Greetings Reapers,
We've got the latest story blurb from Nethril hot off the press!
This one is about the Feli.
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Graduation Day
Simms awoke just like it was any other day. She brushed her long, pink hair, combed out the fur on her tail, and got dressed just like it was any other day. But today wasn’t just like any other day.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, as she went through her morning routine, she knew today was unlike any other day in her life. There was a kernel of anxiety in her stomach, and it was growing by the minute. With each passing tick of the clock, she got closer and closer to the most important moment of her life.
Today was the day she’d find out if she’d graduated flight school or not.
There were many hopeful pilots living in Home. They came from all over the colonies with a variety of backgrounds, skills, and predispositions. Many of them were suited to a wide variety of careers.
But not her.
She was a Feli. A full-blooded member of the most highly sought-after pilots in the universe. Her people came from the far-flung Artorias system. A rocky, unforgiving star system that hosted one tiny planetoid capable of supporting life. Barely one third of old Earth’s gravity, and with almost no natural resources to speak of, the Feli had learned to adapt to a life living in space.
That’s what made them the best pilots in the universe and so highly sought after. And that’s also why if Simms hadn’t passed her flight school exam, her life would effectively be over.
Any random Gatestrider who failed the test could find work doing a variety of tasks. There was no shortage of work on the station, and no one could laze about just because of a failed test.
But she was not a normal Gatestrider. She was one of the Feli, and a failed test for her meant she’d never be allowed to captain a ship of her own. She’d never be trusted with one of the larger ships, even if she passed the second time. They’d never give her anything more than a freighter to pilot. An existence not fit for one of her people.
She stood up from her desk, put down her brush, and called up the Fabric. The menu appeared in front of her eyes. She called up her message menu and found the box blinking with new messages. Not quite ready to read any messages yet, she scrolled through the newsfeeds, checking for any impending disaster or extinction level event. When none presented itself, she flipped to her inbox and smiled.
The first message was from Briga, and it read simply:
Good luck.
She closed that one and opened the next, this one from Kirii:
You got this. Let us know as soon as you find out.
The last one was from Darla:
Drinks on us tonight. Knock ‘em dead kitty cat.
And then it was time. They would send the results out in a mass message at precisely 0800. Everyone in the program would see who had passed and who had failed. There would be no hiding the triumph for the successful, or the shame of the failures.
It was only two minutes until the message went out. Simms looked around her quarters, her home for the past few years of her life. She’d personalized it as best as anyone could in a place like Home. But it was still stark and dreary. She’d spruced the place up as best she could, with variously colorful bits and baubles. As a graduated pilot, she would spend another few months in this room waiting for an assignment.
If she passed, that was. If she failed, she’d be immediately removed from the room and placed somewhere else until she could find permanent accommodations. For most, that meant re-applying to flight school and moving back into their previously vacated rooms.
For Feli, for Simms, it meant finding work anywhere she could.
No. It did no good to think like that. She would pass this test; in fact, she’d already passed it. She was merely getting the results now.
One minute until they posted the results.
The warning light for a new message appeared in her inbox, and panic flooded her in a tidal wave. Could they have sent the results early?
She opened the message and saw that it was not the results. It was another message from Kirii:
No matter what happens, we’re here for you. All of us.
Simms smiled and blinked tears from her eye, for the briefest instant, she thought she could imagine a life without being a pilot.
And then the clock switched over to 0800.
Another message blipped into her inbox.
For a moment Simms fantasized about running, stowing away on an outbound freighter, and making a new life somewhere among the stars, for away from Home and anyone who ever knew her.
And then she opened the message.
It was typed in the bold and blocky font the higher-ups preferred for official communication. Her name was at the top, followed by a short and to the point message.
The Following are the official results of this year’s pilot exams. Good luck to all applicants.
And then the list of names, followed by a red F or a green P. That was all she’d get. All the sympathy of a bullet.
She took a deep breath, called up the search function and typed in her name. The list was in alphabetical order, and she was near the bottom. The list whirred to life and scrolled rapidly all the way to the bottom third of the page where her name would be. It finally stopped, highlighting her name.
Simms ----- Pass
At first, the word didn’t register. Her brain interpreted it as a random collection of shapes that held no meaning, could hold no meaning. Like a message in an alien language or ancient Greek.
Then the word coalesced in her mind. She’d passed. She was a pilot. She would not be doomed to a transportation freighter somewhere. Would not be consigned to a thankless and mean existence. Her hopes and dreams had come true. She would represent Home and help carve out a new existence for the Gatestriders.
And as the tears welled in her eyes, her inbox flashed rapidly she received dozens of congratulatory messages. Her family, her friends, her home, filled her world with joy and happiness.
Simms bowed her head and the tears that had been threatening to spill finally overflowed, slipping down her cheeks and painting the widest smile she’d ever wore.
