by Glen Zipper
“Two days,” Bix piped up.
“Ah, yes. Two days. How incredible,” Gentry continued. “Oh. I also really enjoyed the one about you solving Higgins’ Puzzle. Tell me, is any of it true?”
“Only some of it, sir,” I replied, unable to suppress a self-satisfied smile.
“And there it is again. More insubordination. I hate to do it, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to write you up again, cadet.”
“Seriously? You’re going to write me up for smiling?”
“If you think I’m only writing you up for smiling, you’re really going to enjoy my report,” Gentry answered with his own self-satisfied smirk. He really relished twisting the blade in me.
Four chimes signaling the start of the day’s blocks interrupted me before I could lash out.
“Are we done here, sir? I need to get to first.”
“Yeah, we’re done here,” Gentry answered, giving me one last scornful look. “Devastation Class dismissed.”
It was Explorers tradition for each new class of cadets and students to be christened with a nickname. Devastation Class was the one we got saddled with. Not because it was the class of our ship, but because of the brawl we’d had with some of the students just before we all shipped off.
The students walked away with five cracked ribs, two broken noses, and a near unanimous bruising of their collective dignity. Six chairs, three tables, and one environmental control panel were additional collateral damage of the melee. We cadets walked away with some very unfortunate creasing of our uniforms.
None of us, cadet or student, would have been surprised if we’d been expelled from the program as a result of the fight. Personally, I wouldn’t have been surprised if my father had canceled the California’s Explorers mission altogether. But as he so often did, he’d pivoted a regrettable incident to a teaching moment. He knew that being in space together for months at a time, confined to close quarters, we’d have little choice but to find a way to navigate our differences and cooperate. And in his mind that offered us a far better opportunity to learn something than booting us would have.
My father’s best intentions aside, after three months there was still far more animosity between us than there was understanding and cooperation. Honestly, though, the lingering beef with the students was the least of my worries.
As we all piled into the lift, I could sense the disappointment from my comrades. I had always taken pride in everything I did, so it made me feel terrible to be derelict in my duties. At least every new strike against me served a purpose. As hard as it was and as much as I didn’t want to admit it, the worst-case scenario was probably what I wanted anyway.
CHAPTER 4
LIKO
IF I DIDN’T KNOW ANY BETTER, I would’ve thought it was a practical joke. Out of twenty-five students enrolled in Debate Theory, Professor Sigvaatsan chose me to argue the Kastazi position. I guess I could’ve passed to another student, but why bother? Most people had already made up their minds about me, so I figured I might as well go ahead and win the argument.
“There is no justification for the actions of the Kastazi,” Cadet Nixon went on. The swollen vein in the middle of her forehead told me I was getting to her. Quivering fingers soon followed, and then a sudden, sharp narrowing of her otherwise soft oval eyes. “What they brought with them wasn’t just wanton despotism. It was pure evil.”
Like most students, I was no fan of the cadets and all their militaristic ceremony, but it was hard to dislike Nixon. She was definitely more accessible than your typical cadet. Not stuck-up at all, she had no issue breaking ranks with her rank-and-file chums to commiserate with those of us on the lower decks—an exceedingly rare thing for a cadet to do.
For all the captain’s talk of students and cadets having an equal opportunity to learn out among the stars, the reality was far from it. As a student, it almost felt like you were a stowaway—expected to stay hidden on your assigned decks, go to classes, be in bed by curfew, and thank the Alliance for the honor to stare out the California’s portholes for months on end.
Cadets, on the other hand, had a function. Beyond the academic curriculum they shared with us, they got to learn all of the ship’s critical operations, participate in bridge drills, and enjoy access to facilities we weren’t allowed within five hundred meters of. They had aspirations for military service that most of us did not, so some additional opportunities made sense, of course. What galled me, though, was how the cadets spun these opportunities as hardships that entitled them to even more privileges than they already had. Later curfews. Additional meal options. Extra Iso-Rec credits.
There were seventy-seven of us and only seven of them, so their walking around the ship like they owned it understandably rubbed a lot of students the wrong way. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they at least had some awareness of it. But they didn’t. Except maybe for Nixon.
Unlike the rest of the cadets, at least she made a real effort to treat us as peers. Sometimes she’d even felt comfortable enough to ask me for help with her Comp Sci assignments. I would’ve expected her to ask Cadet Bixby instead, but my guess was she didn’t want him to know she struggled from time to time. Cadets had it so drilled into their brains that they always had to be the best at everything. It was actually kind of sad.
“That’s the problem with your argument. Its entire premise is predicated upon the idea that evil exists,” I answered. “It doesn’t. Evil is a matter of perspective—in your case informed by an emotional rationalization of something painful your mind can’t intellectually process. Do you really believe the Kastazi’s primary motivation was to cause us torment? That they received some kind of spiritual nourishment from all the blood we spilled fighting them?”
Nixon slowly exhaled, doing her best to maintain her composure. It was only an academic exercise, but anything related to the Kastazi was bound to get emotional. “No one is saying that human suffering was the Kastazi’s goal. From their perspective they may have believed their actions to be practically motivated. Even logical. It’s the means they took to pursue their goals that made the Kastazi evil.”
I suppressed a smile as she left herself further exposed. “So let’s start there then. Are you agreeing that the underlying premise of the Kastazi Imperative was logically sound?”
“I said it might be logical from their perspective,” Nixon replied.
“Fine, but as my entire argument is predicated upon the idea that evil is a matter of perspective, that’s something I’d like to explore. Tell me about their perspective.”
“Everyone knows about their perspective.”
“I want to hear it from you. In your own words. I want to make sure you’re not conflating their perspective with your own.”
Nixon stood silent. The vein in the center of her forehead throbbed.
Professor Sigvaatsan gently motioned to her with an open hand. “Cadet Nixon?”
“Their perspective was that they were superior to us,” she answered. “And they believed this superiority gave them a natural right to control an inferior race. Humankind. Their so-called Kastazi Imperative.”
“And that’s all?” I prodded. “Are you suggesting that this perspective alone is what motivated their occupation of Earth?”
“Yes.”
“What about the destruction of their home world? If there was an alternative—an unpopulated, habitable world similar to Earth for the Kastazi to settle—do you think they still would have come just to cause us suffering?”
“I’m not going to argue against a hypothetical.”
“Fine. Dispense with the hypothetical then. Let us presume there was no alternative. That Earth was their only hope of survival. Should they have not come? Are you suggesting they should have allowed their entire race to perish?”
“They could have come. They didn’t have to conquer.”
A soft bell sounded, signaling the transition to open interrogatories. Nearly everyone activated their consoles, wanting to join the de
bate.
“Before we continue, I want to remind everyone of the purpose of this exercise,” Professor Sigvaatsan cautioned us. “Not all of our enemies have descended upon us from the stars. Earth’s history is littered with examples when we failed to promptly recognize a clear and present danger to our values, liberties, and way of life. What we must remember is that such threats rarely show us their true faces right away. Most often they arrive as simple ideas that appeal to our greatest fears and insecurities, requiring us to relinquish more and more of our freedoms in exchange for the promise of a better, safer, or more prosperous future. By the time we recognize the truth of the bargain we’ve struck, our present has become far worse than the future we were hoping to avoid. Mr. Chen’s argument was intended to help us see these threats more clearly—and to better understand our capacity to rationalize almost anything if it appeals to our baser fears.”
A required prerequisite to applying for a position in the Civilian Diplomatic Service, Debate Theory was supposed to train us in the skills of persuasion. All too often it felt like pretext for the Alliance’s propaganda. It wasn’t the propaganda itself that offended me—it was the transparency of its delivery. We were supposed to be drawn from the best and the brightest Earth had to offer, yet sometimes the Alliance treated us like they thought we were stupid.
I scanned my shipmates’ faces. Professor Sigvatsaan’s thoughtful qualifications aside, all their anxious, craving eyes told me they still had their daggers out. It was too easy an opportunity for them to pass up. One more chance to give a lashing to the son of a long-since-dead Kastazi sympathizer.
Professor Sigvaatsan nodded at Annalisa Vaccaro, who was so eager to jump into the fray her eyes nearly bulged from their sockets.
“Mr. Chen, I’d like to pick up where Cadet Nixon left off. She said they could have come, but didn’t need to conquer. Did you not see the Kastazi as conquerors?” she asked.
Of course they were conquerors, but conceding that fact would have frustrated the whole purpose of the exercise. Besides, I didn’t feel like rolling over to give Annalisa my belly. I was tired of people like her using any excuse to come after me.
“Calling them conquerors would be just as much of an oversimplification as calling them evil,” I responded. “What if we had submitted to them?”
Annalisa leaned forward in her chair. “It wouldn’t have made a difference. They still would have been conquerors.”
“Are you sure that’s true? Before the October Demand, when we tried to expel them from Earth’s sanctuary, had you suffered? Had anyone suffered?”
“No, but—”
“Before the October Demand,” I said, cutting her off, “did they not share their knowledge with us? Help us cure diseases we thought incurable? Help us solve scientific puzzles we thought unsolvable?”
“None of that matters!” Annalisa sniped back.
“Why?”
“Because they never told us the price! That all along they had a plan. That they would take control.”
“Put aside your anger and indignity over that single deceit and answer my original question. What if we had submitted?”
Annalisa settled back into her chair, the stiffness of her posture easing. “It would have been even worse than the losses we suffered in the war. How many more lies would have followed their first? How soon would it have been before they tightened their grip around our throats? By the time we truly understood our mistake, it would’ve been too late. Just like Professor Sigvaatsan was saying.”
“Or maybe you’re being paranoid. Maybe the peace between us would have gone undisturbed. Maybe they would have continued to share all their gifts with us. And the price would have been nothing more than acquiescing to their friendly stewardship of our race. You saw them as enslavers. They could’ve been shepherds.”
Annalisa pounded her first on her console. “Of course you’d say that. You really believe it, don’t you?”
Checkmate. If you can’t beat your opponent to the finish line, you can still beat them by forcing them off the field of play.
“I’m sorry?” I answered, feigning confusion.
“Everyone knows about your family. I guess the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree, did it?”
“Okay, that’s enough,” interjected Professor Sigvaatsan.
I smiled ever so slightly at Annalisa to entice her to froth at the mouth even more. I was hoping to get her written up. She deserved it.
“Wipe that smile off your face, Chen!” she shouted.
“Enough!” Professor Sigvaatsan repeated.
It was too late, though. Annalisa was totally unhinged.
“Your father was a traitor, and that makes you a traitor! I don’t know why they even let someone like you on this ship! The Kastazi may be gone, but as far as I’m concerned you’re still—”
“Enough!” someone else shouted. This time it was Nixon. Even from where I sat I could see her hands still trembled. “Enough,” she said again, now more calmly, obscuring her quivering fingers by squeezing them into fists. Her pal, Cadet Marshall, the captain’s son, sat beside her with his arms folded. I couldn’t read his face, but his stiffened posture made me wonder if her intervening on my behalf annoyed him.
Nixon had cut Annalisa off just before she could utter the dirty word on the tip of her tongue: Axis. That’s what they called the alliance between the Kastazi and their human sympathizers. The war was long over, but my family still wore that word like a scarlet letter.
I hated the Kastazi as much as anyone else. But that didn’t matter. The reconciliation of our postwar society was a slow process, and I remained guilty by association. That’s why I never dared speak to anyone about my true feelings for my father. It would only have added fuel to the fire.
Two chimes marked the end of first block, sending everyone spilling out of the room. Annalisa stared at her feet to avoid making eye contact with me as she made her way out the door.
Nixon stopped by my side. “Sorry about that,” she said, softly touching my elbow. “She was out of line.”
“It’s okay. Believe me, I’m used to it.”
“You shouldn’t have to be.”
“Yeah, well . . . maybe with time.”
She nodded politely, but we both knew it was unlikely time would help. The wounds of the war wouldn’t fully heal in either of our lifetimes.
I noticed Marshall lingering behind. He waited for Nixon to leave before he approached me.
“Maybe next time, lose the smile,” he said.
“Are you saying you agree with Annalisa, Cadet Marshall?”
“All I’m saying is keep your head down.”
Unsure if he was offering genuine advice or simply firing a snarky shot across my bow, I stood there silently like a fool. Marshall hesitated, seemingly contemplating an additional thought. The awkwardness of the moment prevailed, however, and he quickly shuffled out the door without saying another word.
Marshall and I actually had something in common. We both lived in the shadows of our fathers—and suffered for it. People tried to knock him down because of his. People tried to keep me down because of mine. In my mind there really wasn’t much difference.
I was curious about him, and the more I paid attention, the less he made sense. Ever since we shipped off it seemed like he was constantly playing with fire. Rumor had it he had been written up at least three times in the first three months on the ship. All that acting out couldn’t have been normal for him. If it were, he never would’ve made the cut as a cadet, let alone nabbed the top spot. He was close to graduation, so it would’ve been easy to chalk it all up to a bad case of “senioritis.” With nothing left to prove, perhaps he was just showing his true colors as the entitled son of an Alliance legend.
I had a different theory, though. I was pretty sure he knew exactly what he was doing. I just didn’t know why he was doing it.
CHAPTER 5
VIV
LEVEL 15 OF GALLIPOLI WAS CROWDED AND lou
d as Alliance politicians, administrators, and soldiers rubbed elbows with transient civilians waiting for the next transport to someplace else. My cadet uniform definitely got some curious looks, but the Blue Pass hanging from my neck made it clear I was authorized to be on the station.
I wasn’t sure why my mother had summoned me, but whatever the reason, me and my space-burned brain were excited to finally get off the California and see parts of Gallipoli. While the expansive outpost still maintained some of its distinct militaristic character, it had long since been transformed to accommodate the needs of a more diverse postwar population. Probably the biggest change was the availability of real food. Every two months, Gallipoli received large supplies of perishables from Earth, and fresh vegetables were harvested from the station’s own mega-terrarium on Level 10.
I would’ve given my right arm for a single bite of anything other than a Protein Reconstituted Meal, but that wasn’t going to happen. Absent a Blue Pass, cadets and students never left the ship during an Explorers mission, so PRMs were going to be on my menu for the forseeable future. Transport from Earth to the outer planetary colonies usually took six months or longer, and comfortable space station sanctuaries like Gallipoli were few and far between. Keeping us on the ship was designed to rid us of any romanticized misconceptions about the realities and rigors of long-term space travel. There was probably some hazing component to it as well to help us earn our stripes.
Despite pushing into the Outer Perimeter, the Alliance still had only made contact with three advanced civilizations other than the Kastazi—the Xax, the Aeson, and the Genuvians. As I descended more deeply into Gallipoli’s maze, I encountered more and more of their kinds mixed in with the station’s mostly human population. As freedom of movement between our worlds was a relatively new development, the increased alien presence on Earth and interstellar assets like Gallipoli took a lot of getting used to.