He stared at me for a long moment and I allowed myself the slightest hope that I might have gotten through to him. But then he shook his head. “You tell your father that I said ‘welcome home.’ Dismissed.”
He looked down at the next Cadet’s file, making it clear that our conversation was over. But I still couldn’t make myself leave. After everything I’d done to reach this point, how could it be over, just like that? It couldn’t. I wouldn’t let it.
Then came the reprimand. “Your lessons in discipline begin right now,” he said. “You may leave this room with the dignity and decorum befitting a Cadet.”
And so I left. What else could I do?
I knew what he meant, even though I pretended not to. I’m smaller and younger than most of the other Ranger Cadets, so yeah, I’ve got something to prove. I’m the son of the Commander General, and I don’t want anyone to think I got the short end of the genetic stick. But also, I’m good, and I just don’t see any point in holding back, not when lives are always on the line. If I’m faster, stronger, better than everyone else, then I’ll know that next time I come face-to-face with an Ursa, I can kill it. Before it takes anyone else from me.
I push harder than I have to. To me, that just seems smart. I can see where I may have taken a few risks during the Ranger testing that maybe I didn’t have to, a few orders I didn’t strictly follow.
Then again, following orders without question can get people killed. If I hadn’t obeyed Senshi’s order to stay hidden while she fought the Ursa, maybe… Maybe I’ll never know, but I do know what didn’t work: blind obedience. I refuse to make the same mistake again.
Maybe I do go too far in training sometimes. Maybe. Like, yesterday when we were running, and I raced as fast as I could to make sure I finished first. Bo, the leader of our group of Cadets, told me it wasn’t a race, that I shouldn’t push so hard. And I didn’t listen, because I couldn’t. I can’t let anyone talk me into doing less than my absolute best, every single time. Good enough isn’t good enough, not for me.
It bugs me that Bo got picked as our leader instead of me. Okay, he’s three years older, bigger, stronger—but I’m still faster and better. He’s a good guy, we’re friends and all, but I want him to know how good I am too.
When I got paired with him for our rock-climbing exercise, I left my safety harness behind. I climb better without it slowing me down. I ignored Bo’s order to put it on and reached the peak without it. At the top, I stood on a fifteen-centimeter ledge with only a sheer ninety-degree slanted rock face above me. I scouted for a handhold and swung out over the canyon sixty-one meters below, using my body’s own momentum to swing over and pull myself onto the ridge. Pure exhilaration. Doing it with a harness just can’t compare. There I was, literally on top of the world, staring out at the amazing city we have built in perfect harmony with our planet. And all Bo could say was, “That was stupid.”
I shrugged, grinning. “They don’t give statues for being scared.”
Bo just doesn’t get it. He doesn’t know what it’s like to feel your own power that way. And he doesn’t understand that I don’t take risks for the thrill—I do it because if an Ursa chases me up a cliff, it’s not going to wait for me to click into my harness before it comes after me. I have to be able to do it this way, or it’s meaningless. But I wouldn’t have tried it if I were in any real danger. It would be stupid to throw my life away on a training exercise. But just because he can’t do what I did, he labels it reckless. And so does Velan.
As we zip-lined back down to the plateau, the view was even more breathtaking. Buildings so at one with nature they literally seem to be an extension of the canyon where they were built. This is our home; this is everything we fight to protect. There’s no such thing as going too far when you have so much to lose.
That’s why, when we were running an exercise yesterday and I spotted a little flash of something among the rocks, the slightest disturbance in the air, I acted without hesitation. That’s all the warning we would get with an Ursa. They’re invisible until they choose to reveal their horrifying selves so they can more fully exploit our fear. I broke formation, disobeyed orders. Bo ordered me to fall back, but I didn’t listen. If it had been an Ursa, that would’ve made me a hero. But since it was just training, and I wasn’t authorized to attack, it made me a reckless Cadet.
They blocked my vision so the Ranger Instructor could take me out—probably because, even with his cutlass, he couldn’t have done it otherwise. I’m not trying to brag, but even with just a training staff, I’m really good. I still fought back, refusing to give in. That’s a Ranger to me—someone who never gives up. I know I’m just a Cadet now, but I can’t go along with everyone else like some kid playing follow-the-leader. That’s not what it takes to defeat an Ursa. It’s not what it takes to save lives. And that’s what really matters.
I feel bad that my whole team got pulled out of the exercise because of me. I know they were mad. Of course, none of them dared to complain. How could they, when I’m the son of the Commander General? Maybe they talk behind my back, I don’t know. Call it recklessness if you want, but it’s exactly what’s going to save my life someday. Theirs too, I bet. Can’t be sorry for that.
//////// ENTRY 3
I feel like all I’ve done today is wait. I dressed carefully in my full Ranger Academy formal attire so my dad would be impressed. Mom made his favorite meal and set the table for three. But then we sat silent, staring out at our sparkling view of the city, with a nearby planet and two suns looming in the sky. He wasn’t back, and I wondered if something had pulled him away. Mom would never say it, but I thought sometimes he made up reasons to stay away at the last minute, because when the time came, he couldn’t actually stand to be here with us. Or me. I know he will never forgive me for what happened to Senshi. I can only try to win back his trust. A losing battle, probably.
The wind shifted outside, making the smart fabric sails outside our building billow, and Mom broke our silence to point it out. Of course she would notice it—wind energy is her field.
Then we heard a sound on the landing outside, and I leapt to attention. It had to be my dad, and I had to make a good first impression. Mom got to her feet too. “How are my lines?” I asked her.
She smiled at me, the way no one but my mom can, and said, “Your lines are perfect.” Teasing me, she asked if her lines were okay too.
I shook my head, in no mood for jokes. But she just gave me that smile again before heading to the door.
She opened it to reveal my dad in full dress uniform, kit bag in hand, his dark eyes staring intensely at us. He looked older than the last time I’d seen him, but stronger than ever.
I felt some tension running between my parents at being together again. It can’t be easy to be apart for so long. But I was more worried about the moment when the Commander General turned his attention to me. “You’ve grown,” he said. Guess I should be glad he opened with a compliment. But it seemed so generic that it stung.
Standing at attention, I said, “Sir, Cadet Raige reports.” He nodded, then walked slowly around me, giving me the full military inspection. I guess I had asked for that.
Stopping in front of me, he said, “Your collar’s ragged. You have a crease on your right pant leg, but not your left. Fold crease. Your jacket is improperly fastened. Before you present yourself for inspection, Cadet, square yourself in the mirror. Is that understood?”