Free Icarus by Stephen A. Fender Page A

Roslyn’s image said.
       “What do you mean?”
       “Well, the target knows what you’re planning to do based on the
orientation of the fighter.”
       Shawn shook his head in confusion. “Okay, so how do I shoot the target
if I’m not pointed at it?”
       “You think about it, then you do it.” The explanation sounded as
simple as being told how to breathe.
       “But, I don’t—”
       “Just think about it,” she said with an air of petulance. “Focus on
the target and what you want to do.”
       He sighed deeply. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the
target, about twenty degrees above the horizon of his craft and slightly to the
left. He concentrated on it, wondering how on Third Earth he could blast it
into a thousand spinning pixilated fragments, and, as he contemplated it,
that’s precisely what happened.
       “I didn’t pull the trigger,” he said in surprise when the target
finished dematerializing.
       “It’s the artificial intelligence, Commander,” Roslyn offered. “It
anticipated your move based on the neural inputs from your helmet, like I told
you. The tips of the cannons have reflectors that allow for a few degrees of
movement without having to adjust the heading of the fighter. It’s virtually
undetectable by enemy craft. The computer calculated that the target was within
its firing arc and acted accordingly.”
       Shawn looked at her image uncomfortably. “I still like to be in
control of what and where I shoot.”
       “You are. This is why it takes so long to learn all the nuances of
these new fighters. If you can’t control your thoughts, then the ship will
never respond the way you intend it to. It’s an extremely advanced system.”
       “It’s dangerous.” Shawn replied with raised eyebrows.
       “Only in untrained hands, Commander.” Her tone left little doubt about
her current assessment of his skills.
       “Can I turn it off?”
       “Of course you can, but why would you want to?”
       “I fire when I’m ready, when I’ve calculated all possible variables,
and not a moment before.”
       The disdain in Roslyn’s voice was apparent. “Fine. Simply tell the
computer to disengage the neural interface to the weapons. I would, however,
strongly advise you keep it active for maneuvering, especially when you’re
still getting your feet wet with the new designs. It’ll make the transition a
lot smoother.”
       Shawn was quick to do just that. “Computer, disengage weapons control
from neural interface.”
       “Acknowledged, Commander.”
       Satisfied to have a computer that listened to him for a change, he
smiled appreciatively. “There,” he said with obvious approval. “Much better.
What’s next?”
       Raven’s holographic representation smiled broadly. “Targets that fire
back, of course.”

Chapter
4       
     
        S hawn
and Roslyn went through more than ten different combat scenarios in the
simulator that morning. While it hardly seemed to have taken a toll on his
executive officer, it had been physically exhausting for Shawn. First, he’d
dealt with moving targets, and then ones that fired back—then a simulated enemy
fighter took a crack at shooting down the commander. All the while Raven looked
on, ready to jump to his aid if he required it. It wasn’t until Shawn had been
confronted with four medium Kafaran fighters—rather testy ones at that—that
Roslyn needed to intervene, and that was only to take a single fighter. Shawn
had done the rest.
       She had to admit, he was every bit as good a pilot as the stories
told, perhaps even better. Had they had more simulator time scheduled, she
would have wanted to find out. True, he was a little behind the times with
communication procedures, and he wasn’t aware of some of the newer tactics that
had been devised since the end of the war, but he was intimately aware of the
basic maneuvers that every young pilot learns in space