by Kal Spriggs
“Wow, she’s got to be proud that you’re attending. She give you any pointers?”
I just shrugged, “Honestly, I haven’t had much contact with her. My parents live down south at Black Mesa Outpost. I met her for the first time a couple weeks ago.” I tried to keep my voice light, but I could hear some part of my own irritation leak through anyway.
“Huh,” Sashi sounded slightly disappointed. “Well, as luck would have it, my grandfather and your grandmother served together when they were junior officers, crazy, huh?”
“You come from a military family?” I asked. Most Seconds tended to avoid the military, from what I’d heard. Mostly because the Firsts dominated it, from what I’d remembered Tony’s dad saying, anyway, and he was a Second. Well, his mother was, I thought, his father is Leo Champion, who is kind of in an entirely separate category.
“Yeah!” Sashi said. Her eyes lit up, “My grandfather is still in service. He commands Century’s orbital station. My father and uncle are both active along with my aunt's husband and their two sons, and then my two older brothers are going to try for active duty slots.” She shrugged, “They tried to get me to accept the internship with Champion Enterprises, but I don’t know if I could break the tradition, you know? Besides, all I’ve ever wanted was to command a ship, like my grandfather did in the Dalite War.”
It took me a moment to understand some of her words since it all seemed so backwards, “Wait, you turned down an internship with Champion Enterprises?” I asked. The thought floored me. Champion Enterprises offered stability, wealth, and so many opportunities… how could anyone turn down all of that for a ship?
“Of course,” Sashi said. “It was a no-brainer for me, you know? I mean, I suppose if I fail out of the Prep School then I could still accept the internship, but why would I do that, you know?”
I frowned at that, “I thought Champion Enterprises wanted exclusive applications,” I asked. Tony had said that one was a deal-breaker, I remembered. He said his dad told him that there were tons of applicants who were ‘almost’ good enough who got cut for ‘trying to cover their bases.’
“Yeah, they say that, but I don’t know anyone who really follows that,” Sashi said. “I mean, I figured that was just some kind of negative test, if you actually followed it you were either a high risk taker or stupid or else it was just to scare people out of applying.” She had a thoughtful look on her face. “I mean, even you didn’t apply just there, you’re here after all.”
I felt my stomach sink, “That actually makes some level of sense.” I wondered if Tony had known that or if he had just parroted what his dad had told him. Part of me was suddenly furious, both at Tony and at myself. If Sashi had been accepted after applying at multiple places, then I could have done the same… and I wouldn’t have had to take this as punishment. I wouldn't have needed to forge my mother's signature... and I wondered if Tony knew that before he talked me into it.
Sashi smiled at me, “Still, it’s cool you plan to go there. And since you aren’t planning on sticking around for the Academy, then you won’t mind if I win all those individual competitions, right?”
I snorted, “You’re more than welcome.”
“Good,” Sashi said. “Because the real prize comes at graduation from the Academy itself. There’s reserve and active tracks at the Academy. And I’m going to be active, just like the rest of my family.”
The way she said it, I almost got the feeling that she planned to use me to further that goal... but I had no idea how that would work. I mean, what importance did I have in any of this? I didn't even want to be here.
***
Chapter Five: That Went Well
As the bus continued its travel, I stared at my datapad and I searched through what information I could find on what Sashi had mentioned. The other girl clearly had more knowledge about both the Academy and the military. The part that confused me the most was the difference between Active and Reserve. I’d assumed that would just be those who were ‘actively’ serving and those who weren’t, like those who retired or served in some other duty like the Admiral.
But it wasn’t that clear. There were entire reserve units, men and women who trained part time, who were responsible for ships or ground equipment in Century’s Planetary Militia. They participated in drills where they manned their units and went battle-ready in weeks, days, or even just hours. Worse, there were ‘Active Reserves’ who were reservists that served on active duty, either as training or to fill a needed slot, typically as some kind of technical expert.
Part of the convolution seemed to come from the Star Guard’s limits on militia size, at least, that’s all I could figure out. The Star Guard limited any system’s military forces to control the extent of any wars. Granted, that didn’t apply to Guard Fleet, Army or Marines forces, but their charter was to defend rather than conquer. In theory, a planetary militia gave a world enough forces to hold out for a reasonable span of time until Guard Fleet would arrive.
Not that they came during the Dalite War, I thought, with somewhat mixed feelings. On the one hand, I did feel kind of proud, about the fact that we had defended our system during the Dalite War. On the other… it felt wrong that the Guard limited our planet’s ability to defend itself and claimed that prerogative and then failed to follow through. Granted, Century was out on the Periphery, technically outside of Guard Space.
Still, going back to what Sashi had said, I noticed that there was information buried in the Academy programs about earning better initial assignments upon graduation. It seemed that the competitions within the Prep School seemed aimed towards earning better ranking and position at the Academy itself. It looked to be a surprisingly dynamic system, one based on merit… which was not entirely different in philosophy from what Champion Enterprises did.
I shut off my datapad and leaned back in my seat. Sashi, along with most of the bus, was asleep. Here and there I saw one or two others awake, either reading through notes on their datapads or staring out the windows. I noticed Alexander Karmazin was awake, scowling at his screen. Why is he here, I wondered, he’s as connected as Tony, if he really is one of Leo Champion’s kids. Better, in a way, since he was the actual offspring, rather than a grandchild. Was he here because he couldn’t cut it at Champion Enterprises Internship Program? That didn’t make much sense, when compared to Sashi’s information that everyone in this section was special. But she’d also said he was a late addition to their section, maybe they put him here on accident or because they didn’t know where to rank him?
It bothered me and I realized part of why it bothered me was that I had automatically assumed that I was better than everyone else here. Sashi’s revelation that she’d chosen the Academy over an internship had shocked me. The fact that she seemed so capable of handling what was making me struggle gave me a feeling I wasn’t used to: inadequacy.
Back at Black Mesa Outpost I was the smartest kid in the school. I blew away all the charts and I’d impressed the teachers. I had more online classes, as a result, where I’d proceeded far ahead of my peers until graduation. Only Tony had been able to keep up with me and most of the time he was lazy, because he knew he had a place with Champion Enterprises, so he didn’t challenge himself.
I closed my eyes, partially against tears. Here I was, on a bus with thirty others who the school judged every bit as smart and capable as me. More... just like Alexander Karmazin, I was a late addition. What if he and I were considered ‘important’ but less able, put in this section for different reasons… him because his father was rich and me because…
For a moment the idea seemed absurd. I couldn’t imagine the Admiral pulling strings to put me in a more advanced group. But what if it wasn’t her, I wondered, what if someone else didn’t know what else to do with me so they put me in here just so she wouldn’t be embarrassed? The thought resonated with my suddenly shaken sense of self-importance. I knew I was smart, but I’d have no illusions in this group. They were supposed to be as good
or better than me… how would I compare to them?
The question haunted me until I finally fell into sleep.
***
I awoke to the shrill sound of a whistle, followed a moment later by shouting. I sat up and wiped my eyes in an attempt to force my brain to work. Before I could make sense of what my eyes saw, a girl in uniform was next to my seat, “I said on your feet!”
I stood quickly enough that I stuck my head on the luggage rack over my head. The girl had continued on and she shouted at each of those others who seemed as disoriented as me. Once she reached the back of the bus, she shouted, loud enough that I felt a headache coming on. How the hock was she so loud, I wondered. “Candidates, you will now disembark! Take your gear with you. Do not leave anything behind, I won’t be collecting it for you!” I watched as the others near the front began to shuffle off the bus. “Faster!” the girl behind me shouted.
They tried, I saw, between the shoulders of the people ahead of me. Out the window I saw another person in uniform shouting commands as they stumbled off the bus. One boy tripped on the steps and crashed into the boy ahead of him, and they both went down. I saw three, then four and five people entangle in a pile at the bottom of the steps. Behind me the girl continued her shrill shouts at us.
The others still hurried. Finally I had room to shuffle ahead and I hurried along the central corridor until I reached the steps. Below me there was something like a brawl as the other passengers fought their way down the steps and then through (and sometimes over) the others in their way.
I started down the steps, but had to stop as the girl ahead of me did, and the boy behind me immediately rammed into me. I lost my balance and fell. I managed to catch myself before I landed face first, but then someone stepped on my hand. I let out a shout, but then someone else stepped on my back and knocked the air out of my lungs.
A pair of hands caught me by the shoulders and lifted me to my feet. I found myself staring into a pair of lavender eyes, set in a tan face. “Careful,” Karmazin said as he put me on my feet.
“I don’t need your help!” I snapped. I could feel my heart race, as anger at my treatment transformed to rage at his presence.
A boy in uniform seemed to materialize in front of us, “You don’t have time to talk!” He shouted into our faces. “Get over there! Move!” His shouting seemed to make my feet move and I found myself in some kind of formation, in the back rank. Harsh lights projected from ahead of us, and I had some vague impression of buildings in the darkness beyond. I had no idea where we were.
The shouting continued. “You will stand at the position of attention! For those of you who are not sure what that is, you will now look at me,” the shrill girl seemed to appear in front of our formation. “You will stand with your arms at your sides, with your feet together at the heels at a forty-five degree angle! You will not move, you will not talk, the only things that a Cadet Candidate is allowed to do is breath, blink and respond! What are you allowed to do?”
Someone up front muttered something. Suddenly there were five more uniformed harpies screaming at us. Through the screaming, I heard, “Your section will respond in unison! What are you allowed to do?”
I tried to speak up, but what came out from thirty voices was a garble.
“Get on your faces, Candidates. Since you seem unable to perform the most basic tasks, I’ll now teach you the push-up…”
***
“Good morning, candidates,” the friendly, cheerful voice said from beyond the glaring lights. “Now that Cadet Salter and Cadet Paulos have put you into some semblance of order, we can begin.” A tall, lean man stalked out of the darkness. “I am Senior Cadet Instructor Mackenzie. I am in charge of you until such time as you have finished Indoctrination and begin your classes.” Despite the harsh words of Salter and Paulos we couldn’t help but follow the panther-like movements of Senior Cadet Instructor Mackenzie as he stalked up and down in front of our formation. He paused and stared down at one of the candidates in the front rank. I thought I recognized Sashi, though with the light, I wasn’t sure. “You are now part of Sand Dragon Section. If anyone asks your unit, you will respond Sand Dragon Section. Some of you are here because you have dreams of being military officers and continuing your family’s traditions.” He turned on his heel and strode down the line to pause in front of another candidate. I was certain this one was Alexander Karmazin, “Some of you are here because you have family connections that pulled strings and admitted you.”
He stalked around the side and back of the formation and out of my sight. “Some of you are here because you have worked hard and want to prove yourselves, to become Cadets, and from there become the leaders of Century’s military,” his crisp steps on the pavement grew louder and suddenly I felt his hot breath on the back of my neck, “And some of you are here because your mommies and daddies thought it might straighten you out… fat chance of that.”
I felt a flush climb my cheeks, yet I refused to rise to his bait. Four months, eleven days, I thought to myself.
“Regardless of why you are here, it is down to me to reform you into something that is acceptable. Century’s Planetary Militia does not need individuals incapable of following orders… right Candidate Rogers?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“The correct response is: ‘Yes, Senior Cadet Instructor,’ and if that’s the correct answer, then why are you looking at me instead of straight ahead!” The last was finished in a bull roar that made me jerk in surprise. “Everyone, since you seem to have issues remembering, I think it best that I reinforce some of Cadet Instructor Salter and Cadet Instructor Paulos’ lessons. I’m not a gentle soul like them, so remember, candidates, the body remembers, but the brain forgets. Your first lesson of the day will be on muscle memory…”
***
The sun had finally come up. Not that I cared much at that point. My entire body ached and my mind had a dislocated feeling, as if all the shouting and screaming had put my body on autopilot while my brain went somewhere else. The Admiral had mentioned physical training, but I had expected something like gym class back at Black Mesa Outpost, where we’d spend a few hours a day doing some activities.
They began with how to speak, how to stand, and how to respond to commands. They seemed to reward each success with a brief pause and each of the many failures with additional physical training. We did push-ups, we did pull-ups, we did sit-ups, and we did sprints. After they had us thoroughly confused, they marched us to a building. Inside they separated us male and female, and the handful of girls went into a room where they had bags waiting for us. Under the direction of Cadet Salter, who seemed to have her volume set to eleven, we dressed in our physical training uniform: lightweight dark blue shorts and an orange tee shirt with a pair of heavy canteens on a thick belt. Our normal clothing and other personal possessions went into a different set of bags, which we biometrically sealed and passed off to the baggage handlers. We kept the other bag, which held more uniforms. After that we went out and rejoined the boys, similarly dressed. Our screaming Cadets had somehow changed into similar uniforms, save with bright yellow shirts.
As far as I could tell, we’d run several miles, bags and all. Whenever someone slowed or fell out of the formation we would run in a broad circle until either Cadet Paulos or Salter would scream at them until they managed to rejoin us. Now and then as we ran I saw other sections, each with a small mob of yellow shirts following.
With the sun up, I saw barren, empty sand as far as the eye could see. There were no hills, no trees, and no water. There were buildings, though, squat, and ugly concrete structures with narrow windows and sharply slanted sides. We continued our run, right up to the side of one and then into a broad, low door. I stumbled as my feet found that the floor slanted downward. We ran down a long ramp before they brought us to a halt in a large, quiet, chamber. “Candidates, you will proceed forward when your name is called, forming a line.”
I stood at attention and I could feel the sweat
trickle down my back. In the heat of the morning, it had felt good. Here in the cool underground air it made me shiver. Part of me was content to stand there, but the rest of me was angry. I wasn’t in control, they treated us like cattle… run here, go there. I hated them. My heart began to beat harder, each beat throbbed in my chest and a quiet voice in the back of my head warned me to calm down. Yet that quiet voice was drowned, by anger, by rage.
“Armstrong, Jiden,” Cadet Salter called out in her high pitched voice.
I stepped forward. The line moved rapidly, but that did nothing to abate my frustration. I wanted to punch someone, anyone. The unfairness of the experience grated and the continued shouts spiked that anger.
Finally, I came to the front of the line. There were two women, seated behind a table. One wore doctor’s scrubs. He glanced at his datapad, then up at me, “Armstrong?”
“Sir, yes, sir,” I answered automatically. Having to answer like that made me feel even more degraded.
He nodded at someone behind me, “Full processing. Sensory Cerebral Interface and Mapping…” he paused, “oh, and complete physical.”
“Yes, sir,” Cadet Paulos rumbled from behind me. The stocky cadet tapped me on the shoulder and pointed down a corridor to my left. “That way, Candidate, take it at a run.”
I stared down the corridor. Almost everyone else had gone right, why was I going left?
“Are you waiting for an invitation, Candidate?” Cadet Paulos snapped. “Move!”
I broke into a run. The corridor was long. I ran until I finally rounded a corner and stopped in front of a door. A woman stood next to it, a datapad in hand. “Armstrong?” she asked.
“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” I gasped, winded from the sprint.
She held out her datapad and I stared at it stupidly for a long moment. She finally grunted, “Candidate, it’s a biometric scanner, your hand please.”
I put my hand on the datapad and a moment later it buzzed and the door behind her clicked open. She grimaced, “Follow the Doctor’s directions exactly. And don’t think just because you’re Admiral Armstrong’s granddaughter that she’ll give you a pass. We don’t play favorites around here, just like I told your friends.”
