by Glen Zipper
I swallowed hard, pushing down my emotions. I was so tired of the constant need for formality. “I’m sorry, Captain. I don’t know what you mean.”
His back to the observation window, he looked over his shoulder and regarded the stars. “I know you better than anyone. I may even know you better than you know yourself,” he said before returning his eyes to mine. “Please don’t lie to me anymore.”
Please don’t lie to me anymore.
His words were so inevitable, yet somehow I hadn’t seen them coming.
Over time it had become like a game. Go over the line just enough, but not so much as to bring things to a head all at once. But the longer the game went on, the more I bought into the lies it required. Eventually I lost touch with its purpose altogether.
His gaze locked on me like a spotlight, I was suddenly drowning in the reality that I had become so proficient at denying. Still, despite being exposed, I couldn’t bring myself to admit it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied, ashamed by how disingenuous the words sounded coming out of my mouth.
My father’s expression sank. My intentions must have been so infuriatingly obvious to him all along. My maintaining the pretense of ignorance was like throwing gasoline on the fire.
“Everything in these disciplinary reports is a complete contradiction of who you are,” he said, indignantly tossing my file to the side. “Insubordination. Dereliction of duty. Failing grades. I would’ve expected you to have been a little more subtle in your strategy.”
Despite the truth being laid bare right in front of me, my mind desperately grasped for excuses.
Maybe you’ve overestimated me.
The program is more demanding than I ever imagined.
The rigors of deep-space travel were too much to handle.
All were too ridiculous to say out loud.
“Or at least a little more consistent in its application,” he continued. “Your performance as a cadet has been an abject failure, yet nothing else about you has changed. Your confidence. Your friendships. Your competitive fire. I reviewed the data stream from your Iso-Rec race this morning—that young man isn’t the same person who would waltz through a Blink Drill like he didn’t care about the outcome.”
He paused, as if hoping I’d have the courage to confess. When I didn’t, he went ahead and put me out of my misery.
“You’re trying to get bounced because you think it will spare you the shame of quitting,” he said before leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. “If you want to quit, I’ll let you quit, but first you’ll have to do something.”
“And what’s that?” I asked, the question itself conceding he was right.
He unfolded his arms and leaned in close.
“You need to convince me. You need to convince me that’s what you want.”
“You’ve got all those reports right in front of you. Aren’t they enough to convince you?”
“I’ve been your father for eighteen years. Not just the last three months. I know everything you’ve been through. Everything you’ve survived. How you’ve used all that pain and suffering to drive yourself to be the best at almost everything. You’ve been running circles around competition you had no business competing with for half your life now. Your being here is proof of it. You blew through boot camp like it was a Sunday walk in the park and scored off the charts on every test and command aptitude qualifier they threw at you. That didn’t happen by accident. I know what it takes to accomplish what you’ve accomplished. So, no, those reports convince me of absolutely nothing other than one thing.”
He paused again, careful to give his next thought enough space to stand alone and land hard. “That you’re afraid.”
My father, the hero of Titan Moon, was the last person I ever wanted to cry in front of, but I couldn’t contain the quickly swelling glaze of tears over my eyes.
“The closer you got to what you’ve always wanted, the more frightened you became. After all your preparation, what if you’re still not good enough? What if everyone’s belief in you is misplaced? What if you fail those under your command? Am I getting warm?”
The tears spilled out, rolling down my cheeks.
“Everyone is afraid to fail, but it’s different for you. It’s different for you because you know more about the life-and-death stakes of sitting in the captain’s chair than anyone your age ever should. The pain, misery, and suffering you may one day be called upon to prevent, and may not always be able to. And you have one more impossible challenge to contend with that no one else ever will. Me.”
Everything he said was true, but it was the last part—his acknowledgment of the burden of his legacy—that broke the dam inside me. Whatever vestige of denial I was still clinging to evaporated. I slumped slightly in my chair.
My father unbuttoned his collar and released a long, slow breath. Two tiny, innocuous gestures, but they revealed more vulnerability than I had seen from him in too long a time.
“You will always be the son of Captain Philip Marshall. There’s nothing I can do to free you from that. But what I can assure you is that every fear you’ll ever wrestle with, I’ve wrestled with too.” “The hero of Titan Moon,” I said, wiping away tears with my sleeve, “wrestling with fear?”
“Do you think I wasn’t afraid at Titan Moon?”
I looked past him out the observation window and imagined column after column of Kastazi Destroyers and Strike Fighters descending upon the California.
“Fear never leaves you, John. Never.”
I could picture the blazing power of the enemy’s energy weapons smashing against the California’s hull.
“Fear is like a fever. It consumes you. Burns through your veins. Takes hold of all your faculties.”
My mind took me further, onto the California’s bridge. My father in the captain’s chair, his eyes reflecting the glorious blaze of battle.
“But if you can learn to trust yourself in the face of fear, the fever will break. And then you will feel . . . invincible.”
My waking fantasy resolved with a cascading explosion of Kastazi warships over my father’s shoulders, so stark the illusion I could almost see its fiery halo silhouetting him.
“Invincible,” I skeptically muttered.
“As hard as it may be for you to believe, it’s true. If you can get that far, that’s how you will feel, and that’s when you’ll have to learn an even more difficult lesson.”
“Which is what?”
“That feeling invincible can be more dangerous than feeling afraid.”
We sat there in silence for what seemed an eternity, although it was probably no longer than thirty seconds.
“What’s it going to be, John?” he finally asked, breaking our quiet standoff. “Stay or go?”
Having dispensed with my charade, he boiled it down to that painfully simple choice. But there was nothing simple about what was going on inside me.
I had worked nearly my entire life to get to where I was, and the thought of throwing it all away made my stomach turn. I meant every promise I ever made to Viv about chasing so many adventures together out among the stars. I wanted to challenge myself to realize the limits of my potential, and there was no better path for that than being an Alliance officer.
But despite all that, the crushing fear of failure remained.
“Are you going to answer me?”
I tried to push an answer past my lips, but nothing came.
My lack of response inflamed him. I could tell by the way he flexed his jaw. It meant he was gritting his teeth.
“Being a cadet is a privilege,” he said. “You don’t need to convince me you want to quit.”
He stood and refastened his collar. “The California is disembarking Gallipoli Station in seventeen hours. That’s how long you have to convince me you want to stay.”
I couldn’t tell if his abrupt about-face was more emotional or tactical, but either way he had me questioning everything that
had brought me to this moment. And I had to imagine that was his goal.
“Are we clear?”
“Yeah, we’re clear,” I responded, still stunned.
He said something else as he walked out the door. I couldn’t have heard him right. It would’ve been extraordinary for him to say such a thing while in uniform. Still, I let myself believe it. I needed to.
“I love you too, Dad,” I whispered.
CHAPTER 12
NICHOLAS
SAFI AND I WALKED TOGETHER DOWN THE Beta Deck passageway toward our respective quarters. In our three months off-world, we’d become closer friends. We were simpatico in a way—part of the exclusive cadet clan, but outsiders within it. The cadets regarded me as aloof and detached, if not altogether weird. They regarded her as something of a toady, always sucking up to the command staff and following every rule to the letter. I felt bad that she didn’t quite meld with the rest of them—but then again, neither did I. That was our common burden, and it felt good to share it. I suppose that’s one reason we were drawn to one another. I didn’t feel judged by her. And I thought she felt the same about me.
“Are you going to Viv’s thing in Iso-Rec tonight?” Safi asked as we stopped in front of my quarters.
I looked down at my feet.
“I’m so sorry. That was a really stupid thing to ask,” she said, realizing her mistake. It didn’t bother me. I understood how easily she could forget. During the day, I was just like everyone else.
“It’s fine,” I laughed. “I think I’m going to rearrange my sock drawer. Again.”
It wasn’t a particularly funny response, but Safi chuckled anyway. She was always so kind to me.
“Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m not going either. I’m not breaking curfew.”
“I believe Bix has that problem covered.”
“Yes. And that makes it twice as bad. Breaking curfew and tampering with our biosigs? No thank you. Besides, no one is going to miss me anyway.”
I paused, thinking through my response. “Vivien will miss you. And I’d miss you too if I were there.”
She smiled at me and gently kissed my cheek. “You’re sweet.”
“I try,” I replied. This wasn’t the first time she had invited me to say something more. To somehow affirm the feelings we both shared but had not openly acknowledged to each other. Yet, once again, I failed to take advantage of the opportunity.
She stood there, saying nothing, her eyes betraying an undeniable hint of disappointment.
“Good night, Safi,” I said.
“À demain,” she replied before going on her way.
I stepped inside and surveyed my quarters. The room was bigger than I needed, and its emptiness made me feel even more alone. Single-occupancy quarters were not a luxury typically afforded to cadets. Despite a vast surplus of empty living space, Captain Marshall insisted everyone have a roommate. Everyone except me.
I turned to face the door as it automatically closed behind me. What came next was routine as clockwork. Every night, at precisely 2030, the ship’s computer would lock me in for the night. I bounced my fingers in the air like a symphony maestro, as if conducting the five distinct noises of the door’s locking mechanism. It would be 0600 before the door would open again. In time to shower, get breakfast, and head to first block.
With a swipe of my fingers across my quarters’ control panel, the lights dimmed. My attention lingered on the panel’s com interface. It was dark, signifying inactive status. As always, all outgoing communication was restricted.
I sat down on my rack and inspected the picture on my night-stand. A happy couple embracing a small child I vaguely resembled. I ran my fingers over the faces of the man and the woman. I knew they weren’t my parents. Did they belong to someone? Somebody else’s mother? Somebody else’s father? Or were they real at all?
I was beginning to understand who I was. Like water from a leaky faucet, my memories would drip back to me over time, slowly revealing a mosaic of truth piece by piece. Was this intentional? Did the captain intend for this to happen? Or perhaps I was sick. Or even dying. The thought didn’t particularly frighten me, so I presumed I wasn’t.
I wondered how much Captain Marshall really knew. There were so many layers of secrets, but we only acknowledged the big one openly to each other. I was amused by the cover story he had created for me. That I was on work release from a diversionary program for criminal offenders and nightly lockdown was a condition of my probation. There were so many other explanations he could’ve provided. Why that one? The only reason I could gather was the obvious implication of a criminal past. That I had the potential to be dangerous, and people should use caution around me.
I lay back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. The tiles were fastened in with simple rivets and bolts. I could have easily removed them and escaped if I really wanted to. But I didn’t. There was nothing for anyone to be afraid of. I just wanted to be normal. Like everyone else.
Yes, I was dangerous. But only when necessary. Only if I needed to be.
CHAPTER 13
VIV
“THAT’S NEVER A GOOD SIGN,” SAFI SAID as she walked through the door to our quarters.
I was lying on the floor at the foot of my rack, incessantly throwing my rubber handball against the bulkhead wall. My special brand of meditation was a particularly annoying habit for her to have to tolerate.
“I saw the pilot,” I said in between bounces.
“And?” she asked as she sat down at her desk.
I bounced the ball a few more times, catching and releasing it more slowly as I considered my thoughts.
“Not at all what I imagined he was going to be.”
“What were you expecting?” she inquired while fastidiously organizing a few scattered items on her blotter.
“I don’t know. Someone who looked a little more . . . nefarious.”
Safi swiveled in her chair. “Need I remind you of the idiom ‘wolf in sheep’s clothing’?”
“No.”
“Where did you see him?”
“On Gamma Deck. A couple MPs from Gallipoli were escorting him to the brig.”
“The brig,” Safi mused. “Never would’ve guessed it would be occupied during an Explorers mission.”
My next throw hit a seam in the bulkhead, and the ball bounced out of my reach.
“What do I need to do to get you to come with me tonight?” I asked, rolling over onto my stomach to face her.
“Ha! Speaking of the brig!”
“So dramatic. It’s breaking curfew, not treason.”
“Call it what you want, but it’s still violating the Code of Conduct.”
“Barely.”
“Barely is still a violation.”
“You realize you’re no fun at all, right?”
“I’ve been accused of worse.”
“Seriously, if you died in your sleep, you’d regret not breaking a rule every once in a while.”
“And if you had been a bit more respectful of rules during launch prep, we’d probably be known as something other than the ‘Devastation Class,’” she teased.
“You make a valid point. A depressing one, but valid nonetheless.”
Safi reached into her top desk drawer and pulled out a small gift box wrapped in plain brown paper. “Well, hopefully this will cheer you up then.”
“You got me a present?”
Safi joined me on the floor and presented the box. “Happy eighteenth birthday, Vivien,” she said earnestly.
I couldn’t imagine what she had come up with off-world. “Should I open it?”
“Yes. Of course. I would’ve preferred to use real wrapping paper, but I couldn’t find any on the ship.”
“It’s perfect. It’s very . . . minimalist.”
I carefully unwrapped the paper so as to not tear it. Beneath it was a hand-carved wooden box. I carefully inspected it and traced its ridges with my fingers.
“It’s beautiful. Did you make
it?”
Safi laughed at me. “Indeed, I did. But that’s not your gift. Your gift is inside.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. Open it.”
I carefully lifted its top, revealing a beaded bracelet. “Oh, Saf, it’s amazing. But how did you . . . ?”
“They’re stones I had collected on the beaches of Dakar. I brought them to remind me of home.”
Safi helped me tie the bracelet onto my wrist. Unexpected tears welled in my eyes. I was especially touched because Safi wasn’t a very sentimental person.
She and I were as close as she would allow us to be. She knew more about my inner workings than I did about hers. But even though she didn’t open up to me very often, I trusted her without question. In the year or so since we’d met, I could always count on her to keep my secrets, and she never really judged my choices even if she disagreed with them.
I played with the stones and fumbled for words. “Saf, I honestly don’t know what to say.”
“Say thank you.”
I hugged her tightly. “Thank you so, so much!”
Safi patted my knee and returned to her desk. She required nothing else from me in the moment. My gratitude was more than enough for her.
I retreated to my rack and admired the bracelet on my wrist. The weight of the stones felt heavier than they appeared. Which was sort of poetic in a way. For someone like Safi, the mere gesture of a gift was also more substantial than it appeared.
I fell back onto the mattress, and my mind began to wander. To JD and all of his troubles. To more pleasant thoughts of Julian. And then, of course, again to the Interceptor and its pilot. My eyes growing heavy, I didn’t try to resist a creeping sleep. I still had a couple of hours to kill and just wanted to turn off. Give my brain a rest.
CHAPTER 14
NICHOLAS
I LINGERED BACK, UNNOTICED, AS A SCRUM of students held Bixby prostrate over a table in the Camp Penbrook canteen. I surmised the commotion of the students’ taunts combined with Bixby’s futile thrashing would be sufficiently clamorous to summon an MP to quell the situation, so I didn’t feel compelled to intervene. Regardless, my intervention would have been ill-advised considering the tenuous nature of my enlistment.