For a moment, though, Thorn was alone.
He basked in it. There was nothing but the sun, the eddies of breeze wafting around the corner of the building, and the grass under his feet. Nothing in sight but the Code Nebula rec hall across the field, the camp HQ building, and the parade square off to his left.
He slumped back against the wall of the auditorium. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been alone in a place that wasn’t enclosed in alloy bulkheads, reactive armor, and the void of space.
“Sir?”
Thorn blinked and turned. One of the Recruits had just popped around the corner of the building, and he skidded to a stop when he saw Thorn. The name strip over the young man’s right tunic pocket read GRADY.
“Sorry, sir, didn’t know you were here,” he said, saluting.
Thorn started to shrug like it was no big deal but realized he was still leaning against the wall. That was something that would land a pile of shit onto a Recruit here, and probably extra duties, too. He straightened and returned the salute.
“Not a problem, Recruit Grady—” Thorn stopped. “You’re mister hoorah, aren’t you?”
Grady stared blankly for a moment, then gave a sheepish grin. “Oh, yes, sir. Sorry about that. Got carried away.”
“Again, not a problem. Nothing wrong with some course spirit. Anyway, you should hustle your butt to formation, or you’re going to be spending the grad party tonight cutting the sports field with scissors.”
“Oh, it’s okay, sir. Commander Narvez sent me off as a runner to the company HQ to fetch the photographer. I guess they decided to do the final course photos outside, since it’s such a nice day.”
“Alright, well, be off with you then.”
“Sir?”
Thorn raised an eyebrow.
“I just wanted to say—” Grady started, then paused. “I mean, I think that—”
“Just spit it out, man.”
Grady took a breath. “Sir, I just wanted you to know that you’re a hero around here. We actually got one full lecture period just about you. Commander Narvez, she described to us how you moved the Fleet to attack that squid planet. That was—” He just shook his head.
Thorn grimaced. A hero. And Narvez was apparently pushing the idea. Narvez. He’d assumed she’d managed to get from hating him to just tolerating him.
Of course you could dislike someone, he supposed, and still think they were a hero.
“It was my job, Recruit Grady. It’s really no different than the job you’re going to be doing, assuming you actually graduate from here, of course. That might be up in the air if you don’t go get that photographer in a hurry.”
Grady nodded. “Yes, sir. Understood, sir. I just—it’s just that you’re a legend. You don’t meet legends every day.”
“A legend.” Thorn sighed. “Before you get too starry eyed, Grady, keep in mind that I stink when I sweat, just like everybody else. Have to keep yourself grounded in reality. That’s especially true for a ’caster. We can climb to heights that a regular soldier might not know, but we can fall a lot farther. I—what I’m saying is, don’t get swept up in your own hype, because the squids sure as hell won’t.”
“Thank you, sir. Good advice. I’ll remember that.” He saluted. “Still, sir, I got to meet a demigod today. Sorry about that term, but you can’t shift reality without creating some kind of legend. You . . . you sort of scare the hell out of us, sir, but we also want to be like you and do the things you do. That’s worth some shit from Commander Narvez.”
Thorn returned the salute but said nothing.
Grady smiled, turned on his heel, and left Thorn in silence, brooding with memory of what it meant to be more than human. More than a ’caster.
For the second time, he stood on the brink of apotheosis. This time, though, a power every bit as formidable as his own opposed him, and their clash echoed across the universe, trembling the foundations of reality—
Thorn scowled. The sun was suddenly too bright, the wind too cold. He strode away to get to a comm rig and ask Tanner to order him back aboard the Hecate.
He’d received more than enough worship for today, thanks.
Mol jumped when Thorn said her name. She’d been crouched down, fiddling with something inside the Gyrfalcon’s landing-gear well.
“I’m one of the good guys, sir. You don’t need to stealth yourself up behind me like that,” she said.
“Gotta keep in practice,” he replied.
She lowered a tool. “Didn’t expect to see you until tomorrow morning—and I expected you to be hungover.”
Thorn shrugged. “I’ve had enough grad party, I think. Being the guest of honor means I have to be on good behavior”—he made air quotes around the good— “which means I can’t get drunk, take off my clothes, and dare everyone at the party to run a naked foot race.”
“Wow, that’s really specific,” Mol said, then cocked her head to one side and grinned. “You didn’t just make that up, did you? You actually did that at your own grad party here, didn’t you?”
“There may have been clothing removed and dares issued, but I can neither confirm nor deny any of it.”
Mol slipped the tool into her utility belt. “Being the guest of honor does come with some expectations I guess, yeah. But it makes you the center of attention, too, right?” She grinned. “Come on, sir, tell me you didn’t have some cute Recruits batting their eyes at you.” Her voice turned high pitch and sing-song. “Oh, sir, you’re so strong and brave and handsome. You’re my hero—”
“Not funny, Mol,” Thorn snapped and headed for the Gyrfalcon’s open airlock. He got about three paces, then stopped and turned back.
“Sorry. Just heroed out, I guess.” He looked across the landing field, a scorched and pitted sprawl of blastcrete rendered featureless grey in the night. The lights of Code Nebula burned through the darkness, especially from the rec hall where the grad party would still be in full swing. Years ago, he’d have been leading the charge on a run to find more beer, more wine—more fun.
He missed being that Thorn Stellers. He missed being ordinary, not a hero.
Or a demigod.
The thought made him look up high in the southern sky. Right there—a tiny, diffuse patch of light. If it were visible in the sky, he could always find it, no matter where he was.
Even just a year ago, that particular patch of sky would have been dark.
Mol nodded. “If it helps, sir, when you fart in my spaceship, a hero is the last thing I think you are.”
Have to stay grounded in reality, he’d told Grady.
He gave Mol a grateful smile. Thankfully, she was damned good at making him do just that.
“Unless you want to spend the night in transient quarters, how about we head back up to the Hecate?” he suggested.
“Hey, no argument from me. They’ve got me stuck in transient lines with some auditor here from Fleet. Friggin’ guy introduced me to a whole new world of snoring.”
“One hundred out, Hecate,” Mol said, eyeing the Gyrfalcon’s flight management system.