First journey chapter 30

Chapter: 30 Cadet Olafson The orange-haired admin assistant took the mirror device from her face as I left the Admirals inter-office and leaned forward, "There is a washroom right over there." I gave her a thankful smile. I had freshened up, then returned to her office and asked her, "How did you know I needed to go to the bathroom?" She smiled. " First, my name is Cheeka, and I come from Phantas, a beautiful planet with beautiful people." She said that as if it would explain everything. Her purple eyes sparkled amused, as she added, "Phantas is an old Terran Colony, much like Nilfeheim and every person born on that world develops Psionic abilities, including telepathy." I groaned. "Damn, oops sorry. Can everyone do that except me?" She laughed. "No, Cadet. Although, it certainly only appears that way to you at the moment. You have been accepted to the Academy if and when you graduate you will know more about Psionics and how to use it and defend yourself against it also." "That would be a good thing. I find it hard to believe I genuinely got accepted after the way I acted with the whole Webb as an in-danger applicant. And that the entire affair with the Ult was a staged thing to est our responses." She got up and pointed at an elegant Servmatic in the hallway. "It's about my coffee time. Would you like something to drink, coffee, tea, or .....?" I nodded. "Yes, I am quite thirsty actually." Was something else offered, or am I over-reacting to a pretty woman? She was quite attractive, a lovely body, and she wore a short black skirt that reminded me of Sif's outfit at the spaceport, and transparent shiny leg covers with a hint of black encased her legs. Her blouse was white, and void of any rank insignia, which meant she was a civilian. Her sizeable breasts underneath made up for the lack of military decoration and were quite effective at catching eyes, at least mine. Her behind reminded me of the shape of an apple like the ones in the Caves of Muspelheim. Pleasing to the eyes, and looking so very friendly and round in the clinging skirt as she got our drinks from the ServMatic. A thought flashed across my mind as to how that skirt would look on me, with the dumpy butt I have, which is nothing compared to hers. Darn, I had to be careful about my secret, especially here were everyone could intercept my thoughts even as I tried to suppress them. She turned and handed me a cup, pausing her hand in my a little longer than necessary. "They are called stockings." She said as she slid her soft hand up, over her knee and slightly up her silky, smooth thigh. She continued, "Another eye pleasing fashion from Terra and are again producing a positive reaction from male admirers. they will remain big in fashion, with the sight they project." Then she continued, "I am very much enjoying that you have an appreciation for what you see. Thank you, it is pleasant to be admired and not ogled." The inter-office door opened, and the silver-haired woman came out of the Admirals office. "Cadet Olafson, why are you still here? I thought you would be in the processing area by now." The orange-haired woman said. "Admiral, Eric appeared a little stress, so I offered him a cup of coffee. It is not his fault." The silver-haired woman who had the rank of an Admiral was beautiful. Quite different from the girlish secretary, in an angelical manner, with a not quite human smiled, which this time did reach her large amethyst eyes. "Carry on Cadet, finish your coffee and do have a few of the cookies, Cheeka is about to offer you. She makes them herself, and they are quite legendary in the Academy Administration. After that, I suggest you don't delay your processing for too much longer." Shaking her head, then she walked down the hall. "Barely a full day in the navy and already flirting with the Civilian personnel. Cadet Olafson, I think you may have, indeed, found your calling." The secretary waited until the woman had disappeared into one of the IBT's then said. "That is Admiral Alyica Lichfangh, Commanding officer of the mighty PSI Corps. Many states that she is the most potent, all-seeing Psionic person in the Galaxy nee the universe.   Rumors also have it that she and the Immortal Warrior are a couple." I sighed. "I just realized just how much I certainly have to learn." Then I drained the cup in one gulp and put the cup down. "Thanks for the coffee. I better go." "You're welcome Cadet Olafson. Please do remember my name it is Cheeka. I am a civilian without military rank, and I am just the big guys' executive assistant. Maybe when you come back from basic, we can have a cup of coffee again and talk about stockings, shapely behinds, and other more satisfying topics or ideas." I smiled. "That would be an opportunity I most assuredly will not deny if I have anything to say about it, thank you again for the coffee and the view of an exotic behind." I allowed a small quiet laugh to escape my mouth. Cheeka pointed at the IBT. "Tell the IBT to drop you off at the Quartermaster processing on level 6. I make sure they have your paperwork waiting for you at that station. Bye till." I thanked her again, and on impulse kissed her willing cheek, then waved once more. I stepped to the Inter Base Transport and requested to drop off at the stated location. Upon stepping into a curving corridor, I received direction to join another long line of orange-dressed applicants. A bright yellow-skinned being that reminded me of a bird crossed with a lemon and no taller than maybe 40 centimeters jumped before me, wearing a black uniform and with a high pitched voice. "Cadet Olafson. I just received instructions to place you in line four B." The yellow being hovered before me and motioned me to take a spot between two other applicants. I wondered how Derek and Mix fared and how far they had come in this process. I wanted to tell them about the Ult, who was unquestionably the Commandant. But the chances they were here in the same line were slim. This place resembled a factory processing thousands upon thousands of applicants, and perhaps this was the closest concept to describe the orchestrated, well-organized chaos. A humanoid wearing a completely enclosed orange jumpsuit stood before me. The suit had an attached hood that was drawn tightly over the skull of the being, and as it turned, there was a mirrored faceplate covering the face. While others had their names stenciled across the chest, it only had a number, 3452-991. I asked. "May I ask why you have numbers instead of a name on your chest?" Its voice came from a speaker unit in his shoulder, and it sounded exactly like the artificial female voice of every standard Computronic. "What is a"chest," oops, do not respond, I now understand and do not mind the question. As Non-Corp's, we did not develop as mortal beings. Before we were discovered and became a member of the Union, names were not needed. We recognize and address each other differently. However, when interacting with other Union species outside our natural environment, it is helpful to have a special designation, and these numbers closely resemble the coding which identifies oneself to another of our species." I found this conversation more than informative, as the information I was receiving was entirely unknown on Nifleheim. I have begun to wonder if someone or possible an organization had by design restricted or censored the knowledge provided to the people of my home world. Were they also doing it on other planets and societies? I wished I could have talked to the Non-Corp more, but the line was rapidly moving now. In the middle of a gripping bit of information regarding the division of the species, we come upon a door manned by two officers, one Terra human, and one Insectoid Klack. The human officer said, not to us but the Klack, "Non-Corp cadet to the right and through that gray door then down the corridor." The insectoid then addressed me, "Human cadet, you can stop your fraternization, showing off to your inferior, and go left." I started to reply, but 991 touched my arm and said quietly,  "He is baiting you, ignore it and let's not give them a chance to dress us down, ah, gives us punishment for back talking to an officer." I paused and then agreed with him and departed going through the door on the left. I began to have the feeling this type of incident was commonplace during the initial screening of all cadets. At the end of a short hallway, awaited an active slide belt that transferred me directly into a large Auto Dresser unit. I emerged from the dresser, sheer moments later wearing a cadet's uniform, it was deep green and utterly void of rank insignia, the only break to the drab jacket was a bright Union Flag one inch down from my right shoulder on the sleeve. I did not know if it was the same or a different Klack who greeted me on the other side. "Welcome to the Academy, Cadet Olafson, and you are now officially accepted and processed. Your time is limited. You and all Cadets accepted have the security clearance Blue. That is a low-security clearance but still sufficient for all Academy tasks and procedures. Please do not ask any questions at this point, for there will be time set aside later for you to ask all your questions. Follow the others to the next station where you receive a ribbon display, your Military Id Imprint, and your Code Key surgery." I needed to ask what a Code key surgery entailed, as I from past experiences, did not like the idea of surgeries and doctors all that much, but the Klack ignored me and addressed the next person behind me in the same specific manner. The next room had two long counters on each side, manned by robots and sentient beings behind the counters. When your name appears on the wall behind the counter, you are required to step forward and receive a large plastic bag and then wait for additional gear. My name flashed on the spot to my left where a bearded man chewing on something said, "Cadet Olafson?" "Sir, Yes Sir." A robot next to him loudly stated, "Identity verified. Race specifications and measurement scan complete. Basic Gear assembled and ready for dispersal." The man pointed at a large E pad screen installed in the countertop. " Sign your name here. With your signature, you verify you have received all your basic gear, complete and in good condition." "Should I not check it first before I sign it?" "Yes, regulations require that you take the print out and check every item, but robots have assembled your gear." He sighed. "We usually skip this part since it would slow things down even further, if you show short later tonight, let your monitor know and we will adjust it tomorrow!" "I sure that will be sufficient, thanks," I said and signed it. After that, a Saran officer supervised a machine which attached a blank flex screen on my uniform centered and one and one-half cm above my buttoned closed left shirt pocket. The officer explained. "This is your ribbon display. It will show all your military specializations and qualifications and, of course, all citations you earn. Yours will most likely remain fairly empty until you graduate, but remember to display it on your uniform at all times. It is linked to you and cannot be given to another person or altered in any way or form. Trying to do so is a serious offense with harsh penalties, beware, consider this your first and only warning." He tapped the display with his finger, and the thing made a chirping sound. He looked at it and grinned. "Unusual but nice, you already have a few citations. They are prestigious ones indeed, let's see: Honor Citizen of Twilight, Civil Duty service ribbon, and Executioners Axe." He grinned offered a salute to the ribbons, then stated, "Nice to see the ribbon display works correctly." He waved me on and said." Next!" Code Key surgery was a large device similar to an auto-dresser which used nanobots to insert a small pocket beneath the skin somewhere on the body. The location was randomly selected so it would not be at the same place on all the entities. During the procedure, a voice explained. "All officers of the United Stars military receive a code key pocket. It is a small two-centimeter by one-centimeter cavity and a few millimeters deep. A bioplastik key made of the same cell material as your body is in it. Normal scans will not reveal it. How, when, and why you need that key will be explained to you in the appropriate training class." The procedure itself was painless, and instantly, I had a key located on an area of my left underarm. Along with a few other cadets, I entered a vast mess hall. I guessed at least 500 personnel were sitting or in the process of sitting at long rows of tables. I didn't see Derek or Max, but I saw the methane breather, and it waved at me with one of its tentacles. "Eric human, over here, your grand table of substance awaits you." I took the free seat next to him, and the Garbini said. "I never thought we finally end up here. I felt like a product in a factory." "I know I felt the same way. Seeing the scope of things I am starting to realize the enormous organization it takes to support and facilitate the Fleet. "Now that you say it. I heard there are fifty mess halls like this one right here and this isn't the only Academy branch in the Galaxy. There are many more!" I remembered Mix telling me, the ones on Andromeda side were at capacity. The table settings consisted of fine china and glass drink containers, no metal trays or canteens cups for the tables of Union fleet officers or cadets. It took over an hour, but finally, all the cadets were present and seated.  An officer in Fleet black, somewhat humanoid but with horns and a face that made him look like a ram addressed us all while standing on a floating metal disc so everyone could see him. I was sure his voice was transmitted to field speakers throughout the mess as he did not shout or appear to have trouble projecting his voice.  Everyone also seemed to hear him without any difficulties.  "This will be your first real meal in an Academy mess hall. It will also be your first lesson. "An Officer of the United Stars Fleet will always display the most excellent table manners. We will use napkins and eating utensils whenever possible. We will also learn to use the eating utensils of several other cultures. But the Fleet recognizes chopsticks, forks, knives, and spoons as the essential dining utilities, and usable by most all member species. "Enlisted men can eat a sandwich while walking through a corridor. However, an officer may not. An enlisted man may yawn, scratch himself, or do those many little things beings do without really thinking. This idiosyncrasy often implies serious insulting or revolting mannerisms to others. Officers will never subscribe to any of these actions. It takes great and seemingly impossible self-awareness and control to suppress these often highly instinctive habits. But those of you who complete this training will gain that ability with it becoming second nature, without conscious thought or hesitation." His platform slowly rotated, and now I was facing his back. The officer was still speaking. "However, as officers, you also have certain privileges. One, you do not stand in line for food at the chow line as required of enlisted personnel. Two, You will be served whenever possible unless it is a buffet. The food will be served now, but don't commence eating until I say so. That will not happen until the most senior officer is served and has given the toast. you will not touch, smell, or comment about the food until permitted to proceed, is this understood." He received a very loud, "Sir,  Yes Sir." from all the cadets. He clapped his gloved hands together, and an army of white dressed beings started to serve plates with food. An officer sitting at the head table rose, raised a glass, and began the toast. " On behalf of the United Stars of the Galaxies and in the name of the Admiral of the Fleet, welcome Citizens of the Union and welcome new Cadets, may this be the first meal you are partaking in the company of fellow officers and I sincerely hope it will not be the last. May the day come in many years from now that you remember this first meal as an extraordinary occasion and important event in your life. I have high hope for your success and hope to see each of you one day in Fleet black!" He raised the glass he was holding. "To the president of the United Stars and Admiral of the fleet, we, your defenders, wish you well. Cadet, enjoy your first fleet mess." During the meal, or as now known "mess", instructors walked down the table isles and gave pointers as to how to correctly utilize the silverware and how to sit. To my Methane breathing friend, one of them said: "A Garbini Officer folds his unused tentacles on his back in the Naglag position. Fulran morsels are to be dipped only once and with the right eating tentacle only. Don't let me see you using your left and dipping twice again!" "Sir, Yes Sir." The Garbini uttered even though he was quite alien I could sense its surprise that a small furry being in black Uniform knew so much about Garbini proper eating etiquette." He sounds just like my father!" The same officer barked at me: "Dap your lips with the napkin before you reach for and drink from the glass. Cut only the meat that you intended to eat immediately. Don't cut everything, drop the knife and shovel it like a barbarian." I wanted to argue and tell him Neo Vikings are the very definition of what barbarians are and they didn't use forks at all, but I thought better and said: "Yes, Sir." "What did you say, cadet?" I said, "Yes, Sir."  "Cadet, the correct phrase is Sir, Yes Sir. Now address me properly, and do so from now on, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" "SIR, YES, SIR."  "That is incorrect, cadet, it is Sir, Yes Sir. Try again."  "Sir, Yes Sir."  "Carry-on." After enduring more than one hour of reprimes and eating, we finally went to a big dorm, with Vari-Form beds that adjusted to the body needs and sizes of the being that would occupy it. The instructors where everywhere and the same horned-ram officer that addressed us at the meal spoke again: "Being an officer is not a job,  it is a lifetime profession. Being an officer is a status, a mindset that does not end with you taking off your uniform or going to sleep. You are an Officer even when you are naked, hung by your toes or equivalent body part over a boiling pot of oil. Stop the sniggering, either laugh or remain silent, which I prefer. You are an officer and expected to act with certain restrains in any possible situation. You will maintain a perfect state of dignity and unquestionable conduct at all times. Almost all sentient life forms we encountered have some method for body hygiene procedures. The Fleet has standardized these procedures to accommodate all beings, and none of you will die or get harmed when touched by soap and water or a sonic shower. I want you to be on top of your species hygiene procedures at all times. Although expected, no one will order you to be clean and well groomed, but tomorrow morning will be the only time in your entire Academy career where you get a dedicated period to do so. After that, you must use your free time and schedule it correctly to be well groomed. This time includes upkeep of your uniforms and personal equipment. It has to be clean, spotless, in good repair and worn flawlessly according to Fleet regulations. " He took a breather. "Well that is all for now, sleep well!" The lights dimmed, and someone in a bed nearby talked to someone else in a low tone." He is a Nogoll; I wonder how in hell, he ended up telling us what to do!" That got overheard, I could not say how perhaps they monitor our conversations. The ram faced Officer approached the neighbor bed, and the lights came back on." We could all unmistakably hear the officer. He stated, "The question was, Why can I, a Nogoll, tell you what to do." He paused a moment. "I have the right because you give it to me. There are no draftee or "forced to join" personnel present. Any of you can at any time, quit. You can get up right now, walk to the Dorm Supervisor, and request permission to leave, and there will be no attempt to stop you, by a staff member. You receive the pay you earned and a ticket to wherever Space Buses go. Look around, and you will find members of almost every union civilization within this very dorm. You will eat, sleep, fight and if necessary die together. You are no longer a human, a Klack, a Shiss, a Garbini, or a Nogoll you are now Union Fleet. We will fight if necessary to the last breath, but we are not the Marines. We give quarter if quarter asked. We will honor the flag of truce, and we will treat our enemies with respect. We do not tolerate prejudgment and racism.  An enlisted man may hate an enemy,  but you will not base your judgment on anyone being an enemy or friend based on emotions or assumptions. It will be by facts alone. That is part of our creed and our oath: A cadet or officer will not lie, cheat, steal, nor discriminate against another sentient based on origin, sex, creed, religion or racial differences." Again the lights dimmed, and he spoke to the cadet who had asked the question. "I am aware that my species was and is an enemy of the Union, and it is quite likely that Union ships fight with Nogoll ships as we speak. While it causes great sorrow, as I mourn each death, I will follow any lawful order given. There has always been a small community of Nogoll, both black and white, that live on the Union side. I am a Union officer and a citizen. If you have charges or accusations against my character or conduct, you are welcome to bring them forward." "Sir, No Sir." "Very well then, sleep well! Make sure this never a subject I discuss with you again."