The Methuselan Circuit (11 page)

After seeing Alexander do it, the cadets spilled off the steel edge of the corridor like lemmings into the sea. Of course, a good number were still squeamish. Their fellow cadets pushed them into the Tube in their eagerness to try what Alexander had already done.

“Now everyone spread out, we have this whole section of the Tube. Give yourself some flying room!”

The cadets tried to do as he told them, but there were four flights of inexperienced fliers, one hundred and sixty cadets all vying for flying space. They ran into each other, ran into the walls of the Tube or simply spun out of control. To make matters worse, the inevitable disorientation of zero-G made many if not most of the cadets sick—again. Streams of vomit began to circulate around the Tube. Instructors were dashing in and around the whirling bundle of cadets, trying to give instruction, prevent injury and avoid the vomit minefields. With that in mind, Alexander pointed his toes and jetted away from the danger zone, intent on practicing. He was only about twenty yards away when he saw Treya rise out of the mess and head toward him, perfectly under control.

“Treya, you can fly,” he exclaimed.

“I can zoot,” she corrected him, laughing. “Of course, they teach us zero-G maneuvering in grammar school; it’s always been that way. You’re doing well, very well, are you sure it’s your first time?”

“Yes it is,” he said quickly, a bit stung that she might think he was trying to show off. “I never had a chance to do this on Terra. The closest I came to flying was riding a horse.”

Her eyebrows went up and she smiled widely, showing her sharp Chem canines. “You rode a horse, how wonderfully barbaric! I never got a chance to ride any animal on Chem.”

“Yeah I guess it was kind of cool,” Alexander said, not really knowing how to react to something he saw as backwards. He began experimenting with his jets again. “I got a long way to go before I really know what I’m doing, so I better start practicing.” He moved up using his zoots, then by judicially using one glove and then the other he began a few lazy turns.

Treya kept right with him, calling out encouragement. She flew around him effortlessly, like a mother bird with her fledgling flyer. It was very irritating. “Do you mind?” Alexander exclaimed angrily.

“No, not at all, I already know all about zooting! I can’t wait to try out the other things you humans have invented though. They look like loads of fun.”

He looked back at her, “What are you talking about?” While he did that he forgot to look where he was flying. Wham! He hit something hard. It knocked the wind out of him and sent him tumbling. The Tube whirled around him so fast Alexander had no idea how to stop his spinning. He tried a few cursory blasts but he spun faster not slower. The whirling lights and blurred objects started to make him feel ill. Pride gave way to panic, “Treya!”

A hand closed around his wrist, and her reassuring voice said, “Got you!” She brought him under control and the Tube came into focus again. “You’re going to have to learn how to recover if you’re going to start playing sports,” she told him.

“Thanks, but what happened; what did I run in to?”

“Me!” The voice was harsh, and Alexander twisted around to see a dark skinned humanoid that was definitely not human. He was taller than Alexander, but had something of Treya’s features; he was either another Chem or their bellicose cousins the Golkos. He zooted over to Alexander and thumped him in the chest. “What’s the big idea?”

“Sorry, I didn’t see you; I’m just learning to zoot,” he replied quickly, half angry, half flustered because it really was his fault.

“What are you doing over here,” he demanded. “We’ve got this space for practice. Get back where you belong.”

“Cool your jets,” Treya snapped, her eyes turning purplish red. “You’re a cadet just like us. You can’t tell us what to do!”

He got right into her face, baring his teeth in a snarl, and Alexander saw that they were just as sharp as Treya’s. “You Chem are so high and mighty,” he said viciously. “I don’t bow to you effete snobs; I’ll put you in your place!”

He grabbed Treya’s uniform by the collar and tossed her over his shoulder. Alexander erupted in anger, something he inherited from his father—much to his father’s dislike. He curled his toes and pointed his feet. His zoots came to life, sending him flying at the taller boy. He grabbed the Golkos but his momentum carried him and the alien boy whirling away into the space of the Tube. Pushing and shoving in zero-G was different than anything Alexander had ever experienced, but their wild flight was largely lost on him. He was too busy fighting the alien boy to notice how they careened all over the Tube. Despite the vast interior space they managed to get in the way of a lacrosse game, of course called Z-Crosse for the special environment in which they played, careening through the players and directly into the net. That didn’t stop them but it slowed them down.

This didn’t go un-noticed.

Large hands and bodies grappled them, slowing down their flight and then stopping them altogether. One set of hands pinned Alexander by the shoulders but he noticed with satisfaction that another pair of hands did the same to the alien boy.

“This isn’t over between us Terran!” the boy snapped, his canines clicking together menacingly.

“That’s enough out of both of you,” growled a stern voice. Alexander looked up to see Centurion Fjallheim. The Centurion was not happy. “If there’s one thing we won’t stand for in the Academy it’s fighting amongst ourselves,” he glared at the alien boy, cutting him off. “I don’t care who you are or who you’re related to Cadet Khandar,” and he turned back to Alexander, “and that goes for you too, Cadet Wolfe!”

“Wolfe,” gasped the alien boy, as if someone shot him. He glared with bestial fury at Alexander. “Your father assassinated my father!”

Alexander stared at him in dumbfounded disbelief.

“You two were bound to run into each other, but let me make myself perfectly clear, you will not kill each other while Centurion Fjallheim is the Officer of Discipline in this Academy!” He glared at them both until they shrank away from his volcanic eyes. Finally, he pounded his fist into his other hand in anger. “I don’t care who killed who in your families, you two will get along as brother officers! To start you down that long path of brotherhood you’ll stand watch together from 2200 hours to 0200 hours while all your classmates are asleep. Report to me on the Bridge at 2200 hours for briefing—dismissed!” Fjallheim turned in mid air and jetted away.

The cadet behind Alexander let him go, whispering, “Hey buddy, don’t get on Centurion Fjallheim’s bad side, we don’t call him “Centurion Pain” for nothing. As for the Golkos kid, watch your back! He’s got diplomatic immunity. He could kill you, but they wouldn’t dare kick him out of the Academy. Watch him; the Golkos don’t play fair at anything. Good luck!”

“Thanks,” Alexander said weakly, realizing that he’d somehow he’d started out about as badly as he could. He jetted back toward his classmates and Treya joined him.

“You sure know how to pick enemies,” she said shaking her head.

“Do you know him?”

“That’s Janus Khandar, son of Grand Admiral Khandar of the Golkos. He was the one responsible for bombarding Terra in the Ascension Wars.”

“He seems to think my dad is responsible for,” he stopped, he couldn’t even say it. How could his dad be responsible for the murder of Janus Khandar’s dad? Sure, his dad served in the Fleet but that was it. There hadn’t been war in the galaxy since the Caliphate wars ended seventy-five years ago—his dad wasn’t even born!

“I don’t know,” she said. “What did your dad do? I assume he was a Fleet or Legionary Officer.”

“He was a Fleet Officer, but not a Captain or anything,” Alexander protested. “Now he has his own freighter and he runs our ranch. Khandar’s got me confused with someone else!”

“He’s a Golkos,” she shrugged. “He’s not likely to let truth or logic get in the way of revenge. You’ll be better off staying away from him.”

“Great, I’ve got to stand watch with him tonight!” Alexander sighed. They reached their flight and none too soon. Centurion Fjallheim was ordering everyone to line up. His sharp eyes rested on Alexander for just a second. It was long enough. He hurried into place next to Lisa and James.

“Where have you been?” Lisa said, giving him a withering glance. Alexander couldn’t tell whether it was for being absent or being with Treya. Treya jetted expertly up and hovered on the other side of Alexander from Lisa.

“I’ve been making friends; the wrong kind of friends, it seems!”

“That’s for sure,” Treya nodded.

Lisa was put out. “Well you need to stop doing whatever you’re doing. Centurion Fjallheim and the other instructors were talking about you. Alexander, I don’t know what’s going on, but you need to lay low!” She whispered the last words so emphatically that Centurion Fjallheim noticed.

“Cadet Miller!” he barked, and Lisa straightened up with a jerk. Unfortunately, the automatic reaction caused her to point her feet and she involuntarily jetted up above everyone else. Alexander reached for her, grabbing her foot as she whooshed by, but this wasn’t on dry land. She pulled him right out of line, and his weight caused her to begin to tumble to the side. They ran into each other, cart-wheeling out of control for about twenty feet before they fired their jets to stop—much to the amusement of Centurion Fjallheim and the rest of the flight. “That’s a very pretty demonstration of how
not
to do it!” the centurion announced. “Now if you don’t mind, we have a simple hands-on demonstration of the various modes of transportation you will use in the Service. Of course, you’re progressing from one to the next depends on mastering what you’re doing now. Your basic form of transportation in zero-G will be zoots, but when you master that the next step up is the zero-G board, or zoard, as demonstrated by Ensign Meir.”

The Golf flight instructor Ensign Meir, a petit brunette with a bowl-like haircut, displayed a meter long piece of plastic with two straps for boots. She stuck her toes in them and began to zoom around the Tube. The Centurion gave them a running commentary. “As you can see, a zoard is just as maneuverable as zoots but faster. Zoards come in several sizes and configurations ranging from this basic model to the combat scout zoots used by the Legionary cavalry.”

It was a good question, but Alexander didn’t know the answer. He’d always been disappointed in what his dad did for a living. That wasn’t to say he didn’t look up to his dad—he did, but being a rancher and a freighter Captain wasn’t very impressive stuff. What if he was a Spook? The Rangers were a prestigious group, if they were real, but there was a dark side to them that Alexander didn’t feel comfortable with at all. He’d rather believe his dad was nothing than his being something that was so—he couldn’t find the word to describe what he was feeling. He ignored James’s remark and focused on Centurion Fjallheim, anything to avoid the subject.

“Looks like fun eh? Well those of you lucky enough to have skiing or snowboarding experience should pick this up quick. Ensign Meir is the reigning 3D slalom champion of the Service and competed in last year’s Astro-Olympics.” Next he demonstrated the zero-G bikes or zikes. Like the zoards they came in basic models as well as armed Legion models. The zanks were logically zero-G tanks and strictly legionary weapon systems. They carried a crew of one to three legionaries, depending on whether it was a scout sized vehicle with rapid fire blasters or the hulking
Tiger
class zank with the level eight blaster projector mounted on a rotating turret.

“You will be proficient in each one of these weapon systems before you graduate from the Academy, and indeed before you are designated for either the Legions or the Fleet.” Fjallheim waved the
Tiger
over to the next flight. “Are there any questions?”

Alexander was eager to make up for his mounting list of mistakes. He’d talked all summer about the Academy with Dad. One day Alexander remembered him talking about the various zero-G vehicles. “It doesn’t matter how good you get on the zoard or the zike,” he said seriously, trying to give Alexander a head start. “You concentrate on your zoots. When everything else goes to hell and a hand basket that’s what will save your bacon—that is, unless you get a zoot suit. That’s a whole ‘nother ball game.” This was his chance to make up for his screw-ups.

“What about zoot suits,” he asked.

Centurion Fjallheim turned white.

CHAPTER 10: Academy Ups and Downs

The centurion stared at Alexander, but then suddenly he laughed. “Good one, Cadet Wolfe, that’s very funny—Zoot Suits!” He turned to the rest of the flight and laughed again. “For those of you who don’t know what a zoot suit is it’s early twentieth century clothing; a very fancy and flamboyant suit worn for dancing. There’s no such thing now, of course, but thanks for the bit of levity Cadet Wolfe. That’s a perfect way to end things!” He put a whistle to his mouth and blew three blasts on it. “That’s all for today. Class, atten-tion!” A full quarter of the flight did exactly what Lisa did and jetted upwards. There was a general amount of repressed laughter. After everyone was back in line, Fjallheim announced, “Diiiiismissed!”