Burden of Sisyphus (10 page)

           
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.

           
“On your feet!” he shouted, his deep voice rumbling throughout the vaulted room.
 
“You always stand whenever the dean or an instructor enters or leaves the room.
 
Am I understood?”

           
“Sir, yes, Sir!” the students replied.

           
“Then you’re dismissed,” he said, as the dean disappeared behind the curtains lining the stage.
 
“Find your assigned rooms and get settled. Classes and physical training begin first thing tomorrow morning.”

           
The students funneled out through the auditorium’s large rear doors.
 
Once outside, second-year-students were there to welcome the new cadets and give them their room assignments.
 
Iana and Keryn traced their fingers down the list in front of a second-year Lithid, who assisted them.
 
Their names were written side-by-side.

           
With a broad smile, Iana turned to Keryn.
 
“Let’s go find our room, Roomie!”

CHAPTER SIX

           
The long journey to Fatutu IV was punctuated by a few fights among members of the
Goliath’s
crew and Vance’s covert operations team.
 
The team’s mood was sour, and even their tolerance of each other was low.
 
Most of Vance’s time was spent apologizing to the captain and different officers throughout the ship instead of getting any relaxation time.
 
When the captain finally announced they were arriving, Vance was relieved.

           
He accompanied his team to the hangar, eager to be on one of the first transports leaving the ship.
 
Their uniforms were traded in for loose shirts and knee-length shorts.
 
Even their disgruntled moods were replaced by smiles and friendly jests.

           
Loud laughter preceded the team’s entrance to the hangar.
 
Ainj threw his arm comfortably around Nova’s shoulders.
 
Yen and Eza joked like lost brothers, followed by the ever-stoic Ixibas and the stooped Tusque, bending low to pass under the doorframe.
 
Vance came behind them but didn’t approach the transport.

           
“We wish you’d come with us,” Yen called.

           
“Is there any way we can convince you to join us?” Eza asked.

           
Vance shook his head.
 
“No.
 
I have promises to keep.
 
You have fun.
 
Above all, keep out of trouble.”

           
“I don’t understand why he worries about us.”
 
Ainj’s voice sang in typical Avalon style.
 
“It’s almost as if he doesn’t trust us.”

           
“Or he actually knows us,” Tusque added, his deep voice carrying easily through the open hangar.

           
“If you aren’t coming with us,” Nova said, slipping free of Ainj’s arm, “at least try your best to enjoy yourself.”

           
“Don’t worry about that,” Vance replied, as Ainj caught Nova’s hand, pulling her toward the transport.

           
“Say hello to Halo for us!” she yelled, as she was dragged away.

           
Vance waved, as the ship’s door sealed.
 
Warning lights spun above all the doorways, telling him it was time to clear the hangar.
 
As he left the vaulted bay, the doors slid shut behind him, so decompression of the chamber could begin.
 
Vance didn’t wait for confirmation his team was away before he walked toward the depths of the ship.

           
With the
Goliath
in the process of establishing a steady orbit around Fatutu IV, Vance knew Halo would be busy with a multitude of minute adjustments in speed and altitude.
 
Instead of bothering her, he paced the length of the long, cylindrical warship.

           
Taking the captain’s advice, he wandered to the front most observation deck.
 
To the captain’s credit, the view was spectacular.
 
The deep purple of indigenous plant life mixed beautifully into the soft pinks and reds of the lapping oceans.
 
Even the polar icecaps had a faint pastel hue, absorbing color from the water and the soft ultraviolet light filtering through the atmosphere.

           
Ever the soldier, his eyes quickly moved to a closer view—
Goliath.
 
Missile ports and rail-gun launch tubes jutted from the long, glossy black hull.
 
The
Goliath,
converted from a regular cruiser to a warship when the Alliance reallocated the ship for use by covert operations, contained a myriad of weaponry far superior to any other ship in the Fleet.
 

           
From his vantage point, the vessel of destruction clashed violently with the serene beauty of the planet below.
 
In his own mind, Vance was very much the flesh-and-blood version of the
Goliath,
constantly clashing with the beauty of the world around him.
 
Over his past seven years in command of the team, he went to many beautiful planets like the one below—always with malicious intent, including assassination, destruction of Terran outposts, and kidnapping.
 
His team spilt red blood across the sparkling white sands of dozens of worlds.

           
As he watched, another transport launched from the
Goliath,
heading toward the planet’s surface.
 
He smiled at his most-recent iteration of soldiers.
 
Eza Riddell, the Wyndgaart warrior, was the eldest team member, having served with Vance for two years.
 
All the others were recent additions within the past six months.
 
Already, they coalesced into a dangerous, proficient team, but they were still young and vivacious.
 

           
Vance, however, began feeling his age.
 
Though still in his thirties, seven years of command took their toll on his body and spirit.

           
A series of faces slashed through his mind, images of former soldiers who served under him.
 
His heart ached, as he realized that nearly half of them were killed in the line of duty.
 
Vance was a fluke of the system, lasting long past the three-year life expectancy for covert operations soldiers.
 
Though he knew his current unit was one of the best ever, he still missed the days of having more-mature soldiers under his command.

           
With a pang, he realized he missed mature soldiers like Aleiz.

           
Looking down at his watch, he realized nearly two hours had passed since his team departed for the planet’s surface.
 
Calculations and coordination with planet-side supply crews should have been completed, which meant Halo’s attention could be undividedly his.
 
Though, he conceded, splitting her attention until she was overloaded with tasks was nearly impossible.

           
Stepping off the lift at one of the central floors, he walked to the heart of the ship, following a single silver line of paint on the wall.
 
He walked those corridors so many times, he no longer needed a guide, but still he ran his fingers over the silver trail while he walked.
 
Turning onto a side hall, the line ended at a doorway with the words,
High Altitude Logistical Operations (HALO).

           
As he reached to knock, the door slid open.
 
Standing awkwardly in the hall with his hand still raised, he shook his head.
 
Halo always knew what he was thinking before he could verbalize it.
 
Stepping into the room’s cold darkness, he let his eyes adjust, while his breath formed clouds of condensation.
       

           
“Hello, Michael,” a soft, feminine voice said, her words amplified by the speakers lining the walls.
 
“I wondered what was taking you so long on the observation deck.”

           
“Does the fact that you were watching me mean you care?” he asked the darkness.

           
Halo replied with a soft laugh, the tone slightly lost by the mechanical undertones from the speakers.
 
“Come and sit with me.”

           
The lights in the room glowed softly, adding gentle mood lighting to the still-shadowed room.
 
In the dimness, he walked to the single chair that dominated the otherwise-empty room.

           
Halo reclined in the chair, her body conforming to the seat’s thick cushions.
 
Her barely discernable female form was naked, though all sense of modesty was lost among the thick, black cables snaking from her body.
 
From her eye sockets, permanently open mouth, breasts, arms, and snaking from her genitals, ribbed black tubes carried her consciousness to the giant computer console before her prostrate form.
 
Though unseen, within those tubes was a multitude of wires that created a direct connection between Halo’s brain and
Goliath’s
higher mechanical functions.
 
Those wires kept her bodily functions performing normally, including removal of waste.
 
For the lithe female in the chair, it was months since she volunteered for the Halo program and was fully integrated with the system.
 
Though she was aware the ship could function without her, she had become
Goliath.