What May Come

Tovre

Nine Years Later

The comlink embedded in Nura's flight helmet squawked in her ear. "Welcome home, kid. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Nerve-wracking," she replied. An understatement. With her landing struts on solid metal again, Nura was only now feeling her heart begin to peek out of her stomach. The experience had been terrifying.

"The first time is the worst," Instructor jhot'Rin said, his tone carrying his characteristic joviality. "By the end of your first semester on the Baullock, you'll be able to do this with your eyes closed."

Gods of Fire, but that was an idea Nura didn't need kicking around in her skull. She would keep her eyes on the console, thank you very much. Nura also didn't appreciate the reminder that her time aboard the Tovre was coming to a close, let alone that her next posting was to the Baullock, home of the Fleet Space Operations Academy.

"The deck crew will have your boat stowed in a minute," jhot'Rin said. "Go ahead and take a moment, then come up to the control room. I'll give you the evaluation for the exercise."

"Acknowledged," Nura responded before disconnecting her comlink from the boat's comms array.

Nura liked Instructor jhot'Rin well enough; he was nothing if not encouraging. The problem lay in that he seemed to look at her and see her mother. It never entered the man's thought process that breeding didn't equate to talent. He expected much of Nura and appeared to have developed a measure of confirmation bias on the matter.

She stared out the viewport of the cockpit into the landing bay. Her little boat was a Charlie-7 Sparrowcraft. The ship was a relic, an old supply tug dating back to the Human and Talarian Conflict. If nothing else, the Humans built efficient boats that could last. Sparrowcraft were ideal for training new pilots, and the Nomadic Fleet had acquired dozens of Sparrowcraft after the war against the Humans.

A lift lowered her Sparrowcraft down to the hangar. Once the lift stopped, the console in front of her flashed green to indicate pressurization. Nura looked out and saw a dozen Threshpanian youths wearing reflective blue jumpsuits rushing to meet her boat.

They were other students. The Tovre was a training ship and secondary school, a cruiser-weight starship crewed and operated by young men and women from across the Nomadic Fleet. It was a prestigious institution, and Vanta insisted that Nura and Canas received the best schooling available.

Nura and her brother had been students aboard the Tovre since they were nine. Five years later, there were only six months remaining before the end of their final semester. The two of them would soon be leaving for one of the academies. It was near time for the two young daj to begin their higher educations.

The Sparrowcraft's egress hatch popped open, and Nura took hold of the rungs of the ladder. She pulled herself out of the cockpit and took a moment to orient herself to the slight change in gravity. The Sparrowcraft's grav-panels were built to Human specifications, and they left her feeling heavy.

Nura walked down the nose of the boat and stepped onto the personnel lift the deck crew wheeled over for her.

"Hey, Daj," one of the boys on the deck crew called out. He had a striking chestnut coat and blue eyes that were the cause of much swooning among Nura's classmates. His name was Jano shi'Vanec and was one of Canas' closest friends. "How'd she fly?"

"Old, but she flew straight," she replied.

Nura unstrapped her helmet and pulled it off. She shook her hair free, tossing the auburn strands over her shoulder. A few of the deck hands stole furtive glances as she did so. She wished they wouldn't. Nura didn't like the feel of eyes on her, and she didn't understand why they would care enough to gawk at her just standing around in her flight suit.