by Jack Hanson
“You three just stand at attention for a minute. He’s carrying enough on his shoulders – he doesn’t need to hear what’s going to come next.”
The three cadets stiffened, and Black stood motionless. Paris and Salem looked down, but Jane watched the interplay of muscles along his neck and back, and heard his deep breathing. So, Black was furious. Maybe he’d fire her – she’d be grateful for that so she could just be invisible again. She continued to stare, and thought she saw a momentary red flash over Black, but it vanished, like a light spot. Well the lights were blinking off, that’s all it was.
Black turned to face them. “Look at me,” he said quietly. The three complied, and Black pointed down where Sand had walked. “If that ever happens again… If that ever happens again, you will regret it. I swear to you. You will regret it.“ Black’s voice was frighteningly tight. “You four are a team. Epsilon Team. I’m assuming, and this is just a guess, mind you, since I’m just a dumb grunt, that he walked alone, and was jumped. Did he walk back alone?”
His eyes cut to Jane.
“Uh, I… Uh… Yes… Yes, Sergeant, we all walked back separately,” she said.
“Why didn’t you walk together?” Black inquired.
“I didn’t know we were supposed to walk together, Sergeant,” Jane admitted.
“Ah. Well, the problem is cleared up. Cadet Harper?”
“Sergeant Black?” Jane responded, inside she was relieved. She would return to the ranks of the faceless.
“You aren’t good with dealing with people. Leadership is terrifying to you, and so is being noticed, to a smaller extent, correct?” he asked neutrally.
“Yes, Sergeant,” Jane admitted, almost eagerly.
“Well then, here it is: you will remain as team leader, and I will break you of those habits and that fear. From now on, you will march as a unit everywhere you go while you are at this Academy. You will sing cadence while you march, and you will sing it loud and clearly. If you fail at these tasks, I will assign you more until I have broken you, or broken your fear. Am I clear?” he asked.
“Yes, Sergeant,” she squeaked. Jane was blanched at her plan going so awfully wrong.
Black glanced at Paris as he moved to stand in front of Salem. “Don’t worry, Fairnought, you and I are going to have a reckoning here shortly,” Black promised. “Cadet Winchester?”
“Sergeant Black?” she responded. What had she done, she wondered.
“Who did your hair?” he asked innocuously.
Salem’s lips parted, and she let out a soft exhalation of surprise.
Black arched one fine, blonde eyebrow, and cocked his head to look at the intricate knot at the base of her neck. The pretty girl sighed.
“I did, Sergeant,” she admitted.
“And why did you do that?” Black asked.
“Because Cadet Harper…” she began, and then realized that trying to push the blame on Jane alone would earn her more grief. “Because we couldn’t agree on a hairstyle and so I offered to do her braid as well as mine, thinking that you wouldn’t know the difference.”
“Fair enough,” Black admitted with a nod. “Fair enough. However, since you two couldn’t agree I’ll solve the problem for you. Turn around.”
Salem did, curious about what was coming next. She heard a slight flick, and then Black gripped her bun loosely and unraveled it. Chills ran down her spine, and a moment later her head felt much lighter. Mouth open in shock, she made a series of light gasps, hand shaking as she raised it to her butchered hair.
“About face, Cadet Winchester. Remember you’re at attention, hands to your sides,” he said, and then walked over to Jane, and repeated the process. Taking control of herself, Salem continued to shake, shocked that someone had just done that to her. Even Jane looked a little stunned at her shearing.
Paris watched Black put away the small folding blade as the instructor moved in front of Paris, eye to eye. “Do you think, Cadet Fairnought, if you had been with Sand he would have been beaten?”
“Probably not, Sergeant Black,” admitted Paris.
“No, no, he wouldn’t have been beaten, because you are the largest cadet at this academy and you took platinum in the complete lifting events last year,” Black hissed. “That makes you the strongest cadet on these grounds as far as I’m concerned. Possibly even the strongest human on these grounds. So, no one would have beaten him if you had been present, unless you let it happen. If that was the case…” Black trailed off, shaking his head. “No, we won’t go down that path.”
Paris stood there and took it, unable to meet Black’s gaze.
“What you did last night was the action of a truf’lud,” Black told Paris, who flinched. The straight translation from Khajalian was ‘disappointment,’ but it went much deeper. It was someone who fled from challenges, shucked responsibility, and was an embarrassment to kith and kin. Like many Khajalian concepts, it was hard to find a direct cultural translation, but it hit home still. As much as he might try to disavow them, Paris was still a product of the Khajalian teachings of honor and shame.
“You have a gift,” Black told him.
“More like a curse, Sergeant Black,” Paris murmured.
“It’s all in how you look at it, cadet,” Black informed him. “But I’ll tell you one thing, your self-pity and self-loathing cost your teammate a beating and a busted rib. He’s barely half your size but has twice your guts. You failed him, as far as I’m concerned. You all failed him.”
Paris found himself nodding, even though he didn’t want to. He wanted to ask Black how he knew what it was like, being an outcast everywhere you went, part of two cultures but not fully accepted in either one, but there was still that inner voice that said “If you hadn’t been so wrapped up in yourself, Sand would be next to you”. Paris silenced it after a moment, but it lingered.
“So, this is what’s happening. You’re going to keep an eye on Cadet Falconer. You go everywhere with him. If he takes longer than a few minutes to get back from the latrine, you discreetly go check on him. Because if he gets jumped again…” Black trailed off again, trying to put words to the situation.
“It won’t happen again, Sergeant,” Paris filled in for him.
Black looked up. “No, it won’t,” he said matter-of-factly. He turned his attention back to the other two.
“You two figure out a hair style by the time afternoon drill comes around,” he instructed them. “Right now we’re going for a little run.”
The rest was a blur. Black left-faced them and they began to march, and before long he called double time and proceeded at a jog. They went into the woods that served as a park and training pad, depending on what day it was. There was a certain amount of athleticism necessary to be a cadet, but Black set a grueling pace over hills, with even the experienced runner Salem relying on all her tricks to keep pace and not stumble. Jane and Paris began to flag at roughly the same time. Jane was baseline as far as running went, which meant she could keep a standard seven minute and forty five second mile down for five miles, but this was a killing pace. Paris was all muscle, but his legs weren’t meant to carry his bulk for long, especially not over these hills with their uneven terrain.
At this point, Black began to turn around, directing Salem and Paris to buddy-carry Jane, slinging her over their shoulders. While Paris managed it with some difficulty, Salem wasn’t so fortunate, and began to fall out. A command, and Jane was carrying Salem, straining under the weight. When she finally slowed to a walk, Black called to Paris, and they jogged in with Paris carrying a girl over each shoulder, trying to catch up.
When he dismissed them, he gave them one more instruction as they tried to stand at attention, gasping for air.
“You will not inform Cadet Falconer of what we discussed this morning. Be discrete, and don’t pile on the guilt,” Black informed them. “Cadet Harper, take char
ge of your team and march them back to the barracks.”
Jane stepped in front of Sergeant Black, made the steadiest salute she could muster, and then executed an about face. Left-facing them, she led them in a march, with Jane carrying an unsteady tune about Old King Cole and the other two singing along in sequence.
Now Salem looked at her watch, and realized she had a half hour before they had to be at their first class, and she was still a sweaty mess.
This first day was not going well.
Chapter Five—First Daze
Military service has become an integral part of social life in Terran society. Our enlistment of their race and giving them a common enemy has seemingly taken away a great deal of the societal ills that plagued them. Giving them a reason to serve is an integral part of their psychology and had helped to save them from themselves.
—Illurian report on Terran culture, pre Armada revolt
Epsilon marched to where the classrooms were concentrated, singing about napalm’s effects on children, and caught more than a few odd glances. Marching and calling cadence were generally considered to be something the younger cadets were required to do. By the time they had reached their third year, the cadets were considered disciplined enough to walk to class by themselves.
Jane tried to ignore the stares coming her way, and could feel herself sweating and blushing as cadets stared and laughed. Still, she was disciplined enough to continue to do as she’d been told, but it was difficult.
Stopping in a gallery exposed to the bright blue sky, filled with leafy trees blooming with orange orchidlike flowers that moved of their own accord, Jane dismissed the team. The morning would be dedicated to academics; the afternoon belonged to the military side of their training.
None of them shared a class, or at least Paris thought they didn’t as he lumbered away from the other two cadets. When he approached his first class, Logistical Algebra, and sat in the back of the wide, crescent shaped class room for attendance, he found his name wasn’t called.
“Instructor Gomez,” he said, tentatively raising his hand.
“Cadet?” the civilian asked. He was an older man wearing a loose shirt and trousers. His skin was brown and wrinkled like parchment. He was slender, though, and possessed a sleekness that seemed undimmed with age. All the academic instructors were retired janissaries who had done their full active time in Janissary Command.
“You didn’t call my name,” Paris explained. “I’m Cadet Paris Fairnought.”
Gomez frowned and looked down at the viewer he held in his hand, flipping through haptic holograms as he searched in vain for Paris’s name. “Ah,” he said after a moment, “Your schedule was changed.”
“Sir?” Paris asked, confused.
Gomez nodded. “Authorized by one… MAS A. Black as of this morning. There’s a note here, as well. It says to check your messages, but it seems you’ll be back for your third session with me.” The instructor lifted his head. “Dismissed, Cadet.”
Paris nodded and left without another word. In the empty corridor, he pulled a tablet from his hip pocket. He brought the flat screen device to life, and a holographic display projected itself. He saw by the flashing envelope on his visual display that he indeed had a message, and poked it with a finger.
The text came to life, words floating above the screen. He spread his fingers and the words got larger, not that there were many of them.
Cadet,
I changed your schedule to align with Falconer’s.
Black
Attached was a copy of his new schedule, starting with Advanced Composition II, going into Galactic History, then he was supposed to be at Logistical Algebra, and finally he’d finish the day with Biological Chemistry. It wasn’t the heaviest load, but he shook his head and frowned. Advanced Composition was across the campus. Pocketing his tablet, he began the long walk.
Nearby, Salem’s jaw ticked as she clamped down on her temper, barely having time to fix the uneven strands that Black’s knife had left behind. She wasn’t sure who she was madder at; Jane for being a stubborn cow and not going along with what Black had said, Black for actually cutting her hair, or herself for thinking she could get away with it. She should have known better, but she’d let Jane talk her into leaving her hair alone.
Laila and Petra had waved at first, and then blinked in shock as Salem entered the laboratory at the last second, her new pageboy bobbing with every step she took. As she settled into her seat, she shook her head, pulling her tablet open and scanning the synopsis for Biological Sciences with one eye as it was projected onto her tablet.
Instant messaging protocols were disabled in the classroom, so she couldn’t tell them right away what had happened. She’d spared a glance at her palm screen after Jane had dismissed them, and saw she had missed several messages from both of her best friends, several other acquaintances, and a few boys who all wanted to know what she was up to. Only Petra and Laila really mattered, and they had no idea what she had gone through already.
Once class was dismissed, she met up with the other two girls who were waiting for her outside.
“What did you do to your hair?” asked Laila, reaching out hesitantly to touch it. “You had it so long!”
Petra glanced askance at Laila, patting her on her shoulder. Her blue-toned skin flushed as she looked at Salem, touching her bound neural strands in sympathy with Salem’s butchered style. “I don’t think she did it to herself, my dear. Salem, what happened?” the half-Illurian, half-human asked.
“Our advisor is insane. One of the other cadets got beat up pretty badly last night,” Salem began.
“I heard Casey and the rest of Zeta Team bragging about how they had kicked someone’s ass last night. Was it bad?” Petra asked.
Salem nodded. “Yeah, it was. It wasn’t that Rillik, either, but that little guy, Sand.”
Petra’s slightly upturned nostrils flared, and even Laila, who might have been the cattiest of the three, frowned. “They made it sound like he attacked Casey on the parade ground,” Petra said. “What happened out there?”
Salem shook her head and chewed her lip. “We were late, and I think he said something about getting distracted by the Old Bloods who were there, and he fell and tripped. He had grass stains all over himself, but I didn’t know he had bumped into someone.” She shook her head. “He’s too small to attack someone; you’re taller than he is, Petra.”
Petra was indeed tall, almost six foot. Female Illurians were naturally tall, and Petra’s unknown father must have been a large man himself.
Laila leaned in. “Okay, so, your hair! What happened?”
Petra rolled her eyes. “You know how to pick out the important issues,” she murmured.
Laila, for her part, was oblivious to Petra’s sarcasm.
Salem touched it again, still somewhat disbelieving. “Last night, Jane and I were ordered by our advisor to make our hairstyles alike. We got called out by another advisor and my hair was still in those ox horns.”
Both girls winced, and Salem nodded. “So I guess that was my punishment, and Jane convinced me to just let me do my own… Well, I kind of convinced myself on that point, but whatever. We were supposed to do each other’s hair, and Jane could not or would not do mine, so I did it myself. After Black dealt with Sand, he confronted me and cut off both our braids, and this is what I was left with,” she finished, taking a deep breath.
“Who’s Black?” asked Laila.
“Our advisor,” Salem snorted.
Petra mouthed the name once or twice.
“Wait, is he a big guy? Carries a blade?” asked Petra.
Salem nodded in the affirmative.
“I heard about him. Omega Team said their advisor and some beastly-looking dude almost came to blows,” Laila gossiped before Petra could respond. “They said there was a big argument and everything.”
<
br /> Salem found herself defending Black in spite of herself. “No, there wasn’t anything like that. I don’t think Black ever raised his voice once. He talked in this very soft tone, but it had the chief locked up tight. He’s a very strange man all in all… says he’s friends with the new commander though.”
“Well, who carries a sword around here? Of course he’s strange,” Laila snorted. Petra sighed again.
“Darling, he carries a blade because he’s a wall knocker – an Assault Janissary. He’s just a bit more traditional about it,” Petra corrected her friend. She turned to Salem. “I don’t think there’s been one here since we’ve been coming to Academy. How many bands did he have?”
“I really don’t remember looking,” admitted Salem.
“Surprising, after what happened last year when you decided to emulate them,” Petra teased.
The girls shared a nervous laugh. Salem, having seen the silver bands while scanning through her tablet in Military History, didn’t take the time to read the caption that described how they were earned. She had several uniforms banded with the silver as a fashion statement. When she showed up in formation with six silver bands on each sleeve, poor Corporal Brynson’s eyes almost popped out of his head. It had been one of the few weekends she had not gone into the city, instead picking the finely woven silver thread out of each of her uniforms, strand by strand, and then repairing them. “I suppose,” said Salem, “it could have been worse. He could have shaved us both bald.” The girls gave a relieved chorus of laughs at that thought, and walked towards their next class.
“So you have to live with that nerd? How’s that?” Laila asked as they made their way through the galleries.
Salem gave a shake of the head. “I think she overheard us that day outside the shuttles, but whatever. I’ve only got to deal with her for this year, and then if I see her again I doubt it will matter. If it wasn’t for Black, we wouldn’t even be talking, I think.” Salem exhaled. “She didn’t butcher me when she had me under the scissors, so whatever.”