I felt a shudder go through my Starfighter as the inertial dampening synchronized with that on the Merathorn while the retrieval-system was pulling me in. That part was, apart from actual combat, the most dangerous part of flying a Starfighter, matching speed with a Starship moving hundreds of meters each second and having to position your craft with minimal tolerance. Normally, it was done using a computer but, to top of the day of fun surprises in the name of testing the new cadets, I had been informed that my computer was malfunctioning and I had to match manually.
Tired, sweaty and more than a little annoyed by the constant tests, the last thing I wanted and needed was to thread the needle, potentially ramming my Starfighter into the Merathorn, potentially causing dozens of deaths, millions in damages and, not to forget, almost certainly kill myself. But with the order given, there was no way I was backing down, so I had grit my teeth and rammed that fucker home. Well, not really, I had set the thrusters to their absolute minimum after matching velocities and crept up on the anchor-points, moving at a careful, almost glacial, pace until I had been in position. It was nerve-wracking but I had passed that test, hopefully the last for the pay.
Finally, I had time to let myself wind down a little, looking at the clock and wondering if something had happened to cause it to malfunction. Maybe I had managed to fly too fast, suffering from temporal distortion due to relativity but in reality, I knew that that was nonsense. It really only had been three hours of wargames, I felt drained as if I had spent a twelve-hour period in the Fighter after running a marathon. But those three hours had been filled with action, after that first scenario in which we had flown the attack on the other squadron and its cruiser, there had been a few more, some matching us with other groups against bigger targets, some using only a half-squadron. I had been administratively killed twice, my fighter damaged a few more times but, at the same time, I had managed to get three administrative kills on my own and damaged more fighters than I fully remembered.
Part of my performance had been thanks to my wingman but I felt that I had acquitted myself well, a lot better than in the simulator the evening before.
The Starfighter came to a rest in its cradle, ready to be serviced by the bay-team and I began the process of delinking myself. As always, it was a little disorienting, to go from having a direct link into a highly advanced Starfighter with its specialised sensors to merely being human, with only the senses I had been born with. It had taken quite a bit of time getting accustomed to the input from the fighter’s computer but now, after almost four years of regular exposure, it was just something that happened when I linked with a fighter. With enough exposure, even the amazing turned mundane. I just hoped that I would never lose my love for flying, for gliding through the void. I felt as if a part of me would die, if I lost the feeling of freedom I felt out there.
At times, I wondered if losing a sense, for example going blind, would be a similar experience to delinking, a feeling of loss and disorientation before becoming accustomed to it. Or how a psion, with their special senses saw the world, did they even need to see? It was a curious, albeit creepy, question.
The sealed cockpit of my fighter opened and I delinked the tubes supplying me with air during my flight before pushing myself out of my seat. As my hand went to my helmet to crack the seal, I stopped mid-movement, my hand hanging in front of me as if I was questioning whether to be or not to be, and I realised that maybe, the tests weren’t over. It would be a fitting end to the day, to come back to the cruiser and get a lung full of some irritant as a lesson to never assume that a starship had breathable atmosphere after a fight.
Looking around, I ascertained that the technicians had no special masks on, even going so far to check the warning lights before finishing my movement and opening my helmet. It made the noises around me clearer and I got a lung full of air, without the strange artificial tang freshly filtered air had. The absence of the myriad smells released by the many humans around me created a strange void but now, the familiar smells of humanity assaulted me.
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“Cadet Horn!” Commodore Ryker barked at me, having approached me without my notice. Or maybe, I just hadn’t paid attention. I spun around, standing at attention despite the fact that I had the desire to smack him for the variety of tests and annoyances that had been thrown at me all morning.
His stony and serious gaze made that desire shrivel up and hide in the back of my mind, as if fearful that the powerful presence in front of me was going to sense it and pounce. I kept my face impassive but internally, I wondered where I had messed up.
“Follow me.” he ordered after letting me stand for a moment, instantly turning around and marching off, without even waiting for me to acknowledge. At the edge of my perception, I heard the voice of Commodore Ming give a similar order to Cadet Trezt and part of my gut unclenched by a fraction. Unless they were about to push Trezt out of the airlock, I was reasonably certain I would survive. But I didn’t just wanted to get by, I wanted to excel.
The Commodore led me into his office, where both Commander Siloh and Lieutenant Wirum were waiting for us. He waited for me to enter before closing the door and I noticed the small amber light that signaled a sound-proof seal.
“Have a seat. We will discuss your performance during the wargame, going over what went wrong and what went right.” Commodore Ryker ordered, looking a lot less scary now that he had relaxed quite a bit.
I hesitated for a moment but he had looked directly at me when ordering me to sit, so I took a seat between the two other officers and he booted up a screen, surprising me with a visual recording from the mess this morning. I had expected that it started after launch, but it seemed I was wrong.
He must have noticed something on my face and spoke, “Yes, the whole maneuver started when artificial gravity cut out.” he stopped for a second, before continuing, “Part of the reason for the so-called summer-cruise is to make sure that the officers who go out there can hack it. If not, you will still be commissioned, unless you make a truly egregious mistake but you will end up on some orbital, doing shore-duty. It would be a shame for a pilot of your skill to be side-lined, so please, don’t fail.” he explained, surprising me. I had guessed that something similar was happening, but having a superior officer come out and confirm it was quite unexpected.
“Yes Sir, I will do my best.” I said, not knowing what else to say.
He just nodded and began the recording, with food floating through the mess, causing a mess.
It was brutal. For almost two hours, he went over the recording of the wargame, pointing out every mistake I had made, every test I had missed, with both Commander Siloh and Lieutenant Wirum adding to the proceedings. But I also was complimented on quite a few things I had noticed, things I had done right. Still, they went over my performance with a fine-toothed comb, spotting every error and moments where I had failed to notice potential problems.
“You have done well out there, but don’t let it go to your head. You are expected to perform at your very best during the next two months and at the end, a report will be written.” Commodore Ryker finished, starting to stand. We all rose and gave a short salute before being dismissed.
On the way out, Commander Siloh softly whispered something to me, “What you take from the summer-cruise, what you learn, it depends on you. The officers are ordered to teach you but only if you approach them. It is all up to you.” she said, before quickening her steps and leaving me behind.
Afte considering her statement for a second or two, I thought I knew what she meant, that she and the other officers would give me lessons, like the one they had given me the day before, or maybe even other, more arcane lessons, if only I knew to ask. While a tiny part of my brain went to intimate lessons, I was far more interested in furthering my abilities, either in a Starfighter or around it.
With that in mind, I pushed the exhaustion I felt from my mind and made my way back to the Starfighter-bay where I had left my Starfighter. Maybe the bay-crew would help me make sure that there were no surprises left inside and make sure that it would perform as well as it had today when I needed it next. Just without the changed settings making my life more interesting.