Tommy Thorn Marked (9 page)

Tommy was a blur as he streaked toward the Vixtin goal. Then he abruptly released the thrust lever, rotated his hips away from the enemy’s heart, and with nozzles pointing directly at the Vixtin’s fidgeting goalie, fired his jets. Now, suddenly and unexcitingly motionless, Tommy reared back to launch the dagget.

Ten!

But Tommy faked the shot, instead passing to Socks, who had checked up to the right of the goal. He caught the dagget, then whirled and redirected the glowing orb perfectly, burying it in the left upper corner of the Vixtin’s heart just as time expired—victory!

The crowd, already standing, broke into a mighty roar. The entire stadium was filled with flashing colored lights and Hondo’s victory march when Tommy, both hands held high over his head, was hit by Maco.

The Tarchein had activated his jets and, flying full speed, slammed into the unsuspecting Hondo flyer. His bulbous helmeted head cracked Tommy’s exposed ribs and knocked him, spinning, across the arena, where he finally came to rest, adrift and unconscious

It seemed, in the excitement of the moment, that no one had noticed the Vixtin defenseman’s late hit—but Gary had. He jumped up, already out of his goalie pads, and jetted toward Maco, now floating upright, sinister snarl on his thin lips, admiring his handiwork.

Now, as previously noted, Gary was not the best of flyers, but he needed only to fly straight, his intended target being completely unaware of his approach. Maco saw the big Human only a split second before impact—his look instantly turning from a satisfied grin to one of horrified surprise—and WHAM!

Maco flew back from the tremendous impact, but Gary held on, pounding the now witless Tarchein as they both tumbled end over end across the center of the arena. The cheering crowd, gradually becoming aware of the beating, now fell silent as both teams rush to aid their comrades, and a weightless, many times comical, brawl ensued.

Tommy awoke in the medical bay, ribs aching, surrounded by Bo, Sloan, Ram, Socks, and Remus. He tried to smile.

“Some finish.” He winced.

“Great game, Tommy,” Remus said and put his hand on the boy’s arm.

Sloan nodded from the other side of the bed as Bo put a hand on his shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I was hit by a hover tank,” Tommy said. “But I think I’ll survive.”

“You really got ’em with that pass, Tommy,” Ramky said.

Tommy shook off the compliment and looked over toward Socks. “It was your shot. I’ve never seen better, and the way you got open!”

“Well—” Socks started

“Hey, where’s Gary? Still celebrating?” Tommy asked, looking around the room.

Everyone looked to Remus, who after a pause said, “He’s in the brig, Tommy.”

Well, so much for the Trilight break. Tommy spent it recovering in a bed next to Maco, and Gary stayed locked up until a court could convene, which was three days into the start of classes.

Maco’s dad, the general, made an impassioned plea for expulsion. But after reviewing the game tape, cooler heads prevailed and Gary was put on probation, given extra duty for three months, and not allowed leave for the rest of that second year.

By the time their third year rolled around, all seemed forgotten. Although Gary and Maco took every opportunity to cast disparaging glances at each other, no further combat ever materialized. Tommy was sure that Maco suspected what they all knew: if there were a next time, Gary would most likely beat him to death.

General Ethos, however, never forgave—or forgot…

The third year at the Academy was arguably everyone’s best year. Third-years were never bothered with what seemed to be endless hazing by upperclassmen, and they had not yet been burdened with the responsibilities of class leadership, as all four-stripes were.

Gone too were the intro-level classes, replaced with practical applications and simulations.

“Mr. Magnus.” The Tarchein warfare strategy instructor looked past his nose holes at the distracted Farsee. “Mr. Magnus,” Lieutenant Anton repeated, this time with more conviction.

Mags looked from the battle sphere as Anton froze the simulation.

The warfare strategy simulation room, dimly illuminated by individual battle spheres, could hold twenty-four pairs of combatants. Each pair stood, hands gripping control paddles, on either side of a circular console. Just above each console’s shallow, bowl-like base was a twelve-foot-diameter projection, which encompassed a particular tactical situation: moon, planet, or in this case, a section of space.

Today Mags was up against Bo, who had maneuvered her simulated battle group into a position of superiority from which he would never recover. Although his red forces would probably languish for the majority of the class period, victory for Bo’s blue force was already ensured—and Anton knew it.

“Yes, sir,” Mags finally responded.

“I’m curious Mr. Magnus. Why would you sacrifice your missile frigates in this way?” The instructor walked into the middle of the simulation and highlighted a pair of red starships positioned near the top portion of the sphere.

Mags looked confused. “Sir?” he asked.

“Your frigates, Mr. Magnus, can you not see that Cadet Bo has maneuvered a strike force into this quadrant?”

He used a finger to touch and highlight a heavy cruiser, which was flanked by two corvette gunners and four frigates, before continuing. “They will funnel you into the main body, and your frigates will die, Mr. Magnus, outgunned and outmaneuvered. Four hundred and twenty brave Star Force crewmen—dead.”

Mags looked from the ships, suspended near Anton’s head to the Tarchein instructor, trying to think of anything to say, but of course there was nothing.

“Try it again, but this time, patience, Mr. Magnus, patience.” He then turned to Bo. “Excellent work, cadet. If the Empire ever lets a Drake command a battle group, you’d be the one.” Anton smiled and reset the simulation.

“A Drake, commanding a battle group—that’ll be the day,” Maco offered from an adjacent battle sphere.

Bo turned as if to speak.

“That will do, Cadet Maco,” the instructor said, motioning toward the Tarchein’s simulation.

“By the looks of your group’s deplorable situation.” He paused to allow Maco to take note. “I think she has a better chance than you do of ever commanding a fleet!”

With that comment, Maco’s opponent, Cadet Thorn, folded his arms across his chest and smiled.

“You haven’t beaten me yet, Herfer,” Maco said, only loud enough for Tommy to hear.

“Oh, I’ve beaten you, Maco. You’re just too stupid to know it,” Tommy calmly said and returned his attention to the control paddles.

Maco waved his hand and sneered, confident in his inherent superiority, but forty-two minutes later Maco withdrew the tattered remains of his fleet, and in seeking the refuge of hyperspace, forfeited the simulated battle to his hated rival.

As the year progressed, Tommy and Bo found themselves at the top of the class in both academic and leadership scores. Tommy had done so well that he had been appointed Cadet Commodore, a feat that no non-Tarchein had ever achieved, and Bo, equally impressive, was made Cadet Brigade Commander.

Other significant events in the third year included Tommy’s roommate, Sloan, applying and being accepted into the Warriors Corps, and Gary being inserted as the starting goalie for the brigade’s strat team—although on that score, Tommy’s selection as team captain hadn’t hurt. And though their squad had finished second behind the Cashim Brigade, it had, overall, turned out to be a very good year indeed.

One year closer to getting my wings
, Tommy thought as he waited for the arrival of Remus and a well-earned break, one last, long, glorious summer prior to the start of his fourth and final year at the Academy.

Tommy stood in the now-familiar Academy embarkation area, looking out the expansive windows as heavy rain washed over the waiting Star Force shuttles, remembering his first year.
Toadies
, he thought and laughed to himself. The gloom of the nighttime storm would not make the departure of these young cadets any easier.
My cadets,
he thought, suddenly aware of his reflection in the window.

His uniform jacket was now adorned with several rows of cadet ribbons, plus he now had five golden stripes topped with crossed swords, denoting his appointment as Cadet Commodore, the highest-ranking cadet in the Academy. Gone too was his Banshee patch, replaced with the Star Force seal. Save for his position on the Hondo stratagem team, Tommy now had to represent all cadets, no longer to have allegiance to just one brigade.

“Here they come,” Sloan said, watching the first group of Toadies and their parents exit the lift.

Bo, as the Hondo cadet brigade commander, had assigned Sloan and Gary to get their new Toadies onboard the shuttle and safely to the Zoo, a job they would, at some point, no doubt get even for.

“Were we ever that small?” Sloan said, not expecting an answer, and headed over to the Hondo gate.

Tommy laughed to himself, turning once again to the downpour and the shimmering reflections of ships on the polished, well-lit pad, when Remus walked up behind him.

“Where is Bo?” Remus asked.

“Already at the Zoo,” Tommy replied, thinking of reaching out to his foster father but deciding against it. After all, he was the Cadet Commander.

Remus frowned. He disliked the term Zoo as he felt it was derogatory toward alien races.

“Sorry, sir, the Academy.”

Remus raised his hand, dismissing the slip, and smiled. “They must love this.” He paused and swept his hand around the room. “Heading back to school a month before the other seniors report.”

“Well, Bo has to be there, and I think she wanted the support of Gary and Sloan. Plus Gary seemed eager to ride back to the zoo—Academy with us early.” Tommy smiled broadly.

“He never got used to flying weightless?”

“Nope, never did.”

They both shared a laugh before Remus, his attention now directed toward the Hondo gate, said, “Sloan has really grown.”

Both took a moment to admire the handsome Human, his burnt-orange fourth stripe catching Remus’s eye as Sloan exited the facility and headed down the boarding tunnel to the Hondo shuttle.

“It’s the workout routine the Corps has him on.” Tommy paused for a heartbeat. “You know the Corps.”

“Yes indeed,” Remus said, looking back at Tommy. “They’re lucky to get someone like Sloan. I expect we’ll see great things from that young man.” And then after a pause, “As I’m sure we will from all of the Four.” He put an extra emphasis on the word four.

Tommy nodded but said nothing. Remus knew very well how Tommy felt about his closest friends, including his roommate. Or former roommate, as all cadet staff had been reassigned to much larger single quarters on the academy’s command deck.

“An adjustment I’ll have to learn to live with,” Tommy had said to Sloan after he found out about his promotion, to which Sloan had responded by tossing his datapad at him.

“I’ll see you at the yacht,” Remus said.

Tommy nodded to his foster father.

Remus turned to leave, then stopped and looked back at Tommy. “Have I told you how proud I am of you, son?”

It was one of the very few times Tommy had ever heard Remus refer to him as his son. He assumed it had been out of respect for his parents. “You’ve always let me know how much you cared for me, Father.”

Tommy saw moisture well up in the elder Tarchein’s eyes as he opened his mouth to speak, but he just smiled and turned away.

Tommy watch Remus make his way through the crowd of excited Toadies and their parents, now clustered in groups—mostly of like species, but not all. And with a quick glance at Cadet Cruise, he picked up a small mic.

“All incoming first-year cadets report to your gate for processing. Have your wristcomm set for ID scan,” Tommy’s voice boomed over the room’s PA system. “And mind your brigade!”

Gary shared a knowing smile with Tommy before receiving the first cadet.

“Are you kidding me, cadet!” Gary grabbed the Drake’s arm and made an entry into her wristcomm. “Cib, I’m going to remember that name, Toadie.”

Tommy tried to suppress a smile as he moved through anxious parents, taking questions and exchanging greetings.
It’s going to be a long night
, he thought.