Interstellar Academy by Kennedy Harkins (read books for money .TXT) 📕

The Tundrian left, followed a moment later by the AI. I watched it go. Now that I was looking for it, I able to see the mechanical, stiff movements he was making under the fluid clothing. I waited a lot longer than either of them had to make my escape; I didn’t want to risk running into either character in some dark alley.

After m waiting was up, I sprinted all the way back to the ship, putting it through the motions with a cool confidence I didn’t feel. The ride back was less rocky, filled instead with inner turmoil instead of physical.

I hadn’t realized until entering the ship’s gravity field again, that I hadn’t been planning on coming back. I’d had the chance to fl off into the sunset with the ship of my dreams, and I was headed back to a hell hole. A hell hole that would kick me out--doing the right thing or no--when I told them how I came by this important information, sparse though it was.

I wasn’t sure if this was the “right thing” Igor was always talking about, because it had never mattered to me. I wasn’t even sure if this was the smart thing, the strategical thing, which was supposed to be my area of expertise. I slammed on the brakes and put the craft on the battlefield, thinking that morals were no fun. I’d have to go back to ignoring them straight away.

Stepping off of the hatch and onto the slightly moist dirt, I could feel the difference in the air from when I’d last been there. The the cube field was still disabled, but the AIs were gone, and someone was watching me from the shadows.

A slow clapping started, and I spun to stare in the opposite direction from where I was facing to where my voyeur was lurking. She emerged without further ado, and my stomach shriveled into the size of a kidney stone. If this was the right thing, I would definitely think twice about doing it in the future.

“I must say, breaking the force field was inspired,” Professor Accia said. “But you really should have checked the craft for silent alarms.” She tapped the side of the ship where a small, innocuous chip was stuck. “This alerted me as soon as you set foot inside.”

I rushed over to her. “Professor Accia, I went--”

“--for a joy ride around campus. I expect.” She was still looking at the ship.

I gulped. “Well, not exactly.... But I saw this AI, and it was--”

Professor Accia raised her eyebrows. “You managed to get by a lot of the AIs on campus tonight, then.”

“It wasn’t--”

She spoke right over me again. “It’s a good thing for you, Greenie, that you didn’t stray any farther. Any more than a little jaunt around the ship, and I’d be obligated to report it to Professor Earhart.”

With a sinking feeling in my gut, I realized what she was saying. For some inexplicable reason, she was willing to let me go. But if I actually told her the extent of my crimes, she’d have to expel me. And if I didn’t, no one would know about the threat to the school.

I opened my mouth again, but Professor Accia spoke first, staring up at the sky. “Beautiful night, Greenie. Perfect for flying.” She whistled through her teeth softly, shifting her wings with a barely audible rustle. “There are a lot of those at the Academy. Get out of my sight if you want to find that out for yourself.”

I ran.

February 20th:

I ran through the streets at full speed, not looking where I was going, because I was too busy staring at the holo alert I’d gotten. It didn’t matter, my feet knew the way to my little dark corner of music.

I hadn’t bothered to be quiet on my way out of the apartment. Mae was a sound sleeper, and that Animarian made noises loud enough to drown out any exit. The was gone, as she was most nights. I didn’t know or care to know where she snuck out to; it was none of my business if she wanted to get expelled. Personally, I was cheering for it.

Sitting down on a dark step, I read through the alert again.

Greetings, music students! This is a reminder to all orchestra members that next month we will be performing at a formal United Galaxy dinner. Dressing up is required, and attendance is MANDATORY. See you all in rehearsal.

So I had a month. A month until I’d be performing in front of the most important and influential people in the galaxy. The Tundrians I’d see there would be the ones offering me jobs--or not, if they saw me playing music--when I graduated the Academy.

And in one month, I’d be playing in front of my mother. My mother, who would die with shame upon seeing her eldest son debasing himself in front of all of her colleagues. I’d have to quit. That was the only thing to be done. I’d couldn’t risk my future and the future of my family over something that made me happy.

I put my head in my hands, thinking about all the practices with the orchestra, each one better than the last. With them, I was amazing, more so than I ever had been. We acted and reacted with each other, a fine tuned machine, making real music, not just a pale, kiddy imitation. I'd miss the people. They were an intoxicating combination of different races, personalities, and beliefs, something I never thought I'd enjoy. And they liked me. Because I could play the piccolo, they accepted me into their midsts, the exact opposite reaction I would've gotten on Tundris.

Despite all that, I knew I had to end it. Or maybe it was because of all that. After all, one person could only stand so much loss, and, as my mother would say, this place was giving my ideas.

And ideas were dangerous.

March 28th:

  “Putting ideas in my head is dangerous, Kavi. I’d have thought by now that most of the galaxy would have figured that out.”

He shifted out of the way to avoid a rampaging Syreni whose midterm grades hadn’t quite lived up to what he had expected. “I’m just saying that maybe you didn’t do as bad as you think.”

I rolled my eyes. “ Professor Accia thinks I’m a serial ship killer, and I almost got myself and Dru killed on Professor Talib’s watch. A few good marks in Chemistry and Life Studies--and a few in Calculous just above abysmal--isn’t going to level that out.” There wasn’t an inanimate object in sight, so I kicked a kid in front of me. “I’ll be in Earhart’s office by morning.”

We were at the back of the line-- by my choice. Hordes of students in not so even rows stood in front of us, moving at a glacial place towards four temporary tables set up in the front. On each of those tables--one for each grade-- was a pile of paper. Actual paper. And on those papers were our grades from the midterm (forever ago in January).

The school put it on real paper, because it’s our personal copy, not something they need back. There’s no record for us students to access until the beginning of the next year. No one said anything, but I figured it was a precaution against grade changing. You get a bunch of techno geniuses together and put pressure on them to succeed-- like the kind of pressure used to break the wills of prisoners of war-- and the people in charge are bound to realize that some of those kids would do anything to win the game.

Like me.

About a half an hour later, Kavi and I were finally at the front of the freshman line. All the other students had left the arena by that point-- either in tears or with triumph, leaving just a handful of kids besides the two of us. I was shaking slightly, seeing visions of ascending that spiral building on the floating circle, up and up, all the way to Earhart’s office. She was sitting right there, same chair as last time, readying to give me the boot. What was worse, she didn’t have a smug look on her face. There was no expression there. She called the outcome, and now it was here. Nothing to get worked up about.

A Professor I didn’t recognize handed me my slip of paper. I didn’t turn it over, just looking at it for a second. It was so small, but seemed to have mass beyond what I held in my hands. It was a big as the ship, as the whole galaxy.

I took a deep breath and turned it over, exhaling slowly. As predicted, my grades were high in Life Studies and Chemistry. I was pleasantly surprised to see that Tech and Calculous were middle range. If it had stopped there, the hard knot in my stomach could have dissipated. But it didn’t.

“I’m failing flying and battle,” I told Kavi, barely registering the words pouring out of my mouth like a runny faucet.

I looked down and read some of the comments.

Astraea’s attitude could use some work. As could her skills on the battle field. With a lot of training in that area, she may one day be able to protect herself against a crippled mugger. As for her flying studies, there is no amount of help in the galaxy that could make Astraea proficient there. To pass the classes, she will need to demonstrate drastic improvement by the end of the year outside of class.  

“Poisonous toad,” I hissed. “It’d serve you right if I let the robots fry your ass.”

But that sentiment just sent another wave of depression my way. I had yet to figure out how to let the adults know about the security risk without getting expelled for my troubles. Though, with these grades, it might have been a non issue.