Read Online Tommy Thorn Marked by D. E. Kinney - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: D. E. Kinney
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somewhat tolerable routine: classes, formations, physical training, eating, studying, and of course, sports. There was always the required participation in a competitive activity, the more violent, the better. For Tommy and Gary, this meant stratagem!
Partially due to his natural athleticism, but primarily as a result of Tommy’s extraordinary skills at operating in zero G, he had made the stratagem team’s starting lineup as an offensive flyer. Gary, too, had made the squad, though as a backup goalie, his size and courage making up for any apparent failings he suffered in the weightless arena.
Unfortunately, however, the second year at the Academy for Tommy and his closest friend was not without incident.
Just prior to the Trilight break, Hondo’s strat team was scheduled to play Vixtin, with first place on the line. Over 20,000 fans had crowded into the almost vertical seating to witness the spectacle, and as it was just before the biggest holiday in the Empire, spirits were high.
“Nice crowd,” Gray said, looking up at the stands.
Tommy nodded, though he was preoccupied, his eyes searching the entrance tunnel for Remus, who he soon found seated in the Commandant’s booth halfway up the far side of the arena.
“Are we flying to Tarchein with the chairman tonight?” Gary asked while pulling on the bulky goalie breastplate and shoulder padding. He had noticed Tommy searching the stands for his foster father.
Sometimes Remus would pick up the Four, as Tommy, Gary, Sloan, and Bo were now known, in his private space yacht. And as all four were spending the break with Remus on Tarchein, Gary had assumed, and hoped, that this would be one of those times.
Tommy adjusted the jet nozzles on his red strat suit and smiled at his friend. “Yes, if you don’t mind missing the thrill of puking in space.”
“You’re a funny guy, Thorn…”
Tommy knew that Gary loved leaving the Zoo from the VIP launch pad. Flying with his friends and Remus in the yacht without erratic weightless maneuvers was a pure delight for the Martian cadet.
“And here are your—Vixtin flyers!” the event announcer declared as the crowd erupted into boisterous cheers.
Gary, Tommy, and the other members of the Hondo team watched the purple-clad Vixtin contingent jump from the gravity of the warm-up area and soar high into the arena.
Gary leaned in close to Tommy so as to be heard over the noise. “Never get used to the look of a Tarchein head stuffed into a helmet.”
Both laughed out loud, although Tommy felt a little guilty at his reaction.
Each stratagem team had twenty players, although only nine were in the air at any given time. These nine were broken down into four defensive and four offensive flyers, plus a goalie. All strat players, even goalies, wore snug-fitting strat suits, each equipped with a small propulsion system, including a pair of small jet nozzles integrated into a low-profile backpack. These jets could be activated by squeezing a small control lever that each flyer attached to either the left or right hand.
The light-weight, high-powered propulsion system took care of thrust, but maneuvering was achieved by precise body control—point the nozzles, attached facing rearward, in the direction you want to go, or use them to curtail motion. It took a lot of practice, plus a natural-born gift, to be a good strat flyer.
Each flyer was also equipped with a long, curved, brightly colored crespa, which was used to catch, launch, or even carry a small glowing sphere, called the dagget. Yes, flyers could, and often would, dash across the arena, keeping the illuminated ball securely cradled in their crespa, but of course there were restrictions.
Imbedded within the dagget was a sensor that ejected it from the flyer’s clutches if it was held for more than ten consecutive seconds, the indication of which was a flashing pulse of light. When caught, the dagget would begin to pulse. Ten pulses, the last three being bright red,
Partially due to his natural athleticism, but primarily as a result of Tommy’s extraordinary skills at operating in zero G, he had made the stratagem team’s starting lineup as an offensive flyer. Gary, too, had made the squad, though as a backup goalie, his size and courage making up for any apparent failings he suffered in the weightless arena.
Unfortunately, however, the second year at the Academy for Tommy and his closest friend was not without incident.
Just prior to the Trilight break, Hondo’s strat team was scheduled to play Vixtin, with first place on the line. Over 20,000 fans had crowded into the almost vertical seating to witness the spectacle, and as it was just before the biggest holiday in the Empire, spirits were high.
“Nice crowd,” Gray said, looking up at the stands.
Tommy nodded, though he was preoccupied, his eyes searching the entrance tunnel for Remus, who he soon found seated in the Commandant’s booth halfway up the far side of the arena.
“Are we flying to Tarchein with the chairman tonight?” Gary asked while pulling on the bulky goalie breastplate and shoulder padding. He had noticed Tommy searching the stands for his foster father.
Sometimes Remus would pick up the Four, as Tommy, Gary, Sloan, and Bo were now known, in his private space yacht. And as all four were spending the break with Remus on Tarchein, Gary had assumed, and hoped, that this would be one of those times.
Tommy adjusted the jet nozzles on his red strat suit and smiled at his friend. “Yes, if you don’t mind missing the thrill of puking in space.”
“You’re a funny guy, Thorn…”
Tommy knew that Gary loved leaving the Zoo from the VIP launch pad. Flying with his friends and Remus in the yacht without erratic weightless maneuvers was a pure delight for the Martian cadet.
“And here are your—Vixtin flyers!” the event announcer declared as the crowd erupted into boisterous cheers.
Gary, Tommy, and the other members of the Hondo team watched the purple-clad Vixtin contingent jump from the gravity of the warm-up area and soar high into the arena.
Gary leaned in close to Tommy so as to be heard over the noise. “Never get used to the look of a Tarchein head stuffed into a helmet.”
Both laughed out loud, although Tommy felt a little guilty at his reaction.
Each stratagem team had twenty players, although only nine were in the air at any given time. These nine were broken down into four defensive and four offensive flyers, plus a goalie. All strat players, even goalies, wore snug-fitting strat suits, each equipped with a small propulsion system, including a pair of small jet nozzles integrated into a low-profile backpack. These jets could be activated by squeezing a small control lever that each flyer attached to either the left or right hand.
The light-weight, high-powered propulsion system took care of thrust, but maneuvering was achieved by precise body control—point the nozzles, attached facing rearward, in the direction you want to go, or use them to curtail motion. It took a lot of practice, plus a natural-born gift, to be a good strat flyer.
Each flyer was also equipped with a long, curved, brightly colored crespa, which was used to catch, launch, or even carry a small glowing sphere, called the dagget. Yes, flyers could, and often would, dash across the arena, keeping the illuminated ball securely cradled in their crespa, but of course there were restrictions.
Imbedded within the dagget was a sensor that ejected it from the flyer’s clutches if it was held for more than ten consecutive seconds, the indication of which was a flashing pulse of light. When caught, the dagget would begin to pulse. Ten pulses, the last three being bright red,
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