Stars Fell on Trieste

by M. Alan Marr

  The Oasis Midshipmen find their way to the Officers Mess. They enter and see a very busy dining hall. Most are busy eating, some are eating and studying, and some are just chatting and socializing with each other. And like any flight school scenario, pilots and trainees describe maneuvers using their hands to mimic their ships in turns and banks.

  Like a nightmarish first day of a new school, the new arrivals stand in the entryway not knowing anyone, and not knowing where to go or what to do. Jen knows this story all too well. She was the ‘new girl’ three times growing up, as her father’s job relocated while she was in high school. She folds her arms defiantly, and her body language says don’t screw with me. The rest are standing there somewhat awkwardly. Amazingly, their presence seems to go unnoticed. Maybe not so nightmarish after all.

  Steve takes the initiative. “Come on, guys, we need to eat or else we’ll be even more worthless later.”

  Jen, Harrison, and Matt follow Steve as he walks straight down the center of the dining room toward the front food line. Their shoulder boards clearly identify them as Flight Midshipmen in a room of mostly commissioned personnel. Perhaps it is just that a group of Flight Mids don’t warrant attention from commissioned officers.

  Steve follows an Ensign at the end of the line. In a cosmic repeat of Dev’s first visit to Starbucks, Steve basically does whatever the guy in front of him does. Tray, silverware rolled in a napkin, a large square, segmented plate, empty glass. Following along the food line, the items look unfamiliar. Steve sees that the Ensign selects a larger portion of what looks like some kind of mixture of meat and light gravy and places it into the larger segmentation of the plate. The smaller segments are filled with a selection of what must be vegetables, and some kind of aromatic starchy-looking pearls. He also takes a smaller spoonful of what look like nuts in oil. Everyone else in the class of Earthlings does the same, though Jen looks at bit more apprehensive scooping the unknowns onto her tray. There will be time for individuality later, but for now, they just want to get through the line.

  Once their food and beverages are retrieved, Steve surveys the dining room. There are many groupings of tables, occupied by various officers and one table of Flight Midshipmen.

  “Come on, over here.” Steve approaches the table and clears his throat. “May, uh, we join you?”

  One of the Mids looks over at Steve and company. “Of course, sir.”

  The entire table of Mids stand. Steve and his group are half startled by everyone standing up, but maneuvers in and take their places. Somehow they all sit in unison.

  “You’re new here,” one of the Mids says to Steve’s group.

  “We are. First day of flight training, in fact.”

  This earns more scrutiny from the Mid, who reacts with surprise seeing their stars. “You’re the ones from Earth.”

  Steve is a little dejected. “Does it show?”

  The Midshipman points to the insignia stars on Steve’s flight suit. “Constellation Oasis.”

  The mention of Constellation Oasis attracts attention from nearby officers.

  “That’s what that means?”

  The Mid chuckles, “Yes, sir.” The Mid points out various uniform insignia at the table. “Bells here hails from Lyra, those two from Eridanus, Vance at the end is from Hercules, and the rest of us are from the Crown. My name Fourth Midshipman Treg, at your service, sir.”

  “Steve.” He offers his hand. “This is Jen, Harrison, and Matt.”

  The informality at which Steve makes introductions and offers his hand is a little surprising to the other Mids, but not off putting.

  For the first time, the group notices everyone’s flight suits indeed have a small grouping of stars on them, based on whichever constellation they hail from.

  “You must be among the first to wear that insignia,” Treg says. “I’ve never seen it before.”

  “We are the first.”

  ***

  The adjutant officer shows Chaz into the Training Command Operations Center, where they approach Dev, who is watching a screen. “Commander Ronaldi, sir.”

  “Thank you, Leftenant.” Dev says and then smiles. “Commander Chaz.”

  “Commander Dev.”

  “I’m watching our crew.”

  “Doing what?”

  “I gave orders for them to be sent down to the Officers Mess without any instruction.”

  “Why?” Chaz asks, directing his attention toward the screen, which shows their pilots at the table.

  “Just a little test,” Dev says. “I wanted to see how they’d conduct themselves in unfamiliar waters.”

  They watch the Mess Hall on the screen. Dev smiles because Steve and crew, number one, manage to enter a new situation with confidence; and two, they are interacting with pilots from the Crown. Dev turns to their primary ground instructor. “Okay, Leftenant, they passed that test. You can continue with normal operations. I just wanted to see how they’d conduct themselves without any guidance.”

  “Aye, Commander.”

  “Hungry?” Dev asks Chaz.

  “Starving.”

  “Come on.” Dev leads Chaz out of the room.

  “Thanks for sparing me that examination,” Chaz says along the way.

  “It never would have worked if you were there,” Dev replies.

  “Why not?”

  “You’re a Lieutenant Commander, for starters. You outrank everyone in that dining hall. You’re also no stranger to the military. I have no doubt you would have known exactly what to do there. You’ve done it before. They need to experience this stuff for themselves. They need to find their own way. Steve could have lead them to any table in the room, but he sought the company of other Midshipmen. He did well.”

  “He did. And I absolutely agree,” Chaz says. “My Academy days were some of the best, most formative in my life. Having the old man down there would take away from that experience.”

  “Well, come on, old man, let’s go eat.”

  “I don’t know what it is, but even here, simulators take all the energy out of you.”

  Back down in the Officers Mess, the Oasis pilots break bread with some of the other more established pilot candidates. Over the next hour, Steve and his pilots start to realize they are not so different from the others, and everyone is there for the same reason. The Midshipmen around them, and even some of the more seasoned officers from other tables, came to meet the group of fledgling aviators from the Constellation Oasis.

  Dev and Chaz enjoy a more relaxed lunch in the Commanders Wardroom in a different part of the training center. This ‘mess’ is more like an elegant restaurant. Menu service, stewards, and everyone in the room is either a Commander or Lieutenant Commander (with a few lowly First Lieutenants there as guests of the senior officers they are dining with).

  Dev and Chaz sit at a table near the windows overlooking the Admiralty grounds.

  “What do you think so far?” Dev asks.

  “Nice restaurant.”

  “Of the training,” Dev says with mock irritation.

  “Oh. I was going to ask you the same question.”

  “We have certain training protocols I have to abide by, but I can tell you that you, sir, and Jen are the only ones who managed a stable hover today.”

  “Jen? Really?” He laughs. “So, beneath her sarcasm lies skill?”

  “Apparently so.” Dev laughs as well. “The rest of them are having a rough time.”

  “On Earth, pilots generally don’t fly both helicopters and fixed wing aircraft. I have an advantage because the handling qualities of the zero-g system are a lot like the helicopters I flew in the Navy. It will take them a while to master that.”

  “We don’t have a lot of time to spend on the basics.”

  “Trust me, Dev, I was an instructor too,” Chaz says with all sincerity. “They are going to get very frustrated if all they do today is spin their wheels trying to hover. And it will be worse tomorrow. Their performance will deteriorate, and they’re
going to feel awful. Progress will come soon enough, it will. But let them do some actual flying in the sim. They have to get used to the other handling qualities of the ships anyway. Trust me, it will boost their spirits. And it will make it easier for them to have a breakthrough if they get to see what these things can really do.”

  “Very well, Commander, so ordered.” Dev smiles. “I’ll inform the instructors.”

  “If you do that, I think they will be so amazed, they will work three hundred percent better. Let them fly over the landscape and do some of the fun stuff. Let them squeeze off a few rounds of ammunition. But spending all day trying to hover over a single spot is boring and very fatiguing. Frustration only compounds that.”

  “As you wish.” Dev smiles.

  “Just like that?”

  “Chaz, you’re second-in-command here. Your input is just as important as mine. Oh, and by the way, you’ll be dining here each day.”

  “I can’t eat with the guys?”

  “Nope. Not because of them, but because of all the other pilot candidates. Your rank would be disruptive. They need the time over lunch to eat and bond and complain about their instructors.”

  “Just like home.”

  Dev adds, “Those T-1’s usually aren’t armed, but we can alter the sim profile and have a single gun added.”

  ***

  The post-lunch sleepies don’t spare the crew on Trieste. Back into the simulation bays they report for more hovering torture. This time, however, all the flight locks are removed from the start.

  One by one, the Oasis candidates power up their trainers and wait for further instruction. Matt notices the addition of a row of switches on the master arming panel for a weapons system. He assumes he just missed it earlier.

  “Pilots and Instructors,” the controller announces, “all flight locks disabled. Commence with area familiarization flights.”

  “What does that mean, ma’am?” Harrison asks his new instructor.

  “It means we’re going to leave the tarmac and let you do some flying.”

  “All right!”

  “Midshipman Jen,” her Instructor orders, “simultaneously roll on the VMS and advance throttle. Initiate forward flight.”

  Jen smiles. “Yes, sir.”

  “ . . . and advance throttle,” Steve’s Instructor orders. “Initiate forward flight.”

  “Initiate forward flight,” Matt is ordered. He smiles and gently launches his trainer.

  Simulation by simulation, the training ships accelerate across the bucolic landscape. The trainer’s controls now feel similar to a normal aircraft. Each of the candidates rapidly gets a feel for the machine and is flying with more confidence. The Earthlings feel somewhat like real pilots again.

  SIMULATION CONTROL

  The Forward Air Controller looks to the simulation staff. “Let’s let them see what Trieste really looks like.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Initiating topographic sequencer.”

  Each of the visual systems in the simulator bays sounds a tone to alert of a program change, then everyone hears the voice that announces, “Live topographic sequence initiated.”

  The visuals change from a general outdoor landscape to the actual Tertian landscape generated from their present position. They are now all flying across the grounds of the Admiralty, though the fine optical grid lines are still present within portions of the simulation.

  “Initiating simulation crosslink.”

  Jen looks out her canopy and sees the other training ships appear as well. “Oh my God, is that the other guys?”

  “Yes, Midshipman, it would be best not to collide with any of them.”

  “Yes, sir.” Jen keeps looking at them. “Can they see us?”

  “Of course.”

  Jen actually sees Harrison in the cockpit of the next trainer, though his uniform has the grid lines present. She waves at him. He waves back.

  “This is so cool.”

  “Cool?”

  “Uh . . . amazing.” Jen shakes her head. “Is that really him?”

  “It’s a simulation of Midshipman Harrison,” the Instructor says. “You’re also seeing a live environmental feed.”

  The voice sounds again. “Pilots, commence free flight exercise.”

  “What does that mean, sir?” Matt asks his instructor.

  “It means you are free to fly anywhere you wish. Get the feel of the ship.”

  Each ship veers off their current course, except Jen, who continues toward the city. “Let’s go downtown.”

  Steve heads toward the mountains, Harrison toward the sea, and Matt heads across the landscape.

  Each pilot banks and soars, stretches their wings, so to speak. Jen flies between buildings and under bridges. Even her instructor has fun with this.

  “There’s a transport tunnel on the north side of the city . . . ”

  Jen smiles. “Is it big enough to fly through?”

  “I believe it might be.”

  Matt overflies a heard of cow-like grazing animals and then follows a ranging river.

  Steve flies in and around the snowy mountaintops to the north and banks himself into a series of barrel rolls. “Oh, yeah, this feels great!”

  Toward the end of the free flight exercise, all ships are again in loose formation and directed out over the sea. The voice of the Forward Air Controller in simulation control is heard in all ships.

  “Oasis Training Flight, simulation cross-link terminating. Arm weapons system and proceed to firing range. Navigation guidance on your canopies.”

  “We get to fire weapons?” Harrison asks of his instructor.

  “Yes, sir. Firing range will appear ahead as a series of surface targets, all in red hash mark.”

  The individual ships appearing in each others’ simulation vanish, leaving the entire sky to each candidate. Each candidate flips the two master arming switches for their weapons system, triggering a power-up sound from inside the ship.

  “Midshipman Jen,” her instructor says, “slow with braking thrusters and line up on the first target. The graphics appearing on your canopy are your target reticles. At this speed and heading the reticle should appear as one unit. Were we accelerating or in a turn, the reticle would split, showing leading lines indicating where your shots will track.”

  “Okay.”

  “This trainer is equipped with a single particle gun that fires pulse volleys. Activating the trigger will fire a single volley. Holding the trigger down will unleash a continuous barrage.”

  “Understood.”

  “Fire at will.”

  Jen initiates a descent toward the floating sea targets. Lining up on the first one, she squeezes the trigger once. The cannon fires, sending a pulse of energy at the target, impacting dead center and heavily damaging the target. Jen smiles as she flies toward the next target, a large simulated red hash-marked seagoing vessel. This time she holds the trigger and unleashes rapid fire onto the ship, blasting sections out of it, breaking its keel and sending it sinking.

  “Wow!”

  In each simulator, the same type of reaction is heard by all instructors. Dev stands in the Forward Air Controller room monitoring their progress.

  “Excellent shot, Midshipman,” Jen’s instructor says.

  “It’s easy, I just pictured my ex-husband standing on that ship.”

  “Oh my God!” Harrison yells over the comm line. “That is amazing!”

  “Mama Pajama!” Matt yells, turning to look at the destruction behind him.

  “Boom,” Chaz says. “Lining up on next target.”

  Steve is more reserved. “Target two, destroyed. Heading to target three.”

  In the Simulation Control Room the Forward Air Controller turns to Dev. “Interesting reactions, Commander.”

  Dev nods. “Commander Chaz and Midshipman Steve have seen live combat with me. The others have never seen weapons like this before.”

  The surface target exercise continues, with some candidates firing into the water
before reaching the targets. The surface targets give way to floating airborne targets, which present more of a challenge. In any case, they are told one must be cognizant of where their shots are going. If they don’t hit the target, they must keep in mind their misfired shots may be hitting something else, be it friendly ships, or civilian areas. The responsibility of pulling the trigger is felt by each candidate in a way none of them really considered before.

  At the end of the day, the group of pilots feel at least somewhat vindicated. The free flight exercise definitely left everyone feeling energized. They still sucked at hovering, but they at least got a taste of what the trainers feel like in action and what Tertian weapons can do. Knowing they’ve got what it takes to fly and shoot, hovering will come to them in no time.

  Dev has a thought and turns to the FAC staff. “I want you add a daily targeting exercise to their syllabus. Cross reference their performance with candidates already in the gunnery course.”

  “Yes sir. That may provide some interesting data.”

  “I think it just might.”

  ***

  The first couple of days studying an alien aircraft are some of the most exhilarating—and demanding—of any of the pilots have ever experienced, 767 included. Their amazement is only downplayed by the life-or-death reality factor. The targeting exercises are enjoyed, but more importantly, they are wowing their instructors. Where did they get their shooting skills? Perhaps the gun culture on Earth is somehow imparted in their being? Dev would eventually learn it’s because of the group’s handiness with a games called Halo, apparently something more than just a heavenly ring.

  By day three, everything regarding hovering clicks in, much to the surprise and delight of their instructors. By day four, each pilot enters their simulation bay, preflights and lifts off with an expert hand. Day five, today, is going to be a little different . . .

  As the Oasis candidates head down the catwalk behind the simulation bays, they hear an announcement on the overhead speakers. “Oasis Pilot Candidates report to simulation bay three- zero.”

  The pilots have no idea why they are instructed to all report to the same location.

  They smartly line up in the vacant simulation bay and stand neatly in line. Their instructor notices that their formation as Officer Initiates is improving day by day.