by L. E. Thomas
Nat shook his head, his lips curling back at the thought of flying a cargo shuttle or being a deck officer bringing coffee to a skipper. "Not me. I'm flying an Interceptor. You watch."
They strolled through the pristine halls filled with other cadets wearing immaculate crimson uniforms, their polished black boots echoing off the shining marble floors. He cast a quick glance at his comrade. Soola looked tired, dark circles appearing under her bloodshot eyes. For the past months, he had seen a change in his friend's demeanor. She'd become quieter, a bit more withdrawn.
"How are your art projects coming?" he asked.
A cloud fell over her face, and she stared ahead, unfocused. "It's fine."
"Fine?"
She looked at him, a strand of her short sandy blonde hair escaping the black beret. She licked her lips as if she wanted to say more, but instead shook her head. "The art ... requirements… are taking a little while to get used to," she said in a monotone voice as if she recited from a script. "It's not quite the way I learned."
He nodded, understanding her full meaning. The Academy allowed free expression in the electives—as long as it was the kind of expression permitted by the board.
Any depictions of the cultural history of their planet were deemed inappropriate and could result in demerits or worse. Tarrafa was dead, gone. Even saying the name was prohibited. The Zahl renamed the world Yesro Vraun, the only name they were expected to use.
The restrictions placed on the cadets had bothered some of his classmates in the first year. Those who had complained or resisted were long gone, replaced back into the re-education camps and reservations or forgotten entirely. Soola and Nat had remained side-by-side during the initiation and the first classes, adjusting to the rigors of military training. After the adjustment period and months of Tox's screaming in calisthenics, he found he relished the discipline and order of the life.
Soola, however, seemed to wear down. Her energy lessened, her enthusiasm about their courses waned.
"I guess I'm just missing ... some things," she whispered. "Do you ever—"
"No," he snapped and lowered his voice. “You’ve heard what happens to people in those camps. I’m following the only course left open to us.”
She paused. "Never?"
"Never."
Soola slowed at the full window overlooking the capital. The orbiting All-purpose Response Cruiser Justice passed overhead, bathed in atmospheric blue.
"I wish I could be like you," she breathed. "I really do. It'd be easier."
"You'll get it," he said, turning to face her as the stream of traffic moved around them. "I have to work on a paper and read about a billion words tonight. See you for breakfast in the morning?"
She swallowed and nodded. "Okay."
Staring at the floor with a crooked smile, Soola walked down the hall with her shoulders slumped. Nat watched her for a moment before turning back to the Justice. He observed the capital ship make its way across the heavens until it faded out of sight.
Someday, he thought, I'll be up there.
Filled with a renewed sense of purpose, Nat spun on his heel and marched toward the library.
The reading chamber was quiet. The only other occupant, her face buried in a tablet while alternating her attention between that and a thick book, took a deep breath. She leaned back and stretched her hands high over her head, sliding the book and tablet into a black satchel. She trudged out of the room without looking in Nat's direction. The automatic doors slid open and shut quickly with a whoosh, leaving only the buzzing sound of the four oval lights hanging over the obsidian tables.
He was alone.
Looking away from his tablet and pair of books detailing the tremendous Zahlian campaigns of the fifth dynasty, Nat sighed and stared out at the bustling capital city of Mohal, named after the star in the Zahlian's core system.
Mohal.
His stomach twisted as he stared at the skyline. All evidence of the invasion had been swept away in the name of progress. Damaged buildings had been repaired, energy burns in concrete had been filled in. The rubble of the statues in the former parliament gardens had been recycled for other grand monuments to the Zahl Empire. Imperial contractors worked to erase the once impressive Oshuan architecture, replacing it with the foundations that would one day become immense Zahlian towers.
"Mohal" had been the great city of Greeva for most of his life ... a false symbol of security and hope the Zahl had annihilated in a matter of hours. For years, Greeva had been the most significant urban center in all of Oshua, perhaps even the busiest city in the world. And now even the name had disappeared into the outlawed past.
He lowered his brow and focused his attention on the towering building once known as the Grand Tower of Commerce where Ma had worked. He had visited her once in his eighth year, meeting co-workers and hearing how much they looked alike.
Are you still out there, Ma?
He clenched his jaw. Kad had led them to Greeva to find Ma and bring her out of danger. Instead, they had been ambushed and separated. His father and his friend, Jet, were probably dead.
Nat turned to the rolling hills and mountains of the Northern Territories, thought of Tressa and her goofy boyfriend. What was his name again? The idiot's expression in the cabin the morning after the initial attack was unforgettable. The way he followed Tressa around the cabin like a lost doggie, his big brown eyes hovering toward her as if she had the secrets of the universe taped to her backside…
"Good to see you smiling."
He turned around and shook his head. "Soola." He rubbed his eyes and took a drink of the cold, stale coffee. "I didn't hear you come in."
She strolled with grace to the table and paused in front of the large window overlooking Molah. The loose cotton uniform designated for sleeping engulfed her body, disguising her figure and making her appear even younger.
"I almost didn't come in," she said, crossing her arms over her chest and hugging herself, her eyes still focused on the city. "You seemed so peaceful and serene. It was nice to see."
"Just studying."
She turned and looked at him. "I don't smile like that when I study."
"Maybe you aren't doing it right."
A touch of warmth moved across his face as he turned to his tablet, focusing on the Zahlians’ ancient attack on the rebelling system of Beheech.
Soola sat at the far end of the table and exhaled. "I think about it, too."
He cleared his throat and didn't look up from the passage of another Zahlian invasion centuries ago. "Think about what?"
"The old times." She laughed and wiped her cheek. "I used to hate everything, too. I hated my lessons, my job—everything. All I wanted to do was be somewhere else. I used to fantasize—no, this sounds crazy."
She paused a moment, studying her fingers as they intertwined on the cold surface of the table.
"I used to daydream about ... the end of the world. I used to wish something would come to end it all." She looked at him as if she expected him to judge her. "It was like I wanted a reboot or something. Things at home were, well, not the best. Especially after Da left. Now all I want is for things to go back to the way they were. I miss so much of those times—even the bad stuff."
He looked at her, his head still facing his studies. "We shouldn’t speak of it. We can’t speak of it."
She shook her head. "I saw how close you were to your father when we came here looking for your Ma. If we hadn't come that day—"
"Stop," he barked without looking up. "I don't want to talk about it."
"It's who we are, Nat."
"Not anymore."
"How can you say that? We—"
"Soola!" He slapped the table, and she jolted back. "We shouldn't speak of it. It's treason to—"
"…To act like it even happened?"
He looked past her at the cityscape. "Yes."
She placed her hands over her mouth and slid them to her chin. "There are things I miss."
"It
all ended the day they arrived. You saw their power, and now it's ours." He lowered his gaze. "My mother and sister are probably dead or locked inside the re-education camps somewhere or ..."
Soola stared at him for a long moment but finally nodded and stood. "I couldn't sleep," she said. "I hope I didn't bother you."
"You didn't," he said, flashing a brief smile. "You never would. I just have to get this right. We're going to be officers one day, Soola. We need to learn to count on each other, but we need to look forward and not back. We aren't going that way. Okay?"
She nodded, blinking several times as she stared at the table. "You're right, of course."
He smiled and flipped a page. "Good night, Soola. I'll see you at breakfast."
"Night."
She lingered at the door for a heartbeat, and then passed through, leaving him alone in the library with nagging thoughts and lingering memories.
Chapter Eight
Nat laced the black boots above his ankles, pulling them tight. He brought the red flight suit over his left leg and went to work on the right. The armored personnel carrier bounced over the uneven path heading deep into the mountains. Without windows inside the Zahlian craft, it was impossible to tell where they were going. In the dark, it wouldn't have mattered anyway.
Captain Tox sat at the front, sipping on a steaming cup of coffee. Throughout the early morning journey, he cast approving glances at the thirty-two cadets crammed into the vehicle smelling of an odd combination of sweat, coffee, and fuel. They all wore the crimson flight suits of a Zahlian cadet and the black berets with the Yesro Vraun lightning bolt emblazoned on the side. They carried nothing—not even a canteen or a survival knife.
Two Marines sat at the rear, the faceplates on their helmets slid back over their heads. Standard MC-17 rifles were draped over their laps, apparently for the protection of the cadets. Nat would never risk saying it out loud, but he wondered if the pair of Marines had also come along to prevent the "loss" of any cadets in the wilderness.
After a few sarcastic comments quickly shot down by Tox, the cadets had been silent, some being fortunate enough to catch a few extra winks on the ride.
But Nat couldn't sleep in such conditions.
Nat knew Tox would run them hard again today, trotting through the winding dirt paths of the rural mountains rimming the valley. He often wondered if they would pass the cabin where he'd last seen Tressa, but his mind would quickly shift to focus on running as Tox barked his orders. Sometimes, they'd sing songs laced with Zahlian patriotism and grand pronouncements of the Empire's might, but mostly they would gasp for air as their lungs burned.
The initial runs had nearly killed Nat. On the first outing, he wanted to die. His body told him to stop and give up, but somehow his mind kept pushing him forward. He'd seen the Zahlian officers on the base, admired their lean frames and seemingly superhuman ability never to tire. It was the ambition to be like them that kept him going.
He finished lacing his right boot and leaned back as the APC bounced again.
With her arms folded over her chest, Soola rocked on the bench across from him, her eyes fixated on the ceiling. He stared at her for a moment, recalling their conversation from the last month when she talked about the old days before the invasion. They had spoken little since, other than simple pleasantries about various lessons and complaints of certain professors in the Yesro Vraun cadet system.
He had shot her down pretty quickly when she wanted to dwell on the past, and his stomach burned with guilt at the thought. But he’d heard the other officers talking in Mohal. He knew the dangers of looking backward.
Just last week, the local resistance had tried to destroy the main bridge leading into the city. Six rebels had been caught and publicly executed downtown. The class had halted for the occasion, bright vids illuminating their classrooms as the doomed approached the gallows. With all the technology at their disposal, the Zahl Empire chose to hang as their means of executing rebellious individuals of the local population. Nat had braced himself, worrying he might see someone he knew.
But he didn't.
Four women and two men, of varying ages and in different stages of filth, had trudged onto the gallows. The oldest man was the last to reach his position. Wearing a tight blue button-down shirt, the man had the assured look of defiance. Looking closer, Nat saw the man's left sleeve had been ripped where a patch had once been.
An officer of the Oshua military.
The memory burned into his mind. Some of his former culture still fought out there, throwing their lives away to disrupt the Zahlian occupation. He saw it in their eyes as the trapdoors dropped, and their necks broke, the look of full resistance. They still hadn't realized the war was over the moment the Zahl Empire entered orbit.
There had been rumors of the resistance stiffening, gaining momentum as they started to organize in the wilds of the northern territories. Some of the cadets said they heard the resistance had formed a fluid leadership hard to stamp out, but Nat didn't relish dwelling on the past.
He wouldn't look backward. Only forward.
"All right, people!" Tox barked, stuffing his coffee mug into a satchel. "Look sharp! We're hitting The Beast today, and I want to—hey! No complaints!"
The cadets snapped to attention, their bodies growing rigid.
Tox nodded. "That's better. I want to surpass our last time by three minutes. You got that? Anyone fails to hit that goal, we run it again. Clear?"
"Sir! Yes, sir!"
Nat clenched his jaw, suppressing a look of disgust.
The Beast was a twenty-mark stretch of rocky paths leading up a jagged mountainside in the wilderness to the north of Mohal. They'd run it before, and six cadets spent the night in the infirmary from exhaustion, bruises, and twisted ankles. He had hoped running The Beast had been some sort of brutal initiation in the early weeks of physical training, but he had apparently been wrong.
The APC rumbled to a halt, the brakes squeaking loudly. Nat glanced at Soola who offered a crooked smile in return before the faint interior lights went out.
The Marines threw back the steel doors at the rear and hopped out. A rush of fresh, crisp mountain air flooded the vehicle as Tox screamed, ordering them outside. Nat stood, his muscles tight from the journey, and hurried out. He dropped onto the ground made of pebbles and soft soil, the chill of the air sending a shiver down his back. He knew the feeling wouldn't last.
Stretching, he gazed into the cloudless sky of the early morning. Dense forests surrounded the path. A snow-capped peak loomed to his right, the first hints of sunlight painting the top in orange. A sprinkling of bright stars filled the heavens. The Justice, usually their constant sentinel in orbit, was nowhere in sight at the moment.
The Marines took opposite sides of the path, their weapons trained on the forest and their faceplates dropped into place. Another Marine activated the dual-cannon turret on top of the APC's front, swinging it around to maintain a watch on the trees. The weapon's power cells hummed.
At the rear of the APC was Tox's flying pod looking like a one-eyed flying insect. A bulbous domed front dominated the two-man vehicle about the same size as a hyperbike the Captain used whenever they had a run in the wilderness.
Tox cleared his throat, placed one finger to his nose, and blew snot out of his right nostril. He climbed up the stationary ladder on the side of the APC, shouting, "All right, people! Let's get going! Keep up, or we're doing it again!"
Nat spun around on the gravel and started running, not even taking a moment to look behind him. The fresh mountain air made him feel brisk, alive. Weeks inside the dormitory and the indoor gym had taken its toll. The hardwoods he passed were sprinkled with vibrant color from the coming autumn. He heard the buzz of Tox's pod and the faint sound of his classmates' boots crushing gravel behind him. He pressed on, pushing his body until his muscles burned. Sweat beaded on his forehead, cascading down his nose as if he stood in the rain. He wiped his face and kept going.
&nbs
p; Above, Tox barked threats from his hovering pod, propelling the other cadets forward. Only one of his comments sparked Nat's interest: "Run any slower, and you'll wash out!"
The thought of leaving the service haunted him, keeping him up late at night to study for the weekly exams. Tox said the top members of the class would be considered for flight school. The rest, if they were lucky, might find positions in the fleet onboard the ARCs or older battleships. The bottom of the class, well, Tox didn't mention the possibilities of their fate. Nat had heard the rumors, though.
When they had first arrived at the facility, Soola and Nat stuck close together. The re-education camps went on for days, sometimes without sleep. They kept their focus, answering the endless questions from Zahlian officers.
Where is your residence?
How many in your family?
What did your parents do for a living?
Did your family own any weapons?
Nat never lied, even advising Soola to tell the truth. As the devastating realization faded that his father had probably been killed by Zahlian Marines, survival became his only concern. If these invaders wanted him to answer questions, so be it.
After the initial interrogations, they administered tests both physical and mental. Soon, both Nat and Soola found themselves enrolled in the first cadet class of Yesro Vraun, named after a general who had apparently distinguished himself during the Galactic War against the Legion. The man's image appeared throughout the halls and loomed over the cafeteria. His dark skin was smooth, his piercing blue eyes fixed on the heavens as if he received his orders from the Creator.
But Nat kept his eyes low and on his studies as some cadets washed out and disappeared, rumored to be sent back to re-education camps to be reassigned to another government facility. Others, who turned out to be a bit more rebellious, had been placed on a transport heading for the Atheron colony that had been transformed into a Zahlian prison. He expected he would never get his chance to explore Atheron now.
Despite the ominous tales of rebellion whispered in the halls of the Academy, Nat retained his laser focus on his studies and garnered the attention of his instructors. He knew what he wanted. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the Zahlian Interceptors easily blasting through the Oshua copters on the day of the invasion. He wanted that power. He wanted to be a pilot.
