by D. E. Kinney
It wasn’t long, however, standing on the radiating landing pad, before some of the euphoric effects of the Slate started to wear off—replaced with waves of stifling heat, magnified by the reflective white of the pad and the lack of any breeze, the combination of which soon began to take its toll on Tommy’s once freshly pressed uniform. And so, mopping small streams of sweat off his brow and leaving the sounds of jets behind, he headed for the nearby sanctuary of a small enclosed transportation hub, caught the first hover bus headed for main side, and grabbed one of a number of open seats, relieved to once again be surrounded by cool air.
As with any officer, he was expected to report in a non-formal dress uniform, and even though the garment was considered summer weight, the Razeier climate was quickly turning his pristine, red and black uniform into a wet wrinkled washcloth. A hat would be nice, Tommy thought, but then Tarchein uniforms never included a cap. The image of a cover atop one of those great heads made Tommy smile as he shifted his gaze from the busy base, now sliding past an adjacent darkly tinted window, to a pair of student pilots casually sprawled out on couches across from him.
Both aliens were in flight suits. One, a short, stocky, very light, almost clear-skinned alien, wore a tan suit. The other, Tommy’s height, had olive skin and dark eyes and wore light green. Tommy did not recognize the origin of either.
They politely acknowledged his presence with a nod but said nothing. Now Tommy was a newbie, but there was something else in their look, something he had never seen at the Academy. He was, after all, a Star Force officer, and in this place, probably more than at any other Imperial base, Star Force officers were clearly at the top of the food chain. Not that Tommy felt any animosity for the student pilots, quite the contrary. They were, or at least hoped to one day be pilots, and in that, they all shared a common bond. But there was no denying that Tommy’s position as a Star Force officer meant he was more committed, better trained, and would most certainly be entrusted with better equipment. It also meant that he had endured a much more selective process to obtain his commission. This statement was true for any Star Force member, student pilot or otherwise, but he was also a Star Force Academy grad, a title that, Tommy knew, elevated his stature in the Imperial scheme of things. A feeling that wasn’t lost on the two seated across from him, and no doubt was reinforced by a subconscious tapping of an enormous Academy ring against his left thigh.
The hover bus soon deposited Tommy at the command’s administration building, where he was nonchalantly checked in by a rather bored-looking corporal. Tell me again why I’m sweating through these class A’s, he thought as the admin clerk transferred a berthing assignment into his wristcomm. His quarters, along with training squadron TSP-1205’s common area, were located on the twentieth level of tower A-309.
Alpha 309 was one in a cluster of cylinder-shaped, twenty-story buildings, or The Towers as they were called, located a safe distance from flight operations. It would have been nice to be situated closer to the flight line, but then again, thinking back to his arrival—I guess it’s just one less tall structure to crash into, Tommy thought as he stepped out of the lift and into the Mudhen’s common area.
“Tommy,” Bo exclaimed as she rushed to greet him. But she gathered herself, stopped, and put her hands at her sides. “Glory be yours.”
Tommy dropped his bag and gave her a big hug. “And yours.”
The quarters for the student pilots were arranged around a full half of the circular-shaped twentieth floor. Forty-eight rooms, each with a hatch that opened into the main common area, the walls of which were adorned with the colors and symbols of the mighty Mudhens.
“Heard from Gary?” Tommy asked.
“He’s still in-route, should be here tomorrow,” Bo responded while walking with Tommy along the great curved wall.
“Cutting it kind of close,” Tommy said while continuing to scan the illuminated room numbers and names above the closed hatches.
“He’ll be here, Tommy. Have you ever known Mr. Cruise to do anything stupid?” She smiled.
Tommy returned the smile and shrugged. “No, never,” he said sarcastically and stopped in front of his room.
“ENSIGN THORN, THOMAS.” Tommy, still getting used to being called ensign, entered a code, waited for the hatch to slide open, and then strode into his first room assignment as a Star Force officer.
“Pretty nice, huh?” Bo asked, stepping inside the brightly lit room.
The room’s curved outer wall was practically all windows, giving Tommy an unobstructed view of the activity taking place in the flight operations area. Look at all those trainers, he thought. From this distance the little white aircraft looked like bees swarming around a hive. That’s going to be me soon, he thought and was once again overcome with a desire to rush to the flight line and try out one of the nimble-looking jets.
“Well?” Bo asked again as she threw herself onto Tommy’s overstuffed couch.
“Nice, very nice,” he finally said, turning from the window to take in his new home.
“Have any trouble reporting in? I mean, were you dressed properly?” Bo snickered.
Tommy looked down at his wasted uniform, now clearly showing the effects of the heat, and knew she must have had the same underwhelming experience when reporting.
“The Zoo’s briefing on reporting to a new duty assignment was made out to be such a big deal,” he said, somewhat exasperated.
Bo gave Tommy one of those Bo smiles, big and bright, then shrugged. “Get changed. You have got to see the club at this place. Pilots from all over the Empire are here,” she said while moving to the hatch. “I’ll meet you in ten minutes!”
Tommy nodded. He was so happy that Remus had been able to arrange Bo’s slot. And what a pilot she’ll be, he thought.
“Ten minutes,” she repeated, sticking her head back into the room, then darting away without waiting to hear from Tommy.
“Yes, yes—ten minutes,” he shouted before the hatch slid closed and again looked out toward the Fireflies. Well, I guess I can wait one more day to get into a jet, he thought.
Weeks passed, and the eager Mudhens still hadn’t gotten close to a Firefly. First there had been desert survival training. Razeier was, after all, one of the most lightly populated planets in the Empire. This statement was true enough. However, Tommy felt sure that if he went down, someone would be by his side in minutes. But then again, he had paid attention—it was awfully hot out there.
Then there were the chamber rides, high pressure, low pressure, and high-G stress orientation.
“High-G training,” Gary had exclaimed. “What about internal dampeners?”
“Things fail, ensign,” was the medtech’s halfhearted response.
Flight indoctrination also included daily physical training and endless medical tests, but there had also been the long-awaited issue of flight equipment.
All entry-level students were issued basic non-pressurized flight suits in the colors prescribed by their home commands. These lightweight suits were much welcomed when students were caught outdoors in the midday sun of the Slate. Tommy could only imagine what it would have been like to do a preflight in one of the snug-fitting pressure suits, or even the lightly armored suit he would hopefully fly in one day, sometimes called fighting suits by the attach jocks.
And while this period of waiting before getting to fly was exasperating, Tommy had to admit that being issued his flight gear had been a significant milestone. The thought of that day, much like the thought of the Slate itself, had gotten him through some very tough days and nights at the Academy.
And Tommy was not alone in these feelings. In fact, all of his classmates had taken several opportunities to privately admire themselves, clad fully in their new flight suits and helmet, although they would vehemently deny such actions should they be asked.
There were plenty of classes, mostly on stuff that dealt with atmospheric flight, like standard electric turbojet engines, augmented thruster propulsion
systems, communications, and the planet-based navigation interface operation. But they had also covered the principles of weightless flight and antigravity systems, both theory and operation.
It was the practical understanding, inspection, and operation of the graviton generator that consumed most of Tommy’s attention at the moment as he followed along with the instructor on his datapad.
“Flight Sergeant Lamont?” the instructor responded to the Volarian female’s query, alerted by the illumination of a blue band of light that now encircled the edge of her desk.
The majority of the Mudhens were not Star Force members, or even officers for that matter. Many PDF units and most commercial carriers did not require their pilots to be commissioned. But they were all accepted within the squadron’s ranks, more or less, as equals. Many lifelong friendships were cultivated in the Mudhen common area, study groups, or over cool drinks shared at the club, while a student elaborated on having once again cheated death in the skies over the Slate.
“Sir, with the activation of the graviton generator…” She paused.
“Yes,” the Tarchein Star Force lieutenant commander coaxed while extinguishing her blue acknowledgement signal.
Not all instructors were Tarchein. In fact, very few taught at the school, most being needed in fleet operational billets. For this reason, it was widely speculated that their instructor, Commander Kanoop, was on some kind of medical leave; he had a wing badge, but no one ever saw him fly.
“If my craft is weightless, won’t I just float up?”
The instructor suppressed a smile and nonchalantly raised a hand to silence the spattering of chuckles.
“It’s a fair question, Sergeant, but let me ask you this: in the absence of the effect of gravity, which way is up?”
He waited for her to nod, a look of realization forming on her face, and he again turned to the large schematic of a standard graviton generator.
“Now, once again, activation energizes these coils.” He used a prompter to highlight the center section, which began to glow. A fully charged unit may be adjusted how?” He looked over his datapad and selected a student.
“Ensign Bo?”
Bo’s blue light illuminated, alerting and interfacing her datapad to the main screen.
“Gravity may be adjusted between standard one and zero by increments of ten percent,” she responded assuredly, then snapped off her desk’s light.
“That is correct, ensign,” the instructor said, showing a broad grin.
Tommy was not sure if he was pleased with the response or just liked the way Bo smiled after every answer. But then again, he was Tarchein. Has to be the mastery of the academics, he thought.
“And Mr.—Cruise?”
Gary’s light came on, redirecting his attention from the nearby window.
“Can you describe the graviton generator’s operational checks and procedures used when flying the PT-207 Charlie?”
The PT-207C Firefly, or the Bug, was the primary flight trainer used by the Star Force. Unlike the vast majority of craft in the fleet’s inventory, the Bug was relegated to only atmospheric flights where the barometric pressure was kept at or above 1 psi, or about 57,680 feet on Razeier.
Gary thought for a moment before answering. “The generator on the C model performs an automatic status test once fully energized.” He used his pad to highlight a 3-D image of the trainer’s cockpit interior. “The status advisory light will illuminate here.” A large orange arrow appeared near an avionic side panel. “Check outside for obstructions, set gravity pulse to zero, confirm here.” A new arrow was displayed. Gary paused to select a different view on the large projected image. “Now ease the throttle…”
Kanoop cleared his throat loudly.
“I mean.” Gary started over. “First ensure the aircraft is configured for ground operation.” Gary glanced at the instructor, who nodded. “Raise the skids, confirm a stable hover, and ease the throttle forward, activating the downward firing thrusters until you are about six feet off the ground. Again confirm a stable hover—then stand by for taxi clearance.” Gary’s light snapped off.
“Very good, ensign, right out of the operator’s manual.” The instructor seemed surprised and once again scanned the seat assignments on his datapad.
“Mr. Magnus?”
The ensign from Farsee’s light illuminated.
“Please recite for me the Firefly’s emergency procedure for a graviton generator failure,” Commander Kanoop continued.
Mags looked up from his datapad and stared at the large rotating image of the 207
“The—that is, a complete failure, sir?” Mags was clearly stalling for time.
“Yes, Mr. Magnus. Give me the EP for a complete graviton generator failure,” the instructor calmly said, then leaned back against his desk, arms folded.
“If the PT-207 is in a hover, with no forward velocity when the generator fails, it will immediately plummet to the ground. Time permitting, the crew must eject.”
The commander nodded.
“If the PT-207 has sufficient forward velocity you must first lower the…”
Kanoop’s large forehead wrinkled.
“No, I mean first you must ensure the aircraft is cleaned up, retract speed brakes, establish best glide, and look for a suitable clearing to ditch. Do not attempt to lower the landing skids,” Mags finished and nervously waited.
“That’s not bad, Mr. Magnus,” Kanoop said, switching off the Farsee’s light. “Look, the point is, without the graviton generator your thrusters will be useless. The best you can hope for, if the situation permits, is to reduce drag and use what little lift is available in your wing panels to bring the craft down upright, or eject.”
The Tarchein instructor looked around the room and switched off the large 3-D image. “Any questions?”
A light came on near the back of the class.
Kanoop did not bother to check the seating chart, as this light was always coming on. “Yes, Flight Lieutenant Bien,” he said, resignation evident in his voice.
“Sir, I’ve studied the glide ratio curves, and it looks like all you’re really going to be able to do is maybe control the crash.”
The commander switched off the flight lieutenant’s blue light. “That is unfortunately true. If you lose your grav-gen, you will crash—sooner than later.”
“So just to be clear, with a graviton generator failure, we’re basically, screwed?” Bien emphasized the word screwed.
Kanoop waited for the laughter to die down. “That is correct, Mr. Bien—you are screwed,” the commander responded nonchalantly and raised a hand to again quiet the laughter. “You do, after all, receive extra credits for flight duty, do you not?”
Bien smiled and nodded.
Kanoop continued, “now, I won’t take time today to review the ground control operation again…”
There was a collective sigh of relief from the class.
“As I said, I will not review it again here, but I implore you to review the procedures on your own before your trainer session.” He paused for the completion of a three-toned chime, alerting instructor and student alike to the period’s end. “Check your datapads for sim times, and I’ll meet you at the practice ramp tomorrow. I’m sure you’re all anxious to get some actual stick time.” The Tarchein did not try to conceal a sinister smile. “Class dismissed.”
The Device 11 Graviton Trainer, lovingly referred to as a bumper car, was used to give incoming pilot trainees operational practice time on nonflying, somewhat indestructible PT-207 facsimiles, at least in regards to the ground-handling characteristics and control inputs of the primary flight trainer. But these tricky little hover trainers represented much more than just a normal session of instruction. They were a rite of passage at the Slate, as the students in 1205 would soon find out.
Tommy waited in line behind an active barrier for a landing-pad assignment before he casually strolled out to his waiting bumper car and crew chief.
“Good mor
ning,” the slightly overweight civil servant said, a smokeless energy stick dangling from her lower lip.
“Morning,” Tommy replied, handing the Razeierian his flight helmet and climbing into the device.
He was careful where he put his feet, but caution warnings notwithstanding, Tommy knew there was no ejection seat in the little roundish car-like thing. It was important, he guessed, that the little nonflying trainer did not encourage bad habits. Although one could not help but feel a little funny dressed in full fight gear, including helmet, while strapped into the tiny device, which looked much more like a thick cleaning disk than a flying machine.
“You all set, sir?” The chief had taken the e-stick out of her mouth to tighten and check his restraining straps.
Tommy nodded, lowered his helmet’s visor, cleared the rails, and closed his tinted bubble canopy, anxious to get the cooling effects of his conditioned air system online.
“You on comm, Tommy?” Gary asked, coming up on their prearranged private frequency.
Tommy looked at Gary, two landing pads over, and worked hard not to laugh out loud. He looked like a grown man enclosed in a tinted bowl, sitting on top of a child’s toy.
“I’ve got ya, Cruiser,” Tommy said, suppressing a chuckle.
“This is ridiculous.” It was Bo’s voice laughing over the comm.
“You just be careful over there,” Tommy joked as he activated his graviton generator and watched his thoroughly bored crew chief for a signal to go into hover. Red beacon lights began to flash on the forty-eight Device 11s as each student completed a checklist and applied power.
Finally, Tommy acknowledged the chief’s signal and watched as she hurriedly ran behind the safety of the barrier. Funny, he thought, and after confirming his panel’s green light, raised the skids, allowing the little trainer to hover. Easy….