Today is game day. The first of many. The first real test of my ability to lead this unit. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous, but at this point, it’s out of my hands. My copyclan and I crafted this scenario carefully, and the construction crew of the Crucible put it together in accordance with our exact specifications. Now, all I can do is sit back and hope everything goes according to plan.
Well, I’m not exactly going to be reclining on a deck chair and watching the carnage unfold, much as I might like to. I’ll be on the battlefield same as everybody else, but not as a commander. This time, I’m just another foot soldier, under White Team Commander Sofie Lang. We’re facing up against the forces of the Black Team, and their Commander, Nikolai Genov. My Intelligence and Combat officers. This is as much a test of their abilities as mine, but if Sofie is feeling the pressure, it doesn’t show.
Our team- her team, I should say -is assembled in the western staging area, opposite of where the Black Team is positioned. The Crucible, the modular battlefield in which today’s test is taking place, is quite large, to the point that my copyclan complained about having too much space to work with when designing the arena we’re now standing within. Fortunately, we were able to figure something out.
This staging area is inside of a large building, which is so well put-together that I doubt I’d suspect it wasn’t standing here yesterday, if I hadn’t been the one to order its construction. Another building is positioned on the other side of the Crucible, though not quite in the exact same position. Between them is a deep gulch, artificial wilderness filled with thick mud and a rushing river that would be next to impossible to pass through without equipment we don’t have. The only realistic way to get to the other team’s stronghold is across a bridge. And that’s just as well for what I have planned- a deceptively simple game of capture the flag.
Sofie is holding our flag right now, a simple metal pike with a white banner hanging limply from its top. Somewhere in the Black Team’s building, Niko is probably doing the same thing, albeit maybe with a bit less theatricality.
“Okay, listen up! We’ve got ten minutes ‘til the clock starts, and I want to make sure everybody knows their role. Our objective is simple- acquire the enemy flag. But remember, this is a live-fire exercise, so do your best to stay alive. You’re no good to me waiting to get your body back.”
She’s putting on a character, that of the hard-ass general who takes no shit from anybody. Some of it is probably ironic, but I have to imagine a bit of it is that she’s nervous about taking a proper leadership role for the first time.
“Tai, Sandman, Izzy- you’re playing defense. Stay here, and make sure those sons of bitches don’t get their hands on our flag. Everybody else is on the assault squad. Amalia, you’re a recon specialist. I want you to scope out the enemy base and report back before we make our play. We’ve only got one cloaker, so that means no second chances. Got it?”
The scout salutes, her amber ram’s horns glowing faintly in the dim light. While the building itself doesn’t look like it was put together in a matter of hours, the interior betrays the illusion somewhat- mainly in that it’s rather barren. There are barricades and balconies where a sniper could post up to wait for intruders, but no furniture or decorations. It looks like an empty warehouse, or something similarly industrial. Part of that is intentional, because I didn’t want to make it too easy to hide the flag. Getting into the enemy base will be hard enough, but having to dig the flag out of a hiding place would be a bridge too far.
“Good. Now, some of you might be a little worried, since we don’t have as many fighter types as the other guys. That’s a reasonable concern, but I’ve got a plan. What we’ve got to make up for our lack of firepower is a bona-fide defensive tactical expert. Kat here is gonna help us hold the bridge, and let the other guys thin out their numbers by trying to get past us. One that’s done, we can move in, take their flag, and bring it back without any issues. Sound good?”
Taking one look at Kat tells me that it doesn’t sound particularly good to her. Still, it’s not a bad plan. I didn’t advise Sofie, but she managed to come up with something pretty similar to what I would have, given this specific team. Her assault team includes Ada, a tech specialist who’ll be setting up traps to keep the enemy from crossing the bridge, and Colleen, a melee fighter who can deal with anybody who does manage to get past.
A timer goes off, informing us that we’ve got just one minute before the doors open and the battle begins in earnest. Sofie grabs a rifle off the rack, and grins.
“Okay, gang. Keep it cool, watch your backs, conserve ammo, and everything will be fine. Let’s go make the boss proud. Isn’t that right, Izzy?”
“You got this, sport,” I reply, shooting her a thumbs-up. A few people laugh, but not many. Most of them are either too nervous or too serious to appreciate my brief attempt at levity. Hard to blame them. I’ll be sitting here in relative safety, while most of the others will be going into the first real gunfight of their lives.
Following after Sofie, the assault team grabs guns and heads for the doors. At the same time, Tai and Sander both get moving. The former has a satchel filled with surveillances devices- mostly cameras -that he’ll be setting up around the exterior of the building, as soon as the doors open. Given the open floor plan, there isn’t much use in putting up cameras in here. Sander, on the other hand, has landmines and other fun surprises, which anybody trying to breach the perimeter will likely run afoul of. My job is simple. Stand by the flag, and shoot anybody who tries to take it.
The sound of a gong echoes through the room, signaling the start of the exercise. With a series of clicks, the doors of the building open, allowing Sofie and her crew to leave, followed shortly by my two home-team partners, off to set up their security system. Grabbing the last rifle on the rack, I pick up the folding chair I brought with me, and set it up next to where Sofie left the flag, propped up in the corner of the room. Some people gave me strange looks when they saw I was bringing a chair with me, rather than equipment like they had, but nobody questioned it outright.
For reasons I haven’t shared with anybody else, I’m really not expecting to see any action here. If anybody from the other team makes it inside, I’m more likely to congratulate them on the accomplishment than try to shoot them. But I’m still going to take this whole thing seriously enough that I won’t just read a book or scroll my brainband media feeds while I wait for everything to play out. Especially because, thanks to the brainband, I can actually watch it go down, through the eyes of my team. We all linked up before the battle started, meaning that any one of us can see from the perspective of any of the others. Not very useful for the assault team, but it’ll make things a bit less boring for me.
Leaning back in my chair, with the rifle sitting in my lap, I switch over to Amalia’s viewfeed. She’s one of the Gazelles I’ve spent the least time on, both in terms of direct personal interaction, and brain-space devoted to her existence. She was never a serious candidate for any officer position, since a recon specialist isn’t exactly suited for giving orders, and her overly friendly persona strikes me as a bit fake. That could just be me being overly cynical, though. If nothing else, those amber horns of hers are visually striking. They’re an homage to the Founder of her line, Dillon, who created a now-defunct special-operations group known as the Amber Assassins, who were known for wearing jewelry and other accouterments made from amber, often with items or small animals preserved inside of them. Pretty lame, as far as Founders and their gimmicks go. He never even merited a Regalia weapon, despite being a combat-specialist Founder.
By the time I’m patched into Amalia’s feed, she’s already cloaked, and headed north. There’s a particularly narrow section of the river that divides the arena in that area, and I suspect she plans to cross it, rather than try to slip across the bridge undetected. That means wading through the mud, but fortunately modern cloaking technology is good enough that a bit of wet dirt won’t give her away. It’s still gotta be pretty gross and wet, though, which makes me glad I’m only seeing through her eyes, not accessing her entire sensorium. Sharing senses with someone else has its uses, but mostly in the bedroom, not on the battlefield.
Some inclement weather would have been a good way to spice up the scenario, but it seemed like a little too much for our first exercise. Besides, it would have required closing the dome over the Crucible to simulate rain or snow or hail, which would have been a shame on a nice day like this. Maybe for next time. Amalia seems to be having a hard enough time slogging through knee-high mud as it is.
Luckily for her, I put a big ol’ rock nearby, positioned at the perfect angle for her to be able to climb up to its peak and look across the river at the enemy’s base. It looks real enough to me, but it’s probably mostly hollow, since carving out an actual piece of rock to my exact specifications would probably be a little too much, even for the Crucible’s construction team. I’m fine with some cut corners, so long as they’re out of sight and don’t meaningfully impact the exercise.
Amalia clambers up the stone slab, and pulls a pair of binoculars from her belt. Through them, she- and I -see the enemy’s base. It doesn’t look quite like ours, mainly in that it’s taller and narrower, with three floors to our two. Unless Niko was feeling particularly clever, they’ve probably got the flag on the top floor, but that’s something our scout will have to verify personally before she can report back.
With my own ears, I hear gunshots, alerting me to the fact that the assault team has engaged with the enemy. Before checking in on them, however, I go back to looking through my own eyes, to make sure nobody’s managed to sneak in without my noticing. I’d most likely have heard them, but going too long without being able to see what’s happening in the vicinity of my own body leaves me a bit uncomfortable. Instead of an intruder, I find Sander, positioned at a nearby door, his shotgun held at the ready, though he’s made sure that I’m in his sightline. That means he’s finished laying his traps. Tai is nowhere to be seen, but there can’t have been that many cameras to set up. He’s probably hiding out on one of the balconies above me, watching the camera feeds like a hawk. If he sees anybody, we’ll be the first to know.
Giving my bodyguard a nod, I sink back into the chair and open up Ada’s visual feed. She’s got an AR overlay active, showing in various corners of her vision how much ammo she has left, the status of the traps she’s set up, and the vitals of her team, all of which appear to be green at the moment- worst anybody’s got is an elevated heart rate, which makes sense when you consider they’re being shot at.
Ada is crouching behind cover, which the bridge is abundant in on both sides. Two large, immobile ground transport vehicles stretch across it, almost completely blocking the way, save for several large holes in each, big enough for a person to pass through. However, those holes don’t match up on both sides of the containers, meaning that before you go in, you won’t be able to see what awaits you on the other side. And similarly, if you’re waiting on the other side, you won’t be able to see who’s coming through until the last second.
As such, it’s impossible for either assault team to get a good look at what they’re up against. The only information they really have is that the enemy exists, and they only know that because they’re being shot at. I’m a moment away from switching to another feed, when Ada hefts her rifle and stands up from behind her barricade, firing a few rounds in the general direction of the enemy before dropping back down swiftly. The containers are thin enough that a bullet could feasibly pass through both of them and hit an enemy target, but there’s no real way of knowing if they’ve successfully done so. And since there are essentially four sets of walls between them and the enemy, it’s almost impossible to tell where in particular the enemy is shooting from.
All of this is intentional on my part. There’s virtually no cover available in the gulch, and the mud is too thick to move through quickly, so any advance would be easily spotted and even more easily thwarted. That means the bridge is the only way to go. But with sightlines to the other side completely blocked, it’s almost impossible to know whether or not to advance. The enemy could have a handful of people on the other side, or their entire team could be waiting there. Sending someone through is the easiest way to find out, but if they get killed within seconds, you’ve just lost one of your only soldiers. Neither commander will be confident enough to order a frontal assault, even if that feels like the only realistic path forward, because failure would mean defeat is a certainty, and they aren’t willing to take that gamble. I’ve effectively engineered a complete stalemate- and my plan isn’t complete yet.
Amalia, comes Sofie’s voice, over the team-wide brainband channel. Change of plans. Forget the flag, just get on the other side of the bridge and find out how many people Niko has over there.
The scout doesn’t reply verbally, just sends back an affirmative pulse of emotion. I tune in to her feed, to find her on the other side of the river, doubling back to get underneath the bridge. Her previous path led through a side entrance into the enemy’s base, but didn’t have a solid view of the bridge itself, since she’d be going indoors pretty much straight from the gulch. That means she has to improvise.
Above her, the sounds of sporadic gunfire continue. It’s not entirely impossible for one side to break the stalemate, of course. I’d probably bet on the Black Team, since they’ve got more combat specialists. But not all of them would survive the process of wiping out the White Team assault squad. And even after that, they’d have to content with the trip-mines and other surprises that Ada’s rigged our side of the bridge with, not to mention Sander’s traps. And while I can’t say for certain, I’m reasonably certain the Black Team has taken similar countermeasures on their half of the bridge, and within their own base. Bret’s traps would probably fail to kill whoever activated them, but Nikitha, the chemical weapons specialist, is dangerous enough to make up for his incompetence.
Without warning, a jolt of pure, unfiltered agony surges through the brainband feed, making me flinch. It’s not uncommon among those unfamiliar with true pain- apparently an involuntary reflex similar to screaming when you’re hurt makes you transmit the pain itself to anyone you’re in active brainband contact with. Not particularly pleasant for those of us on the receiving end, but it does function as something of an alarm bell for when something goes wrong.
Accessing the biot feeds for the White Team, I assess their statuses. Judging by her elevated heart rate and sudden spike in blood pressure, it seems like Kat was the one who got hit. I’m not foolish enough to jump into the perspective of someone who just got shot, even if we wouldn’t be sharing pain, so instead I swap to Sofie’s point of view, to find her looking at the wounded girl. Kat is clutching her stomach, face a mask of misery that makes me frown. Part of it is guilt, because it’s my fault she’s in this situation. Kicking things off with a live-fire exercise seemed like a good idea at some point, but now I’m kicking myself for not going with paintballs or something less lethal. On the other hand, Kat is probably the only person who would react this badly to being hit, which makes it particularly unfortunate that she was the first person, at least on our side, to take a bullet.
“—hurts, I can’t—”
“Kat, wait!” Sofie shouts, starting towards her as bullets fly overhead, enemy riflemen aiming to finish what they’ve started. There’s a syringe in my Intelligence Officer’s hand, no doubt filled with tranquilizers to help stabilize the injured Shieldmaiden, but she’s too late. Kat’s already pulled the plug. That means taking the easy way out. We’re all equipped with a personal kill-switch, in order to hasten our own death in the event that we’re lethally injured, and don’t want to wait for a slow and painful demise from blood loss or the like. Of course, it’s meant only as a last resort. Using it too early is a waste of a perfectly good body, and with first aid readily available, pulling that trigger really wasn’t Kat’s best option. If it had been anyone else, they would probably have stuck it out, but she doesn’t yet possess the fortitude to do so. My speech to her may have strengthened her convictions somewhat, but it didn’t magically grant her pain tolerance beyond her natural limits.
In my plans, I hadn’t expected a casualty this early. It puts the White Team at something of a disadvantage. While I don’t know how many people the Black Team has on the other side of the bridge, being down one person means Sofie’s group might not be able to withstand a full charge. If that happens, it’ll be rather embarrassing for me, as I very much intended for this first match to end in a draw. However, the enemy can’t know for certain that they actually took someone out, unless they send a scout over to assess the situation personally. Under more realistic conditions, they could deploy a drone to do that job more easily, but I banned their use for precisely that reason. That means there’s still a chance this could play out as I intended. And speaking of scouts doing recon, it’s been long enough that I can now switch back to Amalia’s perspective and see how she’s doing with her new mission.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
The short answer is, ‘not great.’ In the time that I spent in Sofie’s feed, the amber-horned scout seems to have triggered one of the enemy’s traps- a cleverly placed mine that deployed some sort of gas. I’m fortunate enough not to be smelling it, but based on the color alone, a putrid red-green blend that reminds me of snot and blood, it can’t be good. The way Amalia is coughing like she wants to retch out her entire lungs cements my theory as well. Rather than pull her own plug, however, she soldiers on, stride unsteady, keeping her head down. The cloak seems to be intact, allowing her to finally find her way to a vantage point behind the Black Team’s side of the bridge.
Her legs giving way, Amalia collapses to the ground, using an arm to keep her head propped up high enough that she can see the enemy. Then, she transmits what she’s seeing to Sofie, as well as a wordless apologetic sentiment for not having been able to finish the mission, and activates her own kill switch, as blood begins to bubble up in her throat.
Returning to my own perspective, I sit back in the chair, silent. Being in someone’s head as they’re dying, even if you aren’t feeling most of what they’re feeling, is unpleasant, to say the least. I’ve done it before, lived through historical battles using archival perspectives from soldiers on the front lines, but it was never quite as personal as this. In the back of my head, two things happen. The first is that I revise my estimation of Amalia upwards by a significant degree. The second is that I decide that I won’t be offering Nikitha the job of Engineering Officer. It’s an irrational choice to make, but I simply can’t see myself promoting anybody who makes weapons like that. I’m not quite disgusted enough that I won’t make use of her talents in the future, but she’ll be employing them as a subordinate of someone else. Probably Ada, since the only other option is Bret, and that’s still not happening.
Once my stomach has settled slightly, I access the recording of Amalia’s last moments, filtering out everything except what she saw- a perfect overview of the enemy’s entrenchment, captured from a vantage point I set up behind the bridge specifically for this purpose. There’s a mirror of it on our side as well, for the sake of fairness. It seems like Niko decided to commit roughly the same number of his people to the frontal assault as we did. Though it’s somewhat difficult to sell who’s who from behind, I can see him, Ibrahim, Nikitha, and Grant. Mars is nowhere to be seen, which probably means he’s playing defense, since he isn’t exactly suited for stealth. They don’t appear to have taken any casualties yet, which isn’t a great sign, since we’re now down two people. Hopefully Sofie can find a way to remedy that, or my plans are shot. But before I can return to her point of view, I hear something with my own ears. An explosion, and quite nearby.
Opening my eyes, I see Sander, already moving to investigate. Just in case it’s a distraction, I put a hand on my rifle, ready to raise it and fire, should anyone come in. No such intruder appears, however. Instead, Sander returns momentarily, shaking his head to indicate it was nothing. That doesn’t mean it actually was nothing, though, just that he didn’t have to kill anyone- so I access Tai’s camera feeds, and swap between different views until I can see what happened.
It looks like one of Sander’s tripwires was tripped, resulting in an unfortunate, if mercifully swift demise for whoever got caught in it. The explosives involved were potent enough not to have left behind much in the way of identifying details, just a rather lot of gore strewn about the artificial landscape outside of our stronghold. At a guess, the unfortunate soul was Valent, one of the Black Team’s stealth specialists. I didn’t see him on the front lines, and leaving him to watch the flag would have been a waste of his talents. He was probably attempting to do what we initially sent Amalia to do- scope out the situation, and maybe even take the flag without anybody noticing, obviating the whole stalemate thing entirely. That didn’t work out especially well, though- which is all according to my design.
The odds are a little closer to even now. Unless either of my chosen commanders develops a reckless streak, they’ll remain locked in a stalemate, each side picking off the others’ people one by one, until the people guarding each flag are all that’s left. At that point, I think I’ll call the whole exercise to a close, and we can wait for everybody who died to be reborn- hopefully into a body with a few upgrades -before beginning our debrief. They may be slightly annoyed that I engineered their deaths in such a manner, but it’ll be a learning experience if nothing else. Hopefully it doesn’t take too long.
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In the end, it takes four and a half hours. After the initial excitement, both sides seem to swiftly realize their respective positions, and hunker down for the long hall. Exchanges of fire become less frequent, and a brief game of cards is even played on the front lines, although it’s interrupted by the enemy loosing a few rounds, as if just to remind the players that they’re there.
Then, after several hours of that, the Black Team seems to realize that the situation isn’t tenable. Niko isn’t willing to order a frontal assault- the specter of total defeat is still too great to confront -but he does have his people resume firing in earnest, something Sofie is all too eager to meet in kind. Around that time, the Black Team also sends Grant out to assess the White Team’s position, only for him to be caught in one of Ada’s stasis traps and swiftly struck down by Colleen’s blade. After that, the remaining assault groups on each side thin each other out pretty quickly- there were only four of them in each, after all.
In the end, Niko himself is the only one who remains. But after he gingerly steps through to the other side of the bridges finding Sofie’s group slain, he doesn’t proceed to our base in a futile effort to secure the flag. Instead, he opens a brainband channel direct to me.
Izanami. This was a very clever trick you played. I know I can’t get past your defenses, save perhaps if I were to summon those who remain to guard my flag. And if I did that, and we still fell, it would leave victory within your grasp. Rather than play out either scenario, which would undoubtedly result in further unnecessary death, and waste biomass without cause, I propose that we end this exercise without a winner, as you clearly intended from the very beginning.
Naturally, I accept. It would be unseemly of me- not to mention cruel -to force a fight to the death for no real reason. The lesson I intended to impart has been learned, and refusing Niko’s offer would only serve to undercut it. If we both marshaled our paltry remaining forces, a victor would emerge, but I’d bet good money that it would be a single person left standing, and even if they managed to avoid whatever traps remained in the enemy’s stronghold, it would be a hollow victory indeed to seize the flag and hold it alone.
As the Crucible staff are entering the arena to remove the corpses for recycling, and to eventually deconstruct the entire thing, even though they’ll need to put it back together the day after tomorrow, I meet with Niko outside. He doesn’t look happy. It doesn’t seem like he’s upset either, but this whole experience certainly hasn’t left him thrilled. That was my intention, among other things- to teach my unit that warfare isn’t glamorous or glorious. Mostly it involves a lot of sitting around being very bored, and then getting killed by something you had no way of knowing about or avoiding.
“If you were hoping to win anybody over with this, I suspect you’ll need to reconsider your tactics,” the Stormwolf says to me, as a medic stitches up a bullet wound on his shoulder. It was a mere graze, not enough to slow him down, but even Imperium science hasn’t eradicated disease entirely, and it’s best to avoid infection if you’re particularly attached to your current body.
“Yeah, I’m sure there’ll be a few transfer requests after this,” I admit ruefully. “But once word gets around about what I put you all through, nobody will want to trade places with any of you sorry bastards.”
Niko cracks a grin, then winces in pain.
“I see you’ve thought this through. And manufacturing a bit of trauma bonding among the rank and file can’t have been a downside either.”
“Nope. Not to sound too much like an abusive parent, but they’ll be stronger for it in the long run. Plus, so long as you and Sofie do your jobs right, the next go round won’t be nearly as bad, and they’ll forget all about this in the afterglow.”
The look in Niko’s eyes tells me that he may think I’m being overly optimistic with that assessment. He’s entitled to his opinion, of course, but having been on the front line may be coloring his perception a little. Particularly since the pain of dying won’t be retained when the others come back, so the worst most of them will remember is a bit of boredom. That’ll be forgotten easily enough after the second run of this exercise, which I expect will have a much more decisive winner and loser.
Before that, though, we’re due for a day of training. And before that, I need to address the unit- meaning the people who just killed each other on my orders. Most of them are still in the rez queue, which means I’ve got a couple hours to myself before everybody’s available for a debrief. Though I didn’t see any combat myself, I experienced plenty of it secondhand, through the eyes of the other members of the White Team, and I could use a shower and a nap.
Good work, everybody, I say to the whole unit over the brainband. You all performed well today. For those of you who didn’t survive to the end, the exercise ended in a draw. We’ll be meeting up at the Hyperion Building in a few hours to debrief, but before that, I want you all to have a hearty dinner. You’ve all earned it. And that goes double for those of you who died. Remember, you’ll be coming back on an empty stomach.
A series of mostly nonverbal acknowledgements trickle in after my address. People in the resurrection queue are perfectly capable of communicating, since they’re just disembodied consciousnesses, until their chosen form is finished being grown. For most of the unit, I suspect this will be their first time experiencing the process firsthand, just like it was for me not too long ago. I don’t feel great about being the one to have caused their first deaths, but it’s better that they get familiar with it now, so it’s not as hard for them later on.
Niko waves goodbye to me as I leave, Sander following close behind. The Citadel’s streets are quiet as we head back to our dormitory. We pass a few fellow Nobles, one or two who I recognize from our year, and others who I suspect are upperclassmen. There hasn’t been much time for me to study the older students since I’ve been here, but it’ll probably become necessary at some point, even if we never come into direct conflict with them. After all, the Heir Apparent leads one of the four upper-year units, typically assigned to replace whichever unit leader performed the poorest in their first year, and if I’m exceptionally unlucky, that could even be me. And even if not, he’ll be the Emperor one day, so it probably behooves me to learn a bit about him before then.
According to the schedule I read, the Peregrine unit has the Crucible reserved tomorrow, which is why the staff is now hard at work dismantling my arena, in order to replace it with whatever deathtrap Anton designed. I gave some thought to sending one of our people to spy on them while they’re training, but infiltrating the Crucible during an active combat exercise isn’t just dangerous, it’s also difficult. Though it’s an arena, there aren't any seats from which to watch the exercises unfold. There is an observation deck above the arena itself, but it’s reserved for instructors to watch their students. The Crucible isn’t just used by us Nobles, after all- some classes employ it for examinations, including Combat 101. Given my prior experience in that class, I’m not especially looking forward to those exams.
On the way back, I stop by a food stall and pick up some kebabs. Not exactly practicing what I was preaching with regards to having a hearty meal, but Sander isn’t going to rat me out. Besides, that was advice for the people who were doing the actual work. I sat on my ass the whole time- some chicken and roasted vegetables will keep me going just fine.
The moment I enter my apartment- after Sander runs a quick security sweep to make sure nobody left me any surprises while I was out -a wave of exhaustion strikes. Before I can succumb to it, however, I sync up with my copyclan, giving them the memories of my day so far, and downloading their memories of what they’ve been doing. Most of it is dull logistics or background research on various members of the other units, none of which fully registers in the moment. With that done, I set them to work preparing tomorrow’s training program for the rest of the Gazelles, based on my assessment of their individual performances, and fall into bed.
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A few hours later, one of my copies wakes me up with a silent nudge through the brainband. She informs me that the last of the Gazelles has been rezzed, meaning we don’t have long before they arrive, expecting me to explain myself for how the exercise went down. Though the nap did help me clear my head a bit, I don’t feel entirely ready to do so, necessitating a quick shower and change of clothes. I left my combat gear behind in the Crucible’s locker room, but the practical cargo pants and tight athletic shirt I wore underneath aren’t exactly suitable eveningwear.
In the interest of time, I take a cold shower, the icy water compelling me not to take a minute more than I need before stepping out and toweling off, shivering from tip to tail. With one of my copies tapping her wrist to let me know I’m sort on time, I throw on a green halter top and black yoga pants, which take a little while to pull on thanks to the moisture lingering on my body. Not for the first time since I arrived at the Citadel, I’m glad that I keep my hair short, because it only takes a minute to make it look presentable, whereas people with longer locks have to spend much more time and effort. I briefly find myself curious as to how Sofie deals with her hair, considering it’s literally metallic. Hopefully rust isn’t an issue, but there must be plenty of minor inconveniences associated with it that she has to accept as a consequence of her body modification.
On my way out the door, I shoot Sander a brief brainband message letting him know I’m heading downstairs. To my surprise, he doesn’t immediately join me, but rather suggests that I go ahead without him. Maybe he’s busy with something, although I’m slightly ashamed to admit that I have no idea what he could actually be doing. I’ve come to take his presence for granted, despite the fact that I still don’t know much about his actual interests. He’s loyal to me because of my rank, but I can’t count on him being loyal to me personally unless I put forth some effort to actually get to know him. Obviously, he wouldn’t leave me unattended if he thought there was any risk, but within the Hyperion Building, which he’s already personally secured, there’s virtually zero chance of danger.
Most of the unit is already there when I arrive downstairs. There’s a few different conversations ongoing, and though the room gets quiet when I walk in, it quickly passes. Some people seem to have brought food with them, while others- hopefully -ate before coming here. Though I do want their respect and obedience when necessary, I don’t want to be the kind of commander that makes their subordinates uncomfortable around them- so instead of immediately calling the room to order, I scan the room, looking for someone sitting alone, in order to approach them. My options are scarce, which I suppose is probably a good thing- but I’m not about to approach Bret, so I go to speak with Kat instead. She’s sitting in a chair apart from the rest of the group, eating noodles out of a bowl, probably from the same place I took her the other day.
“Hey.”
“Hi,” the anxious girl replies, not quite seeming comforted by my presence, but at least not actively frightened by me either.
“How’s the new body treating you?”
“Um. ‘Sokay, I guess.”
“First time?” I ask, doing my best not to seem cloyingly sympathetic. Kat may be less confident than the other Gazelles, but she doesn’t need me treating her like she’s made of glass either. She doesn’t look up from her bowl, just shakes her head. Whatever the circumstances of her prior death, I suppose she doesn’t want to speak of it. That’s her business, though.
“In a way, you got kinda lucky, going down first. Didn’t have to wait in line like everyone else.”
“Yeah,” Kat says with a soft laugh. “The resurrection facilities are so nice here, too.”
That might not be a good thing. I don’t want her getting too comfortable with dying, or else she’ll make a habit of triggering her killswitch whenever she’s in any danger. My goal is to help make her more confident and capable, not allow her to become so non-confrontational that she’d literally rather kill herself than ever fight.
“Well, with any luck you won’t be seeing too much of them after today, yeah?”
“Hopefully...”
The way she trails off doesn’t fill me with confidence, but we can work on that. In fact, tomorrow’s training session will be my first real opportunity to do so. Maybe I’ll see about getting Niko and Sofie to work with their respective teams for a while, so I can coach her personally. I won’t be able to do that for the entire year, but she’ll probably need some special attention before she’s at the same level as everybody else.
In the corner of my eye, I see Colleen walk in, the last of my Gazelles to arrive. That makes sense, seeing as how she most likely had to return to the Crucible after being rezzed to pick up her sword, then get something to eat, before coming here. Giving Kat what I hope is a reassuring pat on the shoulder, I stand up and find a spot where I can address the group comfortably. Rather than demanding immediate silence, I simply lean back, fold my arms, and wait for people to realize I’m ready to speak. Most of them go quiet quickly, while others continue speaking until they realize that they’re the only ones left doing so, and hastily cut their conversations short.
“Good evening, everyone. I’m sure you all have questions about why things today happened the way that they did. Rest assured, it wasn’t a failure on your parts, but rather an outcome I deliberately engineered.”
That much was probably obvious to most of them already. Still, I give a slight pause just for dramatic effect.
“This was for a few different reasons, some of which you may have already guessed. For one, I wanted to disabuse you all of the notion that warfare is going to be fun or exciting. There may be moments of excitement, but for the most part, it’ll be a lot of sitting around waiting, and then getting killed unexpectedly.”
Despite what I’m saying, most of their combat experiences here at the Citadel probably will be glamorous and exciting. That’s mainly because we aren’t really in the business of running accurate war games here. There simply aren’t enough young Nobles to accurately model a proper military engagement, so instead we do smaller-scale scenarios that tend to have more opportunities for glory and valor than a real battle does. That’s why I wanted to cement the reality of battle in the minds of my unit beforehand.
“More specifically, I wanted to show you all what a stalemate looks like, so tomorrow, I can show you how to break it. And the day after that, you all are going to prove to me that you can learn from past experiences, because we’re going to run the exercise again. I’m not going to change anything about the scenario itself, so if you all want a different outcome, it’s up to you to make it happen. Sound good?”
A quiet wave of assent runs through the crowd, some of it vocalized, the rest broadcast via the brainband. Nobody sounds massively enthusiastic, but neither are they totally demoralized. That’s probably the best I could have hoped for, given what I put them through today.
“Great. Now, go get some rest, because I want you all back here bright and early tomorrow morning.”