jeriendhal | Recruit, Part 3

More random Terinu scenes while I procrastinate on working on Andrea's Story.

Twenty-Five

Gisko stood up from the monitoring console and folded his arms across his chest, waiting as the simulator pods opened and the trainees sheepishly stepped out. “ALERT!” he called out, and was rewarded with them quickly coming to attention in an orderly line in front of him. He walked around the console and strode up to the Galapados at the center of the formation. “Flight-Leader, explain yourself.”

The senior trainee stared straight ahead and answered, “Our attack wing was destroyed, Commander.”

“That I am aware of that, Flight-Leader. I want to why your ships were destroyed, by an inferior force no less.”

The senior trainee’s crest flattened in shame and submission. “My ship was cut away from the pack, Commander, and then disabled. Command and Control was lost, and the rest of my wing quickly fell.”

Gisko nodded. “Correct, but incomplete, Flight-Leader. Why was it that your ship was cut away, when it was your responsibility to lead your subordinates?”

“I was tracking an enemy ship…” the senior trainee began.

“By what method?” Gisko interrupted.

“Er, visually, Commander Gisko,” the senior trainee admitted, then quickly added, “It was less than two-hundred and fifty meters in front of me.”

“And then?”

“The enemy ship turned and flew below my field of vision, and when I attempted to match its maneuver I could not regain sight of it.” The senior trainee’s crest flattened further, until it was molded to the top of his head. “At that point I became… disoriented.”

Gisko allowed a moment of silence for the recruits to reflect on this error before he spoke again. “And at that point the enemy ship, which you had lost sight of, succeeded in destroying your fighter and leaving your wing without leadership,” he concluded.

“That is correct, Commander,” the senior trainee agreed.

Gisko turned to address the rest of the trainees. “This is why you should never rely on visual tracking of your enemy, especially in space combat. There is too much opportunity to become disoriented and lose track of either the enemy you are attempting to destroy, or your fellow Warriors. Remember, there is a high probability you will be going up against Vulpine pilots when you first enter combat in a fighter. They are your superior when it comes to ship-to-ship combat. They do not have to rely on an artificial horizon when maneuvering, because they have the ability to track their orientation in a three dimensional space instinctually. You do not have that ability, and will have to make up for it by trusting the superior technology that our Wise Masters have provided for us. Do not forget this.”

The trainees bowed their heads in acknowledgement of this wisdom, and he went on. “Your failure requires additional training time. Your wing’s sleep period will be completed two hours earlier than usual tomorrow, to allow you additional simulator use. I expect you to be able to complete this exercise successfully by the time you are done, and without the loss of any of your pack mates. Do you understand your orders?”

“Yes, Commander!” they shouted in unison.

“Remember, the loss of any Galapados Warrior in combat is a shame upon his trainers, and a waste of our Wise Masters’ resources. Do not shame me, or our Lord Gene Mage!”

“No, Commander!”

He let himself visibly relax, and permitted a smile to cross his lips. “Now, report to the mess hall to eat, and discuss your future tactics. Dismissed!”

“For the Dominion! For the Masters!” they shouted together, and then the recruits filed out as one. Gisko gave a satisfied nod, then turned back to the console to finish resetting the system before the group of trainees entered. He looked up when the door opposite the one the trainees had left through swished open, then immediately dropped to one knee when the Lord Gene Mage entered the chamber.

“Rise, Commander Gisko,” his lord said. “Did the training session go well?”

“It did not,” Gisko admitted readily, returning to his feet, “but I do not believe the recruits are unsalvageable, my lord. Their cohort is strong, they only require some additional training to be worthy of your service.”

“Thank you for your honesty, Commander. A lesser trainer would either claim the training session went well, or blame the trainees’ deficiencies with more venom to cover his own perceived weaknesses.”

“To lie to you would be a shame upon my honor, and your trust in me, Lord Gene Mage. I would not do such a thing,” he said.

“No, you would not,” his lord said, looking pleased. “Walk with me, Oryon Gisko, for a time.”

Gisko followed his lord obediently, out into the moonlit sky of the Galapados home world. The training center, a series of low slung circular towers, was set just a hundred meters from the beach, and he could hear the crash of waves upon the rocky shores, and the cry of sea strikers calling out from the ocean. The Gene Mage led him to a secluded overlook, where a wide artificial rock with hidden internal heaters offered a pleasant place for recruits to relax and watch the waves come in.

“Sit with me, Oryon Gisko,” his lord said, settling himself down comfortably upon the rock. When Gisko followed suit, his lord asked, “Do you consider yourself ready to make war against the Alliance, Galapados Warrior?”

He considered the question for a moment, then finally answered, “I cannot truly know until I face them in combat, Lord Gene Mage, but when I fight, it will be to the best of my ability.”

“Your abilities are formidable, Oryon,” the Gene Mage said, brushing his hand across his servitor’s crest, “even in comparison to your fellow Warriors. This has not gone unnoticed by me. I do not speak simply in terms of strength, or ferocity. You possess a superior intellect in comparison to your peers. Even without being tested in combat, I trust in it, and in you.”

“Thank you, my lord.” He felt his crest rise, flush with pride.

“Rise then, General Gisko, and know that it is you that will command the Dominion’s forces when the time of the Great Restoration comes.”

“I… I thank you, my lord,” he said, coming quickly to his feet, then giving his creator a deep bow.

“As an additional reward, you will be permitted quarters appropriate to your rank. With room enough for a mate, if you so choose.”

“Again, I thank you, my lord.” For one joyous moment, he thought Skorah! But that was premature hope. It was quite possible that she did not want to go beyond the brief intimacies they had shared. One memorable time on this very rock, he recalled. Still, she could hardly argue he was lacking in his lord’s favor…

“Tomorrow, I will expect you to give me a list of commanders you consider worthy of leading your cohorts. But for now, there are other matters I need to speak to you about.” Looking grave, Lord Gene Mage pulled out a small holographic projector from the sleeve of his robe. He pressed a button, and an image of a small, naked humanoid with an extraordinarily long tail appeared.

“What is that, Lord Gene Mage? An Alliance race I was not aware of, perhaps?” Gisko asked.

“Not Alliance. They were created by me, long before we ever visited the world where I discovered your ancestors. In a way, they are your brothers,” the Gene Mage answered. He motioned for Gisko to sit beside him once again. “They were called the Ferin, and they are why I wish to fight this war, and bring vengeance upon their murderers…”

The End