“No!” Kimmalyn said in a conspiratorial whisper. “I came up with them myself! I simply don’t admit it, because I don’t want to appear too wise. It’s unseemly.”
“My entire world is shaken right now, Quirk,” FM said. “I feel like you just told me up is really down, or that Hurl’s breath smells great.”
“Hey,” Hurl said. “See if I get you cake again.”
“This is serious,” I said to the other two. “I get scared.”
I might secretly be a coward.
FM and Kimmalyn blew it off. They reassured me, and talked about how they felt. FM still thought she was a hypocrite for wanting to bring down the DDF while also wanting to fly with it. Kimmalyn had the soul of a smart aleck, but the upbringing of a polite society girl.
I appreciated their kindness, but it occurred to me that the counterculture Disputer and the girl from Bountiful might not be the best people to understand how important it was that I not be afraid. So I let the conversation slide in other directions.
We talked far into the night, and it was . . . well, it was wonderful. Sincere and friendly. But as the night grew long, I found myself strangely anxious. In some ways, this was one of the best days of my life—but it also reaffirmed what I’d always feared. That the others were bonding without me.
My mind scrambled, even as I grinned at something Kimmalyn said. Was there a way to extend this? How often could the girls claim to be sick? When could I come back?
Eventually, biology began to make its demands, so Quirk and FM went to scout out the restroom. That left me with Hurl, who had been dozing off. I didn’t want to wake her, so I waited by the door.
“I know how you feel,” Hurl suddenly said.
I almost jumped out of my skin. “You’re awake?”
She nodded. She didn’t even seem drowsy, though I swore I’d heard her snoring softly earlier.
“Fear doesn’t make us cowards though, does it?” Hurl asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, walking over to her bed. “I wish I could just smother it.”
Hurl nodded again.
“Thank you,” I said, “for letting the other two plan this night for me. I know spending time with me wouldn’t have been your first choice.”
“I saw what you did for Nedd,” she said. “I watched you fly in after him, right into the depths of that chunk of debris.”
“I couldn’t let him go alone.”
“Yeah.” She hesitated. “My mother told stories of your father, you know. When she saw me back down on the playground, or flinch from a ball during practice. She told me about the pilot who claimed to be brave, but was a coward inside. ‘Don’t you dare sully the name of the Defiant people,’ she’d say to me. ‘Don’t you dare become a Chaser . . .’ ”
I winced.
“But we don’t have to be like that,” Hurl continued. “That’s what I realized. A little fear, a little history, those things don’t mean anything. Only what we do means anything.” She looked toward me. “I’m sorry for how I treated you. It was just a . . . shock, when I found out. But you’re not him, and I’m not either, regardless of what I feel sometimes.”
“My father wasn’t a coward, Hurl,” I said. “The DDF lies about him.”
She didn’t look like she believed me, but she nodded anyway. Then she sat up, holding out her fist. “Not cowards. No backing down. Brave until the end, right Spin? A pact.”
I met her fist with mine. “Brave to the end.”
29
I woke up snuggled into too many blankets, and reached out to feel the side of M-Bot’s cockpit—but my hand slapped the side of a bed frame.
Right. What time was it? I tapped my light-line to glance at its clock, raising a soft glow in the room. Just before five in the morning. Two hours until we had to be ready for class.
I should have been exhausted, as we’d stayed up talking until after one. Strangely, I felt wide awake. Perhaps my brain knew that if I wanted to use the facilities and get cleansed today, I’d need to do it now—while everyone else in the building was sleeping.
In fact, it was probably best if I snuck out and was seen walking back to the building before class. I climbed out of my nest and stretched, then grabbed my backpack. I tried to be as quiet as possible, though I probably shouldn’t have worried. If the others could sleep through Hurl’s snoring, my pack scraping the floor wouldn’t disturb them.
I slipped open the door, then turned and looked at the three sleeping girls. “Thank you,” I whispered. Right then, I decided I wouldn’t let them do this again. It was too dangerous; I didn’t want to get them on the admiral’s bad side.
This had been wondrous. Even if it left me knowing, for sure, what I was missing. Even if I felt sick to have to walk away, even if I twisted inside, I wouldn’t have traded this night for anything. My only taste of what it was like to be part of a real flight of pilots.
That thought loomed in my mind as I walked to the bathroom and cleansed. Afterward, looking in the bathroom mirror, I smoothed back my wet hair. In all the stories, the heroes had stark black, golden, or red hair—something dramatic. Not dirty brown.
I sighed, threw my pack on my shoulder, and slipped out into the empty hallway. As I walked to the exit, a light down a corridor caught my attention. I knew that room—it was our classroom. Who would be there at this hour?
My curiosity overcame my common sense. I snuck over to peek in through the window in the door and saw Jorgen’s cockpit engaged, the hologram up and running. What was he doing here at 0530? Getting in a little extra practice?
Cobb’s hologram in the center of the room projected a miniature version of the training battlefield, so I could watch Jorgen’s ship lightlance around a hovering piece of debris, then fire on a Krell. Something about that fight looked familiar . . .
Yes, it was the one where Bim and Morningtide had died. I’d seen Cobb watching this same recording.
Morningtide’s ship went down in flames, and I winced—though just before she hit, the hologram froze, then restarted. I watched again, picking out Jorgen’s ship as he flew from the other side of the battlefield, dodging debris, making for the ship that would destroy Morningtide. He fired off his IMP, but even as he took down the enemy shield, the Krell blasted Morningtide’s ship and sent her spinning downward.
The hologram restarted, and Jorgen tried again, going a different direction this time.
He’s trying to figure out if he could have saved them. I realized.
When Morningtide went down this third time, the hologram continued—but Jorgen heaved himself out of his seat. He ripped off his helmet and slammed it against the wall with a loud bang. I flinched and almost bolted, worried the noise might draw attention. But seeing Jorgen—normally so tall and imperious—slumped against the wall . . . I couldn’t walk away.
He looked so vulnerable. So human. Losing Bim and Morningtide had been hard on me. I’d never thought about how it had been for their flightleader—the one who was supposed to keep us all out of trouble.
Jorgen dropped his helmet. He turned away from the wall, then froze.
Scud. He’d seen me.