Meanwhile, I’ve discovered that Gracie calls Blayne almost every day, and I don’t know, but is something happening there? Not sure, considering Blayne is about two or three years older than my sis, who’s going to be turning thirteen very soon—her birthday is August 14, which is in the middle of the third Blue month of the arbitrary Atlantean journey calendar. I trust Blayne way more than I do my own sister, so whatever it is, I’m not too alarmed.
At the end of three months of Blue, Gracie turns thirteen, and we enter Green, the Atlantean equivalent of spring. During the first week of the first Green month—our fourth month in space—there’s a second Zero-G Dance, this one hosted by the Green Quadrant.
Since officially the CCO has nothing to do with it, and I’m in no mood to dance or remember what happened the last time, I skip the dance entirely.
I hear it goes quite well, with the Resonance Chamber decorated like a stunning green garden filled with flowers, and Pilot Erita Qwas having her Green Quadrant organize a scavenger hunt in the middle of the event.
What’s far more exciting for me is that at the end of that month, real Pilot Training begins—we finally get to train on real shuttles outside.
During the second month of Green (our fifth month in space) is our only chance to practice actual live flight runs before our first test—the Semi-Final Quantum Stream Race.
The Race is scheduled for the final week of the second Green month. That’s right before the dangerous third month of Green begins—our sixth month in space, also called Jump month—when the Quantum Stream becomes too deadly and unstable for beginners.
The Race is the day after tomorrow.
It’s what we’ve been training for, our first major Test.
The Quantum Stream Race will determine our Cadet Preliminary Standing in the Fleet.
And for me, it might make a huge difference in status.
For the moment, I’m still neither a Cadet nor a Civilian.
But if I succeed in this Cadet event, I might be able to convince Command Pilot Aeson Kassiopei to allow me to proceed with my insane plans regarding the Games of the Atlantis Grail.
The only thing I’ve got to lose is . . . everything.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I wake up on the day before the Quantum Stream Race with the gloomy knowledge that our Pilot Standing Scores will be posted today, which will determine our entry order for tomorrow.
The problem is, Hugo and I are probably in the bottom third of all our classmates. Our last three shuttle runs outside were precarious, terrifying, and at one point I thought we were going to die.
I’m not kidding.
That’s how bad we work together and how poorly both of us seem to perform. . . .
We’ve had a total of five runs outside. That’s how many learning flight opportunities each pair of Cadet Pilots in the Fleet gets—on a tight, carefully coordinated rotation schedule—due to the limited number of actual shuttles and the hundreds of thousands of Cadets. So we had to use our turns carefully.
Our first shuttle run happened two weeks ago. As usual, Hugo was Pilot, handling the Red/Green Grids, and I the Co-Pilot on Blue/Yellow—with Instructor Mithrat Okoi supervising us remotely via audio-link.
We launched, entered the flight lane between ark-ship formations and then flew in a straight line for the entire length of the Fleet in one direction, then returned. It was terrifying. Hugo’s hands were shaking during both the launch and braking swipes, and I had to compensate like crazy to keep us straight and on course.
Flying in the same direction as the Fleet is called streaming. Flying in the opposite direction, against the Quantum Stream is called ripping.
We streamed okay, then did the necessary turnabout before reaching the terminal anchor ships in formation which are either ICS-1 in the very front or ICS-4 in the very rear. As we were ripping back, and it was time to brake, I signaled the timing on the Yellow Grid, but Hugo ignored me for about three long seconds. So we almost overshot our home ship, and heard the loud angry shouts from Instructor Okoi: “Engage Brake now! Cadet Pilot Moreno, wake up! Use the damn Brake!”
We circled back around ICS-2 and barely made it into our designated shuttle bay.
After we parked and exited the shuttle, with the whole class waiting for us to complete our lousy first turn, we got to see Instructor Okoi’s thundercloud expression and hear his disdainful assessment of our performance.
“Embarrassing first run. You do not hesitate, ever,” he told both of us, but was looking mostly at Hugo. “This earns you one point out of a possible five. Very poorly done.”
And that was that. Most other people in the class got at least a solid 3, and some, like the Tsai siblings, Alla Vetrova and Conrad Hart, and even Logan and his partner Oliver Parker, got 4s and 5s. Logan gave me a cool stare as he watched us get the crappy low points and the tongue lashing from the Instructor.
The next four runs we did in the following days were slight improvements, but we only earned one 3, which was on the third run, and the rest were 2s. Overall, a pitiful 2-Point Average, which is not something you want.
Well, today we get to see the culmination of our shame. . . .
I shower and get dressed, skip breakfast, and head directly to the wide corridor junction between the Yellow Quadrant Cadet and Command Decks. On the walls here are several smart boards that are supposed to display the Pilot Pairs and our Standings, starting at 7:30 AM. The same boards are a posted in all the Four Quadrants, all around this hub corridor.
A crowd of teens is gathering very quickly. Girls and boys stare up at the boards periodically, waiting for their numbers to roll around, and discuss nervously and loudly. Most of the Cadets here are from the Yellow Quadrant, although I see a few Blues, Greens and Reds who happen to be in the area of this deck. Apparently the Atlanteans don’t separate our scores by specific classes, and everyone’s Standing numbers are simply listed in order, based on the total number of Cadets on this particular ship.
I know the same thing is happening today all across the Fleet, as Cadets get their Pilot Standings. I think of Gracie, and I know for a fact her scores are going to be better than ours. Gracie and her Pilot partner got 3s and 4s on their five live runs. Way to go, sis.
I stand in the crowd, getting elbowed by other teens, looking at the running vertical scroll marquee of alphabetical names followed by the name of their partner, and then the score. Each person’s name gets mentioned twice during the marquee, so that everyone gets alphabetized in turn, with the partner name in parentheses.
An alternate marquee, to the right, lists the Pilot Standing Numbers first, followed by names. Here I see that Pair #1 is Alla Vetrova and Conrad Hart, followed by Erin and Roy Tsai at #2. Why am I not surprised? I also notice that Logan Sangre and Oliver Parker come in at #7.
Meanwhile, Hugo is not here, not on this deck. He is probably checking the smart board over at the Blue Quadrant portion of the corridor.
My name comes up first before his, alphabetically. I squint and see:
Lark, Gwenevere (Moreno, Hugo) – 547
Oh yeah, that’s bad. . . . Considering there are 624 Cadet Pilot Pairs on ICS-2, we are not rock-bottom, but pretty close to it. And I can safely bet we’re among the three lowest scoring pairs in our specific Pilot Training class, which is supposed to be the advanced, higher level class.
I turn around and see Blayne Dubois on his hoverboard, levitating upright a few feet away. His face looks mellow.
“Hey, Dubois!” I say. “What did you and Leon get?”
“Hey, Lark.” He shrugs, craning his neck in his usual gesture to move the longish hair away from his blue eyes. “No idea yet. Waiting to see my name or Leon’s.”
“My score is just awful,” I say.
He nods thoughtfully. “Well, don’t sweat it too much, it’s just a number. Not the End of all Things. That comes tomorrow during the Race.”
“Thanks, very encouraging.” I make a pitiful snort.
“An
y time, it’s what I do. Want to grab breakfast?” he says.
“Sure.”
He pauses in that moment to stare at the board. “Ah, there we go—Madongo, Leon (Dubois, Blayne) – 351. Okay, I suppose.”
And then we head to the meal hall, where most of us are too nervous to eat.
I show up at the CCO for work at 8:00 AM, and fidget nervously for the next two hours in anticipation of the next Quantum Stream Race prep-related event on today’s schedule. At least Command Pilot Kassiopei is not in the office this morning to see me be all pitiful and stressed out, but Anu and Gennio give me funny looks.
“I think it’s okay if you need to leave early,” Gennio tells me at last, about fifteen minutes before 10:00 AM. That’s when the Quantum Stream Safety Lecture is supposed to take place over at the Pilot Training classroom.
“Please, I beg you, go already. Go to your QS Safety Lecture early, Earth girl,” Anu moans. “Watching you makes me want to do bad things to myself—but mostly others—such as fat-brain here. If you don’t leave now, I will torment Gennio until he soils his uniform pants, and it will be all your fault.”
Finally I give in and rush to my Pilot Training class for the special lecture.
The classroom deck with the flight simulators is packed with students already. I manage to grab one of the few remaining empty double console desks, and moments later Hugo shows up and takes the other seat, giving me the usual hard glare.
Instructor Mithrat Okoi stands before us like an old general, waiting to begin. Today the flight simulator screens remain blank and dark. Instead there is a large smart board in the back, which lights up at 10:00 AM on the dot. “Quantum Stream Safety” is the bold headline on top.
“Attention, Cadets!” the Instructor begins with the usual bark command.
We rise up quickly in unison, salute, and return to our seats.
Mithrat Okoi nods at us grimly. “This is your last class before the QS Race. Today we will not practice—today we will discuss what awaits you tomorrow. First and foremost we will review Quantum Stream Flight Safety. You think you know the dangers? We are going to go over them one more time, because you really don’t. Knowing with your mind is not the same as being there, faced with death. Because one wrong move, and you are dead.”
Instructor Okoi begins to pace in his usual manner among our rows of desks.
“First—we are in the final week of the pre-Jump month. The velocities outside are now phenomenal, and instability is rising every second. Which means that in one week, the only ones who will even be able to Pilot outside in the QS space will be the Officer Pilots in charge of your Quadrants. No rote Fleet Pilot will be allowed outside, not even a good one. Only the astra daimon. Do you understand what that means?”
We stare at him, and there is perfect silence. Most of the Cadets in the room barely dare to breathe.
Because yes, we have all seen it, first hand—those last few times we were outside on practice runs, we could see it—what’s out there. . . .
There is no more “normal interstellar space” outside.
The universe is nearing a blur.
If you look at it, the color of space itself is different now, no longer pure black with occasional spots or patches of remote color radiance to indicate stars, galaxies or nebulae. Now, everything is one color. It’s a strange surreal off-black, a lighter “space,” almost a deep shade of grey, as though the entirety of the cosmos has been stirred up and put through the blender, resulting in a homogeneous mix of darkness and faint light, with the final product being dark roiling grey, like a field of static.
When Hugo and I flew last, we saw that terrible terrifying grey, no individual stars, no true light or dark, with nothing but Fleet ships lined up in formation, and the universe itself so uniform that it felt claustrophobic, as though it was encroaching upon us from all sides, a great nothing, squeezing us. . . .
Instructor Okoi continues. “Knowing how tough things are out there right now, it is vital that you understand and follow the safety rules properly. These are the rules, and we are going to discuss them one by one.” He presses his handheld and a list appears on the smart board:
Quantum Stream Safety
1. Do not under any circumstances breach the Boundary demarcation of the Quantum Stream zone.
2. Maintain your flight course. Adhere to straight lines.
3. Avoid making sudden sharp movements or turns.
4. In case of obstacles, slow down first, then engage in evasive maneuvers.
5. Brake earlier than normal.
6. Surrender right of way to any other ship in your immediate vicinity if they are too close to the QS Boundary, allowing them to stay inside the Stream.
7. If you have the misfortune to breach and fall outside the QS Boundary, follow the QS Breach Emergency Protocol, or QSBEP-1.
“Now, the first and most important item on this list,” Instructor Okoi tells us, “is this one. Do not under any circumstances breach the boundary demarcation of the Quantum Stream zone. What does it mean?”
He pauses to call up a chart of the three-column Fleet formation on the smart board. “The boundary is defined by the one kilometer corridor of space surrounding the Fleet on all sides. The boundary extends out beyond the exterior formation columns of ships on the right and left of the Stream, which are columns #1 and #3. It also extends out forward, before the flagship ICS-1, and behind the anchor ship ICS-4 in the rear. Stay within the zone! If you pass or fall out of this safe area of Stream space, you will end up outside, somewhere in the unknown vastness of interstellar space. That is a death sentence.”
Erin Tsai raises her hand. “Instructor Okoi, what about the special instances when vessels coming from the outside have to merge with the Fleet within the Quantum Stream? How is that possible?”
Mithrat Okoi looks at her. “Are you referring to rendezvous maneuvers, such as the Mars station personnel pickup? Those are done under very controlled circumstances. First of all, approach and entry maneuvers are only allowed very early on in the journey, when the common Fleet velocities are not at their height. We are long past that relatively safe point. Second, only the most skilled astra daimon can do a planned re-entry into the QS field space from the outside, using QS frequency ‘future projections.’ This is advanced Piloting that some of you will be allowed to study in your second year—and most of you will not study at all. In short—Breaching the QS Boundary right now will get you killed.”
“But what about the Emergency Protocol?”
“We will come to it in a moment. But—let me say this now, before you start to grow lax, thinking of it as a fallback. The QS Breach Emergency Protocol is not going to save you, unless you are very, very lucky, or very, very good. Most people who breach the QS zone do not come back. So do not plan on using it. Instead, plan to avoid the circumstances altogether.”
Erin nods quietly.
“Item two,” the Instructor says, once again calling up the list on the smart board. “Maintain your flight course. Adhere to straight lines. This might seem self-explanatory, but you need to remember that sometimes there will be circumstances forcing you to change course. If you are faced with such, do it wisely, and plot your new course with care, using the most straightforward route. Simple is always best. Hence, straight lines.”
He points to the next item. “Number three. Avoid making sudden sharp movements or turns. This is the most common cause of breaching the boundary. Do not do it! Lose control, and you lose everything!
“Item four. In case of obstacles, slow down first, then engage in evasive maneuvers. I don’t care if it costs you time in the Race. Would your rather lose time and get a lower score or lose your life? Slow down!”
“Okay, now I’m ready to crap my pants . . .” a Cadet nearby whispers.
Someone else giggles.
Mithrat Okoi turns in the direction of the noise and locates both the speaker and the person who laughed. He walks up to them in rapid strides. “You, and you,�
�� he says, leaning over them. His handheld device scans the two Cadets’ ID tokens. “Demerits to both. Your outburst just cost you five places in you Pilot Standings.”
Oh, crap. . . .
The class goes completely silent after that.
“Item five,” the Instructor continues as though nothing happened. “Brake earlier than normal. This ensures precision, and is your best bet when the Quantum Stream is at the height of instability. All ship approaches should be done with greater care than normal at this time. Entering the shuttle bay upon return is one of your most risky maneuvers during the Race. This is where most accidents happen.
“Item six. Surrender right of way to any other ship in your immediate vicinity if they are too close to the QS Boundary, allowing them to stay inside the Stream. This means that if you see another shuttle next to you, and your movement might throw them off and cast them into the boundary, do not do it! Desist, and let them pass, especially if it looks like they are already in trouble. It is the honorable thing to do. If anything, consider this—you will never become astra daimon unless you act with honor toward others. If you have the slightest aspiration in that direction, then stay honor-bound.”
Instructor Okoi pauses momentarily, glancing around the room.
We stare back at him, full of tension.
“Now,” he says, “we come to the last critical item, number seven. If you have the misfortune to breach and fall outside the QS Boundary, follow the QS Breach Emergency Protocol, or QSBEP-1.”
Mithrat Okoi turns to the smart board and calls up another list. This one has “QSBEP-1” on the top header. “This is the Emergency Protocol. If you find yourself thrown out of the Stream, do not waste a single second. Make every attempt to follow the protocol, item by item, before you panic or give up and resign yourself to death. Note that this will be posted inside your shuttle next to your console during the Race, so that you can refer to it at a glance. Please, I repeat—if you have to follow this protocol, do it immediately, as soon as you realize you are out of the QS zone. Do not panic, do not hesitate, act!”
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