Our long and quietly joyous trek finally ended in the garden hollow. The sound of gently falling water soothed me as I headed for a nearby bench. Bollate sat there. He noted my approach and would have risen to greet me, but I waved him down. I sat beside him and left my guards to sort it all out in their own fashion. Bollate returned his eyes to the small pond and, for a while, I silently watched the fish swim in circles. Then he spoke. His voice was quietly reverent. 

He said, “Thank you, heir.”

I answered, “I am glad you availed yourself.”

“I never knew such wonders,” he said. “It’s so beautiful.”

“Yes,” I agreed.

Well, my seven rotations flew by. Although I had filled them with every possible joyous distraction, they were gone too fast. The fulfilling company of Rigil, the happy chatter of my Kee, even the board games with my guards, none of it prevailed against the coming of the end. I was crushed. I faced my next instructor with a hard lump in my throat. Navigators were an austere lot. I could see that my new instructor was nothing like the amiable Olol. The Anun, with their elongated heads and white skin, seemed overly tall and intimidating. My new instructor, Wiznchour, failed to acknowledge me.

I stood amid the bustle of a small metallic room. The air was stale. There were five Anun, each at a workstation. Three Kee assistants, in white smocks, ran between them. The Anun leaned into their monitors while lithe fingers danced on black and gray keypads. I was left to stand behind my new instructor, waiting silently, with nothing better to hold my attention than the point on my instructor’s head. As they called among themselves in shrill and sometimes guttural commands, I took note that Wiznchour was, in his seated, bent posture, as tall as I was standing. Finally, he stood, towering over me, leering at me with eyes too small for his head.

“Sit,” he commanded and so, my thirty-rotation course in navigation began.

Halfway in, at a point past equations, I took interest. It was a time for hands-on application. I’m not saying it was not difficult, but I liked it better than all the sterile math. It was also a time for discovery. Let me tell you what I discovered. The GUF propelled a ship through time and space. It was a dance in which time lead and space followed. Our spaceflight was not linear. The implication of that discovery shook me. I had been under the impression that LUC would return to me much older. As it turned out, two ships using temporal propulsion negated the aging displacement of linear travel. I was excited to learn my brother would return to me as I knew him. 

Wiznchour put me through grueling runs around our fleet. I was tasked to circumnavigate the armada in timed exercises. With no other commands but ancient Anun, I pressed myself beyond my limits, beyond the limits of my limits, until my very spirit did sweat blood. I placed our navigation ship, the Line of Sight, into primary charge. I could feel the orb-like ship vibrate beneath my feet. I called to the Rellent, “Ah’thru,” and the Line of Sight drifted to the outer bound of the fleet. My next move would take me to the tail end of the fleet in a single temporal jump. The jump was smooth but there was no time for praise. I had to turn the ship and repeat the procedure four more times until I returned the craft to its starting point. Time was in my hands but the clock worked against me.

The command center, in which I sat, divided the ship into quarters through four of the stations present. I sat in the station of the Carraphim, Wiznchour’s seat. The Rellent plotted spatial reference points within an eight-dimensional grid. For my initial drift and each four turning maneuvers, I called commands to the Rellent. For each of my five temporal jumps, I called to the Asthuje, who quickly adjusted our temporal displacement within the Rellent’s grid. Each command I issued was followed by an action so seamless and smooth, I felt no sense of movement. I came to the final jump and made the command to cease. From behind me came the voice of my instructor.

“Close, not perfect,” he said. “Again.”

In all, I had twelve instructors at thirty rotations each. A revolution of reeducation was nearing its end, but I was faced with the final and most formidable instructor of all. Captain Taush was to be my last instructor. I would be taught the military arts. I did not so much mind the prospect of learning tactics and weapons, but the anticipation of combat training made me nervous. Never, in all of my revolutions, had I been called upon to engage in hand-to-hand combat. I simply was not a fighter. I expressed my concerns to those who were close to me, and all of them tried to comfort me. Bollate failed, Ava and Odum failed, Imabelai failed, even Rigil failed. Barachiel gave me pointers while Khamuel laughed at me and made me feel ashamed. I felt beaten before the fated fact.

So there I was. I had put on the black synthetic gym suit they issued and I walked into their noisy training arena. The stretchy material pulled my body hairs sideways and made me uncomfortable. My mood was bleak as I looked about at the many soldiers being flung through the air. The blue mats looked spongy enough from a distance, but I could definitely hear the bodies as they slammed into the floor. My guards seated themselves in the stands, and Barachiel whistled loudly to his colleagues. The Captain walked up behind me and spoke, startling me.

“Don’t just stand there,” he said walking past me. “Hit the mat.”

Meekly, I followed Captain Taush to a mat in the center of the room. I felt exposed. The positioning of the mat, I thought, was optimal. Everyone would see the Captain abuse my person. He would twist me, and throw me like a rag doll to the floor. I would fly through the air, I would flail and tumble into ignominy. Everyone would get a good laugh at my expense. Oh, well, I thought, at least our gym suits matched. He turned and assessed me with eyes of glinting iron. I imagined him suddenly reaching out and taking hold of me. I braced myself.

“Heir,” he said, “you must learn to master the fall. In the beginning, you will be doing that a lot. Watch me and copy my moves.”

He then spread his arms downward and turned his palms outward, leaning his chin into his chest. I did what he did and was not surprised I had done it wrong. He came to me and pressed my head down further. He yanked my arms into position and twisted my hands around. He spoke casually.

“The purpose of this is to put you in control of how you fall. Now do this,” he said.

Taush jumped into the air and fell back upon the mat with a thud. I noted that his head was forward and his palms and forearms had taken the brunt of the fall. I thought I understood, and it looked so simple. I jumped and fell. It was a jarring experience. The Captain pulled me to my feet and ordered me to fall again. I got the knack of it on the third try. I was then taught how to roll. I was taught how to return to a standing position, and while slow, I still managed. I saw the Captain’s approval and was glad. He spoke.

“I have taught you to fall and come quickly back to your feet,” he said. “This is because combat means getting hit. It’s hard to avoid. When you are hit, when you are down, you are vulnerable. You must position yourself to continue the fight. Falling correctly is a small precaution. The trouble is, you never know where or how you will be hit.”

A lump formed in my throat as I felt his words were a preamble to being struck. However, he turned away from me with an uplifted arm and motioned to the others who trained in the room. He spoke as he turned.

“Everyone gets hit,” he said. “Everyone falls. Everyone gets back up. Next, I will teach you how to receive a hit and fall so that you may get up again. Pick a warrior.”

“Excuse me,” I said, confused.

“Pick someone to hit you,” he answered, turning to face me.

From the stands, Barachiel called, “I volunteer.”

The Captain waved him over, and he smiled as he walked toward me. I was at a loss. Had I done some wrong to him that he wanted to hit me? I could not imagine what. I did not enjoy the prospect of being hit by Barachiel. The closer he got, the bigger he looked. He stood on the mat, facing me with an easy air. He winked at me as he turned to the Captain.

“I got this,” he said to the Captain. “I’ll . . .”

Without turning his head, he struck me in the chest with the flat of his hand. I did not see it coming. I was wholly unprepared. I fell to my back in an unsightly heap and looked up at my guard in shock.

“. . . make it easy,” he finished.

The Captain reached down and helped me to my feet. He said, “Learning how to get hit is simple. You take it until you no longer flinch. The trick is seeing it coming. When we reach the end of this class, you will have learned that trick.” He turned and made a commanding noise, “Hup!” 

All training stopped. The warriors stood facing the Captain, awaiting orders. I stood wondering what was next. A knot in my stomach hardened as the Captain called for the men to line up. One by one, they formed a line behind Barachiel. My consternation tipped into the red zone as the Captain laid out his plan.

“You will be hit,” he said. “You will fall and rise up again. Your objective is to face each man in turn. Look at him, judge his stance. Look into his eyes and determine whether he will hit you in the chest or in one of your shoulders. If you can do that, you will fall well.”

I looked between the Captain and the line of warriors in utter disbelief. There were at least fifty men. My mouth was open but I could not find the words with which to voice my objection, but the possibility of my speaking was precluded when Khamuel walked to the front of the line.

With a rare smile, he addressed the Captain, “As a Commander of the Order of the Cup, I believe first place goes to me.” 

My first rotation in the Captain’s class was a blue bruise. When I returned to my ship, I was sore, confused, and trembling with subdued anger. Getting hit in the chest was easy enough. I knew it was coming, I fell on my back with arms spread and chin down. Getting hit in one of the shoulders was wholly different. The body spun out of control. I fell badly. I think in all, I must have judged the shoulder hits right at least once. When the final warrior stepped up, I simply threw myself back on the mat in whole-hearted resignation. The worst part was the Captain’s final determination.

“We will repeat this exercise,” he concluded, “until you obtain a rudimentary level of competence.”

I sulked all the way to the door of my residence. It was a welcome sight. Reaching it was somewhat euphoric, as when one dreams of their secret obsession sitting among clouds, surrounded by colorful sky bands, and bathed in blinding sunlight. I leaned against my door and relished the coolness of it on my forehead. It was a beautiful moment until Khamuel spoke.

“Fear not, heir,” said he. “Skill comes with practice.”

Barachiel said, “You’ll do better next time.”

I turned to them and said, “Oh, no.” My finger moved back and forth in the space that separated us. “We are not speaking.” I entered my room and closed the door.

How does one describe a continuing exercise in abuse? Pathetic is a suitable word. I continued to allow myself to be hit for the next four rotations. I got hit, and I fell until the offense wore off. By the sixth rotation, my judgment had improved. My falls were no longer a matter of chance or ineptitude, they were the product of will and determination. We moved on to wrestling and hand-holds, and more falling. On the fifteenth rotation, I was taught how to use balance and inertia against an opponent. On the twenty-third rotation, I was taught the vital points, where to strike a molecular for best results, and also what worked best against an atomic. There was no exercise that did not involve falling.

In between bouts of brutal punishment, were happy breaks that gave me time to meet the warriors. I learned that they were good people. I discovered in them a dedication to purpose that went beyond annealing the stress of immortality. They had a mind that coalesced around cause. They had a purpose that centered them, they had a will toward the good of those they served. We spoke of personal goals, we laughed together and I loved the sense of camaraderie. In those times, they made me feel special. Even though the heir was the face of their purpose, they liked me.

This is what the Captain said at my graduation. “ I am impressed that you graduated. I don’t think you will ever make a warrior, but your level of competence is sufficient for your station. You are welcome to train here at any time.”