Remember the Starfighter

by Michael Kan

  The room erupted into murmurs.

  “SpaceCore is already beginning preparations to evacuate the populace,” the admiral continued. “But as we all know, we don’t have enough long-distance ships yet to move all the civilians and supplies from here and the adjacent moons. It also doesn’t help that we still have more civilians coming in from other systems. It could take weeks, maybe even a few months before they all arrive. We need to make more time.”

  “This is where we come in,” he said. “Our latest intel shows that Endervar forces are conducting thorough patrols. But they’ve spread themselves thin, moving in formations with two or even one vessel. This makes them vulnerable.”

  “Command has decided to launch a series of raids to harass the enemy. Maybe even contain them. As you all know, we have a key advantage. The Endervars still don’t possess hyperspace technology, so we’re going to go back in, and strike at any ships we find. The hope is to get the Endervars thinking they’ve missed something and redirect their expansion away from Bydandia. If anything, we need to try and slow the enemy down, and distract them from attacking any other escaping civilians.”

  A women officer then interrupted.

  “Basically, you need us to wreak havoc?” she asked.

  “Yes, the more the better,” he replied. “Command has cobbled together a new offensive fleet, comprising of short-range battleships and cruisers. We will divide them into 6 groups that will strike star systems on the other end of the Endervar incursion.”

  The admiral then shut off the map, the darkness receding as the conference room lights returned on.

  “I’ll put it succinctly. This is our Kinnison initiative: our moment to defend humanity,” the admiral added. “In our case, these are just hit-and-run operations. We’ll depend largely on drones to get this done. Disengage the enemy if outnumbered. We can’t lose any more ships.”

  The admiral saw the head nods and grins overtaking some of the officers’ faces.

  “I don’t know about everyone else,” said a commander. “But I’m looking forward to this.”

  The other officers applauded. Yet the admiral knew this was no simple matter. “Simmer down. I want to see you guys all back here for the next briefing. Don’t take any stupid risks,” he ordered. “Do not lose any ships.”

  The admiral then quickly went down his order list, offering brief comments and ticking off each to-do. He rushed it, ignoring protocol matters that needn’t be announced, sighing at the very sight of them. Finally, after winding down the tedium, he came to the last item.

  “I see we have a new fighter captain in our ranks,” he said.

  The admiral looked at the name, checking if it was right. He paused for a long moment, trying to find the man in the assembled officers before him. “Julian Nverson,” he first said to himself. Then he gave a laugh, in near disbelief.

  The admiral looked into the field of officers. A man sitting in the back was now standing, his hand in a salute.

  “Admiral Drayden,” he said, his hair closely shaven down to the scalp. “Captain Nverson reporting, newly promoted. I aim to serve the Core well.”

  The admiral nodded his head, pleased to see the sight. “No doubt you will Julian,” he replied. “Just like old times. Good to see you’re back.”

  ***

  The admiral opened the bottle of whisky and placed it on the desk in his office. “Take it Julian,” the admiral said, pouring out the alcohol into the cup. “A drink for an old friend.”

  Julian gingerly picked it up and began to sip from the glass. The admiral, on the other hand, gulped down the shot and poured out another, a sour look on his face.

  “I was there at Haven,” the admiral said. “Goddamn Endervars. Took out everything.”

  Over a week ago, Drayden had still been a colonel serving on board a dreadnought carrier. Things had been dire. Their previous attempts to push back the enemy had left his strike group in ruins, with more than half of his fighting force destroyed. All other engagements had been met with failure. The enemy had begun flooding the entire sector with ships, their sheer numbers overwhelming every military strategy the SpaceCore could devise. Command had no choice but to issue the desperate order. All available ships would return to homeworld. Very soon, the government would declare emergency procedures to begin the evacuation of Haven.

  “We jumped into homeworld, thinking we’d make a last stand. Naively, we still thought we had more time, at least a few weeks, before the enemy would arrive.”

  “But then they came. We held them off at first, but whatever we did, we couldn’t stop them.”

  The enemy did more than just simply unleash their weapons. They fought with no regard for their own vessels, sacrificing themselves at every turn. Entire lines of defenses shattered into exploding debris, the collisions erupting into shocks of light.

  Tactics and bravery could do nothing against the enemy’s suicidal waves of ships. Each of the clashes seemed to eat away at SpaceCore might, thousands of assembled pilots consumed in the fury. Even SpaceCore Command, the heart of humanity’s military might, had fallen. The remaining fleet was then forced to pull back toward Haven.

  “Alliance ships eventually came, and ordered us to pull out of the system and meet at Cambra. I did so, thinking we were just regrouping, and staging another counterattack. But those assholes said they were just covering our retreat.”

  The admiral poured himself another cup, taking another shot, and swallowing the pain down. “I try to think of it positively — I live so I can fight again another day. Later, when we got to Bydandia, I was promoted to commodore and then admiral. Been leading offensive operations ever since.”

  Julian could see the frustration on the man’s face. It was a blank stare, a daze that reflected loss. He had seen it before, years ago when the admiral was just another captain, and Julian was a novice fighter pilot.

  “But I’m glad to see you made it. You look good, a little more seasoned,” the admiral said, cheering himself up. “You were always a good man Julian. One of the best in Gray Squadron.”

  Julian nodded as he saw his old commander in front of him.

  “Well, I was lucky to have a good captain,” he said.

  “We made a good team,” the admiral replied. “It’ll be nice to see you back in action again.”

  Julian, however, was unsure of what he felt. He noticed that the admiral looked at him with pride. But in truth, Julian wanted to concede something: he did not know if he could handle this.

  “I hate to say this. Not everyone made it,” the admiral said. “Ortenya, Kenjin and Tyagi are all gone. They were killed in action over the years. I found out a few days ago that Jenas died at Haven.”

  “What? I had no idea.”

  “Did you keep in touch with any of them?” the admiral asked.

  Julian closed his eyes in regret. “No,” he said. “Jenas and Tyagi tried contacting me. But I just didn’t have the heart to talk to them.”

  The admiral poured out the whisky again. This time Julian drank it all.

  “Jenas, she was a great officer,” the admiral said. “I don’t usually say this. But she was a beauty. One of my many regrets. I always held a torch for her. But was always too afraid to admit it. She must have thought I was an old man.”

  The admiral laughed as he scratched the back of his head. He then couldn’t help but ask Julian another question.

  “What about Evah? Are you two still…”

  Julian quickly shook his head, not saying a word. Rather, he hid whatever he wanted to express in another swallow of his drink. The admiral could tell things had not ended well.

  “It’s still hard isn’t? Coming back to the Core?” the admiral asked.

  “I never thought I would be back,” Julian replied. “After you left Gray Squadron, it was never the same again.”

  Julian licked his lips as he searched to find the words. “I couldn’t keep it together,” he said. “Everything went to hell. And now I feel like a cow
ard for it.”

  “I know,” the admiral said. “It’s not your fault. This is war Julian. It kills a man to see so much destruction.”

  “But how do you deal with it?” Julian asked.

  The admiral turned around, pulling something up from a counter behind him. He handed it to Julian. The object was a framed picture, holding a shot of a group of people standing in a hanger bay. In it Julian could see himself as he was years ago, with Drayden and 17 others posing for the photo. This had been taken during his first year as a full-fledged pilot with the SpaceCore. “TS-X49” read the engraved letters below the photo. “AKA Gray Squadron.”

  “You must have been only 19 when you first joined with us,” Drayden said. “Still fresh faced and all smiles.”

  Julian looked down at the photo and saw the grins across the faces of all the pilots, himself included. The young men and women had come dressed in their black flight suits, helmets in their hands, ready for a mission. But in spite of the seriousness, they put their arms across each other, posing with lighthearted expressions. Julian took note of one couple, a man and a woman, who embraced each other as the photo was taken. “Thompson and Ganim,” Julian said to himself. Two old friends, now long gone.

  “I still have a hard time looking at the photo,” Drayden said. “Orion was a nightmare. We lost some good people in that battle. Damn.”

  “I hated myself for losing them. SpaceCore, on the other hand, thought otherwise and gave us all medals. Now look at me. Seems like whenever I lose people in battle, I get promoted,” he said, drinking again from his cup. “Feels like I’m sitting on a heap full of dead comrades.”

  “It’s painful. All of this is. But our friends died for us so we could fight again,” the admiral continued. “So I keep fighting.”

  Julian had looked up to the admiral. In some ways he was family. For five years he had served under him. In those early days, Julian had always been the unsure one, while Drayden maintained a steady hand, guiding him whenever it was needed. The admiral had taught him things he would never forget — how to fly and how to fight in the face of the galaxy’s most deadly enemy. They could be beaten, and Drayden had showed him how. Now he was asking him to fight again.

  “I know it’s hard to stay sane, but fight the fear Julian. This war and the Endervars. They can destroy as many of our ships as they want. But we won’t let them take our spirits, you hear me?”

  Julian nodded his head in full agreement. But still, he wondered. “The pain, the guilt, does it ever go away?” he asked.

  “Never,” the admiral said. “You just learn to live with it.”

  ***

  He arrived at the hanger bay, seeing the field of shuttles preparing to take off. Soon they would launch and take Julian, along with the rest of the officers, to the carrier groups stationed in orbit.

  He had been reading over the crew assignments on a data tablet. His strike group, Gamma Team, was made up of just over fourteen people, barely enough to operate the ships that had been assigned. He himself would only command two other fighter pilots, both of whom had yet to graduate from the academy.

  It was clear SpaceCore had invested little in this operation, fearing that if things went badly, they could afford the loss. The evacuation of Bydandia was far more vital, but if anything, maybe the assembled strike groups could delay and distract the approaching enemy.

  The Endervars would always have their own prerogatives, and humanity had done little to change that. Even so, Julian felt ready for the mission. He was eager.

  This was his chance. To fight the foe and deliver some payback. He had been away from the battlefield for four years, although in a sense, the war had never left him.

  Standing there by himself, he dropped the data tablet to his side, and crossed his arms. Julian needed to leave, and board his shuttle. But before his departure, Nalia had asked that he meet with him.

  The minutes had ticked by, and still he waited. Finally, he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder.

  “Captain Nverson,” the man said.

  It was Commander Ibarra, the deep baritone voice not at all like the one he had wanted to hear. Julian straightened his spine and immediately saluted his superior.

  The commander, dressed in a formal white uniform, pulled off the naval hat from his head. He was an older man, one who had retired to Lincoln-4, a small colony just a few light-years away from Haven.

  Like Julian, Ibarra was a veteran who had only recently been reactivated. He would lead Gamma Team as its main executive officer. But not without some help.

  “At ease,” Ibarra said, stroking the mustache at his face. “I’d like you to meet our new first officer.”

  He then pointed to the woman standing at his side. She was tall, dressed in the same military white, with her face partially hidden behind the large naval hat.

  “Meet Lt. Commander Nalia Kynestar. Newly promoted.”

  Julian saw the smile creep under the cap’s brim. She then took it off, and stared directly back, her auburn hair tied behind her head.

  “Captain,” Nalia said, the tone hard and concise.

  Caught off guard, Julian did the only thing he could do, and saluted his new XO with a flinch.

  “She volunteered, and we’re lucky to have her,” Ibarra said.

  The commander then went on with a few other minor details, as Julian simply looked back at Nalia, uncomfortable, but pretending to listen.

  “Anyways, the mission should be straight forward,” Ibarra said. “I assume you’re ready to go?”

  Julian nearly stammered, his spine still stiff. “Yes. I think so.”

  “Good. You and Kynestar should speak. Get to know each other. She’ll be running tactical on board the S.C. Abenon.”

  The commander then left them, needing to rush off and handle one final requisition. It was now only Nalia and him, standing together in the hanger bay.

  Julian didn’t know what to do or say. Nalia could tell.

  “Miss me?” she asked, hoping to ease his discomfort, and do away with the formalities.

  He wondered if this was real, and looked down at her feet, to find a knapsack of her things zipped and sealed.

  “You’re kidding right? You’re really coming with us?” he asked.

  Admittedly, Julian didn’t really know her. But outside of Drayden, she was his sole friend in all the galaxy. She didn’t need to do this.

  Throwing her naval hat on top of the bag, Nalia knew she might face this reaction.

  “You’re short on crew and S-Com was looking for volunteers,” she explained. “I requested a temporary transfer to your strike group.”

  She poked his chest, wanting him not to be so alarmed. “I can take care of myself. I pulled your ass out of Meridian, didn’t I?”

  Julian responded with bewilderment. “Don’t do this Nalia. There’s plenty for you to do here at Bydandia. We’ll be fine.”

  She waved her hand, brushing aside his protest with a smile.

  “Please, I can’t let you have all the fun.”

  “Nalia, don’t joke around. This is dangerous,” he said.

  “Too late. It’s already been finalized.”

  “Then change it.”

  She could see Julian was not taking this lightly. “You really do care about me, don’t you?”

  Julian scoffed. He wanted to turn away, but she grabbed him by the collar, pulling him back. They met eye to eye, Nalia relinquishing the grin and speaking the truth.

  “I’m going to watch out for you. I meant that. I’m not going to let you go out there with a skeleton crew,” she said. “More importantly, I have a mission of my own.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “The Endervars need to die.”

  Letting go, she folded her arms across her chest. “Besides, I’m technically you’re superior.”

  She pointed to the pips on her collar, the column of metallic insignias having grown to include one more.

  “Lt. Commander Kynestar,” Juli
an said. He was ready to turn stiff again, and send his hand to his brow.

  “Don’t do that,” she said, annoyed at the gesture. “I really don’t care for it.”

  There was too much seriousness in the world already. Keep this simple, she replied.

  “When it’s only us, call me Nalia,” she insisted.

  Julian sighed, feeling embarrassed. He didn’t quite know how to act around her. But perhaps, she was right.

  “Nalia,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  He looked at her, and sensed that she understood.

  Nalia demanded that she join the fight. And deep down, in spite of the dangers, Julian wanted the same.

  “Welcome aboard,” he said.

  “Good.”

  Nalia then picked up the bag on the floor, and heaved it at Julian’s chest. The sack hit his body, and fell into his two hands. Satisfied, Nalia walked on.

  “You and me are partners in crime,” she said. “The Endervars won’t know what hit them.”

  Chapter 9

  He could feel the weapons fire splashing against the shields, a thunderous jolt that rocked the cockpit. Each impact seemed to whip his one-man fighter craft into a violent tremor. Ship systems were fluctuating, with auxiliaries forced to kick in and take over.

  “Taking some damage” Julian said over the communication link. “But shields are holding.”

  He was clothed entirely in synthetic fibers, a cybernetic suit that covered him from head to toe. It fed him oxygen and cool air, along with streams of virtual data into a helmet now over his face. Holographic images, outlined in neon lights, filled his frame of view as he steadied his hands, and firmly gripped the ship’s controls. But already the images and electronic equipment had begun to flicker, the clamor of static drowning out his communication feed. “Fuck. Getting some interference.”

  A voice responded. “Hang on Julian. The N-Cannon is locking on,” Nalia said, her words fading in and out. “Position…closing… Just hang—”