by Imogene Nix
“Cardnew? But she is barely scraping passes on some of her courses. We already discussed that, Anston. I really don’t think she would be the best choice. Why not Elmhurst or Strachan? Even Jur Su would do better.”
“No. Cardnew has a promise none of the others have. You’ve seen her scores already. Now I need her allocated to the program and re-housed. Today if possible.” Anston touched his wrist chrono again, ending the connection.
She looked at him, amazed at the lightning change her life was about to undertake. Again, it meant a change, almost as big as coming into the future. Yet there were differences this time. This time she made the decisions. She controlled her own destiny once more. The world seemed a little brighter right now as new opportunities opened up, and she reached over to snag the professor’s hands. “Thank you so much, sir. I promise I won’t let you down.”
“Come along, my dear, and I’ll show you to the simulator.”
He led her through a door into another room, one she’d never entered before, filled with what looked like front ends of small planes. Here was her chance, her destiny. Time to grasp the future with both hands, she told herself as she moved forward.
* * * *
“Duvall! Need to see you in engineering. Now.” Raven’s voice echoed in the bowels of the Elector. He waited for Duvall to acknowledge the communication through his badge as he looked at the information that had just been thrown up on his screen.
“For Eshra’s sake!” The clanking of feet, swift but sure, on the decking had him lifting his head. He knew that rapid tattoo… Knew it could only be his captain.
Duvall clattered down the metal stairs and stopped beside him, a query on his face.
He scowled deeply, knowing Duvall would be angry once he shared his intelligence. “She’s been moved to the Combat Fighter Program.”
“What do you mean? You spoke to Anston!” Duvall’s face tightened in time with Raven’s stomach.
“Yeah, I spoke to Anston, but it never occurred to me that the heavies would be put on him to use his wild-card entry so fast. Apparently, she accepted and is currently moving to the training base outside Woomera. He kept it concealed from me until it was too late for me to head it off. Anston is continuing to tutor her in the basic flight processes for now, but that’ll stop once she has integrated fully into the program. He thinks that could actually be within the next week or so,” Raven said. Duvall opened his mouth, but Raven knew exactly what he’d ask. “I don’t have any contacts in Woomera.”
“Barsha! Once she’s there, she is sequestered and beyond our reach until they are placed into a squadron. I have to tell Mellissa and make sure Admiral Elphin is aware as well.” He said the words heavily, as if another weight descended onto his shoulders.
“Can we have her moved into the Alpha Squadron, do you think? At least then she will be within the same quadrant. Your contact with the Admiralty should be able to arrange that comfortably.” Raven looked at Duvall hopefully, but he already knew he was grasping at straws.
Duvall shook his head. “I can request it, but you know they’re highly sought-after positions. I can’t be sure it would work anyway. Truthfully, we need to see if Jemma can make it through the program and which squadron is game to take her on.” Once more, Raven noticed that Duvall looked strained. “I’ll talk to Chowd though, see what contacts he has, then I will talk to the Admiral.”
Chapter 2
Jemma grabbed the last bag. The past twelve months had been grueling. The combat flight training was both intense and fulfilling, and here she was finally, with the metal wings denoting her a fighter pilot clipped to her new unit uniform. The small data disk with the details of her first posting sat in her pocket, burning her with the knowledge that she had surpassed every expectation. Her future had arrived. She grinned at the whimsical thought.
Chatter echoed around the building.
“Hey, were are you posted?”
“I got the posting I wanted!”
She snorted hearing them all. They were still green, but she had no illusions. She’d somehow managed to pull off a plum posting, but it wouldn’t be easy. “I’m going to show them,” she told herself, gazing at the press of bodies.
She trotted quickly across the asphalt and dumped her bags onto the anti-gravity bed ready for moving them to the Star of Ishtar transport. The Star of Ishtar, she thought with awe. The destroyer where she had accepted deployment as a member of the Alpha Squadron, the placement every pilot wanted.
She cast one more look back over her shoulder. Professor Anston stood watching her, his shock of white hair standing out visibly in the excited crowd of families. She would make him proud, this man who had given her the opportunity. She had invited him to the marching-out parade as her only guest, and to her delight, he’d accepted.
She hurried over to him. “Professor, I can’t ever thank you enough for this opportunity.”
His eyes twinkled. “You’ve already thanked me by proving me right.” His gaze turned grave. “Take care, Cardnew. These are uncertain times, and you’ll be right in the middle of it.”
A grin wasn’t appropriate, she understood what he meant, but thirteen months ago, she’d been sure there were no more adventures left for her. How wrong she’d been.
In her mind, the professor had become a symbol of opportunities that she wouldn’t waste.
“You take care too. The next time you get a hard nut like me… Tell them hi.”
He laughed. “You’re a good girl, Cardnew. I’ll be watching to see you rise up the ladder.”
An impulsive hug, she slid her arms around his still broad shoulders. “Thank you. For everything.” Jemma tugged away and spun on highly polished boots as tears burned behind her eyelids. “I gotta go.”
As she strode off she looked over her shoulder and saw him salute briefly before turning away. She flicked her hair, tied in a tight braid, over her shoulder, and followed the others to the shuttles.
* * * *
“Cardnew, J. Step forward.” The voice of the captain rang through the bay.
She stepped forward to meet Captain Thoray. He extended his hand, and her eyes flicked up to his face as she accepted the hand and shook it firmly.
“Welcome to the Star of Ishtar. You will no doubt want to see your craft. Commander Vors is your squadron leader. She was supposed to be here but was unavoidably detained.” He dropped her hand, and she stepped back. He moved on to the next new member of the crew.
The hanger was full of new crewmembers, each waiting for their personal welcome to the destroyer that carried a full complement of two thousand seven hundred and forty-three, she’d read. From cooks to engineers, from fighter pilots to the lowliest crewmen assigned to sanitation control, each member of the crew would be personally welcomed before they would meet with their superiors. Her stomach quivered with nerves, and she stood there feeling like a fraud. You achieved the rank of pilot because of your skill. Somehow, though, the words didn’t break through the nerves.
The newest recruits finally dismissed, she moved to the bay allocated for the combat pilots. Several others watched her approach, and as had become her custom, she ignored them, checking the roster to see her craft designation on the screen. AE-JK-423. What a name, she thought derisively. If it didn’t already have a call sign, she would have given it one with a little zing.
A ripple of comments flowed through the others in the bay, and the sound of movements alerted her to someone entering. A tall, statuesque blonde moved in, perhaps in her thirties, but with a commanding presence nonetheless. Jemma saw her watching the pilots form a line with her deep-yellow eyes, and Jemma turned, joining the formation, aware that this was someone she should show due respect for.
“At ease.” The voice was sultry.
A few comments followed while Jemma considered the woman. Yellow eyes? Ah, she must be Vors, her immediate superior. She had heard that she had certain feline qualities of the Te’Karans. At the academy, they said her mother was a
Te’Karan halfling who had joined the Earth Empire after marrying a human. The story held legendary status in the flight program, telling how her father had been a combat pilot, rescuing her mother from an attack on the Te’Kar home world by the Ru’Edan.
“Cardnew!”
“Yes, ma’am.” Jemma continued to stand at attention, watching and waiting.
“Welcome aboard. I see you have already found your designated craft. She used to be called the Bitch, but I’m sure you can come up with something more appropriate,” Vors said with a hint of humor. She dismissed the other pilots and continued to stand in front of Jemma.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Come on, I’ll take you to your cabin and explain what you need to know before we move off. We’ve been offering flight support to the Ishtar for about six months now. Raids in areas of the Phobos Sector have become an issue, and the captain thinks our presence helps to deter some of the incursions.”
They were moving at a quick clip down the corridor beyond the bay, gunmetal gray with unrelieved metal flooring that echoed. The corridor was busy with crewmembers moving back and forth. A quick left turn took them to a long row of doors.
“We like to bunk down close to the fighter bays, as it allows us quick access to our craft if need be,” she said simply. “New print, authorization Alpha-Gamma-Beta-four-four-niner,” she said next, placing her palm to the plate. Vors indicated to Jemma to present her palm, which she did.
“State your name and designation,” the automated voice commanded as the plate glowed green beneath her hand, reading the imprint.
“Cardnew, Jemma. Pilot.”
The light on the pad flashed red briefly and a flash of heat warmed her hand. Just as it started to scorch, the light took on a green hue, telling her it had taken a complete read. The door opened swiftly, and Jemma noted the compact cabin, no more than a bed, workspace, and sanitary unit, but she felt pleased. This was her place. She smiled, knowing that sharing was something she did poorly.
“Right, Cardnew, drop your stuff and follow me to the Bitch. I want you on duty today. We serve five hours on with five teams running an overlap. There’s fifty in the squadron, not including our techs and mechs. You, as the newcomer, unfortunately, also get the rear position with our friend the Elector until we’re sure of your skills.”
“Damn.” The word slipped out and she wanted to kick herself. What bad luck to get stuck with the Elector.
“Problem?” Vors slashed her a piercing gaze.
“Oh no. None at all.” Jemma reminded herself she needed to keep her thoughts firmly under control.
Once more they moved through the corridor. Vors grinned. “McCord is a bad-tempered asshole, but I hear you’re good at dealing with those issues. Besides which, it isn’t a bad position while you’re finding your wings. The fleet we are working with consists of two destroyers, two frigates, one hospital transport, and the Elector, the newest stealth ship. But you know about that, don’t you?” She stopped and looked at Jemma. “You are following this?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m not a ma’am. I’m Vors. While in this squadron, you answer to Cardnew. We don’t stand on ceremony here. Understand?” She motioned her back through the doorway into the bay. “As I was saying, we all have a designated craft to protect. You get the Elector. It’s a single-pilot ship because it’s got weapons you can only dream about. You’re effectively on your own.”
Jemma damned her cursed luck that brought her back to the Elector, but the excitement that bubbled outweighed the negatives of dealing with Duvall McCord and his officers.
They moved to the far side of the bay, and she could see the fighters as they downloaded them from their hanging racks above. They landed softly onto the plascrete floor.
Looking up, Jemma saw the other craft in storage containment hanging high from the rafters. It reminded her of an oversized wardrobe, the storage facility was obviously designed to keep the maximum craft in the minimum area. Each one was suspended by the nose, right next to the other. The large crane pulled the craft from their storage swiftly but in an orderly fashion.
One last ship was brought down. It was scarred with chipped paint and repaired seating, which she could see through the plas-glass panels. The panels were battered with age and wear. Vors indicated it to her. “Here she is. The Bitch. She got that name in the Ru’Edan wars, because while she sustained damage, she was never brought down. The Bitch is about thirty years old but has been a sterling fighter. In fact, she still is. She’s also all yours. There are a few fiddly things about her, but at least you’ll have time to learn her foibles before we enter an area of aggression. Coverall and helmet are stored within the cockpit. Anything else you need, fill in the appropriate paperwork and flick it to me.” With that, Vors turned, walked a little way off, stopped, and turned back. “I look forward to hearing her new name soon.” Then she was gone.
Jemma quickly clambered up the side of the craft. It was small and reminiscent of the old fighter planes she had seen pictures of. She pulled the plas-glass top back. She fished out the coverall and tugged it over her clothes before she climbed in and pulled on the helmet that lay within. The new hard black plas-mic helmet slipped down over her hair, conforming to her head even as the smell of the new material filled the cockpit.
She looked over the wing, seeing others do the same as Vors’s voice sounded over the mic. “Okay, boys and girls, time to rock and roll. We have a combat virgin in our midst—Cardnew. You’ll be with the Elector, so you’re first out of the bay.”
Jemma heard the rumble of welcomes, and the pilot in the craft next to her acknowledged her with a wave. She returned it as she toggled the engines for ignition. The muscles of her stomach tightened as nerves took control. She focused on the mic, squinted her eyes, and mentally counted to ten while releasing the tension in her body.
“Roger that, Vors. Engine engaging now.” She pushed her finger into the ignition button, and it rumbled to life, the hum beneath her reassuring in a strange way. “Do we have a green for go?”
“Green for go on my signal. Go.”
Jemma heard the purr of the engines winding up. She moved the throttle forward enough to make a minimal ascent and slowly, carefully, moved her craft out into the black, feeling the excitement of knowing this was her first flight into the dark that wasn’t a training exercise. Taking a deep breath, she increased the speed.
She speared the craft toward the end of the fleet, dodging and weaving to get a feel for what the craft could do. She moved past the Star of Ishtar, dodged the long gray freighters and even the brightly painted hospital ship, and soon, within view, was the gray hull of the Elector looming in the dark inky horizon of her screen. Once within hailing distance, she toggled her comm.
“Captain McCord, this is Pilot Cardnew on your tail. I’ll be running interference for you. Do you have any specific requests concerning my position?”
“Jemma? Duvall here. Good to have you with us. Fly to our right wing, thanks.”
“Roger that, Captain McCord.”
No way was she going to call him Duvall. He was the captain of the ship she was escorting. It would be a difficult assignment as it was; she already had enough issues with just knowing him and the decisions he’d taken with her future. Thankfully it would have been inappropriate to use any other address while she was on duty.
She reached for a toggle, catching her hand briefly on a shard, obviously left from a previous sortie or pilot treating the craft roughly. She flinched and shook her hand. She noticed a drop of blood and wiped it away.
“Jemma...”
“Can I help you, Captain McCord?” she returned. Her voice was firm. She congratulated herself on that, knowing it left him in no doubt that she was there with a duty to perform.
“No. Safe flying.”
“Captain.”
“Cardnew? Vors here.”
“Yes, Vors?”
“We keep a radio silence if possible. I take it y
ou’re in position?” There was a bite now to the voice.
“Yes. Position achieved and waiting orders.” Damn, first day on the job and already catching trouble. She’d have to ensure this was the first and last time.
“Boys and girls, it’s party time. The captain has called for engines full ahead. See you in five.”
The voices of the other pilots filtered through, with Jemma answering, the last to call in.
“Cardnew acknowledging. Out.”
One by one, the lumbering fleet took position and moved off, the flash of their engines bright in the inky darkness.
* * * *
The doors of the ST suite slid open, and Raven strode through purposefully. His black ship suit whispered along his muscular body shape, which he worked hard to achieve. He felt the pull of the material as he wandered toward Elara, the resident SurgiTech.
“Hey ’Lara!”
“Hey yourself, Raven. How’s it going?” She smiled at him in a sisterly kind of fashion. The Elector was more like a family, especially the senior crew, he thought. “We haven’t had a bump or chug from the matrix in some time, so that isn’t the reason you’re here.”
“Yeah, I have the engines running pretty sweet now. Any chance you might offer me a cup of coffee?”
“Sure, help yourself.” Elara gestured toward a carafe that was sitting on her desk and folded herself into her seat. “Have you made contact yet?”
He started at the query, the coffee he’d just poured sloshing in the cup. He knew what and who she was talking about.
“No, I doubt Jemma even thinks about me like that. While she was aboard, it wasn’t the right time to be interested in her. There were problems in engineering and the wash-off from bringing her forward.” He sighed. “Since then, the opportunities have been a little hampered, you know? I think she saw me as Duvall’s messenger, so that struck me off her interest list pretty quickly.”
“Now that she’s the assigned combat escort pilot for the Elector, I’m sure some opportunity will come along. A chance for you to meet with her.” Elara stopped and waited just for a minute. “Don’t let your sense of chivalry get in the way of the possibilities.”
