A fantasy. Reclaiming a dead world was harder work than they’d anticipated.
She pushed herself to her feet, the old captain’s chair creaking. “I will spend their lives, Cobb. I’ll eagerly put everyone in the DDF in danger, if it means protecting Alta.”
“At some point it stops being worth the losses, Judy.”
“Yes, and I happen to know when that point is.” She stepped up to him, holding his gaze. “It’s when the very last Defiant heaves their very last breath. Until then, we hold this base.”
If they lost Alta, then Igneous could be bombed from above—destroying the apparatus and humankind’s ability to build ships. If that happened, the Defiants would return to living in broken clans, like rats to be hunted.
They either stood their ground, or they gave up on ever becoming a true civilization again.
Finally, Cobb relented and turned to leave. From him, lack of complaint was agreement.
“I noticed,” Judy said, “that your little coward didn’t arrive at the battle until most of the fighting had already happened.”
He spun on her, practically snarling. “She lives in an unimproved cave, Judy. Alone. You realize that, don’t you? One of your pilots lives in a makeshift camp beyond the city limits because you refuse to give her a bunk.”
It was satisfying to see that anger in him. She worried he would burn out one of these days. He never had been the same, since the Battle of Alta.
“Do you know what the readouts are saying?” Judy asked. “The scans of her brain? Some of our doctors are certain they’ve figured out how to spot it now. I suppose I should thank you for that. Getting a chance to study Chaser’s daughter in flight might finally give me proof. She has the defect.”
That gave him pause. “We barely understand what it means,” he finally said. “And your doctors are biased. A few confusing events and some stories of the past aren’t enough to judge a girl’s entire life, particularly a girl so talented.”
“That’s the problem,” Judy said. She was surprised to hear Cobb argue, honestly. Many politicians denied the defect’s existence, but Cobb? He’d seen its effects personally. “As useful as this data is, I can’t risk letting her have a commission in the DDF. She would be nothing but a distraction and a blow to morale.”
“A distraction to you. maybe. A blow to your morale. The way you’re acting is a disgrace to the DDF.”
“For all intents and purposes, I am the DDF. Stars help us. There’s nobody else left.”
He glared at her. “I’m going to give the girl a personal radio. I won’t have one of my cadets outside my reach. Unless you would reconsider giving her a bunk.”
“If I make it too easy on her, she might decide to stay instead of doing the sensible thing and moving on.”
Cobb limped toward the door—he refused to use a cane, even after all these years—but paused again there, hand on the frame. “Do you ever wish one of the others had survived?” he asked. “Sousa. Nightingale. Strife. Admiral Heimline.”
“Anyone but me?” Judy asked.
“Basically.”
“I’m not sure I’d wish this command on them,” she said. “Not even the ones I hated.”
Cobb grunted, then disappeared into the hallway.
20
The day after Morningtide and Bim died, I arrived late for Cobb’s class. It was only by about five minutes, but it was still my first time being late.
Everything just felt so wrong.
I vaguely remembered tromping back to my cave the day before, ignoring M-Bot—Rig had already gone home—and curling up in my cockpit bed. Then I’d just lain there. Not sleeping, but wishing that I would. Thinking, but wishing that I would stop. Not crying . . . but somehow wishing that I could.
Today, nobody called me on my tardiness. Cobb wasn’t there yet, though almost all of the remaining cadets had assembled. Everyone but Kimmalyn, which worried me. Was she okay?
My boots squeaked on the floor as I walked over and sat. I didn’t want to look at the conspicuously empty seats, but that made me feel like a coward, so I forced myself to stare at Morningtide’s spot. Just two days ago I’d been standing there, helping her understand . . .
She’d almost never said anything, but somehow the room felt so much quieter without her.
“Hey, Spin,” Nedd finally said. “You’re always talking about ‘honor’ and the ‘glory of dying like warriors’ and crap like that.”
“Yeah? So?”
“So . . .,” Nedd said. “Maybe we could use a little of that crap right now.”
Nedd slumped in place, barely fitting into his mockpit. He was the tallest one in the room—and burly too. I’d always thought of him simply as the larger of Jerkface’s two cronies, but there was more to him. A thoughtfulness.
“Well?” he asked.
“I . . .,” I said, struggling to find words. “That all feels stupid now.”
I couldn’t rattle off some line about vengeance. Not today. Doing so would feel like playing a part in one of Gran-Gran’s stories—while the loss felt so very real. But . . . did that make my conviction all just bravado? Was I a coward hiding behind aggressive platitudes?
A real warrior would shrug it off. Did I really think these were the last friends I’d lose?
FM climbed out of her seat and walked over to me. She squeezed me on the shoulder, a strikingly familiar gesture from a girl I knew only passingly well, despite our time in the same flight. What was her story? I’d never found a way to ask.
I glanced toward Bim’s place, thinking of the incredibly awkward—yet wonderful—way he’d tried to flirt with me.
“Do you know where Kimmalyn is?” I asked FM.
“She got up and ate with us,” the tall girl whispered, “but she stopped at the restroom on the way to class. Maybe someone should go check on her.”
Before I could get up, Jerkface was on his feet, clearing his throat. He looked around at the other five of us. Me and FM. Hurl, slumped in her seat. She didn’t seem to be treating this like a game any longer. Arturo, who sat with hands clasped, tapping his index fingers together at a rapid pace, like some kind of nervous tic. Nedd sitting with his feet up and resting on the incalculably valuable hologram projector at the front of his mockpit. Remarkably, his bootlaces were untied.
“I suppose,” Jerkface said, “that I should say something.”
“Of course,” FM whispered, rolling her eyes, though she returned to her own place.
Jerkface began speaking in a stiff voice. “The DDF protocol handbook explains that to die in the cockpit—fighting to protect our homeland—is the bravest and greatest gift a person can give. Our friends, though taken too early, were models of Defiant ideals.”
He’s reading. I realized. From notes written . . . on his hand?
“We will remember them as soldiers,” Jerkface continued, now holding his hand up before him. “If you need counseling at this loss—or for any reason—as your flightleader, I am here. Please come to me, so I can make you feel better. I will gladly bear the burden of your grief so that you can focus on your flight training. Thank you.”