by Ryk Brown
They continued deeper into the pavilion, toward floor displays of various uniforms, flight suits, helmets, and other gear associated with the Gunyoki. At the center of the displays was a collection of simulation booths, and standing in front of them was an old man with long gray whiskers, bound neatly into a point at about the middle of his chest. The old man’s hair was tied back in similar fashion, and he wore the blue and yellow jacket of a Gunyoki warrior, adorned with numerous patches that spoke of his countless victories.
The young man leading them came to a stop, bowing respectfully to the old man in the center of the pavilion. The old man bowed back, although in a far less pronounced fashion, as if accepting the payment of respect from the much younger man.
The young man turned to face Nathan and Jessica, standing beside the old man. “Captain Scott, I present Gunyoki master, Makani Koku.”
“Holy crap,” Jessica mumbled, only half to herself.
“Holy crap?” the old Gunyoki master asked.
“She means to say, ‘it is an honor to make your acquaintance, Mister Koku.”
“The correct term, is Master Koku.”
“My apologies, Master Koku,” Nathan replied. “May I introduce my chief tactical officer, Lieutenant Commander Jessica Nash.”
“A pleasure,” Master Koku said, bowing his head in respect. “It is rare to see one so lovely, in such a dangerous profession. You are surely an amazing young woman to hold such a position.”
“Uh, thanks.” Jessica looked at Nathan. “Do you know who he is?”
“Uh, yeah…he just introduced himself.”
“This guy…I mean, Master Koku, has racked up more simulated kills, and won more races, than any Gunyoki in the history of Rakuen. He was a Gunyoki for forty years.”
“I am still Gunyoki,” Master Koku corrected. “Gunyoki cannot cease being Gunyoki, any more than a tocan can cease being a tocan.”
“What’s a tocan?” Jessica wondered.
Master Koku gave her an odd look.
“A dog, right?” Nathan said, recognizing the Rakuen term.
Again, Master Koko looked puzzled.
“It doesn’t matter,” Nathan insisted. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, Master Koku, but how was I lucky enough to get you as my instructor?”
“When the impossible must be accomplished, one naturally enlists the help of someone who is known for accomplishing the impossible,” Master Koku stated.
“Mister Yokimah?”
“He is a difficult man to refuse,” Master Koku admitted.
“Tell me about it,” Nathan remarked. He looked around the pavilion, gazing at the ships all around him. “This place is amazing,” Nathan exclaimed. “Are these all Gunyoki fighters?”
“Every model since the beginning of the Water Wars between Rakuen and Neramese,” Master Koku explained. “The Gunyoki were once the protectors of Rakuen. Men who worked normal jobs, went home to normal families, lived normal lives. But when their peaceful world was threatened, they used their own money to build their ships, and they spent every spare moment training themselves to fly them. The Gunyoki have kept Rakuen safe for generations, and all they have ever asked for in return was simple respect.”
“And here I thought they were just a bunch of race pilots,” Jessica said under her breath.
“The races are a relatively recent development,” Master Koku stated.
“Oh, you heard that?” Jessica was suddenly embarrassed.
“I am old, not deaf.”
“Right.”
“Are all the people in your service so brash and outspoken?” Master Koku wondered.
“The lieutenant commander is a special case,” Nathan assured him. “She takes some getting used to, but she’s worth it.”
“Gee, thanks,” Jessica said. “You know, I didn’t want to drag my ass down here at zero dark thirty. Maybe I’ll just go over there and take a nap while you teach my C.O. how to fly one of these things, so he doesn’t kill himself next weekend.”
Master Koku smiled. “I like her.”
“Why did you have us come down here so early?” Nathan asked, hoping to steer the conversation away from Jessica’s insubordinate attitude, and her sleep-deprived lack of respect for everyone, and everything, on Rakuen.
“To test your level of commitment,” Master Koku replied.
“Seriously?” Jessica asked, her face somewhat contorted in disbelief.
“Actually, I wanted to conclude our business here before the museum opened, and the crowds became a distraction,” Master Koku explained. “The commitment thing was my subtle attempt at humor.”
“Very subtle,” Jessica smirked.
“You brought us down here before sunrise to look at old Gunyoki fighters?” Nathan wondered. “Couldn’t we have just looked at pictures?”
“Indeed, we could have. But I was more interested in these.” Master Koku turned to the side, gesturing toward the collection of simulator booths behind him, at the center of the pavilion.
“Simulators?” Nathan said.
“Precisely.”
Nathan walked over and peeked into one of the booths. “But these are just toys,” he commented, “games, like the ones we saw at the racing platform. Surely you have something more advanced than this?”
“Prove to me that you can fly a toy, and then I will take you to a real simulator,” Master Koku stated in a calm, yet firm, tone.
“Couldn’t we just skip straight to the advanced sims?” Jessica suggested. “It’s not like we have time to waste.”
“Nor do I,” Master Koku agreed. “And if training your C.O. is a waste of my time, I’d prefer to find out now, while I still have time to return home and go seoli fishing.”
“Seoli fishing,” Jessica laughed. “If you weren’t a living legend…”
Master Koku looked confused for a moment, then turned back to Nathan. “Please, Captain, indulge an old man, if only for a moment.”
Nathan took a deep breath, letting it out in a long sigh. “Of course, Master Koku. I put myself in your hands,” he added with a bow.
* * *
“The ship is at condition one, Captain,” Lieutenant Commander Vidmar announced. “The last recon Reaper has reported in, and the first jump destination is still clear.”
“Alert all ships,” Cameron ordered from the command chair at the center of the Aurora’s bridge. “Start the clock for jump one.”
“Starting the clock for jump one, aye,” the comms officer replied.
“Jump clock is running,” the navigator reported.
“Who has rear guard?” Cameron wondered.
“The Morsiko-Tavi,” the lieutenant commander replied. “She’s got a pair of mark one plasma cannon turrets strapped to her deck, so she can provide cover fire, if needed.”
“Thankfully, the need is unlikely,” Cameron stated. Although she hadn’t voiced as much to anyone, she was happy to move the fleet. They had been in the same area for more than a week, which made her nervous. They were in the middle of nowhere, and well away from any known shipping lanes. She knew the odds of them being found were astronomical, but there was still something about staying in the same hiding place for long periods of time that made her uncomfortable.
“Thirty seconds to jump one,” the navigator warned.
The first jump was the Aurora’s. When moving the fleet, it was her job to jump to their destination first, and send a jump comm-drone back to the fleet, signaling that it was safe for them to jump, as well. It was overkill, since recon Reapers had been jumping in and out of the first jump destination for the last hour, and had detected no threats. But for the safety of a dozen unarmed vessels, and the thousands of lives at stake, she had chosen the more cautious approach. It would take twice as long to reach their final destination, within the Aurora’s single jump range to Rakuen, but it could not be avoided. The last thing they needed this early in the game was for the fleet to be forced to disperse in numerous directions, and attempt to rejoin la
ter. Most of the ships in the Karuzari fleet still depended on one another to survive, and some of them would not last more than a few days on their own. It was a precarious condition for them to be in, and they were working to improve upon it, but there was still much to do.
“Five seconds,” the navigator warned. “Three……two……one……jumping.”
On the Aurora’s main view screen, the familiar wave of pale blue light spilled out across her forward hull, immediately covering her, and then building to a flash of blue-white light that was greatly subdued by the view screen’s filters. A second after the wave of light began spilling out of their emitters, the view screen was back to normal; the visible stars having shifted an almost imperceptible amount.
“Jump complete,” the navigator reported.
“Scanning the area,” Lieutenant Commander Kono added from the sensor station.
Cameron sat patiently, waiting for word from her sensor officer. If there was a warship in the area, they would either attack immediately, or wait for them to feel comfortable enough to let their guard down. They might even wait to see if any other ships were following the Aurora. But the lieutenant commander was scanning with active, high-powered sensor arrays, using every detection method possible. If there was a ship out there, she’d find it, but they’d also be announcing their position to that ship, as well.
It was a chance Cameron had to take.
“No contacts,” Lieutenant Commander Kono reported. “Beginning long-range scans.”
“Prepare the all-clear drone,” Cameron ordered.
“All-clear comm-drone loaded and ready for launch,” the comms officer acknowledged.
Cameron watched the jump clock display on the center console directly in front of her, between the navigator and the helmsman, as another minute passed. Their fleet-movement protocol called for a five-minute delay between the Aurora’s arrival at a jump destination, and the launching of the all-clear jump comm-drone. It was just enough time for them to determine that there were no immediate threats in the area. If the fleet did not receive the all-clear signal within ten minutes, they were to jump to an alternate location and wait for a predetermined length of time before executing a series of emergency evasion jumps. Again, it was overkill under the current conditions, but necessary.
The minutes ticked by, finally reaching the five-minute mark.
“Still no contacts, Captain,” Lieutenant Commander Kono reported.
“Launch the all clear,” Cameron ordered.
“All-clear drone away,” the comms officer confirmed.
“Move us out of the arrival zone, Lieutenant,” she added.
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Dinev replied from the helm.
Two minutes later, Cameron switched the view on the Aurora’s spherical screen to the aft-facing cameras, and was rewarded with multiple jump flashes as the fleet jumped in behind them.
“The fleet has jumped,” Lieutenant Commander Kono reported.
“The Morsiko-Tavi has reported in,” Lieutenant Commander Vidmar added from the tactical station. “Jump one is complete.”
“Six hours to the next jump,” the navigator reported.
Cameron sighed. Every ship in their ragtag fleet had different jump ranges and recharge times. The smaller ships, such as the flat-bed pod haulers like the Morsiko-Tavi, could perform endless back-to-back jumps with only a few minutes between them. Larger ships, like the Mystic Empress, the Innison, and the Glendanon, had to wait to recharge their jump drives between each jump. Although the Aurora was fitted with two completely independent jump drives, and could perform two max-range jumps in succession, no one else in the fleet could. Furthermore, they had to limit the range of each jump, so every ship still had enough jump energy left to make a series of short emergency evasion jumps. The result was that the fleet moved like a turtle.
Alas, it could not be helped, and as much as Cameron wanted to move the Aurora to the Rakuen system within the day, her primary responsibility was the protection of the fleet which had just jumped in behind her. It was this responsibility that greatly limited the Aurora’s ability to take the fight to the Dusahn, which was precisely why Nathan was taking such a gamble to secure a handful of Gunyoki fighters.
* * *
“This is a joke,” Nathan insisted as he stared at the simple display and control inputs. “There are no docking thrusters, no translation thrusters, not even weapons controls.”
“This is a flight simulator,” Master Koku replied in his usual calm demeanor. “I am using it to introduce you to the complexities of piloting a Gunyoki fighter.”
Nathan shrugged slightly, resigning himself to his instructor’s methods. “You do know that I am both trained and experienced in space flight, right?”
“Terran fighters, large warships, and small cargo vessels,” Master Koku stated. “None of this training will translate well to piloting a Gunyoki fighter. If anything, these experiences will make it more difficult for you.”
“How?”
“The primary propulsion and maneuvering thrust points on a Gunyoki fighter are located on either side at the stern of the ship, well aft of its center of gravity. This causes rapid attitude changes in yaw, roll, and pitch, with only the slightest application of thrust. Too much thrust, and the motion of the ship can easily become uncontrollable.”
“Gunyoki fighters are equipped with auto-recovery, aren’t they?”
“Indeed they are,” Master Koku confirmed. “However, it uses considerably propellant to correct your attitude. Use this system too many times, and you will have insufficient propellant to complete your mission.”
“My mission?”
“The race, or ‘heat’, as it is called.”
“Why do I get the impression that you don’t care much for the Gunyoki races,” Nathan wondered as he ran through the simplistic demonstration of the simulator’s basic flight control inputs.
“For what the races have done to foster support of the Gunyoki, and to increase the number of ships and pilots, I am grateful, and am proud of the small part I have played in its success.”
“But?”
“But what?” Master Koku wondered.
“You don’t like the races.”
“You should worry less about my likes, and dislikes, and more on the challenges you face.”
“What challenges?” Nathan chuckled. “I’m sitting in a children’s game at a museum. A couple hours from now, this place will probably be swarming with kids on a school field trip, arguing over who gets to play with this thing next.”
“Field trip?”
“Never mind,” Nathan replied. “How do you start this thing?”
Master Koku leaned in from the side of the simulator booth and pressed the start button. The screen in front of Nathan switched from the flight control introduction display, to a view of space. A moment later, a green, square appeared in the middle of the screen, and was moving slowly toward him.
“You are currently on a heading to pass through that first training gate,” Master Koku explained. “No thrust is currently being applied.”
Nathan stared at the green, square gate floating in the middle of the screen. “The gate is drifting to port,” he observed.
“Indeed it is. As your course tracks further away from safe passage through the gate, it will change color. First yellow, then to orange, then to red. When it is flashing red, you have only seconds to correct your trajectory in order to pass through it. If the gate disappears completely, it means you are no longer able to navigate through the gate. At that point, an alternate gate should appear.”
“And the purpose of all this is?”
“To give you a simple way to become accustomed to the difficulties of maneuvering a Gunyoki fighter.”
Nathan took a deep breath. “I’ve studied the flight manuals. I can do this.” He placed his left hand on the flight control stick at the left side of his seat, and his right hand on the throttle at the opposite side.
“Not
e your thrust level display,” Master Koku urged, noticing that Nathan had his hand on the throttle.
“I know. I’m at five percent thrust right now.” Nathan instinctively pushed his flight control stick to the left, attempting to steer toward the drifting gate. Instead, the ship rolled to port, but its course remained unchanged. “Oops,” he said, reversing his control input to stop the roll. He then increased the thrust level to his starboard engine, hoping to yaw to port, so he could then increase thrust evenly to both engines to propel the ship toward a new course line that would take him through the center of the gate.
“You are thinking like the pilot of a cargo ship,” Master Koku warned.
“How so?”
“You are attempting to find the perfect course through the center of the gate.”
“And there is something wrong with that?” Nathan asked.
“Nothing at all,” Master Koku agreed, “if you are flying a cargo ship. The gate is ten times the width of your ship. Any path through the gate is as good as another. This is your first lesson.”
The gate turned yellow. Nathan increased the power to his right engine, bringing his nose further left, then evened the thrust levers and increased power equally to both engines. The gate turned orange for a few seconds as it drifted further to port. A few seconds later, it began drifting back towards the center of the screen, turning yellow and then green. Nathan increased power to the left engine as he reduced power to the right, bringing his nose back left, before again adding power equally to both engines. As the gate grew closer, he realized he might not clear the right side of the gate, and immediately pushed his flight control stick ever so slightly to the right, releasing the pressure a split-second later, causing his ship to roll to starboard. A bit of opposite control input stopped his roll, and he slipped through the gate, causing it to disappear from the screen.
“Nicely done,” Master Koku congratulated. “For a cargo ship pilot.”
Nathan glanced at Master Koku, noticing his implacable expression as two more gates appeared on the screen, moving toward him more quickly than before.
It was going to be a long day.
* * *
Nathan lay on the bed in his hotel room. It was only noon, and he was already exhausted. With his eyes closed, he could see orange and red training gates speeding past him on all sides. He had spent three hours in that children’s simulator, and another two hours in a more advanced one in the museum’s maintenance shop.
