Heavenward

Two unknown radar contacts emerged before the surveillance of the United Systems. War captains and their wingmen were dispatched to combat such minor engagements, dogfights for which Captain Cullen was conditioned to execute with adroit precision.

On a nearby blue-giant system, two trespassers had flown near a local colony beyond reasonable comfort, and it was Captain Cullen and his two wingmen's duty to show the intruders no mercy.

"I'm getting tone on bandit-two. He's mine," spoke a wingman.

One of the war jets pursued a pirate in a dogfight. They were dark triangular vessels, crude as the cosmic dark like arrowheads chiseled from unearthly stone. Three jets and two pirates tangoed in the darkness, gamboling with sparks upon the ecliptic of the blue sun.

"Copy that, Ironhead. I'm going to get tally on bandit-one." Captain Cullen disengaged from bandit-two and maneuvered his war jet through the vacuum of the solar system.

The pirates trespassed with undocumented cargo, purging the need for compliance with the United Systems. Captain Cullen, of the lightweight war jet Night Executioner, and his wingmen were amongst the few sent for their unfailing skill in eliminating minor targets.

"Cullen, bandit-one's still on my ass. I can't shake 'em!" Cullen's second wingman, Weasel, called into his earpiece.

Bandit-one engaged Weasel with an electromagnetic railgun.

"Steel in the air, Weasel!" Yelled Cullen.

Weasel jerked his jet upwards, redirecting his craft into the vacuum above. The metal projectiles rapidly fired behind the wingman.

"Defending!" Weasel barraged the pirate with electromagnetic pulses from the rear of the war jet, temporarily blinding the pirate. Shielded from EMP bursts, Cullen continued following.

"Weasel, maintain your maneuvers and keep him off your six. I'm engaging bandit-one." Cullen swooped from behind and engaged the pirate closely.

"Scratch one. I'm re-engaging." Ironhead buzzed into their ears.

"Copy that, Ironhead, I got visual on my six. Weasel, I'm engaging, seven-o-clock. On my command, bank right. I'm going to get tone."

"I got visual. Copy!" Weasel maintained a hard bank left, maneuvering out of the pirate's scope. Captain Cullen awaited the opportunity to center the impaired bandit in his sights.

The pirate piloted a scavenged ship, a typical combat spacecraft manipulated and developed from stolen technology. They weaved and churned through the obtuse vacuum, retaliating against the war jet's defenses with similar armament yet never gaining an advantage over the captains' indefinite skills.

Savages such as the pirates would not have access to a neuro-network with their craft, direct connections that synchronized brain stimulus and their vessel's functionalities. Pirates would have relied solely on instinct and muscle memory, while beneath the captains' headgear were links to the nape of their necks—and within their brains a war jet.

Cullen felt his joystick stir with consciousness as it merged with his palms. His blood pulsed into the spacecraft's veins, into the vessel that was his body and his arm. Functioning like two firing neurons, the captain emerged into the black cosmic sea, and the bandit was already dead in the becoming of the Night Executioner.

"Three, two, one... bank!"

Weasel cut right on a dime, nearly vanishing from Cullen's view. The bandit, slower to maneuver, steered in pursuit, emerging into Cullen's barrel.