by Maura Milan
The general opened the storage cage, undid her harness, and led her to the entry deck. The metal ramp lowered to the ground. Slowly, slowly, until sunlight blasted at her face. The air outside was freezing. The chill cut straight to her bones, even with the thermal balancing fibers woven throughout her suit.
The world outside was white with snow. Their ship had landed on a platform high upon the cliff of a mountain. Jagged peaks surrounded them, shielding their location from anyone who dared to follow. There were no man-made structures where they stood, but Ia spotted a cargo shaft that could only lead downward to sublevels hidden within the mountain itself.
It was a clever place to build an academy.
Ia glanced at the general. “What’s your game? Why here? I’m a criminal.”
General Adams clasped his hands behind his back. “This isn’t a game. It’s better to have you in here working for us instead of out there making alliances with someone worse.”
“Who’s worse than me?” she sneered. Because there wasn’t anyone. She was the beast that everyone feared.
“You really don’t know anything.” His tone was different this time, not angry with spite, but cautious like he was keeping something from her. At this point, her pride had swelled too fat, and she couldn’t ask. So, she pursed her lips and spat at his feet.
His hand landed hard in between her shoulder blades, shoving her down the ship’s ramp. She stumbled forward into the packed snow. She stared down at her fingers, growing red against the ice.
“Thank you.” Her eyes met the general’s, wishing nothing more but to razor blade the smug look off his stone-cold face. “I will so enjoy running rampant in your academy. I’ll eat your useless cadets alive, and it’ll be easy without you here.”
General Adams clicked his teeth, unfazed by her threat. “I’m not an idiot, Cōcha. I assigned someone else to watch you while I’m gone. And he’s me, but younger and faster…though maybe not as smart. He will, however, have one of these.”
He plucked the silver remote from his pocket, balancing it between his forefinger and thumb for her to see. She cringed, knowing all too well what that little thing could do.
Through the swirl of snow, she spotted a growing sliver of light coming from the cargo shaft as the elevator doors opened and figures from inside approached. Two guards, followed by an older man dressed in a black, fur-trimmed hooded overcoat. His eyebrows were thick and white, and his skin was a warm shade of brown. A boy with fair complexion followed behind him, wearing a RSF flight suit and a brown leather bomber jacket. From the light scruff dappling his jawline, she could tell he was around Einn’s age.
The new party trudged through the snow and stopped before them.
“Headmaster. Flight master,” the general said, addressing both of them respectively. She figured that the older man was the headmaster of Aphelion. And the boy, he was the flight master? He looked much too young. “She’s all yours,” the general said and then turned back to face her. His words bit through the cold. “Remember where you are, Ia. This is the Commonwealth now.”
If anything, they were the ones who should be worried. Sending a known criminal to work with the Royal Star Force, where she could see all of their weaknesses. She could even sell the information to the highest Dead Space bidder once she managed to escape, which—from looking at this place—wouldn’t take too long. Even so, she was still cautious about their motives for bringing her here. They wanted to keep her away from someone, but she had no idea who.
Hands gripped at her arms. Ia sized up the two academy guards beside her. One had impeccable posture and an abnormally symmetrical face, while the other had stronger features, very spare eyebrows paired with a sharper nose. This one was larger than the other, but soft and out of shape. Out of the two of them, he’d be easier to overpower. But then she saw that they were armed. Plus, there were the headmaster and the young flight master to worry about. Now wasn’t the right time to attempt her escape.
The headmaster stepped forward, kindness in his eyes. “Welcome to the Star Force, Ia.” He looked over to the general. “General Adams, would you switch over the print locks on her handcuffs?”
The general stepped forward, his breath swirling into heated clouds in the small space between them. He grabbed her cuffs, angling them so he could access the display on the side. The general pressed his thumb on the sensor, resetting the print lock, then nodded for the flight master to step forward.
The young flight master looked her up and down with his cold blue eyes. “You’re shorter in person,” he whispered under his breath as he pressed his thumb down on the sensor so it would recognize his print.
Her eyes narrowed at him. One day, he would realize that deadly things also come in small packages.
But then she realized something.
“Faster. Stronger…maybe not as smart,” she repeated and looked over to the general. “This is him, isn’t it?”
The general said nothing, so Ia turned back to the boy and examined him. His blond hair was long, like he was outgrowing a military cut, but his face was unmarred minus the slight scar along his jawline. His skin lacked the cuts and injuries that came from actual fighting experience. If he was in charge of watching her, escaping would be easy.
Suddenly, his eyes flicked up from the scan, and he noticed her staring. He glared at her, his irises crystalizing into a more frightening blue, like cracks upon a frozen pond.
The cuffs beeped. The new print lock was scanned and active.
“It’s done,” the general said.
“Well, then,” the headmaster began and swept his arm toward the cargo elevator. “Shall we? We don’t want to be too late for the Welcome Assembly.”
When they were in the cargo elevator, she looked back outside, peering through the gusts of snowfall. She saw the general watching her from the entryway of his ship.
“This isn’t over,” she yelled, loud enough that the wind would carry her words. “I’ll take this thing out of my chest, and I’ll be coming for you.”
The general roared with laughter, then pressed a button on the frame of his ship, triggering the ramp to raise. Soon, all she could see of him was the contempt nestled in the darks of his eyes. She was his prisoner, a dog on a leash, and if she ever ran, all he had to do was yank at the chain.
Ia closed her eyes and prayed for Einn to save her.
When she opened them, she caught a glimpse of the ship retreating beyond the salt-gray clouds before the elevator doors slid closed with a rumbling thud.
The ground hummed underneath her feet. She made a quick inspection of her surroundings. The elevator had high ceilings and was wide enough to fit a row of five starjets on the platform. There was no control board, which meant there would be no other stops on the way down and no way for her to reverse the direction of the elevator midway through its descent. She spotted two cameras on the opposite corners of the elevator and a row of vents on the ceiling, before her gaze landed back on the cuffs digging into her wrists and hands. If she could get out of these cuffs, she’d be able to steal their pistols and escape. But only print scans would unlock them. It would be difficult to do, but not impossible.
The headmaster turned to speak to the flight master, and Ia’s guards were both a step in front of her, facing forward.
None of them would see, if she was careful.
She stretched the muscles of her hand, flicking her thumb to scratch at the tip of her index finger. Her skin grew warm as a spongy, light pink gel formed on the surface of her fingertip. She thanked Deus her imprinting system was still equipped. Before finding herself on the Tawny ship, she was on a mission where she had to break into a slaver’s vault. Slavers always kept their goods under heavy lock and finger-imprinted key. Sponge imprint tips—or “Tips,” as everyone in Dead Space called them—were an absolute must, as rare as they were. She’d had to call in a lot of favors in order to find a reliable dealer. Poor-quality Tips usually warped the imprints and, more often then no
t, burned right through your skin.
Ia looked down at her thumb, where the Tip had shifted back to her natural flesh color. It was ready to go. All she needed was a clean print.
A few feet away from her, the headmaster thumbed through a faded leather journal. She stared at it, wondering why anyone chose to record anything on something as archaic as paper.
He looked up from his pages, his gaze resting on her. “I know this may be different for you, working where there are rules and orders. Due to the seriousness of your past crimes, we’ve decided to take away a few of your privileges for your own safety and the safety of your peers. At least until you’ve fully assimilated.”
The headmaster handed the journal over to the boy.
“Flight master, please continue.”
The boy glanced down and then quickly exchanged a surprised look with the headmaster as if it was the first time he had ever seen the document.
The flight master began to read. “You will have no guns, weapons, or any type of ammunition. You are prohibited from any connection with the ArcLite to prevent you from getting hold of your crew.”
A wrinkled line formed in between her brows at the mention of her crew. Einn knew about her capture, but as for the rest of her crew of misfits, she hadn’t the slightest idea if the news had actually reached them.
“Hand sanitizer, gum, lipstick, and anything else that can be used to craft explosives will be confiscated from your person.” The flight master’s cold voice echoed around her, and Ia was instantly reminded that she was no longer in the company of friends.
“And one more thing,” the boy said. “You will be bound twenty-four hours a day. Except during lessons and scheduled meal hours.”
“So when I go to the bathroom, you’ll be wiping for me?”
“If that’s what you want.” The boy looked up from the journal with a daring grin on his face, which only made her want to rip his throat out.
“Anything else?” she asked.
“I know you’re trying to figure out how to escape,” the boy said smugly. He pointed up at the ceiling. “Those vents are welded down with a solid layer of pure vinnidium and sealed with five inches of concrete. The ceilings are thirty meters high, impossible to get to unless you have a windpack.” He shrugged. “I dare you to try though. It will make things more fun.”
She sneered at him. Didn’t he know it was dangerous to poke a stick at a sleeping beast?
Just then, the elevator hit a bump, dropping a few feet. She stumbled forward, her knees hitting the floor.
Ia held her bound hands up to the flight master. “A little help?”
The boy grabbed her hand, clutching onto her fingers, and hoisted her up.
She simpered, softening her voice to sound like that Kinna Downton that all the boys loved. “Thanks.”
As she did so, she felt his fingerprint set upon the dermagel on her Tips.
She thought back on the boy’s dare. Try to escape, he had said.
Well, things were about to get much more fun.
CHAPTER 6
BRINN
BRINN STOOD IN THE MIDDLE of Aphelion’s flight deck, her jaw still slack from the sheer size of it all. It was three times the size of the sports arena back home. The mountain’s black, petrified walls domed around them like a huge wing, protecting and camouflaging them from any wandering eyes up on the surface.
She saw her shuttle parked against the far wall, right next to other shuttles that had arrived from pickup sites scattered around the Commonwealth, some traveling from much farther away than Nova Grae. She couldn’t imagine that; it’d taken them eleven hours of travel to get there. And she still wasn’t sure where there was—the cabin windows had been blacked out, keeping Aphelion’s location a secret.
The cadets were organized in very neat rows in front of a makeshift stage, a white podium positioned in the middle. In front of the podium hung the Olympus Commonwealth’s quartered shield. Like the other cadets, Brinn wore a charcoal-gray jumpsuit, issued to her upon registration. Her feet were adorned with regulation leather boots, metal capped on the toe and heel.
A small group of second-year students stood at the front watching them. They wore the same uniform, but instead of a green bar, an orange patch was stitched across each of their chests to denote their second-year status. When the new cadets had first arrived, this same group of Second Years had greeted them, giving them a short tour of the flight deck, which consisted of pointing out that the wing on the opposite side was restricted for only second-year cadets. From their tone and responses, it was clear that there was a firm divide between the new cadets and the senior classes.
A holoscreen floated above the stage with images of the Star Force’s most noticeable accomplishments, including footage of Captain Nema fighting off hostile life-forms on the new colonies to the recent gunfight between General Adams and Ia Cōcha.
But by the second or third loop, Brinn started looking around the group. There were cadets from everywhere in the Exo sector—from the desert planet of Nion to the terraformed supercities on Hearth. And no other Tawnies in sight.
It was a clear reminder that while she was away from home, Brinn still had to be careful about exposing her identity, especially with anti-refugee sentiment growing strong among the public since Ia Cōcha’s capture.
“Brinn?” a familiar voice called out.
Brinn looked over to see Angie Everett in the crowd.
Angie moved closer and raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “I was like, ‘Those broad shoulders look so familiar.’”
Self-consciously, Brinn pulled in the tips of her shoulders, trying to make them look smaller. Angie wasn’t smart, but she was good at making people feel like complete mung.
“What are you doing here?” Brinn blurted out.
“I enlisted,” Angie swept her hands across her flight suit. “Obviously.”
How had she managed to miss Angie on the shuttle? There were two tiers of seating, and Brinn had been one of the last cadets to board. It was possible that Angie was sitting out of view on the top floor.
“I think we’re the only ones from our school here,” Angie said, moving over to stand right next to Brinn. Brinn froze, gripped by panic. She had spent most of her years in primaries avoiding Angie, and now here she was.
“My dad is running for the Council this year,” Angie continued, a note of bitterness laced into her crystalline voice. “He thought it would be fitting for his eldest daughter to join the very institution that had caught the most notorious criminal in the known galaxies. It’ll guarantee a lot of votes.” She peered up at Brinn. “What’s your reason?”
Brinn gawked at her. Angie had never asked her a real question before. Why don’t you mif yourself? Why the mif are you even here? Those were the type of questions Angie usually asked people.
“The same as most,” Brinn answered carefully. “I watched that broadcast, and I knew.”
“How simple,” Angie sighed. Brinn prayed to Deus that Angie would grow tired of her company and move away. But she didn’t. She remained fixed in place.
Brinn noticed everyone’s eyes on one particular cadet with black hair and an unmistakable dimpled chin, standing in the front row. Nero Sinoblancas was the heir to the Sinoblancas family, one of the oldest families of the Olympus Commonwealth, with ancestors that could be traced back to Ancient Earth. They owned Sino Corp., the largest conglomerate in the known galaxies, which drew in more revenue each year than the royal family.
He was surrounded by cadets who looked just like him. Perfect faces, genetically modified for proportionate features. A regal sloped nose. Round eyes with long lashes. But surprisingly, no more dimpled chins. There were rumors that the Sinoblancas family had patented that genetic modification to keep others from copying it.
Nero scanned the group, sizing up all one hundred of the first-year cadets. Brinn recognized the look in his eyes—like Angie when she was trying to find an easy target. It was strange that Angie ha
dn’t set out to join him.
When Nero’s gaze landed on their row, Brinn looked over to a random corner, then to her feet. Finally, her gaze turned up to the starjets hanging from the revolving storage track above.
“Relax. He’s already moved on to the next row,” a deep voice said beside her.
Brinn turned to face a tall, muscular boy with dark-brown skin and a face made of angular lines. From where she stood, she could see the copper in his eyes, the color of summer leaves before they were about to fall.
“I wasn’t worried…” she replied, even though she really was.
“I knew kids like him in primaries. We called them sloggers. Right, Cammo?”
A pale, lanky boy leaned forward at the sound of his name.
“Yeah, sloggers. Just like the nasty bit of grime at the bottom of an oil tank,” Cammo said with a grin, showing off the gap in between his two front teeth.
“We had them at our school too,” Brinn said. She wanted to gesture toward Angie, standing next to her, but decided it was best not to.
The taller boy stuck out his hand. “I’m Liam, by the way. From the Helios Cluster.”
The Helios Cluster was a mining colony upon a large asteroid. He had probably arrived on one of the other shuttles.
She took his hand. “I’m Brinn. From Nova Grae.”
“I’ve always wanted to go there. Be planet-side for a change.”
She was shocked by his answer. Nova Grae wasn’t a prime destination. It was a minor system that distantly bordered Rigel Kentaurus, the Capital Star System of the Olympus Commonwealth. “There are better places to visit out there.”
“Well, it’s better than living on a floating rock.”
Brinn watched him nervously, feeling something tight inside her chest tug loose.
On her right, Angie had leaned in, her golden hair cascading off one shoulder like a waterfall. She eyed the two new boys and smiled. “I’m Angie. I went to primaries with Brinn.”
And then Angie’s eyes narrowed, zeroing in on the top of Brinn’s head. “Brinn, your hair…”