Burden of Sisyphus

by Jon Messenger

  The civilian transport passed over the green fields and angled toward a flat section of poured concrete marked with alternating blue and yellow lights that chased each other around the perimeter of the square landing zone. Firing its maneuvering rockets, the transport changed trajectory one last time before settling smoothly to the ground.

  The few other students onboard stood and collected their gear. Keryn nervously tugged on her light gray cadet’s uniform, as she wanted for the crowd to thin before standing and pulling her duffel bag free from the overhead compartment. Many other students struck up friendly conversations with each other and joked about the long journey to Arcendor. Occasionally, they gave Keryn an odd look, obviously surprised to see a Wyndgaart at the Academy. Feeling surprisingly exposed and out of place, she readjusted her confining uniform jacket one last time before falling into line with the exiting cadets.

  Squinting against the bright light, she savored the warmth of the Arcendus sun, as she stepped off the cramped transport. The trip was cold, made doubly so by the Oterian sitting nearby, who insisted on keeping cool air on his furry body at all times. Keryn couldn’t remember the last time she felt so cold, having spent her entire life enjoying the constant temperatures of the Wyndgaart home world. Still, she knew she was in for a new series of experiences and adventures, as she began pilot training.

  Having no guidance from the transport crew, the cadets gathered outside the ship. Breaking into cliques often separated by race, they talked and gossiped among themselves. More than once, Keryn saw a finger point at her. Frowning, she walked around the side of the ship, leaned against its heated metal exterior, and soaked in the sun’s rays.

  After resting for less than a minute, she heard a commotion stop at the back of the plane, as the group fell into harsh silence. Sticking her head around the rear of the ship, she watched a pale-skinned Avalon garbed in a black uniform, step before the gaggle of cadets.

  “Cadets!” she shouted. “Fall in!”

  Hurrying to join the others, Keryn stood in the rear of four rows, as the cadets jostled for position in the lines.

  “Let me be the first to welcome you all to the Alliance Fleet Academy,” the Avalon said. “My name is Magistrate Victoria, but you may call me Ma’am. I’ll be one of your primary instructors for the first year. Some of your faces are familiar to me, your families having long-standing legacies here at the Academy. For some in this crowd, your families have as many as eight generations of previous graduates from this institution.”

  A smug Avalon female one row ahead of Keryn smiled confidently. Nudging the Uligart female beside her, she winked.

  “Let me explain something right away,” Victoria said sternly. “I don't care who your family is or how well you did in school before your acceptance to the Academy.”

  The smile on the Avalon student’s face disappeared.

  “As far as I’m concerned, every one of you is inept and inexperienced. My job is to take your shapeless putty and mold you into a group of talented pilots who’ll do the Fleet proud. Perform well, and you’ll be rewarded. Perform poorly, and I’ll kick you from this program no matter who your mommy or daddy is. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” a few students muttered.

  The others stared in stunned silence. For many, it was the first time, though certainly not the last, they were talked down to as if they were insignificant.

  “I didn't hear you!” Victoria shouted.

  “Yes, Ma’am!” they replied.

  “Good. Everyone follow me inside for your official welcome and orientation to our grounds.” She walked away.

  Slowly, the first few ranks broke loose and followed, leading the way for the others to hurry after them. Keryn smiled, as she jogged to catch up to the pack. Though still nervous, she at least found someone she could respect in Magistrate Victoria.

  Victoria led them past the central monument on the campus, a larger-than-life bronze statue of a muscular Avalon holding a tall spear. A bronze banner ran from the spear, fluttering in the never-ending wind. Inscribed on it were words written in the flowing Avalon home dialect.

  “Shirath Esquideuz Pithyas,” Keryn read aloud. Turning to the cadet beside her, a broad-shouldered Oterian, she asked, “What does it mean?”

  With little more than a grunt, the Oterian shrugged and increased his pace, leaving her behind. Looking over her shoulder, she glanced back at the statue once more, memorizing the words to ask about later.

  Passing through vaulting double doors trimmed in intricately carved avian figures, the cadets entered the Academy’s main hall. They dropped their duffel bags in a growing pile beside the door before moving deeper into the hall. The expansive foyer was framed on either side by a tall staircase leading to a second floor. From the second-floor landing, clusters of older cadets watched the newcomers enter. They called out to friends and joked about the looks of others.

  Lowering her head and letting her silver hair cascade over her telling tattoos, Keryn hid herself in the midst of the clustered cadets, as they cleared the foyer. Through a second set of doors, they entered the rear of an auditorium.

  Plush purple cushions lined the rows of theater seats that looked down on a distal podium flanked on either side by large screens projecting the image of the empty stage. Dozens of other students already filled the auditorium. Keryn’s flight was one of the last to arrive.

  Her group spilt off, joining friends and family around the room. Uninterested in finding kindred spirits and knowing there was no chance of seeing another Wyndgaart at the Academy in her year group, she settled for searching for an empty seat. Most of the rows were full of cadets, their tailored gray uniforms hugging the curves of their figures. Keryn cursed herself for not knowing to get her uniform fitted. The ill-fitting jacket and pants hung baggy on her thin, athletic frame, filling out only at her bosom.

  Spotting an empty seat on the left side of the theater, Keryn forced her way past the clustered cadets who malingered in the aisles. Brushing past the outstretched white wings of an Avalon, she stopped before the row that led to the empty seat. Before she could enter, she felt a thin hand press against her chest. Following the offending hand, she found herself face-to-face with the smug Avalon female from outside. Behind her, a cadre of chattering females exuded pompous arrogance.

  “Can I help you?” the Avalon asked.

  “Not really,” Keryn replied, “unless you’ll help me to my seat.”

  “My name is Sasha Pythril.” When Keryn gave her a blank stare, she said, “Of the family Pythril? And you are?”

  “Keryn Riddell.” Already tired of the conversation, she tried to step past Sasha and enter the row, but Sasha’s hand touched her chest firmly.

  “That seat’s saved for someone.”

  “Who?”

  The bluntness of the question caught Sasha off guard. “Listen here, Freak,” she replied, her face flushed with anger. “Let me explain how the pecking order at the Academy works. You’re on the bottom, and I’m on the top. My family has been top graduates from the Academy for over one hundred years, and I intend to follow in their footsteps. I don’t even know how a Wyndgaart got in here. They must be lowering their standards.”

  Punch her in the face, the Voice offered, while Keryn sought a proper response. If you break her jaw, she won’t run her mouth so much.

  As much as Keryn hated the Voice, she felt her hands clench into fists.

  “Excuse me,” a new female voice called behind Sasha. “Is this yours? It looks like you might be molting.”

  Sasha turned to look at a short Pilgrim standing behind her. The Pilgrim’s long, blonde hair hung over her eyes, partially concealing a mischievous smile. In her outstretched hand was a single white feather.

  Surprised, Sasha snatched the feather from her hand and compared it to her wings. Seeing the colors didn’t match, she sneered angrily at the newcomer.

  “Come on,” the Pilgrim offered to Keryn. “I’ve got an empty chair on
the other side of the room.” Taking Keryn’s arm, the short Pilgrim led her away from the pending confrontation.

  “It figures that freaks would hang out together,” Sasha called after them. “Who else but a Pilgrim would hang out with a savage?”

  “Let it go,” the girl muttered softly. Raising her voice, she called back, “You might want to take care of that molting problem. It’s becoming obscene.”

  They both laughed, as they listened to the profanity that followed, as they walked away. Though angry before, Keryn felt her tension flood away, as they took seats on the right side of the auditorium.

  As they collapsed into their chairs, the Pilgrim extended her hand. “Iana Morven,” she said with a disarming smile.

  “Keryn Riddell.” She accepted the hand. “Thanks for the save back there.”

  “Somehow, I didn’t think you were in that much danger.”

  Keryn shrugged. “I don’t get it. What’s their problem?”

  “They’re elitists. Every member of that group comes from money. Sasha’s the worst of the bunch. I heard horror stories about her before my transport even landed.”

  “Lucky us,” Keryn said dryly. “How’d we manage the one class full of such winners?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t count us lucky. There’s a group of divas in every class. You have to remember the Academy is an institution created for the best of the best. They earned their way in, like we did, but they don’t see it that way. All they manage to see through their blinders is a Wyndgaart and a Pilgrim, both outcast races in their eyes.”

  “I can’t believe I’ll have to put up with this for the next two years.”

  “You won’t have to if you just kill her.” Iana winked.

  The room fell into hushed silence, as a dour-looking male Avalon walked to the podium. Instead of wearing the black uniforms of the other instructors, who positioned themselves around the side walls of the theater, he was swaddled in a loose robe, which, left open in the front, exposed his well-defined chest and abdominal muscles. His unusually dark hair fell over his shoulders, framing a pale face. Screens on either side projected his magnified image and amplified his voice.

  “Students,” he said, his voice deeper than most Avalons but still carrying singing undercurrents, “let me welcome you to the Alliance Fleet Academy. If you’re present in this room, you’ve proven yourself time and time again through a battery of cognitive and reflexive tests. You earned the right to be here.

  “My name is Tyrus Brothius, and I’m the dean of this institution of higher learning. Over the next two years, you’ll be put through a grueling series of classroom instruction, simulation training, tactics training, and actual flight time in all manner of ship platforms. Though this room is full now, when it’s time for graduation, one-third to one-half of you will have failed. This will be a much-transformed auditorium at the end of two years.”

  Keryn glanced around the room at the myriad of races present. All the major races had representatives among her class. Large Oterians were sprinkled throughout the room, their massive bulk and long horns blocking the view of the unfortunate students behind them. Sharp, bony protrusions of the Uligart mixed side-by-side with groups of void-faced Lithid. Folded Avalonian wings were tucked tightly against bodies, as the avian race filled the majority of the room. Their flight ability made them naturals as pilots, since they already grasped the complexities of aerial combat. Across the room, Keryn caught Sasha’s eye, as the Avalon looked in her direction. Scowling, Sasha turned back toward the front of the room.

  “For those of you who succeed and survive the next two years, the stars become your playground. You’ll direct your ship on journeys the likes of which you only heard about in childhood stories. In two years, you’ll finally have the chance to truly live.”

  The audience erupted in cheers. That was what they came for—the opportunity to become pilots in the Alliance. Keryn’s heart swelled at the thought of piloting one of the small Duun fighters or the larger Cair transports into combat. Looking over, she saw the same excitement reflected in Iana’s eyes. For both girls, it was an opportunity to break free from the confining limitations of their species. Everyone else in the room simply wanted to fly, but Keryn and Iana had something to prove.

  “Over the next few weeks,” the dean continued, once the cheers died, “every one of you will be introduced to the available craft within the Alliance. You’ll be exposed to everything from the smallest Duun fighter to the inner workings of the massive Alliance cruisers. At some point during this year, your heart will cry out, as you pilot one of those craft, and you’ll know you found your calling. Your ship of choice is one of the things you’ll compete for against your peers.

  “If you work hard enough, you’ll be rewarded with your ship of choice. However, more recompense will be yours if you not only graduate but succeed in becoming top of your class. The top graduates in each class are promoted into the office ranks as a magistrate, rather than being commissioned as warrants. Believe me when I tell you that this is a lofty position, one highly sought after and respected among the Fleet.”

  He scanned the crowd, his eyes seeming to fall on every individual, as he perused the new class. Keryn felt his gaze linger on her as he scanned, a slight flicker of surprise passing over his face at the sight of her bronzed skin and brightly colored tattoos. Moments later, his gaze moved on, and she was left wondering if his stern appraisal was nothing more than her imagination.

  “I wish you all the best during your tenure at the Academy,” he said after the long pause. “Around the room, you’ll see your future instructors. They are rigid and intent on teaching you everything you need to know, not only as a pilot but as a soldier. Each of you has much to learn. Don’t take the berating personally. All your counterparts will receive the same poor treatment.”

  His comments invoked a round of nervous laughter, as the students tried to determine if that was a joke.

  “Learn from them. Study hard. In two years, I’ll see you again as graduates and proud members of the Alliance Fleet.”

  Stepping from the podium, he turned to walk off stage. An Oterian instructor, stuffed into a broad-shouldered black uniform, stepped forward from the line of instructors against the right wall.

  “On your feet!” he shouted, his deep voice rumbling throughout the vaulted room. “You always stand whenever the dean or an instructor enters or leaves the room. Am I understood?”

  “Sir, yes, Sir!” the students replied.

  “Then you’re dismissed,” he said, as the dean disappeared behind the curtains lining the stage. “Find your assigned rooms and get settled. Classes and physical training begin first thing tomorrow morning.”

  The students funneled out through the auditorium’s large rear doors. Once outside, second-year-students were there to welcome the new cadets and give them their room assignments. Iana and Keryn traced their fingers down the list in front of a second-year Lithid, who assisted them. Their names were written side-by-side.

  With a broad smile, Iana turned to Keryn. “Let’s go find our room, Roomie!”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The long journey to Fatutu IV was punctuated by a few fights among members of the Goliath’s crew and Vance’s covert operations team. The team’s mood was sour, and even their tolerance of each other was low. Most of Vance’s time was spent apologizing to the captain and different officers throughout the ship instead of getting any relaxation time. When the captain finally announced they were arriving, Vance was relieved.

  He accompanied his team to the hangar, eager to be on one of the first transports leaving the ship. Their uniforms were traded in for loose shirts and knee-length shorts. Even their disgruntled moods were replaced by smiles and friendly jests.

  Loud laughter preceded the team’s entrance to the hangar. Ainj threw his arm comfortably around Nova’s shoulders. Yen and Eza joked like lost brothers, followed by the ever-stoic Ixibas and the stooped Tusque, bending low to pass under the doorframe. Va
nce came behind them but didn’t approach the transport.

  “We wish you’d come with us,” Yen called.

  “Is there any way we can convince you to join us?” Eza asked.

  Vance shook his head. “No. I have promises to keep. You have fun. Above all, keep out of trouble.”

  “I don’t understand why he worries about us.” Ainj’s voice sang in typical Avalon style. “It’s almost as if he doesn’t trust us.”

  “Or he actually knows us,” Tusque added, his deep voice carrying easily through the open hangar.

  “If you aren’t coming with us,” Nova said, slipping free of Ainj’s arm, “at least try your best to enjoy yourself.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Vance replied, as Ainj caught Nova’s hand, pulling her toward the transport.

  “Say hello to Halo for us!” she yelled, as she was dragged away.

  Vance waved, as the ship’s door sealed. Warning lights spun above all the doorways, telling him it was time to clear the hangar. As he left the vaulted bay, the doors slid shut behind him, so decompression of the chamber could begin. Vance didn’t wait for confirmation his team was away before he walked toward the depths of the ship.

  With the Goliath in the process of establishing a steady orbit around Fatutu IV, Vance knew Halo would be busy with a multitude of minute adjustments in speed and altitude. Instead of bothering her, he paced the length of the long, cylindrical warship.

  Taking the captain’s advice, he wandered to the front most observation deck. To the captain’s credit, the view was spectacular. The deep purple of indigenous plant life mixed beautifully into the soft pinks and reds of the lapping oceans. Even the polar icecaps had a faint pastel hue, absorbing color from the water and the soft ultraviolet light filtering through the atmosphere.

  Ever the soldier, his eyes quickly moved to a closer view—Goliath. Missile ports and rail-gun launch tubes jutted from the long, glossy black hull. The Goliath, converted from a regular cruiser to a warship when the Alliance reallocated the ship for use by covert operations, contained a myriad of weaponry far superior to any other ship in the Fleet.