WO COMBAT class cruiser ships traversed through the company war lanes. Red Vessel-578 and Red Vessel-889 were both warships too massive to enter any planetary atmosphere. Each craft was operated by a single Maztec company pilot. It took a mind of iron concentration and control to work such ships. Within a single control room that operated the entire behemoth stood Admiral Rank-Red-Twelve. She held station over the ship Red-889. With skill and brutality she had burned her way into a position of distinction and power, with over forty missions she had brought honor to the company of Maztec Solutions. A pilot worthy of singular recognition.

But now…now her reputation was on the line.

She held her breath as if in competition with the vacuum of space itself.  Her gaze tried to penetrate the bright vermillion and magenta lights that colored the sector. These celestial lights seemed so warm. 

This was a falsehood——for the void was cold, and in its cold a darkness, dark as the control room she commanded, save for the glow of thousands of levers, buttons, and touch screens. She leaned over the controls, hands moving with a practiced, precise speed. She activated the comms.

The juggernauts glided sluggishly through the black emptiness.

“Red-578, copy? From this point on, maintain transmission silence until I give the command,” she said.

“Understood, Admiral. Let’s hope they take the bait,” Red-578 answered.

Officially their voyage was to bring reinforcements to a Viro Corp campaign. This, however, was a ruse, for these two cruisers were hunting.

There were many trading routes—some set for individual company contracts that rival corporations coveted. Of course there were the traveler routes of the Holy Consumer, and the hallowed supplier routes for the Blessed Product on its way to the five greater consumer worlds. Once a product was ready it was sacred—all companies deemed it blasphemous to destroy it.

The routes of a warship, however, were fair game.

They traveled on high alert, hunting for the ship that burdened her thoughts to a point of frenzy. This was her third attempt to entice the enemy ship. Twice already she failed to find and destroy it.

In her mind she had constructed an image of the ship as a beast-like form, a hideous monstrous thing she had titled the Midnight Craft. Over the last three quarterly periods, seven campaigns had been lost. None were able to identify their assailant—only a single report of an unidentified ship. This beast fed on her company's lifeblood.

This was what insulted her and threatened her personal reputation, So far the ship eluded her— manned by a pilot that perhaps rivaled her own abilities. For this very reason she loathed this unknown adversary.

The Midnight Craft attacked, destroyed, and salvaged all it could in order to expand its own meager company. This was a practice looked down upon, thought shameful, albeit technically legal. For as the rules of engagement state: any company craft in a war lane makes themself available for combat.

Although that was considered in bad taste——a tactic reserved for the smaller less important companies.

To some executives, two Juggernaut cruisers was an excessive response, but after the substantial losses Maztec had taken, they couldn't afford any chances. There were rumors among some executives that an unknown ship prototype had been let loose.

The board dismissed this possibility at first, but as months went by, and more and more ships went missing in the war lanes, the rumor became more of a likelihood.

Admiral Red-Rank-Twelve relished the idea of being the one who killed this now infamous ship. The glory of its destruction would be hers.

She switched on the Maztec corporate broadcast. A woman's cheery voice spoke.

“Praise be to the consumer. Bless the products we provide. Give thanks to their comfort, rejoice in their pleasure. It is you, employee, who gives. It is your divine right to serve them."

The sermons from the Human Resources temples always gave her comfort. Her gaze drank in as much as the expanse would allow.

The comm crackled.

“Red-889, there isn't anything out here. Let's go back,” said Red-578.

“What did I say about silence?” she barked.

“Come on, this guy won’t show. This ship isn’t crazy enough to attack us no matter how small or desperate the lesser companies might be.”

“I said main silence, damn you!”

Scavenger companies were a blight to the whole industry. She wanted to spit at the very thought of them, taking her blessed right to serve the consumer and the five greater worlds, where the blessed reside in paradise.

She was the most decorated and celebrated pilot of her time.

This  pilot was nothing! insignificant, inconsequential compared to her.  She was the superior pilot, ready to achieve victory whatever the cost. Whatever the cost that had been her mantra. 

At last she released the breath.

***

S IF it too had been waiting, the Midnight Craft attacked without warning. Somehow both cruisers’ scanners failed to pick up the craft's signature. Bullets tore through Red Vessel-578's hull until fire and destruction riddled the ship's insides.

Red-Rank-Twelve’s scanners finally identified the assailant. To her surprise the ship was a single manned craft—nothing for ships of their magnitude to be concerned about. 

And yet the overwhelming decimation was apparent. 

The ship's arsenal was impressive for such a small vessel—it rained hull-piercing missiles, a technology more advanced than any craft she had seen. Regardless, now she knew for certain her phantom was real, and if it was real, she could kill it.

She smiled.

The cruiser cannon fire illuminated the war lane, yet failed to hit its intended mark. Maztec cruisers were both world-destroyers, and yet not once in the blinding display of arsenal did they do anything other than receive hit after hit. The Midnight Craft moved with unmatched speed. 

How could a ship so small  inflict such damage? 

Red-578 was taking just as much fire with the same amount of success.

The enemy craft's nose turned blue, releasing a laser that melted its way through the core of Red-578.

Red-578 erupted into a surging fire, shrapnel hurtling at Red-Rank’s own vessel.

“Impossible!” she cried.

Whoever helmed this craft was brilliant. She  was in a frenzy and she would feel this pilot's blood on her hands. Whatever the cost she thought.

Red-Rank-Twelve gritted her teeth and looked to the tiny craft desolating what she had believed to be her own superior Vessel. With trembling hands she initiated the ship abandonment protocol.

“Damn you! Damn you!” She screamed.

***

HE ABANDONED her controls, running through the elaborate maze of cruiser ship circuitry. In the lower hangar she had her old single-manned ship waiting—it was her only option. Not until now had anyone shot her down. Her wrath was apparent. Her career would be over after a failure like this. What a waste of her talents.

She reached the hangar.

In one fluid motion she flung herself into the ship. Its thrusters roared, burning. The cockpit hummed and purred, launching her into the gravity-vacant battleground. There was a moment of a directionless plunge, then she took control, lurched up, and directed her ship’s nose at the Midnight Craft.

No planets loomed, no gravitational pull, just two ships in the dead of space in a sea of stars. There was a silence to the combat of ships in space, nothing except the symphony of the ship’s engine and the fast shifting of the pilot’s movements.

Infuriated, she looked out of her cockpit. The scanners blipped and pinged, telling her what she already knew. Rank-Red-Twelve pivoted a hard left, dodging a direct burst of oncoming fire. Her adversary whirled past and came round for another attack. 

She nosedived and evaded the secondary volley from behind. Again, her enemy flew ahead. She let loose all the missiles in her ship's arsenal. The Midnight Craft spun until it was a blur. Her rockets collided and exploded. The Midnight Craft rushed through unharmed. Her ship's targeting systems were too slow.

***

ANK-RED-TWELVE flew away back towards the wreckage of the two vessels. Her combatant pursued. She fired the fuel cells into overdrive. The ship groaned in protest at the strain, but it was the only way to match the Midnight Craft's speed. If she could not outrun the enemy, she must outsmart them. 

She flew to the wreckage of the juggernaut. Its debris would be her cover. 

It took all Rank-Red-Twelve's skill to maneuver through the scattered bones of the cruisers. The remnants of her ship drifted in view of her cockpit, ready for that blasted pirate to steal and use for their wretched little company, not worthy to serve the consumer.

The bullets of the Midnight Craft hit all manner of objects around her. Utilizing her surroundings, she soared over and under the remains of the cruisers. Rank-Red-Twelve fired bursts of bullets, creating new obstacles for her dark foe. Nothing touched the Midnight Craft.

Just as before, she knew this was a fight she could not win. The hull of Red-889 was mostly intact. Without a second thought, she flew into its opening. The Midnight Craft tore through, slowing down its thrusters. As Red-Rank's ship came into its sights, its laser pierced its hull, and it blew. The enemy pilot failed to notice that the Admiral had ejected moments before and now clung motionless to a piece of floating debris directly above its cockpit.

She let go and  came crashing down on the Midnight Craft. In her hand was an activated shock grenade. She  placed it at the base of the cockpit and brought it down hard. At such close a range its electromagnetic discharge knocked the craft out cold as well as Red-Rank-Twelve’s life support. 

Once more she held her breath, trying to outmatch the airless void.

She had to see this pilot for herself, had to pry them out and kill them in the cold of space with her bare hands.

Rank-Red-Twelve fought the stiffness in her joints as the exposure began to take its frigid hold.

She took out her sidearm and fired at the base of the ship's cockpit seal, again and again to no avail. It took all her might to open it, giving her at last a full view of her greatest nemesis.

She raised her gun, and the cockpit opened.  Wires  hung from a woman’s neck and face at several points. The eyes were lidless, wide, and unconscious. She was submerged in a gel-like fluid which emitted a greenish-yellow glow. 

Red-Rank-Twelve reached in with the intent to strangle. Her mind was bombarded with a rush of images, and at once she knew her enemy.

***

HE HAD once been tall and attractive—one could almost see her as a consumer living on one of the five greater worlds, but no. She was a pilot no different than Red Rank. She stood listening as an executive spoke to a collection of pilots. There was a new program, one that called for volunteers. A new ship was in development and pilots were needed. Hundreds, including herself, volunteered knowing full well that most would not survive the procedure.

Praise be to the consumer, she whispered in reverence. And so the company researcher began.

“What would you have of me?” she had asked. So they took her words. The procedure disabled the function of verbal speech. Her lower jaw and tongue were removed for the interface harness. She was glad. Of what need were her words when her actions of violence against her competitors were all that was necessary to proclaim her love?

“What will you need of me?” she had asked. Her hands could never move as fast as her brain's direct reflex could move. As she would move, so would her vessel with only a thought. They opened her skull and fused her mind with machines, connecting living matter to motherboard, and still her heart was steady.

They removed her limbs and fitted her body into the cockpit, submerged her in a conductive fluid, sending their new pilot amongst the stars to do the company's good work.

Many pilots at this juncture in the trials had died—but not her. Her resolve to survive was strong.

What am I but a tool of war, and if I have to, I gladly accept.

Her desire to kill for the consumer was strong. Once the program was complete, she was the only pilot to survive, and for a time she had been housed in a tank, void of any sensory input save only the sound of her heartbeat. Her heart was the most steady weapon at her disposal, the most dangerous force in the infinite expanse of space, for it beat with both the love of the consumer and the hate of the rival companies. That pulse drove her to do incredible things.

A new form of pilot.  There was no computer as powerful as the brain fused with the reflex of a ship. They were spoken to with direct code and images, nothing so primitive as verbal communication. At last a ship had been made to match their pilot, and she had been connected, activated, and set loose on enemy companies.

***

HATEVER the cost. That had been Admiral Red-Rank-Twelve’s mantra. Never had she seen augmentation done to such extremes. Tears poured down Rank Red’s face.

Such devotion.

The Midnight pilot had given everything to the consumer. All that remained was a head and torso. The woman was pale and hideous, but not to Red Rank. The pilot before her was the most beautiful being she had ever seen, and the Admiral knew that she herself could never be as beautiful as the limbless pilot. Her hatred had been so misguided—how she could hate someone that so perfectly embodied love for the consumer?

They were the same yet Red-Rank-Twelve knew that she fell short in comparison. Over the missions and combat she had lost sight, lost the true faith—she had fought for her own glory and look where it had left her.

Red-Rank-Twelve let go—it was all she could do. Not to kill one's competitor was considered a sin, yet to destroy such a perfect soldier would be the ultimate blasphemy.

Her vision blurred and she began to gasp for air.

She drifted, weightless, and watching. After a while the electric discharge of the grenade wore off, and the dark craft whirred back to life. It slowly positioned itself directly at her. She noted other ships from the Midnight Craft’s company now coming to salvage what their secret weapon had brought down for them.

She felt a surge of excitement. She had been wrong and arrogant. If everyone within this small company was as dedicated to the consumer as that pilot, they were indeed blessed.

She saw the Midnight Craft coming directly at her. She closed her eyes in reverence as the craft tore through her body. She did not add her scream amongst the bloody stars. No, this  was a silent kill.

At the hands of such a devout she was at peace.