★ Evelyn ★

  At 07:34 on the following Monday morning, simulated sunlight had just begun to stream through the artificial windows in General Moore’s quarters, and Evelyn sat on one of the barstools in the kitchen rubbing her eyes and sipping a cup of coffee she’d poured for herself.

  This fake sunlight was yellow, and it reminded her of an early spring sunrise on the beach, harboring promises of summer and warmer times. She’d only seen such a thing once, when she ventured Earthside as a child while her father was on leave. Normally he traveled alone, but when her grandmother died, he’d brought his children along to attend the funeral. They’d gone to his hometown, where she’d seen the ocean for the first time and sat on the beach watching as the sun crept above the horizon.

  As she basked in the soft glow of those gentle rays, she was taken back to another time—a time before the wars, and before the life she’d had to make for herself. In this moment she was a child on the beach again, ready to wade into the ocean beneath a golden sun.

  This was all she’d ever wanted—just a quiet moment to herself, free from judgment or stress, to reflect on the glory of nature.

  She inhaled deeply and enjoyed the reminiscence for however long it lasted. She knew better than to waste these moments.

  And just as she’d anticipated, her solitude was short-lived.

  “Evelyn!” General Moore shouted from the other room.

  “It’s too early for this,” she muttered as she took one more sip of coffee and slowly swung her feet to the floor.

  “Did you hear me, or am I going to die of old age waiting for you?!” he shouted again.

  “I’m coming!” she shouted back as she made her way toward the sound of his voice.

  She walked to the living room and stopped in the doorway. Even from there, she could see that he was in a bad mood. He was already dressed for the day, with his uniform crisply pressed and fully buttoned, and he stood there rummaging through the top drawer of his desk.

  “It’s a Monday, which means I have real work for you to do,” he said as he pulled a notebook and pencil from the drawer and tossed them on the desk in front of him. “The Council’s weekly briefing begins in thirty minutes, and I expect you to be there.”

  “That’s awfully early,” Evelyn said.

  He gave her that familiar, condescending look. “It’s not early by our standards, so get used to it. I’ve been waking up at 05:30 since I was a cadet. And this meeting happens every Monday at 08:00, so get used to that too. I get to listen to the Council’s incessant droning, and you’ll be taking my notes. Or at least, that’s what we’re telling them. But off record, you know your assignment. You’ll be watching them closely and listening to everything they say.”

  “That’s fine.“ She frowned. “Why do you need a note-taker, though? Aren’t the meetings recorded?”

  “Sure they are, but nobody feels like sifting through hours of footage to find five seconds of relevant information. You’ll be writing down the highlights for me to review later.” He smirked. “At least, I assume you can write.”

  Evelyn scowled as she snatched the notebook and pencil from the desk. “Isn’t this Colonel Adderley’s job?” she asked.

  “Adderley has far more pressing matters to attend to, and he’s already aware of everything that will be discussed today. He doesn’t need to be bored too. Now, hurry up and get ready, and put on something better than… that.” He gestured at the wrinkled shirt and cotton shorts she’d slept in the night before.

  Evelyn couldn’t even pretend to be enthusiastic. She trudged back to the closet and sifted through the prior assistant’s clothing, just as she’d done every morning for the past week, until she found something reasonably appropriate to wear. Nothing in there fit very well, but most of it looked presentable, at least, if she wore a jacket over the top.

  They were both quiet for the short elevator ride to the floor above. Neither wanted to be awake at all, much less attend a meeting, so they stood in mutually approved silence until the doors opened, and they stepped out. They didn’t need to go far; their destination was a short walk down the hall.

  The council chamber was an intimidating place—far more so than Evelyn had expected. The air in here was unnaturally still, as if the very room itself was listening to them. It was also the first place she’d seen that was a color other than black and white.

  It was brown, with ornate wood-paneled walls that lent the room an air of distinguished secrecy. In its center stood the council table—large, imposing, and made of dark, polished wood. The only light source was a series of spotlights that shone down over the middle, leaving the corners of the room shrouded in shadow, and around its perimeter sat thirteen chairs, empty and imposing as they waited for their occupants.

  “Looks like we’re the first ones here,” General Moore said, his words strangely amplified in the dead, silent air.

  “We’re early,” Evelyn replied in an apathetic tone.

  “No, everyone else is about to be late. That means they’re probably sleeping off a hangover.”

  “They can’t all be miserable drunks.”

  He shot her a look. “If you had to see these people every week, you’d drink yourself to sleep every night too.”

  There was an uncomfortable pause, and finally, he sighed. “I hope the Council’s dealings will be somewhat more pleasant, at least, now that Richard’s gone. As little as I like Minerva, she’s infinitely easier to work with than the old man. Too easy—my fear is that she’ll be a pushover who lets everyone walk all over her.”

  “Good to know,” Evelyn said with a tone of feigned interest as she approached the table.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” General Moore grabbed her arm, pulled her back, and nodded toward an open passageway that was nearly obscured by darkness in the corner of the room. “That hallway leads up to the gallery, where the meeting’s observers are, and that’s where you’ll be. Everyone who matters sits down here, and everyone who doesn’t sits up there.”

  Evelyn was too tired to be offended by his rudeness. She simply turned around and walked through the door without another word.

  She followed the ramp leading up to the second level and made her way to the top. The gallery was far less ornate than the council chamber, but still just as dark. It resembled a theater, with staggered rows of seats on an incline facing a window that spanned the front of the room, offering a view of the table beneath. The gallery couldn’t be seen from below, but everything that took place in that room could be seen and heard from above.

  She sat down in the front row. It was quiet here, surrounded by dark, insulated walls, like a sanctuary of sorts, and she liked it. This environment with its peaceful, inviting darkness was welcoming, although risky for those who were already tired.

  It wasn’t long, though, before she was joined by others.

  Two more people walked in. One looked just as bored and disinterested as she was, and he crossed to the far side of the room without a single word to her. The other, though, was anything but.

  He was bright-eyed and wide awake, and he glanced at her with a smile on his face as he sat down in the seat directly beside her. She shot him a look in return that said everything she wanted to say, but she nearly felt guilty for it because up close, she could tell just how young he really was.

  “Good morning,” he said in a gratingly polite tone. “I’m West.”

  She looked him up and down. “I didn’t know they allowed kids here.”

  “Why does everyone keep saying that? I’m not a kid; I’m seventeen!”

  “Seventeen’s pretty young, and you look even younger.”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  “Well, how old are you, then?”

  “Old enough to know better.” Her gaze wandered back to the window, and to the table below. General Moore wasn’t there alone anymore; several of the other seats had been filled. She noticed movement behind her, and in the corner of her vision she saw a few more people enter the gallery and sit in the rows behind them.

  “It’s a bit early, isn’t it?” West said.

  She shot him that scathing look again.

  “I’m sorry if I’m blathering on,” he said. “I talk too much when I’m nervous or excited, and right now I’m both.” He paused as if waiting for a reply, but she sat there in crushingly bored silence.

  “I’m here with General Howard,” he continued. “Which one are you working for?”

  “The asshole.”

  “That’s… I mean, there’s twelve of them. You’ll have to be more specific.”

  “You must mean General Moore,” someone behind them interrupted.

  Evelyn turned to see who had spoken, and the young woman sitting behind her smiled and held out her hand.

  She was pretty—too pretty for this place, Evelyn thought, with her warm complexion, hazel eyes, and tight ringlet curls. She knew what sort of attention such a woman would receive in this isolated, mostly male environment, and she couldn’t help but wonder what would motivate her to come here. But it wouldn’t be prudent to ask, she told herself, so she simply smiled back and nodded.

  “I’m Lieutenant Willis,” the young woman said, “but you can call me Cynthia. I’ve been working as a junior aide to General Diaz for two years now, and I apologize on behalf of the entire Council for anything Moore says or does, not that it makes an ounce of difference.”

  Evelyn reached out and shook her hand. “Diaz? How’s he treating you?”

  “She, and we get along great. I’d only intended for this to be a temporary assignment after graduation, but I’ve delayed moving on to a real command post because I like her so much. Now, I’ll probably regret asking, as I do with most things related to General Moore, but why are you out of uniform?”

  “I’m not a member of the Corps.”

  “You’re kidding—a civilian? Moore’s really getting desperate, isn’t he?”

  Evelyn shrugged. “He needed an assistant.”

  “Of course he did.” Cynthia smiled. “I don’t know what he told you, but civilian assistants aren’t something we see very often. Most officers prefer to keep their business within the Corps. They’ll put in a request for an additional aide if they have to, but they typically don’t want civilians for that role. Not in senior command, anyway.” She took a deep breath. “I wish I could say I was surprised, but it’s not the first time he’s done it. No one’s going to say anything, though, because it’s him.” She glanced at Evelyn again. “Don’t take this the wrong way—I’m sure you’ll do great—but this role should never be held by anyone but an officer.”

  “Excuse me, Ma’am, but I’m a cadet, and General Howard seems to think that’s just fine,” West interrupted.

  Cynthia smirked. “Trust me, we know. We’ll see if that attitude of yours changes by the end of the year.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “I’ve seen plenty of Howard’s assistants come and go. It’s a great opportunity, but don’t ever get on his bad side.”

  “Wasn’t planning on it.”

  “Does it matter what you’ve got planned? This is Howard we’re talking about. That fuse of his has always been short, and it’s getting more frayed every year. He hits his limit far too often and far too easily, and trying to stop him only makes it worse. If you sense one of those moods coming on, the best thing you can do is stay out of his way.”

  “Thanks for the advice.” West frowned as he turned back around.

  “No problem, and here’s some more. Try talking less. That’s the best way to stay out of trouble, especially at 08:00 on a Monday morning.”

  Evelyn smiled as she looked down at the council table. It was nearly full now, as was the gallery around them.

  “Which one’s General Diaz?” she asked.

  “There,” Cynthia replied, pointing at the woman sitting opposite them. She had a slight build, bleached-blonde hair, and unremarkable features, but her demeanor radiated an air of shrewdness as she scrutinized the others with eyes that missed nothing. Evelyn watched her for a moment, then her gaze drifted over the Council, studying them one by one as she memorized faces that were mostly unfamiliar to her.

  “Here, why don’t I take you around the table,” Cynthia replied, as if reading her thoughts. “The one Diaz is staring at right now... that’s General Kimura.” She pointed at the man sitting directly across the table, with a sharp gaze and long, strikingly black hair that was pulled back in a neat ponytail. He had the same shrewdness about him, Evelyn noted, but none of the warmth.

  “I get the impression they don’t like each other.”

  “That’s a nice way of putting it. There’s not much to be said about him other than the less you know, the better.” Cynthia paused, then motioned at the man sitting next to him. Even when seated, he was visibly shorter than the others, and he was making idle small talk punctuated by jittery, fidgeting movements as if he’d consumed an entire pot of coffee before entering the room.

  “That’s General Valencia. Most of us like him well enough, but he can be exhausting to be around. There’s no stopping him once he gets started talking. He’s worse than that kid sitting next to you.”

  “Not a kid!” West whispered under his breath.

  Evelyn smiled before turning her attention back to the Council. “Diaz is giving those two quite the staredown. I take it there’s a history there.”

  “Yes, but that’s not abnormal. Most of the Council tolerates each other, at best. As large as this room may be, it’s not nearly big enough for some of the personalities inside it.”

  “Seems like most would prefer a Council of one,” West mused. They both looked at him, and Cynthia spoke again.

  “A surprisingly good observation, but I’d be careful sharing those thoughts if I were you.”

  For once, West didn’t respond, and Evelyn’s gaze drifted back to the table.

  “What about the redhead? He spoke to me at General Gray’s party.” She motioned toward the man with flaming hair, which stood in stark contrast to his bored expression.

  “That’s General Rankin. I’m guessing you saw him at the bar, because that seems to be where he spends most of his time.”

  Evelyn nodded. “Same for Moore. The Corps seems far too willing to overlook drinking problems among their officers.”

  “If we didn’t overlook it, we’d have an empty Council. Well, except for General Thomas, but he’s as boring as he looks.”

  Evelyn knew exactly which one Cynthia was referring to. He had no distinguishing characteristics whatsoever, and his features were so bland he’d probably be forgotten the moment he left the room. Something about his presence inspired a deep sense of disinterest, and her gaze instinctively drifted away.

  “The one sitting beside him… that’s General Gray.”

  “Yes. No introduction necessary. She’s looking slightly rougher than she did at the party, though. Maybe the realities of her job are finally starting to catch up with her.”

  “How so?”

  Cynthia paused. “I’m trying to think of a way to say this that won’t land me in trouble. Most of what you’ve heard so far has probably come from General Moore, so I’d take it with a grain of salt. However, she’s definitely one of the more… controversial Council members. The rumors I’ve heard are exactly what you’d expect for someone whose grandfather spent the past few decades pouring money into this place. That’s all he ever was—an investor—but if you ask him, he’d tell you he built the whole thing himself. And now his granddaughter is taking over his Council seat when he retires. Funny how that works.”

  West piped up from beside them. “I don't think you’re being entirely fair.”

  Cynthia smirked “Is that so?”

  “Well... yes. There’s a lot of history you’re leaving out.”

  “And what 'history' would that be?”

  West turned around to face her. “Richard Gray has done more for the Corps than anyone else. He may not have personally built this place, but he was the lead engineer on the project. The Corps used to be a terrestrial-based organization, and he was the one who said we needed to take operations offworld. They all made fun of him for it, but they were wrong. They said this place would take a hundred years to build, but he completed it in twenty. They said it would kill everyone inside, but it’s functioned for decades with nary an issue. They thought it would be an endless money sink, but it generated a profit and paid for itself. He’s a legend.”

  Cynthia rolled her eyes. “Please stop quoting ‘Intro to the Corp 101.’ Why Howard insists on bringing cadets up here, I’ll never know.” She glanced back at Evelyn. “Now, I think the meeting’s about to start, so I’ll go through the rest of them quickly.”

  She motioned at the next one, whose carefully combed silver-white hair complemented his steeled expression. “That’s General Novikov. He’s in charge of research and exploration, and next to him is General Wallace, head of administration and finance—the department with the highest turnover of all. He’s been there for five years now, and I don’t see how he does it.”

  General Wallace, Evelyn noted, was the only person seated at that table who seemed relatively unbothered, with an expression far calmer than it ever should’ve been in that room.

  Cynthia moved on, gesturing at the woman next to him who sat stiff and poised, dignified as any queen and tough as any soldier, with sharp features and graying hair swept back into a tight bun. “That’s General Miller, director of staff and personnel. She’s good at her job, but most people try to avoid her. It’s rarely a kind interaction. And next to her is General Howard, head of education and officer training. He’s been the Academy’s director for twenty years, and he’s the oldest at that table by far.”

  Evelyn frowned. “And beside him is…”

  “An empty chair. We usually have at least one vacancy, and this week is no different. I’m sure that’ll be addressed today, so we won’t spend any more time on it. And lastly, there's General Moore.”

  Evelyn glanced at him as he leaned back in his chair, smug as ever.

  “Then there’s Harlow, of course.”

  Evelyn’s gaze drifted to the corner of the room, where Harlow stood watching all of them. Then she turned back to Cynthia with a frown. “Who’s that sitting at the head of the table? That’s no general.”

  “That’s Victor, Harlow’s aide. He fills an unofficial role as the Council's transcriptionist.”

  “I thought those seats were reserved for Council members.”

  “They are, but Harlow never uses his. He stands, and he paces, and he walks around that table so he can see all of them, but he never sits. Victor always takes his seat.”

  As if on cue, Harlow approached the table. His movements were subtle and silent, but the idle chatter in the room died down, as if they all knew immediately what this meant. And as he stood there directly behind the chair that was meant to be his, he finally spoke.