Supernova

by Kass Morgan

  The assembled cadets saluted him and then turned their attention to Captain Mott, who was already pointing to the images that’d just appeared on the screen.

  “So that’s what counts as the brightest?” a disdainful male voice said quietly. Arran turned his head to find the source. The speaker was a man in his midtwenties in the third row, leaning all the way back in his chair with one foot resting on his knee. Even in the dim light, Arran could make out the shape of a smirk as he gestured toward Arran and Rees. “Those two look like something someone dug out of a mine.”

  Arran froze as shock and embarrassment coursed through him. Even after receiving a Medallion of Valor, there were still people in the fleet who’d never see Arran as one of them. It was a lesson he’d learned long ago and one he’d been foolish to try to forget.

  “The acceleration of the center of mass of a system is related to the net force exerted where A equals… where A equals… where A equals…”

  Arran stood from his desk, walked to the front of the classroom, and banged his fist against the side of his physics instructor’s head. Fifty percent of the time, this was enough to stop the stammering.

  “Where A equals… where A equals…”

  With a sigh, Arran returned to his desk and began to read the textdoc on his own. This was what happened when your physics instructor was an attendant so old that it was impossible to repair since no one made the requisite parts anymore. Arran didn’t really mind teaching himself physics. It was far better than being stuck in a classroom with the other nine-year-olds, who were still learning multiplication and division. It was a little lonely here in the storage unit with the buggy attendant who was only programmed to deliver lectures, not answer questions or grade assignments, but lonely was better than boring. Arran loved losing himself in a math problem, when the crowded jumble of thoughts and worries disappeared, replaced by elegant equations that always led to a clear answer. He didn’t have to wonder whether his mother was skipping lunch so he’d have more to eat at dinner that night. He didn’t have to worry whether his father would come home after his shift, or if today they’d get the news that every mining family on Chetire most feared. News delivered by a tired, jaded spokesperson who’d have to glance down at his link to make sure he got the name right. I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Korbet.

  Ignoring the still-stuttering attendant, Arran began to fill out an exercise on momentum. He’d ask his real teacher, Ms. Fen, to look it over later.

  “Arran?” a pleasant voice called. He glanced over his shoulder to see Ms. Fen herself standing in the doorway. “It’s time to go.” Arran’s head was so full of equations that it took him a moment to remember what Ms. Fen was talking about. There was a Quatra Fleet exhibition in town this afternoon, and everyone in Sector F was “highly encouraged” to attend.

  Arran joined the rest of his classmates in the hall, where they were bundling themselves into their matted, oversized fur coats—most of them hand-me-downs that’d been worn by countless relatives. Arran’s own coat had once belonged to an older cousin who’d been killed in a mining explosion at seventeen.

  It was freezing outside, as usual, and within a few minutes the slivers of exposed skin on Arran’s face began to burn. But it was sunny and Arran was happy for the chance to be out in the daylight. This time of year, the sun appeared for only three hours on Chetire, which meant he walked to and from school in icy darkness.

  “Everyone, stay together,” Ms. Fen said as they approached the central square. Although her mouth was covered with a scarf, Arran could tell from her voice that she wasn’t smiling, which was unusual for her. Why is Ms. Fen nervous? he wondered. This wasn’t the type of problem he could solve with an equation, which always frustrated him.

  But as they entered the square, Arran forgot all about his question. Crowds of people gathered along the sides of the enormous square—Settlers in fur coats and a few Tridian mine owners and managers in warmer, sleeker thermalskin—while troops of Quatra Fleet soldiers performed drills in the center.

  Arran and his classmates watched as best they could, though it was difficult to see over the heads of the adults in front of them. At one point, two girls grew bored and started to play a hand-clapping game before Ms. Fen rebuked them. She wasn’t quick enough, though, and a tall man in a long black thermalskin coat turned to glare at them. “These men and women risk their lives to keep you safe. Show some respect.”

  “They’re just children,” Ms. Fen said, placing a protective hand on each of the girls’ shoulders.

  “They’re old enough to know better.” His words were clear, for instead of a scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face, he wore a mesh shield designed to keep in heat without obstructing speech. “It’s up to you to teach them to behave properly. Antares knows their parents won’t. No sense of respect or personal responsibility.”

  Arran looked from the man to his teacher, waiting for her to respond, but then something caught his eye that made him forget about everything else. Someone had landed a real fightercraft nearby, and it looked like people were allowed to touch it! Without thinking, Arran broke away from his classmates and hurried over. He’d never seen a fightercraft up close like this before and was surprised to see that it was even larger than he’d imagined.

  Arran ducked through the crowd until he made it to the very front. Tentatively, he reached out and pressed his gloved hand against the smooth metal. This ship had traveled through space! It might even have traces of meteor dust on it!

  “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” Arran looked up to see a fleet officer smiling down at him.

  Arran nodded. “Is it capable of faster-than-light travel?”

  “Not this model. Only the battlecraft have that capability. But we can dock ships like this to a battlecraft and travel at light speed that way.”

  “When I’m older, I’m going to design fightercraft.” Arran had never said the words aloud before, but he’d thought them so many times, they felt as true as anything else he knew.

  The officer laughed. “You have quite an imagination. Listen, these are complicated machines, and it takes a very special kind of person to fully understand them. Those people are rare, and they don’t come from places like this. Don’t set yourself up for disappointment.”

  Back at home that night, Arran told his mother about his exchange with the officer and was surprised to see her face cloud with anger. “What did he mean when he said ‘places like this’?” he asked.

  “Don’t give it a second thought,” she said, eyes flashing. “That man is living in the past and doesn’t recognize that children like you are the future. You’ll do great things one day, Arran. And no one is going to stand in your way.”

  Arran stared straight ahead, at the screen. Perhaps if he focused on Captain Mott’s presentation hard enough, he’d be able to ignore the quiet, cutting laughter directed at him. But each muffled chuckle landed like a jagged chunk of ice on the back of his neck. Part of him hoped Captain Mott would notice the disruption and put a stop to it, but a larger part of him was mortified by the prospect of her coming to his defense, of revealing his vulnerability to everyone in the room.

  His cheeks burned as he willed himself not to react. The less he appeared to notice them, the better. It wouldn’t make them stop—he’d had far too much experience with bullies over the years to believe in such simple tricks—but at least he’d maintain some semblance of dignity. And a moment later, the laughter did stop, and despite his better judgment, he glanced over his shoulder, an act that would surely only provoke them further. But to his surprise, the young Tridian officers had gone quiet and were sitting stiffly, exchanging slightly startled looks.

  Rees slid silently into the seat next to Arran, who hadn’t even realized he’d left. With his long legs and lanky frame, he reminded Arran of the ghost leopards he’d occasionally spot back on Chetire, padding noiselessly through the drifts. One of the Tridians seemed to be watching Rees warily, but when Rees turned t
o meet his eye, the boy looked away quickly. “Did you say something to them?” Arran whispered.

  “We might’ve had a quick chat,” Rees said without looking away from the screen at the front of the room.

  “What did you say?” he asked quietly.

  Rees said nothing, and for a moment, Arran thought perhaps he hadn’t heard him. But then a small smile crept across Rees’s face, prompting an unexpected blush from Arran, who was glad that Rees was still staring straight ahead.

  At the end of the lecture, Rees rose from his seat and began to walk away without saying a word to Arran. With a final glance at the Tridians, who were conspicuously avoiding looking at Arran, he hurried into the corridor to catch up with Rees.

  “Thanks for that,” he said, falling into step next to him.

  “Don’t mention it,” Rees said in a tone that made it difficult to tell whether he meant you’re welcome or don’t mention it again.

  “Do you think they’re all staying at the Academy?” Arran asked, glancing over his shoulder.

  “Probably. It’d be too expensive to ferry everyone back and forth on the shuttle multiple times a week.”

  “Super,” Arran said as they passed a group of Tridian officers.

  “I don’t think they’re going to mess with us again,” Rees said, the smile returning.

  “But you’re not going to tell me what you said?”

  “I doubt you really want to know.”

  Arran smiled. “Well, that explains why I was always too intimidated to talk to you.”

  “Intimidated? Or… otherwise occupied?”

  Arran shrugged. “You just seemed happy to keep to yourself.”

  “I guess it depends on my mood. Sometimes, I am happy on my own, but then when I’m in the mood to be social, I guess I don’t always know how to, you know, switch gears.”

  Arran glanced at his link. “It’s almost time for dinner. What kind of mood are you in right now?”

  “I suppose I could tolerate company,” Rees said with a smile. “If you’re not meeting anyone else.”

  “I’m not,” Arran said. And for the first time in weeks, the thought felt more freeing than painful.

  After agreeing to meet in front of the dining hall, they returned to their own rooms to change. Arran walked quickly, buoyed by a combination of nerves and fizzy excitement, which drained away the moment his eyes settled on the figure standing in front of the door to his suite.

  It was Dash.

  Arran took a deep breath and then fixed a smile on his face. He would do his best to remain polite, poised, and detached. The last thing he needed was another confrontation that’d leave him hurt and worked up before his dinner with Rees. “Hi,” Arran said, then lifted his hand to wave awkwardly. “Are you looking for me?”

  “No, Lissa,” Dash said with a smile, referring to Arran’s nice but slightly eccentric roommate who’d become the source of numerous inside jokes between them. “I was going to ask her for some fashion tips.”

  Arran pretended to survey Dash’s suit jacket. “I’m sure Lissa will be able to spice that up with some sequins. Or glow-in-the-dark beads.”

  Dash laughed, but the sound did little to loosen the knot in Arran’s stomach. It seemed forced, as if the two of them were performing a hollow imitation of the old Dash and Arran. “I just dropped by to give you these, in case you were looking for them. You must’ve left them in my room at some point.” Dash reached into his pocket and produced a pair of dark blue socks.

  “Those are yours.”

  “Are you sure?” Dash asked, brow furrowing.

  Arran reached for the feather-soft socks. “You know they are. They’re made from glacier ram’s wool.” The rare, silky-coated beasts were found only on Chetire, but of course, items made from their wool were far too expensive for Settlers and were exported to Tri.

  “Oh… whenever I look at them, I picture them on your feet.”

  “That’s because you lent them to me that night I was cold and then wouldn’t let me return them. I put them back in your drawer when you weren’t paying attention.” With a sigh, Arran handed the socks to Dash. “But you know that, of course.”

  “Okay, fine, so I made up an excuse to see you. Is that so awful?”

  “Yeah, it kind of is. I need time and space to get over you, and you’re making it a little difficult for me.”

  Dash’s face fell, and his shoulders slumped. “What if I don’t want you to get over me?” he asked quietly.

  For a moment, Arran couldn’t do more than stare as he struggled to hold back the tide of warmth Dash’s words threatened to unleash. He’d spent the past week desperate to hear something like this, yet he knew that he had to be careful, lest he suffer even greater pain than the agony he’d recently endured. “Does that mean your father suddenly came around to the idea of you dating a Settler?”

  “He will eventually, I’m sure of it,” Dash said, sounding anything but sure.

  “What are you saying, Dash? That you want to get back together? That you’re suddenly brave enough to face the consequences when word reaches your father?”

  “Just… give me time to figure it out. Please. I don’t want to lose you.”

  “So, what? You want me to wait? That’s not how this works, Dash. You can’t put me on hold like some item in a fancy Tridian boutique. I have my own life to live. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to change. I’m meeting someone for dinner and I don’t want to be late.”

  Arran brushed past him and hurried inside, but not fast enough to avoid seeing the expression on Dash’s face. As the door shut behind him, Arran winced and closed his eyes as a wave of pain crashed over him. No matter the circumstances, no matter how badly your pride had been bruised, there was no agony like hurting someone you loved.

  CHAPTER 9

  CORMAK

  This is it. I’m officially in hell, Cormak thought as he approached the simulcraft where he was due for his first practice session.

  Yesterday, Admiral Haze had summoned the first-year cadets to the auditorium to announce that they’d all been assigned to additional practice sessions in the simulator. “We hope to be able to avoid a catastrophic battle, but if it proves inevitable, we need to use every tool at our disposal, and that includes our most promising cadets. It’s crucial that you have the training and experience you need to serve the Quatra Federation and protect the solar system.”

  And of course, since the gods he’d never believed in anyway appeared to hate him, he’d been assigned to a simulcraft with Ward and Vesper. Vesper was already inside when he arrived, along with the fourth member of their new crew, a Loosian first-year named Belsa who was friends with Orelia’s roommate Zuzu.

  It was the first time Cormak had seen Vesper since their terrible breakup—four of the worst days of his life. Saying those awful, clichéd words, I think maybe we should cool it for a while, had felt like plunging a knife into her chest. The pain in her eyes had nearly destroyed him, and it’d taken every ounce of self-control not to shout, “I don’t have a choice. Your ex-boyfriend is blackmailing me, and he has the power to get me arrested.”

  Vesper didn’t even turn in Cormak’s direction as he entered the simulcraft, but he could tell from her rigid posture that his presence was causing her similar anguish. That’s what she did—the more pain she felt, the more desperately she tried to mask it.

  He tried to distract himself by making small talk with Belsa, but it didn’t take her more than a minute to realize that she’d stumbled into something fraught and awkward, and the conversation soon trailed off.

  After a seemingly endless period of uncomfortable silence, Ward ambled into the simulcraft, and the oxygen in the small space seemed to vanish, as if someone had opened an airlock. Get it together, Phobos, Cormak told himself as Ward settled into the captain’s chair without waiting for instructions. He wants to annoy you as much as he wants to get back together with Vesper. Don’t make this any easier for him.

  Yet while
Cormak managed to remain aloof and disinterested, Belsa fixed Ward with a glare. “Maybe we should wait until we know the assignment before deciding our roles?”

  “Relax, Beka. I just didn’t feel like standing,” Ward said as he draped his arms over the sides of the chair in a decidedly proprietary manner. “Maybe you should take a seat yourself. You seem a little wound up.”

  “Her name’s Belsa,” Cormak snapped before he could stop himself. “And we’re all ‘wound up’ because we’re at fucking war.”

  “Are you sure that’s why you’re so wound up, Phobos?” Ward asked with an infuriatingly knowing smile. He glanced at Vesper, who seemed to be making it a point to ignore both of them.

  The simulcraft screen flashed to life and the now-familiar voice came through the speaker. “Welcome, cadets. Today’s exercise is being monitored, and you’ll be assessed on your speed, accuracy, and ability to work as a team. You have two minutes to agree on your assignments and then your mission will commence.”