Fledge Page 3

  My parents had described places on Earth that I could never really picture. The nothingness of yellow sands that stretched past all horizons, massive chunks of ice that moved, forests and jungles and such... But the most difficult of all to imagine was the ocean—until the moment I saw my first Scarlet.

  It felt as though I was staring into an endless body of water. Its smooth metallic surface reflected everything like a mirror, and when the sunbeams touched the surface they danced, shimmering and glistening, winking white at me. The underside of the ship lived up to its title, reflecting the reddust terrain. But the actual metal was pale pink, the darker shades of reddish-orange appearing where the planes shifted, metallic edges standing out. I would have laughed, nearly tempted to do so, but my mood killed all light feelings before they could be expressed.

  I hadn’t glimpsed a lot of redantium, the Union tended to hoard the stuff. It was an element found only on Little Red. Lightweight and strong, it ran like a thick vein through the redrock that made up most of Providence’s density. The rock was everywhere and it often broke apart, becoming crumpled dirt or the fine, powdery reddust that plagued the inhabitants of Little Red. Redrock seemed to churn and boil from deep within the planet, moving towards the surface in such an irregular way that scientists still had yet to explain it. They had discovered that if you removed the ore from redrock and smelted it down, it became a brilliant red-orange metal. To hold it in your hand you would suspect it was nothing more than a light, colorful substance. But when the metal fell, its alien qualities became evident, for it dropped at a slightly slower rate than anything else, defying gravity as Earth knew it.

  The Union reacted quickly, using the metal to create superior space transportation, the redantium being ideal for aircrafts. The ships were named Scarlets, and called the Red Fleet.

  Admittedly, it was not the large and mighty spacecraft I’d imagined. And much to my dismay, it didn’t quite reach the peak of our two story barn, rather slinking beneath it. And that was the impression I got—slinking. Not large and mighty, but rather long, sleek, smooth, and probably fast.

  After a moment or two of gawking I finally noticed Commander Clarke. He was tucked away in shadow, his figure standing tall beneath the ship, alongside a ramp which led up into the underbelly. Conscious of the fact that I’d been caught gaping, I picked up my feet, reluctantly setting off to meet him.

  Moving closer, I got my first good look at the commander. His head nearly brushed the Scarlet’s underside, proving a height to match his severity, but I must admit, he had very good boots. They were knee-length black leather and shined until glossy. I was still admiring them when he turned toward the ramp, but my curiosity overcame me and I stopped him with a question.

  “Why is the ship pink?”

  He reached up to touch the underside, sliding his hand over its slick surface. “This metal is fashioned differently than all the other redantium products. During the process it loses the traditional red-orange cast, becoming lighter and stronger.”

  I trailed after him, up the ramp and into a dimly lit space. It was strangely cavernous, our footsteps gently echoing through the cargo hold. A few crates had been tied to the floor, but otherwise the place was oddly cold, empty and sterile. Thick black netting lined the walls, hanging from the ceiling. With nothing to secure, the dark webs swayed uselessly back and forth.

  Having found his answer rather lacking, I pressed, “Yes, but for what purpose are the spacecrafts made lighter and stronger?” It was common knowledge that redantium was already the lightest and strongest material available to us in the whole universe, reinforcing it seemed, well, redundant.

  He stopped in front of the far wall, rungs springing from the bulkhead. “When our Scarlets encounter a hostile ship, the only way to survive is to outrun it. The metal is modified so that we might have even the smallest hope of doing so.”

  Commander Clarke swiveled back around, continuing his ascent. With his back turned, I took the opportunity to be unashamedly afraid. A farmer got his news in town, where any major event was posted at the local trading center or tavern. Each time a ship was found floating aimlessly, the news came and chilled everyone.

  The Union had dubbed the people being transported to Providence during the planet’s initial habitation: stock. It was during the transfer of stock that the Union was approached by Shetheerie, a race that occupied the neighboring planet Shether. They had a long history, vastly more ancient than the race of mankind. They imparted information freely and carried themselves with a peaceful demeanor. They soon became allies. It was from the Shetheerie that humans learned of the grindts, another neighboring race, though they lacked the peaceful demeanor.

  The inhabitants of Braacktda had always been considered dangerous, and had, in the past, targeted the Shetheerie, their closest neighbors. But never had they attacked as ruthlessly as they did with humans. Human spacecrafts were always found damaged beyond repair after an encounter with the grindts, never to date had there been a survivor.

  The losses were great during Providence’s initial preparation, but with the warnings from Shether, a new route to and from Providence was created. Having to avoid the quickest path past Braacktda, the new route was longer, but it soon proved worthwhile. Human ships were no longer stalked so regularly, and fewer had perished since. It was as if humans had somehow incurred the wrath of the grindts unknowingly, and there was no hope for making amends. The best we could do was stay out of their space.

  I knew that no human had ever set eyes on a grindt and lived to tell the tale, but that didn’t stop wild speculation. One farmer’s son had returned from his military service and claimed to have spoken with a visiting Shetheerie who had seen a grindt. The creature was supposedly taller than a tree, with black claws and pointed teeth. Such stories continuously circulated throughout the community. It was always by someone who met someone who had seen a grindt. The only bit of information that went unchanged was the common knowledge that grindts always ate small children who didn’t do their chores. Having heard these gruesome tales from the cradle, I was no different than any other farmer—I feared the grindts of Braacktda.

  I felt as if I were making myself vulnerable by leaving the farming sector. As if stepping onto the ship was somehow stepping into the grindts’ line of vision. I knew we were only traveling the surface of Little Red, that we wouldn’t be going into space, but it still felt like the hostiles could somehow reach me now.

  The ladder spit us through an open portal just off a narrow walkway. The commander seemed to know his way through the maze of pinched halls, confident and sure, though I was already confused, finding each cramped corridor identical to the last. Small lights bleeped as we passed a few crew members, they opened camouflaged compartments, twisting dials here and there, making notes of their progress. The equipment I didn’t recognize, but could guess that it was technology, though the word had little meaning to me.

  My father had always told me that when he became a farmer on Little Red, it was like he’d traveled back through time a few hundred years. He’d said it was because the Union wanted to keep the inhabitants of Providence ignorant and dependant so there would be no rebellion. The Union would not risk losing its Providence. Unlike the people of the utopias, farmers were not given time-saving technology, which meant we spent all of ours working, leaving none to cause trouble.

  The commander paused to address a crewman who did not look much older than myself. He had a thin green band wrapped around his bicep, the color combined with his age denoting his status as new, fresh from training. I tried to follow the conversation between them. Commander Clarke was making enquiries, wanting to know the status of our impending flight. But I was frustrated to find myself a little confused, not quite grasping their ship speak and lingo. After a moment more, the commander bade Featherstone, the young man, to seat Frost.

  I was so startled by the loss of my
first name that I was slow to follow Featherstone. He led me back the way we had come, retracing our steps down a corridor or two before I was once again lost. I was beginning to think that the height of the Scarlet was deceptive, because within her bowels was a network of narrow, low slung halls that seemed to go on for an eternity. I couldn’t help but wonder where the components meant to keep the ship afloat were stored, having seen a good bit of the Scarlet already. The hall opened up into a fairly wide area, rows of chairs facing inward, attached to each wall. My guide pulled a harness from above the nearest seat before motioning me to sit and clipping me in.

  I was not used to having anyone so close, but his movements were brisk and impersonal. He hadn’t said a word and was doing his best to pretend that I didn’t exist. That was fine by me. It kept me from doing something stupid, like blushing. He was gone the moment his chore was complete, and five minutes after his departure I was thoroughly bored.

  It was strange to think that a few hours ago I had been content, pleased even, with my performance at Berg’s Trading and Goods. It didn’t matter now, not one whit. I would never taste the sweets Mum would procure, or anything resulting from my trade.

  Thinking of Mum caused me to cringe a little, she was probably still crying, kicking up a fit, worrying about what people would think. And what would they think? A farm girl hauled off to serve in the military—it was too strange, unheard of. It would never be forgotten, and neither would I. I wished I could creep out of my own skin and leave the humiliation behind. Was I so boyish? Was that what brought me here, to this seat, on this ship? I hated myself a little bit then, disgusted at some nameless quality that lived within me, whatever it was that kept me displaced.

  A slight movement from beneath distracted my thoughts, just a little nudge as the Scarlet lifted up off the ground. As the spacecraft took to the air, the momentum pushing me back, I wished a mute goodbye to the place that had been my home.

  Flying in a ship was not the thrilling experience my sister and I had always imagined. It was subtle, as if I was not really moving at all, nothing like a bumpy cart ride over redrock. My boredom grew in leaps and bounds. Very few crewmen passed by, disappointing, as when they did it was a distraction of sorts, even if none of them deigned to notice me. They were all men of course, varying in ages, but none seemed as old as Commander Clarke. With his hair graying at the temples, I put him in his fifties. They all wore uniforms as well, beautiful sapphire blue, with boots and belt in sturdy brown leather. But their footwear didn’t even compare to the commander’s, only going mid-calf and lacking any sort of shine. I wondered if there was a more formal way to display rank, or if I was going to have to look at everyone’s feet to guess their status.

  The entire trip must have taken only a few hours, but when the Scarlet finally tapped down, it felt as if a lifetime had passed. Honestly, I was terrified. My heart picked up the moment the spacecraft stopped, thrumming furiously in my chest. It was the not-knowing that made me quietly frantic. During the ride over I’d discovered I had a great many nervous habits I’d never realized. Tapping my foot, flicking my fingers, the worst was when I bit through the fleshy inside of my cheek. While it hadn’t hurt at the time, it was beginning to smart now.

  Commander Clarke came to fetch me himself. We were the only ones to go; the rest of the crew remained aboard, moving purposefully about with work to do. Leaving the cargo hold felt something like being born, the dark quiet opening up into a bright flurry of activity.

  Constant terraforming meant that our weather was planned, rain or shine scheduled accordingly, one always knowing what the temperature would be. The strangest side effect of this atmospheric control occurred in the sky, which turned a pale green. It appeared natural to me, but not my parents.

  Today the minty sky was chock full of downy clouds, each reflecting the soft green atmosphere. The sun’s glare beat down on the ruby earth, creating the illusion of dancing vapors against the horizon. I could not tell if the distant rolling peaks were real or just a trick of the sun, but I’d never seen anything like them. They disturbed the careful flatness that I had come to associate with Little Red.

  Around us the crumbling redrock and dirt was overset by smooth red paths. I scuffed my boot over the surface, slightly shocked at its evenness. A variety of ships were settled around us, one gliding past, swift and silent. Curious, I couldn’t help but ask the commander a number of questions regarding the landing strips. He refused to answer, his cool silence discouraging me from saying more.

  I followed him away, putting the airfield behind my heels and striding along a seemingly endless path toward the distant peaks. Our destination was a place in-between, a place I could tell, even from afar, was crawling with soldiers.

  Training camp.

  Chapter 5

  The commander had taken me through camp, setting a brisk pace as we wove between clustered buildings and big open fields, some a shock of green like I’d never seen before. Eventually I’d been left to sit on a bench. It was wood, and I took the opportunity to rub my fingers over the grain while Commander Clarke disappeared behind a door situated a few feet from my shoulder. I struggled to make out the voices of a much muffled conversation until the door opened a few minutes later and I was beckoned inside. I expected the man standing behind the desk. I was somewhat taken off guard by the additional presence of a young man, as I hadn’t heard him speak. He must be training, but seventeen? He looked older, or maybe just very mature.

  “This is Soldier Frost. Frost, this is Instructor Bardzecki,” the commander said, making no move to introduce the young man who stood quietly off to the side. “Instructor Bardzecki will oversee your training from here.” And with that he left. I was so shocked, I gaped after him, feeling utterly bereft.

  My reaction didn’t make the least bit of sense—I didn’t even like the commander. But he’d replaced my parents, he’d taken me from my home and I thought... I suppose I thought he’d sort of... look after me. I released a deep, unsteady breath, the question breaking from my mouth without consideration. “Is he going to come back?”

  Bardzecki the instructor seemed momentarily stunned. His head hitching back ever so slightly at my question. “Coming back?” he echoed. “He shouldn’t have wasted time on you in the first place, he’s a commander. Now, sit.”

  If I was stunned before, the world had just gone off-kilter. In one terse statement Instructor Bardzecki had shown me my place, and it wasn’t a good one. I had been ignored and ostracized, but I’d never been commanded or inconsequential. I didn’t put up a fight. Nope, I eased myself into the chair facing his and waited.

  “You too, Winslow,” the instructor said, addressing the stiff soldier.

  They both sat, Winslow moving quietly into the chair next to mine. He seemed larger the closer he came, but it was nothing to Instructor Bardzecki, who wafted his presence like an unavoidable odor. As he lowered himself into the chair, his face coming level with mine, I felt the air shrink away.

  He said nothing at first, giving his attention entirely to the drawer in his desk where he removed a waxy paper envelope. He opened it carefully, his fingers steady as he separated a few crumbled leaves from the rest and began crushing them with the blunt of his thumb. I took this time to study him, comparing him to Commander Clarke. While they were both imposing, the instructor made the commander look downright elegant, all tall and straight. Instructor Bardzecki had a round, heart-shaped face, with deep-set icy eyes. His arms and chest were thick with muscle, unable to hide even behind a shapeless uniform. With a thick, bull-like neck his head didn’t sit far up off his rounded shoulders. He was old, not as old as the commander (his hair hadn’t yet started to gray, still a trim, mousy brown) but he had a few decades on me, and how he managed to stay so fit, I could only guess.

  Having crushed the plant into little pieces, Instructor Bardzecki licked his thumb before pressing it into t
he tiny pile. The flecks, caught by his saliva, stuck to his finger. I watched, a little curious, as he rubbed the dried plant crumbs over the bottom of his tongue. It was only then that I knew it was birdbane, a weedy plant indigenous to Little Red. I would have liked to ask him about the plant’s many uses, but I knew better.

  “You’re late!”

  I had been so preoccupied with watching him in silence that I was unready for the sudden accusation. I nearly asked what he meant, but thought better of it and stayed silent.

  That was apparently the right thing to do because he continued. “The other soldiers have been here for two seasons. How the hell do you plan to catch up?”

  He was staring at me, his naturally narrow eyes watching me from beneath a heavy brow. I still wasn’t sure if I was meant to answer. I wanted to say that I couldn’t be blamed for being late. That I’d never volunteered for this. That I hadn’t had a choice and didn’t know what was going on. But I was learning, and I already knew better. So instead I tentatively said, “I’ll do my best, sir.”

  He watched me for a moment, expression unreadable, something I found terribly intimidating. I could tell by the jut of his jaw that he was rubbing his tongue over the floor of his mouth, hurrying along the effects. Birdbane was a stimulant and he would feel an invigorating burst of energy soon.

  The moments ticked by and I thought maybe, just maybe, the birdbane would put him in a better frame of mind. Knowing I might not have another chance, I asked the question I most wanted to know, while knowing I shouldn’t bother. “It doesn’t seem logical to force a female into the military, especially so late in the year. I thought... well, I just want to know why I’m here.”

  Birdbane be damned, the instructor wasn’t happy. “You don’t speak until you are spoken to!” he thundered. “And when you do speak, you will address me properly!” He eased back into his chair, eyes watchful as he released what I thought was an ominous sigh. “Did you ever think you’d see a fledge this green?” It was obvious the question was directed at Winslow, though his eyes remained fixed on me. I liked his calm tone even less than his angry one, at least then I knew where things stood.