of First Citizens. I thought. All they had to do was show up and fill in their names, and they’d be given automatic entry into flight school. There were six of them today, each one getting a free slot that could have gone to other, harder-working students.
One by one the six left, and the admiral dropped their unfinished tests on a desk by the front wall. Their scores wouldn’t matter. Just like my score didn’t matter.
Dia’s words returned to me. You don’t really think they’d let the daughter of Chaser fly for the DDF, do you?
I tried anyway. Furious—holding my pencil so tightly I broke the tip and had to get a replacement—I scrawled on my stupid test. Each question felt intended to break my will. Algae vats. Ventilation. Sewage. Places I supposedly belonged.
Daughter of a coward. She’s lucky we don’t just toss her into the vats.
I wrote for hours, emotions dogfighting within me. Anger fought naive anticipation. Frustration fought hope. Realization shot down optimism.
14. Explain the proper procedure if you think a vat of algae might have been contaminated by a coworker.
I tried not to leave any questions blank, but on well over two-thirds of them, my answer boiled down to, “I don’t know. I’d ask someone who does.” And it hurt to answer them, as if by doing so I was proving that I was incompetent.
But I would not give up. Finally the bell chimed, marking the end of the five-hour time limit. I slumped as an aide pulled the test from my fingers. I watched her walk off.
No.
Admiral Ironsides had returned and was speaking—now that the test had ended—with a small group of people in suits and skirts, First Citizens or National Assembly members. Ironsides was known for being stern but fair.
I stood up and walked to her, fishing in my pocket, fist closing on my father’s pin. I waited, respectful, as the students filed out for the after-test party, where they’d be joined by those who had already settled on other careers, and who had been spending the day applying for and being assigned positions. Those who took this test and failed would be given second pickings later in the week.
Tonight though, everyone would celebrate together, future pilot and future janitor alike.
Finally, Ironsides looked at me.
I held up my father’s pin. “Sir,” I said. “As the daughter of a pilot who fought at the Battle of Alta, I would like to petition for acceptance into flight school.”
She looked me up and down, noting the ripped sleeve, the dirty face, the dried blood on my arm. She took the pin from my hand, and I held my breath.
“Do you really think,” she said, “that I would accept the pin of a traitor?”
My heart sank.
“You aren’t even supposed to have this, girl,” she said. “Wasn’t it destroyed when he crashed? Did you steal someone else’s pin?”
“Sir,” I said, my voice taut. “It didn’t go down in the crash with him. He gave it to me before he flew that last time.”
Admiral Ironsides turned to leave.
“Sir?” I said. “Please. Please. just give me a chance.”
She hesitated, and I thought she was considering, but then she leaned in to me and whispered. “Girl, do you have any idea the kind of public relations nightmare you could cause for us? If I let you in, and you turn out to be a coward like he was . . . Well, there is no way on this planet I will let you into a cockpit. Be glad we even let you into this building.”
It felt like I’d been slapped. I winced. This woman—one of my heroes—turned to leave.
I grabbed her arm, and several aides nearby gasped softly. But I held on.
“You still have my pin,” I said. “Those belong to the pilots and their families. Tradition—”
“The pins of actual pilots belong to the families,” she said. “Not cowards.” She pulled herself out of my grip with a shockingly firm yank.
I could have attacked her. I almost did; the heat was rising inside me, and my face felt cold.
Arms grabbed me from behind before I could do it. “Spin?” Rig said. “Spensa! What are you doing?”
“She stole it. She took my father’s . . .” I trailed off as the admiral walked out with her collected attendants. Then I sagged into Rig’s grasp.
“Spensa?” Rig said. “Let’s go to the party. We can talk about it there. How do you think you did? I think . . . I think did terribly. Spensa?”
I pulled