A Forbidden Religion

The officer looked down at Cody and set a folder to the side of Cody’s pizza box before saying, “You’re to report to the office you were at before… for debriefing. Customizations are being made as per request. That is all.” He turned and left, walking back the way he came, leaving the folder in front of Cody without another word.

“What customizations are you changing? Getting a gun like the Wright brothers?” Tod asked, picking up the folder and opening it.

Noticing the twins’ reactions, Cody asked, “Wait, you two are Wright descendants? Like, the Wright brothers? That’s a joke, right?”

Ashley answered as if it was something Cody should have already known. “Orville and Wilbur led the path to the sky. Their descendants mastered it. No airborne M.U.s fight better than Wright descendants. But there are dozens of them, so these two aren’t that special.”

“There’s a huge flaw in that style, though,” Tiffany added.

Before she could continue, Tod interrupted. “No killing hopes and dreams with your logic, Tiffany.”

“Hopes and dreams don’t share a category with logic,” Tiffany countered, her tone flat. “They defy rational thought in today’s world. If logic mastered those categories, we’d know who’s right and wrong, and there’d be no religious wars.”

Cody offered the last slice of pizza to Tiffany as a peace offering and asked, “But is there really a reason to kill each other over opinions?”

Tiffany quickly snatched the slice before anyone else could and ate it without showing any emotion. “I don’t see the logic in killing for faith, but I’m paid well to—”

Tod stood up abruptly, cutting her off as he looked over the file. “These customizations don’t add up. What are you flying? Long-range or short?”

“They said mid,” Cody answered casually.

Suddenly, the entire chow hall went silent. The ambient noise was replaced by hushed whispers.

“You’re in a mid?! Your second run! They want you in a mid?! You’ve never even trained in a suit; today was your first run and—”

“Congratulations, prodigy,” Heather cut Tod off.

Tod slapped the folder down onto the table. “No! This doesn’t make sense! You must train for years! Heather is one of the youngest I know who—I’m going to get to the bottom of this.” He stormed out, each step echoing loudly in the now-silent chow hall.

“Are mids really so rare?” Cody asked, looking around.

Ashley started to answer, “They are—” but Tiffany interrupted. “It’s not just the rarity of piloting one. The requirements are difficult, but that’s not the issue here. You must have secretly piloted before service in the 1200 Company you’re currently assigned to. Otherwise, this is a serious concern.”

Ashley turned to Heather, her tone sharp. “Tell him! Your family has generations of mids. Tell him how hard you trained to earn yours!”

Cody turned to Heather, who only smiled, finished the slice of pizza she had swiped, and dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Walk with me, Cody,” she said, standing up and walking away, never questioning if Cody would follow.

Cody hesitated but followed. As they moved through the hall, the whispers stopped when they passed, replaced by silent stares that felt uncomfortably familiar to Cody. It reminded him of his childhood.

He finished his pizza and wiped his greasy hands on his pants, glancing at Heather. She didn’t speak until they left the room.

“Please don’t lie when I ask: where, pray tell, did you grow up?”

Cody paused, hesitant to reveal too much. Finally, he sighed heavily. “War-shing-ton. Vancouver. Born in Oar-gone. Port-lun. I’m a… fisherman.”

He thought he saw Heather falter in her steady pace but decided it was his imagination. She put a hand to her mouth. “Is there a lot of war in your… territory?”

“Skirmishes, maybe. More tribal, in comparison. Mormons don’t like much that isn’t Mormon these days.”

Heather shook her head and stopped. “You’re not telling me something. How many fights have you been in? How many have you won?”

Cody leaned against the exposed pipes at the end of the hall, deciding the conversation would stay there. He might as well get comfortable. “I’ve been in my fair share, but you lose every fight that can’t be resolved with words, in my opinion.”

Heather’s smile vanished, her eyes locking onto his. “That’s not funny,” she said coldly. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then smiled again before walking away. “What is your faith, Cody? Or are you like Tiffany—without one?”

Cody followed, keeping his distance, now nervous from the shift in Heather’s demeanor. “I’d rather not say.”

Her grin widened, showing her teeth. “Is it… forbidden? Like… satanic? I won’t tell.”

Cody shook his head. “No. I just… have my own way of believing things.”

Heather’s smile dimmed, her shoulders slumping slightly as though disappointed. “Have you ever heard of Valhalla?” she asked, her gaze aimed at the ceiling. “When true warriors die, beautiful angelic figures called Valkyries descend from the heavens to take them to a warrior’s paradise.”

Cody felt his skin crawl at the mention of a religion vanquished by the Vatican—a forbidden faith.

Heather continued, “My family is Ymir. I’m Heather Ymir. We hail from Scandinavia. We believed in a religion the Vatican declared heresy. They vanquished us and froze our assets. We brought family heirlooms and treasure, seeking refuge in the Adventist territories before England shipped us to America, where religion is free. We gave everything we had to purchase our own M.U.s and began training for war. Born naturals to the M.U.s, we were a private mercenary platoon before America absorbed us, rewarding us with mid-range M.U.s. Valhalla. What do you think of… my belief?”

Cody shook his head, looking away. “I find it… not for me.”

“How many people have you killed?” she asked suddenly.