The simulation deck at the United Sol Military Academy wasn't just a room; it was a cathedral of high-tension wires, cooling fans, and the smell of ozone. At the center sat two Mark-IV Training Mechs—stripped-down versions of the Vanguard line, painted in the dull, unyielding gray of a recruit.
Zane and Luke Hampton stood at the base of the gantry, their flight suits still smelling of the factory. Around them, thirty other cadets—the elite of Earth's colonies—watched with a silence that felt like a firing squad.
"Look at them," a voice hissed from the shadows of the cockpit ladder. "The 'Prince' and the 'Pretender.' They think those four stars on their old man's grave are going to fly the mech for them."
Zane's jaw tightened. He turned, his eyes locking onto a tall, scarred cadet named Miller Jr.—the son of the Sergeant who had survived the Silent Moon. "If you have something to say, Miller, say it to my face. Or are you worried your father's stories about my dad are true?"
"At ease!" a voice boomed from the observation deck.
Captain Elias Thorne stepped into the light. He wasn't in his dress blues anymore; he was in a worn haptic suit, his cybernetic arm clicking as he adjusted a tablet. "Today is not about names. The Drealius don't care who your father was. They don't care about your medals or your family tree. They care about how fast you can cycle a minigun before your cockpit turns into a furnace."
Thorne looked directly at the twins. There was no favoritism in his eyes—only a cold, professional challenge. "Hampton One, Hampton Two. Up the gantry. The rest of you, into the pods. Today, we simulate the Breach of the Orion Gates. And I've turned the difficulty to 'Veteran.'"
The Simulation: Into the Fire
The cockpit closed over Luke with a familiar, metallic hiss. As the neural-link engaged, the world of the Academy vanished. In its place was the black-and-violet chaos of the Orion Gates.
"Neural sync at eighty-five percent," his AI, a basic training version of CALI, reported. "Warning: Enemy Shard signatures detected. You are outnumbered fifty to one."
"Zane, do you see the pincer?" Luke asked over the private comms.
"I see it," Zane's voice was a jagged edge of adrenaline. "They're coming for the engine blocks. Classic Drealius move. I'm going high."
"No, Zane! Stick to the formation! Thorne is watching—"
But Zane was already gone. In the simulation, his gray mech flared its thrusters, diving headlong into a swarm of obsidian Seekers. He was fast—terrifyingly fast. He moved like a shadow of Harry, spinning the training mech through gaps that should have been impossible.
BRRRRRRRRT!
Zane's training minigun shredded a Seeker, the simulated black oil splashing across his HUD. "See that, Miller? That's how a Hampton flies!"
The Trap
"Hampton One, you're overextending," Thorne's voice crackled over the speakers. "Look at your six."
Suddenly, the simulation shifted. Three massive Mother-Shards de-cloaked behind Zane, their gravity webs locking onto his thrusters.
"I'm stuck!" Zane shouted, his flight sticks vibrating violently. "Luke! I can't break the tether!"
Luke didn't hesitate. While Zane had been chasing glory, Luke had been calculating the gravity ley-lines. He didn't dive in with guns blazing. Instead, he fired a series of precision thermal flares into the "eye" of the Mother-Shard, blinding its sensors for a split second.
"Now, Zane! Burn the retros!"
The twins synchronized their thrusters, a move they had practiced as children in the backyard of their lunar home. The combined heat of their engines created a localized pressure wave, snapping the gravity web.
The Aftermath
The simulation ended. The cockpit doors opened, and the cadets climbed out, gasping for air in the sudden return of the Academy's oxygen.
Zane was the first one down the gantry, his chest heaving. He looked toward the other cadets, expecting applause. Instead, he found Thorne waiting at the bottom.
"You're dead, Zane," Thorne said flatly.
"What? I took out fifteen Shards! I broke the tether!"
"You took out fifteen drones and nearly lost a multi-million-dollar machine because you wanted to show off," Thorne stepped closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Your father didn't lead from the front because he wanted to be a hero. He did it because he was the only one who could keep the rest of us alive. You? You just want to be him. And until you realize that you aren't him, you're a liability to this fleet."
Thorne turned to Luke. "And you. You have the mind. You have the patience. But you're too afraid to take the shot. You waited four seconds too long to fire those flares. In the Dead Zone, four seconds is the difference between a mission and a funeral."
Thorne walked away, leaving the twins standing in the center of the bay. The other cadets began to laugh, the tension breaking.
"Elite pilots," Miller Jr. scoffed as he walked past. "More like a couple of orphans playing dress-up."
Zane lunged, but Luke caught his arm. "Don't," Luke whispered, his eyes fixed on the data-chip in his pocket. "Let them think we're failures. It makes it easier to do what we have to do."
"And what's that?" Zane hissed.
Luke looked up at the stars, visible through the hangar's massive glass ceiling. "We aren't just here to graduate, Zane. We're here to learn how to fly a ship into a black hole. And Thorne is the only one who can teach us how to survive it."