Pursuing Dreams (The Young Soldier Book 1)

by MK Clark

  “Is what he says possible?” the general asked, completely ignoring his son. There was something akin to hope in his tone. This only made Don more aware of how close he was to being in very deep trouble.

  Dr. Ward didn’t answer immediately. “I’m not sure. It doesn’t make any sense, but I suppose the subconscious could be recognizing memories that have not been fully awakened. The levels are still comparatively low. Anything is possible.” He glanced at Don. “Why did you hesitate to answer the first time?”

  Don shrugged. “I was surprised. As I said, my father has never spoken of her before. I suppose I was a bit taken aback.”

  In the end, no one was satisfied. By the time Don left, the few suspicions he’d harbored before entering the room had grown into a cloud that seemed to hover over him. To make matters worse, his father would hardly speak to him. It was the first time he had considered there might be something more to his forgotten past than what Hendricks had told him.

  The silence between them was more than Don could stand. “Da?” he asked tentatively, and received no response. “Da, look at me!” he persisted. A touch a fear colored his words.

  The general looked. What Don saw surprised him. It was the face of a tortured man.

  “Don’t do this, son.”

  For a moment, Don considered obeying, but he knew he would never find out the truth if he did. He wanted to know. With every fiber of his being, he wanted to grasp what it was that he couldn’t remember, the secrets that encompassed him.

  “Why did you never talk about her?”

  “Don’t―”

  “Why, Da?” he demanded.

  The general cast a look about the crowded Trans-Core. Satisfied by what he saw, he focused back on his son. Don saw a fierceness enter his eyes. “Because I love her.”

  His father’s answer left him speechless, and like two statues, they stood amidst the bustling crowd. Don wrestled with his thoughts. Memories leaped to the forefront in a chaotic mess: faces, echoes of conversations from Hendrickson, Lee, the Freeman leader. Not a single person had met any of the others, yet everything they had said fit together like pieces in a puzzle.

  Don understood now. His father had been forbidden to say anything about his mother other than what he was told to say by the Council. His love for her had kept him from repeating their lie.

  “I need to know, Da.”

  “I ca―”

  “I know you can’t,” Don interrupted quietly, and he would have sworn his father went a few shades paler. “Not about her. About my memories.”

  There was a fleeting look of panic on the general’s face. Then it was gone. “No!” he whispered vehemently before grabbing Don’s arm and pulling him quickly through the crowd.

  After the initial surprise wore off, Don tried to shake his arm loose, but his father only held on tighter.

  “Da, let go! I am not a child!”

  The general swung him around till their faces were inches apart. “You are my child, and if you ever loved me, you will never ask me that again.”

  They were off again before he could respond. This time, he let himself be dragged without protest. It wasn’t until they stepped into the personnel lift that he acted. There were only seconds left till the door closed.

  “I do love you,” he said, then yanked his arm and bolted. He heard the lift door click shut behind him. Finally, he was alone. He ducked through the crowd, putting as much distance between him and the chute as he could. He needed to think. He had to process everything that had happened, everything that had been said.

  He lost himself deep amidst the civilian quarters and came to rest on a busy marketplace corner. He let his mind wander and found himself more than a little frightened. Something had scared his father. That was not an emotion Don was comfortable seeing in the man, a fact the general was sure to know, which meant either his father was trying to send him a message, or he’d given away far more than he had intended. Neither option was especially reassuring, and the latter was probably the most terrifying.

  In the end, it all boiled down to one thing: locked away in Don’s memories was something that the Council desperately wanted, or wanted to hide. Whatever the case, it was in his best interests to never get those memories back. This, at least, his father had made crystal clear.

  Don stood, brushing off his pants as he did. Even the knowledge of all these things could not completely check the desire to regain what was rightfully his. In truth, he was now more curious than he had ever been, though he would never again be so open about the asking or the searching. There was too much at stake, and a danger lurked that he knew nothing about. He would simply have to learn to be the world’s greatest actor.

  He scanned the crowd, not sure what he was looking for. It was what his father had done before, so Don mimicked him. Were he and his father being tailed? No, it would be Don they were following, not his father. He saw nothing that looked suspicious, but then, he wasn’t even sure if he had expected to.

  Casually he made his way to a small vendor and bought a Swalt Bar. It was something familiar from his days at Basic: sweet, salty, and nostalgic. It was comforting, in a way.

  He walked toward a nearby bench and sat. He let his gaze drift. If he was being followed, this would at least seem like normal behavior for him. He needed them to see him relaxed and unfazed by the morning’s events. The less of an impact it made on him, the less they would suspect.

  A shadow suddenly fell across him. Don slid his eyes over and fought to remain calm: Suits, two of them. There was no way this was a coincidence. Not today.

  “Is there a problem, ma’am?” he addressed the closer one. Their features were hidden behind black lenses and upturned collars.

  “We have been waiting to talk to you.”

  “We do not have much time.”

  Don nodded but remained sitting. “I understand.”

  “Lee contacted us with instructions. We weren’t to show ourselves until we were certain.”

  “Of what, exactly?” he asked, making no effort to hide the coolness in his voice. It had been two years, but he’d never forgotten Lee, nor had he ever figured out what he had wanted.

  “How much you knew. He said when he met you, you were aware of very little.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Yes, you do,” the other Suit growled. “Hurry,” he added to his partner, “they are coming.”

  She gave a tiny nod and held out her hand. “Give me your ident card, citizen. Verification is required.”

  Don complied without a word, fishing it from a pocket.

  She scanned it and waited for the results, but her attention was on him. “Lee’s message is this: Do not trust us. The Suits are not your friends.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Sorry?”

  The girl never had a chance to reply. Don wasn’t sure she would have anyway. At that moment, a familiar figure appeared beside their small group, towering over them. It was Thornton.

  “O’Hara, your father sent me to find you,” he began and then directed his attention toward the two Suits. “What, exactly, are you doing?”

  “Looking for rebels,” the girl answered without hesitation.

  “That happens to be our job,” the other added.

  “And you think General O’Hara’s son is one? I could have your badges for this treason.”

  “It’s not treason if it is true, and we were unaware of his identity.”

  “He seemed suspicious and did not surrender his name.”

  The girl held out Don’s ident card. “We apologize for the misunderstanding.”

  Thornton glared after them as they slunk away.

  Don pocketed his card. “Let’s not keep my father waiting. I’m sure he has a stirring lecture prepared for me.”

  “Why did you run off?” Thornton asked skeptically.

  “Told you, did he?” Don didn’t wait for an answer; he knew it would be a lie. He’d already figured out Thornton wasn’t his fat
her’s man. “Because he’s overbearing. Sometimes, I just have to get away from the old man.”

  Thornton did not look convinced. Don didn’t waste time in heading for their apartments. He hardly paid attention to the route they took. His mind was racing as he mulled over everything the Suits had said. By the time he was palming the door open, he had made almost no headway. So much had happened, and there was too much to absorb. It would take time to sort through all the layers.

  He heard voices down the hallway. Don moved cautiously forward till he stood just outside the lounge. Two, maybe three unknowns, plus his father. What was going on? He backed up a few steps. He was sure he didn’t want to know. He had gotten himself deep enough into trouble today, as it was. The door to his room hissed open. The voices paused, and General O’Hara came into view.

  “Son, if you would join us for a moment, I would like to introduce you to our guests.” It was not a request.

  Don searched his father’s face. He saw nothing, just a mask. He stepped slowly into the room. Three uniformed men were waiting for him. Don saluted immediately.

  The youngest of the three stepped forward, wasting no time on formalities. “O’Hara, it is a pleasure. I have heard so much about you.” The man’s eyes bored into Don’s in a way that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. “Most recently, I have heard you are growing restless from a lack of orders.”

  “Yes, sir,” Don answered quietly, fighting the urge to look away.

  The man smiled. It made for an altogether disconcerting effect. “Your wait is over.”

  Chapter 27

  August 19, 627 T.A.

  “Sir, I’m a pilot, not a thumper!”

  These were the first discernable words Don had been able to make out since the briefing room erupted in noise. He was surrounded by outraged pilots. Very few remained seated, keeping their thoughts to themselves.

  It had been two days since he had received his orders, and he was finding the unease he’d felt then more than just a little prophetic. The man Don had spoken with on his birthday had given him little information beyond a report date and place. Needless to say, it had been a very long two days.

  The unexpected arrival of the other twenty-three pilots had done nothing to lessen his reservations. Unlike during his experience aboard the Pilgrim, Don knew very few of his new comrades. Most of them seemed to keep to themselves, though they appeared to be amicable enough when he questioned them. From what he could tell, they had been given the same orders as his own, word for word.

  Consequently, this meant, as they had boarded the small transport that morning, no one knew where they were headed or what to expect. From Don’s experience, this was never a good sign. It wasn’t until he had a good look around at his comrades on the shuttle that anything became apparent. Not a single pilot aboard was under the rank of specialist.

  So it was with great uncertainty that Don and the other pilots filed immediately into a briefing room after reaching their destination. There had been no need to tell them to settle down. They had all taken their seats quickly, waiting for some kind of explanation. It did not take long.

  The man who had led them in stepped forward. He carried no rank and did not offer his name. He wasted no time, beginning immediately to lay out their new assignment. At first, they listened in shock, not truly believing what was being said. By the time he had finished, unconcealed anger showed on almost every face.

  “Are there any questions?” the man asked.

  In answer, the room burst into a confusing din of questions and protests Don sat back in his chair. Nothing could have prepared him for this.

  The man stood at the front of the room, unfazed. He did not move to silence the pilots, merely let the shouts die down on their own until one voice was heard above the rest, as if speaking for them all.

  “Sir, I am a pilot, not a thumper!”

  “You are what we say you are,” he answered calmly, and Don wondered how many times he had done this before.

  “No, sir!” the pilot argued. “Respectfully, I was sworn in and trained as a pilot.”

  The man shook his head. “Your contract is with the Space Jumpers. There was no distinction as to which branch. When you come of age and transfer to the Space Forces, that will be the case, as well.” He paused to let his words sink in, and then continued. “If we say you are being transferred to the infantry, then this is what you will do! Now sit down, soldier.”

  Silence filled the room as the man finished. The pilot dropped into his chair, and the entire room seemed to deflate. Don began to grasp the full meaning of what he had always subconsciously known: the military owned them. The moment they had signed their names, they had signed away their freedom.

  A pilot they all knew as Falcon stood. He was an ace and the most senior pilot among them. No matter what he said, they would follow his lead. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but it did not matter. Everyone heard.

  “Afterward, sir, when this is over, will we return to being pilots?”

  The man studied him for a moment before turning away. “I have not been informed.”

  “And how long are you expecting us to be there?”

  “That depends on the success of your mission.”

  “Meaning what, sir?”

  “Meaning exactly that,” the man answered cryptically.

  Falcon let it be and returned to his seat. No one moved, unsure of what to do or even what they could do.

  The man nodded in satisfaction. “It seems you all have accurately grasped what I came here to tell you. So, unless there are any more questions. I will leave you to your instructors.”

  Don stood. “I have one, sir.” He waited for the man to acknowledge him before continuing. “Where, exactly, are we? We have yet to be told.”

  “You will not be here long enough for that to matter,” came the reply.

  “All the same,” Don persisted, “I’d like to know.”

  “Solider, that information is classified.”

  Classified. Don sat abruptly. Had my father known? he wondered as the man turned to leave. Surely he had known, but then again, Don wasn’t certain of anything anymore.

  “If I could please have your attention,”

  Don looked up. Another man stood in front of them.

  “I will be one of your instructors while you are aboard. You may call me Mr. Jenks.”

  “We may call you?” It was Falcon again.

  Jenks nodded. “Names are unimportant.”

  “Tell me,” Falcon retorted. It seemed his patience was running out. “With all this secrecy, how do we know this is a legit op?”

  Jenks clicked a button on his remote. The screen flashed to life, and then they were all looking at a Joint Military Command Declaration of Order Confirmation signed by General Piet. Don felt his heart sink.

  “That could have been forged.”

  “No, it couldn’t have,” Don replied. “You can’t forge a DOC from a JMC general. Anything in the system with their stamp of approval shows up on a grid. They would know.”

  “That is correct,” Jenks affirmed.

  Falcon looked back at him in surprise. “And you are?”

  “Specialist O’Hara.”

  “General O’Hara’s son?”

  Don nodded. “Yes, sir.” He could see disbelief etched across Falcon’s features, though at what, he wasn’t sure.

  “You would know, then, wouldn’t you?” Falcon finally answered, then faced Jenks. “What, exactly, will you be training us to do?”

  “Your other instructors and I will be focusing on a few core trainings. We will be refreshing the infantry training you received in Basic. In addition, you will be expected to become proficient in maneuvering within a Self-Contained Armored Robotic suit, or SCAR. Lastly, you will be introduced to a new type of spacecraft, in which you will be expected to become the ranking specialists.”

  Don’s eyes narrowed at this. “A new type of spacecraft?”

  Jenks ack
nowledged the question with a slight nod of his head. The picture behind him changed. In its place was that of a small fighter unlike any they had ever seen.

  “What is it?”

  “This is the Wasp.”

  “And we’re supposed to fly that?”

  “Yes and no,” Jenks admitted. “In general, they are deemed risky to pilot.”

  “Mr. Jenks,” someone snapped, “stop dancing around and just tell us what we will be doing. If you want us to be experts, then be straight with us.”

  Jenks’ brows rose in surprise, but he did not argue. “You will be manning these aircraft by remote from the safety of a bunker.”

  “And what is the purpose for these Wasps?” Falcon asked.

  “In a nutshell, they’ll provide support for the ground troops.”

  “What,” Don interjected, “do these Wasps have, that a Cobra or a Corvette does not?”

  Jenks smiled. “They are fast. Significantly faster than either model you mentioned, and as you have noticed, they’re extremely small and lightweight. These features make them very hard targets, but also potentially hazardous craft to fly from the inside. Their firepower is limited by their size, of course, but it is adequate for the jobs you will be given.”

  “Forgive me, Mr. Jenks,” a pilot near the front of the room said, standing, “but I think I must be missing something.”

  “Then please allow me to clarify,” Jenks answered. “What is it that you do not understand?”

  “You said we would be learning to fly these Wasps to provide support for the ground troops.”

  “That is correct.”

  The pilot crossed his arms. All traces of the cordial front he’d been presenting were gone. “Then perhaps you could explain to me what part of this plan requires us to be transferred to the thumpers?”

  A murmur of agreement followed his question.

  “It is not really my position to say anything on this matter.” Jenks answered calmly. “However, I would advise you to be attentive in all of your studies during our time together.”

  “When do we start?”