I did as he said, diving down, then leveling out. I tried a veer right, and a veer left. It felt . . . natural. Like I was meant to do this. Like I—
A series of loud alerts erupted. I jumped, then—panicked—I searched my dashboard, worried I’d done something wrong. Finally, my brain put together that the sound wasn’t coming from my ship, or even from our room. It was alarms outside the building.
That’s the attack warning. I thought, pulling off my helmet to hear better. The trumpet sounds were different up here in Alta. Faster-paced.
I pushed my head up through the canopy of my hologram, and saw several others doing the same. Cobb had stepped toward the windows of our classroom and was looking out toward the sky. I could barely make out some distant falling debris burning in the atmosphere. Krell attack.
The speaker on the wall crackled. “Cobb,” Admiral Ironsides’s voice said. “Do you have those greenmoss cadets hovering yet?”
Cobb walked to the panel on the wall and pushed a button. “Barely. I’m still convinced one of them is going to find a way to make their ship self-destruct, even though Pocos don’t have that function.”
“Great. Get them up, spread formation, above Alta.”
Cobb glanced at us before pressing the button again. “Confirmation requested, Admiral. You want the new cadets in the sky during an attack?”
“Get them up there, Cobb. This is a large wave. Nightmare Flight is down in the city for R&R, and I don’t have time to call them back. Ironsides out.”
Cobb hesitated, then he barked out an order. “You heard the admiral! Skyward Flight, to the launchpad. Go!”
10
To the launchpad?
Now?
After one day of flight training?
Cobb slammed a button on his desk, shutting down all of our holographic emitters. I couldn’t help wondering if this was some kind of test or a strange initiation—yet the pale look of Cobb’s face persuaded me otherwise. He didn’t like this.
What in the stars was the admiral thinking? Surely . . . surely she wouldn’t get my entire flight killed just as retribution for Cobb letting me into the DDF? Right?
We left the training room in a ragged jumble. “Rig,” I said, falling in beside my friend as we jogged down the hallway, alarms blaring in the distance. “Can you believe this? Any of this?”
“No. I still can’t believe I’m here, Spin. When they called me in and told me about my score, I thought they were going to accuse me of cheating! Then the admiral gave me an award and took some photos. It’s almost as incredible as the way Cobb let you in, after—”
“Never mind that,” I said quickly. I didn’t want anyone overhearing that my circumstances were unusual.
I glanced to the side and found Jerkface jogging a few paces away. He narrowed his eyes at me. Great.
We burst out of the training building and gathered on the steps outside right as a flight of Fresa-class starships launched into the sky. One of the on-duty flights; there were usually several of those, along with another flight or two that could be called up in an emergency.
So why did they need us? I didn’t get it.
Cobb emerged from the building and gestured to a line of ten Poco-class fighters on a nearby launchpad. Ground crew were positioning ladders by them.
“On the double!” Jerkface shouted. “To your ships! Everyone remember your number?”
Kimmalyn stopped in place.
“You’re six, Quirk,” Cobb said.
“Um, it was actually Quick—”
“Get going, you fools!” Cobb yelled. “You’re on orders!” He glanced at the sky. A set of sonic booms exploded from the ships that had taken off earlier. Even though they’d moved far out, the booms still rattled the windows.
I hurried to my ship, climbed the ladder to the open cockpit, then stopped. My ship.
A member of the ground crew climbed up the ladder after me. “You getting in?” he asked.
I blushed, then hopped into the cockpit.
He handed me a helmet, then leaned in. “This ship is straight out of repairs. You’ll use it when you’re on orders, though it’s not a hundred percent yours. You’ll be sharing it with a cadet in another flight until enough wash out.”
I pulled on my helmet and gave him a thumbs-up. He climbed down and pulled the ladder away. My cockpit’s canopy closed, then sealed. I sat there in silence, collecting my breath, then reached forward and tapped the button that engaged the acclivity ring. The dash lit up, and a hum vibrated through the ship. That hadn’t been in the simulation.
I glanced to the side—toward the mess hall I’d crashed into not four hours ago.
Don’t stress. You just did this a hundred times, Spensa.
But I couldn’t help thinking about what we’d discussed earlier. That cadets who crashed, or ejected, weren’t—by tradition—allowed to graduate . . .
I gripped the altitude control and waited for orders. Then I blushed again and pushed the blue button that turned on the radio.
“—anyone wave at her, maybe?” Arturo’s voice came through my helmet. “FM, can you see—”
“Spin checking in,” I said. “Sorry.”
“All right, flight,” Jerkface said. “Lift off, smooth and easy, like we practiced. Straight up fifteen hundred feet, then hover.”
I gripped the controls, and found my heart thundering inside my chest. First time into the sky.
Go. I lifted my Poco into a vertical ascent. And it was glorious. The sense of motion, the press of g-forces pulling me down, the view of the base shrinking beneath me . . . the open sky, welcoming me home . . .
I leveled off right when the altimeter read fifteen hundred. The others gathered in a line next to me, stark blue acclivity rings glowing underneath each ship. In the far distance, I saw flashes of light from the battle.
“Flight roll,” Jerkface said.
All nine of us confirmed back to him, then we fell silent. “Now what?” I asked.
“Trying to call in for orders,” Jerkface said. “I don’t know the band I’m supposed to—”
“I’m here,” Cobb’s voice said over the radio. “Looking good, cadets. That’s a damn near perfect line. Except for you, Quirk.”
“Quick, sir,” Kimmalyn said—indeed, her ship had gone up maybe fifty feet above the rest of us. “And . . . I’m just gonna sit tight here, snug and happy I didn’t crash into anyone. As the Saint said, ‘Ain’t nothing wrong with being a little wrong once in a while.’ ”
“Fair enough,” Cobb said. “But I have orders from Flight Command. Flightleader, lead your flight up to two thousand feet, then throttle to point-two Mag, and head—carefully—out past the city. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
“Right,” Jerkface said. “Everyone, two thousand and hover, and I want you to stop sharp this time, Quirk.”
“Sure thing, Jerkface,” she replied.
He cursed softly as we went up higher—high enough that the city below looked almost like a toy. I could still see the flashes in the distance, though the falling debris was more dynamic. Streaks of red fire, trailing smoke, falling right through the battlefield.