Theirs Not To Reason Why: An Officer's Duty Part 9

Yet the benefits of heavyworlder strength and speed couldn't be denied. Nor could it be denied that a heavyworlder's muscles and reflexes atrophied when stuck in a lightworlder environment for more than a few weeks. So, in an elegantly simplistic solution, the s.p.a.ce Force had decreed that all heavyworlders-those whose normal gravity exceeded 1.5Gs Standard-had to wear weight suits while exercising. No matter where she was sent, Ia was condemned to lug the suit from duty post to duty post. Hauling up on the handle, she lugged the heavy case onto the sidewalk with a thump.

When the cabdriver handed her kitbag to her, by comparison, it was negligible. Ia slung the duffel strap over her shoulder and thanked him in the local tongue. Most of her Marine uniforms had already been sent either to storage or to the military's recyclers; the only items she carried in the brown bag were her toiletries, her writing station and supplies, the square of velvet on which she had pinned her various medals and ribbons, and two changes of red-colored civilian clothes. The only items she would be retaining from her time in the TUPSF-Marine Corps would be her service record, her Field Commission, and her glittery, military slang for the various medals and service ribbons she had earned.

Even the Dress Browns she wore, with their crisp black stripes down the brown jacket sleeves and matching trouser legs, would be sent into storage by the end of the day, replaced by TUPSF-Navy blue. Leaving the cabdriver to point his vehicle back toward the gate, Ia tugged her dress cap more firmly on her white locks as the wind tried to play with it again, grasped the handle of her weight suit box, and hauled everything into the administrative building.

Once the automatic doors slid quietly shut behind her, the wind stopped. Compared to the warm but windy weather outside, it was comfortably cool in the broad foyer. Ia glanced up, checked the various signs posted near the tops of doors, and turned to her right, heading down the side hall. Three doors down was the admissions center. Dragging her case in her wake, she approached the front desk.

The Human at the desk was a fellow lieutenant, though his single bra.s.s bar meant Lieutenant Second Grade, not Lieutenant Second Cla.s.s, like hers did. Since she was from a different Branch and clad in her dress uniform, the burden of saluting first fell upon her. Resting her case on its end, she draped her kitbag over the handle, then gave the man a crisp salute.

"Lieutenant Second Cla.s.s Ia, TUPSF-Marine Corps, reporting for transfer and admittance into the TUPSF-Navy Academia de Marinha Estrelas as scheduled, sir," she stated, holding her pose.

The blond man eyed her up and down. His gaze fixated on her glittery, pinned to the left side of her jacket. Returning her salute, he lifted his chin at the collection of ribbons and medals. "Welcome to the Academy, Lieutenant. You didn't have to wear your full glittery, you know. You only have to wear the bare minimum when in Dress Colors, even if it's Marine Browns. You won't impress your instructors by dressing yourself up in everything you own. We believe our cadets should earn their respect on merit."

"Actually, I didn't wear everything, Lieutenant," Ia told him, her tone mild. "Regulations stipulate that when traveling between duty posts, an officer is to wear 'half glittery,' which is the bare minimum of one of each type of medal. I have honors in twelve different categories, not including my Field Commission and my Service pins. I am therefore wearing twelve different medals, plus my Border Patrol ribbon, which is the bare minimum of glittery required."

The lieutenant peered at her chest, taking in the fact that there was indeed only one of each type. "Huh. I guess that is half glittery." He returned his attention to his workstation console. "We have...two meioa-es scheduled to arrive this week from the SF-MC. What did you say your name was again, Lieutenant?"

"Ia. Spelled I-A, not E-A," she added in clarification. "Just the one, first, last, and only name, no others." Digging into her trouser pocket, she fished out a datachip and offered it to him. "Here is the chip with my official transfer orders, military records, and datafile links."

"Just the one name? You're not actually Conequa or Janniston?" he asked, glancing up at her again. When she nodded, he sighed and tapped in a few commands. "Huh. Looks like you're not listed. Wait, let me check the pending files...Ah, here it is. There's a flag on your records; it says your name is incomplete, and when it arrived, we didn't have your collegiate degree on file, so we didn't process the paperwork. But...it looks like your college credits have come in. Military History? Good choice. So. What's the rest of your name?"

"That is my full name, Lieutenant. Just the one name, legally, fully, and duly registered as Ia. Nothing more, nothing less; two letters, two syllables, that's it," she told him patiently. Mostly patiently. Clasping her hands together, she rested them on the counter. "I know the Marine Corps had no difficulty in registering my name exactly as it legally stands."

He took in her mild tone, slight but pleasant smile, and sighed. "Ident number?"

"Ident number 96-03-0004-0092-0076-0002. I am registered as a former citizen of Independent Colonyworld Sanctuary, by Charter rights a duly oathsworn citizen of the Terran United Planets via service in its s.p.a.ce Force." There, that ought to cover all bases, she thought, stifling an impatient sigh. The hovercab hadn't taken too long to soar from Lisboa to the outskirts of Sines, but she was going to need a restroom break soon. "I could quote the relevant Charter sections and subparagraphs if you insist, but the rules and regulations governing I.C. transferal of citizens.h.i.+p have already been checked, cross-checked, and covered by the Marines...and by the Department of Innovation."

That last bit was a blatant name-drop, but a glimpse into the immediate future gave it a calculated 83 percent chance to work, cutting off a good half hour of tedious extra paperwork processing. The other lieutenant raised a brow, but tapped a few more commands into his workstation. Sighing, he dipped his head in acknowledgment. "Right. Since you have a Master's degree, and you've had more than two tours of duty as a noncommissioned officer...and half a tour as a Field Commissioned officer...you are indeed cleared for the one-year fast-track program. Provided you can keep up with it."

"Trust me, I can keep up with it, Lieutenant. Attending cla.s.ses all day long will be like a vacation to me, compared to constantly being shot at on a hot spot Border Patrol," Ia muttered. "And I never give less than my best, sir."

"Then all your paperwork and your transfer orders appear to be in order," he stated. "Lieutenant Ia, ident #96-03-0004-0092-0076-0002, are you prepared at this time to transfer your service contract from the Branch Marine Corps to the Branch Navy of the Terran United Planets s.p.a.ce Force, and enter this Academy for training specifically as an SF-Navy officer?"

"Sir, yes, sir," she agreed. "I am ready to be transferred into the s.p.a.ce Force Navy and its Academy system at this time, sir."

"You'll want to get used to saying 'Aye, sir,' since that's the Navy's way," he quipped, "but we get enough cross-Branch transfers, that they'll take a 'yes, sir' all the same." Swirling his finger through the air, he bopped it onto his keyboard and flashed her a smile. "Congratulations, meioa-e, you are now officially in the SF-Navy. Welcome to the Academia de Marinha Estrelas, Cla.s.s 1252.

"You're also officially in the wrong uniform, now," he added, smiling to show he was teasing Ia. "Luckily for you, it's a Sunday. Let me call your cla.s.s trainer, Lieutenant Commander Spada. He'll run you over to the dispensary for a fresh set of uniforms, then to the dorms to a.s.sign you your quarters. We still have a dozen more cadets expected to arrive by tonight. That is, presuming the windstorm outside doesn't delay them any further.

"You'd think that by the end of the twenty-fifth century, we'd have gotten the hang of controlling the weather, but no, we haven't yet," the lieutenant mock-sighed. Shrugging, he continued with the introductory lecture. "Be advised that cadets are not allowed off the Academy grounds unless escorted by a regimen trainer or a cla.s.s instructor, or given formal Leave to go into town. Curfews are strict, and the Department of Innovations will be watching your every move. Cadets who lack sufficient drive and discipline will never rise in rank above the bare minimum for their service time and pay grade...and before you ask, I merely lack the drive, not the discipline. I like being a lowly lieutenant, and I actively enjoy administrative work. You can't be an effective administrator if you're not disciplined."

"Then I'm glad you have a job and a position you love," Ia quipped back. "The rest of us should be so lucky."

"With luck, you'll get the postings you like, too...or at least come to like the postings you get. Be advised that your cla.s.ses will run twice as fast as standard collegiate quarters...which is why we start a new cla.s.s group eight times a year here at the Academia, instead of four." He finished typing in a few more things, then lifted his chin at her. "Hold out your arm so I can scan your ident unit."

Ia complied, unb.u.t.toning her jacket sleeve once more. "I know; it was one of the few things that gave me enough time to go home to visit my family. Otherwise it would've been another year before I got Leave."

"Where'd you get your Field Commission, anyway?" he asked, setting down the scanner wand.

"The incident on Zubeneschamali." That was all she needed to say. His eyes widened in recognition.

"Zuben...you're b.l.o.o.d.y Mary?" He stared at her as if she had sprouted horns or something.

Ia pulled off her dress cap, revealing the rest of her snow-white hair. She shrugged expressively, setting the cap on top of her kitbag, and gave him a wry smile. "That is my nickname, yes. I'll admit it's not very obvious; I haven't been in a combat zone in a couple months, so I'm fresh out of blood."

The lieutenant manning the admissions desk hesitated a moment, then leaned forward on the counter and asked in an undertone, "Did you really rip off that K'katta's leg and beat him with it?"

Ia leaned forward, smiling back at him. This wasn't the first time someone had asked her that question since the incident at Zubeneschamali, nor would it be the last. "I only threatened to rip it off and beat him with it. He wisely decided to surrender, instead."

"I'll take your word for it. I'm Lieutenant Chazter," he added, offering his hand in introduction. "Michael Chazter. So, why the transfer to the Navy? Why not a Marines Academy?"

"I worked well with the crew of the TUPSF Liu Ji, and I have the reflexes and spatial coordination to be a pilot. The SF-Navy made sense. Where's the restroom?" Ia asked him.

"Go out the door, turn left, third door down, can't miss it," he stated.

Nodding, Ia left her bags at the registration desk. By the time she came back, three more people had arrived. Two were male and clad in civilian clothes, though their buzz-cropped hair proved they were cadets who had just arrived from Basic Training. The third was also male, but clad in Navy blue dress casuals of navy leather shoes, dark blue slacks, and a lighter blue dress s.h.i.+rt with short sleeves.

Unlike Ia, who was wearing the half glittery required when wearing Dress Browns, the other officer was wearing the absolute minimum required for daily wear, which consisted of the two silver bars of a lieutenant commander, five service ribbons, and his name tag, but no medals. With his grey-streaked dark brown hair cropped almost recruit-short, his face age-lined but graced with a pleasant perpetual ghost of a smile, Lieutenant Commander Spada looked as confident and knowledgeable as anyone could expect from an Academy training officer.

Since neither of them was wearing a cap and both were indoors planet-side, Ia didn't salute. She did pull herself up straight, nodding to the older man. "Commander Spada, sir. I'm Cadet Ia, duly registered for the one-year fast-track program, sir."

Spada nodded, and eyed the large brown case topped with her matching duffel bag and dress cap. "What's in the box? It's too small to be a mechsuit."

"Weight suit, sir. I'm a heavyworlder. My mechsuit should be stored in the Academy's mechpool. I sent it over two months ago, and did receive confirmation from the Academy on its arrival."

"That's right, your file said you're a heavyworlder. Roll it outside, Cadet. It's taking up s.p.a.ce," Spada ordered her. "Go wait in the hallway. I'll be taking all three of you to the dispensary and the dorms in a few minutes."

"Sir, yes-aye, sir," Ia complied, grabbing hat, kitbag, and case handle. The other two cadets, both males, had glanced her way in curiosity when the word heavyworlder was mentioned. Lieutenant Chazter was still processing them, however, so they reluctantly returned their attention back to the meioa-o behind the counter. Ia knew that wouldn't be the end of their curiosity, but it was something that would be settled later.

The only thing Ia didn't know was who her roommate would be. Not that she had seen who she would paired with, exactly. Sometimes the timestreams were like that. The faceless crowds found in daily life rarely had any impact or influence on her courses of action. If they weren't important to the flow of Time, well, Ia had learned to conserve her energies. She didn't ignore them completely-the incident with Estes and her face-goop came to mind; that had been a shock to learn-but mostly they were nothing more than flickers and blurs at the edges of her precognitive awareness. So long as whoever-it-was didn't threaten her work, their presence or absence was immaterial in the end.

At least now her career path in the Navy had been laid. It would take careful tending, but the next year would be a relative breeze compared to the two that would follow.

CHAPTER 7.

I only ever made one real mistake when planning for my future-oh, don't get me wrong; I don't mean mistakes in the course of my duties. Everyone makes little mistakes. I've mistakenly entered the wrong information on a form, and I've burned my tongue from trying to drink a cup of too-hot caf', the same as everyone else. No, what I'm talking about was a mistake of arrogant ignorance on my part. A compounded mistake, though it took a year for that mistake to fully unfold and reveal itself.

You see, the mistake was believing I had foreseen everything I needed to know about my life. As it turned out, even the Prophet of a Thousand Years can be blindsided by Fate.

~Ia AUGUST 25, 2492 T.S.

Hand fumbling out of the covers, Ia slapped at the snooze b.u.t.ton on her bedside chrono. It buzzed again. She grumbled and slapped harder; she knew she had another seventeen minutes before the slagging thing was supposed to go off. Having stayed awake far too late last night, composing prophetic instructions for the future, she needed every second of sleep she could get.

The noise buzzed again, and the intercom for the door-it was the doorbell, not her alarm-activated. "Cadet Ia, this is Lieutenant Commander Spada. You are requested to wake and open this door."

...Guh-WHAT? Heart lurching, snapping her mind wide awake, Ia splashed through the waters of her own timestream, floundering in shock. Hauling herself up, dripping with misty, muddied, clueless possibilities, she tried to make sense of the request. The door buzzed again. Scrambling physically as well as mentally, she lurched for the door. Nothing in the timestreams had warned her about this visit last night, and nothing in those same waters now warned her about this visit. G.o.d-I know I can sense the Future, so I can't have lost my precognitive senses...can I?

Unlocking the controls, she slapped the door open, pulling herself to Attention as best she could. "Lieutenant Commander, sir!" she managed, doing her best to ignore the fact that she was wearing nothing more than a light blue T-s.h.i.+rt and matching underpants for sleepwear. Heart still thumping, she managed to ask, "Uh...is anything wrong, sir?"

Spada curved his mouth up on one side. "Only that you're a heavy sleeper, Cadet."

"Uh...it was a very long day, yesterday, sir." Blinking, she glanced at the other figure beside the lieutenant commander. Tallish, naturally tanned, and distinctly Asian, the young man at Spada's side smiled at Ia. She could tell he was trying not to let his gaze dip below her face to the obvious, if muscular curves of her heavyworlder figure, and warded off an unusual urge to blush. Returning her gaze to the training officer, Ia asked hesitantly, "Ah...sir?"

"This is your new roommate. Your psych profile says you don't care about sharing quarters with the meioa-os as well as the meioa-es...and since we have more males entering the Academia right now than females," Spada elaborated with a shrug, "you get a male roommate. I trust that isn't going to be a problem, Cadet?"

Now her precognitive senses twitched, warning her that Spada was going to keep an eye on Ia in this matter, in case Ia turned out to be one of those sorts who insisted on making a fuss over every little thing. But...eerily...Ia could sense nothing about the black-haired, brown-eyed, moon-faced young man smiling wryly at her. Unsure how to handle the peculiarity of his non-ish existence, Ia sagged back onto her only, and therefore best, guess: Treat the moment with proper military protocols in mind.

"Sir, yes, sir," she agreed, stepping back from the doorway. "I mean, aye, sir, I don't mind, sir."

Nodding, Lieutenant Commander Spada gestured for the blue-clad cadet to enter. Hefting his kitbag onto his shoulder, he stepped inside as the commander spoke. "Cadet Ia, meet Cadet Meyun Harper. Harper, this is Ia. You're both heavyworlders, though Harper is from Dabin, and you're from Sanctuary. Harper here is on the same one-year fast-track program as you, Cadet. However, he's aimed more at a career in Logistics and/or Engineering, whereas you've indicated an interest in Piloting and/or Combat Command.

"Regardless of any philosophical differences you may have in the cla.s.sroom regarding your majors, gentlemeioas, you will be expected to get along just fine all the same," Spada warned both of them. "Don't forget to report for breakfast by no later than 0700 local. You'll have a long day ahead of you. Your first cla.s.s in the accelerated curriculum starts at 0730 in room 202 of the Sodre Building. Good morning, and don't be late."

"No, sir," Ia promised. "I won't be late, sir."

Spada started to reach for the door controls, then paused and asked, "Cadet Ia...why did you feel it was necessary to engage the privacy lock?"

"I...think I just did it out of habit, sir. I guess I just feel more secure behind a locked door," Ia managed to suggest. The real reason was that she hadn't wanted anyone to surprise her while she was busy writing precognitive missives. Instead, she improvised a plausible alternative: "You know...after having spent so many tours of duty in a combat zone."

"Well. Just remember that, one, you are required to unlock and open your quarters to myself or any other superior officer stationed at this Academy, leaving them available for inspection at any time of day or night. And two...there will be no fraternizing of an intimate nature between cadets while you are at this Academy."

"Trust me, sir, that won't be a problem," Ia muttered. No way was she even going to touch the man behind her, not even casually. Not until she figured out why she couldn't sense him.

Nodding, Spada touched the controls, closing the door between them. That left her alone with a man who, according to her precognitive senses, didn't exist. Still disoriented from her disrupted sleep, Ia stayed in the nook between the closet door, front door, and bathroom door for a few moments, marshalling her wits. Marshalling them, and trying to sense Cadet Harper through the timestreams.

Nothing. He was a living, breathing grey spot. Not, as she had presumed the night before, someone who was unimportant in the greater scheme of her quests to save the galaxy, but...someone who she literally could not predict. A blank spot, an empty s.p.a.ce...a gla.s.s rock parting the waters of the future around his existence, seen only by the way others reacted in his vicinity at absolute best. At least, as far as she could tell without fully flipping her mind onto the timeplains.

Giving up, she scrubbed at her face and hair to try and finish waking up, then padded back into the main room. She couldn't risk immersing herself in the timeplains when she didn't know yet if he would try to touch her while she seemingly meditated. The whole situation had Ia so puzzled, so uncomfortable, she didn't even realize how she was looking at him until he glanced up from unpacking his kitbag and arched one thick dark brow.

"Is something wrong?"

"Ah...no. No, nothing's wrong. I'm, uh, still trying to wake up," Ia improvised. She returned to her bed and sat on the edge, trying to get a grip on her senses.

"Yeah, I guess I can relate to that. I've been up for nineteen hours, myself, but they're not going to hold back the opening cla.s.s just so I can catch a few winks," he agreed.

His voice was deeper than she expected. Aside from the flat roundness of his face, reminding her somewhat of her friend Rabbit, Cadet Meyun Harper was tallish, thinnish, and youngish-looking. Though she supposed that could've been due to his clean-shaven face. She honestly had no clue as to his age, his history, his origins. Her postcognitive abilities weren't nearly as strong as her precognitive ones, but they were still incredibly strong, all things considered.

Yet...nothing. Zip. Zilch. A...a grey hole in existence. Not quite a black hole, since he clearly exists and I can see and interact with him physically, but...psychically? How can he not-exist like that?

Her bedside chrono beeped, startling her into jumping up. Heart pounding, Ia endured another bemused look from her new roommate. Settling back down, she shook her head briefly to clear it, then leaned over and shut off the machine. "Ah...you need a shower?"

"You go first," he offered. "You look like you need to wake up. I still need to figure out if I'm folding everything right."

Turning to her wardrobe bureau, Ia opened up the top three drawers, extracting everything but the shoes she would need for the day. She left the drawers open. "Here, look at how I've folded my own. The Navy's way shouldn't be that much different from the Marines'."

"You're from the Marines?" he asked her.

"I'm a cross-Branch transfer. I won't take long in the shower, Cadet, promise," she added, bundling up her under-and outer garments.

"Thanks, I'll look it all over. Oh, um, wait," he stated, holding out his hand, first palm up and out, then turning it sideways. "Call me Meyun. When we're alone in here. Obviously they'll have us calling each other 'Cadet Harper' and 'Cadet Ia' out in the halls and such. But since we're roommates...just call me Meyun."

"May-yoon..." She tested the name. Nothing. Not a single twinge of her gifts, pre- or postcognitive. Again, she was forced to fall back on the only safe procedures she had, the habits of courtesy and military protocol. Except she didn't reach for the hand he offered. "Thank you, Meyun. I'm told I don't snore, though I haven't had to share quarters in over a year. If I do...just throw a boot or something at me. From a safe distance. I did just come from a combat-heavy Border Patrol, so it might not be safe to be within range if you startle me awake."

"Duly noted." He gave her an expectant look, then raised his brows and flicked his outstretched hand. "And your given name would be...?"

This, at least, was familiar ground. She gave him a wry smile, clutching her clothes to her T-s.h.i.+rt-covered chest as an excuse to avoid shaking his hand. "My full name is Ia. Nothing less, and nothing more."

"Right. Though I can't see how it could be any less."

"Trust me, I've heard that one before," she managed to quip, edging toward the facilities.

He watched her head toward the bathroom. If he lowered his hand, Ia didn't know. She very carefully kept her attention on the need to hold her clothes to her chest. For the first time in her life, she felt naked, as in exposed. Vulnerable. Not physically, but deeper than that. His quip about her name wasn't the first time she'd heard that, but...Okay, so I do feel a little naked physically...

It wasn't until she was lathering up her hair under the hot spray of the shower that a new thought crossed her mind. One which hadn't been felt in a very long time. A kind of thought which she believed had died in the early dawn hours of an ordinary, ba.n.a.l morning some five years ago.

I can't believe how cute he is...

I can't...? I can't believe how cute he is? Dismayed at herself, Ia stared at the steam-fogged plexi of the shower door until a trickle of lather threatened to get into her eyes. Scrubbing her scalp furiously, she did her best to wash that idiotic, useless, pointless thought down the drain.

"That, Cla.s.s 1252, concludes the overview of your daily schedule," Lieutenant Commander Spada stated, tapping his arm unit to advance the image being projected on the wall behind him. "I realize it is a very full schedule, more so than any of the four- or even two-year programs here at the Academia, but between your transcripts, your DoI profiles, and the recommendations of some of your superiors-since most of you are Field Commission recipients-the s.p.a.ce Force believes you can handle it."

His co-teacher for the cla.s.s and one of their chief testers, Captain Rzhikly, spoke up next. Not everyone spoke Terranglo with a neutral accent; some provinces on Earth still retained their native tongues for everyday use. His accent was therefore thick but his words wise with the years salting his dark hair in stark streaks of grey.

"Of course, dis does mean ve have to break you down and build you up all de faster, since you're being fast-tracked through de accelerated studies program...but today, ve'll go easy on you." He smiled wryly. "So to speak. De first task, of course, is to find out vat you know about vat it means to be an officer. Ve vill start vit vat it means to be a soldier, de most basic unit of any military organization, because dere is a difference between a soldier and an officer-and by using de term soldier, I'm including all de enlisted sailors in de s.p.a.ce Force Navy, de Marines of de Marine Corps, and so forth-you are all in de s.p.a.ce Force, derefore you are all soldiers. Not just de vuns who serve in de TUPSF-Army."

"So," Lieutenant Commander Spada stated, moving to the next topic. "Cadet Burroughs. Of all your cla.s.smates, you've been in the military the longest, serving with distinction as both an enlisted soldier and a noncommissioned officer in the TUPSF-Army for over thirteen years before earning your Field Commission just three weeks ago. What would you say are the responsibilities of a soldier?" Spada asked him.

"Commander, yes...I mean, aye, sir," the cadet in question corrected himself.

As they had been instructed, Cadet Burroughs stood up next to his desk-seat in order to answer their lead instructor. He also used the approved short-form of Spada's t.i.tle, as instructed. Spada wasn't a plain lieutenant and he wasn't a commander, but was instead slotted between the two. So, Spada had explained that the default was to use the higher half of his rank, if they wished to shorten the amount of time it took to address him by rank-or to address a lieutenant colonel in one of the other three Branches, or even a brigadier, major, or lieutenant general.

Burroughs was a tall, thin, buzz-cut man in his mid- to late thirties. His skin was only mildly tanned, his hair an indiscriminate shade of brownish something given how short it was, and his eyes were a piercing shade of grey blue. He wasn't the oldest member of Cla.s.s 1252, but he was close to it.

"In the Army, sirs," he said, "we were taught that a soldier's responsibilities are to obey the laws of the Terran United Planets, to obey the lawful orders of his or her superiors, and to achieve all objectives in the most efficient, effective manner possible. By following the rules and regulations of the TUPSF-Army...and the other three Branches...a soldier's efforts will be carried out in a suitably efficient, effective manner," Burroughs stated. "A soldier is responsible for whatever he is legally a.s.signed to do, and responsible for doing it in the approved manner. Beyond that...the variety of tasks which will be asked of a soldier are too great to list without taking all day, sirs."

"Alright. That's a good start. Cadet Ffulke," Spada addressed next, pacing along the platform at the front of the auditorium-style cla.s.sroom. The chamber held an additional twenty or so empty seats, but there were only fifty-three people in this current group of officer candidates. "You have never actually served in the military, but between your Military Apt.i.tude Test scores, your college records, and the recommendations of your Junior Reserve trainers on Eiaven, they think you may have what it takes to make a good officer, and to do it in just one year. So. What are the responsibilities of an officer?"