16. Death Star

Author:Unknown
Format: mobi

37

SIM SEVEN, DELTA SECTOR, DEATH STAR

Vil Dance was flying like a man possessed by an unfettered spirit, as well as he had ever piloted a TIE fighter, really sharp, he knew it—and it still wasn’t good enough. No matter how he jinked or stalled or dipped, the attacker was right there behind him! He couldn’t shake him—the other ship was like some impossible shadow, mimicking his every move.

Vil did a power stall, but the bogey stayed right behind him as if he were welded to Vil’s TIE. He rolled, went vertical—and the tail was still there. He hadn’t fired a shot—yet.

“All right,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “Let’s burn some g’s, my friend.” He shoved the TIE into an almost ninety-degree break to starboard, nearly blacking out from the overpowering tug of gravity as he pulled at least four g’s. And the mysterious black fighter not only matched him, but made it look easy. Vil could almost hear his nemesis behind him yawning. If he could shake him loose long enough to turn, at least he might manage a last-ditch maneuver that pilots called a WBD: We Both Die. He’d take the son of a raitch with him.

But it was too late for that. Abruptly his pursuer’s ion cannons flared. White light filled the cockpit, and as it blinded Vil, he heard:

“Your ship has been destroyed.” The flight simulator’s voice wasn’t supposed to have any inflection, but Vil was sure he heard a smug gotcha! tone to it.

“Sim off,” Vil said. He was disgusted with himself. The holoprojection winked out, and he leaned back in the control formchair and sighed.

He’d thought—hoped—that the martial arts stuff he’d been studying would make a difference. After a couple of months’ worth of classes, he’d felt as if he had been honed just a little sharper. And it was true, he’d realized when looking at the readouts; the timers had verified his reaction time. He was faster.

But not fast enough to ace the simulator.

Ever since the newbie Kendo had died, over a month ago, Vil felt he’d been off his game. It wasn’t anything dramatic—he could still outfly anyone else on the battle station, hands down. But he still felt less than optimum.

It hadn’t been his fault. The kid had been reckless. He’d wound up chewing vacuum for it, and there was nothing Vil could have done.

But he’d been one of Alpha Squadron, and as such, Vil felt responsible. He’d never had a death in his squad before. He felt that he should do something more than the obligatory memorial service, the expressions of grief to the family via holo. But he had no idea what.

It would have been one thing if Nond Kendo had died in the heat of battle. But to go out on so foolish a thing as a training exercise … it was so pointless.

There were times, in fact, when the whole thing seemed pretty pointless to Vil. And these thoughts, these feelings, disturbed him—almost as much as the kid’s death did.

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