I look around for more familiar faces, and see the hotshot Tsai siblings arrive. Erin sits down right in front of me in the first row, so I have a view of her ramrod-straight back, and her spiked blue-black hair. Her brother Roy sits in the spot in front of Hugo.
There’s Kadeem Cantrell, sauntering easily, and his partner, some French girl I don’t know. Apparently Kadeem speaks French fluently, because they are talking together and laughing softly as they settle in.
And then I see Logan. My gut does a somersault, and my pulse starts racing. And then I tell myself, Okay, so what? Of course Logan would be in this class, this is the most advanced Cadet Pilot Training section. Where else would he be?
Logan sees me, smiles and waves to me. He then starts moving in my direction.
I’m not sure I’m ready to see him. So I keep my expression stern.
“Gwen. . . .” He stops next to our console desk and leans forward to rest his hand over mine. “Where were you? I thought we were going to have lunch?”
I raise my brows. “We were? Oh, I wasn’t sure if you made hard plans. Or if you were going to spring it on me.”
Logan’s mouth tightens. “Come on, that’s not fair.”
“Sure it is.” I look up at him. “I am still ticked off at you, Sangre. Really, I am.”
“Okay, I deserve it. But let’s talk about it later, okay?”
“Right,” I mutter.
Logan squeezes my hand, and then retreats to find a seat. As he does, I notice how Hugo and Trey and the purple-hair girl all look him over curiously.
Especially the girl.
Yeah, I bet, I think. Logan’s so easy on the eyes, and he’s new in class and on this ship. It won’t be long before all the girls take notice and ogle him like hormonal vultures. Ugh. . . . I really should be used to it by now. That’s what I get for being with a hot guy.
Am I with this guy? I think suddenly, out of left field. So far we’ve kissed a lot, and made out pretty heavily a few times, barely making it to second base, but nothing beyond that. Logan’s been a perfect gentleman, never insisting on anything more than what I’m ready for. . . . Which is good, because I don’t think I am ready for anything else, not now, not with the world being what it is, my parents, siblings, my family, Earth, Atlantis, uncertainty. . . . Damn.
Yeah, he’s the perfect boyfriend. And I have to admit it, he’s a true friend, not to mention, brilliant company. I know he really cares about me. And, my God, I’ve been in love, or “in obsession” with him for years—pretty much since I’ve started high school in Vermont. But this whole weird incident, the way he sometimes puts his so-called orders, duty, convictions, before everything else? On the one hand I admire him for it, but on the other hand, I feel a little lost. Trust is such a strange thing.
Okay, why am I even thinking about this now?
Again, the sickening onslaught of doubt—indeed, a real fancy cocktail of doubts and insecurities and stress—starts digging at me.
In a few moments, our Pilot Training Instructor arrives. Mithrat Okoi enters the room and immediately we all spring up and salute.
“You may sit,” he tells us curtly. His manner is the same as yesterday—hard, implacable, serious.
And then he gets right into it.
“Yesterday’s homework was to memorize the flight console layout,” Instructor Okoi says. “Today, we run the first simulation flight.”
He flicks the remote device he is holding and suddenly all our display screens come to life. Each smart screen shows the same identical view of a shuttle bay from a platform, the kind you would get from a parked shuttle.
“Today you will learn how to take a basic shuttle from the stop position into the launch tunnel and then outside. You will fly a short distance, return to the shuttle bay, and power off.”
The Instructor slowly paces before us, speaking. “You will also learn the four basic function grids and the roles they play during flight. . . .”
As he speaks, I realize suddenly that everything he’s saying so far, I already know how to do.
“First, you and your partner will decide who is the Pilot and who is the Co-Pilot on this simulation.”
The class erupts into whispers.
Hugo nudges me at once. “I’m the Pilot. Got it?”
“All right.” I nod.
“And now,” Instructor Okoi continues, “Here is how we begin the power-on. The Pilot and the Co-Pilot both—place one hand on the underside of the console before you. The light indicators on the surface of the console indicate the power is on and ready.”
I do as I’m told, and see my console light up in a familiar way. Hugo does the same to his own side.
“Now, step one—you auto-key yourself to the ship. Both the Pilot and the Co-Pilot must do this procedure before they can operate the vehicle—”
The Instructor continues speaking, giving us step-by-step basic console instructions, and again, I know everything he’s about to say.
I am kind of mind-blown. This is wild! Everything from this morning’s crazy shuttle flight comes rushing back to me, and I sit there, listening, and going through the motions along with the rest of the class.
It occurs to me that it might be best that I just play along and not draw any unnecessary attention to myself. However it becomes really tough watching Hugo fumble with his Red and Green grids, as he constantly calls up the wrong menus or swipes the touch-surface in the wrong direction. Our poor simulation shuttle lurches along, bumping against the launch tunnel walls, sending up wicked sparks flying from the tunnel surface we grind past—silly realistic display shows them too—and I groan and hold my breath in frustration as we finally blast out, and then almost collide with the outer hull of the simulation ark-ship we just exited.
“Watch it! Keep it straight!” I exclaim yet again, as I try in futility to adjust our ship’s motion against the Blue gridline.
“You shut up,” Hugo tells me, and I see he’s wiping sweat from his forehead.
But we’re not alone. Everywhere around the room I hear Cadets swearing, exclaiming, yelling at their partners, while now and then a few horrible explosions sound from some of the consoles, indicating a catastrophic crash and end to the simulation.
Hugo and I manage to not crash our sim-shuttle until the very end when we are on our return lap. Hugo flips to Red, swipes to engage Thrust, but moves his finger widely so that it deviates too far from a straight line. And so we come in from the outside, launch homeward into the tunnel, but wander off to the side and high-speed-slam into the shuttle bay platform. There is a big ear-deafening BOOM, and our simulation goes dark.
“Great!” I exclaim. “Just great!”
Hugo looks ready to kill me, and cusses loudly. “You think you can do better?”
“I’m not even going to bother to respond to that,” I say.
“Oh, yeah?” He leans in to me, frowning full-force, and his dark eyes are scary.
“Yeah.” I’m so furious I don’t even flinch. “A cracked-up monkey can do better!”
In that moment Instructor Okoi claps his hands together to signal the class for general silence. “Attention!” he says. “So far your performance has been deplorable. For the rest of the hour, each one of you will take turns being the Pilot and Co-Pilot. You are going to practice this over and over, and you will not leave this classroom until you complete three shuttle run scenarios in a row without crashing!”
Groans are heard all over.
My partner Hugo cusses hard.
I shake my head in disgust.
In that moment Erin Tsai raises her hand.
“Yes?” Instructor Okoi nods to her.
“Why are there audible explosions in this simulation?” she asks. “I thought sound waves needed particles of matter to travel through, and in a space vacuum there would be no sound?”
Mithrat Okoi nods. “You are correct. There is insufficient density of matter in space to allow sound to travel. However this simulation is not real spac
e—it is designed for your benefit. The sound should remind you, every time you hear a violent explosion, that it is what happens to you if you make one tiny mistake—you die violently, and may be additionally responsible for the death of others. Does that answer your question?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now, continue practicing your exercise.”
For the next half hour we take many turns piloting the shuttle in the scenario.
Okay, I admit it—on my first actual attempt as main Pilot, handling Thrust and Brake is harder than it seems. Although I have a solid grasp of the process, I find some of my swipes are shaky. As a result, I also crash us into the launch tunnel on re-entry, just as Hugo did when he was Pilot. But at least I do it fewer times than Hugo, who manages to mess up the Blue-Yellow grids entirely, as he Co-Pilots me in grim hostility, making our shuttle wobble and deviate from its course like a drunken sailor.
The classroom around us is full of exploding noise and frustrated Cadets. Even Erin and Roy in front of us crash periodically.
Instructor Okoi paces between our rows of console desks, observing our pathetic attempts with an expression of doom on his face.
“This is just messed-up stupid crap!” Hugo mutters fiercely for the umpteenth time as we go Boom, and punches the side of the console with his fist.
“Okay, we need to get out of here,” I say with frustration. “So, can we get at least one clean run?”
“Maybe we would if I had another partner!” Hugo frowns at me.
“Okay, you know what? This is bull,” I say. “You’re the one messing up two out of three times. Why don’t you stop blaming me and do your part! Focus, already!”
“I don’t need to listen to you, bitch! You’re not even a Cadet!”
I snort in fury. “Oh yeah? Well, you’re just stuck with me. Deal with it!”
Hugo cusses again.
I groan.
And then we begin yet another frustrating shuttle run.
Chapter Sixteen
I’ve no idea how late it is, but most of the class has stayed past the hour, trying to complete the assignment of three clean runs in a row. The console desk in the front row just before us is now empty—Erin and Roy got through their exercise cleanly and left ten minutes ago. To my right, on the other side of Hugo, Trey and the purple-hair girl are still at it. And so is Blayne and his partner, a few desks down.
I glance around to see if Logan is still here also, but I don’t see him. Not sure where he sat down, so he might still be somewhere in the back rows.
I am beginning to get worried. It feels like it’s already after 2:30, and I have another class at 3:00 PM with Consul Denu. The last thing I want is to be late to that one.
We finally complete two clean runs in a row. Hugo is sweating profusely.
“Just one more,” I mutter. “One more! We can do it!”
“Okay, yeah, we can do it!” he echoes me.
It’s my turn as the Pilot, so I take us out very carefully, engaging the Thrust, staring fiercely at the Red grid. All is well. Then my fingers tremble on the swipe, snagging against the console surface.
There’s a familiar BOOM.
I don’t know what just happened, but I crashed us in the launch tunnel before we even left the shuttle bay.
Again.
Hugo growls at me.
“Sorry! Crap! So sorry,” I mumble, and we start over, with run one.
When we finally manage to get three clean scenarios in a row, we are almost the last people in the room. Only one other console desk is occupied with an unlucky pair of Cadets. One of them is a round-faced Asian girl, big and bulky, barely fitting into her desk. She slouches over in absolute shame as her partner, a wiry Latina with braids, screams at her in Spanish. I feel for her, really, I do.
“You suck!” Hugo tells me as he starts running out of the open classroom deck area into the nearest corridor on his way to his next class.
I ignore his outburst—because okay, he’s kind of right, this time. I did screw us up badly on that final run. Instead I hurry to my own class with trepidation. It’s definitely after 3:00 PM, and I am so late!
I arrive on Command Deck Two, find the first VIP quarters hallway, and look for Cabin #11. Passing my hand over the square ID pad, I say my name and ask for permission to enter.
I stand, breathing fast, when the door slides open. A whiff of perfume greets me, followed by the regal voice of the Consul. “You may enter.”
I take a step inside, and just wow—in only an afternoon this cabin must have been transformed from a sterile military-style functional space into a frilly oasis, almost an exact replica of the Consul’s personal quarters back on the flagship.
Kem is moving around the large room in quiet harmony, arranging fabrics and moving pieces of décor. As it’s happening, Consul Suval Denu lounges in a large folding chair lined with cushions, eyes closed, hands folded in his lap upon a mini-pillow, his feet, in their intricate, jewel-encrusted footwear propped up on a tiny foot-rest. I’m guessing the fancy folding chair was one of the things inside that grand trunk, because there’s just no way an Atlantean ark-ship would simply have that kind of furniture lying around.
“Gwen Lark, it is poor form, you are late,” the Consul tells me after a pause of uncomfortable silence. He opens his eyes and immediately glances at a small digital Earth clock sitting on the side table, which reads 3:19 PM.
I stand, holding my hands together awkwardly.
“Nineteen of your Earth minutes after the hour.” The Consul’s long-nailed finger points at the clock. I watch the glitter of gold and the play of light from the sparkling stones, coming from the three rings on his hand.
“I’m really sorry,” I say. “My Pilot Training class ran overtime. I came here as fast as I could.”
“Your first lesson in Court Protocol,” Consul Denu says, looking in my eyes with a sharp gaze. “Make no excuses for your behavior. Simply make the appropriate apology. And then volunteer for appropriate punishment.”
“Huh? Okay.” I raise my brows.
But the Consul stares back at me with unblinking disdain.
“Your second lesson is never to use non-existent words or animalistic sounds worthy of a gurgling infant child in your adult communication. At the Court of the Imperator, the appropriate response is ‘yes’ or ‘no’ followed by the honorific ‘My Imperial Sovereign’ if you address the Imperator Himself, ‘My Imperial Lord’ if you address the Crown Prince Heir, ‘My Lord’ if you address a member of the Elite Nobility of Atlantida, or ‘Sir’ if you address a ranking Citizen who is not otherwise of noble blood. There are other fine distinctions, but this is sufficient for now.”
“All right,” I say. “So how do I address the women?”
Consul Denu narrows his eyes. “You are rather more impertinent than expected. Therefore this lesson time must take into account the additional training in humility. I am also told that you have a tendency to speak out of line and beyond your rank. We will work on that.”
My lips part of their own accord. Oh, is that what you’ve been told about me? I feel a fierce stab of irritation at Aeson Kassiopei. But I say nothing and hold my breath then slowly release.
Consul Denu notices my effort and nods. “Speaking your mind at Court can be the equivalent of a death sentence. And if I understand correctly, the Imperial Lord finds you sufficiently useful that you must be kept alive. I will therefore make every effort to improve your chances.”
I look at him and still say nothing. Nobody ever said I don’t learn fast (admittedly, except when it comes to P.E. and physical activity, or, okay, that crappy shuttle Piloting).
Consul Denu observes my continuing silence with satisfaction, and takes a comfortable deep breath. “Now then. You may approach me and sit down—in that chair. And we will begin our actual lessons.”
Nearly forty minutes later I escape from the perfumed prison of Consul Denu’s quarters. After our rough start, apparently the Consul decided he
must first introduce me to his own elegant pedigree. So, for the rest of our class I get to hear him discuss his family tree with all its prominent ancestors, going back several thousand years to the original colonization of Atlantis. Admittedly there are useful and fascinating snippets of planetary history in all that—global events including two major floods, several world war cycles, and other stuff that gave me an idea of civilizations on Altantis, but good lord! The roster of names and ranks! I hope the next class is more Protocol and less Consul Suval Denu.
Unfortunately my schedule today includes yet another class. It’s Combat at 4:00 PM, over at the Yellow Quadrant, with Oalla Keigeri. I am exhausted from all the crazy pressure since this morning—and it’s only day two of us having assumed our official roles in the Fleet.
Combat Training is held in the mid-sized gym area on Cadet Deck Four. The room is once again open-space, with freely connecting corridors leading into the rest of the ship Unlike Earth gyms, this one is more like a martial arts dojo, a wide-open studio space with a hard floor and optional mats rolled up along the walls. I also notice the glaring lack of standard gym equipment such as rowing machines, steppers, stationary bikes or treadmills. Instead, there’s a designated sparring area in the middle, and off to the side, a wall with a punching-bag-like surface instead of paneling. Next to it are stacked hand weights in various unusual shapes and sizes.
When I get to the gym, the room is already full. Cadets with yellow armbands are predominant, and once again I feel a little weird with no Cadet star on my uniform.
Oalla Keigeri walks in and blows her whistle. Immediately the Cadets come to order, and line up in rows without having to be told. After all, she is their commanding officer, the Pilot in charge of the Yellow Quadrant on this ship.
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