Chapter 2
A fter the excitement of being insulted on our folding and tucking abilities, the rest of the day drags on. we are sorted into our flights, which should be quick because it is based off who we bunk near, but of course, it is not quick in any loose military sense of the word. It is long and arduous and increasingly dull.
Inspections didn’t go as badly as I thought they would. At least I did everything mostly right. I’m nearly immune to their taunts. After living with verbal abuse for years before my mother finally broke free I possess the unique talent to ignore most all verbal jabs, as well as to recognize toxic personalities. Speaking of toxic personalities I fear that boy that bunks with King is no good. I only know Logan King in passing, we were in the same district growing up and went to the same university on scholarships. He’s not a bad sort just generally incompetent. I heard him being bashed rather badly this morning and I’ve seen the face of that boy who bunks above him, Card I think Ebbel was shouting, yes Card. His eyes remind me of my sister’s, almost the exact same blue, which I hate because I love her and I suspect I will soon hate him. he didn’t do poor Logan any good, and he’s stuck up about something or other the way he talks and----I can just feel it. he’s trouble. he’s got the look of somebody waiting to kick a sleeping dog. I know that look too well to miss it even in passing. But stop. don’t think of home, don’t think of your past. The card isn’t your problem. You are your problem just get you through this and you’ll be fine and you can go home and have money and maybe we can have a better flat and Genny can go to university real university and not worry about scholarships all the time and you---you can be a Spaceman.
Inspections this morning were trying, at least we had a laugh with Titus, though. I don’t mind him so much now, in fact, I regret how harsh I was to him. but I suppose he deserved it. I look around at my other classmates. It’ll be interesting to get to know them. the people I’ll spend the rest of my life with, probably. Some of them. I wonder who? It’s all interesting to me, in that I’ve been trained raised bred my whole life for this, just this, thought of before I came into being and now here I am acting it out. playing my part. well, I don’t want to. not completely. I want to be me and be a kid and have fun and laugh like we did this morning. Just a little. Maybe we can. Maybe we can be sixteen-year-olds, together, see if we can have fun. We can if we help each other, I know the folding and the marching, and others have other strengths, if we work together this can be easy and we can have good times. For the first time, I begin to get excited about training.
After such a miserable morning I thought my day had to improve but I haven’t. they just keep yelling at us so much I have to tune it out. I’m trying to be like Titus he doesn’t seem to mind he just stands there stone-faced. I wish I could; maybe he learned in basic I hope so then maybe I’ll learn. Tom said that now that we’re on flights we’ll get our SBUs with flight insignia sewn on. I’m excited about that. I can’t wait to send a picture home of me in my SBUs to my mum. She’s so proud of me. I just don’t feel like I deserve it. there are so many of them that are so much better at all of it than me. and I don’t want to pull our flight down and I feel like I do I already got Titus yelled at by that Ebbel person and Tom was cross with him as well when it wasn’t his fault. he did show me how to do it. not very patiently or slowly but he doesn’t do anything patiently or slowly nor does he expect it that’s just him and I don’t fault him for it. being him is why he is so good at this and being me is why I’m not. But I am. even if I’m not the best, at all this, who said I had to be? I can be the best at computers, they’re what I’m good at. And that’s why I got chosen. And that’s why I’ll succeed. Because I am good at some things. Just not all but nobody’s good at everything I’m sure Titus is bad at something I can’t think of what but I’m sure he is. And in a few minutes, we get our uniforms that we are all worthy to wear. I smile a little just to think about it.
We get our SBUs now. lovely. Now my secret is out. I stand in line, stone-faced, waiting for my bag. King looks excited. he would be. He’s not about to be identified as the only non-university graduate in the conclave of cadets.
I open the bag and reach in, stroking the blue and black mottled fabric. A small pterodactyl, our squadron’s symbol, and of course my single stripe. I find myself smiling. I am a Spaceman. They aren’t. I am. I made it already this is all just extra. Now to train, to learn to fly. All my life I’ve focused a part of my mind on flying, learning to fly, everything there is to know about it. Planning how to get into space. Now I’m here. and one day there will be gold stars on these lapels instead of a stripe on the shoulders. I’ll be a Major someday, a General, the best pilot in the force. A legendary spaceman. And they’ll all know my name.
“card!!”
Not today though.
“Get suited up now, then come outside,” an MTI I don’t know barks. I hurry to obey as the others in the locker room also begin to change, too enamored of their new uniforms to ogle each other like we usually do.
I have done it before so I am faster to put on the stiff SBUs, then I proceed out to the main area, as ordered.
“Cadet Card reports,” I say, standing at attention. The MTI, a female Staff Sergeant, stands in front of me. Wilde her name tapes say.
“So, you’re our special child, eh Card?” she asks. She’s holding my file.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, smothering my annoyance. She thinks I’m funny.
“You’re tiny, you barely fit in these things,” she inspects my SBUs, “I’ll have them get you fitted ones, next week.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” I say, emotionlessly.
“You don’t flinch, do you?” she asks, standing unnaturally close to me to see if it’s true. it is. “Basic teach you that. Or two weeks in solitary in the brig?”
“Ma’am, basic,” I say, as she looks down at her tablet.
“Did you get to go to space, then?” she asks, she’s more intrigued by me, as she reads my file.
“No, ma’am, I did not go,” I say, stopping the anger from flashing in my blue eyes. they ripped me out before I could. I was supposed to the very next day but as my flight went up out into the heavens I was being booked for treason.
“What, they locked you up right away? That’s a shame,” she says.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say.
“All right, then, Card, did you ever march a flight in basic, or did they think you were too small and wouldn’t be loud?” she asks.
“Ma’am, I couldn’t say what they thought.” That’s exactly what they thought. “However, ma’am, I have not marched a flight.”
“Well, then, you will today,” she says, with a smile lurking on her lips, “You’re Cygnus Company’s flight leader.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say. a flight leader is in charge of marching the flight, that is calling cadence and directing where the element leaders, the first spacemen in a column, march the flight.
“Ma’am, have you assigned me, element leaders?” I ask.
“That’s up to you, you go get them formed upon the drill pad, you have two hours to get them into shape before you march them to dinner, and use your time wisely because we will be pulling 314s,” she says. 314s are ‘write-ups’ where we get a little lecture for being bad little Spacemen. They think that these small slips of paper affect me. it’s actually sort of entertaining. “any questions?”
“No, ma’am,” I say.
Titus strolls back into the room with the constellation pin on his lapel as arrogant as though he’d been made President. I don’t blame him. at least he’s getting credit for having been to basic. The others look less than pleased, however, at the prospect of being bossed about by him, a poor boy who’d probably never even stepped foot in a university. Still, I’m sure he was pleased.
I am less than pleased. Now this will cause undue ridicule and attention. My new position makes it much harder to murder Ebbel. But then I was needing a challenge, don’t you think?
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nbsp; “Quiet,” Titus says, very loudly, and the chatter abruptly ceases. We all turn to look at him. he stands in the middle of us, his uniform just a bit too large, blue eyes flashing in defiance of their chatter. He raises the heels of his hands to his forehead, pressing them against it, his fingers twitching.
“Tom, you’re my first element leader,” he says, nodding at me. I wonder why he has chosen me, of all people. I’m not the strongest marcher, and I’m sure he knows it. I am doubting there is little he doesn’t know.
She’s not the strongest marcher, but I want to look at her and I won’t get to if she’s in the middle of the whole bloody flight.
“And Long, you’re my second element leader---guidon bearer, actually, we fall to the drill pad and drill until our DP, everybody understands? Speak now if you don’t,” I look in their eyes. they don’t understand. But they will. “NOW MOVE IT!!!”
I wave my hand and go to the doors, holding it for Tom and Long who hurry to obey, surprised, but not insubordinate. Good. Long is the only one shorter than me, and he’s got the best rhythm of all of them. He’s a Project 10 but he doesn’t know most of the others, different dorm or something like that. Tom’s solid Project 10 so she fits in, he seg ways from me to her. a nice little chain of acceptance trickling close to me.
We fall out into the sunlight and the cadets stagger to size up, amusing little clones in their matching uniforms. I did not anticipate how funny they would look trying to grudgingly jump to my surprisingly loud orders and I have to suppress laughter.
I call the sizing commands and appropriate movements to get the littlest of them at the back and the tallest at the front, save the element leaders who stay at the front. I enjoy how cold my voice sounds in the clear air, echoing off the pavement. I think they are less put off by it than they thought as well, for they try to obey.
The optimum word being try. they are not in sync. I can tell already. Not with each other, not with me. they anticipate my commands and jump before I call them, tripping over each other. Even so, we have to start somewhere. It’s going to take two whole parts of my brain to get them together. but it’s worth the challenge.
I try to take them around the drill pad once, just once, with the appropriate left and right marches, no about-face, but they keep falling out of step, particularly King. And the others just anticipate what I’m going to say, more often than not incorrectly.
“HALT,” I call. I need to think of something. Every one of them can do this. Except possibly Logan he may actually not be able to do this. But the rest of them can. But how to get them there?
“AT EASE,” I call so that I can also go to ease. I grind my hands into my head, immune to their stares they probably are staring at me like I’m a freak I don’t care think how to get them in step for good my hand’s press so hard I can’t feel the palms.
“Okay----King, you’re just not in step, you’re thinking too much about it, you just need to feel the rhythm,” I say, my hands still grinding into my head, trying to think of another way to say it to him.
“I’m trying,” he says, looking close to tears. Again.
“No, not now .. you just .. Cadet Long, can you explain to King how you keep in step?” I ask.
“Ah...I don’t know, just sort of listen to it, you know?” he says, shrugging.
“It’s a beat, like a dance, or tapping your feet to a song,” Tom says, helpfully.
“That’s it!” I say, grinning and snapping my fingers at her, then snapping them as I bring them back. I can do this. I can complete the murder and get them in step all at once. If I do this, I’ll get in trouble, which will get me in detention in the brig which puts me in the perfect spot to murder Ebbel.
“I’ve got it, okay---we’re going to do this,” I remembered a song, my sister used to play it all the time on her little radio. “Everybody---Listen up. From now on, I am God. You hear nothing but my voice. MTIs yell, that’s at me, not you. I will make any and all corrections. I call all commands, you don’t move till I speak, got it?” I ask.
“YES sir,” a little grudging there it’s okay give them time. they’ll see the truth.
“forward harch,” but instead of counting cadence I begin to sing, as loudly as I can, “left-right and left-right da da da” I do not even remember all the words to the song but the beat is all that matters “King.. you’re instep now .. just listen to me now da de da---da de da---”
they are all in step now and their overall rhythm is much more fluid.
I›ve never tried to sing before in my life considering that I sound really quite pleasant, they are smiling but I don›t call them on it. I sing a bit quieter but they all chuckle, they like me more now, they know I just got in trouble to teach them.
“Flight---HALT,” I call, stopping innocently. Technical Sgt. Harris, my second to least favorite MTI walks up to me.
“Put your flight at ease,” he instructs me.
“AT EASE,” I call, though they don’t dare shift much.
“CARD! What is it you think you were doing?” he asks, folding his arms and standing in front of me, daring me to make eye contact.
“Sir, singing them the song of my people,” I say, completely seriously.
“Why may I ask were you doing that?” he asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Sir, to help them remain in step,” I explain.
“How many of you think Card is allowed to sing to you? Raise your hands,” Harris says, turning to my flight.
No hands, of course not. I broke military bearing I should really spend the night in the brig so I can go, murder somebody, now shouldn’t I?
“Well, you’re all wrong. This is a training exercise, Card was perfectly justified, 314s, all of you, for insubordination; not one of you was willing to back up your leader,” Harris snaps his fingers. They stare, dumbfounded and vitriol, then they start sorting in their pockets for their 314s.
“Sir, I will take the blame,” I say, pulling my own 314 from my pocket.
“They didn’t support you,” he growls, turning back to me.
“Sir, that means that I did not inspire confidence,” I say, calmly.
“Fine,” he pulls the 314 from my extended hand and walks away.
I stare at Titus. I can’t believe he didn’t care about getting in trouble. let alone that he was willing to get in trouble for our sakes. The 314s go in our cadet file, too many and you could get dismissed. And Titus had just taken one as though it was nothing---more than that he’d talked himself into one.
“All right, let us continue,” I say with the smallest of smiles. They are still staring at me, nonplussed. I am pleased. Now they know how much more I am than them. now they know I am the unexpected. But they have nothing to fear. I am on their side.
for now.
“What’s wrong?” I ask as Harris walks slowly over to where I stand with a few other MTIs. He is staring blankly at a 314 in his hand.
“I just pulled this on Card,” he says, putting it in his pocket.
“Card---the one who swallowed a dictionary?” I ask, frowning.
“Yeah, that’s him,” he says.
“So?” I ask. The kid is smart. He knows it too much though, that’s what bugs me about him. and tiny, he’d do no good in actual hand to hand combat. But Wilde made him her flight leader, she likes the little devil.
“I didn’t want to,” Harris says.
“Then why did you?” I ask, wondering what is wrong with him.
“I don’t know---when he spoke---it made sense,” he says, shaking his head.
“Write him up for insubordination, then,” I say, helpfully.
“I can’t---I am---that’s what he wants me to do,” he says.
“Does he want to spend the night in the brig?” I ask.
“I—I don’t know, why would I put him in there?” he asks.
“You’ll think of something before nightfall,” I guarantee.
I wonder what our little Spaceman Basic got himself in troubl
e for. his flight is doing better than ever. They look smooth and clean. Harris was certainly shouting his name at full volume, though. I feel a bit bad for him, he’s probably an outsider even more since he tested out of basic or whatever. I’m just public university trash. But Ebbel did make me flight leader. I will prove to them I can do it. No matter how hard it seems. I’m hardly telling my mother and Ginny that I failed. I’m not going to fail. I glance up at the sky, as ships whizz overhead. That’ll be me someday, I promise myself. But now to work. Card’s flight is looking better every time I turn around and sneak a glance at them. mine is---well it’s getting there. we’ve got a lot of work to do before the dinner DP.
Chapter 3
F inally, the interminable drill practice ends and we are to march to our dinner DPs. I want to pull Tom aside and ask her if she wants to sneak out again tonight to go and practice on the simulator. She did once before. But I’ve annoyed her since then. But I did take a 314 for her, and she had fun last time. at least it seemed like it. I know I did. but I cannot pull her aside. As a flight leader, the MTIs have their eyes on me, especially after the singing stunt. Sadly, one single 314 doesn’t me any closer to the brig, and MSgt Ebbel’s timely demise.
I did teach the little uncoordinated dregs how to march, however. They are much better, King is actually in step half the time. and their spirits are up, which is important. And they get better by the minute. Even when I’m not singing to them, they still keep a jaunty step and their rhythm is ten times what it was this morning.
I am relieved, though, when we file in for dinner. And I am hungry, and through with devoting mental energy to calling cadence and facing movements when I could be doing other things with my mind, like thinking about flying. As soon as the last of my flight is inside the doors, my job is done, and I join the line for dinner. I happily devote ½ my brain to thinking about flying, ¼ to Tom, as is my current customers and has proved quite relaxing, 1/8 to what I am currently doing, and 1/8 to what I could be doing better. I’m not going to be in the brig tonight, so Ebbel cannot die. So I might as well rest and enjoy myself in my own head. which I do.
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