Tevun-Krus #47 - Galactic Empire

The Cadet - A Short Story by @parishsp

"It says here that you scored at the top of your class in strategy, combat maneuvers, and hand-to-hand."

An average cadet in their last year of training would feel pretty smug right about now.

"You do, however, have a few things here that concern me."

...too bad I wasn't your average cadet.

I stood at attention in the General's office. It was tiny. No one gave the Academy much thought. No one gave it much of a budget either.

It smelled like body odor and paperwork in here. There was a window open, but all that did was blow in the humid ocean breeze. I avoided this place at all costs, but as a final year cadet, I had to come in. Every cadet had to meet with the General in their last year at the Combat Academy.

Let me rephrase that: Every cadet dreaded meeting with the General in their last year at the Combat Academy.

General Muchow was special. He insisted that those who passed his school were going to be more than cannon fodder with nothing to contribute to the war.

No, we were going to be soldiers.

He had a dream: a dream that these cadets would be the Greats when it was all said and done. Years from now, our names would be the ones brought up around the dinner table.

It was a ridiculous idea. Everyone knew graduates from the Combat Academy were on the front lines. We were the cannon fodder.

Muchow shifted his massive humanoid frame into a more intimidating position. Even though I was almost six feet—tall for a human, massive for a female—Muchow was a Kestrel. Short for his species at nine-foot-two. He was sitting and still his eyes were even with mine.

"Cadet Daxen."

Pause.

"Yes, sir?"

"Are you aware of how many demerits there are on your record, cadet?"

I thought for a second.

"One-hundred fourteen, sir."

"One-hundred sixteen, cadet."

Crap. I had forgotten about Monday. "Yes, sir. One-hundred sixteen, sir."

"Are you aware of how many demerits the average cadet graduates with from this academy?"

"No, sir, I can't say that I am."

"Eight, cadet."

I was immediately torn between laughing and vomiting. My face turned crimson.

"Yes, sir."

"Usually, Cadet Daxen, that would make my decision easy. However, seeing as to who your father is, it is not so simple."

He said the last like it was the worst insult in the planets. It was, but I wasn't going to let him know that. I hadn't talked to my father in years. Muchow didn't know that, and even if he did, he wasn't going to take any chances. If he put me in a fighter, and I found myself dead, he would find himself peeling potatoes in one of the intergalactic space stations for the rest of his long, Kestrel life. My dad was kind of a big deal.

I hated it. I hoped that was how he interpreted my silence.

Muchow looked me over, disgust plain on his face. "At 0600, you will report for duty at Station 52k. Your orders." He slid a no nonsense screen my way. "That is all."