by Kal Spriggs
“Everyone's laundry is in the machines, downstairs,” Grainger said. “We kept it separated as well as we could.” She hesitated, “The other sections are doing their laundry there too, so I would check on it soon.” There was something in her voice that suggested she hadn't said everything.
Evans gave the other girl a look and for a moment I thought she might say something, but finally she just shook her head.
Either Sashi hadn't noticed or she didn't care. Her attention was on the bulletin board, posted with a variety of plasfilm documents. “Okay, girls, go get some sleep,” she said.
I waited until they left and then moved up to look at the bulletin board as well. It looked like rules and regulations. “I think she didn't tell us something,” I said to Sashi.
Sashi nodded, “I bet they stole some of the washing machines from another section, probably to get our stuff clean faster. I told them it would save time that way.”
I frowned at that. “Won't the other section retaliate?” I asked. It didn't seem smart to pick fights with someone else. The very thought of my laundry being dumped out of a machine, wet and soapy and being left on the ground made me angry.
“So what?” Sashi said absently as she read. “We'll be going to the Grinder in a few days. They'll be trying to out-do us that whole time, anyway, it's not like we're going to make friends with them just now.” Her tone was derisive, “Besides, my brothers said it makes our section tighter, having competition like that early on.”
“I don't know about that,” I said, “But it seems to me that the Academy is supposed to shape us up for a career, right? Establishing someone as a jerk who treats other people badly seems like a bad idea in the long term.”
She looked over at me, “Well...” for a moment, I thought I might have convinced her, but then she just rolled her eyes, “You really don't understand. I mean, I'm the one who has older brothers to get the info from, you should just trust me on this.” I bit my lip again. I wanted to argue, yet she did seem to know what she was talking about.
“Tell you what,” Sashi said, “how about you go pick up our section's laundry and I'll read through the regulations here and give you the summary when I get back.” Her tone was so patronizing that I had to bite my tongue. It was clear that she had come to assume that she was the experienced and knowledgeable one in our relationship, whatever it was.
I didn't want to call it friendship, just now, because I felt like she was taking advantage of me, but I couldn't very well call her on it. If I pissed her off, I was sure she would dump me: leave me without any help or, worse, give me outright false information.
“Yeah,” I said, “sure.” I vaguely knew where the stairs to the lower level were. Rather than asking anything else of her and suffering her look of disdain, I left.
Out in the corridor I hurried along, head low. I knew from reading in my Candidate Book that since I was on 'guard' I should be able to walk around without getting in trouble. Still, I felt more than a little uneasy as I walked the corridors alone and without supervision.
The stairs that led to the next level down were marked off with warning labels along with signs that this was the route to deep shelter in case of nuclear attack. I knew that our barracks was already pretty deep and that the buildings we were in looked like bunkers already. I didn't want to think about what kind of weapons might be used against us that we might have to go still deeper to be safe.
The stairs wound downward and then opened up on a cement-walled corridor that stretched out in either direction. It reminded me, oddly, of the catacombs at Black Mesa where my parents worked. Granted, those corridors were carved out of the solid rock, but this one had that same sense of silence and depth.
The concrete was painted, along the floor and walls, much of it plain gray, but here and there there were splashes of color. I paused and stared at the nearest. It was a mural, depicting a field filled with flowers and a single cross. At the bottom, painted letters stated: Remember the Fallen. Further down I saw another, this one a silhouette of a man in body armor, the words below read: Gone But Not Forgotten. Some had names listed under the murals, others had units.
Not all of them were memorials, some seemed to commemorate graduations or other awards and others celebrated military victories. I didn't see any order to them, there were murals about successes and victories next to memorials for the fallen. There was something more meaningful about these murals, far more than I expected, just for the fact that they were clearly done by hand, without aide of computer or projector. They were done by people who had spent hours, if not days to make their mark, down here in a tunnel where the only people who would see them were those who wore the uniform.
I had wandered down the corridor for thirty meters or more when I found one where I recognized the name. Captain Brett Armstrong. My maternal grandfather's name was the first on the list of almost a hundred others. This mural, like the others, was painted by hand, but the detail on it was every bit as good as I had seen on the paintings in the Admiral's dining room. It showed a ship, broken, streaking flame and atmosphere, above Century. The ship looked so lifelike that it was impossible to miss the fact that it was doomed to fall into Century's atmosphere. The thing that gave me shivers, though, was that the warship's guns still fired despite what looked like grievous damage. Instead of evacuating or trying to save themselves, they continued to fight. They were quite literally dying to save the planet that was going to kill them. At the very bottom corner of the portrait, stark against the blackness of space, I saw the same mark I'd seen on the Admiral's paintings. Clearly this was done by the same hand.
A voice cleared behind me and I spun around. I braced to attention automatically as I saw Cadet Instructor Marris.
“Lost, candidate?” He asked, though his own gaze was on the mural.
“Sir,” I said, “Candidate Armstrong, I'm headed to pick up the section's laundry, sir.”
He gave me a nod, “Fire guard... right.” His gaze left the portrait and for a moment he studied my face. I wasn't certain what he saw there, but whatever it was, he gave me a solemn nod. “That's one of the better ones. I like it myself.” He pointed down the corridor in the direction from which I'd come. “Laundry room is down that way, Candidate.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” I responded instantly and turned away. I wasn't certain what to make of the encounter. I halfway expected him to call me back and punish me for not being where I was supposed to be.
I ignored the other murals as I jogged to the laundry room. The mess I found on the floor near the door suggested that our section wasn't the only one to dump other people's laundry. The selfishness and pettiness seemed at odds with the whole purpose of the training to me. Still, as I checked, I found that the washers with my section's clothing had gone unmolested. All those machines were finished so I took the laundry out and loaded it up in the bags that hung from the handle of each of the machines. We'd spent part of the previous day labeling the bags, but we hadn't yet labeled our individual clothing and I breathed a sigh of relief as I finished without interruption.
My gaze, however, went to the pile of discarded laundry, some of it still wet from where Grainger had pulled it out of the machines and thrown it on the ground. Grainger was the one who had emptied it all on the ground and Sashi was the one who'd told her to do it. I knew that no one else was here, no one would know if I walked out and left it there. It wasn't any of my business, I told myself. Yet as I thought about how I would feel to have to wear dirty, soiled, and wet clothing I felt my irritation and anger focus on the pile of laundry by the door.
I put the laundry bags to the side and grabbed up the laundry from the floor. Unlike our section, I saw these uniforms were labeled and as best as I could I separated them into piles and then pushed each one into a machine. It took longer than I would have liked but I finished up without anyone interrupting.
The task done, I headed back upstairs. Only part of our section had laundry today, so I took the bags straight
past the office without a glance at Sashi and then to where our section's rooms were. It only took me a moment to put each bag outside the appropriate rooms and then I returned to the watch office.
Sashi looked up from where she polished her boots. “What happened, did you get lost or something? You've been gone almost thirty minutes.”
I shrugged, “I ran into Cadet Instructor Marris and then after I picked up the laundry I dropped it off at their rooms.”
Sashi snorted, “Why? Just throw it in a pile and they can grab their bag out.”
I gave her a level look, “If your laundry was tonight, would you want to search through a pile for it?”
Sashi snorted, “Of course not, I would have told you to grab mine.”
“Right, and I'm sure anyone who had their laundry done tonight would have asked the same if they were here,” I said patiently. Sashi just gave me a shrug and then pointed at my boots. “You better get to work, you want a good coating on them before we hit the Grinder.”
I settled into the chair and got to work.
***
Having my short period of sleep interrupted with Fire Guard had not improved my functioning when we were called out in the morning. I felt the haze settling over me as I simply operated on instinct and autopilot. This time for the morning workout they brought us out to the parade ground. The massive room seemed almost filled with other Candidates, each arranged into sections. At the front of the parade ground I saw a platform. As we stood at attention, a man in a different uniform stepped briskly up the stairs onto the top of the metal frame.
“Candidates,” his voice called out. “I am the Regimental Training Officer!” His voice bellowed out, loud and clear despite the size of our group. “You are the Class of 275! I have heard that you are as sad, pathetic, and useless as can be, but I want you to prove your Cadet Instructors incorrect, is that clear?”
There was a rumble of noise as each of the sections shouted back to him. I was still too fogged over to do more than move my lips.
“I can't hear you!”
“Sir, yes, sir!” this time our ragged response was at least intelligible. It seemed silly, to me, to be shouting back at this man. How could he tell, even, if any individual weren't responding?
As I thought that, I heard Cadet Salter's voice in my ear, “Candidate, I don't think you were putting enough into that one. You better be louder next time.”
The threat in her voice put my back up and as the next call came, I shouted with the others, so loud that I felt my voice break. The roar from what had to be a thousand other candidates filled the parade ground and the echo from the high ceiling almost battered me to the ground. I’d never heard such a noise and I stood, trembling a bit from the overwhelming sound.
That response, at least, seemed to appease our new tormentor. Until, of course, we began exercises. He wanted all of us, not just our section, but all the sections, to move on his commands. As he called out each order, inevitably, someone didn't move with the others and every time someone messed it up, we repeated the exercise. We did twenty sets of ten push-ups, to the point that my arms trembled and I could barely breathe.
Finally, though, we successfully finished the first exercise and he called a halt. “Class of 275, you are a disgrace, a disappointment, to all who have come before you! Cadet Instructors, take them back and make sure they do better next time!”
My stomach sank at that. As our instructors marched us back into our barracks, I felt my stomach roil in anticipation of whatever new torment was to come. I didn't have to wait long.
“You've embarrassed us,” Cadet Salter ground out, “in front of the Regimental Training Officer. He's number one in charge of us and you embarrassed us!”
Hilton, though, was worse. “We are going to rehearse the exercises over and over until you can do them deaf and blind,” he gloated.
“Instructors,” a voice called out, “At ease.”
Hilton, Salter and the other Cadets trailed off and moved to stand at the end of the corridor. At the same time, a sharp voice snapped, “Eyes on me.”
As one, we turned our gazes down the corridor. I recognized Cadet Mackenzie and behind him was Cadet Marris. “Before this continues,” he said, his voice holding a very slight note of good cheer and friendliness, “I thought I would tell you all our selections for Squad Leaders within your sections. All of you assemble outside on the parade ground.”
We rushed to obey, but the Cadet Instructors held us up just at the boundary in a loose formation rather than the ordered ranks that they normally wanted us in.
Cadet Mackenzie moved out in front of us all. The tall Cadet gave a slight smile, his voice confident, “Now, we took a lot of time thinking this through. We selected these three candidates not because they were better than the rest of you, we chose because we thought it would be better to have them in those positions: better for them to learn and better for you all to learn from the experience. We've also broken you down by squad and we'll organize you by squad from here on out. Additionally, as you all know, there is a merit system, based on points earned as candidates. That merit system will determine who graduates in what position, with the top ten percent of candidates being Honor Graduates. Points are awarded for personal actions, squad actions and performance, and even performance amongst the section. What you may not know is that the point system begins now and is awarded from your very first day.”
“So, keep in mind that the actions of someone in your squad or section can have an affect not just upon your current treatment, but also upon your final position upon graduation from Academy Prep School.” He looked around and gave a slight nod. “So then, onto our selections. For First Squad, Sand Dragon Section, Cadet Candidate Drien will be the squad leader. Under her, I've put Grainger, Evans, Fraser, Gordon, Hunt, Phillips, Stringer, Stroud, and Tino.” As he listed those names, the Cadet Instructors shoved people forward so that they assembled into a line. “This is First Squad. You ten will always form up as First Squad, in the first rank of the formation.” I hadn't missed the confident set to Sashi's shoulders, clearly she had expected her appointment as First Squad Leader, even without me saying anything.
His gaze swept the rest of us and I felt unease boil in my stomach. Please, I thought, pick someone else, anyone else.
“Second Squad Leader is Cadet Candidate Jiden Armstrong,” he said and I felt my stomach drop. It didn't stop me from running forward to take my position, right behind Sashi. “In Second Squad, there will also be Conklin, Dawson, Mikuluk, Newston, Rakewood, Takenata, Wallace, Zahler, R, and Zahler T.” Despite my horror, I recognized some of the names they had called out. Rakewood would be an insufferable bitch.
“Third Squad Leader is Cadet Candidate Karmazin and under him are Albany, Chance, Gault, Josephic, Minton, Peterson, Proscia, Rogers, and Summers.” I heard the third squad assemble behind me. I didn’t dare look over at him, but I could still hear him clearly. “I'm telling you this now, so that all of you know. Squad Leaders are responsible for the members of their squad. Before inspections by Cadet Instructors or Officers, they will inspect their people. They are responsible for attendance and accountability, to make certain they know where all their people are at all times. They are also responsible for the actions of their personnel, so if someone from your squad has a discipline issue... then the squad leader has that same issue, am I understood?”
“Sir, yes, sir!” We rumbled in response.
“Now,” he said, his voice without any of the friendliness from before, “I have treated all of you with the same dignity and respect that I expect to be treated, have I not?”
I felt my stomach drop at that tone. Clearly, this was about to take an ugly turn. I racked my brain for what we could have done, but I had no idea.
“Now...” Mackenzie said, “Last night, myself and the other Cadet Instructors were doing our laundry. Someone among you pulled our laundry out of the machines and put it on the floor, still wet and dirty.” His voice was icy col
d. “Candidates, how would that make you feel?”
My stomach settled somewhere south of my toes. I didn't move, although my eyes bored into the back of Sashi's head. Well, I thought, at least now she gets what I was saying.
“Now,” Mackenzie said, “will the Candidate or Candidates responsible step forward?” For a long moment, no one moved or spoke. Finally, however, out of the corner of my eye I saw Grainger and Evans step forward.
Mackenzie seemed to wait a long moment. “You two did it on your own, no one said anything to you or gave you the idea?”
I saw Grainger hesitate and almost look over at her new Squad Leader. My own gaze stayed forward as I stared as Sashi's back. This was her idea, I knew, why didn't she step forward? “Sir,” Grainger began, “I'm sorry, we didn't know it was–”
“Candidate Grainger, the correct response would be 'no excuse' or to answer my direct question,” Mackenzie said, his voice harsh. “However, because you stepped forward and due to other, mitigating factors, I'm not going to punish you for it. I am, however, putting a thirty point penalty on First Squad as a whole.”
I saw Sashi's shoulders tense, clearly that hurt her more than any kind of physical punishment. I wondered, then, if Cadet Mackenzie already knew who was involved.
“One of those mitigating factors is that one of you candidates had the integrity to put that laundry back in the machines. That candidate took the time to sort it all back out and put each set of uniforms in the right machine,” Mackenzie said. “I'm not going to say who it was from the section, but I will say that it was someone from Second Squad. Therefore, I'm awarding Second Squad thirty points for that display of integrity, of doing what is right even when no one else is looking.”
I could see the back of Sashi's neck flush and from her stillness, I could guess that it was me she was suddenly angry with. She had to know it was me who had put the laundry back. She didn't have to say a word for me to realize that she would rather the entire section have taken punishment rather than to fall sixty points behind an entire squad in the section. She'll probably think I did it on purpose, I thought, as if I had any idea it was the Cadet's clothing that she had Grainger and Evans dump.