“Guess you’re right. Anything catch your interest for the Trip-E?”
Garam had looked through them all more times than he could count. “Nearly the whole list. Nothing looks boring. We get input into what they give us, right?”
“Yup. We get to request our top three picks out of the twelve choices. They try to match as many as they can. Apparently, the odds are pretty good.”
Garam agreed, “Last year, from what I heard no one got less than their second choice. Still, they’re dragging out the process.”
Makaio rolled his eyes. “Our instructors love suspense. They could have sorted this whole thing out weeks ago.”
“Rumor is that this is all part of the training. In the Navy, no one ever really knows what is coming next in their careers until it happens.” He laughed. “Sort of liberating, since you can’t change it or make it go faster.” He came up to his ball and set up for his shot. “You can relax…” He took a long breath. “…let it all go…” He drew up in a long, smooth backswing. “…and…” He swiveled his hips, letting his arms follow naturally and catch the ball with a crisp, beautiful thwapp! It sailed with precision over the stream between him and the green, landing less than a meter from the cup. Garam’s teeth flashed a brilliant white in the afternoon sun. “…find the peace that dwells inside.”
Makaio scowled his way. “You have spent way too much time with Johanna. You’ve been talking weird since we got back.” He stepped into the rough grass, picked out one of his irons, and framed his own shot. With a heavy chop, he lobbed his ball into the water with a heavy plunk!
Makaio didn’t look up. “Garam.”
“Yes?”
“If you are wearing one of those stupid grins when I look up, I’m gonna make you eat this club.”
“Thanks for the warning. But by shutting me up, you only gain peace and quiet, not inner peace. You know that, right?”
He took off laughing. It was good he got the head start.
Chapter 4
“Cadet Nord Trager?”
The husky cadet in boxing gear stopped sparring. He glanced over at the entrance to the Academy’s martial arts gym. Speaking around his mouth guard, he tried to sound nonchalant. “Yeah?”
Standing at the door in the dark blue jacket over light blue pants of a serving Alliance lieutenant, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes gestured at the door. “You need to get changed into uniform. The fourth-year Commandant needs to see you.”
He didn’t need to ask why. No one in the gym needed to ask why. Secrets were hard to keep at the Academy, and everyone knew Nord had been walking the line for nearly a year. It only made sense for one of the TSOs to be calling him out.
Everyone tried not to stare as Nord pushed his way through the ropes and disappeared into the corridor.
The others spread out over the gym slowly got back into the rhythm of their workout, trying to put the scene out of their minds.
Greg Ausban shuddered, turning back to face his best friend in a nearby ring. “I’m still not used to seeing that.”
Lind Horbus knew exactly what his friend meant. “No kidding. Especially when you were on the losing side. I feel bad for Nord, but I nearly crapped my drawers when I saw that TSO stick her head in. She might easily have been here for me!”
“Oh, is that why you missed that opening I gave you?”
“Nah. Just didn’t want to crunch you in the nose and ruin that pretty face of yours. Then how would you get Dianne to notice you?”
Greg smirked back at him. “I laid a trap, but you weren’t even quick enough to get caught in it. Besides, I don’t need to be pretty. I just need to win. That’s what Starling really likes.”
Lind settled back into a combat stance, getting ready for another round. “Got her figured out, do you? That why you have a date with her tonight? Oh, that’s right, you don’t.” He tossed an impudent grin at his friend, trying to get him to charge right in. Friendly sparring was an old game of theirs, matched only by their constant competition for the attention of a certain female cadet they had both been desiring since first year.
Greg squared off with him. “Ready to eat mat?”
From the edge of the ring, a polite “Ahem” sounded.
Both eased off, turning to see another uniformed TSO waiting impatiently to get their attention. Unlike the last, he wore the stripes of a full Commander. Hugh Marks, the head of the training division. “Gentlemen, can I have a moment?” It was not really a request. He was already irritated that they had made him wait.
The cadets both stood to the rough version of attention you did when dressed in exercise gear instead of their greys. “Yes, Sir!” If TSO minions were nerve-wracking, their military master was terrifying.
He prompted them with a curt statement, “I was told I could find Cadet Summer here.”
Neither answered, confused by the lack of any question. Johanna wasn’t there, a self-evident fact.
As much as he enjoyed their discomfort, Marks realized the two had been rendered rather useless. “At ease, both of you. Now, where can I find her?”
Greg shook off the freeze. “Ah, I believe she’s in studio B. Individual training.”
Aware of the effect he inflicted, Marks didn’t linger. “Thank you, gentlemen.”
Lind suddenly thought to say, “Watch your step if you go in, Sir. She’ll have the gravity plates on.”
Marks paused, then remembered the file. “Ah, yes. She’s from Arista, isn’t she? Does she often work out in her home gravity?” Faint distaste sounded at the edges of his voice. The Alliance Navy operated almost exclusively in the standard gravity of Dacosi Prime, humanity’s adopted home world after their exodus from the ancient, near-forgotten world known as Earth.
Lind realized the commander had misunderstood. Apparently, he hadn’t read her file carefully enough. “You have that backward, Sir. She’s got the plates up to 1.3 g today. You might trip on the step up if you aren’t expecting it.”
Greg tried to keep his face straight as he added, “Especially in the dark.”
Confusion creased the senior TSO’s features.
Growing a little bold, Greg met his eyes. “She practices blind.” A slight challenge crossed his features. It was pushing the line to look at a senior officer like that, but you couldn’t spend time around Dianne without absorbing some of her protectiveness for her often strange, always interesting, and often misunderstood friend.
Marks puzzled at the way the two closed ranks to defend her, then returned a slow nod. “As you were, gentlemen. I’ll find my way from here.”
The two cadets kept watching as the TSO paced to the rear of the gym and into the hallway with the solo studios.
Only when Marks was out of sight did they dare glance at each other, wondering what was going on. “Johanna?” Greg couldn’t believe it.
Lind shook his head. “No way she’s being dismissed. Whatever it is, they shouldn’t be sending a TSO to handle it. Likely to give someone a heart-attack to have the boss of the dream killers show up at your door.”
***
Johanna flowed with the primal beat pulsing from the room’s speakers. She rolled through a ginga step as she rocked out of a hand-stand. She reversed the motion, then swept a low kick at shin level. She kipped up until only one of her arms supported her body weight, then struck out with another face kick. She spun into a cartwheel only to float back into the basic ginga motion once more.
She was not a natural dancer, and it took effort to find her rhythm with the music. Once achieved, she was able to escape the sensory clutter that made up the outside world. The fused poetry of the Berimbau bow-instruments and Atabaque drums vibrated in her bones. Being shaken out of that trance was physically painful.
When light stabbed into the dark refuge she had crafted for herself, the dim glow from the corridor lit up her body and senses like a flare. She lost the fragile hold on the rhythm and collapsed in an awkward spin.
Another may have held up a hand to bl
ock the light, but Johanna knew from long experience that would be no refuge for her. She suffered silently as the glow passed from being painful to manageable and eventually normal once more.
The unfamiliar voice of Commander Marks spoke, “End music. Lights to 25%. Gravity to normal.”
Johanna concentrated, taking deep calming breaths. The rapid changes in environment frayed her nerves. Her body struggled to realign to the normal world as would anyone emerging from a sensory deprivation tank.
Ahead of her, Marks pushed her, “Cadet Summer?” Feigning concern, Marks implied illness was not an excuse for a poor response to his presence. “Are you somehow unwell?”
Johanna felt a surge of anger. Even classmates who she would never call friends had figured out that bothering her during these cathartic periods of relief was an imposition. She came here to isolate herself from the ambient noise of the world. Tapping into the teachings of her long-absent tutors from her home world, she schooled herself back toward peace with difficulty. “I am quite well, Sir.”
By now, the blur of his form was resolving into his normal outline. The brilliance of the lights faded from the seeming boldness of a midday sun to their true modest glow. Her memory provided her his name. “May I be of assistance, Commander Marks?” She pulled herself up into the same style of informal sort of attention used by all cadets when out of uniform and addressed by a senior officer. She was certainly his opposite, as far from his flawlessly pressed uniform as she could be clad in a form-fitting sport’s halter and short-cut tights.
He gave an inquisitive tilt of his head, detecting no real fear in her. “Do you not share your class-mates’ concerns for TSO visits?”
Johanna had never understood the need to fear. “Our performance grades are a matter of private record. Anyone who wishes to confirm their status in the grading system can do so without waiting for a TSO, Sir.”
“There are other tests. Not all are made accessible by students, and certain cadets have been released from the Academy even though their scores were above the minimums.”
Johanna tilted her head, acknowledging the point. “Yes, Sir. Psychological evaluations, behavior studies, and other social tracking of our time spent off-duty. I am aware.”
Marks’ lips twitched with a little annoyance. He enjoyed the terror cadets demonstrated at his approach, and her impervious quality was not improving his mood. “Yet still no concern?”
“My patterns have not deviated significantly in two years. As well -” She silenced herself, realizing her error.
Marks prodded her, not about to let her get away with that, “As well?”
Johanna let out a small sigh. This was one of those moments Dianne would have chided her, ‘Your systematic evaluations of people might be accurate, but many people don’t like having their irrationalities pointed out. Keeping quiet is often the better play.’ Johanna had forgotten and trapped herself. “As well, given your actions since entering the room, I would assess that you have not read deeply into my file. Assuming a certain degree of professionalism from you based on rank and experience, you would not expel any cadet without a full review of their file. Which would include my own, of course. So, your visit must be for something else.”
Marks didn’t miss the implication that he had treaded on her sensibilities in some fashion. It irked him more that she was right, that much of her file was a mystery to him, and he didn’t know how he had managed to offend her.
He didn’t see it as his place to care. Trying to reestablish a sense of authority, he gestured around the room, sweeping together all the elements of her training regimen. “I certainly missed where it mentioned your current fitness activities. This is a rather, ahh, unconventional choice of fighting art.”
Johanna admitted that without pause. She had searched the archives for an answer to her dilemma for days before finding what she needed. “A style called Capoeira, practiced by some few, mostly on Shield.”
A tinge of disapproval lit Marks’ eyes. “Wouldn’t you call it inefficient? There is a reason the Academy favors instruction in Kravat Mar.”
Johanna had heard that style translated once as ‘Sudden Kill’. “I have achieved my basic qualification as required, Sir.”
“You can be assured that I have indeed read the most interesting element of your file, Miz Summer. You obviously had reason to improve your personal protection skills beyond the minimum.” Her kidnapping during her first year by the now-deceased Glen Sanders was a matter of near legend. He had been eager to finally have access to the full details of the secret when he got her file. To his disappointment, those details remained remarkably light, with further explanation behind the Commandant’s access seal.
Nonplussed, Johanna only answered calmly, “As you well know, Sir, my curriculum remains intense. I could not maintain a full gymnastics regimen, strength training to offset my low-grav heritage, and achieve my goal of improved martial prowess. This was my solution. I also find it offsets my need for meditation periods if done right and not interrupted. If I may, Sir, I would argue that it is highly efficient.”
Marks’ face darkened with a scowl. “I can see why others have found you frustrating to deal with, Cadet.”
Johanna remained carefully silent, another trick Dianne taught her whenever she grew confused. She had offered no more than what basic analysis would have told the Commander had he bothered to think it through. Understanding she had managed to offend, Johanna took Dianne’s suggested tactic that often seemed to work when Johanna managed to bruise egos without meaning to. “I apologize for my offense. May I ask how I might assist you, Sir?” She could hear Dianne’s praise echoing from her memory. ‘That’s right. Apologize, and get on with business. Don’t rub their noses in it. Get back to the business they want with you. It will remind them they are important.’
Marks scowled again, but took the bait. “Whatever your other proclivities, your performance during the first half of your fourth year has been excellent. After earning one of the ship commands for the in-space exercise, your decisions during the final action were commended by your assessors. Congratulations, you are one of the top three ranked cadets. Each of you has earned the right to select their assignment for the Trip-E training event.” A self-satisfied smile settled on his lips, believing his personal engagement to offer those accolades was a clear sign of his own leadership ability. “Have you given much thought to it?”
Johanna returned a mild, pleasant smile. “No, Sir. I shall do so before whatever deadline you wish to set.”
Marks couldn’t believe it. Fourth form cadets always combed over the choices, hoping to snag the one that would suit them best. That sort of competition was deliberately orchestrated. “You don’t even know what’s available?”
Johanna patiently explained, “That is not what I meant, Sir. I am aware of the choices. I simply intended to accept whatever selection was made for me by the administration.”
Marks grumbled, “Most irregular. You should be embracing this chance to speak your mind and pick the choices you want. We don’t train our cadets to be passive.”
The choice of that word nearly prompted Johanna to interject. Her decision to accept whatever new experience was presented to her as part of the Trip-E had come after hours of meditation, weighing the need for new encounters with exploring educational pathways she considered interesting. She doubted Marks would be patient enough to hear the balanced mental network she had constructed. Asking him if he considered that effort passive would only lead to an argument with a superior officer.
So, Johanna remained silent.
Facing no rebuttal, Marks went on, “Well, since you are unprepared, I will give you a little time to consider your choices. Ensure you have word sent to my office by the end of the day. I encourage you not to let such choices catch you unawares in the future.”
“Aye aye, Sir.”
“Very good.” He glowered at her a little more. “I must say, you are going to have to become much more engage
d with the mentality and concerns of your class-mates if you intend to be serious competition for the valedictorian position.”
She shared none of his concern. “I have no desire to achieve that role.”
Marks’ displeasure swelled again. “See here now, Cadet. You are expected to go after leadership opportunities.”
Johanna inquired, her question honest. “Have I underperformed in such roles, Sir? I believe you just mentioned my mock command went well.”
“Well, yes, but…” His confusion grew, what little empathy he had unable to deal with someone so different.
Johanna returned a peaceful smile, “Others want it more, and are perhaps better suited to it.”
“Are you simply avoiding competing with your friend, Miz Starling for it? She is also one of the top three, you know.”
Johanna nodded, “I am aware. It is her goal, not mine. I will leave it to her.”
Her answer didn’t please the Commander, that much was clear. “Suddenly many of the comments on your file make sense, Cadet Summer. Some call you fascinating and others infuriating. I believe you may be both. I’ll be watching you very closely as you draw near to passing through the Gate. As I said before, grades and scores are not everything.”
Chapter 5
Dianne Starling planted a hand against the wall, clamping her lips shut to avoid her scream piercing right through the soundproofing of the room. Her other hand reached down to clasp Shawn Crawson’s hair as he put his oral fixation to the very best of uses. Her athletically sculpted legs curled in around his shoulders and just rode through the ripples of pleasure until his tongue finished drinking and dancing.
With a throaty purr, she spilled off him and tumbled onto the bed. Steam rolled off her sweat-slicked body, and she delighted in the splash of cold from the sheets on the unused side of the bed. She closed her eyes and let her mind play over the best parts of Shawn’s well hardened body to keep the simmering aftermath going for just a little longer.
Of Bravery and Bluster Page 4