Star Marque Rising

by Shami Stovall

  “Your fighter's hull integrity, your position within the Vectin star map, the number of torpedoes loaded, the number of hyperweapon bolts, a comms channel reader, a—”

  “I'm supposed to keep track of all this during a dogfight?”

  “You should keep your attention on the center screen. It indicates particles and objects you'll need to avoid. Other than that, I'll be monitoring your other systems.”

  I took a deep breath and relaxed. Starfighters were known for their high-tech ingenuity. Sure, they were tiny, one-person vessels, but they were quick and could change directions with precision befitting a master surgeon.

  The center screen showed me the outside of the cockpit. It was a vision of space, with information overlaid like a transparency. Before me sat an asteroid field, and I admired the porous rocks, spinning together in groups. I knew it was a simulation, but sometimes I was reminded of just how small I was compared to the vastness of reality.

  “Twist the right side-stick to accelerate and press the trigger on the left side-stick to fire your hyperweapons and torpedoes,” Sawyer said.

  “What are hyperweapons, exactly?”

  “A super-heated plasma bolt. It's hot enough to vaporize most metals into gas, but that level of heat can only be maintained for a short period of time. You have to be close to your target—closer than any normal starship could get to another—for it to be effective.”

  Melt metal into gas, huh? Shit. That would annihilate human flesh in an instant.

  I wondered if that had ever been tested.

  Heh. Of course it had. Humanity was fucked up.

  “Avoid the obstacles and shoot the targets,” Sawyer said. “You may begin.”

  Even though I knew it was a simulation, the viewscreen had a lifelike quality that got me nervous all over again. With a hesitant grip, I accelerated. To my surprise, the starfighter darted forward with speed unlike anything I could have anticipated. The screen beeped twice—highlighting a chunk of asteroid in red—and then I collided with it.

  My chair shook.

  The screen went black. The lights powered down.

  Then nothing.

  “Sawyer?”

  “You died,” Sawyer replied with a sigh. “Try again.”

  “Wait, what? I died? How?”

  “A fragment of asteroid pierced your hull, destroyed the integrity of your starfighter, and ignited one of the bolts in your ammunition stores. Don't worry, you died instantly. No pain.”

  Her snarky disregard for the severity of failure got my blood running hot.

  “It's that easy to die in one of these things?” I gripped the chair, my fingers practically piercing the mesh fabric. “You didn't mention that!”

  “I said, you should pay attention to the screen. Avoid the obstacles. Shoot the targets. Simple instructions, really.”

  “One fucking obstacle, and I'm dead? That's a thin goddamn margin of error!”

  “That's why you're in a practice simulation,” Sawyer drawled.

  The lights and screens flickered back to life, and the asteroid field once again lay in front of me. Ice replaced all anger in my system. I had lived on Capital Station my entire life, never once taking a jaunt through space. It was hazardous. Every tiny mistake could lead to catastrophe.

  The cold void of space wanted to rip the life out of everything it touched. Eyes boiled in their sockets from the heat, skin cracked open from the chill, and lungs swelled like a marshmallow in a microwave—I had seen the damn educational videos. Space wanted us dead. It wanted everything dead.

  I stared into the distance. I could see the fleck of asteroid that had resulted in my failure—it was the size of a human head, maybe smaller.

  “Your heartrate has accelerated,” Sawyer said. “And you're not even moving.”

  And there I was, berating Noah for getting rattled. I should have stoned up and taken my own advice. I needed to focus. It was a simulation. Nothing would happen. The better I became, the less likely I would fall to a tiny mistake when it counted.

  Noah's starfighter, shaped like a U and black to the point of fading into the darkness, flew into my field of view. The monitors of my starfighter had him tracked and mapped—even when he wasn't in front of me—but I ignored those in favor of watching him spin and head in my direction.

  Could we fight each other in this simulation? Surely we could. Was that what he wanted to do? Get his revenge for my earlier feint?

  “How is he flying around like that already?” I muttered.

  “He's been training for a week or so,” Sawyer said. “He already got his obligatory deaths on the starter rock out of the way.”

  I braced myself as he got close, ready to receive another death.

  “Move,” Sawyer commanded.

  But I didn't. Part me of didn't want to run and give Noah the satisfaction.

  Noah fired.

  His torpedo streaked across space, almost too fast to track, but I had the reflexes. It smashed into the starter rock, destroying the obstacle and clearing my path. And then he spun and flew off, heading toward the targets on the other end of the asteroid field.

  The gesture sunk into my thoughts like scrap metal in water.

  “You really have no excuse to sit idle now,” Sawyer said.

  “Do these pods have comms to each other?” I asked, ignoring her derision.

  “Yeah. We use them for team simulations.”

  I reached up and switched my comms signal to “team,” but I said nothing as I placed my hands back on the side-sticks and accelerated. The starter rock wouldn't have given me the same trouble twice, but knowing it was gone did make me feel better. Like I had been avenged. Thinking about its dust particles gave me more satisfaction than it should have. It was a rock. It was not even a real rock, just a virtual one, but that was what it got for fucking with me.

  The starfighter reacted with a near-instant response when I turned the side-stick. As the ship spun, I took in all the information, like I would in a fight. I could see the obstacles, I could anticipate my speed, and everything operated at a fourth its rate in my mind's eye, allowing me to calculate my path with time to spare. I wove through the rocks without a scratch.

  “I did it,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Sawyer said. “Pretty good. For your second try.”

  “Did you see the grace of my movements? I think congratulations are in order.”

  “Congratulations. You've learned to avoid obstacles at the speed of a sleepy snail. Truly, you are the best starfighter.”

  Noah chuckled.

  I forced a long exhale. She wanted me to go faster? Fine. I was ready to impress. I had come to terms with the simulation.

  I punched the speed, curious to see how fast this piece-of-shit could go.

  Within seconds, the inside of the pod tripled in pressure. It created artificial G-forces, and the effect left me short on breath. The crushing force hadn't yet become painful, but it wasn't pleasant, either. I was pressed against my seat, like some invisible hand was out to crush me.

  “You're at 3Gs,” Sawyer said. “You need to be on the lookout for loss of light in your vision. The hypoxia can cause you to lose consciousness. Oh, and remember to breathe deep.”

  I continued accelerating. When an obstacle appeared on the screen, I tilted and avoided it by millimeters, but it was intentional. Why move a lot when a little would do?

  “4Gs,” Sawyer said. “5Gs. Hey. Breathe. You need to breathe.”

  I took in deep breaths, still dedicated to my forward momentum. The asteroids were spaced far enough apart that zipping through them was possible, but more and more, I needed to tilt the starfighter. It became a game. Go faster. Don't get hit. That realization relaxed me a bit.

  Sawyer let out a quick exhale. “6Gs is the highest the pod can simulate.”

  When a larger asteroid blocked my path, I tilted the side-stick harder than expected. The jerk of the starfighter put even more stress on me, but I soldiered through. Unlike most h
umans, my body was designed to withstand high pressures. My muscles were corded, my blood highly oxygenated, and my mind processed a multitude of information with ease. Before I knew it, I'd gotten around the largest asteroid, still accelerating as fast as the simulation would allow.

  “You've passed the targets,” Sawyer said with a chuckle. “You realize that, right?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I choked out. It was harder to speak than I'd imagined it would be.

  And difficult to breathe.

  But I ignored that and turned the starfighter around, trying to push the limits of the craft, as well as my own. The obstacles were hard to anticipate when turning—harder than flying straight—but my focus didn't break. I returned to the target area and saw Noah's fighter on my screen readout. And then I saw his fighter blink out of existence.

  He had crashed.

  I pulled back the speed and returned to a crawl. Once the G-force waned, and my lungs weren't being squeezed by death itself, I watched Noah's blip on my star map as he rushed back over to the targets. The asteroids around that area moved faster than the rest.

  When Noah attempted to fly through the rocks a second time, he fired at the targets, hitting one but falling victim to another stray asteroid. He crashed, and his starfighter got returned to the starting position.

  “Damn,” Noah muttered, his voice faint over the comms.

  With a forced exhale, I sped toward the targets. Noah reached them almost at the same time, but I flew around him. A twist of my left wrist brought up the torpedo options, and I targeted one of the asteroids. When I fired, it destroyed the rock, leaving the targeted area a little clearer than it had been before.

  Noah aimed for the targets, but I didn't even bother. I fired at a few more asteroids, a feeling of power washing over me when I saw the massive chunks of rock fall to the might of my starfighter.

  “What're you doing?” Noah asked, indignant.

  “Clearing the area,” I said.

  “This is a competition. You should be focused on the targets.”

  “Fuck the competition. Nobody cares about that. It's a ruse, some bunk task given to manipulate us.”

  Noah scoffed. “Is that true, Sawyer?”

  She said nothing. At least, nothing I could hear.

  “Listen to me, kid,” I said. “There's a time and a place for fretting. The middle of a fight isn't one of them. That's your problem. You let things get to you, and then you overthink them.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I've seen a lot of guys get killed because they couldn't focus on the task at hand.”

  Noah's starfighter slowed down near the targets. “B-But there are so many things to keep track of, and—”

  “Forget all that. Focus on getting good at one skill, and then move onto the next. When you're good at something, it builds confidence, trust me. And confidence buys you more skills in the future.”

  He didn't reply, and his silence grated on me.

  “I'll destroy the obstacles,” I said. “You focus on the targets. Get good at shooting, got it? Shooting.”

  In reality, we would both get good at shooting—I was just shooting different objects. Sure, mine were larger, but he had been doing this for a few weeks, apparently. It all worked out in the end.

  Although he hadn't given me an answer, I hit the throttle and sped through the asteroid belt, my attention homing in on the rocks. I loved destroying them. It had now become a tiny obsession. No rock was going to kill me. Ever.

  Noah flew toward the targets—gold circles that glinted with inner light—and shot them one by one, while I cleared out the obstacles.

  “You ruined my testing,” Sawyer said, her voice low.

  She wasn't speaking through the group comms, but through an individual channel.

  Sawyer continued, “His stress levels are already evening out.”

  That was good. For him, at least. I knew some guys who exceled under stress, but Noah wasn't one of them. Even as I destroyed asteroids, I could see him increasing his speed and hitting more targets faster than before. Neither of us crashed again, and by the time the last target was destroyed, I realized I was enjoying myself.

  The pod powered down, and the pressure returned to normal. I exhaled as the hatch opened. When I stood, I caught my breath, surprised to see Endellion in the room, her arms folded, her piercing gaze locked on me. I got out and stood in place, waiting for her assessment. Her mere presence made everything tense.

  “How're you feeling?” Sawyer asked. Unlike before, she wasn't on her PAD—she just stared, her brow furrowed.

  “I'm fine,” I replied. “Why wouldn't I be?”

  “Most individuals vomit after experiencing G-forces for the first time. That or controlling a starfighter in a 360 environment leaves them with vertigo.”

  Noah stumbled out of his pod and gave Endellion a quick salute. “Commodore Voight. I didn't know you would be here.”

  Endellion offered him a quick smile, forced but not unpleasant. “Sawyer says you've improved. I'm glad to hear it. But you should give us a moment. I need to speak to Clevon about his evaluation.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Noah gave me a glance before leaving, like he wanted to say something but didn't have the time to do so.

  Once he exited the training room, Endellion dropped her arms and gave me the once-over. “Your evaluation says everything I thought it would.”

  “Oh?” I asked. “And what's that?”

  “You're capable of handling a starfighter with ease.”

  “I handle everything with ease.”

  Sawyer cocked an eyebrow as she gave me a half-lidded, sardonic stare. Was she going to ride my ass for dying in the beginning? That was nothing. I'd gotten over it. I could handle myself.

  “Sawyer has constructed your daily schedule for the next six months,” Endellion said, drawing my attention back to her. “But I'm adding physical training to your schedule as well.”

  “Physical training? I'm stronger than any schlub on this starship.”

  “You're not stronger than me.”

  Her casual statement got under my skin. I had never handled taunts well—they got me ready to prove them wrong. But she could have been stronger than me. It was a real possibility.

  “That's because you cheated,” I said with a smirk. “Ditch your fancy machines and let's see how well you do, then.”

  Endellion flipped her beautiful, braided hair to the side. “I'm sorry, are we aiming for mediocrity, or are we aiming for greatness?”

  “What does that—”

  “I could stoop to your level,” she said, cutting me off, “and we could wallow in your subpar test of strength, or you can join me in the top tier of humanity, where real power is measured.”

  Why did she enjoy challenging me? She was always ready with some retort, pulling my strings and getting me to react the way she desired.

  “You want me to get stronger,” I said, realizing it was her goal.

  “Of course,” Endellion replied. “My enemies won't throw away their advantages because I childishly whine about the unfairness of it all. I'm not prone to excuses. I'm prone to succeeding. And success requires hard work. I expect that from you, Clevon. I expect you to meet me at my level.”

  It hit me then. I wanted to impress her, but that was no easy feat. She wasn't impressed that I was better than the others. That was what she already knew. And she wasn't impressed that I was climbing toward her. That was what she wanted. She was patiently waiting for me to catch up, no doubt because she wanted something from me. I may have even been disappointing her because I wasn't climbing fast enough.

  “All this so you can have a starfighter pilot?” I asked. Was that really what Endellion wanted from me?

  “You could be something more, if you have the ambition.”

  The way she said that rang in my ears, embedding itself in my thoughts. I took a step closer, her height on par with mine. When she smiled at me, it was more genuine
than the smile she'd given Noah, but it was reserved as well. Her gaze measured me, like she judged my every move.

  “Is it true?” I asked in a hushed tone. “You're going to give everyone on this starship planetside property when you become governor?”

  “That's right.”

  “It's an outrageous reward for being a simple enforcer.”

  “Some would consider my goals outrageous.” Endellion tilted her head. “Are you going to help me? And then claim your reward?”

  There was no turning back, if that was my goal. No running away. No leaving. If I was going to take her offer—not just an offer to work for her, but an offer to claim my prize at the end of a long haul—I was in it for life. I would have to give her everything.

  “I'm going to be the best starfighter here.” I couldn't help myself. I knew it in my core. I would master piloting, or I would die on the first rock out. “And then I'm going to move up the ranks. All the way until I reach yours.”

  My statement got her smiling wider. She stepped closer to me until we were centimeters apart, her breath practically on my chin.

  “I look forward to it,” Endellion said. And then she turned away, leaving me with her sweet scent. “Sawyer will be updating me on your progress.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  167 DAYS

  It would take 167 days until we reached our destination—Vectin-14.

  I thrust both arms forward, straining the weight machine until I touched both palms in front of me. Then I relaxed at a slow pace, allowing the cords to pull my arms open.

  One more time.

  After a deep breath, I did it again. The machine beeped and the screen displayed a readout of my physiology, highlighting the muscles I'd used, listing the calories I'd burned, and flashing a warning across the top—indicating I should stop.

  One more time.

  Quinn stopped her workout routine to watch. Lee, Noah, and Mara had already stopped a few minutes ago, all three of them glancing between me and the screen, some even counting my reps.

  Shooting practice dominated the physical training room, with squad tactics, obstacle courses, and reflex machines coming in a close second. Only a small corner had been set aside for improving strength. It wasn't as important when each enforcer carried less than 20 kilograms of equipment—including their plasma rifle—but I wanted to be on par with a cyborg, and cyborgs always had high strength capabilities.