Work Text:
CADET ZHANG QISHAN:
THIS NOTICE IS TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR CAPTAINCY ASSESSMENT HAS BEEN SCHEDULED FOR 14:00H ON 135.4467. YOUR ASSIGNED CREW, WHO WILL BE COMPLETING THEIR OWN FINAL EXAMINATIONS, ARE AS FOLLOWS:
FIRST OFFICER: DORCAS JESPERANE
SECURITY OFFICER: LANZIG PHTYM
PILOT: KOEHN AL KHARIF
SCIENCE OFFICER: QI TIEZUI
IF YOU HAVE ANY FURTHER QUESTIONS, PLEASE CONTACT YOUR COMMANDING INSTRUCTOR.
SIGNED,
MEKLIT AHN
GALACTIC COALITION ADMIRAL OF EDUCATION
Every future Coalition officer ends their Academy training with a comprehensive practical exam: a timed three-hour mission on an uninhabited planet that is used solely for training purposes. The goal varies depending on the composition of the crew, and is only revealed once the testing group has boarded their vessel and are en-route to the planet. If the goal is not reached or the time limit exceeded, the crew is failed, assigned to remedial training, and allowed to retest six months later. Ninety percent of officer-track students pass the exam, or so the statistics read; the other ten percent typically fall wayward, choose a different career path, and never end up retesting. Whether this is by personal choice or due to recommendation of an Academy advisor is not clear.
Zhang Qishan has studied the statistics thoroughly, along with all of the other components of the exam. Most common reasons for failure: faulty equipment, poor time management, and captain incompetence. There was one case in which the captaincy candidate failed the exam, but the officers under them passed, as the mission parameters had been met, but the command was lacking. The candidate had gone back and retested, and passed the second time, but had not ever ended up captaining a ship.
There’s little room for error in the final examination, and there’s even less room for error for captaincy candidates. The captain always, always bares the brunt of the score.
“Are you nervous?” Er Yuehong, the lucky bastard, took all of his final exams on paper and is now finishing up his clinical rotations. Zhang Qishan supposes that that means that every day for him is essentially a practical exam, but the pressure is much different.
“No,” Zhang Qishan says, which is partially true.
Er Yuehong looks over his shoulder at the exam notice that Zhang Qishan has pulled up on his tablet, more out of a need for comfort than a need for any of the information on it; he’s already memorized that. “Well, Tiezui is your science officer. That’s lucky!”
Zhang Qishan had thought so too, given the pleased rush that had gone through him when he had first read the crew roster. Once he’d had a chance to think about it, however, and recalled his father’s strict lessons about familiarity with those you were leading, he wasn’t entirely sure. The examination was as important to the other students as it was to him; he had to make sure that he treated them all equally, and having Qi Tiezui, who Zhang Qishan did genuinely consider to be a friend, on the crew was an obstacle to that.
Er Yuehong senses his hesitation, as he has since the day they met, and nudges Zhang Qishan’s shoulder, making his upper body rock away before it settles back again. “At least you don’t have to worry about him being a dick and refusing to listen to you. That’s something.”
Zhang Qishan rolls his eyes and shoves Er Yuehong back. “They’re all good at their jobs. They won’t make things difficult for us on purpose.”
“Yeah,” Er Yuehong agrees, “And the drinks and meals you bought them this week will have no effect.”
Zhang Qishan shrugs. “Strategy.” It’s not forbidden for crews to make contact with each other before their test date, but there’s no real reason for it, as they wouldn’t know their final mission parameters and wouldn’t be able to prepare. However, it was customary for testing crews to meet at least once to greet and get to know each other before the test date. Zhang Qishan has to admit that he may have gone slightly overboard, since he had met with each member separately and then arranged for them all to have dinner together. The crew members had all gotten along, and all seemed to want to take the exam seriously, so Zhang Qishan had allowed himself some hope.
Er Yuehong claps him on the shoulder. “Well, we’re here,” he says, tossing his head in the direction of the docking bay, where Zhang Qishan can see the test vessel, a small, gray spacecraft, waiting for them. “I’d offer you good luck, but you won’t need it.”
“Don’t say that,” Zhang Qishan says, with mock affront. “What if something disastrous happens? It’ll be your fault.”
“Ah, right,” Er Yuehong says, “Of course. Don’t worry. If something disastrous happens, I’ll accept full responsibility.” He gives Zhang Qishan a very serious expression and a very ridiculous salute. “Captain.”
“Now you’re just distracting me,” Zhang Qishan says. “Go away, I’ll see you afterwards.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Er Yuehong says, already walking. “Good luck! I’ll see you in an hour!”
“The exam is three!” Zhang Qishan shouts after him.
“And knowing you, you’ll do it in one!” Er Yuehong’s voice floats back to him, and Zhang Qishan allows himself a fond smile before he turns and enters the hanger.
As he had expected, he’s the first of their crew to arrive, which is good. It’s probably because he’s twenty minutes early, but he hadn’t wanted to risk anyone showing up before him and starting things off on the wrong foot. The mechanics are doing final inspections of the inside of the vessel, and Zhang Qishan does a walkaround of the outside. He’s not checking for anything in particular, but the spacecraft doesn’t appear to have anything wrong with it. Not that he’d know, really; he’d done the basic required mechanical courses his first year, but hadn’t kept up with it after that. He hopes that won’t end up being a detriment to their performance.
Dorcas is the next of the crew to arrive. Zhang Qishan likes her. She’s only about half his height, but she carries herself with confidence. Zhang Qishan can’t remember her species, but she’s the first person from her planet to enter the Coalition Academy, and will be the first to graduate as well. She had talked about her family with pride at dinner earlier in the week, and Zhang Qishan can tell that she will take the exam seriously, which he appreciates.
“Officer Jesperane.”
“The exam hasn’t started,” Dorcas says. “You don’t have to be so formal. Besides, we have to pass to actually become officers.”
“It feels right to me,” Zhang Qishan says. “Hi, Dorcas.”
“Hi,” Dorcas says, her lips quirking in amusement. “Are you nervous?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Zhang Qishan wonders. “A little. Are you?”
“A little,” Dorcas says. She smooths down the pants of her uniform, even though they look perfectly pressed. “But it’s only three hours, and then it will be over. And we can go drinking.”
Zhang Qishan has seen Dorcas drink students three times her size under the table. “That’s your plan?”
“Of course,” Dorcas says, “Is it not yours?”
Zhang Qishan, up to this point, has not considered what he’ll do once the exam is finished, primarily because he hasn’t allowed himself to look that far forward. “Drinking sounds fun.”
“Excellent,” Dorcas says. “You can pick the first bar.”
“The first?” Zhang Qishan asks dubiously, but any further explanation is interrupted by the arrival of their pilot.
“Qishan!” he says cheerily, waving with two of his four hands. “Dorcas! You’re both early!”
“So are you,” Dorcas points out.
Koehn laughs good-naturedly. “I’ve been walking laps around the hanger for like half an hour. Didn’t want to seem too eager to go in, but then I saw Dorcas get here, so I figured it was as good a time as any.”
Zhang Qishan glances at his watch; they still have twelve minutes before they’re set to board the spacecraft. “I’d rather everyone be early than anyone be late.”
“Instant fail,” Koehn says, shaking his head. “A guy in my brother’s class had that happen to him. He dropped out of the officer track the next day, didn’t even stay to retest.”
“What about the rest of the crew?” Dorcas asks.
Koehn shrugs. “I mean, they failed too, obviously. That’s the rule. I think they all retested, though.” He laughs again. “That guy probably had the right idea, dropping out. If I failed the exam because one of my classmates was late, I would be soooo pissed.” He stretches one set of arms above his head, the other pair pressing forward. “That won’t happen to us, though!”
“It had better not,” Dorcas says. “I told Tiezui I would break his arm if he was late.”
“He’s not always late,” Zhang Qishan says.
Dorcas gives him a flat look. “He was late to every single lab session in our Intro to Space Botany course.”
“That was three years ago,” Zhang Qishan protests. “And he had an internship that got out right before the lab started. He made it to the lecture portion.”
“Usually,” Dorcas mutters.
“He was late to dinner this week too,” Koehn points out.
Zhang Qishan has to admit that Qi Tiezui’s track record isn’t exactly spotless when it comes to time management, but he had also seen the very serious expression on his face when Dorcas had been reminding him about the importance of timeliness when it came to the exam. Besides, when he looks over Koehn’s shoulder, he sees Qi Tiezui coming into the hanger, followed by their final crew member, Lanzig.
Dorcas follows his gaze and grins. “There we go!”
“Ah!” Tiezui exclaims, jogging a little to get to their small cluster. Lanzig does not do the same, their pace consistent. “Hi! Are you guys nervous? I’m nervous.”
“Don’t be nervous!” Koehn says exuberantly, patting Tiezui on the back. “We’re going to do great. We’ve got a good team!”
“None of the other groups this year have failed their examinations thus far,” Dorcas points out. “It’s unlikely that we’ll be the first.”
“Right, right,” Tiezui says, laughing. “It’s just… exam. Big! Whew.”
“Only three hours,” Dorcas says again, “And then we can go out afterwards. First round’s on the captain.”
Tiezui and Koehn cheer, while Zhang Qishan makes half-hearted protests that even he doesn’t believe. If everything goes well, he’ll be more than happy to splurge on buying drinks for his classmates.
“I don’t know that I’ve ever seen students this excited about their final examination.” The voice of the testing instructor is amused, but Zhang Qishan still shuffles everyone into a line, where they stand at attention and wait for direction, though Tiezui and Koehn are still nudging each other and snickering.
“Sorry, officer,” Zhang Qishan says, sending Tiezui a glare that he swallows pleasantly, rearranging himself into something respectable.
“No, no.” The officer on duty is one that Zhang Qishan knows to be slightly laxer with student behavior, given that she doesn’t write them up for things like cuff length or running on the lawns. “It’s good to begin an expedition in high spirits. As long as you’re not letting that dull your instincts.” She checks her holopad. “Full crew! And right on time. Excellent. Follow me.”
Zhang Qishan’s test crew marches behind the testing instructor obediently, over to the small shuttlecraft that is waiting for them. It’s a strange sort of vessel, given that it has all the piloting capabilities of a standard Coalition ship, but doesn’t include living quarters, rations, or any of the equipment usually found in research shuttles. Instead, there’s six seats in the cockpit, including the pilot’s, and a small equipment bay with emergency first aid supplies.
“You all will already know this information, if you’ve read up on the exam at all, but I have to go over it anyway,” the instructor says. “Alright. Your final examination will begin once you have entered your spacecraft and are cleared for takeoff. Once you are outside the Academy’s flight zone, communication will be removed, with the exception of the emergency test stop. Your full mission debrief will be available on the datapads in the cockpit. Any other equipment you will need to complete the mission will be in the entry bay of the spacecraft.
“Please note that the final exam time is exactly three hours. Your crew will be expected to meet the mission objective that will be given en route within that timeslot. If your spacecraft is not back within the hanger at the end of the three-hour time period, your crew will fail the exam and will be required to complete remedial coursework before attempting the exam a second time. The examination may be taken up to three times. Individual scores will be provided after the testing committee has a chance to review the mission footage and determine the capabilities of each crewmember. Passing the exam does not necessarily mean that you will be recommended to continue on your officer track, and vice versa.” The instructor stops, looking over the five of them. “Any questions?”
The others remain silent. Even though the test hasn’t officially begun, Zhang Qishan knows that their performances are still being evaluated, even now, so he asks, “In the event of an emergency test stop, what protocol should we follow?”
The instructor nods. “Good question. If the emergency test stop is activated, communications will be returned to your ship’s system. Please alert the radio officer on duty as to what the situation is and whether or not medical attention is needed. A crew will be dispatched to your location for immediate retrieval.”
Zhang Qishan nods. It’s good information, even though they won’t need it. It wasn’t his goal anyway; now, he’s proven himself, and by proxy, his crew, as attentive and curious students, which could give their performance a certain advantage. His strategies are going well so far.
“Any other questions?” the instructor asks.
The others shake their heads, and Zhang Qishan has researched too thoroughly to have anything but questions he already knows the answer to, so he remains silent as well.
“Excellent,” the instructor says. “Then, if there is nothing else…” She places her heels together, raising her hand in a formal salute. “Cadets, please report to your vessel and prepare for takeoff.”
The others copy the gesture, and Zhang Qishan feels a little thrill go through him. This is what he’s been training for, what they’ve all been training for. Four years, and here they are. He’s ready for anything, and the excitement of actually getting to put things into practice, on their own, on a field mission, is enough to find himself smiling.
Tiezui must notice too, because he beams at Zhang Qishan from further down the line, and Zhang Qishan allows himself an inward chuckle before he leads them in bidding the instructor farewell and heading to the spacecraft.
Once inside, the atmosphere changes considerably, as though a blanket has been draped over the cockpit. Even Tiezui is uncharacteristically silent as they take their seats and strap themselves in for the flight.
“Systems?” Zhang Qishan asks, gripping the arms of the captain’s chair to keep his hands from visibly shaking.
Koehn expertly flips through several screens, types in a clearance code, and places his hands on the controls. “Ready, captain.”
“Proceed to takeoff,” Zhang Qishan says.
“Academy Flight Control, this is Exam Crew 135, requesting takeoff clearance,” Koehn says to the comms channel.
“Exam Crew 135, you have clearance,” the flight control officer states. “Hanger Door One, opening.”
“Here we go!” Koehn says brightly.
Zhang Qishan watches the doors open, revealing the secondary bay that keeps the main area of the hanger air-sealed. Koehn cautiously pushes the spacecraft into a hover and guides it into the smaller space.
“Craft inside secondary bay,” Koehn reports.
“Thank you,” the flight controller says, and the hanger doors close behind them. “Once the outer doors have opened, Exam Crew 135, you are cleared for takeoff.” They pause for a moment, then add a quick, “Good luck!”
“Thanks, Bi,” Koehn says; he must recognize the flight controller on the other end, which Zhang Qishan finds heartening, for some reason.
The outer doors open, Koehn presses on the accelerator, and the ship’s engines hum, shooting them all out into space.
The Academy Space Training Facility is in orbit, several thousand light kilometers from their testing planet. Cadets are all stationed there for their last year of study to get used to the work and lifestyle of an active space crew. Zhang Qishan remembers adjusting to the space storms, confusing schedules, and the timelessness. Now, it’s as though they’ve erupted into a glittering, velvety cosmos, free from the confines of the station. It unlocks a secret part of Zhang Qishan’s chest that he didn’t know was compromised.
“Alright,” Koehn says, stretching his hands out in front of him. “ETA fifteen minutes. At your permission, captain, I’ll take us up to light travel.”
“Granted,” Zhang Qishan says, feeling slightly foolish at the serious way he’s being addressed.
“Roger that!” Koehn chirps. His hands fly over the control panels, the four of them typing in commands so quickly that Zhang Qishan can hardly follow. “Everyone, please prepare for acceleration.”
He glances between them, making sure that no one seems to have any trepidation about it, and then pushes the accelerator forward. The shuttle’s engines hum, and the ship glides forward smoothly, picking up speed until the stars are rushing by as though they're in a light tunnel, and then disappear nearly completely, which means they’ve hit near-light.
Koehn sits back in satisfaction, folding his arms behind his head. “Easy.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Dorcas says drily. “The exam only just started.”
“Don’t worry,” Koehn says, “I know that we’re going to do great. We’ve got a fantastic group—I was pumped when the mission assignments came out, you know.”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean that we’ll pass,” Dorcas argues.
“We’ll pass,” Koehn says confidently. “I mean, the exam isn’t that hard. You’ve all gotten good grades on your practical coursework; it can’t be any worse than Professor Ghnughan’s tests, and Tiezui’s already his favorite student. That has to count for something.”
That’s certainly true; Professor Ghnughan, one of the foremost space botany professionals the Coalition has, is infamous for writing exceedingly impossible exams for all of his classes.
“I wouldn’t say I’m his favorite,” Tiezui mumbles, embarrassed.
“You did get an A in Cybergenetics and Macrobiology Coding,” Lanzig points out. He’s been stretching out his hands for the rest of the takeoff; Zhang Qishan had thought he wasn’t paying attention.
“That was you?” Dorcas exclaims. “Fuck you, Qi Tiezui, you completely destroyed the curve in that class!”
“What’s a first officer candidate doing, taking Cybergenetics?” Koehn asks skeptically.
Dorcas glares at him. “A good Coalition officer should have experience in a variety of fields.”
“But graduate-level macrobiology?”
“It’s interesting,” Dorcas says petulantly.
Tiezui laughs nervously. “It was kind of a fluke, honestly.” He notices Zhang Qishan open his mouth to rebut this and glares him back into silence. Zhang Qishan shuts up.
“Fluke or not,” Koehn says decisively, “It just shows that we’re all prepared and ready for anything! We’ll pass. We have to! I already have a job lined up and everything, for right after graduation!”
“How’d you manage that?” Dorcas asks.
“My brother works as a cargo pilot for a private company,” Koehn says proudly. “They’re in need of some extra Gamma-shift pilots and his supervisor said that they’ll take me on just as soon as I’m out of the Academy. Excellent earning potential. My brother really likes it, he says, and he already has a place at one of their outposts, so I can just move in with him!”
“That’s great!” Tiezui says appreciatively. “Lucky, you don’t have to do any sort of rank work.”
“That’s why I wanted to be a pilot,” Koehn explains. “You all have to take your turns as lieutenants and shit. I’ll be a Coalition-certified pilot as soon as this exam is done.” He exhales confidently, tinged with bravado. “So we have to pass!”
“I mean, when you put it like that,” Dorcas says sarcastically.
Koehn’s about to retort, but there’s a series of beeps on the control panel, and he turns back to the screens. “Oh, it’s the briefing.”
“Pull it up,” Zhang Qishan orders, anxious to see what their mission is going to be.
Koehn does, tapping a few controls until a pop-up opens on their windscreen, unfolding itself into a map and several diagrams.
“Congratulations on taking the final steps to complete your education and become Galactic Coalition officers,” says a smooth, female voice. “Your mission briefing is as follows: you will land on GCP9984 in the designated landing zone. From there, you will travel several kilometers to the mid-peak of the planet’s highest mountain. Your objective is to collect samples of tryphillium verbonate, a plant that is used in several cultures as a seasoning and medicinal herb. Once you have located the specimen, return it to base using standard collection practices. You have three hours to complete this task. If you would like to hear the mission briefing again, please reload this window.”
“A plant?” Lanzig asks dubiously, staring at the diagram of their specimen, which is a small, leafy stem with a tiny trio of white flowers at the end. “That’s it?”
“It looks like it’ll be kind of out of the way,” Dorcas says, examining the maps on her own holograph window, next to her chair. “The landing zone is marked as being in a field, and the mountain is much further.”
“Why can’t we just fly right to the mountain?” Tiezui points out.
“Yeah, I could do it!” Koehn agrees.
Zhang Qishan shakes his head. “I’m sure travelling on foot is part of the exam. Besides, we don’t have any idea how delicate the plant and animal life around the mountain is. If the instructions are to land in the field nearby, then it’s probably because landing any closer to the plant site would damage the construction of the foliage.”
“That’s true,” Tiezui muses.
“Either that or they just want to make our lives difficult,” Lanzig mutters.
“Probably both,” Dorcas agrees.
“How far until we reach the planet?” Zhang Qishan asks.
Koehn checks the charts. “Seven minutes, give or take.”
Zhang Qishan nods and unbuckles his safety tethers, standing from his seat. “We should make sure we’re ready to depart as soon as we land. Time is of the essence.”
Tiezui snorts. “You sound so serious.”
Zhang Qishan ignores him, mostly because he is serious. “Officer Al Kharif, you remain with the ship. Do a diagnostics check while we’re gone and ensure that everything is in order so that we don’t have any surprises when we try to leave.”
“Will do!” Koehn says, saluting with two of his hands, which looks a little ridiculous.
“Officers Jesperane, Phtym, Qi, and I will go to locate the specimen,” Zhang Qishan continues. “Officer Jesperane, you’re in charge of navigation and mapping. Phtym, be prepared to clear a path if there’s an over-abundance of flora at the landing site and throughout the journey. Officer Qi, make sure we have everything we need to properly collect the plant specimen.”
“Yes, captain!” the three of them respond, and immediately head to the ship bay to gather their equipment and prepare for landing.
“Let us know when deceleration begins,” Zhang Qishan says to Koehn, who is already monitoring his controls thoroughly. He receives three thumbs-up in confirmation, and goes to gather his own gear.
In the equipment bay, Lanzig has located a machete, which will be useful for bushwhacking, as well as protection if any of the fauna on GCP9984 happens to be aggressive. Dorcas is loading a backpack with a holographic atlas, a hydrocompass, and a myriad of first-aid supplies. Tiezui is packing up the specimen collection equipment in several packs, strapping them around his thighs and chest. Zhang Qishan finds several other tools he thinks could perhaps be useful and clips them to a shoulder sling with several smaller pouches attached to it.
“Preparing for deceleration!” Koehn shouts from the cockpit.
“Affirmative,” Zhang Qishan calls back, making sure that everyone has something to hang onto as the ship drops its speed. There’s a slight lurch as Koehn begins the deceleration process, but the rest of it is smooth.
“Approaching atmosphere,” Koehn says; Zhang Qishan can hear his fingers tapping on the control screens, and then the whir of the landing gear. “Atmosphere entry successful. Prepare for landing.”
“Take us down,” Zhang Qishan calls back to him, and is rewarded with the ship tilting its nose down, making its way to the planet’s surface.
They land with a slight bump, but it’s easier than any landing Zhang Qishan probably could have done, so he considers that a success. Koehn must as well, because he hisses something excited through his teeth and then says, “Ship landed. Running diagnostic checks now.”
“Great,” Zhang Qishan says, “Well done, pilot.” Koehn beams at him, and Zhang Qishan turns back to the rest of the crew. “Officer Qi, please confirm air quality safety.”
“On it,” Tiezui says, already examining the computer panel by the door that lays out the atmospheric composition and whether or not the air will be safe to breathe. They already know that it is, or at least that it should be, but it’s a precaution that Zhang Qishan doesn’t want them to overlook, just in case it would count against them.
“Everything looks good,” Tiezui reports.
“Excellent,” Zhang Qishan says, checking his watch. Two hours, forty minutes. “Crew, prepare to exit the spacecraft. Officer Al Kharif, we’ll be in contact.”
“I’ll be here!” Koehn says. “Have fun!”
“Fun?” Lanzig mutters.
“He’s delusional,” Dorcas decides, and hits the button to open the doors.
Zhang Qishan isn’t sure what he’s expecting as they set foot on the planet, but it’s not for it to be so delightfully warm. Instinctively, he makes sure his sleeves are pulled all the way down his wrists and that his gloves are on, but he’s been dressing to keep his blood hidden for so long that it’s nearly second nature at this point. Part of him wishes he had a hat to keep his face shielded as well, even though he knows he can keep himself under enough control to prevent the veins in his face from darkening, as long as he remains focused.
He steps out of the ship first, partially so that anything dangerous can attack him first, and partially because the sun beckons him forward. When nothing happens, he takes several steps forward, allowing the rest of his crew to follow him. The air is sweet and the atmosphere peaceful; the planet is uninhabited by any civilizations, so it’s just a natural landscape as far as Zhang Qishan can see, a pleasant hum filtering through his ears as he breathes in the clean oxygen.
They’re in a field of tall, yellow grass, which stretches up above Dorcas’ head and nearly reaches Zhang Qishan’s shoulders. He can see a forest in the distance, maybe a kilometer and a half away, and behind it, a lush forest of purple and green trees. They slope upward into a mountain, creating a gentle rise and fall of land over the planet’s surface. It’s hard to believe that they’re expected to complete an examination here rather than visiting for a picnic.
“Oh, wow,” Tiezui says from his side, and Zhang Qishan turns to see his eyes lit up as he studies the landscape, sun sparkling on his face. “It’s beautiful.”
“It is,” Zhang Qishan agrees. He allows them several more seconds to admire the planet before turning to Dorcas and Lanzig and nearly laughing.
Dorcas is buried in grass, her head tipped up irritably so that she doesn’t get poked in the face by the stems. Lanzig seems to be stomping around her, pressing the grass down with his boots to create a little clearing.
“We’ll have to cut some of it down,” Zhang Qishan says, thinking aloud, “In order to travel effectively.”
“That’s okay,” Tiezui says, “The planet has a rain cycle at night, and the grasses replenish easily. It won’t disturb the ecosystem if we cut it.”
“Thank you, Officer Qi,” Zhang Qishan says. “Officer Phtym, would you mind leading?”
“Sure,” Lanzig says. He unsheathes his machete and walks several meters forward before he starts sweeping it in long, elegant arcs, cutting the grass about three-quarters of the way down so that Dorcas can actually see. Zhang Qishan follows, using his boots to stomp down the foliage a little more, and Tiezui comes in third, while Dorcas brings up the rear. She looks far happier now that she can actually navigate the area.
“We need to travel north,” she says, pointing forwards. “Once we enter the forest, we can figure out how we want to climb the mountain. It’ll be a little more difficult, terrain-wise.”
“Good call,” Zhang Qishan says appreciatively. “Alright, let’s go. Officer Qi, keep checking the surrounding plant life. Just in case the plant can be found outside of the designated zone.”
“That would be lucky,” Tiezui says. He’s crouched on the ground, examining a cluster of small, red mushrooms. “I doubt it, but I’ll keep looking.” He gives Zhang Qishan a smile and a thumbs-up, which makes him feel slightly less awkward about ordering them around—it’s something he’ll have to get over regardless, even though that might end up being the most difficult part of the exam.
They fall into line, tromping across the planet’s surface, the forest growing ever-closer as they move. It’s not particularly difficult, though the heat might be a little uncomfortable for the rest of his crew; Zhang Qishan can see sweat pearling on the back of Lanzig’s neck. He marks the time in his head. They should have time for a water break; he’ll probably insist on it, given the distance they have to go and the temperature of the planet and the fact that Lanzig and Tiezui, who both have human genetics, are more easily dehydrated than he and Dorcas, and—
“Tiezui,” Dorcas says from behind him, and Zhang Qishan turns around, surprised at the sudden lack of formality in her address. “Are you alright?”
Sure enough, when Zhang Qishan looks at him, Tiezui has one hand on his chest, the other still holding the datapad, a faint line of confusion settled into his forehead. He coughs, once; short, breathy, unproductive.
“I’m… not sure?” he says.
Dorcas frowns. “What do you mean, ‘not sure?’” She marches back to Tiezui, motions for him to bend forward, and puts a hand on his forehead. “You don’t feel hot.”
“No,” Tiezui agrees. He straightens back up and immediately sways.
“Okay, sit down,” Dorcas says, dragging him over to a rock at the side of the trail that Lanzig has made.
Tiezui obeys, mild confusion flitting across his face. Dorcas takes out the first aid kit, which includes a diagnostic scanner. The little device whirs as she sweeps it over him, reading the screen and hissing.
“Your blood pressure’s really low,” she says, “And your pulse is much faster than it should be.”
Tiezui cranes his neck up, so Dorcas shows him the scanner.
“Weird,” he says, his voice rasping a bit.
“You don’t have any medical conditions, do you?” Lanzig asks. He brings the side of his boot to his leg, rubbing it up and down his shin.
“Not… that I know of,” Tiezui says, having to pause in the middle of the sentence to catch his breath, which is not a good sign. A pit opens in Zhang Qishan’s stomach.
“Can you keep going?” Dorcas asks, slightly hesitantly.
“Yeah,” Tiezui says, but he remains sitting on the log, taking short, shallow breaths.
“Okay,” Dorcas says uncertainly, and then they’re all looking at Zhang Qishan.
“What do we do?” Lanzig asks, scratching at the back of his neck.
Zhang Qishan bites the inside of his cheek, his mind racing. Tiezui is still conscious, but the drop in blood pressure, high pulse, and shallow breathing don’t bode well. Zhang Qishan feels the emergency stop activator in his pocket, sitting like a lead weight, and tries to ignore it. He checks his watch: two hours and thirty-four minutes.
“Where did you say the plant was likely to grow?” he asks.
Tiezui points weakly towards the grouping of trees they’ve been heading towards. “It likes shade.” He coughs, a strange rattle shaking out of his chest. “But there’s… it’s…”
“Okay,” Zhang Qishan says quickly, to keep him from talking. “It’s only a little ways to the forest. Maybe it’s the heat?”
“It’s not the heat,” Dorcas says flatly.
Lanzig scratches his right arm, then his left. “Should we go back to the ship?”
“No,” Tiezui gasps, “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” Lanzig argues, his fingernails digging into his side.
“Okay, what’s wrong with you?” Dorcas demands, marching over to Lanzig and yanking his shirt sleeve up. It’s a bit difficult, given the stiffness of the material, but she doesn’t have to push it up very far to see a trail of angry red hives, spotting up Lanzig’s forearm.
“Ew,” Lanzig says.
“Allergic reaction,” Dorcas says decisively. “That must be it. For both of you.”
“My blood pressure’s fine, though,” Lanzig says; Zhang Qishan can tell that he’s trying his best not to scratch at the welts.
“Maybe you’re not as allergic,” Dorcas suggests. She turns back to Tiezui. “If that’s the case, though, you are going into anaphylaxis.”
“Huh?” Tiezui says, though it’s more like a grunt.
“That’s the most likely diagnosis,” Dorcas says, digging through the first aid kit. She sighs in frustration. “Why the hell did they not include epinephrine in here?”
“There should be some on the ship,” Zhang Qishan says, recalling one of Er Yuehong’s monologues about the necessary contents of a properly-stocked Coalition medical kit. “It’s a requirement.”
“Great,” Dorcas says. “That should help for a bit, but we’ll need to get back to base quickly to make sure that the symptoms don’t reoccur.”
“How long would that be?” Zhang Qishan asks, trying desperately to remember his own field medicine training.
Dorcas thinks for a moment. “I think it depends on the species, but usually thirty minutes to an hour. If the first injection works and there isn’t a biphasic reaction, then up to two.”
Zhang Qishan checks his watch again. Two hours, thirty-two minutes. He clicks on his radio. “Koehn?”
Koehn picks up almost immediately. “Captain?”
“We’ve run into a problem,” Zhang Qishan says. “Dorcas, Lanzig, and Tiezui are coming back to the ship. I need you to find the epinephrine injections in the medical supplies and meet them. We cut a path, so just follow that, and you should be able to find them easily.”
“Yes, sir,” Koehn says, and Zhang Qishan can hear him moving over the channel. “Is everyone okay?”
“Not exactly,” Zhang Qishan says. “Tiezui’s having trouble. He should be fine, but he’ll need treatment as soon as possible.”
“Got it,” Koehn says seriously. “Tell him to hang in there. I’ll get to them as soon as possible.”
“Thanks,” Zhang Qishan says, and clicks off the communicator.
“What about you?” Dorcas asks.
“Two hours, right?” Zhang Qishan asks. “I can get the specimen and get back to the ship before then.”
Dorcas stares at him incredulously. “What? No, you can’t. The coordinates are an hour’s journey, at least. Then you’d have to find the plant, without the help of your science officer, and return to the ship within thirty minutes of the time limit so that we have enough time to get back to base. All of which won’t matter if Tiezui stops breathing halfway through!”
“We don’t have time to argue,” Zhang Qishan says, digging the test stop activator out of his pocket and handing it to Dorcas. “They’ll fail all of us if we don’t finish.”
“They can’t, can they?” Lanzig asks. “If there are emergency medical circumstances…”
Zhang Qishan shakes his head, thinking back to the years and years of test records he had read through in preparation for their own exam. “No exceptions. If we don’t meet the mission objective, we fail.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Dorcas says. “I’m sure if we talk to someone—”
“I can do it,” Zhang Qishan insists.
“Yeah,” Tiezui says heavily, and they all turn to him. He has his hands braced on the log, staring intently at the ground, his breath passing through his lips as though there’s a straw there. “You can. Do… do it.”
“What if you get worse?” Dorcas demands.
“Then you press the emergency test stop,” Zhang Qishan answers. He takes the machete from Lanzig, who is looking back and forth between all of them and hardly notices the weapon being removed from his grip. “If any of you need anything, hit the button and call for retrieval. But until then…” He slings the machete across his back. “Let me try.”
Dorcas’s jaw stiffens. She studies Zhang Qishan for a moment, then exhales thickly. “Fine. If you think you can do it, I trust you. Keep your communicator on, though.”
“Of course,” Zhang Qishan says. “Take care of those two.”
Dorcas nods shortly, then pulls Lanzig over to the rock so that they can peel Tiezui off of it and drape him over Lanzig’s shoulders. Lanzig squirms a little, clearly still reacting to whatever-the-hell is out there with them, but he hooks his arms underneath Tiezui’s thighs and settles him carefully on his back.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Wait,” Tiezui gasps, waving at Zhang Qishan, who comes closer so that he can hear better. Tiezui’s face is red and blotchy, his eyes swelling. Zhang Qishan unstraps several of the bags around his legs that contain the plant collecting tools, looping them around his own thighs.
“It’ll be… the one that… smells weird,” Tiezui manages. One of his hands drops to the straps as well, like he’s trying to help with their removal.
Zhang Qishan frowns and slings his arm back over Lanzig’s shoulders. “Weird?”
Tiezui nods, then shakes his head, then presses the peak of his forehead into Lanzig’s shoulder, his lungs rattling terribly.
“We need to go,” Dorcas says. She gives Zhang Qishan a solemn look. “Be careful.”
“You too,” Zhang Qishan says. Lanzig breaks into a jog, Tiezui bouncing along on his back, and Dorcas hurries after them, practically sprinting given that her stride is about a third of Lanzig’s. Zhang Qishan waits until they’ve disappeared back into the tall grass, and then turns towards the forest. He takes off his gloves.
Two hours, twenty-nine minutes.
“Alright,” he says softly, “Here we go.”
Zhang Qishan hadn’t been raised to be a Coalition officer; he had been raised to be a Kylin, since that’s what he was, but many of the skills are transferable. A little too transferable, perhaps, since he was hardly challenged by any of the physical courses they had to take at the Academy, and took to the rest like he was starving for something. Kylin education mostly focused on their own species, since they primarily kept to themselves. Zhang Qishan had created ripples when he had decided to pursue formal education through the Coalition, and then he had been on his own. Those who left their planet were not allowed to return, for fear of exposing their species to the rest of the universe. Zhang Qishan hadn’t particularly minded then, and he doesn’t particularly mind now, except for the fact that it’s been so long since he’s run.
He can now, so he does. He keeps the machete strapped to his shoulders—he has enough experience running in long grass that he doesn’t need to keep chopping the foliage like the others had. It hardly slows him down at all. He tries to keep a handle on his pace, since they will be tracking the distance and time of travel in order to ensure that the mission was actually undertaken, but it feels so good to use the full strength of his legs that he runs faster, and then faster still.
Soon, the long grass gives way to the soft, mossy floor of the forest. It’s several degrees cooler, what with the shade of the trees. Zhang Qishan’s feet feel as though they hardly touch the ground. His blood pumps, working the lactic acid out of his muscles so he can keep his pace. The forest slopes upwards, turning into a craggy collection of rocks; his crew would probably have had to find a way around, or painstakingly make their way up, but Zhang Qishan scales them easily, hand-to-foot, pulling himself with his fingers and pushing with his thighs. His palm catches on a jagged patch and slices open, flinging black across the rockface, but he’s so hot that the cut closes right away; he doesn’t even have to stop.
The Kylin did leave their planet, sometimes, if it was for the good of their species. Zhang Qishan had tried to make that case for his own off-planet travel, but they had known that he wanted to leave for selfish reasons. He had known that he wanted to leave for selfish reasons. He had wanted to meet other people, other creatures, to see what made them tick, how they formed communities, if he could create one himself. It was something like a death sentence; if Zhang Qishan ever needed to regenerate, he would have to do so on his own, and risk losing himself in the process. His father had warned him against it. Zhang Qishan had not been moved. It was a risk he was willing to take. He would have to be careful anyway, to ensure that no one found out what species he really was.
He reaches a plateau and pauses, trying to get his bearings. He can see the field through the trees; it stretches out in the distance, like a field of gold. He can’t see their ship, but knows that it’s there, somewhere. Above him, there’s more rock, leading up into the sun, a sheer cliff face. Tiezui had said that the sample would be somewhere within the shade, but closer to the top; it thrived where the air was thinner.
Two hours, fourteen minutes. He’s doing well on time, he thinks. He could pace himself slightly more, perhaps to avoid suspicion, but he doesn’t want to. He wants to run until he collapses, until he’s found the plant, brought it back to Tiezui, and dropped it at his feet like a dog waiting for praise. He wants to tear up the ground, hunt something down.
He settles for the radio. “Cadet Zhang, checking in. What’s your status?”
It takes a second for someone to respond; when they finally do, it’s Dorcas.
“We’re almost back to the ship,” she says breathlessly. “Koehn made it out here with the injection. Tiezui can breathe again, at least, but the other symptoms aren’t going away.”
Zhang Qishan nods. “Keep an eye on them.”
“Of course,” Dorcas says. “Where are you?”
Zhang Qishan considers whether or not to lie. “Halfway up the mountain.”
The communicator crackles as Dorcas makes some sort of exclamation; Zhang Qishan winces and pulls it away from his ear. “What do you mean you’re halfway up the mountain? That was supposed to take us at least forty minutes.”
“I’m a good runner,” Zhang Qishan says, which is perhaps an understatement.
“It’s a wonder you didn’t go for a scout track,” Dorcas mutters. “What the fuck are you doing in captaincy?”
“Language,” Zhang Qishan says mildly; they’re still taking the exam, after all.
“Oh, shut up, you—hold on.” Dorcas goes away for a moment, then says, “Tiezui wants to talk to you.”
“Okay,” Zhang Qishan says, and waits patiently.
There’s some shuffling over the radio channel, and then Tiezui’s voice, hoarse and grated, says, “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Zhang Qishan says, though he currently feels more alive than he has in years. “Are you?”
“Mm-hm,” Tiezui says. “The plant. There might be two.”
“They’ll smell different,” Zhang Qishan says, remembering what Tiezui had told him before they parted.
“Yeah,” Tiezui says, “Good. You remember.”
“I’ll radio in if I need any help,” Zhang Qishan says. “You should go back inside the ship when you get there. Whatever you’re allergic to is probably outside.”
Tiezui says something that the radio garbles, and then says, “Be careful.”
“I’ll see you soon,” Zhang Qishan says. “Tell the others.”
“Okay,” Tiezui says reluctantly, and the communicator goes silent.
Zhang Qishan puts it away and stares up at the mountain. He could probably take this with a little more caution, but his blood is still pumping furiously, urging him to keep going. He checks the time. Two hours, ten minutes. There are clouds gathering near the horizon; he’s not sure what that means. If the others were here, he would have to consider their wellbeing, make sure things were timed well, breaks were taken. If it’s just him…
He checks the map. Two kilometers to the plant’s vegetation site, technically. Two and a half if he takes the path over the smoother, rounder stones, where animals have clearly worn a path into the mountain.
One and a half if he goes straight up.
At this point, it’s hardly a decision. He’s slightly out of practice with rock climbing, but it’s not an unfamiliar skill. There’s a near-thousand-kilometer mountain on his home planet, one that their village is built into the base of, and part of their daily training was to climb straight up the rockface and back down again. His ancestors copied the tiny furry creatures that lived at the mountain’s peaks and, over generations, the skill evolved, until Zhang Qishan was taught how to climb using only two fingers, speed making up for the rest of it. It allows them to maintain grip on smaller surfaces and also to react quickly in the event of an attack while climbing. Zhang Qishan remembers racing his cousins up their cliff, prying clumps of dirt and grass from cracks in the stone to throw at each other, laughing. It had seemed ridiculous to them then, just a game, something they were expected to do that they made the most of before they had to start training seriously again.
Now, Zhang Qishan is by himself. He thinks about rolling up his sleeves and then just takes his jacket off altogether, looping it around his waist so that he doesn’t lose it. It’ll be one more thing to carry, but it won’t limit his range of motion quite so much.
Besides, the warmth of the sun on his arms is exhilarating. They darken pleasantly, as though he’s sitting near a fire, black shimmering underneath his skin. He makes sure that everything he needs is still securely attached, and then he jumps onto the cliff face.
He’s glad that he had taken his gloves off earlier, because the way the rock divots is not exactly conducive to climbing; all of the holds are small, barely large enough for him to fit two fingers in, so most of his weight rests in his legs. He half-wishes that he could get rid of his boots and climb barefoot, but that’s a little too extreme. Besides, he wouldn’t be able to carry them otherwise.
Heat blazes on the length of his spine, warm and reassuring, slightly less intense than it had been just a few minutes ago. Zhang Qishan wonders if that has anything to do with the storm clouds he noticed earlier. It would be unlucky to get caught in a storm, but the planet’s nightly rain cycle shouldn’t start for another few hours; hopefully it will hold out until then.
He grits his teeth and continues climbing. It’s more exhausting than he remembers—he’ll have to make sure to practice that skill more so that he doesn’t lose it. He doesn’t expect that he’ll need to climb cliffs very often, but better to be prepared.
Finally, he heaves himself over a final crest and rolls onto his back. It’s a little outcropping of rock, jutting from the side of the mountain; not a cave, exactly, but definitely shaded and cooler than the rest of it. He allows himself a few minutes to catch his breath—one hour, forty-six minutes—and then gets to his feet, examining the surrounding area. Sure enough, there are several clusters of plants growing, even in the shade. Zhang Qishan wonders what properties they have to make this the ideal environment for them. He has a feeling Tiezui would know.
And—there. Tucked in a tiny slip in the rock, in the shade, sits a collection of small, leafy stems, topped with the little white flowers. Innocuous, innocent. They hardly seemed worth the trouble of an entire examination, of Tiezui going into anaphylactic shock. Zhang Qishan plucks them from their resting place, turning them over in his fingers. He remembers what Tiezui had said about the scent and sniffs, but the plants don’t smell particularly strange.
He takes the collection case out of the pouch that sits against his chest and is about to slip the flower inside when a speck of white against the deep gray of the mountain rock catches his attention. It’s another plant, nearly identical to the first, but when Zhang Qishan examines it, he catches a whiff of something metallic, strange, like blood. He doesn’t know if it could be considered weird, but based on the information that Tiezui had given him, the second plant must be the correct specimen.
Having decided, he takes the second plant specimen and sticks it in the collection case, snapping it shut and ensuring that it’s safely tucked away in his pouch. He picks up the radio again.
“I found it,” he says, checking the time. One hour, forty-two minutes. “I’ll head back now.”
“Be quick,” Koehn says over the radio; Zhang Qishan wonders what the others are up to, if Tiezui is still alright. “It looks like the rain cycle might start sooner than expected.”
Zhang Qishan looks at the sky, which is darkening rapidly. As he does, a drop of water falls just under his eye.
“Got it,” he says. “Make sure the ship’s ready to fly.”
Koehn says something affirmative and Zhang Qishan disconnects. He makes sure all of his equipment is still securely attached and heads back to the edge of the cliff for the descent.
It’s not nearly as easy as climbing up. For one thing, he keeps having to look down to make sure he’s not going to miss a handhold and fall. For another, the sky rumbles and fat droplets of water splash onto his hair and clothing, soaking through the fabric. It’s not a lot, at first, but when he’s about halfway down the cliff, it starts pouring, thunderclouds sweeping in from the west and gathering directly above. Zhang Qishan feels tiny and unstable, his fingers trembling as he tries to descend as quickly as possible, like a spider caught in a storm drain.
He shakes his hands out, one at a time, wincing at the stiffness. Now that the sun has disappeared, his regenerative abilities aren’t working quite so well, though they are still working. It’s the only way that he’s able to keep going, hand to foot and hand to hand, finding the cracks and crevices and holding to them, as tightly as he can given the deluge above him and the drop below.
He should have taken the easy way down, he thinks, and that’s when he falls.
The rain has made Zhang Qishan’s hand slick. His fingers slip, and he plummets. The cliff face turns into grit and stinging barbs, catching on his clothes. He turns midair, so that he can at least see the ground, his back thudding back against the rock as he grabs at it, the skin on his palms scraping away. His undershirt rips in the back and the rock bites into his back, tearing grooves up to his shoulders. It hurts like hell, but the friction does help to slow his descent, and he manages to get his feet under him, grinding his heels into the rock to slow himself down, pebbles and debris building up underneath his boots.
His momentum slows, too much, and he can’t keep his balance, pressed into the rock like a five-point star. He tips forward, swearing as he falls the last ten meters and lands on his feet. His tibia snaps and he crumples onto the ground at the base of the mountain, feeling mud seep into his clothes.
Zhang Qishan lays there, breathing harshly, unable to speak or move. He feels numb from the knees down, but knows that his body must be healing his leg. The cuts on his back and hands are already mostly closed, but he’s lost blood, which means that the healing will begin taking more and more time. He’ll have to take more care on the way back.
He drags himself to his stomach, and then his hands and knees, and then slowly pushes himself up, balancing on one leg to give the other some extra time. He unzips the pouch at his chest and peers inside. The little flower is still intact despite the harsh landing, safe inside the plastic specimen case.
Zhang Qishan sighs in relief and rezips the pouch. He touches his toe to the ground, tests his ability to put weight on his leg. It aches, but holds. It will take a little more time to get back to the ship, but he should be fine as long as he treads carefully. Easier said than done with the ground turning into a slick mud, so he starts tentatively, limping into a jog back down the first part of the mountain, back into the forest.
His leg continues to heal as he goes, but the rain is cold, which isn’t helping, and his teeth start chattering within minutes, making him unsteady on his feet. He considers putting his coat back on, but it’s soaked and covered in mud, so he doubts that will be helpful. All he can do is get back to the ship as quickly as possible, but the sky has filled with clouds and it’s getting darker and darker. Kylin can see in the dark better than most species, but Zhang Qishan can’t quite tell the trees apart anymore, or make out where he’s supposed to be going, where he’s been. He keeps heading south, peering at the holocompass on his watch through his dripping bangs.
Lightning splits the sky, illuminating Zhang Qishan’s path, just long enough for him to avoid running into something large and dark and moving, which he hadn’t noticed through the rain and the cold. He jumps back, preparing to fight back, but the shape turns and a light shines into his eyes and it’s Lanzig, with a rain cover on and a flashing beacon in hand.
“What are you doing here?” Zhang Qishan shouts over the rush of the wind.
“Coming to help you!” Lanzig shouts back. He’s soaked and squinting in the rain as well, but Zhang Qishan feels relieved upon seeing him.
“I got it,” he calls.
Lanzig nods, but he doesn’t look excited or relieved or anything like that, just stressed. “Let’s go!”
He turns and breaks into a maintainable run, like the ones they do in training. Fast enough for good time, not so fast that it would exhaust them too badly. Zhang Qishan’s pride stings a bit, for some strange reason, but his body is grateful, so he keeps the pace.
Lanzig seems to have paid more attention to his surroundings, because he leads them both out of the forest without trouble, and then back through the grass to the tiny path they had cut earlier, and finally, over the tops of the reeds, Zhang Qishan can see the lights of the ship, glowing beacons through the cold and the wet. They splash across the last kilometer or so, the rain pooling and turning the cut grass into sloppy puddles. Lanzig stops at the door of the ship and presses the button to open it, and they practically spill inside, vegetation and water going across the floor.
Dorcas looks up from where she has Tiezui laid out on the floor, almost into the cockpit. She has an oxygen mask placed over his nose and mouth, holding the plastic globe that contains the reactor in both hands. Tiezui isn’t moving.
“They’re back!” Dorcas shouts into the cockpit. “Takeoff!”
“Got it!” Koehn’s voice says, and the door shuts behind them, the engines firing up as soon as they can. Zhang Qishan nearly knocks into Lanzig, off-balance from the sudden movement as the ship lifts from the ground and begins its path into the atmosphere.
Zhang Qishan takes several steps forward, his knees sliding him down next to Tiezui’s prone form. “How is he?”
“Not good,” Dorcas says. Her lip is bloody from where she’s bitten it, several times. She looks at the oxygen fogging in the mask, proof that it’s working. “I’ve tried everything I remember. He needs intravenous adrenaline, but they don’t put that in the emergency medical kits—cadets aren’t trained enough to use it.”
Zhang Qishan nods shakily, his own lungs shuddering. “We’ll—you didn’t press the emergency stop?”
Dorcas looks at him, then back at Tiezui, then back to Zhang Qishan. “Did you get it.”
Zhang Qishan blinks several times, water dripping from his eyelashes. “Yes. Yes, I… yes.”
Dorcas nods once, short and sharp, and doesn’t say anything else, going back to watching Tiezui’s pale face as though he’ll wake up if she doesn’t look away. Zhang Qishan sort of understands the feeling, but he can’t look there, at the swelling in Tiezui’s cheeks and throat, at the ghastly palor of his face. He shivers, once with cold, and then again as the entire ship shakes.
Koehn grunts in the cockpit. “Turbulence. The winds are… more powerful in the sky.”
The ship lurches again. Lanzig has to grab onto the wall and Dorcas sprawls over, nearly hitting Tiezui in the head as she does. Zhang Qishan fumbles his way into the cockpit, still on his knees, gripping the back of the pilot’s chair.
The sky is dark and dangerous, swirling clouds making it impossible to see out of the windscreen. Koehn’s eyes are fixed on the altitude readings, his hands in a vice grip on the yoke, keeping the ship as steady as possible.
“30,000… 40,000… come on, come on,” he mutters. “There!” The gauge hits 75,000 and his lower right arm grabs onto the acceleration handle, the upper left typing in a command.
The ship shoots forward, the final takeoff acceleration achieved, and they pass through the rest of the clouds, lightning flashing directly across the windscreen, splintering Zhang Qishan’s vision. When he’s able to look again, the night sky blazes in front of him.
“Going to near-light!” Koehn exclaims, typing in several more commands, and Zhang Qishan’s head snaps to him.
“We’re too close to the atmosphere,” he says, “We don’t have enough distance between us and the planet. There could be ozone damage, or damage to the ship’s engine.”
“Not if I time this right,” Koehn says, his eyes still fixed on the readings rather than the path forward. “Hold on!”
Zhang Qishan looks fearfully back. Dorcas and Lanzig are on either side of Tiezui, bracing themselves on the ground to keep him in place. Zhang Qishan tightens his grip on the pilot’s chair and holds his breath.
“Now!” Koehn says, pressing up on the accelerator one last time, and the shuttle flies into light travel. Zhang Qishan grits his teeth as his muscles strain, keeping him from flying backwards, but after several seconds the ship adjusts, settling into the speed.
“Shit,” Koehn murmurs. “That was…”
“Tiezui,” Zhang Qishan says and turns back to the group on the floor. Lanzig is sitting back slightly, gazing at Tiezui with worry. Dorcas is checking the few monitors they have again, glancing back and forth between them and the person they’re connected to.
Zhang Qishan swallows thickly. “How long until we have communication access?”
“We should be within the flight zone in thirteen minutes,” Koehn says. He’s still pressing the accelerator, incrementally, ever so slightly. “Ten if we’re quick.”
Zhang Qishan looks at him sharply. “Should you be doing that?”
“It’ll be fine,” Koehn mumbles, his focus fixed on the windscreen in front of him. “This model of engine can handle up to light travel and a half. If I keep the acceleration steady and don’t let it get within 10% of the limit, it won’t burn out.”
“What about ship damage?” Zhang Qishan asks.
“Ship or crew,” Koehn says. “I know which one I’m picking.”
Zhang Qishan does too. “Alright,” he says, “Steady on.” He lets go of the pilot’s chair, but stays at the helm, switching between the readings on the monitor and how the blood has been leeched from Koehn’s knuckles. Dorcas and Lanzig murmur in the background, and Tiezui doesn’t breathe. Zhang Qishan wishes he were still running. Time counts down in his head.
Forty-one minutes.
Finally, Koehn says, “One thousand light meters to communications airspace.”
“Decelerate,” Zhang Qishan says. “Radio as soon as we have connection.”
Koehn nods, dropping back on the engines. He sets in the coordinates and waits for several more seconds before he activates the shuttle communication system. “Academy Flight Control, this is Exam Crew 135, requesting landing clearance.”
The communicator sparks to life. “Exam Crew 135, please hold for—”
“We need clearance now!” Koehn shouts. “Emergency. We’re coming in immediately.” He enters several more commands, lighting the screen up gold with a docking path.
“Wait—” Whoever is on the other end of the line must be a saint, because Zhang Qishan hears them typing for several seconds before there’s a chime and their flight path turns green, locked in. “Exam Crew 135, you have clearance to land.”
“Thank you,” Koehn says, and does just that.
Zhang Qishan watches as the doors to the station loom larger in his vision, opening like a cave, waiting to swallow the ship whole. They glide inside, the docking procedures activating and gravity-locking the shuttle in place. The air seal comes on; Zhang Qishan can hear the vocal guidances playing, but his brain doesn’t quite turn the sound into words, just jumbles it up between his ears.
The secondary doors open, and the track leads them into the bay, settling the ship into place with a clunk. Zhang Qishan rocks numbly on his feet.
The voice says, “Ship docked.”
“There,” Koehn says, his voice hardly audible over the sound of Zhang Qishan’s heartbeat in his ears. “We made it.”
Thirty-three minutes.
Zhang Qishan stares blankly at the empty windscreen for several seconds so he doesn’t have to look at Tiezui’s pale face, at the way his chest doesn’t move. Lanzig is at the doors, hammering the button and then trying to pry them open with his fingers when the automatic system doesn’t move fast enough. Dorcas is still squeezing the ball of the breathing apparatus and muttering something under her breath. Zhang Qishan manages to get to the doorway and then abruptly sits down, his legs hitting the floor with a clang.
The doors finally slide open and Lanzig nearly falls out, catching himself on the door frame.
“Help!” he shouts. “We need medical! Now!”
The testing instructor appears in the doorway, her eyes wide and shocked as she takes in the state of them, everyone on the floor, except for Koehn, gear flung everywhere. And then, surprisingly, Er Yuehong is behind her, pushing his way through and dropping down next to Tiezui.
“Jesperane, what happened?” he asks sternly.
“Anaphylaxis,” Dorcas says. “He reacted to something on-planet. We’ve injected him with epinephrine twice. He needs help.”
Er Yuehong nods, his medical training rising immediately. He turns to the instructor and barks, “I need oxygen, antihistamic adrenaline, and a cardio assist. And call an emergency team. Now!”
The instructor nods and dashes away. Lanzig follows her at a stumbling run.
“Tiezui, can you hear me?” Er Yuehong asks, pushing Tiezui’s collar down and placing two fingers under his chin. “Heart’s still beating. Jesperane, don’t stop with the breathing apparatus.”
“Yes,” Dorcas says, her voice suddenly very small.
“Qishan.” When Zhang Qishan doesn’t respond, Er Yuehong repeats himself. “Qishan!”
Zhang Qishan blinks, dragging his focus back. “What?”
“Do you know what caused this?”
“No,” Zhang Qishan says. “We arrived on-planet and he reacted fairly quickly after that. I don’t think he really touched anything. Dorcas was the one who figured out it was anaphylaxis. Lanzig was also reacting to it, but not as badly.”
“Uh huh,” Er Yuehong says, and Zhang Qishan gets the sneaking suspicion that he isn’t actually listening, and just asked Zhang Qishan to distract him. “I need adrenaline… shit, fuck, fine, whatever. Koehn!” he shouts to the pilot, who is standing just above Dorcas, and jumps upon being addressed. “Find me an antihistamine injection.”
Koehn nods and rushes over to the first aid kit, tossing supplies out of it as he digs through frantically.
Er Yuehong looks back towards the door. “Where the fuck is the medical team?” He sucks air in through his teeth, clicking his tongue in a manner that suggests he doesn’t know he’s doing it.
“Found it!” Koehn says, handing over an injector.
Er Yuehong takes it and rips the cap off. “Shirt up,” he orders, and it takes Zhang Qishan what feels like an abnormally long time to realize that he’s being directed; he hurries to ruck up Tiezui’s shirt. Er Yuehong plunges the needle into Tiezui’s abdomen, pressing the release to inject the medicine. He holds it there for several seconds, then removes it, massaging the area with two fingers. “Come on, come on.”
“What’s that for?” Zhang Qishan asks weakly.
“Desperation,” Er Yuehong mutters, which doesn’t help much.
Lanzig appears in the doorway again with a cardio assist, which he must have gotten from the hanger’s medical supplies. He slides down next to Er Yuehong, handing the device over. “Here.”
Er Yuehong takes it, sliding Tiezui’s shirt up again and placing the little electrode pads on either side of his chest. He reaches down and switches the machine on. Tiezui twitches a little as the device starts sending pulses into his heart, keeping it beating. Er Yuehong reads the numbers on the screen, which fluctuate between 150 and 170.
“Not great,” he says, mostly to himself. “Where’s—”
“Medical!” a new voice shouts, and they all look up to see a team of officers rush in, wielding a stretcher and several cases of supplies between them. Zhang Qishan barely has time to blink before he and Dorcas are being shoved back and Er Yuehong is relaying the information that he knows in concise, technical terms, and the medics are loading Tiezui onto the stretcher and injecting him with more medicines and whisking him through the shuttle doors.
The bay goes silent. Dorcas and Koehn are practically pressed into each other, though they don’t seem to notice the close proximity. Lanzig has his back up against the equipment cabinets, breathing heavily. Zhang Qishan’s arms dangle at his sides, and he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the floor where Tiezui had been laying, still and quiet and—
“Hey,” Er Yuehong says at his side, and Zhang Qishan blinks, surprised to find Er Yuehong in front of him. He looks worried, wild-eyed. “What the fuck happened?”
Zhang Qishan isn’t sure where to begin. He stares at Er Yuehong dumbly.
Er Yuehong shakes his head once, then again. He’s examining Zhang Qishan now, as though there’s something he needs to fix. “Look, don’t worry. Tiezui will be fine; he got help in time, he should be okay. We’ll talk to someone—the instructor, the Commander, even the Admiral if we have to. They’ll understand, they won’t count it against you, we’ll—”
“We didn’t fail,” Zhang Qishan tells him.
Er Yuehong stops, his hands freezing in a hover over Zhang Qishan’s shoulders. He glances up underneath the ridge of his forehead. “What?”
“We fulfilled the objective,” Zhang Qishan says. He unzips the pouch on his chest and pulls out the plastic specimen case, the delicate little flower inside. “See?”
Er Yuehong stares at the case, open-mouthed. His expression could be funny, if Zhang Qishan could find anything to laugh at.
“You really did it,” Koehn murmurs, and Zhang Qishan looks over to see the other three, huddled together and staring at him with something like awe. Zhang Qishan hates it somehow.
“I—”
“Cadet Zhang!” a voice barks, and they all turn to see an unfamiliar security officer at the entry to the shuttle.
The security officer looks at them and sighs. “You three, to medical. Er Yisheng, please return to your regular stations.” He looks to Zhang Qishan. “Cadet Zhang, you come with me.”
“Yes, sir,” Zhang Qishan mutters. He grips the specimen case in his hand and drops his eyes, following the officer past his classmates and out of the shuttle. Their footsteps are loud on the metal floor, cold, as he leaves them behind.
The conference room they place him in is large and intimidating. There’s a thirty-person table taking up most of it, real wood and leather on the chairs. Zhang Qishan sits at the corner furthest from the door.
The security officer had taken the specimen case, probably to bring it to the committee, and exchanged it for a towel that had only done so much to dry Zhang Qishan off. He’s still soaking the leather seat and wants a hot shower more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life.
Thirty-three minutes. He keeps running the number over and over in his head. Was that enough? Was that too good? He doesn’t know. There’s just numbers and plants and sounds whistling through his head. He can’t make any sense of them.
He hears a knock, a sharp rap, and gets stiffly to his feet as the door opens and he finds himself face-to-face with Admiral Ahn. She’s tall, taller than him, with shiny maroon skin and a head like an insect, with a thick carapacian skull and three pairs of glossy black eyes, segmented antennae on top of her skull. Her admiral’s uniform is well-tailored, intimidating. Zhang Qishan feels very out of place, given that he’s covered in mud and plant matter. He had put his jacket back on to cover the dried red streaks on his arms and the tears in his shirt.
“Well done,” Admiral Ahn says. “Your performance was very impressive, Cadet Zhang.”
“Thank you, Admiral,” Zhang Qishan says quietly.
“Sit, sit.” Admiral Ahn waves Zhang Qishan back to his chair as she takes the one at the head, at the corner that Zhang Qishan had chosen. She folds her hands together neatly and places them on the table, studying Zhang Qishan seriously, her three pairs of eyes pinning him in place.
Zhang Qishan has the urge to move, but he doesn’t follow it. He simply stares at the tabletop and lets Admiral Ahn conduct her examination, keeping his breaths measured and steady. Does she suspect does she know does she think does she know?
Finally, after ages, Admiral Ahn sits back. “Did you want to ask?”
“Ask…?” Zhang Qishan says weakly, not looking up.
“About your results,” Admiral Ahn says.
“Yes,” Zhang Qishan says, “Of course. I deeply apologize for my actions. I did not participate in the exam as intended, I failed to engage with the spirit of the exercise, and I endangered one of my fellow cadets. I take full responsibility for—”
“You passed,” Admiral Ahn says.
Zhang Qishan’s head snaps up. He stares at Admiral Ahn, half-choked. “Admiral?”
“You passed,” Admiral Ahn repeats. She almost looks as though she’s smiling, which is a little intimidating, somehow. “The committee unanimously agreed that your performance was commendable and that we would be remiss to have you complete additional training and retest. You clearly know your way through a mission, and would be a valuable asset to any crew. We would like you to start on a patrol ship as a bridge officer as soon as the semester is complete.”
Zhang Qishan feels as though someone has punched him in the stomach. He forces himself to blink, just to prove that he still has control over his body. “I’m… sorry, I don’t think I understand. The mission was… a disaster.”
“Not necessarily,” Admiral Ahn says. “You fulfilled the mission brief, collected the correct sample, and managed to return your crew to the station before the time limit. Given the stress that you were under in these particular circumstances, the fact that you remained calm under pressure and fulfilled your duty is all we can hope for from any captain.” Something like pride settles in her expression, though Zhang Qishan can hardly fathom why. “You should be proud of yourself and your capabilities.”
“Ah,” Zhang Qishan says faintly. His head feels like it’s about to float away; if it did, he could hardly be more surprised. “Well… thank you, Admiral. Truly. I’m sure the others will be glad to hear that our effort succeeded.”
The smile freezes on Admiral Ahn’s face. “Oh. No, I’m sorry. You’ve misunderstood me.” She sits back, settling her wrists over the metal arms of the chair. “You have passed. Your crew has not.”
This time Zhang Qishan’s jaw drops.
“I’m sorry?” he says.
“Your crew did not complete the mission with you,” Admiral Ahn explains, as though that clarifies anything. “Though there were… extenuating circumstances, the fact of the matter is that they all turned back within half an hour. We can hardly let an example like that pass.”
“I told them to go back,” Zhang Qishan says.
“On the counsel of your first officer,” Admiral Ahn counters. “And even if your science officer was out of commission, your security officer should have continued on with you, and your first officer should have performed field medicine, or returned your injured crewmember to the ship and then continued with the mission.”
“Cadet Phtym was also having a reaction,” Zhang Qishan says. “Besides, Cadet Jesperane wouldn’t have been able to get them both back to the ship on her own. I was able to retrieve the plant sample; the mission objective was fulfilled.”
“Which is another point,” Admiral Ahn says. “The plant identification was the main goal for your science officer. That was his portion of the test, and you completed it.”
“He told me which one to look for,” Zhang Qishan argues. It feels like sand slipping through his fingers. “That’s the only way I knew.”
“Regardless,” Admiral Ahn says, “None of your crewmembers met their objectives.” She tilts her head, as though Zhang Qishan’s reaction, floundering and fish-like, is amusing. “Don’t worry. I’m sure that they’ll pass next time. They’re all strong students; they’ll be fine.”
Zhang Qishan’s blood chills. He thinks about the determination in Dorcas’ expression, how she wants to make her species proud. He thinks about Koehn and his brother, the job that he already has lined up. He thinks about Lanzig and his quiet demeanor, how he watched out for each of them in his own way during the exam. He thinks about Tiezui, who loves plants and animals and science and space, how he lights up when he solves something, how he cares about their classmates, how he’ll be such a good science officer someday.
Zhang Qishan wants, more than anything, to be their captain.
“That’s not fair,” he says, his voice low.
“I’m sorry?” Admiral Ahn says.
“That’s not fair,” Zhang Qishan repeats, pulling his shoulders back and sitting as straight as he can, staring at Admiral Ahn directly. “The circumstances were out of their control. They acted as admirably as I did.”
“Cadet Zhang—”
“Tiezui nearly died,” Zhang Qishan says. “They injected him with emergency epinephrine twice, and that still wasn’t enough. If they hadn’t gone back to the ship when they did, there’s no way he would have made it off-planet.”
“I understand that you’re concerned about your classmates,” Admiral Ahn says. The tone of her voice is probably meant to be soothing, but all it’s doing is pissing Zhang Qishan off, “But you don’t need to stick your neck out for them. The committee made their decision based on practicality and principle as well, not just performance.”
“What sort of principle?” Zhang Qishan demands. “One of your students could be dead. You should be grateful that—”
“They didn’t activate the emergency test stop,” Admiral Ahn says, any sort of flattery gone from her tone. “If they had, then Cadet Qi would have received medical treatment sooner, if that’s your concern.”
“Then we all would have failed,” Zhang Qishan argues. “They were giving me a chance. They were trusting me. Don’t tell me they shouldn’t have done that.” Don’t tell me I shouldn’t have told them to do that.
“Your performance is the only one able to be evaluated,” Admiral Ahn says. “The committee can’t just pass an entire crew that did not complete the objectives. It would set a precedent that we can’t afford.”
“There has never been a captain that has passed the practical exam while his crew failed,” Zhang Qishan says. “I will not be the first. If I pass, then they pass.”
Admiral Ahn stares at him coldly. “You act as though you have some sort of bargaining power here.”
“Don’t I?” Zhang Qishan says. He realizes that, at some point, he had risen to his feet, and is now looking down at Admiral Ahn. The change in perspective nearly makes him dizzy. “A senior cadet was almost killed during the comprehensive practical exam. If that were investigated, who knows what else they would find?”
Admiral Ahn looks at him like he’s insane. “That’s the route you want to take?”
“No,” Zhang Qishan says, “But I will. If I have to.”
“This exam has been conducted on that planet for almost a century,” Admiral Ahn says drily. “If there haven’t been any problems before, why do you think that would work now?”
“It might not work,” Zhang Qishan says, “But it would draw attention to the Academy regardless.”
“It would draw attention to you,” Admiral Ahn corrects. “We have our legal board, and you hardly have a case.”
“Medical discrimination,” Zhang Qishan offers.
Admiral Ahn nearly laughs. “You think it will be that easy?”
Zhang Qishan shrugs. Suddenly, he’s exhausted.
Admiral Ahn stares at him for several seconds and then sighs deeply. “I can discuss things with the review committee.”
“Please,” Zhang Qishan says, trying for formality. He’s not sure if he succeeds.
“It could affect your future ship placements.”
“That’s fine,” Zhang Qishan says. “Like I said, I accept full responsibility for the actions of both myself and my crew.”
Admiral Ahn does not look pleased, but she also doesn’t seem in the mood to engage with him any further. “Dismissed,” she says, waving Zhang Qishan towards the door.
Zhang Qishan salutes, and leaves the conference room as quickly as he can. He makes it down the hall and around the corner with enough wherewithal to ensure that no one is around before he slides down the wall and buries his face in his knees.
Once he has a handle on his more complicated emotions, which takes far longer than it probably should, he rouses himself, painstakingly getting up from the floor. He breathes, tries to calm his racing heart, and goes to check on his crew.
The next day, Tiezui is out of the medical bay. Er Yuehong checks his records thoroughly, at Tiezui’s permission, and reassures Zhang Qishan that he should be alright, with no lasting side effects. The doctors determined that the reaction had been caused by spores from a mushroom that disperses for twenty-four hours annually; it had just been bad luck that had led to them being on the planet at the same time. The early onset of the nightly rain-cycle and the storm had also been bad luck, an unforeseen meteorological event.
Two days later, they receive their evaluations. All of them pass. Zhang Qishan receives the highest personal score out of their entire year. He stares at the number dully for several seconds before he turns off his datapad and curls up on his bunk to gaze at something beyond the wall.
They graduate two weeks after that. Koehn meets his brother at the dockyards. Nearly twenty of Dorcas’ family members come to the graduation ceremony. Zhang Qishan meets Lanzig’s father. He gets drinks with Er Yuehong and Tiezui after the ceremony and drinks way too much without having any fun with it. He received a ship assignment the night before, several galaxies away, for a three-year mission. He doesn’t tell Er Yuehong or Qi Tiezui then; instead, he tells them several days later, separately, doing his best to seem excited about the opportunity. Tiezui cries; Er Yuehong makes him promise to call in at least once a week.
Three weeks later, Zhang Qishan is standing in an unfamiliar dockyard, his duffel bag over his shoulder, new crewman’s uniform on. The ship is much larger than the testing vessel, dull gray and intimidating. Zhang Qishan’s wearing a first officer’s pin. He feels like he’s back on the cliff face, clinging to the handholds with only his fingers, dangling, in danger of falling, failing.
None of the others are there with him. It will take a good deal of work for Zhang Qishan to get them all back.
So he begins.