An Officer’s Duty (24 page)

She didn’t like things she couldn’t predict. They were dangerous. Any anomaly in Time could derail her efforts to save the future. Yet it was hard to dislike Harper himself. Twisting onto her right side, Ia stared at the shades of grey making up the shapes of his bed.
He’s nice, polite, intelligent, thoughtful, has a good sense of humor, isn’t overblown, or over the top, or overly full of himself. I find his company quite tolerable. It’s not like he’s a monster, or is breaking any laws that I know of. I just…cannot…foresee him. Or even past-see him.

The only possibility that made the slightest sense was that he was indeed a Feyori. The silvery soap-bubble aliens were a very strange, energy-based form of sentience. Given that they were the only beings who could accelerate to the squared speed of light, they were the only ones who could transform energy into matter, and vice versa. They didn’t have precognitive abilities quite like she did, but they could read the flux of time to an extent. At least, after a fashion, though not in the depth and detail that she could.

Unfortunately, if they can read it, they can hide in it. I think.
I don’t really know. Or rather, I don’t really understand.

I do know that if he is a Feyori, he cannot hide from a touch. There’s no way he can hide his past or his future from my gifts, not at a touch…and if he is a Feyori, I’ll be able to read it in the surface thoughts of his sleep. If he
is
Feyori…then we have to come to an agreement that we are faction, not counterfaction, so that he doesn’t interfere with my destiny.

Which means there’s not going to be a better time than right now, when we’re not under surveillance from anyone else.
Stifling a sigh, Ia sat up and slipped out of the covers. Padding across the gap between their beds, she stared down at the blanket-draped lump that was her classmate. He sighed in his sleep, cheek nuzzling his pillow, his face lax and vaguely boyish, cloaked mostly in darkness as it was. Ia stifled another sigh.
I’ll have to be careful, so I don’t wake him up…

Slowly, she lowered her hand toward his cheek. Hesitating a centimeter from his skin, she finally steeled herself and
pressed her hand gently against him. Not lightly, as a too-light touch might wake him up, but gently.

His current dream appeared in her mind, an image of Meyun Harper lounging on a cushioned divan in some ancient Greco-Roman setting. They were in some sort of marble, open-sided temple with lush gardens all around. The details were blurry in spots—it was a dream, after all—but he was barely clad in a modified toga that also kind of looked like the undershorts he had gone to bed wearing. As she watched, he was being fed. The “food” looked like strips of archaic newspaper being dangled by equally scantily clad chickens. Chicken-lady things.

Ia gave up trying to make sense of it. This was a dream, and that was all the sense there would be to it. Except the newspaper strips became flowers and ribbons, the ends of which caressed his mostly naked chest. And her hand was now touching his cheek…and her clothes, T-shirt and undershorts, were now gone. Since this was his dream, Ia was bemused to discover he had imagined her with white hair down below as well as on her head. Unsettled, she did her best to quell her reaction. She didn’t want to wake him up.

Even more unsettling, he turned his head and kissed her fingers. Not just in the dream-vision, but in his sleep, out in the real world. Strange feelings raced through her nerves. Things she hadn’t felt in over five and a half years. The thrill of desire…and she wasn’t the only one feeling it, too. Around her, the dream morphed. They were cradled in some sort of fur-draped couch, body to body…and he was going to kiss her.

Ia slipped out of his dream and out of his mind as fast as she could, without making it an abrupt departure. Snatching back her hand, she turned and padded quickly for the bathroom. Behind her, she heard him draw in a deep breath, the kind that sounded like he was waking up. Locking herself in the bathroom, she braced her hands on the sink and recited her grounding and centering exercises in her mind.

I am not scattered to the four winds…All of the facets of my personality are in one place. They are one with myself, blended smooth and whole. I am calm, I am centered, I am controlled. I am one, and whole…

…And it’s pretty damn bad, if he can knock me off my
center, psychically. God! Why him? Why am I attracted to a man I cannot even sense? Hell, why am I attracted to anyone at all? I don’t have Time for this!

A soft rapping on the door startled her. Barely suppressing a shriek, Ia panted for breath, heart racing.

“Uh…Ia? Are you going to be in there long?” she heard him call through the door. “I woke up and I have to…you know.”

“Give me a few, I just woke up,” she replied. She didn’t have to go, but she did turn on the faucet and splash water on her face.
I am
not
attracted to him. First of all, it’s forbidden between cadets. Second, it’s not like we’ll have the time for it, given our near-continuous workload in the coming months. Third, it’s not like I’ll have the Time for it, period. And fourth…I do know he’s Human, but I have no clue
what
he is, other than a blank spot in my life. And blank spots are dangerous.

But I can’t avoid him. He’s my damned roommate. So…I’ll be nice to him, polite to him, but distance myself from him. Friendly, but not friends. That’ll take care of two problems: any potential further attraction, and any potential disturbances of the paths to my goal.

Wiping her face dry on the hand towel, Ia unlocked the door and exited, giving him the chance to enter. The nook where the doors were located was small enough, the two of them brushed in passing. Awareness tingled through her body, reminding her of the flower-ribbons that had tickled both of their skin in his dream. She couldn’t see what his expression was from that brief contact, but she knew she didn’t want him to see hers.

And
no
physical contact. Not unless we’re fully clothed, and other people are around. This is just residue from that dream. That’s all it is. I’m not
actually
attracted to the man. I don’t even know him—literally, I don’t. It’s just…the last dregs of a delayed adolescence catching up with me. Nothing more, and nothing important.

Reassuring herself of these things, Ia returned to her bed. According to the bedside chrono, they would have to get up in another three hours, and that meant she needed whatever sleep she could get.

SEPTEMBER 3, 2492 T.S.

“Gentlemeioas of Class 1252, welcome to the TUPSF
Vasco da Gama
,” Lieutenant Commander Spada stated. “Aside from the occasional weeklong break every month or so to permit each class to undergo our special little version of Hell Week—which is what was happening last week—you will be undergoing daily hands-on classes on board the
da Gama
, here.”

They stood at Parade Rest in front of the large, long, silvery grey structure occupying a bedrock-dug cavern buried somewhere below the headland east of the beach. The vessel was cradled in a vast array of crane-like pistons and yardarms built into the underground chamber, almost like a starship in a repair dock at a spaceport. Spada’s voice carried half to their ears, echoing faintly off the gantries, struts, and vast ceiling surrounding them, and half into the headsets each and every cadet wore.

In Basic Training, the recruits hadn’t received headsets for their first month of training. Here at the Academy, the cadets had received them within the first week, and for good reason. In Basic, Ia and the other recruits had worked more in the open air than in close quarters; orders could carry and be heard easily in such conditions. On board a ship, the muffling effects of hatchways and bulkheads, corridors and decks would render many of their instructions inaudible without the use of these headsets.

“Yes, what you see behind me is a real starship. She is a Frigate Class, one of the most common types of vessels run by the SF-Navy. Of course, the FTL warp panels, insystem thrusters, and gunnery pods have all been disabled, and she has been retrofitted with a number of services which will provide you with as realistic an experience as the Space Force can create. This means she cannot
go
anywhere,” Spada admitted, shrugging, “but she
is
capable of
simulating
going just about anywhere.

“The support struts and gravitational webbing you see surrounding the hull are capable of re-creating the actual sensations from space travel and space combat. You will experience bumps and bruises in the course of your training, with the possibility of more severe injuries. Medical personnel are included in these simulations, but many of them will
also
be students, stationed here as a part of their medical internship training.

“Any officer you see on board the
da Gama
will be treated with respect, and you will follow the appropriate chain of command for your training positions…which can and
will
change from day to day,” Spada warned them. “Just like today, you will be given a group number, and that number will be assigned to a specific section of shipboard life. Today, it may be engineering. Tomorrow, it might be gunnery, or plumbing. It might even change midclass, so get used to it.”

The man standing next to her, Master Petty Officer Clarke, addressed the cadets standing At Attention in front of them. “You will also see noncommissioned personnel and enlisted personnel aboard the
da Gama
, such as myself. These people technically will not be considered your superiors in rank for the purposes of the simulations, but they
are
your evaluators. They are renowned as specialists in their fields, and they serve this Academy as highly qualified instructors. You will therefore treat them with respect, and get into the
habit
of treating them with respect.

“Demonstrating a basic level of respect for your fellow sailors will carry far greater weight in earning
their
respect for
you
. Respect for your person and trust in your knowledge and authority are the grease which makes the wheels of the military turn,” Master Petty Clarke stated. “You can yell, you can threaten, you can scream, but if you don’t have that respect, the crew placed beneath you can and will ignore you. The carrot
must
be visible from the start, as well as the stick. It will be your responsibility as officers to make sure the sailors and soldiers placed under you carry out the orders that you will be handing down to them.”

“With that said, it is time to enter the
Vasco da Gama
and begin your first Ship Orientation class. Each of you has been assigned a
temporary
department. This may or may not have anything to do with your chosen training track,” Spada warned them, “and these assignment positions
will
change. You will need to learn
all
the facets of shipboard life, and be able to pick up the slack at any point to a sufficiently competent degree. Casualties can and will happen in space, and if the officer in charge of lifesupport is in the infirmary with a busted collarbone,
you
may have to put your hand on the reins to make sure the most basic needs of shipboard life keep flowing.

“Make sure your arm unit maps are linked and your headsets are active. You will not be using the ship’s comm systems to communicate this time while on board. Class 1252, you now have permission to come aboard,” Spada ordered.

“You heard the Lieutenant Commander! Line up, Cadets! You have been given permission to board the
da Gama
, so do not dawdle!”

“Psst, hey, Ia,” the cadet behind her whispered as they shuffled into formation and headed up the boarding ramp. “You ever been in one of these things?”

“Frigate Class?” she asked, equally under her breath. “Yes, I was stationed on the
Liu Ji
, which is a Frigate Class, if at the smaller end of the spectrum. The
da Gama
looks like it might be a little bit bigger…but then I never actually stood outside the
Liu Ji
. I won’t know for sure until I’ve been inside for a little bit.”

“No, I meant have you ever been on one of these simulator ships,” he said.

“They use training simulation rooms similar to portions of actual starships in the Marines—namely the sections anyone in the Marines would be expected to know—and of course a shakedown tour of a few weeks in space on a real ship,” Ia murmured back, “but not a whole ship rigged for simulations, no.”

“Cadet, is there something you wanted to share with your class?” The question came from one of the watchful, blue-clad noncommissioned officers overseeing their entrance to the ship.

“Sergeant, no, Sergeant,” she answered promptly. Then winced and amended it to, “I mean, no, Petty Officer.”

“Were you Army?” the middle-aged man inquired, lifting his brow.

“Marine Corps,” Ia told him.

He tipped his head. “Well, at least you didn’t call me ‘Sarge’…or worse, ‘sir.’”

She smiled wryly. “They did beat at least that much into my head, Petty.”

Her headset came to life, filling her left ear once again with Spada’s voice, though he could no longer be seen.
“As you enter, you will remember from your orientation classes that all ships are numbered in decks from top to bottom, numbered from
forward to aft, and lettered phonetically from port to starboard. You are currently entering on Deck 8, cross-corridor Juliett, next to corridor 1.

“Placards on doors and next to hatchways will also indicate what direction you’re facing. If it’s on a forward wall, the top and bottom edges are trimmed in blue. If in reading the sign you are facing aft, the top and bottom edges are yellow. Placards which are facing the port side of a starship are always red at top and bottom, and the ones facing starboard are always edged green. If you have problems with color-blindness, judge by the blue or yellow found either on the tops, bottoms, or right or left edge of all signs,”
Spada directed them.
“Remember that port is off to the left of blue when facing the bow, but off to the right of yellow when facing the stern. There aren’t a lot of viewports on a military starship, so get used to looking at the various signs for clues on where you are, and where to go.