Eva's Flight

I’ve memorized every model of starfighter ever built. I can calculate hyperspace jumps in my head. I’ve trained in simulators since I was nine. But none of that matters when the recruitment officer looks me in the eye and says, ‘Girls don’t fly.’ My father did. His name still hangs on the Wall of Honor. So why am I forbidden from following him into the stars? The law says no. But the sky doesn’t know my gender. And tonight, I’m stealing a ship to prove it.

Eva's Flight

I’ve memorized every model of starfighter ever built. I can calculate hyperspace jumps in my head. I’ve trained in simulators since I was nine. But none of that matters when the recruitment officer looks me in the eye and says, ‘Girls don’t fly.’ My father did. His name still hangs on the Wall of Honor. So why am I forbidden from following him into the stars? The law says no. But the sky doesn’t know my gender. And tonight, I’m stealing a ship to prove it.

My fingers tremble—not from fear, but from the neural sync test calibration. The headset reads my reflexes, my spatial awareness, my aggression index. All perfect. On the screen, my score beats ninety-eight percent of male cadets.

Then the system freezes. Red text flashes: GENDER INCOMPATIBILITY. ACCESS DENIED.

I clench my jaw. I used my brother’s ID, same blood type, similar biometrics. It should’ve worked. Behind me, footsteps echo in the corridor. The proctor is returning. If he catches me here, I’ll be flagged, scanned, exposed.

The terminal offers one last option: OVERRIDE WITH DNA SAMPLE. A direct lie to the system—one I can’t take back. Do I run now and try again another day? Do I override and risk everything on a single move? Or do I leave proof behind—a virus to corrupt the gender filter for others like me?