Michael Vance walked down the brightly lit corridors of the Goliath, drinking in the sights. Raised and trained as an infantry soldier, where dirt and grime where as much a part of one’s uniform as the pants and jacket, he found it strange to be onboard a ship kept so immaculately clean. The light gray walls glistened from the thick lacquer spread evenly over the paint. Colored lines of yellow, black, red, and blue traced the hall, splitting toward different directions, guiding crewmen toward unseen objectives. The infantry was fond of teasing the Fleet, accusing them of needing color-coded walls to avoid getting lost.
Watching the faces of the crew and officers he passed, their uniforms pressed and creased to perfection, he suddenly became aware of his appearance. Still clothed in thick boots and a dusty red robe, cinched at the waist by a tattered leather belt, he trailed red clay and dust from the planet’s surface to be ground into the carpet as he walked toward one of the ship’s many classrooms. He heard a rumor that the Fleet actually had a job for watercraft operators, which hadn’t been used by the Fleet in more than 150 years. He wondered if they also had a job for carpet cleaners.
A loud guffaw escaped his lips, drawing the attention of nearby crewmen. He could only imagine a crewman cursing loudly as he shampooed and vacuumed the halls, tracking Vance’s movements throughout the ship. It would be easy to locate him if the crewman really wanted to find the source of the persistent red clay. The special operations officer was so obviously different from the rest of the crew aboard the Goliath. Dirty and sweaty, he still carried his large rifle slung across his back. The barrel bounced harmlessly against the back of his calf as he walked. He was so accustomed to the weapon, he hardly noticed.
Nearing the first of many elevators he must take to reach the classroom, he tapped his foot impatiently as he waited. A rush of recycled air brought a sour smell to him. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he looked around in surprise before realizing he was the source of the rancid scent.
“No wonder they were looking at me so weird,” he mumbled to the closed doors. He laughed despite himself at the great divisions between the Fleet and infantry. He couldn’t imagine what a crewman would do if forced to sleep in the mud.
The light above the door turned from red to green, acknowledging the arrival of the elevator. The doors parted with a soft hiss, revealing a spacious chamber with a single unfortunate warrant inside. Despite his broad shoulders and Terran heritage, Vance moved gracefully as he slid past the closing doors and took a place against the back wall.
Eying him warily, the warrant politely lifted the back of his hand to his nose, trying to block the smell. Running his own hand across his thick, black beard, Vance flashed bright, white teeth at the trapped warrant. Returning the smile weakly, he gave a subtle nod.
Two floors later, obviously uncomfortable about being in such an enclosed space with Vance, the warrant pressed a floor button at random. When the doors slid open he quickly left the elevator.
Finally alone in the lift Vance stretched his arms wide and relaxed as the elevator took him the rest of the way up through the ship’s numerous floors.
After catching another set of lifts and walking nearly the length of the ship, Vance found himself before an open door leading into the rear of a tiered classroom. At a podium at the bottom of the steps, gesturing wildly toward a holographic projection of a battle, a Pilgrim officer taught historical battle scenarios to a group of enthralled, young pilots. Slipping into the room unnoticed, Vance sat in the rear and listened.
“When the newly formed Alliance first faced off against the Terran Empire’s Fleet, the crews of those Alliance ships weren’t much older than the faces I see in this audience,” the instructor said. “They were inexperienced but brave. They fought valiantly against an aggressive, dangerous enemy.”
The instructor removed his glasses and set them gently on the podium. “Don’t smile. They were summarily wiped out by the superior Terran Fleet.”
Stepping away from the podium, the Pilgrim ran a hand through his thinning gray hair. He smiled gingerly at the captive audience, his face breaking into a spider web of wrinkles. “My concern is that I see the same youthful bravado in your pilots and crewmen. You have the urge to prove yourself. You want your name to go down in history. The problem is that there’s no place for attitudes like those among the crew of this ship. In this atmosphere you either work as a team or you die alone and forgotten.”
He stopped pacing and stared at the defiant faces of the pilots and crewmen. “How many of you think that the war between the Alliance and the Empire is over? Give me a show of hands.”
Seeing no one move he continued. “Good. The Taisa Accord, signed nearly 150 years ago, was just a mutual agreement between both sides to end open hostilities. The key word is open hostilities. Under the radar of the populace of both the Alliance and the Empire, there’s still a war being fought. Outposts are being built in enemy territory. Platoons of infantry are facing off in bloody battles which history will never record. Notes of condolence are being sent to families who’ll never know how their loved one died.”
“The fighting between the Alliance and the Empire will never truly end until one or the other is completely destroyed. The Goliath has been tasked to uphold the illusion of peace throughout the Alliance. That’s what the citizens of the Alliance want—to be told and lulled into believing that an uneasy truce still exists. To reach that goal we’ve been outfitted with not only a superior array of weapons, but this ship has been integrated with a Halo system. Our mission will always be to hunt down and destroy any Terran elements that try to establish a foothold in Alliance space.”
Vance frowned at the mention of the Halo system. Its installation in the ship was still a sore spot for him.
“Welcome to the world of covert operations, Ladies and Gentlemen. No matter how good you were in your old job, no one will ever congratulate you on a job well done. If you do well, no one should know you did anything at all. If you don’t do a good job, you’ll be dead. It’s the job you signed up for.”
He returned to his podium and retrieved his glasses. “Are there any questions? No? Then good luck to you all. This concludes your welcome brief.”
All the audience members standing in unison braced in a firm salute, which the instructor brusquely returned. Vance waited until the room cleared and the officer was collecting his paperwork before he stood and walked down the stairs.
“I don’t remember ever looking that scared when I left one of your briefs, Sir.” He cleared the last step and stood before the Pilgrim instructor.
The Pilgrim turned with a broad smile. “Believe me, Michael, you were always that scared around me.”
Vance snapped to attention and saluted. “Captain Young, it’s a pleasure to see you again, Sir.”
The captain dismissed the formalities with a flippant wave of his hand. “I make the new recruits do that because it reminds them we’re a military at war. I served with your father too long to have you stand at attention in front of me.” He motioned Vance to sit and pulled over his own chair. “Speaking of which, how is your father?”
“Yes, Sir, our mission went exceptionally well. Thank you for your concern.”
The captain rolled his eyes. “What’s wrong with a little small talk? I’ve known your family for years. You were away on your mission for only two weeks. My relationship with your family takes seniority.”
“Last I talked to him,” Vance conceded, “he was doing quite well.”
“How long ago was that?”
Vance shifted uneasily. Though his father was one of the commanding generals in charge of the Alliance Infantry, father and son didn’t always see eye to eye. “Is it OK if we talk about something other than my father?”
“Fine. How’s your love life these days?”
Vance laughed. “No, believe me. I’d really prefer we didn’t start getting into my love life.” He knocked his boot against the chair leg, jarring caked red sand from the tread.
“Someone w
ill have to clean that up, you know.” Captain Young pointed at the growing pile of dirt under the lip of Vance’s seat.
“That wouldn’t be an issue if you’d quit sending us to dustbowls on our missions. I’m still not entirely sure why the Terrans continue picking such horrid places on which to establish outposts. Whatever happened to outposts on tropical islands full of bikini-clad women?”
“If that were the case, I wouldn’t have any problem keeping my finest soldiers in boots. Well, next-to-finest soldiers. Your group is still the best.” He paused. “I assume they are.”
Vance reached under his robe and retrieved a data disk earmarked as Terran property. “We haven’t failed you yet, Sir. We’re still the best in the Alliance.”
Captain Young carried the disk to his personal computer console on the podium. He slid in the disk and waited for Alliance technology to decode the complex Terran encryption.
After less than a minute, a flood of data poured across the monitor. His eyes flicked back and forth across the screen, trying to take in the information. Hands tapping on the screen, he scrolled through file after file of Terran plans and operations. In the bottom right corner of the screen, a red light flashed persistently.
“Anything of importance?” Vance asked, feeling awkward at being ignored while the captain ran through the data.
He grunted in confirmation. “Quite a bit, actually.” He mechanically chewed his nails. “Unfortunately, there isn’t much I can share with you until High Council sees this.”
Vance nodded. It would be weeks or more before he and his men saw any results from their mission. “Sir, if it’s going to be awhile until we get anything out of the disk, and I’m guessing, before our next mission, I’d like to request leave for me and my men. We’re a little tired and could use the downtime.”
Captain Young smiled, wrinkles extending from the corners of his eyes. “Let me guess—somewhere tropical with bikini-clad women?”
“Something like that.” Vance laughed.
“I think you and your men have earned a break. We’re stopping at Fatutu IV for resupply and refueling. It doesn’t have a lot in the way of bikini-clad women but it offers a great stretch of beach. It’ll be a bit of a trip to get there but your men will manage. When we’re done here, I’ll get the paperwork together to put all of you on leave once we arrive.” He turned away from the screen, his steely gray eyes on Vance. “Are you taking leave with them?”
Vance shrugged, telling the captain what he needed to know.
“You really need to take some time for yourself,” he said compassionately.
“Spending time with her is like taking time off for me.”
“I meant away from the ship. I’ll order you to leave if I have to.”
“It won’t do you any good. I’m as stubborn as my father.”
“I never met a more stubborn Seque of a man than him.” The captain laughed. “Fine. You win. Don’t spend your entire time cooped up in that room with her either. At least make it up to some of the observation decks. The view of Fatutu IV’s surface from space is truly remarkable. You should check it out.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Vance said halfheartedly.
“I’ll take that as a solid no. Suit yourself, but don’t say this old man didn’t try.”
As the captain rose from his chair, Vance stood, knowing the meeting was over.
“As always, Captain, it’s been a pleasure.” Vance saluted.
“Get out of here before I throw you out.”
Vance collected his things and started climbing the steps.
As Vance neared the door, Captain Young called, “I’ll let you know when we’re approaching the planet. Until then, keep your kids out of trouble.”
“We’ll be waiting impatiently,” Vance called over his shoulder as he left the room.
Once Vance was gone, the smile faded from the captain’s lips. His eyes went to the blinking red light in the bottom corner and his frown deepened as he looked toward the recently departed Pilgrim.
“You really shouldn’t have opened the disk, Vance.”
The large civilian transport dipped through the wispy clouds over Arcendus and skimmed over the tips of the tall mountain range. As snow-capped mountains gave way to gently rolling foothills, Keryn watched the city of Arcendor rise from the artificially flattened plain. Resting in a valley, surrounded on all sides by towering mountain ranges, it sat like an oasis on an otherwise mountainous planet. Sitting between the sparkling blue waters of the city’s namesake lake, the city was the architectural equivalent of the Avalons’ soaring majesty.
Large, flowing spires rose sharply from the sunlit streets, supporting a litany of twisting turrets of smooth, white stone. Banners crackled above domed roofs on the spires, caught continually in the cool breeze pouring from the nearby mountains. Between the buildings, interlocking like an intricate web of capillaries spreading across the city’s majestic body, pedestrian walkways linked the spires’ peaks and wound down their length.
As Keryn watched, Avalons launched from the topmost balconies of the spires, spreading their wings and gliding from building to building on the warm updrafts generated from the streets below. Between catwalks buzzing with foot traffic and soaring Avalons in the air, the city seemed alive, like a constantly shifting, writhing organism. The Avalon home world was everything she expected.
Watching through the narrow portcullis of the civilian transport she saw the tall spires drop away as they approached the edge of the lake, giving way to luscious green grass. The edges of the green lawns were traced by ground level sidewalks that led to a massive, four-story brick structure that covered nearly a half-mile of property along the shore. To the building’s periphery sat enormous hangar bays, their retractable roofs glistening in the warm air.
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 that 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 don’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, he was swaddled in a loose robe that was left open in the front, exposing 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 then 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 an extremely 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!”
Burden of Sisyphus (Brink of Distinction book #1) Page 4