by Lance Berry
They looked into each others’ eyes, and kissed. They petted one another gently as they did so, their hands finding, touching and caressing familiar places on each others’ bodies. Her fingers found his and they entwined briefly, before she guided his hand to lie gently against her breast. He rubbed his thumb against it, feeling her nipple already hardened beneath her cotton sweater. Travis momentarily broke the embrace to look into Gilda’s eyes. In the stillness of the living room, the silence broken only by the chimes of the old battery clock, they now realized there was a new understanding between them. They held hands as he led her to his room upstairs. He flicked on the light as they entered, and his old model of the Heavy Cruiser Independence greeted them, still resting in its position of eminence on his old desk. He smiled to himself, briefly; there was one other thing that mattered to him, and that was the desire to one day serve aboard a battlecruiser of that class. To sail among the stars, going boldly from world to world, star-system to star-system–facing the enemy on completely equal terms, to meet either decisive victory or defeat. Calvorians were physically stronger than human beings, their bodies denser and more durable. But the vacuum of space was the final and greatest equalizer, and embraced both species with exacting contempt when their technology under combat proved wanting.
All this passed through Travis’ mind in an instant, before the sight of Gilda, standing eager and waiting in front of his bed, brought him back to reality. She truly was the most beautiful girl he had ever known, and he loved her dearly. He could see himself with her, years from now, settling down and having children far away from anyone else…content only with each other and their family. For the first time, he decided he wanted to end the war for her, as well as for his mother’s memory.
They had been naked together before, so there was no awkwardness in the undressing; no attempts to hide any disappointed looks or over-enthusiasm upon uncovering pleasant surprises. Each was very secure in their bodies, and already content with that of their partners’.
As they lay down, their kisses were slow, deep and lovingly tender. He caressed her body with his strong hands, bringing her to the edge of orgasm a few times without entering her at all. When the time arrived, Travis was as gentle as possible. They gave themselves a moment, as she allowed herself to get used to having him within her. He held Gilda tightly, amazed to himself as to how warm she felt inside. It felt so good, he finally understood why Jared was always eager to find the next girl to try and hook up with.
He cast the thought aside as he realized Gilda was looking up at him, an expression of anticipation on her face. There were tears at the corners of her eyes, from the sting of first penetration. He gently brushed them away with his thumb, following the motion with a kiss to each corner. She smiled and nodded her readiness. They kissed, and she wrapped her legs around him. He began to thrust gently, and after a couple of minutes, they found their rhythm together. There was no rushing, as if to finish a task, or to just get the whole thing over and done with. She was amazed at his stamina, as he was with her willingness to take charge when necessary; a trait he had never seen before. In the end, when they achieved climax as one, they would always remember this night as the best time they had ever spent together. When the dawn came and it was time for Gilda to finally leave before Travis shipped out, they both somehow knew there would never be another moment quite like this again.
INTERIM THREE
Travis waited near the tram station, at the very end of the AirKar parking lot. There was a section set aside where a large red square on the ground had a set of eight yellow lines painted diagonally within it. Planted on the sidewalk was a large white sign with black lettering which stated clearly, “Private Shuttle Landing Area. NO OTHER VEHICLES OF ANY TYPE ALLOWED. Keep clear 200 feet.”
Travis had just finished reading the sign for the third time in about ten minutes, when he heard the soft thrum of small but powerful engines approaching. He looked up to see a gray military transport approaching from across the Hudson. As it came closer, he could clearly make out the circular shield of the United Earth Force–a stylized eagle with multicolored stripes behind it. Travis tried to remember which countries each stripe represented, but was embarrassed to realize that he couldn’t place the last two. He decided he would look it up on the Overnet later, on the chance the subject might appear on a test during his stay at Sanderson School.
The engines’ thrumming turned to a strong whine as the vehicle’s retro-thrusters kicked on, and the transport softly lowered itself to the ground. Travis snatched up his shoulder bag and slung it, then eagerly picked up his two suitcases. The transport doors opened and a flight-suited pilot observed him with a cool detachment. “You Travis Rand?”
“Yes, sir,” Travis answered eagerly, unable to keep a smile off his face as he moved forward. The pilot held up a hand and shook his head. “Hold on there, sport. Thumbprint first,” he said, and held up a data storage pad (dsp). He got out of his chair and walked to the door, purposely blocking it. He proffered the small calculator-like device, and now Travis could see it contained a passenger manifest. Travis set down one of his bags and firmly pressed his thumb against the faceplate. There was a confirming beep, and a synthesized female voice announced from the device, “Rand, Travis Xavier. Identity confirmed and acknowledged.”
“Okay, Travis–climb aboard.”
Travis picked his bag back up and hopped aboard, the eager smile reappearing on his face as he searched for a seat. There were seven other cadets seated in the small, boxy passenger cabin; four young women and three young men, some in the green first-year uniform. Travis made a general nod at them all as he took a seat between a pretty brunette and another black male.
The doors closed, and the pilot began working his flight console with a dexterity and skill honed from years of experience. “All right, Cadets: our next stop is the Sanderson School in San Diego. Flight time is one hour and thirty-four minutes. Lean back and enjoy the ride!”
The engines roared to life, and with an almost unnoticeable jostle, the transport rose like a feather on a summer breeze, and shot off toward the west.
Chapter 11
(Plebe Year)
The shuttle landed inside the Sanderson School’s Flight Compound hangar precisely on time. There was some slight rain outside, which didn’t put a dent in the awe of Travis and his new comrades as they disembarked amidst a veritable sea of DogFighter Craft. The pilot led the group among the one-pilot inner/outer-space fighter ships, to the far end of the hangar, where a uniformed officer wearing corporal’s stripes waited, wearing a look on his face which plainly said he wished to be elsewhere. Upon the pilot’s approach though, the corporal wiped the expression off his face as he snapped to attention and saluted. If the pilot noticed the former look on the corporal’s face, he made no mention of it as he returned the salute and handed over the dsp on which he had recorded Travis’ thumbprint earlier.
“Flight Officer Lieutenant Mike Tavers, reporting at this time that I have eight Cadets to turn over to you.”
“Corporal Joseph DiTillo, accepting transfer, sir!”
Tavers nodded and looked back at the newbies. “Good luck, kids,” he said, and gave a friendly wink to the group. He turned on his heel and soon disappeared among the sea of fighter ships as he headed back to the transport.
Corporal DiTillo, a short man with a compact, muscular upper body and close-cropped hair, gave the group a noncommittal once-over. “Atten- SHUN!” he shouted, his voice echoing throughout the hangar. Travis and his fellows immediately assumed a rigid “at-attention” posture, their bodies reed-straight, legs together, arms at their sides.
“Listen up, folks. I’m Corporal DiTillo. From this moment until I turn you over to the Intake Officer at the main compound, I am your commanding officer. Although I am currently ‘only’ a corporal in the United Earth Force, I am still of higher rank and importance than any single one of you. If a team of Calvorian commandos attacked this hangar and threw an ion
grenade at me, I’d expect every last one of you to try and shield me by covering the grenade with your own bodies. As such, you will address me as ‘sir’ in a loud and clear tone. You will speak only when spoken to, and any chit-chat between any of you will result in your asses being kicked right back onto the first transport out of here. Understand?”
“Yes, sir!” they shouted as one.
DiTillo nodded in acceptance. “When we are in the presence of an officer superior in rank to myself, you will then address that officer as ‘sir’, and in response to any questions or statements I make to you while in said officer’s presence, you will in turn respond ‘huah’. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir!” they agreed.
“Very good. Pick up your bags, let’s get moving. Your transport is one of the last to come in, so we need to double-time it to the Intake Center. Let’s go!”
The “intake center” was actually Brigand Division, one of four main dormitories on the large campus. Travis was barely able to turn his head from side-to-side to take any of the scenery in, focused as he was on not falling behind DiTillo and the rest of the group as they made their way inside the building.
Brigand Division was five stories tall, its lobby vast and containing five wide staircases which led to the upper landings. It was a good thing the lobby was large, as it was packed almost to capacity with new cadets, all being directed to different areas by corporals or master sergeants. There were small card tables lined up along a far wall, a master sergeant with a dsp in hand seated behind each one. On the wall behind each table were signs designating which table an individual with a specific letter their last name started with should go to. It reminded Travis of the first day of course selection each semester at Virginia North.
DiTillo turned to his group and held up his hand, bidding them to stop. “All right, Cadets–this is as far as I take you. I’m assuming the UEF educational system hasn’t failed you, and that you all know the alphabet. Find the letter corresponding to your last name, wave bye-bye to your buddies, then get in the appropriate line. Until you receive further orders, you’re on your own.” At that, he started to head off, leaving the group to stare after him. DiTillo paused just a moment and looked back at them. “But if Calvorian commandos do ever land–even if it’s four years from now–I’m still expecting you to find me and shield me with your own body from that grenade. Good luck.” He turned away once more and made his way through the hall, swiftly disappearing into the crowd. The group looked at one another, mixes of unease and hope upon their faces. They wished each other luck, and headed for their assigned tables.
Travis finally made his way up to the master sergeant at his particular table, after what seemed like forever. His bags were getting heavy, both on his shoulder and in his hands, but he was determined to not show any weakness in front of anyone in the hall. The master sergeant, a bald mountain of a black man, looked up at him with mild disinterest. “Name?”
“Rand, Travis Xavier, master sergeant!”
The master sergeant nodded, an unexpected smile easing onto his face. “Very good, Cadet Rand. You’re the first person this whole day that addressed me properly. Although don’t forget to salute a superior officer in the future.”
“Sorry, master sergeant.”
“Don’t sweat it this time,” the master sergeant answered as he scanned through names on the dsp list. “Ah, here we go…Rand, Travis Xavier. You’re in quarters A-5, left side bottom bunk, on the top floor. Happy climbing.”
The climb, of course, was anything but happy. By the time Travis made it all the way to the top landing, he was sweating and sucking in gulps of air. He was still determined not to show any weakness, however, and so held tight to his bags until he made it to his quarters.
The A-5 quarters was a tight space, made more confined by the fact that there were two bunk beds set directly against opposing walls. There was only one window, with two desks side-by-side, fighting for the view of the central quad below. Each desk had a vid-com, and Travis started to wonder how in the world four people would manage to live together in such tight confines.
“Hey, what’s up, brother!”
Travis turned his head to see Theo Booker–the other black male on the transport to Sanderson–standing near the only closet, talking to a white male, who stood just a foot shorter than Travis. Until Theo had spoken, Travis had barely noticed the sounds of voices in the room, taken in as he was by the surprise of the cramped space in which he’d have to spend at least a year. “What up, Theo,” Travis said, and the two black males slapped hands.
“Francis, man, this is my new homeboy, Travis Rand. Travis, this is Francis Horatio, just in from L.A.”
“Travis Rand? Yeah, I know you, man,” Francis said as he and Travis shook hands. “I was at Fort Champion when you made that speech about your dad, and kicking the Calvorians’ asses. It was fantastic.”
“Thanks,” Travis replied. He had never considered his speech to be particularly “fantastic”. He had merely made it because it needed to be done. “My Mom was an engineer aboard the Augustus, one of the ships lost in the battle,” Francis stated, and it was obvious in his voice that he had not quite gotten over the loss.
“I’m sorry,” Travis answered. “Trust me, I know how you feel.”
Theo slapped both their shoulders, a broad smile spreading across his chocolate complexion–an attempt to dispel the somber mood which threatened to settle over the room. “Yeah, well…now that we’re here, we got four years to get into fighting shape, so that we can take the fight to those lion-faced bastards and kick their asses back to the damn stone age!”
“I second the sentiment, Cadet.”
The three youths turned to find a thin yet somehow firmly muscular gentleman standing in the doorway. He was easily as tall as Theo, and while not nearly as well-built, Travis got the impression this person could probably mop up the floor with the three of them, if he were so inclined. “Officer on deck!” Travis suddenly found himself yelling, and the three cadets snapped to attention.
“Impressive,” the man offered graciously. “At-ease, gentlemen.” The trio instantly assumed at-ease, and the man entered the room. “Let’s have names, down the line.”
“Theo Booker, sir!”
“Francis Horatio, sir!”
“Travis Rand, sir!”
The man nodded in acceptance. “I am Colonel George Wentwell, your immediate military supervisor and den-father. You’re going to receive ‘the speech’ later, when the entire company is assembled. For now, what you need to know and do: there is a sheet posted in the center of the corridor outside. It lists the itinerary for the day. You will read it, memorize it, do it. Failure on any part will result in demonstrative discipline–trust me, before the end of the day, you will see that in action. Hope to God, gentlemen, that it won’t be you on display. You will find your first year uniforms hanging in your closet. Be absolutely certain you look drop-ass sharp in them before the main assembly, which is in twenty minutes. Cadet Booker: why are you wearing glasses?”
“Sir! My eyesight is twenty-thirty, sir!”
“Well, shit,” Wentwell said in a mildly disdainful manner, “I didn’t expect you’d be wearing them because it’s a fashion statement. Or didn’t you know that poor eyesight is one of the few ailments where genetic rectification is legally allowed?”
“Sir! I do understand that, sir! It’s just that my family is a long line of Traditionalists. We don’t believe that God’s design of the individual human body is meant to be tampered with, barring extreme medical emergency.”
“Let me guess,” Wentwell said with a sigh, “Planetary draft?”
“I received the order just last month, sir! But I’m still very eager to serve my home world!”
“Fine. Just don’t expect me to pick up your glasses for you when you’re dropping them in the mud as you crawl on your belly across a lit-up landscape. I’ll see you gents in twenty minutes, sharp.” With that, Wentwell turned on
his heel and exited the room.
Travis and the others relaxed, a couple of them exhaling lightly. “Oh, he’s a hard-ass,” Francis said quietly, just in case the colonel was still in earshot. “This is going to be five tons of fun.”
Travis looked to Theo. “I didn’t know they had started up the planetary draft again.”
Theo nodded. “It’s not widespread yet. Just a few states across the Midwest. From what I understand, it’s probably going global within the next few weeks. But I was telling the truth; I’m still eager to serve.”
Travis nodded and jutted his thumb toward the corridor outside. “We’d better check the posting.”
When they headed out to the hallway, the corridor was packed with cadets from the other rooms on the floor, all jostling to read and memorize the posting. After about almost five minutes of angling, Travis and his roommates finally managed to peer through the crowd at the white sheet with bold black letters running in an orderly line down the paper:
0900 – Main assembly at stairs of Shea-Engratt Division.
0930 – Colonel Wentwell’s Cadets assemble at stairs of Brigand Division.
1000 – All Cadets report to lobby of Druice Hall for shaves and haircuts.
1100 – All Cadets return to barracks for study time (UEF Uniform Code of Conduct).
1200 – All Cadets report to Talbert Mess Hall for lunch.
1300 – All Cadets return to barracks for study time (UEF Corps of Cadets Standard Operating Procedures).
1400 – Colonel Wentwell’s Cadets begin to report in alphabetical order to the Colonel’s office for one-on- one intercession (Consult vid-com e-mails for specific times, relating to your last name).
1600 – Free time.
1800 – Dinner.
1900 – Jazz performance at Paddington Court (attendance: mandatory).
2000 – General assembly at Meade Hall.
2100 – Taps; lights out.
Travis gave himself five minutes to make absolutely certain he had memorized the list. He didn’t know what exactly “demonstrative discipline” meant, but he was sure he didn’t want to be a guinea pig for it on the first day. He looked at Theo and Francis, and as one, the young men headed back to their quarters to change into their assigned uniforms.