded； then busied himself changing the recorder disk。
66
“Captain Guis Gettering。” Gettering was pugnacious and jowly； with short； sand…white hair。 He
was standing by the hearth； a crystal balloon in his hand。 “Mamzel commander；” he grunted。
“And Major Dario Quint。”
Quint。 Ace of aces。 Reclined in a battered tub chair in the far corner； he seemed more like an
observer than a participant。 He was a surprisingly small man； well…proportioned； compact； his oval
face boyish； though his hair was zinc…grey。 His hands were folded across the breast of his uniform
jacket。 He stared directly at her and held her gaze； though he made no sound。
The servitor handed Jagdea a flute of joiliq； and she took it even though she didn’t want it。
“I—” she began； and cleared her throat。 “I thought it was appropriate for me to come here in
person and express my wing’s appreciation for your assistance。 Especially given the cost。”
“You lost a machine too； didn’t you？” Ramia asked。
“Yes； I did。 But the loss of an Apostle—”
Ramia snorted。 “Harlsson was an odious shit。 He couldn’t fly worth a fart。”
Jagdea was startled。 “I… what？”
“Detestable man；” Suhr agreed。 “Don’t look so bloody shocked； mamzel。 Harlsson was all luck
and flair。 Not a gram of skill in his whole body。 It’s a miracle he lasted as long as he did。”
Jagdea frowned。 She put her drink down； untouched； and said； “I wanted to express my
appreciation and my sympathies。 I’ve done that now； so I think I’ll go。”
“Saving the neck of that upstart boy； wasn’t he？” Gettering asked suddenly。 Jagdea paused and
turne