by Finn Gray
Gravity was becoming stronger. He felt his body being pulled down. He locked his knees, raised his chin, and forced himself to remain standing. But the powerful tug now focused on his eyelids. Invisible hands pulled them down. It wasn’t his fault. They had done something to the gravity. Warmth enveloped him like a soft blanket. The tension drained from his neck, his shoulders, his back.
A loud snort jerked him back to full awareness. His eyes snapped open and he looked surreptitiously to the left and right. Someone had dozed off. The smirk on the face of the recruit to his right, a stunningly beautiful young woman with emerald eyes and creamy skin, was the only answer he needed. If he’d had any doubt, the sight of Trent stalking toward him sealed it.
Gods, I can’t believe I did that.
“Stupid ass farmboy,” a voice muttered. It was the same tall, pale youth who’d been riding him since the Maglev. His name was Marson, and he was another city boy. That was all Rory knew about him. Well, that and he was an asshat.
“Recruit! Since standing at attention is not sufficiently entertaining for you, you will perform sidestraddle hops until all your fellow recruits have joined us.
Rory wasn’t sure he had the energy to perform a single jumping jack, much less keep it up until the others arrived. But he had to try. It was a mercy that Trent had only punished him and not the whole group.
“Aye, sir!” He didn’t know where he found the energy, but he began the exercise. Hands up, feet, out. Down. Repeat. He soon felt as though he were a marionette, his arms and legs tied to strings being operated by an invisible puppet master. He wouldn’t have believed he had any moisture left in his body to sweat out, but as he exercised, he felt cool sweat dribble down his neck. When Trent finally ordered him to halt, he was dripping wet from head to toe.
The sergeants marched them back to their barracks and halted outside. Thus far, they’d only spent enough time there to make their beds and stow their spare uniforms and toiletries. Now, it looked like home. Rory found himself longing for the uncomfortable-looking bunk he’d only seen for a few minutes. Rack, not bunk, he reminded himself.
“All right, eggs,” Clancy began. “Shit, shave, and shower in ten minutes. Make it twelve. I’m feeling magnanimous. After that, it’s rack time. Sleep, no grab-ass. And don’t you even think of skipping the shower. You all smell like my ex-wife’s old drawers. Dismissed!”
“Yes, sir!” It wasn’t exactly a shout, but it was the best the utterly depleted recruits could muster. They stumbled to the showers, stripping down as they went and discarding their dirty jumpsuits, socks, and skivvies outside the shower room.
Rory turned on the cold water and stepped beneath the shower head, letting the cool liquid wash over him. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the stainless steel, letting the dirt and grime sluice away. After a few seconds, he raised his head and drank a few mouthfuls.
“I wouldn’t do that.” Sid stood nearby, coating his dark skin in liquid soap. “That’s water from the head. They barely filter it.”
Rory spat on the floor and retched. The chorus of laughter all around told him immediately he’d been had. Too tired to be embarrassed, he grinned.
“Speaking of heads,” he said, “I thought New Sorians were supposed to be better equipped than the rest of us. Guess you proved that wrong.”
Those within earshot roared and taunted Sid.
“Your mama ain’t never complained,” Sid shot back, eliciting loud cries of “Ooh!”
Enlivened by the cold showers and promise of sleep, the recruits began exchanging good-natured barbs. All except for one.
The green-eyed girl, whom Rory had noticed before, stood at the far corner of the room, hastily scrubbing herself down. She’d positioned herself so that the post supporting her shower head and two others stood between the group and her body. Rory glanced in her direction and looked away quickly, but not before he noticed her downcast eyes and deep frown.
I suppose everyone deals with this place in their own way.
Seven minutes later, he was lying in his bed, having barely hauled himself to the top bunk. The redhead had taken the rack to his right, Cassidy the one to his left, but he had no thoughts for either young woman. He stared at the ceiling, wondering why, all of a sudden, sleep eluded him. He rolled onto his side and found Cassidy staring back at him.
“Trying to figure it all out?” she whispered.
“Figure what out?”
“The reason for all this. I think they’re trying to break us down so we’ll be more malleable. Putty in their hands.” She began to count on her fingers. “Fatigue and sleep deprivation so we’re malleable. They take all that gives us an individual identity. Teach us to obey unquestioningly and not think for ourselves.”
Rory shrugged. He hadn’t been trying to figure anything out except for why he couldn’t get to sleep.
“How did you feel when Clancy gave us two extra minutes to shower?” Cassidy pressed.
“Surprised. Glad. I figured he was a hardass.”
“Exactly.” Cassidy nodded vigorously. “They take everything away from us, and make us love them for giving a little of it back. It’s a sick game they play.”
“They must have a reason.” Discussing a topic about which he had very little interest had accomplished what staring at the ceiling had not. Rory felt sleep coming on, and fast.
“They aren’t fooling me,” Cassidy said.
Rory wanted to tell her that was good, but he didn’t quite manage to get the words out before darkness enveloped him and he drifted away into strange dreams.
Chapter 6
Battlecruiser Dragonfly
Thetis
“Where in the gods’ names is she?” Captain Nathaniel Hunt, call sign Hunter, stalked to the door and looked left and right down the hallway outside the training room of the battlecruiser Dragonfly. No one was in sight. He let out a sigh and tapped his biowatch. 0854. So, by Serena’s standards, she was not yet late. “If only she weren’t the best damn pilot in the fleet,” he muttered.
“You’re gods damned right I am.” Serena Sabrakami, call sign Sabre, poked her head through a nearby doorway. “Glad to know you haven’t forgotten.”
“Would it kill you to show up on time, Lieutenant?”
She checked her biowatch. “I’ve got five minutes.”
“Five minutes early is...”
“...is ten minutes late,” she finished. “Are you seriously going to start quoting Commander Graves to me? I’ve been on this ship as long as you have.”
“Somebody’s got to do it while he’s on leave.” Hunter’s eyes flitted to the empty room behind Sabre. “What are you doing in there, anyway?” He looked over her shoulder, wondering if she’d already engaged in a morning hookup. Jealousy flared inside him. “You’re not with someone, are you?”
Sabre cocked her head. “Morning sex? Me? You should know better than that.” She flashed a knowing smile, reached out, and took his hand. “You are jealous.”
“Don’t let the fledglings hear you,” he whispered.
“What’s wrong? Don’t want them to know you like to be the cream in my coffee?”
“Come on, Sabre. You know all the reasons we can’t talk about this.” He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the fledgling trainees weren’t paying attention. As he’d ordered, all were busy reviewing their flight manuals.
“Let me see.” Sabre screwed up her face in mock concentration. “You’re a snow white Hyperian and I’m a caramel-colored Thetan, or whatever ridiculous food or beverage you people are using to describe us nowadays.”
“That’s not...” Hunter began.
“Then there’s the fact that you’re my superior officer,” she continued, raising her voice to drown out his words. “Also, I’m the better pilot, by far.”
“Not by far.” He couldn’t help but laugh.
Sabre ran her fingers through her shoulder length, glossy black hair. “Hmm, I know there was something else. What was it?�
�� Her eyes brightened. “Oh, yeah. You have a wife.”
Hunter took her by the arms, pushed her back through the doorway, and forced her up against the wall. He kicked the door closed behind him.
“Just stop it. You know it’s complicated.”
Sabre smirked, mischief sparkling in her large, wide-set, hazel eyes. “I’m going to keep talking until you do something about it.”
That was all the invitation he needed. He pressed his body against hers and kissed her deeply. His hands slid down to her waist, encircling her. She smelled like vanilla, just like always. He felt her arms encircle his neck, felt her tongue slip into his mouth. He tasted whiskey, and now knew what she’d been doing in this empty room.
And then she broke the kiss. “That’s enough,” she said in a breathy voice. “I’ve got fledgies who need to be shoved out of the nest.”
“Right.” Hunter took two steps back, far enough that he could no longer take in her intoxicating scent. What was it about the woman that drove him mad? She was pretty, no doubt about that, but no more attractive than several other crew members who had made it known they were available, any of whom wouldn’t be half as infuriating as Sabre. Nor would they be as challenging.
“How many you got for me?” Sabre held out her hand to receive the files Hunter held.
“Three,” he said, passing them over.
“You’ve got to be shitting me. Why are we beginning training with so few? We should wait until we have at least a half-dozen.”
Hunter shook his head. “There are no more coming down the pipe. At least, none who are coming our way.”
Sabre put her hands on her hips, raised her chin, and stood, staring at the ceiling. “It’s because the commander is a Thetan, isn’t it? I’m really getting tired of this second-class treatment. We’re the best ship in the fleet, even if we are stuck in orbit over the so-called colony planet.”
“It’s not only us. Enlistment’s down all over. How long has it been since there’s been a real war? And none of our scout or pioneer ships have turned up signs of intelligent life, much less anything that would pose a threat to us. Kids coming out of academy would rather play pilot on their vids than be the real thing.”
“Vids.” The dripping disdain in Sabre’s voice said it all. “I still don’t think that’s all of it. Are you telling me the new dreadnoughts aren’t getting full complements of trainees?”
Hunter grimaced. He’d known she’d give him crap about this. “I don’t know for sure, but the buzz is, they’re getting half.”
“Which is still more than triple what we’re getting.”
“Enough, Lieutenant!” Hunter’s tone of command didn’t have the effect on Sabre that it did on others in his command, but it served to cut off her tirade before it really got started. It also signaled to her that playtime was over.
“Forget it,” she muttered. “I’m just sick of these new ships, all commanded by Hyperians, by the way, getting the best of everything.” She looked down at the files in her hand. “What have you got for me this time?”
“Two civilian pilots—cargo ships. Both scored well on all their exams, and showed a steady hand in the simulators.”
“They’re grandmothers,” she said, scanning their bios.
“Not technically. Neither has ever married. No attachments. That’s a good quality in a pilot.”
“Oh, is that so?” Sabre quirked an eyebrow.
“You know what I mean.”
She nodded and opened the last file. “And who is this shining star? Young, handsome, and... oh gods, those are some shit intelligence scores.”
“He flew well,” Hunter said quickly. “And he’s a Talia.”
Sabre snapped the file closed. “He’s a member of a noble family and still got stuck on our ship? That’s not a hopeful sign.”
“A distant member of the imperial family, in fact. But from what I’ve heard, the Talias hate the Navarres, and vice-versa. Give him a blank slate, Sabre. Graves did it for you.”
“You know I will, but I’ll bet you five gilds that he washes out before the end of the month.”
A sick feeling crept into Hunter’s gut. This was the part he had been dreading.
“That’s the other thing. You can’t wash anyone out.”
“What?” He hadn’t thought it possible for Sabre’s eyes to get any bigger, but now they bulged. “What if he’s unfit to fly? You can’t put a substandard pilot into the cockpit of a Cobra. He’d be a danger to everyone around him.”
“If a pilot doesn’t qualify, you put him or her back through the training.” He held up his hand, forestalling her argument. “This is coming down from above. Way above.”
“What happens if they fail again?”
“We submit the name to High Command and the pilot is sent to another ship for training.”
Sabre folded her arms. “You mean we might eventually be getting another ship’s washouts?” Her voice was dangerously quiet.
“I’m telling you to do your duty.” Hunter patted her shoulder and smiled. “If you do your usual, stellar job, I’m sure every one of them will pass with flying colors.”
“Screw you, Hunter.” She stalked to the door, paused, and checked the time. “Three... two...” She burst into the training room and slammed the door behind her. Her words, however, came through loud and clear.
“All right, fledgies, sit up straight and listen. My name is Lieutenant Serena Sabrakami. You can call me Lieutenant or Her Highness. Some of you might one day be permitted to call me Sabre. That is, if you don’t wash out first. Now...”
Smiling, Hunter left the room, turned and headed down the corridor. One problem down, a dozen more to go.
Chapter 7
Imperial Compound- Vatome
Hyperion
Lina counted down the last ten seconds and then shut off the treadmill. She stepped off, sweat burning in her eyes and salty at the corners of her mouth. She mopped her forehead with a towel. Time for a shower, or maybe a long soak in the tub would be better.
“It’s not as if I have any place else to go.”
She had been confined to her apartments for three days, ever since Father had ordered them home from the club. Lina’s little vid shout-out had gone viral, and it had pissed her father off something fierce. Apparently it was one thing for Val to embarrass the family, but Lina spending one night acting her age was a bridge too far. He’d sequestered the girls to give them time to think about their position in the empire. That was fine by her. More time for reading, and no constant pestering from Val to go out with her. She loved her sister, but she didn’t exactly like her most of the time.
She’d often heard twins were supposed to be like clones: connected at the hip, psychically linked, finishing each other’s sentences. But when it came to her and Val, nothing could be further from the truth. They were linked, no doubt about that. They looked very much alike, though Lina was a hair taller and a touch thinner, while Val was curvier, something about which she managed to remind Lina at least once a week, usually when trying to talk her into going out to a fancy restaurant. Ultimately, Lina and her sister were opposite sides of the same coin in more ways than she could count, and would always be so.
Inside the bathroom, she turned on the water, then moved to the floor to ceiling window that looked out on the imperial compound. Set on a hill at the center of Vatome, the cylinder of steel and glass stood in the midst of ponds, manicured lawns, ornamental gardens, and orchards, the precise rows in which the trees were planted giving them an artificial appearance. A wall surrounded the compound, with armed guards set at regular intervals along its length. The single, winding road that provided the only access was similarly guarded.
Lina let her towel fall to the floor and stood, bathing her trim figure in the warm sunlight. Though she kept fit, she’d never been completely comfortable with her body, and seldom walked around nude, unlike Val, who considered it a major inconvenience to tug on a robe when someone appeared at her doo
r. Lina looked down at the grounds, wondering if any groundskeepers were working at the moment. She supposed at this height, no one would be able to see her. Unless, of course, a security drone was making the rounds.
The thought sent her scurrying to the half-filled bathtub. She dropped in with a splash and hit the buttons that controlled the jets and the bubble bath. Soon, she was reclining peacefully in warm, lavender-scented water, surrounded by soft foam, letting the jets of water massage her aching muscles. She tapped two more buttons, and a curtain drew down over the window while the vidscreen on the far wall sprang to life.
On the channel, a lively debate was in progress between Gav Tiroli, a young senator from New Soria and a woman whom Lina did not recognize. She wore a loose-fitting robe of white, and when she turned her head, Lina and everyone else watching could see that the lower right quarter of her face had been tattooed a metallic blue. Lina’s heart skipped a beat.
“Oh my gods,” she whispered.
The host, Aishwarya Nagra, a distinguished looking woman in a dark blue suit, sat between them. She smiled for the camera, but the tightness at the corners of her eyes betrayed her tension.
“On my left is Azeemah Kingston.” Nagra turned to the tattooed woman. “You are a priestess in the Memnon church?”
“There is no Memnon church. I am merely one of many Memnons.” Kingston managed to keep her tone both firm and polite.
“Tell us why you are here today.”
“I don’t think I really need to explain it, do I? Aurora is not a safe place for Memnons.”
“It’s not illegal to be a Memnon,” Senator Tiroli said.
“I’m not talking about the law. I am talking about the way society views us.” Kingston said. “Take the circumstances surrounding this broadcast.” Kingston turned to Nagra. “You didn’t announce my appearance in advance. We are broadcasting from an empty studio in a secure location. You invited the most junior member of the Senate, and based on his reaction to my facial marking, you didn’t forewarn him of my appearance.”