Starclimber by Kenneth Oppel

wait for the machine to come to a complete stop before jumping out and rushing to the metal buckets along the wall. There they retched miserably, in between their curses.
    I stayed seated, breathing slow and deep, and gradually my stomach unclenched. I glanced over at Tobias, and though he looked a bit green around the gills, he gave me the thumbs-up sign.
    “How’d you do with the lights?” he asked.
    “I missed a lot toward the end,” I said.
    “I could barely see by the end,” he said. “But at least we didn’t throw up.”
    “All right, gents, everyone out,” Eriksson said. “The next group wants its turn.”
     

    They worked us right up to dinner, and after that we were left to ourselves. The dormitory had a rooftop terrace, and Tobias and I joined a large group of the other trainees, who were smoking and chatting as the sun sank into the west. My legs ached pleasantly from all the running. I felt good about my land dives, but knew I’d have to get better at the obstacle courses. As for the icy shower and the Scrambler, I had no idea how I’d done. Our assistants never told us anything.
    Tobias and I found a place near the balustrade, a bit on the fringe of things. I think both of us still felt self-conscious about being the youngest.
    He offered me a cigarette, and I shook my head.
    “Don’t know about you,” he said, lighting up, “but I could use a drink.” He gazed longingly in the direction of downtown. “Course, that’s impossible since they’ve got us all locked up like chimps.”
    Mr. Lunardi didn’t want any of us leaving the facility, except on Sundays. I think he was worried we’d blab about the space program. And the city seemed already alive with rumors. This morning’s paper had a story about the Canadian space race, and suggested there might even be secret goings-on in Lionsgate City.
    “Will it be like this every day, you think?” Tobias said. “Jumping and spinning?”
    “Scares off the weak ones,” said a fellow to my right. “Standard first-day tactics. It’s the same in the Aeroforce.”
    He wasn’t in our group, but I recognized him as one of the military types I’d spotted earlier. He was in his early twenties, a strapping tall fellow with a big, slightly aggressive smile.
    “You’re a pilot, are you?” I asked.
    “First Lieutenant Joshua Bronfman,” he said, extending his hand. “And this is Captain Chuck Shepherd right here.”
    Shepherd was leaning against the balustrade, staring out over the city. He had a thick mustache and high forehead. He turned his cool, appraising eyes on us and gave the smallest of nods. I put him at no more than twenty-five. And already a captain. Confidence wafted off him like heat from a tar roof.
    “We’re both test pilots,” said Bronfman smugly.
    I was impressed, but Bronfman already seemed so impressed with himself I refused to show it. Test pilots were usually considered the best of the best. Any new ornithopter design the Aeroforce came up with, these fellows put it through its paces.
    “Have you flown the new Avro class machines?” I asked, for I wanted to show them I was a sky sailor myself.
    Bronfman grinned and nodded over at Shepherd. “Sure, we’ve taken them up for a few spins. We’ve got ’em working pretty good, eh, captain?”
    “We have indeed,” Shepherd said laconically.
    “The Avro is one fast machine,” said Bronfman. “Some people said she wouldn’t even stay up, but she stays up just fine. I worked her so hard once, I thought her wings would come off, but she’s built strong. And no one’s taken her faster than the captain.”
    “She’s got a bit more speed in her,” Shepherd said, and looked back out over the city.
    He was a man of few words, Captain Shepherd. But Bronfman more than made up for him.
    “You hear eight people dropped out today?” he said with a smirk. “The land dives and Scrambler finished ’em off.”
    “Maybe I’ve got a shot after all,” said Tobias, looking