by Linn Schwab
Commander Sarens turned back to the Hornets now. They’d been listening from just a few paces away. It was unclear how they felt about Leslie’s explanation, but it was obvious that they sympathized with Virginia.
This is wrong, Amber decided, upset with the way things seemed to be going. Virginia, say something! she fretted. But Virginia seemed oblivious to everything around her. As Commander Sarens began introducing Leslie to the Hornets, Amber closed her eyes and reached deep down inside herself. She knew she might take a lot of heat for this … but she would be dead now if it weren’t for Virginia. Gathering as much courage as she could, she took two shallow breaths in rapid succession, then yelled out, “Virginia shot down two Tiger Sharks!”
Startled by the sudden distraction, Commander Sarens briefly glanced at Amber, began to turn away, then looked back at her again in total astonishment. Had Amber just said what she thought she had said? She stared at her with a questioning look in her eyes.
Amber began to tremble in discomfort. “I saw it!” she firmly insisted, sensing that all eyes in the room were now focused on her. A few incredulous whispers began to circulate around her.
“What?”
“Virginia?”
“Are you serious!”
Commander Sarens glanced at Virginia, then stared skeptically back at Amber again. It was obvious by the look in her eyes that she wasn’t quite sure what to make of Amber’s claim.
Reluctantly, Heather nodded and came to Amber’s rescue. “I saw it too,” she confirmed, taking a step forward from her position. Then she added, with a hint of wonder in her voice, “She blew ‘em away like they were space junk!”
Commander Sarens shook her head in amazement and threw her arms up in a fit of disbelief. The ready room erupted into total chaos as the pilots left their stations and rushed closer to Virginia. Commander Sarens approached her and gawked at her in awe. “Virginia,” she uttered in total astonishment, “why didn’t you say something?”
Virginia looked back at her in confusion and innocently asked, “What’s a Tiger Shark?”
It was obvious to everyone now that Virginia simply did not comprehend the significance of what she’d managed to accomplish. Commander Sarens was stunned by the realization. She laughed, and cried, and threw her arms around Virginia. The other pilots began to cheer and applaud, calling out her name and voicing their approval. But Virginia just continued to cry, confused by their displays of jubilation. All of her closest friends were dead. She saw little reason to celebrate now.
The two Hornets remained where they were standing, observing the celebration as it swept around them. Jenny glanced apprehensively at Nancy; she could tell already what her companion was thinking. Nancy smiled back at her in understanding, sensing that Jenny was going to take some convincing.
“We have to take her, Jenny,” Nancy argued, nodding her head in Virginia’s direction.
Jenny shook her head and pointed her finger at the sobbing pilot. “Look at her, Nancy,” she complained in protest. “She’s a total wreck!”
Nancy tilted her head and sighed, and gazed at Virginia with compassion in her eyes. “She needs us, Jenny,” she pleaded her case. “We need one pilot … and she needs seven.”
KITTENS 002
Robin awoke in her room in the nursery, in the same cot she’d slept in every night for three years. The skylights above her were beginning to brighten, passively informing her that morning had arrived. Realizing it was time for her to get out of bed, she yawned, and stretched, and sat herself up. After a few seconds of silent contemplation, she pulled her cuddly blanket aside and swung her legs over the edge of her cot. As she twisted and wriggled her way to the floor, her movements awakened her slumbering roommates. Responding promptly to Robin’s example, they stretched and climbed out of their beds along with her.
Eleven other girls shared Robin’s room with her, ranging in age from five years to seven. All of these young girls, together with Robin, comprised a small group called a “nursery pack.” Having recently turned eight years old, Robin was now the oldest girl in her pack. It was a complete transition from just three years earlier when she’d first moved into her room as the youngest. But the older girls had all moved on over time, surrendering their cots to younger girls as they left. And during the course of this continual displacement, Robin had risen up through the fold, saying goodbye to the older girls when they left, and forming new friendships with their younger replacements. Eventually, all of them would move on as well; but for the moment, today was just another day.
Gingerly placing her bare feet on the floor, Robin stood up and reached for her uniform. Just like all the other girls in the nursery, she wore a loose fitting blue denim jumper every day, over top of her all–purpose white cotton bodysuit. The word ‘ECHO’ was embroidered on the front of her jumper, as well as a colorful honeybee emblem. The honeybee was meant as a visual aid to remind her which wing of the nursery she lived in. Each wing of the complex had its own unique moniker: Honeybee, Ladybug, Butterfly, and so on. If Robin ever found herself lost in the nursery, all she had to do was follow arrows marked with honeybees painted on the ceiling. This was a matter of no small importance since the nursery had more than seventy wings, and housed over six hundred nursery packs, each of them having their own separate bedroom.
The jumper slid over Robin’s head and settled comfortably into position. She primped her shiny blond hair with her hands and peered through her bedroom’s observation wall. Beyond the transparent observation wall were the nurses who cared for Robin’s nursery pack. Several different nurses were assigned to her pack, and at least one of them was always on duty. If Robin awoke in the middle of the night, she had only to sit up in bed, and a nurse would be with her in a matter of seconds. It was comforting to know they were there, and Robin had always welcomed their presence. They were more than just devoted babysitters; they were advisors, and counsellors, and teachers as well. And sometimes, when they were off duty, they took on the role of playful companions.
Nurse Lydia was in the observation room now, filling out some kind of report on her desk. Seeing motion through the window, she glanced up from her work and smiled at Robin, and mouthed the words “Good morning” to her.
Robin smiled and waved to Nurse Lydia, then looked around at the other girls in her room. Most of them were now up and already dressed, but the youngest one seemed to be having some difficulty. The five–year–old, who all of the girls called Kissy, had somehow gotten her shoulder straps tangled. The girl’s true name was actually Chrissy, but the next youngest girl had once mispronounced it, creating an irresistible nickname in the process. Normally, the nurses would’ve come to her rescue, since she was still just learning how to dress herself. But since Nurse Lydia seemed busy at the moment, Robin took it upon herself to help Chrissy out.
Wrestling in frustration with her tangled shoulder straps, Chrissy struggled to force her arms between them. As Robin laid her hands on Chrissy’s shoulders, the younger girl relaxed and accepted her assistance. Lifting up on the tangled shoulder straps, Robin guided Chrissy’s arms through the openings. She then wrapped both of her arms around her, and gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. The two of them then pulled on their socks and shoes and exited the room with the rest of their pack, stepping out into the adjacent corridor.
The nursery’s corridors were connected by open air walkways. Plants and flowers lined many of their walls. Squirrels and rabbits often played in the corridors, much to the delight of all the young girls. And little birds built their nests in potted plants which hung in baskets suspended from the ceiling. The nursery was a refuge not just for little girls, but for a variety of other living creatures as well.
The girls weaved their way through the nursery’s corridors, following painted arrows showing silhouettes of spoons and forks. These arrows would lead them to the central cafeteria — the one room which was shared by every girl in the nursery.
Robin knew the names of all
of her pack mates, and the names of some of the other girls in her wing. But names had little meaning in the cafeteria, where more than eight thousand little girls came to eat. It was impossible to memorize everyones’ names, or even to recognize all of their faces. And to make things even more complicated, there were hundreds of new girls moving into the nursery each quarter, to replace the hundreds of others moving out. The population of the nursery was constantly churning, continually taking in replacements to replenish its ranks. It was fed without fail, once every three months, from an annex where toddlers and infants were cared for.
Robin had once gone to see the babies in the annex, on a special outing led by one of her nurses. It was an experience she would never forget — cradling their tiny little hands in her fingers, and marveling over their seemingly random arm and leg movements. It amazed her to think she had once been so small. Even the toddlers seemed tiny to her. And the colorful room where she had once lived triggered only the faintest of memories now. It was like a whole other world, separate from her life in the nursery. A world she would never be a part of again.
Stepping inside the cafeteria now, Robin got in line at the nearest serving window. Some of her pack followed into line with her, and some of them opted to stand in other lines. It mattered little which line they chose; the windows all served the same kinds of food: fresh fruits, grain cakes, a small glass of milk — the same breakfast the girls were served every day. Like all the other aspects of life in the nursery, meals were routine and reassuringly predictable.
After Robin finished her meal, she headed for the playrooms in Honeybee wing. Each wing had several community rooms which functioned as playrooms and education centers. Stepping inside one of the playrooms, Robin surveyed the available options. She saw several girls playing games with each other, and several others watching a cartoon together. The cartoon seemed to be generating quite a bit of laughter, so Robin sat down with the girls by the screen and unassumingly began to watch along with them.
The cartoon was a product of centuries past, and was stored in Valhalla’s electronic archives. There was a wealth of such information stored in this way, including books, and movies, and old television programs. It was the girls’ only link to the history of their culture, since none of these things were being produced any longer. And with their culture having tragically been stripped away from them, its past was literally all that remained.
The cartoon captivated Robin, enchanting her with an abundance of ridiculous images. As she laughed at the silliness being played out before her, she noticed Nurse Lydia standing outside the doorway, looking in at her with a kind of sad smile on her face. After a moment, Nurse Lydia stepped into the room, walked over to Robin and stooped down by her side. She placed a gentle hand on Robin’s shoulder, and softly said, “Robin … you’re leaving the nursery today.”
Robin felt the warmth of the sun touch her face as she stepped from the nursery into the daylight. She’d expected this might be an exciting experience, but now that it was here, she hardly felt anything. Perhaps it was the sadness of leaving the nursery behind, or apprehension about the sudden changes in her life; but as she followed along quietly behind the line of girls in front of her, she felt more anxiety than she did exhilaration.
Five parallel paths led away from the nursery. A single file of young girls stretched along every one of them, converging at a point where they merged in the distance. There were several hundred girls moving to the academy today — all of them sharing one common qualifier: at some point during the past three months, each of them had finally turned eight years old.
Four times a year — once every quarter — all the eight–year–olds participated in this one–way rite of passage. They were leaving the familiar sanctuary of the nursery behind, for the unknown challenges that the academy had in store for them. The girls weren’t making this journey because they wanted to. It was simply an intrinsic part of their existence. No other options were possible for them, so no other options were imaginable. Each girl simply accepted this transition as an inevitable consequence of life on Valhalla.
Robin repeatedly glanced back at the nursery, watching it continue to fall farther behind her. After living within its walls for all of her life, it was a strange feeling to realize she would never see it again. She’d known for a few years that this day would come, but had never really given it much thought until now. Life within the nursery had been so full of contentment that there’d been no real incentive to contemplate the future, or any of the consequences it might bring.
A gentle breeze rustled the leaves on the trees, and calming sounds from the ocean caressed her ears, spilling over a nearby grass–covered sand dune. The sky was blue and clear, and the ocean–scented air was fresh and clean, with a warmth that was seldom interrupted on Valhalla. These were all things Robin appreciated dearly, and she would remember this experience for the rest of her life. She’d been taught to cherish all of these elements for almost as long as she could remember. It was a theme that was impressed upon every young girl from the earliest days they started to learn. The stories they read, and the songs that they sang — all of them were sewn around this one common thread. And although not one of them realized it yet, these teachings were preparing them to sacrifice themselves.
The girls continued to plod along methodically, drawing ever closer to the academy building. Perched on a low bluff overlooking the ocean, its massive limestone facade glistened in the sun like a temple of light. To the East it was fronted by the New Atlantic — the second largest body of water on Valhalla. To the South and the West lay a centuries–old forest that covered more than half of Valhalla’s exposed land mass. To the North sat the nursery and its various related structures, concealed beneath a canopy of strategically placed trees, to shield it from eyes that might be searching for a target. Between the academy and the edge of the forest was a large stretch of paving that served as a runway. It was the source of loud noises the girls had grown up with, but which they had never completely understood, despite repeated attempts at explanations by the nurses.
There was no talk among the girls as they filed along the path. There was no one to guide them or push them along. In the past, they had always been cared for by the nurses, but now they were expected to find their way on their own.
After several minutes of walking, the academy’s entrance fell within Robin’s sight. She scanned the area surrounding the building, taking in the unfamiliar sights and sounds. She saw hundreds of older girls studying together on the lawn, spread around in little groupings of seven. Their presence somehow made the place seem less sinister, but their appearances made her feel a little out of place; the older girls were all wearing academy uniforms, and she was still dressed in her nursery jumper.
In the same manner in which the sun had touched Robin’s face, the academy now cast its shadow on her, replacing the warmth she’d previously known with the coolness of a harsher new phase in her life. The line of girls led her up a set of stone stair steps and passed beneath an arch that marked her arrival at the academy. She had no idea where to go next. The girls ahead of her continued to move forward, leading her inside through an open doorway. As she passed between a pair of massive wooden doors, she noticed a familiar word painted across them in bold letters:
ECHO
It was the same word she had seen on all the doors in the nursery. It was the same word that was emblazoned over her heart on her jumper. She had never really understood its significance, but whatever its meaning, it seemed destined to remain with her.
The new arrivals filed through the academy’s corridors and weaved their way into a large empty room. There, they sat down on the floor together and waited in silence to learn what the future had in store for them.
Robin sat next to the girl she’d been following. She didn’t know the girl’s name, or the names of any other girls she could see. All she knew was that they were all in this together, and that all of them were just as anx
ious and uncertain as she was.
The large room seemed somewhat familiar to Robin. She recalled having been here on a previous occasion, when a storm had forced an evacuation of the nursery. There were two rows of small circles painted on the floor, stretching along one of the longer walls. The ceiling seemed incredibly high to her — much higher than that of any room in the nursery. This is the assembly room, she told herself, remembering the words she’d once heard someone use.
The girls all sat facing the front of the room, waiting in silence for the procession to finish. Several minutes passed after Robin sat down before the last girl in line stepped into view. As the final new arrival sat down with the others, the room’s doors slammed shut, and all of the lights went out.
Robin was petrified. She’d never experienced total darkness before. There had always been some level of lighting in the nursery, even when the girls were all asleep in their cots. Each second that passed seemed like an eternity, and all the while, the room remained deathly silent. Not one of the hundreds of girls in the room dared to make even the slightest of sounds. Robin felt her hands beginning to tremble as she held her lungs in check, fearing even to breathe. Just when it seemed like her heart would give out on her, the lights came back on and the doors opened again.
Robin gasped for air and drew in several deep breaths. She felt traces of perspiration covering her skin. Several women wearing uniforms entered through the doors and began taking girls from the front of the group. Robin observed their actions intently as they led girls out of the room one by one. The minutes rolled by, and then several hours, and still they continued to pull girls from the room. Her mind struggled with uncertainty over what could be happening to the girls who were being taken away. What were they doing? Where were they going? She couldn’t see anything beyond the room’s doors. It was agonizing just to keep sitting and waiting, not knowing what was going to happen to her next.
