Cadet: Star Defenders Book Two: Space Opera Adventure

by Pamela Stewart

  “I’m in the mil-science division.” My voice came out as a nervous stammer. “The odds of me going into hand-to-hand combat are less than 30 percent. I know how to use a laser pistol. Isn’t that enough?” What good would it do to be beaten? My brain was my biggest asset, and if he didn’t understand that, then he was as stupid as—a foot landed squarely in my diaphragm.

  Air whoofed out of me. My arms and legs collapsed, and my face collided with the alloy-hard mat. Stars rotated in my vision, and I gasped for air. To protect my vital organs, I rotated in on myself like a crab. The boot was coming again, and I was helpless.

  I braced for the next blow. Nothing came.

  A sound of impact pulled my eyes open in time to see Dax reeling back. Arms flung wide.

  He’d come to protect me.

  Vega helped me up. She was talking, but her words were drowned out by the din of the gym. The others had stopped their sparring to watch the fight.

  Dax recovered his stance and shot a comet-fast jab toward the man’s torso. The Lt. Commander dodged, moving as if made of liquid. He managed physics-defying moves for such a large object. If I could have recorded it and replayed the exchange in slow motion capture—

  The Lieutenant Commander dropped to the ground and barreled into Dax’s legs. Dax fell, and the LC pinned him with a forearm chokehold. Dax wheezed. If the pressure didn’t stop, his trachea would be crushed.

  “This is an effective technique to not only incapacitate but dispatch the enemy.” He leaned down, and Dax convulsed.

  I stepped forward, hand outstretched. Vega flew from my side and struck, launching herself at the Lieutenant Commander with the force of an ore dozer. They soared a half a dozen feet away. The crowd that had circled separated to let them pass. One girl flew, knocked off her feet. Neither Vega nor the Lieutenant Commander noticed. She fought him with a wild abandon, her long hair falling loose around her.

  Her strength was her advantage as she rolled to her feet, grabbed him, and hurled him three feet into a stack of humbleballs. She sprinted to Dax. My frozen limbs decided to move and joined them. His throat had purple marks, and he breathed in long, strangled gasps.

  Vega stood next to us, looking down. A humbleball buzzed in the air and nailed her in the side of the head, the sick sound of rubber slamming against skin. Her head craned hard to the left, and she dropped.

  “Use your surroundings,” the Lieutenant Commander said. “Use whatever you may find. Don’t let an opponent of greater strength deter you.”

  Vega sprang up, balancing on her toes. I swear I heard her growl before leaping toward the instructor.

  No elegance to her fighting technique, but she didn’t need it.

  Dax pushed up, and we watched. Vega landed a windmill punch on his left jaw and grabbed his shoulders, trying to fling him again, but she couldn’t get leverage. She was too short.

  It was the chance he needed. With a smooth motion like I’d seen in my studies of the original martial arts on OE, he lifted his arms, broke her grip, and brought down his elbows against her shoulders.

  He was a foot taller and outweighed her by fifty pounds. She slammed against the flooring. The hard smack reverberated in my belly, and I grimaced.

  The Commander stepped over her, even as she struggled to rise. He whipped a small trickle of blood from his lip and addressed the crowd.

  “You’ve heard that all is fair in love and war. This is war. Do not hesitate to use any means necessary to neutralize your opponents. I will show you methods that only the elite soldiers of the Academy know. And no one will dare defy you.”

  The crowd pushed in closer as the Lieutenant Commander demonstrated techniques on stealth attacks. I should’ve watched. My place at the Academy could have depended on this knowledge, but I couldn’t look away from my bruised and bloodied friends.

  I’d read about the techniques the Lieutenant Commander was using. They broke soldiers down to build them back up. To make them obedient. To make them killing machines.

  It had seemed like a logical tactic until I was in the middle of it.

  Until my friends were taking on pain for my sake.

  Now I wondered, was preparing for war worth this dehumanization? My stomach churned.

  It didn’t feel right—none of it.

  Maybe it wasn’t supposed to. I didn’t have an answer, and that scared me most of all.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dax

  I’d failed. One of the few things I was good at, protecting those I cared about, and I’d messed up. I’d overestimated what I could do versus an Academy trained Lieutenant Commander. I could’ve been strategic. I could’ve gotten help or reported him.

  But he had been hurting Amelie. Every instinct in me had pushed me to attack.

  I hadn’t helped her, and now my position in the Academy would be even worse if the demon officer decided to prosecute me. The brig or worse. And not the makeshift style brig I’d endured on the Lazarus. The real deal.

  Am pulled me to my feet. Together, we found Vega floundering on her belly and offered her a hand. She blinked and reached up to touch her neck next to her shoulder with a grimace. Probably dislocated. Bastard. A welt flamed on her face from the humbleball’s impact.

  Lieutenant Commander Gleason demonstrated two more moves, snatching cadets from the groups surrounding the podium. He lectured and dealt bone-crushing blows using almost dancelike movements.

  The sound of crunching and groaning grew until a siren blasted, and a yellow light flashed throughout the chamber. Vega cradled her left arm. Her lip and her eye on her left side puffed out comically. I was pretty sure I didn't look a great deal better, but she'd taken the brunt.

  She'd saved me, yet again, but had paid a price. At least she’d drawn blood from the militant dog. He had no reason to beat on cadets openly. They had less experience and training. He made them suffer to show his own strength and to intimidate everyone that might be a threat. I’d met a lot of those types in the Hub.

  Gang leaders, pimps, pirates, and smugglers all had the same bravado. And a need to force those around them to follow, get out of the way or die.

  Amelie supported Vega as we all limped back to the exit.

  Ethan waited outside the door. His mouth dropped when he saw Vega.

  Her one working eye narrowed on him. “What do you want?” she growled.

  I wouldn’t have pushed her in this state, but Ethan was a man that followed his own compass.

  “I...um...oh Vega, what happened?”

  “Your friend beat the crap out of me.”

  Ethan’s forehead scrunched, but he still wasn’t backing down. He glanced at Am and me, noting the damage done. His eyes dropped to the floor. “Gleason’s techniques are harsh, but he gets results.”

  Vega shook her head and pulled away from Amelie.

  Amelie’s motions were jerky and nervous. The experience had shaken her.

  “Do either of you want to come with me to medical?” Vega asked. “I don’t want to miss my next class, but I think he actually broke something.”

  Amelie blinked rapidly. Deciding was difficult for her—option overload.

  “Do you need to see the medic, Am?” I tried not to sound extra worried about her, even though I was.

  I cared for Vega. Of course. She was one of my best friends, but Am was different. She made me wish and hope for things I'd never have. And I couldn't abandon her no matter how sad being around her made me.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I think I'm okay. I need to go to my manufacturing class next. It's on the bottom level.”

  Near Engineering probably.

  I shouldn't have said what I was about to say. It would just end poorly, but it was like trying to see Sol through the cracks of the station. Most of the time, I was disappointed, but when I got a glimpse of natural light, it was bliss.

  “I can walk you,” I croaked. “Maybe we can support each other? Grab some bandages on the way?” It came out low and
strangled from the damage Gleason had inflicted.

  Am shot me her secret unvarnished smile and reached out to touch the hollow in my throat lightly with the end of her fingertips. It sent a shiver through me that reached down to my toes.

  Ethan glanced around uncomfortably. His eyes lingered on mine. I gave him a one-shoulder shrug. We'd become pretty friendly during the time on the Lazarus and the shuttle, but he'd never confided in me or been truly open with me.

  Vega wasn't the only one holding onto anger from the Lazarus. I tried to understand his position. I attempted to give him the benefit of the doubt, but it fell flat when he had connections with people like Gleason.

  “I have Strategy of Warfare next,” Vega said. “I think it's on this level. Send me a wav tonight before mess. I'm in Barrack P. Maybe we can meet up...wait. I can't. I'm meeting someone.”

  Everyone's eyes turned to Vega. Especially Ethan. His gaze locked onto her like a gato on a rodent.

  “Who?” he asked.

  “It's Jess, isn't it?” Amelie asked.

  Ethan and I exchanged another silent communication. I shrugged again.

  Vega nodded, a light flickering in her eyes. Then she grimaced. “That hurt.”

  Am smiled a wicked conspirators grin. “You’ll have to tell me all about it later. We have ten minutes left to get to class.” The hall had emptied. Only a few stragglers remained in the chamber.

  Vega looked up at the rafters as if searching for the time. “We need to gather again. Morning mess then? Guys?” Her face had increased in size, and the coloring turned darker red.

  “Morning mess,” Am repeated.

  “Hmmm,” I said.

  Ethan stepped forward, mouth open to say something when Lieutenant Commander Psycho exited the gym. He honed in on our position like a heat-seeking laser. “I'm ready to talk now, my boy.”

  Amelie and I cringed and started moving away. I motioned to Vega and my wrist com. She nodded and shifted, power walking the opposite way. I worried she'd taken the wrong path. She truly wasn't good with direction, but she was resourceful.

  Now I had to contend with ten minutes with Amelie.

  I'd take what I could, for as long as I could. It never hurt to pretend. I absorbed the way the light glinted against her golden hair and the smooth line of her cheek.

  Maybe pretending did hurt. But at that moment, I didn’t care.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Vega

  I limped away, trying not to scream or wince while I was within visual or auditory range of that sadist or my friends. What kind of organization allowed the instructors to inflict harm on their students so severely they were sent to the infirmary?

  I'd complained about Wu, but she'd been right. I hadn't seen anything on the Lazarus, if this was training. But it didn't feel right or normal. The heat in my blood cooled, and I walked slowly.

  The numbness had begun wearing off, and the area between my neck and shoulder on each side throbbed. I clenched my fists to keep my mind off of the pain and flinched. My hand had swollen, probably from catching myself when Gleason nailed me with that humbleball.

  Even though they were recreational, humbleballs felt like concrete when they collided with your face.

  I was planet-freaking-strong, yet I'd been beaten up multiple times since I’d gotten to this hellhole. The one thing I counted on was having a physical edge. Now they either stole my strength or fought dirty. I stopped and leaned against the wall, closing my eyes. How was I going to do this?

  My daddy hadn’t raised a quitter. I sucked in a breath, pushed away from the wall, and looked down at my wrist.

  “Directions to the nearest infirmary or medical assistance.” The wristlet took longer than usual to respond, and I tapped it with my finger.

  A holo of the current floor hovered. A red X marked the map in two locations. One was back near the gym. The other was about two hallways down on my right. Closer was better. Every step led to me discovering new bruised and potentially broken spots.

  These corridors were narrower than the Lazarus, and they weren't all the same. One hallway had smooth walls, and another had a weathered and uneven surface. Others had pockets taken out and replaced with clear plastic, so open space was visible. It was easy to tell that it had been built and added to overtime.

  The Mil-Station had declined for the last hundred years since the last aliens attacked, slowly losing funding without any enemy to fight. Resources were better used in exploration, which was why I had gone on my first mission planetside and why I'd run into the aliens.

  My wristlet flashed an arrow to the wall, highlighting a door on my right. It didn't appear to be a medical center entrance. It looked like someone’s quarters.

  I didn't think I could walk all the way back down to find the infirmary. I had to take the chance. Maybe somebody inside could help.

  A wave of dizziness made my head swim, and the floor undulated as if I was in zero-G.

  I placed my palm on the entrance panel, which lit up in light blue. Instead of asking me my identity, it said, “Welcome, Friend.”

  The double door slid open.

  Inside was a man or...yes. It was a man.

  He didn’t look like an Axis soldier.

  He was big and broad like my dad, barrel-chested, muscle-corded arms, and legs. He stood in the center of the floor in a wide stance and moved his arms in circular motions, hand-over-hand, almost like my mom kneading sev bread. His eyes were closed, and his face was relaxed.

  His dark hair hung long, almost as long as mine, straight, and pulled back away from his face.

  He practiced some kind of fight moves, sort of like Lieutenant Commander Gleason’s but in slow motion. The man wore a light armless tunic with matching pants that were made loosely, unlike all the other form-fitting clothing I'd seen on the Mil-station.

  A strong smell of something singed my nose. It reminded me of when we burned cefara wood after the harvest for bonfires, a warm and spicy scent. His skin was olive and looked like he’d been exposed to UV radiation.

  This room was someone’s quarters or exercise room, and the dumb AI had messed with me. I swiveled to go, but dizziness made me wobble.

  I didn’t touch the floor. Instead, a pair of hands snatched me under my armpits and gently righted me. I opened my eyes and tried to stand, but my legs swayed again.

  The man caught and maneuvered me to a soft cushion just inside the main sitting area.

  “Here. Have some tea. It will help you feel better. You look like you’ve seen the wrong end of an ore dozer.”

  I mindlessly accepted the small teacup from him and took a sip. Not too hot and not too cold. A flavor like licorice and something green, and it tingled on the way down my throat. The hot liquid spread and coated my stomach.

  The room was draped with banners with repeated circular patterns in matching jeweled colors, plank flooring, which had to be some kind of composite, made the room look very much like my home on U170 less all the bright colors.

  We were very plain there. All overalls and straw hats.

  The fuzz in my brain diminished, and my vision cleared.

  “I am so sorry,” I said. “I didn't know this was your quarters. The maps brought me here for the infirmary, and...”

  He crouched down to meet my eyes, reaching toward my face but not touching. His face drew in, brow contracted, and lips tight, as if he were in pain. “Who did this to you?”

  “Training injuries.” I knew better than to complain about my instructor to an unknown...officer? Civilian? I couldn’t tell, and why was he here doing some weird slow-mo dance moves? Had I taken one too many hits to the head, and now I was hallucinating?

  “I should go.” I struggled to get up and tilted back on to the soft surface, the cup tipping. The man’s hand snatched out and caught it before the tea splashed. He moved as fast as a green-fang’s strike.

  Blinking, I tried to keep my eyes from widening. I failed.

  He straightened to his ful
l height and looked down at me. “It was Gleason’s class, wasn’t it?”

  My eyes went wider even though I fought to keep them normal. I slumped.

  My face and body hurt. My head throbbed so bad I couldn’t maintain any coherent thought.

  “Yes. I imagine this is his handiwork.” He had a posh voice like Amelie and the satellite crew, educated and wealthy. I was having a fever dream or a brain bleed. I reached up to massage my temples. My hand jerked back at the touch. Damn, I kept forgetting my battered body.

  “Wait. I have something for you.” In three long strides, he’d crossed the low-light room and put a palm against the wall. A small panel slid away, revealing an old-timey jug and basin. He poured liquid from one to the other and placed something in the water.

  It felt like two seconds later when he appeared at my side again and pressed a compress against my face. I yelped, although it didn’t hurt. It tingled like the tea. It smelled like the tea as well. He pulled my hand up to hold it in place. His touch didn’t aggravate my soreness. In fact, it seemed to help.

  “I understand. You are wise not to trust me, but I assure you, Gleason and I are not allies. The compress will help with the pain and swelling.”

  Gentle invisible fingers massaged my face. My skin contracted, and some of the sting drained. “It’s working.” My voice sounded strained in my own ears. I should probably be addressing him by some title. Even if he was a civilian, the Axis had rules about such things.

  “Thank you, sir. I don’t know your name or rank...”

  He exhaled and dropped to the floor to sit cross-legged directly in front of me. I couldn’t have achieved that position. My hips would’ve cried.

  He was a strange, strange man.

  “I’m Hamzah. Just Hamzah. The room is my dwelling. I can help you if you’d like.”

  His eyes closed, and he just totally zoned out, humming.

  My face felt like eighty percent better, and the ache in my hand dulled as well. He already had helped me, but who was he? Why was he here, and what was he doing, doling out hokey first aid?

  I struggled to rise from the floor cushion and finally found my feet. I needed to figure out where my next class was and the real infirmary.