“Shadow Leader,” spoke the senior Elder in a gravelly, rheumy voice, “we do appreciate your efforts. It won’t be long before you will have a permanent home here on G’Durin. You should develop this source slowly. Make sure they are providing us valuable and correct information. Use information from our other sources to verify what they provide us. We have plans for the humans and this source can be very helpful in carrying them out. If at anytime you feel they are engaging in treachery, let them feel the power of your fang and claw.”
Sensing he had been dismissed, he said, “As you command, Excellency. They do not realize it, but they exist now only to serve the K’Rang Empire.”
He saluted, bowed, and backed out of their presence. Upon leaving the audience chamber and passing by the Imperial Guards at the entrance, he joined his two Shadow Warrior aides. They passed over his weapons, which were forbidden in the presence of the High Nobles.
He spoke to them as they left the Imperial Palace and he restored his weapons to their storage places in his cloak and uniform. “I have the authority to proceed. Put my plan into effect. Let us wring these humans dry.”
He thought back to the comment by the Elder about having a permanent home here on the home world. His heart swelled and his pace picked up at the possibility that he could have meant he might earn a title and entrance into the nobility. He paused in his stride as he also recalled that the main military cemetery was on G’Durin. M’Trang realized that the Elder’s comment was double-edged. The reward for success was obvious, as was the price of failure.
Kelly didn’t think he would get used to these eight-day weeks. It just seemed wrong. He had no problem with working six days instead of five as on Earth. On the Bolivar, there was no weekend. One just worked all the time. You were either on duty or not. Here on Armstrong, the eight-day week just threw him off. He was glad he would be leaving on patrol in a few weeks.
It was Saturday. He had spent the morning running through simulations with the bridge crew. They ran each watch in turn through the simulations, but he and the captain spent all morning in the simulator. Kelly was bushed. He had the reception with Admiral Craddock that night and he couldn’t ditch that. He hoped it wouldn’t be too boring. Even more so, he hoped he wouldn’t be too boring.
LCDR Timmons released the crew at noon. Kelly finished his paperwork and headed for his quarters to clean up and ready his mess dress uniform. He walked out of the building and went to the shuttle vehicle lot. The base had several lots with small six-person autonomous vehicles that were available for anyone needing transportation. As he came around the building he saw the lot and, fortunately, there was a shuttle waiting.
He approached the shuttle and was about to climb in when a voice shouted out, “What do you think you are doing, Ensign?”
Kelly turned and saw a Fleet Lieutenant walking his way. Kelly saluted and said, “I was going to take this shuttle to my quarters, sir.”
“No, you aren’t, Ensign. I’m using that shuttle. In just a few minutes I’ll be leaving in that shuttle.”
Kelly saw the LT’s name was Casimirski. He replied, “Sir, if there is no shuttle here, the central motor pool will send another. It should be here before you need it.”
“Maybe you didn’t understand me, Ensign. I said I’m taking that shuttle. If you need one, you can wait for it. I don’t intend to. Now run along.”
Kelly saluted again and walked away, thinking to himself that LT Casimirski was a first class asshole. He walked to the next closest lot, found another shuttle, and took it to his quarters. As he passed by the previous shuttle lot, the shuttle was still there waiting for LT Casimirski.
Kelly got to his quarters without further incident. He showered, shaved, and wrapped a towel around his waist. He took a few minutes to check his messages. There was nothing of any real interest in his queue. Kelly set an alarm and crashed for a couple of hours. Before he drifted off to sleep, he reminisced about his first day on the Bolivar.
The wardroom of the Galactic Republic Ship Simon Bolivar was a raucous place. It was filled with off duty officers from all over the ship. Considering that pilots were off duty anytime they weren’t flying or preparing to fly, it was mostly full of green flying suits. Most were congregated in one corner of the wardroom.
Kelly, the newest member of the 68th Fighter Squadron, was being initiated into the Fighting 68th. He stood in the corner of the room, surrounded by his new squadron mates, wearing a fuzzy red top hat. It had been described as the ancient ceremonial hat worn by all supplicants at the altar of the 68th. The Squadron Executive Officer, Major Aaron Brown, had the floor and was acting as master of ceremonies.
“We’d like to bring everyone’s attention to the presence of an outsider in our midst, begging entry into our august body. I present to the Fighting 68th a mediocre pilot, a so-so officer, and a miserable human being wishing to improve his lot in life by sharing the company of the finest, deadliest, craftiest, fighter pilots in the known universe.” A loud cheer erupted.
“I offer up for your consideration one 2LT Kelly Blake. LT Blake comes to us fresh out of fighter transition school, where he had the singular honor of never having lost an engagement. Now we all know how ineffective the cadre are as fighter pilots in transition school, but it is an achievement that may make him worthy to grace our presence. Pilots of the Fighting 68th, what say you?”
A resounding nay boomed through the wardroom, followed by gales of laughter.
“LT Blake, the Fighting 68th has spoken. Even though we don’t want you, all the other squadrons in Fighter Force voted before us and they don’t want you either. I guess we’re stuck with you. Members of the Fighting 68th, fill your glasses. Yes, I know its only water, iced tea, and soft drinks, but fill them anyway. Damn the Fleet regulations against alcohol on ships. Fill your glasses and toast our newest Squab, Kelly Blake.”
At that point every glass in the room was raised in the air and the contents thrown at LT Blake. Dripping from all manner of non-alcoholic drinks, Kelly had just been initiated into the Fighting 68th.
Every 68th officer in the room passed by, shook his hand, and welcomed him. The executive officer walked up to Kelly, shook his hand and slapped the 68th’s patch onto the adhesive strips on his shoulder.
“Welcome again, LT Blake. If your academic and training reports are halfway true, you will make a fine addition to the squadron. Did you really smoke MAJ San Giacamo in fighter training? He and I have been squadron mates and classmates many times.”
“Well, sir, I think I got lucky that day,” replied Kelly.
“Don’t BS me son, I’ve read your file. San Jack wrote up a special commendation for that maneuver you used on him. What impressed him most was that you did such a radical maneuver and were still within safety parameters. He tells me you used your landing thruster to slow you down and raise your fighter 25 meters above the flight plane, let San Jack’s fighter pass beneath you, and dropped back down on his tail. I would have loved to see his face when the damage sim showed he was smoked. How did you keep from blacking out from the G- forces?”
“I didn’t, sir. I programmed the flight computer to acquire and fire the moment I had dropped back down to the original flight plane. I went up. I went down. I passed out. The computer shot MAJ San Giacamo down. I came to, turned away and shot down his wingman. Easy.”
“Easy? That’s hilarious. Oh by the way, you have an appointment with the Squadron Commander, LTC Sam Matthews, at 0800. Be prompt. Here, let me introduce you to your Flight Leader, Captain Willis.”
CPT Willis was a pleasant looking woman. Not a beauty, but not ugly either. Kelly would fit in the same category. He was okay to look at, but not one to make women swoon at his passing.
CPT Willis walked over at MAJ. Brown’s introduction, shook Kelly’s hand, introduced herself as Janey, and walked him over to where the drinks were kept. She picked a towel off of an orderly’s arm and handed it to Kelly.
“Go ahead, take a moment and dry yourself off a bit. Those taking part in the initiation can get a bit over enthusiastic. I hope that is not your best uniform.”
Kelly dabbed ineffectually at his sodden uniform while CPT Willis continued.
“Welcome to the squadron. We have the new F-53 fighters. They are quite a bit faster and turn a bit tighter than the F-40s you trained on in fighter transition training. I think you’ll enjoy flying it. It has a computer on-board that you can customize to your personal preferences. It also uses artificial intelligence to be able to anticipate your requirements. Sometimes, if you aren’t forceful with them, they can be a bit too independent. You will be wingman for First Lieutenant Angie Shappelle. Here she is now. Angie, come over here and meet your new wingman.”
