Read Online Remember the Starfighter by Michael Kan - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Kan
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completed, the barrier was invincible, immune to even the most powerful weapons ever devised. An entire world would be lost, the fate of its inhabitants a mystery. Soon Haven and whatever people that remained on it would be barred from salvation. The enemy would claim them for all eternity.
***
The holographic screens splayed across the steel table at the center of the room, cluttering its surface in layers of light. Sitting behind them was a man who had resorted to taking stimulant packs in the last week to stay awake. He looked at Julian with blood-shot eyes.
“You’re the best thing to come to me this whole damn week,” he said, in a low grumble.
His name was Balans Righton, a SpaceCore colonel, who had been charged with managing fleet staff. He had taken off the white uniform and sat behind his desk with the sleeves of his gray undershirt pulled back at the elbow. A stubble of silver and black flecks grew in patches along his cheeks and chin, adding extra age on to his 58 years. He seemed grim, except for the smile now hanging on his dry lips. Julian sat across from him, wanting to explain his case.
“I was hoping I could see you,” Julian said. “I want to rejoin the Core.”
“Well, that’s good to hear. According to the database, we already drafted you. Looks here, you’re still at the ripe age of 30 years. It’s always good to hear enthusiasm.”
The colonel pulled up Julian’s record, the beams of yellow light forming above the desk into a holographic image. It projected a long list, displaying Julian’s background and his service in the military.
“You have a pretty strong record,” the colonel said. “After the academy, you were with the Core for over 7 years. A lot of hit-and-run raids or patrol duties. But you were there at Orion and at the end with Second Gaia. That’s very impressive. You do recall that, correct?”
“I remember enough.”
The commander grabbed his chin, not entirely convinced. The pilot sitting before him was a trained veteran, and certainly skillful. But he was also one who had barely survived his first stint with the Core.
“The profile says you suffered severe head trauma. A shot to the head. About four years ago,” the colonel said, more delicate in his tone. “We had you in rejuvenation for a while. Damage to about 40 percent of the brain. How do you feel now?”
Julian was brief.
“I’m fine,” he replied, stone-faced.
“Were there any after-effects? Anything that might have changed anything?”
Julian lied. “None,” he said.
“Those cybernetic implants not acting up?”
“You should have my medical eval from two months ago. It says I’m fine.”
“So you have your shit together then?”
Julian’s gaze hardened. “Yes.”
Somewhat satisfied, the commander began stroking the side of his facial hair. He could tell Julian was a quiet man, not wanting to delve into details. Righton could guess why, noting the previous dereliction of duty in the profile. That didn’t matter. The colonel needed pilots.
“I know things with the Core didn’t end well. Your psych and medical evaluation from three years ago said you were pretty traumatized. Shit. I bet we had you all prepared to be a commander eventually.”
“Yeah. Well, after the surgery, the doctors said I couldn’t cut it.”
“But now your back,” the commander said, reclining in his chair. “And your quite eager about it seems.”
Julian nodded, determined to return to the fight.
“Send me to Haven. The Core has got to be planning some sort of counterattack. I want to be there on the front lines. Just give me a ship.”
The colonel raised his eyebrows.
“I see. You’re very eager it seems,” the man said. “Even though you wouldn’t get far.”
The colonel took both his hands and began massaging his face. Julian could see the exhaustion, the man’s skin sunken into his face. The colonel closed his eyes, taking a long pause to form his response.
***
The holographic screens splayed across the steel table at the center of the room, cluttering its surface in layers of light. Sitting behind them was a man who had resorted to taking stimulant packs in the last week to stay awake. He looked at Julian with blood-shot eyes.
“You’re the best thing to come to me this whole damn week,” he said, in a low grumble.
His name was Balans Righton, a SpaceCore colonel, who had been charged with managing fleet staff. He had taken off the white uniform and sat behind his desk with the sleeves of his gray undershirt pulled back at the elbow. A stubble of silver and black flecks grew in patches along his cheeks and chin, adding extra age on to his 58 years. He seemed grim, except for the smile now hanging on his dry lips. Julian sat across from him, wanting to explain his case.
“I was hoping I could see you,” Julian said. “I want to rejoin the Core.”
“Well, that’s good to hear. According to the database, we already drafted you. Looks here, you’re still at the ripe age of 30 years. It’s always good to hear enthusiasm.”
The colonel pulled up Julian’s record, the beams of yellow light forming above the desk into a holographic image. It projected a long list, displaying Julian’s background and his service in the military.
“You have a pretty strong record,” the colonel said. “After the academy, you were with the Core for over 7 years. A lot of hit-and-run raids or patrol duties. But you were there at Orion and at the end with Second Gaia. That’s very impressive. You do recall that, correct?”
“I remember enough.”
The commander grabbed his chin, not entirely convinced. The pilot sitting before him was a trained veteran, and certainly skillful. But he was also one who had barely survived his first stint with the Core.
“The profile says you suffered severe head trauma. A shot to the head. About four years ago,” the colonel said, more delicate in his tone. “We had you in rejuvenation for a while. Damage to about 40 percent of the brain. How do you feel now?”
Julian was brief.
“I’m fine,” he replied, stone-faced.
“Were there any after-effects? Anything that might have changed anything?”
Julian lied. “None,” he said.
“Those cybernetic implants not acting up?”
“You should have my medical eval from two months ago. It says I’m fine.”
“So you have your shit together then?”
Julian’s gaze hardened. “Yes.”
Somewhat satisfied, the commander began stroking the side of his facial hair. He could tell Julian was a quiet man, not wanting to delve into details. Righton could guess why, noting the previous dereliction of duty in the profile. That didn’t matter. The colonel needed pilots.
“I know things with the Core didn’t end well. Your psych and medical evaluation from three years ago said you were pretty traumatized. Shit. I bet we had you all prepared to be a commander eventually.”
“Yeah. Well, after the surgery, the doctors said I couldn’t cut it.”
“But now your back,” the commander said, reclining in his chair. “And your quite eager about it seems.”
Julian nodded, determined to return to the fight.
“Send me to Haven. The Core has got to be planning some sort of counterattack. I want to be there on the front lines. Just give me a ship.”
The colonel raised his eyebrows.
“I see. You’re very eager it seems,” the man said. “Even though you wouldn’t get far.”
The colonel took both his hands and began massaging his face. Julian could see the exhaustion, the man’s skin sunken into his face. The colonel closed his eyes, taking a long pause to form his response.
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