3: Cassie

Academy Hill, Vidako
Imperium Stellarum
August 12, 2847

At the words of the older cadet, Cassie felt a shift in the entire dynamic of the other newly arrived students who surrounded her. Eyes shifted in her direction, whispers ran around the edge of the group, and some of them even stepped back to clear a space around her. Almost all of them had already known, of course—but until someone had actually said something, she imagined that they hadn’t been certain how to act. She could even see Jessica quietly shifting around the perimeter of the group, ready to leap in if needed.

She felt a sudden, boiling anger, and the urge to punch the preening boy in front of her in his stupid nose was almost impossible to restrain. You need to get a handle on your temper, Cassie. She could actually hear her father’s words in her head, the precise tone of the admonition, it had come so many times before. It was easy for him to say—a lot easier than it was to actually put those words into practice. Especially now.

Because somehow, she’d actually gotten lucky enough to meet someone who didn’t seem to have the slightest clue who she was. How that was possible when her face had been plastered over every planetary net in the Imperium since the day she was born, Cassie couldn’t have said; and at first, she hadn’t even believed it. But either Arc was the best actor in the sector—a thought which nearly made her snort in laughter—or he genuinely hadn’t put it together.

Until right now. There was no way anyone could possibly be that oblivious, now that this cadet, who was clearly waiting for some sort of gracious response, had put her on the spot. She felt like ‘Cassie,’ cadet fourth class, had only been allowed to live for a few short hours before being ruthlessly and publicly murdered. Now all anyone would see when they looked at her was Cascada Vega Sabran-Solaris, Princess Imperial, and she hated it. It was everything she’d come here to get away from.

Still, if there was any performance she could put on, it was this one. She had, after all, been trained for it her entire life.

Cassie met the older boy’s eyes and poured every ounce of contempt she could muster into her gaze, while making a short, sharp gesture with her left hand, where it hung by her hip, to call Jessica off. He was an ant—nothing more than an insect to be ground under her boot, and she wanted him to know it. She raised her chin imperiously, let the whispers die, and then spoke.

“Perhaps you haven’t been adequately trained in academy protocol, sir,” Cassie said. “While I am here on Vidako, I am Cadet Sabran-Solaris. I’m to be given no special treatment, nor any non-military form of address. And you outrank me, sir.”

“Enough of that,” the other upperclassmen said, stepping forward. She had gorgeous dark skin, and three years’ growth of long, black hair that had been pulled back in over a dozen thin, tight braids. “My name is Ireti Ọlatẹru, Cadet First Class. I’ll be escorting all of you ladies to Tycho Hall, where you’ll be given your room assignments. Come along with me—keep up, and I might even be persuaded to answer a few questions on the walk. I’m certain Cadet Van Camp and the boys will be right behind us.”

Ọlatẹru turned on her heel with military precision and moved out along the path, but all of the other first year girls hesitated. Of course, Cassie realized: they were waiting for her. She spared one look for Arc, saw that his eyes were just as wide and his face just as pale as she’d feared, and knew that she’d already lost what might have been the only chance at a real friendship she’d have here, but there was nothing to do. She turned and hurried after Cadet Ọlatẹru, into the shade cast by the genetically engineered trees whose boughs arced over the campus paths. Like a dam that cracked, and then burst all at once, the other women all burst into motion, though none of them spoke to Cassie, or even approached her.

“You said you might be willing to answer questions, sir?” Cassie asked, once she’d caught up to Ọlatẹru. The older woman’s long strides positively ate up the ground, and Cassie was already feeling the ache in her back from Vidako’s local gravity, which was marginally higher than what she’d grown used to on Terra.

“I believe I did, cadet,” Ọlatẹru agreed. “So long as you all keep up and stay together. Ask away.”

Cassie didn’t actually have very many questions about the school—well, any questions at all. She’d set her heart on coming here since she was twelve years old, and doubted that anyone else had poured over the student handbook or each year’s new course catalogue the way she had. But she also doubted that any of the other girls would risk asking their own questions if she didn’t go first.

“I was wondering what models of mech you’ve qualified to pilot,” Cassie said, because it was the first thing she could think of, because people always liked when you showed interest in them, and because she really was curious.

“The T-3 Tyro, of course,” Ọlatẹru answered, her braids shifting over the back of her cadet grays as she glanced back. Cassie knew that she wasn’t expected to be in uniform upon arrival, but the older student’s fitted pants and tunic, and the elegance with which Ọlatẹru wore them, still made her feel underdressed. Has her hair really grown back that long in only three years, or is she wearing extensions? Cassie wondered.

“That’s what everyone qualifies with by the end of first year,” the older cadet continued. “Which I’m certain those of you who’ve done your research already know. I’m also qualified to pilot an A-3 Culverin.”

Cassie nodded silently. The third generation imperial mech models might be on the back end of their life cycle, but she knew the specs on all of them by heart. The Culverin wasn’t the sort of chassis she preferred to use, but when they had a good screening force and a capable pilot, they could absolutely dominate a battlefield.

“You’re a girl who likes big guns, then,” a Torean with a peacock-green and blue headcrest exclaimed, hurrying her way nearly up to Cassie’s side, presumably to hear better. Many humans had a hard time telling Torean women from their men, because they were all so slender and light on their feet. The fact that the Harriers of Toree were descended from avians, rather than mammals, and so didn’t have breasts, only compounded the problem.

Cassie liked to think she had the trick of it, but then, she’d had a rather cosmopolitan upbringing. An understatement, really—how many of the other cadets here would have met all six of the Torean senators? Cassie knew the answer to that without even having to ask. She noted the telltale swell of the other cadet’s hips, which would have been enough of a clue even if the group of incoming cadets hadn’t already been split by gender. Males, after all, didn’t need their bodies to be able to pass eggs.

“What I like,” Cadet First Class Ọlatẹru said, “is to be able to hit my enemies before they have a chance of hitting me. Which means yes, I like my rail guns. Next?”

As they plunged deeper into the campus, past lawns of black-bladed, carefully trimmed grass, the wind carried the scent of the jungle. It was a thick, deep smell that spoke of rotting leaves, wet loam, and sticky heat. Cassie could already feel sweat slicking her lower back, and she wondered how anyone could possibly deal with four years of this.

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Now that the ice had been broken, a few other girls called out questions, and mostly Cassie didn’t bother to listen to the answers. They wanted to know how hard it was to get a weekend pass into the city, what the food was like, and a dozen other things they could just as easily have learned from reading the handbook or just searching a few forums on their planetary net. There were plenty of academy graduates willing to share their experiences, if you knew the right place to ask.

But maybe, she realized, they found something comforting in hearing the answers out loud, from an actual living person who’d gone through it themselves. Ọlatẹru took it all in good humor, and she gave as much attention to the stupid questions as the more interesting ones. First year cadets received one pass each semester, and could earn more. The dining hall food was designed for health, not taste, but what did you expect?