Youri was taken to the academy itself as soon as his enrollment had been finalized. General Presley led the way out of the headquarters, their footsteps echoing along the polished corridors, until they came out into the open air of the Royal Military Base, where a vast airfield stretched out ahead of them, smooth, dark, marked with glowing guidance lines that pulsed softly in the daylight. Four enormous hangars stood in a row along the field, each bearing the insignia of the Terrian Armed Forces.
"This way," Presley said.
They crossed the field toward the first hangar. As they came close its doors slid open with a deep mechanical rumble on an interior bathed in cool white light. It was far larger inside than it had looked from out on the field, divided into sections by reinforced walls and transparent partitions, full of the low hum of energy systems. Presley pointed as they walked down its main hall. "To your left, the living quarters." A row of identical doors lined the wall, each with its unit number. "We house our recruits ten to a room. At the moment there are fifty recruits enrolled, including you. That number may shrink before training is over."
Youri understood what that meant without any further explanation.
They went on into a wide open space. "This is the buffet," Presley said. It was a spacious dining hall lined with long benches and reinforced tables that could seat more than eighty at once, practical and efficient with no excess and no wasted space. Beyond it a kitchen bustled quietly with automated systems and service drones. "There's food available around the clock, balanced for endurance, recovery and focus. You won't starve here. But you won't indulge either."
Then they went down a quieter corridor. "These rooms are classrooms and instructors' offices," Presley said, gesturing to the right. "This is where the theory happens — navigation, combat protocols, Terrian doctrine, orbital physics, emergency procedures. A good many recruits fail here before they ever touch a cockpit."
Youri's jaw tightened slightly.
Finally Presley slowed. "One last stop." They went back toward the entrance of the hangar and stopped in front of a final door. Presley laid his palm on its panel, and it slid open. "This will be your quarters."
It was a long, rectangular room with soft lights overhead throwing a muted glow across its metal walls. Bunk beds were lined up along both sides, each with its own small locker and reading light, and a long metal table down the middle flanked by two benches worn smooth by years of use. It smelled faintly of disinfectant and clean fabric. Youri looked slowly around, taking it in.
Presley turned to him with a faint smile. "This is where you'll be living from now on. Pick any bed you like. The other recruits won't arrive until tomorrow, so you have the privilege of first choice."
Youri walked to one of the bunks near the middle and pressed his hand into the mattress. It was firm and practical, made for rest rather than comfort. He sat down on the lower bunk. The mattress gave a little under his weight, and he ran his palm over the rough blanket, still not quite able to believe he was here.
"Good choice," Presley said. "Bottom bunks are always more flexible." Youri allowed himself a small smile. Presley straightened, and his face grew more formal. "So. This is it. From here on, everything depends on you. I hope you graduate and earn your place among the elite of the Empire's military."
Youri stood and held out his hand. Presley shook it firmly, then turned without another word and left. The door slid shut behind him.
The silence settled in. Youri sat back down on the bed and let out a slow breath. For the first time since he had left Laspeas — since the fights, the deals and the running — there was nothing he had to do. No one was watching him. No danger was pressing against his ribs. And yet his mind refused to rest. He stared up at the bunk above him while his thoughts drifted between Volar, Barnaby and the long, crooked road that had brought him here. Six months, Barnaby had said. Six months to prove himself, to survive the training, and to earn the right to pilot an Orbiton. If he failed, there would be no second chance.
He thought of the room in Altex, with its stacks of books against the walls, and of how strange it was that his whole life had been lived in rooms like this one — rooms built for other people's purposes, where someone else decided when the lights went out. The only difference was that this time he had walked in by choice. In the end, exhaustion claimed him.
The next morning began with noise. The door slid open without warning. Boots, voices and laughter came pouring into the room, and Youri's eyes snapped open on a stream of unfamiliar faces — young men, most of them around his own age, some older, some barely more than boys. Recruits. They dropped their bags, claimed their bunks and sized one another up with curious or guarded looks. The conversations overlapped as names were traded and origins were guessed and rivalries quietly began to form.
One of them stopped beside Youri's bunk — a tall, broad-shouldered man with dark skin and close-cropped hair. "You already here?"
"Yeah," Youri said.
The man nodded approvingly. "Name's Kess."
"Youri."
Kess grinned. "Good luck, Youri. We're going to need it."
Before Youri could answer, a sharp alarm cut through the chatter. Red lights flickered along the ceiling, and a mechanical voice echoed through the hangar. "All recruits report to the assembly field immediately."
Around the room, the laughter died at once and bags were dropped where they stood. Kess was already pulling on his boots. Youri stood, his heart steady but alert. This was it. No more running. No more underground fights. Only the academy, and whatever it was going to demand of him next.