Tommy Thorn Marked by D. E. Kinney

Tarchein cadets to exit.
    “Oh, and welcome to the Zoo,” the captain added as the newest wobble-legged members of the Hondo Brigade filed down the tunnel and into one of six wedge-shaped reception areas. Like the gates on Tarchein, each reception area was adorned with the colors and symbols of the individual brigades.
    Years ago, the Academy had picked up a nickname, the Zoo , but no one knew for sure the origin. Supposedly the name was given because of the small cabins and months of confinement aboard the station, but most believed it was started by Tarchein cadets soon after the Academy opened its ranks to aliens.
    “Feeling better?” Bo asked Gary.
    He had held out for as long as he could, occasionally swatting at clear bags of puke that randomly floated about the cabin, before giving in to waves of nausea.
    “I’m fine,” Gary said, a bit perturbed. “It was the damn smell that got me!”
    Bo smiled at Tommy. She had been completely unaffected by the mad goings-on in the shuttle’s cabin, keeping her attention focused—first on the lights of the planet displayed overhead as the shuttle rolled, and then finally on the expert rapid tactical docking maneuver performed by their Tarchein captain.
    “I bet all of the Tarchein threw up,” he continued. “Probably why they keep them separated.”
    Tommy was sure, by the look of their ashen faces, that most of the Tarchein had indeed gotten ill. He also knew the reason for the segregation, and it had nothing to do with getting sick. He had seen racial prejudice firsthand on Tarchein, although Remus did his best to shield him. They’ll understand soon enough, he thought, and let it go.
    The newcomers, still in a bit of shock, assembled loosely at the bottom of a small platform directly inside the receiving area. The group didn’t seem as alert or enthusiastic as they had been before the nightmarish flight, but soon all eyes had focused on a waiting cadre of senior cadets. Who, much like the one they had encountered at the gate on Tarchein, seemed already displeased over something.
    “Listen up!” a fourth-year Tarchein cadet yelled over a spattering of apprehensive chatter. All noise stopped!
    He was dressed in the standard working uniform, similar to Tommy’s, but it did not include a jacket and in addition to the red trim of the Hondo Brigade, it included four red stripes at the bottom of each sleeve, topped off with a red star. The four stripes denoted his senior status, and the star displayed his position as Cadet Brigade Commander.
    At a nod from the commander, the senior cadets bounded off the platform and swarmed over the sick, somewhat frightened and confused Toadies. Moving with practiced precision, they began guiding them into even ranks, molding the mob, through shouted threat and deed, until they more or less resembled neat, rigid rows. Only then did the cadet brigade commander slowly, deliberately, come down from the platform and swagger past the ranks.
    He had a look of cold disdain as he eyed the newest members of the Hondo, stopping now and then to make a disparaging remark about a cadet’s ancestry or the inadequacy of a particular body part before returning to the superiority of his elevated perch.
    “Welcome to the Star Force Academy,” he finally said. “Do not think this will be easy, or in any way enjoyable. You are here to become officers in the finest military organization in all the galaxy. We are here to ensure that you are worthy of that status, and judging from what I see, well I don’t see many future officers—not in my Star Force!”
    The cadet waited for a moment, continuing to look down at the first-years. “All Tarchein cadets report to Mister Gadman on deck twelve in the Camron Complex for berthing assignments.”
    Although the Tarchein were a minority at the Academy, the segregation policy, as with the shuttle, was rigidly adhered to—Tarchein cadets staying in isolated and, most believed, superior quarters.
    The