Notes: Wow. It’s the end of 2013. It feels like the year has flown by. It’s been an upsy-downsy one as far as
writing goes, but even if I didn’t get everything done that I wanted to, at
least I put some good stories out there, reached a few new people and finished
the behemoth that is my darling Love Letters.
Today’s the last day to vote for the Goodreads M/M group’s awards, and
I’ve got a few mentions in there, so if you want to check it out, here you
go: http://www.esurveyspro.com/Survey.aspx?id=31dc63a9-f374-40b9-a220-b3aad4f2ba0d
I’ve got a raft of ideas and goals for 2014, which I’ll talk
about tomorrow, but for now, on with the story!
This part is a bit odd…I wanted to introduce some new
characters, I didn’t quite know how to do it, this is how it came out. Do I have a clear plan for this story? Not yet.
I’m working on it, but I hope you enjoy this part regardless. Some Darrel POV, at last. And PS, I know next to nothing about
chemistry, so when you get to Ten’s section, just roll with it plzJ
Title: The Academy
Part Four: Click It
***
Ostensibly, everyone entering the
Academy was on equal footing. It was a
military organization, after all; the only thing anyone should be paying
attention to was rank. If you were a
newcomer you were a plebe, a fourth year, the bottom of the heap. Third years were only slightly better, and on
and on until you rose through the ranks to graduate. If you were a glutton for punishment or a
specialist of some kind, you stayed on for advanced studies, and might earn
another rank or two in the years you spend completing your education.
Naturally, of course, there were a
million different variations in status.
Officers who served, and even enlisted soldiers who were active duty,
were socially well above any Academy students, and the instructors at the
Academy were doubly held in esteem because they’d all been active duty before
coming back to teach. Among the
students, the graduate studies department reigned supreme, but even there, it
was generally those on either command track or engineering track who got the
most credit. Crazy, sleep-deprived
engineers were a terrible thing to get on your bad side, after all.
Within the ranks themselves there
were special clicks, groups of students who organically gravitated together
because of a shared social status, planetary home or field of interest. The largest group were the native Olympians,
smug and superior with insider knowledge of the planet, the city and the
workings of the Academy. Every click
wanted at least one Olympian in their crowd, if only so they could learn the
best ways to spend their infrequent free time out on the town. The chemical engineers tended to bond over
novelty explosives, the linguists had their own language that one student had
come up with about a decade ago, so they could talk freely amongst
themselves. The royalty (and there was
some actual royalty in the Academy; it was a quaint habit on some of the more
traditional planets) stuck together like glue, almost as exclusive a click as
the Legacies.
The Legacies were the children of
war heroes, military personnel who had died in the line of duty. You couldn’t get Legacy status at the Academy
unless your parent had done something truly sensational; many people died
during war, after all. The heroes were
the ones whose actions were so above and beyond that they were recognized
posthumously for their bravery, and their children—one of their children—could
be grandfathered into the Academy without having to pass the usual tests or be
on the waiting lists if they showed willingness and aptitude.
Legacies found each other. There was a weight to them, a heaviness of spirit
born of memory or cynicism or expectation, or some combination of all
three. They were darkly shining stars,
expected to do great things, although almost none of them would come to equal
the very legacies that had gotten them admitted to the Academy. Who could live up to a legend’s feats, after
all?
There was one other Legacy in
Darrel’s class, and she found him two weeks into the semester. She was a native of Griffin, and her skin was
naturally bright pink thanks to absorbing excessive carotenoids, very common in
Griffin’s seafood. After a while without
them her brilliance would begin to fade, but for now she was very noticeable,
her skin set off by the platinum blonde of her long, straight hair.
She fell into step next to him one
afternoon as he was headed to his Tactical Basics class. He’d seen her, of course, but he hadn’t
realized exactly what she was until she brushed up against his side and said,
“So, Station Seventeen or Outpost?”
“What?” Darrel asked before he
could stop himself.
“Which one was it?” She tilted her head condescendingly at
him. “It had to be one of those two, to
make you a Legacy.”
“How do you know I’m a Legacy?”
“Please,” she scoffed. “How else would you have pulled the berth
that you did? Kid gloves, lad, kid
gloves to put you in with the Alien, the Freak and the Darling. They’ve got stories, or at least
eccentricities, and you’re just a regular boy?
I think not.” She paused, then
added, “Mine was Outpost, by the way. My
mother was Commander Aldeena Balteran of the F.S. Gloriana.”
“Oh.” Commander Balteran had famously led a company
of marines in an intership, close-combat fighting mission that had destroyed
three enemy cruisers and led to her recognition. “Seventeen.
Captain Parrish.”
“Parrish the Pilot,” she
murmured. “Thought so. You look like him.”
“I know,” Darrel said a little
sourly. The girl bumped his shoulder
with hers.
“I’m Valero.”
“Darrel.”
“Ooh, you even got the name,” she
said sympathetically. “Sorry about that. Command track?”
“Yeah. You?”
Valero looked toward the sky and
sighed. “Command, naturally. With a specialization in guerilla combat
techniques, because of course the seas will run dry before I do anything
different that dear old mum.”
Darrel had to smile. “I know the feeling.”
“Of course you do. That’s why we needed to meet.” The headed into the lecture hall on the
bottom floor of Zeus Tower, which was supposed to be all about leadership. Centuries ago a feminist branch of Olympian
politicians had argued for the name to be changed, citing Zeus’ godlike ability
to fuck up defined him just as much as his role as king. The traditionalists had won out, though, and
the tower was left with the dubious appellation.
Valero sat down next to Darrel as
they settled into Colonel Tell’s lecture.
None of them needed to take notes by hand, although they were encouraged
to for improved retention and Darrel usually did. He didn’t get a chance to this time, though;
he barely had a chance to even listen to the man, because Valero somehow
managed to occupy all his time. She synced
their tablets and thought out little notes to him all period.
Legacies
have to stick together. There are eleven
underclassmen, seven graduate students.
Their specs: she passed him a
file that included all of their names, tracks, specializations and Legacy
origins, along with some personal notes.
Bree
can get you anything—I do mean aaanything.
Felipe’s
father died so horribly that he can get dusted in the middle of the courtyard
and none of the professors will say anything about it.
Dinah’s
fucking someone in the registrar’s office, she can get your grades changed or
alter your record if you need.
It reminded Darrel of the ancient
Earth mafias, kind of. He read the last
comment and stared over at Valero, more than a little stunned. She grinned and held out a bag. “Crisp?
They’re krill, my favorite flavor.”
“Keep your voice down,” Darrel
hissed, but she just laughed.
“Cadet Balteran.” Colonel Tell’s voice rang out from the
lectern. “Would you care to share
whatever you find amusing with the rest of us?”
“No, sir,” she replied brightly.
“Then I suggest you restrain
yourself.” He turned back to his
lecture.
That was it? That was…it?
Professors didn’t take kindly to students interrupting; one of the
cadets in Darrel’s last class had been given demerits for sneezing. Admittedly, she’d sneezed a good dozen times,
but still. Darrel frowned and thought
out a quick message.
If
we can get away with stuff like that, why was I given demerits for my idiot
quad mate setting up experiments in our apartment the first day?
Hmm,
special circumstances, Valero replied.
I told you they were using kid
gloves on you. Guess that includes not
setting you above your quad mates. I
mean, you’re bunking with the Alien,
that’s even rarer than Legacy status.
Darrel frowned. Are you
sure you aren’t just angling for an introduction to Grennson? Because a lot of people are, and I’m not the
person to talk to.
I’ve
got no interest in any of them. I don’t
care about aliens, and there are plenty of Darlings around, after all. I can get one of those for myself.
Darlings? What does that mean, exactly?
Darlings! You know, Daddy’s darling, Mummy’s
darling. Parents are still in the
military, highly ranked, want their little darling to follow in their footsteps
and so they shoehorn them in with promises and boot licking. Darlings.
So glad I’m not one, they’re overly-entitled little shits. They do have their uses, though.
Darrel thought about Cody. That didn’t seem to fit at all. I don’t
think that really applies to my quad mate.
Maybe
he’s adopted. Originally a charity case,
still new enough to feel all grateful.
Doesn’t really matter, he’s not that important. How have you been dealing with the
Freak? Do you want to kill him yet?
Only
sometimes. Darrel thought about it,
then added, Ze spends most of hir time in
hir bedroom or a lab, honestly.
Ze? Hir?
What is this, the twenty-fifth century?
Hadn’t he settled yet?
Settled?
Picked
a gender. Solaydorians are so prissy and
temperamental, I swear. They’ve just got to be different.
Everyone
wants to be different.
And
some of us just are, Darrel. Like you
and me. She smiled at him and
shrugged. We didn’t ask for it, but we’re still special, and that’s the best kind
of special to be.
The lecture wrapped up, and cadets
began to head for the exits. Valero
stood and shook out her hair. “I’ve got
combatives next, I’m on the stupid team…of course. You?”
“I’m free for now,” Darrel
said. “But I’m trying out for paraball
next week.”
“Enjoy kicking ass in it. There are four other Legacies on the paraball
team, they’ll make sure it goes well for you.
Look over the notes,” she advised, then smiled charmingly and left.
Darrel watched her go, feeling a
little unnerved. He had kind of been
hoping to downplay his Legacy connection, and here was someone who seemed more
than happy to exploit hers for all it was worth, and determined to drag him
along for the ride.
Well. He’d see.
It couldn’t hurt to talk to the rest of them. Darrel shut off his tablet and headed back to
his quad.
The kitchen smelled utterly noxious. Ten was standing in front of the burner,
holding a beaker above it and watching the liquid inside change colors. “Before you say anything,” ze announced, not
even bothering to look over, “it’s perfectly nontoxic.”
“It smells like a dead body!”
“On the contrary, it smells like
flowers.” Ten grinned suddenly. “Corpseflowers.”
“You’re not allowed to do
experiments in the common rooms, you idiot!” Darrel said, braving a path to
Ten’s side. How the kid managed to hold
onto that beaker without fainting was a mystery.
“This isn’t an experiment, it’s
homework,” Ten replied. “I need to have
this formula figured out by tomorrow and they kicked all the plebes out of the
labs early today, so I was left with this.
I’ll light some incense when I’m done.”
Darrel scowled at him and shut off
the heat. “Get rid of that shit before I
call the Master Sergeant, freak.” He retreated to his own room and slammed the
door behind him.
***
Ten cocked hir head and looked down
at the ground where Darrel had been standing.
Ze bent over and picked up a long blonde hair, turned the heat back on
and wafted the hair above the flame. It
flared in a brief, bright orange burst, and Ten smiled to hirself. Ze shut the heat off again, poured the neutralizer
into the beaker to put an end to the smell, and cranked up the air recycling
unit. There. Good deed done for the day. Then ze went back to hir room, glanced over
at Cody and said, “So, Darrel has just discovered how much better he is than
the rest of us.”
“What?” Cody looked up from his Chemistry homework—oh
stars, basic chemistry, it hurt to watch him muddle his way through it but Cody
had told Ten very firmly that if ze told him any more of the answers without
him asking, he’d stop letting hir do experiments in their bedroom too. “What’s that mean?”
“It means that his click has
finally come calling,” Ten replied, setting hir beaker down on hir desk and
thinking a few notes into hir tablet.
“He met another Legacy today. It
had to be Valero Balteran, judging by the color of the flame, not to mention
the smell.”
“Wait.” Cody put his homework aside. “Who is Valero Balteran and did you actually
set his hair on fire?”
“Her, and it was just one hair,”
Ten soothed. Cody was the only one ze
went to the trouble of soothing. Ze
wasn’t entirely sure why. “Darrel came
back with a hair on his lapel. It fell
down on the floor while he was castigating me.
When I burned it, it turned bright orange. You get orange colors from calcium chloride,
certain highly soluble derivatives of which are rampant in some foods,
particularly those favored by Griffins hankering for a taste of home, which I
think in this case was krill chips.
They’re the easiest to get, anyway.
The calcium chloride derivative can affect the hair and nails of the
habitual eater, making them burn very, very orange, like a little
firework. The only Griffin I know of is
Valero Balteran, a Legacy cadet, and the only reason I know her is because we
share a literature class.
Literature.” Ten rolled hir
eyes. “So applicable to our futures as Federation officers. Anyway, she’s a bitch, and she’s a
collector. I knew she’d go after Darrel
at some point.”
“You figured that out from a strand
of hair?” Cody asked, smiling widely.
“Well, it was along strand of hair,
most cadets keep their hair short, so that helped narrow the field,” Ten said. And the freak
part, ze’d already heard Valero refer to hir that way, but Cody didn’t need to
know that.
“That’s still pretty impressive.”
Ten preened. “Yes.”
“But you need to do a better job of
airing out the kitchen,” Cody continued.
“Really, that smell is just wrong.
Why do so many of your experiments smell so bad?”
“It’s part of the process! I insert nose plugs that block fifty percent
of the scent molecules before I get started.”
“Just fifty percent?”
“I have to be able to smell some of
it to know what I’m dealing with.”
Cody stared at him for a moment,
then narrowed his eyes. “I want a pair.”
Enjoying this. Minor quibble: it's "clique".
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