The Transport Level of the Hub is a transparent web; Lana drifts along the entry passage, glancing into the various rooms, each one surrounded by clear walls on three sides, the back end open to the passage that loops around the entire level. She glimpses an intake officer in several of the rooms, the black uniforms easy to spot in the sea of blue. Other officers stand above the web in the raised corridor that runs through the center of the Hub, observing the commotion below. Lana wonders if her trainer is up there… her neck is craned so far in that direction, she walks into a wall of muscle.
An unyielding officer with a black cap pulled low over pale green eyes and a firm set to his jaw glances down at her with annoyance.
“Sorry!” she gasps. Nice eyes, though. She takes a step back, managing to glimpse the call sign stitched into his badge. Hilt. And the rank indicated by his insignia. Staff Sergeant.
“Reporting?” he barks. Not a man of unnecessary words.
“Um, Echo Unit? Sir.”
He points over her shoulder into one of the rooms, where a young and very blond male intake officer checks trainees in.
“Thank you, Sir—”
But Hilt has already moved away into the crowd.
Lana makes her way over to the blond’s room, not daring to glance at the raised corridor again. She stands off to the side, watching the intake officer check her unitmates in on a computer tablet, taking the opportunity to get her first look at her peers—her competition. Aside from herself, Echo Unit appears to be all men. Lana waits until every man in the room has either been checked in or dismissed before she approaches the officer herself. She notes his call sign, Score, and his rank, Petty Officer.
He looks her over; a quick inventory, head to feet. “Name?”
“Cadet Lana Marsden, Sir.”
There it is. The narrowing of the eyes, a twitch so slight Lana might have missed it if she wasn’t so used to it. Sometimes it’s an infinitesimal lift of the chin, a slant of the shoulders or a clearing of the throat, but she has rarely encountered an officer in the Corps who doesn’t react at the mention of her family name. Fortunately, her brother has made it something of a legend, his own very public disaster eclipsing the whispers of her own. When a young pilot, first in his class, receives the Silver Cross for heroism only two years out of flight training and later that same year loses his wings, it makes big news on the viz.
She waits for the rest, prepared to murmur the usual Thank you, or Yes, he’s my brother, or We’re proud of him too, or even the very worst, Yes, it really is a shame, as if Adam’s demotion somehow negates everything he accomplished before. But Score just taps something into his tablet and turns the device toward her. A glowing blue dot radiates light from the center of the screen. “Finger,” is all he says.
Lana touches her right index finger to the blue light, allowing the device to scan her in and configure the security data in the tiny chip implanted in her fingertip. When it’s done, Score gives her a glance with just a hint of appreciation in it. Or maybe it’s her imagination… It never fails to take her aback when any officer looks at her with anything beyond the standard aloof courtesy—which, in the Corps, is about as warm and fuzzy as it gets between ranks—even though her best friend, Layla, says that’s naive.
But Layla’s not in the Corps, so she doesn’t really understand the chain of command.
“Welcome to Station Six, Cadet Marsden. You can report for clearance.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Score directs her to the center of the Hub, where she gets into a lineup near the steps to the elevator bank. Up front, officers check the contents of each rucksack before granting the trainees access to one of the elevators. Each time an elevator fills, Lana watches it whoosh through the ceiling, lifting the trainees into the higher levels of the station, her stomach surging along with it.
Why this time? She should have been more nervous to leave Earth after Basic Training almost a year ago, to report to Station One. By now she should be used to the rigors of the Corps, the security checks, the men in uniform everywhere she looks, the intimidating air the officers don as effortlessly as their shit-kicking boots. Maybe it’s the rumors worming their way under her skin, but there seems to be a nearly palpable electricity in the air. She watches as the other trainees in line fidget and worry away at the lumps in their throats as they wait for their rucksacks to be searched.
When it’s her turn, she drops her ruck on the table and unzips it for the clearance officer. Thorough, says his badge. Master Sergeant. The highest-ranking officer she’s encountered on Six yet.
“Swipe,” he says without looking at her, delving straight into her ruck.
Lana swipes her finger over the blue light emitting from the tablet on the table. She watches Thorough dig around, counting her clothing items, toiletries and personal effects. Next to the table, a bin holds prohibited items that have already been confiscated—snack bars from the shuttle commissary, a computer tablet, a gold necklace, even a pair of high heels—but she isn’t worried. She’s memorized the trainee manual and packed exactly as allowed. Even so, it’s a little unnerving having a male officer she’s never met before counting her panties—black cotton briefs, precisely to code, and the same as everyone else’s, but still. The longer he digs in her ruck, the more on-edge Lana feels. Is there a problem? She resists the urge to ask. There are officers who bend a little and those
