Homeward: The Ship Series // Book Three

by Jerry Aubin

  Adan’s ears perked up at the Chancellor’s last words. She noticed and smiled at him.

  “Yes, Adan, you heard me correctly. You will have our complete cooperation as far as it relates to these two requests. I imagine this will extend to all related requests going forwards, but for obvious reasons I can’t make a blanket promise. I will give you my direct line, and if you ever need anything don’t hesitate to contact me.”

  “I’m flattered, Madam Chancellor. I had thought this would require months of painful discussion and mind-numbing negotiation to get to this point. I can’t believe you’re letting me have this.”

  “Son—I’m not letting you have anything. I am trading what you need for what I need—you just haven’t heard the terms yet. My needs are simple. Five hundred thousand slots on the spaceship. I’ve already had my experts run the numbers in case Jania had guessed right about your plans, and they’ve told me you were likely building something to transport and sustain somewhere around one million people. Those slots are going to be the most valuable commodity in human history. I realize asking for half is a lot, but that’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”

  Adan kept his smile to himself. The Chancellor’s experts had done a fair job of estimating his initial capacity. What they clearly hadn’t explained to her was how their calculations anticipated needing the majority of the ship’s volume for agriculture production and fuel storage. Relying on conventional space engines for their journey, sufficient food supplies for one million inhabitants would have been tough to squeeze into something even as big as the asteroid. Assuming the FTL engine worked as expected, however, the ability to travel so much further so much faster would drastically decrease the amount of provisions required at the onset. The ship’s capacity had increased tenfold under the new assumptions, and that was before considering how many additional colonists Adan intended to bring along in a fashion more like cargo. That was a discussion best left for another day and not anything the Chancellor needed to know right now lest she increase her demands further.

  “Five hundred thousand slots is a shockingly fair exchange, ma’am. I only request that we get this in writing for both of our protection.”

  The Chancellor laughed. “Adan—you’re protected by the fact that I continue to smile about you right now rather than frown. If you think a piece of paper is going to make that much of a difference, then fine. Jania will draw it up, and we can sign before you leave. In the meantime, I’ll ask you to wait back in the anteroom as I have other guests who are arriving in a moment. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, sir. I will look forward to regular status reports on your progress and a better understanding of the expected timeline, so I can plan for our departure and distribute my invitations accordingly. Good day.”

  12

  To get us ready for the real thing.

  Zax choked down the nutripellet. After suffering them two meals a day for three straight months, he wasn’t even upset any longer. He had spent far too much time wallowing in denial (messy, messy) but then passed quickly through rage and depression before finally reaching a state of acceptance. The medics were never going to fix whatever caused him to vomit after FTL Transits. He had to adapt his life accordingly.

  Adaptation was even more necessary given the sheer volume of FTL Transits the Ship was engaging in as it sped back toward its colonies. In the past, a typical FTL tempo was one Transit per week. Since resuming travel after the Revolution, the Ship had jumped every single day. At least the powers that be scheduled each Transit to occur right before lunch. After some trial and error, Zax discovered the effects of his problem were minimized if he started and ended his day with nutripellets and ate regular food only at lunchtime. Eating nutripellets twice a day for twelve straight years was unimaginable, though, so he hoped they would stumble upon the mysterious humans sooner than later.

  “Zax—are you sure you enjoy coming to breakfast with me every day? You’re usually pretty glum, and I wonder if you might be better off not watching me eat.”

  It was a line of questioning that Kalare pursued at least weekly. Zax appreciated her concern, but he reacted as he always did.

  “Thanks for checking, but I still feel the same way. The only thing more depressing than eating so many nutripellets would be eating them off by myself somewhere. Let’s not talk about food, please. I can’t believe you’re finally going to be the trainer for my class this morning. What’s your lesson about?”

  “I’m teaching today? I better figure something out to talk about then!”

  Zax hung his head in disbelief. Kalare waited for a few extra beats and then broke out one of her shrill, braying laughs.

  “I’m kidding! I know I’m teaching. But it’s true I haven’t figured out my whole lesson just yet. I’ve been too busy thinking about my first actual flight.”

  Zax smiled. “Are you excited about it?”

  Kalare’s face lit up. “Yes! I can’t believe it’s finally here. I understand why we spend so long in the simulators, but the past few months have reached the point where it’s entirely boring and repetitive. What about you? Today is your first flight in an Academy simulator. You’ve got to be pretty fired up about that. Right?”

  Zax sighed. “Truthfully, it just feels like more of the same old thing. It will be fun to get into an Academy simulator, sure, but even that will get boring pretty quickly given how much time I’ve spent in mine. I can’t believe I’ve still got another full year before I fly an actual spacecraft.”

  “Well, Mr. Smarty-pants, if you already know all of this stuff, why aren’t you at the top of your Academy class?”

  Kalare was just being her goofy self, but her comment scorched a nerve for Zax. Even though he had promised himself he wouldn’t care about beating Mase, having the young cadet constantly perched above him in the Pilot Academy standings rankled. Zax tried to remember that Major Eryn was no doubt doing everything possible to help Mase succeed, and such a leg up was likely the cause of the boy’s lead. Regardless, Zax wanted to figure out how to leapfrog to the top spot. One good zinger deserved another, so he launched his own salvo at Kalare.

  “I didn’t know you knew how to find the Academy standings, much less ever bothered to look at them.”

  Kalare beamed. “Ha, ha. It’s funny because it’s true! I have to get going to check on something before I teach your group. We both have big days ahead. What do you say we connect again for dinner?”

  “Sounds great. See you then.”

  Zax balled up his wrappers and threw them toward a waste bin as he made his way to the exit. They bounced back up out of the bin, and Zax approached to pick them up and throw them away. When he did, he discovered the bin was full almost to the brim with apples that appeared fine other than a couple of tiny dark spots here and there. The typical piles of flawless fruit were at the entrance of the mess hall as always, so this was clearly the work of someone who wanted to get rid of anything with the smallest blemish. He had expected that food waste like this would have stopped long ago, but clearly the civilians still hadn’t quite gotten around to fixing all of the grievances that triggered their Revolution.

  The training room was half-full when Zax arrived. Rather than take his usual seat up front, he grabbed one at the back of the room so that he wouldn’t risk being a distraction for Kalare as she led the lesson. A min before the session was supposed to begin, Major Eryn strode into the room. She looked around for a moment and then sat down in the empty seat next to Mase—the one Zax would have otherwise been in. He palmed his forehead at the realization that in trying to help Kalare, he had instead created a situation where the major would be right in front of her.

  Kalare walked in with only a few secs to spare. She gave a quick glance toward Major Eryn and then stood at the podium.

  “Good morning, class. My name is Kalare and I’m one year ahead of you. I’m here today to help you prepare for your first flight in an Academy simulator. Who can tell me the purpose of using the simulators?�
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  Without raising his hand or looking up, Mase spoke. “To get us ready for the real thing.”

  Kalare smiled. “Twenty demerits for being wrong and another twenty for not raising your hand. Does anyone know the right answer?”

  Mase didn’t react in any fashion to Kalare’s assessment of demerits. He had such a massive lead on everyone else in his cadre the number was not a big deal, but Zax still would have expected at least some minor reaction to getting whacked with forty. The boy just sat there with his perpetually fuzzy scalp tilted toward the deck as if he might be nodding off.

  Major Eryn, on the other hand, was visibly displeased. Her shoulders tensed and she cocked her head to fix Kalare with a pointed stare. Kalare seemed oblivious as she scanned the room looking for raised hands. There were none, and Zax was about to raise his when Mase spoke again.

  “To get us ready for the real thing.”

  Someone gasped. Kalare kept her expression neutral, but Zax could tell she was perplexed by the boy’s outright disrespect. He didn’t know if she was aware that Mase was being mentored by Major Eryn, but even if she was Zax suspected the knowledge wouldn’t stop her from doing what was right in the situation.

  “One hundred demerits for intentionally being wrong again and another one hundred for once more not raising your hand. Do you want to try for five hundred and five hundred, or should we let someone else attempt the answer?”

  Zax raised his hand to help Kalare finally move on. She smiled and pointed at him.

  “There are three primary reasons. First, it’s important to weed out those folks who really have no business flying even though they somehow managed to get into the Academy. Second, we need to make our stupid mistakes now before we ever put an actual fighter at risk. Finally, we need practice with a far greater variety of scenarios than could ever be done in real life.”

  “Perfect answer! One hundred credits.”

  Zax wasn’t anywhere close to being as excited by the credits as he was by the smile from Kalare that came with them. His delight was short-lived, however, as movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye. It was Major Eryn turning around in her seat. She fixed him with a look that suggested a deep dissatisfaction. Zax turned away and tried to push any concern out of mind as Kalare continued her lesson, but the major’s resentful expression was burned front and center in his memory.

  13

  Today you will fly.

  After a delicious lunch of solid food enjoyed sitting by himself, Zax headed to the simulator room for his first official flight at the Academy. He took a seat in the front row next to Mase. The boy glanced over as Zax approached but just as quickly turned away without any acknowledgement. They had partnered for the first month and sat next to each other for most of another two, but still the young cadet had not ever said anything to Zax which wasn’t absolutely required.

  “I knew the answer.”

  Zax was so shocked to hear any words coming from next to him that he froze. Eventually Mase continued.

  “I knew the answer. Your friend bugs me. I’ve listened to you two laughing in the mess hall all the time. She bugs me. I just wanted to tweak her a bit. Especially with the major watching.”

  Zax was racking his brain for some reasonable response to the boy when he was surprised a second time in as many mins. Major Eryn entered the room and approached the podium. It was a momentous day for the class so her participation was warranted, but she had largely been in the background for most of their training to date. She cleared her throat and spoke.

  “Good morning, cadets. We dispatched another two of your classmates yesterday evening, so that means that ninety-four of you remain to begin this next phase of your training. Today you will fly. In a simulator. The past three months have provided the theoretical grounding necessary for you to survive as a pilot. Now we will see who can translate those concepts out of the classroom and into the simulator. Exactly a year from now, seventy of you will graduate from the simulator to pilot your own spacecraft.

  “We have a surprisingly tight race at the top of the Academy standings with Cadet Mase and Cadet Zax locked in a battle for first place. I expect one of them will pull out ahead during the next few months as the flight simulation gets more intense.”

  The major stared at Mase as she spoke, and Zax fought to keep his face neutral. Of course she expected her pet cadet to pull out ahead. The concern he had to weigh was how much she was willing to artificially influence the outcome if Zax beat Mase on the merits. He refocused on her words.

  “In addition to the Academy standings which you are already well-familiar with, today marks the stage in your pilot training when we introduce an additional scoring metric. Your Flight standing will be scored entirely on your performance in the cockpit and tracked separately from the Academy standings. Whichever cadet is at the top of the Flight standings will use the call sign Maverick during your training exercises. Whoever holds this esteemed call sign when you graduate the Academy will be rewarded with their first choices for Flight posting as well as Weapons System Operator.”

  The major captured Zax’s undivided attention with her last sentence. He had briefly considered allowing Mase to beat him in the Flight standings so as to not risk any blowback from Major Eryn, but the discovery he was competing to control his destiny pushed that thought aside. Zax was determined to guarantee his picks for post and WSO. He and Kalare would make an awesome team in a fighter, and Zax was not going to let anything get in the way of that outcome.

  “Cadets—please reach below your chair for the helmet you will find there. Place it over your head and it will configure itself.”

  Zax grabbed his helmet and was shocked to discover it trailed a wire that led back under his seat. Most of the Ship’s technology ran wirelessly and it was almost unheard of for anything to connect via an actual hardline. Zax raised his hand and was acknowledge by the major.

  “Ma’am—why do the helmets require a wired connection rather than using wireless like everything else on the Ship?”

  “Great question, cadet. You probably don’t realize this, but our wireless connections are constantly fluctuating in signal strength and sometimes will even cut out for millisecs at a time. This is perfectly normal and well within their acceptable operational profile. Similar to the way pilot chairs require hardlines to ensure a flawless transfer of consciousnesses into and out of our fighters, simulators require wired connections to ensure the highest fidelity transfer of data into and out of your mind. Any glitches caused by normal wireless performance would drastically impact the degree to which our simulators can be used to perfectly evaluate your performance.”

  Zax nodded and then placed the helmet over his head. He was instantly transported into a virtual fighter. The effect was so lifelike as to induce disorientation that would have been debilitating were it not for the past year’s work with his own simulator. Instead, he found that every piece of information and each system control was located exactly where he had grown accustomed to them being. The major’s voice cut in over the headset.

  “OK, cadets. It’s your first day, so you’re all on equal footing in terms of being clueless about how everything works. The rules are simple—hunt down and destroy your classmates. The last fighter standing will be named the first Maverick for your class. Engage!”

  The threat board in Zax’s fighter burst to life as a jumble of simulated craft shot off in all directions. Most appeared to be barely under control as the cadets at their helms tried to figure out what they were doing. Except for one. Mase was on a direct course for him, and the boy’s fighter moved like it was being flown by an expert pilot. The young Zeta deftly avoided a few random shots from other classmates and never wavered from his course toward Zax as he was clearly intent on knocking out his closest competition.

  Zax throttled his craft in a random and ineffective fashion to give the appearance he was having difficulty getting it under control. He also kept it pointed away from Mase’s approach so as t
o appear as unthreatening as possible. The young boy’s fighter continued to close the distance and Zax fired a shot in the opposite direction off into empty space to reinforce his ruse.

  Closer.

  Closer.

  Closer.

  At the last possible moment before Mase would be within optimal range to fire, Zax pounded the throttle and his craft executed a perfect 180-degree flip. A plasma bolt seared the space he had occupied a split-sec earlier, and Zax pulled his own trigger as his fighter settled into the proper orientation. An explosion filled his viewscreen and the name Mase disappeared from the threat board.

  Zax whooped in appreciation but then turned his focus back to the board. A quick glance revealed that no one else possessed anywhere near the piloting skills of the cadet he had just dispatched. He didn’t want to take for granted that others may be laying the same trap he had used to ensnare Mase, so Zax treated each target as if the best pilot on the Ship was at the controls.

  Shoot. Kill.

  Shoot. Miss. Shoot. Kill.

  Shoot, shoot, shoot. Kill. Kill. Kill.

  A few mins later, Zax’s threat board was devoid of fighters. Only his name remained at the center of the screen until it too faded away and was replaced by the call sign Maverick. He did it! Now all he had to do was keep it up for another twenty-one months.

  14

  Maverick is go for launch.

  Kalare approached the high-security hatch. She had walked past it a thousand times during her first fifteen months in the Academy, but she was finally authorized to enter and it opened as she approached. The absolute quiet struck her first. She was the last to arrive, exactly on time, and her sixty-nine remaining classmates stood in silent awe of their new pilot chairs. They had each spent countless hours getting measured, poked, and prodded over the past month to be fitted for these chairs. Each was highly customized for the intended occupant in order to create a perfect bond between human and machine. Major Eryn’s voice broke the spell.