The Reign: Destiny - The Life Of Travis Rand

by Lance Berry

  It was only now, at this time, that Travis truly realized what a great rapprochement he and his father had come to, and that they were finally beginning to understand and respect one another. He was glad for it, and secretly happy that the two of them would be able to move forward once Jack was released from the institution.

  Eventually the visit had to end, and Jack gave Marion a generous hug and told her how pleased he was that she had agreed to marry his son, and that he was looking forward to being able to attend the wedding. He and Lisa then shared a hug unlike any Travis had ever seen them share before in his life: it was one of true friendship, love and respect.

  A bittersweet thought came to Travis, that if only his mother could be here, it would be a perfect moment.

  The trio left the Institute, and Lisa drove the couple to the tram station. They said their goodbyes, and Travis and his fiancée headed back to school to continue the next phase in their lives together.

  Chapter 22

  (Firsties)

  Travis fell hard onto the mat, throwing out a swear as he bumped his head against the braced rubber. He couldn’t believe he had just allowed himself to get dropped so easily, when he had come so far in his martial arts studies. But his movements thus far had been uncoordinated, lazy, and he had no choice but to admit to himself–he had this defeat coming.

  “What is wrong with you?” Sensei Ling said sternly, a note of exasperation managing to disrupt his usual stillness. “In the four years we’ve sparred together, there was only one time when I was able to catch you off guard and sweep your feet out from under you. This move just now, a plebe would have known to avoid.” He shook his head and bent down, offering Travis his hand. Travis accepted, rubbing the back of his head with his other hand as he got to his feet. “I’m sorry, Sensei. I’m…not focused today.”

  “It appears you haven’t been focused for a while,” Ling said as he retreated to one of the other mats and sat himself down in a lotus position. He gestured to a mat opposite him, but Travis remained standing. Ling gave him an admonishing look, and Travis reluctantly sat where indicated. “You do realize that any of your teachers are able to access your grades in your other classes?” Ling said, more a statement of fact than an actual question.

  Travis nodded but said nothing, so Ling continued. “You’ve been slipping, Travis. All your grades have gone downhill…not by much, but enough cumulatively to lower your G.P.A. by almost two points. Isn’t your cadre helping you to catch up?”

  Travis exhaled heavily. “I think my cadre’s about given up on me. It’s been frustrating for them, and me, too.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Travis considered the question a moment before giving a reply. His personal affairs were really none of Ling’s business, but then again, those same affairs were interfering with his duty as a cadet. Travis was a private person in many ways, but he had discussed personal matters with Ling before, and the sensei had always helped him take an objective look at things, and come to rational conclusions which helped him in the long run. And more than any of his other teachers, perhaps even more than Wentwell –whom he had come to respect a great deal in the last two years–he trusted Ling implicitly.

  “You know I’m going to be married when school’s over.”

  “Yes. And I’ve told you many times, that no matter how much I teach you, I will always be the superior in Jeet Kune Do. If I fail to receive an invitation, then you should put your affairs in order.”

  This had usually managed to get a laugh out of Travis, but now he barely smiled. “Marion and I were talking, toward the end of last year. She’s wanted to be a soldier since she was a little girl, while I sort of fell into it. It’s a dangerous enough job for one of us to be going into space, especially after getting married. But for two of us…” He trailed off. It was hard for Ling to keep a mask of neutrality on his face, as he now guessed what was coming, and was deeply saddened by the implication of what Travis would say next.

  “Anyway, I agreed that I would try to find something in the private sector after graduation.”

  Ling nodded slowly, contemplatively. There was silence between them for a long moment, the only sounds in the world being that of the birds chirping away happily in the trees, oblivious to the concerns and frustrations of the homo sapiens beneath them.

  “I sense that you are unhappy with your decision.”

  “Well, duh!” Travis said, then cast his eyes away, embarrassed. “Sorry.”

  Ling waved dismissively. “We have spoken before about your destiny, Travis. I know that you do not personally believe in the workings of God or fate, but if you will allow me a moment of indulgence–?”

  Travis’ eyes narrowed, his curiosity piqued. He nodded for Ling to go on.

  “As I see it, there is a binding unity to the universe. It does not need for us to believe whether or not it exists; the simple fact is that it does and will continue to do so, without a care as to our beliefs. The universe itself, from the atoms of the smallest grain of sand, to the burning core of the largest star, is far too ordered for a convenient accident to have brought it all into being. ‘No thinking, no reflecting. Perfect emptiness–yet therein something moves, following its own course’. God, fate, destiny–whatever you want to call it, has given you a gift. A purpose. That is more than most people are given in their lifetime. Are you truly ready to throw such a gift away?”

  And with that Ling stood, bowed and walked away. Travis watched him go, and sat on the mat for a long while, contemplating the deeper meaning within the simplicity of what he had said. He took so long thinking about it in fact, that he was ten minutes late to social studies class. But even so, he did better in class that day–in all his classes, in fact– than he had in a long time. As the weeks progressed, he showed a marked improvement across the board, to the surprise of his teachers and the relief of his cadre. He and Marion still got along very well, but Travis was a bit more reserved, less open than he had been. Marion knew something was wrong, but didn’t want to press him about it; they had never had a fight while they had been together, and she didn’t want to be the person to start one. She figured that eventually, he would let her know what was on his mind, as he always did.

  It was mid-semester when news had come in about a devastating loss on United Earth Force’s side. A column of Heavy Cruisers was ambushed in the Cygni 61 sector and destroyed. Over the next few days, more and more losses were recorded, and many students became worried that the war might be over–no one used the word “lost”, though many thought just that–before they got their shot.

  “All I know is, President McTaggert is running this war like it’s one of those stupid old 20th Century sitcoms,” Cavanaugh said over lunch one afternoon. He put his hands up to his face in a simulation of surprise. “’We’re at war? Gosh, honey, I thought you said you hate it when I snore’!”

  There were a couple of chuckles around the table, but Tony Drake wasn’t amused. “McTaggert’s doing the best job he can, Hamilton. It’s not an easy thing, being a world president, you know.”

  “Did he tell you that personally over milk and cookies, Drake? Or does your old man lullaby you to sleep with that b.s. over the vid-com each night?”

  Drake leaned across the table, locking eyes with Cavanaugh. “You know, I’m getting a little tired of you ragging on me because my father alone has accomplished more than any ten of your generations ever could.”

  “Oooh,” Cavanaugh said, and shook his head. “Tell me something that hurts, baby. Maybe we should send you into the field to save us all.”

  “I’d do a damn sight of it better, both hands tied behind my back and blindfolded, than you could armed with twenty ion grenades and a megascope plasma cannon.”

  “What good would it do you to blindfold your hands, dumbass?” Cavanaugh teased. Drake was always a stickler for logic and cold facts, and immature behavior stuck in his craw. Cavanaugh always knew how to get his goat, and loved doing it.

  “
You’re a dolt,” Drake said icily.

  “What’s that mean?” Cavanaugh replied with a chuckle.

  “All right, all right,” Travis interceded. “That’s enough. We all know it’s going badly right now, but it’s going to turn around. It always does.”

  Danielle shook her head sadly. “I don’t know. It’s looking pretty bad. I’d hate to have gone through four years of this for nothing.”

  “People have been saying that four years before we got here, and four years before that,” Pietro spoke up. “The war will still be nice and warm when we get to it.”

  Chang slurped down the last of his soup. “What we need are at least seventy more captains like David Christenson,” he said as he wiped a napkin across his mouth.

  “Hear, hear,” Danielle said.

  “I mean, forty engagements, and the man’s never been defeated,” Chang continued in awe. “Only David Grossman of the Independence had a better track record!”

  Cavanaugh nodded and looked to Drake once more. “Maybe you should change your name to David before going off to win the war for us. It might improve your odds.”

  “Shut up,” Drake said in bemusement as the others laughed. He picked up a piece of cracker and threw it at Cavanaugh.

  The weeks continued to move on, and soon enough it was nearly spring. Travis’ performance had picked up significantly in his classes, and he was back on track once more. He and Marion continued along smoothly, and his P.C. was doing well as a unit.

  It was a beautiful autumn morning when Professor Ivanston’s class marched across the campus to the Flight Compound hangar bay. The professor led them through the rows of brand new DFCs waiting on standby, should replacements ever be needed for Heavy Cruisers that might find themselves nearing depletion of their own supply of one-person fighters. At the very end of the hangar opposite from where they had come in, Ivanston led the class to two rows of Mark II Predator-Class DFCs. “This is part of the surprise quiz I have been warning you about for the last half of the semester. You have just taken the written part in the classroom. God willing, the majority of you have passed it. Now comes the oral exam, so to speak. You will be assigned to squadrons in groups of five, and each squad will fly from low altitude to exospheric orbit. You will be given simple maneuvers to perform–nothing you shouldn’t be able to pull off, if you’ve been paying attention in class. I will be monitoring you at all times from low orbit, and will judge you both individually and within your groups. I will be leaving momentarily, to take my shuttle to its positioning vantage point. I will then signal you via the hangar’s ODC for the order in which you will lift-off. There are assigned flight suits and helmets in each DFC’s cockpit, so I expect you to be suited up and ready when I call. Good luck to you all.” Ivanston then headed off to the distance, in the direction of several troop transports parked on the far side of the hangar. The cadets looked to one another, expressions of anticipation and excitement on their faces. They had been looking forward to this moment for the last three years, and now it was finally time for them to climb behind the cockpits of working Predator-Class DogFighter Craft and prove themselves worthy to become members of the elite!

  They heard Ivanston’s transport lifting off, and all of them hurried to the nearest restrooms to change, even though they had at least a good five or ten minutes until the transport was able to reach the position the professor wanted. About half the cadets had made it back out when Ivanston’s voice cracked over the ODC: “Cadets Rand, Guzman, King, Keys and Skovarinov to your cockpits. You will signal me when you are seated in your craft, before you close your canopy.”

  Danielle gave Travis’ grey flight suit an appreciative once-over. “You look good,” she said, a smile on her face. Travis glanced back at the females’ restroom; Marion hadn’t come out yet. “Thanks,” he replied, then gave her a thumbs-up. She returned the greeting, then each headed to a ship.

  Travis climbed into his cockpit, a thrill of nervous energy coursing through him. He put on his helmet and glanced at his board’s controls: altimeter, galactic plane orientation, vocal smart ware interface. He shook his head in amusement; it seemed so long ago now, that he had “crashed” the practice DFC and he felt like a blundering novice. How far he had come.

  He tabbed a panel, activating his controls. With an eager thrum, the ship’s console sprang to life in a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds. His onboard view screen showed that he was in DFC 2, and so he switched on his ground-to-space (GTS) comlink. “This is Travis Rand in DFC two, standing by.” He could hear the chatter of his fellows reporting in as well, and finally Ivanston returned the hail. “Very good, pilots. I want you to remember at all times that you are in a working DFC, and its guns are carrying live rounds. The engines are entirely capable of jumping to the speed of light at a moment’s notice. This is not a simulation, this is the real thing. Anyone who treats it lightly will be dismissed from this class instantly. Close your canopies, lift off in order one at a time, and follow my marker signal. Best of luck to you all.”

  The com-line shut off, but a steady pulse on the viewscreen replaced it with coordinate bearings underneath. Travis was proud that he remembered how to read the coordinates exactly, and he watched eagerly as one after another, his friends took off. He glanced out the side of his cockpit and saw Marion standing about a dozen feet away, at the front of the class. She blew him a kiss, and he snatched it from the air and planted it on his cheek. The last ship took off, and Travis gently activated his lift thrusters, segueing them into his guidance thrusters, and tapped his engines lightly enough so that they pushed him steadily out of the hangar. Once clear of the hangar, Travis accelerated quickly into a climb gradient which led him up, up into the sky.

  “Squadron one, move into standard formation,” Ivanston ordered via the comlink. Travis checked his sensors for the positions of the other DFCs in relation to his own. He wasn’t really worried about anyone being too close, though; the onboard computer was designed to emit a warning signal if his ship moved in too close to another, or vice-versa. As he eased his ship forward, his visual through the canopy mirrored what his sensors told him: DFC one was directly in front of him, DFC three was behind him, and DFC’s four and five were on his port and starboard sides, respectively. Each ship maintained a distance of about fifty meters, so as to allow leeway in case anyone’s guidance system might be off slightly. It seemed that no one’s was, as the ships were in perfect formation. He glanced to his left, and saw Christina waving at him. He was about to wave back, but something told him to look to his right, which he did. Sure enough, Hugo Guzman was in DFC five, waving back at Christina. Travis realized she had obviously been waving to Hugo all along. He didn’t wave at either of them, and decided it was best to focus all his attention on his instruments. According to the navigational system, his squadron was rapidly entering the troposphere, which contained mainly clouds and any stormy weather. It was a clear day however, and there were remarkably very few clouds. A gentle nudging push forward on the joystick, and Travis continued onward with his fellows as they ascended into the stratosphere. The group easily cleaved through the ozone layer, their ships showing no signs of strain at the ongoing climb.

  Ivanston’s voice came over the comlink. “Attention, pilots. By now, your sensors should be showing that you are four hundred kilometers from me. Visually, if you look ten degrees to your starboard side through your canopy, you should be able to see my transport holding position.”

  Travis checked his sensors, then reconfirmed visually. Sure enough, Ivanston’s transport was holding position right where he said. “I want you to follow me. Keep a careful eye on your outer temperature and your cockpit’s atmosphere.”

  The transport’s thrusters fired and it arced away, moving upward into the distance. Travis kept a careful eye on his distance readings, and as one, his squadron turned gently to starboard and pushed upward, into the planet’s mesosphere. Travis noticed that as they climbed, the ship’s outer temperature began to decre
ase while the inner pressure and atmosphere increased slightly. It was then that he remembered that temperatures within this part of Earth’s atmosphere lowered to -100 degrees Celsius. The atmosphere outside the DFC was lowering steadily, and so the ship’s smart ware, preparing for the possibility of complete exit from the atmosphere, increased the oxygen flow and atmosphere content accordingly.

  After a moment, Travis noticed that the vessel’s internal pressure had leveled off, but the atmosphere outside began to heat once more as the squadron finally entered the thermosphere, where the sun’s X-rays heated the atmosphere to 1,000 degrees Celsius. As the squadron raced to catch up to the transport, which had again paused in its ascent, Ivanston spoke once more. “Very good, Cadets. Check your pressurization one more time, and follow me.”

  Travis did as ordered, then looked at his sensor screen in disbelief. He glanced out the canopy to confirm, and his mouth fell open slightly. The transport was moving off, leaving the atmosphere. Ivanston had said the squadron should follow him–they were going into space! The professor was actually going to take them out of Earth’s atmosphere completely for maneuvers in zero-g! Never in his wildest dreams did Travis imagine that Ivanston would actually bestow such a treat upon the class as this. He looked around, trying to catch glimpses of his fellow classmates’ faces, trying to see if they were as surprised as him. Hugo had moved up a bit in the formation, so he was out of range…but Christina was smiling widely, pleased as punch. And it was only then that Travis realized that he was smiling as well, a smile which easily mirrored Christina’s.