rix_scaedu | Entries tagged with parthi gens

Merrick, with his shaggy hair and purple glasses, and Danovan, who had a short military cut and an at-ease posture, were standing in the queue for the men’s room at interval. “So,” said Merrick sympathetically, “Parthi’s gotten old enough to date but now you have a whole new set of anti-fraternisation rules.”

“It happens,” his darker haired companion shrugged, “and it’s not like I don’t date, just, obviously, that I don’t date her. What about you?”

“What about me?” It was Merrick’s turn to shrug. “She’s never had that interest for me. Don’t get me wrong, I like lots of girls that way, but not her.”

“So, she’s just a girl you know?”

“Yeah. Besides, the girls at the university are inclined to think I’m interesting rather than know that I’m crazy.”

“Merrick,” his older friend said firmly, “I’ve seen what you’ll get up to and you’re definitely crazy. By the way, do the glasses help?”

“Yes, they do. Because I’m confident I can see everything I need to, I don’t spend all my time looking for secondary signs.” Merrick flashed his friend a smile. “Do you want a pair?”

“I think I might,” replied Danovan thoughtfully. “I don’t think I need them, but they might be…useful.”

“So, back to what we were talking about,” Merrick continued cheerfully under the noise of the crowd, “if you like Parthi, why are you dating other people?”

“How else would I have any chance of meeting someone nearer my own age that I like as much as her?” Danovan’s question was probably rhetorical. “I am over a decade older than her.”

“Not by much,” pointed out Merrick helpfully. “Does Parthi know what’s going on?”

“I hope not,” Danovan said with heartfelt fervour. “I am trying not to be the creepy, older guy, after all.”

“So,” Maide asked her roommate, Parthi, “What are you going to do with your twelve, glorious hours out of here?”

“I’m going to a concert.” Parthi had pulled her civilian boots, a pair of trousers and a tee shirt out of her cabinet.

“Oh,” Maide looked pleased, “You’re coming to see Stinnix too?”

“No,” Parthi shook her head, “I’m going in the other direction, to Helgen. I’ve got a ticket for HJ8.”

“That’s a guy band,” said Maide flatly, clearly not understanding the attraction.

“I know. Five guys on stage,” Parthi deliberately misunderstood what Maide had said, “and an audience full of guys – I might even run into some people I know.”

“But, but Stinnix are dreamy!”

“Maide,” Parthi said directly, “outside this room I will deny I ever said this, but have you ever looked at the guys in HJ8?”

“But they’re old!”

“Not that old,” riposted Parthi, “but they can vote, don’t live with their parents and I like their music more.”

“What are you looking at that for?” Her questioner was a man/boy about her own age and Parthi was standing at the merchandise table looking at the music and concert files available for purchase.

“Because I like their music. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.” Parthi continued looking through the files.

“But you can’t, you’re a girl!”

Parthi looked at him. “That’s as silly as saying you can’t like their music because you’ve never been in the military.”

Another male voice suddenly cut in from behind Parthi’s annoying acquaintance, “Parthi! I thought that was you! Is this guy annoying you?” The speaker was a shaggy-haired, blond man, four years older than Parthi, wearing purple-lensed glasses.

Parthi smiled at the newcomer. “Not, I suspect, for very much longer. It’s good to see you, Merrick. What’re you doing these days?”

He grinned as the man/boy slunk away. “Learning how to be a civilian and getting an education in the process. Look, I ran into Danovan in the queue to get in, if your ticket’s for the pit, want to join us? We can all catch up before the concert starts.”

Parthi’s smile widened to a grin. “Sounds great. Lead on!”

“In line with the reforms instituted during the late war,” intoned Commander Adler as he addressed the new intake of cadets, “it is the Navy’s ambition that every officer, non-commissioned officer and rating will be trilingual in Ainglic, Jerdu and Chaatka. Your instruction will take place in Ainglic as it is the official, administrative language of the Alliance but is our intent that you will graduate able to converse and conduct business in all three of the Alliance’s official languages. To this end, you will undertake written and verbal assessments of your skills and abilities in all three languages so you can be assigned to appropriate language classes.”

What that meant, it turned out, was three one hour long, written tests and three conversations, one with the senior instructor for each of the languages.

After the written exams, Parthi’s roommate, Maide, asked her, “So, how do you think you went?”

“Better than I expected in Chaatka, I could actually answer a couple of the simple questions. Jerdu wasn’t bad at all, but I was disappointed with the Ainglic paper,” Parthi shrugged her shoulders, “I ran out of time to answer the last few questions properly.”

Maide was surprised. “But you’re a native Ainglic speaker, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes,” agreed Parthi, “but I did all my secondary schooling in Jerdu.”

“Oh.”

The next day the language interviews began.

To the Ainglic instructor Parthi explained that her education in Ainglic, except as a second language, had ended in late primary school.

To the Chaatka instructor she freely admitted that she had no grasp of the written language whatsoever. “*Yet you can hold a conversation and conduct day to day business?*” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“*Not with elegance and grace, but yes, elder.*”

To the Jerdu instructor she said, “*Good afternoon, hasedni. What would you like to talk about?*”

As his hand flicked his stylus down the screen of his note pad, the instructor asked, “*How do you think your Jerdu could be improved, inci?*”

“*My vocabulary and accent could do with refinement, hasedni,*” Parthi offered with a self-deprecating smile.

Cadet-Lieutenant Connell glared at the first year cadet who’d wandered randomly into his Jerdu class. It had taken them three years of language work to reach this level and the first year cadet from his own wardroom had no place here. “*You should get to your class before you are late, eti,*” he told her in Jerdu. A couple of his classmates sniggered but he doubted she would understand why even if she understood what he’d said to her.

“*This is my class, harumi,*” Cadet Gens replied calmly in Jerdu that was at least as good as his own, “*and if you ever call me ‘eti’ again, I will hit you, senior rank or not.*”

“*So, why are you in this class, inci?*” That was from another wardroom’s Cadet-Lieutenant.

“*Because I sound like a space chimp and that needs to change, harumi.*” Parthi scanned the room for an unoccupied seat.

“*What’s a space chimp?*”

The female cadet who’d asked that had addressed the room at large but the reply came from the instructor as he came through the door, “*Space chimp is a derogatory term for someone who earns their living plying the space lanes, inci. It is a term, like ‘eti’, that you would be wise to avoid. Gens inci, take the empty seat in the third row and we will begin to look at chromatic mood annunciators.*”

Three final year cadets stalked into the bunk room Parthi shared with her classmate, Maide Crim. Both the first year cadets stiffened to attention, these weren’t just senior cadets but part of the cadre charged with keeping order within their wardroom.

“Well, slugs,” Cadet-Lieutenant Connell seemed to be in a snarling mood, “your first Commandant’s room inspection begins in half an hour and we’re here to check that you won’t embarrass the wardroom. We’ll start with Cadet Crim’s cabinet.”

Cadet-Petty Officer Faarnal, the only female member of the trio, pulled on a pair of white cotton gloves as she stepped forward and said, “Open your cabinet for me, Cadet Crim.”

Maide pivoted and pulled open the doors of her clothing cabinet to reveal the drawers and hanging space inside. Her uniforms hung neatly in place with civilian clothes crowding the portion of the rail set aside for them. The row of civilian footwear lined up behind the shoes and boots that went with her uniforms sparkled with glitter. The lower drawers designated for storage of non-military clothing appeared to be overfull, with folds of cloth and a bra strap protruding from the cut outs the drawers had instead of handles.

Cadet-Petty Officer Faarnal sighed. “You need to repack those two bottom drawers neatly, Cadet Crim, even if they’re not military wear. Otherwise you’ll be rearranging your underwear to the Commandant’s satisfaction while he watches.”

Maide blushed, “Yes, Cadet-Petty Officer. May I start now?”

“Please do.” The female senior cadet turned to Parthi. “Open your cabinet for me, Cadet Gens.”

Parthi repeated Maide’s action to display the contents of her own clothes cabinet. Beside her neatly aligned uniforms the civilian section of her hanging space contained two jacket and trouser sets while a polished pair of brown boots lined up behind her issued footwear. On further inspection, her two lower drawers contained four civilian shirts and nothing else.

“Where’s the rest of your stuff?” That came from Cadet-Petty Officer Liosan, the hitherto silent member of the trio. “The Commandant will check your study desk and under your bed, you know.”

Parthi looked at him confused. “This is everything. I was raised to think that if you couldn’t fit everything you weren’t wearing into a sealed gunny tote, then you had too much stuff. The number of shoes the Navy requires me to own is going to make that challenging,” she added.

“I believe,” said Cadet-Lieutenant Connell quietly, “that you’re going to pass inspection without any help from us.”

Parthi tapped on the office door frame to get the occupant’s attention. When he looked up, she asked, “Petty Officer Touraabin, do you have time to talk about an exercise program for me?”

“You’re Cadet-?” He looked at her with narrowed eyes.

“Gens, Petty Officer.” Parthi was fairly sure she had the military courtesy right, but it was only her first day at the Academy.

“Shouldn’t you still be squaring away your gear, Cadet Gens?” He was tapping his pencil on the papers in front of him.

“Not that much gear to square away, Petty Officer, and it’s all done.”

He looked sceptical. “Then come in and take a seat. What do you think you want?”

“Firstly,” she began after she had sat down on the visitor’s chair, “your advice on whether I need to do any extra work over and above the first year PT program to get me back to where I was before my grandparents cut me back to three hour long gym sessions per week.”

“What were you doing before that?” The pencil had stopped tapping.

“Two hours gym per day, mainly as shipboard maintenance and something to do, plus an hour of unarmed combat practice a day. I’ve kept up my forms but I haven’t sparred in months.” Parthi finished and waited expectantly.

“So, how long did you live with your grandparents?” The pencil was being flicked against the knuckles on his opposite hand now.

“A little over six months.”

“Then I suggest you start with the first year PT program, that’s an hour, five days a week, and we step you up from there.” Parthi nodded in acknowledgement. “With your unarmed combat, what style and what level were you graded at?”

“My teachers never called it anything in particular, unless haidarna means more than I think it does, and they never talked about grades, just about winning fights.”

The PT instructor was looking sceptical, “They taught you haidarna and they were into tournaments but they didn’t grade you?”

“No, Petty Officer, they weren’t into tournaments, they were into not getting killed in a fight.”

Her correction hung there for a moment.

“Let’s organise that grading as soon as possible, shall we?” He reached for a hard diary. “So, how long were you under instruction for?”

“Seven years.”

He put the diary down. “I need to call some people. I’ll get back to you after PT in the morning.”

“Thank you, Petty Officer.”

“Cadet candidate Pallas Padmavati Parthenia Gens?” The doctor looked up from the pad that held her details, his face professionally blank.

“Yes sir, that’s me,” Parthi ventured a smile.

“Your parents seem to have been fond of the letter ‘P’.” His wry tone suggested the doctor didn’t think he was being original. “We’ll start by listening to your chest. Take off your shirt, please.”

Parthi quietly complied, while the nurse, as professionally disinterested as the doctor, was off to the side and busying herself with various instruments.

Both women caught the doctor’s near invisible double take when he saw her torso, exposed but for her bra. “So, you’ve not been in the Navy before, Miss Gens?” He drawled the question just this side of disbelief.

“I have never previously enlisted in any branch of any military service, sir.” Parthi had prepared that answer for its complete truth.

He circled her, noting the old scars and the faded energy flash burns as he did so. “But you were caught up in the fighting during the late war?”

“A great many people were, sir.” She remained relaxed as the doctor’s body language suggested this wasn’t going to become an unscaleable hurdle.

“Right then. Lieutenant,” he turned to the nurse, “book the body scanner. We’ll be doing a full transfer medical workup, not just an induction examination.” He turned back to Parthi, “We should find out what, if any, medical greebblies you picked up during your exposure to the fighting.”

Parthi raised an eyebrow at him. “Is greebbly a medical term, sir?”

“A very technical one,” he replied solemnly and the nurse snickered. “Now, would you like to tell me about the through and through on your left shoulder?”

“I’ve been thinking about applying to the Naval Academy,” she dropped that into the dinner table conversation like a stone into a calm pond.

“It would certainly be something to do with yourself,” her paternal grandfather agreed slowly, trying the idea on for size.

Her maternal grandmother was the first to follow him. “But we’ve only just got you home after years of thinking you were lost with your parents.”

“Couldn’t you do something closer, dear?” That was her paternal grandmother. “Perhaps a nice Arts degree?”

“I passed my high school equivalency exams,” Parthi replied glibly, “but that doesn’t mean I’ve matriculated. I have to do something and the Navy is a profession.” And, she added silently in her head, if I go away to the Academy we don’t have to discuss why living with my nearest living relatives isn’t really working out.

“That is true,” her maternal grandfather nodded approvingly. “You need to be able to support yourself – it’s good to see you’ve been thinking about that.”

“And if it turns out that being in the Navy isn’t your thing, Pallas,” added her paternal grandmother, using Parthi’s first and “proper” given name, as always, “perhaps being a Navy wife might be. Some of those cadets must get married!” She beamed at everyone around the table.

Parthi repressed a sigh and said prosaically, “Well, I won’t find out anything unless I sit the Board examinations. Apparently applications close in two days.”

“Well,” said her paternal grandfather, “you’d better get cracking, hadn’t you?”