“If by ‘computer’ you mean that short-circuited excuse for a terminal I just about put my foot through yesterday, I’d rather stitch them together myself.”
She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes in confusion. “I’m not entirely sure what you mean, sir. But if you have any problems with these, just let me know.” She jiggled the uniforms in her hand.
“So I’ll be seeing more of you then, Ensign?”
She smiled brightly. “Yes, sir. I’m the squadron’s maintenance and supply officer.”
He failed to stop his eyes from rolling. Thankfully, his eyelids were closed too tightly for Ensign McAllister to notice. “I see.”
She watched as he absently began scratching at his stomach. “Is there anything I can do for you before I head to my duty station, Skipper?”
Shawn’s eyes popped open, as if he’d only now realized he was talking to someone. “Yes. Yes, I do need you to get me something, Supply Officer Ensign McAllister.”
Her face lit up with joy. Apparently, this was something for which she lived and breathed. “You name it, sir. Whatever it is, whatever you’re looking for, I can find it in the ship’s store. Is it stationery, or maybe more comfortable sheets, perhaps even a thicker mattress, sir? I know how uncomfortable these beds can be. I can even score a case of—”
“Coffee.”
She looked puzzled. “You need a case of coffee?”
“Yes. No! I need a cup of coffee. A hot one. Do you think you can manage that for me, Ensign?”
“Yes, sir. Of course.” She seemed demoralized at such a trivial request, but her merriment quickly returned. “Would you like cream? Sugar?”
“No, just coffee.”
“Jamaican? Antaran? Columbian? Estonian? Indian?”
Shawn held out a staying hand in an attempt to halt the ensign’s rapid-fire verbal onslaught. “Just coffee, McAllister. Plain old Terran coffee. Nothing fancy and nothing frilly. Simple, unadorned black coffee.”
“Yes, sir.”
She turned her attention to her new mission, but was stopped when Shawn added one more request. “And a donut, if you happen to pass one along the way.”
McAllister pivoted, but looked back sharply before leaving. “Anything else, sir?
“You could hand me my uniforms.”
“Oh? Oh!” she stammered. “Of course, sir.” She handed him the weighty clothes, then hurried on her way to find the items the lieutenant commander had requested.
Shawn poked his head out into the corridor, watching the ensign as she bounded down the narrow passageway, nearly colliding with another crewman. “Make way,” she barked at the young man, scaring the bewildered crewman right out of his socks.
At least she aims to please.
*
By the time Ensign McAllister returned with his flavorless coffee and lackluster donut, Shawn had showered and shaved. In fact, he was just buttoning up his uniform when the young woman arrived with his light breakfast. She’d deposited it on the small table and left the compartment as quickly as she’d entered, leaving Shawn to finish getting dressed. For whatever reason, McAllister hadn’t said very much when she’d returned, which was just as well. Even though he was far more cognizant of his surroundings by this time, Shawn felt it was still far too early in the morning to be burdened with heavy conversation—especially if it was one-sided.
As he secured the last button on his shirt, Lieutenant Commander Shawn Kestrel gave his appearance a final once-over in the full-length mirror on the port bulkhead. The long black pants were slightly restrictive, the gray shirt seemed a little loose, and the leather belt was far too long. After some minor modifications, he tucked in the shirt and pulled it from side to side, accentuating the military creases that had been ironed into them during their initial dry-cleaning.
A small plastic bag had accompanied the clothes, and Shawn spilled its contents onto the top of the bed and gave the items their due respect. Apparently, due to his reactivation, he was authorized to wear all the campaign awards he’d earned during his initial tour in Sector Command. Thankfully, current regulations didn’t require the wearing of such devices on his present choice of uniform. However, in order to keep up appearance and look the part he was being asked to play, he reluctantly decided to put on a single, four-inch row of his campaign awards. He chose three awards of lesser distinction: an award for five years of continuous service, a marksmanship award for hand weapons, and a campaign ribbon denoting that he’d been part of a joint operation in the Sage Nebula. The final award in the row was something special, a rarity few officers had and one he was proud to display. It was a distinguished flying award he’d received while flying with William Graves on one of the many missions the two had flown together. This particular one, however, hadn’t been just a run-of-the-mill mission, and Shawn thought back on it fondly as he attached the strip to the left breast of his shirt.
He was about to exit into the corridor when a chime sounded, indicating that someone wished to come in. Wondering who it could be, Shawn pressed a control on the nearby desktop and allowed the visitor to be admitted.
“Begging your pardon, sir!”
Shawn turned to see his mechanic, Trent Maddox, fully outfitted in Sector Command attire and standing at attention outside his cabin. Shawn couldn’t help but manage a smile.
“Well, look at what the cat dragged in.”
The door closed behind Trent as he stepped into Shawn’s quarters and then quickly stood back at attention. “Permission to stand at ease, sir!” he barked, then gave an overly exaggerated salute.
Trent was barely containing a smile, and his face looked as if it was threatening to explode if he wasn’t allowed to release it soon.
“You know, you suck at being an enlisted man.” Shawn gave a perfunctory salute in return, thereby releasing the invisible hold on
Trent.
Trent beamed, then removed his ball cap and tossed it on the bed. “Yeah, my old division officer used to say the same thing. What’s shaking, man?”
“To be honest, I still don’t really know.”
Trent moved close to Shawn and adjusted his friend’s uniform collar. “Well, you certainly look very pretty. Do you have a date?” His tone was dripping with condescension.
Shawn slapped his hand away. “I have duty, not a date.”
Trent stood back from Shawn and gave him an approving look. “Wow, you’re really serious about this whole military thing, aren’t you?”
“I don’t have much of a choice in the matter, remember?”
“Yeah, I know. I guess it’s lucky for you that I decided to stick around too.”
“Um, you didn’t have a choice, either.”
“Yeah, well…I keep telling myself this is all voluntary.”
“Does it help?”
“You mean does it help when I have an imbecile deck officer telling me how to do my job? Or does it help when I want to see if I can land a wrench right between his eyes?”
“Yeah.”
Trent shrugged. “No. It doesn’t. Guess that’s why he’s in the infirmary and I’m here.”
“You didn’t.” Shawn was incredulous.
“I sure as hell did. It was a pretty nice throw, too, if I do say so myself. He must have been…oh, twenty yards away.”
Shawn shook his head in bewilderment. “You’re serious?”
“Yep.” Trent was almost beaming with pride.
“You should be in the brig, not up here gallivanting through the passageways.”
“Well, ‘should’ is such a subjective term,” Trent replied as he casually leaned against the bulkhead. “I know I should be, but for some reason I’m not. I mean, the MPs showed up, took me down to the lower levels, and held me in the security office. I think I was there for about five minutes before they said I was free to go, and that I should have you to thank for it.”
Shawn narrowed his eyes. “I’ve been between a shower and a donut for the last half hour.”
�
��That’s nasty.”
“No, you idiot. Not at the same time! I mean I’ve been busy, and I didn’t do anything to get you out of trouble. Hell, I didn’t even know you were being detained.”
“Well, someone sprung me out. As soon as I was released, they said I should report to you for a duty assignment.” He pondered the situation for a moment before speaking again. “Do you think it was Melissa?”
Shawn briefly wondered the same thing. “Unlikely. Besides, if she had, she would have taken credit for it just to piss off Krif.”
“Sounds like your kind of girl.”
Shawn narrowed his eyes in frustration.
Trent got the message: back off. “Okay, so if it wasn’t her, then who was it?”
“I don’t know. Then again, there’s a lot of that going on around here. Melissa promised to keep me in the loop.”
Trent put a playful hand on Shawn’s shoulder and stared longingly into his eyes. “Do you trust her?”
Shawn smirked at the bait Trent was offering. “Not on your life. But, at the moment, she’s the only friend we have around here. We’ll play along for now, both with her and with Krif.”
Trent nodded. “Fine. I don’t like it, though.”
“What else is new? How’s your stomach, by the way?”
Trent rubbed his hands thoughtfully over his belly. “I’m a little gassy, but I think I’m getting used to this whole space travel thing.”
“Just don’t get too used to it. I’m hoping we won’t be here very long.”
“Do you have a good lead on where Admiral Graves is?”
“Not me, but someone on board does. If I had to put money on it, I’d say it was Krif. I’ve got some paperwork to go over, and I’ve got a briefing in thirty minutes. I’ll put my maintenance officer in contact with you and she’ll show you around. We’ll get together later and I’ll fill you in on what I come up with.”
Trent gave him a look of shock. “Paperwork and a briefing? You sound so…official. It’s kind of attractive, in an extremely boring and tedious sort of way.”
Shawn looked at him with disapproval. “Don’t you have something to do, Sergeant?”
Trent shrugged. “Well, I suppose I could—”
“Good. Then get to it,” Shawn snapped as he walked past his mechanic and out into the corridor.
*
Five minutes late, due to his impromptu run-in with Trent, Shawn entered the officers’ wardroom and was greeted by the entire assembly standing at attention. This is going to take some time to get used to, he thought as he looked to the mostly unfamiliar faces. “Please, be seated.”
At the far end of the table, Roslyn Brunel remained standing. “Let me introduce you to the rest of the team, sir.”
First up was the blonde-haired Ensign McAllister, sitting unusually still and looking quite passive as she locked eyes with Shawn. Shawn hoped that he hadn’t embarrassed the young woman earlier that morning, and decided that a sidebar meeting might be in order after their meal was complete. To her right was Lieutenant Junior-Grade Stephen ‘Satellite’ Maltos, the squadron’s administrative officer. To his right was Jerry ‘Nova’ Santorum, maintenance officer. To Brunel’s right was Lieutenant Drok ‘Drake’ I’rondus, introduced as the squadron’s tactical officer, and to his right was Lieutenant Brian ‘The Brain’ Jefferies, squadron’s scientific and astrometrics officer. Next to The Brain, and seated on Shawn’s left, was the training officer, Lieutenant Junior-Grade Walter ‘Weasel’ Gunderson.
After the introductions were made, everyone finished eating in relative silence. It was the most uncomfortable meal Shawn had ever partaken in. The only sounds in the compartment were occasional grunts—which made it hard to tell whether they were in delight or disgust over the flavor of the food. When each pilot had his or her fill, it was time to officially start the day.
“Ensign McAllister,” Shawn finally said to break the silence. “There’s going to be a new maintenance technician checking in to the squadron today. I’d like you to show him the ropes.”
Her violet eyes darted to Brunel. Clearly, she was giving a physical manifestation to what everyone in the room was probably thinking: did Sector Command really believe Kestrel was the best choice for commanding officer of the squadron. Roslyn only nodded, and McAllister responded with an almost chipper, ‘Yes, sir.’
“Sir,” Brunel then began. Shawn had no idea whether she was still angry over the situation or not, but if she was, it didn’t come across in her tone. “Our tour of inspection has been canceled; Lieutenant Santorum will show you around later.”
“For what reason?” Shawn inquired.
“Last-minute scheduling conflict. Some simulator time opened up, and Captain Krif has made it quite clear that your flight training takes priority over everything else right now. Drake will be your instructor today.”
Nothing like being thrown into the deep end on your first day. “My instructor?”
Lieutenant I’rondus gave Shawn a nod across the table. “I’ll be taking you for a couple of runs in the simulator this morning, sir.”
Shawn tried to sound confident. “I’m looking forward to it, Lieutenant.”
“And I’ll be monitoring your performance as well, Commander.” Brunel added before either of the two men could continue.
It wasn’t said in anger, but Shawn got the distinct impression that Brunel wasn’t happy about it. “I thought it was standard procedure to have only one instructor,” he said.
“Normally I would agree. However, these are unusual circumstances.”
Shawn sipped at his coffee. “So in other words, you’ve been ordered to.”
She didn’t reply verbally, offering him a forced smile as her response.
“Well, I’ll be honored to have you outside watching.”
“Oh, I won’t be outside. You see, I’ll be your wingman.”
“But I thought Drake—”
“Lieutenant I’rondus will be monitoring us from outside the simulator. He’ll be throwing a series of challenges your way, ones you’ll have to navigate through to get to the next level.”
“You make it sound like a game.”
The Brain, his vintage spectacles hanging low on his nose, leaned back and smiled with boyish charm. “Didn’t it seem that way to you when you went through your initial training before the war?”
“I can’t speak for the other pilots at that time, but I was in a different mindset.”
“How so?” McAllister asked, her violet eyes sparkling under the overhead lights.
Shawn stared silently at his empty cup of coffee for a moment longer than necessary for it to be considered uncomfortable. “I don’t like to talk about it.”
“Maybe that’ll change,” Maltos, running a comb effortlessly through his thick black hair, said smoothly without giving Shawn a glance. Shawn wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement. Even though Maltos wasn’t looking at him, Shawn nonetheless nodded in the man’s direction.
“Whenever you’re ready, Commander,” Drake interjected. “The techs primed the sims first thing this morning. They’re ready and waiting for us.”
“No time like the present, Lieutenant.” Shawn stood to leave, a gesture which precipitated the assembly of pilots to do the same.
*
The simulator room was a huge, square space, perhaps fifty feet on each side. In the center of the room, arranged in a triangular formation, were three full-motion simulators. Their spherical exteriors were glossy gray, with a split around the equator that bisected the module. The two simulators in the rear of the triangle were opened up like clamshells, but they were just high enough off the deck that Shawn couldn’t discern what lay inside them. Imbedded in the wall high above the room was an observation bubble where Drake would undoubtedly be sitting. From up high he could monitor everything going on, both inside the sims via small micro cameras imbedded in unobtrusive places around the cockpits, and outside, where he could watch the overall motion of each sphere a
nd see to the general safety of the pilots.
“Good morning, ladies and gentleman. My name is Lieutenant I’rondus, and I’ll be your instructor for today,” the voice echoed from the imbedded micro speakers high above Shawn and Roslyn’s heads. “Please take a seat in your assigned sim and let’s get things moving, shall we? We have a lot of material to cover in a short amount of time.”
“Think you’re ready for this?” Roslyn asked. It sounded more like a challenge than a question.
Are you kidding? he thought. Two days ago I was a cargo pilot and small business owner. Now I’m a Sector Command officer, training to fly the most advanced combat fighter ever developed. I wasn’t even ready to get out of bed this morning. “No, but I think I’ll manage.”
“Just remember, it may seem like a game in here, but it’s going to feel very real.”
“How’s that?” Shawn asked skeptically, recalling the simulators he’d used in the past. “It’s just a computer-controlled motion simulator.”
Roslyn chucked. “This isn’t your mother’s simulator. In fact, it has about as much in common with a standard simulator as a hover car has to an ion boat.”
Shawn turned to her as he neared his sim. “I can make a pretty convincing argument as to how similar those two things are.”
She smiled and, shaking her head, donned her helmet, effectively blocking out anything else Shawn could say until they were electrically connected inside their respective spheres.
Shawn climbed a small ladder up the side of the sphere. Inside he could see a fighter cockpit, but not like one he had ever seen before. Even though half the controls were dimly illuminated, it was already apparent to him that they were far superior to anything he’d had back in the war. As he sat down in the modestly comfortable chair, the three computer screens placed in front of him automatically hummed to life. The centermost one was rectangular, and about the size of a standard personal computer terminal screen. On either side were smaller triangular screens, connected to the center screen in such a way that their pointed ends faced out and away from one another. To Shawn’s immediate right and left were the more familiar controls he was used to seeing in a fighter: thrust controls and radio operation on his right, landing struts and auxiliary power bypass controls on the left. Unfortunately, that was where the familiarity stopped. There was a plethora of switches, indicators, and smaller screens Shawn didn’t know anything about. He whispered several curses due to the fact that he couldn’t instantly find the landing guide beam initiator—the first thing they taught in flight school. ‘If you can’t find the landing beam, you’re never going to be able to land,’ the instructors must have yelled a dozen times that first week those many years ago. A lifetime ago, he thought wistfully.
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