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Vacation
Year: 2193
Setting: EDF Academy, Great Island, Japan
"Sweet!" Jordan Dashell burst through the door to the domed soccer field and rushed down to the astro-turfed arena. He flung himself on the ground and rolled in the prickly grass, laughing. He sprang to his feet as his best friend, Chris Eager, hurtled past, kicking a soccer ball toward the goal at the far end of the field.
Dash leapt to his feet and sprinted for Chris. He caught up, catching the ball deftly with his feet and flipping it up over the other boy's head. Dash squealed to a halt and changed direction. He dribbled the ball back down the field and with a well-aimed kick sent it sailing into the net.
"And he scores!" Dash ran around the field, arms raised in triumph.
"Not fair!" Chris protested. "You didn't say we were playing."
"Didn't think I had to." Dash socked Chris in the arm.
"Whatever," Chris dismissed. "Cool field."
"Yeah. I haven't seen one this nice in a long time. Everything around where we live is…" Dash's face fell.
"Yeah… stinks," Chris agreed. "The only field near my house was hit last week."
Dash retrieved the soccer ball and followed Chris to the equipment room. The two boys stared at the pristine rows of balls, uniforms, cleats, and anything else you could ever need to play any game you wanted.
"Whoa…" Dash admired a brand-new soccer ball. Each patch was still perfectly glossy.
"So, what do you think?" Mr. Dashell entered behind Chris and his son. "Is this a place you could spend some time in?"
"Yeah, Dad! This is the best!" Dash replied. "But why would I be spending a lot of time here? I mean, I love soccer and all, but I wouldn't want to live on the field."
Mr. Dashell chuckled, "No, Jordan – not the field, the school. This is quite a place. Your mother and I think it's a good fit for you, but I want you to feel that way too before we make our decision."
"Oh…" Dash's face fell again. "It's just – I'm only thirteen. Why do we have to think about this now?"
"You can register here in two years," Jordan's father replied. "There's a waiting list, and if you don't make up your mind now, you might not be able to get in."
"But… why do I have to go somewhere like this? Why can't I go to trade school like Chris is going to?" Dash glanced over at his friend.
His father sighed. "Jordan, you know we need as many people in combat training as possible. It's your duty."
The boy eyed the soccer ball again. "But I don't want to fight…"
"I know." Mr. Dashell laid a hand on his son's shoulder. "Don't think of it as fighting. Think of it as defending your home – your family. If I could fight," he gave his wheelchair a pat. "You wouldn't catch me staying earth-side."
Dash's heart throbbed in his ears as he stared at his father's useless legs. "I know, Dad…" he murmured. "It's just that… I won't know anyone here. Nobody back home is going into something like this. Everyone's staying close to take care of their families. Who's going to help you and Mom?"
"Don't worry about us, Jordan. We'll be alright."
"Dash…" Chris hesitantly tapped his friend's arm. "I didn't want to tell you, because I thought you'd be mad…"
"Tell me what?" Dash asked.
"I'm… not going to trade school. Dad, Grandpa and I already talked about it and I'm coming here when I turn fifteen." Chris kept his eyes on the baseball equipment stashed in the corner.
"Really?" Dash's face lit up.
"Yeah…" Chris hesitantly glanced up at his friend. "Sorry I didn't tell you."
"That's awesome!" Dash pumped his fist in the air. "What are you going to study?"
"Stellar cartography, or something like that," Chris replied. "But I heard online that the gunnery division is looking for a lot of new people. You should give that a try. I think you'd be good at it. You're a crack-shot with knives. It can't be too much different – might even be easier to learn how to shoot."
"Gunnery isn't just learning how to hit a target," Mr. Dashell said. "It's learning how to use your eyes, how to see what's coming and be able to adjust to the situation. And there's a lot of maintenance involved in being on a gunnery team – especially if you end up manning a turret. You think you're up for something like that?"
"So… it's not just about fighting?" Dash asked.
"Not by far," his father replied. "You're not going to school to learn how to brutally kill someone. You're learning how to be smart about defending other people."
Dash bit his lip, picked up a soccer ball and rubbed the shiny surface, making a squeaking noise with his thumb. "As long as Chris is going to be here… I think I can do it." He set the ball back down. "Is it time to go get dinner yet? I'm starving."
Dash watched the young men and women below, enraptured with their seamless movements. The class was doing drills today and he and Chris had permission to watch from the observation area.
Everyone worked so well together. If any of them didn't like one another, there was no way of telling it. The team fed rounds into dummy turrets so fast Dash felt like his head was spinning.
"How do they do that?" he whispered.
"Lots of practice I guess," Chris replied.
"Enjoying yourselves?" the instructor asked, slipping into the booth.
"Yep," Dash replied. "How did they get so good at this?" He pointed down to the class.
"It takes months, even years of discipline to learn a role like this. Anyone can feed ammunition, but it takes a special team to work together under pressure. This is just a drill, but what happens when you're out on your first mission and run into the enemy? How are you going to respond to that? I've seen grown men crack – run away and cower in the corner, whimpering that they don't want to die." The instructor sat down and leaned forward, his eyes far away. "We haven't been in this conflict very long… and already we've lost so many… I was one of the ones who responded to the first bombing. It was the worst thing I've ever seen… You expect the carnage – the death, but," he glanced over at Dash and Chris. "You don't expect the terror. I knew the survivors would be afraid. Who wouldn't? But I didn't know just how afraid…" The instructor shook noticeably.
"It was… that bad?" Dash gulped.
"I can't even begin to describe it," the man replied. "If only we'd known it was coming, perhaps we could have prepared – taken away some of the uncertainty. Maybe we could have saved some lives."
All three observers fell silent. Dash focused on the men and women below as they transitioned from loading drills to target practice using a simulation program. Above them, a huge screen displayed the enemy ships. One by one each plane was picked off, but Dash was dismayed to see the time.
"We're not good enough…" the instructor whispered. "With times like that we'll never make it. The enemy hasn't come for us yet, but I know they will. That's why this facility exists – to prepare for that eventuality." He laughed mirthlessly. "We don't even know what to call them. We prepare to fight a nameless foe with armaments we can never overcome them with…" He held his face in his hands. "I just don't know…"
Dash's stomach turned. He thought about all the people back home affected by the bombings – his dad, his friends, and so many others. He couldn't let them die without a fight.
"I'm going into the gunnery division," Dash said to the instructor.
"Really?" The man looked up. "We could use more people. How old are you? Twelve?"
"Thirteen," Dash replied proudly. "I'm coming here as soon as I can."
"New recruits don't qualify for this particular class. You'll have to take several other things before you can join us here, but we'll be more than happy to have you once you do that."
Dash glanced down at the students and realized how much older they looked than he'd first realized.
"No one here is under eighteen," the instructor supplied.
"But if someone were to qualify before they turned eighteen, you'd take them?"
"Without a second thought," the man replied. "We need everyone we can get."
"Save a spot for me," Dash said.
"I'll do that," the teacher said as he slipped back out of the observation booth.
"You really want to do this? You're not just saying it?" Chris asked.
"Yeah." Dash nodded. "I want to do this."
Year: 2200
Setting: Onboard the Argo , nearing Keshet
"You're not getting by me again," Chris planted himself in the center of the goalposts, spreading out as far as he could to block the net they'd set up at one end of the gym in the fitness center.
"Wanna bet?" Dash yelled, winding up for the kick. The ball sailed in a perfect curve, whizzing toward Eager's freckled face.
At the last second, Chris's hand shot up and knocked the ball away.
"Yeah!" Eager shouted triumphantly. "Blocked you again!"
"Fine, you win." Dash threw up his hands in defeat. "Let's get this picked up. Sandor'll have our hides for setting it up in the first place if he finds out."
Eager waved him off. "Nah, he'll be fine. We've been cooped up on this ship for almost five months. He can't blame us for getting a little antsy."
Dash didn't say anything as he helped Chris take apart and put away the net. After a quick shower they both changed back into their uniforms and headed for the bridge to start their shift.
"You ever regret this?" Dash asked.
"What? Taking up soccer? No, but I wish I hadn't quit playing after my first year at the Academy." Eager eyed his chubby frame.
Dash chuckled. "Not that, genius. I meant going to the Academy in the first place. Do you remember that trip we took with my dad? It was supposed to be a vacation – at least, that's what he told me before we left."
"Well, it wasn't exactly boring," Eager replied. "As I recall, you raved about that trip for months when we got home. Everybody kept asking you about what it was like and you went on and on about how you were joining the gunnery division – which you conveniently forgot to mention was my idea."
They stepped into another crowded hall.
"Ah, shift change," Dash sighed. "Can't say I'm going to miss this when we get back."
"It's just like the breaks between classes – just with people you actually know." Eager slipped by Jackson Hardy, a Tiger pilot, heading in the opposite direction.
"You didn't answer my question though," Dash said as he crowded into an elevator with Chris and several others. "Do you ever regret it?"
Chris shook his head vehemently. "Not for a second. You?"
"I can't really say I've ever thought about it, but I don't think I do." Dash adjusted his glasses.
The elevator door slid open, allowing several occupants to exit and two more to get on.
"I mean, what's to regret. We're still alive, aren't we? We've gotten to see things no one on Earth can even imagine," Dash continued.
Chris's face fell. "But we're about to dive into a battle. Who's to say whether we'll make it out?"
"We haven't come this far to get ourselves killed inside some rainbow gas cloud." Dash clapped Chris on the back. "I know I didn't."
Murmurs of agreement sounded from the rest of the elevator's occupants.
"Am I scared we might not live through this? Oh yeah," Dash admitted. "But there's a big difference between being scared and being a coward, right Clemens?"
"Oorah!" came the spirited reply.
Eager nodded. "I know you're right, but I'm still dreading it."
"We all are," Dash admitted, looking around at the others. "But we're going to push through this. That Gamilon task force has no idea what they got themselves into when they challenged us to a fight."
The elevator hissed open and everyone except Chris and Dash filed out. Clemens gave them a salute as he left.
They rose to the bridge. Just as the pair arrived, the first colorful cloud of Keshet came into view.
Dash took his seat and stared out into the void. No matter what they were about to walk into, he was ready.