The Military Academy
“I don’t know any military,” Mo said. “I mean, I know a few faces and names, the ones that patrol the estate, mainly, but that’s it. Is your papa in Defence or Interior?”
“Defence.”
“We want to join Defence. And we want to try for the fighter pilot program.”
His eyes widened. “Me too! I want to be a fighter pilot, too. I always knew I wanted to join the military, but I wasn’t sure which division. My papa said it was up to me. Then I toured an installation when I was at the Indoctrination Academy, and that’s when I knew.”
“The same thing happened to us,” Mo said, awe in her voice.
David looked at Lesley. “You’ll be tall for a pilot.”
“Really?”
“Papa tells me they’re usually short.”
“I’ll fit right in, then,” Mo said, grinning. “This is great! It’s great talking to someone who wants the same thing we do.”
Lesley, her mouth full, nodded. It was certainly more enjoyable than talking to her parents.
“But we’d better hurry up and finish supper,” Mo added. “It’ll take us ten minutes to walk to the workshop.”
They put their conversation on hold and focused on eating. David finished first. He leaned back in his chair and pulled his itinerary from a pocket in the leg of his jumpsuit. “Did you see we have a session with a commander tomorrow?” he asked, unfolding and smoothing the itinerary and then pointing at a line on the second page. “But there’s no description of what the session’s about.”
Mo shrugged. “Probably executions.”
“Single file,” the commander shouted. “Everyone move in and form a circle around the clearing. Face the clearing, please.”
Lesley followed the Rymellan in front of her and stopped when he stopped. She turned toward the dirt clearing. Mo had been right. The commander had arrived at the classroom and ordered them to line up and follow him to this execution site. She glanced at Mo, now standing on her left. David, next to Mo, looked at her and raised his eyebrows.
“Face me,” the commander shouted as the tail end of the line filed into the site.
Lesley surveyed the clearing. There weren’t enough aspiring recruits to fully ring the site. A military stood in the gap, near a metal pole at the clearing’s southernmost edge. The commander and another military remained at the centre of the clearing. If an actual execution were about to take place, military would ring the site, not potential cadets, and a criminal would be secured to the pole. Lesley had learned the details during her Level Four at the Indoctrination Academy.
The commander signaled for silence by raising his hand. The few Rymellans who’d been whispering immediately stopped. “I am Commander Morton.” He turned to his left. “This is Lieutenant Commander Eckles, and near the pole is Lieutenant Danson. Before we begin, let’s say the Words Every Rymellan Knows.”
Lesley reached for Mo’s hand and the hand of the Rymellan on her right. Morton and Eckles walked to Danson and held out their hands. When the circle was complete, Morton nodded. Everyone spoke the Words. “Disobedience means death. Death to those who commit a Chosen Violation. Death to those who disobey. Death to those who violate the Way. Death to those who violate the Way. Death to those who violate the Way!” They all let go of their neighbours’ hands and applauded.
Another difference, Lesley thought. Before an execution, the circle would be incomplete. It would break at the criminal, the only time Rymellans said the Words without completing a circle. After the execution, those present would complete the circle and say the Words again.
Morton returned to the centre. “Now, as you can see, we’re standing in an execution site. I thought I’d start our session on the Interior Division here, to remind everyone that Defence isn’t the only military division that defends the Way.
“All Rymellans preserve the Way by observing its articles. The Way is the foundation of Rymellan society, and many of us dedicate our lives to its service, notably our overseers, advocates, indoctrinators, counsellors, the military, and, of course, the Chosen Council. We all support each other. We all want to follow the Way.
“It seems unbelievable that a Rymellan would fall from the Way, but some do. And when they do, they end up here.” He pointed at the pole. “Death to those who disobey. The Interior Division ensures that no Rymellan will ever harm the Way. Because no Rymellan is more important than the Way.”
A chorus of agreement rose from the group. Lesley nodded and added her “yes” to the many others.
“The gravest threat the Way has ever faced in recent history didn’t come from another species. It didn’t come from out there somewhere.” Morton pointed above his head, then to the ground. “It originated right here, on Rymellan soil. Rymellans threatened the Way. And it happened just three years ago, an event known as . . . ?” He looked to the group to complete his sentence.
“The Adams Incident,” the group said in unison.
“That’s right. The Adams Incident. The worst case Interior—” A loud gasp drowned out his next word. He spun to his left.
Lesley leaned forward to see what was going on. Three Rymellans appeared agitated, furiously whispering to each other.
“What’s the problem?” Morton shouted.
“He said something awful,” said one of the three, pointing at the boy next to her. Lesley recognized him. He’d introduced himself to her and Mo on the first day of the evaluation, at the mess hall. Tom Elliott.
“I heard it, too,” said the Rymellan to Elliott’s left.
“Heard what? What did you say?” Morton asked.
“Nothing. I didn’t mean anything,” Elliot said, his face ashen.
Morton marched over to him. “What did you say?” he shouted into Elliott’s face.
Everyone leaned forward for a better view. Lesley shifted position slightly, using her height to her advantage.
“I just—I said I wondered if the Adamses and the other two . . . I wondered if they were all secured to the pole together.”
The girl shook her head. “That’s not all he said. He also said that if they were, they probably enjoyed it.”