Chapter 1 - Traitor

‘Wake up, Mervyn!’
‘Wozamaher?’ He rubbed the sleep out of his fourteen-year-old eyes and stretched his aching muscles as far as his jumpsuit would allow. A thick shock of red curls swam into view.
Loren thumped the side of his bunk again, ‘Wake up, Mervyn.’. She looked scared.
‘Time to jump ship already?’ He knew she dreaded transfers.
‘No, we need to hide.’
Mervyn bolted upright, cracking his head on the low ceiling in the process, ‘What’s up?’
‘No time to explain.’ Loren waved wires which she was attaching to something on the doorframe. She hid them behind her back as a bald-headed Silvin scuttled into the cabin.
The Silvin scanned them with back multifaceted eyes, like an insect, ‘Quickly, hide in the priest hole under the bunks,’ it squeaked waiving a wizened arm at the stack of bunks opposite, then it ran off.
Mervyn examined the bunks and spotted a loose bolt. He kicked it free. When he threw his weight against the beds the stack slid aside to reveal a shallow hole between decks, just large enough for two to lie in. The smell of rotten eggs assaulted his nostrils. ‘Agh,’ Silvin.’ Nothing in the galaxy smelt like Silvin, and nowhere smelt as foul as a Silvin trading ship – maybe they had smuggled a Silvin mystic recently. The smell cleared his head. He threw their kitbags, spacesuits, helmets, and Academy uniforms into the rancid hole then jumped in on top. Luckily, they had already packed for the transfer. Loren dived in beside him and together they heaved at the underside of the bunks until the floor slammed back into place and darkness enveloped them.
What would Mervyn’s father think if he could see him now. Their last conversation, more a shouted exchange, reverberated in his mind. ‘No, Mervyn,’ his father snarled across the kitchen table, ‘all this talk of racing is just stardust, and as for the Space Academy, do you really think they would let a son of mine into their midst? This hobby of yours has gone far enough. You are going to get a solid job in the mining corporation. If you work hard you could become a section manager and even take after me, become a Senator for the Republic.’
‘I’m not interested in politics,’ Mervyn shouted back, ‘I don’t want to work in the mines, and I don’t want to be a traitor, like you.’ A pregnant silence followed this last statement and Mervyn realised he had gone too far. He tried a more reasonable tone, ‘I just want to race sleds. The Space Academy turns out champions, it’s the best place to learn, and I want to be a champion. Loren’s already got her place through a science scholarship. I don’t have her brains, I need to win the racing scholarship – it’s my only chance.’
‘It’s a trap,’ his father replied struggling to reign in his temper and match his son’s reasonable tone. ‘As soon as you get into Ethrigian space they’ll kidnap you and demand I turn myself in for your release.’
Mervyn waved the e-mail at his father, his trump card, ‘This is a guarantee, from Lord Tivoli – free passage, immunity from your crimes, the Patriot’s own assurance of safety.’
‘Lord Tivoli is honourable,’ his mother murmured. She hated to see the men of her household fight. Predictably, her son’s sledding ambitions were at the route of the conflict. ‘Why not let Mervyn have his chance, follow his dreams, like you did.’
His father glared at her, ‘And who will pay to have his sled transported to the race?’
‘I’ll make you a deal,’ Mervyn said quickly as the tide turned in his direction, ‘if I lose I’ll give up sledding until I can fund it myself, and follow you into the mining corporation. If by a miracle I win, we talk again.’ If his father paid any attention to sledding he would have know Mervyn stood an even chance of winning. His father foolishly agreed to the deal.
Mervyn won the race, and the Tivoli scholarship to the Space Academy, but instead of returning to face his father he sold his beloved sled, purchased his own passage, direct to the Space Academy, and met Loren on the way. As long as he stayed in Ethrigian space, where his father was fugitive, he was safe. He would face his father’s wrath later, maybe.
Mervyn turned to Loren in the darkness of the priest hole and tried again, ‘What’s up?’
‘Watch.’ A fuzzy light glowed in the darkness. The fuzz resolved itself into a viewscreen showing the main control room of the spaceship. ‘I set up this pinhole camera,’ Loren said, ‘I can’t abide being blind.’ So that’s what she was doing. Mervyn found himself as grateful for a light in the blackness as much as a peek at the action.
He could make out the bald heads of the Silvin crew gazing at the main viewscreen, their insect eyes bulging. It is said that in the depths of a Silvin’s eyes you can see a reflection of the universe. It is also said that Silvin stink worse than the disease ridden swamps of Bocas Dorcus. Their eyes are their only interesting feature. His father argued that Silvin traders were the lifeblood of the galaxy. Mostly, though, they were scavengers – necessary, but distasteful.
A large wedge-shaped spaceship, bristling with guns, slid across the viewscreen.
‘Pirates,’ Mervyn gasped.
Loren nodded in the faint glow from the screen, ‘Yep.’
‘This close to Ethrigia?’
‘They’ve been getting bolder for a while – it’s this Nagani or Nubab of Pewitt or something.’
The view on the screen changed. A wild face, surrounded by a mane of black hair, filled the screen; feral eyes, as vacant as the Silvin’s were deep, glared into the trader; two humans stood in the background. ‘I am the Naga of Pershwin. You owe me a tithe – five per cent of the value of your cargo,’ the pirate growled, ‘but as I’m in a good mood today, I’ll offer you a two per cent discount if you’re carrying Academy students.’
Mervyn’s heart stopped. A trickle of ice ran the length of his spine. Technically, they were not yet Academy students, just on their way to enrol. Would the Naga care? He doubted it. What about the Silvin? He had lived in a Helium3 mining community long enough to know, that for a trader, a two per cent discount could make all the difference to turning a profit. What would happen to them if the Silvin handed them over? He could already hear his father saying, ‘I told you so.’ He glanced at Loren, she looked as scared as he felt.
‘Why are pirates suddenly interested in Academy students?’ he hissed, ‘it doesn’t make sense.’ With his heart pounding he watched the Silvin. He expected every head to turn towards the bunk-room at mention of the discount, but not a single multifaceted eye left the viewscreen. That was good, wasn’t it?
The Silvin captain spoke up in a thin reedy voice, ‘We can pay you three per cent... and forget to mention this trade to the authorities.’
The pirate’s eyes came alive with dark fire, ‘You have Academy students on board?’
‘We should agree a price before we negotiate discounts,’ the captain replied bravely. Mervyn heaved a sigh of relief, maybe he underestimated the Silvin – he hoped so.
The Naga stopped laughing so abruptly the sound continued without him, ‘You mention this little chat to the authorities and I’ll blast you to comet dust when I next meet yah.’ The little Silvin nodded meekly. ‘The tithe is six per cent or I take your whole cargo,’ the Naga snarled – the tithe was increasing. Mervyn willed the Silvin to settle quickly before two Academy students became a deal he could no longer refuse. He hated having no control over his own fate. All he could do was watch while they haggled over the price of his skin, like a slave at auction.
‘Four per cent,’ the Silvin squeaked, ‘and we pay in gold.’
‘Done,’ those dark eyes shone again at the though of the gold, ‘and a one per cent discount for your Academy students.’ Mervyn almost dared not breath – uh oh.
‘Your original offer was two per cent.’
‘That depends who you have.’
‘Who are you looking for?’
Anger flashed across the Naga’s face and he glared at the Silvin, ‘Impertinence – I have killed for less.’ Another being, clearly human, leaned into shot. The human murmured something to the Naga. ‘It’s none of their business, fool,’ the Naga shoved the human out of the picture. Next moment he held a blaster in his hand, pointing it off-screen. He fired. A thud sounded over the link. Calmly, the Naga turned back to the Silvin Captain, ‘You have Academy students?’ Mervyn stared, horrified at the callousness of the Naga. Stories of pirates had always conjured up tales of daring adventures not sudden meaningless death.
‘Alas... today we have no passengers, otherwise, I... I would gladly claim your discount,’ the Captain squeaked. He was shaking. ‘Your gold is on its way.’
Loren sighed in relief, but Mervyn’s heart remained stone-cold. He barely breathed at all now. The name murmured to the Naga burned a hole in his mind. Hadn’t Loren heard too?
‘I can’t believe the Silvin didn’t hand us over,’ he managed to blurt out, ‘everyone says they don’t have a shred of decency in them.’
‘They don’t,’ Loren said.
‘Didn’t you hear what that human said to him?’ Mervyn asked, his voice all squeaky like the Silvin’s.
‘The one he shot? No, it wasn’t very clear, just a mumbled. He could be looking for anyone.’
Mervyn breathed a bit easier, but his hands continued shaking. Luckily, the darkness hid them. He lay on his hands to keep them still. In the main cabin the viewscreen flicked off. Every noseless Silvin face turned towards the passenger cabin. They knew. They had heard.
A space-pirate was hunting for an Academy student named Mervyn Bright. Maybe his father had been right, maybe he should have stayed home, maybe they were after the price on his father’s head. He took a deep breathe and steadied himself: Loren was right, it was a mumble, it could have been anything – he had imagined it in the stress of the moment.
Mervyn felt the purr of the engines through the decking as the ship got underway again. He jumped as the bolt rattled free above his head. The bunks slide aside to reveal another stubby Silvin. Mervyn felt like a nervous wreck as he clambered out of the priest hole.
The Silvin studied him for a moment with those deep eyes, ‘Message from the Captain – rendezvous in fifteen minutes.’
The rendezvous meant the start of his new life. ‘Thanks for not handing us over to the pirates,’ he said climbing out of the hole.
‘Yes, very decent of you,’ Loren added.
The Silvin tried to pucker its thin mouth into a smile, ‘Discount too small,’ it squeaked, and scurried back into the main cabin.
‘I told you,’ Loren murmured, ‘not a shred of decency.’
Mervyn tried to put the thought of the Naga out of his mind – a murmur, it could have been anything. Maybe the Silvin hadn’t heard anything after all, just contemplating the loss of their discount.
‘I’m hungry,’ Mervyn said. The vile smell of the ship could only put him off food for so long. Loren kept breakfast bars in her pack; Silvin food tasted revolting, besides, passengers had to provide their own meals. He dug Loren’s pack out from under the spacesuits, pulled out a Merco bar, and tore off the wrapper. Hmm, Quaff-Quaff fruit – no one makes cereal like Merco. He perched himself on the edge of Loren’s bunk while he munched into the bitter-sweet bar. ‘Nothing refreshes like Quaff-Quaff,’ he hummed to himself chewing a large mouthful.
A young blue star twinkled on the viewscreen surrounded by a red cloud of hot gas. Streamers of dust fanned outwards as the new star’s solar wind slowly dispersed the cloud that had given it birth – like the iris of a monstrous eye. In the distance Mervyn recognised the Ethrigian constellation; four stars, known as the Prefecture, where the Patriarch, hereditary ruler of the Ethrigians, ruler over a feudal society.
Another ship, silhouetted by the new star, appeared on the viewscreen. The black dart headed straight for them. Not long now.
‘What you doing Loren?’ His friend’s pale face peered out from the shock of red curls. Her chima, the skin markings that ran down either side of her face, like a human blush, had an orange tinge. She looked excited. They had been friends since birth – there was little she could hide from him. She could almost have been human, if not for her chima – convergent evolution or something.
‘Look what I’ve found,’ she pointed to the viewscreen now taped to the bunk above her head.
Mervyn took another bite of the Merco bar, ‘Hmm?’
‘We’re famous,’ she hissed and punched the air. ‘Take a look at this.’ Mervyn squeezed into the lower bunk beside his friend.
‘Centaph Empire Swallows Up New Victim – Millions Taken into Slavery’, stated the first article. A host of similar headlines followed. ‘Centaph/Puncheon Invasion of Tanu Causes Panic in Neighbouring Ethrigia.’ ‘Only A Matter of Time Before Centaph Swarm Turns Greedy Eyes Towards The Prefecture.’ ‘Republic Will Jump to Ethrigia’s Defence, Says President Al-Zak-Uilin.’
‘That’s old news.’
‘No, down here at the bottom,’ Loren stabbed at the screen. Mervyn took another bite of his cereal bar and focused where she pointed.
‘Outworld Pair Win Tivoli scholarships: ‘I am delighted Outworlders have won the first scholarships,’ Lord Tivoli of Ethrigia says.’ Lord Dracon, hardliner and adviser to the Patriarch, condemned the result, ‘We should not reward Bright for betraying Ethrigia – even indirectly through his son. The result is obviously a fix to further the political ambitions of the sponsor’. Lord Tivoli, head of one of the most ancient houses on Ethrigia, denies the allegation. ‘The competition was open to any youngsters in the Republic of Free Nations, which includes the Mining Federation, previously part of the Ethrigian Prefecture. Mervyn Bright won the sledding race outright. Lord Dracon is just bitter because his son did not win.’ Mervyn Bright beat Rufus Dracon, heir to the house of Dracon, into second place. Demonstrations against the results continue.’
A stronger than usual whiff of rotten eggs caused them both to look up. A Silvin, no taller than Mervyn, stood in the doorway. Mervyn stared into its faceted eyes – he saw nothing except reflections of their cramped quarters.
‘Your lift is here,’ the Silvin squeaked. ‘Get ready to jump.’

Chapter 2 - Academy One

Mervyn scrambled into his spacesuit, grabbed his helmet, and hefted his holdall. He had to keep moving, doing something, if he stopped to think what he was about to do fear might get the better of him. He tried not to think about the jump.
Loren stomped after him, "Do we have to jump? Isn’t there another way to transfer ships?" The Silvin shrugged. Loren glared at the Silvin, ‘Well I’m not jumping if there’s no safety line.’ On the main screen in the control room the dart had grown in size. It was almost upon them, it still looked minuscule, though, compared to the trader.’
"Helmets on," The Silvin squeaked opening the inner door of the airlock. Mervyn saw immediately that they had a problem. "Oh no, not a gravity net," Loren cried. "I hate gravity nets. Can’t you rig up a connecting tube?" But that wasn’t the problem. Mervyn could feel his stomach fluttering with nervousness, he hated gravity nets too, but he wasn’t about to let on to Loren. "’eez quickest way to transfer you," the Silvin squeaked uncertainly. "Time ‘eez money." Loren’s thick eyebrows scowled into the Silvin’s many eyes, "What if I fall between the ships?"
Mervyn stepped between them, he could tell Loren was spoiling for a fight, but in her nervousness she still hadn’t spotted the problem – maybe he could get he into the airlock before she noticed. There was no way he was going to miss out on a place at the Academy because Loren would not jump ships. ‘If you fall the catchers will hook you in, Loren.’ He deliberately stared into her eyes – he had read somewhere that direct eye contact created trust and confidence. ‘We’ll do it together, ok? She nodded uncertainly.
"Please try not to stick,’ the Silvin whined, ‘ eet takes far too long to retrieve you. Time..."
"I know," Mervyn muttered. "Time is money."
The Silvin’s focus on money was unnerving Loren again, "But what if a meteor hits me or the pirates return or something?" The Silvin stroked a panel beside the door producing a graphic of the trader and the dart tied together by a swirling tunnel of energy. The Silvin’s knobbly finger pointed to streaks above and below the swirl, "The gravity net, eet deflects everything around eet. Radiation levels, zey are normal." Loren knew the technical details, of course, she was just scared. She treated the Silvin to another withering frown which the it thankfully ignored.
Mervyn snapped on his helmet and stepped into the airlock hoping Loren would follow. She did. He kept her busy checking the seals on each other’s suits: it was second nature to check his buddy’s space equipment. Mervyn waited nervously for the lock to shut behind them, then forced himself to stand still while the Silvin evacuated air from around them. His natural inclination was to pace around when nervous, but he knew if he showed any sign of fear Loren would back out, and he needed her to jump.
Mervyn could feel the pull of the gravity net even before the door snapped opened. He held on to the wall to steady himself and looked down. Nothing. Nothing for thousands of light years. It was worse than looking over a cliff, if he fell out there he would fall forever, and when the heater in his suit packed up he would freeze down to absolute zero almost instantly. Then Loren spotted it, "No safety line." She was right, only the invisible gravity net linked the door they stood in to the dart flying alongside, but it was too late to go back now, and she knew it. A circular hole, slightly smaller than the one they stood in opened in the dart’s side and two suited figures hung out ready to catch them. Star light twinkled off its hull.
Mervyn swallowed hard, there was no way he was chancing the gravity net until he knew it was really there. He picked up his kit-bag and threw it over first – just to make sure.. It spun across like a propeller until one of the catchers grabbed it and dragged it into the dart. The gravity net’s spin made it almost impossible to effect a graceful landing. Mervyn usually ended in an ungainly heap. Loren’s throw was not so accurate and her bag bounced about until it stuck halfway, spinning around between the two spaceships as though caught in a whirlpool. One of the catchers hooked it in with a long pole. Mervyn saw the look of dread on Loren’s face and knew she was imagining being hooked in herself.
"I’ll go first," Mervyn said being gallant.
‘No. I don’t want to stay here on my own.’
‘Then we’ll go together,’ he said and grabbed her hand. She smiled nervously through her visor and gripped him tightly – if they were not wearing thick gloves he was sure she would have crushed his hand.
If only the net was visible it would be less like throwing yourself into oblivion. ‘We’ll go on three,’ he said, taking a deep breath and fixing his gaze on the catchers. ‘One,’ he bent his knees ready to jump, ‘two,’ a thought flashed across his mind, ‘what would happen if he jumped and Loren didn’t?’ He pushed the thought away, best not to think about it, ‘three,’ As though diving into a swimming pool, he launched himself into space. He thought he might feel some drag from Loren, but they were weightless; all he could feel was her vice-like grip holding on as though he was her one link to reality.
They spun, like their bags. Mervyn tried to focus on the catchers, but they whirled into a dizzy blur. Suddenly, someone grabbed his arm and he crashed to the deck.

He fumble blindly for a hand-hold, his gloved fingers working their way over the surface of the airlock for anything that would anchor him to the dart; anything to stop himself floating away again. He found a scooped out depression in the deck plate and gripped it as tightly as Loren had gripped his hand, then he lay in a heap as stars spun before his eyes. The dizziness cleared and he found himself face down staring over the edge of the dart’s airlock at a cluster of stars. Hastily, he scrambled further back. He hauled himself upright to find Loren crumpled in a heap at the back of the airlock, both hands locked round as grab-handle. She climbed shakily to her feet, ‘That wasn’t so bad.’ But through the curve of her visor, he caught the green shade of her chima, and knew she was lying.
Before the dart’s outer doors even snapped shut, the Silvin had already uncoupled the gravity net. Belatedly, the inner door opened to reveal a sumptuously decorated hallway; wooden panelled walls, paintings of Ethrigian heroes chasing across the ceiling; lavishly upholstered sofas, interspersed with delicate tables, their spindly-legged tables buried in deep pile carpets. Two figures stood waiting for them. Mervyn removed his helmets.

‘Welcome,’ intoned a distinguished Ethrigian Mervyn recognised. ‘I am Lord Tivoli. Welcome to my yacht. May I introduce my eldest son, and heir, Tarun." He gestured to a dark-skinned youth standing uncomfortably a step behind him. The youth looked about Mervyn’s own age with tawny brown hair and brown eyes.
The youth bowed low, "At your service," he said formally
"Tarun is joining your intake at the Academy. I am sure you will have much to share." Tarun’s chima blushed pink, but his face broke into an engaging smile, and Mervyn felt an instant warmth towards the young aristocrat.
"Hi, I’m Mervyn and this is my friend Loren." They shook hands, Loren successfully managing to effect an air of self-confidence as though she jumped ship every day, though Mervyn noticed she hid her spare hand behind her back where it continued to tremble. Lord Tivoli led the way to the dart’s observation room where refreshments awaited the guests. Mervyn gazed longingly at the squishy sofas as they strode past – such luxury on a spaceship.
‘I understand you had a run-in with the Dagamon,’ Lord Tivoli said.
Mervyn had no idea what his host was talking about, ‘Dagamon?’
‘The self styled, Naga of Pershwin. He is a Dagamon,’ Lord Tivoli explained, ‘an Ethrigian throw back to an evolutionary dead end, it happens occasionally. They can be helped if they are caught early enough, but this one was hidden. Always big, always aggressive, and always unhinged. I apologise for the rudeness of countryman.’ Mervyn didn’t think Lord Tivoli had anything to apologise for and an embarrassed silence ensued as they walked.
Tarun broke the silence, ‘I am really looking forward to the Academy – do you think we could be friends?’
Loren glanced sidelong at Tarun, ‘You want to be friends with Outworlders?’
‘You’ve seen the news reports then? It’s just stupidity."
‘The demonstrators in Ethrigia city didn’t think so," Mervyn said.
‘It’s probably just another stunt by Dracon. He likes to stir up the people for his own ends  it gives him leverage with the Patriarch.’
Loren frowned, ‘Dragon?’
‘No, Dracon, though you’re not far off – in fact the founder of their house was know as Cedex The Dragon Lord. Lord Dracon is the Patriarch’s adviser.’ They past a giant painting of the Ethrigian solar system. Now it was Mervyn’s turn to frown, ‘What’s Dracon got against me?’
‘Lots. For a start you’re an Outworlders, and Dracon hates Outworlders. You also won one of our scholarships and Dracon has an intense dislike for anything my family does.’
‘I know, his son, Rufus, tried to stop me.’
‘There’s also the small matter of Dracon hating your father. Dracon lost a stack of money when you father...,’ Tarun’s voice trailed off as though afraid he was embarrassing his guest. He shrugged his shoulders, ‘well you know.’ Mervyn knew exactly what Tarun meant. He remembered the arguments and the divisions and the votes when Helium3, the fuel for nuclear fusion, became the centre of their universe. He was too young to vote, of course; no one had asked for his decision, he hardly even had an opinion about it, but he was labelled just the same. It was so unfair. And now he would have to fight the stigma at the Academy – sometimes he hated his father, not for what he was, but for what he had done.
They walked in silence as they turned towards the prow of the ship.
‘A charming character all-round then, this Dracon,’ Loren said. ‘No matter, I doubt if we’ll ever meet him.’
Mervyn grimaced, ‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that, his son, Rufus, the one who tried to beat me, is in our year at the Academy.’
‘I’m beginning to doubt whether this Academy is a good idea,’ Loren groaned.

They arrived at the observation room and caught their first glimpse of their new home. The trio gazed in awe at the shuttle’s viewscreens. The lozenge shaped craft, Academy One, had arrived in orbit around Ethrigia the previous evening. Mervyn’s gut gave a sudden lurch, a toxic mix of fear and elation: here at last, but at what cost? He had alienated his father and run away from home to fulfil his dream, and here it was before him. Now; thought, his chosen course was uncertain: a traitor in name, and thought,. if not in actual deed, a poor human among the Ethrigian elite. At the same time, the opportunities enthralled him; to race sleds and win, the chance to follow his dream as far as she could, even to the very top: anything was possible.
‘Look, there’s the stardome,’ Tarun cried, breaking into Mervyn’s thoughts. He pointing excitedly at a clear titanium bubble projecting from the lozenge. Every craft Mervyn had ever travelled in used viewscreens to see the outside world. Academy One was different, it had a clear dome allowing a direct view of space. Mervyn imagined himself standing in the centre of the bubble surrounded by real space, not like space walking where your view is restricted by your helmet, but actually surrounded by the magnificence of the universe. He decided the stardome was at the top of things to see first, right after the sleds.
They stared in silence, lost in their own thoughts.
Mervyn turned back to Tarun, ‘But it’s still a risk for you to be friends with me, right?’ Tarun glanced up, startled out of his contemplation of the Academy by the unexpected question, ‘Probably, but I value good friends over good allies. Anyway, if I’m going to restore the family’s fortunes maybe I need to gamble occasionally. I’m told humans are good risk takers  maybe you can teach me.’
‘You’re doing pretty good on your own at the moment,’ Mervyn said.

Private yachts, of every size and description, swarmed around the landing bay of Academy One, waiting their turn to land. No one could doubt the Academy was a school for the wealthy and privileged. Once again, Mervyn found himself overawed by his luck in landing a scholarship at such a prestigious seat of learning – even if he had earned it.
‘Look, those are the launch tubes for the sleds,’ Loren said, as they drew closer. She pointed to triangular holes on the side of the ship. Sleds, like fighter craft, were catapulted into space to avoid the need for large antimatter engines; unlike shuttles, which took forever to reach a respectable speed.
Tivoli’s yacht ducked beneath the rim of a cavernous landing bay and alighted gently on a clear spot. Mervyn could see more craft milling around, some arriving and disgorging their occupants, others hastily departing. A large black shuttle craft lifted from an adjacent lot then shot recklessly towards the swarm outside. Shuttles and yachts alike made way.
‘Dracon,’ Tarun said. ‘I recognise the yacht.’
A short balding Ethrigian greeted them at the end of the ramp as they disembarked. ‘Welcome to the Space Academy, we are so pleased to have you as students; I am Barros Arovy your economics tutor; Put your luggage on a cart, as many as you need, just tell each one who you are.’ A shoal of flat-loaders skimmed about the landing bay, weaving between the yachts. To his left, ten loaders had formed themselves into a train that snaked towards a lift. ‘Flat-loader,’ Mervyn thought into his biolink and one broke away from the shoal. He smelled a puff of ozone from the antigrav generators as it settled at his feet. All around Mervyn could see students stacking bags and trunks of every description onto trains of flat-loaders. He looked down at the loader by his feet, and dropped his single holdall into the centre. Then he folded up the suit-carrier, which contained his spare uniform, and placed it neatly beside the bag together with the helmet for his spacesuit – all his worldly possessions. ‘Name and destination?’ The flat-loader requested into his biolink in a clipped mechanical voice. ‘Mervyn Bright, er... I’m new, I don’t know my apartment yet,’ he felt self-conscious admitting to a cart he did not know where his baggage should go.
‘Mervyn Bright, new intake, apartment twenty-five,’ chanted the flat-loader and shot off back to the shoal.
Twenty-five – he wondered apprehensively who would be joining the syndicate with him in apartment twenty-five. Whoever it was would be more than just living companions – Tarun had explained that he would be living, racing, and working with his syndicate for the rest of his time at the Academy: they would stand or fall together.
‘Make your way to the stardome for the welcome speech, then lunch in the restaurant,’ Barros Arovy instructed. As they made their way towards the lift, the Tivoli yacht soared towards the roof of the landing bay. Another immediately replaced it disgorging its payload of students. Mervyn heard Barros Arovy welcoming the new students. ‘Welcome to the Space Academy, we are so pleased to have you as students; I am Barros Arovy.....’

Chapter 3 - Al-Zak-Uilin

‘Wow, is this real?’ Mervyn asked as they stepped into the Stardome, a clear titanium dome, through which he could see the moons of Ethrigia topped the circular hall; the floor rose in the centre to form a mound, like a small hill, that dominated the hall; the hillock stood just higher that the surrounding walls. Natural sunlight, from Ethrigia’s yellow sun, illuminated the murals of space scenes lasered onto the walls.
The trio seated themselves in the middle of the regimented rows of seats facing the mound.
‘So what is this place Tarun?’ Mervyn asked. ‘There’s nothing here,’
‘It used to be the ballroom when Academy One was a luxury liner,’ Tarun said. ‘You can almost imagine tables and chairs around the edges – people dancing to the strains of an orchestra, couples in love wandering up the mound to gaze at the stars.’
‘Don’t start going soft on me,’ Loren interrupted. ‘What do they use it for now?’
‘Oh um, not a lot really. They have awards ceremonies here, the occasional assembly... not much else.’
Tarun pointed out the students he knew, ‘That’s Douglas Iwoth from Gadus Prime, he’s ok. And that’s Jenny Fase, she’s delightful  I hope she’s in my syndicate,’ he waved to a girl who looked around nervously, she smiled with relief when she saw Tarun who introduced his new friends.
‘Don’t worry, we don’t all hate Outworlders,’ Jenny said.
‘There’s Rufus Dracon,’ Tarun hissed as a thin dark-haired boy entered with blond podgy boy in tow. Rufus ignored them as he paced his way to the back of the hall. He greeted a few other pupils as he went then sat down next to the podgy boy in seats reserved by friends, ‘and the other boy is Hidraba, Lord Designate for the house of Hidraba, he doesn’t become a full lord until he’s eighteen, until then his mother runs the show, and he really resents it. He’s slimy.’
Just when Mervyn thought all the students had assembled another girl appeared in the doorway; her hair, piled high on her head, matched the colour of her Academy uniform – both the lonely blackness of deep-space; she exuded an air of confidence, and authority, that drew every eye. Mervyn found her strangely compelling – the kind of girl who could look graceful wearing silly wide-brimmed hats. She stepped into the room then stopped, waiting. Slowly a few students rose to their feet.
‘That’s Aurora,’ hissed Tarun as he stood. ‘She’s the Patriarch’s niece – a right shrew.’
Aurora acknowledged the class with a nod then seated herself gingerly on the extreme edge of the seating area well away from anyone else.
‘Pity the person who gets her in their syndicate,’ Tarun whispered resuming his seat.
Eventually, a bulky gent in a blue and gold dress uniform appeared. He puffed his way slowly to the top of the mound. As he did so, the student’s chatter quelled to a quiet murmur. When he reached the top the glittering figure turned to address the students.
‘Good morning,’ the he wheezed. ‘My name is Andreas Mott,’ he paused again to catch his breath. ‘I am the Principal of Academy One. I welcome you to your first year at the Academy.’ Mervyn felt pride swelling in his chest. ‘This year, we are privileged to have the heirs from no less that two of Ethrigia’s great houses; Dracon and Hidraba,’ the Principal put his hands together, clapping loudly. The students followed his lead.
‘Aren’t you an heir as well,’ Mervyn hissed to Tarun.
‘Yes, but not of a great house  there’s a big difference.’
‘This year I will not be making my usual welcome speech. Instead, now we are part of the Republic of Free Nations, we are privileged to have a very special guest. Please put your hands together for the first President of the Republic, Al-Zak-Uilin,’ the students applauded politely and the air beside the Principal began to shimmer. The strangest creature Mervyn had ever seen took shape on the mound: lizard-like, at least three metres tall in all its yellow-green splendour; balancing upright on two ungainly legs that ended in vicious three-toed feet. stubby four-fingered hands adorned four thick arms which sprouted from it’s chest.
‘Good morning ladies and gentlemen,’ Al-Zak-Uilin said in a deep rumbling voice, waving all four arms at once; his noseless face swayed from side to side as though inhaling the odour of his audience. It was only a biolink projection, but Mervyn still felt apprehensive as the massive creature lumbered round the top of the mound.
‘Welcome. Welcome to the Space Academy.’ Mervyn tried to follow each of the four arms as they gestured and pointed round the room in different directions. The Principal instinctively moved back to a safe distance, away from those powerful limbs. There was no need of course, as Al-Zak-Uilin’s image would have passed straight through him, but he too must feel the power of this creature. ‘Many in the Prefecture do not support your Patriarch’s decision to join the Republic of Free Nations,’ Al-Zak-Uilin thundered without any preamble. ‘It is not for me to say if this is right or wrong, because freedom demands you choose your own path. But be warned, we live in dark days: the Centaph are preparing to swarm against Ethrigia, to remove your freedoms, while pirates like the Naga of Pershwin plunder our trade routes, growing ever bolder with each passing year.’
All eyes followed the pacing President. ‘You are the elite, in an elite academy. And like your exalted status, the Academy is just a concept, an ideal. Unless you live out that ideal the concept is meaningless. This ship, Academy One, is not the Space Academy – nor is any other place that you come together to learn, and there will be many. You,’ he pointed at the audience with all four hands, ‘you are the Space Academy – it exists wherever, and whenever, you as individuals put on the Academy uniform and choose to live out the ideals of this institution.’
The President stared round at his enraptured audience, ‘The Centaph’s great strength is their ideology. They cannot be defeated by might alone, but only by superior ideals – the sort of ideals that have shaped this Academy. So as you commence your studies I want you to remember this: study well, be loyal to your friends, be loyal to your people  whatever direction that takes – and above all, be loyal to the ideals of this Academy.’
The four great limbs fell motionless to the President’s sides. In the stunned silence the Principal began to clap. The students took up the applause, though, Mervyn noted, they clapped with less enthusiasm than they had for the heirs of the great houses. The Principal addressed the students again as the President faded away, ‘Now, I bet you are starving, I know I am, so to lunch, and then to your apartments to meet your syndicates, and this afternoon we go straight into the first lessons.’ With that the Principal descended the mound with dainty steps.
‘What do you make of Al-Zak-Uilin?’ Mervyn asked.
‘Big,’ Loren said.
‘Impressive, and an excellent message too,’ Tarun said. ‘He’s the last of his kind, you know – the Silfar. Father also says we are heading for troubled times, though no one knows whether the Centaph Swarm will come today, next year or in the next century: the Centaph work to their own time-scales.’
‘My father says we shouldn’t wait,’ Mervyn said. ‘We should take the fight to the Centaph at a time of our own choosing.’
‘He would, he’s human,’ Tarun said. ‘But that’s not the Ethrigian way, we prefer to negotiate until the very last moment. Besides, once you start a fight with a Centaph clan they don’t stop – not until they either win or they’re wiped out.’
‘Hey guys, enough of the politics,’ Loren said. ‘Let’s go find the food.’

The dinning room resembled a restaurant; indeed, Tarun advised them that back in the days when Academy One cruised the galaxy as a luxury liner it had been a restaurant – his grandmother had travelled on it, of course the galaxy had been a calmer safer place then. The air was thick with appetising smells and Mervyn’s mouth began to water, he hoped the food would arrive quickly. The trio seated themselves at a shiny round table under an imitation palm tree. A virtual waiter appeared to take their orders from the virtual menus hovering in front of them. Within minutes, their orders arrived. Antigrav motors brought an automated trolley smartly to a halt by their table. Mervyn removed three plates of steaming food from the hotplate, while Tarun opened the chill unit to remove three cold drinks.
‘Thank you,’ Mervyn thought into his biolink.
‘You are welcome,’ the trolley replied politely. The virtual waiter appeared again to enquire if their meal was satisfactory. They assured him it was.
‘Look out, here comes Rufus,’ Tarun hissed. Dracon wandered towards them with Hidraba in tow.
‘Hello cousin,’ the dark-haired boy said in a silky voice. ‘Haven’t improved the quality of the company you keep, I see? The traitor, and an Outworlder  don’t see many of those about.’
Anger boiled suddenly in side and Mervyn leaped to his feet ‘My dad’s no traitor,’ he snapped. Whatever he might personally think of his father’s actions, no one had the right to dishonour his family – he would defend them against anyone. Tarun and Loren also stood to face Dracon.
Tarun squared his chin defiantly and met Dracon’s eyes, ‘Ignore him, Mervyn, he’s only trying to rile you.’
‘‘Tis not right,’ Hidraba added, ‘shouldn’t allow riffraff like that into the Academy!’
‘I like my friends to have integrity,’ Tarun said. ‘Which is why I’m not with you, Dracon, or your smarmy mate Hidraba.’
‘Think you’re smart, don’t you cousin? Well they’re not meant to be here. Bet you don’t survive until the end of the month  I’ve got a wager on it.’
‘Lucky to make it to the end of the week,’ Hidraba said.
‘Leave off Dracon, at least they earned their places,’ Tarun said.
‘My point exactly  it’ll be a sad day when the Academy recruits on merit,’ Dracon said. ‘Be seeing you cousin  don’t expect any favours though, cos’ you won’t get any.’
‘Misfits, that’s what they are. Misfits,’ Hidraba declared. Dracon turned his back on them and stalked away.
Tarun’s chima turned a sickly white as he sank back into his chair. ‘I hate him. I really, really hate him,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘Who does Rufus think he is?’ Mervyn asked.
‘Heir to the most powerful house on Ethrigia, and probably our future Patriarch if Maxamillion fails to improve his popularity,’ Tarun said toying with his food. ‘The Dracon’s smell blood, and Rufus means to be Patriarch – thinks he’s a reincarnation of old Cedex The Dragon Lord if you ask me.’
Loren tucked into her lunch once more, ‘Dracon’s never your cousin, is he?’
‘Distantly related.’ Tarun finally gave up on his food and pushing his plate away.
Mervyn decided to change the subject, ‘Which syndicates are you all in? I’m in apartment twenty-five.’
A smile flashed across Loren’s face, ‘Me too. I never dreamed they would put us together. Brilliant.’
‘Fantastic,’ Mervyn said and they gave each other a high-five.
Tarun’s head sunk into his hands, ‘We’re doomed, we’re all doomed.’ The others stared at him in amazement.
‘Explain,’ Mervyn ordered.
‘I’m in twenty-five as well.’
‘Great.’
‘No, it isn’t. It’s jinxed.’
‘Jinxed?’ Mervyn and Loren said together.
‘Jinxed. Syndicate twenty-five is always the first to go.’
‘Rubbish,’ Mervyn said, ‘we will just have to beat the jinx.’
‘Haven’t you listened to a word I’ve said?’ Tarun lifted his head again. ‘The Academy is all about politics  even the results are fixed.’
‘What?’ Mervyn and Loren said in unison.
‘You really don’t know, do you?’ Tarun glanced from one friend to another. ‘It’s like this, to graduate for the next year each syndicate needs to collectively average eighty percent in all their projects and exams (if you don’t pass you’re out), and eighty percent of the pass-marks are based on the results of your syndicate projects, right?’ The others nodded. ‘But the project answers are deliberately leaked to the great houses, then passed around to the other syndicates.’
‘So what if you’re not in favour?’ Mervyn asked, a huge hole opened up in the pit of his stomach – he had a feeling he knew where this was headed.
‘That’s obvious,’ Loren said as her chima turning a sickly green. ‘You don’t get the answers – no answers means no passes and no passes means...,’ she drew a finger across her throat.
‘They’ve lump us together,’ Tarun said, ‘the no hoppers, that means we’re on our own; just like Dracon said  ‘no favours,’ no answers. It’s already been decided – we’re toast.’
‘Not necessarily,’ Mervyn said doing the calculations in his head, ‘the other twenty percent of graduation points come from the exams, right?’
Tarun shrugged, ‘Which nobody works for, because they don’t have to.’
Mervyn ignored him, ‘So provided we all average a minimum of eighty percent in our projects and our exams, we’ll be in the clear.’
Loren nodded in agreement, ‘It’s doable – difficult, but doable. I wonder who’s the other member of our syndicate?’
With a sinking feeling, Mervyn realised his vision of whiling away his Academy years racing sleds had been hopelessly naïve, he would have to work hard just to retain a place, any racing he achieved would be a bonus. His unbelievable luck in landing a place at the Academy looked as if it was all about to turn sour. The future, his future, rested entirely on the fourth member of their syndicate. He hopped they were prepared to work hard, if not..., if not it was back to the Helium3 mine on Starlight and humiliation in front of his father, he tried not to think about it. ‘We had better go find out who it is,’ he said jumping up and leaving the rest of his food. Together, the friends hurried towards apartment twenty-five.