Fletcher stood near Campos and Hajji, his only two true friends in the entirety of his officer training class. Plenty of others tried to be his “friend” in hopes of stealing some of his success for themselves, but these two were the only ones he actually trusted. And they trusted him. The three of them worked together when they could, lifting each other up to be better.

  It was a method that worked a lot better than the dog-eat-dog mentality so many others in the class adopted. They had three of the top five slots in the rankings. And today would solidify that permanently. It was the day the rankings became final and official, positioning them to start selecting their next assignments.

  He glanced over at the board which displayed the current list.

  “One: F. Dixon.”

  He was first in the entire class. That meant, assuming his mother hadn’t lied to him about the available assignments, he would get to be an analyst. No more shooting and battles and killing. Just a desk, computer, and numbers. That was something he could handle. Who knew? If he really enjoyed it, maybe he would stay in the military longer than the minimum five years.

  That all hinged on whether that analyst role actually existed.

  Fletcher cursed himself for not thinking harder when his mother met with him to tell him about it. He’d thought it out of character for her to offer something so generous, but at the same time he’d figured that she might just be warming up to him. And then he’d been too consumed at training with taking the first spot in the rankings to even consider why she’d done it. Now that the time to choose assignments was closing in, he was once again thinking about her words, and he had to admit that there was a possibility she baited him. Hazel could very well have lied to him and told him about the analyst role in order to get him to perform better at training.

  He bit his lip as he stared at the board with the rankings. He really hoped that wasn’t the case, but he wasn’t going to know for sure until they declared everything official and handed out the list of possible assignments.

  “Attention.”

  Captain Yusuf walked into the room, and all the candidates stood with straight backs, their arms at their sides.

  “Congratulations on completing officer training. You’ll get your official commission in the coming weeks, but as of now, you’re all posed to be taking positions as Second Lieutenants in the Mixed Military,” Yusuf announced.

  Fletcher smiled. He supposed he could be proud of what he achieved regardless of what came after. Nora may have done better at Hotshot training than he did, but he was pretty sure he outdid her at this, so that was a win at the very least.

  “The rankings behind me at your final standings. Good job, candidates. As you all know, your next assignments will be given based on your performance here. Top choice goes to the candidate in the top position, and so on.” Yusuf nodded to the sergeant next to him. “Sergeant Gee will be distributing a list of available positions. I recommend you all select three to four options as there’s no guarantee you’ll get your first choice. You’ll have the next hour to look over it before lights out. Any questions about the positions can be directed to me or the other cadre. At ease.” Yusuf spun on his heels and walked out of the woman.

  Gee immediately began handing out the papers. Fletcher accepted one and eagerly began scanning it, scarcely daring to breathe.

  Most of the postings were what he expected, working as platoon leaders at the various bases. Several were administrative such as personal assistants to generals and colonels. And then he got to the research section. Most of them were ones he’d never qualify for given they required certain species or [Skills].

  He released a sigh of relief. There it was. The analyst role his mother promised him. It was open to any kind of heritage so his Hexing wasn’t a consideration, and he definitely had the test scores to qualify on the academic side. And it was based in Finnack, so he’d get to be close to his friends and family. It was the dream role for him.

  Unfortunately there wasn’t much else to read about it besides the position name—Data Analyst—the location, and the qualifications. As to what he’d actually be analyzing, there was no mention. But did that really matter? A bit of math and programming couldn’t do that much damage. Nothing like pointing a gun at someone and actually shooting them.

  Fletcher scanned through the rest of the positions, but he didn’t pay much attention to what he read. He was the top candidate in the class, so he would get first choice. Still, he supposed he should have a backup choice just in case somehow he didn’t get it.

  “What assignments are you guys considering?” Fletcher asked his friends.

  Hajji smiled. “Something close to home. Perhaps a platoon leader at Fort Sahara.”

  “I’m thinking of taking the assistant role over at Paraty. It’s not the most glamorous, but it’s a good way to build connections for future promotions,” Campos answered.

  “Oh, come on, Campos. You can’t be that eager to dive into politics,” Fletcher protested.

  “It’s never too early to start. The sooner you play the game, the sooner you rank out of worrying about it,” she argued.

  “You could always send yourself to Vesi Station,” Hajji said.

  Campos laughed. “Vesi is where military careers go to die.”

  “Why? What’s at Vesi?” Fletcher asked, forgetting that he was supposed to be masquerading as a raised Mixed citizen. He’d never heard of Vesi Station.

  “Nothing. That’s why it’s where careers die.”

  Hajji nodded. “Rumor is that it’s a punishment posting, and that’s the only reason they even keep the station active. They have nothing to do with the war efforts against the Unhuman or the spy efforts amongst the Humans. They sit around in the cold ruins of the Unhuman city, fighting off a few Mythia creatures and wasting away. No one who goes there gets out, not easily.”

  “Oh. Wow. Yeah. I do remember hearing about it now,” he lied. “I guess that’s the one place to avoid going.”

  “Avoid it like the plague,” Campos confirmed. “What are you going to choose, Dixon? You get the first choice so you don’t have to worry about anyone else taking it.”

  “The analyst role in Finnack,” he said. “I think I’m better behind a desk than at the frontlines.”

  They all chuckled.

  Hajji slapped him on the back. “Very nice, Dixon. You’ll easily land it with your test scores. There’s no one else I’d rather have selecting targets.”

  “Huh?” Fletcher glanced at him, his heart rate quickening.

  “That’s what the Finnack analysts do,” Hajji continued. “They look at all the numbers and select the next locations for attacks, at least if I recall correctly.”

  “Oh. Right. Sorry. I misheard you.” Fletcher attempted to cover for himself. He couldn’t afford to start looking this uninformed all of the sudden. He mentally kicked himself for not asking more questions about the analyst role. Surely it wasn’t just that.

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  Campos and Hajji continued chatting about the different postings and sharing their second and third choices, but Fletcher stopped listening. His mind was wrapped up in what Hajji said about the analyst role. Was selecting targets for attacks any better than actually being the one to pull the trigger?

  But what else would he do? Besides doing that meant he could make sure they chose meaningful targets. It was a way to contribute to the Mixed defense while also limiting the number of casualties on the Unhuman side. That meant it should be him doing it since he didn’t hate Unhumans and would work to see that the biases of others didn’t send the military after innocents.

  Yeah. That was the right way to look at it. There was no way he could join the military and not engage in some kind of war, but this was a way he could contribute while maintaining his morals.

  Convincing himself that it was still the right choice, Fletcher tuned back into the conversation with his friends. They were now discussing Paraty Coastal Base and its culture. He joined in, adding what he could to the conversation despite his limited knowledge of other Mixed military bases. That was something he needed to fix if he was going to keep his cover up as Fletcher “Dixon,” but he could worry about after graduation and once he was back in Finnack. He would have lots of resources there to help him build up his knowledge of Mixed culture. Not to mention that after another two months away, he was sure Nora was past what happened before, and his dad would be around just as he promised before Fletcher left. It would be nice to be with his family again.

  They continued to chat for a while until it was time for bed. Bidding farewell to Campos, Hajji and Fletcher returned to their room. White was in there, stewing in his anger. He’d ended up in twelfth over all, even with all his scheming and sabotaging. He and Fletcher weren’t on speaking terms after what happened with the training exercises three weeks prior, but Fletcher didn’t mind. He had no interest in White. If he was lucky, maybe White would end up at Vesi Station, the perfect place for a scumbag like him.

  Fletcher quickly readied for bed and then laid down as the lights turned off. Tomorrow he’d get to select the analyst role and finally take some control of his life.

  ***

  “Mr. Anders, Mr. Anders,” Li’lic called out, holding up a paper. “I did it. I got one hundred percent on every test this year.”

  Fletcher smiled at her. They stood in the hallway of Alcett’s Unhuman Academy. “Great job, Li’lic. I told you could do it.”

  The [Goblin] grinned up at him, her pink eyes gleaming. “Mr. Anders, I trusted you.”

  “I’m glad you trust me,” he replied. “That means a lot to me.”

  “Not anymore. You betrayed us.”

  He frowned at her. “What do you mean, Li’lic?”

  Before she could respond, someone spoke up from behind.

  “Mr. Anders, can you help me with this problem?” Geori asked.

  Fletcher spun to face the [Undine]. “Sure. Just give me a second to help Li’lic.” But when he glanced back, the [Goblin] was gone, and he was in his old classroom. “Uh. Yeah. What is it?”

  Geori placed the paper before him. “Why do you hate Unhumans?”

  He chuckled. “I don’t hate Unhumans, Geori. Quite the opposite.”

  “But you kill us.”

  “I-I… What? No. I don’t do that. I don’t believe in war,” Fletcher explained. He glanced around the room, his throat dry as he stared at the young [Undine].

  “Mr. Anders, I hate math,” a new voice said, elongating the s. “There’s no purpose to it.”

  He turned to find a teenage [Diwata] there, a girl he taught his very first year at the Academy as an intern. Her name was Ssiioowwll, and she was one of the students he grew closest to during that summer. All that time spent helping her through homework and studying is what made him realize his passion for teaching, and she was largely the catalyst for the stark change in his career plans.

  “Ssiiowwll,” he said gently. “Math is the basis of everything. Without math, the world would probably fall apart.”

  “Is that why you do it?” she asked.

  “Do what?”

  “Hurt us.”

  Fletcher shook his head. “Ssiiowwll, I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

  “What about my mother?” a boy growled from behind.

  Fletcher faced his accuser, Ruvo, the [Werewolf] and son of Fieva, his coworker who tried to kill him back in Bren’it’p. In self-defense, Fletcher had ended up killing her.

  “Ruvo, you have to let me explain. She—it’s not what you think,” he said.

  “Actions speak louder than words. Isn’t that what you always said, Mr. Anders?” Li’lic was back.

  “Yeah, Mr. Anders. You can’t say you care about us and turn around and kill us,” Geori added in.

  “And destroy our cities,” Ssiiowwll continued.

  “And rip apart families,” Ruvo said.

  “No. No. That’s not what I’m doing. You don’t understand,” Fletcher pleaded, staring at his former students. Kids. Just a set of kids who trusted him, and maybe even trusted Humans because of him. His reputation among his students was one of the main factors in his decision to not take his one escape from the Bren’it’p job. He couldn’t betray their trust. He wouldn’t—

  Something warm and sticky coated Fletcher’s fingers. Looking down, he discovered blood of all colors covering his hands.

  “Our blood is on your hands,” Li’lic declared, orange liquid seeping from her mouth and eyes.

  “Killer,” Ruvo said, red dousing his chest.

  “Murderer.” Burns laced across Geori’s face, shriveling his blue scales.

  “Soldier,” Ssiioowwll whispered, her stomach cut open as her insides spilled out.

  “No. No. That’s not what I’m doing. That’s not true.” Fletcher begged them to understand, to see that he had no choice. But they each collapsed to the ground, nothing more than corpses.

  “Soldier. Killer. Murderer.” Dozens of voices chanted it as Fletcher stared out into a sea of every Unhuman student he’d ever taught or interacted with. And then his colleagues, friends, and neighbors from Bren’it’p joined the mix, all of them gruesomely injured.

  “No. No.” Fletcher put his head in his hands, willing his body to wake up from the dream as the chant grew louder. The sticky blood continued to crawl across his skin, coating his legs and chest.

  “No. I don’t—I’m not—” A sob escaped as he glanced across the crowd, watching each and everyone of them collapse to the floor until he was left alone in a room of corpses. The blood crawled up his neck and into his mouth.

  Fletcher coughed as the substance coated his throat, growing thicker to the point he could no longer breathe.

  Choking on empty lungs, Fletcher fell to the floor, staring at the ceiling. But it wasn’t the ceiling of the schoolroom. He looked up at the buildings of Bren’it’p, a place he once called home, watching as bombs fell from the sky. The buildings collapsed around him as people screamed.

  Spots danced across his vision as he saw a banner proudly displayed in the sky.

  “FREEDOM FOR ALL.”

  He didn’t know how he knew it, but he was certain this was his doing. Somehow it was his fault. He caused this. Depleting the last of his oxygen, Fletcher’s eyes closed for the last time.

  And he woke up in his bed in Rwenzori Mountain Base, in his shared bedroom at officer training. It was just a dream. Just… a dream.

  Fletcher stifled the next sob as tears flowed from his eyes. He could still feel the warm blood on his hands, a testament to what he’d become. A soldier, a killer. He laid there for hours in the darkness as he replayed the dream over and over again. It was just like the one he had in solitary confinement, but this one affected him differently. As unsettled as he was by it, he knew now that something inside was telling him he was making the wrong decision. He couldn’t be an analyst. He couldn’t be a soldier and take part in this war. He had to find a way out.

  The same blaring alarms went off the next morning, and Fletcher sat up, exhausted and anxious after his dream and lack of sleep afterwards. But with all those hours awake to think about things, he’d come up with a solution to his problem, a way to escape that wouldn’t result in prison instead.

  He was still nervous as he went through the motions of the day—PT, showering, breakfast, but at the same time he was confident in his choice. It was the only thing that made sense.

  Only a few hours later, Fletcher was in Captain Yusuf’s office, ready to make things official.

  “Alright, Dixon. You performed phenomenally well and earned the top spot. You have your pick of any assignment, as long as you’re qualified for it. Which one do you want?” Yusuf asked.

  Fletcher smiled at him. “I’d like the posting at Vesi Station, sir.”