Chapter 8: The Hunt ------------------- "In keeping my hands clean, I have dirtied my soul" -The Doctor, Lucifer Rising Loki's card game wasn't going well. He and Redbird were amusing themselves while they waited for Captain Adrian; Loki had forgotten that Redbird _always_ won when he played her a game. Right now, her General Leo card was kicking the daylights out of his Imperial Bureau of Investigation card; something he wasn't proud of. The situation looked pretty hopeless... unless... Loki turned over another card, and smiled at the picture of a man holding an autocrossbow, perched on a building. *Sniper,* he thought, smiling. As he was about to turn the tables, an officer he didn't recognize walked quickly into the bay, and headed towards the stolen plane. Her uniform was dirty, and she looked like she had been dragged through a hedge backwards. Twice, he decided. She definitely looked suspicious. Redbird had noticed her as well, and called out at her. "Hey. Hey! Who the hell are you?" she yelled. The woman stopped short, and glanced around like a cornered animal. She opened her mouth... "She's Ace Falcon," said Adrian, entering from another door, "a transfer from Fury. She was upstairs when it blew. She's joining us this afternoon." The two other pilots were standing at attention, having cleared their cards away in record time. Malia relaxed slightly; Paul had really saved her butt that time. He looked at her and frowned. "Lieutenant," he said disapprovingly, "your uniform leaves _much_ to be desired. Don't you have a spare?" "No sir. Not at this time, sir. This is my spare, sir," said Malia. "Hmmm, alright. I expect an immediate improvement, however." "Yes SIR!" said Malia, unable to keep from twisting the corner of her mouth up in a smile. Paul looked around. "Are you two the only ones who showed up?" he asked the two pilots. "Apparently, sir." said the one with "Loki" on his helmet. Malia looked the two over. She was a flame-coloured redhead, tall but not imposing. The other one was young-looking and dark-skinned; a Veldtman. The Empire wasn't exactly into employment equity; he must be hot stuff in the air. "Well, then," sighed Capt. Adrian, "let's go, shall we? We're taking off from only thirty feet above ground level, because they're not lifting this monster of the ground for us. Once you're clear of the airship field, head south in formation. We'll make the rest up as we go along," the pilots smiled at this. "To your planes, people. C'mon, C'mon, scramble!" Malia boosted herself up into the Blood Wind, remarking to herself how easily Imperials had the wool pulled over their eyes. And to think she used to be one. Malia checked to see if the techs had sticky fingers, but all her stuff was still in the compartment. She stowed the folded crossbow back there too, and powered up her plane. Her eyebrows went up, pleasantly surprised. "Someone's been working on you, BW," she murmured. All the intentional damage she had caused her plane on her adventure was repaired, and more. The Bolt Cannons were up, and so were the Ab-Zeros. She fired a half-second thruster burn. "Whoa... feel the power..." There might be something to be said after all about Imperial expertise. The tac net snapped on, and she could hear the others making their prelaunch checks and such. Suddenly, she found she was sitting on something. She fished it out to find it was a small order recorder used by the Empire. She shut off her outgoing radio signals, and turned the interior player on, slotting the cassette in. Paul's voice, sounding nervous and speaking quickly, came out of the player: "Malia. If you're reading this, you've made it back to the Blood Wind, and I'm taking you and some other pilots out for maneuvers. I'm going to initiate a plane-hunting activity. You can lose yourself in the clouds, and maintain radio silence until you're clear of Doman territory. I suggest you head towards Thamasa. It's the last known whereabouts, on the grapevine, of the General." Malia's eyebrows shot up again. The General? General Celes was alive? The recording continued, as if reading her thoughts: "That's what happens when you spend all your time at a chalkboard, Mal. Some thief busted her out. She was one of the Warriors of Balance. Find her; she can get you in touch with the resistance, or maybe she *is* the resistance. I'm staying. Our sides of this war are chosen. I hope we will never have to fight each other. Good Luck. Message ends." Malia groaned. Paul obviously had an overestimated opinion of his chances for survival if she got away. But it was too late now; the others were lifting out of the bay, and starting to wonder why she wasn't. She switched her signals back on, and punched the thrusters. The Spitfire leapt out of the Chimaera, its fins unfolding as it rushed towards the sky. * * * The four aircraft roared toward the coast in a diamond formation. Paul, or Nightfall as went his callsign, was in front, with Loki to starboard, Ace Falcon to port, and Redbird in the tail. Formation rolls and loops were first. A burst and a V-dive later, Malia was getting frustrated with her rusty flying. Loki and Nightfall were turning circles around her... her! She rolled to port, engaging the hotshot Loki in an only half-friendly chase. He tried to lose her with a quick Immelmann, and almost did, but Malia kept on him. She banked into a cloud cover. "The Falcon isn't chickening out so soon, is she?" called Loki over the net. The other two chuckled. "Aces high, flyboy!" shouted Malia, bursting from the cloud cover upside down, and a foot above his cockpit. Loki made a startled "Meep!" sound, and took his plane into a power dive. Malia followed, righting herself. He waved at her as their cockpits came face-to-face, and she smiled back. Then she hit her turbos, making the ground rush even faster towards her. She swerved her plane back up, speeding past the other pilot's cockpit. "Great Gaia!" Loki swore, "Are you trying to kill yourself?" "Alright, Ace Falcon," warned the captain, "let's calm down now. We're going to do some pair hunting games. Ace Falcon and I will dive into cloud cover, with our tac nets turned off. Redbird and Loki will try to track us down, and lock their cannons on us. Give us a five- second lead, and come after us. Form on my wing Ma-urm-Ace." The two spitfires dissapeared into the cloud bank. Redbird watched the tac net connections shut off, and the fading radar dots turn from green to amber as the pilots armed their cannons. She watched her own crosshairs pop up on the cockpit screen as she powered up. Loki spoke: "Alright, that's five. Aroooo!" giving a wolf howl, his craft dove after the prey. * * * "Alright Malia," said Nightfall over their "private" connection, "this is it. I'll see you around, maybe." "Paul, has that 142 IQ gone completely to waste in the Empire? Do you think that head is going to remain on those shoulders long, if I disappear? They'll find out about the sewers, and they'll come looking for you. If you want to live, come with me." "Malia-" "Come with me, Paul." "I can't." "Yes you can, and you will, because if you don't, I am going to blow your wings off, and stuff you in this crate with me!" Paul flushed at the thought. He opened his mouth to speak again, when Redbird found them. Her plane adjusted to the frequency of the other two, scanning at close range. Her crosshairs turned red as they locked on the Blood Wind. "Gotcha! Ace Falcon down." She called goodnaturedly. "Sorry," said Malia, "I'm suddenly sick of playing by the rules." "Wha-" started Redbird. Malia's aircraft swerved out of the way, accelerating towards the sea. "What the hell are you doing, Falcon?" "Paul, come on, you groundhog! Get the hell out of there!" shouted Malia, seeing Paul gliding past Redbird. Redbird's astonishment quickly turned to cool hatred. "We dislike traitors in this Air Force." On her scope, first the Blood Wind and Nightfall turned from amber to red. Electric death flew past Paul's spitfire in sprays. His bottom stabilizer exploded, jerking him almost into the canopy. The craft began to lose altitude, trailing smoke. "In this airforce, you're all traitors," said the voice from the plane directly on her six. Redbird's eyes widened. *ohgodohgodhowdidthatbitchmovethatfastthattraitorbitchlonglivetheEm-* The Spitfire disentigrated in on itself, becoming a fireball. The cold anger in Malia's throat suddenly made her feel sick. *I hate it. I hate the killing. I'm not a killer.* But the voice inside said: Oh yes you are. You always were. You didn't shoot, but you built the guns. You didn't smash and burn and freeze, but you helped design the machines of dustruction. You twisted the gifts of magic and technology to serve the wants of warfare. The soldiers kill, but you are worse, because you showed them *how*. "Malia? Malia!" Paul was calling over the commo. His plane was recovering, wobbling a little, but intact. "I'm alright. I'm alright," she repeated, wiping a tear of her face. "Let's go. Now." "Alright. I'm on your wing." Above, in the clouds, Loki's plane hung, an angel of death that did not fall. He had seen too much of the Empire's power to enforce it on others, unless he had to. He hoped, on the dead name of the tribe of the Red Fang, that they made it. The two warriors headed away, wingtip to wingtip. A new hope lay in the south; old friends and new allies, a fighting chance. There would always be Saschas and Akfeks; and there would always be the people who will fight against them. Malia and Paul rushed together towards the new day.