He didn’t want to leave the shiny black and white corridors of the orbital station. Streams of hot liquid fled from the corners of his eyes and ran across his enhanced dermal layer, dropping to his fitted sleeves. The soft, synthetic cotton greedily absorbing each droplet. Nothing good was ever easy, his father told him, as he placed him on the formless chair of electrical response goo and the chair strapped securely to him. The pulsing, warm goo surrounding him in a thick protective layer.

His mother waved, a tissue to her nose. His father said something more but was lost in the roar of the particle accelerator. A raised hand was the last movement he saw of them. They were gone. Thrown into orbit, landing on the docking bay of Minthron’s Task in an explosion of ballistic goop, he shed his former life in one of life’s profound minutes. The grated ground sucked hungrily on the offering of his pod. He stood, totally without feeling, a seven-year-old on a strange ship, about to embark on a grand journey.

He wept, for he realized now, with certainty, that was what the wet substance must be, tears. For the first time, the human boy knew fear, sadness, loss. So he wept, as had generation upon generation of other boys his age on the same journey through the stars. For though he was unique, he was hardly the first, nor would he be the last. For Star Academy called to all the rich, famous, powerful, and gifted in the known galaxy.

Auberje de Brock was not alone he realized. Two crew members, android robots chromatic and sleek, were making their way to him. They helped him with the various bags and crates his parents had sent with him.

The journey would be nearly instantaneous, once they got underway. He knew he’d be in the tube to the surface from the school’s station longer than in the Divide. Still, he couldn’t help think of the unfairness of it all. His parents could have seen him off there, but they had chosen to stay on Kingdom of United Dyson Sphere 37. They sent him into space alone. There was a terrible finality to it his young mind shied away from. He would see them again. He would.

The androids helped him to a comfortable impact chair, he pulled the self-adjusting straps across his chest and over his legs as the chair conformed to his body much like the goo from the space launcher. Then, as he set his head back, the ship dematerialized. It was unlike anything he had experienced thus far. Years later, he would remember this moment as life-changing. The crush of gravity engines disengaging. The release of the soft, almost peaceful nothingness of the Divide. The Void as the Theocracy of Man called it reaching out to them with empty hands. Then a shock of reality and gravity once more being projected onto him via the twin gravity drives.

He gasped and inhaled air. His body felt… odd, almost like it was new, or not quite his. He knew this was normal but for any seven year old it was a trying feeling. He passed out. The machines awoke him momentarily. The voice was unconcerned as all his vitals were normal if elevated. A whisper met his ears upon waking, “Auberje de Brock, welcome to Star Academy Orbital Station. You’ve been pre-approved for admittance. Station message; now you will be tested and either accepted or sent home. Please proceed to Testing Station 4. No, no, do not try and get your luggage. That will be handled by the androids if you are chosen. Yes, dear, that’s it, Station 4 dear, not 3.”

The voice wasn’t unpleasant, but it was quite bossy, Auberje thought. He walked out of the ship’s open loading doors and down a hallway of clean white and black surfaces. The white walls glowed. The black ceiling loomed high above him. Soft light marked the path down the halfway to the middle. He walked in that shadowy middle ground, feet clamoring on the solid metal flooring. The hallway was silent except for a whining fan. He smelled compressed, recycled air.

The red number 4 pulsed once as he reached the end of the corridor and the wall fell, meeting the floor and leaving him staring at a room with a single, metal-framed folding chair. The type of thing he would expect in one of the homeless shelters of Cormuir, not in Star Academy Orbital Station.

Odd, he thought, nervously stepping past the threshold. The whoosh of the door behind him, made him hastily take two or three more steps into the room. He glanced behind him. There were no gaps in the door. It was a seamless part of the round room’s wall.

“Sit, sit, young man. We don’t have all day,” a new voice he observed, also a matronly woman. It could well have been his Nan or one of the many servant women who had helped rear him.

He sat promptly, stretching ever so slightly. His back was stiff so he relaxed it as his tutors had taught him. His mind steady.

“Yes, yes, of course! You are the son of nobles and a great noble yourself on Dyson 37. Such a quaint little kingdom you hail from.”

He could feel the hackles start to rise on his back but took a deep breath. He was bewildered more than anything else.

“Speak child, unless you be an AI.” A wave of something swept his body, but he felt only slight pressure, “Good, you are a child of man. Come, be welcome to the Star Academy. You are assigned to Year One - Cadet Class 3 - Squadron 4. Tell the closest upperclassman that you are in 3-4 and they will see you to the right dropship.”

He found his voice, “That’s it? That’s the test?” They had warned him of a long testing. Filled his head with information and he’d been forced to spend months memorizing facts. He felt drained. Totally in disbelief he rose, childish anger coming to the fore, he shook his fist at the now silent, unseen watchers.

The wall in front of him opened, a young woman with fiery red hair and a tight blue and white uniform stepped through. Her shiny white boots clicking and clacking on the metal floor. “This way youngling. This way. What berth are you in?”

“Three, three-four,” he said, still raging impotently at the voice.

“Come on, come on. 3-4s not bad. Could’ve been better though. What’s your name, kid?”

“Auberje de Brock, and what do you mean not bad?”

“You get placed based on the results of your test. You are in the middle of your class according to the staff. Have to prove them wrong and move up. Otherwise, you’ll be stuck as a Middler. And nobody wants that.”

“A, a Middler?” His short legs tried to keep up with the girls' longer, wider pace. She walked with a swagger of authority like his parents did. He realized he didn’t know her name either. She stopped suddenly in front of a small hatch.

“Here you are kid, bit of advice, don’t mention Middler to the olders in your group. They won’t like being called it. See you around, maybe.” She pushed him into the open hatch and shut it. Walking away.

“Welcome to 3-4, known as the Lions of Muir. Prepare for ground transport.” A computerized voice said. He didn’t have time to register it as the dropship was fired from the station and slammed him with gravity. He felt it propel him backward but he was held in place by a second gravity generator. Suspended, unable to move, he muttered, “Wish I could see where I was going.”

“Very well, command the wall to be opaque,” the voice replied.

“Uh,” he looked around. He had not expected to be answered, “Wall, opaque.”

The ship's dark walls turned clear. He could see space whirling by as he headed for a massive asteroid. The asteroid filled his front field of view and as it grew larger, it loomed all around him. He sicked up. The sudden sight of the object caused his body to realize it was moving, even though he felt suspended in no motion. His human brain couldn’t comprehend the improbability of it.

“A weakness of man. Or a great trait,” the computerized voice said philosophically. The dropship deployed a small vacuum tube sucking away his bile and lunch. He almost threw up again as he watched it disappear. Before he could, the ship was slowing down noticeably. The asteroid now filled his entire view. He looked at it more closely and realized it had buildings carved directly into the stone, weird towers and turrets, ancient designs he recognized from games. They looked to be open to space, so they were likely just fantastic designs. Then he was landing amongst the shadowed recesses of one of the towers.

The dropship announced, “You’ve arrived at Star Academy Port 3-4, please exit aft and enjoy yourself.”

The opaque wall opened outward and he felt himself gently set back to the floor of the pod. He took a hesitant step then another. His hands braced on the dropship walls and then he was through, out onto the ground of the asteroid. Onto an open, dome covered square where dozens of pods like his were landing. He saw there were even more above him coming down for landing.

A boy about 100ft in front of him kept motioning the children who stepped out of the pods forward. He saw Auberje looking his way and yelled to him, “Come on Firstie, let's go. You damn plebes, let's get moving.” He motioned again. Auberje took him in as he approached him, dodging a landing dropship on his way. The boy was perhaps twice his age and wore a similar style uniform but he wore black and green instead of blue and white. His boots were shiny black with a gold button on each. On his shoulders were small epaulets displaying crowns.

Auberje knew the crowns signified his year, but he couldn’t remember the exact year and rank. All the information he’d been memorizing seemed just out of reach. He was numb with fear and shock. The day was going madly. He felt very disorganized and confused.

A small girl stepped out from the pod he had to dodge, leaned to one side, and threw up. She looked green from sickness. She looked at him watching her. His eyes darted elsewhere but she spoke to him, “Wh-where are we?”

“Star Academy, I think. You in 3-4?” He moved to her, offering his small hand to steady her. He was trained as the consummate gentleman, and he would try and act it, he thought. Remembering how his father acted.

She took his hand, soft and warm fingers curling around hid, he pulled her forward and they both walked, ran in that childish way toward the older boy. The seventh year was calling out to another pair of children who were running to him. “Slow down! You will get crushed by one of the dropships, that’s it, come along now.”

“I am Auberje,” Auberje said suddenly, looking over to her as they ran through the hectic landing field.

“Riley,” she said, offering him a smile, “ and yeah, I’m 3-4.” She said that last with a sort of chin-up defiant look.

“Someone tell you two we are the middling?” They had reached the final destination and the older boy watched them now, his face obscuring emotions with hard lines. He had no fat on him, looking lean and almost gaunt, like the bodybuilders Auberje’s mother had always paraded through the house, much to his father’s dismay.

Auberje and Riley nodded. Her hair bobbed and his shorter hair waved as a dropship landed nearby, displacing recycled air, asteroid dust, and scared humans.

“Don’t let them get in your heads, 3-4s been on top of the boards for 4 semesters now. We have the highest average score in greathing. Just watch out for the Blue and Whites, they are 1-1 and think it means something more than it does.”

Auberje nodded numbly as if he understood what the young man was saying.

“Names Bertie, Nicols Bertie, but everyone in 3-4 knows me by my callsign, Jacket. Like Yellow Jackets. They are an old wasp derivation from Terra. Hurt like hell when they sting.”

“Uh, okay, Bertie, I’m Auberje,” he said glumly. The air here was still dusty and he coughed a bit. His lungs hurt.

Riley spoke up after him, “Understood, I am Riley.”

Bertie chuckled, “I see you’ve already got the military understood down. Good work, kid. You’re going to find that the Academy is half military, half university. A lot of people think it's all military, but it really isn’t,” he chatted with them like this, talking about the school, its generalities, and some of 3-4s particulars until another student, older, with a shock of white hair which made her seem even more matronly came out. By then, Auberje and Riley were joined by a half dozen others, and they all stood in Bertie’s shadow like a flock of baby geese around their mother.

“Well, Bertie, got everything in hand?” the girl, maybe a woman, said. Auberje couldn’t tell her exact age. She was older than he was and younger than his mother.

“Flight leader,” Yellow Jacket came to attention swiftly, hand extended from chest in that tight salute the academy taught, fist outstretched, other fist on heart, “All is well.”

“At ease, Yellow Jacket, at ease. Let’s get these bright, shining bundles of nerves into the barracks. Time we had a proper class of plebs. Come on, firsties, let's get you settled in,” the flight leader led them into a cleverly concealed doorway in the asteroid.

The thick steel doors opened with a whoosh as they walked into an odd room. Decorated in the style and function of a warship’s command room, the room they entered into was not much of an entryway. Two dozen chairs, captain style, backed with fine leather, and bright blue synthetic cloth were occupied by students of various ages. All of them wore the same green and black uniforms the flight leader and Bertie wore.

“Attention on deck, Flight Leader Miriam present,” A computerized voice announced, even as the crew rose, Flight Leader Miriam told them to sit with her hands, heading through the command room and deeper into the surface.

“That firsties is Gilded Command. It's a C&C classroom used to practice the inner workings of a flagship of the Republican space force. You’ll not see it again for a few years.”

One brave young pleb spoke up as they struggled to keep up with her military gait, “Flight Leader Miriam, where will we have classes?”

“You’ll be stuck mainly in the practicum rooms and the programming modules. A lot of virtual stuff. A few of you will be taken out of classes each Terran week for greathing training. A few for combat exercises. Don’t worry, we will take good care of you, after all, you are our future,” she smiled warmly down at them. 8 sets of eyes looked up at her with varying degrees of fear, wonder, and confusion. The world was about to get very complicated for each of them.