Some students, including Temora, were mesmerized by the professor’s actions. Others in the platoon were completely unphased, or borderline unimpressed. To all of them, gemin casting was not magic, it was technology. The activation of a gemin stone and its utility as a device was directly proportional to its monetary cost. Professor Rosin’s gemin were prohibitively expensive to a majority of the students in the platoon. The wealthier students knew someone with stones of that strength or owned some themselves, which left them indifferent to the display.
Temora was not an outgoing person, she barely took part in extracurricular activities. A few years of track, and the belit club. Now that she thought about it, the only time she got away from home was her walks to and from school. Maybe some celebratory outings, and rarely did she go out with her mother. Her mother did most of the house’s shopping. Most of the day she was away from home running a business. No wonder she yearned to be onboard a ship in the skies.
“Temora. Return to the compartment, you have been dismissed.” Rosin yelled to her from down the field. She looked around herself to find everyone had already begun their walk back, completely distracted by thought. Temora turned to where the last of the recruits were entering one of the barracks complexes and ran toward those doors. By the time she arrived there, a few of the platoonmates were waiting by the door for her.
“Thank you for keeping the door for me.” Temora half bowed toward the young men, who were looking at each other. “There’s no need for that miss---”
“Oh, Fayn. Temora Fayn. Novice 1st.” she held out her hand with a smile in the middle of the door frame. This blocked the way for other students who decided to use the adjacent door.
“Albe Moro. Also, Novice 1st.” he said taking a few steps backward toward the wall still holding the door before reaching out his hand to clasp Temora’s. “...and this is my friend Cocole Moseme. Apprentice Rising 1st.”
“Moro? Are you Teved Moro’s son?”
“Yes. You have no idea what it is like to have your father be a teacher at the school you are attending.” He delivered with a self-aware sensible chuckle. “I do, actually.” She tried to match the young man’s energy, but her chuckle fell off into a sigh.
“Ah, so your father teaches here as well?” Albe turned away from the wall closing the door after Temora had passed, moving into a wide stepped high-speed stride. This stride was practiced during years of traversing the halls of this academic establishment. The three of them matched pace.
“He used to. I’ve even had classes under him, but he is on a long tour now.” That tour had gone on since Temora was in grade three, at the end of her formative years of childhood. She didn’t remember his face all that well, and barely the conversations they had together.
“What’s his rank?”
“Merited Professor now I think. 2nd or 3rd, I am not sure which.”
“Then your family has been in the system a long time.” Albe turned around to walk backward haphazardly, to talk to Temora at face. “My father and I moved here about the time your father left for tour. If I am doing my math right. I came into the school testing to enter into grade four, I’ve always been two years younger than my grade.”
“Moved here from where?” Temora already suspected the answer to this question, but did her best not to make assumptions. It was a good approach in a country like Argentis, where status is everything.
“Argonon, but I’m sure you could tell from my accent.” A sarcastic comment intended to be lighthearted and humorous. In all of Una, there was only one region with people of a skin complexion with the depth of his. Most people in Argentis with skin in the blacker shades were Argononian immigrants. Some were born in Argentis, but they were few and far between.
“Yes, of course.” She smirked at the remark and snickered toward its uncomfortable political connotations. The three students laughed as Albe nearly bumped into an open door, still walking backward. This caused him to turn around and pay attention. “You like it here ‘mister Moro’.” She slyly fronted him with the Argentian manner of speaking.
“I do, but me and my father also miss living in Nsolani much.” Not an indicator of homesickness was on his face, but revealed itself in his voice. “There are both things there, and people I miss. I still have family there.”
“I am sorry you had to leave.”
“Oh no, it was not like this. Father left to move here for work, as an engineer. He was taken up by the military when we entered. We have never been in a position of hardship.” Albe was still smiling. She was beginning to think this was his default emotion, or at least the one he put on for others.
“What about you?” Temora looked over. Despite being both introduced and walking with them during a conversation, the other young man in front of her hadn’t said a word to either of them.
“I can’t say that I’ve never been in a position of hardship.” Cole quietly blew the wind out of the conversation.
“I like it here in Argentis, but I can’t say that my friend here agrees.” Albe tried to lighten the mood back up. “We are both immigrants, he was not as fortunate as I.” He glanced over toward Cocole, and back toward Temora with deep sincerity. “We will have plenty of time on tour for him to share his story.” Cocole stayed silent the rest of the way into the platoon compartment.
The large room was not the kind of accommodation she was expecting. In hindsight, this is the only way it could have been. A single room containing 24 bunking cots, three-quarters occupied. A shower and lavatory room, unisex. Finally, a small gym intended to be used by a few people at a time, but with its contents spread out to be utilized by everyone. At best, this was a crude simulation of what she would be experiencing onboard an aeroship.
“I’ll let you know before Holiday has to tell you, but you can take any bed with an unlocked trunk. The lock should be inside.” Albe motioned with his thumb and index finger forward to back. “I think all of the bottom bunks are taken, but the tops on either side of us are free. I’ve been bunking with Cole.”
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Cocole gestured similarly to his bed. “I was lucky enough to get the bottom cause I got here a beat earlier than everyone else.”
Temora checked the container for the top bunk, There was indeed a lock inside, bedding, pillows, and a mattress pad for cold weather bundled in the corner like a tight bedroll. “You sound like a diligent person, showing up so early.” She tried inviting him to talk with a half-baked smile.
“It wasn’t by choice. I lost my place to sleep overnight.” From his tone, Temora didn’t want to press the issue further than she already had.
“Tell you what though...” Albe interjected before any fuse could be lit on the matter. “This lucky bastard didn’t have to go bald. I had such nice hair this morning. I spent a good amount of time on it before coming in. Not remembering they'd shave it off. Glad they give us a hat.”
“I’ve had mine short for a while. The barber took a look at it and didn’t bother.” Cocole had low-cut but choppy blonde hair and showed it to her while taking off his military head cover. “Don’t worry though, they don’t cut the girls.” Cole glanced down the compartment to a girl bunked by the shower partition in the process of re-bunning her back-length hair.
Temora was relieved she didn’t have this problem. She wouldn’t have objected to going bald. Her hair was just a few inches long, and if doing that meant she would get to go on tour, she would not have hesitated.
“Fayn. Where is Fayn.” The three young adults did not notice Holiday’s subordinate lecturer enter the platoon compartment.
“Right here, sir.” She went to immediate attention, drilled into her from her lifetime in this academic system.
“I got some materials for you novice. First off some reading material, because I hear you’re good at that.” Lecturer Reece handed off a stack of manuals of digest size. They were poorly press printed on low-quality paper, probably recycled from the college’s ample supply of student work and reports. These brief titles included but were not limited to: “What It Means to be a Soldier”, “Values of the Argent Military”, and “Traditions of the Argentian Way”. He was right, as Temora would end up reading them cover to cover multiple times.
“Then these eight pairs of fatigues I’ve been forced to carry because you were so late you weren’t even in the military this morning.” The lecturer was conductant, and loudly so.
Temora did her best to keep composed, although a smirk was forming across her lips. She grabbed the eight sets of fatigues and quickly turned before the lecturer commented on her developing smile.
“Is there something the matter Fayn?”
“No, sir.” She was definitely smiling now, but thankfully turned away from his view.
“Fayn. There is a pair of fatigues for each day of the week. If you ruin your pair for that day, you’ll wear the pair for the next day. If you run out of pairs before the end of the week, you’ll put on the cleanest dirty pair you have. Laundry day is Nemureson, the first day of every week. Do you understand novice?” The lecturer was yelling, and so close to Temora’s right ear that she could feel his breath when he finished his sentences.
“Yes, sir.” Her smile was quenched by the thought of having to put on dirty clothes by the end of the week, and being breathed on by this noisy man.
“At least someone here does. Make your bed before Holiday comes in here or he’ll make me come back in here, and you do not want that to happen novice.” He about-faced and briskly walked out of the room, faster than she had ever seen a man walk without an exaggerated stride. He’d left before she had a chance of signing off to him, but she did it anyway.
Temora was left standing with eight pairs of fatigues, and two pairs of a combat uniform which she neatly arranged in her trunk. If she was just a bit shorter this would have been quite difficult, but at her height it was manageable. The trunk was raised more than chest-high off of the ground to leave room for the one underneath it to open. Each pair of fatigues contained a top, bottom, cover, undergarment, socks, and various types of clip-on military paraphernalia.
“He better not be going easy on me because I’m a woman.” Temora leaned over toward the adjacent bunk toward Cocole, practically bending backward.
Cocole gave an affirmative nod, and Albe tossed a handful of compacted toilet paper bricks into her open trunk. “The latrine never has them because the mates keep stealing them.” He gave a thumbs up to her and re-laced his boots. “You should get ready, we’re about to go out to the hall for lunch.”
“Right, of course, let me do that.” She wasn’t all that hungry as she ate before coming in. The recent physical activity wasn’t enough to provoke hunger, but she had no choice. They had a strict dietary policy.
The meal was nothing special. Warbird for protein. It was always warbird and barley, rice, or simple pasta. If they were lucky it would be topped with some type of sauce. Then a side of dried fruit, a caffeinated beverage, and a sweet of some kind.
After the meal, her first day in training passed quickly. They didn’t have much time after to relax, as it went straight into an extended march. This would happen every day and went outside of the campus and around the nearby roads. It took her by her house every day as well.
Not that she could leave mid-March to go home to see her mother. Although, she was able to do this in the very early morning once a week; before brightset. Other members of the platoon weren’t nearly as fortunate. Many were far from home, or had deceased parents; like Cocole.
Every morning before brightset, she would have to be back in the compartment with her uniform on and the sheet of her bed taught, unwrinkled. The soldiers in training would stand on either side of the bunk, depending on which level they slept. Their uniforms and beds would be inspected, and the immediate areas and trunks for contraband.
The same routine every day, at least for the first few weeks. At first, she found it uncomfortable showering with the boys. Every one of the young women there did, but by the end of the second week, that feeling was replaced by the urgency to get done and get in line. Nobody paid attention, and the first few days of joking were gone. All of the fun, humor, or awkwardness was ripped out from the experience. It became a clinical action.
After the morning inspection came some kind of significant task. This changed every day and was seemingly random. One day it would be developing teamwork skills. They would go outside of the compass to a lightly wooded area and construct a shelter. Perhaps they would execute an arbitrary goal such as “Get every person over this head height rope, don’t go under it.” Some days they would go to the gymnasium, build and test their physical strength, then eat early.
On three separate occasions during the first few weeks, they ascended by rope ladder and then repelled from a tower built on the edge of the barracks complex. One morning was an improvised close-quarters combat tournament complete with chalked wooden knives to indicate contact. Sometime near the end of those two weeks, they were awoken at allnight.
At the point of the night when the source was darkest, they were required to infiltrate a dummy target camp set up in that same wooded area. Temora didn’t see the other platoon coming. Nobody saw the opposing platoon coming. They were not told there would be live opposition, and that any noise would arouse heavy live fire upon their entire position.
The next phase of their training started the next two weeks, where basic training was more complex. The platoon was trained in marksmanship of archery, fixed ballista operation, harpoon nets, artillery, and cannons. Flintlock pistols as well. Although, the military would not be issuing them to novices.
Many platoon members had trouble with map reading, navigation, and triangulation. A necessary skill onboard an aeroship. A place where the only good navigational tools were the surrounding landmasses. In Una, the night sky was your enemy. It was ever-changing, moonless, and starless. Timekeeping was unreliable if it functioned at all. The only modern indicators of ship speed dragged behind the ship, spun a wheel, or captured the wind in cone of cloth.
Albe and Temora had no difficulty learning these concepts. Concept they would have to understand before they would be allowed onboard. Cocole struggled with triangulation and predicting a ship’s current location. Thankfully, he had direct access to some of the best personal tutors within his platoonmates.