Lorien Legacies: The Lost Files (52 page)

“Well then it’s settled,” said Osaria.

Right then, I wished again that I’d been born a Garde—one with the Legacy to go back in time and undo all my mistakes of the previous night.

Of course, if I undid the night, it would mean I would have never met Devektra. Which might have almost been worth it. Well,
almost.

I left the academy, beginning the long walk back home to my parents’ empty apartment. The school’s shuttles to the city center didn’t start running for hours, so I had to walk by myself, on desolate streets. My parents weren’t due back from Deloon for weeks, and they’d made no mention of coming back to the capital to see me off. I’d likely spend my last days in the city alone in the apartment, waiting for my Kabarak assignment and transportation details. The transpo details would probably come first, and would offer some clue about my fate: if the state arranged for a terrestrial craft, it meant I’d been assigned a nearby Kabarak colony, like Malka. If they ponied up for air transport, it meant I was being shipped far, far away, to a Kabarak in the Outer Territories, the other side of the planet.

Not that it made any difference. Exile was exile. And even after I did, my future would be forever changed. While I’d always imagined myself going on to a job that was easy and low-key, like Teev and Paxton’s, or even working at a place like the Chimæra, most people on Kabaraks ended up going on to a position in Lorien government.

I shuddered at the thought of finding myself spending the rest of my days pushing paper as a bureaucrat at a dull-as-dirt office like the Lorien Defense Council, wasting my life trying to stave off an invasion from an extraplanetary attack that everyone knew was never coming while I tried to cheer myself up by pretending I was actually doing something
important.

It was hopeless. For now, all I could do was try not to think about it. And keep walking.

My school disappeared behind me as the Spires of Elkin loomed ahead, beckoning me towards the city center.

I’d considered hanging around, waiting for the shuttle. It would’ve given me a chance to say good-bye to my friends when they got out of class. But the thought depressed me too much to bother. I couldn’t stand the thought of them finding out how badly I’d messed up.

Anyhow, I liked Adar and Rax and a few of the other kids at the academy well enough, but I didn’t consider
them my
real
people. I’d always been different, even from them. Everyone else on Lorien seemed to be content with exactly what they had. They were happy to live on the most perfect little planet in the whole damn universe. Why couldn’t I be more like that?

I was still wallowing in my un-Loric pool of self-pity when I heard my name.

“Sandor?” I stopped in my tracks and turned around to see that an unfamiliar man, a few years older than me, was standing next to a parked Muni hovercraft a few paces behind me. “Are you Sandor?”

He wore the distinctive blue tunic of a Mentor Cêpan, the special class of Cêpans who work for the LDC and are charged with training the Garde and monitoring their Legacies as they develop. I had no idea how he knew my name, and I didn’t really want to find out. I’d had enough trouble today, and for all I knew, this guy was about to tell me I’d committed some new infraction without even realizing it.

“Yeah,” I said, “that’s my name all right.” Without waiting for a response, I turned again and resumed my walk.

Without asking permission, he kept pace beside me.

“My apologies. I’d meant to catch you at your meeting with Osaria but I got there too late.”

I was silent.

“I’m Brandon. I’m a Mentor Cêpan at the Lorien Defense Academy—”

“Sorry, dude,” I said. “I’m not a Garde. Just your typical, boring Cêpan—no need for a mentor. And I flunked the LDA aptitude test years ago.”

“Yeah,” said Brandon. “I’ve seen your scores.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, like he
knew
I had tanked the exam on purpose to avoid being sent off to the prestigious academy.

Of course compared to a Kabarak, mentorship training sounded pretty good at this point. If I’d known what was in store for me, maybe I would have thought twice about bombing that test all those years ago.

“We got word of your little hijinks over at the academy,” Brandon said. I looked at him in surprise. How in the world would they have heard about one underage Cêpan’s misadventures at the Chimæra?

But Brandon was talking like that was the most normal thing in the world. “We were impressed,” he said. “That kind of technological work is quite unusual for someone your age—especially someone without academy training. If you put your talents to work in a more serious way, you could really make a difference in the Lorien security efforts.”

I was reminded why I didn’t care for LDA types. They took themselves
way
too seriously. Lorien had never had a war. We had never been attacked. And yet these people acted like we were living under constant threat. It was like they just told themselves that so they could feel important.

I waved Brandon off. “Yeah, well,” I said. “I’m off to a Kabarak. Hopefully they’ll appreciate my skills there.”

“They won’t,” he replied with a shrug. “Listen. The LDA could use some fresh blood and some new hands. We have some decent engineers and techs, but no one with your gift for problem solving.”

I rolled my eyes. An engineer at the LDA? That was almost as bad as joining Munis.

“Sorry, man. Not interested.” I kept walking.

“Our reputation is not what it used to be, I see.” Brandon gave me a wry smile. I could tell he was amused by my snottiness. “And it’s true that many Loric question the need for a defense at all during such a time of peace. Their mistake. But we have resources, Sandor. You’d have full access to our engineering and computer laboratories. Plus after six months you’d have weekend privileges. And I’ve been given authority to invite you to join the academy despite your, ah,
uncharacteristically
poor performance on the aptitude exam.”

I stopped in my tracks.

“You’d be close to the city,” he added. “Who knows? Maybe eventually, when you’re a little older, you’d be able to get some time off to visit the Chimæra.”

Clearly Brandon had more information on me than could be gleaned from security bulletins about my stunt at the Chimæra. He was pushing my buttons a little
too
precisely.

“You got a psych profile on me, Brandon?”

He only smiled. “Just decide if you’d rather spend the last few years of your adolescence playing with defense tech near the city, using your actual skills, or out in the Outer Terrritories shoveling Chimæra shit.”

“Outer Territories?” I felt my mouth go dry. Why had he said that? Had he heard something about my likely assignment?

“What do you know?” I asked.

“It’s not what I know, Sandor. It’s what I can make happen.”

And with that, he turned around and walked away.

CHAPTER 4

Exiting the transport van a few weeks later, I approached the front entrance of the Lorien Defense Academy warily, my bags over my shoulder. The school was a windowless gray cube plopped on a grassy stretch of land at the edge of Capital City. Somehow, for such a prestigious place, I was expecting something a little more lavish. Instead, the only thing that set it apart from any other Loric government building was a single statue of the Elder Pittacus.

Near the entrance, a few feet away from the statue, a few young Mentor Cêpans in shapeless blue tunics and loose black pants were talking in low tones with a Lorien councilmember, who I identified immediately from his tan robe. They had as little style or flair as the building itself. As I passed, the councilmember and the Cêpans looked up in neutral acknowledgment. I waved at them and then felt stupid.

It was practically a relief when I entered the building. The lobby was as sparsely decorated as the building’s outside, but at least it was busy. Young Mentor trainees, about my age, single-file marching off to class. There were a few adult Mentor Cêpans, and even a couple of Garde kids laughing and chasing after each other in their tiny blue suits.

“Kloutus!” a Mentor shouted. With a sheepish look on his face, one of the young Garde slowed down.

Recognizing the Mentor as Brandon, I walked up to him. He’d been nice to me when he’d recruited me on the street, and the sight of a familiar face was suddenly welcome.

But if I was expecting him to be a new friend, I shouldn’t have. Brandon gave me a cursory up-and-down look like he barely knew me, and then was all business.

“What are these?” Without a word of greeting, Brandon plucked the bags off my shoulders.

“They’re my things from home,” I said, struggling to hold on to them.

“We’re going to have to confiscate them,” he said. “You’ll be issued everything you need in processing.”

“Those are my clothes!” I don’t know why I cared—of course I’d have to wear the LDA uniform now, so I don’t know what good my clothes would do me. Still, the thought of having them
confiscated
depressed me. My clothes were part of what made me
me.
Now I’d just look like everyone else.

Brandon shook his head at my foolishness. “You can arrange to have those shipped back to your parents’ place. They’ll be waiting for you when you graduate.” With a curt nod, he pointed towards the processing office and disappeared down a hallway.

Feeling worse than ever, I trudged to processing, where an LDA administrator curtly issued me three identical green tunics, wrapped in paper. After handing them to me, he stood there expectantly, and I realized I was expected to change right in front of him so that he could collect the clothes I was already wearing. Probably so he could take them off to whatever storage locker or incinerator the rest of my clothes were destined for.

“A little privacy?” I asked.

He turned around. I seized the opportunity to undress quickly, throw on the tunic, and hide my favorite Kalvaka T-shirt inside the folds of my scratchy new garment. One piece of real clothing was better than none.

“All done,” I said, shoving the rest of my clothes in the administrator’s hands, hoping that if I bunched them all up in a wad the guy wouldn’t notice he’d been shorted.

It worked. He gave me my dormitory assignment and told me to go there and await instructions for the rest of my orientation.

After being stripped of nearly all my worldly possessions, I made my way deeper into the building, trying to get a feel for the place. I walked past open seminar rooms, administrative offices, gymnasiums, labs, even a glass-walled Chimæra observatory where a clutch of Lorien’s legendary beasts chased after each other in circles, growling and snorting as they changed from one form to another, the shapes of their bodies shifting with liquid ease.

At least
they
were allowed to look how they wanted. I stood and watched them for a few minutes before moving on.

Finally I reached the long corridor of the dormitory section and arrived at my dorm, 219. This was my room.

I hadn’t been issued a key, so I took a deep breath, knocked, and waited.

A moment later the door opened and a guy with small, nervous eyes, a wide mouth and a bulbous nose greeted me. His green tunic was identical to mine, and I stupidly wondered how we were going to remember whose was whose.

“You must be Sandor,” the guy said stiffly. “I’m Rapp. Come in.”

I entered the room, doing my best to conceal my horror as I appraised the spartan bunk beds, the bare stone floors, the curtainless window staring out onto a sparse and underlit courtyard.

“How minimalist,” I said.

“Yeah,” Rapp said. “The LDA keeps it pretty simple. We’re here to defend Lorien, not to sleep comfortably, I guess.” At least he didn’t sound any happier about it than I was.

I flopped on the bottom bunk. The mattress was thin and hard.

“So we’re roommates, huh?” I asked. “Are you training for the tech department too?”

“Yep. We’ll be seeing a lot of each other, I guess. Between the two of us, you’re looking at the whole program.”

“What?”

“We’re it. There’s a corps of about twenty active engineers and fifteen active techs on the whole planet, but only two trainees at a time.”

Oh, man. This guy seemed nice enough, I guess, but if it was just us, he could be the coolest guy on all of Lorien and we’d
still
get sick of each other.

“It’s not so bad, though,” he went on, not registering my disappointment. “Even though we’re just trainees, the corps is so short staffed lately that they send us out on grid surveys, repair work on the electronic perimeters, stuff like that.”

“Exciting.” I didn’t mean to sound so sarcastic, but I couldn’t help it. This would be my new life for
at least
the next two years, and it was already a total bore.

Fortunately, Rapp was immune to irony. “It is. To know that I’m playing a small but significant role in keeping Lorien safe . . . I feel really blessed.”

I couldn’t take it. I lurched up from the bed.

“Safe from what?” I asked.

Rapp stared at me, dumbly. “What do you mean?”

“Keeping Lorien safe from
what
? There hasn’t been an attack on this planet for aeons. For all our explorations and recon missions, we haven’t even had direct communication of any kind with another planet for hundreds of years. What are we afraid of? A
civil
war? Loriens are all pacifists, even in the sketchiest part of City Center or the most backward parts of the Outer Territories, nothing bad ever happens. I mean,
I’m
considered a hardened criminal around here. And all I did was get caught at a Devektra show!”

Rapp looked taken aback, but I didn’t care. “Do you
really
think you’re making a difference?” I spat. “Please. All this stuff about ancient prophecies and attacks that will probably never come—it’s superstition.”

Rapp didn’t take my bait. Instead of answering, he solemnly walked to the door.

“I’ll come back in a little while to give you a tour of the grounds. But I gotta say if this is your attitude on day one, you’re going to have a pretty miserable time here.”