The training room was cutting-edge, designed to test the limits of each trainees' skills and abilities. The central area was dominated by a large circular holo-mat, which projected lifelike simulations of various combat scenarios. Trainees fought against holographic opponents, each one programmed to mimic a different fighting style. Along the walls, there were target ranges where trainees practiced their marksmanship with both projectile and pulse weapons. There were also obstacle courses which included trampolines, balance beams, and zero-gravity chambers. At the back of the room, there was a holo-deck, where trainees could simulate missions in a fully immersive virtual environment, complete with realistic simulations of different planets and environments. The room was a testament to the high-tech resources available to the military intelligence unit. Clearly no expense had been spared in creating a training facility that would prepare the next generation of soldiers for any challenge they might face.
The first thing Violet felt when she walked out onto the training room floor was the glare of nearly every trainee in her class. She may have been imagining it, but it felt like everyone in the room stopped what they were doing to stare at her as started warming up.
Initially, she avoided eye contact, but as questions grew in her mind, she couldn’t help but search for any sign in her classmates that they were a part of the mob who’d attacked her.
Behind her, she heard a few audible gasps and whispers, and then the first snicker of laughter. Violet looked around to locate the source, but it was already too late. The ripple effect of the laughter had spread, and any chance of locating the epicenter was gone.
The second thing Violet felt as she prepared for the day’s lesson was the weight of the sword and shield that she carried. Her classmates held them too. They looked comfortable with them, at least more comfortable than Violet felt. She couldn’t help but wonder if any of them came from a world that specialized in training with such weapons.
Overhead, a loud but warm chime sounded, signaling the start of class. One by one, the trainees stopped warming up and moved purposefully to the main mat area, forming a loose circle. Whispers started to rise among the classmates. Violet couldn't hear most of the rumblings, but what little she could hear mostly had to do with questions regarding their drill instructor's whereabouts. It wasn't like him to be late. In fact, the punishment for tardiness consisted of 500 burpees, push-ups, sit-ups, and bodyweight squats combined. This punishment was severe enough that Violet had not seen anyone repeat the same mistake. Fortunately, she had never been a culprit herself.
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“As you know,” a booming voice sounded from behind the cadets, “in a ship to ship boarding situation, blasters can cause more damage to a ship than is desired.”
The class turned to see a robed man with a patch over one eye walking toward the center of the room. He was on a collision course with the circle of cadets and Violet wondered if he meant to run into them or something else when a gap opened up in the line, almost as if an invisible force had propelled the cadets out of the way.
Violet recognized the man from the Remus.
“After all,” the one-eyed man continued, “if we wanted to blow the ship up, we probably wouldn’t have boarded it in the first place. Why send a boarding party with blasters when one of our ship’s cannons could do the same job without sacrificing the lives of our well-trained troops? If you are ever called to board a vessel, rest assured there is a good strategic reason for it that does not involve blowing up the ship with you still in it.”
“Is that how you lost your eye?” one of the trainees asked, eliciting snickered laughing from several others around him. “No offense, but shouldn’t we be learning from someone who knows how to win without losing a body part?”
The speaker was Marten Warwick, the only son of an influential galactic senator from the planet Caldai. He possessed an air of undeniable charisma, his physical appearance commanding attention wherever he went. Slim and tall, his athletic frame betrayed a deceptive strength, hinting at a latent power hidden beneath his elegant demeanor. With sharp, chiseled features, his face bore the mark of a man accustomed to privilege.
Violet recalled several sparring sessions with the young man and he’d given her almost as good as he got, even with Violet’s physical advantages. Which naturally led Violet to suspect some sort of physical or mechanical augmentation.
His piercing blue eyes, icy and calculating, surveyed the world with a sense of entitlement. They held a glint of arrogance, as if he were perpetually aware of his own superiority.
The one-eyed man sized up Marten for a moment before responding. “I see the psych eval in your file was not exaggerated.”
Marten’s self-assured smile briefly faded as the one-eyed man gestured to the ground in front of him with one hand. “Step forward, Marten Warwick, son of Senator Cadan Warwick, from the planet Caldai, and you will find out if I am qualified to instruct you in the ways of blade and shield.”
Marten scoffed at the challenge. “You are unarmed and nearly blind as well. It wouldn’t be fair,” Marten said, tilting his head back slightly—a gesture he had no doubt learned from one of his political parents—to indicate that such an idea was beneath him.
Upon his arrival at Cerberus, a clique had immediately formed around Marten. Whether drawn to his status and wealth or his considerate charm was unclear, but that clique studied him now, watching for any signs of weakness.
“I don’t need any weapons to beat you, Trainee Warwick. Please, step forward so that I may introduce myself both to you and to the rest of the class.”
Marten glanced down at the sword and shield in his hands, then shrugged and stepped forward. “If you insist.”