by Ed Hurst
Chapter 10
It had all the standard earmarks of haphazard development that characterized military facilities.
The central living quarters, offices and support buildings were ancient, with only the most minor efforts at renovation. Meanwhile, most of the training facilities out away from the central area were quite modern and up to date. Almost every place these cadets were likely to be assigned would post them in facilities that were in or near cities and towns, with most of the training area, if any, off to one side. The officers’ academy was planted squarely in the center of its training range. Cadets in cycle seldom came anywhere near the perimeter, and what was on the other side of that security fence might as well not exist.
Dax had gone in with no intention of drawing attention to himself. There was no doubt in his mind that his relative youth and unique background would make him a highly visible target for abuse. This was driven home when he first committed himself to the path that brought him here. He would carefully measure his moments of excellence only to quiet the inevitable abuse as it reared its head. Otherwise, his sole aim was to invest as much energy as possible in making the whole class excel.
Plutocrats were heavily salted into his class. AI had warned him that at least a few were there for almost no other reason than keeping track of Dax. With very little warning, he discovered he stepped into a world of mind-numbing intrigue and counter-espionage as the various plutocrat families jockeyed for advantage through a seemingly endless supply of proxies.
At the last moment before leaving for the academy, Dax had mentioned to AI his inner conflict about bending the rule on possession of personal communications devices. AI essentially responded that he must not surrender the link via his watch for his own survival’s sake. The plutocrats had managed to avoid using any networking in developing their own means of private communication, even inside the officers’ academy. For Dax to keep his AI watch was merely tactical parity, as AI insisted it would not intervene in his training at all.
That was just as well, since Dax frankly outmatched most of his peers in human terms. While a university degree wasn’t required officially, few could qualify without the intellectual rigor. Beyond that, most of the cadets were children of socially sophisticated families, if not actual plutocrats. Ambition and focus were minimum standards. The Brotherhood had long been dominated by just such people simply because few from the lower social strata were drawn in the least to such a society. Chandler was the exception to the rule, and Dax received a powerful legacy of the best from both worlds. He wasn’t bound by high social necessities, but could easily match them if needed.
His true advantage should have been his weakness – physical readiness. All of these youngsters had training in martial arts and various kinds of fitness. At a time in life when entering the fray just a few years behind in physical development could easily mean failure, Dax was well ahead of his peers. He grew up with the gym machines; the military was only just beginning to use them at all. The relative purity of nutrition and freedom from environmental pollutants had made a radical difference. Even plutocrats struggled to avoid the impact of centuries of human folly in medicine and nutrition, with little chance in their hit and miss efforts to duplicate the AI-driven cutting edge understanding of human physiology and development and field technology manipulations. Dax was as near perfect of a physical specimen as his DNA would allow.
So his classmates learned quickly not to challenge him physically. Without engaging in the raw struggle for dominance, he did his best to defuse the bitter rivalries, but fought when it was necessary. While this sort of individual combat was officially discouraged, it was not actually forbidden, so long as the results didn’t hinder participation in the training schedule through injuries. There was an oral code of honor about when to surrender before it got too serious. Only once did Dax come to a draw and that with a far larger opponent. It was essentially the last physical confrontation he had to face as training settled into a more routine pace. From then on, it was merely a matter of confronting all the shifting alliances and other political maneuvering.
So on that last morning when they turned in the cadet uniforms and received their actual service uniforms, Dax breathed a deep sigh of relief that he had managed to avoid being roped into any of those petty rivalries. The class rankings were, of course, entirely political in nature. He was in the top ten and that was good enough for honor and awards without the attendant burden of political debts.
Their baggage had already been collected and carted off the day before. They had small shoulder bags for their permitted personal items. Dax decided he would forgo his and just play it all by ear.
It was a long march, but they had started off that morning when it was still rather cool, and the pace was almost scandalously relaxed. Modern uniform technology helped of course. They all wore the chameleon fabric that changed colors and patterns according to command prerogatives. To the untrained eye, it would have seemed like old-style heavy wool material, but it was nothing of the sort. The fabric was able to ventilate aggressively in response to body temperatures. Gone were the days when commanders used tradition as the excuse to encase their troops in uniforms that caused more casualties than the enemy.
The class arrived with little discomfort at the one part of the installation previously forbidden them. It was the actual headquarters buildings, with opulent living quarters and sparkling new support facilities. The parade field was flat, smooth and green in the mid-morning sun.
Aside from a few politically important families, the spectator stands were dominated by representatives of the receiving units. Each cadet had already been pre-assigned before acceptance in the academy.