Icarus (6 page)

   “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 and 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.

   “Everything okay over there, Falcon?” Roslyn asked, using Shawn’s old
call sign.

   He decided to inquire later how she’d discovered what it was. “Fine,
Raven. Fine. Just dandy, in fact.”

   “Dandy? I didn’t know anyone used that one anymore.”

   “Well, now you know someone who does.”

   “Fair enough. Stand by for sim closure and system sealing.”

   “Standing by.” Shawn made sure all his hoses and limbs were inside the
sphere as the hatch started closing. When the lid was firmly shut, there was a
nearly silent hiss as the chamber sealed itself, airtight against the room
outside.

   “Hatches are secured and sealed,” Drake said through Shawn’s headset.
“Stand by for liquid injection.”

   “Wait, what liquid?” Shawn asked nervously.

   “I told you this would be a lot different than anything you were used
to, sir. There is a micro-thin layer of a super-viscous liquid that’s injected
between the inner and outer shells of the sphere. The inner shell is then
rotated electromagnetically while the outer shell remains virtually motionless.
Since it reduces friction to zero-point-two percent, it more accurately
portrays flight conditions.”

   Shawn slipped on his flight gloves, careful not to touch any of the
controls. “Now I know how the chicken feels right before it hatches.”

   Drake’s voice came back over Shawn’s headset. “Once the injection
process is complete, all your systems will come online.”

   “Good, it’s getting a little…crowded in here.”

   “You’re not claustrophobic, are you?” Roslyn asked, her voice colored
with concern.

   “No, not at all. I love feeling like I’m about to be hard-boiled.”

   “Injection complete,” Drake said a moment later. “Sims are stable and
the inner chambers are magnetically secure. Your systems should be coming
online…now.”

   Just as Drake finished saying the word, all Shawn’s systems came
online. The center screen was now displaying a damage control image of the
fighter in the top left corner, and a target status screen in the upper right.
Below the target scan display was the navigational readout of near space,
including everything the ship’s sensors could discern. The triangular screens
were displaying fuel consumption, particle and beam weapon power levels on the
left, with missile complement, deflector status, and a few icons Shawn had
never seen before on the right.

   Suddenly there was movement above the center of the middle screen as a
small flap opened and a smaller square display folded up and lay flat above the
larger screen. A moment later a three-dimensional image of Raven appeared in
full color and at an exceptionally high resolution. It looked as if a micro
version of the lieutenant commander were actually sitting on top of the screen.
As Shawn tilted his head around the image, he could actually look at the back of
her helmet.

   “Amazing.”

   “The sensors in the cockpit are linked to receptors in your helmet. In
short, it knows what you’re looking at. And, if you think that’s fun, then you
haven’t seen anything yet. Each control you see is completely interactive and
customizable. You can move them, change their shape and color, and alter what
they do and which systems they manage.”

   He was quickly becoming overwhelmed. “I think I’m fine with it the way
it is.”

   “Suit yourself,” the image said with a shrug. “Each smaller screen can
be pressed to show a more detailed image. Since the system is both visually and
tactilely controlled, you can even drag the image onto any view port in the
craft.”

   Shawn tested this by enlarging the radar display with a wave of his hand
and then, with a flick of his wrist, flung the glowing image directly onto the
canopy in front of him. “Very nice.”

   “Also, most of the systems can either be voice-controlled or manually
operated. The fighter’s built-in computer can process any request you make
instantly, so the faster you talk the faster the ship responds. The synaptic
sensors built inside your helmet likewise allow for limited control
manipulation.”

   Thinking back to the malfunctioning terminals in the
Rhea
’s
corridors, Shawn felt slightly uncomfortable at that revelation. “You mean this
thing can read your thoughts?”

   The image of Raven’s head shook back and forth. “No, not directly.
It’s easier to say it reads your impulses. For example, it scans for the
electrical charges your brain sends to your muscles to move your hand. The
computer calculates the most likely course of action based on those impulses,
and can maneuver the ship accordingly, present battle strategies, or any number
of other things.”