The Ninth (35 page)

Despite flashy advertisements promising a life of action and excitement, life in the academy was made up of a series of dull routines broken up by the occasional bright spot.  Every morning Brent awoke to the same dream of the fifth exam.  While the dream was anything but pleasant, just being able to remember his dreams was a comfort to him.  In the dull light early he quietly left the rest of the still sleeping troopers and joined Sanderson’s squad in their morning routines.  On his way to Davis’ training, he made a point to greet and shake the hands of the troopers along his way.  It had taken a few days, but the troopers didn’t tremble when he stopped in front of them now.  To his surprise, after a week they even started greeting him.  Thankfully, Davis focused on defense training, how to protect yourself from other Weavers and those that can’t be altered.  It was a relief to Brent, as any training focused on using his powers would have been wasted.  He could still only sense Cassandra.

When Davis let them go, he made a mad dash to the mess hall to snatch some D rations.  After he had gotten used to them, he found he actually enjoyed their taste.  However, the main reason he grabbed D rations was they were easy to eat in a rush.  Wrapping the red square around the brown one turned it into a roll that didn’t fall apart as he devoured it while darting down the corridors.  In addition to that, it left no residue on his fingers; as soon as the last bite was taken, there was no evidence it ever existed.  It was a good thing too; the basic tactics instructor
hated
it when troopers brought food to class.  Brent had only made the mistake once, but the scorned lecture was something he’d never forget.

It had been one of the only times the instructor had lectured in a vigorous voice.  Normally, the instructor lectured for an hour in a monotone that could put a deaf person to sleep.  Tactics from generations past and history lessons about ancient battles could be horribly boring in their own right, but with his unique delivery, it was a struggle for Brent to keep his eyes open.  He noticed in passing that only a few people ever took notes.  It had been a mystery to him until he recognized one of the intent listeners as Terrance.  Apparently, they were doing research for the war room.

When the torture was finally over, it was time for basic weapons training, and they meant
basic
.  After a few days of “how to hold a rifle properly,” Brent was ready to shoot himself
properly
.  Wouldn’t have done any good though; all training weapons were on minimal power usage.  At best he could stun himself.  Thankfully, just as he was about to go stir crazy, they actually started marksmanship.  Brent found he wasn’t a half bad shot, not a natural sniper, but with training perhaps he could become one.

After that, he was free for a couple of hours.  He ate with the rest of the FF and would laugh as the others made countless impersonations of the monotone instructor.  When he finished his meal, he secretly met up with Cassandra.  They spent a fair bit of time arguing over which 3P they’d see after training was done for the day.  Most times Cassandra won, but Brent had a few strategic victories.  After the free time was over, it was time for specialized training.

Most troopers only had one or two specializations and were limited to a few choices in their future careers.  Brent, on the other hand, could pick just about anything.  Of course, that freedom of choice came with the price of having to attend five back-to-back intensive training sessions.  Having passed everything the exams had thrown at him, he was assigned to each and every discipline.

First was survival training.  For the first half hour they instructed him on the proper methods for dealing with most minor injuries.  After the first week the more squeamish stopped fainting at the more bloody wounds.  Brent always had to smile to himself as they reminded him of Owen.  For the second half hour they would demonstrate basic survival techniques in various environments, turning a pile of snow on a frozen world into shelter and the like.  When that was over he made his way to infiltration training.

They focused almost entirely on reading body language, knowing when a guard is about to let you pass versus grabbing his side arm and attacking.  Brent found it all fascinating.  When it was over he would drag his feet as he headed to combat training.  It wasn’t so much that he didn’t like it; it was just the most strenuous training of the day.  Nothing but an hour of hand-to-hand combat.

Being so well known, there was always a healthy supply of troopers that wanted to test their mettle against him.  Brent was so tired of avoiding and throwing punches.  On the bright side, over the last few days they threw in some light weapons.  Things had gotten interesting after that.  Disarming an armed opponent, or getting off a shot before you were disarmed took skill, not just an abundance of brute force.  When the last punch was thrown and the last weapon discharged, Brent rubbed his sore joints as he made his way to stealth training.

It was all incredibly basic stuff there.  Keeping a low profile, blending into the environment, camouflage, and hiding your tracks.  The only point of interest to him was when they explained how to avoid detection devices.  It was exciting to attempt to find and disable various detection grids before they found him.  The instructor regularly commented on his natural talent.  Brent didn’t appreciate the praise and accompanying attention, but thankfully the instructor was a bit scatterbrained and would quickly forget about him and move on to the next exercise.

The last set of specialized training was the most enjoyable of them all.  The command instructor was not of the opinion that listening to lectures and studying past battles created good commanders.  As such, the entire hour was filled with mock battles where he would field a squad against other commanders.  He and the others did everything from escorts through hostile territory to games of king of the hill.  Every day the instructor had new challenges and new scenarios.  Brent thought of it as a glorious desert after a less than stellar meal.

When all training was over for the day, he made his way to the mess hall to grab some dinner.  On occasion Cain would spot him and drag him off to the war room.  Apparently, he was gathering a small following there.  It was unspeakably embarrassing when the other troopers started showing up in capes similar to the one Rick made him wear.  The battles were more difficult than the command training scenarios, but he always managed to emerge victoriously, even if only barely.

Cain complained his unending winning streak made betting pointless, but that never stopped him from dragging Brent to the war room.  When he used Commonwealth forces it was usually a hard pressed fight with victory sometimes just barely snatched at the last second.  He had the one advantage that the other commanders wanted to destroy him and usually lost sight of the mission objectives in favor of taking him on.

However, whenever he had the option to use Shard forces, victory was all but assured.  He didn’t care for the way the announcer gushed, but it seemed to be the popular opinion that his use of the Shard was on the level of an artist, completely outclassing the other commanders.  After a while it seemed like the crowd stopped picking recent battles and would only select battles from the Great War
just
to watch him make the Shards dance.

Thankfully, most nights he managed to avoid Cain long enough to meet up with Cassandra in the repository.  Occasionally, he would attempt to change her mind one last time if she had selected the 3P, but it was largely futile by that point.  Despite the horrific 3P Cassandra would pick from time to time, Brent was getting a handle over his Weaver abilities.  By watching her, he had been able to determine most of the base emotions.  Black was anger, yellow fear, blue sadness, orange embarrassment.  However, being limited to only the occasional choice in 3P, Brent’s opportunities to see the more complex emotions in action were rare and far between.

In the end, he was just content to make any headway toward understanding what he could see.  After a 3P or two, Cassandra would bolt back to the FF.  Brent realized after a week that she didn’t want to be spotted leaving the repository with him, most likely wanting to avoid the taunting from Cain if he ever found out.

As he awoke on the two-week anniversary of his arrival at the academy, he could tell something was different.  The rest of the squad awoke with him.  Together they all filed into the common room where the rest of the division was waiting.  He knew it was how it was supposed to be, but it was unsettling to see the routine completely turned on its ear.

“Good morning,” Leonard shouted to the droopy troopers.  “I’m glad to see everyone managed to rip themselves from dreamland this morning.”

“What’s going on?”  Brent whispered to the yawning Cain.

“Trials are in two weeks.”  Cain stretched.  “Leonard is probably going to tell us how hopeless it is.”

“As you all know, we haven’t exactly had a proud history,” Leonard continued shouting.  “The division hasn’t passed a trial in decades.  Leaders and troopers come and go, but the division remains in its sad state.  Despite our best efforts, we haven’t been able to break that losing streak.  However, things are different this time.  We have a new trooper.”  Leonard tried his best to inspire the troopers.  “We have a new hope.  We all watched his incredible performance on the exams, and now we have him on our side.  Reggie doesn’t stand a chance!”

The response was under-whelming.  Instead of cheers and excitement, all Leonard got was a chorus of yawning.  Sanderson and his squad were in their neat rows, of course, and gave polite applause to the leader’s speech, but the rest of the squads did not exactly shout professionalism.  Messy uniforms that looked as if they had never been washed, slumping postures, vacant stares – not exactly an elite force.  Leonard left the common room in disgust.  One by one, the squads followed after him toward the stalls.  He wondered how long it had been since some of them had bathed.

“You ready for today?”  Kindra was waiting for Brent at the doorway.

“I suppose so.”  He shrugged.

“You’re new to the division so you’ll probably have the hardest time tonight, not that it will matter.”

“What do you mean?”

“Even
if
you are the super star Leonard hopes you are, you are only one trooper . . . Weaver.  We have already lost the trial; we just don’t know it yet.”

“Good to know my squad leader is a never ending source of encouragement,” Brent joked.

“Are you kidding?  I’m an
optimist
.  I just say we’ll lose.  Humphrey won’t stop whining about how we are all doomed.  The skies will fall, a black hole will devour the station, they’ll run out of A rations – that kind of thing.”

As they entered the hallway, Brent noticed that it was unusually full.  The FF wasn’t the only one taking things seriously.  It dawned on him that with this many troopers using the stalls so early he’d probably be late to Davis’ training session.  Visions of running laps around the mess hall flashed before his eyes.

“What’s got you so down?”  Kindra stiffened slightly.  “Don’t tell me I
really
upset you.”

He stared at her for a moment in confusion until he realized he was a Weaver to her.  He couldn’t help but wonder what nasty things she thought he was capable of.

“It’s nothing like that,” Brent explained.  “I just realized with all the troopers out and about I’ll probably be late for Weaver training.”

“Ah, well, nothing we can do.  Unless you plan on getting up even earlier, it will be like this until the trial is over.”

“I figured as much.”

Brent sighed to himself as he studied the long parade of troopers in front of them.  Now he knew why there was a two-hour gap between the wake up call and basic.

“Maybe you can explain the situation to the Weaver?” Cain asked, obviously trying to help.  “You know, one Weaver to another.”

“The Weaver?  You mean Davis?”  Cassandra tapped the floor with her boot.  “You’d have an easier time convincing the floor plating to get up and do a jig, than change
that
man’s mind.”

“
Davis
– when did you get so informal with a Weaver?”  Cain raised an eyebrow.

“At this time of morning only people like Sanderson have the energy to be prim and proper,” Kindra answered for Cassandra.

“He does seem to thrive on this kind of stuff, doesn’t he?”  Cassandra asked Kindra.  “You’ve known him the longest.  Has he always been like this?”

“
Always
,” she said with a giggle.  “Bombs could be landing a few feet in front of him, energy blasts flying through the sky, even an incompetent commander giving him suicidal orders, and he’d still click his heels and march in perfect formation.  I’ve never even seen him with . . .” Kindra’s voice trailed off.

Kindra’s attention was locked on a pair of troopers.  In a broad graceful motion they swung their arms into an X and bowed deeply.  Brent mirrored the action.

“A bit on the hectic side, isn’t it, sir?”  The first trooper was clearly speaking to Brent.

“Too much for my liking, and drop the ‘sir’ part,” Brent responded as if it was natural.

“I don’t think that’s going to work on him.”  The second patted the first on the shoulder.  “Doug still isn’t exactly comfortable.  The sir bit makes him feel better.”