Ignite the Stars

by Maura Milan

  General Adams faced the rest of the staff. “I need to speak to Bastian in private. You are all dismissed.”

  Metal chairs clanged against the brushed concrete floor as everyone readied themselves to step out. Knives was already at the door when he heard his father’s voice.

  “Flight master, you may stay.”

  Rolling his eyes, Knives turned back to face him. “Is my presence really necessary? The canteen is about to close.”

  The general extended a hand to an empty seat, so Knives had no choice but to sink back into the stiff, white chair.

  As the last instructor left the conference room, Bastian swiveled to face the general. “Erich, are things really that dire out there?”

  “Slaver activity is up. There are reports of a slaver nation going after both refugee camps and new colonies.”

  “Strange,” Bastian commented. “Most slavers know better than to tangle with Olympus.”

  “We’re sending more warships, but it’s impossible to fend them off. It seems as if there are alliances forming. It’s a good reason for Ia Cōcha to stay here with us. If she joined forces with them…they’d be unstoppable.”

  “But who’s leading these attacks?” Bastian asked.

  “We’ve gone down the Most Wanted list. Our suspicions point to Goner, but it’s not like him to coordinate something so grand. All this activity could suggest a new presence. Whoever it is, it appears he’s amassing slaves for a large attack.”

  “A large attack? I doubt it,” Knives blurted out.

  The general angled slightly toward him, his eyes as sharp as a hawk’s. “Explain.”

  Knives traced a pattern on the tabletop, trying to escape his father’s withering stare. “Slaves can’t fight. It would take years to mold them into a force that could go up against the Commonwealth. If this group was planning an attack, they’d be enlisting mercenaries and Dead Space murk. We have enough enemies out there to form a decent-size army against us. And if they’re not organizing an attack, they’re probably building something…something very big.”

  Knives glanced up, only to see the general lace his fingers together and furrow his brow. At least his ears weren’t red, a sign he was angry.

  Bastian hummed in response. “To build something large-scale, one would usually acquire borgs, not slaves.”

  “But this isn’t the Commonwealth we’re talking about,” Knives reminded Bastian. “We may have the largest borg workforce in the universe, but not everyone else can afford them.”

  The general paused as if he was considering this, but then turned to Bastian.

  “I am trusting you with Cōcha. We may need her insight in the days ahead.”

  “Good luck with that.” Knives laughed. “She sees us as the enemy. There’s no reason for her to help us.”

  Bastian turned to the general. “Agreed. We’re keeping her handcuffed like a criminal. She won’t be willing to confide in us if we act like we can’t even trust her.”

  “Fine.” General Adams responded with a wave of his hand. “You can remove her handcuffs. We have the heart implant in her for a reason.” His eyes flicked up to meet Knives’s gaze. “Don’t be afraid to use it.”

  The general stood up, straightening his sleeves and adjusting the collar of his coat. He looked over at his son and nodded. “Good work,” he said, his voice resonating throughout the conference room.

  And with that phrase, Knives realized the general had tricked him into doing what he had no interest in doing. Work. And for the Star Force. This was a RSF problem, not an academy problem. Knives was firm in drawing the line between the two, but his father was always quick to pull him back over it. His father didn’t understand the betrayal Knives felt, that stain growing inside him. Instead of leaving the system that had killed Marnie, the general kept on, each month gaining a new medal, a new honor, while his daughter decayed underneath the cold, hard ground.

  “I thought we had an understanding,” Knives reminded his father. “No official Star Force business for the duration of my term.”

  “I remember,” the general answered, pointing at the quartered shield on Knives’s flight suit. “But you’re still an officer, whether you like it or not.”

  General Adams ended his stream, fading away before Knives could raise his voice.

  Knives felt the heat rush to the tip of his ears, furious he had inherited such a ridiculous physical trait to begin with.

  Like father, like son.

  CHAPTER 12

  BRINN

  EVEN WITH THREE inches of metal and a locked door protecting her, sleep didn’t come for Brinn. She lay on the hard bathroom floor for a few hours, blinking in the darkness and listening to the banging coming from the other side of the wall.

  What was Ia doing out there?

  Around 0200, Brinn placed her ear against the cold metal door. The noise had quieted down. Maybe Ia had given up and finally fallen asleep. Or, Brinn thought, perhaps it was the opposite, and Ia had escaped, leaving a bloody trail in her wake.

  At some point during her tumble of thoughts, Brinn drifted off, tossing and turning occasionally, her knees banging against the toilet.

  She woke in the morning, and with each blink, she cringed, remembering the reality of her situation. That there was a good chance Ia Cōcha was still outside that door. Brinn cupped her hands under the running faucet and splashed cold water onto her cheeks. She inspected herself in the mirror, groaning at the unsightly dark circles that had appeared underneath her eyes.

  Out of habit, Brinn checked her roots. She squinted in front of the mirror, and her eyes widened in discovery.

  A fist banged on the other side of the door. “I need to use the bathroom. Wake up.”

  “Hold on,” Brinn yelled, but the banging continued. She kept her eyes on the navy-blue strand dangling in the midst of her tangled mane, not wanting to lose sight of it. With discerning fingers, she plucked it out.

  “Hurry up!” Ia cried against from outside the door. “If I go out here, you’re cleaning it.”

  Brinn quickly combed her hair, trying to smooth out the tangles, and then threw the offending blue strand and her comb back into her duffel bag. Tapping the lock sensor with her elbow, she opened the door to find Ia standing there waiting for her, her eyelids still heavy with sleep.

  Brinn glanced into the dorm room, which still looked impeccable despite all the banging she’d heard in the middle of the night. “What were you doing out here?”

  Ia nodded at the bathroom. “What were you doing in there?”

  Brinn ignored her and crossed the room to the closets. She slid one open, amazed that the door was still on its hinges. “Whatever you were up to last night, it was loud.”

  She threw her duffel bag in the corner of the closet. She turned, and Ia was right in front of her. The tired look in her eyes was gone, replaced by something else. Something more predatory. The girl was short, but her presence filled the room. Brinn shuffled backward, but Ia snaked toward her. “I think you already know we’re not going to be friends.”

  Back in primaries, Brinn would smile to disarm bullies. But she couldn’t smile at Ia, nor could she look away. There was something unhinged in Ia’s gaze, happy at the chaos she created around her. Before she knew it, Brinn had her back up against the wall. There was nowhere else to turn. She was cornered and vulnerable, a mouse staring down the mouth of a lion, a fearsome creature from Ancient Earth. Ia’s fingers curled around Brinn’s shoulder and leaned in, so close that Brinn could see the punishing depths of her eyes.

  “I’ll be out of here soon enough. Do me a favor. Just stay out of my way until then.” Ia’s grip loosened. Brinn pushed away from her and ran across the room. She punched the sensor so that the dormitory door slid open. Outside, the two guards were waiting. The larger guard was in the middle of drinking a bottle of caffeine when he saw her.

  “Is she ready in there?” he asked.

  But by then Brinn had already run too far away to answer. />
  By the time Brinn stopped running, her thighs were sore. She was far from danger, so she stopped in the central atrium, leaning over to catch her breath. She was furious that Ia had threatened her, but even more, Brinn was furious that she’d let her. Doubt wiggled its way into her brain like a parasite, and for the first time since she arrived, she wanted to go home, to where things were safe and familiar.

  Why had she come here in the first place? she wondered. Looking up, she saw a large statue displayed in the middle of the room. Strips of metal had been melded together, warped into the shape of a raised fist. It was an old relic, she knew because of its color, oxidized into a lustrous green with time.

  Upon its wrist were words.

  Of Progress.

  Of Prosperity.

  Of Proficiency.

  It was the motto of the Olympus Commonwealth.

  And instantly, Brinn’s doubts evaporated like a mirage.

  There was a reason she’d come here, she reminded herself. She’d wanted to be a part of something big, a movement she believed in. It was why she’d left her home and family.

  And that reason, like the fist before her, was as firm as steel.

  The Star Force brought order where there was chaos. Right now, the chaos came in the shape of a small, snarling girl in the middle of Brinn’s dorm room. But chaos could take other faces and other forms. And when that happened, Brinn would be ready. She would know how to face down the darkness because she had already stared right into its frightening black eyes.

  With bright new confidence, Brinn took a step forward. There was work to be done.

  CHAPTER 13

  KNIVES

  KNIVES SURVEYED the First Year canteen. The new class, which had been at one hundred at their arrival, had dwindled to half that amount. Knives laughed. Cadets were usually fighting to make their way into Aphelion’s prestigious training grounds, but now everyone wanted out. He saw it as a stroke of luck. Today was the testing day. Fewer cadets meant fewer exams to grade.

  He made his way to the one corner of the room that was completely empty, save for one girl. Instead of eating her breakfast, Ia Cōcha was hunched over the table, resting her forehead against its cool metal surface. The same guards as yesterday stood watch behind her. Per Bastian’s suggestion in their meeting the night before, Ia’s hands were unbound to foster the feeling of mutual trust. On the table was a tray of food, but all the portions remained untouched. Knives didn’t blame her. He had spent two years eating the canteen slop. One of the perks of working there was the fresh selection of imported fruits in the instructors’ lounge, like the banana he held in his hand.

  Knives slumped into the empty chair in front of her. “You’re still here? I thought you’d escape by now.”

  Ia angled her head up and then groaned at the sight of him.

  “You,” she muttered.

  “I see I’ve made an impression,” he said as he peeled his banana and took a bite.

  “You stuck me with a syringe. That’s the type of thing a girl doesn’t forget.” Then her lips quirked up in sudden mischief. “I also didn’t forget that you’re named after a kitchen utensil. I mean, what kind of deranged parents name their offspring Knives?”

  Knives was about to answer when he realized one crucial fact: Ia didn’t know his deranged parent was the same deranged man who had captured her. He offered up a silent prayer in thanks. Knives hated when people found out about his father.

  Two years ago, when Knives was still a cadet, Bastian had mentioned his pedigree in a lecture. Knives had made Bastian promise to never bring up his illustrious family again in the academy environment, but the truth had already spread.

  That simple revelation instantaneously changed how everyone looked at him. Those who despised him tried to become his friends, and others who doubted him suddenly respected him.

  Now that everyone he’d trained with had graduated, he was free from all the looks, all the whispers. Perhaps a few of the Second Years knew, since they were lowerclassmen when Knives was in his last year as a cadet, but for the most part, they had their own separate classes. There was a good chance that Ia and the rest of the First Years would never find out about his famous father.

  Across the table, Ia clasped her hands, laying them flat on the table. Her chin balanced gently on top of her knuckles as she looked at him lazily.

  “Knives, Knives, Knives,” her voice trilled, wispy and completely out of tune, as she tested out the sound of his name. “It’s not the worst I’ve ever heard. Although it’s definitely up there. I once knew a guy named Goner. He tried to murder me. So you two have a lot in common.”

  He shot her a look like she was crazy. She was.

  Knives crossed his arms. “Judging by the fact he’s still alive and on the Most Wanted list, I see you had it in your heart to forgive him.”

  “Goner.” She groaned. “You know he thinks we’re rivals? If I bothered killing Goner, it would prove to him that I agreed we were.” She rolled her eyes. “In any case, his name is exquisitely bad. It’s punishment enough.” A laugh bubbled out of her. The sound started loudly and slowly, and then grew faster like a boulder rolling down a hill.

  Knives snorted. He had never seen anyone laugh so wholeheartedly.

  As Ia’s laugh dropped out, a word rumbled across the canteen. Jumper. Jumper. Knives glanced around the room, watching as the majority of the cadets chanted in unison. They were calling out Ia for launching herself off the runway yesterday. One voice was louder than the rest, leading the class in its fury. Who was the idiot trying to start a fight with the Blood Wolf?

  Knives recognized him sitting in the center of a group of boys sneering in their direction. Nero Sinoblancas.

  Knives’s gaze drifted back to Ia. Her eyes were focused on a scratch on the tabletop as though she had tuned everything out. But her shoulders were tense, and her nostrils flared.

  He reached his hand forward but stopped it halfway between them.

  The movement caught Ia’s attention, and her head snapped up at him.

  He nodded over to the jeering cadets behind her. “Don’t let it get to you.”

  Her eyebrows drew together. “It’s not.”

  Knives studied Ia’s face. This was a girl who had hijacked supply fleets, devised complex air maneuvers against his father’s battalion, and by her actions alone, had accrued an 898 billion NøN bounty. But now as he watched her, Knives couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for her.

  A metal chair screeched across the floor, and Nero stood. All at once, the chitter of conversation died down to quiet.

  “Hey, Jumper.” Nero’s voice was full of venom. “Do us a favor. Maybe actually kill yourself next time.”

  Knives saw the tension in Ia’s jaw, the small vein rising softly against the smooth skin on her forehead. He opened his mouth to say something to calm her, but he wasn’t fast enough.

  Ia was up, rising like a demon from the underbelly of hell.

  Nero didn’t have a chance.

  Her hand was at Nero’s neck, and with incredible ease, she slammed his head hard onto the cafeteria table, the sound echoing through the canteen.

  “That wasn’t very nice.” She spoke quietly, but the anger in her voice was sure.

  “You’re just like the Refs. A parasite. A waste of space.” The last words were a struggle for Nero. His face had grown pale, now inching toward blue from asphyxiation.

  Like everyone else, Knives was frozen in place, wide-eyed and waiting for what was coming next.

  “Oh, I see. You think you’re worth more than me.” She pinned his hand down, clutching one of his fingers. A wave of screams erupted from the boy’s mouth. A maniacal glee flooded her face as she savored his pain. “How much do you think your parents will pay for you? How much are all your fingers worth?”

  Knives charged toward them, his hand grabbing Ia by the shoulder.

  The muscles in her back shifted at his touch, and she swiveled to face him, her free hand al
ready set in a fist aimed in his direction. Maybe it was a defensive impulse, built up from all the years she had survived in the All Black. Or maybe, Knives thought, she actually wanted to hit him. He didn’t have time to find out which one it was.

  He snatched the silver heart tracker from his chest pocket. Remembering his father’s directions, he held his forefinger and his thumb on both ends of the egg-shaped device to activate it. A red light flashed upon its surface, and he tapped it right in the center.

  Ia’s punch fell midswing, her body’s weight tipping forward until she was on her knees. Her shoulders slumped, and soon she was writhing on the ground, resting her weight on her forearms. Her hair hung around her face like vines, swinging as her body trembled.

  This girl was a child of violence. She had suffered and survived. That was a part of her, but what about the girl who had teased him five minutes ago? Where did she fit in? Was she a mirage, a mere trick of the eyes? Did that person really not exist at all?

  Knives fought the impulse to help her up. Instead, he turned to her guards. “Make sure she gets to her first test.”

  CHAPTER 14

  IA

  EVERYTHING WAS THERE. Navigational panels. Engine displays. Pressure gauges. Throttle levers. And, of course, the control wheel.

  Ia’s heart throbbed, but not from the forced heart failure she had been subjected to less than an hour ago—which hurt like mung. This time her heart was singing inside her from the thrill of being back in the pilot’s seat.

  The main display was black when she heard a buzz. A flash of code blinked in on the screen, and immediately afterward, the outside view opened up, spanning all around her, as bright as the world itself. White LED lights twinkled in front of her, marking the path of a runway.

  The control panels were up and running, numbers flashing on the main monitor.