Dove Arising by Karen Bao

various handholds meant to simulate rock climbing on Earth. Noting the stares I’m receiving from other trainees—sizing me up, because I wasn’t in their Primary class, because I look so young—I hide behind the same wall. But I choose a spot far enough from Nash so it doesn’t look like I followed her.
    Hands shaking and fumbling, I discard my white robes, sliding into a snug black shirt and loose pants full of pockets. A tough canvas jacket goes on over the shirt.
    “Done yet?” Yinha’s voice booms across the white dome, magnified because it’s coming from everyone’s handscreen as well. “Cool. We’re running a kilometer to warm up. That’s two laps along the perimeter. Get behind the green line.”
    Neon green flashes to my left, indicating our starting point. The trainees saunter in its general direction; several shove one another in order to get there first.
    “Hurry up,” Yinha says. “You’ve got loads of exercises before we’re done today.”
    Nash sprints toward the line, showing off her long, powerful legs. Though all I want is to keep hiding behind the wall, I tail her, holding myself tall. We’re among the last to reach our destination, and we end up behind a swarm of eager trainees. Why are they so desperate, when we’re not being scored?
    “Go!” barks Yinha.
    Nash pulls ahead. I hang back to gauge my body’s aptitude for running and to observe the competition. I’m of average height among the girls, but small overall; with my proportionally short legs and long torso, I need to make up for my smaller strides with a higher frequency.
    While I strategize, unaware, someone’s foot stomps on mine.
    “Watch it, granny!” shouts a girl with a runny nose. Strange she should call me that, since I’m closer in age to any younger siblings she might have.
    By the second lap, I overtake a panting Nash, but my lungs burn and sweat trickles into my eyes. I was never good at this during conditioning. Looking ahead, I see two boys race neck and neck toward the finish line. One’s tall and stocky, pain obvious on his face. It’s the friendly landmass who fixed his hair in Canopus’s office. The other boy, who has a smaller build, takes leisurely strides that barely ruffle his reddish hair.
    Oh no . Bitterness simmers within me as I remember his curt repetitions of “sorry” on that awful day, the meek apologies that couldn’t make up for leaving three children without a mother, and his artificial civility when we saw him in Shelter. Despite the dangers in Militia, he grinned when he told Anka he was about to join. Now I understand why. He’s looked forward to outdoing the other trainees and to an ego boost.
    As the Giant begins to tire, Copper Head prances past him. Then the Giant rams into his rival, forcing Copper Head to stumble onto an outside lane. The Giant’s open hostility tempers my satisfaction at seeing Copper Head put in his place.
    They cross the finish line together.
    Thirty seconds later, I follow in the midst of a swarm of trainees. If I’m to pay for Mom’s treatment, I have to improve, and quickly.
    “The last twenty of you, move it!” Yinha commands the stragglers. She nods with approval at the Giant, who rests his hands on his knees, and Copper Head, who stands off to the side to stretch his quadriceps. “Nice job to the two who finished first. Seems we have some well-conditioned trainees.”
    Immediate recognition—that’s why they pushed themselves so hard. Although training has just begun, the instructors are already paying attention to them as potential officers.
    “Today’s workout will be cardiovascular conditioning,” says Yinha, “so take a moment to catch your breath and stretch. Next, we’re jumping, crawling, and doing other stuff that gets your heart rate up. We’ll finish with another half-kilometer run. Got it? Cool.”
    A grid of torn muscle fibers, swollen and blotchy at the microscopic level, comes to mind. If I’m lucky, a single-digit