Chapter 1: Because of Tears
"The Dominion is the architect of destiny. Every role is chosen. Every purpose is true."
The voice hums from the speakers overhead. Steady. Absolute. I close my eyes and let the words settle into my bones.
They are true.
They have always been true.
I shouldn't be here.
The waiting room is vast. Too vast. It stretches endlessly in every direction, rows upon rows of uniform chairs occupied by bodies as still as statues. It should feel crowded—so many people pressed into one place—but the scale swallows them, turning them into something smaller, something insignificant. The walls rise impossibly high, smooth metal panels lined with soft, recessed lights. No windows. No distractions. Only the low, constant murmur of breathing, the faint rustle of shifting fabric, the occasional electronic chime as another hopeful is called.
No one speaks. No one dares.
I keep my head down, my fingers wrapped around my citizen ID, rubbing the raised lettering absently. Calla Rider, Cargo Pilot, First Grade. The metal is warm from my touch, the edges worn smooth from years of habit. I trace the words again and again, grounding myself in them, in what they mean.
Certainty.
Purpose.
Order.
It fits me like a second skin—long flights, quiet isolation, the clean, perfect satisfaction of guiding mass through atmosphere and touching down exactly where I'm meant to. The Dominion chose this for me. It is mine.
And yet… I'm here.
I press my tongue against the roof of my mouth, swallowing hard. The motion makes my stomach clench, sharp and hollow. A fresh cramp twists through my gut. I glance at the protein ration on the chair beside me, the foil wrapper crinkled but still sealed. Another one sits on the floor at my feet, half-crushed from where I dropped it last night.
I need to eat. I know I do. My mind needs to be clear for the written exam.
I force myself to tear open the packet. The paste inside is lukewarm, thick, chalky. I take a slow, deliberate bite, chewing even though there's nothing to chew.
It settles in my stomach like ballast.
I exhale, gripping the ID tighter.
"Lifeline-Class Extraction Shuttle: Operational Guidelines.
Page One: The Lifeline-Class Extraction Shuttle is a single-pilot, rapid-response aerospace vehicle designed for high-risk retrieval of critical Dominion assets. The hull structure is reinforced nano-carbon weave, with primary VTOL thrusters embedded in—"
The words come easily, flowing through my mind like a well-worn pathway. The shuttle's design is simple—streamlined, intuitive. The Dominion builds efficiency into every aspect of its technology. I visualize the assembly, the modular components fitting together in precise, engineered harmony.
"Page Ten: Atmospheric Entry Procedures."
"Page Twenty-Four: Emergency Response Protocols."
My breathing steadies. My pulse slows.
By Page One-Thousand Nine-Hundred Eighty-Four, I take a break and glance up.
Across the aisle, a boy in a crisp navy-blue uniform—Happy Citizen issue—rocks slightly in his seat, his elbows pressed into his knees. His hands are clenched, lips moving in a silent whisper. Prayers, maybe. Or Dominion creeds. His uniform is still too new, the fabric stiff, barely broken in.
Six days ago, Stacy wore that same uniform for the first time.
The memory sharpens in my mind. The way she hugged me—too tightly, too long—when no one was watching.
I saw it in her eyes.
She will never say it. Never admit it to another living soul. But in that moment, pressed against me, she grieved.
I grip my ID tighter.
And so here I am. Sitting like a discontent Happy Citizen. Me, a Cargo Pilot, a provider, a job-holder, a specialized citizen, taking an entrance exam like a hopeful fool or a dangerous malcontent.
A shadow of movement pulls my attention downward. My pilot's uniform—stark white, pristine, distinct—stands out against the deep navy of the hopefuls around me.
I feel their eyes.
Some glance in confusion, others with concealed jealousy. A few don't bother to hide their suspicion.
One of them—an older man with graying hair—narrows his gaze at me. He shifts in his seat, as if tempted to speak. Why are you here? I can see the question forming behind his eyes.
A woman, maybe thirty, watches me with an expression I can't name. Not hostility. Not admiration. Something between the two.
The only person who actually spoke to me in the last six days asked the same question.
"Higher service!"
It was the right answer. The expected answer.
Did it sound as hollow as it felt?
My datapad buzzes softly. I hesitate. I already know what it is, another encouraging note from my little sister.
I open it anyway.
"Calla! It's me, Stacy, again. Hey! You must be so close now! I just know you're going to pass. You're amazing. The Dominion needs heroes like you!"
The message glows bright on the screen, its edges soft with warmth. My chest tightens. I stare at the words. I can't bring myself to respond with another false, enthusiastic phrase.
I close my eyes.
I want her to be proud.
I want to fail.
No, I want to pass.
For her.
Dominion omniscient… I hope I fail.
The consequences of success beat against the ordered unity of my mind and my imagination creeps up on me before I can stop it—
Dropping through atmosphere, hull burning, alarms blaring. Below, the battlefield writhes.
To the west, synthetic war machines march in perfect, merciless lines. Their weapons do not roar, do not miss—lances of light carve through flesh and armor alike, cold, surgical, inevitable.
To the east, the Xao swarm rolls forward, a living tide. The ground shudders beneath millions of chitinous legs, their war-beasts shrieking, plasma fire spitting from their armored limbs.
A Vanguard scrambles aboard, visor cracked, armor slick with something black. "Go! We're compromised!"
Behind him—shining metal, serrated edges, something fast—
I blink.
The waiting room is silent.
After images of dominion broadcasts from colonies lost flash unbidden before my eyes.
My hands are ice.
A knot tightens in my throat.
I rise, legs stiff from days of waiting. No one moves. No one looks at me.
I walk with purpose. I tell myself that's what I have.
I make it two corridors down before the nausea overtakes me.
The restroom is empty. White, sterile. The Dominion crest is emblazoned above the sink—two wings encircling a star.
I brace my hands against the counter. My stomach clenches once. Twice.
I vomit.
When it's over, I run the water, splashing my face, rinsing my mouth. The mirror reflects back a stranger.
I look down at my ID, still clutched in my palm. The metal catches the light.
Calla Rider, Cargo Pilot, First Grade.
I should not be here.
The speaker hums again.
"Sacrifice is duty. Duty is purpose. Purpose is unity."
I straighten. I breathe. I return to my seat and shove the protein rations under it where I won't accidentally look at them.
I wait.
"The Dominion sees all. The Dominion knows all. Trust in your placement, and you will know peace."
My fingers press into my knees. Peace. If I fail, I return to my cargo runs. The stars, the sky, the silence. The Dominion made me for it, and I belong there.
And yet…
I can still feel her arms around me. Stacy's hug. Too tight. Too long. The way her breath hitched against my shoulder before she pulled away, smiling too wide, too bright.
"I'm so happy, Calla! It's perfect! I get to be a Happy Citizen for life!"
The memory overlays the present like a thin sheet of glass. Stacy beaming in her brand-new uniform, smoothing the sleeves over and over, fingers trembling just slightly before she caught herself. The way she turned, twirling in place, testing how it felt.
"I'll raise the next generation of heroes!"
I should have believed her. I should have smiled back and told her how proud I was.
But I saw the tears before she buried them in my shoulder. Before she whispered, her voice small, filled with the sound of dreams breaking, where no one else could hear—
"I wanted to serve."
A sharp cramp twisted my stomach at that moment and I feel the echo of it even now.
I remember what I said next. Those stupid words. That brash decision. The only blind and unplanned thing I've ever done. A reflex, a desperate attempt to erase the pain behind the smiling eyes of the person I love most.
"Stace, you—" I had started, but the words caught, tangled in my throat, useless things.
Her grip tightened. She shook her head against my shoulder.
"I just wanted to serve, Cal."
I was supposed to say something reassuring. Something wise. Something that made sense, like everything in the Dominion was supposed to make sense. But there was no sense in the way her voice broke. No order in the way her hands clenched against my back, shaking.
I panicked.
"I have every one of your poems pinned in my cockpit."
A lie. A stupid, desperate lie.
But she pulled back, blinking up at me, startled, hopeful.
I had to keep going. Had to make it true.
"Sis, I love you so much, and I need you. I need you to be my hero, here, as a Happy Citizen, because…" I had failed for words then, and in my desperation to give her life just the smallest sliver of the meaning I could feel draining away from her, I made a promise.
A really dumb promise.
"Because I'm going to take the Lifeline Extraction exam."
Her breath hitched. Her fingers dug into my arms.
"What?"
"You inspire me, Stace. You— you make me want to be more."
Her eyes shone. Dominion omnipresent, they shone.
I should have stopped there. Should have let the words be enough.
But I was drowning in the way she looked at me, the way the grief in her gaze was cracking, shattering into something warm, something I could pretend was joy.
"I need that, Stace. I need your words. Every goddamn day. I need it more than my morning patriotism routine."
It was the first uncalculated, unregulated, completely wrong thing I had ever said.
But Stacy believed it. She needed to believe it.
And so I had smiled down at her, swallowing the knot in my throat, and let her believe that she was the driving force in her big sister's specialized citizen life.
And now she is.
Irony fails to help me swallow reality.
"The Dominion lifts up those who serve. Those who serve will be remembered."
The announcement hums from the speakers, perfectly timed, as if answering my doubts.
For a moment I do not move. I do not breathe.
I could leave now, say I failed, I could—
The door at the far end of the waiting room hisses open.
A man steps through, tall and sharp in the black of a Dominion officer. Clipboard in hand, movements crisp, polished. His voice booms through the vast space, unnervingly cheerful as it has been every few hours for the past six days.
"Rider. Calla Rider!"
Blood drains from my fingers.
For a fraction of a second, I hesitate.
Then, muscle memory takes over.
I snap to attention, posture perfect, disciplined. The hesitation shames me. A Pilot should not hesitate. A Lifeline-Class Extraction Pilot must never hesitate.
I step forward, feet steady, movements precise.
The officer smiles, a wide, unwavering thing, as if welcoming me through this doorway were his life's greatest achievement. I shudder, maybe it is.
"Congratulations, Citizen Rider! Your opportunity for service has come!"
I clench my right hand.
Dominion omnipotent… I hope I fail.
I clench my left.
For Stacy's tears. For the way she sees me. For the way she needs to see me—I step forward, crossing the threshold, swearing on the Fourfold Foundation of Ordered Unity that I'll do my best to pass.
Is your life properly built on the Fourfold Foundation of Ordered Unity?
A Citizen in Order is a Citizen at Peace. A Citizen at Peace is a Citizen in Unity. A Citizen in Unity has nothing to worry about. The Dominion provides. If you are worrying, you may not be in Unity. Worry is unnecessary. Report unnecessary thoughts to your local Thought Oversight Bureau, a friendly branch of the Office of Tactical Oversight & Compliance (OTOC).