David wasn’t old enough to do much of anything yet.

He wasn’t old enough to drink alcohol.

He wasn’t old enough to buy cigarettes.

He wasn’t old enough to get married.

But seventeen was plenty old enough to fight and die in a war, according to lawmakers, so here he stood, bright-eyed and ready.

It was the morning of January 5, 2065—induction day at the Space Corps Officer Training Academy.

He’d joined because of the brochure. It had a nice picture on the front, and everything he saw there looked more exciting than his hometown. Halifax was a lovely place, but David had always known, deep down, that his future lay elsewhere.

“What are your career goals?” the recruiter had asked—a man who looked as if he’d grown bored of life by his mid-thirties. “Where do you see yourself in ten years?”

David barely let him finish before a response came tumbling out.

“I want to be an astronaut,” he said. Then he flashed a nervous smile, because despite his best efforts to appear stoic and collected, he’d let his enthusiasm show.

The recruiter barely seemed to notice. “Well, you’re in the right place,” he replied as he handed David the forms to sign his life away.

So now, David found himself here, standing at attention for ceremonies that would kick off the beginning of a new academic year.

If he’d looked closer, he would’ve seen that many of the officers in attendance appeared to be bored as well, because this was a mundane, routine affair to those who knew better—an opulent display of pageantry with little substance behind it.

But he didn’t, because he preferred not to. He ignored the nagging voice in the back of his mind whispering truths his eyes would rather not see.

Instead, he kept his gaze trained directly ahead. He was excited, when presented with this view, because he imagined a place for himself there, sitting up on that stage, surrounded by senior officers—majors, colonels, generals, and the like. He’d become one eventually, he just knew, and he smiled at the thought.

No, even better, he mused as his mind wandered. He was going to be chief of staff, and he’d outrank them all. There was a place for him in those history books—a blank space waiting to be filled by his name—and all he had to do was step forward and claim it.

And he ignored that small voice as it whispered things he’d rather not acknowledge.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

David’s first day of class had been relatively uneventful so far, and as he made his way to his combat tactics course that afternoon, he had no reason to expect otherwise.

But even so, he was nervous as he sat down inside that classroom. He’d been given a perfect opportunity here—one not afforded to most cadets—and he dared not waste it.

David wasn’t the only fresh face at the Academy that year. In addition to the class of incoming freshmen, the school also had a new chancellor—General Howard, an austere, unsmiling man who governed with a rigid command style, so David had heard. Unlike his predecessors, though, he’d agreed to teach an exclusive course for the school’s top-performing cadets. This was supposedly one of the best programs the Academy had to offer, albeit exceptionally difficult to qualify for, but David had managed to secure himself a spot thanks to his scores on the placement exams.

He’d already resolved to distinguish himself here, and that desire was cemented further as he sat waiting for the lecture to start. The best way to become a general someday, he figured, was to study under one.

Still, though, that sense of nervousness crept in as he watched the other cadets enter the room and take their seats, and he couldn’t help but feel incredibly out of place when he noticed the majority were significantly older than he was. Most appeared to be upperclassmen in their early twenties—some possibly even older than that—and all of them looked very mature compared to seventeen-year-old David.

These thoughts were as uncomfortable as the chair he occupied, so he let his mind wander. General Howard had yet to arrive, and he wondered what the man would be like up close, and if he’d be as intimidating as they’d been told.

His thoughts drifted to space, which he was eager to explore. And Canada, which he’d left behind. And this place, which was beautiful and foreign and daunting all the same. And his uniform, which was a bit too broad in the shoulders and loose in the waist. And he thought of his schoolwork, and the room he shared, and the pilot he’d like to become one day.

And he smiled at it all.

The minutes ticked by, and the room gradually filled. There were several dozen cadets here now, and David frowned as he glanced at the clock. General Howard must be due to arrive soon, he thought, because he was nearly in danger of running late.

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He looked at the door again, half-expecting to see the general enter the room. There were still a few stragglers making their way inside—cadets who ran the risk of being tardy on their first day. David had been watching with a detached sense of curiosity, but then, as his eyes landed on one of them, he was struck instantly by what he saw.

He didn’t know how to describe it. There were words, but none of them mattered. He’d never seen anyone so beautiful.

Dark curls streamed over piercing, brilliant eyes and stopped just short of a sharp, angular jawline. As his eyes traveled downward, he found the figure beneath to be even more striking—lithe and muscular, the perfect blend of youth and manhood, encompassing the best aspects of both. That uniform fit perfectly, unlike David’s, in a manner he nearly envied, but something beyond envy stirred within him today.

David had never been interested in girls. He’d always been told he should be, but they’d never held much appeal for him. He’d never questioned it—just thought he was a late bloomer, maybe—but as his eyes rested on this young man, suddenly he knew why.

The word “man” wasn’t a fully apt description, as this was still a teenager, but nearly everyone here looked older than David. He tried to pretend he wasn’t looking, but found it impossible, and as he stared, all delusions of military grandeur faded from his mind.

This cadet was attractive in a way that didn’t merely capture his attention, but drew his sole focus. He hadn’t known what he liked until he saw it, and now he couldn’t look away.

The young man was walking slowly, engaged in conversation with another as they crossed the room together. David made an effort to avert his eyes, but sneaked a glance when he could in hopes of catching a glimpse of the name on that uniform.

As they passed by, though, and he heard snippets of their conversation and caught sight of those letters, his heart sank.

All of it was in Russian.

The Academy had several official languages, and there were quite a few Russian students in attendance. He’d mostly avoided them so far due to the language barrier, but this was the first time it had presented a problem.

What if he doesn’t speak English? David thought with a sinking sense of despair.

He watched as the two of them took their seats, but his musings were cut short when General Howard entered the room a few seconds later.

He crossed to the front with quick, rapid steps, and appeared flustered, as if he’d been in a rush. All of the cadets rose abruptly and stood at attention with the standard, respectful salute, but to David’s surprise, the general merely brushed this gesture off with a wave of his hand.

“At ease,” he said, stopping in front of his desk and snatching a piece of paper from the top. “Quiet down, take your seats, and answer as I call your name. I’m taking attendance.”

These words were blunt and to the point, just like the man himself. He appeared to be in his early fifties, with a few light hints of gray scattered throughout his short hair, and he wore an immaculately kept uniform, a stern expression, and a no-nonsense demeanor.

He fit David’s preconceived notions of a general perfectly, and his accent—posh and peppered with British formality—lent to the aura. He was here for business, and he wasted no time with empty gestures as he glanced at the list and read the first name aloud.

“Present, Sir,” came a reply from the front of the room.

Then he read the next, and the next after that, reciting them in rote order.

“David Harlow,” he said.

“Present, Sir,” David answered. He didn’t get a response, of course, or even an acknowledgement; not that he’d expected it.

General Howard kept reading, and as he made his way down the list, David stole another glance at that cadet—the one whose name was last to be called.

“Victor Vashchenko.”

“Here,” came the reply. His tone ran thick with disinterest, and he barely looked up from his desk.

Of course he speaks English, David thought. How stupid of me.

After that, General Howard set the list down and dove right into his lecture, and the cadets were given no further opportunity to speak. But as the first week of classes went on, David found that his fears were unwarranted, because Victor spoke perfect English—so good, in fact, he barely had an accent. Then he learned Victor wasn’t speaking Russian at all most of the time, but rather Ukrainian. He was fully fluent in all three languages.

David tried not to stare whenever their paths crossed. That’s not why I’m here, he told himself. But try as he might, he couldn’t keep this newfound attraction from his mind. He didn’t know what it was—or more appropriately, he wouldn’t allow himself to recognize its true nature—until one night, as he was drifting to sleep, his mind wandered to the places a subconscious will go, and he dreamt they were together, and in love. And when he awoke, he knew what he wanted.

Still, though, he was shy. He dared not voice these sentiments, and he did his best to avoid Victor altogether. He found it exceedingly difficult, though, because Victor seemed to be everywhere he went. They lived on the same hall and had several classes together, and there appeared to be no getting away from him. Their eyes met one day, and David quickly averted his gaze, but he spent the rest of the afternoon wondering what would happen if Victor were to know. He found the prospect just as exhilarating as it was terrifying—both the best and the worst outcome he could imagine.

And then, one evening, the inevitable happened. As David was going about his nightly routine in preparation for lights-out, he walked into the men’s room, and there was Victor, alone.

He froze in the doorway. Victor seemed completely unaware of his presence, though, and didn’t even look up from where he stood at the sink washing his hands.

David stared as he stood there, unable to move. He considered fleeing—backing up and exiting into the hall—but then Victor glanced at him, and he thought it would look even worse if he ran.

Victor turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and dried his hands. Then he looked up and stared at David in earnest.

“Can I help you?” he asked, frowning in response to David’s intense gaze.

David merely shook his head in reply.

Victor let out an exasperated sigh. “Well, in that case, can you at least get out of my way and stop blocking the door, so I can leave?”

David glanced over his shoulder, as if confirming he really needed to move, then gave a quick, awkward nod and stepped aside.

Victor tossed the towel behind him, leaving it in an unfolded heap on the floor, and started toward the doorway. But then he slowed down and smiled—a cocky half-smile that made David love him all the more—and reached out, slipped a finger beneath the collar of David’s shirt, and dragged it along for a few seconds.

“You’re cute,” he said.

Then he was gone.

David stood there for a while wondering if he’d fabricated another dream, or if it had really happened. But he knew it was real, because the next day, in study hall, he saw Victor again. Their eyes met, and there was that smile.

“Come here,” Victor said, nodding at the chair beside him.

David was even more nervous than he’d been the night before, and his heart raced as he crossed the room and sat down.

“Why don’t we do some homework together?” Victor asked. And David saw the look in those eyes—one which implied deeper intent behind those words—so he smiled back and nodded.