Youri walked into the headquarters of the Royal Military Base with measured steps, and the doors slid shut behind him. The entrance hall was vast — far larger than he had expected — with a ceiling held high on broad beams that blended so seamlessly into the walls that the whole room seemed to have been carved from a single monumental block. The floor was tiled in deep red and matte black laid out in a precise geometric symmetry that drew the eye straight to its center. There, like an anchor in all that open space, stood a high reception desk of dark alloy and polished stone with faint Terrian glyphs etched into it that glowed as though they were alive. Soft light flowed along the walls over banners bearing the insignia of the Terrian Empire and its Armed Forces, each hanging with ceremonial gravity. Youri slowed as he crossed the floor, suddenly aware of how small he felt in a place like this.
Behind the desk sat a woman in a neatly pressed uniform, her blonde hair tied tightly beneath a regulation cap without a strand out of place — composed and professional, someone who had done this a thousand times without ever losing her precision. Youri cleared his throat. "Hello. I'm here for pilot academy enrollment."
She raised her head just far enough to acknowledge him, her eyes sharp but neutral, and she didn't smile. "Name?"
"Youri Kronos."
She turned to the display set into the desk and began to type. The glow of the screen reflected in her eyes as lines of data scrolled past. The seconds stretched far longer than he had expected, and his shoulders tightened while a dozen thoughts ran through his head — forged records, Barnaby's promises, all the countless ways this could still fall apart. Then she stopped and slowly rose from her seat. Her face gave nothing away. "Follow me."
She led him down a long corridor off the main hall, its walls a muted gray broken only by recessed lights and the occasional Terrian emblem engraved in the metal. Their footsteps echoed softly in the silence. She spoke without turning around. "Once you are officially enrolled, you will be assigned a codename. That designation will identify you for the duration of your training."
"A codename?" Youri repeated.
"Yes," she said evenly. "Names create attachments. Attachments interfere with discipline. The academy removes both."
Youri absorbed that quietly. He had been given a number for a name once before, behind a wall of glass. He had not expected to be given one again.
They passed several sealed doors marked with restricted-access symbols and stopped at last in front of a large automatic door reinforced with heavy alloy plating, with a Terrian crest embossed at its center. The woman turned to face him. "This is General Presley's office. General Harald Presley is the director of the Orbiton Pilot Academy. Inside, you will be informed of the final procedures required for enrollment. These include a full blood analysis, a comprehensive medical evaluation, and a background check."
Something tightened in Youri's chest. A blood analysis. He thought of Malden's face the first time he had seen the readings on his tablet.
"On the successful completion of all three," she went on, "you will be officially enrolled." She studied him for a moment and nodded once. "That is all." And she turned and walked away without another word, her footsteps fading down the corridor.
Youri stayed where he was for a moment without moving, while every doubt he had tried to bury came back up at once: his past, the underground fights, his complete lack of any real records, Volar, the things he had done to survive. Too many things could still go wrong. But then Volar filled his thoughts — not only the planet, but everything it stood for: loss, resolve, the reason he had endured everything that had brought him here. There was no other road. He stepped forward, and the doors parted with a low mechanical hum.
General Presley's office was smaller than he had expected, almost modest after the grandeur of the hall. It was a hollow and practical room with a solid wooden desk at its center, old by Terrian standards and worn smooth by decades of use. Two flags hung behind it — the royal banner of Terria on one side and the insignia of the Terrian Army on the other. A wide window across the far wall letting in the daylight and lighting up the dust drifting in the air. But the room was empty. Youri hesitated and took another step inside, looking around. Maybe he was early. He had half turned to leave when a voice came from his right.
"Who are you?"
He froze and turned as a side door opened. A man came in, adjusting the collar of his uniform — in his mid-fifties, overweight, with thinning hair and a round face that spoke of years behind a desk rather than in the field. His black eyes, though, were sharp and calculating. He stopped when he saw Youri. "Who are you?" he repeated.
Youri stepped forward and came to attention without even thinking about it. "I'm the new recruit for the pilot academy."
The man's expression shifted slightly. "Oh. I see." He went behind the desk, lowered himself into his chair and folded his hands on top of it. "I'm General Harald Presley. Director of the Orbiton Pilot Academy."
"It's nice to meet you, sir."
Presley leaned forward on his elbows. "So. Who brought you here?"
Youri hesitated. For a fraction of a second he thought about giving a vague answer, but something in Presley's gaze told him there would be no point. "Commander Fanrat brought me here."
Presley's eyes widened noticeably. "Fanrat?" He straightened in his chair at once. "Why didn't you say so sooner?" And he got up with surprising energy. "Come here. Let's get you enrolled immediately."
Youri blinked, caught off guard, while Presley took a data pad from a drawer, switched it on, and slid it across the desk. "Fill this out. I'll walk you through it."
Youri did exactly as he was told and answered question after question while Presley guided him through. Unlike the woman at the front desk, Presley moved quickly and efficiently, skipping steps and overriding delays. When they reached the section headed Blood Analysis, he tapped a single key without even reading it. The line turned green, and Youri understood that it was never going to be run at all. Barnaby's reach went further than he had imagined. A few minutes later, the form was finished, and Youri handed it back.
Presley glanced over it one last time and nodded. "Well. That's done." He stood and held out his hand. "Welcome to the Orbiton Pilot Academy."
Youri shook it firmly. Presley turned to his screen and tapped a few commands, and a moment later a faint smile crossed his round face.
"Looks like your codename just came through," he said, and he looked up. "Welcome, D7."