Starstorm (Starstorm Saga) (3 page)

The dance floor was crowded, but Jack was almost as good at dancing as he was at flying, and the young blond, whose name he did not yet even know, seemed perfectly happy to get as close to him as possible on the dance floor. She was a skilled dancer as well, and matched Jack’s lead move for move. When the music changed to a slow dance, she got even closer. Jack was sweating profusely, but it had little to do with the temperature. She had her arms around his neck and her head resting on his shoulder. The rest of her body was pressed firmly against his. Jack wondered if it was himself, or his uniform that the girl was more interested in. Red was certainly right about women liking men who were destined to be fighter pilots. He wondered if his dance partner would be so interested in him if she knew he had no intention of joining the United States Space Force. As the dance continued, Jack caught sight of Red. He had not one, but two girls, and he was dancing with both at the same time. Red’s eyes scanned the young woman that Jack was dancing with. He gave Jack a thumbs up and a wry grin. Jack wanted to shake his head. Something told him that Red would always be a wild womanizer. Jack, however, wanted something more permanent—and real.

The slow dance came to an end and everyone gave the band a round of applause. Jack was about to take advantage of the interlude to ask the girl her name, but before he could, someone tapped him on the shoulder. Jack turned to see a tall menacing guy looking down at him.

“Move aside shorty. You flyboys think you can just come in here and hog all the women? You’re nothing but a little boy in a fancy uniform.” He shoved Jack aside and took a step towards the girl. “Why don’t you come dance with a man, honey?”

Jack normally considered himself a lover, not a fighter. But he was too chivalrous (and angry) to just abandon the girl to an oversized punk. He leapt back between them and glared menacingly up at the thug.

“Listen, lowlife, I don’t think the lady wants your company.”

The punk pounded his fist into his hand.

“Is that a fact, lover boy?” The punker grabbed Jack by the collar of his uniform and practically lifted him off the ground. “You can kiss that baby face goodbye, because by the time I’m done with ya, you won’t have a face!”

Suddenly, Red came seemingly out of nowhere. He leapt onto the punk’s back, wrapped his arm around his throat and started to choke off his air supply.

“That’s my friend you’re messing with, slimeball!”

The enraged punker reached up and grabbed Red by the hair. He then bashed his head backwards busting Red’s nose and knocking him clear. The punker turned to face Red, but in so doing he turned his back on Jack. Little or not, Jack had studied Isshinryu for half his life. Jack punched the punker in the kidney and then used a cross kick to hit his leg which subsequently collapsed beneath him. The moment the fight had begun, most of the crowd had backed up, trying to get to a safe distance from which to watch the action. Pilots and punkers got in fights all the time, Jack just wished he hadn’t been the lucky pilot.

The punker began to force himself back to his feet. Jack could have been merciless, and hit him while he was down, but once again his chivalry got the better of him. Instead, Jack circled around him and then helped Red to his feet.

“Come on Red, we better get out of here!”

“Not until I teach this punk a lesson he’ll never forget!”

Red’s pride had been wounded and when his pride was wounded he was very often blinded by rage. Jack, however, saw that there were three more punkers coming to help their injured friend.

“We can’t take on four of them!”

“Watch me!”

Unwilling to abandon his reckless friend (who had recklessly come to help him in his moment of need) Jack fell into a stance and prepared for the worst. Fortunately, five of their fellow pilots from the Condor Academy came charging in and the dance floor erupted into a full scale brawl. Their surprise attack sent the punkers running before Red or Jack could get back into the fight.

Jack watched them flee, then turned to look for the young woman for whose honor he had fought. She was nowhere to be seen. His heart sank. Red put his arm around his friend.

“You’re lucky I’m here to watch your back! Just think of all the excitement you’re going to miss by not coming with me!”

Jack sighed. He checked his comlink again.

No messages. No missed calls.

Light years away, traveling through a hyperspace corridor located between two jump points was the main body of the Imperial Zidian 3rd Fleet. Thirty battle cruisers, 350 fighters, fifty transport ships, and the Flagship known as the “Krusha” which meant "black soul" in the Zidian language. On its bridge, on his platform, overlooking the view screen was Fleet Commander Akdon. He stood seven feet tall, the average height for Zidians. He wore a gray, black and silver armored uniform with many decorations commemorating his past victories. Like all Zidians he had rough, dark brown skin, a tall hard narrow forehead and powerful jaws that resembled the beak like mouth of a triceratops dinosaur.

The lights were dim and the air hot. Below his platform on the main floor was the bridge crew operating the controls of the mighty warship. The view screen was huge. At fifteen feet by thirty feet, it took up the whole back wall of the bridge. On the view screen was a map of Earth's solar system. Akdon studied it carefully.

Another Zidian climbed up to the platform and stood next to Akdon. It was Sub Commander Kaydan, Akdon's second in command. He was ruthlessly efficient and highly intelligent. Unlike most Zidians, he was a scientist as well as a warrior. Akdon always valued his insight. 

“So this is our target,” said Akdon. 

“Yes sir, a few planets orbiting a single star. Only their home world is inhabitable,” replied Kaydan. 

“What's it worth?” asked Akdon.

“Once we strip mine it of its natural resources it should yield quite a profit in minerals, oxygen, slave labor, and most especially water.”

“And what of the inhabitants?”

“They are mentally and physically inferior to us. Intelligence reports that they haven’t even reached space yet.” 

“Good.” Pushing a button on his control panel, Akdon changed the image of the view screen from a map of Earth’s star system to an image of the Earth itself. “It is a lush world,” said Akdon. It will make a fine addition to our empire.” He turned back to Kaydan. “What kind of resistance can we expect?” Kaydan inserted an information chip into the main console. The image on the screen changed.

“According to our intelligence reports, these images represent the most advanced weapons possessed by the Human inhabitants.” The first image to appear on the screen was of a Bi-Wing fighter plane. “This primitive, prop driven, fixed wing air craft is capable only of low level atmospheric flight. It is slow and poorly maneuverable by our standards. It is armed only with rapid fire-fire arms. It has no sophisticated tracking or detection technology. Our fighters will sweep them from the sky.” Akdon stared at the image of the aircraft with disdain.

“If that is the best this planet has to offer I’m going to find this quite a boring expedition.”

Kaydan brought another image up on the screen.

“This tracked armored fighting vehicle is powered by a primitive internal combustion engine. It utilizes liquefied fossil remains as fuel—most inefficient. It fires a large caliber projectile as its primary weapon. A single blast from a beam cannon would be sufficient to melt through its armor.”

Staring at the human tank on the view screen Akdon said, “These primitives might just as well be using toys to fight us.”

“An apt description Commander,” said Kaydan.

Akdon eyed the screen with a menacing look.

“Let me see the enemy in person.” Kaydan quickly replaced the image of the human tank with that of a Human foot soldier.

“As you can see commander, we are physically as well as mentally superior to the Humans. We are taller, stronger and have greater physical endurance—no doubt do to our homeworld’s greater gravity.”

“No doubt we also possess a superior courage and strength of will as is true when the Zidian race is compared with any other species.”

“Doubtless Commander,” said Kaydan, who reflected silently that his commanding officer’s unquestioning belief in Zidian superiority might one day prove to be a weakness. While confident of his own race’s strengths and manifest destiny to rule the galaxy, Kaydan knew that it would be unwise to underestimate a foe, no matter how primitive or weak they seemed.

Several different forms of human soldiers flashed across the screen. “As you can see Commander, Human warriors are dressed in various colors of clothing made to resemble different types of foliage and terrain found on their planet. Of course this will be completely useless to them when set against our infrared and other sensors. Their weapons consist mostly of primitive automatic firearms whose projectiles will have no chance of penetrating the armor of our soldiers.” Kaydan removed the data chip and the image on the view screen and returned to the map of the Earth’s star system.

“How old is this information?” asked Akdon.

“According to Imperial Intelligence only five cycles,” replied Kaydan. “Any advancements the enemy could have made should be minimal.”

Akdon nodded, reflecting that it would only be a matter of time before the human race, like many other species across the galaxy, were the slaves of the Zidian Empire.

Fleet Captain Morton Doran walked the grounds of Space Force Headquarters in Washington D.C. The grass was lush and green. The buildings were pristine and clean. Doran’s good friend, Colonel Ron Travis of the Space Force Marine Corps. walked beside him.

“I’m telling you Morton, these politicians are fools,” said Travis. “Dismantling a third of our space-borne military forces, and mothballing another third is nothing but inviting trouble.” He swore derisively. “Why can’t they understand that strength is the greatest guarantee of peace.” The Colonel paused to wipe sweat from his black skinned face. Washington, D.C. that time of year was hot.

“I agree with you,” said Doran. “Believe me, Admiral Shirley and I have told the Space Force appropriations committee, the President and the State department that it would be foolhardy to downsize the Force. The Pirate Wars have only been over less than a year. The Japanese and the Russians aren’t planning on cutting back their Space Forces anytime soon, you can be certain of that.”

“And I’m not entirely convinced that the Pirate threat has been completely annihilated,” said Travis. “There are plenty of the ruthless cutthroats still missing and unaccounted for. They may simply be lying low out in the Kuiper belt waiting for the opportunity to reemerge.”

“Possible,” said Doran. “But unlikely. There have been no pirate attacks reported since we smashed Lee’s fleet around Jupiter.”

“You mean since you smashed his fleet,” said Travis with a smile. Doran shook his head.

“I may have been in command, but it was the brave men and women of the Space Force that carried the day. Without their heroism and sacrifice, we could not have won.”

“Spoken like a true Fleet Captain,” said Colonel Travis. “So where are you off to now?”

“Back to the Saratoga. We’re leaving on another routine patrol in a few days. I just hope I don’t find out that I’m out of a job when we get back to Earth. I’m a little old to consider a new career.”

Travis laughed.

“Don’t worry Morton. There’s no way they can put the Space Force’s greatest hero out to pasture. The Saratoga is the most decorated ship in the fleet. If any of the Super Carriers are left in service, she will. An old jarhead like me, though, that’s a different story.” 

“You did plenty to see us to victory yourself,” said Doran. It was true. Colonel Travis had just as many medals and decorations for valor as Doran’s.

“If I were you,” said Travis, “I’d run for President. You certainly have the popularity for it.”

“You must be joking!” said Doran. “Those jackals would eat me alive. Besides, I’ve spent too many years complaining about the blasted politicians to ever become one myself.”

Travis laughed. Doran then continued in a serious and somber tone.

“We both know that my family has a major skeleton in its closet that in the eyes of many would be irredeemable. If it ever comes out—and it certainly would if I was foolish enough to enter politics—most people would distrust and maybe even despise me.”

“That’s ridiculous! We don’t control who we’re related to Morton. You’re a good man, and I for one am proud to have served under you.”

Doran nodded appreciatively to his friend.

“Unfortunately, the politicians wouldn’t see it that way. They are shameless opportunists. But it doesn’t matter. I’m not cut out for politics or civilian government. I have neither the desire nor the inclination. Besides...” Doran looked up into the busy sky. Various drones and hover pods were flying every which way. “I have no desire to be followed around twenty four seven by news bots.”

Travis let out a sigh of resignation.

“Can I see you off at the spaceport?”

“I appreciate it,” said Doran “...but I’m afraid I have a private call to make on an old friend...”

Chapter Three

S
ix months after graduation, Jack Thunder was a space pilot without a job. He’d gone to the Condor Academy for six years. He’d learned to fly both air and space craft of all types—even military models. He’d wanted to pilot the large space liners that took people to Mars and Titan. Majoring in aerospace aviation more than qualified him for the job, but the space lines had no openings and when they did they were filled with veteran pilots.

I hate to admit it, but it looks like Red was right.
Instinctively, Jack looked up at the sky.

Red’s already up there.
He sighed, and hung his head low. He was twenty four years old, broke, jobless and as if to make matters worse he was single. Jennifer had finally given him a firm no shortly after graduation. She was now with a wealthy guy she had met in law school.