“I didn’t want to risk it,” he muttered, glancing down.
“And what did you find?” I asked, losing my temper. “What are the results of all my effort?”
He glanced nervously at the commander, who nodded as if giving permission. “We predicted that a lone female would create some attention and interest, so that wasn’t surprising. But I grew worried when Dr. Pruitt indicated that you were physically harmed on a number of occasions. At the time I considered terminating the project, but your mates became tolerant after that, protective even. And after watching your interaction after the war games, I must say, I find the soldiers’ attitude concerning you overall quite promising.”
“But my performance never mattered, did it?”
“On the contrary!” he hastened to assure, flipping open his files. “I interviewed your instructors on a number of occasions, and each time Instructor McMoore sung your praises. He swears that you became fluent in Shetheerie within months of your arrival, and even proficient in grindt, which you studied in your spare time.” He looked at me expectantly.
I was so angry then, but hurt too, and I had no idea why. Thoughtlessly I lashed out, “Would you like me to perform for you?” sarcasm dripping from each word. Swan and Stew would have been proud.
He shuffled to another folder. “Instructor Bardzecki said your aim was much improved,” he added, hoping to appease me.
“High praise from Bardzecki,” Commander Clarke noted.
Mr. Hagan waited for my reaction, hoping to see me happy. His sallow features were easy to read. When I only stared at him stonily, he continued. “The rest of the convene won’t hear the news until later, but I see no point in keeping it from you. We’ve combined the trial exam scores with the outcome of yesterday’s game. Your format’s performance has by far exceeded the others’. Your mates will be sought out, and I’m sure they’ll all end up in privileged careers.”
“And me?” I asked. “Where do I go from here?”
Commander Clarke sat forward. “A ship is ready to take you home. I’ll escort you northward to the airfield when this interview is finished.”
“Just like that?” I asked, growing angrier by the minute. I hadn’t wanted to come in the first place, and now that I was being forced to go, I recognized with clarity that I wanted to stay.
“Yes,” the commander confirmed. “Winslow will be informed of your absence and he’ll reveal to your format that you were sent home a few days early. Your things will be sent along later.”
“There’s nothing I can say to convince you to let me stay, is there?” I asked in a voice devoid of emotion.
“No, there’s nothing you can say.” He let out a breath, leaning back in Bardzecki’s chair. “Shortly after I brought you here your family was notified of your true situation. They were told you would only be gone for six months. It was necessary for you to accept that your circumstances were set, but the same wasn’t true for your family. They know you’re coming home today. They’re waiting for you.
“The farm hand your father acquired from your absence will be given the chance to remain if that is your father’s wish. Your family will receive another share of land if that is the case. It’s a gift from the military, meant to show appreciation for the sacrifice you and your family have made.”
I ignored him, refusing to give up. “Academically I’m gifted, I could be useful—”
“No!” Hagan cut in. Shocked, he looked to the commander for help. “It never occurred to me that you might want to stay! Well, I’m sorry but that’s quite out of the question.”
I stared at him blankly.
“Integrating females into the military will take years. This was just the first step, a trial of sorts, to see what response your presence would elicit. And while promising, it was also very disruptive.”
“Disruptive?” I had done my best to blend.
“The soldiers talk—constantly. Every instructor I interviewed could attest to that, how they heard you mentioned before class, after class, during PT and practice. The laundry ladies, the cooks, they all gossip about you. In addition,” he continued, clearly exasperated, “you receive special treatment, even when you don’t ask for it. The laundry women plied you with additional day to day materials. Winslow ordered a shadow rotation on your behalf when he felt you were threatened. During the war games, your opponents were often seen fleeing to avoid you. In one case, the soldier chose to fight a larger, more skilled opponent rather than challenge you.” He closed the folder with a flick, having made his point.
“I would like to apologize,” he continued, giving me a level stare. “We hadn’t realized the severity of your situation until only yesterday. We’d believed the shadow rotation was an overreaction on Winslow’s part. But after my reading, I see that he was only taking the proper precautions. And rest assured, First Gridleigh will be held accountable for his actions these past six months.”
I sat up straight, frowning. “How did you find out about any of that?”
Hagan flushed deeply and looked down at his file. “You should have reported him to Instructor Bardzecki,” he said, desperate not to answer. “You should have said something.”
“After being forced from my home and into the military without explanation, I was feeling somewhat distrustful of its authority, as you can imagine,” I said harshly. Repeating, “How did you find out about Gridleigh?”
“I’m truly sorry for the sacrifices you’ve made for this project. But now you get to go home, be with your family, knowing you served a greater purpose. This information is valuable, and it’s only a small step towards better things to come. Your great-granddaughters may be able to join the military, serve their year and go on to be officers,” Mr. Hagan said, sincerely passionate. I didn’t care.
“How did you find out about Gridleigh?” I had a sneaking suspicion that I already knew.
Commander Clarke was brave enough to answer. “Your journal,” he said. “It was taken from your quarters while you were away at the war games.”
I felt my blood boil, my jaw clench, my muscles tense, and I desperately wanted to break something. It was humiliating to have been pulled like a puppet, living so long for the convenience of someone else. I felt guilty for getting gifts on my family’s behalf when forgetting them had been so easy. I felt madly irrational. I didn’t like these men, didn’t like the military, and yet I wanted to stay—desperately, and for that I was irritated with myself. But the journal made me crazy; taking it had been a violation of my mind. I was irate, and there was nothing I could do about it. My one consolation was knowing that I’d gone back and scribbled out anything that might be deemed suggestive concerning my relationship with Winslow, inking over those subtle entries after Gridleigh had leafed through. Our secret was safe.
Stealing myself to speak calmly, I stood, my calves pushing the chair back with a scratch. “I’m ready to go if that’s all?” But I didn’t wait for an answer. I walked out, dismissing them. Hating them. I was yet again reminded that I had no control over my future. I might be stronger, faster, but I was still helpless.
Chapter 36
I walked a pace behind Commander Clarke, knowing it would forfend conversation. I didn’t dare speak. A lump had formed in my throat and my eyes burned, brimming full with hot tears. I stared at the ground, struggling not to shed a single one as I marched after.
Regret sat heavily with me, my dumpy companion. I didn’t want to leave like this, without the goodbyes. My mates would never know why I was here and why I’d left. I would have begged the commander for this favor, but I knew it was no use. After hearing Hagan harp on about how much of a disruption I was, I knew this was premeditated on their part. They didn’t want a dramatic departure with angry soldiers, so they were sending me off quietly, while the camp still slept. I hadn’t even been given the chance to collect my mirror, but I knew Winslow would take care of it. He knew what it meant to me.
/>
I suspected Commander Clarke knew why I had withdrawn into myself. How I was upset by the things I couldn’t control. He wouldn’t delude himself as Mr. Hagan had, thinking I would be grateful to go home. He’d read the reports, and as a military man, he would understand my experience better. I’d made friends, accomplished things, grown. And now I was heading back to the farming sector where my biggest accomplishment would be to marry.
A blasting siren broke through my thoughts, ringing from a distance. Men in sapphire uniform scurried around the Scarlets, the ships’ crews making ready. Something was happening, and it didn’t take long to find out what. A soldier came barreling over, meeting us at the edge of the airfield. He skidded to a halt, kicking up dust and huffing from exertion. Breathlessly, he said, “Shether just made contact. The ship hasn’t arrived yet.”
“Over an hour behind schedule,” Commander Clarke grimaced. “The fleet is still primed from hauling soldiers, we’ll send out two sweepers from here.”
“Already prepared, just waiting for the go-ahead.”
The commander turned, taking my arm in his hand. “I have a situation to attend.” He pointed. “Over there’s the ship that will take you home. The crew is expecting you. Go.”
I plodded slowly down the line of evenly spaced ships, Commander Clarke’s voice growing faint behind me. And when I could no longer hear him barking orders, I turned, finding him gone.
The airfield had emptied, the stillness broken only by the tapping of booted feet. To my left I could see an old soldier’s uneven gait as he jogged down the center of the red paved strip, framed on both sides by well kept grass. He was moving towards my destination, the ships furthest down the row. I watched as he raced up the cargo ramp of one, into the under-gut. The Scarlet was breathing deeply, letting out hissing sounds all over, preparing for takeoff. In contrast, the surrounding ships sat deserted, a few ramps let down but with no activity, appearing to be asleep.
Following after the lone soldier, I stood at the foot of the ramp. My feet rebelled, unwilling to step forward. A moment of wild possibilities flitted through my brain, but then they were gone. Most had involved running back to camp and telling my mates what had happened. The commander was nowhere in sight. I could do it. But no, my family was waiting, waiting for me.
I stepped forward with resignation. I hadn’t taken more than a few paces when the metallic grinding prefaced the rise of the ramp. It took me by surprise and I tottered to the side before going down on one knee, my splayed hands braced beside me. And when it was raised in place, I was no longer on a ramp, but kneeling in the cargo hold.
The large space was empty, a gaping dark hole lit dimly by little lights that lined the floor and ceiling. The familiar black netting I’d seen before still hung, suspended from above. It swayed, grazing the bulkhead.
I searched through the shadows for the ladder, knowing it would be attached to the wall opposite of where I’d entered. I easily spotted the patch of light overhead, watching as a pair of legs went through, disappearing up into the space above. I stepped forward, preparing to climb after. Suddenly the hatch clattered shut and the room grew even darker.
Miserably, I called, “Hello?” I didn’t think anyone would hear me with the ship humming so loud. I began to climb. Halfway up the ship started to vibrate, then shake. The noise had gone from a muting hum to a shrieking whine. I had never heard a ship so loud, nor felt it shake so. The implication was not good.
Had I boarded the wrong ship? No, of course not. The commander had pointed to this ship. The only ship ready for takeoff. The only aircraft that had showed signs of life. It had to be this ship. But I wasn’t entirely able to convince myself. I reluctantly admitted that I didn’t know exactly what ship the commander had pointed at, only a general direction. And other ships had been waiting with their ramps down.
It was becoming more obvious by the second that I had boarded the wrong spacecraft, denying it was useless. I began to panic in earnest. I had to tell them I was here, had to stop them from taking off, because I knew with a certainty that this ship was not staying grounded. It was going to space.
Wrapping my left arm around the rung I held myself in place, using my free arm to beat against the hatch. There was a lever on the underside and I tried it, but it wouldn’t budge. I was locked in the cargo hold and no one could hear me, the ship was only getting louder.
A series of ticks went off making me all the more frantic. But it wasn’t until the ship began to tilt upward that I gave up calling for help and rushed to climb down the ladder. I didn’t make it. The ship had turned upright and I was no longer climbing vertically, but hanging under the now horizontal ladder. My hands turned white and I tried to lock my arms through the bars. My feet were slipping and I hooked them around the rungs desperately.
The ship was only going faster, speeding up every second. I knew I should be belted in, no—harnessed in, like the rest of the crew. The velocity was working against me, pushing me harshly. There was no seatback to save me, only a gaping hole that was the cargo hold. Faster, and faster still, it felt as if the driving pressure was increasing against me.
With a whoosh the ship seemed to leap forward, my feet slipped from between the rungs. I clung to the bar, my forearms locked behind the ladder, my feet suspended and dangling. I’d never been so afraid in my entire life. My mind screamed to hold on. Falling would be equivalent to death.
A scream tore from me as I was flung backward. There had been no warning, no slow slipping. The speed had finally won, ripping me away in an instant. My body slammed into something, my neck snapping brutally with the shock. My arms and legs became tangled. A foot lost resistance, slipping through. It was the netting; it had caught me up like I was a butterfly. Grateful, I grasped at the meshing, forcing my free foot through the opening and pushing my arms to follow.
I relaxed into the netting, feeling overall secure, but somewhat uncomfortable. I no longer felt like a butterfly; this was akin to a bug stuck in a spider’s web. But I should be grateful. I should focus on positive thoughts.
Positive thoughts: I am not dead.
I had unwittingly embarked upon an out of atmosphere flight, the most likely destination being a toss up between Earth and Shether. I tried to think back to the commander’s conversation. What had they been talking of? I’d been so angry and oblivious, even the siren hadn’t gotten my full attention. Shether had been mentioned, I was somewhat sure... Yes, it was true, things had taken a turn for the unexpected, but everything considered, it could be worse.
* * *
The screeching crunch of metal jerked me awake. The ship shuttered beneath my cheek. I was resting, tangled in the nets, but they were now sagging to the floor. The ship had righted itself at some point, which meant we had reached space. But when? How long had I been asleep?
The aircraft jerked. I slid a foot or so across the floor, tumbling around, stuck in the mesh. The metallic groaning grew louder and I worried this was not normal. But I didn’t know what normal was. I’d never traveled through space. After all, takeoff hadn’t seemed normal either.
The walls wailed in protest around me as if they were being crushed and the ship began to shutter more violently. This did not feel like the smooth hum or vibration of a healthy ship. It felt like the sputtering failure of a dying one.
The floor tilted and I slid a few feet more, clinging to my black safety net. The dim white lights flickered once, twice, and then went out. A blast of air came rushing in from unseen vents. It was incredibly cold.
Alarms shrieked unexpectedly. I cringed and tried to move away from the speaker. Flashing red lights came on where the soft white ones had been minutes before. I had my answer—something had gone wrong. This was not normal.
As if to emphasize my thoughts, a grinding sound drowned out the alarm. I worried the walls were caving in aroun
d me. A series of explosions sounded from above, the ship lurching in time.
My stomach plummeted at the facts. This was not a normal flight, and these noises did not come from a mechanical malfunction. The ship was under attack. And I had no doubt who was responsible. What was responsible.
The spacecraft seemed to be wheezing its last breath beneath me, convulsing unevenly. I thought it was all coming to an end, but then crackling broke out. Roaring followed from above, and the smoke left little doubt—fire.
The floor went out from under me, but the netting held on, keeping me suspended until the ship pulled up. It did so with sudden force. I was plastered flat, head cracking down.
Black fuzz ringed itself around my vision. I knew the pain was there, could even feel it, but for some reason I didn’t mind. The alarm that had seemed so loud was disappearing, moving away. Just like the rest of the world. Before I passed out, my last thought was: No one has ever survived a hostile attack.
* * *
Read the second installment of the Fiona Frost Trilogy—Captive—available now!
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