COMPETE: The Atlantis Grail (Book Two) - Preview

CHAPTER TWO (draft)

CHAPTER TWO

That was three days ago. For three days all we did was watch the Earth and Sun recede outside the observation deck windows. Whenever I went there, the observation decks were always packed with teens staring out at the cosmos—mesmerized, dazed, drunk with the view, blinking at the little blue marble of Earth as it was at some point silhouetted against, and then reflecting the light of the bright spot of pale yellow fire that was our Sun. As for the Sun, wow . . . it was still holding out its relative size and position for the most part, though I know it was microscopically shrinking every time I returned for a gazing session, which was at least every few hours.

And when we got tired of the panorama of space, we would return to our temporary barracks. Since even now we're discouraged from simply wandering the ship aimlessly until we know our duties and place in it, there was nothing else to do. There in the barracks we would sit around and think, often out loud, about the tough choice ahead of us. I remember it in vague snatches—people talking, reminiscing about life on Earth, their families, the current events, the pending destruction.

My sister and brother and Logan, the only people I know who made it here with me on this particular ark-ship—I see their stressed intense faces etched in the unreliable memory of those days, as we go over, point by point, the advantages and disadvantages of each choice.

Meanwhile, how is Earth dealing with our departure? Are there new wars now, more horrible chaos? Does the despair overwhelm our loved ones, now that we are gone?

"Oh God . . . are they okay?" Gracie asks me constantly.

"Yeah, they are," I say. "You know how Dad said, the worst of the unrest is mostly in large urban centers, you know, big cities? So, I am sure they are perfectly fine."

Gracie's expression is unconvinced. Yet again she sits with her feet up on my bunk, fiddling with a cheap bangle bracelet that she took out from her jewelry pouch. It gives her comfort, I guess, like handling the beads of a rosary.

"So, Civilian, right?" I ask, changing the subject.

Gracie scrunches her face. "I guess. Okay, maybe . . . I don't know!" she whines. I knew it would take her mind off the sad thoughts of home. For these past three days Gracie has been changing her mind back and forth on the Cadet or Civilian choice.

"Gracie, seriously. Do you really want to train to be a soldier? To put your life on the line for Atlantis? To potentially kill other people?" I tell her.

Gordie on the other hand is solidly decided, but for some reason won't tell us his choice. My little brother can be so annoyingly stubborn sometimes, so withdrawn into the artistic echo chamber of his own head that I want to shake him and slap him around. I am terrified he is going to make a dangerous wrong choice, but then, who am I to judge what choice is best? And so again, for maybe the millionth time, I wish that George was here to give his smart perspective, his big brother advice.

Because, honestly, even after all the information and reference materials we've been given, we only have a very general idea of what it means to be a Cadet or a Civilian. The former involves joining their military, and rigid discipline and training. The latter, well, basically it's the default position in society.

Unlike my siblings, Logan has made his inevitable decision immediately.

"Gwen, I have to join the Fleet Cadets," he tells me on the night before the fateful Decision Day, as we have come to call it, as we talk quietly away from the others, standing in the semi-anonymous twilight of the observation deck, watching the constant visual anchor that is the Sun disk. The Earth, it is like a small bead, now . . . a pearl on the black velvet of space.