Tommy Thorn Marked (39 page)

“And when, in the chaos of battle, finding none but sacred blood, they that stayed were marked,” said the commandant as Tommy was handed a clear red sphere, which he took and held out in his right hand. “Let that day, even too this day, be remembered—a day of days…”

The sphere began to glow, and in doing so implanted the emblem device of the Marked into the palm of Tommy’s right hand.

“As it was then, let it be now and forever,” the commandant continued.

The formation stood and said in unison, “For those that stayed—let them be Marked.”

After a moment, the sphere was retrieved, leaving Tommy to raise his right hand and display the freshly imbedded, bright red, glowing symbol of the Marked—first to the ranking officers and then to the now-standing formation, who, seeing this, also raised their right hands and illuminated marks.

Tommy was instructed to join the other seven, who had now taken up positions on the stage, as the formation filed from the hall to the sound of a large bass drum. One beat for each of the original members of the Marked who had stayed on that faithful day.
Truly a day to be remembered.

After graduation, both Tommy and Gary were assigned to the Crimson Lions of the First Marked Fighter Squadron, flying Starbirds from the super battle cruiser Vanguard.

The Vanguard was the fleet’s newest, most advanced warship. It was enormous, holding five full battalions of Warrior Corps, nine Q teams, plus eight fighter and four bomber/assault squadrons—all housed on twin hanger decks with a total of twelve launch tubes.

“Did you get the word?” Tommy asked, stepping into Gary’s quarters.

Gary was reclining in front of his view screen, which took up an entire wall, watching a mag race. “What news is that?”

Tommy went for the cooling station and grabbed a cool beverage. “We’re pulling out.”

Gary watch Tommy, dressed in a Marked jumpsuit, move across his room and plop down in the only other chair. “Pulling out, we’ve only been here five months,” he said.

“I know, but I just got the word—we’re being relieved,” Tommy said.

“Sounds good to me. This sector bites. I’m tired of killing Rippjas, Commander.”

The Rippja system, part of the Free Republics of Jamda, represented a group of highly advanced civilizations that possessed sophisticated weaponry—technology on par with the Empire.

After a pause to consider that last statement, “Well, that’s not really true, but I would like to see a new patch of space,” joked Gary.

Tommy smiled at the remark. He would be glad to leave this sector as well. The fighting had been brutal, with heavy losses on both sides, and a lot of civilian collateral damage. As for the commander comment, well, Tommy had just pinned on the new rank of lieutenant commander, which Gary made mention of as often as possible with heavy doses of good-natured ribbing. Still, for a Human, his quick promotion was unprecedented.

“We’re heading for the Terran system,” Tommy said, taking a long drink. “We’ll be there next week.”

“Who’ll we fight in that system?” Gary asked.

“Not sure, haven’t heard of any incursions. Maybe it’s just intimidation tactics—just waving our Birds.” Tommy chuckled, thinking how nice it would be to show off his Starbird to Earth’s sorry PDF.

“Tommy.” Gary’s mood turned a bit more serious. “Speaking of intimidation, what did you think of that orbital bombardment last week?”

Tommy remembered it well. Annihilators had worked over one of the planets sympathetic to the Federation, leveling a number of populated areas. In fact, while flying a fleet defense mission, he had racked up kills number twenty-seven and twenty-eight. The last kill was made on a fighter trying to get back to the planet. Tommy hit him just prior to reentry. Out of control and badly damaged, the fighter tumbled into the atmosphere, slowly burning up.

“Yeah, that was a tough one,” Tommy said, shaking the image of the doomed fighter, and its pilot, from his head.

“I flew a search and destroy with Butch two days after the attack. You should have seen it, Tommy—that place will be dead for a hundred years.”

Tommy had sensed his friend’s dark mood after that search and destroy hop, but said nothing. “I know it was bad, Gary, but think how much better their lives will be as part of the Empire.”

“You mean for the ones still alive.”

“This is what we do, Cruiser…”

“So you’re saying the ends justify the means,” Gary responded.

“I’m saying we need to stay focused on the big picture,” Tommy said.

“Is that why you signed up, Tommy, the big picture?”

“I was like you, Cruiser, fifteen and looking for some adventure,” Tommy said and finished his drink.

“There is a difference, Tommy, between you and me. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always wanted to fly, but getting the Tarchein citizenship—well, that was a big deal,” Gary said.

“I suppose,” Tommy said. He could see where this was going.

“But you—you were already a citizen, thanks to your adoption. You could have freely traveled the galaxy, and as the son of Remus—I mean anywhere.”

“That’s true, just never really thought much about the citizen thing.”

“That’s because you never lived on Mars, where there are clearly the haves and the have not’s. I’m sure Earth is the same,” Gary said.

Tommy looked at Gary, a bit puzzled.
Life on Earth seems like a pretty good thing, way better than the before times, before the Empire,
he thought.

Gary put a hand up. “I’m not saying things are bad. It’s more of a feeling of being—well, kind of second class,” he continued.

Tommy stood to retrieve another drink.

“Like not being able to pilot anything that moves between systems, and being separated on any flight or shuttle. You will never see a Tarchein flight attendant, for example, serve a Human,” Gary added, speaking to Tommy’s back.

“A Tarchein flight attendant—what’s that?” Tommy laughed.

“Come on, man, you know what I mean,” Gary said.

“I know, but those things are true even if you’re a citizen,” Tommy said, returning to the chair and tossing Gary a cold tube.

“I guess, I’m just saying when you get that Cit-Pin, it matters, Tommy,” Gary said, looking back at the screen and shaking his head. “It’s like the Empire is letting us live on our own planets. They are, after all, ours.”

Tommy laughed. “Not according to anything I’ve been taught.”

“That’s just it—taught by the Empire!” Gary responded.

“It’s just a fact, Cruiser. The Terran system is part of the Empire, subject to all the benefits of that membership, and, yes, sometimes the restrictions.”

“Sometimes…look at what even the so called good stuff cost, “Gary said.

“Everything cost something—at least anything worth having,” replied Tommy.

“We never sold or bought anything. They just take, and they only give what’s in the best interest of Tarchein, nothing more.”

“Don’t get all patriotic on me, Lieutenant.” Tommy paused to flash his commander rank in jest. “We are part of something special, the only real stability in the galaxy,” he continued, sounding more like Sloan.

“You’re right, Commander.” Gary faked a salute. “It’s just, well, I’ve always thought of us as the good guys, and after seeing what the annihilators did—what we did—I’m just not so sure anymore.”

“You just need some rest, my friend. We’ve been hitting it pretty hard. You didn’t even get a chance to get home after our Marked training. Maybe all you need is a chance to show off your new uniform to your mom’s friends. This trip to Terran is just what the doc ordered,” Tommy said.

“You’re right, some planet leave would be nice,” Gary said, his mood improving.

“Show off your Bird maybe, Stanky,” Tommy said and took a sip of his drink to avoid Gary’s eyes.

Gary tossed his spent tube at Tommy. “You know, that would be great though. Can you imagine—a Starbird. No one there has even seen one up close, and maybe we could catch a mag race while we’re there,” he said, looking back at the race’s broadcast.

“A race would be nice,” Tommy said, staring at the screen, both men now quiet, thinking of their Mars leave and Bo.

“Wonder how she’s doing?” Gary asked.

Tommy just shook his head.
I wonder
, he thought, turning his attention to the race, anything that would take his mind off thinking of Bo as the enemy.

“What a race we have for you today. James is really pushing the leaders,” said one of the local race announcers.

“He’s been the story, looking for his third straight win!” exclaimed another over the high-pitched whine of passing mags.

“Now you know I’m from Mars, but seeing all those Earth girls,” Gary said, trying to lighten the mood as the program director zoomed in on some of the pretty fans. “I’m definitely taking some planet leave while we’re in Terran,” Gary repeated with more conviction.

Tommy only nodded.

“How about you?” Gary asked.

Tommy turned from the race and started to speak…

“I don’t believe it,” Gary blurted out, pointing toward the screen, which was displaying a dark grey mag bearing a Star Force symbol.

“That’s Major Maco, challenging for third place,” the announcer said.

The race’s producer showed a picture of Maco, including a black mask that covered the left side of his disfigured face.

“I knew he was out of flying, but…” Tommy said.

“Whatever happened off Drake didn’t help his looks any,” Gary said, then added, “Hope Bo got ’em.”

As the two watched, Maco slammed into an orange mag, sending it into the barrier, where it spun, collided with

the fifth-place racer, and exploded!

“Maco’s in second place!” an announcer yelled. “What a move!”

“I’ve never seen anyone drive like him—alien or Tarchein,” the other added.

“You mean that good?”

“I mean, that angry,” the second announcer added.

Gary snapped off the viewer in disgust, the picture returning to a real-time panoramic view of his beloved Ruby City, and turned once again to Tommy. “Well how about it. You going to try and get home while we’re in Terran?”

Looking around Gary’s quarters, Tommy put his arms out wide and smiled. “I am home, Cruiser.”

Gary laughed. “You are such a lifer!”

Tommy smiled and nodded.

“How about some chow?” Gary asked standing up.

“Sounds good,” Tommy said as they both headed for the hatch. “Food always makes me feel better.”

The quietness of space, magnified, some believe, by the isolation of the Terran system, was torn open by the emergence of a Tarchein fleet dropping out of light speed. The first to appear, a pair of gunners trailing long ribbons of condensed energy bubbles, were soon followed by the magnificent Vanguard and a dozen other support ships, including a pair of annihilators.

On the Vanguard’s command deck, Captain Gant shifted a bit in his command chair. “Navigation, plot an approach and standard orbit for Titan.”

He was not at all sure why the finest ship in the fleet was in this backwater system on the edge of the galaxy.
Finally, an opportunity for redemption, just to be sent to—what, Terran?
he thought.

To the right and behind Captain Gant sat the navigator, his station partially obscured by a single, large, curved interactive screen. “Yes, sir,” the navigator responded. Ten of his twelve fingers danced over the displays like someone playing a piano.

The navigator was Tarchein, as was the entire command crew of the Force’s newest super battle cruiser.

“Make your mark point seven,” the captain said to the helmsman, both primary and secondary maneuvering stations slightly lower and forward of his command chair.

“Mark point seven,” the senior helmsman, manning the primary station, replied without turning away from his projected readouts and the image of Saturn, which completely dominated the forward view screen.

“Course laid in and transmitted to the fleet, sir,” the navigator said, swiveling his chair to ensure eye contact with the captain.

“Very well—Helm, make it so,” the Tarchein captain said before standing and turning to his executive officer. “You have the comm, Commander. Notify me when you’ve established a standard orbit.”

“Aye, sir,” the XO responded while moving to take the command chair.

The captain, looking tired, entered the bridge’s lift and made the short ride to Admiral Ty’s command and control center. Whatever the reason for operations in this sector, one thing was certain to the elder captain: there would be no glory in it.

Once in C & C, Captain Gant was greeted by his longtime friend, and the two walked through the admiral’s private, albeit auspicious briefing room to the conference table.

“We will be over Titan shortly, Admiral.” The captain spoke to the younger admiral while looking out over the ship through viewing ports that covered the entire forward section of the room.

Admiral Ty was once Gant’s junior, but politics and a series of bad campaigns had, thus far, relegated him to the permanent rank of captain—still, captain of the newest super battle cruiser in the fleet. A command, received thanks to Ty, that he had hoped would someday finally lead to his promotion. But now, with this assignment to Terran…

“Drink, Gant?” Ty asked.

“No, thank you, sir,” Gant said, turning from the viewing ports to face the now-seated admiral.

Ty motioned for Gant to be seated. “I know you’ve had, well, concerns, over this mission. The only thing I’m at liberty to say is that it came directly from the new grand marshal.”

“Ethos?” Gant refused to sit. “Why would he send the best fleet in the Empire to the edge of the galaxy? There’s nothing here!”

“I know you long for an honorable campaign, Gant, one that will earn you a promotion. A promotion that I believe is long overdue.”

“Thanks, Ty, but with all due respect—what the hell is the fleet doing taking orders from the Corps?” Gant paused. “Ethos! Come on, Admiral,” Gant continued.

“It’s Grand Marshal Ethos, Captain.” Ty raised his voice a bit.

With that, Gant moved to the chair and sat down. “You’re right, Admiral. Forgive me. I owe my command to you, sir. I’m, as always, yours to command,” he said, shifting his gaze to the Star Force symbol engraved on the massive black-mirrored conference table.