by Rodney Smith
They followed her down the hall and into a large triple height room. In the center was a large box suspended above a gimbaled mount. They followed her up the stairs and inside, to an exact replica of the Vigilant’s cockpit.
Exec, you take the helm position. I’ll sit back here in my chair. Chief, will you get us up and flying?”
“Aye aye sir, strap in and hold on.”
Kelly didn’t quite know what to expect. He pulled hard on the four-point harness and braced himself. He had spent hours in fighter simulators and knew how much they could throw one about. He was unsure how something with the mass of the Vigilant would react.
The simulator lights dimmed. He felt the gimbal mounts kick in and lift the simulator away from the steps. He waited for something to happen.
“Uh, Exec, now would be a good time to turn on your console.”
Kelly turned red. He had been waiting for something to happen and had forgotten to fire up his console.
“Roger, sir. Just getting the feel of her first.” Kelly hoped he’d covered up his screw-up. He toggled on his controls and the simulation started. He found himself looking out at a generic planet that they were obviously orbiting.
“Okay, Kelly, let’s move out of the solar system. Navigation information is appearing on your screen.”
Kelly accepted the course plotting on his display and moved the Vigilant out of orbit and into open space. He verified the plotted course wasn’t passing near any of the planets or major objects in the system and gradually increased his speed.
“Kelly, hold up on making the jump until we pass the last of the orbital planes.”
At the touch of a button, the orbital plane of the system’s planets appeared in his display. He was a minute away from clearing the last orbital plane. He took that time to study the console more closely. He had full engine controls, weapons control over the stationary plasma cannons, and the ability to overlay maps or sensor data over his display. He also had partial control over the navigation shields. He could increase the forward shield intensity, but complete shielding was controlled on another console. He focused back on his job and watched as he crossed out of the system.
“Exec, new course data is coming to you. Let’s turn onto the new course and jump to FTL.”
Kelly did a quick check on the new course, accepted the course change, and throttled up to light speed. The sensation in the simulator was almost exactly as it was in reality.
The simulation was very good. The floor conveyed a faint vibration as would be felt in flight. The view out the front screen made that peculiar shift and blurring brought on by moving at light speed and higher. It had the unpleasant effect of making some people queasy. Kelly never had that problem.
“How does it feel?”
“It feels great, Captain. I don’t have any experience with this ship, but it feels like my past experiences on other ships, right down to the slight vibration through the floor. How does this feel compared to the real thing? How fast will she fly?”
“Its pretty realistic, but the mass feels slightly heavier than the Vigilant. Of course, some of this could be based on differences from the refit. Top speed will be near power 6 light speed.”
“Okay, now take a little time to get the feel of the ship. Engage in free flight. See how she handles.”
Kelly took the control yoke and put the simulator through its paces. He dropped to sub-light speed and ran through a number of drills from his fighter flight training. The mass of the Vigilant wouldn’t match the maneuverability of an F-53, but it was remarkably responsive. He toggled on the stress indicators on his display. He stayed well within tolerances. He kept pushing the envelope to see if there were any maneuvers that caused more stress on the ship than others. It was important to know the structural limitations of a ship. He dove, climbed, rolled, yawed, and looped the ship. He knew he was in a simulator, but it was amazing how real it felt. He was just about to try some maneuver thruster drills when a proximity alarm went off. Kelly looked at his display and saw an asteroid in their path. He had three options: change course, increase shields, or blast it out of their way. Kelly, still a fighter pilot at heart, toggled on weapons and blasted the asteroid to small bits that were easily repelled by their navigation shields.
LCDR Timmons chuckled, “Chief Blankenship owes me a beer. She was sure you would try to jockey us around the asteroid. I said you’d blast it.”
“I guess I’ll have to work on being more unpredictable, sir.”
“Just don’t forget you almost always have more options. In this business we may not be able to blast our way out of situations. Sometimes we need to employ a little finesse.”
“Time to head for the barn. Chief B, that’s all we have time for now.”
The lights came up, the outside view and Kelly’s display went blank. He felt the simulator lower and lock itself into the steps. Chief Blankenship opened the door to let them out. Kelly followed LCDR Timmons out and down the stairs, thanking Chief Blankenship as he passed out the hatch.
Kelly and Timmons power walked back to their offices. They passed several bemused officers and enlisted. Kelly was determined not to break into a trot. When they got back to the building Kelly had significant shin splints, but he had kept up. He wasn’t about to limp or complain in front of the captain.
The two went into their respective offices and collapsed in their chairs, rubbing their sore legs. Each was convinced he had achieved a victory over the other. Chief Watson and the yeoman, who had watched them come in, smiled and chuckled quietly.
Chapter Four
On the K’Rang home world of G’Durin, Shadow Leader M’Trang conferred with his superiors. He stood at attention, resplendent in his maroon cape and glistening fur.
“Excellencies,” he began, “our agents in the human space have made contact with people so without honor that they will sell us any information we desire. They will condemn their own kind for some useless shiny rocks. They assure us they have access to anything we need.”
“We will be starting slowly with this source to test its veracity and ability to get us the information we need. We will carefully ask for information we already know and information we have no interest in to ensure we are not being lied to or that will give away our intentions.”
The High Nobles appeared to be concentrating on something before them just out of M’Trang’s eyesight as they sat behind the high bench. They seemed almost disinterested in his report. He was about to continue with his briefing when the Senior Elder looked up.
“Shadow Leader,” spoke the senior Elder in a gravelly, rheumy voice, “we do appreciate your efforts. It won’t be long before you will have a permanent home here on G’Durin. You should develop this source slowly. Make sure they are providing us valuable and correct information. Use information from our other sources to verify what they provide us. We have plans for the humans and this source can be very helpful in carrying them out. If at anytime you feel they are engaging in treachery, let them feel the power of your fang and claw.”
Sensing he had been dismissed, he said, “As you command, Excellency. They do not realize it, but they exist now only to serve the K’Rang Empire.”
He saluted, bowed, and backed out of their presence. Upon leaving the audience chamber and passing by the Imperial Guards at the entrance, he joined his two Shadow Warrior aides. They passed over his weapons, which were forbidden in the presence of the High Nobles.
He spoke to them as they left the Imperial Palace and he restored his weapons to their storage places in his cloak and uniform. “I have the authority to proceed. Put my plan into effect. Let us wring these humans dry.”
He thought back to the comment by the Elder about having a permanent home here on the home world. His heart swelled and his pace picked up at the possibility that he could have meant he might earn a title and entrance into the nobility. He paused in his stride as he also recalled that the main military cemetery was on G’Durin. M’Trang realized that th
e Elder’s comment was double-edged. The reward for success was obvious, as was the price of failure.
* * * * *
Kelly didn’t think he would get used to these eight-day weeks. It just seemed wrong. He had no problem with working six days instead of five as on Earth. On the Bolivar, there was no weekend. One just worked all the time. You were either on duty or not. Here on Armstrong, the eight-day week just threw him off. He was glad he would be leaving on patrol in a few weeks.
It was Saturday. He had spent the morning running through simulations with the bridge crew. They ran each watch in turn through the simulations, but he and the captain spent all morning in the simulator. Kelly was bushed. He had the reception with Admiral Craddock that night and he couldn’t ditch that. He hoped it wouldn’t be too boring. Even more so, he hoped he wouldn’t be too boring.
LCDR Timmons released the crew at noon. Kelly finished his paperwork and headed for his quarters to clean up and ready his mess dress uniform. He walked out of the building and went to the shuttle vehicle lot. The base had several lots with small six-person autonomous vehicles that were available for anyone needing transportation. As he came around the building he saw the lot and, fortunately, there was a shuttle waiting.
He approached the shuttle and was about to climb in when a voice shouted out, “What do you think you are doing, Ensign?”
Kelly turned and saw a Fleet Lieutenant walking his way. Kelly saluted and said, “I was going to take this shuttle to my quarters, sir.”
“No, you aren’t, Ensign. I’m using that shuttle. In just a few minutes I’ll be leaving in that shuttle.”
Kelly saw the LT’s name was Casimirski. He replied, “Sir, if there is no shuttle here, the central motor pool will send another. It should be here before you need it.”
“Maybe you didn’t understand me, Ensign. I said I’m taking that shuttle. If you need one, you can wait for it. I don’t intend to. Now run along.”
Kelly saluted again and walked away, thinking to himself that LT Casimirski was a first class asshole. He walked to the next closest lot, found another shuttle, and took it to his quarters. As he passed by the previous shuttle lot, the shuttle was still there waiting for LT Casimirski.
Kelly got to his quarters without further incident. He showered, shaved, and wrapped a towel around his waist. He took a few minutes to check his messages. There was nothing of any real interest in his queue. Kelly set an alarm and crashed for a couple of hours. Before he drifted off to sleep, he reminisced about his first day on the Bolivar.
* * * * *
The wardroom of the Galactic Republic Ship Simon Bolivar was a raucous place. It was filled with off duty officers from all over the ship. Considering that pilots were off duty anytime they weren’t flying or preparing to fly, it was mostly full of green flying suits. Most were congregated in one corner of the wardroom.
Kelly, the newest member of the 68th Fighter Squadron, was being initiated into the Fighting 68th. He stood in the corner of the room, surrounded by his new squadron mates, wearing a fuzzy red top hat. It had been described as the ancient ceremonial hat worn by all supplicants at the altar of the 68th. The Squadron Executive Officer, Major Aaron Brown, had the floor and was acting as master of ceremonies.
“We’d like to bring everyone’s attention to the presence of an outsider in our midst, begging entry into our august body. I present to the Fighting 68th a mediocre pilot, a so-so officer, and a miserable human being wishing to improve his lot in life by sharing the company of the finest, deadliest, craftiest, fighter pilots in the known universe.” A loud cheer erupted.
“I offer up for your consideration one 2LT Kelly Blake. LT Blake comes to us fresh out of fighter transition school, where he had the singular honor of never having lost an engagement. Now we all know how ineffective the cadre are as fighter pilots in transition school, but it is an achievement that may make him worthy to grace our presence. Pilots of the Fighting 68th, what say you?”
A resounding nay boomed through the wardroom, followed by gales of laughter.
“LT Blake, the Fighting 68th has spoken. Even though we don’t want you, all the other squadrons in Fighter Force voted before us and they don’t want you either. I guess we’re stuck with you. Members of the Fighting 68th, fill your glasses. Yes, I know its only water, iced tea, and soft drinks, but fill them anyway. Damn the Fleet regulations against alcohol on ships. Fill your glasses and toast our newest Squab, Kelly Blake.”
At that point every glass in the room was raised in the air and the contents thrown at LT Blake. Dripping from all manner of non-alcoholic drinks, Kelly had just been initiated into the Fighting 68th.
Every 68th officer in the room passed by, shook his hand, and welcomed him. The executive officer walked up to Kelly, shook his hand and slapped the 68th’s patch onto the adhesive strips on his shoulder.
“Welcome again, LT Blake. If your academic and training reports are halfway true, you will make a fine addition to the squadron. Did you really smoke MAJ San Giacamo in fighter training? He and I have been squadron mates and classmates many times.”
“Well, sir, I think I got lucky that day,” replied Kelly.
“Don’t BS me son, I’ve read your file. San Jack wrote up a special commendation for that maneuver you used on him. What impressed him most was that you did such a radical maneuver and were still within safety parameters. He tells me you used your landing thruster to slow you down and raise your fighter 25 meters above the flight plane, let San Jack’s fighter pass beneath you, and dropped back down on his tail. I would have loved to see his face when the damage sim showed he was smoked. How did you keep from blacking out from the G-forces?”
“I didn’t, sir. I programmed the flight computer to acquire and fire the moment I had dropped back down to the original flight plane. I went up. I went down. I passed out. The computer shot MAJ San Giacamo down. I came to, turned away and shot down his wingman. Easy.”
“Easy? That’s hilarious. Oh by the way, you have an appointment with the Squadron Commander, LTC Sam Matthews, at 0800. Be prompt. Here, let me introduce you to your Flight Leader, Captain Willis.”
CPT Willis was a pleasant looking woman. Not a beauty, but not ugly either. Kelly would fit in the same category. He was okay to look at, but not one to make women swoon at his passing.
CPT Willis walked over at MAJ. Brown’s introduction, shook Kelly’s hand, introduced herself as Janey, and walked him over to where the drinks were kept. She picked a towel off of an orderly’s arm and handed it to Kelly.
“Go ahead, take a moment and dry yourself off a bit. Those taking part in the initiation can get a bit over enthusiastic. I hope that is not your best uniform.”
Kelly dabbed ineffectually at his sodden uniform while CPT Willis continued.
“Welcome to the squadron. We have the new F-53 fighters. They are quite a bit faster and turn a bit tighter than the F-40s you trained on in fighter transition training. I think you’ll enjoy flying it. It has a computer on-board that you can customize to your personal preferences. It also uses artificial intelligence to be able to anticipate your requirements. Sometimes, if you aren’t forceful with them, they can be a bit too independent. You will be wingman for First Lieutenant Angie Shappelle. Here she is now. Angie, come over here and meet your new wingman.”
Angie Shappelle was a petite brunette about 5’ 6”. There was a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. Angie filled out her flight suit quite well. As she came closer he caught a faint whiff of oranges and some other spice he couldn’t identify. He remembered her from transition training, but hoped she wouldn’t remember him right away. In their last meeting, Angie came to a sticky end. Luckily, she didn’t make the connection.
“Glad to meet you, LT Blake. Here, give me that rag. You missed a spot or two.” Angie took the towel and wiped up some of the celebration.
“Tell me about yourself, Blake. If you're going to watch my six, I’d better know a bit about you.”
“Not
much to say. I grew up on Earth in North America. My folks are exoatmospheric electronic engineers. They designed most of the long-range data router stations that make communications in the Galactic Republic possible. They pioneered many of the Faster-Than-Light communications protocols that give us our near instantaneous comms. I followed in their footsteps for a while. I went to college and got my EE degree, but it just didn’t seem what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. I applied to the Academy and was accepted. I graduated high enough in my class to get my choice of assignments, and I picked Fighter Force. I like being in charge of my own destiny.”
“Well, just remember that as my wingman, you are in charge of my destiny, too.”
Kelly said, “Don’t worry, I’ll cover your six for you.”
“You will, will you? See you tomorrow.” With that she grinned, turned, and swished her hips as she walked away. It was a nice six to watch.
CPT Willis said, “Come over here and meet 1LT Kanakis. John, This is Kelly Blake. He will be Angie’s wingman. John here is my wingman.”
1LT Kanakis was a little shorter than Kelly, but was broader in the shoulders. Kelly suspected he was a body builder. The sleeves of his flight suit seemed unusually tight on his arms.
“It’s great to have you aboard, Kelly. I was starting to feel outnumbered by all these women.”
CPT Willis sniffed and said, “Is that testosterone I’m smelling? It smells kind of fruity, doesn’t it?”
1LT Kanakis grabbed his chest like he’d been shot through the heart. “Ow! Cut down in my prime. That’s gonna leave a mark.”
CPT Willis walked off laughing, leaving the two of them together.
“Kelly, you can take off that stupid hat now. Once you get soaked you passed the initiation. Of course, you have to keep it in your cabin and take care of it until the next squab is initiated. There is one other requirement. As the junior lieutenant in the squadron, you have to wear it at any Squadron dining-ins until you can pass it off to the next newbie. Of course, embarked on the Bolivar, we probably won’t have any dining-ins. Lack of dining space and alcohol keeps those events to a minimum.” John raised his eyebrows, tilted his head, and shrugged his shoulders.