Flight of the Outcast

by Brad Strickland

  "You couldn't have been old enough."

  "Sure I was," Dai insisted. "I lived through it, didn't I?"

  Asteria's hands itched to be at the controls of a real spaceship. "I thought you had to be licensed, and you can't get a license until you're seventeen."

  Dai shrugged. "I'd had lots of simulator hours already. And flying a real ship—well, Dad was kind of loose about that—and anyway, my uncle was along in the pilot's seat. I was just copiloting, but he let me handle everything. Almost everything. He did the fine controls on the docking maneuver."

  Asteria was only half-listening to Dai's chatter. "What will pre-training be like?" she asked aloud.

  Dai scratched his nose thoughtfully, and in the light of the study cubicle, Asteria noticed that his red hair seemed a little more intense in color than it had on the Stinger. Of course, he had bulked up a little too—despite Dai's complaints, no one could go through six hours of intensive PT a week without adding muscle. He yawned again—he always seemed starved for sleep—and said, "I hear you start out with the physics and math of spaceflight for three days, and the fourth day is simulator time. Next term, it's two days of classroom, two days on the sim. And before we move up to Midship 2, we'll each have logged five hours of real flight time in trainers. You give up midbreak for that, but it's worth it."

  He seemed excited by the prospect. Asteria thought about flying. It wasn't piloting, not Space Fleet flying, but something like a merger of pilot and craft. Skimmer pilots sat in a command seat and operated hand controls, but not Space Fleet captains. She had always thought such piloting seemed exciting, and she still wanted to see what it was like…but somehow her enthusiasm had faded.

  What's wrong with me? It was hard to get through the days, knowing that each class was going to be a challenge. It was harder to get through the nights, dreaming about her father and her cousin. Asteria felt drawn, weary, dulled by routine. She hoped flight training would spark some life deep inside her. Lately she had begun to wonder if all this was worth it—the long hours, the constant rain of insults and orders from upperclass cadets, the demanding teachers, and the relentless tide of work. She had wanted to become a pilot to pay back the Raiders for what they had done to her family—but it would take four long years for her to earn her pilot's seat. Revenge was going to be a very cold dish.

  "I was reading about your dad just yesterday," Dai said suddenly. "The History of the Tetraploid Wars. There's a whole chapter about the Adastra. It mentioned your dad's name as one of the badly wounded."

  "Yes," Asteria said flatly. "He was hurt."

  Dai frowned. "It said—I'm sorry, I shouldn't even be—"

  "No, it's all right," Asteria interrupted, softening her tone. She thought of the ridiculous statue on campus, the heroic Aristocrat supporting the gruesomely wounded Commoner. "What did it say?"

  Slowly, Dai replied, "It said that he was so badly hurt that the doctors wanted to harvest his nervous system and implant it in a Cybot. But he wouldn't let them. So they did a massive reconstruction. It said your father's surgeries pioneered three new types of cybernetic implants."

  Asteria nodded, her throat tight. "That sounds about right. One of his eyes was a cyber unit, one of his legs, and an arm from the elbow down."

  "I'm sorry."

  She swallowed. "I grew up knowing him like that. He didn't let it bother him," she said. "I think…never mind."

  "What?"

  "Nothing."

  "Come on," he said. "No secrets, all right? We're fellow Commoners here."

  Asteria took a deep breath. "I think he would have stayed in the Space Fleet if they'd let him," she said. "I don't believe he ever wanted to be anything else. Not a farmer. Not—not anything. The way he talked about the Fleet—it was home to him. But too many people in the Fleet would have talked to him about what he did during the attack, and the Aristo who brought the ship back to port didn't want him talking. So they made a deal. The Fleet patched Dad up, and he agreed to keep it all to himself in exchange for a land grant. He settled for a life as a farmer. And as my dad."

  "That's not exactly settling," Dai said shyly. "Uh, I mean he sounds like a good man."

  "He was," said Asteria. She felt like crying. She turned away from Dai and dimly realized that in their brief conversation something in her life had shifted permanently.

  They left the library and went to dinner. After the meal, as the cadets were scattering back to their dorms. Dai and Asteria walked back to Bronze 1 together. Darkness had fallen, and they took one of their usual shortcuts. It led past the reflecting pool.

  Asteria, deep in thought, barely heard Dai talking. "What?"

  "I said, 'What's that humming?'" Dai responded. He was only a dark silhouette, but Aster could see that his head was cocked.

  Asteria stopped in her tracks. She heard it too, a faint buzzing that seemed to come from somewhere overhead. "I don't know—"

  But at that moment, she felt the tingling jolt of energy that her belt gave her whenever she felt threatened. Her senses sharpened. She jerked her head around and saw something vague and small hovering a couple of meters off the ground, over above the pool.

  She heard quick footsteps.

  "Watch out," she cautioned, pivoting.

  "Disaster and Die, Scum," spat Kayser, melting out of the darkness. "Are you two in love?"

  "We're not bothering you," Asteria said.

  "Come on and fight me, why don't you?" Kayser asked mockingly.

  "Don't do it," Dai warned.

  "Don't do it," Kayser said, mimicking Dai's tone in a sing-song lilt. "Coward. Come on, Disaster. I don't have my friends around now. Come on and try me. There's nobody here to witness it, is there?"

  Asteria almost went for him. But then she thought twice, backed away, stooped quickly, and picked up a round stone from the border of the pool. "Is there?" she asked.

  Kayser flinched as she spun and with a deadly accurate overhand throw whipped the stone out over the pool. It crashed against something hovering in the air—and it splashed down.

  "Now there isn't," she said. "You had a camera bot focused on us! Was it taking infrared photos, Kayser? You wanted me to hit you, and you'd have the photos to prove it. All right—let's fight!"

  Kayser turned to run.

  "Are you leaving, my lord?" asked a voice from the darkness.

  "We think you should stay," another said.

  With her heightened senses, Asteria stared into the shadows— and relaxed. The newcomers were Valesa and Bren. And they blocked Kayser's only line of retreat.

  His voice became high-pitched: "If you even touch me, you'll be expelled!"

  "I don't think so," Dai said. "Your cambot's in the water. It's your word against ours—and now there are four of us."

  "This isn't fair," Kayser yowled.

  "Relax," Asteria said, struggling against the urge to fight him there and then to end it. "Listen, let's make a truce."

  Bren and Valesa had closed in. Kayser shifted. "Wh-what do you mean, a truce?" he stammered.

  "I mean you need to drop this feud," Asteria said firmly. "We're both trying to make it at the Academy. You don't need me giving you trouble, and I don't need any trouble from you."

  Kayser was silent.

  "It's a good offer," Dai said before adding, "my lord."

  The silence stretched out. Bren said impatiently, "He's not going to agree, Aster. Let's—"

  "I'll agree," Kayser said hastily. "All right, all right, I'll agree. Now let me go!"

  "Just a moment," Dai said. "Let's understand each other. Asteria agrees that she won't humiliate you in front of your friends. You have to agree to the same. You won't call her Disaster any longer."

  "I don't care what he calls me," Asteria said sharply.

  "Then that doesn't matter," Dai continued smoothly. "But this does. You won't try to trick her into fighting you. In fact, you'll treat her just as you would an Aristo. My lord."

  "If she'll let me alone, I'll let h
er alone," Kayser said coldly. "Does that satisfy you?"

  "Yes," Asteria said. "Let him go."

  Kayser didn't quite run away, but he hurried off in the dark—at double time.

  Bren and Valesa laughed. "That's taken care of," Bren said.

  "If he'll live up to it," Valesa said.

  Asteria nodded. "I think he will."

  "He might find it hard to forgive Asteria's shot at his little toy. Cambots are expensive," Dai said.

  "He won't mind losing it," Bren told him. "Aristos have lots of money."

  "No," Dai said. "I meant thanks to Cadet Kayser, Asteria just gave the God of 2.5 the biggest offering he ever had!"

  Asteria's heart was pumping hard. She still felt the keen lift the belt gave her in moments of crisis.

  "Come on," Bren said. "Time we got back to the barracks."

  Asteria forced herself to take deep breaths. "I'm with you." And just then, in the dark, she knew that it didn't matter if it took her four years to become a pilot.

  She would do it.

  And somehow, some day—

  She would find the Raiders and make them suffer.

  nine

  You can't take it off?" the tech asked, staring at the silvery belt.

  "It's a medical device," Asteria told him. "I have a special waiver." She wished he would hurry up and spray on her suit. Though for all his visible reaction, she might have been one of the statues on campus, not a girl standing barefoot and wearing only her underwear.

  The tech shook his head doubtfully. "I'll have to check."

  Asteria held out her wrist, and he scanned her link. "See?"

  "Okay," he said reluctantly. "I guess. But I've never sprayed a pressure suit over something like that before. Get into the chamber."

  Asteria's heart was hammering. At last! It was spring term, and she had made the grade of Midshipman 2 along with Dai and 90 percent of the entering class. Ten percent had washed out—or quit—before the end of their first term. Now, after weeks of working in the class and in simulators, she was going to be at the controls of a real ship.

  She stepped onto the circular pad, and the tech lowered the clear cylinder down over her. "Stand straight," he warned uselessly. She couldn't stand any straighter. She had a moment of panicky uncertainty when the cylinder bonded to the pad, a little flutter of claustrophobia. "Hold your breath," the tech said, his voice sounding hollow. Asteria took a deep breath and held it. "Close your eyes."

  She did, heard a hiss, and felt the misting spray of the first coating. Then a circle rose from the floor, up over her feet. It looked like a bubble wand—she peeked—with a white translucent liquid trapped in it. The liquid coated her body, drying instantly with a strange cooling effect. She spread her fingers and felt the stuff flow on like gloves, then up to her neck. It stopped at her chin. The circle sank back down into the pad. The seal hissed, and the cylinder lifted away.

  A frosted Asteria stepped off the pad, wearing her pressure suit. It fit tightly, like a second skin. "The helmet has neural transceivers built in," the tech said, handing it to her. "Put it on and let me bond it. You'll think you can't breathe, but don't worry—the suit is oxygenating your blood. And you don't have to talk. Just subvocalize—"

  "I know," she said, slipping the helmet on. She held her breath—easier if she opened her mouth—and waited as the tech went round her neck with a spray and then did it again to make sure the suit was really airtight.

  "Test it," the tech said. "What's your name?"

  She let her vocal cords form the words "Aster Locke," and heard a depersonalized voice that came from the helmet repeat the words aloud.

  "Right, you're set. Through there." The tech touched a control pad, and two doors dissolved. Asteria went through the one that he pointed toward as another cadet, stripped to his underwear, entered the suiting chamber.

  Twenty flight cadets waited, milling around, speaking to one another in those flat, identical-sounding suit voices. They all looked as if their bodies had been wrapped in plastic. She couldn't recognize them—the helmets all had a gold faceplate, opaque from the outside. The names of the cadets were displayed on the foreheads, though. Mastral was there. Asteria looked for Dai but couldn't spot him. He might have been one of the last five, though.

  The door dissolved again, and everyone looked around as the twenty-first suited cadet entered—Kayser's friend Broyden, Asteria saw from his name display. Beyond him, she caught a glimpse of red hair and relaxed. Dai would be the next in line. Broyden walked past her, craning his head, as if he had an urgent need to find Kayser. "Mastral?" his strange machine voice said.

  "Here."

  The others were talking, but Asteria had no one to talk to. She heard a contemptuous "Disaster," though, and knew it had to be Kayser. Though he had not dropped the nickname, he had at least kept his word about not harassing her—so far. True, he had crowed at the beginning of the term that he had beaten her out—and it was also true that she had earned a 3.11 grade average, while he had a 3.12, thanks either to his greater skill at chemistry or to favoritism. Still, he had stopped trying to taunt her into striking him—although he had never again faced her in defense training. And she was determined that he was not going to best her in flight training.

  Dai came in and immediately saw her. "Feels weird not breathing," he said, his voice flat as the suit picked up his subvocalization and turned it into mechanical speech.

  "Yeah, it does," she agreed. "You sound like a Cybot."

  "So do you."

  Asteria had to keep conscious control of her lungs, because the moment she forgot about them, she felt herself clenching and gasping to breathe—no need, because the suit was infiltrating her blood with oxygen, the amount automatically determined by her level of exertion. "This is it," she said.

  "Yeah," Dai agreed. "You don't have to worry, though. You're great on the sims."

  She didn't respond, though it was true—she was the best in her class on the simulators, her reflexes like lightning. The final three cadets came in. As soon as the last one had stepped into the ready room, the opposite door dissolved, and a flight sergeant said, "To your ships."

  The trainers looked impossibly small, not even as large as—well, as a coffin. They were all jet-black and shining, symmetrical flattened tubes, open at the moment, waiting for their pilots. Twelve on each side of the hangar, one at the far end of the row. The sergeant sent the cadets in: first Kayser, who went to the end ship, and then two at a time. Dai and Asteria walked down the row together, not quite to the middle, and he turned to take the left ship as Asteria turned to the right. "Good luck," he said.

  "You too."

  It was just like the sim, except that there they had not worn the strange suits, just the helmet. Asteria stepped into the trainer and then lay back. The ship clamshell shut over her, and she felt the pressure as the contacts expanded, locking her into place. At first, everything was dark. Then, suddenly, she could see more than she had ever seen in her life. The faceplate had interlocked with the ship sensors.

  She saw in visible light, infrared, and ultraviolet. She could, just by thinking about it, see everything surrounding the ship simultaneously, 360-degree vision. The ship introduced itself. "Trainer Seven."

  "This is neat," said a voice in her ear—Dai's voice, sounding more like himself now that it was transmitted through the ship instead of just through the suit.

  "Silence, Trainer Eight," came the voice of the flight sergeant. "No ship-to-ship conversation until you're in flight."

  "Give him a demerit." Kayser's voice, of course.

  "Then you'd get one as well, Trainer One. Last warning. Silence."

  Asteria closed her eyes and felt the ship. The connections were pulsing through her skin and directly into her nervous system. Ages ago, pilots had controlled flight mechanically—how, she had no idea. It seemed impossibly complex to think about. Now they felt the ship. No need for dials and readouts, because the information came directly into the pilot
's mind, the way a pulsebook transmitted information directly to the cortex.

  These were suborbital, little more than skimmers, but they had the most sophisticated flight controls that Asteria had ever dealt with. Equipped with grav drives—no rockets, no ion exhaust, just a high-pitched shriek—they used gravity waves to take to the air and streak along at supersonic speeds. Each one was powered for two hours of flight, and if a student was so unlucky as to be at top altitude—one hundred kilometers— when the power reached 2 percent, then the ship's AI would take over and bring them down for a soft landing. Maybe not on the actual campus, but somewhere.

  Or so the theory went. Everyone knew stories of cadets who had miscalculated, lost control, and crashed. A few of them were buried on campus.