The Wondering Workshop

Israeli authors and poets creating in English

Pyrostasis Resurrection part XIII

Written By: DaVe - Feb• 17•09

Pyrostasis Resurrection – part XIII

Skimming the Sky

From behind a mountain ridge on the earth rose two F-512-XA, the confederacy standard issue airspace fighter jets. They flew very accurately, keeping a constant 100 meters above the surface level at any given moment. They used IR, UV and blue laser in order to triangulate their safe height limitation. This was done in auto-pilot mode.

There was high density in the cockpit aquatic sphere. It was five times more dense than air yet supported acceleration maneuvers of up to 45 G-force factor. The pilots wore pressure suits just in case of a hull breach decompression. The suits were durable only to 27 G-force though. Life support came in the form of quad ribbed tubes (two for the mouth piece and two for the nose piece) which streamed 20% oxygen and 80% nitrogen. Carbon dioxide was absorbed into Elodea-filled tubes with other phyto-plankton which had chloroplasts for photo-synthesis, with the aid of LEDs.

The Anti-glare helmet had a lock-on-target via brain waves scanning. A wink would suffice to open a context menu for a visible target, allowing communications array to battle data (e.g. armour, shields, velocity, turrets, weapon payload, MTCD, attack vector, landing vector, battle formation, wingman and escort status).

The vessel’s armament included two mini-guns with 10,000 rounds. Two non-consecutive beam laser turrets, and either four 250kg napalm bombs, or two side winders missiles and only two bombs. There was a combined bullet factory, battery chamber, fuel cells, cooling ducts, deflector shield generator, and chops & flares compartment in the center of the ship. Under the chassis were the gyroscope and communications array. The chassis was covered in 5cm thick steel which was RF aware for both transmitting and receiving communications.

“Right there, Mikey, set it down.”

“As you wish, Teron, you’re in charge.”

Their rear stabilizers on board the two big afterburners tubes, fired up once they were locked in the horizontal position. The front stabilizers fired down once they were horizontally locked. This turned the big afterburners tubes in 225 degrees so now the tubes were firing 45 degrees to the ground, so they both halted and stabilized the two F-512-XA while they were descending on some rough terrain. For maximal traction the landing gears used special spikes to help reach a full stop. Those spikes were retractable so they wouldn’t interrupt the process of taking off.

“Nice landing, Mikey, just don’t die on me like last time.” Teron said while opening an atmospheric shell about 20 meters in diameter, to increase the oxygen level to 20% from 15% of the still raw atmosphere, not yet fully processed by hydro-phonic labs.

“It wasn’t fair, Teron, I was flying a stupid dropship, you know,” He paused as he was demonstrating with his palm the maneuvers he did with the ship. Teron Nodded in understanding stare at Mike’s eyes. “This stupid piece of crap where we drop shitloads of marines or evacuate them if they can’t cope with the situation.” He said while removing his helmet and decompressing his suit. His Mohawk hair now visible once he removed his helmet. The other pilots claimed he was a descendant of Johnny Depp and Carmen Electra, because he was half Cherokee, quarter Iroquois, and quarter Navajo. The best Tomahawk thrower amongst them. They knew those dead people from a millenia and a half ago since the 20th and 21st centuries were regarded as the second Renaissance in the movies and computer games industries so basically it was usually the most favourite period in modern history classes.

“So why did you crash into that solid wall, back then?” Teron did the same while opening a small kit box, which included grinder of coffee beans, a little torch-burner, a kettle and two glasses.

“Because the marines brought with them the very situation they weren’t able to cope with…”

“I see. Do you want coffee?” Teron extended a glass towards Mike.

“Sure, why not?” Mike gladly took the glass while seating on the ground.

“Good, then make yourself a cup too, two teaspoons of sugar and a bit of milk for me.”

“How about a cigarette too?” Mike pulled out a cigarette pack from a pocket.

“No thanks, I quit, again.” Teron regally declared.

“For how long this time?” Mike inquired.

“Forever, I hope.”

“How about a last one?”

“Sure, but don’t tell Veronica.”

“She’ll kill you for this?”

“Most likely.”

“What are we doing here, anyway?” Mike ask as he looked at the surroundings.

“I just wanted to show you the sunrise.”

“Why?” Mike squinted as if the sun’s corona already blinded him.

“I don’t know, as for myself, I’m indifferent about it, but humans appear to like it for some unknown reason.” Teron explained.

“How long we’ll be here?” Mike added a yawn.

“Until they call us back or sooner if we want to, unless something will show up on the Radar first.” Teron touched Mike’s shoulder, while Mike evasively snapped out of intimate range.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, just don’t touch me.”

“I know what you must be thinking… those new rumours about how all Generiens are either bi-sexual or gay…”

“Nah, I don’t believe what those stupid ass marines claims anyway… The Commando units have a few good people out there, but I wouldn’t count on the other Mobile Infantry.” He played with his fingers.

“I would rise up to kick you, if I wasn’t lazy and drinking coffee and smoking what my girlfriend forbids me.”

“Don’t you find it strange, that you seem somewhat detached from the other officers in the chain of command, being the highest ranking officer of your kind, and not raiding on people like the Commodore expects you as part of your duty as a logistics officer…?”

“I prefer not to pull rank with those who deserve my respects, I’ll save those stunts for the regular human marines as you put it nicely.”

“Are you sure you’re really Generien, because you sound more like a human than Psyions, for example.” Mike leaned on his right elbow to the left.

“I get this all the time, maybe I’m a special breed. Psyions are devoid of emotions to the utmost extreme, much like most other Generiens for that matter. Do you take Veronica for a non Generien as well?”

“Forget it…” A slight pause “You Noobmeister Tzvythousand”

“That does it…” Teron started to chase Mike for about five minutes that ended with Mike in a headlock, but of a friendly kind. The laughter of Mike could be heard throughout the valley.

They drank coffee on the verge of a tall cliff, even smoked two cigarettes each. After thirty minutes or so there was a call on the radio:

“Lieutenant Commodore Teron Jaxx, please respond.”

“Go ahead, HQ, I read you loud and clear.”

“Two bogies reached the city limits.”

“Orders?”

“Rendezvous and intercept them.”

“Roger, Wilco.” They entered their cockpits, disengage the auto-pilot and safety restrictions, then commenced the lift off procedure. Afterburners returned with stabilizers locked horizontally 225 degrees to the original position. Stabilizers returned to their vertical stance. They activated special ‘Harrier’ thrusters plus a convertible upper rotor and tail rotor to initiate a cliff jumper take off maneuver. When they were high enough the ‘Harrier’ thrusters turned 45 degrees to the back, the rotors were folded back and the afterburners had their saying before the ‘Harrier’ thrusters were shut down completely, then folded another 45 degrees to a horizontal state.

The ‘bogies’ were a couple of O-Q-Wings that allowed themselves an unauthorized entry to the Complex-City airspace territory. Except the general panic they caused, they also sprayed a few cluster bombs and fired using green and blue plasmatic laser pulses of destructive energy. The chase took the two F-512-XA into city limits and at too close proximity to the road, something a combination of auto-pilot and safety restrictions would not allow. Most citizens of Complex City were military and generiens. The army hoped to be very efficient with the need to recycle everything this little colony on planet M-E-2 was needing in order to protect planet Earth.

The engaging enemy was the dragoons’ standard issue fighter jet, also known as O-Q-Wing, designated so because of the octagonal wings and quadruple cockpit between the wings, right in the middle of the aircraft. The roads were full of traffic by low energy hover crafts. These hover crafts could lift themselves 40-60 cm above the road at best. Both Lieutenant Commodore Teron Jaxx and Lieutenant Mike Gruntess were chasing the two O-Q-Wings in very close proximity to the road, almost colliding with the traffic that was very fertile at the moment in both directions, six lanes, three in each direction. They were hoping to get a lockdown of their missiles on the O-Q-Wings. They didn’t want to use their miniguns in order to reduce the collateral damage to the vehicles.

One of the O-Q-Wings left a bouncing mine for Teron Jaxx. Teron’s F-512-XA took the bait, right in its nose. The plane lost 15 out of 20 stabilizers and took the necessary two meters dive into the asphalt, taking with him into oblivion three supply trucks of energy, food and medical supplies. Everything happened so fast and another twenty hover-crafts collided in succession but only on the three western lanes, the other three remained quite intact and the traffic there continued as if nothing had happened.

Lieutenant Mike Gruntess knew he had to do something, before turning into an asphalt pizza himself. So he used minigun shells and pulse laser shots, until he had a lockdown on both O-Q-Wings with his Sidewinder missiles which reaped them asunder rather easily.

“See you in your next lifetime, Teron Jaxx.” He told himself. “HQ, come in HQ.”

“This is HQ, go on.”

“Two bogies shot down, plus one friendly down with tremendous collateral damage, send the new asphalt truck, we’ll need it down there, in down town Complex City.”

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