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Here you'll find
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Mount Robillard
13. A Trial...The mound of warm flesh against his cheek moved slightly, stirring Arria awake. He smiled without opening his eyes, still somewhere between sleep and consciousness, snaked an arm tighter around the waist it had been resting on, and snuggled his nose a little closer. He wondered hazily how he had been at all able to sleep alone before that unforgettable party, barely two weeks before.Already before that they'd spent practically every minute of their waking hours together, of course save the times when Osip had been out in his plane. But ever since the party they hadn't parted for a single night, either. This was so right, the sex so good, every moment so perfect. Arria breathed in the warm scent of his lover and sighed. Osip was everything he'd ever wanted in a man, and then some. Not to mention totally infatuated with him, which certainly counted as an extra bonus. Arria's hand crept down to caress a firm buttock and the man beside him purred lazily. "Greedy," Osip murmured and slit an eye open. "Very greedy." "I thought you were still asleep." Arria yawned, then whined a little when Osip squeezed him tight. "Sore?" "I'll survive... if you just let me breathe... thanks. What about you?" "Just a little." Osip chuckled, a deep rumble that Arria could feel better than hear as he crawled to drape himself across Osip's muscular body. "As I said, Commander, you are a very greedy man." "Take that back," Arria ordered and sank his front teeth into a pectoral. Osip yelped and quickly wiggled the hand that was trapped under Arria's pelvis to grab a good hold of his penis. Arria froze, still sucking on Osip's chest, rapidly growing hard. "Teeth off, now," Osip growled, "or you'll lose something precious." "I think you'd regret its loss quite as much as I," Arria said evenly, without moving his head. "Got me there..." Osip released him but any further complaints were cut off by a deep kiss that went on and on "SHIT!" Arria jumped up at the first sound of the 'red alert' signal, Osip only a blink slower than him. A few blips later they were in their clothes and running down the corridor, comm in hand. "Status?" Arria barked into the thing and narrowly avoided collision with a human missile coming from their right. Wilson, judging by the coloring. "At least eight groups, we're still trying to ascertain their true numbers." Lindell, sounding extremely alert for someone whose long night shift was nearly at the end. Not a good sign. "And they're definitely going to attack. Heading straight to A-point." "All pilots to hall three," Osip's voice boomed throughout the base. "Mission briefing, hall three." He flashed a quick smile to Arria but his eyes were serious. "Keep us updated." Arria nodded, gaze following Osip who turned to the right and jogged towards the hangars. His own route went straight on, to the Control Room. One glance at the big monitors and tense faces of the people there was enough to tell him that they were, once again, going to face a staggeringly superior force. Well, at least the Union was taking them very seriously by now, Arria thought, and quite frankly he'd have found the idea rather flattering if only the situation weren't so goddamn dire. He snagged his headphones from the table and slipped them on, diving into the realm of sound. Lancer leaned on the wall, arms wrapped around himself, and tried in vain not to tremble. He couldn't turn his eyes away from the dark-haired head that was very visible among the group of pilots. Their attention was focused on Osip who stood in the front, simultaneously listening to information that flowed from the Control Room and issuing mission orders. All planes were kept in fueled and in full readiness at all times but the mechanics were still running quick last-minute checks on them. The clock ticked. Osip's fingers pressed the comm silent for a moment. "This is the first mission where Scott will be flying with us. He'll be linked with me all the time to provide information that we'll need to beat them." And to be kept track of, Lancer thought to himself and swallowed. Scott had been swarming with eagerness ever since the decision, a couple of days after the party, that he'd be at last joining the other pilots in action. However, everybody knew that the Commanders weren't the only ones who were somewhat nervous. How would Scottreact to a real-life situation where he'd be put in a battle against a fleet of other clones? Would his conditioning keep? Scott didn't look around. His shining eyes were fixed on Osip, only flickering every now and then towards his plane that was waiting patiently in line with the others. He nodded. "Get ready." All pilots dashed to their aircraft and climbed in, hands busy on the seatbelts and controls already before the hoods had fully slid closed. Scott disappeared inside dully shimmering metal and Lancer fought the urge to yell, to tell him to come back. His jaw clenched to stop his teeth from chattering, fingernails digging into his upper arms through the fabric of his jacket. He knew he had to go, he should've been at his post already, but his legs refused to move. Engines started and a deep hum filled the hangar, then Osip's plane gracefully glided forward. Lancer caught a glimpse of black hair inside it and drew a sobbing breath. He had to go, now. He had to. With an enormous effort he pushed himself away from the wall, looked once more at Scott's plane, and forced his feet into action. One step, another one, then another. Come back Scott. I'll go crazy if you leave me now. Out of the door, into the corridor. Please don't die. His pace quickened, and by the time he reached the connecting tunnel from the main level to the AD guns he was running, long hair flowing behind him. Arria watched as the planes shot out of the embrace of forest, one by one, in rapid succession. Osip was already in the air, rolling out commands to each one as they emerged and joined the groups. Arria's eyes latched on the sleek form of Scott's plane and he quickly pressed a button. "Scott, do you copy? Base out." "Loud and clear, Base. Am I now direct-linked to you and Osip?" "Yes you are." "I hear you nicely, Scott. Can you see them?" "I can. My radar shows their exact number." Scott fell silent for a moment and then began to rattle out numbers, formations and plane specifications at such a rate that Arria found himself blinking. "Whoa, hold it, Scott. Arria, put him through to everybody for a while, they need to hear this." "Everybody's not out yet. Scott, wait with the information until I can put you through to all pilots at once." "Roger, Base. I will wait. Scott out." Arria looked at the screen and his eyes narrowed. Descramblers were hard at work trying to break through the Union's shielding, and the blurry picture was slowly but steadily growing clearer. Their own shielding was up, but they could only hope that it would hide their strength and exact location from the enemy. The chosen moment of attack, close to the darkest period on this side of Jainah, was a double-edged sword: it offered some kind of cover for the rebel fighters, but it also made visual observation of the Union fleet much harder. Arria found himself mechanically confirming the launching of each unit while his brain was working overtime, devising the best battle strategy. They simply could not afford to lose this one. Lancer plopped into the AD gun seat and braced himself. In all likelihood this was going to be yet another of those cursed battles where he'd mostly have to just sit back and watch. The Union was growing more careful. They'd learned the hard way that coming too close to the surface carried a heavy penalty, and nowadays their planes mostly stayed high enough to be out of range. But, on the other hand, maybe they'd still get a nasty surprise... Lancer fastened his headphones on and smiled grimly. If the Union had managed to ascertain the reach of their AD before and was going to operate on that data, the enhanced guns should be able to pick out a few planes anyway. He caressed the control handle with cold fingers. He himself was manning one of those, Corinn's more recent babies, and he was looking forward to having his say in the forthcoming battle. If only they'd come close enough to be scratched good and proper! Blood was singing in Scott's veins. He looked hard at his monitor. He knew that aircraft type, knew it exactly. He also knew by heart the formation in which the enemy was approaching, as well as the half-dozen likeliest procedures they were going to follow once the distance was right, and fingered impatiently the comm button. Unable to wait any longer, he pressed it. "Base, do you copy?" "Base copies," came Arria's voice almost immediately. "All right, Scott, you're through to everybody now. All pilots, Scott will be listing you the strength and capacity of your opponents. Store the data. Base out." Scott took a deep breath. "Everybody, put your computers on receive. I will send you the data in five seconds." He glanced at the computer and gasped. "Osip, they are changing formation! Procedure thirty-three, three squadrons standby." The computer bleeped once. "Data sent." Osip took over immediately. "Repeat, procedure thirty-three. Group B and C engage, others standby. Osip out." Arria watched the events unfolding on the large screen, nearly forgetting to breathe. The painstaking study of Scott's plane and the technologies used to create it seemed to be paying off: their upgraded and re-tuned descramblers were able to cut through nearly all shielding and noise, and the image they now got of their enemy was far better than they'd ever had. The rebel pilots were also much more confident in their actions, thanks to the insider information about the planes they were fighting. Osip was flying like the devil himself, mowing a path of destruction through the Union fleet, relaying Scott's endless flow of information to those in the best position to make use of it. And use it they did. Yes, they were definitely making headway. Yet all the while Arria couldn't shake the feeling that something was off with their enemy. He felt his concentration slipping and fought against the tiny voice that kept clicking at the back of his mind, distracting him. He couldn't put his finger on anything, yet it was there. What was it? He could have screamed in frustration. The planes flew in impeccable formations, breaking into smaller groups, shifting neatly like a clockwork. Every move was polished and sleek. Every maneuver was executed to precision. But something simply didn't match. They seemed slower. It was very marginal, of course, and as soon as Arria had managed to convince himself that he was right, the next millisecond his eyes told him otherwise. And yet he couldn't shrug it off. Scott's eyes locked on one particular image on the screen. His detectors were blinking its identification in front of him: SC-098M. He frowned, trying to make up his mind, quickly. A plan flashed in his head. Could he do it? Should he? He battled with himself for a few more seconds, then pulled quickly up, out of the melee. "Base, Scott here, do you copy? Requesting permission to disengage temporarily from action." "Base copies, Scott. What are you doing?" Arria sounded alarmed. "Disengaging temporarily," Scott repeated. There was no time to waste now. He switched to another channel and slammed his shielding to full force. Hopefully it would keep his exact location hidden. Arria stared incredulously at the bluish white dot that suddenly seemed to fade away from the screen. "What the hell is he up to now?" he muttered under his breath, then tried again: "Scott? Scott! Do you copy?" His headphones crackled a couple of times, and then he heard an echoing transmission, like something coming through a thick fog: "SC-098M, this is SC-077M. Do you copy?" "What's happening?" Osip's yell hurt his ears. "I don't know," Arria replied. "I seem to be hearing his transmission to another clone plane." "FUCK!" Osip roared. "Try to get through to him!" "I'm trying," Arria shouted back. His call signal didn't seem to merit a reply, though, and he pressed the headphones tighter to his ears, frantically trying to understand what was going on. "SC-077M, I copy." Scott felt a tight knot in his stomach at the precise reply. That was not the voice he had expected. He had been prepared to hear somebody much deeper, sounding a little like a miniature Corinn, but instead his headphones carried a young, somewhat puzzled voice that made him doubt for a moment if the speaker wasn't an F, after all. But his use of the M-suffix had not been commented on, so it had to be a male. That could only mean one thing, though: the clone he'd known as SC-098M did not exist anymore. Either he had been destroyed in an earlier battle or terminated for some reason, his place in the ranks and thereby also his identification given to a new clone. Scott swallowed and took a deep breath. No time to ponder, now, he had to act. He could only hope that this would work out and after all, maybe this surprise would in fact make things a little easier. This was not someone whom he had met personally, of that he was sure. That might work in his favor. "SC-098M, this is SC-077M," he repeated, trying to sound as expressionless and deadpan as he could. "You have been selected for a special mission. You will follow my orders exactly. Do you copy?" "Copy, SC-077." The clone sounded far more astonished than he should have. "What are my orders?" "SC-098, you will be pulled out of action as of now. You are required for a special task, for which purpose you shall proceed to a secret destination." "077..." Obvious hesitation, far too obvious. Was the Union getting sloppy with implementing the Code, or what? "SC-098, I am your superior in rank and experience!" Scott snapped, voice dripping icicles. "Disengage from battle immediately, altitude two-fifty, and switch to secondary channel." "Yes, SC-077!" A plane broke out of the Union ranks and pulled up, immediately drawing the attention of two rebel planes. "Don't shoot!" Arria cried. "Everybody, this is Base. Leave the plane at sector C7 in peace. Base out." "What's Scott doing?" Osip's growl in his ears seemed very close. "Has he something to do with this?" "Yes," Arria half-whispered in concentration and hunched deeper over the table, grabbing the headphones tight, as if that would help him hear the discussion on the heavily encrypted channel. His left hand was working on the keys of the unit. "He's blocked even me out, but not completely. I'm trying to get through..." "Well, I sure hope he's still with us. Osip out, for now." Arria strained his ears to hear the muffled exchange. He knew he should've been keeping an eye on the overall situation, instead of focusing on a single pilot. But he also knew that if there was any single key person crucial for the success of this particular mission, it was Scott. Scott was a Union clone who'd come over to their side not so many months before, and right now Scott was behaving in a highly irregular fashion. Therefore, Arria decided pushing the last shred of self-incrimination away, he was definitely entitled to concentrate on Scott for the time being. Besides, there was no time to try whether or not anybody else could tune in on the channel Scott was using, as faint as it was. Hell, for that matter Arria was relatively sure that Scott didn't know they were being or even could be listened to. For all he knew, Scott most likely did not even want that. Arria's eyes widened at yet another terse order. Scott hadn't only taken over command of the pilot, he was actually directing the Union clone and his plane in, straight into the Robillard Base! His head spun around in search for help and he waved to the first person his gaze lighted upon. Lindell, just released from duty, eyes slightly puffy after the overlong night shift, stepped closer and frowned questioningly. "Go get me Lancer, quick!" Arria hissed. The man nodded and dashed into the corridor without comment, and Arria turned back to the desk. He had to find the right channel!
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