First Spacejump

Lena was hopping on the interstellar train again, headed for Gungnir. This time, it was just a quick trip.

Gungnir sat on a decent-sized planet parked right between the Third and Second Systems—a spot Admiral Odin picked out himself, free from any system's rulebook.

He'd even slapped a name on it: Alioth.

The name rang a bell for Lena—fifth star in the Big Dipper. With Gungnir and Mjölnir both leaning into Norse vibes, she wondered for a sec if Odin was some Earth transplant.

But a fast check on her opticomputer shut that down.

In this world's lingo, Mjölnir, Gungnir, and Alioth were just random, badass-sounding words. No hidden story.

Weird fluke? Or something bigger? She wondered.

Draven came along to babysit Violet all the way to Gungnir's doorstep.

In the VIP train car, the three of them sat in a quiet face-off, each staking out a corner. Violet, pinned under her brother's stare, didn't risk chatting Lena up—she just flashed her those big, pleading eyes.

Draven, still salty from yesterday's verbal beatdown, tried to glare a hole through Lena.

None of it got to her. She'd hacked off her long black hair into a short, clean cut—gave her a tougher look, a little extra spark in her stride.

Second go on the interstellar train, and this time she could actually take it all in.

Stars winked across the black, humanity's grip sprawling wide in this age. The train zipped between systems, slicing silver trails through space.

Planets buzzed with life—some natural, others forced into shape by human grit. Way more alive than quiet old Earth.

Three hours later, they pulled in. One of Draven's military buddies stationed at Alioth scooped them up in a flyer, and it was an easy ride to Gungnir's gates.

Word was, Gungnir's look pulled straight from Odin's mecha, Snowball.

Silver and white were everywhere, with cloud-and-wind designs swirling over the buildings.

The entrance was unreal—a bridge of clouds framed the gate, like a doorway to the sky. Stars and wisps glimmered along the sides.

Right above the gate, a giant spear sculpture floated front and center.

Lena tilted her head back to check it out—had to be Gungnir itself. The shaft looked like carved wood, but the tip glowed with a fierce silver-white shine.

It was badass and grand, demanding you stop and stare.

That silver-white feel had a royal kick to it. Lena was starting to buy into Snowball's "best-looking mecha" brag.

Draven yanked Violet aside for a last-second pep talk, droning on forever before finally cutting her loose. Then he turned on Lena.

"Better not hear you're whining to drop out of boot camp," he said, smirking, trying to claw back some ground after yesterday.

Lena didn't even twitch. "Figured you'd be more stressed about me teaming up with Violet and screwing her top-twenty chances."

"You—" Draven sputtered, choking on her comeback, but she was already strolling through Gungnir's gate, smooth as anything.

Violet was scampering after her, practically wagging her tail.

All that protective big-brother lecturing? Wasted breath.

Before heading to Gungnir, Lena and Violet had linked their personal opticomputers to the school's custom subsystem.

They'd already locked down a double dorm room together—no sweat.

The latest ping told them to ditch their stuff. Lena didn't have much to unpack; twenty minutes, and she was good. Her suitcase was mostly taken up by Snowball's limp little incarnation.

She tugged out the floppy Samoyed, and a spark flashed from the snake-patterned ring on her finger. The pup blinked awake.

"Man, I'm wiped," he grumbled.

"You're tired?" Lena fired back. She'd dragged him along anyway, but during boot camp, no one'd be around to keep an eye on him. He'd be stuck chilling solo in her room.

"This place is so different now," Snowball said, jumping onto Lena's bed like it was his throne. "Nothing like when Odin hauled me here. I'm parking myself right here till you're back. You better make it back in one piece, got it?"

You'd think she was off to take down a space pirate crew.

Boot camp rules said no jewelry, so Lena slid the ring off. The second it hit the table, her opticomputer buzzed.

[All freshmen, report to the central plaza now.]

She grabbed Violet—still messing with her room—and they took off. Following the opticomputer's map, they hit the plaza just as a guy in a deep purple uniform stepped up, spinning a baton like it was a game. He scoped out the recruits piling in from a raised platform.

Behind him sat a monster of a spacecraft—sleek like a warship, built like a floating fortress. It hogged half the plaza, making everything else look tiny.

"Guess boot camp's not on Alioth," Violet said, practically bouncing. "We're shipping out."

Fresh off the interstellar train, and now a spaceship? She was lit up like a kid at a carnival.

Three hundred newbies this time, split rough between combat and non-combat tracks. Non-combat broke down into mecha techs, commanders, analysts—all that jazz. Combat folks would get sorted after boot camp was done.

Once the last few stragglers showed up, the head guy tipped his cap and spoke. "Hey, freshmen. I'm Zeon, your head instructor for boot camp."

Another guy next to him, face like a brick wall, snagged the mic. "I'm Orson, your deputy instructor."

Zeon flashed a grin, twirling his baton like it was nothing. "First impressions matter, right? I'll cut you some slack—so, the two latecomers who just strolled in, come on up."

He tapped the baton, singling them out. Nobody in the crowd was clueless enough to miss it—this was him flexing. Push back now, and you'd pay double later.

Sure enough, the two late recruits shuffled forward. They probably thought a little holdup wouldn't hurt much, right?

Nope. Zeon didn't hesitate. He walked over and cracked the baton twice—quick and sharp. Both went white, yipping as the sting landed.

That was the hello for everybody.

"Six minutes to get here," Zeon said, strolling back to the platform. "That's your first stab at being military cadets? Weak." He smirked. "From now on, emergency roll calls in boot camp—two minutes tops. Late? You get the stick. Lesson one, people."

The crowd, still murmuring about the instructors' tough-guy act, went quiet fast. They'd expected some heat, but Gungnir was cranking it up way past what they'd imagined for a bottom-tier school.

Zeon grinned at their stunned looks, eating it up. "Check out that beast behind me," he said, nodding at the spacecraft. "That's the Sneaker-N3. We're jumping on her for boot camp's big show."

Every head turned to the ship, and the silence broke. The recruits lit up, chattering like a bunch of hyped-up kids.

"That's the Sneaker-N3! The newest military-grade ship—I've got a mini version back home!"

"It's so damn cool up close. Pure badass."

"We're riding that thing? I need pics—can we swing by the dorms? Should've worn my laser-thread jacket."

The energy was electric. They were already scheming about what to grab from their rooms—cameras, flashy clothes, whatever.

Zeon's grin went cold. Then the ship's hatch slid open.

"Let's roll," he said, sharp and done.

The twist hit like a punch. They'd rushed to the plaza in whatever they were wearing—most still in pajamas or random shirts—and now they were boarding just like that?

"I'm not even packed—what's going on?"

"My gear's still all over the dorm. What am I supposed to do?"

"I didn't even wash my face!"

A dozen instructors in deep purple uniforms didn't care about the complaints, rounding up the three hundred newbies and pushing them onto the ship like a herd.

This was on purpose—throw them off, keep them spinning.

The mob surged forward, excited but thrown.

Lena and Violet stayed tight at first, but a rough shove in the chaos split them up. Violet got swallowed by the crowd.

Once they all crammed into the ship's passenger bay, they stood there, half-lost, eyeing each other.

Then Orson's voice broke through—calmer than Zeon's, almost nice.

"Alright, freshmen, here's your second lesson today—"

"Buckle up for a hyperspace jump."