2272
CHAPTER 1.
New Berlin Colony. Alpha Sigma III star system.
"Come on…" 18-year-old Tom Maxwell said with mounting frustration, as he tried his best to avoid computer-animated destruction. His agile and graceful fingers flew over the controller's buttons in a heated rush to beat Alice's attempt to turn his old-style Veritech fighter into another flaming pyre as it sent another impossible wave of ancient Zentraedi battle pods against him.
He juked his fighter to the left, going into a steep climb, then performed a classic Fokker-feint which brought his craft around, and unloaded on his nearest victims with his gun pod. A computer-sounding buzz saw was heard through the bedroom's mounted satellite speakers, tiny explosions filtered through and an encouraging musical score followed suite.
"Yes!" The teenager crowed. "Eat me you Zen bastards! I am God! I am awesome! I am– " and watched as his fighter took several dozen direct hits and vaporize in the blink of an eye.
Tom threw the controller down in disgust as the computer flashed the words 'GAME OVER' on the large screen.
"Shit!" he screamed in absolute rage. Glancing at the screen, he added, "Alice: Return to previous scene glyph."
The monitor flickered over to a scene of a gorgeous meadow and soft music filled the boy's bedroom.
"I swear. This isn't over." he promised the console. "I'll find a way to beat your sweet ass."
There came a soft feminine chuckle from the speakers.
"You can try, Tom. But I doubt that you'll succeed. Nice game though."
Tom groaned, picked up his pack and left his bedroom, only to run into his older bother, Ben. The 22-year-old was finishing with his shower, as he was presently toweling off his blonde hair.
"Hey bro. Alice give you a hard time once more?" He prodded knowingly, seeing how pissed he looked.
"Stuff it, you big oaf."
Ben's eyes widened. "Hit a nerve did I? What happen? She kick your ass again?"
Tom just snarled under his breath. "At least I made it to Level 9 this time, unlike you, who can only make it to Level 2." He boasted.
Ben's patient expression told Tom all he needed to know and more.
"I know, I know. You're not into this kind of competition like I am."
"Just because you're shooting for the Valkyrie Pilot Academy again, doesn't mean that I have to."
"No, you would rather be a certified maintenance wuss." The other brother jabbed. "Working on tanks and other mecha."
"Better than getting my ass blown up." Ben pointed out good-naturedly.
"Just because I almost did three years ago in pre-flight, doesn't mean I will again." Tom fired back in self-confidence.
"Sure…." the older sibling carried on. "Maybe you should ask dad to give you a few extra pointers and a chunk bucket when you go up this time around."
Tom slugged his brother in the shoulder– hard.
Ben winced, but didn't do anything in return. There was no need to retaliate since he was so riled up as it is.
And it was so much easier too. Their mother had put an end to their physical diatribes as it was, so Ben resorted to verbal bickering and some ego bruising, considering what happened the last time when his brother took the pilot's entrance exam and the initial flight.
Tom not only managed to crash and burn, but he did it with style. However, that didn't gain him any points with the head instructor and he was removed off of flight status and told to re-apply in three years time.
Ben saw how crushed his younger brother was after that, and tried his best to rally him back up. But eventually his efforts led him to believe that stronger measures were needed and he started on a crusade that would guarantee that his brother wouldn't pass up any given challenge. So he began to chide him now and then, berate his skills, get him focused on the task ahead. And maybe this time, he wouldn't be such a washout and maybe think for a change with his head instead of his maverick ego.
The older man rubbed his shoulder.
"Don't you think that you better hurry? Time's a'wastin'."
"Bite me." Tom scowled, before he sprinted hurriedly to the family garage and grabbed his custom made Cyclone motorcycle, after donning the Cyclone's armor components and walking it out into the sunshine and hopping on, putting on an replicated 'thinking cap' that used to be used by the bygone RDF's greatest and most legendary pilots of all time.
He started the machine and it purred like a dream come to life.
An ancient relic by today's standards, but Tom couldn't pass up the challenge of restoring the time-proven old gal, after he had liberated the Cyclone from an auction the last time they were on Earth, while visiting one of his father's sisters.
His father couldn't understand why his son would want an old mecha that no longer functioned and had zero Protoculture power cells left in it.
Tom insisted that he could get the bike running.
And he did. Though it took him a couple of years to figure out how to do just that.
"Off on a ride again?" The bike spoke to him in Alice's patented soft voice.
"Nuh-uh." The boy replied, doing a final systems check on the newly installed master display. "Going to go a'flyin today."
A tri-vid image resolved itself onto the handle bar of the Cyclone– it was a pretty young girl in a green blouse, paisley dress, with bobby socks and low-impact shoes. She looked at him with dazzling brown eyes, framed by long blonde hair, with the face of an angel.
"Too bad." she pouted, her clothes suddenly morphing into an old-fashioned biker chick's outfit, complete with the patented Harley Davison bomber's jacket. "I would've liked to have you take me out to Pearl Cliff again."
Tom looked at the holographic representation.
"Sorry." he apologized. "Maybe some other time."
Alice's attire changed back to her country girl outfit and there came a sigh of dejection from inside the boy's helmet comm.
"Boys and their toys. I'll never understand it. Not completely anyway."
"You will eventually." Tom reassured the holographic image.
Alice smiled. "Really?"
"Took you a year to get used to me, didn't it?"
"Only because you programmed me to evolve, Tom. I'm not just your standard EVA-AI construct, you know. My brain center has self-evolving neural pathways and memory matrices."
"I know." The boy said, revving up the Cyc's engine, hearing it roar with a deeply refreshing sense of femininity and power.
All under his fingertips.
"Take me higher, lover." Alice joked playfully. "I want to feel the open road beneath my feet."
"You mean wheels, don't you?"
The holographic image winked at him. "Does it matter?"
"No."
"Then let's go."
Tom juiced the machine one last time before he slipped it into gear, corning it tightly, straightening out, then accelerated like a bat out of hell onto the open road.
Chapter 2.
New Concordia Air Force Academy.
Rhode Island Valkyrie Test Flight Center.
3 hours later.
Tom Maxwell pulled up along side a manned checkpoint outside New Concordia, with old rock music blasting from his bike's speakers.
The guard attending the manned checkpoint looked up from his magazine, cringing at the bass of the music, then glanced over at the young man with a look of disapproval on his face.
The man's mouth moved.
Do you mind?
Tom nodded and turned down the volume, before the booth's comm system clicked on.
"State your name, rank, and reason for being here."
"Thomas Eugene Maxwell. Cadet 3rd Class. I'm here to resume my flight training here at New Concordia." Tom recited calmly.
The man opened the sliding window, hand out, while his other was still holding onto the mag.
"Card please."
Digging into his pack, Tom produced a laminated card with his picture and a thin reader chip beneath it, along with his home address, security number, planetary social security number, date of birth, height, weight, place of birth, marital status and card expiration date.
Not to mention his current flight status, which read, "SUSPENDED. 3 YEARS." A big blotch on what he considered a stellar 2 years at the academy before all this crap started happening.
Tom knew that the guard would see this, and hoped that despite what went down, he could still get reactivated.
The man ran his card through the computer terminal in front of him and waited for the Academy database to run a check.
A beep! was heard and the guard handed the card back to Tom through the open window.
"Administration has you flagged for a hearing, Cadet 3rd Class."
That bit of news took the young man by surprise.
"Hearing? Whatever for?"
"The destruction of ASDF property for one. Did you think that you would get away with just a suspension of flight privileges?"
Tom stared at him stupidly before he managed to find his voice.
"Uh, yeah. As a matter of fact, I did."
"Base and planetary government policy is very strict on these matters, Cadet. Nobody here likes a maverick top gun."
"But-!"
"Go." The guard waved him off, suddenly uninterested in his attempts at a plea defense. "You're holding up traffic."
Tom looked back and found that there wasn't a single ground vehicle for miles. He turned and was about to make an argument out of it, but found that the sliding window had closed and the guard was back to his magazine.
"Fuck…me!" He cursed vividly at his own stupidity. This wasn't going at all at what he had planned. Definitely was going to be a red letter day in his book no matter how he looked at it.
Flipping the visor down on the helmet, he kicked the machine into gear, laying down rubber in the process, accelerating away from the checkpoint at high speed.
* * *
The base was big. With a slew of self-contained buildings reaching no higher than a few stories in some cases, while others were dorm facilities no higher than one story in retrospect.
He navigated the open pathways of the academy with general ease, despite the fact that there were students and other staff members sprinkled along his own path. Though he wasn't stupid, and generally took care of watching out for his fellow man, this time, Tom was in a less-than-caring mood, and his rocketing Cyclone was more than enough reason for people to get the hell out of his way.
The cadet heard the shouts of indignation from many unlucky students and even saw one flip him the bird.
Brushing that insult aside, he concentrated on the task at hand.
"Maybe you should slow down." Alice suggested over the helmet's open comm channel. "This would be considered a serious infraction in the Academy's Code of Conduct."
Tom ignored the voice, while zipping around a corner, before seeing a walkway obstructing his progress and a few students using it to transverse back and forth between classes.
Judging the distance and the height, he nosed the machine up on one wheel, then thumbed the booster switch. The jets in the back roared to life and Tom was launched into the air, past the stunned pedestrians, landing perfectly on the cobblestone walkway; both tires chirping loudly.
The walkway continued for a little further before a set of stairs rose up to give the cadet a bit of a more grueling challenge, as he used the right side instead of the left and zipped past some more startled students– mentally grateful that this side was bare of any current foot traffic.
Then he pulled up along side a few parked ground vehicles and got off, shutting down the Cyclone in the process.
"Keep the engine warm, Alice." He spoke up into the empty air, as he started to uncouple his Cyclone armor and store it away in its custom-made box. There used to be old unit identification patches and numbers on some of the boxes he carried, but time had worn them away, despite the machine being in a museum for 150 years.
The young man created his own insignia and patches, giving the bike its own sense of identity.
"As always, Tom. But you might want to cool off first before going inside the Administration's office. No doubt Dr. Wheeler got wind of your morning joyride."
Tom sighed, looking up at the twin-spired building, which reached an amazing 1,343 feet in height. One of the tallest manmade structures on Alpha Sigma III.
"Big deal. So she's gonna be a bit pissed. Not like I'm going to lose sleep over worrying over it, now that I've done the dirty deed." The young man fired back nonchalantly, as he proceeded up the long gangway and up another flight of marbled stairs.
Alice chuckled. "The last time that I can easily recall she threatened to have you neutered the hard way if you tried this again."
Tom nodded, then laughed. "But you forget, that was 2 years ago."
"The woman has a good memory and a long reach." The AI intellect pointed out as the cadet opened the door to go inside; the rush of cool air playing over Tom's lanky profile.
He took off his helmet and tucked it under his arm.
When he looked up, he saw the tall and attractive profile of a woman of Old Asian stock storming right for him, exotic features aflame with anger.
"Speak of the devil." Alice commented from underneath his arm. "Pardon me if I switch off right now while you take the heat for this one."
"Thanks a lot, Alice. You're a big help." Tom muttered under his breath, just as Dr. Wheeler came within range of him.
Load, lock, and…fire! came the passing thought.
In the woman's case, this was very much the truth in the matter.
As Tom Maxwell would find out in the next second or two.
Chapter 3.
Anika Wheeler grabbed the young man by the arm and hauled him forward, deep set brown eyes simmering with rage.
"I swore the next time you pulled that stunt, you'd get your balls ripped off!" She started off forthright in anger. "Do you know what kind of trouble you're in?"
Tom didn't move a muscle. He simply stared back into her face.
"Um…lots?" He ventured off hand.
His cavalier attitude didn't seem to placate the doctor at all.
She drew him close so that he could feel her hot breath on his face as she whispered, "Buster, you have no idea." Then she released him, jerking a thumb backwards behind her. "Office. Now." She commanded outright.
Tom lingered for a moment, like he always did when he was in trouble with her. Everyone within earshot– including the secretary at her desk terminal– knew this as well, and didn't breathe a word.
Not when Dr. Wheeler was involved.
The young man shrugged. Made no difference to him.
He started to walk nonchalantly down the large hall, past the elevator terminals, past a couple of student office rooms, past a large briefing hall, where a meeting was in progress, and into the back, where an office door with the name "Doctor Anika Wheeler" stenciled in black letters presented itself in stark relief on lightly smoked glass.
Opening the door, he could sense the infuriated woman behind him, her glare riding his back like his brother's attitude did this morning.
So like always, he deliberately hesitated.
"Go in, smart guy." The woman's steel-hardened voice echoed from behind. And if that wasn't enough of an incentive, an abrupt shove by her hand propelled him forwards into the room.
Ungainly for a few seconds, Tom flailed about before regaining his balance, not to mention his dignity.
Brushing himself off at the knees, he straightened up, turned around, and– like the old saying went– faced the music.
Anika slammed the door behind her for effect, the exasperated look on her face telling him all he needed to know.
"You self-righteous bastard," she started off insultingly. "I don't know how many times I have to cover your cute ass because of what you keep pulling."
The young man relaxed a bit, but not too much. The woman was well known for being unpredictable, especially the last time.
Tom absently rubbed his jaw, a part of him recalling the last time they traded blows in the literal sense.
Well…more so Anika than himself. He was foolish enough not to be on his guard before she laid him out cold with a haymaker that would've made his father proud– seeing how he was a former boxer in his past life. Before he became a fighter pilot and then a training instructor for the academy.
She walked up to him abruptly and got right into his face.
Tom flinched a bit, but before he could say anything, she reached out and hauled him close.
And kissed him.
The young man was more surprised for a second at this unexpected maneuver, but he managed to return the sentiment with interest.
After a minute, Anika broke away.
"I swear, you piss me off sometimes." She murmured, breathing heavily. Staring into his eyes, she added, "What? Did you think I was going to hit you again?"
Tom nodded. "As a matter of fact, yes."
Anika chuckled.
"A lot has changed since you were last here."
Tom looked around, seeing a few things out of place since the two started an intense relationship when he first started flying at the academy.
"I can see that," he said, patting the desk thoughtfully. "Didn't this thing used to be sky blue?"
"Color scheme change." The doctor said, walking around and taking a seat behind the desk. "The board of members thought that a two-color theme was more appropriate than a five-colored one."
"Jesus…!" He responded sourly. "No wonder this place looks like my mom's special strawberry fudge cake." Taking in the darker, almost muted brown and red colors in the office (the walls being brown and the ceiling and floor being red), he couldn't help but cringe a little. "God, those idiots must've been out of their mind."
Anika smiled. "Those idiots as you call them, are also the same ones who had you suspended, remember?"
Tom rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah." Looking in her general direction, he asked, "So what's up the administrative hearing anyway?"
The woman leaned back in her plush chair, hands steepled.
"Just a formality." She told him. "Nothing to worry about, my pet."
Tom snorted. "That's hard to believe. The last time someone mentioned the word formality to me, I found myself in the stockade for a month!"
"As I recall, you picked a fight with another student, which ended in causing damage to school property and putting that same student in the med-bay for a few days, hitched onto life support."
The ex-pilot flexed his right arm. "Well, how do you think I feel? I didn't exactly come away without a scratch either, you know."
"Broken arm, lacerated spleen, mild concussion, and a sprained left leg." Anika rattled off from memory. "You're lucky that you only tangled with a Garudan. Anyone else from the Local World Group and you would've been dog meat."
"Salarus deserved it." The young man replied gruffly. "He insulted my abilities as a pilot."
"And you called his mother a walking shag carpet."
"And your point?"
"Garudans are very connected with their family as a community and each treats their parents with a great deal of dignity and respect. An insult to their lineage is an grave insult indeed, and usually it ends up in a fight to the death."
"That's not how it usually is," Tom reminded her. "Garudans are normally a docile race, connected with their world. Which is why Sal still wears a re-breather and a small hip respirator filled with the gases from his home world."
"But did you stop to think that they might also be a fierce warrior race as well? A lot has changed in the last 200 years since the onset of the last Robotech War."
Tom winced in memory of their intense fight in the mess hall that day.
"Yeah. I figured as much. Sal was a pretty good opponent."
"And he still respects you deeply as a former student and a fellow…pilot."
That announcement stunned the 18-year-old to the core.
"S-Sal is a pilot now?"
Anika nodded. "That's right. He graduated last year at the top of his class. He pilots your old plane, the YF-72 Raptor."
Tom grinned.
"Really…? So he's taken the old girl out of mothballs and started flying her?"
Anika shook her head in mock exasperation. "I wouldn't call the YF-72 'old', just more of a seasoned piece of hardened technology."
"30-year-old fighter technology compared to what's at the top-of-the-line? I seriously doubt that."
"The YF-72 Raptor– in case you didn't know– has upheld the peace and security Alpha Sigma III admirably with a highly impressive combat record to match."
"So what's he doing?"
"Training exercises."
This surprised the former pilot.
"That's it? I thought he'd be out on the defense parameter running things like security sweeps and such."
"Salarus is getting ready to pilot the newly built YFX-73. Codenamed, 'Peregrine'."
"The fighter that everyone is calling the 'Shadow Chaser'?"
Anika looked up at her former student, pilot, and still would be lover.
"How did you come across that bit of information? It's considered Code Black information by the people at the Prichard R&D facility in New Oslo."
Tom shrugged innocently. He didn't think it wasn't the most smartest of moves to reveal his resources just yet. Especially with Alice involved.
"Overheard it from my father talking to my mom once. Don't forget, he used to be a fighter pilot and a flight instructor here at the academy at one time."
For the most part, Anika appeared bought by the young man's story, knowing his old man's history.
"Yes…I suppose that he would still have some old connections to this place. A lot of people considered him a legend in the fighter community and one as well here at the academy." The woman said thoughtfully.
"Nice fighter though. But it would be no match against Isabelle."
"Isabelle?"
"The nickname I gave my old plane while I was still flying."
"Well, you still could again." The doctor hinted.
"Really?" Tom questioned. "So there has been a decision made in my case?"
Anika shrugged. "I can't tell you for certain. It's up to the board on whether you fly or not."
"Just because I crashed that old YF-65 doesn't mean that I am less than qualified to take to the air again."
"That's not the reason why you were suspended in the first place, Tom. You're recklessness was a prime factor in their decision, considering how many times you endangered people with your crazy stunts…"
"Can't help it," was his immediate defense. "It's in my blood– "
"…which explains your Cyclone ride this morning." Anika continued unabated, overriding the young man's comments. "Do you realize that one of the board members watched your performance this morning? Jeff was out walking with a fellow student when you blazed by."
Tom paused dramatically for a moment. Then he said, "No wonder you were pissed at me in the hall. He probably chewed you out soundly too over the comm link."
Anika nodded. "That and more. He said that if you were ever going to return to flight status, you were going to have to calm down and fly by the rules."
Tom groaned and he pouted somewhat. "Rules? Rules isn't what keeps a pilot and his craft in one piece from doing the Big Bang. It's called pilot instinct. I can't have rules restricting my movements when I'm about to get my ass shot out from underneath me."
"Then you'll have to adapt." Anika told him. "And if you ever want to sit in a Valkyrie again, you are going to have to do just that."
Tom mulled over what the doctor was telling him. He was being offered a last chance. If he failed this time around, he would never fly again.
"Fine. But don't expect me to like it."
Anika relaxed, relieved by his decision. "Good. Now that that is over, you'll accompany me to the 50th Floor where the hearing is being held."
"But I thought that– " Tom began, but the woman cut him off with a passive hand gesture.
"Jeff knows that you're one of the best damned pilots there is. Even better than Salarus. He's not about to let you go so easily. Which is why you got a three year suspension instead of a dishonorable discharge. He wanted me to see where you stood, before going before the board."
"Why?"
"Because my decision carries weight on the members of the board, that's why. And when they hear my report based on your decision, you may end up flying again."
Chapter 4.
The trip up to the 50th floor took less than a few minutes by elevator. But for Tom Maxwell, the ride seemed like an eternity.
Only because he didn't know what to expect.
But the moment he stepped through the double-wide doors, he soon had a clue: There was more to this than he realized.
Why?
The room was filled with high-level brass, some of whom were part of the reactivated REF and RDF back at Earth. Their uniforms had changed little from the onset of the Third Robotech War in some respects, but the colors were more muted, less colorful, given over to a less militaristic approach that the old United Earth Government had adopted before its eventual demise following the years after the Second Robotech War.
This style was more symbolic than it was in real life.
The young man let out a low whistle of surprise, before he stood smartly and came to attention, before marching his way to the table that was apparently reserved for him and the doctor.
The board consisted of three humans, two Spherisians, two Kabarrans, and one Garudan.
The human to his left– an admiral that he didn't immediately recognize– addressed the room.
"This hearing will now come to order."
The room fell silent. Tom took a brief second to look around him, to gauge the atmosphere of this place, before he set his helmet onto the desk.
Dead serious. A part of him reflected. This is more than just a simple hearing. So what the hell is going on?
Tom looked straight ahead and waited.
"In light of what took place during Cadet Thomas Eugene Maxwell's tenure here at New Concordia Air Force Academy in the years between 2269 to 2271, this board had no choice but to suspend the cadet's flight status for three years rather than have him dishonorably discharged, as it is usually standard practice upon the serious destruction of school property or loss of military hardware and/or equipment earmarked for use by the Alpha Sigma III Defense Force, by any staff or student." The man spoke in a crisp and clear tone.
"But due to his excellent record and marksmanship as a fighter pilot, this board was forced to reconsider the potential loss of such a bright and promising young man. Henceforth the said suspension." The bearded military officer looked out from underneath the brim of his red and black cap, peering through antique eyeglasses, and said, "Cadet, what do you have to say for yourself in this matter?"
Tom Maxwell stood up immediately, his pulse pounding.
"Sir, I accept full responsibility for what I did that day, three years ago, but I must point out that at the last second of my roll, the fighter's engines flamed out and I couldn't recover in time. Everything was dead. The controls which governed the plane's mechamorph capabilities wouldn't respond and neither would the pilot's emergency eject system."
"But the fact remains, if you hadn't pulled that stunt which led to your unfortunate accident and the loss of the YF-65 Osprey, you would still be flying today without this shameful blotch on your record." The man sought to point out quietly.
Tom hesitated. "Uh, yes sir. I know that full well, sir."
"Then what do you have to say for yourself?"
Another moment's worth of hesitation. He looked down at Anika, who nodded, silently urging him to continue.
"Sir, it is in my opinion that rules do exist for a reason. However, I must be blunt: A pilot such as myself cannot always rely on rules in order to survive in hazardous– and sometimes life-threatening– situations. We must be allowed to have a degree of flexibility in order to increase our chances of survival; either on the ground, or in space."
"A laudable defense, but it fails to explain your situation, cadet."
"Sir, my reckless flying may be looked upon as foolishness by many of my peers, but it has more than once saved my own life and the lives of my comrades in various training situations."
There was a murmur of agreement from the board and even the man conducting the hearing was forced to agree.
"Yes, well, that may be true, but it is something that we normally otherwise do not tolerate here at the academy."
Tom nodded. "I am fully aware of this fact, sir."
"You are?"
"Yes sir. Dr. Wheeler here stressed that to me in full before coming up here. She wanted to make it perfectly clear that rules existed for a reason."
"And what might that be, cadet?"
"The safety and the well being of all those who come here to be either support personnel or fighter pilots."
"So why is that you continue to think that you are above these rules?"
An excellent question, one that Tom found hard to examine on his own.
"Sir, that is, um…" He began, his normally perfect composure starting to break.
"Yes, cadet?" The man said neutrally, patiently waiting for his response.
"I have never thought of myself as above the rules, sir. I expected to be treated in accordance to the rules and regulations of New Concordia. But my behavior– though inexcusable at times– does have a specific purpose."
"Other than to gravely annoy your teachers and commanding officers?"
That wry comment served to bring some gentle laughter to the discussion at hand, one that put Tom slightly on the defensive.
"No, sir. Beg your pardon, but my behavior has helped me focus on the goals at hand, which even you can't so easily dismiss."
"And which goals would that be, cadet?"
The young man swallowed. "To become a good fighter pilot."
"You've already proved that in more ways than one, mister. What I'm trying to see is if you are ready to fulfill that role once more."
"Sir?" Tom queried, his heart really hammering now. If the admiral didn't come to the point of this hearing sooner or later, he'd have a freakin' heart attack!
His hands grew cold and clammy and he had to resist the urge to wipe them on the sides of his pants.
"Your inability to follow the rules or its regulations at times has made some of us wonder if you are really cut out to be a fighter pilot, even a natural such as yourself."
"I am sir."
"Ready what?"
Tom took a deep breath in order to calm himself down, and then released it; though the act of doing so made his head swim for a few seconds.
"Ready to follow the rules and regs set forth by the academy."
The admiral chuckled, shaking his head. "Cadet, I'm not asking you to do an about face here, and swear fealty to the Reborn Tactical Armored Space Corps or any other branch of the military. What I am saying is that people are people, and every sentient being that comes walking through these doors as a first year student are expected to give their best, no question about it. But I expect every officer from Cadet First Class to Academy Commandant to follow the rules and regs of this hallowed establishment. And if they can't follow them, well, we have a problem. However, we do not expect everyone to be mindless drones and follow these rules and regulations blindly– hence the reason for flexibility. But we do expect results. Am I making myself clear, cadet?"
Tom nodded. "Yes, sir. You are."
"Good." The admiral said, pleased that he had finally gotten through to him. But he was under a lot of pressure, something that even he wasn't expecting. But some outside sources had caught wind of what was about to go down and leaned on him a little to allow the young man to remain a fighter pilot in the academy. Some of that pressure came from the boy's father, a man that had great respect and admiration for, but most notably, the bulk of that pressure came from an unknown source from within the New United Earth Government.
"Now as I suspect that Dr. Wheeler will vouch for your continued obedience here at the academy…?" he paused to look at the woman.
She nodded.
"…all right, then. That settles it. Thomas Eugene Maxwell, you are hereby restored to full flight status at the Rhode Island Valkyrie Test Flight Center here on the academy grounds. I expect you to uphold the oath you swore as a Valkyrie fighter pilot to the core. I do not want to have to find myself here ever again. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, sir!" Tom said with great relief and excitement.
Finally!
"This hearing is closed." He said, reaching over to bang a small gavel; thus ending one young man's three-year nightmare.
And the beginning of another.
Chapter 5.
The Camelot. REF designation: Space cruiser 22797; SDF-2136.
Current position: 11,081 light years from Earth. Outer position marker 71.
Captain Melody Zhukov sipped her cup of freshly brewed coffee with care, watching the forward bridge displays with idle interest. There was nothing like a deep space mission to relax the nerves and calm the soul.
Unfortunately, she also chose that moment to burn her tongue again.
The woman reacted quickly, hissing in pain and discomfort.
"Damn!" She cursed loudly, holding her cup out with one hand, while the other was covering her mouth, the tip of her tongue scorched and the pain washing through her entire body.
Her first officer, Drake Killington, witnessed the whole thing, and stepped forward, asking her what was wrong.
The woman set her coffee down in its custom-made holder in the captain's arm rest, and waved him back.
"Nfing." Melody fired back in a muffled tone, not wanting to exasperate the situation any further. But she chose to look over her chair, her china-doll face filled with both embarrassment and pain.
"Just burned my tongue." She sheepishly added.
Drake grinned, despite himself. "That's what you get for not letting the coffee cool down."
Melody shook her head, still feeling the burn in her mouth; like someone had force fed her old-fashioned sandpaper.
"Yeah. You're right. I– " she began to comment, when the forward displays beeped in warning for her undivided attention.
"What's going on?" The woman snapped.
The remaining bridge crew fell into a preset routine and began accessing their individual consoles and screens, playing with the data and the sensor readings that were pouring in by the ship's computer.
"Unidentified ship on approach vector. Speed 7.8." EVA's monologue voice intoned. "Collision course is imminent."
"What the hell?" Melody bellowed in shock and surprise. Then she hit the comm stud that would connect her to Engineering.
"Mr. Parks! Full power to all engines!"
"Will do." The young woman's voice filtered back.
Melody looked at the display screen, seeing the change in the data, seeing the danger that wasn't there before.
"Mr. Collins!" she yelled at the ship's navigator, who was manning his station below her dais and to the right of her. "Bring the ship up and around seven degrees! That bastard's trying to ram us!"
The young man with dark brown hair nodded and interfaced with his console and with EVA's assistance, began to move the giant space cruiser out of harm's way.
But slowly.
Melody hit the comm stud again.
"Parks! Move your ass! We got incoming!"
"Shoveling as fast as I can, ma'am! But– "
"No 'buts'. Just do it!"
"Yes ma'am!"
The young woman groaned helplessly. She didn't know whether or not they would make it. The information being fed at an incredibly fast clip was becoming more and more of a substantial blur.
Seconds now. She saw, even as Collins reported that the starboard engine had just cut out, redlining from the stress and the heat put upon it.
"I thought those repairs were supposed to have been done days ago!" Melody screamed at him, just as the threat indicator registered the blip on the forward display to be…gone.
"Parks said that the repairs were only temporary!" Collins bleated. "She did tell you that she would need a few extra days to make them permanent!"
WHAM!
The whole ship shook like a cymbal. Overhead power leads sparked or exploded like Roman candles, consoles around the bridge flickered and in some cases, went out completely– having been disrupted internally.
The still full coffee cup went flying after the hit and spilled some of its hot contents all over the woman's lap, while the remainder sprayed across the floor like an oily patch of engine grease.
A great explosion registered on everyone's ears, before the deck plates reverberated like a giant tuning fork, setting everyone on edge.
"D-damage report!" The woman screamed with chattering teeth. "And someone clean up this shit off the floor and get me a fucking rag before I burn myself!"
Drake talked to EVA and a new damage report filtered up through the bridge's now flickering forward holographic displays. He reached under his console and grabbed a small towel and went over to the woman's seat and gave it to her.
Melody dabbed it on herself, but found that the coffee was burning through to her skin.
"AHH!!" she griped, then threw the rag aside and arched her back and began to take her pants off before she snatched the towel once more and cleaned up the still warm dribblings of perfectly wasted coffee off her previously tanned skin, now showing red blisters on the tops and the inner areas of her thighs.
The young woman looked up for a second and found Drake studying her.
"Perv!" She flat out accused. "Stop looking!" then covered herself.
Drake shrugged innocently. "Sorry, Captain. But that looks mighty nasty. Should I get Korina up here?"
"And listen to her bitch me out again like the last time?" The woman hissed, trying to fight back the pain on both her legs. Served her right. But it was her prerogative after all.
"Yeah…" she whispered. "Get her up here. And give me a damage report."
Drake nodded and went over to the communications tech hunched over his console, who was trying to sort out the mess of calls and pleas for help.
"Get Dr. Pierce on the horn and tell her that the captain's injured. Have her bring a burn kit."
The man nodded and set about on a new task.
Coming back, Drake said, "She's on her way, Mel."
Despite the newfound agony, the woman had the necessary strength to smack her handsome first officer across the stomach.
The man let out a muffled, "Whoof!" before reflexively grabbing his middle. He staggered around and finally leaned up against the command chair for support.
"What was that for?"
"Never call me that!" The woman shot back, still wincing from the pain. If that crazy bitch didn't get up here soon…
The bridge portal opened like a flower, admitting a tall, stunningly beautiful red-haired woman, carrying a med-kit in one hand, and a flashlight in the other.
Clicking it off, she came up the small stair access, looking at the first officer and then the captain, who was– for the most part– out of uniform.
"I thought I told you two to get a room whenever you felt the urge." she teased openly.
Drake's eyebrow went up all by itself with no effort on his part.
"Don't get started, Doc. The captain spilled her coffee this time around." Glancing at the young woman, who wore a look that could kill instantly, he added quickly, "This time on her lap."
The woman shook her head and went down on her knees to attend to the captain's wounded pride.
"Didn't I warn you never to drink hot coffee while on duty?" Korina admonished.
"Stuff it." Melody griped, then hissed as the woman placed her cool hands on her hot legs for a few seconds.
"Sorry," she apologized, then removed them. "You have first degree burns for sure. Maybe second."
"Fuck…" the woman bitterly complained, shaking her head. Looking over at Drake, she asked, "Well? What are you doing standing around like a statue? I wanted that damage report ten minutes ago! Where is it?"
Drake sighed and took a hold of her head and turned it so that she was facing the display screen.
"It's right there, Melody." He said neutrally, not wanting to aggravate the situation any further.
While Korina attended to her burns, the woman studied what had happened to her ship.
"In Haydon's name!" The woman gasped in astonishment.
Drake agreed with her wholeheartedly. "That's about the size of it." But wouldn't go any further than that. He didn't need to.
The Camelot had been crippled by the unprovoked attack.
Chapter 6.
Rhode Island Valkyrie Test Flight Center.
Building C. Security and Administration.
The trip over to the securities and administrations building took Tom Maxwell less than 15 minutes. But the young man didn't rush over there like he did in times past. This time, he took a leisurely stroll, looking around at the massive testing areas that were designed with either a large 'P' or 'Y' letter, signifying the level of testing and security presiding over each.
The holographic representation of Alice appeared on the left handlebar, the visage sporting a sexy Veritech outfit that was reminiscent of what legendary singer Lynn-Minmei had worn over two hundred and fifty years ago.
An updated version of course. Very slim, very form-fitting, with rank epaulets on the shoulders and neck and the RDF-kite insignia on the left shoulder. But the outside border bore the name crest, 'ALPHA SIGMA III DEFENSE FORCE'.
"All ready to go I see." The image casually said through his helmet comm.
Tom looked to his left and smiled at the sight of Alice all done up.
"Bingo." He replied. "Nice outfit by the way."
Alice got up off her holographic chair and turned around slowly, showing the cadet every inch of her.
"You think so? It's not too bland is it?"
"Blue and green is definitely your color."
The familiar roar of a fighter engine grabbed Tom's attention and he looked up.
"Isabelle?" He wondered, before he tied into the Cyclone's updated scanner systems and locked in the HUD.
Sure enough, the sleek profile of his old VT came into view, doing some magnificent aerobatic stunts before continuing on. The old plane was based on the third generation Veritech fighters from the 2050s, patterned closely to the Shadow Fighters– the VAF-7A.
Technological advances had changed the plane's original internal geometry, making more faster and much more powerful.
"Yep."
Alice craned her neck up and nodded. "I'm surprised that she still flies. You told me that she had been retired and put into mothballs."
"Dr. Wheeler said that the fighter had been reactivated and used for training."
Alice was heard sighing.
"I remember flying through the clouds on silver wings, touching heaven the only way you used to touch me." She wistfully recalled. "But that was a week before you got grounded."
Tom nodded.
"You will again."
"But my core matrix is back at your place…there's no way that I can interface with Isabelle again like this."
"Don't worry. I've come up with a way to fix that. This way, I won't have to do a complete rewire of the fighter's computer interface."
"What?"
"Not to worry, Alice. Ol' Tom has everything well in hand."
The holographic image smiled, greatly relieved.
* * *
Commander Darrel Jackson was working on some paperwork, when the door to his front office opened, admitting a very familiar face.
Looking up, his bearded face split into a wide smile.
"Tom!" The man said.
Closing the door behind him, the young cadet snapped to with a perfect salute, and said, "Cadet Tom Maxwell reporting for flight duty, sir."
Darren's smile faded and he grew serious for a moment, returning the salute with perfect clarity.
"Welcome back, cadet." then he reached over and shook the young man's hand. "Welcome back."
Tom smiled. "Thank you, sir. It's good to be back."
Darren took his seat and leaned back.
"So how was your vacation?"
"Boring." Tom admitted. "I passed the time by working on my Cyclone and getting it up and running."
Surprise etched the other man's face.
"That old museum piece? The one your father bought for you awhile back?"
"Yep."
"How'd it go?"
"It's sitting in the hanger right now, parked right next to a refueling tanker."
Darren got up. "I have to see this! This isn't a joke is it? How did you get it running without Protoculture?"
"That took some time." The young man admitted, as the commander passed him and left his office.
The cadet followed.
"Wow." Darren said, running his hands reverently over the powerful bike.
"Ohh baby," a voice distinctly spoke up through Tom's helmet comm, scaring the hell out of the cadet's former flight instructor. "Your touch is setting me on fire…" A silky purr followed suit.
Tom groaned loudly, shaking his head.
"Huh?" Darren muttered. "Who the hell said that? Sounds like a woman."
A holographic image spun forth, sitting on the Cyclone's seat. A young woman dressed up in a country girl outfit.
Darren just about fell over.
"Close enough. My name is Alice. Nice to meet you."
Tom introduced his former instructor to the EVA-AI.
"Darren. Meet Alice. Alice? Darren."
"Pleased to, um, meet you." The man said with some uncertainty.
"Same here." the image returned, curtseying.
"You did more than just spruce up an old bike, man. You gave it a personality."
Tom shrugged innocently. "Didn't feel right talking to myself, so with the help of my brother, I created Alice."
"Benjamin?" Darren queried. "I haven't seen your brother since the last time you two were on base together. How is he?"
"Bio-maintenance tech now. He's on vacation for another few days."
"Wow." The man clucked in pure amazement. "And your folks?"
"They're fine. Mom and dad are going to be heading back to Earth soon with a reunion of sorts for my brother, Chad, and any immediate family members."
There came a gentle coughing sound from the bike, which was filtered through Tom's speakers.
Both men looked down at Alice, who was standing by patiently.
"Well, I can see that you two are hitting it off well, so pardon me if I go to stand by mode for the time being." The image said in a tiny voice.
"Sure." Tom said.
"Nice meeting you, Alice." Darren countered respectfully.
Alice nodded. "Same here." The image of her vanished soon after that.
"So are you excited to be flying again?"
"Yeah. I can't wait to get back into the pilot's seat."
"You know, Salarus has become quite the pilot. You'd have some serious competition."
"I'm not interested in dusting off and pulling out old rivalries again, sir."
Darren backed off just a bit, sensing a bit of old animosity.
"Nothing wrong with that, cadet. Salarus is just good."
Tom's eyes narrowed, his mouth twisting into a bit of a scowl.
"I said I'm not interested." He grumbled.
Darren saw that he wasn't going to be able to change the young man's mind.
He bowed out for the time being. "Okay. No problem. I can see that you're not the same man who once thrived on a challenge three years ago."
Tom agreed with him on that.
"No. I'm not. Not anymore."
Chapter 7.
The Camelot.
For once in her young life, Melody Zhukov wished that she had some old-fashioned aspirin to get rid of the headache she was feeling. There was nothing worse than having to deal with both reality and the constant pounding in her head at the same time.
But of course, the cold sweat dotting her brow or the dull throb in both her legs didn't help matters much either.
"Status?" She grated out, standing on one leg gingerly and then the other. The medicine that Korina had given her hurt far worse than the burns themselves.
The doctor then offered to give her a sustained skin graft/regeneration treatment, but the young woman declined, stating that the procedure would take all day and have her stay off her feet for at least three; the kind of time that she didn't have.
Korina saw that she wouldn't be able to change her mind, so opted to give her something to help with the pain in the cruiser's med bay.
The reason why she was hurting now and finding it difficult to stand.
"We've got some maneuvering and limited space fold capabilities." Drake reported.
"How far?"
"We could make it to New Praxis or Tirol. But– "
"What about Earth space?" Melody questioned her first officer outright.
"No ma'am. Not a chance. It's either Tirol or New Praxis."
"Neither of them have sufficient space dock facilities, though Tirol does have a deep space transmitter station. We could get there and call for help and reinforcements." The woman mulled, then nodded to Drake. "Okay. Do it."
The man stepped down from the command dais and said to Collins, "Navigator: Set course for Tirol space. Space fold when ready."
Collins nodded and set about on his new task, punching in the spatial coordinates for Fantoma first and then its primary satellite, Tirol.
"Coordinates punched in. Space fold drive is on-line. But barely."
"We know." Melody said. "Just get us there."
"Yes ma'am." The young man said, then engaged the engines.
The space cruiser's physical self traded places with the space around and then vanished in a bang of cold white light, leaving nothing but a few stray energy particles behind.
* * *
Tom watched his fighter come in for a smooth landing, then reconfigure to Battloid Mode at the last second– touching down with absolute perfection and grace.
Something which ruffled the senior cadet's feathers.
"Show off." He grumbled under his breath, then watched some more as the Battloid assumed Guardian Mode, mechamorphing perfectly without a hitch.
The canopy slid back underneath the Veritech fighter's heat shield, one that prominently displayed the Old Jolly Roger from centuries ago– a time honored fighting insignia from flights past.
A familiar looking face showed itself after he had removed the interface jacks from the back of his thinking cap and then set aside the helmet itself in the cockpit's padded acceleration seat, before climbing down the side of the plane with the help of a ladder.
Once that was done, Tom turned his ride around.
"You're not going to say hello to him?" Alice's voice cut through his thoughts.
"No." The older man said with a shake of his. "Sal is a big boy now. He doesn't need me to keep him on a leash forever."
"So why did you bother coming out?"
"I felt like it, is that okay?" The man said, before jumping on the accelerator some more, adding some more speed to his machine.
There was a moment of silence.
"Geez. You sound a lot more bitter than I originally gave you credit for, you know that?"
"I have every right to be." Tom griped.
"There's a rumor floating around that you weren't that way in Doctor Wheeler's office."
Tom cut his speed for just a moment and looked down at the image of Alice, who was for the moment straddling the control panel, all decked out in a miniature version of his old flight suit. The one that he used to wear when he was still piloting the YF-72.
"So are you going to accuse me of changing face? So what if I'm happy that he's a pilot now? The guy is still a fucking jerk from where I see it."
Alice's eyebrows shot upwards and she shook her head angrily.
"When will you realize that butting heads is not the way to go? You two could become the base's best pilots in 30 years if you just put aside your damned rivalry for just a few minutes and begin the effort of working together, instead of acting like a pair of spoiled children!"
Her outburst took the young man by surprise.
"Gee, I didn't know you were that passionate about it, Alice…"
The image blushed a bit, but she didn't back away from her stance.
"I am what you have made me to eventually become, Tom. There is no changing that. I see in the two of you so much potential that the both of you are throwing away the greatest gifts every bestowed upon a sentient being."
"Stubbornness and pride?" The cadet joked before speeding up just a bit, seeing the open hanger bay.
Alice's mood darkened. "You're an ass. No, I meant the gifts that can't be so easily replaced once they are started."
"What then?"
"Friendship, Tom. Something that you two had a fierce bond up until that fall out three years ago, before the two of you culminated an asinine rivalry which clearly persists to this day."
Tom growled under his breath, not liking the clear ring of truth in the A.I.'s words. But he couldn't easily dismiss them either.
And just like that, the anger and the hatred towards his rival lessened greatly, as he remembered the times the two spent together as roomies and fellow pilots.
"Damn…" he whispered. "I feel like such an idiot."
Alice smiled. "You'll get over it. The important thing is that you two renew your friendship before it really is too late."
The cadet slowed down his Cyclone just as it entered the hanger bay area, then came to a nice and complete stop.
Tom hopped off his back only have a run in with his Garudan rival, who had just entered the opposite side of the open hanger bay.
"Tom!" The Garudan pilot said, his voice slightly synthesized through his respirator. "How are you doing?"
"I am fine." The older man said neutrally, his body tense just a bit.
Sal read his body language and chuckled.
"Still the same old, Tom. Trying to mask your true intentions with false bravado." The Garudan stood a full foot and a half taller than his human counterparts, a fact that didn't go completely unnoticed by some, including Tom.
"And your still the same pain in the ass you always once were," he retaliated warmly, hoping his rival wouldn't take it as an narrow minded insult.
Fortunately for him, Sal picked up on his change in behavior and smiled behind his respirator.
"Do I detect a change in Old Stone Face here?"
"Maybe." Tom hinted. "How about you Ye Old Walking Carpet Badger?"
Sal laughed. "As you humans would say, touché."
The ice broken between them, Tom thrust out his hand to his former rival and roomie.
"Friends?"
Sal took it and shook it firmly.
"Friends."
* * *
Tirol.
Sporting wounds from its previous encounter, the space cruiser Camelot emerged from hyperspace via space fold back in the shadow of the gas giant, Fantoma.
"Sensors detect no space traffic of any kind, Captain." Drake called from his upper command station in back of her.
"That can't be right." Melody complained openly, having EVA bring up the ship's forward displays of the area, so that she could study them herself.
"That's what they show, ma'am."
"Tirol has a population of both human and XT. Last census report three years ago gave it a 125 million+ in its citizens." The young woman recalled off the top of her head.
"Sensors don't pick up any life forms in the immediate vicinity to due to heavy concentrations of metallic ceramic bodies in the area, along with clouds of smaller particles, consisting of plasma, 7th Gen Protoculture, smaller objects in and around Tirol itself and some other as of yet, unidentifiable energy emissions…" the man paused in his analysis, looking at his readouts even more intently. "Possibly weapons' fire. But nothing I'm familiar with."
The hairs on the back of the woman's neck rose.
"EVA? Can you identify those unidentified energy emissions?"
There was a few seconds worth of silence.
"Negative."
"Expand search parameters to include both Human and XT weaponry."
"Search parameters are also negative, Melody. These emissions bear no resemblance to anything the Local Group Worlds or Earth has on record." The ship's AI reported.
"Can you extrapolate?"
"What would you like me to look for?"
"Anything from ancient records?"
"Specify."
Melody tapped the arm of her command chair.
"Um…try old Zentraedi battle records."
"Searching…"
This would take a few minutes, time that the young woman used to study the displays in front of her. There was nothing new here that the ship's sensors could tell her other than the density, mass, and quickly falling off power ratios of some of the objects– none of which she could tell were starships or other vessels belonging to any Local Group world member.
"Search complete." EVA announced suddenly.
"Anything?"
"There is some data on the energy emissions, but nothing concrete."
"Can you give me something to work with?"
"The Robotech Masters and their Zentraedi warriors encountered a previously unknown race eons ago. Though no name was given at the time, they did manage to record their energy emissions, after several Zentraedi battalions were wiped in a single surprise engagement."
"Do the emissions match?"
"Affirmative."
Collins voice broke with, "Coming up on Tirol, ma'am."
Melody broke off, still very uneasy with what she had just heard.
"Slow to standard approach speed, Navigator."
"Aye, aye."
The displays changed again, this time making the entire picture even more clearer for everyone present on the bridge.
"Holy…shit!" Someone breathed in shock. "Captain! Look!"
Melody nodded, seeing what the crewman on the command deck saw.
"I see it, mister." She said tightly, her voice bottled in both shock and disbelief.
The objects and bodies on the screen belonged to the once powerful Quadrano Attack Wing (named after a famous Zentraedi Power Armor unit), 56 ships that were stationed here not too long ago for training maneuvers and re-supply.
"Admiral Baker's ships…" someone whispered off to the side, after seeing the familiar REF insignia and call number on one piece of flotsam that snaked by lazily on the ship's heads up displays. "Gone…! Just like that…"
Melody's throat tightened and she felt positively miserable, as she was a witness to this horrific scene. The bodies of many Human/XT officers and crew could also be seen (but not identified) floating in the cold grip of space; a subtle reminder that nobody was as invulnerable as many thought they could be, despite huge advances in ship design and weapon systems.
The remnants of the fleet itself floated by in chunks both big and small, some pieces still sparking on their own self-contained power sources.
"Not enough time to launch fighters…" Drake could be heard, his voice aptly subdued.
"By the looks of things." Melody added. "EVA? How long ago was this?"
"Judging by the amount of destruction I'm seeing, no more than a few days at most."
"Survivors?"
"None."
"Can you give me a status update on Tirol?"
"Ninety percent of the population has been wiped out. There are survivors, but all have scattered as a result of the fighting."
Melody's facial features hardened.
"Combat alert. All stations." She announced suddenly. "Raise shields, put all weapons on standby and prepare all launch bays for immediate action."
Drake nodded and keyed in the ship's defensive systems and put the whole ship on alert.
Klaxons sounded, spurring every crew member to action.
The Camelot moved closer to Tirol, albeit cautiously.
Chapter 8.
Tom whistled when he saw the sleek and beautiful lines of the YFX-73. The plane itself rose up from its storage bay on a deck elevator, complete with its own payload of missiles and explosive torpedoes, and weapon pods then came to a relative stop.
"As you humans would say, 'pretty cool', huh?" Sal said, hovering a bit, before moving towards the powerfully built machine.
"Awesome is the word I was thinking," the other cadet said casually, still floored by the presence this thing had compared to his old fighter, the YF-72.
As fighters, they were comparable by profile, but the YFX-73 had more firepower, speed, and an updated space fold drive, which allowed it to go four times as far as Tom Maxwell's jet.
The techs attending the jet acknowledged the Garudan's presence with a small salute, which the being returned in kind.
"She'll be ready to fly in a few minutes, sir. Just as soon as we attach everything to their respective hard points."
"No prob." Salarus commented, donning his helmet once more and climbed up the access ladder.
Tom watched him settle down in the cockpit, and he had this sudden urge to join him.
He ran over to his Cyclone and slipped on his helmet.
"Alice?"
The hologram of a pretty young girl in bedecked in her country girl outfit presented itself to him.
"Yes?"
He took out a small module that he brought with him on this trip and jacked into the Cyc's access port on the display panel.
"Download yourself into this holographic interface module. We're going to fly."
The young woman's attire changed over to a Veritech pilot's suit– one that was identical to Tom's, minus the Cyclone armor.
"Really?" The AI questioned tentatively.
The young man nodded.
"We've got a few minutes, so let's hurry."
The image's expression grew distant for a moment.
"Download in progress. Backup files and AI memory core on call just in case." Alice informed him.
"Good girl." Tom appraised, then saw her image hesitate for a second, looking at him.
"Download complete, Tom. I'm ready if you are."
"Let's go touch the heavens once more, Alice. For old times sake."
Sal watched Tom jet off on his cycle, wondering where he was going.
Opening a link he asked, "Tom? Where you off to? Don't you want to see me fly?"
There was a moment of silence.
"Not to worry old friend. I thought I'd join you."
"My schedule itinerary says that I'll be the only one flying today."
"It's okay, Sal. I figured that you might like a bit of friendly competition. I personally wouldn't mind seeing how you're fighter stacks up against mine."
"Isabelle? I think she would be overmatched, Tom."
"We'll see. See you up there." Tom radioed back and Salarus was left to puzzle this one out on his own. There was nothing else that he could do except follow what he was told to do: Test the aircraft's capabilities.
Tom got to his fighter without any problems of his own and slipped the holographic module into an interface port.
"Go ahead and download yourself into the fighter's systems." He told Alice over the comm link.
"Primary systems reconfiguring for new AI interface access." The AI's soft voice was heard inside the cadet's helmet, even as he finished with interfacing with the fighter's control systems. This was a lot different than riding naked on the Cyclone, that much was certain. He didn't need an interface for that.
All this "cyber-jacking" as one of his classmates put it was a great deal more intimate than he would've ever given credit for.
Because everything from now on would be on a playing field far different than what he was used to.
"Download complete." Alice said inside his helmet. "How are you doing, Tom?"
The young man grunted.
"Doing good." He managed to admit, before he finished with the last connection to his helmet, then settled back into his molded acceleration seat. The cockpit for the VF-72 Osprey was designed down the lines to mimic past fighter pilot layouts used prolificiously down the years, but on a much larger scale.
The fighters were designed with the pilot in mind and not the other way around. In essence, what became known as Robotechnology in the past, took on a whole new configuration when cyber-interfacing came into play.
Most of the manual control interfaces where gone, though in Tom's case, they were still a vital part of his plane. The YFX-73 was of a new design and therefore, did away with all the extra hardware.
Thought control– though used in past fighter matrices– was now being brought up on a whole new level of existence and therefore, a whole new level of being.
The YF-72 and 73 were in retrospect, a new generation of fighter, designed for the pilot's use in flying and combat.
The Peregrine was of a more newer setup and therefore had a few extra surprises built right in than the old Osprey ever had.
But the Peregrine didn't have Alice.
Tom figured that into his calculations, as Alice announced that the Peregrine had just left the relative safety of the hanger and was presently taxiing down one of the runways, engines aflame with grace and power.
"Roger that." The cadet said. "Alice. Power up all systems. Prepare to take off."
"I read you, Tom. Let's take flight, linked together as lovers would be on a hill at sunset."
Tom chuckled. Somehow, he didn't see it as that. But Alice had a very poetic– if not idealistic– viewpoint of the outside world.
Real or imaginary.
The fighter's engines roared to life. Tom felt it through his bones. A nice, subtle vibration.
Laying his head back, he closed his eyes, falling perfectly into a state of near REM sleep. This was the most vital part of "cyber-jacking".
He opened them again– while in his meditative state– and found himself looking back at the hanger through a different set of eyes. He felt like his whole body was the plane, and every system within was a part of his internal symmetry.
Contact. He thought to himself, bringing up power to the main engines, feeling the heat and the excitement of being able to fly on his own once again.
But in his mind, he was a runner, preparing to take off on a hard sprint. In his mind, he felt the muscles in the back of his legs tense, preparing to spring into action on a hidden signal.
Now.
He took off, running as fast as he ever dreamed possible, blasting past the hanger in a rush of God-given speed.
Then he spread his arms out, feeling the wind beneath them, carry him aloft.
Tom flew upwards.