Spacefleet Academy of Earth, four years of grueling physical, mental and emotional training during which you will be honed into a weapon for the betterment of sentient peoples everywhere. Your intellect will swell to the point where you are a qualified expert in a technical field. You will learn to control your emotions, utterly, learning from any one of the more than one-hundred zen masters from across the galaxy kept employed at the academy. Finally, their physical conditioning and martial arts training is second to none. No privately educated person of any sentient species can match a graduate of the Academy and that graduate could be you!

That’s what the holographic display had told Justice and Glen. Spacefleet Academy, see the galaxy, so on and so forth. For Justice, however, it had been a joke. Because of his special status as a veteran Justice received only rudimentary training in Weaponry, Civics and Galactic Taxonomy. G.T. was the only science course required given his status and would not have been except that Justice kept offending different races by pointing out how they were “just human but with a bump” or something similar (antennas, fangs, etc). While the Union army hadn’t trained him or anybody else save to say “there’s the enemy; go get ‘em” that, at least, was practical information. In a wide-open galaxy Justice was much more ignorant than he cared to be and it wasn’t even his own fault.

In a bizarre turn of events the hand-to-hand combat class was turned on its head as Justice twisted the instructor into a Gordian knot before cracking his skull with a few strikes. Abruptly, with the instructor’s assistant taking the instructor’s place Justice became the assistant and his method was incorporated into the curriculum. Some six months on his method was starting to supplant Spacefleet Martial Arts. Shockingly straightforward it had been labeled “Bully Style” and relied on overwhelming force, ignoring counterattacks and was made mostly of straightforward strikes and twisting limbs. The instructor wrote a thesis on the style, calling it “results-based”. In other words it wasn’t good self-defense but it would cripple a man.

So, because of his truncated education, it had been a year in this future hell instead of four. Justice thought to himself, ruefully, it had been a year wasted as he was failed by an educational system that didn’t care about him. It all just felt like a montage, a word he’d learned in Academy. Professors frustrated, raging, attempting to fail him for being himself but getting shut down by the General who had invested his reputation in the ‘Unfrozen Space Caveman’ (a code name he hated) and his commanding officer who waited impatiently for his science officer’s new toy.

Then there was Glen, whose entire time in Academy seemed to be getting him educated up to the level of a pre-teen. Having had no previous education he benefited much more from Academy than did Justice but that was because the big old bear had started at such a low level of education to begin with.

Since coming to the Undertaking Justice had spent an appropriate amount of time on the job, forty hours per week, which was much nicer than any job he’d had in the 19th century. The big problem was the four hours per day, every day, he’d spend with one or more scientists getting poked, prodded, with some limited vivisection and countless scans under machines whose names he couldn’t pronounce. Apparently the chronal radiation he’d absorbed during unprotected time travel, a massive dose, was radiating from him with intensity similar to a warp drive, in operation, shielding intact. In short anyone around him was getting the same dose as an Engineering Crewman monitoring the thing that made the ship go. As for the bear, well, Glen was in the same boat, so to speak.

All for a C.O. who saw them more as guinea pigs than a part of his crew. At least he was an officer. Glen, outgoing as he was, was an enlisted man (bear?) having trouble making friends due to not being a member of any sentient race. He almost had a blue-skinned girlfriend with a heavy brow and fur, kind of a gorilla person, but she ghosted when Glen admitted that he was born a simple animal. Well, it was that or the smell. Justice was having trouble in the romance department too but it was more stress than anything. He chafed under the knowledge that Spacefleet basically had him captive against his will. Until he improved his stock in Spacefleet he wasn’t going to focus on much of anything else.

Which wasn’t to say that he’d been an angel. A case in point would be the reason he was hightailing it to his C.O.’s office right now. Unfortunately, for some reason Glen was after Justice at that very moment. “Going my way?” he growled, pointing with one thumb. He had “thumb gloves” now that let him use tools and spoke though his bear muzzle which wasn’t letting him correctly make sibilant sounds. It could be said that he was a more accomplished bear than any other bear, living or dead. The barrier to entry for being a bear being pretty low; eat, shit, and hibernate. Nevertheless it was still pretty impressive.

“Not really, man. Renaud wants my ass in his office.” They were both security officers, Justice’s eagle eye made him a Lieutenant Commander and put him in charge of the security force on the Undertaking. Glen was an Ensign along with most of the other members of the force. Generally speaking they’d act as military police, keeping people in line, but they were also the first line of defense if the ship were boarded and each had a number of combat-capable personnel that would form into squads behind them if an emergency were declared. It was a decent system.

“Uh-oh. Tho … the Commanderth wiffe?” lisped Glen. How Justice missed the gronks. Those hissing noises he made now combined with a pretty strong vocabulary actually made understanding Glen harder most of the time now.

“Well, the Commander. Close enough.” They were talking about the second in command aboard the ship. Justice had hurt him in a training session. It was somewhat accidental though it had been necessary to subdue the Commander, Justice had broken him pretty badly.

“He thtill hathn’t woke up?” Whack went Glen’s head on the archway of a hallway intersection. “Ow! Thon of a…”

“Dammit, Glen, you are eight feet tall! Six months in, you still can’t duck?” He yelled but, really, Justice was just concerned.

“It’th not my fault! Thhe Captain thays I can’t walk on all fourth.”

“Just duck!” The bear was like his son and his son was about to get brain damage.

“I’m a bear, not a duck!” he shouted, the roar remembered in his not-quite-human voice.

“Okay! Okay. Look, I’m already in the shit, okay? Don’t make it worse.”

“How could I? You beat up a superior so bad he can’t be healed by future medicine.”

Thinking hard Justice reflected on the events at hand. Surely there was a way to make clear what happened that didn’t paint him as the villain.

—

Aboard the Undertaking there were a number of Simulation Chambers, inartfully named so as to be clear in their purpose. Inside the simple box room would change, becoming anything you wanted it to be so long as the AI that ran the room understood what you were asking for. With an instance of the Ultranet, a database with the sum total of knowledge held by the Galactic Union, aboard there was typically enough information to fuel any request.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

So when Commander Docker asked Justice to join him for a sparring session, so he could get a real good demonstration of the “Bully Style”. Justice was credited with creating it so the idea that he’d demonstrate or even teach it on the ship didn’t seem like a big deal. Of course everything he worked out with the guys at the Academy was part of the Ultranet record, backed up each time the ship docked, but who knew why Docker didn’t just train with a Justice simulator? Still there might be some benefit. Justice wasn’t some disciplined mind; maybe he forgot something and Docker would jog his memory.

As they entered the Chamber Docker started bouncing on his toes and loosening up his neck. “I warn you,” He began “I’m quite the hand-to-hand specialist myself, Justice. Before even attending Academy I’d mastered all the Earth styles worth knowing and a few from off-world. Benjari Taekwondo, for example.”

“I got, like, no idea what that means. Benjari are those guys with the hedgehog spines?”

“Uh? I guess, sure. The point is that Benjari Taekwondo–”

“Hold up, you’re tellin’ me they call their kickboxin’ style an Earth word?”

“What? No. That’s what we call it.”

“But … that ain’t it. What do they call it?”

“I … dammit. Hold on. Computer!” a trill went up letting them know the computer was listening. “What is the Benjari word for Taekwondo.”

“Great question,” said the computer “while there is technically no equivalent for the word Taekwondo (Language of origin: Terran; Korean) in any Benjari dialect the word has been adopted by practitioners of O’omrafa. Example: O’omrafa, the predominant striking martial art of Benjari is called ‘Benjari Taekwondo by most non-Benjari practitioners. Native Benjari speakers are unlikely to correct those who mis-label O’omrafa as Taekwondo due to a cultural spirit of humility.”

“There, you happy? Now I look like an asshole in front of the computer.” Docker growled.

Justice held back a laugh. “I dunno man, you could’ve called up a screen and tapped it in or somethin’. Nobody told you to ask the robo brain, y’know?”

“Whatever. Let’s just start.”

At first Justice went easy. Docker and he went through the motions, Justice having helped develop the “Kata” for Bully Style, it was just the easiest order of strikes and throwing motions, assuming the victim’s position and pretending to bend and twist their joints. After that they practiced the moves on each other, Justice explaining the importance of pre-emptive strikes and taking advantage of the target’s lack of readiness. Bully Style definitely involved sucker punching people. Eventually, however, Docker said “I’m ready for some full contact.”

“Yeah, alright, if you’re sure. Now … I’m a might bit stronger’n, well, all but a couple aliens we met who kinda tied me in muscle power.” Justice indicated Docker should back up with his hand before turning away and saying to the nearby computer interface. “Hey computer? Give us an octagon, willya?” and an 8-sided cage appeared around them. “Okay, so, here we go. I’m gonna try not to hurt–” and as Justice turned back towards Docker the senior officer was already airborne, hitting a high leaping superman punch that knocked Justice against the cage. “Whoa! Damn, man! You do got it in ya!” shouted Justice with a smile. He felt that one and he didn’t expect to feel anything from Docker.

But Docker wasn’t smiling. “You listen here, caveman. I’ve seen the way you look at Counselor Ilion. Don’t think I haven’t.” Justice got to a vertical base, hands up. “But I’m gonna marry that woman and there’s nothing you can do about it you piece of shit.”

This took Justice off his guard. “Uh, hey, man, you got it all wrong. She’s talkin’ me through my shit. You know what I been through; I need help and she’s the headshrinker that helps people on this boat!”

But Docker didn’t reply; he just launched into Justice. Lefts and rights found their marks on his and ribs and jaw in a five-hit flurry. Pushing Justice back to break his center of gravity Docker grabbed him, head and arm, pivoted and hurled him end over end and bouncing nearly into the far wall of the cage.

Justice coughed. “What the fuck!? Ain’t you listenin’!?” Sliding a knee under himself Justice made sure not to expose his back to Docker who had turned beet red in under thirty seconds. “I mean, I complimented her looks but it’s just ‘cause I was tellin ‘er about how I weren’t interested in nobody on the ship! I feel shanghai’ed! It’s makin’ me dead inside!”

“Dead? Save your bullshit. Think you’re so special.” barked Docker. “Rushed through the Academy, ‘the man who survived naked in space!’ they call you!”

“Hey, I weren't naked!”

“Who cares!? Anybody who’s read your story has pictured you naked. And that …that … primitive hog you have rooting around in your uniform trousers.”

“Uh … what? Have you been thinkin’ about my dick, brother? That ain’t right.” Justice felt pretty uncomfortable at this.

Docker launched into him again, less coordinated this time. Justice turtled up, lowering into a half squat, hooking his arms around his head and bending to block anything above the belt with his forearms. It was at least two dozen blows blocked and Docker kicked him in the legs a few times ineffectually, clearly hurting himself on the last impact..

The punches, however, still hurt. “What the hell?” Having half punched himself out Docker stood and breathed hard, having trouble holding himself up steady. “You … you’re wearin’ knucks on your hands. You’re tryin’ to really hurt me!?”

“Trying!? You idiot, I’m going to cripple you. When I’m done the chronal research will be the only reason you’re on this ship. You’ll be a quadruple amputee drinking my shit every day through a straw!”

“Okay, okay, Commander. I’m gonna need you to calm down now. We can talk about this like grown men, okay? I ain’t no threat to you for the love of your lady.” Justice was shocked by this behavior, from a superior officer, when he was already feeling out of place. He was struggling to piece it all together and find a course of action to take.

“Grown? Grown!? You just don’t get it do you?” Docker was just reaching the point where he could breathe smoothly again. “You won’t be a man much longer, just an example of what happens when someone fucks around with my property!”

Justice’s concentration broke utterly as his arms fell to his sides, eyes big, he cocked his head to one side and glared. “Excuse me? Property?”

“Going deaf now, ‘Justice’? What a joke. If there was justice in the universe it’d make me an admiral and erase you from reality.”

“Hold up… You’re talkin’ about owning another person, is that right?” Justice took two steps forward, ever so slowly.

“Yes, dammit! She’s mine you low-brained–” and Docker threw a wild right hand that wrapped around Justice’s head as he came into clinch range. Using the knuckles became much harder at dirty infighting range.

Rather than continuing to contest skill versus skill or try to demonstrate technique Justice grabbed Docker by the jaw, his right meathook catching behind the mandible on the left side and his thumb hooking the Commander’s lip. “See, I was trying to be cool but that… That I got a problem with.

After that Justice had a blank spot in his memory. Luckily it was all caught on camera. In any event this was the last thing he remembered until calling for medical help. In spite of everything Docker still barely made it.

—

“Look, Glen, just take a hike will you? You can’t help me with this and I can’t be late.

“Okay, I gue–” Rounding a corner with a crack (Glen’s head hitting two door frames now in as many minutes), Glen gurgled something in bear as Justice came face-to-face with Captain Paul Renaud. The meeting was about to begin.