Then, their curiosity satisfied, they headed for the stands where friends and family waited, or back to the dorms, where, assuming they'd been invited, they would prepare for the usual rounds of dinners, dances, and parties. Kyle, like the rest of the rimmers in the class, had been snubbed.
Odom, sensitive to his friend's predicament, threw an arm over his shoulders. "Time to go, Mope face, assuming you're willing to consort with peasants, what with your medal and all. Who's the guy in black anyway? A snappy dresser he ain't."
Kyle had to laugh in spite of himself. "Beats me - called himself Jerec for whatever that's worth. Some kind of government official or something."
Odom shrugged. "Whatever. My parents have invited you to dinner. Something about meeting a hero. As though my assault on a deserted weapons factory had no value whatsoever. The nerve of these people!"
Kyle dragged his friend to a halt. "Cut the phobium, Meek. Your parents don't want me. They want you. As well they should. I'll take a rain check."
Odom had a square face, dark, nearly black skin, and a perpetual grin. "Negative on that, O decorated one. Are you coming peaceably? Or shall I drag you?"
Kyle looked, saw the determination in his friend's eyes, and smiled. "Will your sister be there?"
Odom laughed. "Be careful what you ask for, Katarn - you might just get it!"
The evening went well. Unlike so many of the Empire's wealthier families, the Odoms had no ties to the Emperor, and were genuinely nice. Meek's mother ran a small but successful import-export business, and his father was a celebrated architect. They, and their stunning daughter, were splendid hosts and the evening passed with surprising speed.
Finally, so full of good food that Kyle thought he might burst, the cadets returned to the dorm. What with the lifting of their curfew, and the MPs ignoring anything short of total mayhem, there were the predictable number of drunks both pleasant and less so.
The young men dodged the worst of the crazies and made it to their room without major mishap. Kyle had rid himself of his mess jacket, and removed most of his shirt studs, when he noticed that a message icon had appeared in the upper left-hand corner of his computer screen. It blinked with annoying regularity. He almost delayed reading it till morning, certain that it was one of the "Dear Cadet" bulletins that the Commandant loved to issue, but noticed Meek's screen was blank.
Curious, Kyle dropped into his chair, entered his access code, and waited for the message to appear. The words "Receipt Sent" appeared first, followed by the message itself.
"The Emperor regrets to inform you that your father, Morgan Katarn, was killed during a Rebel raid. No further information is available at this time. If you wish to speak with a therapist one will be made available upon request. To apply for compassionate leave select `Cadet Initiated Administrative Requests' from the main menu and press `enter.' Choose 'Compassionate Leave,' provide the appropriate information, and attach this message."
Kyle read the words three times before they acquired meaning. Then, sure that the whole thing was part of a cruel hoax perpetrated by one or more of his classmates, he looked for the authentication code that should appear across the bottom of the screen. Tears sprang to his eyes when he saw it. Morgan Katarn, his father, mentor, and best friend, was dead. Killed by the Rebels. Why? Why would they want to kill Morgan Katarn? Especially in light of the fact that his father was sympathetic to the Rebel cause, too sympathetic in Kyle's opinion, and had only reluctantly approved his application to the Academy. It didn't make sense. But nothing about war did, including the fact that he had survived while the rest of his team were killed.
Kyle remembered the Comm Center, the Rebels standing with their hands in the air, and knew he had committed a grievous error. Hong had been right. He should have given the order,
Odom, sensitive to his friend's predicament, threw an arm over his shoulders. "Time to go, Mope face, assuming you're willing to consort with peasants, what with your medal and all. Who's the guy in black anyway? A snappy dresser he ain't."
Kyle had to laugh in spite of himself. "Beats me - called himself Jerec for whatever that's worth. Some kind of government official or something."
Odom shrugged. "Whatever. My parents have invited you to dinner. Something about meeting a hero. As though my assault on a deserted weapons factory had no value whatsoever. The nerve of these people!"
Kyle dragged his friend to a halt. "Cut the phobium, Meek. Your parents don't want me. They want you. As well they should. I'll take a rain check."
Odom had a square face, dark, nearly black skin, and a perpetual grin. "Negative on that, O decorated one. Are you coming peaceably? Or shall I drag you?"
Kyle looked, saw the determination in his friend's eyes, and smiled. "Will your sister be there?"
Odom laughed. "Be careful what you ask for, Katarn - you might just get it!"
The evening went well. Unlike so many of the Empire's wealthier families, the Odoms had no ties to the Emperor, and were genuinely nice. Meek's mother ran a small but successful import-export business, and his father was a celebrated architect. They, and their stunning daughter, were splendid hosts and the evening passed with surprising speed.
Finally, so full of good food that Kyle thought he might burst, the cadets returned to the dorm. What with the lifting of their curfew, and the MPs ignoring anything short of total mayhem, there were the predictable number of drunks both pleasant and less so.
The young men dodged the worst of the crazies and made it to their room without major mishap. Kyle had rid himself of his mess jacket, and removed most of his shirt studs, when he noticed that a message icon had appeared in the upper left-hand corner of his computer screen. It blinked with annoying regularity. He almost delayed reading it till morning, certain that it was one of the "Dear Cadet" bulletins that the Commandant loved to issue, but noticed Meek's screen was blank.
Curious, Kyle dropped into his chair, entered his access code, and waited for the message to appear. The words "Receipt Sent" appeared first, followed by the message itself.
"The Emperor regrets to inform you that your father, Morgan Katarn, was killed during a Rebel raid. No further information is available at this time. If you wish to speak with a therapist one will be made available upon request. To apply for compassionate leave select `Cadet Initiated Administrative Requests' from the main menu and press `enter.' Choose 'Compassionate Leave,' provide the appropriate information, and attach this message."
Kyle read the words three times before they acquired meaning. Then, sure that the whole thing was part of a cruel hoax perpetrated by one or more of his classmates, he looked for the authentication code that should appear across the bottom of the screen. Tears sprang to his eyes when he saw it. Morgan Katarn, his father, mentor, and best friend, was dead. Killed by the Rebels. Why? Why would they want to kill Morgan Katarn? Especially in light of the fact that his father was sympathetic to the Rebel cause, too sympathetic in Kyle's opinion, and had only reluctantly approved his application to the Academy. It didn't make sense. But nothing about war did, including the fact that he had survived while the rest of his team were killed.
Kyle remembered the Comm Center, the Rebels standing with their hands in the air, and knew he had committed a grievous error. Hong had been right. He should have given the order,
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