“Don’t count her out yet,” she muttered, not speaking loud enough to break the sanctity of the ceremony. “Let’s go, Bellini. Don’t prove me wrong.”
Yusef stepped forward again, his face locked in a stoic countenance, as he prepared to end his round of combat in the Initiation. As he swung downward with both axes on his injured foe, Bellini moved impossibly fast, sidestepping his swings and catching the crook of both axes with her dagger.
Yusef’s eyes widened in surprise, as she smiled softly. Striking with her short spear, she left a pair of deep cuts across his chest. As he stepped backward in disbelief, she jerked forward with her dagger, stripping one ax from his hand. It flew harmlessly aside, landing outside the circle at the feet of the front row of the audience.
It’s done, the Voice said. She has accepted her destiny.
Keryn fought conflicting emotions. Having merged with the Voice, Bellini stood a chance to win the fight. Simultaneously, it meant part of Bellini was gone, replaced by the ever-present Voice.
Backpedaling, Yusef put distance between himself and his confident opponent. Bellini allowed him a decent amount of ground before moving forward like a serpent, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Yusef moved his ax back and forth protectively, trying to follow her movements. Her hand shot out, as she launched her spear at his head. He tipped his head aside and brought up his ax, knocking the spear harmlessly aside.
Glancing up at the interlocked weapons, he realized the diversion too late. With his ax out of the way, he left himself exposed without a weapon to bring to bear. Appearing before him, Bellini drove her dagger into his exposed side, digging through the muscles and slipping into his right lung before penetrating his heart.
Yusef gurgled, and Bellini wrapped her free arm around his back, lowering him to the ground. She sat over him, watching him sympathetically, as his last breath escaped his lips. Pulling her dagger free, blood dripping from its tip, she stood to face the audience.
“Bellini is the victor of her Initiation,” the Schoolmaster exclaimed. “Congratulate our newest member of the warrior caste!”
The audience cheered, while the two priests lifted Yusef’s body and pulled it into the stage’s darkened wings. Still bleeding from her wounds, Bellini bowed respectfully to the audience, then the Schoolmaster, before taking her place against the low back wall.
Two at a time, the Initiates faced one another, always with one surviving and the other dead. Those were the rules of Initiation, by which Keryn couldn’t abide. Before the ceremony ended, she stood and walked down to the middle path through which she entered the temple. She caught Bellini’s eye, as she prepared to leave, but she said nothing.
Keryn had no interest in sticking around until the end of the ceremony to congratulate her friend. The Bellini she knew was gone, replaced, at least in part, by the Voice. She would rather not condone her transformation into the savage warrior she became.
Walking slowly, crying softly, she returned home and prepared the last of her belongings before her departure the following day for the academy on Arcendor.
CHAPTER FOUR
Michael Vance walked down the brightly lit corridors of the Goliath, drinking in the sights. Raised and trained as an infantry soldier, where dirt and grime where as much a part of one’s uniform as the pants and jacket, he found it strange to be onboard a ship kept so immaculately clean. The light-gray walls glistened from the thick lacquer spread evenly over the paint. Colored lines of yellow, black, red, and blue traced the hall, splitting toward different directions, guiding crewmen toward unseen objectives. The infantry was fond of teasing the Fleet, accusing them of needing color-coded walls to avoid getting lost.
Watching the faces of the crew and officers he passed, their uniforms pressed and creased to perfection, he suddenly became aware of his appearance. Still clothed in thick boots and dusty red robe, cinched at the waist by a tattered leather belt, he trailed red clay and dust from the planet’s surface to be ground into the carpet, as he walked toward one of the ship’s many classrooms. He heard a rumor that the Fleet actually had a job for watercraft operators, which hadn’t been used by the Fleet in more than 150 years. He wondered if they also had a job for carpet cleaners.
A loud guffaw escaped his lips, drawing the attention of nearby crewmen. He could only imagine a crewman cursing loudly, as he shampooed and vacuumed the halls, tracking Vance’s movements throughout the ship. It would be easy to locate him if the crewman really wanted to find the source of the persistent red clay. The special operations officer was so obviously different from the rest of the crew aboard the Goliath. Dirty and sweaty, he still carried his large rifle slung across his back. The barrel bounced harmlessly against the back of his calf, as he walked. He was so accustomed to the weapon, he hardly noticed.
Nearing the first of many elevators he must take to reach the classroom, he tapped his foot impatiently, as he waited. A rush of recycled air brought a sour smell to him. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, he looked around in surprise before realizing he was the source of the rancid scent.
“No wonder they were looking at me so weird,” he mumbled to the closed doors. He laughed despite himself at the great divisions between the Fleet and infantry. He couldn’t imagine what a crewman would do if forced to sleep in the mud.
The light above the door turned from red to green, acknowledging the arrival of the elevator. The doors parted with a soft hiss, revealing a spacious chamber with a single unfortunate warrant inside. Despite his broad shoulders and Terran heritage, Vance moved gracefully, as he slid past the closing doors and took a place against the back wall.
Eying him warily, the warrant politely lifted the back of his hand to his nose, trying to block the smell. Running his own hand across his thick, black beard, Vance flashed bright, white teeth at the trapped warrant. Returning the smile weakly, he gave a subtle nod.
Two floors later, obviously uncomfortable about being in such an enclosed space with Vance, the warrant pressed a floor button at random. When the doors slid open, he quickly left the elevator.
Finally alone in the lift, Vance stretched his arms wide and relaxed, as the elevator took him the rest of the way up through the ship’s numerous floors.
After catching another set of lifts and walking nearly the length of the ship, Vance found himself before an open door leading into the rear of a tiered classroom. At a podium at the bottom of the steppes, gesturing wildly toward a holographic projection of a battle, a Pilgrim officer taught historical battle scenarios to a group of enthralled, young pilots. Slipping into the room unnoticed, Vance sat in the rear and listened.
“When the newly formed Alliance first faced off against the Terran Empire’s Fleet, the crew of those Alliance ships weren’t much older than the faces I see in this audience,” the audience said. “They were inexperienced but brave. They fought valiantly against an aggressive, dangerous enemy.”
The instructor removed his glasses and set them gently on the podium. “Don’t smile. They were summarily wiped out by the superior Terran Fleet.”
Stepping away from the podium, the Pilgrim ran a hand through his thinning gray hair. He smiled gingerly at the captive audience, his face breaking into a spiderweb of wrinkles. “My concern is that I see the same youthful bravado in your pilots and crewmen. You have the urge to prove yourself. You want your name to go down in history. The problem is, there’s no place for attitudes like those among the crew of this ship. In this atmosphere, you either work as a team, or you die alone and forgotten.”
He stopped pacing and stared at the defiant faces of the pilots and crewmen. “How many of you think that the war between the Alliance and the Empire is over? Give me a show of hands.”