Chapter Seven
September 20, 2506
Cronin Academic Building
Grammar and Composition Class
10:20 GST-Z
The assignment seemed simple enough. Write a poem about someone you know in Astro Corps or someone who influenced you to go into the Corps. When it was just an assignment, Kat had been good with it. However, today, she was informed that students were going to go to the podium and present their poems and take a question or two if students wanted to ask.
“You will read your work aloud,” Commander Denari, her Remunion instructor, had said. “Public speaking is a skill expected of every officer. If you cannot speak with conviction about the people who forged you, you will inspire no one to follow you.”
Commander Denari moved with grace. Her high cheekbones and soft, light skin showing just a hint of blue. She looked the graceful form of an elf from fantasy stories of bygone ages. Even in her blue tunic, she looked graceful and elegant.
“Cadet Evan Linares,” Commander Denari called from her desk at the back of the room.
“Aye, ma’am.” Linares strode to the podium, his data pad in hand. His smile was wide and his eyes showed a cat that caught the canary look.
“Gunny Jenkins, a man who we all know inspired my poem, needs no introduction Linares lifted his eyebrows up and down. Laughter broke out. Then Linares stood up straight at almost attention.
“There once was a Gunny named J,
Whose stare made cadets run away.
With a growl and a glare,
He’d bark, ‘Drop and dare!’
But his wisdom? Not half bad, they say.
He made us play capture the flag.
My team had the game in the bag,
But I didn’t account for Littlefield’s scout
So Gunny yelled cuz my team got blown away.”
Linares took an enormous bow as applause and laughter broke out among the cadets. Laughter rippled through the room.
“Bold move,” Mason muttered.
Before the clapping finished, Fran raised her hand—not that she waited to be called on.
“Question, Linares.”
He sighed. “This ought to be good.”
“Did you write that before or after he made you do fifty burpees for winking at the drone camera?”
More laughter. Even Captain Markman, seated near the back, cracked a smile.
Linares bowed low. “Art imitates life.”
“Yeah, and sometimes it gets you smoked,” Fran shot back.
He held up a finger. “Worth it.”
“Thank you, Cadet Linares,” Commander Denari’s musical voice said before calling out the next student. “Cadet Bates.”
Bates’ gait was like a man walking to his own execution. He had a slow, measured pace as he kept a white knuckled grip on his datapad. His blond hair was tousled about his face because he had been playing with it nervously a moment ago. It’s okay, Bates, take your time. Kat thought, hoping to run out the clock before her turn.
“My poem is about my sister. She serves aboard the ASC Galaxy.”
An excited rush of whispers filled the air. Harrigan’s ship? Is his sister famous? She serves with Harrigan? No way, he has to be making that up.
“Class, please let Cadet Bates share his poem.” Denari tapped the small golden bell on her desk. It was a Remunion made bell, and it resonated beautiful tones, but the class quieted down.
“I followed your prints in the dirt,
Even when the wind tried to hide them.
Even when the fire came,
And the dust didn’t settle.
You didn’t ask me to.
You just walked forward.
So I walked too.
Now I wear the same boots.
They fit differently.
But I still follow.” Bates put his datapad down, and a wave of relief rushed over his face. The blush in his cheeks faded a bit as he relaxed.
“Question, Cadet Bates,” Mason’s hand shot up.
“Cadet Mason,” Bates nodded in his direction.
“What does your sister do on Galaxy?”
“She is an Ensign in Operations and Astrogation. She did pursue the command track,” Bates said.
“Cadet Bates?” A red-haired girl named Sandra Patterson raised her hand. She blinked her green eyes and locked them hard on Bates. It was obvious to Kat that she liked Bates. She has it bad, Kat thought, smiling.
“Are you interested in command?”
“Yes, but I am also pursuing the Operations track as well.” Bates said.
“Thank you, Cadet Bates,” Commander Denari said.
“Cadet Corsaci,” the Commander called.
Fran burst out of her seat and bounded up toward the podium. She had an extra spring in her step. Fran must have been proud of her poem. God, please don’t let it be about Linares. I am sick of hearing about Linares. Kat thought. Ever since the PT capture the flag game, Kat had been a little distant with Fran. Fran had not helped that distance by constantly going to dinner with Linares at mess time and hanging around him like a lost little puppy.
Are you really upset with Fran, or just mad she has Linares’ eye, and you don’t? Kat asked herself. Now was not the time. She listened as Fran was about to read her poem.
“This one is titled: To the One Who Picked Her.” Fran said and mockingly clearing her throat and adjusting her nonexistent tie. A few laughs broke out among the front row.
This one’s for the golden girl — The one you called your star.
While I stood just outside the frame,
Right where the shadows are.
You joked with me. You smiled, sure.
You said my laugh was cute.
But when it came to picking teams,
You went and took the suit.
I get it. She’s impressive.
She hits the marks, the goals.
I just patch the armor,
And cover up the holes.
So here's my ode to second picks,
To extras, and to friends — We cheer you on from offstage
While the real show never ends.
Fran finished her reading and locked eyes with Kat. Quickly Kat looked away, gripping her datapad harder. Whether it was from nerves or anger was hard to tell. No one had questions for Fran, and she was surprised.
“Really, no questions? You all had your chance,” Fran said and trotted back to her desk, victorious over the evil poem recitation.
Kat looked straight ahead, refusing to look at Fran. She knew her spiteful little poem was about her. If she can’t take being in my shadow, she could try casting her own. Instead, she’ll glom onto Linares like she does me. Kat realized she was jealous of Fran and Linares hitting it off. How petty and so immature, Kat! You were raised better than that; she heard her mother’s voice in her thoughts.
“Our last student for today. Cadet Kathleen Walters,” Commander Denari said. Kat’s palms began sweating and her heart skipped a few beats. Of course she noticed you glaring at Fran, so of course you’re getting picked. Kat thought as she strolled to the podium.
She looked out over the class. There were fifty in this class. She could see Linares and Fran flirting. Bates trying to stay awake, Patterson staring at Bates. Littlefield sat in the front row with his poker face, apparently judging them all. Laying the datapad down on the podium, she cleared her throat.
“This one is called Ode to the Oath.” Kat let out a long, cleansing breath. Steadied her nerves and read her poem.
We take it, and we never ask why.
It is ours so we can see the stars beyond the sky.
Sometimes desires yearn, and worlds do burn,
And we are asked to fight and die.
Yet in this, we do not tell.
We fear nothing—yet if we fell,
Our hope is that our story you will tell.
For if we are asked to die,
I will not tell you a lie.
For the oath I tell — Say of me not only that I died,
But that I died well.
For that is the oath,
that I will abide by.
Whether I live or whether I die.
Kat backed away from the podium. Mason’s hand shot up. She nodded to him and called his name. “Cadet Mason.”
“Did you lose someone in the Battle for Earth?” he asked, his expression innocent. Truly, he did not know. Fran shot him a glare. Kat noticed it was the first time in a while Fran had noticed anything about her.
“Yes, my father.” She said her voice strong, not wavering. Another hand shot up. A Dekorat named Fex Kator.
“Cadet Kator,” she said, reading his name badge on his cadet’s uniform.
“What ship, my cousin was killed aboard the Memphis,” Kator growled in the Dekorat way.
“ASC Orion, Constellation Class Mid Heavy Crusier.” Kat replied, her voice still firm. Another hand shot up. It was Cadet Guggenheim.
“Cadet Guggenheim,” she nodded in his direction.
“Do you know how the Orion survived the battle?” Kat was ready to answer when Commander Denari stepped up and started speaking as she glided toward the podium; even walking, she exuded grace and elegance.
“It is not important how he died. What we need to remember is that just because a ship survives, not all the souls onboard do. Chief Walters was a hero; he saved 17 of his crew and still rerouted the power for the shields. He has laid his burdens down.”
“And we will carry them forward.” The class said in unison, Kat too. She was surprised. Kat was proud, not wounded, and wanted to talk more about her Dad. For the first time in months, when she thought of him, she did not want to cry.
The bell rang, and Commander Denari dismissed the class. “Miss Walters, a moment. I will write a pass for the next class.” Commander Denari said as she handed a data pad to Kat.
“Yes, Commander?” Kat asked, confusion all over her face. Did I do something wrong? She thought.
“Know when to cut them off. As a command track student, know this. Captains can get personal with their crews, but do it selectively. Don’t let them see you bleed until you have too. A crew needs to know if the captain is the rock on which they build. Share just enough to get them on your side, but never enough to inspire their pity. A pitied captain becomes a pitiful captain. Do you understand?’
“Yes, Commander, I do.”
“Good,” Commander Denari smiled.
“Ma’am?”
“Yes, Cadet?”
“I’m not bleeding over him anymore. Thank you. This assignment really helped me.”
“I’m glad, Cadet. Now get to that next class before my pass time runs out.” Denari warned.
“Yes, ma’am.” Kat saluted and dashed off to get to the next class.