Tommy Thorn Marked (41 page)

“Launch tubes active in sectors lima and tango,” the PA system blared out as the three Scats hover-taxied past Tommy’s Starbird toward the launch tubes. He gave them nothing more than a casual glance, already busy pulling up the fighter’s displays and flipping a series of highlighted projected switches to awaken his fighter.

“Hello, Mr. Thorn, welcome aboard,” the onboard computer, now online, said.

“Hello, Roat, how are you feeling today?” Tommy asked the computer.

“I am pleased to report that I am fully operational. All systems are online and ready to go.”

“Glad to hear it. Say, Roat, could you run a quick check on your comm amp for me?” Tommy said, trying to sound nonchalant as he continued preparing the ship for launch.

“I have run a full spectrum of preflight diagnostics…”

Tommy, while listening, used hand signals to let the chief know he was ready for engine start.

“Clear for start—roll one, Commander,” the chief responded over Tommy’s headset.

“My communication amplifier has a less than seven percent chance of failure, well within documented limits, I can—“

Tommy, not wanting to argue the point, finally gave up. “Just complete the prelaunch checks, get the graviton gen online, and spooled up one, Roat.”

“Control checks, chief,” Tommy said, looking out over the fighter’s long tapered nose, two of the six integrated blaster ports just visible.

“You’re clear, sir,” the chief said.

“You’re up, Roat, run a full control cycle check,” Tommy commanded and started bring up tactical information.

“Control check initiated,” Roat said, even as the control stableators, directional vanes, and thruster nozzles deployed from recessed stowed positions and began to cycle through their full range of moments.

The stableators, embedded into either the large delta wing panels or vertical control vanes, rotated into a number of different angles, giving almost unlimited directional control to the variable pitch thrusters. These small powerful thrusters, located both along the fuselage and within the stableators, provided for maximum maneuverability with a minimum amount of applied force. And while the Bird’s massive wing panels and control surfaces provided little in the way of lift, they were quite susceptible to drag when operating within atmospheric conditions, and as such were designed with smooth tapered lines. Lines that made the Starbird look as good as it flew.

Tommy watched as the stableators, now fully extended, speed brakes, and control surfaces moved in a preprogrammed ritual—letting his mind go to thoughts of Vance.

“Even weightless things have to be pushed against air,” he had once said to a rather confused Alterian. He smiled at the thought. “Forgive me, old friend,” Tommy said softly, still sure it was his fault that the fighter pilot was assigned to fly Darkstars.
Although
, he thought,
if it wasn’t
for Vance and the Darkstar, we would have all died on Vargus…

“Control checks complete,” Roat said, his computer-generated voice bringing Tommy back to the present as the wing panels quietly slid back into a stowed position along the fuselage.

“Hey, Cruiser, you all set?” Tommy asked, looking over at Gary’s fighter.

“As always, waiting on you, boss.” Gary was already staring at Tommy, faceplate open, smug grin clearly visible.

Smiling, Tommy tapped his helmet, lowering his faceplate, closed the fighter’s canopy and keyed the mic. “All right, hot shot, let's see if you can earn some of those fight credits,” he transmitted before switching channels. “Lion Lead—Control, two for taxi and launch,” Tommy said as the chief saluted and moved clear, e-stick back in his mouth.

Tommy smiled through the faceplate, snapped up the Starbird’s gear, and guided the fighter out of its parking stall.

“Lion Flight of two, from Control—cleared taxi launch tubes three and four.”

Gary coaxed his fighter into a position behind Tommy as they hovered toward their assigned launch tubes. Heads turned to watch the two beautifully painted and maintained fighters glide by—Lions of the Mark.

“Lion Flight of two, cleared for immediate launch. Contact…”

The latest state-of-the-art weapon system developments have incorporated what is widely believed to be the most sophisticated reactive logic modules in the galaxy. An example would include the latest iteration of advanced synthetic intelligence, or ASI, which was developed and integrated into Star Force’s newest fighter, the SF-104A Starbird. Of course, intelligent onboard systems, designed to reduce and/or elevate crew performance, do not rate as cutting-edge technology. Control units, in one form or another, have been in service for hundreds of standard years. The ASI, however, is something new and quite extraordinary.

It was designed originally by Dr. Roatten, a renowned Tarchein cyberneticist, in an effort to meet an Imperial mandate of creating a robotic fighting force. Roatten discovered that the real strength of his synthetic brainchild was in a symbiotic relationship with some form of a naturally occurring intelligence. The Roat, as the ASI is commonly called, actually embodies the vehicle that it is integrated into. It feels, using a natural term, problems within its perceived body—or in the above example, Roat becomes a Starbird, fully capable of exchanging and evaluating information from other equally equipped systems. A Roat learns, even developing a unique personality of sorts.

Early examples of Roatten’s work include the autonomous operation of the UTF-506 Blister, which many believe to be superior to Tarcheinoid-manned weapon systems. However, Dr. Roatten found and documented cases where Blisters refused to press a dangerous situation if, in their analysis, the outcome had a high probability of failure. Furthermore, this variable proved to be inconstant during evaluations of several UTF-506’s when placed in identical circumstances. Leaving the good doctor to conclude that ASI-developed personalities invariably morph into personal awareness, which fosters a real sense of self-preservation. “In short,” said Dr. Roatten, “they become fearful…”

Once clear of the Vanguard and still well above Titan’s thick orange atmosphere, Tommy and Gary effortlessly rendezvoused with the slower Scats, giving Tommy a moment to admire the beauty of Saturn. “Been a while, beautiful,” he said to himself, while configuring his Starbird for atmospheric flight. The sight of the ringed planet brought to mind thoughts of the escape pod, Remus, and his mother and father.

“Coming up on the entry point, Mr. Thorn,” Roat announced.

Happy to refocus, Tommy inspected the entry track now being projected on his faceplate and keyed his mic. “Lion Lead to Strike, make all preparations for penetration.”

“Scat Lead copy,” said the senior Scat pilot, the same pilot who, a short time ago, had Tommy’s blaster pushed against his midsection.

Huh
, Tommy thought. He was impressed with the Vantek’s professionalism in getting the assault ships up and to the rendezvous on time. Flying in space was a dangerous business, and he admired all who could do that well.

“Forward shields now at maximum, Commander,” Roat reported.

That was the first time Roat had called him commander, reminding Tommy of the efficiency of the onboard computers and their interface with the Vanguard’s main systems, including, it would seem, admin.

“Cruiser—you set?” Tommy asked.

“Shields at max, penetration configuration complete—all set, Lead,” Gary responded.

“Lion Lead to Strike, commence your push,” Tommy commanded and eased his control stick ever so slightly forward, plunging the big fighter into Titan’s dense white-orange atmosphere.

The moon’s low gravity made the entry a fairly straightforward affair. In fact, if had it not been for the cloud cover, it might have been an altogether pleasant experience just to plunge straight in at high-speed. But as the formation approached 95,000 feet, Tommy, once again, keyed the mic. “Gary, stand by for level off and checks,” he announced and then adjusted his inertial dampers to eighty percent.

“Sir, I do wish that you would keep the—”

Tommy cut off Roat before he could finish. “Roat, we’ve had the discussion.”

“Yes, sir, but I really must…”

Tommy liked to feel the fighter, just a little, and he had found that eighty percent was the right amount of feedback without jeopardizing his ability to handle the forces associated with fighting starships. Of course, Roat did not agree.

“It is for these reasons that I again request, in the strongest—”

“Roat, spread the wing panels and engage the maneuvering stabs,” Tommy said, interrupting the computer.

“Yes, sir,” Roat responded. “Wing panels and stableators deployed.”

Tommy could actually detect a hint of exasperation.
Amazing
, he thought.

“Give me auto extend on the stabs, Roat,” Tommy added, keeping the fighter precisely aligned on the projected course, Roat calling out altitudes and stableator sweep angles.

Steven, still breathless from his dash to the fighter, had just squeezed his helmet down over the thick skullcap and audio gear, when Major Gill’s head popped up over the canopy rail.

“You all set, Sandman?” the major shouted over the blaring scramble alert horn.

Lieutenant Steven Sanders, or Sandman, was just nineteen. He had received his wings through Earth’s PDF commissioning program, and had been recently recruited to fly for the Sons of Freedom. This was, in fact, his first combat mission, and Lance Gill had grave concerns about the lad’s preparedness.

As usual, Steve flashed an eager smile. “You bet, sir. I’ve been ready.”

Gill smiled back.
The kid’s got spunk
, he thought.
Just wish we had more time
.

“Pilots to their ships—alert, pilots to their ships,” the hanger deck’s control commanded and then silenced the horn.

Gill glanced over toward his crew chief, who was growing impatient, and held up two fingers. “Okay, kid, now I want you to stick with me. These are Star Force pilots. They’re good.”

Steve nodded. He remembered some of the talented Star Force guys from his days at the Slate, but he remained focused on hitting switches, anxious to get his Shadowbat’s engine started.

The major waited, finally getting the boy’s full attention. “They’re good, Steve. If we get separated, just hightail it…”

“Sir?” Steve asked.

“You heard me—get low, get back into the canyon, shut down, just go cold,” Gill continued.

“I hear you, sir, but, I’m a gunslinger, Major—you know that,” Steve said with his normal cocky smile.

“Okay, Sandman, but remember—no matter what, they cannot be allowed to discover the location of this base,” Gill said, putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Got it, sir, you can count on me,” Steve replied.

Major Gill nodded. “Okay, let’s go get ’em,” he said and started down the ladder.

Steve had done most of his flying to date in an SF-101J Dart, or J-dart, the primary fighter for Earth’s PDF. It was an older design, mostly phased out of Star Force squadrons in favor of the more advanced T-dart, but in many ways still superior to the aging Shadowbat he now sat in.

“You’re clear for engine start, Lieutenant,” Steve’s chief said, his voice sounding scratchy over the Jayram-supplied comm.

Steve tapped the engine start sequencer for a second time, and for a second time got the same results.

“There is insufficient power reserve for initiation of the…” the Shadowbat’s computer droned on.

“Chief, the—” Steve started, but the chief was up at his side, directing a swarm of outdated looking mechbots, before he could finish.

“Hang on, kid, we’re changing out your power pack,” the chief said and scurried down the ladder.

Gill, already in a hover, looked on, secretly hoping they wouldn’t get his number four fighter started, for the sake of the kid’s mom, and maybe for the sake of his own conscience.
I’ll just tell him to abort, but how can you tell a fighter pilot, even a young one, to sit this one out? Better to die in the air than a little each day, knowing you didn’t do your part,
he thought.