After that, he was free for a couple of hours. He ate with the rest of the FF and would laugh as the others made countless impersonations of the monotone instructor. When he finished his meal, he secretly met up with Cassandra. They spent a fair bit of time arguing over which 3P they’d see after training was done for the day. Most times Cassandra won, but Brent had a few strategic victories. After the free time was over, it was time for specialized training.
Most troopers only had one or two specializations and were limited to a few choices in their future careers. Brent, on the other hand, could pick just about anything. Of course, that freedom of choice came with the price of having to attend five back-to-back intensive training sessions. Having passed everything the exams had thrown at him, he was assigned to each and every discipline.
First was survival training. For the first half hour they instructed him on the proper methods for dealing with most minor injuries. After the first week the more squeamish stopped fainting at the more bloody wounds. Brent always had to smile to himself as they reminded him of Owen. For the second half hour they would demonstrate basic survival techniques in various environments, turning a pile of snow on a frozen world into shelter and the like. When that was over he made his way to infiltration training.
They focused almost entirely on reading body language, knowing when a guard is about to let you pass versus grabbing his side arm and attacking. Brent found it all fascinating. When it was over he would drag his feet as he headed to combat training. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t like it; it was just the most strenuous training of the day. Nothing but an hour of hand-to-hand combat.
Being so well known, there was always a healthy supply of troopers that wanted to test their mettle against him. Brent was so tired of avoiding and throwing punches. On the bright side, over the last few days they threw in some light weapons. Things had gotten interesting after that. Disarming an armed opponent, or getting off a shot before you were disarmed took skill, not just an abundance of brute force. When the last punch was thrown and the last weapon discharged, Brent rubbed his sore joints as he made his way to stealth training.
It was all incredibly basic stuff there. Keeping a low profile, blending into the environment, camouflage, and hiding your tracks. The only point of interest to him was when they explained how to avoid detection devices. It was exciting to attempt to find and disable various detection grids before they found him. The instructor regularly commented on his natural talent. Brent didn’t appreciate the praise and accompanying attention, but thankfully the instructor was a bit scatterbrained and would quickly forget about him and move on to the next exercise.
The last set of specialized training was the most enjoyable of them all. The command instructor was not of the opinion that listening to lectures and studying past battles created good commanders. As such, the entire hour was filled with mock battles where he would field a squad against other commanders. He and the others did everything from escorts through hostile territory to games of king of the hill. Every day the instructor had new challenges and new scenarios. Brent thought of it as a glorious desert after a less than stellar meal.
When all training was over for the day, he made his way to the mess hall to grab some dinner. On occasion Cain would spot him and drag him off to the war room. Apparently, he was gathering a small following there. It was unspeakably embarrassing when the other troopers started showing up in capes similar to the one Rick made him wear. The battles were more difficult than the command training scenarios, but he always managed to emerge victoriously, even if only barely.
Cain complained his unending winning streak made betting pointless, but that never stopped him from dragging Brent to the war room. When he used Commonwealth forces it was usually a hard pressed fight with victory sometimes just barely snatched at the last second. He had the one advantage that the other commanders wanted to destroy him and usually lost sight of the mission objectives in favor of taking him on.
However, whenever he had the option to use Shard forces, victory was all but assured. He didn’t care for the way the announcer gushed, but it seemed to be the popular opinion that his use of the Shard was on the level of an artist, completely outclassing the other commanders. After a while it seemed like the crowd stopped picking recent battles and would only select battles from the Great War just to watch him make the Shards dance.
Thankfully, most nights he managed to avoid Cain long enough to meet up with Cassandra in the repository. Occasionally, he would attempt to change her mind one last time if she had selected the 3P, but it was largely futile by that point. Despite the horrific 3P Cassandra would pick from time to time, Brent was getting a handle over his Weaver abilities. By watching her, he had been able to determine most of the base emotions. Black was anger, yellow fear, blue sadness, orange embarrassment. However, being limited to only the occasional choice in 3P, Brent’s opportunities to see the more complex emotions in action were rare and far between.
In the end, he was just content to make any headway toward understanding what he could see. After a 3P or two, Cassandra would bolt back to the FF. Brent realized after a week that she didn’t want to be spotted leaving the repository with him, most likely wanting to avoid the taunting from Cain if he ever found out.
As he awoke on the two-week anniversary of his arrival at the academy, he could tell something was different. The rest of the squad awoke with him. Together they all filed into the common room where the rest of the division was waiting. He knew it was how it was supposed to be, but it was unsettling to see the routine completely turned on its ear.
“Good morning,” Leonard shouted to the droopy troopers. “I’m glad to see everyone managed to rip themselves from dreamland this morning.”
“What’s going on?” Brent whispered to the yawning Cain.
“Trials are in two weeks.” Cain stretched. “Leonard is probably going to tell us how hopeless it is.”
“As you all know, we haven’t exactly had a proud history,” Leonard continued shouting. “The division hasn’t passed a trial in decades. Leaders and troopers come and go, but the division remains in its sad state. Despite our best efforts, we haven’t been able to break that losing streak. However, things are different this time. We have a new trooper.” Leonard tried his best to inspire the troopers. “We have a new hope. We all watched his incredible performance on the exams, and now we have him on our side. Reggie doesn’t stand a chance!”
The response was under-whelming. Instead of cheers and excitement, all Leonard got was a chorus of yawning. Sanderson and his squad were in their neat rows, of course, and gave polite applause to the leader’s speech, but the rest of the squads did not exactly shout professionalism. Messy uniforms that looked as if they had never been washed, slumping postures, vacant stares – not exactly an elite force. Leonard left the common room in disgust. One by one, the squads followed after him toward the stalls. He wondered how long it had been since some of them had bathed.
“You ready for today?” Kindra was waiting for Brent at the doorway.
“I suppose so.” He shrugged.
“You’re new to the division so you’ll probably have the hardest time tonight, not that it will matter.”
“What do you mean?”
“Even if you are the super star Leonard hopes you are, you are only one trooper . . . Weaver. We have already lost the trial; we just don’t know it yet.”
“Good to know my squad leader is a never ending source of encouragement,” Brent joked.
“Are you kidding? I’m an optimist. I just say we’ll lose. Humphrey won’t stop whining about how we are all doomed. The skies will fall, a black hole will devour the station, they’ll run out of A rations – that kind of thing.”
As they entered the hallway, Brent noticed that it was unusually full. The FF wasn’t the only one taking things seriously. It dawned on him that with this many troopers using the stalls so early he’d probably be late to Davis’ training session. Visions o
f running laps around the mess hall flashed before his eyes.
“What’s got you so down?” Kindra stiffened slightly. “Don’t tell me I really upset you.”
He stared at her for a moment in confusion until he realized he was a Weaver to her. He couldn’t help but wonder what nasty things she thought he was capable of.
“It’s nothing like that,” Brent explained. “I just realized with all the troopers out and about I’ll probably be late for Weaver training.”
“Ah, well, nothing we can do. Unless you plan on getting up even earlier, it will be like this until the trial is over.”
“I figured as much.”
Brent sighed to himself as he studied the long parade of troopers in front of them. Now he knew why there was a two-hour gap between the wake up call and basic.
“Maybe you can explain the situation to the Weaver?” Cain asked, obviously trying to help. “You know, one Weaver to another.”
“The Weaver? You mean Davis?” Cassandra tapped the floor with her boot. “You’d have an easier time convincing the floor plating to get up and do a jig, than change that man’s mind.”
“Davis – when did you get so informal with a Weaver?” Cain raised an eyebrow.
“At this time of morning only people like Sanderson have the energy to be prim and proper,” Kindra answered for Cassandra.
“He does seem to thrive on this kind of stuff, doesn’t he?” Cassandra asked Kindra. “You’ve known him the longest. Has he always been like this?”
“Always,” she said with a giggle. “Bombs could be landing a few feet in front of him, energy blasts flying through the sky, even an incompetent commander giving him suicidal orders, and he’d still click his heels and march in perfect formation. I’ve never even seen him with . . .” Kindra’s voice trailed off.
Kindra’s attention was locked on a pair of troopers. In a broad graceful motion they swung their arms into an X and bowed deeply. Brent mirrored the action.
“A bit on the hectic side, isn’t it, sir?” The first trooper was clearly speaking to Brent.
“Too much for my liking, and drop the ‘sir’ part,” Brent responded as if it was natural.
“I don’t think that’s going to work on him.” The second patted the first on the shoulder. “Doug still isn’t exactly comfortable. The sir bit makes him feel better.”
Kindra stared at the scene in complete disbelief. A Weaver was having a normal conversation with normal troopers. Maybe Humphrey was right – the universe was ending.
“You look troubled today. Is something the matter, sir?” Doug ignored the jabs.
“Not really. Just didn’t expect this”. Brent took another glance down the long line. “I’ll no doubt be late.”
“Late for what?” the second asked.
“Weaver Davis wanted us all there two hours early.” Brent shrugged.
The two shook at the thought of being late for an appointment with a Weaver. Kindra found it slightly ironic, given the fact they were talking with one. She couldn’t believe her eyes, two girls were running toward them, waving to the Weaver they approached.
“What’s wrong, Dougie? We’ve been holding your stall forever now. Don’t tell me you overslept again,” Marie reprimanded Doug.
“Morning, Weaver.” Liz bowed formally to Brent.
“You know you don’t have to call me ‘Weaver,’” he said with a sigh before returning the bow. “Brent works just fine.”
“That’ll work! Hey, Doug, I’ve got an idea.” The second boy pulled Doug’s ear and started whispering to him.
“Perfect! Hey, Marie. Take Brent back with you. He can take my place. I don’t have anything important to do for a while anyways.” Doug shrugged and smiled.
“You sure? All right, no skin off my nose. Hey Liz, make sure to keep close to him.” Marie winked as she started down the line. “Don’t want to lose track of him in the crowd.”
Liz blushed softly as she gestured for him to follow. Together, the two girls led Brent down the hallway full of troopers toward the waiting stalls. Kindra blinked unbelievingly at the entire exchange she had just witnessed.
“Something wrong, Kindra?” Cain noticed her distress.
“Those troopers, they just talked to Brent.” Kindra was snapping out of it.
“Oh, you don’t know about them do you?” Cassandra grumbled to herself. “That’s part of Brent’s fan club.”
“He has a fan club?!” Kindra didn’t believe it. “A Weaver. Our Weaver has a fan club?”
“Well, this is the FF, not a normal trooper as far as the eye can see,” Cassandra joked. “Makes sense we’d get the one oddball Weaver.”
“You think that’s bad?” Cain chuckled. “You should see the following he has in the war room. They even made their own capes to copy Brent.”
“You’re lying!” Cassandra cringed at the thought. “You mean people are intentionally dressing up in that horrid cape thing?”
“By the dozen,” Cain said before bursting into laugher.
“Whoa,” Kindra interrupted firmly. “Back up, you two. You are talking about our Weaver, right? The boy that just ran off with the two girls.” Kindra pointed off in the distance.
“That’s the one.” Cain nodded.
“He is a Weaver, right?” Kindra pressed
“Of course.” Cain nodded again.
“Like the ones already on the station,” Kindra continued. “One of those ‘get inside your head and mess you up for fun’ Weavers, right?”
“Not exactly.” Cain looked to Cassandra for help.
“He is a Weaver, but he doesn’t act like one,” Cassandra explained. “I personally watched him beat the tar out of two Weavers who were tormenting a group of defenseless troopers.”
Kindra stared at the two, still not sure she believed the story. Every Weaver she had ever met treated her as an inferior life form, as if they were talking to a lowly bug. The idea of a Weaver not only getting along with others, but defending them against his own kind was a hard pill to swallow.
“Okay, from the beginning. What else don’t I know about our new Weaver?” Kindra was determined to get the whole story.
It had been close. Even with Liz and Marie’s assistance, Brent had barely managed to get to the room on time. As he entered he found Davis sitting behind a desk in the corner of the room, idly reading his pad. The Weaver was obviously startled when he entered.
“You made it?” Davis shouted in astonishment. “On time no less.”
Brent realized the room was completely empty.
“I had some help.” He shrugged as he took a nearby seat.
“I assumed everyone wouldn’t make it, or at the very least be incredibly late.” Davis put his pad down. “Thought I was going to have to make you all run laps.”
“Seeing as we are alone, can I ask you a question?”
“Of course. What is it?”
“I’m not normal, am I? For a Weaver, I mean.”
“That’s hard to say, Brent.” Davis shifted uncomfortably. “Every Weaver is different.”
“I understand that, but this is more than simple variance. I don’t sense things like they do. I don’t act like they do; I don’t think like they do. It’s like I’m not really one of them.”
“To a certain degree you are right. You don’t behave like most Weavers. But don’t think there is a right or wrong way about it. Like many things in life, it isn’t as simple as black and white, right or wrong. Weavers are treated differently than normal people; it tends to color their personalities. However, in the end it is a personal choice.”
“So there are other Weavers like me?”
“There are a few who think like you do. They are equally as unpopular.”
“I gather you heard about the fight in the mess hall.”
“Along with half the troopers on the station and almost all of the Weavers. It hasn’t exactly improved your standing among the other Weavers.”
“Over a little scrap?”
“The fight is meaningless; it’s the ideal behind it. A Weaver stood against his own kind, over a group of troopers no less.”
“Do you think it was wrong of me?”
“What I think isn’t important. There is a growing number of Weavers who see you as a pariah. They are the ones you need to worry about.”
“Are they dangerous?” Brent asked.
“You’ve fought against a few. What do you think?”
“Point taken. Do you think my abilities will ever develop?”
“Who can say? What’s important is that we keep working on it.”
“Weaver Davis?”
“Yes, Brent?”
“You don’t have anything planned for today, do you?”
An annoyed look spread across Davis’s face.
“You might not be able to sense the emotions of others, but you are disturbingly perceptive. However, you are right,” he grumbled. “I didn’t expect anyone to show up, so I didn’t plan anything.”
“Are you going to cancel training until the trials are over?” Brent asked.
“Why would I do that?”
“You are instructing everyone in defense because of me. Why make everyone get up early for something they don’t really need, especially with the trials so close?”
“You make a strong argument. Are you sure you want to make it on behalf of the other Weavers?” Davis asked hesitantly. “They haven’t exactly welcomed you with open arms so far.”
“I’m not thinking of the other Weavers. I just don’t like the prospect of getting up earlier.”
Davis chuckled to himself.
“Fair enough. I’ll hold back the training until you complete your trials. I’m still going to make the others run laps for being late, though. Just because I’m not prepared doesn’t mean they have the same luxury.” Davis returned to his pad.
The Ninth Page 29
