Special Forces 01

by Honor Raconteur

  For one thing, the campus was situated on a much grander scale than he had anticipated. It was almost incomprehensible that it took up a full twenty acres, including the sports fields. Maybe it was a holdover of his mindset from living on a cramped colony world, but Rys couldn’t help but think that there was a lot of wasted space out there.

  The other part that initially surprised him was how crowded the campus seemed. He knew, on an intellectual level, that this school had an enrollment of about two thousand students. What that actually felt like, in between classes, was the entire two thousand students were trying to muscle their way through the same hallway he occupied. It was less like a school and more like an Army Deployment Depot that was on an emergency take-off schedule. He kept looking around for someone in charge of crowd control, until it finally registered that no one around him looked panicked, or even mildly ill at ease, by the close proximity.

  Great. This must be standard operating procedure, then. Remind me again; why did I think this was a good idea?

  He reached his first class, finally, and quickly took an empty seat toward the back of the room. Rys wondered if there was assigned seating, as he had no idea how civilians conducted their classroom protocols. It would behoove him to observe carefully, and learn all that he could the first day, until he identified and absorbed the rhythm of this place.

  Rys watched over the next five minutes as people filed in, sometimes singly, sometimes in pairs or small groups. While he garnered a great many curious looks, no one approached him. Perhaps they were shy?

  He wasn’t quite sure how to handle this situation. He very rarely met any strangers in the Special Forces Division; most of the people had been with him for years. The majority of individuals around him were either a support group, his superiors, or people he was assigned to work with. Whatever the case might be, if there were any new personnel on the Base he was always formally introduced to them.

  But who was in charge of breaking the ice for him here?

  An adult male entered the room, dressed casually in jeans and a polo shirt. While there was no rank insignia or name tag anywhere to be seen, he had teacher written all over him. Rys almost started to stand automatically. In the Special Forces, military courtesy required him to stand at attention and salute when an instructor entered the room. He remembered, just in time, that civilians didn’t salute, and paused four inches off of his chair. None of the other students bothered to do more than give a cursory glance at the teacher. Most continued to carry on their previous conversation without a pause.

  Now that was just bizarre! Such a blatant breach in etiquette would have cost him 100 pushups on his knuckles.

  “Everyone take your seat!” the man called. “I will be taking roll this morning. Anderson.”

  “Here!” a lanky blond called back in a bored voice.

  “Bennett.”

  “Here,” a thin brunette with bad skin responded shyly.

  Okay, this part is like the academy. Rys was glad that he finally recognized something. Maybe this wouldn’t be completely alien after all.

  He answered when his name was called a few moments later. The teacher eyed him appraisingly for a moment, before passing on to the next student.

  “All right, everyone, let’s pick up where we left off yesterday. We were covering Sharratt’s Regime, but that period didn’t last more than ten years. In 2674, you will need to remember that year, the Regime collapsed when Sharratt was assassinated. There has never been a definitive conclusion as to who was involved with his murder. He ruled with an iron fist, and his death created a power vacuum, plunging the government into chaos. All control was lost, and there was a long period of power struggles and jockeying for position, before a new coalition could be formed.”

  Rys was paying strict attention, so it took him a few minutes to notice that every student had paper out, and was apparently scribbling all over it. He was completely taken back by that. Wasn’t that considered rude, doodling when they should be listening? They should at least act like they were paying attention.

  And there were a few that had the textbook out, too. Reading in class, instead of listening to the lecture? They should have completed their homework assignments before coming to class, instead of trying to skim the chapters during the lecture. Now that was beyond rude.

  But the teacher, Mr. Blake, didn’t seem to notice or care. Maybe the lack of respect was normal, too. He thought it a sad state of affairs.

  That class ended with the sounding of a bell, and Rys left with everyone else, heading to his next class. The behavior of the students in all four classes, from History to Biology, was remarkably similar. They all wrote on paper or in notebooks while the teacher talked, or they read from the textbooks. Really, if they were going to ignore the teacher like this, why bother to attend classes at all? They should just stay home and mail in their assignments.

  The bell rang for lunch. Rys stepped out of the classroom, mentally reviewing the map in his mind, and deciding the best route to get to the cafeteria. He was wondering what he would buy to eat when the loud speaker above his head came to life with an announcement.

  “Will Arystair Savar please come to the principal’s office,” a calm female voice requested. “I repeat, will Arystair Savar please come to the principal’s office.”

  Principal’s office? Why? Puzzled, he turned around and headed in the opposite direction, the one that would take him to the office. It took no small amount of determination to make it through the crowd, but he finally managed to break free of the crush of bodies, and walk through the main doors of the office.

  He was barely inside when he spotted Sara sitting in a chair near the door. “Sara?”

  She had a nervous smile on her face. “Arystair, did one of your teachers talk to you today?”

  “No, ma’am,” he responded slowly, thinking about the title, but deciding it was appropriate in this instance. “To tell you the truth, I’ve been pretty much ignored all morning. Is something wrong?”

  She sighed and nodded in response. “Rule number one for high school, Arystair. If you’re called to the Principal’s Office, you’re generally in trouble.”

  “Oh.” He couldn’t think of a more elaborate response than that.

  The door to the Principal Office opened at that moment, and a pencil thin woman wearing a severe black suit stepped outside. “Mrs. Bloch?”

  “Yes, that’s me,” Sara confirmed.

  The woman managed a polite smile. “I’m Principal Holland. Come in, please. And you,” she gave Rys an appraising study from head to toe, “must be Arystair Savar.”

  I know that look. My drill sergeant used to get the same look on his face when I somehow screwed up. “Yes ma’am.”

  “Step inside, please.”

  Rys felt like he should be calling for backup before he ventured across the threshold, only he was not sure who to call. All things considered, Sara was probably the best advisor he could have in this situation. As a parent of five children, she surely understood the terrain and spoke the vernacular to figure out why the principal was already mad at him. Not to mention the right phrases to clear up the matter, and put him back on an even keel.

  He stepped inside, taking the seat next to Sara. He thought it strange that Mr. Blake, his history teacher, was there as well.

  Principal Holland took her seat behind the massive oak desk in the room. “Now then, Mr. Blake called this parent-teacher conference as he felt it necessary to preempt any future problems. Mr. Blake, if you would explain, please.”

  “Certainly.” Blake turned to look directly at Sara, as if Rys was somehow as important as the potted plant in the corner. “Mrs. Bloch, I realize you hardly need trouble on the first day of school with this young man, but I felt it was important for you to know that he has the wrong attitude to be successful here. He did not participate at all today during class. He didn’t have his book out, he wasn’t taking notes, and he didn’t advance a single comment or question during t
he entire period. He isn’t going to make any progress if he doesn’t put in some sort of effort.”

  Rys went very still as he started to realize his mistakes. So all of that scribbling had a purpose? They were actually writing down what he said? So much for his powers of observation.

  Sara put a hand over her mouth, but Rys could tell from her sparkling eyes that she was amused, and trying desperately to hide it. “I’m beginning to see the misunderstanding. But I’m afraid, Mr. Blake, that the real problem is that you are unfamiliar with Arystair. Allow me to illustrate my point. Arystair.” She turned to look at him, dropping her hand, which indeed revealed a crooked smile. “Please recite the first thirty seconds of Mr. Blake’s class.”

  “Would you like that from the start of class, or of his lecture?” Rys asked uncertainly. The first thirty seconds, the man had only called roll.

  “The lecture should be fine.”

  “Yes ma’am.” Rys called up that file, stood next to Sara, and started to recite, “All right, everyone, let’s pick up where we left off yesterday. We were covering Sharratt’s Regime, but that period didn’t last more than ten years. In 2674, you will need to remember that year, the Regime collapsed when Sharratt was assassinated. There has never been a definitive conclusion as to who was involved with his murder. He ruled with an iron fist, and his death created a power vacuum, plunging the government into chaos. All control was lost, and there was a long period of power struggles and jockeying for position, before a new coalition could be formed.”

  Mr. Blake dissolved into a coughing fit at that point, eyes as big as saucers.

  “Guardians, that sounds like he recited that verbatim!”

  “He did,” Sara assured him calmly. “Mr. Blake, Principal Holland, Arystair has both a photographic and audio graphic memory. He doesn’t need to take notes. He can remember anything that he has seen or heard, with perfect clarity.”

  Principal Holland turned slowly to Rys, her expression no longer icy and disapproving. Now she just looked incredulous. “Young man, if you have the ability to do that, why on earth are you enrolled in high school?”

  Rys gave her a crooked smile in return. “Ma’am, respectfully, I’m not here to learn the academic disciplines. I’m here to learn about people, and how to interact with them successfully.”

  Holland sat forward slightly, her eyes locked on his face. “I’m afraid I’m not entirely following you, Mr. Savar.”

  “I’m from Fourth Colony, ma’am.” He paused when she involuntarily sucked in a shocked breath of understanding. Blake just went very, very still, as if not wanting to draw attention to himself. “As I’m sure you can ascertain, your culture is very different from the one I grew up in. You would not believe how much different,” he added ruefully. “I’m here to learn how to live in your culture. I believe attending high school will facilitate that goal more rapidly than any other method at my disposal.”

  “I see,” Holland murmured. And she looked as if she did understand part of his reasoning. “Well. You do realize that college would achieve the same thing? You could certainly pass the classes there because of your remarkable memory.”

  “I honestly don’t think I should attempt college just yet, ma’am,” he answered after a moment of thought. “High school is foreign enough, no offense intended,” he assured her hastily. “I think it would be more advantageous for me to be immersed with students from my own age group.”

  “No offense taken, and I can appreciate your desire to be with your peers.” Now she just looked amused. “Well. Mr. Blake, I assume that you have no other complaints or issues?”

  “None at all, Mrs. Holland. I’m sorry, Mr. Savar, for jumping to the wrong conclusions today.”

  Rys shook his head, smiling to put his instructor at ease. “It’s quite all right, sir. I can see how the mistake was made. I am sorry if I gave you the wrong, impression, because I didn’t understand how things were done. I was paying attention, honest, sir.”

  “After that demonstration, I believe it.” Blake smiled and stood up. “Sorry for dragging you down here, Mrs. Bloch.”

  “It’s no trouble. That is what parents are for,” she assured him, shaking his hand. “Arystair, you better go get some lunch before you need to be to your next class,” she instructed over her shoulder.

  Valid point, mothers could always be counted on to remember nutrition. Rys nodded to the history teacher, then the principal. “Sir. Ma’am. See you later, Sara.” He flashed Sara a genuine smile of thanks, and quickly retreated from the room, heading for the cafeteria at best possible speed.

  ***

  “Hello…”

  Rys looked up at his bedroom doorway, his attention diverted from the laptop in front of him. Dylan hovered just inside, biting his bottom lip uncertainly and shifting from one foot to the other. “Hello, Dylan. Is there something I can do for you?”

  “Yeah, I was wondering…” he gave Rys a small hopeful smile, “if you would like to play a game with me?”

  Why does the kid look like I’m going to shoot him for suggesting that? I’m not that scary, am I? “What kind of game did you have in mind?” he asked in an encouraging tone.

  “Well, I have some neat video games, and since they’re war games, I thought you might like ‘em…”

  Rys had never played a video game in his life. His eyes darted back to the datasheet that Gremlin had just sent him laying out Novan citizen activities on Bijordan. None of it developed any sort of pattern that Rys could discern and frankly, staring at it for another hour wouldn’t help. Maybe he should put it away for a while and see if he couldn’t connect better with the family. “Dylan, I’m not sure if I’ll like them or not, but I would sure like to try them out.”

  The boy’s eyes just lit up, like a second sun rising in the morning. “Really?”

  “Really,” Rys assured him with a chuckle. “Where is this game of yours?”

  “It’s in my room.” Dylan was practically bouncing with the prospect of someone to play with now.

  Rys closed the lid to his laptop, and laid it aside on his desk, before following Dylan down the hall to his room. It was the first time he’d ever seen the inside, and he was surprised at how cluttered and unkempt it appeared. Were all little boy’s rooms like this one? There were toys and knickknacks on practically every horizontal surface in sight. You could barely make out the floor and the bed.

  A vid screen, with a game system and two controllers, occupied one corner of the room. Rys took a seat on the floor next to Dylan, picking up one controller and wondered what buttons did what.

  “So what do you want to play first?” Dylan asked eagerly.

  “Since I have absolutely no idea what these games are like, why don’t you pick one out for us?” Rys suggested.

  Dylan was pleased with this idea, and hovered over his stack of games for a few moments, deliberating. Finally, he selected one and stuck it into the game console. He charitably gave Rys a crash course on how to move, fire, and use the controller. Rys blessed the fact that he had a photographic memory; otherwise he’d be in real trouble trying to remember those brief complicated instructions.

  The game Dylan selected was indeed some sort of war game, but it just pitted the two of them against each other, instead of using battalions of troops. Since Rys was much more experienced with actual combat than Dylan, he figured this would be an easy win.

  Such was not the case; he had badly underestimated his opponent.

  “I see you now!”

  “No you don’t,” Rys disagreed. “I’m not even there.”

  “Oh.” Dylan gave the screen a perplexed look. “Then where are you?”

  “HA! Like I’m going to tell you.” Rys smiled. Oddly enough, he was genuinely enjoying himself.

  “Hey! That’s not fair.”

  “Who said I have to play fair?” Rys challenged, eyes glued to the screen. He wasn’t about to let Dylan distract him, and take another head shot.

  “AH HA!” Dyla
n gave a victorious cry. “That’s where you are!”

  “Nuts!”

  “I’m gonna shoot you~!”

  Rys dove for the nearest cover. Where was that little bugger…? “Oh no you’re not!”

  “Reeaaallly? Why?” Dylan’s victorious expression morphed into one of horror. “Oh nuts!” Dylan streaked, imitating Rys.

  “Because I just shot you first,” Rys returned with great satisfaction.

  “I don’t see any bullets! And I’m still moving!” Dylan’s soldier raced off to the right side of the screen.

  “Look behind you,” Rys advised smugly.

  “MOTHER!” Dylan stared at the bazooka aimed point blank at his outmaneuvered warrior and started whimpering. “Don’t shoot me that close, there won’t be enough left to bury!”

  Rys ignored that heart felt plea and fired anyway. There was a very satisfactory explosion on screen. Nonchalantly he replied, “You can always hit reboot.”

  “Hey…good idea!”

  “Not now! Let me save firs—” Rys glared at the blank screen. “Dylan, you are a dead man.”

  “Nope, rebooting has reviving abilities, remember?”

  “I wasn’t referring to the game,” Rys grumbled darkly.

  “Oh…uh…I’m thinking we need a snack!” Dylan bolted for the door.

  “Get back here you rascal!” Rys dropped the controller and darted after him. The kid had a head start, but Rys was faster. He caught up with him halfway to the kitchen. Dylan let out a squeal of delighted terror when Rys grabbed him, hauling him up sideways and tickling his exposed stomach. He was squirming helplessly, trying to get free, with laughter pouring out of his mouth in waves.

  Sara’s head appeared around the doorway. “What is going on in here? It sounds like someone’s being tortured.”

  “Good description,” Rys approved. “I’m punishing your youngest son for killing me with a technicality.”

  “I d-didn’t!” Dylan protested in between bursts of laughter.

  “And who hit the reboot before I could save?” Rys demanded with mock-indignation.

  “Y-you s-said t-to!”