Character Perspective: Novarod

Star Launch Academy, home to just under one hundred and fifty students. And I was one of them.

The trip here sucked, I mean, who knew after nearly three hundred years of space travel that we still wouldn’t know how to escape the gravitational prison that is Earth without a bumpy, vomit inducing ride. But it was all worth it to see the majesty of Star Launch.

It should have been impossible, an academy floating in space? Yeah, it seemed ridiculous. But still, the wonderful silver spires that made up the main building shot toward a large, clear dome looking back at the speckled blue marble of a planet. Several side buildings bordered the towering structure and courtyard that shot out ahead of it, leading directly to the landing pad I was now standing at.

The twenty others that were on the shuttle with me were already grabbing their packs and scattering, and I suddenly realized the only sound I could hear was ringing. My hand reached to my ear, was this something to worry about? No, they had warned us that decompression could have some side effects.

A hand fell on my shoulder, my eyes meeting a dark skinned man holding out a black pack with C. NOVAROD stitched into it.

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I took it, saying “thank you,” but unsure if he heard it or if I actually said it.

Three men in sleek, burgundy and silver uniforms, black and bronze stars pinned to their lapels, stepped onto the landing platform, hands clapping and raised, a signal for attention. Without word, because everybody here was already well aware of what was expected, fell into line. With my pack over my shoulder, I followed the dark skinned man, J. CURTIS XVI if the stitching on his pack was to be believed and fell into place near the middle of the pack.

“Seven… We….” A voice was starting to break through the ringing, and I wanted to shake my head out. That might be perceived as disobedience though, and having just got here, I wasn’t going to stick my nose in that kind of shit just by trying to hear. It was better to just look like I could hear.

“Now then,” another voice said, this much clearer, “The Decom Ring should be about finished.” This was coming from the man standing at in the middle of the uniformed officers.

“Sound off if you can hear!” The man on the left shouted.

“SIR!” A chorus in which I joined in came out. We weren’t in time, we weren’t at the same volume, but I could tell that nearly every single one of us in the line sounded off.

“Excellent,” the officer in the center said, “I hate repeating myself. I am Captain Elliot Reed, senior instructor for Flight Commands Xi, Omicron, and Zeta of Gregorian Year 2430, sound off, Flight Xi.”

Several voices sounded off.

“Over here Xi,” the man to the right of Captain Reed instructed, as he stepped further away, indicating for the flight to follow. “I am Commander Trey Goodwin and I will be your Training Admiral.”

So they were splitting us now, no wonder they had color coded the bags. The seven students, what looked like three guys and four girls each with a purple backpack, hustled over to Commander Goodwin with another chorus of “Sir!”

“Flight Omicron, to me, you all get me as your Training Admiral,” Captain Reed instructed and immediately the seven students with green bags sounded off and ran over to stand at attention behind him.

The last of the three officers, an older gentleman with a salt and pepper goatee now that I had the chance to look at him took several steps further to the side, “well Flight Zeta, process of elimination means that I will be your Training Admiral.”

He hadn’t introduced himself, but we all sounded off anyway and hustled toward the unnamed officer.

“Commander Allen, protocol,” Captain Reed said, annoyance obvious on his voice.

“Right, my apologies Captain,” the commander, Allen apparently, replied, “Flight Zeta I am Commander Sylvester Allen, do remember protocol and follow me.”

I wasn’t sure what to expect, and I definitely wasn’t sure if Captain Reed was about to chew out the flippant Commander. But, given that he was my assigned Training Admiral, I fell into line behind Curtis and followed. We were led from the platform, down a flight of stairs and into the courtyard. A quick glance back revealed the other flights were following their own Admirals.

“Now, do keep up, no need to march in line, there will be time for that later,” Commander Allen called back as he walked at an almost leisurely pace through the courtyard.

There was actual grass on the ground, at least where there wasn’t sidewalk. If I couldn’t look up and literally see the Earth, I’d never have even guessed I wasn’t just walking up to my prep school’s entrance. Better than that even, as the air felt crisp yet refreshing. Not too hot, not too cold. It was perfect, all thanks to the artificial environment that Launch Point’s Engineers maintained.

“We will be taking up residence in Designation K104, the Kirk Building on the Eastern barrier,” Allen said, “Orientation is at 1300 tomorrow following Lunch, not that I’ve ever met a Spacefly that was actually hungry the first week they got here.”

“Spacefly?” a melodic voice closer to Allen asked timidly.

“Newbie, fresh meat, rookie, greenling,” Allen responded, “And you’ll proceed all questions to someone higher ranking than you with ‘Sir’, Spacefly.”

“Yes, Sir,” the voice responded, clearly embarrassed.

“Good,” Allen said, stopping his march now that we had crossed a portion of the courtyard. The rest of us halted, nearly bumping into each other from the abrupt stop. “Now then, by Dinner Mess I expect the lot of you to have three choices made,” he started, his hand pulled up and a single finger shooting up, “First, you will name your Ship. A flight is nothing without their vessel, and any ship worth her salt, even a simulated one for training purposes, deserves a name fitting of her.”

“Yes sir!” We chanted and another finger shot up on his hand.

“Secondly, you will each have chosen your room in the Kirk building. Men you four will take the rooms on the first floor of the habitation wing of the building, women, you three will take the rooms on the second floor. My room, clearly marked, just outside of the common area, is off limits under all circumstances, do I make myself clear?”

“Yes sir!” We chanted once more and a third and final finger raised on Commander Allen’s hand.

“Finally, you will talk among yourselves, learn who your Bridge team is, because they are going to become your family, and once you have talked, you will figure out who your Flight Captain is,” he said, “This is your first order of business, do not disappoint me.”

“Yes sir!” We sounded off, even louder this time.

“Then flight dismissed, head down this path to Kirk building and I will be there thirty minutes to dinner mess tonight, you will all be in uniform and ready to go,” Commander Allen instructed before turning on his heel and walking off toward the main Academy building.

There was a bit of confusion, the other six exchanging looks before looking to the pathway our commander had directed us toward, but none of us had gotten here without being able to take orders. It was simply apart of who we were, and without another moment of discussion we all started to walk down the tree lined path.

We were all eager, all ready to start our training, and all, now that there wasn’t a senior officer staring down at us, actually just a little bit disoriented. Just a bit further to go, just a bit further… and then maybe I could vomit.