Push the Limit (cadets)

[Baron Tadriin Ketterzau]

The care of a mustache was a serious undertaking, never to be ventured upon lightly.

Baron Tadriin Ketterzau leaned in close to the mirror, examining in minute detail the disposition of each whisker. A careful dab of oil was applied, then fastidiously brushed against the grain, then along it, compelling the whole of the thing into uniformity. What didn't obey at this point was dealt with by other means. The traditional Imperial Navy hygiene kit issued to cadets included a laser plane and shear. It was tidy enough, but perhaps too tidy. Tadriin found that he preferred the feel and feedback of steel against whiskers, be it a razor or a pair of scissors, such as he now held. A careful snip, and he could feel the resistance give way. A quarter inch of errant hair fell into the sink, rinsed away promptly. There, good.

"Colonel Ketterzau."

He glanced beyond the mirror to his right. At the doorway of the lavatory, the cleanshaven and young face of Ensign Berras squared him up beneath a severely-positioned cap.

"Baron, if you please. Titles matter."

The faintest of nods.

"Apologies, Baron. The cadets have assembled in the instruction hall."

"Have they?"

He wasn't late. They were early. Always a good sign. Eager minds, or at least mindful of the consequences.

Tadriin returned his eyes to the mirror. One last matter to attend to. He removed a thin canister from his hygiene bag, dragging a thumb along the opaque material within. With a fine hand, the Baron applied just enough wax to keep a utilitarian appearance. A heavier application would be suitable in a formal setting, but this would do for his present duties. Satisfied with the results, Tadriin returned his shears, oil, and wax to his hygiene bag, drawing it closed. He drew a square of bath towel from the dispenser, and carefully daubed the skin around his mustache. There.

"Well then, Ensign. Time to see what pilots we have."

* * *

"My name is Baron Tadriin Ketterzau."

At the head of the auditorium, Tadriin stood behind a lectern, his gloved hands clasped behind his back.

"I'm here to teach you all the practical and applied doctrines of space superiority fighter combat."

The room was full of a motley of assorted races. It was far more diverse of a sight than he'd ever dealt with in his time at the Imperial Navy.

"Who among you has had experience as a pilot? Atmospheric or deep space, please speak up."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Hal sat in his auditorium seat, paws folded nearly on his lap, toes refraining from tapping against the floor. Unlike the lazy sprawl he had often been known for, his posture and poise nearly picture-perfect from the months he'd already spent in the Imperial Knights program. Those he knew on Ossus might have a difficult time recognizing the Nehantite, dressed crisply in the uniform of an Imperial Knight Cadet, his typically floppy headfur neatly oiled and meticulously combed into a perfect left-side part. His earring was gone, as was the final remnants of the scar over his left eye from his experience on Pallaxides. Nothing said "Jedi" about the Nehantite, and that was just how he needed it to be while hiding in the lair of the enemy.

At the question posed by a man who appeared somewhere out of his time, Hal stood up straight, paws at his sides, and gave a loud, clear reply.

"Sir, I have, sir. Atmospheric, deep space, and interstratospheric." It would do no good to lie about his familiarity with the pilot's seat, as his dogfight above Phindarr prior to his capture would have been likely well-documented on his record. Eight TIE fighters destroyed, and one TIE Interceptor damaged before Hal's own starfighter sustained enough damage to force him to ground.

[Lykeira]

Casually walking into the auditorium-like classroom, the cinnamon toned Imperial Knight had been the bane of many instructors already, though her touch to the Force had drawn the attention of at least one that was forming a special unit and the more skills they had under their belt, the better. Hazel green eyes took in the statue in Imperial grey down at the bottom, his manicured look and how stiff he stood behind the lectern and she grinned. This was going to be fun, she mused. Adorned in her own uniform, the off-the-rack outfit was dumped the second she entered her dorm room and replaced with her traditional close fitting leathers. Long, curly, black hair pulled up and tightly gathered in a bun, she was also getting used to this look regardless of how boring it was.

Finding an empty seat, she made her way down passed several other students here for the piloting lessons and grabbed an empty chair. Plopping into it, she sighed and turned on the proffered computer screen and listened to the first one to reply to the instructor's query. As the older Imperial officer then scanned the sea of faces for another volunteer, she raised her hand. "Yep, atmospheric and deep space in a freighter," she informed without preamble.

You're in more dire need of a blow than anyone in history, she smirked imagining how she could turn him out if she had the notion.

[Jeryd Redsun]

At Baron Ketterzau’s question, a breath expanded in Jeryd’s chest, and an answer formed on his lips. If there was one thing he could not abide, it was the silence of uncertain cadets. It was a silence easily broken by a single voice, but it was not his own words that were to launch the first volley of answers, but those of Kyle Rayner. Of course, it had to be him. And, of course, he had every manner of piloting experience under his mighty belt. He probably designed the ship himself, and built it with his own hands, while rescuing a drowning kitten.

Jeryd sank into his seat and thought better of providing his own answer.

His brother, Aryn, owned a vintage Gaba-18 airspeeder. A gift for his sixteenth birthday. He spent months working on it, sculpting the chassis with all the care of an attentive lover, until it was as smooth and curvaceous as it had been in its glory days; the engine was replaced with something monstrous, and there was a complete overhaul of the interior, restoring the luxury of the leather seats, and finishing the trimmings in chrome. The paint job was the last problem to rectify, swapping out the old red and white hues of the Grand Army of the Republic, with rich Imperial blue. Jeryd piloted it twice. Aryn was taught to pilot by their father, who in turn forced him to teach Jeryd how to handle an airspeeder, too. With great reluctance, Aryn allowed him to take his pride-and-joy in circles around the nearest stratoscrapers, but, the moment Jeryd started feathering the accelerator (and almost flew them into the side of a shuttle), his brother relieved him of the controls, and has never let him near them since.

A second voice lifted him from the quagmire of memories. It belonged to an unusual woman, who looked like she performed in a gentleman’s club and had gotten lost on the way. Her response lacked the kind of respect a man of Baron Ketterzau’s stature clearly deserved. At least the intolerable Kyle Rayner had a modicum of decency about him before his betters. But that was two nasty sorts who boasted far more piloting experience than he'd ever had. Things were off to a rocky start.

“Sir?” A hand surfaced from amongst the heads across the room, “I am qualified to pilot the Z-95 Headhunter in both atmospheric and deep space scenarios.”

Thida!? Jeryd couldn’t believe his eyes or his ears. Now he was really depressed.

[Baron Tadriin Ketterzau]

Grey eyes immediately locked onto the voice of Kyle Rayner, the Cadet corps' resident Nehantite.

"Very good, cadet."

One of the Knights also in attendance of the pilot's lecture gave her own profession of expertise, though several degrees coarser than Rayner managed.

"Good, good, Knight Lykiera. I'll thank you to respond professionally, we are in a classroom after all. And, you there?"

Tadriin acknowledged the green Rodian cadet as she stood. Thida, if he remembered correctly.

"Z-95? Splendid. Actual hours on a starfighter platform, well done."

Calmly, the Baron looked to each of the three who had volunteered.

"No doubt you are familiar with your respective ships. Their weight. Their power plant. Their speed and responsiveness. Now, I'm going to ask you three to do something very difficult."

Tadriin paused for effect, grasping the corners of his lectern as he leaned forward slightly.

"Unlearn what you know. All of it. You each have expectations and assumptions built in from your experience that have done you credit, but I assure you, you are like every other future pilot in this room. You are all about to learn how to fly for the first time."

There was a glint in the Baron's eyes. The corners of his mouth turned up ever-so-slightly into his mustache.

"To wit, the first thing each of you must understand are the fundamentals of flight and three dimensional combat. Think of Cadet Thida's example of a Z-95 headhunter. If you compare this, to say, a TIE Interceptor, or to a Y-wing, or to any single-crewed fighter craft, what do these combination of ships share in common?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"One man, one machine, functioning as one single entity. Except for the Y-Wing, as that's a two-man crew, yet can still technically be handled by a single pilot if needed," Hal stood once more to reply, before sitting down again.

It was an old answer, going back to the days of horse and rider, or car and driver before the days of flight. Yet despite how old it was, it was still the commanding design philosophy of all small fighters and racing ships. If the pilot felt as if their machine was an extension of themself, there was no need to hunt for controls, or guess at reactions. You simply thought, and the machine would respond.

Well, except for the Y-Wing, as it had a second seat for a turret gunner, but turret gunners didn't count, they just took shots as they came available.

[Khoovi Wan]

"Each are small spacecraft designed to enforce and attain superiority within a sphere of battle and attack and defend objectives, usually with the support of larger ships."

Khoovi sat down after standing to give his answer, not having paid much attention to the Knight who'd walked in other than a cursory glance and a quick assumption that she'd come back from an infiltration mission of some kind. Why else would she remain out of uniform in the Citadel? Knight Iscandar performed infiltration missions at least once a month and promptly changed back after she returned, usually even before reporting in to Knight-General Atrapes.

Maybe she was a test? She reminded him of Alexia, but even Alexia had the good sense to not needle Atrapes so overtly, and she used to be (still was, he thought) a Sith herself.

He banished the problem from his mind; focusing on the Knight would help nothing.

Focusing on Rayner's sentimental and trite answer? That wouldn't help anything either, but it wouldn't stop him. Even the older Nehantite's talent and skill couldn't overcome that feeling. He known more than a few talented individuals who'd been utterly clueless.

A few of them were his classmates.

[Baron Tadriin Ketterzau]

The Baron's eyes seemed to smile at the answers from Kyle and Khoovi alike. He strolled away from the lectern.

"Good answers, the both of you. Cadet Khoovi is thinking tactically. It's a sound answer, a bit rote, but an answer best served in another lesson.

Cadet Rayner's answer is the closest to the beginning of your journey."

Tadrrin raised a finger, pausing for emphasis.

"One pilot. A nexus between an ever-changing battlespace and the objective. This is not capital ship combat. It is not war done by committee. Though there is always a chain of command, a pilot must react, adapt, and anticipate. They must not only do so quickly, but correctly."

The Baron's expression turned severe at this point.

"There is rarely a second chance afforded."

He allowed his students to consider those dark consequences for a moment, then moved on.

"Quick and correct, he says. Why not a droid then?"

With his chin upturned, the Baron scanned his students to see if any were prepared to argue against a synthetic solution.

[Siyndacha Aerin]

As much as droids were aligned with the breadth and depth of her skills and talents, as much as she had a preference for their company, she knew their limitations. Those very limitations made them weak to her will. Silver-blue eyes tracked over to the Baron, after having spared a surreptitious, curious glance at Rayner, and she stood to give her response, chin level, shoulders squared, back straight, and hands folded together at the small of her back.

"The average droid lacks ingenuity, instinct, intuition," she paused, the left corner of her mouth ticking upwards, nigh-imperceptively, "and emotion, sir. Ultimately, it is limited by its programming."

And ultimately subject to my power.

"Furthermore, though droids are possessed of the capability to run calculations far faster than the sapient mind can manage," she expounded, "and though they can be programmed to learn and adapt, sir, droids geared to the purpose in question are also limited by their coordination ties to the ships from which they deploy. Destroy that link, and..."

Her shoulders rose and fell.

"...incapacitation en masse; there are more ways that droids can fail. Organic pilots are not so easily done away with."

[Baron Tadriin Ketterzau]

"Indeed." Tadriin affirmed with an inclination of his head. "No doubt Cadet Aerin has learned the costly lessons of the Clone Wars. A war of a numerically far-superior droid army against living, breathing combatants. Even the cold calculus of attrition can be rolled back by innovation, imagination, and cunning."

The Baron began to pace once more.

"The might of the Imperial armed forces is vast. I needn't have to point this out. Millions of fighters. Thousands of capital starships. Technology that is on the cutting edge of modern warfare."

He paused mid-stride, shaking his head.

"All of it useless without it's core component. Each of you are among the most powerful weapons the Empire can bring to bear against her enemies. I say this even without taking into consideration your innate and exceptional abilities the Knights of the Throne value. A pilot, well-trained, can take even the most unremarkable starfighter and turn a battle in their favor by weight of their experience and presence of mind. Mastery of the fundamentals and grasp of applied concepts will improve your lethality and survivability more than any cutting-edge piece of hardware on your ship."

Tadriin raised his hands at his sides slightly, and promptly let them fall again with a smile.

"I have the best assignment in all of the Empire. I match sound doctrine and tactics to your intuition and killer instincts, and produce the best star pilots in the galaxy. And if this weren't good enough, your special talents can create synergy with that training, allowing you to become aces without peer."

The Baron's smile transformed into a smirk as he raised an eyebrow.

"Save myself, of course."

There were, naturally, a few skeptical side-eyes at that amount of professorial braggadocio. He welcomed them.

"I invite any of our experienced pilots here to test my hypothesis. What do you say? A bit of hands-on learning before we get into the weeds of textbooks? Our fighter combat facility maintains, among a diverse fleet of capable craft, a state-of-the-art simulation center."

[Lykeira]

More and more of those seated around her began adding to the discussion, feeding the air with embellished stories of what they knew, but the Pachmari witch knew that the reason any droid wasn't as good as a flesh and bone pilot was her innate ability with the Force. Programming only got their metal companions so far, regardless how exceptional they were with calculations. Droids didn't have the killer instinct or the ability to improvise on the fly, only what they had been given or maneuvers learned by watching others. Being sentient was the difference.

Inadequacies with flowery words began to grate on the female born and raised on Devaron and as the instructor was eager to get them into simulators, she was more than ready to prove her mettle. Though having never flown a fighter was going to prove a problem. She would have to see what vessels were available first and compare the controls before volunteering to jump into one, otherwise this class was going to turn ugly pretty quick.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Before anyone else could reply, Hal stood. "I'll do it, sir. I know I may fail against you, but I want to know where I stand."

It was a tactical response, one both foolish and cunning at the same time. He would be unable to learn from watching others, so he was at a disadvantage from that, but at the same time he believed that his experience and training - as long ago as it was - might be enough to give himself some type of an edge. Also, being the first to reply meant that no matter what, he would be setting the high bar for the Cadets first, and some of them would not be able to reach it. Naturally a simulator would be lacking the true feeling of speed and the pull of G-forces that a starfighter would encounter, but if it were all about tactics, he might be able to bring enough of interest to the table

[Baron Tadriin Ketterzau]

Tadriin nodded as Kyle put his proverbial hat in the ring.

"Ah, splendid, Cadet Rayner. My first catch of the day. Keep that moxie. Who dares, wins, after all."

He panned his eyes among the remainder of his students.

"Does anyone else wish to accept the challenge?"

[Khoovi Wan]

Khoovi pushed the desk to the side and stood, and then with an annoyed huff when he couldn't see over the Cadet's head in front of him stood on his seat.

"I will volunteer," he said, inwardly wincing at how high pitched his voice was.

[Baron Tadriin Ketterzau]

"Fantastic, Cadet Khoovi. Excellent initiative!"

The Baron gestured to the diminutive Shistavanen perched atop his desk.

"That makes two intrepid volunteers. Shall we make it three, for a sporting demonstration?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Though he may be small, fuzzy, and completely adorable, Khoovi had long ago earned Hal's respect, and Hal thought of him as an equal in the Cadets. Beating him or being defeated by him would do nothing to change their relationship, or their standing, so a wild card needed to be added. Someone who could either benefit from defeating one or more seasoned cadets, or someone who could fall flat on their face and get a bit of a lesson in humility. After a quick glance around the room, Hal had just the victim.

Jeryd Redsun sat quietly in his seat, his posture at immaculate attention. But that was all, just attention. No daring, no machismo, no courageous stupidity. That needed to change.

Working within the Force in so crowded a room of adept individuals while remaining undetected was by no means an easy feat, but Hal focused, finding his target. And such a tempting target it was: pert, round, yet not plump, just the right kind of target to naturally attract such attention as he was about to give it. Without hesitation he struck.

Pressure was applied to Jeryd Redsun's right buttock, in a sharp, playful pinch as if between thumb and forefinger. Force Goose. Hal kept his smile on the inside at so perfectly executed a maneuver.

[Jeryd Redsun]

For his part, while Baron Ketterzau spoke, Jeryd sat in enamoured silence, drinking in his words as if they were cups of fine wine. The other cadets also had a thing or two to say, of course, about their own experiences, but none spoke with the authority, or the lyrical passion of their new flight instructor. Listening to him reminded him of the old audio files he used to play in bed as a little boy: Quarl Fezwick and the Lost Ship, The Grand Adventures of Casper Moridian, Treasure Moon, and Captain Astra’s Blasters. He remembered the quiet thrill of starting a new chapter, and the warmth of the reader’s voice, filling him up with images of bold dashing heroes and callous space pirates, and how he clung to the edges of his bedsheet, and wouldn’t let go until his hero had emerged victorious from battle, or had saved the princess, or discovered the cave of everlasting credits. Such feelings were now reproduced, years later, not inside his bed, but an auditorium, with a storyteller who was faceless no more. It had always been a point of pride that Jeryd followed not in his father’s or brother’s steps by joining the Imperial Navy, but by pursuing his own career as an officer of the Imperial Army. And yet, now, against all odds, he could think of nothing he wanted more than to become an ace starfighter pilot under the tutelage of The Baron Tadriin Ketterzau.

And so, he said nothing. Sure, it was annoying that Kyle was the first to volunteer, swiftly followed by Khoovi, the squeaky dog alien who’d led the charge with Thida around the Citadel. But they boasted experience. Real experience. Not two ill-fated piloting lessons in their big brother’s airspeeder. No. Jeryd was not about to make a complete fool of himself in front of all the other cadets, and certainly not in front of Baron Ketterzau. His plan, however, came crashing down around him as he lurched violently to his feet with a furious screech from his chair. He turned stiffly on the spot, left, then right, firing daggers at his surrounding classmates. Each looked as dumbfounded as the last. And it wasn’t until he became aware of the all-encompasing silence, and the weight of every pair of eyes in the room, that he stopped rubbing his tender arse, and straightened up.

There was Baron Ketterzau, looking right at him. He cleared his throat.

“Sir… I volunteer for the demonstration.”

[Baron Tadriin Ketterzau]

There was something different about Jeryd's entry into the fray. Far more spontaneous, and a measure less confident. If the Baron didn't know better, Cadet Redsun had the look of a man who'd been given a sharp prod forward against his better judgment. There was no sense in second-guessing the Cadet's motives, however. The die, as it was, had been cast.

"Ah. We have our third man. Very good, very good."

Tadriin's smile was tight, the upturned corners tucking beneath the swept edges of his mustache. He kept his eyes fixed on Redsun a moment longer, before shifting his attention to the sum of his class as a whole.

"Well then, let's make sport of today's lessons. Cadets Redsun, Khoovi, and Rayner - with me in the simulation chambers. The rest of you will report to simulation observation. Next to a cockpit, it's the best seat in the house."

A pause, as the Baron waited for his pupils to spring into action. Clearly they were waiting for something. He briskly slapped the gloved palms of his hands together twice in a compelling clap-clap.

"Come on then! Dismissed!"

* * *

The Imperial Knights flight simulation chamber was the envy of all but the most elite flight academies in the Empire. A massive circular room with a vaulted ceiling was ringed around it's perimeter by no fewer than thirty spherical pods. Each pod was suspended on an over-built gyroscopic frame that recessed into the decking. At the center of the room was a raised platform with seating capacity for two dozen. Clustered over this audience dais was a honeycomb of seperate viewscreens, giving any audience member a nauseating level of perspectives.

For now, the cadets took their seats in the center of the room, save for Cadet Redsun, Cadet Khoovi, and Cadet Rayner. Baron Ketterzau stood next to a computer terminal at the fore of the observation dais, flanked by a pair of TIE pilots, clad in their obfuscating black uniforms and helmets. Each stood at parade stance, like a pair of obsidian statues.

"Gentlemen, you'll permit me one liberty in my demonstration, and that is simply to ensure the numbers are right. Three pilots against three, to make this pleasant little dogfight savory. The fellows to my right and left are from the Citadel training squadron, and they will serve as your junior field instructors. I introduce you to..."

The Baron gestured to his left.

"...Vassal Two..."

Then to his right

"...and Vassal Three."

The trainer pilots didn't so much as nod in affirmation. Tadriin pulled at the edges of his gloves, drawing them flush.

"I am Vassal One, and for this exercise, Vassal Leader."

With his gloves situated to his satisfaction, the Baron clasped his hands behind his back once more, sizing up his competition.

"Your squadron sign is Squire. Who is your leader?"

[Khoovi Wan]

Khoovi looked over at Redsun and Rayner, and stepped forward.

"I will take command," he said. "Rayner will be Squire Two, and Redsun Squire Three."

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Inwardly, Hal breathed a sigh of relief that Khoovi had stepped up so quickly. Being first to volunteer was one thing, but being first to volunteer AND volunteering as leader did nothing but put a giant target on your crotch, and everybody wants to kick it. No, it was best for Khoovi to be leader, as he and Hal had been in the Cadets the same amount of time, and both had a good understanding of each other. That and Khoovi was about tactics, tactics, milk bones, and more tactics.

On the outside, Hal simply stood at attention, giving a curt nod to Khoovi in respect of his new position. He had little expectation of doing well in a simulator, as he never had done particularly well in them in the past, but that was fine. As long as he did better than Redsun, all would be right with the world.