The Azophi Academy Complete Series Boxed Set: Unique Military Education

by TR Cameron

  Jax stepped onto the bridge with his rifle held ready but didn’t fire. The crew members stationed there stood at attention but carried no weapons, and only the captain who they’d seen before had his claws visibly extended. The alien’s hands flexed as he locked eyes with Jax. Stillness filled the space for several breaths, then Jax ordered, “Everyone have a seat.” The aliens looked at the captain for permission, and he nodded but did not himself obey the command as the rest of his people did.

  He asked, “Perhaps you would be willing to face me one-on-one for the pride of victory?” Jax’s helmet translated the words almost instantly after the being made the sounds that must have represented them in his language.

  Jax shook his head. “My boss won’t let me. And besides, you cheat.” He and Stephenson had discussed the possibility after leaving the bridge and before they’d separated to attend to their responsibilities. “Now, do I have to shoot you, or are you willing to call it a day and get the hell out of our way?”

  Chapter Four

  Jax and the other captains had been invited to Major Stephenson’s quarters for an after-action discussion. They’d left the enemy vessel about four hours before, and their ship was now in transit toward the inhabited planet in the system. The blockade had illustrated the loss of the element of surprise, so the Cronus was going in as part of the main fleet, and the Special Forces teams would all have downtime until the actual fighting finished. Then they’d have their chance to do an intel sweep, assuming Stephenson found a convenient excuse to get them down there. She’s never failed at it yet, can’t imagine this will be the first time.

  He arrived a good ten minutes early. Special Forces training taught the ideal that on time was late, and early was on time. Normally he’d have been a little closer to the mark, but he hoped for a few words with his superior before the others turned up and was pleased to see her cabin empty as she ushered him inside.

  Stephenson’s short blonde hair was in unexpected disarray as if she’d let it fall naturally after showering. She was in uniform, and as usual wore no makeup, seemingly unconcerned with a blemish that might pop up here or there on her otherwise fair skin. When she moved, it was with the economy of a jungle cat. He’d seen her in a tank top and shorts in the gym, and it was fair to say that she had the musculature of one as well.

  The room was about five times the size of his quarters, which were about as small as individual lodging could be without qualifying as a prison cell. A pair of closed doors to the left doubtless led to a modest bedroom and bathroom. He’d never seen them open. A desk with a broad curved display mounted on the bulkhead above it took up most of the back wall, and a round table just large enough to seat four occupied most of the rest of the chamber. The only personal touches were a comfortable-looking armchair in the corner with a tablet resting on it and images from Stephenson’s career hanging on the walls.

  She pointed him to a chair and sat across from him, taking the place farthest from the door. “You’re notably early, Jackson. I presume there’s a reason.”

  He grinned. “And you were ready for me to be notably early, Major, so I presume you have some idea as to what that might be.”

  She chuckled and nodded. He appreciated the level of informality she accepted from her subordinates during non-mission times; he’d worked for others who always insisted on following every rule, regulation, and recommendation. Even in a job as precise and demanding as his, that level of precision was downright annoying. “Could be I do. How about you tell me anyway, rather than making me guess?”

  “I wondered if any of the data that we pulled from the ship or the planet gives us any more information about the Academy investigation.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Eager to get back to Earth? Or is it that you’re eager to get back to a particular Earth person?”

  He scowled. “One would imagine that people in positions of such responsibility as you and the Professor would have something better to do than gossip.” She laughed, and he turned the frown into a smile. “And it’s possible, just possible, mind you, that it’s a little of both.”

  Stephenson nodded. “Fair enough. So, I’ll be discussing the data broadly when the others get here. But to answer your question, yes, some pieces had a connection to that inquiry. I’ve spoken with Maarsen about them, and we think we have a path forward. It’s going to be a challenging one though.”

  Her face remained completely neutral, which was a message all of its own. “You’d already planned to send me back. You played me. Again.”

  Stephenson laughed, but it held no mockery, only enjoyment of the ongoing game. “It’s possible. Just possible, mind you.”

  A signal from the door announcing the arrival of the others cut off his retort. He rose as they entered and shook hands with each of them in turn. First was Catherine Lorenzo, who had joined the Cronus shortly after he did. She occupied the lowest end of the acceptable height range for Special Forces personnel, a hint over five feet. Her skin was a couple of shades tanner than his and was stretched tight over the hard muscles displayed by the quarter sleeve black uniform she wore. Short but stylish dark hair fell over her forehead, and her eyes were the same shade of deep brown. Their intensity frequently intimidated those foolish enough to challenge her authority.

  Hugo Frangilo occupied the opposite end of the spectrum. He stood at least six feet tall, more if you counted the spiky blond hair that terminated in a perfect flattop plane. His face was long and strong, with hard cheekbones and striking blue eyes. You wouldn’t know that his skin had ever been touched by sunlight. Smiles came easy to him, but one got the sense that they didn’t go very deep, whereas Lorenzo wore her emotions openly and proudly. And me, I’m somewhere in the middle of it all, I guess. We make a pretty complete package.

  Their skills were complementary as well. Every squad could handle any kind of assignment, but intrigue and subtlety were his strength, Lorenzo was the most accomplished tactician and wrecker-of-things among them, and Frangilo had the smooth patter of an experienced negotiator always ready to spill from his mouth.

  He retook his seat as they sat, Lorenzo on his right and Frangilo on his left. Major Stephenson smacked her hands gently on the table. “Okay, first, well done all of you. The Cronus is safe because of your actions. Pass that along to your teams.” Stephenson had already shared her congratulations during their return flights from the alien ship, but she could always be counted on to ensure the presentation of formal accolades. “Second, I’m putting Team Three into rest rotation. Team One is back in front, and Team Two is training.”

  They nodded, as that announcement was expected, the cycle their standard practice. “I’ll be on detached detail for a short time. There should be no missions for us while I’m gone, as our ride is en route to its maintenance slot. That’ll mean a week of downtime.” She gestured. “Jackson, hand me that tablet.” He complied, and she hit a few buttons then projected a holographic representation of the planet they’d liberated over the table. “So, the Dhelear were allegedly acting on their own volition here. But it would be foolish to ignore the possibility that they’re lying, especially since the data we pulled shows that they had access to several seemingly confidential sources inside the Coalition.”

  Lorenzo asked, “Which ones?”

  Stephenson shook her head. “Unknown. The trail leads back to the central network, and we can’t follow it further. I’d sure like to get one of our teams in there.” The Alien Coalition’s headquarters was a massive station deep within their territory, positioned roughly in the middle of a triangle comprised of three of its earliest and most powerful members. They only knew of it from references found in ships they’d fought. No human had ever set eyes on it and lived to tell the tale, according to all the information they had. “In any case, there’s no way to be certain this wasn’t part of a bigger scheme.”

  Frangilo grunted, sounding annoyed. “I don’t suppose we can do anything about it at this point, though, right?” He grinned sudd
enly. “I know. Let’s go grab one of their other worlds and see what we find.”

  They all chuckled at that, but Stephenson shook her head. “You’re not wrong. We’re not instructed to take action at this time. That’ll be decided by those above.” She pointed at the ceiling.

  Jax quipped, “On the hull?”

  The Major sighed. “Jackson, you should visit medical and make sure that your intelligence quotient wasn’t reduced during the last mission. Now, let’s all discuss what the next few weeks are going to look like.”

  The meeting had been typically brief, and he’d spent a few minutes after talking shop with the other captains. However, another ritual beckoned. He wandered back to his quarters and changed into civilian clothes and departed for Space Street, where his team was scheduled to meet in a quarter hour.

  The Cronus’s primary recreation hub rose through multiple decks and was designed to give the illusion of being on-planet rather than in the middle of a hunk of metal floating in a deadly vacuum. The main thoroughfare looked a lot like a sidewalk you’d find in any city, and the bars, restaurants, and shops that decorated both sides of it emulated different flavors of Earth businesses. He exchanged nods with a pair of plainclothes security officers, ship’s crew, and headed into one of his favorite spots, the Queen and Rook tavern.

  The bar was modeled after an Irish pub and had wooden chairs, wooden tables, and a large wooden bar with a stripe of frosted metal to keep one’s drink cold running along it. The popular spot boasted a boisterous clientele. Recorded soccer games from Earth played on the screens mounted above the bar, and people cheered as if they were real-time and deeply meaningful. Jax had reserved a table for them, which had required a not-insignificant tip to the bartender in advance, and as he sat, a server sauntered by and deposited a cider in front of him. The drinks were limited by type since the place offered only beer, cider, or whiskey, but had several options available in each category. What he’d been given was a mystery, but it was sweet, tart, and hit his nerves like a gentle hand stroking his hair.

  He sighed and grinned up at his team as they arrived in a bunch. They had traded in their uniforms for casual clothes as well, simple shirts and black trousers the unwritten rule for them all. He’d chosen the middle spot in a curved booth, and they climbed in on either side, Darius Lyton and Kyra Venn on his right, Beatrice O’Leary and their newest addition, Sebastian Welker, on his left. The server swung back, took their orders—Irish Whiskey, Lager, Stout, and Cider, respectively—and vanished into the hubbub a moment later. In the time he’d been there they’d gone from two deep to three deep at the bar, and half the tables had someone standing next to them talking to the occupants. I love it here.

  Lyton asked, “Why do you always choose the loudest places on the street?”

  Jax laughed. “Consider it training in how to focus among distractions.”

  O’Leary shook her head. “You’re full of it, Axe. You only like it because you dig the servers’ skimpy outfits.”

  He shrugged. “Well, not only. The cider’s top rate, too.” They had the kind of bond that permitted any sort of insults to fly, within reason. In truth, both the male and female employees of the place dressed to impress and were more attractive than he’d ever be. They were also Cronus crew members, something he never forgot no matter how many drinks his evening revelry might entail. But his people liked teasing him about his love life, or rather his lack of it, more than almost anything else.

  He countered, “And we can all see you sneaking looks at that guy’s ass, Wasp, so maybe you shouldn’t be the one throwing stones.” Her gaze snapped back to him, startled because that’s exactly what she’d been doing. Everyone laughed again.

  Venn bumped him with her shoulder. “Show Newbie the thing.”

  Jax shook his head, spotting the server inbound with their drinks. “First, business.” When they each had one, he raised his in a toast. “To another successful mission for Team Three.” They all clinked glasses and sipped. He lifted it again. “And Welker, who reclaims his call sign. Here’s to Strings, now officially part of our particular group of miscreants.”

  They laughed and completed the toast, then Venn smacked him on the arm. “Quit stalling and show Strings the thing.”

  Jax grinned. “Right.” He pulled a coin from his pocket, an oversized half-dollar he’d received as change his first day on the Cronus. It had become a good luck charm; although he wasn’t particularly superstitious, he didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of giving the item away, either. He handed it to Venn with a nod as she finished clearing the area between them of glasses he might damage.

  Books put the coin in the palm of her hand and said, “Watch this.” She threw it upward, and his left arm snapped out and snatched it before it could get more than a few inches into the air, the enhanced speed of his prosthetic now more or less totally under control. Until the time comes to kick it up again, anyway. He’d been practicing daily, slowly getting faster and faster with the limb. Unfortunately, even if the new leg the Academy had provided could handle it, speeding up only one part of one of his legs wasn’t a practical idea. More like a comical one, I’m guessing.

  Welker’s eyes went wide, and he said, “Whoa. Nice. Cyborg?”

  Jax chuckled. “As if someone didn’t tell you already.”

  The other man nodded with a smile. “Still, impressive.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, except for the part where an alien ripped my arm off and beat me with it.”

  Lyton laughed. “That’s exactly how we told him the story, too. You running away while he smacked you was really the most pivotal moment.”

  Jax flashed an obscene gesture at the other man, and the table erupted again. He waved for another round, ready to make sure his team enjoyed their last evening together for a while before informing them he was headed off-ship again.

  Chapter Five

  The trip to Azophi Academy was different the second time around because he knew what awaited him, more or less, and because he was traveling with a companion. Although Anika Stephenson had been his boss for many years, he’d never had the pleasure of her company for such a long stretch. As they made the hop to the moon, then shuttled to Edinburgh to catch the maglev train, he’d learned about her past and shared his. They’d grown up on the same continent, her in the northern part of North America, and him in the middle.

  She’d arranged a car to pick them up in Inverness, so he was denied the joy of riding a motorcycle northeast to Dunrobin Castle, the Academy’s home. They’d more or less run out of things to chat about, so he watched the green hills pass by outside the window while she attended to work on her ever-present tablet. She had a box identical to the one he’d been given the last time he was on Earth to connect her to the Special Forces network hub in Edinburgh. He could have piggybacked the signal and checked in on his team, but he didn’t want to undermine Beatrice O’Leary, who he’d left nominally in charge in his absence. She’d handle mundane matters, and Captains Lorenzo and Frangilo would assist with anything bigger. His squad wouldn’t deploy without him or another SF captain under any circumstances, not that there would be any with the Cronus docked for repairs and upgrades.

  His first sight of the castle hit him with the same powerful sense of awe that it had on his last visit. The notion that a family had lived in that giant house in the past boggled the mind. Sure, it was the ruling family, but still. How much room does one multi-generational conglomeration of nobles need? The answer was apparently “a lot.” Their driver dropped them near the sidewalk that led to the side door, and it opened at their approach, the matching portal on the far wall of the “airlock” entry also open.

  He gestured ahead at the vacant chamber and empty area beyond it. “I had a personal greeting when I got here last time. I guess you don’t rate.”

  Stephenson snorted. “That’s how they treat all the newbies. I haven’t had to deal with it in ages.”

  Solidly and amusingly put in his place, he str
ode a half step behind her as she led the way into the maze of large halls and long corridors that made up the structure. She seemed to know where she was going, and it only took him a few seconds to realize they were headed toward the Professor’s office. However, before they arrived, a staff member in the distinct orange and yellow accented uniform of the Academy blocked their path. He was tall and thin, older than Jax by at least fifteen years, and carried a sense of aloof formality. Which is appropriate for someone who works in a bloody castle, I suppose. “Professor Maarsen is occupied at the moment, Major, Captain.” He nodded at them each in turn. “If you’ll allow me to escort you to your rooms, he will be with you within the hour.”

  Stephenson looked annoyed briefly, then shrugged. “Okay, lead on.”

  He changed into his Academy clothes, as he thought of them, which weren’t all that much different from his off-duty uniform. The black top was a little less rigid, and the matching trousers a little less creased, but otherwise they were quite familiar. He strapped the school’s custom comm on his right wrist and immediately felt silly with one on each arm. He paced the room for fifteen minutes, trying to talk himself out of going to seek Dr. Juno Cray, who had suggested that she might be open to a date when he returned. If I go now, I’ll look desperate, part of his mind said. Another part replied, or interested. Interested is good. He shook his head to force both parts to shut up and was freed from having to decide by a vibration signaling a message.

  He strode with purpose to the Professor’s office, mostly confident in the path but still checking the map on his wrist now and again. The door was open when he arrived, and he headed for the right-hand chair only to find it occupied by the Major. He frowned and sat in the other one, realizing that there’d been a pre-meeting he hadn’t been invited to. I wonder if Maarsen is doing it to screw with me. I wouldn’t put it past him. Probably considers it a “teaching moment.”