2065 - The Academy
Beneath this blanket of night, David moved closer. “You’re serious about getting married?” he asked as he traced his fingers along Victor’s shirt and took in that view—the one above, and the one below.
Victor shrugged. “You’re the first person I’ve met who made it sound even remotely appealing.”
David inhaled deeply as Victor ran his fingers through his hair. They remained that way for a while, savoring this moment as they lay in the near-dark, gazing at the sky together.
“I want to be out there one day,” David murmured, more to himself than anything else. It was a bit jarring, but at the sight of the stars, the words slipped out before he could stop them.
“What?” Victor asked, frowning at this abrupt shift in conversation. “Where?”
“Up there,” David nodded at the sky. “That’s why I joined. I want to be an astronaut.”
“Oh,” Victor said, and David sensed the disapproval in his tone. “That’s all well and good, but I don’t understand why you’d come here for it. We all know this school’s reputation; the chancellor himself confirmed as much. It’s one of the most convoluted paths you could’ve taken.”
“I don’t mind.”
Victor glanced at him. “Why not? Did those ‘rich’ parents of yours approve? Or did they just like the idea of free tuition?”
“I would’ve applied regardless of what they thought, because this was my first choice,” David said. “But they were surprisingly supportive—more than I ever thought they’d be. I guess they like the idea of their son becoming an officer.”
“Yes, but you can do all of that in the private sector. The pay’s better, and you don’t sign years of your life away for it. So I’ll ask again—why here, of all places?”
David shrugged. “Honestly, it just felt right. There’s a place for me out there—somewhere in that sky—and the Space Corps is going further and doing more than anyone else. I love their mission—a global peacekeeping force dedicated to research and exploration, accepting applicants from all member states regardless of background or social standing. I’d like to be a part of something like that rather than flying commercial spacecraft, ferrying drunk tourists around the same pre-programmed routes over and over again.” He paused for a second. “Besides, the Europa Station should be nearing completion, and when it opens, I’d like to be one of the first to see it.”
He expected a response, but only silence greeted him.
“That’s the main reason I’m here, and why I chose to stay over the holiday,” he continued, although his voice was less confident now. “They’ve already said access will be restricted to researchers, military personnel, and government officials for the first few years. Those missions are going to be awarded to the pilots with the most seniority, and only the top-scoring cadets are allowed to progress to advanced flight training each year, so that means keeping my grades up.”
“Yes, but that’s what every trust fund brat says,” Victor replied. “Their sincerity is almost convincing until you realize they’re here on a legacy scholarship, and they come from a family with three generations of officers.” He looked away and stared at the wall. “I swear, half this place seems to be made up of legacy scholars. They all want to be astronauts, just like you, but they can’t even find their way to class half the time. They’d fail out of anywhere else, and they know it.” He sighed. “You won’t enter pilot training until they’ve all had a chance first—or several.”
“Not necessarily,” David said.
“Come on, you can’t be that naive,” Victor replied. “The Space Corps only exists because a handful of families came together and petitioned the Union to form a new agency just for them. It’s little more than a jobs program—a venue for rich kids who want to be adventurers without all the red tape. They couldn’t get certified to become pilots or astronauts anywhere else, so they created their own licensing program. Now they can play ‘space explorers’ without intervention—and without all the danger, too—since this is really just an expensive taxi service for orbital payloads. They keep a few non-legacies around to secure public funding, but we all know who it’s really set up for.” He sighed again. “Don’t listen to what they say they want to do. Words are cheap. Look at what they’re actually doing.”
David grudgingly conceded the point. His thoughts drifted back to that night in the classroom—to Edgar, who could barely form a coherent thought. To Weasel, who seemed to be on the verge of a breakdown at any given moment. To Howard, who drank himself to sleep every night. To the smug upperclassmen who looked down on everyone but their own. Then to Captain Bartlett, who’d once sworn, laughing, that he’d be the youngest chief commander ever to assume office.
He’d be a general before his thirty-fifth birthday, he’d said, and chief of staff by forty.
David believed it. A third-generation officer, especially one showing such promise, would have no trouble meeting those milestones.
“I like their mission too,” Victor continued, “on paper, at least. But we can all see how deep that commitment goes.”
David pondered this for a moment.
“I can make it better,” he said.
This time, Victor laughed out loud.
“Why is that funny?” David asked.
“Good luck with that,” Victor replied. “If your aspirations lie here, then by all means, feel free to pursue them. But as for me, I see it as little more than a paycheck. I’m planning to serve my ten years, collect the benefits, and get out.”
“That’s all?” David asked.
“I know I’d make more if I stayed longer, but I don’t think I can last that long. Why would I give them any more than I have to?”
There was a long pause, and when Victor spoke again, his voice grew quieter. “I know it may be hard for you to see, as one of Howard’s favorites, but they don’t want us here. Senior command, I mean.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” David replied. But he sounded unconvinced, and he had no evidence to refute Victor’s argument.
“Of course it is,” Victor said. “Why do you think this school was my last choice? Take a look at that Council, and who currently sits there. They don’t like non-legacies, and they don’t like f*ggots.”
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“Why are you trying to be friends with them, then?” David asked.
Victor shifted at this, and David could tell that this question made him uncomfortable. But when there was no reply, he persisted. “You were there that night, in that classroom, talking to Captain Bartlett like you’d known him your whole life. We all know the Corps has a nepotism problem, but it doesn’t seem to bother you very much.”
“Well,” Victor shifted again, “it’s not always that big of a deal.”
David shot him a look. “You don’t have to hide anything from me. I know you’re trying to get close to certain cadets, and I know why you’re doing it. They receive preferential treatment, and you want the perks that come with being part of their group.”
Victor shrugged. “Can you blame me? It’s not like they don’t know. I do their homework for them, and in exchange, I hear the right gossip.”
“And earn their trust, and secure favors, and gain social standing,” David said. “That night with Xi-Rho was a bit more than ‘gossip.’”
“I’m planning for the future,” Victor said. “That’s how promotions really happen. You know the right people.” His cadence changed, and even in the dark, David could tell that his familiar smirk had returned. “Bartlett’s grandfather is a retired general. Who do you think they’ll favor for a promotion? Their friends, or a top-scoring student they’ve never heard of?”
“Effort has to matter for something,” David said quietly. “They can’t all be legacies.”
“Sure, they can,” Victor said. “That’s the whole purpose of the Corps. Unless you’re someone like Colonel Lin, you won’t get anywhere near them.”
David frowned. “Colonel Lin?”
Victor sighed, and his sarcastic tone fell away. “You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?”
“Of course,” David said. “I don’t know much about him, though.”
Victor paused, and when he spoke again, his voice had changed. “Neither do I, but that’s more than enough. The things I’ve heard . . .”
He trailed off, and his demeanor took on a different aspect—one which David found unsettling. Victor showed a wide variety of emotions, but David had never once heard fear behind his words.
“He’s been chasing those promotions for a while now, and he’s next in line for a Council seat,” Victor said. “Most officers are corrupt or underhanded to some degree, but they try to hide it, at least. Not Lin, though. He’s absolutely ruthless. He’s smart, too—he’s made himself very, very useful to the Council. If they want something done, they go to him, because he makes it happen. Doesn’t matter how; he’ll use any means necessary. That’s who they’re promoting, not someone like you or me.”
David pondered these words, then shrugged. “I don’t put much stock in gossip,” he said. “Besides, he doesn’t seem the type.”
“Yes, but those are the ones you need to watch out for.” Victor took a deep breath. “I don’t care how non-threatening he looks. He’s a non-legacy officer in senior command. That alone tells you everything you need to know.”
David had no response.
“He didn’t just luck into this career,” Victor continued. “He wanted this, and he worked hard for it—harder than anyone else. He did whatever it took to succeed, and based on the latest rumors, his motivations are far from good. Just imagine the things you’d have to do to out-compete a general’s grandson for a Council seat—not simply daydream about it, but actually do it—and that’ll give you an idea of the type of person he is.” He sighed again. “It’s not enough to be talented or motivated. The rest of that Council is afraid of him.”
David frowned, but Victor’s tone changed. “Now, that’s enough of that. I didn’t come here to talk about politics or the Council; I came to talk about you.”
He reached over and touched David’s hair, but David brushed his hand away.
“What other rumors have you heard?” he asked.
Victor seemed surprised, but then his face fell.
“I should’ve known,” he said. “You’re an extremely driven person, which is something I love about you, but you’d rather discuss politics than . . . us. That sense of curiosity will always come first, won’t it?”
David couldn’t dispute this, so instead, he said nothing. He simply reached out to take Victor’s hand, but Victor pulled away and sat up. His demeanor had changed entirely, and David detected a new sense of coldness from him.
“Why don’t you go up to Howard’s office if you want bad company and even worse drinks,” Victor said sharply. “I’m sure he’d be more than happy to discuss politics.”
“That’s not what I meant . . .” David began.
“Then what did you mean, exactly?” Victor snapped. “That your career won’t come before everything else? Because I don’t believe you.”
He stood up and moved as if to leave.
“No!” David said.
“What, then?”
Victor’s eyes bored into him, and David wasn’t sure what to say.
“I’m sorry,” he finally managed. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was apologizing for; he simply wanted to placate him.
Victor paused, then knelt down and looked him in the eye.
“Just so you know,” he began slowly, “those rumors say that Colonel Lin is trying to privatize the Corps and introduce the option of bringing us into future armed conflicts. That’s what everyone’s been saying, which you’d know if you’d spent more time around those trust fund brats you seem so intent to join. In ten years, that’s where we can expect to find ourselves if nothing changes, which is why I don’t want to stay around for twenty.”
“He can’t do that.” David frowned. “That would be a violation of our charter.”
“Oh, can’t he?” Victor replied. “Because if he’s granted a Council seat, he can amend it. Then what?”
David had nothing to say.
“You think he won’t get the votes?” Victor continued. “Remember—they’re afraid of him, and for good reason.”
A heavy silence followed.
“The law only goes so far as those who are willing to stop him, and if this plan has already made its way to cadet gossip, it’s as good as done,” Victor said. “Not only do you not seem to care, though, you’re marching right toward it with a smile on your face.”
He reached forward and stroked David’s chin. His expression had softened somewhat, but there was still an iciness to his gaze. “So there you have it. That’s why I want no part of this, and why I’m skeptical of anyone who does. We all know the Chancellor drinks himself to sleep every night, but have you ever asked yourself why? Howard at least seems to be aware—not that he’s doing much about it—but you’re frightfully naive, David.”
David looked away and said nothing, but Victor put a finger under his chin and turned his face toward him.
“Now,” he began, meeting David’s eyes, “can we put all of this aside and have a decent evening together? Or do you plan to keep going on about it?”
David shook his head. Victor stared at him for a moment more, but after a while he sat down and settled back into that relaxed pose, and David breathed a sigh of relief.
“I’d like to propose something,” Victor said. “I was serious when I said I was open to the idea of marriage, but only if certain conditions are met. So how about this—we’ll make this . . . thing between us a long-term relationship, exclusive to each other. I’ll stand by you if you stand by me, and who knows? In ten years, we’ll see where we are. Promise me, though, that we’ll always put each other first.”
David reached out and grasped his hand tightly. “Always.”
He watched Victor’s face for a reaction. At times, Victor seemed unable to dismiss any supposed indiscretions, perceived or otherwise, from his mind, but tonight he seemed willing to let them go. After a long pause, he nodded, and David breathed a deep sigh of relief.
The two of them had a long, open discussion after that, gradually moving closer together over the course of an hour, and eventually the talk died down, replaced by touch and physical affection.
There was lovemaking that evening, as David had suspected there would be, but this time, it was different. He hadn’t known the various types, but there was a passion and vulnerability to Victor he’d never seen before. It was just like their first day in class—he hadn’t known what he liked until he saw it, but it was addictive and enrapturing, and he never wanted to let it go.
He had to, though. He would’ve stayed for as long as possible, but unfortunately, their time was short. They fell asleep in each other’s arms that night, wrapped beneath those blankets, then woke up frightfully early, before anyone else had stirred. David forced himself to get up—it was painful, tearing himself away from this moment—but it had to be done, and they put on their uniforms, then stole away to their separate rooms to begin another day, arriving before anyone knew they’d gone.
Still, though, David found it impossible to dismiss these concerns from his mind. He’d been fully preoccupied by Victor during his first few months at the Academy, but their conversation that night occupied an ever-increasing portion of his attention, intruding on his thoughts and burdening his waking hours. As time went on, he smiled less and worried more, fearing all the while that he might be allowing the things he truly loved to slip away in pursuit of a fruitless dream.