“Fayn. Where is Fayn.” The three young adults did not notice Holiday’s subordinate lecturer enter the platoon compartment.

“Right here, sir.” She went to immediate attention, drilled into her from her lifetime in this academic system.

“I got some materials for you novice. First off some reading material, because I hear you’re good at that.” Lecturer Reece handed off a stack of manuals of digest size. They were poorly press printed on low-quality paper, probably recycled from the college’s ample supply of student work and reports. These brief titles included but were not limited to: “What It Means to be a Soldier”, “Values of the Argent Military”, and “Traditions of the Argentian Way”. He was right, as Temora would end up reading them cover to cover multiple times.

“Then these eight pairs of fatigues I’ve been forced to carry because you were so late you weren’t even in the military this morning.” The lecturer was conductant, and loudly so.

Temora did her best to keep composed, although a smirk was forming across her lips. She grabbed the eight sets of fatigues and quickly turned before the lecturer commented on her developing smile.

“Is there something the matter Fayn?”

“No, sir.” She was definitely smiling now, but thankfully turned away from his view.

“Fayn. There is a pair of fatigues for each day of the week. If you ruin your pair for that day, you’ll wear the pair for the next day. If you run out of pairs before the end of the week, you’ll put on the cleanest dirty pair you have. Laundry day is Nemureson, the first day of every week. Do you understand novice?” The lecturer was yelling, and so close to Temora’s right ear that she could feel his breath when he finished his sentences.

“Yes, sir.” Her smile was quenched by the thought of having to put on dirty clothes by the end of the week, and being breathed on by this noisy man.

“At least someone here does. Make your bed before Holiday comes in here or he’ll make me come back in here, and you do not want that to happen novice.” He about-faced and briskly walked out of the room, faster than she had ever seen a man walk without an exaggerated stride. He’d left before she had a chance of signing off to him, but she did it anyway.

Temora was left standing with eight pairs of fatigues, and two pairs of a combat uniform which she neatly arranged in her trunk. If she was just a bit shorter this would have been quite difficult, but at her height it was manageable. The trunk was raised more than chest-high off of the ground to leave room for the one underneath it to open. Each pair of fatigues contained a top, bottom, cover, undergarment, socks, and various types of clip-on military paraphernalia.

“He better not be going easy on me because I’m a woman.” Temora leaned over toward the adjacent bunk toward Cocole, practically bending backward.

Cocole gave an affirmative nod, and Albe tossed a handful of compacted toilet paper bricks into her open trunk. “The latrine never has them because the mates keep stealing them.” He gave a thumbs up to her and re-laced his boots. “You should get ready, we’re about to go out to the hall for lunch.”

“Right, of course, let me do that.” She wasn’t all that hungry as she ate before coming in. The recent physical activity wasn’t enough to provoke hunger, but she had no choice. They had a strict dietary policy.

The meal was nothing special. Warbird for protein. It was always warbird and barley, rice, or simple pasta. If they were lucky it would be topped with some type of sauce. Then a side of dried fruit, a caffeinated beverage, and a sweet of some kind.

After the meal, her first day in training passed quickly. They didn’t have much time after to relax, as it went straight into an extended march. This would happen every day and went outside of the campus and around the nearby roads. It took her by her house every day as well.

Not that she could leave mid-March to go home to see her mother. Although, she was able to do this in the very early morning once a week; before brightset. Other members of the platoon weren’t nearly as fortunate. Many were far from home, or had deceased parents; like Cocole.

Every morning before brightset, she would have to be back in the compartment with her uniform on and the sheet of her bed taught, unwrinkled. The soldiers in training would stand on either side of the bunk, depending on which level they slept. Their uniforms and beds would be inspected, and the immediate areas and trunks for contraband.

The same routine every day, at least for the first few weeks. At first, she found it uncomfortable showering with the boys. Every one of the young women there did, but by the end of the second week, that feeling was replaced by the urgency to get done and get in line. Nobody paid attention, and the first few days of joking were gone. All of the fun, humor, or awkwardness was ripped out from the experience. It became a clinical action.

After the morning inspection came some kind of significant task. This changed every day and was seemingly random. One day it would be developing teamwork skills. They would go outside of the compass to a lightly wooded area and construct a shelter. Perhaps they would execute an arbitrary goal such as “Get every person over this head height rope, don’t go under it.” Some days they would go to the gymnasium, build and test their physical strength, then eat early.

On three separate occasions during the first few weeks, they ascended by rope ladder and then repelled from a tower built on the edge of the barracks complex. One morning was an improvised close-quarters combat tournament complete with chalked wooden knives to indicate contact. Sometime near the end of those two weeks, they were awoken at allnight.

At the point of the night when the source was darkest, they were required to infiltrate a dummy target camp set up in that same wooded area. Temora didn’t see the other platoon coming. Nobody saw the opposing platoon coming. They were not told there would be live opposition, and that any noise would arouse heavy live fire upon their entire position.

The next phase of their training started the next two weeks, where basic training was more complex. The platoon was trained in marksmanship of archery, fixed ballista operation, harpoon nets, artillery, and cannons. Flintlock pistols as well. Although, the military would not be issuing them to novices.

Many platoon members had trouble with map reading, navigation, and triangulation. A necessary skill onboard an aeroship. A place where the only good navigational tools were the surrounding landmasses. In Una, the night sky was your enemy. It was ever-changing, moonless, and starless. Timekeeping was unreliable if it functioned at all. The only modern indicators of ship speed dragged behind the ship, spun a wheel, or captured the wind in cone of cloth.

Albe and Temora had no difficulty learning these concepts. Concept they would have to understand before they would be allowed onboard. Cocole struggled with triangulation and predicting a ship’s current location. Thankfully, he had direct access to some of the best personal tutors within his platoonmates.