Star Force: Augmentation (SF22) Page 5

  “They had help from the Hycre,” the Protovic added.

  “The Hycre,” the Gnar all but spat.

  The lead Calavari waved a large finger at the shorter Gnar. “They may not have pilots, but do not underestimate their naval power. Their worlds have proven the hardest to hit, by the Cajdital…or others.”

  “Is that an attempt at an insult?” the Gnar demanded.

  “It is a fact,” the Calavari said, crossing both sets of arms over its chest, “that you took two small mining outposts from them, but when you tried to assault one of their gas giants you never made it into the atmosphere. Your starfighters were tore apart by their warships, I hear. Nearly total losses?”

  The stubby alien pointed a finger up at the Calavari. “Do not open up old wounds.”

  “Do not make new ones,” he countered, pointing towards the Human.

  The Gnar glanced at Boen, then back at the Calavari. “So, you have adopted the Hycre scraps,” it said, walking off as the final statistics of the now ended battle flashed up in the air, showing that all 12 Nestafar/Protovic pilots had been downed with 5 Calavari/Humans surviving, Mark among them.

  Another of the Calavari made an unpleasant noise and walked up behind the Gnar and kicked it to the ground before the other pulled it back by its left arms. “If you want to start a fight, do it in the simulator, you coward,” the Calavari said to the Gnar. “Are you a pilot or a politician?”

  “I will personally shoot you down, Morshav, that I promise you,” the Gnar said, pointing up at the Calavari.

  “What terms?”

  “Since you think these Humans aren’t a joke, use their craft against our own. No Valeries.”

  The Calavari hesitated, glancing at the other four-armed pilots around him.

  “What? You’re not confident outside your special starfighter? A skilled pilot will prevail no matter what craft they use.”

  “11 days,” he agreed. “6 or 12?”

  “12,” the Gnar said without hesitation. “We will prove how weak both you and the Human fighters are.”

  “Seeing as how you were insulting me,” Boen said from his chair, “I want to fly with the Calavari…or is that too much of a challenge for you?”

  “Acceptable, but just you…and you will be their 13th pilot. An extra bonus, so that when we defeat them there can be no excuses.”

  “Your funeral,” Boen said before the Calavari could respond.

  The Gnar looked up at the taller aliens. “Do we have terms?”

  Morshav hesitated, but the lead Calavari nodded its head. “We have.”

  With that the Gnar walked off as another simulated battle began to play out on the hologram, this one without any Humans in it.

  “Have you tried our skeets in the sim?” Boen asked, walking up next to the Calavari.

  “I have not.”

  “Name’s Boen,” the Archon offered.

  “Gonstan,” the Calavari said, placing one of its hands on Boen’s shoulder. “If we’re going to fly together, we need to practice in your ships. Have you fought the Gnar yet?”

  “No, but I’ve flown one of their fighters in the simulator, so I have an idea of what they’re capable of.”

  “Good. You will instruct us in their use?”

  “Happy to, as soon as you assemble your 12.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Done,” Boen said, looking up at the battle between the Bsidd and Fanset.

  Mark spun his simulated skeet around to the left, flipping front for back while gliding across the surface on its anti-grav engines, then fired off a single blue plasma orb at the lizard fighters behind him, nailing one square on and dropping it from the sky. He kicked his convention engines back in and accelerated towards the swarm, taking a couple hits on his shields along the way. He shot another two before passing into the clear, but his shields were hit with two small areas of damage popping up on his status display, floating in holo in front of his left shoulder approximately where it would have been in an actual skeet.

  The tiny fight diagram showed two yellow marks on the starboard hull just outside the cockpit, indicating armor damage but no penetration. Mark mentally made a note not to try that maneuver again when he had more than 6 lizard fighters on his tail and flew off to the left as he swerved through a series of S-weaves trying to break up the hoard of fighters chasing him. When he got a partial split he acted, turning hard and cutting back across a piece of their ‘cloud’ and firing at one of their little wisps on the edge before flashing past.

  The fighter icon on the sensor board didn’t disappear, meaning he hadn’t killed it but he was sure he’d at least winged the craft.

  Unfortunately he didn’t have the Star Force battlemap in the simulator, nor did he have the normal straddle seat, but the Calavari had made similar augmentations that got fairly close. The feel of it wasn’t right, but Mark was a pilot and could fly just about anything and he’d adjusted the modular controls enough to be able to get his full range of maneuvering options back, despite the lack of spherical joysticks.

  The trailblazer kept swinging his skeet about, not having any topography or other combatants to use to shake his pursuit. It was just him and what had been 26 computer-controlled lizard fighters. He’d trimmed that number down to 17 but he was running out of moves as the computer adjusted its attack pattern to compensate for his, according to noted lizard starfighter tactics. The Calavari and others had accumulated a wealth of data on the enemy, making these simulations some of Mark’s favorites…especially because they kept beating him every time.

  He managed to kill 3 more before his skeet lost power from a plasma impact and fell down to crash against the simulated ground. The holographic display in the pod cut out the scenery and replaced it with battle statistics which he quickly ran through before moving through the menu to restart the simulation. Before that could happen he heard a ‘tap, tap’ on the pod cover, prompting him to exit out of the program and pop the seal.

  “What’s up?” he asked when he saw a pair of Human feet come into view as the canopy raised.

  “Need you to play bad guy tomorrow,” Boen said.

  “I play that every day,” he mocked. “Just ask the Canderians.”

  “I need you to do it with a group of Calavari.”

  Mark spun around in his seat, unstraddling and sitting back down in a more convention fashion facing backwards.

  “What did you do?”

  “The Gnar and Calavari are going at it in 11 days, but the Calavari have to use our skeets. I’m flying with the Calavari and need you to help me get them up to speed by exploiting the skeet’s vulnerabilities every which way you can.”

  “Why are they using skeets?”

  “Because the Calavari stuck up for us during a little spat we had. It’s going to be a 12 on 12 with me flying as an extra 13th. The Gnar use their fighters, the Calavari use ours.”

  Mark whistled slowly. “I’m surprised the Calavari agreed to those terms. Even if they win the Gnar can claim they had an advantage…and if they lose that’d be a huge embarrassment.”

  “If we lose it’ll be because the Calavari aren’t used to our ships, hence, I…we, need your help.”

  “Oh, I’ll do more than that. We’ll run them through skeet boot camp in a week’s time, if for no other reason than to protect the rep of our ships. The Calavari are superior pilots, and I certainly don’t want them blaming our ships if they lose.”

  “I’m good for at least 2 kills,” Boen declared.

  “Have you flown one of the…wait a minute, defended us against what?”

  “Well, when you were kicking the crap out of the Nestafar and Protovic one of the Nestafar took out his frustration on me, then two of his buddies joined in.”

  “Who won?”

  Boen frowned. “I did. The Calavari arrived late and shooed them off, but the Gnar started mouthing off in their stead, hence the challenge.”

  Mark considered that for a moment. “The Gnar are in the
Nestafar camp anyway,” he said, referring to the unofficial divisions within the Alliance. Each of the 5 primary races had brought their own allies into the group as the Hycre had done with Star Force. Some intermixed well, such as the Calavari and Humans, but a lot stuck to their political sub-alliances, waging a proxy war within the Alliance for position and influence. “But I didn’t realize the Nestafar had it in for us.”

  “It may just be because we’re working with the Calavari,” Boen suggested. “Those two have never got along, from what I hear.”

  “Which is why they stayed away from here as long as they did, according to Vornac. The fact that they finally showed up was seen as progress, but they might end up just causing trouble. Any of the other races join in?”

  “No, but there were plenty around watching.”

  “Where was this?”

  “Pilot central.”

  “Wow, they are bold. They as weak as they look?”

  “The one got a decent punch in, but they’re easy to knock down. Low body mass and those wings make them easy to off balance.”

  “Were the Protovic there?”

  “Yes, and they stayed neutral, despite the fact that you were also whipping their butts at the time.”

  Mark tapped a finger against his front two teeth. “I know they really don’t like the Hycre, but they seem to have been giving us a chance to prove ourselves. Agree/disagree?”

  “They’re being cagy. Not sure what to make of their politics. The Calavari seem genuinely interested in raising the bar for all races’ fighter capabilities, but everyone else looks like they’re here for ego sake.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, but I’d say that’s why the Nestafar and a few latecomers joined in. Vornac said more are coming too, which gives the impression that this training endeavor is turning into a political showdown, pilot style.”

  “We playing?”

  “Of course, but we’re here to learn and adapt, to both the lizards and our allies’ pilots.”

  “Enemy of my enemy?”

  “That’s what they’re probably thinking, but we’re playing this straight up. The Nestafar and Gnar may have us pegged as rivals because of the Hycre, but we have an opportunity to make a name for ourselves here and maybe reverse those stereotypes…which I’m guessing you accomplished quite well to begin with.”

  “How so?”

  “We’re not floating gas bags hiding behind a sulfuric atmosphere and warship bulkheads.”

  “You’re saying they expect the Hycre’s apprentices to be as physically weak as they are?”

  Mark spread his arms wide. “You just made my point. We’re not apprentices, we’re allies. We get along with the Hycre and we’ve been getting along with the Calavari, despite the fact that those two have a somewhat frosty relationship. The sooner the rest of the races see us as Humans rather than mini-Hycre, the sooner we can start establishing an understanding with them on our terms.”

  “Understanding?”

  “Such as don’t pick a fight with a Human.”

  “You think that helped us with the Nestafar?”

  “Possibly, or maybe not. Everyone reacts differently. Some timid races would be appalled at you kicking ass, while others, probably including the Calavari, would see it as a sign of strength. Either way, we start setting our own reputation rather than relying on gossip and hearsay. From reputation comes relationships, and from relationships come experience. This training center is a very good idea on the Calavari’s part, because it gives all of us a forum to interact with one another. You know the Archons in your trainee group better than almost anyone else because of the common trials you went through.”

  “So we’re flying and fighting each other to root out everyone’s true colors?”

  “And to show them ours, yes. We do need a united front against the lizards, but that doesn’t come from paperwork.”

  “Seriously, does anyone even use paper nowadays?”

  Mark’s eyes narrowed. “They did when I was born, so we’re keeping the terminology, youngling.”

  “So, we need to uphold the honor of our skeets if we’re going to establish any credibility out there?”

  “We’ve already established some, otherwise the Calavari wouldn’t have agreed to the Gnar’s terms, but yeah, we need them, and you, to kick ass…so hop in and we’ll do a little testing, skeet to death glider.”

  “Death glider?”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell?”

  “No, it doesn’t. What’s that from?”

  “Stargate.”

  “Never heard of it,” Boen said deadpan before Mark punched him in the gut.

  “Shut up,” the trailblazer said, swinging around on his seat and lowering the pod as he searched through the database of fighter designs until he found the Gnar’s version, which did have the gentle arc of a Goa’uld death glider, save for the fact that it was painted bright white.

  6

  January 14, 2396

  Jartul System

  Daka

  “Looks like you moved up to the big leagues,” Mark commented to Boen as the pair walked into one of the Calavari’s simulation chambers. It was much larger than the ones spread around the base for the other races to use, containing hundreds of pods set in rings on multiple levels. Many of them were in use already, but the innermost ring on the ground floor had been reserved for the Calavari/Gnar showdown.

  The smaller, fat-looking aliens were already assembled around the large holoprojector that sat dead center of all the circles. It was currently displaying a Calavari training drill that they were running in the closed pods, but whenever a higher level contest began it would minimize that current engagement to a corner of the enormous hologram and display the ranking matchup. The Gnar weren’t watching the training exercise, but rather talking amongst themselves clad in their stiff pseudo-armored suits that hid most of their purple, wrinkly skin. Only the tops of their heads and hands were visible, otherwise they looked like they were walking, talking trash cans.

  “There is only supposed to be one of you,” a Gnar said, walking over to Boen and Mark as they slid between the outer pods towards the inner ring.

  “I’m just an observer today,” Mark assured it, having no clue if the Gnar had genders, let alone being able to tell the difference in their physiques.

  It snorted out an indecipherable comment, probably in its native language, and walked back over to the group as the Calavari pilots walked in, all 12 in a single file line weaving their way through the outer pods from the right and reaching the central holoprojector opposite the Gnar. Gonstan was leading them down, distinguishable by the long earring he wore from his right lobe, signifying his position as a squadron commander.

  “Here we go,” Boen whispered to Mark as he walked over to join the Calavari.

  “Are you ready?” Gonstan asked the Gnar in a challenging voice.

  “We are,” their stubby leader responded. “Need you time to consult with your Human?”

  “The Human is ready,” Boen answered pithily, walking over and standing next to Gonstan, with his head barely reaching up to the Calavari’s shoulder.

  “Regeneration?” the Gnar asked.

  Gonstan straightened. “4 rounds will be sufficient.”

  “As you wish,” the enemy leader said as he and the other 11 Gnar retreated to the open pods and began logging in.

  Gonstan slapped Boen on the back. “Time to prove your worth.”

  “Four?”

  “It will allow us some mistakes…and allow you to prey on their weakest pilots multiple times.”

  “48 kills, not 4 each?”

  “Yes,” Gonstan said, sitting down in a pod on the opposite side from the Gnar and next to Boen. “It will take a moment for the Gnar’s atmosphere to cycle,” the Calavari said as he closed his pod.

  Boen threw a glance back at Mark then sealed himself inside as he reconfigured the standard controls and seat, creating the pommel forward stance with a pad on his chest to lean
on. Two control bars substituted for the skeet’s joysticks, but they didn’t have the extra buttons. Those functions were accomplished by an auxiliary control board a few inches away from the hand bars, making for a quick reach when needed.

  He logged into the system with his ID, then joined one of five ongoing scenarios in this simulator complex, that being the one the Gnar had set up with the agreed upon parameters. Whenever a fighter was killed it would regenerate on the edge of the map and be brought back into the mix until 4 rounds worth of kills were tallied. That meant the Gnar had to rack up 52 kills to win, while Boen and the Calavari had to hit 48.

  The trick was, you could regenerate as many times as you liked in this scenario. You weren’t limited to 4 per pilot, but 4 on average, so if Boen could hammer the Gnar’s weaker pilots multiple times it would eat up the number of respawns their better pilots would have.

  That was the plan they’d concocted, given that Boen was by far the best pilot among them in the skeets, though all the Calavari were making considerable daily progress. He wished they’d had more time to prepare, but they were going to have to make do with what they had, which meant the Calavari pairing up evenly against the Gnar while leaving Boen free as a wildcard.

  He doubted it would end up that way, but a good pilot was one who could adapt during combat, and above that he was an Archon. If he couldn’t adjust then the Calavari had no hope at all.

  As Gonstan had said, it took the Gnar extra time before they all logged in and the final countdown timer began to tick off their version of seconds, which were slightly longer than normal. When it finally elapsed, Boen’s hologram flashed into the battlefield with him and the other pilots randomly appearing along the perimeter of a huge circular plain with walls at their backs to define the border.

  “Booyah,” the Archon said, accelerating hard ahead and angling to the left as he headed for one of the Gnar death gliders that had lower swept wings that angled up to a pyramid-like point on the top of the fuselage. Underneath was a smooth arc that gave the fighter an artistic aesthetic along with a tri-point plasma attack, two from the wingtips and one from the peak.