“You are our nation's Greatest Generation!”
The speaker's voice fills the auditorium, speakers placed throughout the hall carrying his voice, as a giant screen allows him to be seen from every angle. However, I don’t have an issue hearing him, and I certainly don’t have any issues seeing him from my position behind him. I sit with eleven others…at the furthest distance from the speaker.
However, even though my seat is the lowest of all of them, I can still feel the gazes coming from the crowd—envious, jealous, mocking, pitting—a whole collection of them. Swallowing the nerves that have been battling within me all morning, I try to pay attention to the speech being given in our collective honor. My gaze locks in on the back of the Supreme Commander, a small back for all the authority and respect it commands.
“Today, you all graduate. You are the first generation to properly complete the most rigorous military academy among the stars. You are the first generation to be trained alongside the next generation of war machines. You are the first generation to be fully prepared for the steps we must take to liberate ourselves from the yoke of Terra!
“For too long have we, those who humanity flung into the stars, lived under the oppression of a regime that knows not of our struggles. Ever since we were thrust into the heavens, forced to cobble together homes out of cold, unfeeling steel, we have been under their heel. As we fought and struggled just to stay alive, they stole from us. First, with their astroid levy, forcing us to risk countless lives to feed the rampant greed of their industry. Then, with their rampant taxes, treating our lives as if they were a luxury! Now we say NO MORE!”
At the Commander's words, the whole auditorium erupts into cheers. My voice joins them as the spirit sweeps through me. He allows us to cheer for a few seconds, patriotic chants filling the room before he raises his hand, and like magic, the crowd falls silent.
“Those who live restrained by gravity have no right to determine our fate! They have no right to tell us how we should live! They have no right to demand the labor of our hands and the sweat of our brow! And they have no right to demand our fealty!
“So I call upon you all. You, who are all innovators and pioneers! Join those who have come before you as a valiant blade of liberation. Those behind me on this dias have already made their intentions known. In a few days, these twelve patriots will embark on a mission of liberty. They shall be the first, but I ask. NAY! I PLEAD TO EVERY ONE OF YOU WITH A FIBER OF PATRIOTISM, WITH A SINGLE OUNCE OF LOVE FOR YOUR BROTHERS AND SISTERS OF THE STARS TO JOIN THEM IN THE COMING DAYS!”
The Commander takes another breath to thunderous applause before raising his hand to calm the storm he created.
“Now, I will hand it over to your valedictorian, Marie Shutz-Seishoku, to continue,” the Commander says, stepping back to thunderous applause. As he steps back, the top student of the academy walks forward. She strides to the podium with the confidence of one who knows she stands at the top of society. Her long black hair trails behind her like a cape as she makes her way to the podium.
“Before I say any of the words I have prepared for my peers, I would like to give my thanks to Supreme Commander Robert Bellamy. First, I thank you for taking up the noble task of guiding our new nation through these trying times. And second, and most relevant to today, for taking time from your busy schedule to give words of encouragement to us.”
With that, she turns and places her hand over her heart in a salute to the Supreme Commander, and the auditorium erupts in applause. Our line quickly rises to salute the Supreme Commander as well, and after a few seconds of saluting, the applause and cheers die down, giving us the opportunity to return to our seats.
“My fellow graduates, these four years together have been long.” Marie starts, and I take a moment to think about her words.
It really has been a long four years, and never did once think I would end up here. A glance to my side proves how out of place I am. All but one of my compatriots on the stage belongs to the emerging elite class of the UCC. Heirs to mining companies, manufacturers, or politicians. Future elites who are already training to take control of our new nation. Then there’s me, the idiot who somehow managed to luck my way onto this stage.
“While we may be the ones sitting up here, we are all equals in our earnest desire to serve our nation. While we may have a head start, I look forward to seeing the rest of you alongside us in the battle to rid the stars of Terran tyranny.”
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If we are “all equals,” then what have the past months been for? The chaos caused as soon as they announced this opportunity? The harassment students received in the fire tests and the simulated battles, all to ensure that only the “right” kind of student ends up on the stage? All to ensure that no one like me ends up at this stage.
My stomach starts to churn a bit, and my skin crawls as I feel gazes focus on me once more, more openly, the Supreme Commander no longer demanding their attention. When Shutz-Seishoku’s speech ends, I am one of the quickest to rise to give applause, if only to have something else to focus on. However, as she sits back down, it's back to the torture of their stares as awards are given.
The whole auditorium goes through to gain their diplomas and deployment information. However, we are saved for last.
“Ensign James Kizashi!”
Hearing my name, I try my best to walk forward confidently. My legs carry me forward carefully, doing their best to ignore the weight of the stares sent my way.
“I hope you serve this nation well,” the Headmaster says as he hands me my diploma and shakes my hand. I nod before quickly sitting down.
The rest of the line is awarded, and until Shutz-Seishoku, they all receive the same speech as me.
“Lieutenant Junior Grade Shutz-Seishoku. It has been an honor watching your growth. I hope to see you develop further in the coming weeks. May you serve as a guiding beacon to all of your fellows of the Academy as well as those you will soon be fighting alongside.”
“Of course, sir. I will do my best to uphold the name of this Academy that I have come to love. Just as I strive to uphold its values and the values of our great nation.”
The ceremony ends with thunderous applause, but for us, it is only a beginning as we are escorted to our fates.
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What once was empty void has become a garden of death. Ships and Astral Gear litter what was once empty space. Among the wreckage remain a few desperate souls attempting to fight the emissary of death that rampages among the garden of its creation. The emissary is white, black lines breaking up the paint of its armor at certain points, with wings made of luminous amethyst energy propelling it through the wreckage. In one of its hands, it holds a brilliant blue blade that easily pierces the cockpit of its prey, its stylized face coldly looking on as it damns yet another soul.
It swiftly flies back, removing its blade from its kill just in time to avoid an explosion. The empty face turns to face the source of the blast, sensor eyes flashing purple and focusing on a group of six desperate souls in the same mass-produced Astral Gear as the one it had just slain, the only difference being a wolf’s head placed upon the right shoulder alongside a number. Upon seeing their surprise attack fail, four of the AGs open fire with machine guns as the remaining two ready rocket launchers.
The emissary doesn’t even bother to evade their attacks, charging forward and immediately dashing their hopes as their machine guns prove worthless. Two in the back fire their rocket launchers. However, the emissary evades with a grace unfitting of its massive size. The emissary falls upon them swiftly, running through one of the members of the small pack with its blade. As another comrade falls, a desperate energy fills the rest of the pack. Seeing their machine guns are worthless; they are abandoned to the void in favor of axes as they charge in.
The first attack, the emissary evades by jetting back, but it manages to block the second and third, revealing an additional blade in the process. Superheated metal clashes against beams of captive plasma for a few precious seconds before the emissary shifts. Its right blade breaks free from the clash to slice through one of its targets. An escape pod bursts free from the AG seconds before it explodes, knocking the close combatants back.
No longer at risk of hitting their allies, the two backline AGs take their shot. Their desperate attacks land, striking one of the emissary’s arms. However, it is only a glancing blow, the attack absorbed by its heavy armor. With a vengeful flash of purple, the emissary dashes across the battlefield to impale its prey. One falls immediately, impaled like so many others, while the other manages to slightly evade the attack, losing only an arm in the exchange. Desperate, another shot is fired off, slamming into the damaged arm as the desperate pilot flies backward. Before death can chase them, the pilot’s allies charge in, axes at the ready. Once again, brilliant blue clashes with red as the pilots try their best to face off against death.
As if to answer their desperate pleas, one of the sabers begins to sputter. Seeing a window, the pilots charge in once more, aiming for the already damaged limb with all the power their machines can give them. And while an axe finds its mark, so too does the sputtering blade, the cockpit of yet another AG. The other is once again blocked by the emissary, its remaining brilliant blade starting to stutter.
The emissary presses forward, its brilliant blade cutting through the arm of the remaining AG, removing its last hope of resistance. It thrusts its blade forward, ready to claim yet another life, but like a bolt from the blue, another rocket flies in, forcing the emissary to jump back to evade the attack. As its remaining blade sputters and dies, the emissary leaves. Vanishing from the battlefield as quickly as it arrived, leaving the two broken machines as witnesses to its terror.