Dreads flew about madly, firing on the impossibly large ship that descended upon the Nirvana. Meia led the attack. Jura and Barnette were hot on her heels, as Hibiki was recklessly attacking and Dita was screeching as she piloted her Dread.
Meia's radio was geared to hear everything that transpired in each cockpit of her fleet, and allowed her to communicate between her and the other pilots. She and Barnette and Jura exchanged patterns for attack, strategy and impromptu tricks. Dita wailed as debris from battle pelted her Dread. Meia was used to the high-pitched complaining, but this was a difficult battle and her patience was running thin. A blast hit the side of her Dread, knocking it aside. She grasped the pilot stick and corrected herself. Dita's whining kept on. "Damn it, Dita," she began.
A whoosh of air and noise passed over her in the blink of an eye and her heart jumped to her throat. It felt like a missile had grazed her Dread. One inch lower and the front end could have been destroyed. A yellow-orange flash zipped overhead. "Sorry," Hibiki's voice came over the communicator. "Watch out, you…" She tried to call him something, but she settled for a low spoken, "Be careful."
His Vanguard blazed ahead right for the huge ship. The elderly captain of the ship stood among the frantic bridge crew, calm as anyone could be. His hands were clasped behind his back and he watched the battle almost detached from what was happening. He had a low-key demeanor as he spoke his orders. "Don't let them get too close…more arms…why is that idiot flying around like that…Darling, are you paying attention?" He turned to the lovely young lady seated behind him. Their pale blue eyes met.
"Of course, Father," she said, measured and frostily. "There has not been a day that I have not sought to emulate you."
"Very good." He smiled and focused back on the battle. The young woman scowled at his back. She jumped up and joined him at his side. "Father, why can't I be on the ships after my coronation? I know everything you do. I learned from the best." Her cold beauty could charm anyone, but her father stood unaffected. He chucked her under her chin and said, "Love, as long as I live, I will not put my only daughter and the future of Empire Earth as commander on a battleship where she can get killed. Your duty as future Queen of the Empire is to produce an heir, remember that. Once you have, then you can play all the war games you wish."
She filled her chest with air and said in a defeated tone, "Very well." She left then, her strides growing faster and longer as her anger built. She entered the royal quarters and glared at Pekoe, her handmaid, although Stella preferred calling Pekoe her "assistant." Pekoe was seated in her room, reading a thick book. "His Majesty refused to let you command the warships again," she asked absently.
"How'd you guess?" Stella flopped on Pekoe's bed and the glare did not leave her face.
"He's old, he'll die in a few years," Pekoe went on, trying to offer something to her future queen.
"I don't want total command in a few years! I want to head up everything in this empire, and I want to do it as soon as I get the crown! My coronation's in six weeks, Pekoe. We need to do something between then and now."
"I don't see any options, outside of killing him," she said flippantly.
Stella rose and loomed over Pekoe in her chair. Stella was a tall young woman, and the way her silver blonde hair spilled over her face and shoulders made her pale eyes darken. She looked like a monolith of wrath. "Are you implying that I kill my own father," she raged.
Pekoe stood. She and Stella had been raised together, as she was the daughter of the Prime Minister of America. Only a life-long friend could stand up to the cold, formable Stella Kolhardt. That, and she was nearly as tall as her friend. She stood, held her head of fine, thick chocolate brown hair high. She went to speak.
"That is the best idea I've ever had," Stella said, cutting her off.
Pekoe's amber eyes widened. Was she serious about offing her father? "But, Stel, I—"
"Yes, yes, you'll get your perks once I assume the throne," Stella said with a wave of her hand. She paced the room. "Pekoe, I must say, once again you've proven your worth." She smiled with as much sincerity as she'd shown anyone. "I'll be up tonight and we can put my idea down on paper." She turned and went to leave. "Thank you again, Pekoe." A small, conspiratorial smile formed on her lips. Pekoe was left standing in her quarters, aghast. Stella always got what she wanted, and she wanted to kill the Emperor of Earth, her father. She knew it would be done. What she did not know, she did not know how to deal with that idea.
Meia's radio was geared to hear everything that transpired in each cockpit of her fleet, and allowed her to communicate between her and the other pilots. She and Barnette and Jura exchanged patterns for attack, strategy and impromptu tricks. Dita wailed as debris from battle pelted her Dread. Meia was used to the high-pitched complaining, but this was a difficult battle and her patience was running thin. A blast hit the side of her Dread, knocking it aside. She grasped the pilot stick and corrected herself. Dita's whining kept on. "Damn it, Dita," she began.
A whoosh of air and noise passed over her in the blink of an eye and her heart jumped to her throat. It felt like a missile had grazed her Dread. One inch lower and the front end could have been destroyed. A yellow-orange flash zipped overhead. "Sorry," Hibiki's voice came over the communicator. "Watch out, you…" She tried to call him something, but she settled for a low spoken, "Be careful."
His Vanguard blazed ahead right for the huge ship. The elderly captain of the ship stood among the frantic bridge crew, calm as anyone could be. His hands were clasped behind his back and he watched the battle almost detached from what was happening. He had a low-key demeanor as he spoke his orders. "Don't let them get too close…more arms…why is that idiot flying around like that…Darling, are you paying attention?" He turned to the lovely young lady seated behind him. Their pale blue eyes met.
"Of course, Father," she said, measured and frostily. "There has not been a day that I have not sought to emulate you."
"Very good." He smiled and focused back on the battle. The young woman scowled at his back. She jumped up and joined him at his side. "Father, why can't I be on the ships after my coronation? I know everything you do. I learned from the best." Her cold beauty could charm anyone, but her father stood unaffected. He chucked her under her chin and said, "Love, as long as I live, I will not put my only daughter and the future of Empire Earth as commander on a battleship where she can get killed. Your duty as future Queen of the Empire is to produce an heir, remember that. Once you have, then you can play all the war games you wish."
She filled her chest with air and said in a defeated tone, "Very well." She left then, her strides growing faster and longer as her anger built. She entered the royal quarters and glared at Pekoe, her handmaid, although Stella preferred calling Pekoe her "assistant." Pekoe was seated in her room, reading a thick book. "His Majesty refused to let you command the warships again," she asked absently.
"How'd you guess?" Stella flopped on Pekoe's bed and the glare did not leave her face.
"He's old, he'll die in a few years," Pekoe went on, trying to offer something to her future queen.
"I don't want total command in a few years! I want to head up everything in this empire, and I want to do it as soon as I get the crown! My coronation's in six weeks, Pekoe. We need to do something between then and now."
"I don't see any options, outside of killing him," she said flippantly.
Stella rose and loomed over Pekoe in her chair. Stella was a tall young woman, and the way her silver blonde hair spilled over her face and shoulders made her pale eyes darken. She looked like a monolith of wrath. "Are you implying that I kill my own father," she raged.
Pekoe stood. She and Stella had been raised together, as she was the daughter of the Prime Minister of America. Only a life-long friend could stand up to the cold, formable Stella Kolhardt. That, and she was nearly as tall as her friend. She stood, held her head of fine, thick chocolate brown hair high. She went to speak.
"That is the best idea I've ever had," Stella said, cutting her off.
Pekoe's amber eyes widened. Was she serious about offing her father? "But, Stel, I—"
"Yes, yes, you'll get your perks once I assume the throne," Stella said with a wave of her hand. She paced the room. "Pekoe, I must say, once again you've proven your worth." She smiled with as much sincerity as she'd shown anyone. "I'll be up tonight and we can put my idea down on paper." She turned and went to leave. "Thank you again, Pekoe." A small, conspiratorial smile formed on her lips. Pekoe was left standing in her quarters, aghast. Stella always got what she wanted, and she wanted to kill the Emperor of Earth, her father. She knew it would be done. What she did not know, she did not know how to deal with that idea.