Jorgen looked at me, and his expression hardened.
No. This wouldn’t be forgotten. I was in serious trouble this time. I met his eyes, then—finally—I grabbed my pack and left.
24
It had been years since I’d lost it that bad.
For all my aggressive talk, I really hadn’t gotten in that many fights as a kid. I pretended I was some warrior or something, but the truth was that when most kids heard the way I talked, they backed off. And if I was being honest, their hesitance was probably less about being afraid of me, and more about being made uncomfortable by my bizarre air of confidence.
It worked. It kept them away, and didn’t put me in situations where I lost control. Because I could do that, and not like a brave warrior from the stories. More like a cornered, frenzied rat. Like when I’d caught Finn Elstin stealing Rig’s lunch. Finn had ended up with a black eye and a broken arm. I’d had to spend a year on juvenile probation, and had been kicked out of judo classes for inappropriate use of violence.
I’d been under the age of legal accountability then, so my actions hadn’t jeopardized my chances at flight school. Today’s assault was different. Today I was old enough to have known better.
I sat on one of the benches in the orchard outside the DDF complex. What was Jorgen going to do to me? If he went to the admiral, I’d be out. Done. And I’d deserve it.
I really wasn’t like a warrior from Gran-Gran’s stories. Far from it. I could barely function when my friends died in battle, and now I lost control at a couple of petty insults? Why couldn’t I control myself? Why did I bristle when Jorgen said those things? I’d lived with them my entire life.
As the sky darkened, the closest skylight moving off, I sat there in the orchard, waiting, expecting the MPs to come for me. The only thing I heard was a faint sound . . . a buzzing? Coming from my pack?
Frowning, I dug in it until I found the radio. I lifted it up and pressed down the Receive button.
“Hello?” M-Bot said. “Spensa? Are you dead?”
“Maybe.”
“Oooh. Like the cat!”
“。 . . What?”
“I’m not sure, honestly,” M-Bot said. “But logically, if you’re speaking to me then possibility has collapsed in our favor. Hurray!”
I leaned back against the bench and reluctantly chewed on a piece of jerky. If they were going to come for me, they’d come for me. I might as well eat. I didn’t feel hungry, but I never did these days. Too much rat.
“Are you going to explain to me who you were fighting?” M-Bot asked.
“We’ve talked about it. The Krell.”
“Well, you’ve talked around it. But nobody has explained it to me. You just kind of expect me to know.”
I forced myself to swallow a piece of jerky and wash it down with some water. Then I sighed, holding the radio to my head. “The Krell are aliens.”
“You’re both aliens,” M-Bot noted. “Technically. Since we’re not on your home planet. I think?”
“Either way, they’re trying to destroy us. They are these creatures with strange armor and terrible weapons. Our elders say they destroyed our empire in the stars, almost exterminated us. We might be all that’s left of humanity, and the Krell are determined to end us. They send flights of ships, some with bombs called lifebusters that can penetrate down into the caverns and destroy living things there.”
“Huh,” M-Bot said. “Why don’t they bombard you from orbit?”
“What?”
“Not that I’d know anything about things like that,” he added. “Being a noncombat machine. Obviously.”
“You have four guns.”
“Someone must have stuck those on when I wasn’t looking.”
I sighed. “If you’re asking why they don’t launch the lifebusters from up high, this planet is surrounded by an ancient defense system. Standard Krell strategy is to fly past that, then swarm in and try to overwhelm our fighters, or sneak in a low strike team. If they either destroy our AA guns or get a bomber in under them, they can eliminate our ability to make new fighters. Then we’re done for. The only thing standing between humankind and annihilation is the DDF.” I slumped in my seat.
Which means. I thought to myself, I should get over my petty squabbles and focus on flying.
What was it my father had told me?
Their heads are heads of rock, their hearts set upon rock. Set your sights on something higher . . .
“M-Bot?” I asked. “Do you remember anything about human civilization? Before the Krell? Do you know what it was like?”
“My memory banks on such matters are almost entirely corrupted.”
I sighed, disappointed, and stuffed away my rations, preparing to walk home. But I couldn’t do it. Not while feeling like I was standing with a gun to my head. I wasn’t going to go cower in my cave, waiting to be called in to report for discipline.
I had to face this head-on and take my punishment.
Throwing my pack over my shoulder, I stalked back to the front of Alta Base and passed the checkpoint. I took the long way around flight school—the path past the mess hall and launchpad—to get one last glance at my Poco.
I passed the silent line of ships, watched over by the ever-diligent ground crews. To my left, I spotted my flight sitting together in the mess hall, eating dinner and laughing. Jorgen wasn’t there, but he usually didn’t eat with the common rank and file. Besides, he’d probably gone straight to the admiral to report what I’d done to him.
The MPs had long since stopped appearing to escort me off the grounds every evening. We all knew the rules, and they were satisfied I was going to obey them. So nobody forbade me as I went back into the flight school building, where I walked past our room—it was empty—and then stopped by Cobb’s office. Also empty.
Those were basically the only places I’d visited. I took a deep breath, then caught a passing aide and asked if she knew where I could find the admiral at this hour.
“Ironsides?” she said, looking me up and down. “She doesn’t often have time for cadets. Who is your flight instructor?”
“Cobb.”
Her expression softened. “Oh, him. That’s right, he’s got a group of students this semester, doesn’t he? It’s been a few years. Is this a complaint about him?”
“I . . . Something like that.”
“Building C,” she said, pointing with her chin. “You’ll find the admiral’s personal staff in the antechamber of office D. They can move you to another flight. Honestly, I’m surprised it doesn’t happen more often. I know he’s a First Citizen and all, but . . . Anyway, good luck.”
I walked out of the building. My resolve grew more firm with each step, and I quickened my pace. I would explain what I’d done and demand punishment. I controlled my own destiny—even if that destiny was expulsion.
Building C was a daunting brick structure on the far side of the base. Built like a bunker, with only slits for windows, it seemed the exact sort of place I’d find Ironsides. How was I going to talk my way past her staff? I didn’t want some minor functionary to be the one who expelled me.
I peeked in a few windows on the outside of the building, and Ironsides wasn’t difficult to find, though her office was shockingly small. A little corner of a room, stuffed with books and nautical memorabilia. Through the window, I saw her glance at the old-fashioned clock on the wall, then close her notebook and stand.