“Can I help you?” the Avalon asked.
“Not really,” Keryn replied, “unless you’ll help me to my seat.”
“My name is Sasha Pythril.” When Keryn gave her a blank stare, she said, “Of the family Pythril? And you are?”
“Keryn Riddell.” Already tired of the conversation, she tried to step past Sasha and enter the row, but Sasha’s hand touched her chest firmly.
“That seat’s saved for someone.”
“Who?”
The bluntness of the question caught Sasha off guard. “Listen here, Freak,” she replied, her face flushed with anger. “Let me explain how the pecking order at the Academy works. You’re on the bottom, and I’m on the top. My family has been top graduates from the Academy for over one hundred years, and I intend to follow in their footsteps. I don’t even know how a Wyndgaart got in here. They must be lowering their standards.”
Punch her in the face, the Voice offered, while Keryn sought a proper response. If you break her jaw, she won’t run her mouth so much.
As much as Keryn hated the Voice, she felt her hands clench into fists.
“Excuse me,” a new female voice called behind Sasha. “Is this yours? It looks like you might be molting.”
Sasha turned to look at a short Pilgrim standing behind her. The Pilgrim’s long, blonde hair hung over her eyes, partially concealing a mischievous smile. In her outstretched hand was a single white feather.
Surprised, Sasha snatched the feather from her hand and compared it to her wings. Seeing the colors didn’t match, she sneered angrily at the newcomer.
“Come on,” the Pilgrim offered to Keryn. “I’ve got an empty chair on the other side of the room.” Taking Keryn’s arm, the short Pilgrim led her away from the pending confrontation.
“It figures that freaks would hang out together,” Sasha called after them. “Who else but a Pilgrim would hang out with a savage?”
“Let it go,” the girl muttered softly. Raising her voice, she called back, “You might want to take care of that molting problem. It’s becoming obscene.”
They both laughed, as they listened to the profanity that followed, as they walked away. Though angry before, Keryn felt her tension flood away, as they took seats on the right side of the auditorium.
As they collapsed into their chairs, the Pilgrim extended her hand. “Iana Morven,” she said with a disarming smile.
“Keryn Riddell.” She accepted the hand. “Thanks for the save back there.”
“Somehow, I didn’t think you were in that much danger.”
Keryn shrugged. “I don’t get it. What’s their problem?”
“They’re elitists. Every member of that group comes from money. Sasha’s the worst of the bunch. I heard horror stories about her before my transport even landed.”
“Lucky us,” Keryn said dryly. “How’d we manage the one class full of such winners?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t count us lucky. There’s a group of divas in every class. You have to remember the Academy is an institution created for the best of the best. They earned their way in, like we did, but they don’t see it that way. All they manage to see through their blinders is a Wyndgaart and a Pilgrim, both outcast races in their eyes.”
“I can’t believe I’ll have to put up with this for the next two years.”
“You won’t have to if you just kill her.” Iana winked.
The room fell into hushed silence, as a dour-looking male Avalon walked to the podium. Instead of wearing the black uniforms of the other instructors, who positioned themselves around the side walls of the theater, he was swaddled in a loose robe, which, left open in the front, exposed his well-defined chest and abdominal muscles. His unusually dark hair fell over his shoulders, framing a pale face. Screens on either side projected his magnified image and amplified his voice.
“Students,” he said, his voice deeper than most Avalons but still carrying singing undercurrents, “let me welcome you to the Alliance Fleet Academy. If you’re present in this room, you’ve proven yourself time and time again through a battery of cognitive and reflexive tests. You earned the right to be here.
“My name is Tyrus Brothius, and I’m the dean of this institution of higher learning. Over the next two years, you’ll be put through a grueling series of classroom instruction, simulation training, tactics training, and actual flight time in all manner of ship platforms. Though this room is full now, when it’s time for graduation, one-third to one-half of you will have failed. This will be a much-transformed auditorium at the end of two years.”
Keryn glanced around the room at the myriad of races present. All the major races had representatives among her class. Large Oterians were sprinkled throughout the room, their massive bulk and long horns blocking the view of the unfortunate students behind them. Sharp, bony protrusions of the Uligart mixed side-by-side with groups of void-faced Lithid. Folded Avalonian wings were tucked tightly against bodies, as the avian race filled the majority of the room. Their flight ability made them naturals as pilots, since they already grasped the complexities of aerial combat. Across the room, Keryn caught Sasha’s eye, as the Avalon looked in her direction. Scowling, Sasha turned back toward the front of the room.
“For those of you who succeed and survive the next two years, the stars become your playground. You’ll direct your ship on journeys the likes of which you only heard about in childhood stories. In two years, you’ll finally have the chance to truly live.”
The audience erupted in cheers. That was what they came for-the opportunity to become pilots in the Alliance. Keryn’s heart swelled at the thought of piloting one of the small Duun fighters or the larger Cair transports into combat. Looking over, she saw the same excitement reflected in Iana’s eyes. For both girls, it was an opportunity to break free from the confining limitations of their species. Everyone else in the room simply wanted to fly, but Keryn and Iana had something to prove.
“Over the next few weeks,” the dean continued, once the cheers died, “every one of you will be introduced to the available craft within the Alliance. You’ll be exposed to everything from the smallest Duun fighter to the inner workings of the massive Alliance cruisers. At some point during this year, your heart will cry out, as you pilot one of those craft, and you’ll know you found your calling. Your ship of choice is one of the things you’ll compete for against your peers.
“If you work hard enough, you’ll be rewarded with your ship of choice. However, more recompense will be yours if you not only graduate but succeed in becoming top of your class. The top graduates in each class are promoted into the office ranks as a magistrate, rather than being commissioned as warrants. Believe me when I tell you that this is a lofty position, one highly sought after and respected among the Fleet.”
He scanned the crowd, his eyes seeming to fall on every individual, as he perused the new class. Keryn felt his gaze linger on her as he scanned, a slight flicker of surprise passing over his face at the sight of her bronzed skin and brightly colored tattoos. Moments later, his gaze moved on, and she was left wondering if his stern appraisal was nothing more than her imagination.
“I wish you all the best during your tenure at the Academy,” he said after the long pause. “Around the room, you’ll see your future instructors. They are rigid and intent on teaching you everything you need to know, not only as a pilot but as a soldier. Each of you has much to learn. Don’t take the berating personally. All your counterparts will receive the same poor treatment.”
His comments invoked a round of nervous laughter, as the students tried to determine if that was a joke.
“Learn from them. Study hard. In two years, I’ll see you again as graduates and proud members of the Alliance Fleet.”
Stepping from the podium, he turned to walk off stage. An Oterian instructor, stuffed into a broad-shouldered black uniform, stepped forward from the line of instructors against the right wall.