by Linn Schwab
Peter nodded, but it was obvious that something was puzzling him. “Pardon me for asking,” he said, “but why are you telling me all of this? Not that I don’t appreciate knowing…”
The commander paused to gather his thoughts. The moment of truth had finally arrived. It was time to find out if he could count on Peter to go along with his precautionary scheme. “Because, Peter,” he explained, “in order for the admiral to get into Command Central, he has to live long enough to receive his promotion. Does that clear things up a little for you?”
The commander’s motives were suddenly clear to Peter. “You want me to play watchdog around the admiral’s flagship.”
“I’m not going to issue orders like that. There’s a chance it might attract unwanted attention.”
“Unwanted attention from who?” Peter said. “What exactly are you suggesting?”
The commander glanced around uncomfortably, as if fearing his voice might be overheard. “Doesn’t it seem a little odd to you that in almost two hundred years of conflict, not a single admiral has advanced to Command Central? That every time one of them is on the cusp of promotion, they somehow manage to get killed in action? Does that not seem a little too … ‘convenient,’ for lack of a better description?”
“Conspiracy?” Peter asked in surprise.
“That might be too strong a word. But it does seem like we’re being ordered into situations that expose the admiral to an inordinate amount of risk.”
“You think they’re trying to get him killed.”
“Maybe. Look, all I’m trying to do is make you aware of what might be at stake for us. It just makes sense, I think, under the circumstances, to be a little more protective of the admiral’s flagship.” He paused for a moment, trying to gauge Peter’s reaction. “You do know what ship the admiral’s on, don’t you?”
Peter frowned and lowered his head. “He’s on the Alabama … isn’t he.”
The commander replied with a quiet nod. “Losing the New Jersey so quickly yesterday was a real eye opener for me. It could just as easily have been the Alabama. And then this opportunity would have been lost. Look, I know how you feel about battleships, Peter—”
“The Alabama,” Peter interrupted him, “I’ve just come to realize … is my favorite battleship, Commander. Don’t worry. I’ll look after her like she’s my own little sister.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
Peter sighed and reluctantly asked, “How long before the admiral gets his promotion?”
“Six months, Peter. If we can just keep him alive for six more months, then maybe things will start to change for the better. If we’re lucky, we may even live to see the end of this war.”
SENTINELS 005
Robin felt the other girls still huddled around her. It was the first thing she sensed as she awoke in the morning. She opened her eyes to the early morning light and carefully observed her surroundings. The girl who had cried was still asleep in her arms, and the others were snuggled up as near to her as they could get. They’re afraid, she realized, noticing the way they had curled up around her. They want to be close to me because I’m their captain. They’re looking to me for some kind of reassurance. She swallowed and closed her eyes for a moment. But I’m just as afraid as they are.
The room was still very quiet. The sun’s first rays were just beginning to peek over the horizon, and most of the other squads were still fast asleep. What should I do? Robin wondered in anguish. Will someone come tell us when to get up? Or should I wake them up myself?
She heard a faint murmur, and the girl in her arms began to stir. Robin sat up and looked down at her, reaching out to gently brush the hair from her face. The girl’s eyes opened slowly. She sat up and looked at Robin in silence.
“What’s your name?” Robin whispered, trying not to wake the others.
“Mindy,” the girl replied. “What’s yours?”
“Robin,” she answered.
Mindy smiled. She studied the outline of her captain’s face and softly repeated Robin’s name to herself. “Robin…” she whispered in quiet fascination, seeming to peer right through Robin’s eyes.
The other girls were now beginning to stir, awakened by the movements of Robin and Mindy. One by one, they opened their eyes and sat up, and gazed expectantly at Robin. As she looked into their anxious and querying eyes, she imagined them as a nest full of baby birds, blindly opening their mouths to the sky, waiting helplessly for someone to feed them. And I’m the one who’s supposed to take care of them, she thought. There aren’t any momma or poppa birds here. Only little girls and … captains.
Robin decided she should start things off by learning the rest of the girls’ names. She introduced herself and Mindy to the others, then asked each of them to introduce themselves one by one. Phoebe, Katrina, Caroline, Sheri, Michelle. She found it challenging to put so many names to faces, so she decided to try remembering each of them by their hairstyles. Michelle and Caroline had long blond hair — a little bit straighter and longer than her own. Michelle’s was a darker shade of blond than Robin’s, and Caroline’s was just a touch lighter in color.
Mindy’s hair was light brown, and curled in toward her neck just above her shoulders. Sheri and Phoebe also had light brown hair, though Sheri’s was shorter and Phoebe’s a bit longer. Katrina’s hair was the darkest of all — a deep brown, almost bordering on black. It was long and straight, hanging down well past her shoulders, with only the slightest hint of curls at the end. All of their hairstyles had been fashioned in the nursery, at the whims of the nurses who had cared for them there. The nurses had always seemed to take great delight in determining just the right look for each girl.
“Well,” Robin said when the introductions were done, “at least now we know each others’ names.” She looked around at the members of her squad for a moment, hoping someone else would start up a conversation. But to her dismay, the entire group remained silent, allowing the previous night’s tension to return. The little hole that Robin had just broken through the ice was already starting to freeze over again.
“Robin,” Katrina asked, disrupting the awkward silence, “what should we do now?”
Though Robin was somewhat grateful for the question, she shook her head in uncertainty. “I don’t know,” she said, trying desperately to project an image of self confidence. “How does everyone feel?” she asked, for lack of anything better to say.
A brief period of silence followed, then Sheri timidly mentioned she was hungry.
“Me too,” Mindy said, and the rest of the girls nodded in agreement.
Robin bit her lip and closed her eyes. Now what? she wondered. My squad is hungry. What should I do? It occurred to her now that none of them had eaten in almost a day. They’d had breakfast shortly before leaving the nursery, but nothing at all to eat since then.
Suddenly, something clicked in her memory. Breakfast! she thought. Something to do with breakfast. She struggled to remember what Dawn had said to her. What was it? That’s right! “Report to the assembly room just before breakfast.”
“Come on,” Robin instructed, getting to her feet. She motioned for her girls to stand up, then led them toward the corridor. A few of the other squads were beginning to wake up now, but it appeared as if most of them were still asleep. “Shh,” Robin signaled her squad, placing a finger over her lips. They followed her into the corridor, then headed straight for the assembly room.
“Are we gonna eat now?” Phoebe asked.
“I don’t think so,” Robin answered her. “We’re supposed to get our new uniforms first.” She noticed a clock along one of the walls and strained her eyes to read its display. “It’s not even seven o’clock yet,” she said. “I’m not even sure if we’re supposed to be up.”
Robin looked forward along the corridor and spotted what she thought were the assembly room doors. Standing just outside the doorway was a woman wearing a green uniform dress. As Robin and her girls approached the woman, she smiled
and motioned for them to stop beside her.
“Good morning, girls,” she greeted them. “You’re up pretty early. You’ll have to wait here for just a few minutes. The First Battalion is just finishing up.” She pointed a finger through the open doorway, directing their attention into the assembly room.
Robin leaned forward and peered through the doorway. Battalion? she wondered, confused by the word. Four training squads were inside the room, lined up end to end in some sort of formation. They were all facing the same direction and holding their new uniforms out in front of them. A woman in a black dress was speaking to them, giving them some tips about life at the academy. Robin heard footsteps approaching from behind her and signaled her girls to stay close together. Several more squads were coming down the corridor, apparently following Robin’s example. The woman at the door instructed them to form a line by the wall. A few moments later, the squads in the assembly room began to file out.
“Alright,” the woman in the corridor announced, “I need the next four squads to step forward.” She motioned for Robin’s squad to start moving. Robin led her girls into the room, and the next three squads in line followed behind them.
In addition to the woman in the black dress, there were four other women inside the room — all of them wearing green uniforms.
“Over here,” one of the women in green called out, motioning for Robin’s squad to approach her. She was standing by a series of painted circles on the floor. Robin studied the circles as she approached them. The previous squads had apparently been standing on them.
“Line up here,” the woman said pointing at the floor. “Each one of you stand on one of these circles. Which one of you girls is the captain?” she asked.
Robin timidly raised her hand.
“Alright,” the woman said, “let’s start with you. I’m going to show you how to line up in proper formation. Training squads always line up in two ranks.” She pointed to the circles on the floor. “Notice how there are four circles in the front rank and three in the rear. Captains always stand in the front rank, with three of their squad members lined up to their left. The other three girls are staggered in the back row, evenly spaced between the girls in the front. We have circles on the floor here to make it easy for you, but you will have to learn how to line up without them.
“What’s your name?” the woman asked, looking at Robin.
“Robin Starling,” she replied.
“Stand here, Captain Starling,” the woman instructed, indicating one of the circles to her.
Captain Starling? Robin wondered, surprised that the woman had addressed her that way. She stepped onto the circle and turned to face the front of the room. There were three circles on the floor to her left, and twelve more arranged in a straight line to her right.
“Next,” the woman said, pointing to Michelle. She placed Michelle on the circle to Robin’s left, then Caroline and Katrina to the left of Michelle. In the rear rank, she placed Mindy nearest to Robin, with Sheri and Phoebe lined up to her left. “Memorize the positions you’re standing in,” she said. “You’ll be expected to line up the same way every time.”
As Robin’s girls were learning their formation, three other squads were lining up to her right. When all four of the squads were in position, the woman in black stepped forward to address them.
“Good morning, girls,” the woman announced. “I’m Commander Phillips. Welcome to ECHO academy. Starting today, you’ll all be addressed as ‘Sentinels.’ Don’t let that word frighten you, though. We are all Sentinels here on Valhalla.”
Sentinels! Robin thought, searching her memories. I remember that word! The nurses told us when we were little… There’s a terrible war being fought up in space. But our planet is protected by an army of Sentinels. She glanced in astonishment at the other girls around her. We’re soldiers! she suddenly realized. All of us! Even down to the tiniest baby! We’re all soldiers, and this must be where we learn how to fight!
“Alright, pay attention, Sentinels,” Commander Phillips continued. “I’m about to assign you your individual unit designations, and you will all have to memorize them so you’ll know which unit number you belong to. Here’s how the designation process works. You are attending ECHO academy, so that is the prefix of your squad number. You’re the second group of four squads to assemble today, so starting from your left, your squad numbers are going to be, ECHO 5, ECHO 6, ECHO 7, and ECHO 8.” She pointed to each of the squads in turn as she was calling out their numbers.
ECHO 5, Robin committed to her memory. She decided she liked the way it sounded. At least it would be easy to remember.
The commander continued, “You’ll also have to memorize your battalion designation. Each battalion consists of four squads, and is named for the quarter during which it was formed. Your battalion designation is, Second Battalion, Four Q Eleven. You’re the second battalion to be formed for this quarter, the ‘Four Q’ stands for fourth quarter of the year, and ‘Eleven’ represents the calendar year, abbreviated to just the last two digits.” The commander paused for a moment and scrutinized the looks on the young girls’ faces. She had her doubts that they understood the designation process. It was something new arrivals always seemed to struggle with. “You,” she said, pointing directly at Robin. “Can you give me the full name of your unit, including the squad number and battalion designation?”
Robin swallowed and gathered her thoughts, then slowly said, “ECHO 5, Second Battalion, Four Q Eleven.”
The commander appeared to be happily surprised. “That’s correct,” she said, nodding her head in approval. “Very good, Captain. If anyone in your battalion needs help understanding this, I’m counting on you to explain it to them.
“Okay, let’s go over a few basics,” she continued. While she was speaking, the other four women began handing out uniforms. “By now, you should be aware of the nature of our society. We are, by necessity, a military force whose fundamental purpose is defending our home world. We are currently engaged in a full scale war, and each of us has an important contribution to make. The purpose of this institution is to prepare each of you for your eventual participation in the war, in whatever capacity you might end up serving. And let’s be clear about something, shall we. The first rule of war is, ‘kill, or be killed.’ So let that be a reminder to you, to take your studies very seriously.”
Robin felt a shiver run down her spine. The commander’s words were cold and carefully chosen. Their meaning was very straightforward on one level, and concealed yet unnervingly clear on another. War and death are gruesome realities, she was saying. And childhood won’t shield you from them forever.
JOELLEN 006
When Commander Phillips had finished her speech, she instructed the girls to change into their new uniforms before proceeding to the cafeteria for breakfast. “There’s a community bathroom at the end of the hall,” she told them. “You can change into your uniforms there. You’ll also find a bin for your nursery jumpers. You won’t be needing those any longer.”
The community bathroom was a bustle of activity. Dozens of older girls were milling about in the room, brushing their teeth, checking their hair in the mirrors, chatting with each other about the day’s schedule. There were also a few stragglers from the first battalion, still fussing and fidgeting with the fit of their new uniforms, and wondering if they had put them on correctly. Robin recognized one of them as JoEllen — a girl she remembered from her wing in the nursery. She was popular for her almost magic–like ability to coax small animals into her hands and keep them calm enough for other girls to pet them. There must certainly be a lot of disappointed girls back there now, she realized. If anyone was going to be sorely missed at the nursery, surely it would have to be JoEllen.
Robin peeled off her nursery jumper and dumped it into the collection bin. If the older girls’ appearances were anything to go by, this was her first step toward a more mature look. Her white bodysuit would remain part of the new outfit, still serving
as her undergarment and sleepwear. Overtop of it, she would now wear a white button–down shirt, tucked inside a short blue denim skirt. As she anxiously pulled on her new uniform, she formed a mental picture of how it might look on her, based on how they looked on some of the older girls. But when she finally stepped in front of a mirror, her hopeful expectations were abruptly shattered.
Among the myriad of words that could have been used to describe her, at the moment, “scrawny” might have seemed like a compliment. The uniform made her look absolutely diminutive. The openings of her shirt sleeves and skirt seemed cavernous in comparison to her arms and her legs. She ran her hands down the sides of her body, trying to force her outfit to conform to her contours. She glanced over her shoulder at some of the older girls and admired how their uniforms complimented their figures — the way their hips and thighs seemed to fill out their skirts, and their shirts wrapped snugly around their upper bodies. In contrast, her own uniform seemed to hang off her like a tarp, reminding her that at this point in her body’s development, she’d been blessed with all of the form of a mop handle.
As Robin fretted over her less than flattering appearance, JoEllen came over to commiserate with her. She stood next to Robin and looked into the mirror, and shook her head in disapproval. “Looks wrong on both of us,” she said with a frown. “Baby turtle in a grown–up shell.” An older girl checking her hair in the mirror overheard JoEllen and stepped up behind her.
“Don’t worry, little sisters,” the older girl assured them. “You’ll grow into them eventually.” She spun JoEllen around to face her and made some quick adjustments to her sleeves and collar. “And remember,” she said, turning her back to face the mirror, “…even baby turtles have the power to shape destiny.” She pulled JoEllen snugly against her body and placed her right fist over her heart in salute. “Life!” she shouted into the mirror.
JoEllen giggled and yelled out, “Val–halla!” thrusting her fist into the air triumphantly. This caused Robin to reflect for a moment on why the Sentinels even had a salute to begin with, making the fit of her uniform suddenly seem less important — a trivial distraction in light of what fate had in store for her.
