Free Tommy Thorn Marked by D. E. Kinney Page B

near the top portion of the sphere.
    Mags looked confused. “Sir?” he asked.
    “Your frigates, Mr. Magnus, can you not see that Cadet Bo has maneuvered a strike force into this quadrant?”
    He used a finger to touch and highlight a heavy cruiser, which was flanked by two corvette gunners and four frigates, before continuing. “They will funnel you into the main body, and your frigates will die, Mr. Magnus, outgunned and outmaneuvered. Four hundred and twenty brave Star Force crewmen—dead.”
    Mags looked from the ships, suspended near Anton’s head to the Tarchein instructor, trying to think of anything to say, but of course there was nothing.
    “Try it again, but this time, patience, Mr. Magnus, patience.” He then turned to Bo. “Excellent work, cadet. If the Empire ever lets a Drake command a battle group, you’d be the one.” Anton smiled and reset the simulation.
    “A Drake, commanding a battle group—that’ll be the day,” Maco offered from an adjacent battle sphere.
    Bo turned as if to speak.
    “That will do, Cadet Maco,” the instructor said, motioning toward the Tarchein’s simulation.
    “By the looks of your group’s deplorable situation.” He paused to allow Maco to take note. “I think she has a better chance than you do of ever commanding a fleet!”
    With that comment, Maco’s opponent, Cadet Thorn, folded his arms across his chest and smiled.
    “You haven’t beaten me yet, Herfer,” Maco said, only loud enough for Tommy to hear.
    “Oh, I’ve beaten you, Maco. You’re just too stupid to know it,” Tommy calmly said and returned his attention to the control paddles.
    Maco waved his hand and sneered, confident in his inherent superiority, but forty-two minutes later Maco withdrew the tattered remains of his fleet, and in seeking the refuge of hyperspace, forfeited the simulated battle to his hated rival.
    As the year progressed, Tommy and Bo found themselves at the top of the class in both academic and leadership scores. Tommy had done so well that he had been appointed Cadet Commodore, a feat that no non-Tarchein had ever achieved, and Bo, equally impressive, was made Cadet Brigade Commander.
    Other significant events in the third year included Tommy’s roommate, Sloan, applying and being accepted into the Warriors Corps, and Gary being inserted as the starting goalie for the brigade’s strat team—although on that score, Tommy’s selection as team captain hadn’t hurt. And though their squad had finished second behind the Cashim Brigade, it had, overall, turned out to be a very good year indeed.
    One year closer to getting my wings , Tommy thought as he waited for the arrival of Remus and a well-earned break, one last, long, glorious summer prior to the start of his fourth and final year at the Academy.

    Tommy stood in the now-familiar Academy embarkation area, looking out the expansive windows as heavy rain washed over the waiting Star Force shuttles, remembering his first year. Toadies , he thought and laughed to himself. The gloom of the nighttime storm would not make the departure of these young cadets any easier. My cadets, he thought, suddenly aware of his reflection in the window.
    His uniform jacket was now adorned with several rows of cadet ribbons, plus he now had five golden stripes topped with crossed swords, denoting his appointment as Cadet Commodore, the highest-ranking cadet in the Academy. Gone too was his Banshee patch, replaced with the Star Force seal. Save for his position on the Hondo stratagem team, Tommy now had to represent all cadets, no longer to have allegiance to just one brigade.
    “Here they come,” Sloan said, watching the first group of Toadies and their parents exit the lift.
    Bo, as the Hondo cadet brigade commander, had assigned Sloan and Gary to get their new Toadies onboard the shuttle and safely to the Zoo, a job they would, at some point, no doubt get even for.
    “Were we ever that small?” Sloan said, not expecting an answer, and