Saving the Academy

The Brad Mendoza Chronicles

Skyler Ramirez

Persephone Entertainment Inc.

Copyright © 2023 Skyler Ramirez

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover design and illustrations by: Persephone Entertainment Inc.
Printed in the United States of America

Published by Persephone Entertainment Inc.
Texas, USA

Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Foreword

Illustration 1: Midshipman Brad Mendoza

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Illustration 2: Midshipman Anita Klipfel

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Illustration 3: Midshipman Carla Oliphant

Chapter 12

Books by Skyler Ramirez

About The Author

Foreword

This short story is the first of the Brad Mendoza Chronicles, a series of companion stories to the Dumb Luck and Dead Heroes series, set in the universe of The Worst Ship in the Fleet. The story you're about to read can be read and enjoyed with or without a reading of the larger series.

I think it's important to note that I've never been in the military (I very much wanted to join at one point in my life, but my asthma prevented it) and this story is about a group of students at a naval academy far in the future. I've done a good amount of research to try and get the experience right, but I would ask my readers’ forgiveness for anything I get wrong.

Enjoy!

Skyler Ramirez

Illustration 1: Midshipman Brad Mendoza

Chapter 1

“Brad, why are you such an idiot?”

Ouch. When the prettiest girl at the Promethean Naval Academy calls you stupid, it somehow hurts a lot worse than when your buddies do it. Anita Klipfel, all 180 centimeters of tan, toned perfection under a shock of soft blond hair, stares at me from her baby blue—and currently very annoyed—eyes and makes me feel like I’ve forgotten something.

Which I actually have. I forgot my notes; the ones I was supposed to give Anita so she could study for tomorrow’s test in Astrogation 101. And since dinner just ended, this is the last time I’ll see her today. In fact, in about five minutes, the rest of the plebes—Academy first-years—and I will be separated by gender and marched back to our quarters for study period and then lights out.

So, Anita is ticked, and with good reason. She’s been helping me all semester by sharing her notes from Jump Drive Mechanics 101, and the only thing she asked in return was to borrow my Astrogation notes for the midterm tomorrow.

Silently, I curse Professor Tillman for refusing to let us keep our notes on our implants. He’s paranoid about cheating, even though everyone knows implant-dampening fields prevent that during test periods. Still, he actually requires us to write our notes down on paper! So archaic.

I don’t respond to Anita's question about my intelligence because there’s nothing I can say. I’ve already told her six times how sorry I am, but it does no good. She turns and stalks off, her posture ramrod straight and her butt looking quite nice in her service uniform trousers. I watch it for a second… or maybe five.

“Boy, there goes any shot you had with her,” someone quips from behind me, distracting me from my study of Anita.

I turn and regard Midshipman Robert ‘Skelly’ Skelgin, my best friend, with a sour expression. But I can’t even pretend to be mad at him for his comment for more than a few seconds. I blush and shake my head. “I know; so stupid, right? How could I forget those notes?”

He laughs. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I doubt you had much of a shot with her anyway. Midshipman Ice Queen has her nose stuck so far up her books that she probably hasn’t even noticed you’re a man yet.”

I frown. “Don’t call her that, Skelly. She’s not that bad, really.”

Skelly smirks. “Not that bad? Last week, she told Garrison no when he asked her to the Interstellar Ball. Just ‘no’. No explanation of any kind, looking at him the whole time like she was annoyed he even thought to ask. Garrison! As in, Duke Garrison’s son! Heck, I’m straight, and I’d date the guy if he asked.”

Shaking my head and returning Skelly’s smirk, I chuckle a little at his comment. Midshipman Laraby Garrison is the golden boy of the plebe class this year. Rich, smart, fifteenth in line to the throne, and handsome in that too-perfect way that makes guys like me jealous. The man really is the total package, and if he struck out with Anita, there’s no chance she’d ever date a guy like me.

Maybe Skelly is right about not letting today bother me, but it does. Because even if I have zero chance with Anita Klipfel, I did make her a promise. And I’m going to keep that promise, whatever it takes.

“Uh oh,” Skelly says, suddenly wary. “I don’t like that look on your face. That’s your ‘I have a really stupid plan’ face.”

I smile at my friend and shrug. “Oh, Skelly Boy, this plan goes beyond stupid.”

Chapter 2

The last note of Taps plays over the PA in Whittaker Hall, and the lights throughout the whole building turn off at once.

I lay quietly in my bunk, the clock in my implant keeping the time for me. At exactly four minutes thirty seconds after lights out, I hear footsteps in the passageway outside. I wait until the sound fades in the distance. At six minutes and forty-seven seconds passed—he’s fifteen seconds early tonight—I hear the footsteps come back in the other direction.

I keep waiting. Outside, a dog barks, right on schedule. After that, the bright spear of a flashlight’s glare through the window reflects off my dorm’s bulkhead.

Then darkness returns, and with it, silence.

I roll out of bed quickly, already dressed. If I’m caught outside after lights out, I’ll be brought up for disciplinary action. But if I’m caught outside without my uniform at the same time… well, then I might as well just quit the Navy, because such an offense knows no forgiveness.

“Good luck, idiot,” I hear Skelly mutter quietly from the bunk above mine.

“Don’t forget your part,” I hiss to him.

“Sure, I got it,” comes the sleepy reply—not very confidence-inspiring.

Still, I make my way to the window and reach out open it.

“Brad, forgetting something?” Skelly’s voice startles me so badly that I jump. I turn and glare at him in the darkness, then…

I sigh at my own forgetful stupidity and creep across the small room to my desk, grabbing the hand-written notes for Astrogation 101 and shoving them into my uniform pocket. “Thanks,” I whisper in my roommate’s direction. Then I’m back at the window, opening it carefully and quietly.

A minute later, I’m outside, standing on a narrow ledge that runs along underneath the second-story windows of Whittaker Hall. I just as slowly ease the window shut once I’m through, and then I carefully leap down to the soft soil of the building’s landscaping, bending my knees as I hit and catching myself with my hands to keep from soiling my uniform, which would be another nearly-unforgivable offense for a plebe.

A light cuts through the darkness in the distance, working its way around the corner of the building. Staying low, I run across the moonlit grass until I’m at the kissing tree, named long ago because it sits halfway between the men’s and women’s dorm halls. Once there, I jump up and grab the lowest branch, pulling myself up as quickly as I can—again, without ruining my uniform in the process—and climbing high enough that the thick branches and leaves will hide me from anyone not looking directly at me.

Now comes the riskiest part. I reach into my pocket and withdraw the piece of roasted meat I hid there as Skelly and I left the chow hall earlier tonight. I drop it so that it lands right at the base of the kissing tree’s wide trunk. Then, I settle in to wait.

The light is around the building now and making its way along the side of Whittaker Hall. As it comes closer, I start to hear the most terrifying noise a midshipman out of his room after hours can hear: the gentle chuffing of a very large dog.

I watch through the leaves as the light nears the spot of ground underneath my window, willing it to keep moving. But it slows and stops, and I can hear the junior midshipman talking softly to the dog, first in annoyance, then in curiosity.

The thing has my scent. Great. Now, the light turns in my direction, sweeping across the short strip of grass between Whittaker and Hooper Halls, illuminating the base of the kissing tree before moving on to sweep the rest of the grass and then coming back to the base of the tree.

It’s a lot closer now, and I can hear the dog sniffing as he picks out my tracks from the other scents in the grass. Then, the animal is at the bottom of the tree, and I can just make out the dark outline of the midshipman behind the bright flashlight beam as that light slowly starts to sweep upward toward my hiding place.

“What is it, Rufus?” the midshipman asks the dog in a low voice as the light comes within centimeters of my feet.

The answer, to my supreme relief, is a slurping noise.

“Seriously?” the annoyed midshipman snaps. “What are you eating now? Stupid dog, I thought there was someone in the tree.”

The light moves down and illuminates Rufus pawing at the ground where the piece of beef from my pocket was. The dog starts to look up toward me, but the midshipman jerks on the leash and pulls the animal away.

Rufus doesn’t go quietly, barking a few times and whining as he tries to pull his handler back toward the tree, but by the way the midshipman is swearing quietly at the dog, he’s more worried about the animal’s racket drawing the attention of one of the instructors, or worse, one of the firsties. About a minute later, the midshipman and the dog are back on their normal route, and the light disappears again, going around the corner of the building toward the backside of Whittaker Hall.

I drop down from the tree and, again keeping low, quickly make my way across the remaining strip of grass to the next building, Hooper Hall, the female midshipmen’s dormitory. I count the windows as I run, finding the tenth from the left, and make my way over to it. And then I almost chicken out.

What if I get the wrong room?

What if Anita is annoyed with me?

What if she reports me?

I almost turn and go back, but I force myself to take a deep breath; then I reach up and knock lightly on the window.

I hear a muffled gasp and movement inside. Then nothing. I knock again.

I’m about to knock a third time when the window practically flies upward, startling me and making me fall back and onto my butt.

A very annoyed-looking but pretty brunette is eyeing me incredulously through the open window. I breathe a sigh of relief. “Oh, hey Carla. Is Anita here?”

It’s a dumb question, and the look Carla Oliphant shoots me confirms that. How would Anita not be here, in her dorm room, with her roommate, after lights out?

Carla looks like she’s going to tell me just how stupid I am, but another face appears, looking equally annoyed.

“Brad?” Anita asks. “What in Hades are you doing?”

“I, uh, brought you my notes,” I say lamely. Suddenly, my genius plan seems even dumber than it first sounded when I explained it to Skelly.

But I get up off the ground, brush off my uniform pants, and reach into my pocket for the notes. Just as I’m about to take them out and hand them through the window to Anita, a light flashes in my peripheral vision. My heart sinks. It’s a random patrol coming down the side of Hooper Hall straight toward me!

Anita and Carla see it, too, and I hear a frustrated grunt from inside their room. Then a pair of hands reaches out through the window and grabs me by the arms, pulling me towards the building.

“Quick, inside!” I hear Anita whisper harshly. Without thinking, I follow her instructions, pulling myself up and into her window and doing my best not to fall face-first to the floor.

Behind me, Anita slides the window shut, and then we all hold our breaths. The light outside gets closer and closer. If there’s a dog and it catches my scent, we’re sunk.

Closer.

Closer.

The light passes by, and we all wait another ten seconds before breathing sighs of relief. Only then do I allow myself to look up at the two women from where I crouch underneath the windowsill. They’re both standing, arms folded crossly, staring at me the way my mother used to when she’d catch me raiding the pantry after I was supposed to be in bed as a kid.

“Uh, hi,” I say with an apologetic grin.

Carla rolls her eyes, but Anita reaches down and helps me to my feet. “Brad,” she says, “this is monumentally stupid. What if you get caught?”

“What if he’s caught?” Carla whispers harshly. “What if we’re caught with him in here? Of all the stupid, idiotic…” She throws her hands up in frustration and shakes her head with a tight frown.

“You forget heroic, daring, and dashing,” I tell her with a lopsided grin. It doesn’t amuse her.

“Brad, please take this seriously,” Anita urges me, and I turn back to her.

“Oh, yeah,” I say, reaching into the pocket of my trousers and withdrawing the sheaf of papers I’d jammed there. “The notes, my lady.”

Despite the situation, Anita laughs lightly as she rolls her eyes and reaches out to take the notes from me. “Next time, Spacer, just bring them to dinner like you promised, and don’t break every Academy rule to get them to me, OK?”

I just keep grinning and shrug. Now that I’ve recovered from my fright at almost being caught, I’m starting to realize I’m in a women’s dorm room, a room that just so happens to belong to two very attractive girls my age. Things could be worse.

They immediately get worse. Footsteps echo outside in the passageway, and it’s the determined step not of someone on a lazy patrol but of a woman walking with purpose… right toward this room.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” Anita mutters, putting her hands to her head and looking around frantically. “If they find you here, they’ll kick us all out. You have to go!”

I step toward the window, but a hand reaches out and grabs my arm, stopping me.

“No time!” Carla hisses, and I find myself being manhandled to the ladder leading to the room's top bunk. “Up there,” she says harshly in my ear and then practically pushes me up the ladder.

I get up on the top bunk unsure of what to do, and before I know it, Carla’s coming up the ladder and pushing me toward the far side nearest the wall.

“Lay down, get under the covers, and hug that bulkhead, Midshipman,” she whispers urgently. Then she gets under the covers and lays down with her back to me.

I don’t even have time to think about the fact that I’m in a pretty girl’s bed before the hatch swings open almost violently.

“Plebes! Atten-hut!” a rough female voice practically yells.

Carla flings the covers off of herself, conveniently so that they cover me even more, and rolls off the bunk and down the ladder. I hear Anita do the same from the bunk below me. Between the pile of covers and the angle, anyone standing on the room's deck shouldn't be able to see me... I hope.

“Watch says they heard voices from inside this room when they passed by,” the rough voice says. “Were you two plebes talking after lights out in my hall?”

“Sir, no sir!” both Anita and Carla reply in chorus.

“Do you know what happens to plebes who talk after lights out?” the voice asks.

“Sir, they are assigned fire watch, sir!” Anita answers.

“That’s right, Plebe. And you and your roomy here just earned it for the next week! And if I hear you talking again, we’ll make it a month. Am I clear?”

“Sir, yes sir!” they chorus again.

The hatch slams shut, throwing the room back into darkness, and I let out a breath I forgot I was holding. Yep, that doesn’t just happen in the novels; I was literally scared into not breathing.

The next thing I see in the dim light is Carla’s head poking up above the edge of the bed. “Get out of my bunk and out of our room, idiot,” she says in a very low whisper that somehow still manages to convey the fact that she is literally shouting at me.

I do as I’m told, throwing one last smile toward Anita, and then I’m outside their window, crouching in the dirt as they slide it shut behind me.

Illustration 2: Midshipman Anita Klipfel

Chapter 3

I practically sprint back across the grass strip, hoping that Skelly has remembered to keep watch for me and lower the line so I can climb back up to the second floor and get inside my room. But just as I reach the edge of the grass, where it meets the soft dirt that surrounds the building’s landscaping, a light spears me.

“Halt!” a firm voice cries out, and a dog barks.

I am so sunk.

Ten minutes later, I’m standing at the most rigid attention I’ve ever stood, staring straight ahead and sweating profusely. I’m in a large office with a gigantic wooden desk. On the other side of that desk sits Captain Howard Keller, the commandant of the Promethean Naval Academy.

“Son, do you know what we do to plebes caught outside after lights out?” he asks me sternly.

“Sir, they are disciplined, sir!” I reply, though my voice shakes and catches as I do so. I honestly can’t remember ever being this terrified, and I once almost got attacked by a cougar at my grandpa’s farm.

He’s silent for a moment, and at the edge of my vision, I can see him steepling his hands in front of him and regarding me with a thin-lipped frown. “Midshipman Mendoza,” he says thoughtfully, and I can practically hear him calling up my service record on his implant. “This is not your first infraction, is it, Midshipman? In fact, you’re well on your way already to joining the Black N Society in your first semester.”

He pauses, but there’s no question in his words, so I keep my mouth shut, ignoring his allusion to the informal society of the Academy’s worst rule-breakers. I would kind of like to join them, actually. Might be fun. But I’m not going to tell him that.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Midshipman?” he finally asks.

“Sir, I have no excuse, sir!” I say in as steady a voice as I can muster. I fall pretty short again.

“Restriction for a month, I think, is in order,” Keller says, his voice still calm and almost conversational. “Maybe that will set you straight.”

“Sir, yes, sir!”

“Dismissed Midshipman,” he says, and I execute a perfect about-face to exit through the hatch. But his voice stops me just as I’m about to leave.

“Oh, Midshipman Mendoza,” he says to my back. “Next time you decide to sneak into a female midshipman’s dorm room, you might want to pay attention to her name. Midshipman Carla Oliphant. Think on that one for a moment and consider how it might affect your future career in this Navy. You may go.”

I leave as fast as I can without breaking protocol or looking back. Because not only does the commandant somehow know exactly what I was doing tonight, but he just made an excellent point. I met Carla Oliphant on the first day of Plebe Summer. We haven’t become friends, and the only reason I ever speak to her now is when she’s with Anita. Even so, I should have put two and two together. Oliphant isn’t the most common name in the Federation, but I do know of at least one other:

Vice Admiral Terrence “Terrible” Oliphant. And I’d just almost been caught in his daughter’s bed!

Chapter 4

Anita does great on the Astrogation test; she gets the highest grade in the class, in fact. She probably didn't even need my notes. And they don’t really help me; I get a C plus. Maybe it’s because I was mustered out of my bunk—after not getting much sleep anyway due to my late-night misadventures—for a random uniform inspection at four AM, all part of my restriction.

Of course, I wasn’t in my uniform at four AM, but the junior midshipman who roused me—the same one who caught me outside—seemed to get great pleasure from calling out everything that was wrong with my pajamas and every piece of my uniform that was missing.

Skelly didn’t have to participate—he’s not on restriction—but he couldn’t exactly sleep through it, so he glared angrily at me throughout the entire fifteen-minute dressing down.

Then I tried to go back to sleep, but the same junior came back an hour later for another uniform inspection!

My first hours on restriction are going just great.

At lunch, sitting on the front seven centimeters of my bench as plebes are required to do, I’m hit with yet another random inspection. At least this time, I’m wearing my uniform, but it isn’t to the satisfaction of the midshipman—a second-year ‘youngster’ this time—so I lose an entire day, meaning today won’t count toward my month’s restriction.

Fun.

At least my punishment seems to soften Anita’s anger toward me about hers. She even gives me a sympathetic smile from across the chow hall. Carla, on the other hand, glares daggers at me.

Part of being on restriction means that an upperclassman can pretty much order me to do anything he or she wants me to, so long as it doesn’t interfere with my other duties. So, I’m not too surprised when, after dinner, a firstie—a ‘senior’ in civilian parlance—pulls me aside and orders me to stand his fire watch at the beach tonight.

Fire watch is essentially the night watch, typically between the hours of midnight and four AM. I have no clue why they call it fire watch. I’m finding that many things in the Navy are named more out of tradition than for any real reason.

Fire watch at the beach is the worst for Academy students because it is, as the name implies, on the beach. The Promethean Naval Academy is on the shores of the Worthington Ocean in Prometheus’ northern hemisphere. At this time of year, late fall, a cold wind blows off the sea, making a night watch on the beach pure hell. Worse, the sand is thick and heavy, and walking back and forth across it for four hours can make your legs so sore you wish they’d just fall off.

I show up to my post at 11:42. It may seem like that means I’m starting really early, but by tradition, a midnight watch starts at 11:45, so I’m barely on time. The youngster I’m replacing gives me a sour look as if I’ve shown up an hour late as he turns the watch over to me. Then I start marching up the beach about eight hundred meters, then turn and retrace my footsteps back. Over and over again.

By the end of my first hour, my legs feel like dead weights. But I keep going. The only thing worse than serving fire watch on the beach would be getting caught not doing it properly. But by the end of the second hour, my legs hurt so bad I think I’m going to collapse. Plus, I’m so cold that I’m pretty sure my arms are also going to fall off!

Looking up and down the beach and seeing no one, I take a big risk and stop marching, sitting down right where I stop and looking out over the dark water, just to give my tortured legs a rest. I plan to get up in just a minute or two, but fifteen minutes later, I’m still sitting there, just staring out over the ocean, watching the waves rise and crash in the dim light of Hera, the smaller of Prometheus’ two moons.

That’s when I see it. Out on the water, there’s a shadow darker than the rest, and it’s moving.

I stand and watch the dark object as it follows the waves toward shore, slowly taking shape and substance until it gets close enough for me to make out a rowboat.

Seriously? A rowboat?

I watch, too dumbfounded to even remember that as the watch stander, I probably should be calling this in. It reaches shore about fifty meters from me, and two figures jump out, wading through the surf to the dry sand beyond. In the dim light, I can see they’re in uniform, and I can spot that one is wearing the dixie cup hat reserved for plebes like me.

I’m expecting them to see me at any moment, but they don’t. The place I’ve stopped to rest is right next to where the trees of the Academy grounds meet the beach and apparently, it’s enough to shield me from their view. I’m just one shadow among many to their eyes.

I should call out a challenge, but something stops me. The two men are moving furtively like they’re doing something wrong, and I watch as a third man, still in the boat, hands one of them a small box. Then they make their way up the beach and into the trees while the third man rows the boat back out into the surf.

Yeah, I should really call this in, but my curiosity gets the better of me. So, instead of doing my duty, I decide, in all my glorious non-stupidity, to follow them! I make my way through the trees, moving parallel to them and stepping lightly so I don’t make a sound. When I reach the edge of the trees, I stop and watch as they make a left turn onto a path that will lead them right by me. I take a few steps back into the foliage so they hopefully won’t see me.

By now, I’ve overcome at least a little of my surprise, and I’m fully planning to jump out at them and catch them in the act of whatever they’re doing. But right before I do, the light illuminates their faces.

I stop. Because I recognize them both. The plebe, the one wearing the dixie cup, is none other than Midshipman Laraby Garrison, the son of the Duke of New Harford and fifteenth in line for the throne of Prometheus. And the other man with him is a professor! Commander Evans teaches tactics courses. He’s actually my favorite professor at the Academy and one of the few giving me a high grade. On top of that, I actually like his class; it’s teaching me how to shoot stuff, which is essentially why I joined the Navy in the first place. Well, that and to annoy my father, who really wanted me to be an accountant like him. Boring.

I should still challenge them, but I don’t. After all, what could a duke’s son and a faculty member be doing that wouldn’t be above board? If I challenge them now, I’ll have to explain why I didn’t do so on the beach. And then I might get even more restriction duty.

So, I keep my mouth shut, watch them pass, and then return to my pacing up and down the beach until I’m relieved at 3:45 AM.

Chapter 5

“Brad, I really hate you,” Carla Oliphant tells me the next morning at chow. But despite her cold words, she and Anita set their trays down and sit across from me at the mess table, almost making Skelly’s eyes bug out.

“I don’t hate you, Brad,” Anita says with a small smile. “You may have gotten us in trouble, but you were trying to do something nice for me, even if it was monumentally stupid.”

That’s a compliment, I think. Right?

“Besides,” she continues. “You kept your mouth shut when the commandant pulled you into his office. You could have given us up and maybe even earned some leniency for ratting us out along with you; it’s been known to happen. But you didn’t, and that means something, I guess.”

I hadn’t even thought of that. Besides, Keller already knew.

“Um, you’re welcome?” I say, but it’s definitely more of a question.

“Well, I still hate you,” Carla says, then starts eating and very pointedly ignoring both me and Skelly.

“I heard you had to serve fire watch last night as well,” Anita says between bites as we eat. “I was outside Worthington Hall. Carla was assigned to the armory. Where did they put you?”

“The beach,” I tell her.

She stops with her fork halfway to her mouth and gives me a sympathetic look. “Ugh. I had to do a few nights on the beach earlier this semester. It’s the worst, isn’t it?”

I smile. “Sure is. But I made it through. Even passed my first random uniform inspection this morning. So, I’ll survive.”

She smiles back. “Good attitude. Maybe there’s hope for you yet in His Majesty’s Navy.” She laughs lightly to take any sting out of her words, and my smile gets bigger.

I’m opening my mouth to say something no doubt witty and suave when I’m interrupted by a voice behind me.

“Ladies, gents, mind if I join you?”

I recognize the voice instantly and feel my spine go rigid.  I’m still looking at Anita, and I think I see a flash of annoyance in her eyes. Carla, on the other hand, looks downright giddy.

A figure sets his tray down next to mine, not waiting for permission, and Midshipman Laraby Garrison slides onto the bench behind it.

“Hi, Laraby,” Carla says in a voice that reminds me of a giggling schoolgirl. I’m surprised she isn’t twirling her brown hair around her finger and batting her eyes at the guy. As if she’d have a chance with him. Carla may be Navy royalty in that her father is an admiral, but Laraby is real royalty. They’re not even close to the same thing.

“Your Highness,” Skelly says awkwardly from the other side of me. Anita stays conspicuously silent.

“No, no, no,” Garrison says, waving a dismissive hand. “I’m just a plebe like the rest of you. Please, call me Laraby. We leave our non-military stations at the door to Worthington Hall, after all.”

He’s referring to the fact that nobles are supposed to be treated like any other cadet at the various Promethean military academies. Likewise, their nobility isn’t supposed to give them special treatment once they’ve graduated and are actually serving on a ship or other assignment. It’s a neat idea, but everyone knows it’s never that way in practice. Nobles are… well, they’re nobles. There aren’t many of them in the Kingdom, but they are treated like gods pretty much wherever they go. The Naval Academy is no exception.

“It’s Mendoza, right?” he asks next, looking at me and reaching out a hand.

Warily, I shake his hand and nod.

“I heard you got caught outside a couple of nights ago. What was that like?” he asks as if he’s actually interested.

I almost throw the question back on him, given what I saw last night. But I stop myself at the last instant and instead just shrug. “No big deal. On restriction for a month, but nothing I can’t handle.”

His eyes widen. “A month? Really? Seems harsh. Sorry to hear that.” The way he says it, it’s almost as if he actually is sympathetic to my plight.

“What do you want, Laraby?” Anita’s voice interrupts. She’s frowning at him.

He smiles. “Don’t worry, Midshipman Klipfel. I have no plans to try and ask you to the ball again. But I did want to come over and apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable by asking you the first time.”

Again, the way he says it sounds so earnest I almost believe him. Almost. But my heart sinks when Anita’s face softens because I think he’s actually fooling her!

Stupid noble encroaching on my lunch with the most beautiful girl in our class. I hate him already, and until today, I’ve never actually spoken to him. We’re in different companies, after all.

“So,” I ask him, trying to keep my voice casual, “do you know who you are going to take to the Interstellar Ball?”

He seems surprised by the question but just shrugs. “Actually, no. Now that Anita has wisely turned me down,” he throws a smile toward her, “I’m just not all that motivated. Besides, my father has already transmitted me a list of those female midshipmen he considers ‘suitable’ for me to escort to the event. So naturally, I can’t ask any of them.” He smiles broadly as if I should laugh at that. I don’t.

“Was Anita on that list?” I press instead, ignoring the look of panic she shoots me.

His smile doesn’t even falter. “Very direct, aren’t you, Midshipman Mendoza? I think I like you.” The feeling isn’t mutual. “But to answer your question, no, Midshipman Klipfel was not on my father’s list. Which is part of the reason I asked her, begging your pardon, Anita.” He nods apologetically toward her. “She’s also at the top of our class, which is the bigger reason I asked her.”

I glance over at Anita, and she’s suddenly beaming! She’s believing this lout. Ever since I heard she turned him down for the Interstellar Ball—the annual event to celebrate all of the off-world midshipmen like me, but really just an excuse for everyone to get into our dress whites and party—I’ve been trying to work up the courage to ask her myself. The grand gesture of two nights ago, bringing her my notes, was supposed to endear her to me enough to make that work. It backfired, of course, but this little conversation in the chow hall was heading in the right direction before His Royal Highness the Illustrious Dandy Garrison showed up to ruin it all!

“Why don’t you take Midshipman Oliphant?” I suggest. Do you ever have words come out of your mouth that you didn’t think through first? This is one of those times for me, and I wince as I can practically feel Carla’s furious glare in my peripheral vision.

Garrison, to his credit, doesn’t bat an eye. “Actually, that’s a splendid idea. Father can’t be mad if I take the daughter of a famous admiral, and I daresay that I’ve been impressed by Midshipman Oliphant’s writing in our political theory class together. What say you, Midshipman, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the ball and upset my father just a little?”

Carla is blushing furiously now and alternating between excited looks at Garrison and hateful ones toward me. Finally, she finds her voice and eeks out a “Yes” that’s almost too quiet to hear.

“Well, it’s settled then. Thank you for the excellent suggestion, Midshipman Mendoza—Brad, if I may call you that. Now, at the risk of things getting awkward if I stay, I shall take my leave and eat at my usual table. Adieu.”

I watch the guy get up and leave, thinking that he couldn’t sound more pompous, and then turn to see Skelly, Anita, and Carla all glaring at me.

“What was that?” Anita asks incredulously. “Why were you so rude to him?”

“I, uh…” I have no answer to her question that won’t dig me a deeper hole than I’ve apparently already thrust myself into.

“I could have died,” Carla says in mock exasperation. I know it’s mock because she’s grinning widely as she says it.

“Brad, do you have to piss off every new person we meet?” Skelly asks me next.

“I…” I still have no answers.

“Well, at the very least, it ended well for Carla,” Anita says next, giving her roommate a playful elbow. “Your dad will be happy to hear you’re the date of a duke’s son.”

Carla is still grinning so widely that it looks like it hurts. She just nods.

“Now, I’d like to talk to Brad about something privately,” Anita says next, drawing surprised looks from all of us, but especially from me. “Would you both mind terribly excusing us for a moment?”

Skelly nods dumbly and makes a hasty retreat. Carla does likewise, though she gives me a look that I can’t decipher first. I don’t know if she’s upset with me or really happy with me. It’s probably both. I have that effect on people.

When they’re gone, Anita gives me a small smile. “Brad, you really are an idiot sometimes.”

I shrug. I still don’t know what to say.

“But you are an interesting one,” she says. Then she winks at me! “Do you have a date to the ball?” she asks next, and suddenly, there is no air in my lungs. It’s happening; it’s really happening!

I shake my head mutely.

“Good. Would you like to escort me?” she asks.

Wait. Did I imagine that? I almost faint right there into my mashed potatoes, but instead, I just nod. I’m afraid that if I try to speak, I’ll break whatever spell of insanity is possessing Anita Klipfel to ask me to the biggest social event of our plebe year.

I’m still mute and silent when she gives me a radiant smile and then gets up to buss her tray, leaving me alone to push the potatoes around on my plate dumbly.

Chapter 6

Fire watch on the beach again!

A week has passed since the first time I spent the cold hours of darkness pacing up and down the windy beach. This is now my fourth time doing it since then. I’ve figured out that every upperclassman who has drawn this duty knows on I’m restriction and I can’t tell them no. Yesterday, I was able to dodge one of them when he came looking for me in the chow hall. Today, I wasn’t so lucky. So now I’m freezing my butt off on the beach again. So much fun.

The other three times I’ve done it in the last week, there was no repeat of the mysterious rowboat arriving, so I’ve almost convinced myself I imagined the whole thing. Or maybe it was a hallucination brought on by lack of sleep and the emotional strain of being caught outside at night, being dressed down by the commandant, and being put on restriction for a month.

Either way, I’m happy to forget all about it. That is until I see the same dark shape again tonight.

I’m walking this time, not resting on the sand, but I stop and crouch down to make myself less visible, then slowly creep backward until I’m up against the shadows of the tree line. Just like that first night, the dark shape soon resolves into a rowboat with three people in it. And again, two get out, and a third man hands them a box and then rows back out into the surf.

Like last time, I move parallel to the two men as they leave the beach. But unlike last time, when they turn left and head down the path, I follow at a distance. My curiosity has gotten the better of me, and I really want to see if I can find out what Garrison and Commander Evans are doing.

I follow them for about another five hundred meters before they reach the edge of the main part of campus, where officer housing begins. I know Commander Evans has a small bungalow a block away from where we are now; he sometimes holds office hours there on the days he isn’t teaching. I watch as he and Garrison talk for a few minutes. Then, the midshipman hands the box from the boat to Evans, and the professor turns heel and walks away toward his bungalow.

Garrison heads back down the path toward me, and I almost bolt. But I’m standing already a meter off the path in the trees. Growing up on a farming planet like Denton III, I have plenty of experience moving around and even hunting at night, and I’ve learned that most people don’t see much in the darkness unless something moves. So, I hold my ground and watch as Garrison walks past me, strolling casually and never even glancing toward the trees where I’m hidden.

I follow him again and watch him go to Whittaker Hall, where he nonchalantly walks up to a side door and enters a code that lets him in.

Hades, I’d kill for that code. Leave it to the son of a duke to figure it out before me. Assuming the instructors didn’t just give it to him.

My late-night reconnaissance done, I make my way back to the beach, hiding from another watchstander at one point but making it otherwise without incident. But as I resume walking up and down the sand, I start to think very seriously about just what a duke’s son and an Academy professor are doing under the cover of night. And what is in those boxes?

Chapter 7

The next day at chow, I’m delighted when Anita drags Carla over to our table, and the two girls join us for breakfast again. I’m significantly less delighted when Laraby Garrison again slides onto the bench next to me a minute or so later.

We all make small talk, though Carla can’t take her eyes off of Garrison the entire time, and Anita keeps catching my eye and giving me shy little smiles—seriously, how can a woman who looks like Anita Klipfel be shy about anything?—while Skelly just sits there uncomfortably.

Garrison seems oblivious to all of it and starts chatting away about some of our plebe classes. Like the rest of us, excluding Skelly, he’s already settled on the command and tactics track at the Academy. Skelly wants to be an engineer, which blows my mind. How could anyone want to stay down in a stuffy engine room instead of being on the bridge flying the ship and shooting at stuff?

But I digress. Breakfast feels like it takes way too long, but simultaneously—in the moments where Anita and I make eye contact—it moves way too fast.

Morning classes are uneventful, and I even manage not to stare too much at Commander Evans in his tactics class. I somehow pass three surprise uniform inspections, and clean one of the heads in Worthington Hall to the satisfaction of one of the more stringent instructors Things are going pretty well, my restriction aside, until I once again get caught by a firstie at dinner. And just like that, I’m back on fire watch on the beach.

But this time, I’m prepared. I raided the armory earlier this morning and checked out a pair of night-vision binoculars. And by checked out, I mean hid them under my uniform coat as I left; there’s really no legitimate reason for a plebe to need night-vision binoculars.

When I take over the watch on the beach at 11:45, I stop every few meters and use the binoculars to sweep the ocean in front of me, looking for any sign of the mysterious rowboat. I find none, and the time goes by faster than normal before I’m relieved at 3:45 and stumble back to my bunk.

Two nights later, the same. Fire watch on the beach, but no boat. I actually find myself searching out the upperclassmen who like to assign me the duty, just so I can keep looking for the thing.

A week passes since the last time I saw the boat before I see it again. Three times, each spread out by a week, appears to form a pattern. I’m ready, with my borrowed night-vision binoculars trained on the ocean. I see the rowboat coming from much further out, and I backtrack its origin just in time to see something slip down under the waves.

What in Hades? If I didn’t know any better, I would think I just saw a submarine. But a submarine on Prometheus? Why?

Sure, I’ve heard of oceanic researchers using submarines to explore the depths, but Prometheus is so industrialized that I’ve never even heard of them exploring here. Usually, they go to more untouched ecosystems—as if you could ever call a terraformed planet untouched—or even to one of the planets with native fauna that hasn’t been destroyed by human terraforming yet.

But on Prometheus? Never. There’s barely even any fish left in the planet's waters.

My eyes must have been playing tricks on me, even through the binoculars.

Just as they did a week ago, Garrison and Evans get out of the boat, accept a box from the third man, and then set off up the beach and likely toward the edge of the main campus and Evans’ bungalow. But this time, I don’t follow them. Instead, I watch the rowboat as it fights the surf to leave the shoreline.

About three hundred meters out, right where I thought I saw something before, a dark shape rises from the ocean. It’s just the conning tower, but now I’m certain it’s a submarine.

What is going on?

I should report this. I’m duty-bound to report it! But something stops me. We’re still talking about the son of a duke and a respected Academy professor and senior officer. What if this is some sanctioned operation? Worse, what if it isn’t? Like most Prometheans, I’ve heard the rumors of the King’s Cross—a supposedly secret order of assassins loyal to the Crown—taking out enemies of the Royal Family, and even though a duke’s son probably doesn’t have that kind of pull, I really don’t want to find out. I mean, his father is the King’s cousin.

So, I resolve to just keep watching and try to figure things out on my own. Maybe once I know more, I can take it to the commandant.

Like so many in my life, it’s a really stupid decision.

Chapter 8

I’m weirdly starting to like Laraby Garrison. I know, he’s probably up to no good, but I can’t help it. The guy has joined Skelly, Anita, Carla, and me for pretty much every meal over the last month, and he’s nothing like I expected.

He’s actually a pretty nice and surprisingly humble guy. Oh sure, he’s annoyingly naïve about a lot of things. When I mentioned milking cows, he looked at me like he was shocked milk doesn’t just come from the servants in his daddy’s house. But when I look past his sheltered upbringing, he’s not all that bad.

Carla certainly likes him as well, and she’s even starting to be nice to me, probably because I got him to ask her to the ball. And Anita…

Well, let’s just say Anita and I are growing quite close. If we weren’t already both on the commandant’s troublemaker list, we’d probably be meeting at the kissing tree every once in a while after taps for a joint night watch.

That sounded lame, didn’t it? Sorry, when I get infatuated with a girl, I pretty much turn into a slobbering neanderthal.

But today, I’m especially excited. Today, my restriction is over, and it’s a Saturday! That means we plebes get to go into town. And while Faraway Heights, the little burg nestled up against the Academy, isn’t all that much fun, I get to go with Anita. So, I’m over the moon.

Skelly is a bit less excited because I decide to drag him along, and he gets to be the fifth wheel between myself and Anita and Carla and Garrison. Still, he’s a good sport and doesn’t argue too much.

An hour after dinner, the five of us are sitting in a bar. I order a scotch—my grandpa’s favorite drink—and choke it down chased by a beer while Garrison orders some fancy concoction I’ve never heard of, and both the girls settle for wine. Skelly doesn’t drink, so he just grabs a root beer. We all talk and laugh, and Anita moves closer and closer to me in the booth where we’re all jammed in. By my second scotch and beer, and her third glass of wine, she’s practically sitting in my lap.

I’m a happy, happy man. But I also have to pee. I’ve had to go almost the entire time we’ve been sitting here, but to excuse myself and go to the restroom means leaving Anita’s very enticing side and possibly breaking whatever spell has descended that has her cuddling up to me.

So, I hold it until I simply can’t do so anymore. Then, I reluctantly extricate myself from the warmth of her presence and make my way as quickly as I can without looking like I’m running across the bar and into the short hallway leading to the men’s room. Behind me, I vaguely hear Garrison excuse himself as well, but he doesn’t follow me.

There’s a line! Seriously? There’s like three guys waiting for their turn for the only stall this stupid bar has in their men’s room.

I’m not proud of what I do next.

Two minutes later, I’m standing in the alley behind the bar, relieving myself against the outside wall. It feels great, even if being caught urinating in public would probably get me on restriction for another month. But after holding it and drinking for two hours, I would pee in the corner of the commandant’s office if I had to.

I’m just finishing up when I hear voices coming down the alley toward me. Afraid it might be the shore patrol, I quickly crouch behind a really smelly dumpster. As the voices get nearer, I realize I recognize them both.

It’s Garrison and Evans.

“Are you sure?” Garrison is asking.

“The night of the ball,” Evans replies. “He was quite specific, my Lord.”

“Come on. How many times do I have to tell you to stop calling me that? I’m not nobility here. I’m just another plebe.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Evans responds, and I can hear Garrison’s frustrated sigh.

“Well, tell him that the night of the ball is a terrible idea. Everyone will be there.”

“I think that’s the point, my Lord. Besides, you know as well as I do that your father keeps his own counsel. If he insists on the night of the ball, then we’ll do it on the night of the ball.”

Garrison’s reply is lost to me as they turn and start walking out of the alley and back toward the front of the bar, their clandestine meeting obviously over.

When I finally get back into the bar and slide next to a very inviting Anita—apparently, my absence made her heart grow fonder—Garrison is already there, laughing and joking with Anita and Skelly as Carla hangs all over him.

I do my best to laugh along, but there’s a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that has nothing to do with the alcohol I’ve imbibed tonight. Something is up, and I’m terrified to think what it might be. Either way, the ball is only a week away, so I’ll find out soon whether I like it or not.

Chapter 9

Six different times over the next week, I almost go into the commandant’s office and report the conversation between Evans and Garrison and my sightings of them and the mysterious rowboat and submarine at the beach. In fact, it's frankly absurd that I haven't already done so.

But each time, I stop myself, thinking again of the rumors of the King’s Cross and of my family back on Denton III—mostly of my mother; my father and I haven’t spoken since the day I announced I was joining the Navy. The thought of getting myself embroiled in something involving nobles makes me afraid not just for my own life but for my family as well. Perhaps it’s better just to let things play out. Besides, I tell myself, I actually don’t know if they’re up to anything improper.

Yeah, right.

The day of the Interstellar Ball finally comes. For me, that means pressing my dinner dress uniform. But for the female midshipmen, they spend the better part of the day getting ready. Anita has been teasing me all week about the dress she picked out, and the anticipation is killing me. Well, that and the anticipation for whatever Duke Garrison has planned for the night along with his son and Commander Evans.

Two hours before the ball is set to start, I show up with a line of other midshipmen outside the main door of Hooper Hall. One by one and in small groups, heavily made-up and dressed-to-kill female cadets come out the door and greet their waiting dates. No Anita yet, but I’m anxiously watching for her.

That’s when Laraby Garrison steps up beside me. “Evening, Brad,” he says, though his voice lacks its usual cheerfulness. “The girls haven’t come out yet, I see.”

I nod. “Still waiting.”

“Uh, Brad,” he says, his voice strange. I turn and look at him for the first time. He’s dressed in his dinner dress uniform, like me, the white coat and black pants looking much better on him than they did on me in the mirror. But his face is flushed, and his forehead is damp, and he looks genuinely upset.

“What’s going on, Laraby?” I ask slowly.

He considers things for a moment but then shakes his head. “Nothing. Just pre-date jitters.”

I don’t accept his answer. Instead, I spear him with my gaze. “Laraby, what does your father have planned for tonight?” The words are out of my mouth before I even think them through—typical for me.

Garrison looks at me in shock, and he opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something. I lean forward in anticipation, knowing that he’s going to reveal what’s been keeping me up at night for more than a month. I’m so close; he just needs to—

“Hello, gentlemen,” a voice purrs in my ear. I turn to see Anita, grinning widely, an equally happy Carla next to her. And for a second, I forget all about Laraby Garrison, Duke Garrison, Commander Evans, and even death by the King’s Cross. All I can do is gape.

Anita laughs as she sees me drinking in the sight of her. She’s wearing a blue dress that shimmers in the late afternoon sunlight. Her hair is done up and sparkles along with the dress, and I’ve never seen her in makeup before, but now, with only a little on, she’s absolutely stunning.

She twirls in the dress for me, and I catch a glimpse of a low-cut back and high heels that match the ensemble.

“You look incredible,” I tell her honestly.

She steps forward, planting a kiss on my cheek. “You don’t clean up too badly yourself, Spacer,” she says with a smile and a wink that turns my knees to jelly.

“Laraby,” I hear Carla ask. “How do I look?”

I glance over to see Garrison startle as if he’d forgotten he even had a date. But he reaches out and takes Carla’s hand, and leans down to kiss it in a very stuffy, aristocratic way. “You look lovely, my dear,” he says, though to me he sounds distracted.

Carla frowns but moves to take his proffered arm anyway. Even I have to admit, she looks pretty good in a black dress that hugs her curves and accentuates her porcelain skin. Not as good as Anita, mind you, but not bad at all.

“Shall we go, boys?” Anita asks playfully, and we’re off.

Dinner at a restaurant in town—within walking distance because we are plebes, after all—goes by in a flash. Garrison won’t meet my gaze the entire time, though I try to catch his on several occasions. Anita chats about this and that and doesn’t seem to notice the strange interplay between me and the other man. But I catch Carla eyeing us both with suspicion a few times, so I know we’re not fooling her.

When we finally arrive at the ball itself, in the grand ballroom of Worthington Hall, Garrison makes an excuse and pulls Carla along with him to the other side of the dance floor, as far away as he can get from me. Anita watches them go in confusion.

“What’s up with him?” she asks me as if she’s just now noticing how weird he’s been acting all night.

“I’m not really sure,” I tell her honestly.

Then the music starts, and we start dancing. For the first few dances, we maintain a few centimeters of separation between us, as does everyone else on the dance floor. But by the sixth or seventh slow dance, Anita is draped on me like my dinner jacket, her head on my shoulder and her arms wrapped tightly around me. Halfway through the song, we’re kissing.

It feels amazing, but even the feel of her lips against mine doesn’t take away my worries or my preoccupation. I’ve tried several times to move her across the dance floor toward Garrison and Carla, but each time, he’s effortlessly danced Carla further away, maintaining his distance from me. It’s really beginning to annoy me.

When the latest song ends and Anita lets me come up for air, I lead her to a nearby table, helping her into her seat. Then, I make a lame excuse about needing to use the restroom and make my way directly across the room toward Laraby Garrison.

He sees me coming and looks suddenly panicked. But Carla has an iron grip on his arm, and by the time he can extricate himself, I’m already there.

“Carla,” I say as nicely as I can while keeping my eyes riveted on Garrison’s. “I need to borrow your date for a minute. We have… guy stuff to discuss.”

“OK,” Carla says slowly and skeptically but doesn’t otherwise argue.

I grab Garrison’s arm before he can protest and practically drag him away from the dance floor to an empty side corridor off the ballroom. Once we’re out of earshot of the dancing and mingling midshipmen, instructors, officers, and professors, I stop and face him.

“OK, Garrison, spill it!” I command in a voice like the one I’ve heard senior officers use to order around or rebuke midshipmen or junior officers who cross them.

To my surprise, Laraby stands at attention as if I just issued him a command on the battlefield, but at least he doesn’t salute.

“I can’t stop it, Brad. It’s too late,” he stammers, his voice shaky. “I tried to talk him out of it; I did, but he’s just so stubborn!”

“Who, Laraby?” I ask. “Your father? The duke?”

He nods and reaches up to wipe sweat from his forehead. “He’s mad, Mendoza. But he’s still my father. I can’t go against him.”

“Against him in what?” I ask sternly, repeating the ‘command voice’ I used a moment ago. It comes more naturally this time.

“He’s making a move against the King,” he almost whispers, looking around us as if he’s worried even the bulkheads have ears.

My jaw drops open. No, people don’t actually do that, right? I’m just opening my mouth to speak, not because I’m so shocked and surprised that I’ve lost control of my facial muscles. “How, Laraby? What is he planning tonight?”

He hesitates, looking around again. Then he starts sobbing, and suddenly, the fifteenth in line for the throne of Prometheus is crying into my shoulder.

“Tell me, Laraby,” I command again. “Before it’s too late, man!”

He looks up, stepping back, clearly embarrassed but too manic to think too much about it. “He’s going to take over the Academy tonight,” he says, speaking faster now as if he feels the need to get it all out as quickly as possible. “Evans and some of the other senior officers and faculty are in on it. We’ve been smuggling in C8 explosives and weapons for months.”

I stifle a curse. That must be what was in the boxes I’ve seen them take from the rowboat each week on the beach. But they didn’t seem big enough to hold too many weapons, maybe a brick of C8 and one or two pistols or a disassembled submachine gun at best.

“They’re going to take the armory first,” he says, answering my unasked question. “Then they’ll take the ballroom. Everyone here will be their hostage.”

“But why?” I ask, still processing the shock of it all.

He looks at me with wide eyes now. “Come on, Brad. Do you realize how many children of rich and influential people there are in the ballroom right now? Half the professors even have ties to various noble families. If my father has the entire Academy hostage, what can the King do? He’ll have to meet my father’s demands.”

“Which are?”

He shrugs. “More power for our family, I suppose. He hasn’t really gone into specifics. He may even ask for independent rule over our planet, but that would be foolhardy; the King would never let it last. He’d send the Navy; surely he would.”

I grab him by both shoulders and shake him. “We have to stop him, Laraby! Before he can take the armory.”

He shakes his head and grimaces painfully. “It’s too late. Evans and a few others are already on their way there. And the entire ballroom is rigged with enough C8 explosives to kill everyone inside. That’s how they plan to hold us all hostage with so small a force. By threatening the commandant and…”

I’m not listening to the rest. Instead, I’m leaping across the corridor toward something I saw earlier behind Garrison. When I reach it, I yank down on the fire alarm, and all hell breaks loose.

Chapter 10

The overhead sprinklers come on, and suddenly, all of Worthington Hall is like being outside in a rainstorm. I bolt back into the ballroom, leaving a blubbering Garrison behind me, and survey the chaos quickly. Everyone is rushing for the exits, though whether it’s to escape the possible fire or just get out from under the onslaught of the sprinklers is a tossup. I try and find Anita in the crowd, but I can’t see her through the mob. I say a silent prayer that she makes it out safely.

But another figure in a dress does run up to me. It’s Carla. “Brad, what’s going on?” she demands. “Where’s Laraby.”

I shake my head. “His father is trying to take the Academy hostage, and he was in on it,” I blurt out without thinking… again.

I expect her to call me crazy or even slap me for impugning the honor of her date. But instead, she looks me in the eyes. Apparently, finding what she’s looking for there, she just nods. “Tell me what we need to do.”

“Well, I wanted to get to the commandant, but I can’t see him at his table anymore, and I don’t have time to go looking for him. They’ve wired the entire building to blow, and they’re taking over the armory now. Someone has to stop them!”

Carla looks up at me and frowns. “Fine then. Let’s go.”

“Us?” I ask incredulously. “We’re midshipmen, not Marines.”

She looks around meaningfully as the ballroom quickly empties behind us. “If not us, then who?”

Those words break me out of my shock, and I turn and start sprinting down the corridor in the direction of the armory. Behind me, I hear Carla fling aside her high heels and sprint after me, her bare feet slapping loudly on the increasingly wet marble floor.

As we near the last turn before the armory, I have the presence of mind to hold up my hand and motion for her to stop running. We both creep forward slowly toward the corner, and I poke my head around quickly and then draw it back.

“What did you see?” she whispers a little too loudly, and I hold up a hand to stop her. Her eyes flash with anger, so I put the hand down sheepishly.

“One guy standing watch outside. I don’t think he saw me. I have no idea how many there are inside, though.”

“Just one guy outside?”

I nod at her. Then, before I can say or do anything else, she steps around me and into the corridor and screams.

Chapter 11

I have to admit, Carla surprises me. Nearly gives me a heart attack is perhaps a better way of putting it.

“Fire!” she screams as she runs unsteadily toward the armory and the guy on watch outside. “There’s a fire; we’re all going to die!”

The guy—I think he’s a firstie—who already looks uncomfortable in his wet uniform, watches her in open-mouthed consternation. He reaches to his side, and as his jacket parts, I can see a gun at his waist, but though he rests a hand on it, he doesn’t pull it out of the holster.

Carla runs up to him, still screaming hysterically, right up until the point where she’s close enough to kick him hard in the crotch.

He doubles over, and she knees him in the face. Then she reaches down and grabs the gun out of his holster and holds it, pointing at him.

I overcome just enough of my shock to turn the corner now and sprint toward her, trying not to slip in the water all over the floor in my dress shoes. Skidding to a stop in front of her and the guy, I throw a punch with my right hand at his temple. I cry out when my hand crunches, and I can feel bones break, but it’s enough to put him down, passed out on the deck.

Carla collapses with him. I quickly reach down to her, but she’s trembling and looking at the guy I just downed. I go to help her up, but she waves me off and hands me the gun. I take it awkwardly in my off-hand, the right too busted to hold it.

“Go,” she says shakily. “Stop them.”

I nod and then bolt through the open hatch into the armory, where I pull up short to find six men, including Commander Evans, pointing assault rifles at me.

Needless to say, I drop the pistol and put my hands up. I’ve never been a good shot with my left hand anyway, and I don’t like my chances here.

None of the men say a word, and I close my eyes, waiting for death to come to me. Then I suddenly feel sleepy, and I feel my legs giving out and my body falling. I’m asleep before my head bounces off the hard deck.

Illustration 3: Midshipman Carla Oliphant

In Worthington Hall

Chapter 12

When I wake up, I’m in the infirmary. I recognize it because I had to stand watch here a few weeks back while I was on restriction. But I’m seeing it from a new and exciting angle, from my back, staring at the ceiling.

My head is pounding so hard that I feel like someone is hitting it with a hammer, and I blink rapidly against the bright lights shining down on me. Someone grabs my hand, and I turn to look. My eyes are full of moisture now, and I can only see the outline of a woman. At first, I think it must be Anita, but the hair color is wrong.

The image of the girl resolves, and I can see now that it’s Carla. She’s looking down at me and smirking. “About time you wake up, Midshipman Mendoza. Do you know how bored I’ve been getting?”

“What?” I ask, but it quickly turns into a fit of coughing. She hands me a cup, and I greedily suck down the water in it, which of course, leads to more coughing. Carla steps back to get out of the splash zone.

“What happened?” I finally force out.

She’s opening her mouth to answer, but another voice beats her to it.

“Apparently, you saved the Academy, Midshipman.” I turn my head in surprise to see Captain Howard Keller, the commandant, step up by the foot of my bed. “Though you made quite a mess doing it, Mr. Mendoza. I think you’re pretty much guaranteed a spot now in the Black N Society.”

“Uh, sir, I…” I start to say, but he waves me quiet.

“Midshipman Garrison already told me all I need to know, son. He came to me right after you pulled that fire alarm and spilled everything. My men pumped the armory full of knockout gas just as you arrived. When you fell, you got quite a nasty bump on the head and a concussion, but you’ll live.”

“The C8?” I ask, my tone urgent, trying to sit up. If they didn’t find out about…

Once again, Captain Keller waves me down. “Mr. Garrison told us about that as well. By the time I think any of the duke’s loyalists thought to use it, the ballroom was already mostly clear and there was no reason to anymore. Your little fire alarm stunt took away their biggest bargaining chip. You’re a hero, Midshipman Mendoza.”

“Um…” I was going to say something; I really was. But I can’t remember what it was.

“Rest, now, Midshipman,” Keller says with a smile. “You’ll need to be awake when I pin the King’s Star on you tomorrow.”

Now I’m really speechless. The King’s Star? That’s the second-highest military honor in the Federation! And it can only be granted on direct approval of King Charles himself. My mouth is opening and closing now like a fish gasping for air. I must look like an idiot.

“You and Midshipman Oliphant here will be receiving it, but I’m afraid it will be a secret ceremony,” Keller says with a small frown. “The King has ordered us to suppress all knowledge of the duke’s attempted rebellion.”

“What about Laraby?” I blurt out.

Keller’s frown deepens. “Ah yes, Midshipman Garrison. What to do with him is indeed a quandary. He was, after all, party to an attempted rebellion against His Royal Majesty.”

I start to sit up. “But he—”

“Midshipman, stop interrupting and listen for once!” Keller snaps, stopping my protest. Then he smiles wanly. “As I was trying to say, in light of his confession and role in stopping the rebellion, the King has decided to leave his fate up to me. I’m thinking the rest of his plebe year on restriction and quite a few nights on fire watch… maybe on the beach. What do you think, Midshipman Mendoza?”

I swallow. “I, uh, think that’s very fair, Commandant.”

He chuckles. “I thought you might. Now, I must go. There is a lot of fallout from this evening’s festivities that demands my attention. I will leave you here in the capable hands of the nurses and Midshipman Oliphant, who has been rather unwilling to leave your side.” Then, his smile disappears, and he looks at us both soberly. “Thank you both for what you did. When I pin the King’s Star on you, and right before I take it away and lock it in a secret box, I will be honored to do so. But I must insist you both say nothing to anyone about anything that happened tonight, by order of the King.”

We both nod at him, not trusting our voices.

Then Captain Keller draws up to full attention and throws me, then Carla, a sharp salute. After that, he turns heel and leaves the infirmary.

I look up at Carla, still trying to wrap my head around things. She smirks down at me again. Suddenly, I have a thought.

“Anita?” I ask her.

She shakes her head. “She’s fine, but she’s really pissed at you. She’s been messaging me all night, ranting about how she kissed you, and then you left her and never came back. And about how she was almost trampled in the mad dash from the ballroom, and you weren’t even there to help. I don’t think she’s going to talk to you for a long time, if ever. Sorry.”

I sigh. “And I suppose I can’t explain any of this to her, per the King’s orders.”

She grimaces. “Yep. You’re pretty much sunk.”

I frown. “Well, it was fun while it lasted. But she was always out of my league.”

Carla shakes her head and snickers. “You stupid men and your fixation on looks. Anita’s great and my best friend, but beyond her long legs and pretty blond hair, she’s just a girl. Besides, you’ll have plenty of time to try and hopelessly reconcile with her, though I’m afraid I won’t be around to help you.”

I raise an eyebrow at her. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs. “I only joined the Navy because my father insisted. But if tonight taught me one thing, it’s that I don’t want to be here. Taking that guy down in the hall outside the armory was terrifying; I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest afterward. I’m done. I already told the commandant I’m resigning, effective in two days. Daddy will be upset, but I have a King’s Star now, and he doesn’t, so he can keep his opinions to himself.”

I can’t help it; I laugh. The very thought of this diminutive girl telling Vice Admiral Terrence ‘Terrible’ Oliphant where to keep his opinions is funny beyond measure. I would so love to be a fly on the wall when that happens. She has spunk, and it's alluring. And standing there in her tattered black dress, her eyeshadow smudged and running down her cheeks, laughing along with me, I’m surprised I never noticed before just how truly beautiful Carla Oliphant really is, inside and out.

Then I look at her in puzzlement again. “Wait, why in two days? If you want out, why not resign now, effective immediately? With a King’s Star, they can’t tell you no.”

She smiles and rolls her eyes at me. “Well, someone has to stay here in the infirmary and keep you out of trouble. And I figure two days is enough.”

“For me to recover or to keep me out of trouble?”

She laughs again. “Yes to the first, no to the second. A lifetime wouldn’t be enough to keep you out of trouble. But no, two days is enough for me to hopefully make you forget all about Anita Klipfel and to give you a reason to come and find me the first time you get a liberty pass.”

Then, she leans down and kisses me. Suddenly, my head doesn't hurt anymore.

THE END

For another terrific story from the universe of The Worst Ship in the Fleet, read A Star Nation in Peril: Rogue Agent, the tale of Heather Kilgore, Agent of the King’s Cross.

Books by Skyler Ramirez

Dumb Luck & Dead Heroes

The Worst Ship in the Fleet

The Worst Spies in the Sector

The Worst Pirate Hunters in the Fringe

The Worst Rescuers in the Republic

The Worst Detectives in the Federation (coming early 2024)

A Star Nation in Peril

Set in the same universe as Dumb Luck and Dead Heroes.

Rogue Agent

Suicide Mission (coming early 2024)

The Brad Mendoza Chroncles

Set in the same universe as Dumb Luck and Dead Heroes.

Saving the Academy

The Four Worlds

The Four Worlds: The Truth

The Four Worlds: Subversion

The Four Worlds: Wrath of Mars (coming 2024)

Revolution: A Four Worlds Story (coming early 2024)

About The Author

Skyler S. Ramirez

I just love writing. It's as simple as that. My goal is to write books that my readers enjoy and that celebrate everyday imperfect heroes. I want to show that everyone, no matter how life has dealt with them or how they've dealt with life, deserves a second chance and can go on to do amazing things. Just look at Brad and Jessica in Dumb Luck and Dead Heroes or Jinny Ambrosa and Tyrus Tyne in The Four Worlds.

It's important to me that everyone be able to read my books, including my teenage children, so I purposefully leave out any swearing or graphic scenes. In this, I follow a tradition set by many (far better) writers before me, most notably in my life, Louis L'Amour. I can only aspire to write even half as good as Mr. L'Amour!

As for the personal side, I live in Texas with my wife and four children (and often a revolving door of exchange students), and I work for a major tech company for my day job. But writing is my passion, and I often toil into the early hours of morning, especially on the weekends, and it's all worth it when I see people enjoy my books.

Thanks for reading.