“This bunch though . . .,” Cobb added, “I’ll be surprised if any of you make it.” He limped away from us, setting his coffee on a small desk at the front of the room, then riffling through the papers on his clipboard. “Which of you is Jorgen Weight?”
“Me, sir!” Jerkface said, standing up straighter.
“Great. You’re flightleader.”
I gasped.
Cobb eyed me, but said nothing. “Jorgen, you’ll need two assistant flightleaders. I’ll want the names by the end of the day.”
“I can give you those now, sir,” he said, pointing to his two cronies—a shorter boy and a taller one. “Arturo and Nedd.”
Cobb marked something on his clipboard. “Great. Everyone, pick a seat. We’re going to—”
“Wait,” I said. “That’s it? That’s how you choose our flightleader? You’re not even going to see how we do first?”
“Pick a seat, cadets,” Cobb repeated, ignoring me.
“But—” I said.
“Except Cadet Spensa,” he said, “who will instead meet me in the hallway.”
I bit my tongue and stomped out into the hallway. I probably should have contained my frustration, but . . . really? He immediately picked Jerkface? Just like that?
Cobb followed me, then calmly shut the door. I prepared an outburst, but he spun on me and hissed, “Are you trying to ruin this, Spensa?”
I choked off my retort, shocked by his sudden anger.
“Do you know how far I had to stick my neck out to get you into this class?” he continued. “I argued that you sat in the room for hours, that you finished a damn near perfect test. It still took every bit of clout and reputation I’ve earned over the years to pull this off. Now, the first chance you get, you’re throwing a tantrum?”
“I . . . But you didn’t see what that guy was doing before class! He was strutting around, claiming he’d be flightleader.”
“Turns out he had good reason!”
“But—”
“But what?” Cobb demanded.
I stifled the words I was going to say, and instead remained silent.
He took a deep breath. “Good. You can control yourself at least a little.” He rubbed his brows with his thumb and forefinger. “You’re just like your father. I spent half the time wanting to strangle the man. Unfortunately, you’re not him—you have to live with what he did. You have to control yourself, Spensa. If it looks like I’m favoring you, someone will call improper bias, and you’ll be pulled from my class faster than you can spit.”
“So you can’t favor me?” I asked. “But everyone can favor the son of an aristocrat who didn’t even have to finish his test?”
Cobb sighed.
“Sorry,” I said.
“No, I walked into that one,” he said. “Do you know who that boy is?”
“Son of a First Citizen?”
“Son of the Jeshua Weight, a hero of the Battle of Alta. She flew seven years in the DDF, and has over a hundred confirmed kills. Her husband is Algernon Weight, National Assembly Leader and high foreman of our largest intercavern shipping company. They’re among the most heavily merited people in the lower caverns.”
“So their son and his cronies get to be our leaders, just because of what their parents did?”
“Jorgen’s family owns three private fighters, and he has been training on them since he was fourteen. He has nearly a thousand hours in the cockpit. How many do you have?”
I blushed.
“His ‘cronies,’ ” Cobb said, “are Nedd Strong—who has two brothers in the DDF right now—and Arturo Mendez, son of a cargo pilot who had sixteen years in the DDF. Arturo has been acting as copilot with his father, and is certified with two hundred hours’ flight time. Again, how many hours do you have?”
“I . . .” I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for questioning you, sir. Is this the part where I do push-ups, or clean a bathroom with a toothbrush or something?”
“I already said this isn’t infantry training. The punishment here isn’t some menial stupidity.” Cobb pulled open the door to the room. “Push me too far, and the punishment will be simple: you won’t get to fly.”
9
You won’t get to fly.
Never had I heard words more soul-crushing. When the two of us reentered the training room, Cobb pointed at a seat by the wall. Not a cockpit, just an empty chair.
I slunk over and settled down, feeling thoroughly routed.
“These contraptions,” Cobb said, rapping his knuckles on one of the boxes in front of the mockpits, “are holographic projectors. Old technology from the days when we were a fleet. When these machines are on, you’ll think you’re in a cockpit; they will let us train you to fly without risking a real fighter. The simulation isn’t perfect, however. It has some haptic feedback, but it can’t replicate g-forces. You’ll need to train in the centrifuge to accustom yourself to that.
“DDF tradition is that you get to pick your own callsign. I suggest you start considering, as you’ll carry the name for the rest of your life. It will be how the most important people—your flightmates—come to know you.”
Jerkface’s hand went up.
“Don’t tell me now. cadet,” Cobb said. “Anytime in the next few days is fine. Right now, I want to—”
The door to the room banged open. I leaped to my feet, but it wasn’t an attack or an emergency.
It was Rig. And he was wearing a cadet’s pin.
“I was wondering if you’d show up,” Cobb said, picking up his stack of papers. “Rodge McCaffrey? You think it’s a fine idea to show up late to your first day in flight school? You going to show up late when the Krell attack?”
Rig sucked in a breath and shook his head, going white, like a flag of truce. And . . . Rig was a cadet. When he’d gone in last night to talk to them about his test, I’d been worried, but it looked like he’d gotten in! I wanted to whoop for joy.
But there was no way Rig had been late without good reason. This was a kid who scheduled extra time in his day for sneezes when he had a cold. I opened my mouth, but held back at a glance from Cobb.
“Sir,” Rig finally said, catching his breath. “Elevator. Malfunction.”
Cobb walked to the side of the room and pushed an intercom button. “Jax,” he said, “will you check if there was an elevator malfunction today?”
“Don’t need to check, Captain,” a voice replied through a speaker above the button. “Elevator 103-D was down for two hours, with people trapped inside. It’s been giving us trouble for months.”
Cobb released the button, then eyed Rig. “They say you got the highest score on the test this year, cadet.”
“That’s what they told me, sir. They called me in, and the admiral gave me an award and everything. I’m so sorry I’m late. I didn’t meant to do this, particularly on my first day. I about died when—”
“Yeah, that’ll do,” Cobb said, waving toward one of the seats. “Don’t wear out my goodwill, son.”
Rig took the seat gladly, but then saw me on the side of the room and gave me a huge thumbs-up. We’d made it. Both of us somehow, with Rig at the top, which was awesome—so at least the test really was fair for him.