by Sandi Gamble
We each sat up straighter as the dull thud of each strike echoed through the amphitheater. We winced with each contact. One boy then the other staggered but neither fell to the mat.
“That’s right!” Mr. Frist shouted in encouragement, clapping his hands. “Give it to him! Good one!”
Soon, we were all caught up in the combat, cheering for one or the other of the boys. We took sides for reasons that we could not say. Unfathomable. Perhaps one of the boys reminded us of someone else. Or we’d cast our support during a moment when one seemed to hold an advantage, or, conversely, when one seemed at a terrible disadvantage. Soon, we were standing and cheering. With Mr. Frist, we cheered on each solid blow.
And then, one of the boys, the one with the darker hair – for that was the only way I could truly distinguish one from the other – dropped to one knee.
“Come on, don’t give up!” Mr. Frist cried out.
With surprising enthusiasm, even those who were supporting the other boy took up the chant. “Don’t give up! Don’t give up!”
But the lighter haired boy pressed his sudden advantage. He swung his padded wand and connected with the side of the other’s head. The boy tottered and then, unable to balance any longer, fell to the mat.
There was, among us, a sudden silence. Then a cheer went up. But the cheer faded on its own accord as Mr. Frist gazed at us with an expression we could not decipher. He gazed at us for a moment, and then he crouched near the fallen boy. He whispered something in his ear. Then he approached the victor and whispered something in his ear.
The victor went over to the vanquished and helped him up. They shook hands and then returned, somewhat winded, to their previous places.
Mr. Frist crossed his arms and considered us. “Well, that was interesting,” he said, allowing his gaze to take us all in. “How long do you think it took you to become a bloodthirsty mob? A minute? Five minutes?” He chuckled, but his chuckle carried no amusement. “Fifteen seconds,” he said evenly. “Fifteen seconds and you began to cheer for the defeat of one of your own.” He waited. The large room was completely silent.
“That is the first lesson you need to learn about war and warfare. You take sides. Even after generations of training, we respond instinctively.”
We were astonished and disturbed by our obviously flawed response.
“Don’t feel bad,” he told us. “It is understandable. But now you know. Never, never concede your reason and intelligence to your base instincts. For it is that which makes warfare so terribly cruel.”
With that lesson learned, Mr. Frist went on to demonstrate techniques that we would use whenever we were in combat. Throughout, he emphasized that even in the very heat of battle we must not give in to base emotions.
“I am not speaking about morality,” he said. “I counsel you to remain logical because that is the best way to gain and maintain an advantage over your adversary. Become embroiled in emotion, and you are lost.”
So began our instruction in hand-to-hand combat. As we fought, we were continually assessed and taught. Stances. Approaches. Keeping an eye always to strategic retreat.
“Better to live and fight another day!” Mr. Frist taught us. “Never allow yourself to be trapped. Always have an exit strategy.”
Mr. Frist tried to teach us that, in addition to the physical dimensions, war was a moral and psychological battle and that often if one can hold the moral and the psychological high ground, he or she can succeed even with inferior physical capabilities.
That said, we worked hard to maximize our physical capabilities. We worked with weights. We ran to improve our stamina. We went through obstacle courses designed to frustrate us. We battled in the cold and wet as well as on the cushioned mats of the amphitheater. We built not only muscle but flexibility.
More than once, in our exercises, I found myself opposing Jace. In fighting, as in almost everything else, we were extremely well-matched. However, I did have one advantage that I quickly learned how to press. He liked me and responded to me in ways I was only just beginning to feel toward him. I used his budding interest in me and my being a girl to my advantage and to put him off guard. This allowed me to put him on the floor quickly and easily.
“Really, Jace?” I would say after pinning him yet again. “You haven’t learned to guard against your weakness?”
He would smile and shrug. “I guess there are some weaknesses better not strengthened,” he said in an observation I did not yet fully understand but which sounded to me to be much wiser than our years.
Of course, Mr. Frist and our other instructors did not find his comfort with his weakness endearing. They counseled him on correcting for it.
“And you’d better,” they made clear in no uncertain terms.
Jace, being Jace, took his lessons well. When we next opposed one another, I found myself on my bum before I knew what had happened.
“What was that?” I asked, gazing up at him.
Same smile. Same shrug. “I guess there are some weaknesses better off strengthened,” he said.
He was like a Zen koan! It was a challenge and a delight to keep up with him!
Most of the time, we were not pitted against one another. Our advanced combat training saw us paired off against just about everyone else in our group, male or female, with no consideration toward size or weight differentials.
“Do you think your mortal enemies will ever show you the kindness of only fighting you if you are equally paired?” Mr. Frist chided us whenever anyone balked about going up against a larger student. “I don’t. The task is to quickly figure out how to neutralize your opponent’s strength relative to your weakness – and then make your move!”
Although we were all somewhat tentative during our first exchanges, we quickly lost any reluctance to fight and to fight hard. Our instructors urged us toward victory, real victory, not simply “feeling good” about our efforts.
“Remember, when it comes to war there is not a satisfactory second place. There is victory, and then there is death.”
As a result, it was not long before we were all covered in various manner of bruises and cuts and scrapes. We were often hobbled by sore muscles and twisted limbs.
No matter how much pain we were in, none of us was willing to concede a point. Blood, sweat, tears. It did not matter. Our goal was victory which, in this context, amounted to impressing our instructors with our determination and skill.
We knew that there were no “practice runs” in the Academy. Everything we did was being viewed, assessed and analyzed. Every move we made, every success and failure was being weighed in the determination of our future occupations. I cared for no one in the group any more than I cared for Jace, but when it came to our one-on-one combat, I felt no more mercy toward him than he did toward me.
One day, I was paired with Ronan, a boy who had grown to nearly man-size at a very early age. He even bore the slightest trace of facial hair! He no doubt outweighed me – and just about everyone else – by thirty pounds.
For some reason, our pairing happened when every other pairing seemed to have been resolved, so all the instructors and students had gathered around our mat. As we warily circled one another, I could feel my heart beating in my chest and into my ears. The shouts of encouragement – to both of us – sounded muffled. My concentration was complete. I could smell the anticipation on his body as he moved closer.
“Come on, little one,” he sneered. “What do you say? Let’s get this over with quickly.” He laughed.
It was an ugly laugh. I knew Ronan to be a considerate boy outside of our war games. But I also knew him to be ruthless during the games. He had yet to lose a single contest, and he meant to keep it that way when he faced off against me, a skinny girl.
“What do you say? I’ll make this easy for you? Concede now and no pain.”
I continued to circle him, keeping myself just beyond his potential reach. Just then, he pounced, and I danced back. I could feel the air move past me as his
mighty paw of a hand came within millimeters of my face.
“You’re quick, little one, but not quick enough.”
He had no sooner ended his observation than I ducked low and scooted between his legs arriving behind him. I took my foot and kicked it hard against his back, sending him staggering forward. If I thought my maneuver would intimidate him I was in for a rude awakening. It seemed my action only served to amuse him – and to increase his bloodlust even more.
Even as the crowd around us cheered my audacity, he pivoted and stared at me with a gleam in his eye that I had never seen before. “Little one, you do yourself harm to prolong this.”
“So says you,” I said, sneering at him. I do not know where I found it, but I found my voice, and I was glad for it.
His face turned red and then purple. I sensed I was in grave danger now– but I also remembered Mr. Frist telling us that emotion in battle is our greatest enemy. In other words, I knew I had finally gained a small and only potential advantage.
He swatted at me again, this time catching me in the face with his powerful fist. In an instant, I felt a sharp pain and then a cold numbness. I could feel blood running down my face, and it was only later when I was in the infirmary that I learned that he’d broken my nose!
I staggered back from the force of the blow. I did not raise my hand to my face though. I knew I had no time for that for I was absolutely sure that Ronan would presume that, having connected such a strong blow, he could press his advantage.
I could not allow him that.
As he stepped forward, prepared to deliver another fierce blow, I leapt up and brought my foot across his head. The blow stunned him. I skidded across the mat on my belly, using his own size to give myself cover. In an instant, I was back on my feet. I delivered two quick jabs to the back of his head, and then, before he had the time to turn around to face me, I was on the mat and ducking under him. I became like a mosquito that he was unable to swat. Meanwhile, I delivered jabs and blows, weakening him not with an overwhelming strike but with a constant, unrelenting rain of blows.
“I will destroy you!” he roared.
But I no longer feared his roars or his size. I had only to keep moving, to dance beyond his fists and his feet, and to deliver quick hits. I brought my feet across the back of his knees, causing him to fall to the mat. I jumped on him and began to pummel him with my fists. Over and over. He rose up with me on his back, trying to ride him as I would a wild beast.
Unable to shake me loose, he fell back. The wind flew from my lungs as he landed on me. His head struck my still sensitive nose. I felt I was suffocating as I pushed up against him. I rolled left and right, trying to find an angle. I reached out and brought my arms around his neck and squeezed. Like a snake, I squeezed. He began to gasp.
Whatever else, his amusement in fighting me was now gone. We both knew that we were fighting for keeps! I didn’t hear anything else, not the shouting of our fellow students and not the voices of our instructors.
It wasn’t until we were pulled apart by Mr. Frist, with him calling a “draw!” that I once again became aware of my surroundings.
“You were fantastic!” Jace cried out, rushing up to me. He took a cloth and wiped at the blood on my face.
“Ari?”
I turned to see Ronan facing me. Only now he was the sweet, but very big boy who entered the Academy at the same time I did. “Ronan,” I said, wrapping my arms around him in a hug.
He smiled. “I’m sorry about your nose. Do you think you need to go to the infirmary?”
I released him from my hug and gingerly touched my nose. “Ummm, maybe,” I conceded.
“Mr. Frist,” Jace called out. “May I accompany Ari to the infirmary? It seems her nose will need to be looked at.”
Mr. Frist nodded and sent us on our way, but not before I gave Ronan another hug. Then, as we walked to the infirmary, I said to Jace, “I’m glad we don’t have hands on every day!”
Jace laughed.
I knew I was lucky to have Jace with me, both going to the infirmary and every day we had combat – he helped clean my wounds and ease my sore muscles.
When our training wasn’t focused on hand combat, we experienced the atrocities of war in our pods, or we gathered to watch film after film about wars and battles from a previous era. While it was possible for us to become numb to the horrors of war, our instructors were clear that we had to remain conscious of how horrible war was.
“It is so horrible it is worth our greatest efforts to avoid. However, when it is unavoidable, we must engage in it to win. There is no other option.”
We learned to aim and fire disruptor energy weapons. Barreled guns such as those shown in the films were outlawed, we were never shown how to fire one and only learned about them in films.
“Never set to kill,” we were taught. “Unless you intend to kill.”
The disruptors were interesting weapons, small cylindrical-shaped and easily carried in a pocket. Its design was efficient. Lighter than a kitchen knife, a small slide button near the open end could be shifted left to right. On one side, it read simply “Stun”. On the other, “Kill”.
Slide the button to the left, and you could deliver a shock to your target. To the right…
We practiced long and hard with the disruptors until it felt as if they were extensions of our flesh. We “battled” target dummies with them, honing in on the upper torso for maximum effectiveness.
Using the disruptor seemed easy. And it was… in theory. In practice, it was more challenging. Jace and I practiced hour after hour, trying to model the instructors correctly.
Our time in Advanced Combat Training was quickly drawing to a close. Although there were times when it seemed to last forever. Now that it was coming to an end, it was astonishing how quickly the time had flown. We had covered so much material and gained so many skills, skills that we hoped we would never have to use.
“I am proud of you all,” Mr. Frist told us. “You have learned well.” He laughed. “And I hardly recognize you anymore!”
He was not kidding. The intensive practice had caused all of our bodies to become stronger, leaner… more warrior-like. The next time I saw my parents, they gazed at me as if seeing me for the first time, or as if I was a stranger who looked similar to their daughter!
With the conclusion of Advanced Combat training, we entered into re-evaluatory testing, this geared directly to assessing and reassessing our future occupation in light of what we’d already encountered at the Academy.
For this testing, Ann would no longer be an advisor for me.
The process was familiar in some ways, new in others. Rather than being administered, this test was done in the solitude of a small room with a chair, desk, and multiple choice screen display.
Question. Answer. Question. Answer. One after another. Despite being alone in the small room, there was no question that we were being watched. We were always being watched. “Evaluated.” One of the great joys of the Academy was the discovery of small spaces where eyes could not see you.
The libraries and museums where Ann took Jace and I were such places – but, of course, when we were there, she was observing us! Still, that was at least personal. The cameras added a completely different feel to it.
As I read the questions, I came to understand that many of them were tailored to me and for my experience. I had no doubt that every other student was making the exact same discovery.
What distinguished this exam from the others we had taken in our lives was that there was no preparation that we could engage in to maximize success. No study. No practice questions. We were being assessed and evaluated on who we were and not solely what we knew or were capable of knowing.
We were, very plainly, being profiled based on genetics, history, experience and only a very small bit on performance. This was unnerving for all of us. After all, we had all been high achieving, focused and successful students and people.
That night, we all felt drained
by the experience of testing but that sense of exhaustion was matched by relief, and a desire for celebration – the worst the Academy could throw at us had been thrown! The most difficult and unsettling of our lessons had been taught and learned.
In a very real sense, war was over for us. There would be no more hand to hand combat sessions. No more being struck by batons or electric charges. No more scenes of primitive times and their brutal practices.
We stood at a calm, at the moment between past and future. And we wanted to “let our hair down” and celebrate. So we did! With dance music blaring and sweet concoctions in our glasses, we laughed and sang. We talked about the future none of us could yet see.
In the next day or two, we would know the direction our lives would take. But for this moment, all was potential. All was promise. All was good.
“You’ll get a good spot,” Oliver said to Jace. “You’re bloody remarkable. You too,” he said, nodding over at me.
I didn’t know what to say. I felt awkward and uncomfortable with being identified as “special” by someone in our group, even if I knew it to be true, even if I was pleased that the assessment was bestowed on both Jace and me together.
“We’ll all get a good spot,” Jace said, ever the diplomat, ever the one able to find the words. “Because whatever spot we get is the spot meant for us.” He shrugged. “And there’s no spot better than that, right?”
Oliver eyed him for a moment. “Maybe so. Maybe so.”
“It is so!” Ronan bellowed, standing tall and raising his glass above all of us. “All is good! And right now, we are together. Bloody good!”
In the morning, we would all head our separate ways, back to our families to enjoy a four week seasonal break during which we would celebrate Nouvelle Terre, the day of the new earth. That day will see extended families and friends gather together to celebrate the opening of the time lock on the ARC.
So, when we finally grew weary of our laughter, our dancing and our singing, we began our farewells to our friends and fellow students, getting set to head home.