Chapter Nineteen:

Leo spoke many languages. Seargeant Beaufoy – or ‘just Seargeant’, as the man had insisted, he be called after finally introducing himself – had at least had the decency to leave Leo alone during his breakfast.

Wasn’t that an interesting word, breakfast. The languages Leo spoke included English, Spanish, Confederation Common and Imperial Coalition, among another more obscure number of languages. It had become a habit of his to while away his hours learning new things, not least of which included both Earthside, and alien languages. He’d found language learning to be an enjoyable pastime, and of all the languages he’d learned, English had been the most entertaining. Finding out that breakfast literally meant to break ones fast was had been both illuminating and hilarious to an impressionable Leo.

He’d certainly been hungry long enough. Though, honestly, he genuinely hadn’t expected he would be fed at all. Starvation was one of the oldest psychological tricks in the books. For all the talk of him being some sort of cultivator apprentice to the very scary boss lady, he had yet to experience anything different from the same contempt and revile he had been previously subjected to throughout the United North American Confederation.

So, at breakfast, he had eaten the food not slowly, but patiently, diligently savouring every morsel.

If the previous night was to be a potential measure for the care he would be shown throughout his internment aboard the ship, well, it was apparent to him that regular meals would probably be in his future.

Idly, he wondered if that was a function of the people in charge of his care being cultivators. He made a note to ask the AI later.

According to the Seargeant, break times were pre-scheduled based on both the area someone was assigned to and to the relative hierarchy of the individual within it. That meant that Leo would technically be within his rights to demand first access to, well, everything. He was a direct disciple after all… Big kahunas and all that.

Leo, of course, knew better than to take technicality for reality. In reality, Leo was hungry, and playing nice got him fed.

Currently he was happily scraping the bottom of the bowl and the edges of the now-empty tray to get any last morsel of sauce or dripping. As he looked into the face of the strange man who’d come to his door, – the Seargeant, he reminded himself – to whom he would be beholden for the next, at minimum a day cycle, or whatever that accounted for on this ship.

Yeah.

He steeled himself using some of the resolve he’d honed over years and years of being trapped under somebody else’s power.

Someday… Someday, he promised himself.

Leo was smiling as he stood from his seat across from the captain. It was an easy task to place his tray in the dishwashing receptacle, along with several other people who were in tactical gear similar to the Sergeant’s. Leo had been given robes. It was obvious that he wasn’t exactly a member of the staff as he stood alongside the people in tactical gear.

Was it purposely done? Of course it was. Leo didn’t even bother with any outward expression of annoyance or dissatisfaction.

Leo did not like to stand out. Standing out was a good way to get singled out, and being singled out was, in Leo’s extensive experience, not a good move. It was that same experience that had taught him that the nail that sticks out gets hammered down.

As he shuffled away, the Seargeant basically standing on his heels, he couldn’t help but be cognizant of the enmity he was garnering with his mere presence. It was like him wearing a robe in this place of work boots, tacticals, and otherwise aggressively practical clothing was not only a sign that he did not belong, but the fact that he was present at all seemed to be a signal that the ‘new-guy’ was fair game.

So, Leo soldiered on. Eyes to the ground, following along behind the Sarg like a meek little puppy, nobody able to see his lip curled below the ‘obedient dog’ look. He could play meek, he’d played meek before, but if these people thought for a moment that he was playing into their games… Well…

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

It was probably the appearance of the combat room that eventually shook Leo out of his follow-the-leader act.

A training room with mats, dummies, and weapons was a big contributor to him breaking out of the survival mode stupor he’d found himself in. Huge, actually.

Leo allowed himself this temporary moment of apparent weakness. No Losing Focus! He reminded himself as he stood, head bowed, being judged like he had actively submitted himself to inspection.

Leo felt a tingling sensation akin to a special enchantment envelop the group of people that Leo had just been introduced to. He could tell they were in a training room, and that they were safe – as relative as that term got – but everything else was obscured to him.

He, and the people alongside him, had been led from the general training area, where a few very early participants were diligently working away, to this new place. Leo knew it was a new place due to the surprise and apprehension pouring through the people he’d been transported with. He also couldn’t help but notice that a majority of the strangers were dressed in the tactical gear the Seargeant favoured, and not the robes Leo himself had been supplied with.

So, the group was led by an irate monster of a man through a door that led to what looked like a racecourse that was prepared beside a particularly nasty obstacle course.

Obviously, Leo had not received any prior preparation, and just as obviously that didn’t seem to matter to his fellow obstacle-course-participants.

As an isolation tactic, this was, frankly, pretty clever…

As Leo sent out imaginary kudos to his kidnappers, and equally imaginary middle fingers to whoever wrote the book they got their tactics from, Leo settled himself in for a long morning.

It was remarkable how people, regardless of species, time, or location could create a track that was near identical to the ones he recognized from his student days.

This track was also ovular in shape and obviously built for running, though it had definite markings indicating places where modifications could be made for different activities.

Leo was both excited and dismayed. In the few years of public schooling he’d been allowed to attend before his ‘condition’ had made it not only impractical but a genuine danger to himself and others if he insisted on continuing to attend, he’d loved track and field. He loved using his body, being fast, strong and swift. He’d won more than a few competitions. Sometimes he felt like – he hated to sound cliché even as he though it within the sanctity of his mind – but he loved unleashing himself.

It was like he was always tethered and only occasionally did he get to emerge. He cherished those moments in which he had been able to just… go.

Something told him, though, that this wouldn’t be the free release of action that he had so long looked forward to. It only took one look at the people around him to let him know this wouldn’t just be an act of pure, jubilant exertion.

“This is Instructor Zeus,” said the Seargeant, introducing the young man to the person in charge of him.

“Hello,” said the man. Not meeting his eyes, or the eyes of the many people who had been abruptly transported into the room.

‘This was planned’ Leo thought, his eyes darting around the room, lips pressed tightly together.

Leo gave the man a short bow. “Instructor,” he said.

The Seargeant’s upper lip twitched as he nodded once before turning back to the instructor. “You will listen to every order he gives and follow it to the letter.”

Leo held tightly to that phrase. Not the spirit, but the letter. The man had said it himself. He would follow orders, but he would follow them to the letter. Leo had years of experience working around letters. He had been forced to do it for basic survival for too long not to know.

Yes, he would follow orders. It would hurt. It would humiliate. But pride had never been his downfall. It had been those fickle things like exhaustion, starvation, pain. He aggressively brought his thoughts back out of the place they had gone to before bowing at exactly the angle the textbook he was grateful he’d read the night before indicated.

Of course, he was starting to get the idea that this Stargazer woman had no idea what it meant to have a direct disciple. If his limited reading had him aware of anything, it was that there was meant to be a lot more pomp-and-circumstance to the occasion. He was supposed to be paraded about, held upon high like some saviour of the clan. Aggressively celebrated and praised.

Was this some obscure hazing ritual? Was he not actually ‘Malia-Stargazer’s-Direct-Disciple’. What was going on, and why the mind games?

Leo didn’t just want to simply survive; he wanted to thrive, and that meant not making enemies where enemies needn’t be made.

So, he would wait. He’d wait for his answers, he’d wait for his results to speak for themselves. Leo would wait.

And Wait.

As no instruction was given, everyone simply stood there, even as the Seargeant left and the instructor remained, giving orders to people Leo wouldn’t even turn to see as he maintained his position.

Eventually, he was relieved to go and stand with the people he assumed he would be participating (in whatever event) with.

Petty tyrants, he thought, glancing briefly down at his own robe, and well-made but obviously not delicately tailored pants and shirts both he and the other recruits were wearing before finding his place in line and preparing for another very, very long day.

At least he wouldn’t trip to death.