Cadet: Star Defenders Book Two: Space Opera Adventure

by Pamela Stewart

  But he pushed away and drew the mock ship back to the center of the room. “What’s your name, Cadet?” he said without looking back at me.

  “Daxson Smith. Sir.”

  “Smith was correct. This ship’s rear knobs are out of alignment. You can tell by the way this protrusion isn’t flush with the chassis.”

  He continued to speak, listing every possible clue as to why the model was flawed. I paid enough attention to answer a question if necessary, but mostly I reviewed what had happened in the last two days. I’d had so much hope. I was a cadet at the Academy, friends with a gorgeous girl who didn’t find me repulsive and had a potential future as an officer. Now I was no more than a mechanic.

  No one mentioned, when they spoke of success, just how hard it was when you lost it all.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Vega

  I walked to my next class. My body felt almost back to normal. No permanent damage, but if this was day two at the Academy, I didn’t know how I’d survive.

  The infirmary bots finished the job Hamzah started.

  There was no tea involved.

  Cold, prodding appendages injected me with a substance I didn’t bother to ask about.

  “Cadet Volante cleared for duty. Report to your next station.”

  “What? No lollipop?” The AI swiveled its small head, and I could almost swear it seemed confused.

  “Food is not available in the infirmary. Please try the cafeteria.” It rolled away to tend to another batch of injured.

  None looked as bad as Dax or me. Or even Am. Gleason had clocked her pretty hard as well. And who the hell had been in that room? It was the oddest thing I’d ever seen.

  Well, the oddest I’d seen this week anyway.

  I wouldn’t even believe it if I didn’t have the blue and white patterned cloth. I wrapped it and put it in my pocket, hoping the uniform was waterproof.

  It was.

  I flicked my wrist com, and my schedule flashed up. The History of Warfare and Strategy was next. But I’d already missed half the class. I ran back to the bot and asked for an excuse. Its head flashed from yellow to red then back to white. “The message has been sent.”

  I hurried down the wide, bright hall, still limping a bit as the floor lit up. A long purple line directed me to the door on the left. But my eyes locked on the end of the hall that opened into a large area.

  Natural light streamed into the atrium at the front of the school. Loads of green growing things framed places to sit, absorb sol-light, and relax.

  Maybe no one would notice if I were to spend just a few minutes basking in the light and looking at plants before jumping into conversations about catapults and missiles?

  I didn’t see anyone around, and I could just say I’d gotten lost. The bot had given me an open-ended excuse.

  Since I’d left my coffin-sized quarters this morning, everything had been sliding fast and mostly downhill.

  Time to regroup was necessary.

  With a determined stride, I moved down the rest of the hallway and into the atrium. I acted like I was meant to be there. The light soaked through the windows that served as a roof into the stadium-sized space.

  I hadn't appreciated how wonderful Sol was when I lived on U170. How many days had I cursed the brightness or the heat? After so long in space and on sealed ships, the radiation was a tonic to my soul.

  A small white settee away from the main floor beckoned me. I tilted my face upward like a sticky flower sucking up the UV. The plants helped too.

  A moment of peace after being beaten twice in as many days and dealing with Ethan as a teacher. The only bright moments had been the surreal interaction with my imaginary medic and seeing Jess. I'd have to ask around. Subtly, so no one thought I was crazier than they already did. But there was something about that Hamzah.

  “Vega!” Someone called to me in a beautiful, melodic tone. And the only person I knew with that combination was Am.

  Opening my eyes, I found her immediately. Shining almost as bright as the solar illumination above.

  And with her were two—I didn't know what to call them. Citizens wasn't a strong enough word. They looked like a rendition I'd once seen of the ancient gods Zeus and Aphrodite. They reminded me of Amelie instantly or what Am would be if dressed in formal wear and possessed with a calm, elegant stillness.

  Am was anything but still or calm.

  She rushed me and threw herself into the seat next to me, wrapping me in a hug.

  Leaning back but still holding on to my shoulders, she considered my face. “Why didn't you go to the infirmary?”

  “I did.”

  Her small nose curled. “They didn't do a good job. I have some cream you can borrow. Thank you for stepping in. If not for you and Dax...” Sighing theatrically, she almost wilted in front of me and shot a glance back at the vid-clip perfection behind her.

  She was acting super strange. I opened my mouth to ask her what was going on, but before I could get the words out, she waved over the couple.

  Who were these guys? Some diplomats or high-level officials? I was in no shape to meet anyone. I also didn't have permission to be here. If an officer or even an upperclassman got curious, I could be in a black hole of trouble.

  The two arrived, walking with measured steps, wearing clothes that I thought no one wore in real life. I’d imagined they only wore such finery on celebration days. Like at a CEO coronation or on Sol day, but here they were in full regalia. They were drawing a squadron load of attention.

  Amelie stood and smoothed her already smooth hair. “Mom. Dad. I'd like you to meet Vega Volante. She's the one who first reported the aliens.” I groaned internally, guts twisting.

  No. Why? Ugh.

  I hated being renowned for finding the aliens and starting the war. As if I'd had any choice in the matter.

  “Vega. Lord and Lady Dupree of the Fifth Star Edu Satellite.”

  The man bowed, his side-swooped blonde hair staying in perfect place. The woman mirrored his bow but not as deeply. She didn't have her hair in bright or pastel colors like the rest of the Axis, but her cut was short and auburn-ish purple.

  I didn't know what a plain planetborn girl was supposed to do. So I tried a bow but felt it might not be enough, so I also put out my hand for a greeting slap as we did back on U170.

  They both stared at my outstretched hand as if it were coated in sewage.

  Earlier today, it had been, so it was a fair assumption.

  But I could have assured them that it was 100 percent infirmary clean, germ-free, and ready for slapping.

  Their eyes skittered back to Am, and I dropped my hand.

  “Vega's from U170. She's been a good and trusted friend. She's one of the reasons I made it to the Academy.”

  Their attention flared back on high. The woman, Lady Dupree, tilted her head to look down her long nose. “I understand. It's so wonderful to meet one of Amelie's classmates. We are having a small get together to celebrate Amelie's acceptance into the Science Division. We'd love it if you could join us.”

  Lord Dupree dipped his chin in agreement.

  What was the proper response? My mom had attempted to teach Kal and me manners, but it had all seemed so useless back on U170. I sent a covert look at Am, hoping for some direction. Her big eyes were wide, and her head twitched toward her parents. Damn it, we should've come up with some kind of code during those long days on the shuttle. My only choice seemed good.

  “I'd love to attend, of course. I'm not certain that I’ll be able to leave the Academy grounds, but I’ll inquire.” I added inquire to the end. It sounded better than try.

  Amelie frowned slightly. Wrong answer? I didn't know. I mouthed sorry to her as her parents shifted to whisper to one another.

  I wanted to run back into the hall and hide in the classroom. I'd rather have faced off against a foe with a weapon or punched something than attempt to figure out this complicated social crap.

  “Apologies. We'd never
want to take you from your studies. If you can make it next week, contact Amelie for the details. We would love to have you. Amelie doesn't have a great many friends on the sat to invite.”

  Darkness floated over Amelie's features. It was banished by the brightest and fakest smile I'd ever seen.

  “Vega is one of my closest friends. I'm sure she'll attend. Send me a wav when the date and time are set.”

  Her mother's mask of perfect beauty faltered as she pressed her thick lips together. “Naturally, Amelie, darling.” She pulled the syllables out on darling as if that would make it mean more.

  It didn't. Amelie's parents were terrible. Honestly, I had no right to judge other families. My brother, Kal, had taken off with freaky space pirates.

  But he had saved me. That fundamental desire to keep me alive was still in him somewhere, and my parents were gold. They doted on me, even when I didn't deserve it. Having parents who hadn't seen her in months yet treated her like an acquaintance had to be tough.

  “Amelie, we must be going. We plan to have lunch with Doctor Sinclair then back to the uni. It's been lovely seeing you,” her mother said.

  Her father tagged along without speaking, more of a pretty accessory than a fully fleshed-out person. But again, I was being judgy.

  It wasn't my place to impose my family dynamic on Am.

  Amelie’s bright, fake smile finally cracked when they hit the door. I opened my arms. She walked into my embrace and held on as if she were going underwater again, and I was her life preserver.

  It felt like I held her an extremely long time, but it was only seconds. A little voice in the rear of my brain buzzed a warning signal that I'd lingered here too long, but it was worth it if I could bring Amelie some comfort.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Vega

  After Am’s parents swooped out, a group of white-uniformed officers entered from the far side of the chamber near the wall of the Academy itself. They were engrossed in talking to each other.

  Most were carved from the same meteor. Tall, stern, perfectly turned out with shoulders full of glistening medals and insignias of wings and wheels and fire. One woman with an extra dose of stern, jet hair and eyes, and sand-colored skin stood out from the rest. I knew her.

  How did I know her?

  Realization hit me like an exploding space mine. It was the Admiral. The Rear Admiral of the entire fleet. Admiral Panticia “Winnie” Winchester, killer of pirates and the spearhead to the rebuilding project that had grown the Mil-station for the last fifteen years. Her rep had even reached me down on U170.

  She had started as a fierce pilot from the Agri-station. She'd spent much of her time defending the colonies from the threat of attack from pirates and profiteers—one of the few military leaders who had not forgotten that the Uees were Axis citizens too.

  From what I’d heard, she was among a handful picked from non-Mil to go to the Academy before the general draft had started. I remembered my mom telling me her story before I left for my mandatory.

  “If the Mil-station has women like her, you're going to do just fine,” my mom had said.

  My heart rate jumped, and my face flushed. “Amelie, I have to get out of here. If the brass realizes I don’t have permission, I’m screwed.” I whispered, but it felt like the words rebounded throughout the entire atrium. The group of brass adjusted course and headed directly toward us.

  Amelie sparked, and she looked like her ship had been caught in the gravity of a black hole. Her talent was not thinking quickly. Her head jerked from the approaching group to me and back to them, which I'm sure upped their suspicion.

  I searched for an excuse.

  I could say I was lost, but I didn't look lost. It looked like I'd been socializing. I did have the bot’s excuse, but it had been a good ten minutes since I'd left the infirmary. Plenty of time to use my coms, find my class, and not be in an unauthorized area. If they investigated, I'd be a toasted, fried, and dried-up gato snack.

  “Act casual, if they ask anything, let me answer.” I forced my shoulders down into a relaxed position and released my clenched jaw. If we didn't look guilty, they might not even stop. The Admiral of the entire fleet didn't have time for recruits. They had a war to plan.

  “Cadet Volante.”

  The sound of my name arrowed down my throat into my guts, and I almost hurled.

  Amelie straightened. Whirling on one foot, she came to attention and clasped her fist to her chest. I followed her for once and stood stock-still. Tense. Waiting. Not daring to make direct eye-contact.

  Most of the Admiral’s group had broken and taken different paths out of the atrium. She stood in front of us with only two younger-looking lieutenant commanders with star-studded shoulders. Security. I tried to swallow, but my throat had completely dried.

  The Admiral was smaller than most Axis-females and more curved than the average rod-thin women. Her dark hair was shot with steel-colored stripes, and her eyes had deep creases beside them. She was maybe as old as my parents, but that was young for the highest-ranking officer in the fleet.

  My body wanted to shake, but I held my stance, thinking about home and my parents and what would happen if I got kicked out of the Academy. Back to retooling the Lazarus or sent to a mining planet. Or worse.

  “You are Cadet Volante from the Lazarus?”

  “Yes, ma'am,” I croaked out of my dry throat.

  She considered me, eyes narrowing as if she didn't quite believe me. I caught a glimpse of Am, whose face had turned bright red. She wasn't breathing. I wanted to tell her to breathe and that everything would be fine, but I couldn't. I was frozen.

  She raised a highly arched eyebrow. “Nice work there. Dealing with Ambrose must have been difficult.”

  I waited to make sure I was supposed to respond. The old lesson I'd learned from my experience with the aliens and the aftermath. Keep your answers short. Yes or no.

  “Yes, Ma'am.” I kept my eyes forward.

  “Hmmm.” She put a finger up to her lips, tapping. “We'll have to discuss that one day. I'd love to hear the whole story. Well, I’m happy to have run into you. What are you doing in the atrium? I believe the third period is still in session.”

  There it was. I could almost hear the click and whoosh of the airlock that security would float me from.

  “I...um...had to go to the infirmary after combat class.” I stopped dead. That was probably the wrongest thing to say to the head of the Mil-station. It probably sounded like I was complaining.

  Not that I shouldn’t, but staying in and getting my wings was the only way back to U170 to help my family.

  “Gleason’s class, eh?” She nodded. “Very harsh techniques but effective. You’ll learn a lot from him. Now, why are you here in the atrium? This area is restricted to those with day passes.” She was smart and had drilled down to the worst question possible. I suspected Am had some kind of authorization. She loved following procedures and rules.

  My throat closed more, and my skin grew hot as I searched for any excuse. “I have...”

  A hernia? Amnesia? A bad sense of direction?

  “Orders. She has orders from me, Admiral.” Ethan strode toward us from about twenty feet away. His shoes shone almost as much as the polished black tile. He’d worn his dress whites, which displayed his toned body. Young. Strong. His voice was low and steady.

  I remembered I was furious with him but held my breath. What the hell was he doing?

  He saluted the Admiral.

  “Junior Lieutenant James.” Her stern expression transformed into a smile. “So, we meet at last. LC Gleason has wonderful reports about your duty tour. You gave this recruit orders?”

  The ultimate professional, his focus was laser fixed, not making eye contact with me. Was he going to throw me under the cross-Axis tram?

  Ethan matched her expression. “She was scheduled for an additional debrief with me concerning class assignments. I'm instructing Advanced Flight Squadron Training.”

&n
bsp; Did he lie? For me? A few hours ago, this by-the-rules instructor had sent me to the pit. Now Ethan was lying to the Admiral about me.

  I couldn't wrap my head around it. Shrugging, the Admiral gave me a curious stare. Amelie remained at attention, barely breathing, her face a deep shade of crimson.

  The Admiral’s stare fell to Amelie. “Cadet Dupree, I noted your parents on the visitors’ roster. They're very excited that you finally got into the Academy. I believe I have an invitation to an event in your honor.”

  She knew Amelie’s family. Just when I thought I knew how high Am was in the social status, the higher she seemed to rise.

  “I'm sure I'll be seeing you all around the campus and during maneuvers. I keep a hand in most aspects of training,” the Admiral said. “Carry on.”

  We all clapped our fists to our chests, and she mirrored our salute and stalked off with her two guards. One of the guards glanced back at me, shaking his head.

  And he was right. We’d dodged a laser bolt on that one.

  We all eyed where the Admiral had gone, worried that she would turn around or send her men back. But she didn’t. I waited another full ten seconds after they had disappeared before moving.

  I felt like hugging Ethan, then melting into a puddle on the floor.

  The hot core of anger still resided somewhere in my diaphragm. He’d sent me to clean the toilets, really the actual sewer. On top of that fact, he had lied to me from the moment we had met.

  But he had helped take back over the Lazarus, piloted a Class A spaceship around an active asteroid belt, and fought Captain Price to a standstill.

  Whether or not he’d been honest the entire time, he had done some good things. But I still wasn't over the sewage detail. I wasn't even sure how to officially address him anymore.

  I supposed formality was required as he was my superior officer.

  “Sir, I don't know what to say.”

  His face was calm, but his eyes flared, a hint of a smile playing on the edge of his lips. “I could get used to that, but when we're alone, you can call me Ethan. It doesn’t sound right when you call me, sir.”