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How exactly one is to prepare for a six-man circle jerk, Lana’s not sure, but she’s not surprised Matthews doesn’t offer any tips. If Lana’s assigned to room with the mouthy blonde again on Six, she might just have to quit the Corps right there and let the shuttle haul her back to solid ground; twenty-one months of training out the window. In the meantime Lana doesn’t waste her breath. Who’s to say her friend’s sister didn’tenjoyblowing six guys at once? Hell, maybe it was heridea.
Or maybe there’s no sex on Six at all. Wouldn’t that be even crueler? Get all the trainees primed up during transport, plant salacious rumors that are bound to spread, and when they disembark subject them to three long months of celibacy on a remote space station loaded with officers in uniform. Turn off the viz and bind their hands at night so they can’t even masturbate. Bind their hands when they shower, assign a bunch of petty officers to wash themdown…
“I’ve heard the same thing,” says Cat Eyes, a condescending smile on her lips. “I hear they rape you if you don’t perform well. I bet they just love to do it to pretty white girls with lovely long hair.” Her voice drips with mock flattery, her dark gaze raking overLana.
“All I’m saying is no one better try to rape me,” Matthews says, as if the threat was directed at her. “Any prick who tries has itcoming.”
Lana turns toward the portal doors, weary of the conversation; sometimes the women in the Corps are worse than the men with all the bravado. The redhead in front of her swivels around and raises a sharp eyebrow at Matthews. She has a pretty, heart-shaped face and wears a corpsman’s insignia above her ample chest. Lana’s seen her around; not really the kind of woman you forget. Sat next to her at breakfast this morning, but didn’t attempt conversation—Frat Policy and all. Her call sign,Scarlet, has been stitched into the ISC badge below herinsignia.
“Don’t be ridiculous. No one’s getting raped.” Scarlet’s green-eyed gaze flicks to Lana. “Don’t listen to them, sweetheart. They have no idea what they’re talking about.” She turns to face the portal doors, shoulders back, and tosses her head, reddish curls bouncing. She hasn’t pinned her hair up. Though she’s about the same height as Lana, she seemstaller.
“Aren’t you nervous?” Lanawhispers.
“Of course.” Scarlet gives Lana a sly look over her shoulder. “That’s just part of the fun.” She winks effortlessly—Lana has never been able to pull off a wink like that—and stands at attention as a departure officer assumes her place in front of the nearest portal, computer tablet in hand. Other officers file into place, ready to call theroll.
The multi-layered portal doors slide open, revealing the small airlock chambers that will whisk the trainees up into the Transport Level of Station Six. Lana watches as trainees are sorted into the lighted chambers, five at a time, her heart drumming an anxious rhythm as she listens for hername.
Scarlet steps forward—Lana doesn’t even catch her real name when it’s called among the flurry of others—and takes her place in one of the chambers. She gives Lana another wink and a mischievous grin as the doorsshut.
When Lana’s name is called by one of the officers, he tells her, “Echo Unit,” with a too-familiar sidelong glance. Before she can figure out if that look, prompted by her last name, was triggered by her brother’s infamy or worse—her own—she’s herded into a chamber. The bright white light pools over her and the four other trainees inside. The triple doors slide shut, one over the other, and as the floor begins to rise, Lana’s stomachsinks.
This isit.
Once she sets foot on Station Six, she’s officiallyin. Technically, training begins tomorrow, but everyone knows evaluation begins the second you breathe Six’s air. From that moment on, there will be no way out of the DEEP Training program but to drop out or to be dropped, take the long shuttle ride back to Corps Central and face the training board a failure. Have that excruciating talk with her parents over the com, the one in which her mother tells her with utmost sincerity,It’s perfectly fine, Lana. Honestly, we had noexpectations.
She stands up straighter, recalling Scarlet’s flawless posture. The other trainees in the chamber stir, like restless animals about to be released from a cage. Life on the shuttle is cramped and bloody boring, but Lana knows the taste of freedom on the comparably enormous station will be fleeting. DEEP Training means long, intensive hours slaving away at the mercy of the rigorous program, and in particular, her Commanding Officer—her trainer. Deep Space Extra-Vehicular and Emergency Preparedness is a pass or fail program, and Lana knows her CO will have the ultimate say in whether or not her performance meets the bar, whether or not she achieves her dream of a long-term assignment in deep space. DEEP is the gateway to that dream, and her trainer will hold thekey.
Lana has done her research; DEEP has an approximate sixty percent failure rate. Of course, she wouldn’t be here if the Corps didn’t believe she has a real chance, if she didn’t believe she has what it takes to make it. If she didn’t want it down to the marrow of her bones. But making an excellent first impression on her trainer is vital, and it all starts when the chamber doorsopen.
She takes a deep, steadying breath. The chamber locks into place, the layered doors open—one, two, three—and Lana gets her first glimpse of the organized chaos that is Station Six’s Hub as she and the other trainees stumble into the fray, dispersing in search of their respectiveunits.
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 ofmuscle.
An unyielding officer with a black cap pulled low over pale green eyes and a firm set to his jaw glances down at her withannoyance.
“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.StaffSergeant.
“Reporting?” he barks. Not a man of unnecessarywords.
“Um, Echo Unit?Sir.”
He points over her shoulder into one of the rooms, where a young and very blond male intake officer checks traineesin.
“Thank you,Sir—”
But Hilt has already moved away into thecrowd.
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,PettyOfficer.
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 theviz.
She waits for the rest, prepared to murmur the usualThank you, orYes, he’s my brother, orWe’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 hesays.
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’snaive.
