by MK Clark
“I am Colonel Putnam, Commander of the Space Jumper Forces. I am here to commend you all on your achievement. It is no small thing to be selected to join such an elite group. However, time is short, and while there is no ceremony to officially accept you into our ranks, you are now soldiers of the Council, defenders of this world and of humanity. You will swear an oath of loyalty to the Council upon arrival at your station. Your training from this point forward will be swift and difficult, but know that every one of you has earned your right to be a Space Jumper and has received my approval. Without that, none of you would be standing here today. I leave you now in the care of Major Fox, who is in command of all airmen, and Lieutenant Colonel Warren, commander of the infantry.” He gave them an approving nod before starting toward the door, a path forming as the boys separated and returned to attention.
When the colonel left, all eyes shifted to the two remaining men. Many filled with awe at the knowledge that the three highest-ranking officers for the Space Jumpers had personally chosen them. Don knew that it was the colonel’s long-standing tradition to interview the soldiers serving under him, even before his post as the Space Jumper’s Commander. It was rumored that he sometimes looked at a person as they came through the door and decided, without even speaking to them, whether or not they would serve under him. As far as anyone could tell, he had yet to be wrong.
The lieutenant colonel stepped forward, his face hard and lined. “Outside are six buses. The first two are for airmen, and the last four are for those serving under me. Proceed with your bags to your designated buses immediately.”
Don and Tyson looked at each other and then clasped hands. “Guess this is it.”
Don nodded in reply.
Tyson gripped his hand a little harder, then swung his bag over his shoulder and turned. Don pushed his way through the crowd to grab his own bag. The cold made him shiver as he made his way outside. He paused for a moment to pull on his jacket. It felt strange to finally be leaving, as if this was all a dream and he was merely watching.
Snowflakes fell in a curtain around him, slowly adding to the mounds of white on the ground. The mountain peaks in the distance were almost unseen against the gray clouds covering the sky.
Bag stowed safely away in the bottom of a bus slightly smaller than the ones they had arrived on, Don sat gazing out at the camp behind frosted windows. He realized then, as bodies began to file out from buildings and head toward unknown destinations, that he hadn’t said goodbye to Tony.
Up until the moment the two had left with their paperwork for building C, Tyson and Don had tried to convince Tony to go with them. He was skilled enough. They were certain of it. But Tony was too peace-loving. Don smiled a little. His friend would go back to his regular life once he was out of Basic. Tony never had any interest in the war. Don was going to miss that kid. The bus jerked and began to move. Soon the mountains, trees, roads, clouds, and sky blended together into a white canvas.
The airport was still as busy as he recalled. Their presence only made things worse. Roughly two hundred boys crowded together on the walkway outside the airport lobby, waiting for their superior officers and drawing the attention of everyone who passed. Don’s breath hung in the air before him as he stood amidst the crowd, letting their bodies block the biting wind. Over half his comrades, now designated infantry, stood clumped together for warmth just a few meters away. There was an obvious break between them and the crowd Don stood in. Both sides seemed unwilling to bridge the gap.
They weren’t much more than an hour or two out of Lorenzo, and already the rivalry between companies was breaking apart. A new rivalry was being built in its place, an age-old rivalry between infantry and airmen.
He tried to catch a glimpse of Tyson, but Major Fox appeared before them, and after scrambling for better holds on their bags, they were on the move. The crowd seemed to part as they traipsed through the hallways and descended a long staircase to a nearly deserted underground station.
One subway ride and a long shivering walk later, the boys found themselves handing their duffle bags to the staff and climbing up a short ladder to board a shuttle. It rested beneath two giant doors, recently opened for the launch. The area around the spacecraft was delightfully warm, with no trace of snow or ice. That could only mean there were thermal generators at work to keep ice from obstructing their take-off.
The shuttle was much larger than the one Don had come to Earth in. It was equipped to transport hundreds of people instead of just a few dozen. As they entered the shuttle, Major Fox stood with an assistant, a list of names, and a portable DNA processor.
“Name,” ordered the major.
“O’Hara, Don.”
The major raised an eyebrow and pointed to his assistant. “I hope we’ve been graced with the presence of the real O’Hara this time.” Don reddened and let his finger be pricked for blood. The assistant nodded after a moment, and the major made a little mark on his touch-tablet. “It seems we have. The press will be so disappointed. Continue.”
“Yes, sir,” Don said quickly and sped away from the door.
“Don!” He looked up and saw a group of boys waving at him. It was Gabriel Company. Don grinned as he recognized faces and made his way to the seats being saved for him and others. He realized moments later that there were only two from Gabriel Company, Dallas and Eli. The other four were friends they had made in other companies including the first landlubber who’d spoken kindly to any of them, Nasser.
Don shook hands with the other boy. “Glad you made it.”
Nasser nodded his thanks. “You, too.”
Dallas popped between them. “We weren’t sure the major was going to let you on board. What happened?”
Don rolled his eyes. “Just giving me a hard time about when I switched places on the way to Earth.”
Dallas nodded thoughtfully for a moment and then made a face. “Aw, what does he know?”
Don smirked a little. “A lot more than you. Now show me which seat is mine, before someone notices me here and gives me latrine duty.”
During the flight, Don read the pilot’s handbook to pass the time, letting Eli borrow his tablet to when he wasn’t reading. Dallas laughed it off, but the two boys ignored him. Any head start they could get in their studies was worth the extra work. Someone brought out a deck of cards, and the rest of the boys proceeded to play as many kinds of poker as possible. A few rows up, someone had rigged a spare touch-tablet to work for him without a password.
They were provided two spaceflight meals in the eighteen hours. Don ate both heartily, having had worse or less at Camp Lorenzo. Even waiting aboard the shuttle wasn’t a terrible experience. He appreciated the simple act of sitting on a cushioned seat after spending hours crouching in the underbrush while sweat trickled into his eyes, too afraid of alerting the enemy to wipe it away.
Don opened the book on his tablet once more. His eyes found the paragraph he had left off reading last time. They were words he had almost memorized by now. He’d been searching for a passage that spoke about space and the effects of null gravity, but even after reading the book from front to back, he’d found nothing. In his frustration, he forced himself to remember that this was just a basic handbook for flying within Earth’s atmosphere. He looked down at the pages again: drag, parasite drag, induced drag, thrust, lift, weight. Words jumped out at him, their definitions blurring into the black letters around them. He sighed and closed the book.
“Bored already?” Eli asked, a twinkle in his eye.
Don rolled his eyes and passed Eli the tablet. “Here, maybe you’ll get something out of it.”
Eli accepted it but didn’t look. “Not finding it helpful?”
Don shrugged. “It’s all basic stuff. I’ve read it hundreds of times.”
“What were you just reading about now?”
“Changing forces in flight and what they are, things like drag.”
Eli raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think there will be drag in sp
ace? Doesn’t drag have to do with friction against the skin of the aircraft?”
“That’s parasite drag. It’s just there; no one can control it.” He paused, and Eli just looked at him, then the corner of his mouth twitched. “Oh, all right, so maybe it is helpful.”
Eli nodded. “Perhaps you just need someone to study with.”
“You wanna have a go?” Don asked with growing interest.
Eli spread his hands apart. “I’m not doing anything else.”
A few hours later, they were standing in the middle of a huge hangar, stretching their limbs as passengers and station personnel moved past them.
A man in an orange uniform came forward, holding a greasy wrench in one hand and pulling at his hat with the other. “All right, you lot,” he shouted over the noise.
A few orange-clothed workers nearby froze and then resumed their work in relief as they realized it was not them he was referring to. It took a moment for Don’s group to give the man their attention. They were still expecting Major Fox to re-appear.
“The major said you are to get your bags and settle in. Someone will be around later to take you to Processing. I’m Mullins, the head mechanic and commanding officer in this hangar. Don’t touch anything but your own bleedin’ stuff, and go through that door.” He pointed to a large door on the other side of the hanger.
A thump sounded behind Don, and he turned to see a green duffle flying toward him to join the one on the floor. The boys spent the next ten minutes dodging bags as they each tried to drag their own from the pile. No one seemed sure what to do after they had their bags in hand. Don, having found his own, glanced toward the large door.
Dallas saw him and asked, nearly shouting to be heard, “Do you reckon we should wait for the others?”
Don looked around them. More than half the boys had their bags. He shook his head. “Nope, we’re just in the way here. They’ll get the idea and follow.”
Eli popped up beside them, looking disheveled. Don jerked his head toward the door, and Eli nodded. Orange-suited men shouted at them as they passed. More than once, they found themselves stumbling out of the way of moving machinery or carts loaded with unidentifiable objects.
“You’d think they’d make it easier for us!” Dallas exclaimed once they were through, “Seeing as how we’re in the way and all.”
They could hear swearing as more boys followed them into the hall, stumbling over one another in the corridor. “C’mon, let’s keep going before we get run over.”
The ones who had heard him nodded furtively and moved forward as best they could, only to be stopped by a fierce-looking woman. She wore the same orange as most of the hangar crew and a scowl to match Sergeant Cohan’s. Her bright green eyes flared, and her fiery hair clashed horribly with her uniform. Hands on hips, she glared down at them. “Jus’ where do yah think yer going?”
The boys all leaned subtly away from her, trying to disappear into the walls as they acquired a sudden, paralyzing fear of the woman in front of them. Eventually, one of them found his voice.
“Honestly, ma’am, we was just getting out of the way. We didn’t mean any harm...” He trailed off.
Another boy took up the explanation. “Mullins said we were supposed to come here. We were following orders!”
She barred her teeth at them, and they grew quiet once more, their fear of her having a completely unexplainable and firm grip on them. “Yah can’t jus’ go blockin’ up every hall an’ corridah yah enter!” she exclaimed. “What if there was an emergency? Not a person could get through ‘ere. Every one o’ yah line up on the wall there an’ get out o’ the way.” She motioned with her hand, and there was an immediate rush to do her bidding. “Honestly! We’ve a station tah run. Yah can’t jus’ check yer brains at the door.”
She shook her head and passed them by. The boys pushed against each other so as not to let even her uniform brush them. No one knew what she might do if that should happen, and none of them wanted to find out.
“Okay, then,” Don breathed when she was out of hearing distance. “Let’s go.”
The boys moved cautiously forward, making sure the line filled, at most, only half the width of the hall. It wasn’t long before they ran across other members of the crew, who were altogether nicer and more curious. They were pleasantly surprised to hear that the boys would be the new recruits training as pilots on this space station Fidelity. One man offered to lead them to their quarters, acquainting them with the general flow of the station and showing them how to find their way through the winding corridors.
They finally settled into three dorms that opened into what looked like a lounge or a study room. Each dorm was a small rectangle. Twenty-four bunks stacked three high were notched into the walls, each with a small flat headboard for personal items.
Don’s eyes found a sheet of paper stuck to one side of a bunk. Every line was written differently, as if the pen had changed hands many times.
Class of 624-House Rules. Obey or face the consequences:
1) Keep your shit in order.
2) No back-talking.
3) Don’t touch other people’s crap.
Don let his eyes drop to the bottom of the list: twenty-four rules, one for each of the previous occupants.
“Nice welcome,” someone said from behind him, and Don nodded in agreement.
Part Two
November 16, 653 Third Age
“Yes,” was all the woman said. It was a simple but certain answer.
The room was completely still now, all attention focused on the exchange between her and the stranger. It didn’t matter. He took no notice.
“You never even met him. How would you know?”
The woman gazed at him steadily. “I have no need,” she said.
He scoffed at her answer, at her blind loyalty.
“You think you know better?” she asked. “I told you—”
“I know what you said!” the man roared, and slammed his mug down. The contents sloshed out and onto table.
The three men from table five stood abruptly with cries of warning, and the little girl ducked behind her mother’s leg.
“You don’t get it, do you?” The man kicked a chair out of the way and advanced toward her. “Your husband’s still alive. Hundreds of innocent people died because of O’Hara, and for what? What did he accomplish? Chaos? Destruction?”
A burly man grabbed the arm of the drunkard. He was nearly a foot taller than the other. When he spoke, it was with a dangerous softness. “I don’t give much of a care for O’Hara, but I won’t stand for shouting at the lady here or the little ‘un.”
The drunkard dropped his gaze to the curly head peeking out from behind her mother. Tears leaked down the little girl’s cheeks. He turned his face away, ashamed, and wrenched his arm out of the other man’s grasp. Silver flashed out from under his shirt as he bent to return his chair to its rightful place.
“You’re a pilot, aren’t you?” one of the men asked. “I saw those; I know what they are. My brother had them.”
There was silence for a moment.
“You knew O’Hara, didn’t you?” the woman whispered.
“I knew him.”
Chapter 14
May 7, 626 T.A.
Don woke with a start. His cheek was plastered to the table. His tablet rested an inch from his nose. It displayed the page of a book he had been studying. The table screen still showed a multitude of other titles ranging from Aircraft Systems: A Technical Guide to Tactics: Maneuvering and Strategies for the Fighter Pilot, and even Common and Uncommon Mistakes and Health Risks: What to do in a bad situation.
Fingers waved in front of his eyes. “Hey, man, you don’t have time to sleep.”
Don’s head snapped up, and Caleb jumped backwards. “Easy does it!”
“How long?” Don asked. His eyes carried a half-crazed look.
“Only a few minutes,” Eli answered from across the table.
When it was clear that Don wasn�
�t going to have another spasm, Caleb set his tablet down and dropped heavily to the floor. The five people around the table were what remained of the sixty-seven boys who had graduated from Camp Lorenzo and been given the rank of airmen. The rest of the boys had been held back after they failed different tests along the way.
In addition to their normal academics, hand-to-hand combat sessions, and PT, the boys had also been introduced to a few different types of flight simulators. With these, they had logged the required two hundred forty hours of flight simulation.
Whether they were lucky or unlucky, Eli, Don, Caleb, Philip, and Haley had all made the cut on the last test. It had been eighteen weeks since they graduated. Eighteen of the hardest weeks of Don’s life. Now, all that was left was their final exam.
The door to the dorm opened, and a wave of bodies and noise tumbled over them. The five airmen exchanged looks, and then as one stood and left. The table still displayed their study material. It didn’t matter; no one would touch it. No one dared mess with them anymore.
Don and the other four had moved through the course faster than anyone had in years, even making the transition from projectile weapons to lasers with natural ease. Somewhere along the journey, Don had noticed the officers in charge had stopped hounding them and begun to help. The rest of the boys simply tried to stay out of their way.
“You’re fighting two bandits,” Philip started. “There’s a heat-seeker on your six, followed by bandit one. Bandit two can’t be found. You...?”
“Open the thrusters to full power,” Haley answered, “then shut them completely and drop a hot countermeasure while coasting away. Bank to the right, check the radar and call for a visual on bandit two. Get behind bandit one and blast him.” He turned to Don and immediately asked, “High engine temperature can cause...?”