Burden of Sisyphus (9 page)

           
A smug Avalon female one row ahead of Keryn smiled confidently.
 
Nudging the Uligart female beside her, she winked.

           
“Let me explain something right away,” Victoria said sternly.
 
“I don't care who your family is or how well you did in school before your acceptance to the Academy.”

           
The smile on the Avalon student’s face disappeared.

           
“As far as I’m concerned, every one of you is inept and inexperienced.
 
My job is to take your shapeless putty and mold you into a group of talented pilots who’ll do the Fleet proud.
 
Perform well, and you’ll be rewarded.
 
Perform poorly, and I’ll kick you from this program no matter who your mommy or daddy is.
 
Do I make myself clear?”

           
“Yes, Ma’am,” a few students muttered.

           
The others stared in stunned silence.
 
For many, it was the first time, though certainly not the last, they were talked down to as if they were insignificant.

           
“I didn't hear you!” Victoria shouted.

           
“Yes, Ma’am!” they replied.

           
“Good.
 
Everyone follow me inside for your official welcome and orientation to our grounds.”
 
She walked away.

           
Slowly, the first few ranks broke loose and followed, leading the way for the others to hurry after them.
 
Keryn smiled, as she jogged to catch up to the pack. Though still nervous, she at least found someone she could respect in Magistrate Victoria.

           
Victoria led them past the central monument on the campus, a larger-than-life bronze statue of a muscular Avalon holding a tall spear.
 
A bronze banner ran from the spear, fluttering in the never-ending wind.
 
Inscribed on it were words written in the flowing Avalon home dialect.

           
“
Shirath Esquideuz Pithyas,”
Keryn read aloud.
 
Turning to the cadet beside her, a broad-shouldered Oterian, she asked, “What does it mean?”

           
With little more than a grunt, the Oterian shrugged and increased his pace, leaving her behind.
 
Looking over her shoulder, she glanced back at the statue once more, memorizing the words to ask about later.

           
Passing through vaulting double doors trimmed in intricately carved avian figures, the cadets entered the Academy’s main hall.
 
They dropped their duffel bags in a growing pile beside the door before moving deeper into the hall.
 
The expansive foyer was framed on either side by a tall staircase leading to a second floor.
 
From the second-floor landing, clusters of older cadets watched the newcomers enter.
 
They called out to friends and joked about the looks of others.

           
Lowering her head and letting her silver hair cascade over her telling tattoos, Keryn hid herself in the midst of the clustered cadets, as they cleared the foyer.
 
Through a second set of doors, they entered the rear of an auditorium.

           
Plush purple cushions lined the rows of theater seats that looked down on a distal podium flanked on either side by large screens projecting the image of the empty stage.
 
Dozens of other students already filled the auditorium.
 
Keryn’s flight was one of the last to arrive.

           
Her group spilt off, joining friends and family around the room.
 
Uninterested in finding kindred spirits and knowing there was no chance of seeing another Wyndgaart at the Academy in her year group, she settled for searching for an empty seat.
 
Most of the rows were full of cadets, their tailored gray uniforms hugging the curves of their figures.
 
Keryn cursed herself for not knowing to get her uniform fitted.
 
The ill-fitting jacket and pants hung baggy on her thin, athletic frame, filling out only at her bosom.

           
Spotting an empty seat on the left side of the theater, Keryn forced her way past the clustered cadets who malingered in the aisles.
 
Brushing past the outstretched white wings of an Avalon, she stopped before the row that led to the empty seat.
 
Before she could enter, she felt a thin hand press against her chest.
 
Following the offending hand, she found herself face-to-face with the smug Avalon female from outside.
 
Behind her, a cadre of chattering females exuded pompous arrogance.

           
“Can I help you?” the Avalon asked.

           
“Not really,” Keryn replied, “unless you’ll help me to my seat.”

           
“My name is Sasha Pythril.”
 
When Keryn gave her a blank stare, she said, “Of the family Pythril?
 
And you are?”

           
“Keryn Riddell.”
 
Already tired of the conversation, she tried to step past Sasha and enter the row, but Sasha’s hand touched her chest firmly.

           
“That seat’s saved for someone.”

           
“Who?”

           
The bluntness of the question caught Sasha off guard.
  
“Listen here, Freak,” she replied, her face flushed with anger.
 
“Let me explain how the pecking order at the Academy works.
 
You’re on the bottom, and I’m on the top.
 
My family has been top graduates from the Academy for over one hundred years, and I intend to follow in their footsteps.
 
I don’t even know how a Wyndgaart got in here.
 
They must be lowering their standards.”

           
Punch her in the face,
the Voice offered, while Keryn sought a proper response.
 
If you break her jaw, she won’t run her mouth so much.

           
As much as Keryn hated the Voice, she felt her hands clench into fists.

           
“Excuse me,” a new female voice called behind Sasha.
 
“Is this yours?
 
It looks like you might be molting.”

           
Sasha turned to look at a short Pilgrim standing behind her.
 
The Pilgrim’s long, blonde hair hung over her eyes, partially concealing a mischievous smile.
 
In her outstretched hand was a single white feather.
 

           
Surprised, Sasha snatched the feather from her hand and compared it to her wings.
 
Seeing the colors didn’t match, she sneered angrily at the newcomer.

           
“Come on,” the Pilgrim offered to Keryn.
 
“I’ve got an empty chair on the other side of the room.”
 
Taking Keryn’s arm, the short Pilgrim led her away from the pending confrontation.

           
“It figures that freaks would hang out together,” Sasha called after them.
 
“Who else but a Pilgrim would hang out with a savage?”

           
“Let it go,” the girl muttered softly.
 
Raising her voice, she called back, “You might want to take care of that molting problem.
 
It’s becoming obscene.”

           
They both laughed, as they listened to the profanity that followed, as they walked away.
 
Though angry before, Keryn felt her tension flood away, as they took seats on the right side of the auditorium.
 

           
As they collapsed into their chairs, the Pilgrim extended her hand.
 
“Iana Morven,” she said with a disarming smile.

           
“Keryn Riddell.”
 
She accepted the hand.
 
“Thanks for the save back there.”

           
“Somehow, I didn’t think you were in that much danger.”

           
Keryn shrugged.
 
“I don’t get it.
 
What’s their problem?”

           
“They’re elitists.
 
Every member of that group comes from money.
 
Sasha’s the worst of the bunch.
 
I heard horror stories about her before my transport even landed.”

           
“Lucky us,” Keryn said dryly.
 
“How’d we manage the one class full of such winners?”

           
“Oh, I wouldn’t count us lucky.
 
There’s a group of divas in every class.
 
You have to remember the Academy is an institution created for the best of the best.
 
They earned their way in, like we did, but they don’t see it that way.
 
All they manage to see through their blinders is a Wyndgaart and a Pilgrim, both outcast races in their eyes.”

           
“I can’t believe I’ll have to put up with this for the next two years.”

           
“You won’t have to if you just kill her.”
 
Iana winked.

           
The room fell into hushed silence, as a dour-looking male Avalon walked to the podium.
 
Instead of wearing the black uniforms of the other instructors, who positioned themselves around the side walls of the theater, he was swaddled in a loose robe, which, left open in the front, exposed his well-defined chest and abdominal muscles.
 
His unusually dark hair fell over his shoulders, framing a pale face.
 
Screens on either side projected his magnified image and amplified his voice.

           
“Students,” he said, his voice deeper than most Avalons but still carrying singing undercurrents, “let me welcome you to the Alliance Fleet Academy.
 
If you’re present in this room, you’ve proven yourself time and time again through a battery of cognitive and reflexive tests.
 
You earned the right to be here.

           
“My name is Tyrus Brothius, and I’m the dean of this institution of higher learning.
 
Over the next two years, you’ll be put through a grueling series of classroom instruction, simulation training, tactics training, and actual flight time in all manner of ship platforms.
 
Though this room is full now, when it’s time for graduation, one-third to one-half of you will have failed.
 
This will be a much-transformed auditorium at the end of two years.”

           
Keryn glanced around the room at the myriad of races present.
 
All the major races had representatives among her class.
 
Large Oterians were sprinkled throughout the room, their massive bulk and long horns blocking the view of the unfortunate students behind them.
 
Sharp, bony protrusions of the Uligart mixed side-by-side with groups of void-faced Lithid.
 
Folded Avalonian wings were tucked tightly against bodies, as the avian race filled the majority of the room.
 
Their flight ability made them naturals as pilots, since they already grasped the complexities of aerial combat.
 
Across the room, Keryn caught Sasha’s eye, as the Avalon looked in her direction.
 
Scowling, Sasha turned back toward the front of the room.

           
“For those of you who succeed and survive the next two years, the stars become your playground.
 
You’ll direct your ship on journeys the likes of which you only heard about in childhood stories.
 
In two years, you’ll finally have the chance to truly live.”