Directorate School (The Directorate Book 1)

by Pam Uphoff

  A smile tugged at the corner of the old man's mouth. "I see. So, call me Professor Ivy, and call me if they keep up the hazing. Now get along, the bell goes off at oh four five five, for the morning run. It is not optional."

  Chapter Two

  2 Qadah 1402 yp

  The bed was not lumpy, but it also wasn't home. But he still turned out at five for the mandatory run. Four laps. Two kilometers. No problem. His legs weren't hardly shaking as he finished. Some of the others were barely maintaining a jog and trailed in sweating and panting.

  "Shower and dress, breakfast in half an hour." The coaches hadn't even been introduced, they'd just yelled at the sluggards. And posted times and ranking on a board for the world to see. At least I'm not at the bottom.

  Ra'd had been the first of the newcomers to finish. He'd had the fourth fastest time, only three seniors ahead of him.

  Ebsa tried to stride steadily back across to Dorm Number Two. Breathed deeply and felt almost human until he had to climb the stairs. He grabbed clean clothes and headed for the showers.

  Ra'd was walking out, dressed already. "Did any of the girls beat you?"

  "Yep." Ebsa grinned wryly. "Some of them can run like antelopes."

  Snort.

  No servants for breakfast. Cafeteria lines, not a lot of choice for the foods . . . but mostly real food, not fabbed. The selection included a serving of some rather exotic items. Ebsa took one of each.

  He sat beside Ra'd, feeling underdressed in a t-shirt next to Ra'd's buttoned down, long sleeved, dress shirt. At least it was tucked into casual denim slacks.

  Ra'd was studying a purple cube impaled on his fork.

  "It's a kind of potato. Honest." Ebsa speared something that looked like a flower. It crunched when he stabbed it. He sniffed. No clue.

  Ebsa's gaze was pulled from the crunchy thing to the young woman sitting down across the table from them. He gawped . . . that was . . . that was . . .

  "Hi, Ra'd. So you finally made up your mind? Or did you flip your luck piece and the Directorate lost?" Paer Withione, the daughter of the President of the Empire grinned across the table.

  Much better looking live. Ebsa swallowed and toughened up his incoming mental shield. Princess glow. Everyone knows she's a two-sixteen. Double complete sets of the genes of the Prophets. Ebsa considered the fate of the news bureau that had snatched a genetic sample of Paer's. They'd analyzed it and broadcast her numbers to the Empire. Loss of license for the bureau, total loss of access to anything presidential for the reporter. Behave Ebsa. Her father can destroy you with a casual swat.

  "I do not leave major decisions to luck. And I consider myself an asset to any endeavor I undertake." Ra'd looked affronted.

  "And still modest." Paer murmured.

  Ra'd stiffened a bit. "I may yet enlist. But a college degree will put me on the officers' track from the start."

  Ebsa flicked a glance at the two body guards. "I see you have an interesting history."

  Ra'd eyed him. "How do you conclude that?"

  "The two guards, knowing you, have positioned themselves so as to easily get between you and Princess Paer. Even a complete unknown like myself is considered a lesser threat."

  All four of them eyed him.

  "I think I'm insulted. I think I ought to be considered a threat as well."

  Paer giggled. "And who trained you to be dangerous?"

  "Rael . . . err, I suppose she's just another guard . . . " He broke off under four glares. "I'm from Montevideo. She, umm, well, more knocks sense into my head when she visits than trains me to be dangerous."

  Paer's smile widened. "Are you Kitchen?"

  Ebsa blinked. "Umm, yes?"

  Ra'd grinned. "Kitchen? Really? I see you have an interesting history."

  "I might have been a little nervous at the time. And I have since repaired my difficulties with the Spanish language and will never again misspeak, using Cocina inappropriately. I hope." He ignored snickers from down the table. Great, the bullies caught that. Something tells me I'm not going to avoid the nickname.

  The girl grinned. "Did you really threaten her?"

  "I loomed. I flexed my pecs. This was four years ago; I was a scrawny fifteen year old. She found me highly entertaining."

  "So we've heard. Are you studying languages? Or sociology? Your paper on the renaming of the Servaone caste was brilliantly subversive."

  Ebsa could feel his face heating. "Explorer. Probably. At this point I'm aiming for X Team. Possibly Information Team. I like the biological sciences." He shrugged. "I've got an appointment with a counselor this morning."

  Ra'd scowled. "I do as well. I . . . did not expect to take such an instant dislike to the Action Team trainees I met."

  "Really?" Paer looked surprised. "I'd have thought you were a natural. What are you going to do? Or, I suppose your counselor will have something to say on the matter."

  Ra'd snorted. "Most likely. Perhaps I will also consider X Team training."

  ***

  The counselor looked down his nose at Ebsa. "We don't accept many Clostuones. Waste of time and resources, frankly. But since you’re here . . . "

  Ebsa unclenched his jaws and tried to look confident.

  An hour later, he walked out of the Administration offices with a full load of history, science, magic and language classes. And a schedule for martial arts and weapons evaluations. Starting with the incoming students unarmed combat "evaluation" in an hour. He strode back to the dorm, grabbed his karate gear and headed for the gym.

  I can do this.

  "Today we'll sort you by what you already know, and fit the classes in around your academic schedules." The man in charge was short, muscular and very self-confident. "I am Sensei Arvi. Dress out, the men's locker room is there, the women's is that way."

  When Ebsa got back, the instructors were sorting them all out.

  "All of you in this group have at least two years of martial arts training. Those of you who have fought for your lives, down at that end, the last two mats. Those who've been in genuine brawls where you could have been seriously injured get the two mats next to them. Those who have competed at least five times, next. Everyone else to the far right." Sensei Arvi smiled, or at any rate showed his teeth. "The rules are simple. Every time you lose, move one mat to the right, and wait for your next bout. Only if we tell you, may you move to the left."

  Having been stomped half a dozen times by the local gangster wannabes in high school, Ebsa moved to the left of center. Somehow he wasn't surprised to spot Ra'd front and center of the left-most mat. Eight mats; about sixty students. So half the incoming students have less than two years of martial arts. A little tough on the freshmen to be set up against the, admittedly fewer, upperclassmen.

  Eight instructors, or judges or whatever. They split up, one per mat and picked out a pair of students, each. Ebsa watched Ra'd block two punches then flatten his first opponent. Fast. He was panting and glaring. Speed, triggered by anger. Ebsa turned back to his own mat. Two men with different styles danced about hitting and kicking. One aggressive, one defensive. A timer dinged. The defensive fighter was sent to the right. The aggressive one stayed.

  Ebsa answered the pointing finger and bowed to the man he faced, reaching for his center, leaning away from a high kick, blocking a punch . . . his opponent slowed, moving as if in low gravity as Ebsa side stepped and punched him under the ribs, swept his feet out from under him . . . The judge's whistle sounded oddly low toned, as Ebsa stepped back and slowed down to normal.

  His opponent rolled to his feet and stood shakily.

  Their mat judge stepped back to speak to Sensei Arvi.

  Arvi stepped up to Ebsa. "What is your name?"

  "Ebsa Clostuone."

  That got raised eyebrows. "Why the white belt?"

  "Most of my instruction was not in a formal Dojo."

  Sensei Arvi nodded to the left. "Move up one."

  Ebsa bowed and moved, passing a man heading the other directio
n. Five more bouts and he was in sole possession of the seventh mat. Ra'd owned the eighth.

  The bouts all down the length of the gym halted as Sensei Arvi sent Ebsa up to the eighth mat.

  Ebsa swallowed and settled his nerves over all the eyes on him. Focused on Ra'd. The colonial—or whatever he was—was sweating and tense, fists knotting in anger. He needs the anger for the Speed effect. But that tenseness robs him of flexibility, eats power, energy. Ebsa settled into his center and flowed into fast action, weaving, dodging, blocking, as his own punches and kicks were blocked and dodged. He stayed loose, watching Ra'd losing focus, tiring. He got a punch through, a single solid blow to Ra'd's ribs, spun off a return punch. Back kicked to the side of the knee, pulling the kick at the last moment, finishing his spin as the whistle blew.

  Ra'd staggered back and caught his balance. Flexed the knee and blew out a tired breath. And bowed first to Ebsa and then to Sensei Arvi.

  Ebsa returned the bow, bowed to the Sensei.

  "Now that was a beautiful sight." The Sensei stepped forward, and turned to the other students. "Both men used Speed at very close to the highest rate I've ever seen. This is the goal of much of the training you will receive here. Along with the purely physical techniques we will be drilling into you. Ebsa, Wqlw, you two and three others who showed some sense of speed will be in the advanced class. Please sit and observe, while we rank the rest of the class."

  Ebsa thumped back against the wall and slid down to the floor. "I think I'm going to be very sore tomorrow."

  Ra'd relaxed suddenly, and slid cautiously down to sit beside him, left leg out thrust. "And I think I'm going to be so grateful that my knee is only hideously sore and bruised, that I won't even notice my ribs."

  "Er, sorry, I tried to pull it . . . "

  "You did. And at that speed." His brows met in a frown. "How could you be so cool, and still move so fast?"

  "It's . . . how I learned Speed. You just find your center, and reach for it."

  "I use my anger to fire up. I watched your last two bouts, resting while you fought."

  "Anger uses energy, or glycogen, if you're feeling scientific."

  "That's what Izzo says. And Rael. Almost everyone else uses anger to summon their best performance." His brow furrowed in thought. "You knew that, used it, let me use myself up. I'm doing it wrong."

  "You've got better technique than me." Ebsa shrugged. "I spent more time blocking things I can't do than hitting you."

  "And won."

  One of the judges padded over and handed them each a bottle of what looked like water. "Have some booster. Electrolytes and glucose. I think you both need it. Good job, by the way. It's been years since we've had a single top speed student. Two is going to be interesting."

  He padded away, and Ebsa groaned.

  "You know what this means, don't you? Every student here is going to want to beat the crap out of us."

  "Oh . . . I think they already did."

  The other students were spread back out into eight groups.

  Paer, a girl a year or two younger, and a boy so thin and weedy he had to be a freshman were sent to the eighth mat. They fought three rounds, testing them against each other. The two women were steadily fast, Paer cool, the other woman furious. The boy had spikes of high Speed he couldn't maintain. Ebsa couldn't tell if he was angry or scared. After a round robin, all three of them were sent to sit against the wall.

  Paer chugged her doped water, wiped her mouth with a weary gesture. "This is Heak and Azko." she waved an arm at them. "Ra'd and Ebsa."

  Chapter Three

  3 Qadah 1402 yp

  "New History of the Multiverse. This should be interesting. I've heard bits and pieces of it." Ebsa tapped his comp.

  "New History? More like forced to adjust the Old Mythology to fit the reality they've had their noses rubbed in." Ra'd eyed his comp. "Yes. I've got it as well."

  Ebsa snickered. "Mythology? May I recommend not saying that around Professor Ivy? Let's see . . . Then I've got chemistry. Organic chemistry. It's supposed to be tough. But it's the last science class I'll need."

  "You hope." Ra'd was thumbing through his own schedule. "Spanish?"

  Azko trotted up beside them. "You guys stuck in this 'new history' thing too?"

  "It's only been two years since we were contacted by Disco. This is new for everyone. Even Paer, I'll bet." Ebsa glanced toward Ra'd.

  Ra'd shrugged. "Five years since she knew that spy. But he didn't say much, even at the end, from what I've heard. The One is supposed to have released a lot of the private papers of the Prophets, but I doubt much of that information has trickled down to the introductory class."

  The girls trotted up to join them. Paer, by her grin , had heard most of that. "Hey, we're the cutting edge. The people who most need to be up to date. Not that you aren't right, but the historians are negotiating to be allowed to scan the Old Gods' libraries. They especially want the history books from 1960's up to the Exile in, umm . . .

  A snort from Ra'd. "2117. Two years after the Arrival of the Prophets here."

  "Right. Xen says his gods are willing, but the diplomats are using access for treaty points."

  Ebsa blinked. "Do you see him often? I know Rael goes to Embassy regularly."

  "Urfa invites him to dinner every time he talks to him, and when he comes he sort of gets grilled. Politely."

  Ra'd raised his eyebrows. "Except when Agni's there? Or so I've heard. I only met him once. He's . . . deep. I can't believe anyone mistook him for a horseboy."

  Grins all around. Paer shook her head. "He's very good at fitting in. Guess that's why he's a spy."

  Heak sighed. "And so handsome. I was a fan girl. I admit it."

  Ebsa sniffed dismissively. "I had better things to do than watch some silly horse shows. Err, wait, no, I didn't. I did other stupid things instead."

  Heak poked him. "It wasn't stupid. In fact, it's a definite plus for all future agents."

  "Oh sure. Now knowing everything he did is an advantage. But at the time it was just a girly fad."

  Paer snickered.

  Heak tossed her head, brown curls bouncing. "See if I ever help you with your homework on him."

  Ebsa stopped dead. "Please. Please tell me they don't have a class on Endi Dewulfe."

  Paer stifled a giggle. "I believe its official title is 'Infiltrations of the Empire.' It covers all the Earth spy missions—short and sweet—and Endi's, I mean, Xen's whole group."

  Azko nodded. "And there's a class on Disco." He eyed Paer. "Is it really something Dewulfe just dreamed up? Or is there really a Council of Worlds?"

  Paer grinned. "He didn't just dream it up, he made it real. There's a Council of Worlds now. And that's what counts. And there are classes on Comet Fall History and Earth History as well. I suspect we'll wind up taking all of them."

  Ebsa swallowed a horrified protest. Yes, it's even more classes, but I'll bet those are the interesting ones, not the drudgery. He followed the group to the right room—the size and setup of a small theater. Professor Ivy presided. They sat clumped together for the standard first day fare of lists of texts and other required reading, test dates and research requirements.

  "Yes, you will be researching and writing three reports. Here is the list of recommended subjects."

  Much more focused than similar lists from the history classes at the University of Montevideo. "Comparisons of historical accounts of the abilities of the Warriors of the One with the known abilities of Xen Wolfson. Huh. That could be interesting." He kept his volume down.

  Paer leaned in closer, voice low. "The trick is separating the myths from more reliable accounts. Everyone argues about where to draw the line." Her eyes flicked toward Ra'd.

  Ra'd snorted. "Utter stupidity . . . half of them."

  Ebsa grinned. "You could cheat. Get a list of all the myths and challenge Wolfson to try them."

  Maybe "The Creation myths of Comet Fall and the Prophets." And . . . how much of our Histo
ry should we let them know? I suspect they know everything, but what ought we to specifically hide? The drop in modern Oners' magical abilities, if the Warriors were as powerful as advertised, comes immediately to mind.

  Of course Wolfson was around the Presidential guards for months. He probably knows a whole lot about High Oners' magic.

  Then he headed off to Organic Chemistry with Azko. Then backtracked to the social sciences building for Latin for another list of texts and test dates.

  Unfortunately bereft of the protection of the group of friends he seemed to have somehow collected, he collected instead, the attention of a few of the more aggressive students. They eyed him, but left him alone . . . apart from trailing him across campus to the dojo.

  Martial arts. The advanced class. With all of the aggressive types. Edge and his cronies.

  Chapter Four

  3 Qadah 1402 yp

  "Well, well, well. Look at what we have here." Edge's smile was definitely the wrong sort of pleased.

  Ebsa eyed the larger man. So what shall I bet myself that any sparring is going to involve a bit less pulling of blows than usual? He looked around at movement out of the corner of his eye, and relaxed a bit when it was Paer walking up.

  "Paer, this is Edge, Ogly and umm . . . I have failed entirely to get the names of the rest of these gentlemen." The ten we had trouble with when we arrived, plus a few extras.

  They got as far as Edke, Ohhe, and Oblu before Ra'd and Azko walked in, with Heak trailing in last, casting apprehensive glances over her shoulder at a quintet of women. "I just got out of firearms training for women. Didn't you have to go, Paer?"

  The president's daughter shook her head. "Yesterday. I qualified as expert. I just have to put in four hours a month at the range."

  Heak sighed. "At least there I wasn't the only beginner. They did the instructing. I did the dismal failing."