The Military Academy
“They’re getting over that. I stole a peek at the seating plan for the Festival of the Way supper. Mama’s seating us next to each other. She wouldn’t do that if she was still mad at you. It’s me they’re mad at.”
“You’re not doing anything wrong.”
“I know that up here,” Les said, touching her forehead with her free hand, “but it’s hard to feel good about it.”
A number of responses ran through Mo’s mind. You’re doing what’s right for you. They’ll come around. You’d only hate them if you put your dreams aside for theirs. But nothing she said would matter. “It would be dumb to change your mind now, on the way to the evaluation,” she said, opting to focus on the pragmatic.
“Oh, I don’t want to,” Les said. “I wish I could get excited about it, that’s all.”
The announcement system crackled to life. “The train will depart in one minute. Please clear the doors.”
Mo eyed the monitor fitted into the back of the seat directly in front of hers, but decided not to read the latest announcements or military bulletins. The train ride could be the last chance to relax for the next three days. As soon as the doors closed, she leaned her head against Les’s arm. The train started to move. Station lights whipped by, then it looked as if night had abruptly fallen. Mo closed her eyes. There wouldn’t be much to see for the next hour or so except tunnel walls and train stations, and all the stations looked the same.
She lifted her head when Les nudged her arm. “What?”
“We’re almost there.”
“Already!” She must have dozed off. “Sorry, it took me a while to fall asleep last night. Excitement, I guess.” And nerves.
Les waved away Mo’s apology. “I didn’t feel like talking anyway.”
The train pulled into the station. “Military Academy, Sector C6,” the announcement system reported.
When they stepped onto the platform, Mo looked in dismay at the flight of stairs leading to the station’s waiting area. There must be four times as many steps as there were in the station they’d left. Suddenly the weight was removed from her back. She turned around.
Les shrugged into Mo’s bag and held out her own. “Here.”
“You don’t have to,” Mo said, trying not to look too eager to accept Les’s bag.
“I know.”
Mo slipped Les’s bag onto her back. “Thanks.”
As they ascended the stairs, Mo’s excitement grew at the sight of military personnel heading down to the platform in their orange cloaks. That could be her in a few months! Well, no; cadets didn’t have orange cloaks, they had light blue ones, but still.
A Registration for Evaluation sign in the waiting area pointed them to one of the many station exits. They crossed a courtyard and entered a three-storey brick building where four lines had formed in the lobby before a rectangular table. The hum of conversation filled the air. From what Mo could see, four of the military behind the table registered the arrivals, while a fifth answered questions from those who had already received their registration packet. The lines were moving quickly, with no clear winner, so she and Les joined the nearest one.
Mo glanced around, wondering if she’d recognize anyone. A girl in the next line seemed to be staring at her. No, at Les. Mo bristled when the girl raised an appraising eyebrow. Oh, great. They’d been here five flaming minutes and already someone was eyeing Les up and down. She glared at the airhead and slipped her hand into Les’s. Les stared toward the front of the line, oblivious.
“Comm unit,” a man barked.
“Oh, sure,” Mo said, bewildered. They’d already reached the table. She let go of Les’s hand, quickly slipped her comm unit from its holder, and handed it to him.
He slid a thin black rod down the comm unit’s side and looked at the monitor in front of him. “All right, Middleton. You’re in Barracks 22, Bed 6. You’ll find three jumpsuits folded at the end of the bed. Wear a jumpsuit to all your sessions and appointments.”
Now that Mo was at the table, she could see the boxes of envelopes on another table against the back wall. He spun his chair around, rolled forward, and leafed through a box. “Here we are.” He rolled back and handed the envelope to her. “All the information you need is in there, including a map of the academy and the rules that apply to the evaluation. Read the rules carefully. Any violation of the rules will result in the automatic failure of your evaluation. Understood?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Proceed to your barracks.” He looked past her. “Comm unit,” he barked.
Mo moved aside and decided to wait for Les in the courtyard. Outside, she slipped the information from the envelope and found the itinerary. Nothing until supper, then a two-hour orientation session. This is as much your opportunity to evaluate us as it is ours to evaluate you, the preamble to the itinerary stated. Yeah, sure. Somehow she doubted the military would be crushed if it failed her evaluation and she decided not to join after all.
She read the next day’s schedule—06:00: morning alarm. 06:15: breakfast—and her eyes bulged. What’s 06:00? Six o’clock in the morning? They’d better not expect her to be coherent.
A shadow fell across the papers. “What barracks are you in?” Les asked.
“Twenty-two.”
“I’m in nineteen.”
“Too bad.”
“Maybe it’s better that way.”
“Maybe. Did you see what time we have to be up? Six o’clock!”
Les grinned. “Did you think you were going to lie around all day?”
“Well, no. But six o’clock?”
“You’ll cope.” Les patted Mo’s arm. “Come on. Let’s find our barracks and get changed.”
“Don’t forget to give me my bag,” Mo said.
“Believe me, I won’t.” Les shot out in front of Mo, then turned around and spread her arms. “Can you believe it? We’re at the Military Academy!”
Mo smiled, pleased to see Les excited, so excited that Mo could hardly keep up with her as they went in search of their beds for the next three nights.
Lesley left the classroom and sat in a nearby lounge area, grateful for the breather. The day had been a whirlwind, a rush to get from one session or appointment to another. She’d undergone a rigorous medical examination, written an essay about why she wanted to join the military, spent two hours in conversation with a counsellor, which she guessed had actually been a psychological evaluation, and had just finished writing an exam. A surprise exam, one the lecturer had sprung on them immediately after his talk about past military campaigns. It hadn’t been difficult, but it would separate those who’d prepared for the evaluation from those who hadn’t. Not all the answers had been covered during the lecture.