by Jon S. Lewis
Everyone turned to see Captain James Starling, the director of the CHAOS Military Academy’s flight training program, and an Arconian named Giru Ba, who was one of his assistant instructors. Starling was handsome, or at least he could have been if he hadn’t let himself go. His hair was thick, his shoulders broad, and his jaw square, but his waistline had expanded and his eyes were bloodshot either from lack of sleep or from too many long nights at a local pub. Giru Ba, on the other hand, was tall and elegant, with skin the color of sea foam, enormous eyes, and what looked like a curved beak in place of lips.
“I’m not witnessing fisticuffs, am I?” Starling asked, raising a single eyebrow. “And both of you from the same squad?”
Giru Ba stood placidly behind him, her eyes unblinking.
“No, sir,” Jonas said, placing his glasses back onto his face at an odd angle.
“Then what, may I ask, were you doing on the ground?”
“Pierce was . . . well . . .”
“Yes?”
“He was just showing me a new fighting technique, that’s all.”
“Is that true?” Captain Starling asked.
“Yeah,” Pierce said.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Captain Starling said. “I was talking to Cadet McAlister.”
Colt looked at Jonas, who was staring at the ground. “I guess,” he said.
“Then that’s good enough for me.” Captain Starling turned to face the cadets, who looked more than a little disappointed that they weren’t going to see a fight. “Now, off with the lot of you before I decide to give you all a demerit.”
“A demerit?” Jonas said.
“Let it go.” Stacy took him by the arm and led him toward the library.
“Not you,” Captain Starling said as Colt started to walk away.
“Sir?” He closed his eyes, waiting for whatever bad news was about to follow.
“The president believes that the country—in fact, the world—needs a shot of hope in these dark days. He wants to resurrect the Phantom Flyer and his Agents of CHAOS.”
“Grandpa?”
“No, son, not your grandfather. He’s much too old for the rigors that lie ahead.”
Colt looked over to Giru Ba, hoping she would tell him that this was all a joke, but she just stood there. “Then who?”
“Isn’t it obvious? The president has picked you.”
Colt’s first thought was that the president wanted him to dress up in a costume and fly around in a jet pack looking for criminals—which, given that the world was at war with a race of aliens who wanted to exterminate humanity, seemed ridiculous, particularly in light of Project Betrayal. In less than three weeks he was supposed to lead a covert team through a portal and into Dresh, the capital city of the Thule. He didn’t have time to play superhero.
The truth was even worse.
“Think of it as a traveling air show that’s part Blue Angels, part Broadway musical. Are you ready for the title?”
“Not really.”
“It’s called Phantasmic . . . March to Victory!” Captain Starling spread his fingers wide, and his arms shot into the air like a burst of fireworks.
“Seriously?”
“Wait until you see the promotional posters. They’re amazing, don’t you think?”
“Extraordinarily so,” Giru Ba said with a slight nod.
Colt stood there, dumbstruck, as Captain Starling explained how Colt would play the part of the Phantom Flyer and team up with his Agents of CHAOS to fight actors who would be dressed as Thule. He pulled up some pictures of the costumes on a tablet computer, and all Colt could think about was how they looked like extras from a rejected episode of Power Rangers.
“There’s going to be pyrotechnics and smoke machines and a chorus line and . . .” Captain Starling finally took a breath. “I wanted to surprise you with this, but I can’t keep it in any longer. The National Symphony Orchestra is going to play an original score by the composer who wrote the soundtrack for Star Wars. Can you believe it?”
“That’s great,” Colt said, distracted by the tsunami of questions raging in his head. “But what about . . . you know?”
“You’re referring to Project Betrayal, is that it?” Captain Starling asked, the smile never fading from his lips.
Colt looked over his shoulder to make sure that no one was listening. After all, despite the fact that everyone had to submit to daily testing to make sure shape-shifting Thule hadn’t infiltrated the campus, it was hard to trust anyone.
“The president and I are fully aware of your responsibilities, as are Superintendent Thorne and your grandfather,” Captain Starling said in a way that made it sound like he was on equal footing with the president of the United States. “I’ll admit that we’ve had to juggle a few things to make the schedule work, but we feel you’re young enough to handle it.”
“Meaning what, I’m skipping sleep?”
“Not skipping—at least not exactly. You know, they say Thomas Jefferson only slept four hours a night. Or was that Abraham Lincoln? He was the one who hunted vampires, as I recall.” Captain Starling shrugged. “No matter. With modern medicine, sleep has practically become unnecessary.”
“I don’t even get four hours now.”
“What a sense of humor!” Captain Starling laughed.
“It would be wise to get plenty of rest tonight,” Giru Ba said. “Captain Starling has scheduled your first practice at 0400 hours.”
“As in the morning?”
Captain Starling laughed even louder as he slapped Colt on the back. “Just wait until you see your armor. It’s amazing! In fact, we asked the design team at Whitlock Global to make a replica suit for the Phantom Flyer exhibit over at the library. You’re going to love it!”
: :
CHAPTER 9 : :
0400 hours.
Colt stood in one of the tunnels beneath Tesla Stadium looking out at the airfield where Captain Starling was instructing a film crew. He couldn’t hear what they were saying because a team of groundskeepers was mowing the grass, which was somehow lush and green despite the freezing temperatures.
“Did you see all those Secret Service agents walking around campus this morning?”
Colt turned around as a pair of second-year cadets in armored flight suits walked into the staging area, each tall and heroic, just like the Agents of CHAOS in the comic books.
“Yeah, what was up with that?” the other cadet said.
The first shrugged. “Maybe the president is coming to watch us practice or something. Think he’ll take a picture with me for my Facebook page?”
It wasn’t long before more of the cadets arrived in their flight suits, including three members of Phantom Squad. Stacy Watson looked like she was still asleep; Grey Arnold, one of Colt’s roommates, couldn’t stop smiling; and Glyph Gundar, a Fimorian, simply looked lost.
A few months ago aliens had been little more than a figment of Colt’s imagination, but now they had almost become commonplace. At least eight faculty members at the academy were from other planets, and he had heard that more than a hundred of the cadets were aliens as well. Still, Glyph stood out. He was almost eight feet tall and cartoonishly thin, with gray skin, a hairless head, and enormous black eyes that dominated his narrow face.
“This is quite the spectacle, wouldn’t you say, Cadet Colt McAlister?” Glyph asked when he spotted Colt standing alone at the edge of the tunnel.
“More like a total waste of time.”
Glyph frowned. “I don’t understand. You should be honored to continue your grandfather’s legacy as the Phantom Flyer.”
“I should be training in one of the simulation chambers,” Colt said. “We all should.”
“According to a recent Gallup poll, 65 percent of all Americans over the age of thirteen believe that the Phantom Flyer is the key to our victory over the Thule,” Glyph said.
“It’s called false hope,” Colt said. “If we don’t find a way to shut down the gateway before it’
s fully operational, we’re all going to die.”
“Perhaps. But false hope is better than no hope at all.”
“Anyone else from Phantom Squad get picked?” Colt asked, half expecting to see Oz walk through the door.
“Not to my knowledge,” Glyph said. “Although Cadet Danielle Salazar may have mentioned something about a control booth.”
But they picked Stacy? Colt thought as he watched her sip on an energy drink. She could barely fly in a straight line, so how was she going to fly in formation? It didn’t make sense.
She must have caught him staring at her, because she suddenly smiled. He smiled back. He wanted to go over and talk to her, but he wasn’t sure what to say. For some reason he felt awkward around her. Stacy was great, but he wasn’t ready to give up on Lily—at least not yet.
“Ah, there you are.”
Colt turned to see Captain Starling walking down the tunnel toward him, eyes bright and teeth brighter.
“So what do you think about the uniform? Not bad, if I do say so myself.”
“Yeah, it’s great.”
The original Phantom Flyer costume didn’t offer much in the way of protection. It consisted of a flight suit, a bomber jacket, a pair of gloves, and a leather mask with aviator goggles. Whitlock Global had designed the new costume, which was a cross between the original and one of their armor systems. Under any other circumstances Colt would have loved it, but he felt like a fraud. No matter what Captain Starling or anyone else said, there was only one Phantom Flyer—Murdoch McAlister.
Captain Starling directed everyone to watch a display screen that covered most of an entire wall, where he showed a series of stunts using animated characters that looked like something out of a video game. It reminded Colt of the air shows that his dad used to take him to when he was younger. Squadrons of F/A-18 Hornets would do maneuvers like loops and barrel rolls, but there was an important difference: those pilots had trained together for years, while the cadets had only been flying for a few months.
“We’ll start nice and slow,” Captain Starling said as he led them through the tunnel and onto the aerial field. “Nothing fancy, just a simple V formation. Colt will take the point and everyone else will fall in behind him.” He looked directly at Colt. “Think you can handle that?”
Colt nodded.
“Then let’s fire up!” Captain Starling stepped out of the way as they put on their helmets and ignited their jet packs. Streams like flames erupted from the engines, leaving scorch marks on the ground. Almost as one, they lifted off, rising into the dark sky. Colt, however, released the throttle too quickly and shot past everyone.
“That’s a bit aggressive, don’t you think?” he heard Captain Starling say through the speakers in his helmet. “Now slow it down and let’s take it to five hundred feet.”
Colt glanced over his shoulder to see where the other pilots were, but at that speed an act as simple as turning his head changed his trajectory. He banked hard to the left, but the other pilots were skilled enough to follow without crashing into each other.
“Use the mirrors in your goggles,” Captain Starling said. “That’s what they’re there for.”
For the first time Colt noticed tiny rearview mirrors that allowed him to see reflections of the pilots as they flew behind him. They had split into a perfect V formation, each one keeping perfect pace as Colt led them in a wide loop around the stadium.
He felt his spirits rise. There was something freeing about flight, and for a moment he closed his eyes and let the cold winter air rush over him.
Captain Starling instructed them on new formations, including a barrel roll. Colt banked to the right, his arms tight to his body and his ankles crossed to keep his legs from pulling apart. As he sliced through the air, he wondered if this was what a drill bit felt like as it tore into a wall.
“This is awesome!” Grey yelped into his microphone as feedback reverberated through Colt’s speakers like a herd of screeching cats.
“Are the invaders ready?” Captain Starling asked.
“Roger that.” It was Danielle.
“Then let’s see what we’ve got.”
The ground shook as a massive door in the center of the grassy field started to open. Smoke issued out, and Colt watched as a platform carrying what looked like Thule fighters rose from the darkness. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yeah, it’s a Class 2 Taipan,” Grey said. “But there’s no way that thing is real.”
“Agreed, Cadet Grey Arnold. It must be a hologram,” Glyph said.
“I can assure you that it’s quite real,” Captain Starling said. “In fact, it was discovered in a field not far from campus.”
The glass canopy above the cockpit opened, and Colt felt a spike in adrenaline as a Thule crawled out of the ship and onto the platform. More Thule rushed out from the tunnels surrounding the field, and Colt genuinely wondered if they were under attack until he saw the wires that connected their arms and the seams where their masks overlapped the rest of their costumes.
“We’ll have a live orchestra for the show, but this is the actual soundtrack,” Captain Starling said as orchestral music blared through the speakers.
Colt watched as the Thule formed a wide circle in the center of the field and started to dance, feet stomping, arms waving, and heads bobbing up and down and back and forth. Their forked tongues bounced against their jagged teeth.
“That’s just weird,” Stacy said.
“It will all make more sense once you understand the entire narrative,” Captain Starling said. “Cadet Salazar?”
“Yes, Captain?”
“Is IVAN online?”
“Roger that.”
“Who’s Ivan?” Colt said.
“Launching in three . . .”
“Hello?”
“Two . . .”
“Is somebody going to tell me what’s going on?”
“One!”
A sound like a rocket launching into space filled the sky, and Colt spun to see a red streak flying toward him from the horizon. He hovered in place, confused, until he saw the red Armored Flight Suit with the golden sickle and hammer on its chest. “No way,” he said. “That’s the AFS worn by that Russian guy in The Phantom Flyer #162. What was his name again?”
“Ivan Medvedev,” Stacy said. “Code name, the Crimson Bear.”
“Unfortunately Comrade Medvedev is retired, so I asked Cadet Bowen to take his place,” Captain Starling said as the armor’s eyes pulsed with amber light. “Prepare for evasive action.”
Colt opened up his throttle and shot backward as Pierce tore past him. The AFS was ten feet tall and had to be going at least seventy miles an hour, if not faster.
“I thought that reenacting a scene from one of the Phantom Flyer comic books would be the perfect way to introduce you to the world,” Captain Starling said.
“Incoming!”
Pierce rushed toward him, the red paint of his AFS shining bright beneath the stadium lights. Flames erupted from the thrusters, and he reached out with an enormous armored hand and took Colt by the throat.