It was the longest walk of my life. I couldn’t seem to overcome the feeling that everything, including the fourth-year, was about to pitch forward onto me and/or that I was about to float away, and I periodically had to latch onto handgrips and/or the fourth-year in spite of myself.
“It’s because the gravity’s only two-thirds that of earth,” he said. “You’ll get used to it. You’re lucky it’s not a full g. The more rotation, the more Coriolis effect. Any less, though, and there’s bone loss. Two thirds is a happy medium.”
“That’s what you think,” I muttered, showing no signs of getting used to it, even though he led me through what seemed like miles of tube-like corridors and locks and ladders, ending finally in an office not much bigger than my cabin. A guy who looked like my dad was seated at a console.
“What can I do for you, Cadet Baumgarten?” he asked kindly.
I poured out my whole story, hoping against hope he wouldn’t give me another of those I-don’t-understand-what-language-you’re-speaking looks.
He didn’t. He said, “Oh, dear, that’s terrible. I can’t imagine how that could have happened.”
Relief flooded over me.
“I’ll look into this immediately. Cadet Apley,” he called into an inner office, “find me Cadet Baumgarten’s file.” He turned back to me. “Don’t worry. We’ll get this straightened out.”
A young woman’s voice called out to him, “The files for the new cadets haven’t been transmitted yet, sir.”
“Well, tell them I need it as soon as possible.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“Don’t worry, Cadet Baumgarten,” he said. “We’ll get this straightened out. I intend to launch a full investigation.” He stood up and extended his hand. “I’ll notify you as soon as we’ve determined what happened.”
I ignored his hand. “How long will that be?”
“Oh, it shouldn’t take more than a week or two.”
“A week or two?” I said. “But you’ve made a mistake. I’m not supposed to be here.”
“If that is the case, you’ll of course be sent home immediately,” he said, showing me the door. “In the meantime, may I congratulate you on your rapid adaptation to artificial gravity. Very impressive.”
If I could have thrown up on him, I would have, but there was no cake left. Instead, I planted myself in front of him as firmly as was possible in two-thirds g and said, “I want to make a phone call.”
“Cadets aren’t allowed phone calls for the first two weeks of term. After that, you can make one two-minute earthside call a month,” he said.
“I know my rights,” I said, trying not to sway backward. “Prisoners are allowed a phone call.”
He looked amused. “The RAH is not a prison.”
Wanna bet? “It’s my legal right,” I said stubbornly. “A private phone call.”
He sighed. “Cadet Apley,” he called into the inner office, “set up a Y49TDRS link for Cadet Baumgarten,” and handed me a satellite phone. “Two minutes. There’ll be a six-second lag. This will count as next month’s call,” he said, and went into the inner office and shut the door.
They were probably listening in, but I didn’t care. I called Kimkim. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t know they were taking cadets straight up to the Heinlein. Are you okay?”
“No,” I said. “Did you find out my mom and dad’s lawyer’s name?”
Seconds passed, and then she said, “Yes, I talked to her.”
“What did she say?”
More seconds. “That an Academy appointment was considered a legally binding contract.”
Oh, frick.
“So I went online and found a lawyer who specializes in Academy law.”
“And?” Creez, this lag was maddening.
“He said he only handled cases of cadets who’d been eliminated from the Academy and were trying to get reinstated. He said he couldn’t find any record of a case where a cadet had wanted out.”
“Did he say how these cases he handled got eliminated?” I asked, thinking maybe I could do whatever it was they did.
“Failing their courses, mostly,” she said. “But, listen, don’t do anything that might mess up your chances at UCLA. That’s why these cadets file lawsuits, because flunking out of the Academy pretty much ruined their chances of getting into any other university.”
Worse and worse. “Listen, you’ve got to figure out some way we can talk.” I told her about the one call a month.
“I’ll see what I can do. They didn’t take your phone away from you, did they?”
“No,” I said.
“Did they say anything about how this call worked?”
“They called it a Y49TDRS, whatever that is.”
“It means it’s relayed through tracking, data, and relay satellites,” she said. “A Y49 shouldn’t be too hard to patch into, but it may take—”
There was a buzz. “Call over,” an automated voice said.
I spent the next day and a half checking my phone for messages and hoping Kimkim hadn’t been about to say, “It may take months for me to come up with something,” or, worse, “It may take extensive modifications to your phone’s circuits,” and worrying that if the registrar had been listening in, it didn’t matter. They’d jam whatever Kimkim tried.
Then classes started, and I spent every waking moment trying to keep up with cadets who’d not only taken astrogation and exobotany, but knew how to dock a shuttle, read a star chart, and brush their teeth while weightless. First-year cadets had to spend half of each watch in the non-rotated sections of the RAH, learning to live and work in microgravity. Most of them (including, of course, Libby) had taken classes in weightlessness on Earth, and the rest had clearly been chosen for their ability to float from one end of the module to the other without crashing into something, a gene I obviously lacked. The second day, I sneezed, did a backward triple somersault, and crashed into a bank of equipment, an escapade that gave me the idea of pleading a bad cold and asking to see the doctor—a medical discharge surely couldn’t hurt my chances at UCLA—but when I went to the infirmary, the medic said, “Stuffiness in the head is a normal side effect of weightlessness,” and gave me a sinus prescription.
“What about chronic vertigo?” I asked. I was actually down to only a couple of episodes a day, but it had occurred to me that “inability to tolerate space environment” might be a way out.
“If it hasn’t disappeared a month from now, come see me,” he said, and sent me back to EVA training. Luckily, I didn’t sneeze during my spacewalk and go shooting off into space, but being outside and linked to the RAH only by a thin tether reminded me just how dangerous space was.
Well, that, and the fact that those dangers were the second favorite topic of the cadets at mess and during rec periods. If they weren’t talking about the difficulty of detecting fires in a weightless environment (there aren’t any flames, just a hard-to-see reddish glow), they were recounting gruesome tales of jammed oxygen lines and carbon monoxide buildup and malfunctioning heating units which froze students into cadet-sicles. Or speculating on all the things that might happen, from unexpected massive solar flares to killer meteors to explosive decompression. All of which made it clear I needed to get off of here soon. I messaged the registrar during my study period, but he said he was still waiting for the cadet files.
There was still no word from Kimkim. I checked my phone every time I had the chance and tried to send her periodic Maydays, but each time the display said, “Number out of range,” which was putting it mildly.