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Authors: Steven L. Hawk
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the rules, or think outside the box of accepted norms? Certainly. That was his nature, and one of his strengths. But to disregard the boundaries to win or get ahead? Never. “Everyone finished ahead of the pacer within the time allotted.”
“True, Private,” Brek growled. “But you carried another’s burden. And you were carried over the last segment of the course. Neither of these facts is acceptable. Corrective actions must be taken.”
The threat was evident in the statement and in the manner in which it was delivered. These two Minith were considering removing him, and anyone else who received help, from training. He bit down on the spray of angry words that threatened to spill forth, took a deep breath, and gathered his thoughts before replying.
“The rules of the march as they were explained by Sergeant Twigg to my unit were very clear,” he replied, enunciating so that his words wouldn’t be misunderstood. “‘Finish ahead of the pacer within the time allowed.’ To my knowledge, Sergeant Twigg, nor any other training sergeant, issued any further rules or limitations regarding the march. Am I mistaken? Perhaps a review panel should be assembled?”
The two Minith soldiers exchanged looks. Brek’s right ear twitched and Twigg released another of those purr-growls. Eli had touched a nerve with the assertion and, in doing so, had quietly issued his own indirect threat. Despite how much the two might want him and others gone, they had to justify every washout to a formal review panel made up of Telgoran, human, and Minith overseers. In most cases, the review was a formality—a rubber stamp placed on the scores of washout cases that passed their desks each month. On the other hand, an occasional case was challenged by a recruit and overturned. Based on his knowledge of the Minith—and of his sergeants, in particular—he had no doubt that they’d do whatever was needed to avoid scrutiny by their superiors. As such, the mere hint of a challenge—and a justifiable one, at that—would probably be enough to dissuade them from taking action.
After a minute of quiet contemplation, Twigg finally spoke.
“No. You are not mistaken. No further limitations were issued.”
The giant alien soldier’s massive hands clenched into large fists and both ears quivered. If the sergeant was royally pissed before, he was thoroughly beside himself with rage now, and Eli knew he had made an enemy—if not for life, then at least as long as he was in this training detachment.
“Thank you for reminding us of the criteria. Going forward, we will be clearer on specifics.”
The urge to say “you’re welcome” was strong, but Eli resisted—this time. His understanding of the need to keep his mouth shut at inappropriate times was often overridden by his inability to do so. But he was learning. Besides, he was in enough hot water already with these two without pressing his luck.
* * *
Even now, two days after the meeting in Twigg’s office, Eli remained cautious. He knew he had barely escaped the confrontation with the two sergeants by the slimmest of margins. He couldn’t imagine returning to Waa as a washout. The humiliation and disgrace—in his own eyes, if no one else’s—would have been too much to take. For as long as he could recall, his entire life had been focused on an eventual life in the military. When other children were outside playing, he spent his time—thousands of hours—studying military history. He knew more about ancient battles and campaigns, both human and Minith, than most people knew about the most recent war.
As the son of the greatest military mind in the Shiale Alliance, he had had the best weapons, fighters, and trainers at his disposal, and he had taken full advantage of the unique opportunities he was given. He balanced his mental training with an intensive, well-balanced regimen of exercise, running, and martial arts. Those efforts, when combined with the genes of his parents, had
“True, Private,” Brek growled. “But you carried another’s burden. And you were carried over the last segment of the course. Neither of these facts is acceptable. Corrective actions must be taken.”
The threat was evident in the statement and in the manner in which it was delivered. These two Minith were considering removing him, and anyone else who received help, from training. He bit down on the spray of angry words that threatened to spill forth, took a deep breath, and gathered his thoughts before replying.
“The rules of the march as they were explained by Sergeant Twigg to my unit were very clear,” he replied, enunciating so that his words wouldn’t be misunderstood. “‘Finish ahead of the pacer within the time allowed.’ To my knowledge, Sergeant Twigg, nor any other training sergeant, issued any further rules or limitations regarding the march. Am I mistaken? Perhaps a review panel should be assembled?”
The two Minith soldiers exchanged looks. Brek’s right ear twitched and Twigg released another of those purr-growls. Eli had touched a nerve with the assertion and, in doing so, had quietly issued his own indirect threat. Despite how much the two might want him and others gone, they had to justify every washout to a formal review panel made up of Telgoran, human, and Minith overseers. In most cases, the review was a formality—a rubber stamp placed on the scores of washout cases that passed their desks each month. On the other hand, an occasional case was challenged by a recruit and overturned. Based on his knowledge of the Minith—and of his sergeants, in particular—he had no doubt that they’d do whatever was needed to avoid scrutiny by their superiors. As such, the mere hint of a challenge—and a justifiable one, at that—would probably be enough to dissuade them from taking action.
After a minute of quiet contemplation, Twigg finally spoke.
“No. You are not mistaken. No further limitations were issued.”
The giant alien soldier’s massive hands clenched into large fists and both ears quivered. If the sergeant was royally pissed before, he was thoroughly beside himself with rage now, and Eli knew he had made an enemy—if not for life, then at least as long as he was in this training detachment.
“Thank you for reminding us of the criteria. Going forward, we will be clearer on specifics.”
The urge to say “you’re welcome” was strong, but Eli resisted—this time. His understanding of the need to keep his mouth shut at inappropriate times was often overridden by his inability to do so. But he was learning. Besides, he was in enough hot water already with these two without pressing his luck.
* * *
Even now, two days after the meeting in Twigg’s office, Eli remained cautious. He knew he had barely escaped the confrontation with the two sergeants by the slimmest of margins. He couldn’t imagine returning to Waa as a washout. The humiliation and disgrace—in his own eyes, if no one else’s—would have been too much to take. For as long as he could recall, his entire life had been focused on an eventual life in the military. When other children were outside playing, he spent his time—thousands of hours—studying military history. He knew more about ancient battles and campaigns, both human and Minith, than most people knew about the most recent war.
As the son of the greatest military mind in the Shiale Alliance, he had had the best weapons, fighters, and trainers at his disposal, and he had taken full advantage of the unique opportunities he was given. He balanced his mental training with an intensive, well-balanced regimen of exercise, running, and martial arts. Those efforts, when combined with the genes of his parents, had
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