Stars Fell on Trieste

by M. Alan Marr

  The fledgling group of now commissioned aviators stand a little taller, a little prouder, and perhaps even a little more grown up; satisfied they have crossed this first major hurdle.

  The Lead Flight Instructor speaks. “You are henceforth, Aviators of the Crown.”

  The Admiral nods to Bross, who steps forward and calls, “Officers of the Crown, dismissed!”

  The group of Ensigns loosely break their formation. Chaz rolls his eyes in resignation. There is a definite divide between the tightly orchestrated and military manner between the more seasoned and experienced officers in the room and the Earthly Ensigns.

  “Commander,” the Admiral says, “a moment alone, if you please, sir.”

  Dev stays behind. The Admiral’s aide closes the doors, leaving the Admiral and Dev alone in the office. The Admiral smiles and extends his hand. “Congratulations, Dev. Your officers exceeded all expectations.”

  “Thank you, Admiral.”

  The Admiral laughs as well and extends his hand. “What’s next for your officers?”

  “Day after tomorrow we begin training in the TransAt fighter, sir.”

  “You will uphold tradition tonight?”

  “Absolutely, Admiral.”

  “Very well, sir, dismissed.”

  Dev and the Admiral exchange salutes. As Dev reaches the door, the Admiral adds one last thing, “Dev? You might want to work on their formation.”

  Dev nods with some embarrassment. “Aye, sir.”

  Dev meets up with the group out in the main corridor of the Great Hall. Dev walks with purpose, with Chaz and Bross flanking his sides, and four new Ensigns in tow. Dev turns slightly toward Bross, who promptly increases his gait.

  “Sir?”

  “Bross, I’m going to task you with getting them into proper military form.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But not tonight.”

  The group of newly minted Aviators of the Crown depart the Headquarters building with their brand-new commissions held high. The sentries smartly salute them as they pass. It is early dusk, and the weather is starting to cool.

  “Um,” Jen says, “how are we suddenly commissioned officers? We’ve only been here a month.”

  “Two reasons,” Dev says. “Flight Midshipmen have the option of earning their commissions upon completion of their flight test, or they can delay and graduate with their class.”

  “Which did you choose?” Chaz says discreetly, already guessing the answer.

  Dev looks sideways. “I was first in my class to be commissioned.”

  “And what’s the other reason?”

  “Only commissioned officers can move forward in the flight program.”

  “Wow.”

  “You have one or two more boxes to check in the advanced trainer later on, but the remainder of your training will be in the fighter. The easy part,” Dev says, “is over.”

  No one says anything about Dev’s last comment, but a few anxious glances are exchanged between themselves. They are all thinking This was the easy part?

  The setting sun reflects off of Steve’s wings. He is the first to notice the wings are silver, as are Jen’s, Harrison’s, and Matt’s, and even Chaz’s. Dev wears the only set of gold wings.

  “Sir, how come our wings are silver?”

  “Because, Ensign Steve, although you are a commissioned Aviator of the Crown now, you are all still students. You get the gold ones when you complete the entire program.”

  Jen speaks up. “May the lowly Ensign ask the Commander a question, sir?”

  “Yes, Jen,” Dev says with added weariness for effect.

  “We completed a major flight test. We were commissioned. And we were winged.”

  “Yes?”

  “Does that, or does that not, call for a celebration? Sir.”

  “That it does,” Dev says with pride. “And we are not on our way home.”

  Chaz smiles. “Where might we be going?”

  “The Fleet Officer’s Club,” Dev replies. “We have tradition to uphold.”

  Chaz briefs the Oasis pilots on the fleet officers club located at Old Admiralty House. Specifically, on how to gain entrance to the historic building guarded by sentries in the old uniform of the ancient marine.

  As they approach Old Admiralty House, the two elaborately dressed sentries in ancient period dress uniforms cross their tridents and bark, “Avast! Who goes there!”

  The entire group shouts back, “Officers of the Crown!”

  “Aye, aye!” the sentries reply, and uncross their tridents, allowing the officers to pass.

  The Fleet Officer’s Club at the Admiralty looks like a throwback to the days when Tertian officers sailed the raging seas. Thickly hewn wood beams, relics from seagoing vessels, a masthead, ships rigging, and cannons adorn the forward part of the bar. There are the new additions from the present: regalia from the various squadrons, a piece of a shot-down Yeti Brigand framed in thick, insulated glass, and a wall of commemorative tankards with officers’ names inscribed on them. The Fleet Officers Club has three floors to it, with the top two reserved for Flag Officers. Not even Dev has been up there.

  The largest space on the first floor is the bar area. The other side of the building’s first floor has quieter areas for reflection and relaxation. Tonight, however, the bar is very crowded, noisy, and boisterous.

  Dev and his group enter the barroom, which is full of officers and pilots tonight, and most of the commissioned flight students from the Training Command. Upon entering the room, the lights lower and the room falls silent. A spotlight shines on a large vintage ship’s bell mounted on a small parapet above the bar area.

  “What’s going on?” Chaz asks Dev quietly.

  Dev leans in toward Chaz. “Commissioning bell.”

  A uniformed aide-de-camp enters the upper parapet and mans the bell. A holographic image of the Constellation Oasis appears overhead. All patrons look upward to see who is being honored.

  “Hey, look at that.” Steve points upward. The hologram of constellation Oasis zeros in on Earth and adjusts to a moving orbital view of the planet.

  The aide-de-camp rings the bell in the traditional, ding-ding, signifying a newly commissioned officer. Above the graphic of Earth, a head and shoulders image of Steve appears, clearly showing his new shoulder boards. Below Steve’s image appears, Ensign Steven Fitzgerald. The bell tolls again. Harrison’s image appears next, reading Ensign Harrison Franklin. The bell tolls again, for Ensign Jennifer Spangler, then again for Ensign Matthew Thompson. To their surprise, the American National Anthem begins playing. Chaz comes to attention and holds a US Navy-style salute. Steve, Harr, Jen, and Matt follow Chaz’s lead and salute, Navy style.

  At the end of the anthem, applause fills the room. Everyone is clapping and cheering for the new Aviators of the Crown. People begin flooding over to shake their hands, some giving their rank and first names, some giving their last names and parent constellation.

  “Lijo, Lyra. Congratulations, Ensigns. Welcome to the fight.”

  “Alise, Hercules.”

  “Leftenant Timo, Eridanus, congratulations.”

  And on and on until every patron at the bar at some point greets and pays their respects to the newly commissioned officers. The patrons welcome the Oasis pilots like they are of their very own, because now, officially, they are. Their fellow pilot candidates are the most enthusiastic.

  Chaz and Dev find a somewhat quiet booth tucked into the wall. They are each served an ale and watch with pride as their ‘kids’ revel in their new positions.

  “I’m sorry you missed the bell ceremony.”

  Chaz waves off the idea. “Listen, my first commissioning was cool enough. Let them have this.”

  Today, they toast to their officers.

  Chaz drinks and puts down his tankard. “I can’t believe you did this, Dev. I can’t believe you came down to Earth, managed to convince me, those four pilots, and three flight attendants to stroll right onto a spacesh
ip and fly halfway across the universe and enlist in the military.”

  “Our recruitment quotas are really tough,” Dev jokes.

  They both laugh at the prospect.

  Dev looks at Chaz with a frown. “Now, about your salutes . . . ”

  Chaz shakes his head. “First time I was here, you said there is some variation in salutes throughout the territories . . . Lyra uses three fingers because the Command Field Marshal lost his thumb and index finger . . . Hercules uses their whole hand because it’s so bright there. Well, as the senior-most commissioned representative from Earth, I can tell you, Flight Commander, that is how we do it . . . at least while wearing flight suits.”

  “I suppose it is, Commander. I will add that to the Oasis dossier.”

  Chaz is surprised. “Just like that? Really?”

  “I told you, being a Commander is a pretty big deal here. Besides, who knows more about Oasis than you and I, after all?” They toast again.

  Chaz looks over at the Oasis crew laughing and carrying on with the Tertian officers and pilots from the training center. It’s almost as if they are watching them at a local pub in Atlanta.

  “I can’t get over how easily they’re interacting with one another.”

  “Chaz, at the end of the day, they are Human beings interacting with other Human beings.”

  “I know, but it just seems incredible.”

  “What’s incredible is that these four pilots agreed to take on the responsibility of defending their planet from alien attack.”

  “Five. But, yes, that is pretty cool.”

  Someone in the bar makes a loud toast. “To the Aviators of Oasis!”

  Dev holds up his tankard and repeats the toast, along with everyone else. “To the Aviators of Oasis!”

  Chaz holds up his glass. “I will definitely drink to that.”

  They take a healthy swig.

  “So, Dev, what happens next?”

  “Now that they’re commissioned I can send everyone the specs for the TransAt fighter, and we’ll begin the next phase. We’ll start in simulation. Then use retuned advanced trainers, then move on to fighter familiarization flights in simulation, then start on the real thing.”

  “Wait, retuned trainers?”

  “Yeah. Retuned engine systems, configured for military departures. We found it’s best to gain some experience with full power launches before trying it out in a fighter. The simulators aren’t very good at reproducing that particular phase of flight.”

  Chaz remembers the ‘military departure’ Dev did in the fighter on his first visit to Trieste and grins. “They’re going to love that.”

  “I agree. There are some procedures we’ll still do in the simulators, but I’ve reworked the syllabus to cover more in the actual machine.”

  “That’s not how you usually do it?”

  “No, but we only have four months left. I want to give you guys maximum exposure to the real fighter. We’ll still use the sims for the combat section and some emergency operations, but most of your training will be live. Simulation, actual flights, solo flights, compression nav, compression flight check, gunnery range, stellar navigation, and the final flight evaluation. Oh, and there’s some classified training I can’t talk about.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Trust me, you’ll be glad you’re with me.”

  “That can only mean survival school.”

  Dev smiles and raises his glass again. “You are a smart man, Chaz.”

  Chaz shakes his head. “I remember Navy survival school. I know what they did to us. I can’t even imagine what’s in store for them here.”

  Dev points his finger at Chaz. “Not a word, Lieutenant Commander Ronaldi. Not one. That’s an order.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” He adds, “If they hear about it, it won’t be from me.”

  “They won’t,” Dev says.

  Logistics Commander Joss Gartha and his wife, Constructs Commander Tan Gartha, enter and find their way to Dev and Chaz’s table.

  “Commander Dev, Commander Chaz. We heard the news. We thought we’d find you here.”

  “Ah, Commanders Joss and Tan. Please sit!” Dev is very excited to see his old friends.

  Tan looks up and sees the holographic headshots of the newly minted Ensigns. “Looks like we missed the ceremony,” Tan says disappointedly.

  “Yes, but you’re here now,” Chaz says. “It’s good to see both you again. We have been here a month, and I haven’t seen either of you. What have you been up to?”

  “We’ve been a little preoccupied at the behest of one Commander Dev,” Joss says.

  They watch as the new Oasis officers are all shown to the front of the Whirlwind, the bow of the ancient sailing ship making up the front end of the bar. The Ensigns all place their hand against the keel leading up to the bowsprit, carrying on a tradition that has been in place for thousands of years.

  The evening is light, it is exciting, and it’s the first time the Oasis pilots have been able to relax and enjoy some downtime. Dev, Chaz, Tan, and Joss continue talking about their work.

  “I made some adjustments to your base I think you’ll like,” Tan says. “The location you found in . . . where is it?”

  “Seattlee,” Joss says, mispronouncing the name.

  “Seattle,” Chaz corrects. “Soft t, silent e.”

  “Seattle,” Joss repeats correctly. “Apologies, Chaz.”

  “No worries, Joss.”

  Tan opens an electronic pad and prepares to shows it to Dev and Chaz, along with a graphical presentation. “It’s perfect.” She says, “Sea access below the waterline. Air launch. Sub launch. Maintenance bays. Self-contained power generation. And all concealed from prying eyes up above.”

  “I can’t wait to see it,” Chaz says eagerly.

  “That’s not even the best part,” Tan tells him.

  “No, it isn’t.” Joss shakes his head slightly.

  “Your topographic scans of the cliff face, in a sense, finalized how we are constructing the interior base.” Tan gets excited. “We’re mobilizing an expandable structure. It’s going to ship to Earth basically as a condensed cylinder the height of the launch door. We’re fitting the structure with particle drilling beams to seat it inside the cliff. Once it’s in place, we’ll expand the structure. It also has a primary shaft that will extend and drill downward to the waterline. The secondary shaft will extend upward into the house, wide enough for the generator escape shaft and also a personnel lift.”

  “Where does the lift enter the house?” Chaz wonders.

  “Into a subterranean storage room below the main stairs.”

  “Oh that’s the wine cellar.”

  “What about the hangar?” Dev asks.

  “The hangar bay is another innovation. The station is smaller than what a six-ship flight deck would otherwise need. It occurred to me that older frigates, remember, are smaller than our present-day warships. As such, their launch bays were configured for three fighters each. So basically, I’m using two frigate launch systems.” Tan activates the computer pad and pulls up the blueprint of the design.

  “Two?” Dev comments.

  “Yes, sir, upper and lower; one door, two pads, three fighters each.”

  “Bi-level launch pads,” Dev comments, looking at the plan. “That’s brilliant.”

  “I thought so,” Joss says of his wife’s innovation.

  “The exposed rotational bulkhead will have indigenous rock from the cliff face affixed to it, just as Chaz suggested. I’m going to have to go to Earth with the Cargo Lifter to make the final surveys and supervise the installation.”

  “Very well.”

  Tan continues, “I know you initially requested vertical lift pads. I can still put them in, but those are pretty obvious from the surface. It’s up to you, but it seems to me lateral is the best way to go here.”

  “Chaz?” Dev asks. “It’s your world. What do you think?”

  Chaz pulls the Ti-pad toward him and looks at Tan
’s plan and considers the security situation. “I think Tan’s right. Pad doors at the surface will make anyone who sees it want to know what’s underneath. If you eliminate that, then what’s hidden underground will stay hidden. And disguising the cliff face . . . I bet we could operate there forever and no one will ever know.”

  “Then the order is to go lateral,” Dev says. “How long for completion?”

  “It’s going to be tight,” Tan says, “but will be on schedule. I have crews working thirty-one hours a day.”

  They hear a cheer across the bar, and the bartender rapidly rings a smaller ships bell with a rope clapper. Every time someone buys a round, the bell starts pealing. Another round of drinks are raised to the new commissions. And despite the Oasis pilots’ somewhat unorthodox progression of rank and placement in the flight program, every officer in the club knows full well that their wings were well earned.

  A short while later, Dev, Chaz, Tan, and Joss don their hats and prepare to depart. Steve notices and hurries over to them.

  Steve is confused. “You’re leaving . . . sir?”

  Dev smiles. “Your compatriots can tell you, commanding officers make an appearance, then quietly leave you to your celebration.”

  Steve smiles. “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “Carry on.”

  Outside, Chaz looks back to the noisy club. “Are you sure they’ll be okay?”

  “Oh, don’t worry, their peerage will take care of them.”

  “I must be getting old,” Chaz says. “I’m ready to go home.”

  “Me too. I actually have some work I need to finish before tomorrow. Come on, Chaz, I’ll buy you dinner in Bari. Joss, Tan, care to join us?”

  “We have three children. You keep forgetting about that.”

  “Ah, yes, children.” Dev smiles. “Give them my regards.”

  “We will.”

  Chaz and Dev bid goodnight to Joss and Tan, then head for the travel tubes and return to Bari Province. After changing out of their uniforms into warm, comfortable civilian clothes, the two of them head out on foot to a restaurant about a mile away. The night air is significantly cooler than during Chaz’s first visit to Trieste.