Theirs Not To Reason Why: An Officer's Duty Part 11

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 cla.s.smate. 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. s.n.a.t.c.hing 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 d.a.m.n bad, if he can knock me off my center, psychically. G.o.d! Why him? Why am I attracted to a man I cannot even sense? h.e.l.l, 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 d.a.m.ned 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 pa.s.sing. 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.

Rea.s.suring 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 Cla.s.s 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 cla.s.s to undergo our special little version of h.e.l.l Week-which is what was happening last week-you will be undergoing daily hands-on cla.s.ses 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 s.p.a.ceport. 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 m.u.f.fling 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 Cla.s.s, 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 s.p.a.ce 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 s.p.a.ce travel and s.p.a.ce combat. You will experience b.u.mps 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 a.s.signed to a specific section of shipboard life. Today, it may be engineering. Tomorrow, it might be gunnery, or plumbing. It might even change midcla.s.s, 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 cla.s.s. Each of you has been a.s.signed a temporary department. This may or may not have anything to do with your chosen training track," Spada warned them, "and these a.s.signment 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 s.p.a.ce, 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. Cla.s.s 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 Cla.s.s?" she asked, equally under her breath. "Yes, I was stationed on the Liu Ji, which is a Frigate Cla.s.s, 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 s.p.a.ce 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 cla.s.s?" 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 cla.s.ses 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.

"You will be tested on finding your way around a standard TUPSF starship without arm units, headsets, or cheat sheets, before you are allowed to graduate from this Academy," Spada added. Humor colored his voice. "Mind you, most cadets find the concept of a scavenger hunt a lot of fun...except that most of these scavenger hunts will be conducted under combat conditions.

"Once a week, at some point in that week, we will be placing five vouchers for three-hour-long Leave pa.s.ses around this ship, usable either Sat.u.r.day or Sunday evening. That's just enough time to go into town and have a nice meal for supper, and maybe even catch a show. At the end of this hour's lesson, you will have precisely fifteen minutes to decipher the clues we will give you in order to find those tickets and return them to me at a location I will specify.

"Only one ticket is allowed per cadet, and if you tear the edge of the vouchers even by a tiny bit, n.o.body gets to use that pa.s.s. So you'd better pay attention right now to what you are about to learn...and decide who you think should win the voucher, if several of you should find it at once. You are future officers, and will conduct yourselves with the appropriate level of dignity at all times."

"I've heard about this," the young woman in front of Ia whispered. "My cousin went through this same Academy, also on the fast-track program, and she said they did this at least once a week. That's plenty of chances for each of us to get an evening's Leave."

The cadet behind Ia nudged her. "I suppose you'll get to the tickets first, since you know the layouts of these ships?"

Ia shook her head. "There are similarities, but while the bones are the same, the muscles and organs vary from beast to beast, so to speak-the actual layout of the rooms on a particular deck in a particular section will often vary from ship to ship within a particular cla.s.s, even if the major features and main layouts are the same."

Spada started speaking again, telling them more about what they were expected to see and do in the next hour. Ia and the others fell silent, listening to the words transmitted by their earpieces. A corner of her brain idly picked at the timestreams, wondering if she should grab one of the tickets now, or wait until next week. This week, I think. It'll spur the others to learn faster, especially when I point out that the layout really isn't that hard to learn, if even a Marine grunt like me could learn it. Hm. But if I wait a week, then point out they've had a week to learn the ship that might be better...but would that be mean of me?

Well, I could point out this week that I didn't grab the voucher because I wanted to be fair to everyone who had never been on board a starship before. And then warn them in advance I'll be going for the ticket next week. That'll work, she decided. I can use the opportunity next week to print out and mail off my prophecies as well as my blood beads...

Once everyone was on board, the order was given to split up into their various tours. Ia had been sorted into the lifesupport group. She knew more or less how it worked, but hadn't had much reason or opportunity to visit that particular part of a ship before now. At least, not when she wasn't being given a punishment detail.

Like most vital systems, lifesupport was broken up into several parts, the largest of which were buried in the heart of the ship. In the event of a hull breach, each ship section could be sealed off and sustain itself with small hydrogenerators, reoxygenators, and backup water filtration systems. Gravity might go offline, the air might stink, and the water taste bad, but life could be sustained hopefully long enough to wait it out until rescue could arrive.

When not sealed off from damage, however, the majority of lifesupport needs came from the pair of brightly lit core chambers on Deck 6. The setup was ingenious. It started with the sanitation system, which flushed biological waste into a system of alternating tanks and beds. The first ones contained algae and bacteria in removable, moss-like filters, with both air and water bubbling through the material, exchanging oxygen and carbon dioxide along with air and waterborne pollutants.

The filters had to be carefully scrubbed every once in a while, mainly so that the larger chunks were broken down. It was a messy, necessary job, one which didn't always look or smell pleasant. That made them perfect for punishment details. The watered-down slurry then pa.s.sed through stack after stack of vegetation, first feeding the leafy oxygenators, then filtering down to the vegetable beds. From there, the water ran through tanks of fish and the aquatic plants which fed them, followed by yet more beds of vegetation and herbs to remove the ammonia and other wastes produced by the fish, and more tanks of fish after that.

The second influx point included composting soils from the galleys. At the end of each vegetation bed was an extraction point for the water, which pa.s.sed through secondary filtration systems consisting of biomat filters and aquatic gra.s.ses. Air bubbled through these filters as well, scrubbing out additional carbon dioxide and replacing it with oxygen through photosynthesis.

Each ship larger than a courier shuttle, which was twice to three times the size of an orbital shuttle, was guaranteed a supply of fresh food via the plants and the fish, plus fresh water and extra oxygen beyond that supplied as a waste by-product of the hydrogenerators. Smaller vessels had to make do with scaled down versions where the only filtration came from the supplemental algae and bacterial filters, while large ships could eat almost entirely fresh meals on a daily basis. Some even had enough to spare. Battle Platforms and s.p.a.ce stations usually grew enough to sell off the excess to pa.s.sing vessels, and many incorporated other animals, such as chickens and V'Dan water hens.

Frigate Cla.s.s ships were just large enough to permit the inclusion of four sets of fish tanks and two coops of water hens, divided evenly between the two bays. The clucking and cooing and splashing of the blue-and-brown birds as they waddled and swam in their enclosure could be heard over the trickling of the water and the bubbling of the filters. Fish swam in the plexi-sided tanks, occasionally drifting close enough to peer out at the students before darting back in among the water weeds. The air was rich with moisture and the scents of green growing things, from the bitter of lettuce greens to the p.r.i.c.kle of tomato plants, the sweetness of strawberries to the tang of lemongra.s.s.

Compared to the more sterile environments elsewhere on the ship, this section almost always smelled like home to the people these ships carried. The only thing it was missing in Ia's estimation was the spark-like scent of ozone, though she knew the others wouldn't have agreed on that point. She paid polite attention as the instructor in charge of lifesupport gave the cadets in her group an overview of the importance of the various symbiotic cycles, and the vital importance of monitoring, adjusting, and repairing every step along the way.

"For those of you who have lived your lives in an M-cla.s.s, Human-compatible habitat, such as here on Earth, do not be afraid to drink this water. It has undergone a scaled down version of the exact same kinds of natural filtration you will find here on the Motherworld," their tour instructor, Lieutenant Danvers, stated. "The air you will be breathing, the food you will be eating, and the waste you will be excreting will all become a part of the da Gama's lifesupport system. It must therefore be embraced, not shied away from. Lifesupport is exactly that: the systems, plural, which support life.

"This chamber is the core of that system, which is why it is buried in the heart of all Navy vessels, hopefully deep enough inside that it won't sustain catastrophic damage during a starfight. Speaking of which, you will notice the excessive number of interior safety field nodes, and the excessively strong support structures involved. Any one of these systems, broken free, would cause a catastrophic mess in here, and a potentially lethal one at that," Lieutenant Danvers warned them. "As you can see, every care is taken to adhere to the Lock and Web Law of s.p.a.ce travel.

"Plants and filtration bedding materials are held in place with reinforced biomeshes. Most of the tanks are enclosed systems, though they can be opened for maintenance. The floor is perforated to recapture sloshed or spilled liquids. And the hen coop, while open to the air, is wrapped in mesh wire and bears extra suppression fields to cover the water and keep the hens safe in the advent of unexpected maneuvers or impacts-Cadet Phong, those strawberries are not for your consumption."

"Sorry, sir." He quickly lowered his hand to his side, swallowing quickly, but the damage had been done.

"Congratulations, Cadet," Danvers told him, twisting her mouth up in wry humor. "You've just earned yourself five demerits, and the right to be the very first person put on biofiltration detail. Of course, all of you will learn how to clean the filters and do basic lifesupport monitoring and repair work. This is probably one of the easiest ship systems to maintain and repair, for all that it does require some definite knowledge of aquaponics to maintain perfectly. However, it is also one of the systems that can cause the most trouble. If it gets out of balance, you can poison the water or the food, kill off the fish, wither the crops, starve or dehydrate your fellow sentients, and even cause problems with the breathability of the ship's air.

"The air itself is an important factor. The ventilation system does circulate this air throughout the whole of the ship, pa.s.sing through various computer-controlled airlock shafts. Under the bulkhead lockdown of combat conditions, it takes an estimated twenty-five minutes for air to circulate from here to the bow and back, and thirty minutes from here through the extremities of the stern," the instructor stated. "However, in the event of a catastrophic breach, it may not be possible to oxygenate a particular ship segment.

"With gravity, your own body heat will continue to circulate all the air in a particular cabin, allowing the heavier carbon dioxide to settle down to the decking. Without it, you can literally suffocate in a matter of minutes as your own exhalations cause the carbon dioxide to build up around your head and torso, clinging to your vicinity. Of course, it only takes a slight movement to stir the air, but it is still a concern. This is why we have miniature, and somewhat more mechanical, versions of reoxygenation systems redundantly scattered throughout the ship, along with emergency hydrogenerator engines in every sector to provide backup power.

"Once we have finished with this segment of our tour," Lieutenant Danvers told the blue-clad cadets standing between the stacks of plant beds and tanks in the long, narrow chamber, "we will go to cla.s.sroom 6-Beta, which is in the next ship section forward of this. There, you will get to see a series of reoxygenators in various states of a.s.sembly and repair. For this week's training sessions, you will learn basic maintenance and repair for lifesupport, hydrogeneration, and communications. These are the three most vital aspects of survival on board any starship. Whatever your specialty may end up being, you will learn how to manage and maintain these three parts, just as you will learn how to direct others in their management and maintenance.

"We will, however, start you on the mechanical backup systems for Lifesupport...because if you break one part on those, you just order another part. Kill off the fish tanks with a simple, stupid mistake, and the whole system can crash," Danvers warned them dryly. "This is also why most battleships carry two lifesupport cabins, so that in the event of a breakdown in one, the other can be used to reseed the damaged systems. In s.p.a.ce, redundancy saves lives. The goal of the modern military, contrary to popular belief, is more about saving lives than in killing them off.

"Do try to keep these top three needs of your ship in mind at all times, since as future officers, you will be responsible for the use, or abuse, of the lives under your command."

Aye, aye, sir, Ia silently agreed.

NOVEMBER 7, 2492 T.S.

Sighing, Meyun Harper leaned back in his desk chair and stretched. His blue T-shirt rode up on his stomach with the movement, exposing a stretch of tan abdomen. Ia, curled up on her bed with pillows propping up her back, tried not to look up from her writing station. She failed. There weren't that many men who had that many muscles outside of a heavyworlder or a weight lifter, and her newly rediscovered feminine side was insisting upon noticing each and every one, whenever they were bared in her presence.

Ostensibly she was doing homework. In actuality, she was composing prophecies, with her homework already electrokinetically completed and stored, awaiting printout. Harper was working on actual homework, typing in the essay-style answers needed to indicate he understood the course material at hand. Except he seemed to be taking a break. Stretching a second time, he scratched his stomach, then tilted his head back and over the edge of his chair so that he could glance her way.

"Ten weeks of this, and I think I'm getting used to the pace...except they keep increasing it incrementally. If I didn't have an eidetic memory for visual information, I don't know how I'd be able to keep up. h.e.l.l, I don't know how anyone who doesn't have a picture-perfect memory can keep up-and just because I can remember it doesn't mean I can automatically comprehend it."

"Wait until h.e.l.l Week," Ia quipped back. "It won't be quite as physically demanding in the Navy as it was in the Marine Corps-and only five days instead of seven-but everything I've heard about the Academy version says it'll still be a brutal slice of mental h.e.l.l."

He gave her a lopsided, sardonic smile. "That's what I like about you, Ia. You're always so cheerful and uplifting!" Scrubbing his face, he sighed. "Ehhh...enough of this. I need to get my brain off of insystem thrusters, or it'll explode."

Closing the lid of his writing station, he scrubbed his hands through his collar-length hair, then stood and stretched a third time. This time, his shirt rode well above his navel. Ia found her gaze drawn to the exposed skin for a few fascinated seconds before she caught herself and dragged it firmly back down to the screen of her writing pad.

"So. What made you think of bleaching your hair white?" he asked her. Meyun grabbed the back of his chair and pulled it farther back from his desk, straddling it so that he faced her.

"I didn't. I was born this way. Light brown eyebrows, light brown lashes, light brown body hair...and a scalp full of old woman white." Saving the work on her pad, she rested it against her uplifted knees. Apparently he was in the mood for another getting-to-know-you chat. Ia shrugged. "Of course, my lashes and brows were so thin and fine, the doctors took one look at my pale hair and blue eyes, and promptly p.r.o.nounced me an albino...even though I had this slight Asiatic tan to my skin from birth." She extended an arm in indication, then rested it on her blue-clad knee. "They thought maybe it was a touch of V'Dan in my father's background."

"When did they figure out you weren't an albino?" Meyun asked her, crossing his wrists on the back of the chair. He rested his chin on his forearms, slouching a bit.

"I think my biomom said my eyes changed color at about three months of age. It was a bit early, but not unheard-of," she added. "Then again, being heavyworlders, we do age a little faster."

"Mm, true. Mine started out dark blue, and didn't change for a good eight months, according to my mother. She was hoping they'd stay blue, or turn green, since there's a recessive gene for that somewhere in the family line," Meyun told her. "On the Irish Harper side of the family, naturally, not the Hw.a.n.g. Green eyes are supposed to be lucky."

"I kind of like your eyes being that shade of dark brown," Ia offered. She felt an urge to blush as she said it, but fought it down.

He smiled. "I like yours, all honey brown. Or maybe amber brown. Baltic amber. Like a contradiction, hard and lightweight, warm and unyielding, yet very lovely."

The blush won. Ia looked down at her pad, waiting quietly in standby mode. Harper cleared his throat.

"Not that I'm particularly good at forming compliments," he muttered. "Plus there's that whole fraternization rule, making things awkward if I witlessly babbled anything more..."

The blush deepened, heating her cheeks further. Ia felt her heart skip a beat and struggled against the urge to both grin and scowl. Do not feel such things, she admonished herself. She couldn't let his comment pa.s.s unanswered, though. "Then I'll take it exactly as it's no doubt meant: a simple, poetic compliment. Thank you."

"You're welcome." Straightening, he swung his arms, flexing his shoulders, then rested his elbows on the back of the chair. "It's almost nine thirty...twenty-one thirty, rather. I'm still getting used to converting everything into military time. Anyway, they were talking about that new Gatsugi comedy show coming on about now, Red Is Green. Did you want to head to the common room and watch it with everyone? It's supposed to be really good."

Ia shook her head. "You go on. I'm still working on my essay questions."

Rising, he leaned over the back of the chair for a moment, giving her a mock-chiding look. "All homework and no play makes Cadet Ia a dull little girl. You really should try to socialize more, you know."

"I will. Later," she promised. "Gatsugi humor is pleasantly translatable for Humans, but I'm not in the mood for eye-blaring colors right now. Trying to come up with my 'own interpretation' of 'the thermal efficiency of the Stirling engine design as incorporated by the modern military into shipboard hydrogenerators' is giving me an engine-sized headache. There's really only so many ways you can describe a heat transference regenerator before you run out of words that haven't been said over and over, before."

"Well, I suppose adding alien fashion-emotion color sense on top of a headache isn't a good idea." Shifting free of the chair, he pushed it back into his desk. "I'll see you in about half an hour, then."

Nodding, she picked up her writing station and made a pretense of reactivating the pad. Covertly, she watched him tug his T-shirt back into place, smooth his hair with his fingers, and head for the door. Only when the door had slid shut behind him did she move, setting the pad aside and rising from the bed.

Might as well get my nightly blood draw out of the way. Fetching the kit box from her bureau, she moved into the bathroom. She had the box halfway open when she heard the dorm room door slide open, and quickly fumbled the plain plexi box shut again. It was a good thing, too, for the next thing she knew, Meyun had hooked his arm around her elbow and was pulling her out of the smaller room.

"I've changed my mind. You need some serious fun and socialization, Cadet," he mock-chided her.

"Harper!" Ia protested. She didn't want to hurt him, which his implacable hugging of her right arm would risk if she tried to free herself. Awkwardly tossing the box into the bathroom sink, she let him draw her out of their shared quarters. Stupid of me not to close the bathroom door, first..."Harper, honestly, I don't need socialization."

"Ah, but you do need fun. You can't quite bring yourself to deny that, can you?" he teased. Grinning, he tugged her down the hall. Ia rolled her eyes, doing her best to match his stride.

"They're just going to bother me again about being b.l.o.o.d.y Mary," she muttered, wondering what this was going to do to her scheduled plans. Or worse, the perceptions and reactions of the other cadets, and their impact on the future. She didn't think Meyun was psychically sensitive, but she couldn't risk dipping even lightly into the timestreams while anyone was so physically close.

"So what if they do? Just redirect their attention to Red Is Green or something," he told her. "Or better yet, we can don the virtual gear and play a shoot'em game on one of the spare vid consoles."

"Lovely, a shooter game," she muttered. "Let's dredge up memories of my days in the Corps, oh, yes, that'll relax me."

Meyun switched his arm from her elbow to her shoulders, giving her a sideways squeeze. "Hey, it's for that very same reason that I can't think of anyone else I'd want firing away at my side during the zombie apocalypse."