Ten was stretched out on a chair in the common area, trying to enjoy the first real break she had gotten in days.
It was the first week of the new year, and the Phaeton ranks were being replenished according to need. The Point Class had the highest mortality rate by far: this year, a whopping 38 new recruits had been sent over at once. And as the Point Captain, it was Ten’s responsibility to train them all.
She sighed, too tired to even sip her drink.
Fifteen walked into the room with some new Strikers. Ten looked at her with pleading eyes, which she ignored.
Fifteen’s workload was only slightly smaller than Ten’s: she had to train 30 new recruits. However, due to her strict personality and teaching style, it was probably a bit easier for her. Her idea of ‘training’ was demonstrating a maneuver and simply forcing her students to repeat it until they did it perfectly.
Ten stretched out her hand. “Fifteen, please…feed me this liquid protein…I’m too weak…”
Fifteen pulled a bottle of water from the cooler and walked out. “Have some respect for yourself,” she said as she left.
One of the Strikers approached her. “Um…are you really the Point Captain? Number Ten??”
“Either that, or they printed the wrong number on my face,” Ten replied, smiling weakly.
“Um, sorry! Stupid question…I was just thinking, like…wow! You’re so old!”
“I will take that as a compliment…”
“She meant it as one,” said the other Striker. “You and Striker Captain are the only double-digits left in the entire fleet! You must be really talented to have survived so long.”
Ten smirked. “Uh oh, you forgot Limit Captain. I have half a mind to tell on you…”
“No, don’t tell her! She’ll break our necks!”
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
“Please! We didn’t mean to forget her!”
“Okay, okay, I won’t,” said Ten. “As long as you promise to be good and follow Striker Captain’s orders. She’s mean, but only because she wants you to live as long as we have.”
The Strikers thanked her profusely and scurried away.
Ten sat up and looked at the clock. 12:52. Lunch break was almost over; soon it would be time to begin the afternoon training. She hurriedly gulped down her liquid protein and dragged herself to her feet.
As she lumbered down the main hall, she wished something would happen. Some kind of natural disaster, maybe, that would force the managers to shut down the facility and order everyone to their pods until the next morning. 18 hours of sleep…she could hardly imagine it.
Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the alarm.
404’s voice rang out over the intercom. “Attention, please. We’ve received reports of Exhaust formation in Sector A3. All Class captains and on-call personnel, please report to the launch bay.”
+++
911 frowned at Ten’s vital scan. “She’s in no condition for any kind of mission right now. I say count her out.”
“That isn’t possible,” 404 replied. “The incident is taking place in a highly-populated area; delicacy is required. And Ten is the only Point left of a high enough rank to fill the position.”
“Dammit. Sucks that we lost both 880 and 275 last year…I had high hopes for those two,” 911 muttered. “Get me adrenaline and noradrenaline. Throw in some caffeine, too. Double dose.”
Three other Medic Phaetons ran off to retrieve the chemicals. “Mmm, caffeine,” said Ten.
“Don’t get your hopes up. It’s all going straight into your veins,” said 911, unwrapping a needle. “We don’t have time for a coffee break.”
“The Exhaust formation will reach critical mass in T minus five minutes,” 404 announced through the intercom. “All Class captains and on-call personnel should be at their stations. Launching in T minus three minutes. Drive rails now charging.”
She turned back to Ten. “I hope you didn’t forget about our new program. ‘All Phaetons Rank 1 and under will be randomly assigned, one from every Class, to every available mission’...”
“I didn’t forget, I COMPLETELY forgot…oh my gosh. Who do I have??”
“The ledger says 1310. One of the fresh ones~.”
Ten buried her head in her hands. “Nooo…not her! Anyone but her! I don’t have the energy to look after her AND stay upright…”
“Triple dose of caffeine?” 911 offered.
“Don’t kill her,” 404 scolded. “We’ll try to get some reinforcements while you’re out,” she said to Ten. “When you come back, you can take a nice, long rest. Just hang in there until the mission is over.”
Right as she ended her sentence, 1310 ran by. “Hiya, Captain! Sorry I’m late; I’m just gonna go on ahead to the drive rail now! It’s an honor to be working with— ACK!”
1310 tripped over a wire and fell face-first on the floor. She got up, rubbing her forehead, and tottered over to the drive rail.
“What a screwball…make sure nothing’s broken,” 911 ordered, pointing at 1310. “We’ve got a minute and a half left; let’s wrap this up, pit crew!”