by Jake Bible
“Wait there,” North said, glancing into the reception room of the commandant’s office, his pistol up and braced by both hands. “Do not let anyone through.”
“Alright,” Ngyuen replied, her eyes wide and afraid.
North moved cautiously into the reception room. The lights above flickered on and he shook his head.
“I’m guessing Metzger wasn’t in here,” North said. “He’s not this much of a slob.”
The reception room was trashed. Framed recruitment posters had been thrown from the walls and left shattered on the floor. The spots where they had been were scorched by burn marks. Ngyuen’s desk was overturned and all the drawers pulled out and tossed this way and that, most of them broken and warped. The hatch to the commandant’s office was ajar and North tore his eyes from the mess and focused on the dark slit between wall and hatch.
“This is Major Bartram North!” North called out. “I will give you one chance to show yourself! Come out with your hands raised and you get to live! Keep hiding and I come in shooting! I am not in the mood for anything between those options!”
No response.
North moved forward slowly and pressed the toe of his boot against the hatch. He gave it a hard kick then moved quickly into the commandant’s office. He swung left then right, his pistol covering the corners of the room. No sign of any intruder, but the commandant’s office was just as trashed as the reception room outside.
North moved over to the desk, walked carefully around it, and aimed his pistol underneath. Still nothing.
“What the hell?” North muttered.
He started to turn and call for Ngyuen, but a shimmering from the corner of his eye caught his attention. He spun quickly in time to see something coming at him. It was as if what little light was in the room, and coming from the window behind the commandant’s desk, was captured and reflected back at him.
Then the shimmer slammed right into North and his pistol went flying across the office.
“Fucker,” North grunted as he and the shimmer tumbled over the desk and onto the floor.
A hard blow between North’s eyes made him see stars, but he recovered quickly and brought his right knee up fast. The shimmer grunted and North thrust his head forward, slamming his forehead into the shimmer. Another grunt and the weight on North’s body was gone.
He didn’t hesitate for a second and rolled a couple meters away, shoved up onto his feet, then rushed the shimmer, diving at the thing’s middle. A third grunt and then a cry as North and the shimmer slammed into the commandant’s desk. North whipped his arm about, cracking his elbow across what he thought was the shimmer’s face. He kept hammering at the thing, again and again, until a knee nailed him in the groin.
North was shoved aside easily and he fell to the office floor, his hands gripping at his crotch. He rolled himself and tripped up the shimmer. The office debris was crushed and moved as the shimmer hit the floor and North pushed the pain in his groin from his head as he reached out and grabbed the shimmer by the legs. He pulled hard, but then caught a boot to the face and everything was bright lights and pure agony as his forehead and nose took the brunt of the force.
“Fuck!” North gurgled around the blood that quickly flowed into his throat.
The shimmer was up and gone from the office while North struggled to get onto his knees then up onto his feet. He staggered across the office and out into the reception room, surprised to see Metzger running in from the corridor.
“Did you see it?” North asked, his hands to his face as blood poured between his fingers. “The fucking asshole was wearing a cloaking shield! He had to run right by you!”
“I didn’t see a damned thing,” Metzger said, his scorcher sweeping the room. “Only person out there is Ngyuen!”
“Corporal!” North called. “Did you see it?”
Ngyuen peeked her head into the reception room. “I didn’t see anyone leave, Major. But if the person was wearing a cloaking shield then I could have easily missed them.”
“She was all the way across the corridor with her back to the wall,” Metzger said. “I’ll check the office.”
“Don’t bother,” North said. “I was just in there.” He pulled his hands from his face. “That’s where this happened.”
“You’ll want to cold pack that,” Ngyuen said. “I’ll go get you one.”
“Make it two,” North said. “I need one for my balls too.”
“Ouch,” Metzger smirked.
“Fuck you,” North said.
Metzger looked around the reception room. “Terlinger’s office look this bad?”
“Yeah,” North said. “Whoever that was, they were looking for something.”
“Any idea what?” Metzger asked.
“Not a fucking clue,” North said. “I’m just glad the fucker wasn’t a suicide bomber. Could have killed me and taken out half this administrative deck with that damned window in Terlinger’s office.”
“Never have liked that there,” Metzger said. “Major security risk and weak point for Perpetuity.”
“The old man always said that if there was ever an attack on the Perpetuity, he wanted to see it coming,” North said. “I guess he didn’t expect an attack to come in the recruit holding bay.”
“Speaking of,” Metzger said as he slung his scorcher and pulled a scan wand from his belt. “Spread ‘em wide, major.”
“You shitting me with this?” North snapped.
“I had my people scan me,” Metzger said. “Only way to have transparency. So, if you don’t mind?”
“I do fucking mind,” North said, but he spread his arms and legs anyway. “Get it over with.”
Metzger ran the wand up and down North’s body then through his legs.
“You’re clean,” Metzger said.
“No shit,” North replied. “You know, the best time to have done that would have been back in the bay just after the attack.”
“I know,” Metzger said. “I expect to get a reaming from CSC over that, but nothing I can do about it now.”
Ngyuen returned and handed North a cold pack. “The corridor’s med kit only had the one. Sorry.”
“One is better than none,” North said, looking at the cold pack. After a couple of seconds deliberation, he cracked the pack, activating the cold crystals, and gently pressed it to his groin. “Ahhhh. Much better.”
“You wouldn’t rather use that for your face?” Ngyuen asked.
“You obviously have never been clocked in the nuts,” Metzger said.
“No, obviously I have not,” Ngyuen replied.
“Let’s get to work, Corporal,” North ordered as he hobbled towards the commandant’s office. He glanced back over his shoulder. “Give me search reports on the half hour, alright?”
“You got it,” Metzger said. “Good luck with CSC.”
“Gonna need it,” North said.
“Sergeant? May I speak with you briefly?” Ngyuen asked.
“Right now?” North snapped.
“I’ll only be a minute, sir,” Ngyuen said.
“Go ahead,” North said. “Just hurry it up.”
Twenty-Two
The squadron was a mess.
Even moving the cadet pilots into groups of sixteen didn’t seem to make much of a difference. Stragglers kept breaking formation and getting confused with what sixteen was theirs. Near collisions were so frequent that Richtoff’s voice had become ragged from the constant warnings she was shouting. Zenobia had to invent new curse words to berate the cadet pilots with. And London had muted his comm because he was laughing so hard.
Valencio just waited in her fighter skiff and watched, demoralized and dejected.
“That’s enough! All skiffs full stop!” Valencio finally yelled when two skiffs almost crushed a third between them. “How is this even possible? You have to have a basic aptitude for flying to even be considered for cadet pilot training! But I can swear to every Maker in the universe that I do not see a scrap of aptitude righ
t now! I would personally be surprised if any of you even knew how to walk!”
A cadet mumbled something into the comm and Valencio had to keep herself from ramming his skiff with hers.
“Did you just say that you never wanted the job?” Valencio snarled. “Did I just hear you right, cadet pilot?”
There was silence on the comm as everyone waited for the cadet pilot to answer. When the young man didn’t respond, Valencio flew her fighter skiff right up next to his, easily maneuvering around the haphazardly stopped squadron.
“I asked you a question, cadet pilot!” Valencio shouted. “Did I hear you say you didn’t want the job?”
“Yes, sir,” the offending cadet pilot replied. “I never signed up for fighter skiff training.”
“You didn’t?” Valencio asked, her voice dripping with venom and irony. “Oh, well I am so happy you alerted me to this mistake. What did you sign up for?”
“I, well, wanted to be a navigator on a cruiser or destroyer, sir,” the cadet pilot answered.
“Really?” Valencio responded. “What’s your name, cadet pilot?”
“Hogan, Captain,” the young man answered. “Gaelan Hogan.”
“Gaelan Hogan?” Valencio asked. “Your folks must really be into their Celtic heritage. Are they big fans of the former Irish Republic?”
“Yes, Captain,” Hogan replied. “They have been tested and certified. Both are genetically 75% of Irish descent.”
“Good for them,” Valencio chuckled. “Always nice to know people are still holding on to the old ways of genetic segregation. Gotta keep those bloodlines pure, right?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that, Captain,” Hogan replied quietly.
“You didn’t, Cadet Pilot Hogan,” Valencio responded. “I said it. But I’m sure your parents agree with me. Why go to the trouble of getting tested if you don’t want to keep from dirtying the gene pool?”
“They just, well, are proud to be Irish,” Hogan said. “The Unified Nations make it hard to know exactly where you come from. Can’t tell by looks anymore.”
“Can’t tell by looks anymore?” Valencio asked. “Those words just came out of your mouth? Can’t tell by looks anymore? Jesus H. Christ with a scorcher. You did not just say that.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it, Captain,” Hogan said. “My parents just believe—”
“You’ve seen what I look like, right, Cadet Pilot Hogan?” Valencio asked. “You’ve seen my skin color, my hair color, my eye color, yes?”
“Yes, Captain,” Hogan replied, his voice shaky.
“No way to tell what my ancestry is,” Valencio laughed. “Albinos are just white. I look like I came from a family of lab rats. But you know what my genetics test out as?”
“Uh, well, no, Captain,” Hogan said.
“I test out as nearly 85% Navajo,” Valencio said. “Don’t know how. Those people died out a thousand years ago. My father’s surname is of European Spanish descent and my mother is about as mixed as it gets. And I’m a fucking albino! But according to CSC’s intake tests, I’m 85% Navajo. Do you know who the Navajo people were, Cadet Pilot Hogan?”
“I’m afraid I do not,” Hogan replied.
“They were natives of the southwestern region of what was once the United States,” Valencio said. “I know you’ve heard of that place.”
“Of course, Captain,” Hogan said.
“Did I ask you a question, Cadet Pilot? I don’t think I did. I told you what you know, I didn’t ask for you to tell me. How about you keep your fucking mouth shut unless I ask you a question. You think you can do that, Cadet Pilot Hogan?”
“Yes, sir,” Hogan said.
“Good. So the Navajo were a tribe of people that predated the European settlers of the Americas by a couple hundred years. Maybe less, maybe more. Hard to tell nowadays with our homogenous history. But they were a primitive people, yet culturally rich. Really fascinating stuff. You should read up on them sometime.”
Valencio tapped her thrusters so her skiff was directly nose to nose with Hogan’s.
“Do you know what skin color they had, Cadet Pilot Hogan?”
“No, sir,” Hogan replied.
“Brownish red,” Valencio said. “Like they’d been in a solarium for a month straight without leaving. They had to have skin like that to handle the intense sun that part of the world gets. Do I look like I can handle intense sun?”
“No, sir.”
“You are right there, Cadet Pilot Hogan,” Valencio said. “I can barely stand in front of a mirror for longer than five minutes without burning. My parents begged me not to be a fighter skiff pilot because of the exposure to solar radiation. My cockpit is specially designed to keep me from frying up in my skiff. I live a life of filters and lotions, Cadet Pilot Hogan. Yet, somehow, I am 85% Navajo. It’s crazy.”
Valencio stared from her cockpit and into Hogan’s, her eyes locking onto the young man’s tinted visor on his flight helmet. She stared and stared, quiet for a full three minutes before she spoke again.
“My parents don’t have a drop of Navajo in them,” Valencio said, finally breaking the silence. “Not a drop. Do you know what that means, Cadet Pilot Hogan?”
“You were adopted, sir?” Hogan asked.
“That’s what I thought,” Valencio laughed. “I got the CSC report back and I called my parents right away. Nope. Not adopted. They have the DNA tests to prove it. So, now that you know that, can you tell me what it means that my genetic testing came back as 85% Navajo and my parents don’t have a single percent?”
“I’m not sure, Captain,” Hogan replied, his voice thick with confusion. “I’m not a geneticist.”
“Neither am I, Cadet Pilot Hogan,” Valencio said. “So, not understanding what it all meant, I thought they’d just made a mistake with mine. So I got tested again. Nope. Came back the same. In fact, being a thorough person, I studied the reports side by side and they were the same exact report. Once you are tagged then you stay tagged. Do you know what it all means now?”
“I’m sorry, Captain, I don’t,” Hogan said. “This is all a little confusing.”
“I’ll make it clear and tell you what it means,” Valencio said. “It means that the genetic tests we get to determine our ancestry are full of shit, Cadet Pilot Hogan. Completely full of shit. They just make that crap up so that we can feel connected to Earth. They want those born on the colony planets to feel as much like earthlings as those born on the home planet. The truth is, after a couple thousand years, we’re all mutts. Doesn’t matter what our names are, what our skin colors are, what our damned genetics tests say, we are grade A, prime mutts. All mixed up from centuries of breeding and spitting out little brats. Do you know why I’m telling you this, Cadet Pilot Hogan?”
“No, sir, I do not,” Hogan replied.
“Because you may think you’re Irish, but you aren’t,” Valencio said. “Just like I’m not Navajo. But do you know what you are that doesn’t need to be tested or proven by some bullshit report?”
“No, sir.”
“You are a cadet pilot in training,” Valencio said. “You are sitting in a motherfucking fighter skiff with impotent plasma canons on each wing and dummy missiles under your ass. That I can prove by just looking at you. So, it doesn’t matter what you signed up for, it doesn’t matter what a fucking test said, it doesn’t matter if you believe you are Irish or a cruiser navigator or the fucking commandant of Perpetuity. All that matters is the fact you are sitting in that fucking cockpit and you have a fucking job to do!”
“Yes, sir,” Hogan replied. “I apologize for my mistake, sir.”
“Good,” Valencio said. “Am I going to have any other problems with you, Hogan?”
“No, sir.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Valencio said. “Now, as for the rest of you, we are staying out here until each sixteen can keep a tight formation and understands the basics of the different flight patterns. Once I am satisfied you can do that, and I know thing
s on the Perpetuity are calmed down, then we will return to the flight deck and I may let you get a hot and some sleep. If you cannot satisfy me then we will stay in our skiffs until you do. That means no hots, no sleep, no shit breaks, nothing. You fly until you die. Am I understood?”
There was a general silence.
“AM I FUCKING UNDERSTOOD?”
“Yes, Captain!” the squadron shouted.
“Then get back into your sixteens and spread out! I want thirty meters between sixteens, single file! Once you sorry excuses for fighter pilots get that accomplished then maybe I’ll let you fire your fake weapons! Do it NOW!”
Valencio tensed as all of the fighter skiffs moved at once, but after a few close calls they managed to get into their sixteens and into a single file formation.
“Zenobia?” Valencio asked over the command comm channel. “You take the first half. Richtoff? You take the last half. Split them up into two groups and paint yourselves. I want red and white. Put the debris field between your groups. Once you are ready then we talk them through the basics. Half speed at first then we work them up to full speed. Once we know they won’t kill each other or crash into any debris then we start over and let them go.”
“This is going to be an all-nighter, isn’t it?” Zenobia asked.
“It is. You have an issue with that?” Valencio asked.
“Nope,” Zenobia replied. “I’m just on my fucking period. Gonna get messy in this fucking cockpit.”
“War is messy,” Valencio laughed. “And I am sorry about that. But the way North is up my butt, I have to come back with something solid or he’ll get me reassigned. I may hate the Perpetuity, but fuck if I’m going back out into the shit. I’ve seen enough of that.”
“Amen,” Zenobia said.
“Are we done talking?” Richtoff asked. “I’d like to get to work.”
“You bleedin’ too, Richtoff?” Zenobia laughed.
“Just out my ears from having to listen to you whine, Zenobia,” Richtoff replied.
“Oh! That was good! I didn’t know you had it in ya, Richtoff!” Zenobia guffawed.
