Interstellar Academy, Kennedy Harkins [epub e ink reader TXT] 📗

body in continuous spasms. I heard someone get sick, and a few more started crying. I laughed, guffawing into the cacophony of the takeoff.

All too soon, the ascent slowed and then came to a stop, hundreds of feet above the ground. The students caught their breath, and the tendrils released us, slithering back into the wall until it was time for the descent.

“That...that was awful,” Kavi said.

I shook my head. “That must not have come through the translator right, because that was amazing.”

Professor Accia swung around in her seat in the cockpit, beckoning us all forward. “Get in here, Greenies.”

We all filed into a room at the nose of the ship that had more buttons and knobs than I’d ever seen in my life. The cover the walls by the window expanse, and below that, there were even more on the giant dashboard the wrapped around the whole outer half of the cockpit.

“This is what’ll be learning on,” she said, stretching her arms out to encompass the whole show. “It’s exclusively a training ship, nothing automated. You can’t always trust Artificial Intelligence to tell you what’s acceleration and what’s your own behind. In my book, you can’t fly if you can’t do it the old fashioned way.” She slapped a stabilizer, causing the craft the stop the rocking it’d been doing up until that point. “And, unfortunately for you, my book is the only one that matters.”

After watching us for a moment, she returned to her chair and motioned for someone to take her place by the controls. “So, none of you Greenies think you’ve got the hang of it yet? Come on, now, there’s always one.”

I blinked. Surely, she wasn’t serious. Was she really going to let one of us dive in, skipping all the boring instruction and going right to the fun part. I could feel the machine surging underneath me, feel the wind flying past us, the freedom, the exhilaration.

I stepped forwards. “I’ll give it a whack.”

She leaned back. “Figured. Alright, go right ahead. Remember, if you crash it, you bought it. Well, not you, of course. You’ll be a pile of mush and pulverized bones, but your parents will have to cough up the change.”

I strode up the the control, letting my fingers slide weightlessly over them. I could feel the power in those tiny button. It got the blood pumping.

In more ways than one, I thought, frowning. The controls weren’t anything like the Cruiser, and there was no AI voice screaming instructions at me. Still, I’d piloted that thing on auto...for a time. How hard could it be to do it again?

I hit the stabilizer that I’d seen Professor Accia hit, turning off the “emergency brake”. The ships shuddered, swaying again like a pendulum with no strings attached. I could emphasize, feeling a bit like a puppet with the strings cut. I shook that thought off as quickly as it had appeared.

I could do this. I would do this. I was an Alkaev. I could do anything. But this--this I was born to do. I just knew it.

I tried the handles, the universal control for turning. They were stuck. I pulled on them with all my might, but they remained as immobile as a block of cement.

“This, Greenies, is a prime example of biting off more than you can chew,” Professor Accia said. When I didn’t back off, she sighed. “Try getting it moving, first, human.”

I slammed thee acceleration lever to its farthest position, and we shot off like a bat out of hell. My grip on the handles was the only thing that kept me from flying backwards out of the cockpit. The shrieking and thuds behind me said that my classmates hadn’t been as lucky.

While the ship was doing its best impression of a bucking bronko--a pretty good one, too-- I risked a look back at Professor Accia. My eyes widened as I realised with a terrible knot in my throat that she wasn't there. I could hear her, though, bellowing from beneath a pile of students.

I turned back and tried to straighten out the ship, pulling on the handlebars like they were still locked. They weren’t. I overcorrected, sending the craft swirling through the air and narrowly avoiding one of the only buildings for miles.

The craft kept turning over and over again. I felt my sweating fingers losing ground on the bars. My head was spinning along with the ship, and I was going to be sick.

“Drusus, take the controls!” Accia shouted, unable to detangle herself.

Calloused hands pushed me out of the way, pushing buttons in the quick fire series and holding the handlebars steady. Drusus looked calm and assured, like he was acting through a scenario he’d mastered a thousand repetitions ago. Maybe he was.

The ship leveled out, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. I leaned against the nearest wall, not sure my legs would hold me up for much longer. My mind was running a thousand miles an hour though the craft no longer was.

Professor Accia stormed up the hallway into the cockpit. “That was the worst five seconds of flying I’ve ever witnesses, Greenie.”

It had been.

She continued, “I should march up to Earhart’s office and have her kick you off this ship.”

I’d failed. The thought was shocking one. I’d never expected to fail at anything, let alone flying. I was supposed to be a pilot, and I could even keep a ship from tail spinning for a few seconds.

“But why bother? If you’re as good at academics as you are flying, you’ll be gone within the week.” She turned to the class and motioned to Drusus. “Take note, class. This is the example of what you must become to pass my class: a competent pilot.”

I looked over at Drusus with the rest of them, and he was staring right back at me. His nose was turned up, and he had the tiniest curves to his mouth that grew when he noticed me looking.

In that moment, I started to hate him.

Drusus

 

September 3:

She hated me then. I could tell. But it only made me grin wider. Fitting, that we should both feel the same thing: loathing.

Eidel landed the ship with an easy grace, and the class piled out, dismissed. I watched the human storm away, thinking back to her failure on the ship. Though it pained me to admit it, I hadn’t been that much better my first time. The difference, however, was that I hadn’t attempted to fly a whole craft manually and by myself.

Still, this would make her quit, I was sure of it. I knew willpower, and the human possessed none. She would quit or be kicked out, and then I wouldn’t have to share my room with vermin. Except for the Animarian, of course. But he wasn’t made of stern stuff either. I gave him an expiration date just slightly longer than the human’s.

We all followed the girl back to our apartment and even the Animarian was quiet. It was blissful and a preview of what was to come. Once inside Mae and I went straight for our bunks, opening the books we had left strewn there. The homework load was intense already, so there was no time to gloat over my victory.

I glanced at the human and the Animarian. Kavi appeared to be trying to help the girl study and finish her work. The human wasn’t interested, and she continued staring at a spot on the floor. Then, running her finger over it. Staring again.

How pointless.

“What’s this?” Mae asked, pulling me away from my observations.

I turned back towards her and almost choked when I saw her holding a small, rectangular box with old, rusty latches on the sides. It was once green, but had been handled so much that the material looked more like a mossy grey now.

I snatched it from her hands, cradling it against my chest without even meaning to. “It’s mine.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Obviously.”

She was going to ask again. I could see it in her eyes, the rare flash of curiosity. I couldn’t avoid the question twice. It would just interest her further.

I stood. “I’m going to take a walk.” 

I tucked it into my breast pocket, where it was safe. I could feel it there, a steady presence against my heart. I never felt quite comfortable with it anywhere else. Lying around, anyone could pick it up, could open it and see what was inside. That would be a disaster.

I sped away from the apartment, seeking out a secluded place in the shadow of two outlying buildings. I’d seen it while searching for the arena, and it struck me as the perfect spot to... practice, to be myself where no one could see me.

Which was the only place I could be myself.

Pulling out the box, I turned it over, running my fingers over the surface like I’d done a million times before. I clicked open the lid, revealing a Piccolo. It was a small, flute like instrument, barely bigger than my hand. The thing was ancient, the silver worn mostly away from the brass, only appearing in a few isolated spots.

It’d been in my possession since I was a child, having found it left behind in one of the visiting diplomat’s rooms’. It didn’t know much about it other than its name, which had been in the case, and how to play, a skill I’d honed over the years through use of holos. I also knew it had once been a popular instrument galaxy wide, before the war, and now was mostly forgotten.

Forgotten by everyone but me.

I place the tiny mouthpiece against my lips, blowing a tuning note into the straw sized wonder. It blew out a middle range sound, bright and clear. I listened to it echo and ring out into the night, but felt no fear. No one was around to hear.

I realised I didn’t have my sheet music and shrugged it off. I wasn’t often able to acquire more, so most of what I had I could play by memory. I selected one of my favorite pieces from my mental vault, a song with opposing forces in it.

It started off soft with long notes all connected. The melody was present here, in a delicate, unobtrusive way. Vibrato made each notes special, shaping and growing it before moving on to give the next one its chance. It was like each note was its one piece, with its own theme, dynamics, and tension.

The second half brandished a new, faster speed. The notes were bouncy, spaced apart as if on their own island. I tapped my foot along with the beat. The music lifted my spirits, making me feel as light as the notes.

The buzzing of my holo snapped that lightness in half. It wasn’t my school issued one, so I knew who was calling. Simple elimination: Mother would have no need, there was