6
After Hwa Young received the news about the policy change, Commander Ye Jun fobbed her off on another soldier. The grumpy, scarred person herded her to a temporary holding area in one of the storage bays along with other frightened civilians while they awaited processing. She went limp with relief at the sight of ordinary people, evidence that she and her classmates weren’t the only survivors of the attack.
While the sergeant in charge doled out water in recyclable containers and dismal prepackaged meals, Hwa Young looked around for people she recognized. She spotted Seong Su hunched in a corner, his usual cheer deflated.
“Seong Su!” She strode up to him.
His face brightened. “Hwa Young! Good to see you.”
“Where’s everyone else?”
“Dunno, they separated us. Took some of the injured to sick bay and so on.” He hesitated, then added, “They told us Geum will be okay.”
She nodded, too overwhelmed by gratitude to speak.
He pointed out two other students, Ha Yoon and useless Dong Hyun. No sign of Bae, thank goodness.
Seong Su scooted over to make space for her in the crowd. Hwa Young murmured her thanks. She ate, drank, and used the facilities, such as they were. She hated the reek of her sweat; hated that it made her no different than anyone here, ragged and weary.
The New Year is only a couple months away, Hwa Young thought with a sense of unreality. The Empress’s birthday. I never got a gift for Geum. All because she’d waited for a last-minute bargain that never materialized.
Seong Su, for his part, was inclined to chatter. He pointed out other refugees from Serpentine, including some girls who hadn’t yet conformed to the new haircut, and the teens in a corner playing a game of hwatu flower cards, and hwatu strategy, and the taste of the rations, and…
Hwa Young tuned him out and focused on the others. Some of the refugees looked a few years older. None much younger. No babies, no small children, few old folks. That bothered her. How selective had the Eleventh Fleet been with their rescues—and who had done the selecting?
She knew what they said about lancer pilots, that eighteen years old was the ideal time for a pilot to begin training. They’d never specified why, though, and her efforts to find out more details had met with reminders that she shouldn’t be digging into classified materials. Afraid of scuppering her chances, she hadn’t pressed further.
In the ordinary course of events, she would have faced two more years of school, two more years of military readiness classes. Then a series of tests focusing not only on her physical fitness but her aptitude in mathematics, physics, tactics. She’d studied assiduously.
It was infuriating to think that the attack might rob her of her chance.
Hwa Young paced a tight circle around Seong Su, who directed a stream of witless prattle in her direction. The holding area was demarcated by a temporary barrier that wouldn’t have stopped a toddler. She estimated that it contained a hundred people and noted the exits. The obvious ones, anyway. If Seong Su was right, the other refugees were elsewhere.
“Did you get any chance to talk to Bae before they took her away?” Hwa Young finally asked him.
He shook his head. “Nah, the moment the soldiers showed up with their shuttles she was all sweetness and honey. You know how she sucks up to whoever’s in charge.”
She did know. “Aren’t you tired at all?”
“I couldn’t sleep even if I wanted to.”
Soldiers showed up an indeterminate time later to distribute sleeping mats. People babbled and protested as the soldiers herded them roughly so the mats could be organized in a sensible grid, with space between them to form makeshift corridors. As much as Hwa Young resented the crowded quarters, she had to appreciate the soldiers’ unsentimental efficiency. She and Seong Su ended up right at the edge closest to the exit.
“You’d think they could give us a proper place to sleep,” Seong Su complained once he’d flopped down on his mat.
Hwa Young shrugged. “It’s probably easier to wait to assign us permanent quarters based on our new roles.”
In the storage bay, she had no sense of time passing except the excruciating clock of her own exhaustion. Still, she might as well take the opportunity to get some rest. She was so tired that she didn’t care how uncomfortable the mat was. Seong Su was already snoring. She curled up on her side and let sleep sweep her away.
Hwa Young woke an indeterminate amount of time later to Seong Su nudging her shoulder. He was holding out a packaged meal featuring a cartoon picture of a smiling chicken. Heat radiated from the box. “Hey,” he said shyly. “I was gonna let you sleep, since you looked like you needed it, but they were passing out lunch and I thought you’d like yours while it was still warm.”
She sat upright, blinking the grime out of her eyes. For a moment words failed her at the unexpected kindness. “Thank you,” she said awkwardly.
According to ship’s time it was a little past noon. The food wasn’t much to speak of, chicken and rice porridge with a single banchan side of gimchi, but it filled the void in Hwa Young’s stomach. As she ate, she eavesdropped on the others’ conversations, especially those of the soldiers who oversaw the refugees, presumably to keep them in line. They were worried about whether they would get reinforcements as promised; apparently Eighteenth Fleet was supposed to have rendezvoused with them weeks ago, bringing more soldiers, supplies, and…lancers?
More time passed. Hwa Young was considering napping again when a new person arrived: a stooped older woman wearing glasses and a uniform with unfamiliar insignia. Hwa Young sat up straight. She marked the insignia to look up later: a flower with an eye at its heart.
The sergeant escorted the woman to the edge of the holding area, right in front of Hwa Young. “You,” the sergeant said, pointing at Hwa Young. He counted off nine more people, including Seong Su. “Go with Dr. Jin.”
The other refugees were good Imperial citizens. They queued up as though they were waiting for a bus or a train. As though they weren’t trapped inside a starship headed to the front lines of the war against the clanners.
But Hwa Young stepped into place in front of Seong Su, determined not to be hidden by his bulk. She raised her voice: “Excuse me, where are you taking us?”
The sergeant growled under his breath, but a look from the woman quelled him. “We all have a part to play,” she said in a hoarse whisper, as though her voice had been damaged. “My job is to determine what your shipboard assignments will be.”
You could have said “tests,” Hwa Young thought cynically. Just like school. “Thank you, Doctor,” she said, adjusting the formality of her speech accordingly. No sense antagonizing the person who’d decide whether she’d spend this journey cleaning toilets or doing something more meaningful…like training to be a lancer pilot.
Dr. Jin led them to a waiting room that accommodated ten people. A hatch at the other end had no nameplate, only a plaque displaying the same ominous flower with an eye at its heart. A faint fragrance suffused the air but couldn’t overpower the stench of sweaty, anxious people, including Hwa Young herself.
The others sat obediently.
Hwa Young remained standing. Nerves plucked at her, but she ignored them and stood straighter. “I’ll go first, Doctor.”
Dr. Jin’s eyebrows flew up, but she nodded. “Very well. Come with me.”
Hwa Young followed her into the office. It featured an expansive desk of metal, with magnetic brackets holding a slate in place. There was another door behind the desk, and she wondered where it led.
Half the desk was occupied by a baduk board with a game in progress, its black and white stones forming zones of influence on the nineteen-by-nineteen grid. A large box of milky green jade, its surface carved with symbols for good luck, rested to the side. It was almost as large as the board itself. Hwa Young couldn’t imagine how much high-quality jade that size was worth.
The doctor gestured for her to sit in the single chair across from the desk, so she did. “Your name.”
“I’m Hwa Young.” When the doctor waited, she added, “I’m a ward of the state. I have no family.” It stung every time she said that, but she locked away the pain. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by uncertainty now of all times.
Dr. Jin’s expression flickered. “Ah, yes. Commander Ye Jun thought you might make a suitable lancer candidate. I, however, have yet to be convinced. We prefer for lancer candidates to come from well-established families.”
Hwa Young clung to the story of Mi Cha, who had risen from the humblest of origins. Perhaps it would be better if she didn’t bring up Mi Cha, however. “Are you personally processing every refugee, Doctor?”
Dr. Jin regarded her with hooded eyes. “That’s not your concern. Tell me, ward of the state, do you play baduk?” Her voice dripped skepticism.
What, because she didn’t have parents, she was supposed to be some uncivilized savage?
Like a clanner, a defiant voice whispered in the back of her head. Only long habit kept her from glancing down at her feet to check if she was floating.
Hwa Young swept her gaze over the board. “White and black are evenly matched.”
Dr. Jin’s breath huffed out as if she hadn’t expected an immediate answer. “If you were playing black, how would you prevail?”
In answer, Hwa Young grabbed the jade box, ignoring the doctor’s gasp, and plunked it down on top of the baduk board, scattering the white and black stones in all directions.
“Why bother with these small, insignificant stones,” Hwa Young grated, “when I could use a real weapon. One that can make a real difference. Like a lancer.”
Dr. Jin rose, her face twisting. “If I have any say in it, you’ll never—”
The door behind her whisked open. The doorway framed Commander Ye Jun.
“Excuse me,” zie said, zir voice cold—but the coldness was not directed toward Hwa Young. “I’ve seen enough. She’s in.”
The doctor sneered. “You have terrible taste in pilot candidates, as always.”
“I want her. You’ll sign the papers.”
“What, so you can get her killed like the others at Spinel? She won’t thank you for your brilliant leadership, Commander.”
What? Hwa Young wanted to interject. What happened at Spinel?
She’d expected lancers to be feted and respected. She’d expected them to be heroes, like the captain of the Guard with Paradox. Like zir lieutenant Mi Cha. She had never contemplated the possibility that her leadership wouldn’t be competent.
There must be a misunderstanding. Maybe Dr. Jin has it in for the commander for some personal reason.
But the words rang hollow.
Commander Ye Jun was unmoved by the doctor’s spite. “That’s my problem. Sign the papers.”
Dr. Jin turned her sneer on Hwa Young. “It’s highly irregular for a ward of the state to—”
Hwa Young choked down a hysterical laugh. Ward of the state? How about former clanner? She certainly wasn’t going to blurt out the truth now. Not when she was so close to her goal.
“There are a lot of things that are irregular in the Eleventh Fleet,” Ye Jun remarked.
Dr. Jin remained obdurate. “I’m not issuing a badge to a girl without a family.”
Great. Hwa Young had repeated the story of Mi Cha’s meteoric rise to herself since childhood, confident that she, too, would be chosen despite her lowly origins. She hadn’t counted on running into resistance from some random bureaucrat.
“Good thing for you I came prepared.” Commander Ye Jun retrieved a blank gray disc from zir pocket. Zie nodded at Hwa Young, zir expression warming subtly, and tapped a syncopated rhythm on the disc. It reshaped itself into the silver sun-and-lance badge of a pilot candidate. “This is your ID. It’s also authorized to give you directions within the flagship. You’ll be bunking with the other lancers at 16-ja. I’ll give you further instructions after you’ve settled in.”
Hwa Young accepted the badge. She felt as though she were glowing like a supernova. “Thank you…sir.”
Commander Ye Jun’s expression turned grim. “Don’t thank me yet. The doctor isn’t all wrong.”
What the hell was that about? Hwa Young thought as she walked briskly through the Maehwa’s corridors. On the one hand, she had almost made it. She was a pilot candidate. All she had to do was make it through training and join the ranks of the pilots to claim her own lancer.
On the other hand, Commander Ye Jun had intervened on her behalf—and zie had at least one enemy among the shipboard authorities. What if there were others?
She had envisioned a celebration of some sort, with lanterns and flowers, the awe and congratulations of her peers. Imagined being able to fling her success in Bae’s face, show everyone who had treated her with such scorn that she could triumph in spite of them.
Instead, no one had marked the occasion. Here she was, striding through the Maehwa’s corridors, completely alone. She’d passed some of the crew already, but none of them had given her a second glance. As far as they were concerned, she was still nobody, and that stung.
It will be different once I have a lancer of my own, Hwa Young promised herself again.
And what had happened at Spinel—another periphery world, she remembered vaguely from her classes—that had gone so badly for the commander?
It didn’t take Hwa Young long to figure out how to pair the badge with her own neural implant. The badge projected a holographic map with the route to the quartermaster marked in blue. She imagined the map was the kind of thing that got you sniped if you used it in the field—Here I am, come shoot me!
Hwa Young considered detouring for sick bay to look for Geum, then reluctantly decided against it. Perhaps she could use her new status to push someone to give her information on zir. Which meant dressing the part, which meant visiting the quartermaster and getting her pilot candidate uniform like Commander Ye Jun had told her to.
She wondered if she should be saluting the officers yet, but none of them gave her more than the occasional askance look. Fair enough: she didn’t look like a pilot candidate yet, so best not to confuse the issue. She hoped at some point she could get a shower so she didn’t stink of mud, moss, and exhaustion.
When she finally arrived, the quartermaster, a bearded man whose name tag was so badly defaced that Hwa Young decided not to risk guessing, eyed her with distaste. “Do they ever send new recruits who don’t stink?” he grumbled. “No offense, whatever-your-name-is, I can always smell an earthworm from the other side of the ship.”
Hwa Young couldn’t blame him. Besides, he didn’t sound entirely unfriendly, more like someone who complained out of habit.
“I’ll shower first thing, sir,” she said with what she hoped was the right combination of deference and humor. If she had to find allies on the ship, this wasn’t a bad place to start.
He snorted. “Of course you will. Let me see your badge so I don’t accidentally fit you out as an admiral.” He guffawed at his own joke, then sobered when he read the assignment out of the badge. “Pilot candidate, huh? Good luck with that.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“Not for me to say,” the quartermaster demurred, to Hwa Young’s intense frustration.
Geum would have been able to charm the information out of him…but Geum was injured. Bae would have wrung the answer from him. Hwa Young herself didn’t want to push too far and get a reputation as a troublemaker. Especially when it concerned the person who could give her a change of clothes.
“Stand up straight,” he said, bringing out a body scanner.
She did, and blinked as it traced the contours of her form so he could use the matter printer to produce a uniform that fit. Its initial bland gray gradually turned blue to match his garb. He folded the resulting bundle with surprising care and handed it to her along with a pair of boots she could already tell were a half size too big. “Don’t mess it up, Candidate,” he told her. “Resupply’s dicey when you’re always on the run.”
“Dr. Jin mentioned a sidearm,” Hwa Young lied when he made no move to give her anything else.
The quartermaster lifted an eyebrow. “You’re a sharp one, aren’t you?” He disappeared into the back, then reemerged with a sleek handgun. “This is a—”
“Mark 25 flare pistol,” Hwa Young finished. “I assume you don’t issue kinetic weapons to people shipboard so they don’t puncture the hull.” The aether wasn’t friendly to people who prefer to breathe oxygen.
He whistled. “Okay, you’re not just any recruit. You want a spare battery pack for it, too?”
What would he have done if she hadn’t identified it correctly? Denied her the spare? Hwa Young limited herself to a “Yes, please,” and wondered how many people went undersupplied because they’d pissed him off.
She made it to the bunkroom without further incident. The hatch had been spray-painted “16-ja,” which she had worked out meant sixteenth room in the ja corridor. Waving the badge in front of the electronic lock caused it to disengage, and the hatch whooshed open.
Inside were Eun…and Seong Su, his hair damp. Hwa Young stared at him in vexation. How was he such a hot prospect that they’d shooed him in like this? She didn’t think she’d spent that long with the quartermaster. Maybe they’d had more than one person processing candidates.
Eun and Seong Su played a board game at a cramped table that barely accommodated the latter’s oxlike bulk. Beyond them, four bunks dominated the room. The top and bottom bunks on the left already had bags on them, while the ones on the right hadn’t yet been claimed. Seong Su caught sight of her and waved sheepishly, as if to say Life is weird. Eun, preoccupied with the game, hadn’t seen her yet.
Four bunks…well, that made sense. Commander Ye Jun must have a cabin of zir own. She hoped there were more pilot candidates in other bunkrooms of their own, enough for all the lancers.
Eun growled, “I don’t care if you’re Admiral Chin or you’re an ace pilot from the Eighteenth Fleet, you stink like a swamp pig.”
“Excuse me,” Hwa Young said as civilly as she could, filing the fleet admiral’s name in her memory in case it came in useful later. “Could you let me know where to wash up?” She’d already started off on the wrong foot with Eun. She didn’t want to irritate him further. Not when they’d be comrades.
Eun finally looked up. His eyes widened. “You? Menace Girl?”
“I’ve been accepted as a pilot candidate.”
“I should have left you on that worthless planet.”
Hwa Young stiffened, but before she could make a retort, Seong Su waved his hand in front of Eun’s face. “Eun, she saved my life. Everyone’s lives, down on Serpentine.”
Great. Her ally was the class clown, who had somehow qualified too. Had Commander Ye Jun picked him for…for what? It wasn’t like Seong Su’s size and physical strength meant anything inside a cockpit.
She reminded herself that he’d been thoughtful enough to bring her a hot lunch, and felt ashamed of herself.
Seong Su pointed at a hatch in the back, between the bunks. “The bathroom’s back there, Hwa Young, along with the shower. Good clean water.”
“It’s called the head, and the ship is a closed system,” Eun muttered, as if Hwa Young didn’t know that. “It’s recycled piss.”
“Aww, don’t be like that,” Seong Su pleaded.
“It’s fine,” Hwa Young assured him, and to Eun: “I’m coming through. You may want to hold your nose.”
Hwa Young was relieved to find that the shower already had soap, a shampoo bar, and a set of towels. Even if they had almost certainly been used by Eun and Seong Su, she wasn’t going to allow squeamishness to stand in the way of cleanliness.
After the shower, she examined the navy blue uniform before putting it on. It fit better than she had hoped, although fastening the lancer pin made her feel like an impostor.
I’ll be the best, she promised herself. Better than the best.
She heard voices indistinctly through the bulkheads.
Hwa Young emerged, ready to salute, in case it was a surprise inspection.
“I figured I’d find you here, Hwa Young,” said an all-too-familiar voice.
It was Bae.