Nightwing

We stepped onto the new bridge. Its design was modern, sleek, sophisticated. Unlike Circe’s linear layout, the entrance to the bridge led down to a circular floor. As opposed to analog keyboards and monitors, the consoles boasted digital and touch screen displays. The bridge of this ship was a lot smaller than Circe’s control room.

“When did we–” I realized. “The airlock.”

“That’s right,” Emiko nodded. “Now follow me, please. Captain’s waiting.”

As the design of the bridge dictated, the captain sat at the center of the room, upon a bulky metal chair that looked out of place in an otherwise minimalistic setup.

The captain, however, was nothing like I expected. Unlike Emiko, she was dressed in civilian wear, with an aquamarine blouse tucked beneath sepia chinos. Unlike the alarms blaring around us, the captain wore a bored, unaffected stare like someone stuck in a daydream. A card hung around her neck, depicting a skeleton dressed in knightly garb riding a red-eyed horse. There was an unrivaled beauty about her, scarlet lips, a pair of crescent moons pinned to the sides of her braided hair, inviting golden eyes that stared past me.

“Captain Lunova,” Emiko saluted.

“Answer me something, Emiko,” the captain replied. “Why are there Caerleon capital ships out there, and could it possibly have anything to do with this person I’ve never met before?”

“And what if it does have something to do with me?” I blurted.

“Then the solution seems rather straightforward,” Captain Lunova replied. “We tie you up in an escape pod and get the hell out of here.”

“I’m afraid that’s out of the question this time, Diane.”

Ulysses’s voice filtered in through a speaker above the bridge. Captain Lunova cradled her cheeks as if her wisdom teeth had just been pulled.

“What do you want?” she sighed.

“The fleet’s bugging out. You’re running interference until we’re in the clear.”

“Business as usual then,” Diane shrugged. “Except, I’m sorry, Ulysses. My eyes must be getting old, I’m not sure if I can see straight right now. Are those imperial ships sitting outside weapons range?”

“You’re not taking them all by yourself.”

“How reassuring,” Diane murmured. “What am I supposed to do with the girl?”

“Anything you want. The fool’s yours to command now.”

Diane blinked.

“Happy hunting Nightwing,” Ulysses ended the connection. A brief quake rocked the bridge. Had we been disconnected from Circe?

Nightwing?

“Emiko,” Captain Lunova suggested. “We should really tie her up in the escape pod. She’ll run interference. We make our escape.”

“Captain, Ulysses made it clear that action was strictly off limits.”

“You know, just between you and me, Emiko,” Diane said. “In some jurisdictions, piracy is considered off limits too.”

“Captain–”

“Why did Ulysses say Nightwing?” I interrupted them.

Diane gave me a quizzical look.

“What do you mean why?” she said. “Nightwing is the name of this ship. It’s common to address the crew by the name of their vessel.”

“But Nightwing?” I asked. “Is this a joke?”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Diane said blankly.

“You don’t feel ashamed at stealing from the venerable dead? The real Nightwing was lost in the Siege of Caerleon with all hands.”

“I’m sorry for your loss?” Diane yawned. “I wasn’t aware that ships kept their names forever.”

“They should be given that honor after having sacrificed themselves.”

“Is that so?” Diane smiled. “You sound like a Nightwing enthusiast.”

“Hardly,” I crossed my arms and nodded to Emiko. “Your navigations officer. She implied that she’s an IFA graduate. She must know about Nightwing too.”

“Emiko!” Diane gasped. “You never told me that you were a graduate from the Caerleon Imperial Fleet Academy. How could you have kept such a vital secret from your commanding officer?”

Emiko shook her head and slumped her shoulders. The crew around me were shaking and visibly trying to hold in their laughter. Diane grinned at me and crossed her legs. What did she know that I didn’t?

“What’s so funny?” I demanded.

“Nothing,” the captain shrugged. “I was curious how much IFA graduates know about Nightwing these days. The ship’s been lost for…maybe thirty years now. Would you even recognize Nightwing nowadays?”

“Of course,” I scoffed. “Her design was one of a kind.”

“Truly?” Diane asked. “Tell me about her then.”

Next to Captain Lunova was a command console similar to the one aboard Circe, except it was smaller and the image quality was clearer. Clear enough to ascertain the design language of the Caerleon ships, clear enough to recognize the rising thermal signature of their engines.

“You don’t think you should focus on the Caerleon ships in front of you?” I asked. “Instead of asking me about trivia?”

Diane clicked her tongue. It looked like she wanted to press the matter further, but one glance at her own console changed her mind. She yanked the card off her neck and set it face down on the terminal. The bridge lights turned dark. A holographic view of the solar system spanned the length of the room, along with the planets and ships inhabiting it.

“Of course,” she muttered. “Where are my manners? Let’s roll out the welcoming mat everyone. Emiko, show our alumni to her station.”

“This way,” Emiko said. “You’ll take the station next to me.”

I sat at “my station” and raised my eyebrows.

“And what am I supposed to do?” I asked. “Watch as we get vaporized?”

“No,” Emiko smiled. “New recruits just get to enjoy the show.”

“Weapons check!” Diane called. “What do we still have?”

“We’re out of missiles,” a young man with an eyepatch responded, “but the main gun and the double-A cannons are good to go.”

“They’re not good to go, Stephen,” moaned another man sitting next to the pirate costume enthusiast. “Captain, the engine’s drawing on fumes. It’ll need an overhaul at AWS. It’s either the shield batteries or the guns. You can’t have both.”

“Take the mini cannons offline and give me at least twenty five percent shield strength, Vlad,” Diane ordered.

“I can only guarantee you twenty.”

Diane fingered the terminal again.

“This is Nightwing,” Diane said. “Who did Ulysses send this time?”

Silence. Static crackles.

“This is Nightwing. Please respond.”

Then, a rustle and a weary sigh.

“This is Kindred Lancer. We’re spotting,” came a woman’s voice. “All four battle groups are currently sitting inside Lancer’s firing range.”

“Edge of Knight is charting an intercept course,” came a man’s voice.

“That’s a negative, Edge of Knight,” Diane replied. She tapped her terminal. The positions of the Sunless Fleet on the display changed. “Form a defensive perimeter around the decoy as directed. You will provide covering fire for the fleet’s retreat.”

“I don’t take orders from Caerleon dogs,” grumbled the captain of Edge of Knight.

“Nightwing is Circe’s primary weapon system,” Diane explained. “Please comply with the King’s request. Lancer, I’m forwarding you the selected targets for engagement. Please comply when you’ve acquired firing solutions on all targets.”

“Fuck you,” spat Kindred Lancer’s captain. “Confirmed.”

“We appreciate your continued support, Kindred Lancer,” Diane thumbed the terminal again. “Emiko, chart an intercept course for the Noble Interception.”

“Yes ma’am!”

Diane’s idea was so preposterous I jettisoned out of my seat.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I shouted. “You’re ordering three ships against four Caerleon battle groups? Against Noble Interception?”

“Technically,” Diane shrugged. “Ulysses was the one who gave the order.”

“Requesting permission to leave in an escape pod as you originally suggested.”

“Permission denied. And next time you complain during combat, I’ll have you locked up for insubordination.”

“Intercept course ready,” Emiko said. “The short burst subspace jumps are being fed to your terminal.”

“Then let’s get this show on the road,” Diane snapped her fingers. “Kindred Lancer, you are cleared to engage.”

A thick white tracer flashed past the bridge windows and vanished. Temperature readings spiked on Emiko’s terminal. On the holographic display, a projectile crossed the length of the solar system through subspace, then reemerged and smashed into a Caerleon frigate’s backside. On a closeup on the display, the ship’s engines shattered and stalled. Thermal readings plummeted as the ship limped forward.

“That’s a Phalanx.” I whispered. “How the hell did you get your hands on one?”

“Impressive deduction, IFA graduate,” Diane growled. “Kindred Lancer. Please recalibrate your firing solution to not include us in the line of fire.”

“Sorry,” Lancer’s captain snickered. “It was the only available shot.”

The Phalanx was Caerleon tech developed during the Deuterium Wars. Over the span of a decade, the discovery of multiple planets with vast, almost inexhaustible reserves of deuterium had crashed the fuel market economy. In response, the imperial military invested in weapon systems that could take advantage of near infinite resources.

The result was the Phalanx, a guided tungsten projectile system propelled by deuterium and a small Lemmings-Hyder drive. Ships could hover at the edge of solar systems and fire at unsuspecting targets with nothing more than a handful of espionage probes to laze their targets. Some Caerleon knights even refused to adopt them into their fleets, citing that their existence was anathema with the Caerleon’s principles of honorable combat.

And now the Sunless Fleet was somehow in possession of one. A second bright flash soared past the deck. Another Caerleon frigate grinded to a halt on the galactic display. But the Phalanx was a Caerleon weapon. Gawain understood what had caught both of us by surprise. Each of the four battle groups vanished into subspace.

“Lancer this is Nightwing,” Diane broadcasted. “Imperial ships have charted an intercept course. Fall back to the transmitted rally point. We are in pursuit. Edge of Knight, initiate blind bombardment and prepare your escape vector.”

The captain of the Edge of Knight did not respond, but the ship dumped an armory’s worth of weapons into space. Nuclear warheads, anti-frigate mines, a planetary bombardment into emptiness. Blind bombardment was what Diane had called it, but what was the point? Nightwing dashed forwards. I peaked at Emiko’s station to see her locked into some kind of trance.

“Tell me, IFA graduate,” Diane said. “What was the old Nightwing’s most famous feature?”

“Are we really going at this again?” I asked. “In the middle of battle?”

“Yes.”

I released a reluctant sigh.

“It’s called Bridge Mode,” I answered. “Experimental consciousness technology. Makes the crew feel like they’re piloting Nightwing as a singular entity.”

Captain Lunova of Nightwing nodded.

“So you say,” she replied. “And so it shall be.”

Diane snapped her fingers. A chill swept the room. Why did I feel cold? Then, those who died awoke from their graves.

“Bridge Mode.”