Chương 8: Hard Burn

Academy Hill, Vidako Imperium Stellarum August 13, 2847 During lunch in the mess hall, the dull ache in Arc's shoulders grew to the point that he found himself flinching every time he lifted his fork from his plate. He recognized the telltale signs of everyone else at the table shifting in their seats, because the soreness from the shots in his own butt was making him do the exact same thing.

Doctor Seung's words ran through his mind on an endless, repeating loop, so that he could hardly concentrate on the conversation at the table. Not with a tolerance below five g's you won't, she'd said, and Arc could feel a wall being built, piece by piece, between he and the cockpit of a Kestrel. More than five gs by the end of the year. I can do that.

His thoughts were so focused on the task ahead of him that he was halfway through clearing his plate before he noticed that Cassie wasn't in the seat she'd taken at dinner the night before. Vee and Pika, who'd spread out at the end of the table, were doing their best to draw Rain into the conversation. The Torean was going on about music, Arc realized, upon coming back to the world around him.

"—and when you see them live, you can feel the bass in your bones," Vee said, bumping Rain with her shoulder.

"If you've never experienced it, you absolutely need to. Life is not complete. I'm telling you, we'll find a time to go during one of the breaks between terms." She rounded on Arc.

"Tell her. You've been to a show, right?" He blinked.

"Like a concert? Yeah, we have live bands at the Silk Festival every year back home." Vee narrowed her eyes.

"Alright, important test here, Arc. Major consequences, I can't be your friend if you get this wrong. Show me that you're a man of taste. Do you know Trillie and the Event Horizon?"

"Umm," Arc said, very articulately.

"I think I've heard of them? It's a fusion band, right?" The Torean girl's eyes narrowed, and the vibrant blue feathers of her crest twitched.

"You think you've heard of them?"

"I mean, I definitely have," he said. I'm pretty sure, at least.

"Yeah. Anyway, do any of you know where Cassie's at?"

"Saw her walking—" Pika paused mid-sentence and frowned.

"You ok there, big guy?" Delvan asked, looking the Alu'kan over with a frown.

"Fine," Pika said.

"Saw her walking toward the center of campus," he said.

"Nose in her tablet."

"I wonder if we should grab her some lunch," Arc mused, out loud.

"Did they actually say what we're doing this afternoon?" Rather than answer, Pika shoved his chair back and lurched to his feet. The Alu'kan entirely abandoned his meal of fried squid, running for the door of the dining hall with an awkward, lurching gait.

"They did not," Rain said, her voice so quiet that Arc could barely make it out.

"For good reason, I think." She nodded her head to indicate the tables around them, and Arc was surprised to see how empty the mess hall had become. As he watched, one of the clean-cut boys sitting near Cal Madine stood up, carried a half-cleared tray to the trash, and hurried out of the room. He wasn't moving quite as quickly—or as awkwardly—as Pika had, but it was a near thing.

"It's the vaccines," Delvan said, from his seat at Arc's side.

"You can't pump people full of that many inoculations without getting some kind of reaction. And I think I'd prefer to be in my bunk by the time it happens. I'd recommend the rest of you do the same." He rose, carrying his own tray, and headed out, leaving Arc with only Vee and Rain.

"Come on, Arc," Vee said, standing up, throwing her tunic over one arm, and grabbing her tray.

"If you really want to grab something for Cassie, Rain and I can walk you up to our room." They stacked their dishes, collected a few pieces of fruit, a muffin and a bottle of water, and headed out through the long hall toward the foyer and the elevators. Today, the couches and love-seats were remarkably empty of students. Vee walked between Arc and Rain, slipping her hands through each of their arms and linking them all together so that they had to walk in step.

If she was feeling the effects of the vaccinations they'd all endured over the course of the morning, she certainly didn't show it. Arc was surprised to catch a hint of a of citrus scent on her; it reminded him of an orange, or perhaps a lemon. Being escorted made the trip up to the third floor only slightly less awkward, particularly when two young women rushed by the trio in the hallway on a panicked beeline for the communal bathroom.

Vee released Arc's arm long enough to scan her identification card, then pushed the door open in one sudden motion that was as exuberant as everything else she seemed to do.

"This is our room!" Vee exclaimed, turning about with her arms spread wide so that her feathers fanned out in a dazzling display of iridescent blue and green. She threw her tunic onto one desk, then leapt up and, with a single beat of her arms, managed to fling herself back onto one of the top bunks, where she landed with a bounce. Arc set the food they'd brought for Cassie on the other desk and turned to make for the door.

"I guess she isn't back yet," he said. Obviously. It wasn't like there was any place to hide an entire person in such small rooms.

"Just let her know I stopped by?"

"You could wait with us if you want?" Vee offered.

"No, I think I'd better get downstairs," Arc said.

"I want to check on Pika and make sure he got to the room in one piece. I'll see you all tomorrow." He gave both girls a wave, then ducked out through the door and fled down the hall from the glares of passing cadets who made him feel as if he were trespassing. 𝝮 Pika, it turned out, was not in their room. Instead, Arc's bunkmate had splayed his body across the cool tiles of the second-floor bathroom, where he stretched out in front of the toilet he'd claimed as his own.

He rose only periodically, and then only to empty whatever was left in his stomach. Arc managed to get a cool, wet cloth over his new friend's forehead just before he began to feel the effects of the vaccinations. Rather than an upset stomach, Arc's particular brand of torture came in the form of a restless, sweating fever. Later, he remembered climbing up into his bunk, with a bottle of water that he wedged between the mattress and the wall, and cocooning himself inside his blanket and sheets.

That was the last clear memory until the fever broke, and the intervening time was a haze of fragmented feelings and images: throwing the blankets off because he was burning up, only to begin shivering and grab desperately once again for something to keep him warm. Sucking down gulps from the increasingly warm bottle of water, until that was gone.

People coming and going from the room: Delvan Beck's voice, and Cal Madine's, and even someone else, who took his temperature by shoving the end of a thermometer into his ear. This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. But those times were only when Arc was closest to the surface of the waking world. For the rest, he swam through a sea of dreams and memories.

That terrible moment when Rashmi had come running in, interrupting whatever inane thing Arc and Teo were arguing about, and shoved her tablet in his face. The headline, 'Pirate Attack,' and the too-calm, uncaring voice of the news anchor as he'd named the merchant ship Adversity. The succession of crushed hopes, coming one after the other, as the days passed. It was Phoebe's ship that had been attacked, but as long as the captain turned over the cargo, she'd be fine.

There was a fleet carrier burning hard to intercept; surely the pirates would want to flee before it got there. Beecher Red Crest was on the ship and sortieing personally. The ace would drive them off. The ship had been destroyed, but there would be life pods… Teo and Rashmi, each embracing Arc in turn at the funeral, while everything was numb and nothing but an empty casket remained for his mother to weep over.

Flowers, from Phoebe's teachers, her friends, from Dad's friends at the silk mill, so many that Arc couldn't stand the smell of them any longer, cloying like death in his nose. The fever finally broke during the afternoon of the day after the cadets received their vaccinations. All Tycho Hall felt like an infirmary, Arc found, when he eventually staggered out of the dorm room to throw himself into a hot shower.

Three corpsmen had set themselves up in the foyer on the ground floor, in fact, so that they were available for the worst cases.

"At least two girls were stretchered out to the infirmary," Cassie said, around bites of toast buttered with thick local cream. The entire mess hall was only serving the blandest foods, broken down into sections for each of the three major species that made up the Imperium. Arc had met up with her by accident, driven by his own gnawing, empty stomach to go in search of food. Cassie's hair was limp and sweaty, there were dark rings beneath her eyes, and her skin had an unhealthy, sallow color to it.

He doubted that he looked any better.

"Cal says they expect everyone but the worst cases up at 0430 tomorrow morning," he grumbled. The toast would have been more satisfying if they'd been allowed a bit of jam, at least. He could only hope that by the time dinner was offered, the powers that be would have decided a real meal was safe.

"That's your roommate who won't actually sit with us?" Cassie asked and started on her third slice as eagerly as if it had been an expensive cut of steak. Arc nodded.

"I don't get him," he admitted.

"He came off like a complete jerk when he found out how I'd got into the academy, but the next morning he was helping us to fold our sheets."

"I've met his father," Cassie said, once she'd washed her mouthful of toast down with ice water.

"Vice Admiral Farragut Madine, commander of the second fleet. If you'd told me the man's son was anything even approaching normal, I'd be surprised."

"Yeah?" Arc sat back in his chair. Cassie nodded.

"The guy's as hard as a warship's hull, with even less of a sense of humor. I don't think I ever heard him talk voluntarily about anything but carrier group deployments or logistics. Whenever he got stuck with people discussing something, you know, normal—like a piece of music, or a holovid, or even a proposal before the senate—I could tell he was just waiting his turn to get back to what was really important."

"He must have been real popular," Arc joked.

"Not even slightly." Cassie shook her head.

"If he'd been a bit less of a hard case, I think he would have made four stars by now, but the guy can't seem to get along with anyone who isn't a superior or a subordinate. And if he's like that with me—well, maybe just keep in mind what it must have been like for your roommate, growing up." Arc nodded, but he still didn't see how a tough childhood was an excuse for behaving like a jerk to someone you'd only just met.

"So, before everyone had to run for their rooms –"" –or the bathrooms," Cassie interrupted." –or the bathrooms," Arc agreed.

"We all noticed you never made it to the dining hall yesterday after the infirmary. Is everything alright?"

"The commandant called me to her office," Cassie said, her tone suddenly flat and absent of any of her humor from only a moment before.

"Are you in trouble?" Arc asked.

"No." Cassie sighed.

"I'm not in trouble—I just have to do something I don't want to do. But it isn't until after Hard Burn, so there's no need to worry about it yet." 𝝮 As predicted, Lieutenant Kekoa had all the cadets lined up on the paved path outside of Tycho Hall early the next morning, dressed in gray shorts and short sleeved shirts suited to exercise. The only exceptions were Vee and the handful of other Toreans, whose sleeves were cut off at the shoulder to make room for the feathers which extended from their arms.

The sky was a muted gray, save in the east where Vidako's twin suns rose, and the air was still cool from the night before. Kekoa had half a dozen older cadets with him, including, to Arc's great apprehension, Cadet First Class Van Camp. The upperclassmen, also dressed for exercise, stood at ease in a short row behind the lieutenant, while the first-year cadets did their best to stand at attention. That, it turned out, was the first thing they learned.

The Alu'kan officer strode up and down the rows and columns of cadets, correcting their stances with short commands or sharp prods of one hand, until he had them all standing correctly.

"Feel how your bodies are now, and remember it," Kekoa shouted, from somewhere behind Arc as he stalked along like a concealed predator.

"When you're called to attention, this is how I expect you to stand. Now that I've corrected you, any sloppiness will be punished. Now, look at your seniors in front of you, and do what they're doing. Remember, cadets, you move your left foot, and your left foot only. Now—at ease!" Arc moved awkwardly—in fact, he moved so quickly that he nearly stumbled. Compared to Delvan, however, three places down, he might have been a model of military professionalism.

For whatever reason, Delvan moved the wrong foot, which caused him to collide with the man to his right, a tall redhead whose name Arc hadn't caught yet.

"You!" Lieutenant Kekoa screamed, storming over to Delvan Beck. The Alu'kan officer towered over Arc's roommate and stepped right up until their bodies were nearly touching.

"What foot did I say to move, Beck?"

"Left, sir!" Delvan shouted back. Arc could see that he was trembling. A part of him wanted to defend his roommate, but he was afraid that if he did Kekoa's wrath would fall on him, instead.

"And what foot did you step with, you little mole rat?" Kekoa demanded.

"My right, sir!"

"And why is that? Do you not know right from left? Stars above, are you that much of an idiot? Did your parents drop you on your head as a baby?"

"No, sir!" Delvan said and then stumbled over his own words.

"I—I made a mistake, sir. It won't happen again."

"You're damned right it won't happen," Kekoa growled.

"Now drop!"" –sir?"

"I said drop to your belly, right now, and show us what kind of sorry excuse for a pushup you can do!" Kekoa raised one hand, snapped his fingers, and pointed to Delvan. Arc watched as Cadet Van Camp hurried forward.

"Straighten that back, mole rat," Van Camp snarled, taking Lieutenant Kekoa's place as the Alu'kan moved on.

"You lot," Kekoa thundered, raising his voice so that it carried across the entire group of cadets, "are a disgrace. The emperor must be testing me, because I do not see how it is possible to turn such sad sacks of pond scum into officers fit to serve in my beloved fleet. Progenitors help me, I will try. Now—attention!" Arc spent the next hour doing his best not to make any error which might result in Van Camp, or any of the other cadets who were assisting Lieutenant Kekoa, turning their direct attention on him.

Every man or woman who made a mistake—whether out of honest error, or because they'd simply grown tired—was punished immediately by being handed over to one of the first-class cadets. The tender care of those assistants might consist of pushups, sit-ups, or laps around Tycho Hall, but in every case it was clearly a grueling experience. Arc resolved to keep his mouth shut unless spoken to, and to do nothing to make himself stand out from the crowd.

When Kekoa allowed that the cadets might be able to stand to attention and fall at ease without completely disgracing the academy, he began teaching them to march. How marching in step would help Arc become a better mech pilot, he couldn't have said. The days in which the Roman Legions became the dominant military force in the ancient world largely on their ability to march twenty-five kilometers in a day had been left behind with the primitive nation-states of Terra's past.

If they'd been training to serve in a duke's infantry, or as marines, Arc could have understood. As it was, he could only conclude that the entire operation was meant to instill discipline, and to break them down. His understanding of military history was, Arc realized, incomplete. He could study a diagram of Alexander's charge at Gaugamela for hours without feeling any lessening of interest, but the actual process of training troops had never been anything that he cared to read about.

Now he was receiving a thorough education in the matter. What he'd feared all day came at last when Arc stumbled at the order of 'left face!' For just a moment, he allowed himself to hope that no one had noticed—but Lieutenant Kekoa had eyes as sharp as a hawk's.

"Fall out, Sandhurst!" Kekoa screamed, and Arc stepped off to one side. He caught a glance of some of his friends as they marched past—Pika looming over the ranks of cadets, Cassie's eyes drifting to watch Arc with concern, even Cal Madine marching with precision that Arc couldn't help but envy. There were six cadets assisting the lieutenant, which meant the odds were against Arc being stuck with Van Camp. But the odds had a frustrating tendency to go wrong just when it mattered most.

"I think you must have two left feet, mole rat," Van Camp screamed into Arc's face from only centimeters away.

"Run! Run! Go on, move!"