by Noah Barnett
Charlie stood and joined the growing line of players leaving the amphitheater. A kid with disheveled brown hair and what looked like a permanent smirk on his lips waited in line with the other cadets. His eyes slid over Elva and the other women with burgeoning boyish interest.
"I'll show you to the hangar bays—" his voice cracked, and he flushed with embarrassment. He turned, jogging down a hallway which led them through a twisting maze of corridors until Charlie was utterly lost.
Eventually they came through a series of small airlocks into a massive space. The hangar was about three football fields wide and five long, with the center of the room left bare except for five magnetic catapult rails. Technicians were busily crawling over the hundreds of vaguely jet-like, stubby-winged fighters. The kid stared at the machines with something close to ecstasy. Charlie couldn’t blame him.
A dark-skinned woman in orange coveralls came stomping towards them, her face pinched into a picture of constant annoyance. She held a grease-stained tablet in her hands. "That's good enough, boy. Run along. You got better things to do than to idle about." The kid’s face fell at being ushered away, but he retreated to the airlock after another long gaze at the shiny fighters.
The woman turned to them. "Can't say I'm pleased with you lot so far. Let's hope your skill is better than your ability to name yourselves."
"We got this far, old woman," Remy said with a cheeky pout.
The woman snorted. "Dogfighting in space ain't anything like killing Roth on the ground."
"Maybe they can strap an engine to your back and use that sharp wit of yours. No? Then maybe you could give us our space pew-pews."
"Before I sign over a fighter, there are several things you need to know. First, they are being given to you 'as is.' Each fighter is unarmed and empty. You’re being given the ships, but you will have to pay for everything else."
The woman glanced at them all again, then gestured to the ships. "What you’re looking at is called an SA-Jaguar, and we didn't build them, they were made before the Roth invasion. They've been in hock for forty years, but at least they were stored underground in a total vacuum. All we had to do was pressurize the bay and pull off the sheets."
The woman eyed them all for a pregnant minute as more players entered the hangar. Her gaze lingered longest on Remy, but she finally held out the greasy tablet. "Put your palm on the screen. You can have the fighters in bay four. When you accept the ships, you'll also be assigned to that wing group."
Charlie placed his hand on the screen. It flashed as a new item was added to the inventory list:
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Lunar Base - Hangar 3, Bay 4, Slot 1
SA-Jaguar - ID [SAJAG_0030]
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The rest of his motley squad did the same, and Elva grabbed his bicep as they headed across the hangar towards bay four. As they approached, two technicians pulled the semi-transparent plastic cover off one of the fighters, then bounced down in the low gravity and quickly ran to the next.
The Jaguar shimmered like a new car under the fluorescent bulbs. It was painted a deep, oily black, subtly changing colors as the light hit it, with an American and NATO flag marking the side. Elva approached first and ran a hand over the polished body, but Charlie took a minute to admire the fighter as a whole. The Jaguar was about twenty meters long and shaped like a broad arrowhead, with only a pair of stubby wings for atmospheric flight. It had two cockpits, one at the nose and another halfway up the fuselage, and on top was an empty 360-degree turret - which explained the tiny rudders. Sticking out from the back was a pair of vector-controllable engine thrusters.
Elva touched something near the first cockpit and it slid forward with a hiss. She jumped lightly, catching the lip and swinging her feet inside. A black helmet rested on the flight seat, which she examined curiously. Air-tubes and several wires came from the back, passing into the fighter, and an interlocking rubber seal at the bottom was presumably meant to close around the neck.
Elva put the helmet aside and settled into the seat. "I have no idea what I'm looking at," she admitted, staring at the control panels surrounding her. On the seat arm, next to her right hand, was a keypad and a horizontal lever, and between her legs was a many-buttoned flight stick, which she wiggled around experimentally. Nothing happened.
"That's what the simulation training will be for," Charlie said, jumping atop the fighter's body near the second cockpit, where there was a red latch hidden within a shallow indentation. He pulled on it and the glass canopy slid forward. Pushing the helmet aside, he climbed in.
The flight seat had two joysticks on either side of the chair, which was affixed to a gyroscopic swivel. On his right was a control panel with three screens, along with a red plastic cover. He lifted it and tried the switch.
The control screens flicked to life, uploading the operating system as he watched. After a few seconds, the main screen beeped a red warning: ’Fuel and Air Tanks Empty, Battery Power at 25%.’
The second screen was a radar and navigation repeater, which informed him that he was sitting still, and there were lots of friendly ships nearby. The last screen showed his weapons list:
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Turret - Empty - [0000]
Secondary Weapons - None
Flares - [None]
Chaff - [None]
_______________
"I wouldn't do that until you've gone through the first course," a Spanish-accented voice said from above him. Charlie looked up into the fine-featured face of one of the repair technicians. Sheepishly, he reached over and flicked the console switch again. The screens died, and the man continued.
"My name is Ramirez, and I'm one of the techs here in Hangar Bay 3. It'll be my job to load your ammo and supplies—once you buy them. Some of the fighters need a little work too, but we won't know more until a full diagnostic is run.”
"We go through you to order everything?" Charlie clarified.
Ramirez shook his head. "Any base console will get you access to the supply chain, but now that you've had a taste of the hardware I'd suggest joining one of the lectures. That will give us grease-monkeys time to test the systems. Afterward, I can help you order parts. It will take time to get them up from Earth, but it's best to order early; the dropships can only make so many runs per day."
Charlie climbed from the cockpit and they all followed Ramirez’s directions to Spaceflight 101. The lecture room was large, at least five hundred seats, with a wall-to-wall monitor and a stage at the front of the room. At the stage's center was a small holo-image of a middle-aged man wearing a skintight black flight suit. He was about medium height, with black hair and eyes the color of lime slices. His skin was pale, as though he had spent too much time underground. As the lecture room filled, he walked around a holo-image of the Jaguar, examining it like an exotic insect as it slowly rotated.
"My name is Lieutenant Peter Mansfield,” he started once everyone had found their seats, “and I will be your instructor for the rest of the week."
He sneered at the hologram. "I hate the thing floating next to me. Real Jaguars were often called ‘Man Hunters,’ which is an apt name for a ship made to kill men. Before the fall, the SA-Jaguar was part of a global project between the United States and NATO Alliance. The fighters were designed to launch from the lunar surface, descend to Earth, destroy the target, and return. They were never intended to explore the reaches of the solar system."
He shook his head, looking irritated. "The Jaguar has a maximum theoretical speed of point-two-nine light years, so it theoretically would be possible to reach any of the nearby planets. However, there’s only twelve hours worth of air contained onboard the craft. A truly sickening oversight, in my opinion, and don't bother asking why they didn't use the fighters against the Roth. Maybe the project was closed, or maybe they saw what was coming and decided to keep their heads down. That's not my problem. Mine is to teach you how to use these fighters in a very short amount of time." He removed a remote control
from his breast pocket and pointed it back at the screen. It flicked to life, displaying the ship’s stats.
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SA-Jaguar Statistics:
Length - 28m
Height - 8m
Wingspan - 14m
Weight Empty - 21700kg
Internal Fuel - 10000L
Internal Air - 1200L (3000psi)
Speed - .29c in space, Mach 2.8 in Atmosphere
Range - 6.23au in space
Power Plant - Two F119-PW turbojet engines
Engine Thrust - 30000Gr (Space,) 15876kg (Atmospheric)
Weapon Selection:
1 Turret Mount - 2x [PD] weapons or single [Small] weapon [5000 Storage Space]
2 Modular Wing [Small] Hardpoints
Flares - [0/10]
Chaff - [0/10]
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"What matters to you, though, will be the entries at the bottom. The Jaguar uses a rotating turret as its main form of offense, which means that it can fire and maneuver at the same time. It also has a pair of modular hard points located on the wings. You can use them to mount either missiles or an extra pair of fixed guns."
He clicked a button on his remote, and the hologram rotated to display the mounted weapons.
"There are four varieties of missiles: dumbfire, infrared, EM, and cross-section. Individual statistics are available for each missile, but its size will determine its range and damage potential.
"You have already been told that buying equipment is your responsibility. As such, Command will be rewarding those who do well in simulator training." Mansfield waited a minute as hushed whispers began among the seated players.
"Now we know why they let us keep our credits," Remy whispered.
"They're just zeros on your character sheet," Charlie replied, and the instructor cleared his throat - loudly. The whispers ceased, and he continued.
"There are two flight roles within the Jaguar. The first is the pilot, and I can assure you that it's far more complicated than merely pointing your nose at the enemy. If you plan on sitting in the pilot's seat, you're going to need a basic understanding of calculus, orbital mechanics, and flight trajectories. As the owner of your ship, it's up to you which seat you want to take. Your companion will fill the other role." He clicked the remote again, and the display changed to show an example of one such calculation. Charlie leaned over to Elva.
"I think you have a better head for numbers, so you can be the pilot," he murmured quietly.
"The second seat is for the gunner. While the pilot is busy plotting vector changes and dodging enemy fire, it will be your job to shoot back. The computer systems will help you track targets, but you'll need to understand a few key concepts as well. This is where our crash-course in space flight begins." Mansfield aimed his remote at the central holo-display and the rotating image of the fighter disappeared.
"My assistant will hand out study tablets, which contain books and lesson plans but aren't connected to the network. If you have a question, you can contact us via any console." A woman walked by and handed Charlie a stack of slim data-pads. He kept one and passed the rest to Elva. Turning it on, he was presented with a picture of an apple falling from a tree.
"Let's get down to basics, and by that, I mean Newton's laws. Is everyone here at least passingly familiar with the laws of physics?" He waited as they all nodded. "Good. Now forget everything you know. Star Nova is a game, and the developers have decided to break the laws of physics when it suits them, which is why there are several supplementary courses for anyone wishing to take up piloting. I hate to step on Einstein's beautiful work, but 'light speed' is no longer an impenetrable wall. Think of it more like the sound barrier, meaning that objects in space can approach the speed of light much more easily. The weapons and missiles you can purchase will be listed in a percentage of light speed, or 'c' for short."
He paused, gauging the interest in the room. "So, let's say your Jaguar is traveling at point-two-three light years. A Roth fighter zips past you, so you swivel around to shoot at it with your thirty-millimeter autocannon. The bullet has a muzzle velocity of point-two-oh light years, so that slug is still traveling backward." He raised an eyebrow. "I hope you can see the problem. You run a very real risk of getting hit with your own bullet, almost like spitting into the wind. It’s one of the reasons that the gunner's cockpit can't see directly behind the fighter.
"Now, I know homework is the last thing anyone expected after joining Star Nova, but think of it like reading the instruction manual. You are going to have to learn a few rules in order play the game more effectively."
Mansfield clicked the remote again, and a hologram of the new fighter appeared.
"Before I let you go, I'll briefly discuss what we know about the Roth craft. There are two types of small craft that the Roth use: the fighter and the dropship - but we'll concentrate on the former." The holo-image changed to that of a sleek, hawk-winged fighter. It contained only one visible cockpit, with a single large engine dominating the back side.
"Our Jaguar is twenty-eight meters long and fourteen wide, while the Roth fighter is only twelve long and ten wide. It's much lighter than ours, so expect it to be faster. It uses a single small laser mounted on its fuselage as its primary weapon. To date, we have not seen them use any missiles or ballistic cannons." He circled the hologram, shaking his head as he faced his audience once more.
"We just don't know how the Roth will fight, so you'll have to develop your strategies during the next several days. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to contact me through the net." He gave them a meaningful look as he deactivated the holo-display.
Charlie stood with the data-pad tucked under his arm and left the lecture room. Ramirez met him just outside.
"We finished going over the Jaguars, and frankly, it could have been worse. A few birds in Hangar 3 had major problems, but otherwise everything looks good." Ramirez touched his datapad to transfer the information over. "Here's a list of things you'll need to get the girl off the concrete. Most everything was in excellent condition, except that someone dinged her engines as they backed her into the slot. They also drained her fluids and O2, which I suppose helped keep her seals intact.”
Charlie glanced over the screen.
_______________________________________
Jaguar - Flight Readiness:
Fuel Filter Condition - 72%
O2 Seal Pilot Seat - 82%
Right Thruster Cowl - 55%
Right Engine Vector Manipulator - 81%
_______________________________________
"How much is that gonna cost?"
Ramirez shrugged. "Twenty thousand, but it could have been worse." The team followed him into a nearby room and he showed them how to access the Market Hub. Air, it turned out, was incredibly expensive because of the sudden shortage. Fuel was less so, but its price was starting to climb as people filled out their orders. Charlie sat down and placed his palm on the console to access the Hub.
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Player ID - NA1339872
Registered Name - Charlie
Available Credits - 260482
_______________________
Market Hub [Price Live]
Fuel 1L - 10.8
Oxygen 1cL - 130.1
Ballistic Weapons:
[Tiny] Weapons:
GAU-19 12mm Gatling [.18c] - 10k
Vulcan 20mm Repeaters [.20c] - 25k
Rikhter 30mm Autocannon [.22c] - 60k
[Small] Weapons:
Bofors 40mm Autocannon [.28c] - 220K
Long-Tom 66mm Cannon [.32c] - 1M200K
Xion 12mm Railgun [.38c] - 10M800K
Wing mounts - Purchased in a pair:
2x Small External Fuel Tanks - 10K
2x Missile Mount 4/1 - 4 Size 1 Missiles - 20K
2x Missile Mount 2/2 - 2 Size 2 Missiles - 40K
2x Torpedo Mount 1/3 - 1 Size 3 Torped
o - 60K
2x Fixed-Wing - Small Weapon System [1000 Round Storage] - 100k
Ammo - By volume:
[1000] 12mm Slugs - 5k
[1000] .50 Caliber - 10K
[1000] 20mm - 11K
[500] 30mm - 13K
[100] 42mm - 14K
[100] 66mm - 22K
[10] Flares - 1K
[10] Chaff - 2K
Missiles - [Name] [Locktype] [Speed]
Size 1:
Wasp [IR] SRM [.34] - 21K
Shrike [EM] SRM [.35] - 23K
Falcon [CS] SRM [.33] - 22K
Needle [Dumbfire] MRR [.38] - 15K
Size 2:
Wildfire [IR] MRM [.3c] - 135K
Loki [EM] MRM [.28c] - 120K
Osiris [CS] MRM [.3c] - 140K
Size 3:
Stalker [EM] Torpedo [.26c] - 600K
Piranha [CS] Torpedo [.27c] - 800K
Little Sputnik [Dumbfire] Thermonuclear Torpedo [.22c] - 1M700K
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