Chapter 8
What seems to be the problem?”
Everyone turned to see Captain James Starling, the director of the CHAOS Military Academy’s flight training program, and an Arconian named Giru Ba, who was one of his assistant instructors. Starling was handsome, or at least he could have been if he hadn’t let himself go. His hair was thick, his shoulders broad, and his jaw square, but his waistline had expanded and his eyes were bloodshot either from lack of sleep or from too many long nights at a local pub. Giru Ba, on the other hand, was tall and elegant, with skin the color of sea foam, enormous eyes, and what looked like a curved beak in place of lips.
“I’m not witnessing fisticuffs, am I?” Starling asked, raising a single eyebrow. “And both of you from the same squad?”
Giru Ba stood placidly behind him, her eyes unblinking.
“No, sir,” Jonas said, placing his glasses back onto his face at an odd angle.
“Then what, may I ask, were you doing on the ground?”
“Pierce was . . . well . . .”
“Yes?”
“He was just showing me a new fighting technique, that’s all.”
“Is that true?” Captain Starling asked.
“Yeah,” Pierce said.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” Captain Starling said. “I was talking to Cadet McAlister.”
Colt looked at Jonas, who was staring at the ground. “I guess,” he said.
“Then that’s good enough for me.” Captain Starling turned to face the cadets, who looked more than a little disappointed that they weren’t going to see a fight. “Now, off with the lot of you before I decide to give you all a demerit.”
“A demerit?” Jonas said.
“Let it go.” Stacy took him by the arm and led him toward the library.
“Not you,” Captain Starling said as Colt started to walk away.
“Sir?” He closed his eyes, waiting for whatever bad news was about to follow.
“The president believes that the country—in fact, the world—needs a shot of hope in these dark days. He wants to resurrect the Phantom Flyer and his Agents of CHAOS.”
“Grandpa?”
“No, son, not your grandfather. He’s much too old for the rigors that lie ahead.”
Colt looked over to Giru Ba, hoping she would tell him that this was all a joke, but she just stood there. “Then who?”
“Isn’t it obvious? The president has picked you.”
Colt’s first thought was that the president wanted him to dress up in a costume and fly around in a jet pack looking for criminals—which, given that the world was at war with a race of aliens who wanted to exterminate humanity, seemed ridiculous, particularly in light of Project Betrayal. In less than three weeks he was supposed to lead a covert team through a portal and into Dresh, the capital city of the Thule. He didn’t have time to play superhero.
The truth was even worse.
“Think of it as a traveling air show that’s part Blue Angels, part Broadway musical. Are you ready for the title?”
“Not really.”
“It’s called Phantasmic . . . March to Victory!” Captain Starling spread his fingers wide, and his arms shot into the air like a burst of fireworks.
“Seriously?”
“Wait until you see the promotional posters. They’re amazing, don’t you think?”
“Extraordinarily so,” Giru Ba said with a slight nod.
Colt stood there, dumbstruck, as Captain Starling explained how Colt would play the part of the Phantom Flyer and team up with his Agents of CHAOS to fight actors who would be dressed as Thule. He pulled up some pictures of the costumes on a tablet computer, and all Colt could think about was how they looked like extras from a rejected episode of Power Rangers.
“There’s going to be pyrotechnics and smoke machines and a chorus line and . . .” Captain Starling finally took a breath. “I wanted to surprise you with this, but I can’t keep it in any longer. The National Symphony Orchestra is going to play an original score by the composer who wrote the soundtrack for Star Wars. Can you believe it?”
“That’s great,” Colt said, distracted by the tsunami of questions raging in his head. “But what about . . . you know?”
“You’re referring to Project Betrayal, is that it?” Captain Starling asked, the smile never fading from his lips.
Colt looked over his shoulder to make sure that no one was listening. After all, despite the fact that everyone had to submit to daily testing to make sure shape-shifting Thule hadn’t infiltrated the campus, it was hard to trust anyone.
“The president and I are fully aware of your responsibilities, as are Superintendent Thorne and your grandfather,” Captain Starling said in a way that made it sound like he was on equal footing with the president of the United States. “I’ll admit that we’ve had to juggle a few things to make the schedule work, but we feel you’re young enough to handle it.”
“Meaning what, I’m skipping sleep?”
“Not skipping—at least not exactly. You know, they say Thomas Jefferson only slept four hours a night. Or was that Abraham Lincoln? He was the one who hunted vampires, as I recall.” Captain Starling shrugged. “No matter. With modern medicine, sleep has practically become unnecessary.”
“I don’t even get four hours now.”
“What a sense of humor!” Captain Starling laughed.
“It would be wise to get plenty of rest tonight,” Giru Ba said. “Captain Starling has scheduled your first practice at 0400 hours.”
“As in the morning?”
Captain Starling laughed even louder as he slapped Colt on the back. “Just wait until you see your armor. It’s amazing! In fact, we asked the design team at Whitlock Global to make a replica suit for the Phantom Flyer exhibit over at the library. You’re going to love it!”