For the platoon, this would be their final day of learning. It would be focused on the values of the Argentian Military. Coursework was always pulled from the handbook they had read cover-to-cover numerous times. Now, it was also being delivered to the platoon verbally during multiple consecutive speeches: about what it even means to be a soldier.

“A soldier of Argentis is the sole embodiment of the nation’s meritocratic and intellectual superiority.”

“Every soldier is not only a warrior, but a scholar. You have been trained rigorously in the sciences and philosophies.”

“To don the uniform, is to pledge oneself to a service in cause greater than any lone individual. You are a custodian of our nation’s aspirations, committed to safeguarding our academic sanctuaries, as well; our nation’s future.” etc... etc..

The entire platoon had been sanitized to accept this information as it was presented. These young men and women were glassy-eyed as they remained fixated toward the speaker. On the lecture hall stage was an out-of-campus Prodean, the Dean of the Cloudushen Academe who headed all three of Cloudushen’s education branches, and the Rector who was responsible for the schools of Ushenfield in totality; a politician.

The Rector didn’t bother with introducing himself before speaking. Everyone knew his name already. His speech started in the early morning, and it was now time for lunch; a lunch the platoon wouldn’t be eating today. On and on with “...this balance of knowledge gives our forces their unique edge...”, or “Ensure that every decision you make is precise! Informed! Strategic!”, and “The unwavering loyalty of you, and those around you, will ensure that in the face of any adversity, you will remain resolute!”. Spoken with tonal inflections emphasizing certain words in a continuous, monotonous manner.

The speech remained unimpressive. However everyone in the class, Temora included, was bemused by the Rector’s ability to maintain a fiery voice. As if designed for that purpose, projecting a morning’s worth of volume into an open room.

“Right, and with that said. We will begin the testing, to ensure you are the soldier we want you to be!” The Rector bellowed lowly up from a midfield gaze into the raised seats of the students in front of him.

Every single person in the hall attempted to hide a sigh of relief. Which collectively was audible throughout the hall as a humming drone of breathy exhaust. Four men from the entourage that surrounded the leadership on stage, began to pass out packages of loose paper row by row to the congregation of students. Splitting off in a choreographed movement that appeared to optimize efficiency.

Temora looked down at the pages. Military stationery, typeset with clean printing, and the smallest font she had ever seen in print. She looked toward the rows ahead, slightly below her, where a student was squinting and struggling to read the script.

A gavel was tapped onto the desk at the head of the lecture hall stage where the Rector was now seated. He raised his hand to Temora. A warning to indicate that she was doing something she should not. She quickly returned her head to her testing package.

Argentian schools had an honor system when it came to work merit. The worst academic crime a person could commit was plagiarism; or cheating. Expulsion did not simply remove you from a single school, but from Argentis’ system of education entirely. Without an education, and papers proving that an education program was completed, it was difficult to find work. Without work, you had no home. You would be relegated to a life of poverty or piracy.

Not a single person she knew ever admitted to cheating on an exam. From here, she had an advantageous position. She could, despite its small font and her head down toward the desk, see words written on the student's exam sheets ahead of her. The Rector on the other side of the room would clearly see her eyes moving toward that direction. It was pointless to even try.

Temora wouldn’t be doing that of course, as she was a star pupil; every teacher’s favorite... to her disdain. She did not hold any contempt for her educators, but rather felt she was being constantly observed. Socializing with them elevated that pressure over the long term, bit by bit. The staff talked to each other and about her. Eventually, they knew her before she was on a class schedule for the next year.

This test was a massive document of 75 pages, with two or three questions on each page. For the first half of the exam, questions were lengthy puzzles told in the framework of a story. Some were math, and others were logic. Many were comprehension-focused, and a few contained diagrams and scale drawings. The second half of the test contained math, factual, and physical science questions. Rouge memorization, order of operations, geometry, basic machines, and some questions related to newly emerging technology; such as the gemin engine, electricity, and radio.

To save on paper, and to make tests easier to grade, these test packages were reused. They were newer prints and lacked yellowing due to age. As always, a single grading sheet and ample blank paper were supplied at the bottom of the stack. A student had to flip each page over to its reverse by their numerical page number. Failure to do this would penalize a test score by a small amount. The layout of the desk of every student in the hall was the same; absolute conformity. Almost down to the position of their pencils.

Halfway into the evening, the first of the students started to approach the Rector’s desk to turn in their finished work. Then the first quarter of the platoon was followed by the first half. Temora was still in possession of her exam. She had finished it not long after the first of the students turned theirs in. Yet, she was checking over every question to ensure that she would not miss an opportunity being skyborne due to a trivial error in penmanship.

After about three-quarters of the students submitted their work, she approached with own finished submission sheet. She feigned a smile toward the Rector, who did not reciprocate it. Her smile disappeared into a repressed smirk which then too subsided as she walked back to her desk.

Finishing the exam did not give her permission to leave. In the Argentis system of education, exams were graded promptly after they were handed over. Lengthy papers came back the next day. Sometimes other instructors would be given the task of grading work for their peers’ students. It was all part of the job. There were three instructors here grading exams, consequently the grading was quick.

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A gavel strike followed by a name indicated that an exam had been graded. “Moseme.”, the Dean handed a sheet out to Cocole that was different from the one that he handed in. He approached the desk, deflated, and was unsure of his future in that moment. After looking into the exam certification, it showed a green stamped pass mark; a standard passing grade. He gave a thumb up to Albe across the room, who had yet to receive his rating.

“Tomel.” A shaking, nervous young man with a thin build. Price approached the desk with a head down, and barely functional after this day-longstent in the classroom. From her seat at the top, Temora could see the bright yellow stamp on the front of his certificate. A poor passing grade, good enough for military service, but questioned if he would be a good fit for this more ‘specialized’ group of soldiers.

“Fayn.” Temora jumped up from her desk with a type of anxiety she rarely experienced. Brimming with excitement, muted by intrusive thoughts telling her that she somehow failed. The Rector, handed the certificate out pinched between his thumb and index finger creating a resistance that prevented Temora from taking the page without looking at him. As she did, he simply nodded and released the certificate to her. It was sealed with a blue stamp of the school crest, the highest possible grade; a bluemark.

This meant that at most two of her answers were incorrect. She was so excited she let out a sharp audible chirp before her reflexes shut her vocal cords. A couple of the students who were still testing looked up. Albe was giving her a vibrant smile that matched her energy. She responded to this kindly with a wave, before exiting the lecture hall.

After taking an exam, students were not to linger. They left the classroom immediately after, and this had been true since the earliest school years. They would usually go to their next class or to the cafeteria. For Temora, this would be the mess hall. Today, she had only eaten a small cup of highly sugared multigrain porridge and tea just after brightset.

The mess hall was serving a slow-cooked mutton dish, reserved for memorable occasions. That kind of livestock wasn’t common to this region, so it had to be specially imported. She enjoyed it immensely, as it was in a heavily spiced sauce over rice. Temora had food like this out of a vendor cart before. She didn’t know what it was called. Albe apparently did.

“This Biriaq smells fantastic.” He sat down next to her at the table, with Cole in tow.

“Is that what this is?” speaking as a trowel full of rice and sauce entered her mouth.

“Yes. We would make this on the ways between Nsolani and Iri Des. Rice and spice keep well. Warbird, not so much. So we would make Biriaq the day after buying the poultry... but... ah this is not bird though.” Albe was amazed to find meat that wasn’t warbird, and he’d never had a creature on four legs prepared like this.

“What did you score on the exam?” Temora firmly poked the towel into the rice and leaned in as she questioned him, in what she envisioned to be dramatic effect.

“Blue, my father will be happy. He gets to frame this certificate up. In his office, I would wager high.” He waved the thick certificate paper over the mess hall table, but well away from the plates of food.

Cocole was perplexed by the Biriaq, which was heavily spiced and sweetened lightly with brown sugar. It was far outside of his normal comfort zone of breaded fried foods and grilled warbird steaks. He seemed to enjoy it, albeit slowly, as he dissected its contents.

The group finished the remainder of their meal largely in silence. They were in no true hurry, but still picked up the speed they were eating. Cocole put the rest of his meal into a paper cone, eating it on the way back to the platoon compartment. Their training period came to an end today. This meant clearing out of their personal effects and packing them to board a ship tomorrow; a process everyone was ill-prepared to undertake.

The military supplied each person with a dedicated rucksack, blue and silver in color just like the uniform. They were told the color helped them blend into the sky on the horizon from a distance, but she felt it was too bright a blue for that assessment to be accurate.

It held everything, including the rolled mattress atop it, with room to spare. She figured she might even be able to shove some personal items in there. A list of allowed items was in one of her handbooks, but she had already spent weeks arguing with herself about what she would bring with her.

Temora bid a temporary farewell to the platoonmates she was acquainted with, and said a goodbye to the platoonmates were were getting cut from their program. The exam was multidisciplinary and difficult to complete. Despite being given the time between fullbright and dimset; a few didn't finish. They would still go on tour, just not with the others. Shuffled around to different units where they were still better trained than their equivalents would be. Perhaps even given provisional rank, additional pay, or more than likely... tuition credit.

The sirens sounded, and the sky snapped into darkness as she started her walk back home from the academe. She stared up to watch the source go black today. It was fitting to do so, in her current state of mind. It was at one moment too bright to look into directly. An inaccurately timed blink of her squinting eyes left the sky dark, and the twinklers showing.

“Damn.” She looked toward the street where nobody skipped a step as the sourcelight vacated. They all went about their business as busy as the moments before. The streets wouldn’t start to empty for another four beats or so. The source siren sounded just before beat zero. She kept a mental note that she would need to buy a pocket watch at some point. Her regimented schedule would quite literally, go with the wind.

She continued walking over the naturally colorful stonework back to her front door and flipped its knocker. Her mother answered the door after an uncharacteristically long time. Holding both a mixing bowl and pitcher of fresh milk in the same arm.

“I didn’t expect you to be back until later hun.” Her mother was clearly busy preparing a good meal for the both of them. It was good for Temora that it would not be done for a while, as she just finished eating. She would have overeaten to prevent her mother from worrying about her health.

“The packing didn’t take as long as I thought it would.” Temora motioned to the backpack as she laid it onto one of two futon-styled long seats in the living room. “You making this just for us huh?” She glanced at her frantic mess of baking ingredients in the kitchen, as they were open and visible to the main room.

“Mostly for my dear daughter who will be leaving for who knows how long.” Her mother playfully quipped. She had already given up trying to convince Temora to stay. It was now just banter.

“Thank you.” She over-leaned toward her mother who was still carrying a bowl and pitcher single-handedly, and hugged too tightly. With plausible deniability in hoping she would drop one of them.

“Hey. Hey! I need to get this into the pan.” Parele broke free of her daughter’s grasp and returned to the kitchen to prepare a mocha milk cake. Chocolate and coffee, both enjoyed both. They were ingredients that were not impossible to find by any means, but pricey.

While her mother was finishing the prep for their dinner, Temora returned to her room to finish packing for the tour. In went only essential items. She decided against perfume, a pair of plain civilian clothes, and some light reading material. Instead, she brought a leather-bound personal notebook, a silver folding mirror engraved with a picture of the family, some high-quality small-diameter climbing rope, six pitons, a skyhook, and heavy reading material. The extra heft of the bag was worth bringing the books along. At worst, she could give it to someone else when she was done.

She peeped out of her window to watch the dockworkers and their lanterns. In that far distance, they were on the deck of the aeroship she would be boarding when she woke up. Temora spent so much time looking out into the sourcelit night that food was ready for her downstairs.

After eating a meal, watching her mother cry, consoling her with the promise that she would soon be back home, and talking later into the night with her than she should have. Temora returned upstairs to her bed, undressed, and laid down. Staring into the darkness of her bedroom until she actually fell asleep.