Within the same day, the class learned about all types of mantled equipment: repulsors that could be used to push objects and people, the ratlines that are used to protect ships from distant cannon fire, as well as devices that transformed the utility of compartments within an aeroship.

The platoon of students experimented with mantling objects with gemin provided by the Cloudushun College. Transforming basic swords into items with elemental magic abilities. A correctly mantled blue gemin turned a sword cold while retaining the mechanical properties of its spring steel. A red gemin would heat the metal without weakening it. Cyan, caused it to rip arcs of electricity through the air.

“As a soldier of the Argentian Military, your enemy will likely have an elemental weapon of some type. A mantled weapon often has objectively more utility than a weapon in its base form. You will be expected to be able to identify the gemin color of any weapon you encounter. Once you know its color, predicting its effects becomes much easier.” The crowd of students discussed among each other the difficult prospect of “predicting” the effects of an enemy weapon.

One of the more erudite young women stood up. “Professor. Shouldn’t a gemin’s effects be consistent between weapons? Is it not correct to assume that all weapons mantled with a red gemin will generate heat.” After she spoke up she sat down, and the class continued its discordance.

The professor addressed the class by handwaving them into silence. As the platoon sat he clarified. “A red gemin will almost certainly generate heat. It is the way that it does so that is not predetermined. Gemin are intelligent objects, which if managed correctly should not wish you harm.” He got up from his seated position, to pace around the lecture hall stage.

“Imagine you have a firearm, the body and the barrel are made of steel. A gemin will not waste energy heating the barrel, as that is not the part of a firearm that damages. That would be the projectile. Likewise with a longbow, mantling a red gemin body of that bow might cause the head of a nocked arrow to glow.” Proposing this thought experiment to the class, he walked quickly to the center front of the stage.

“A problem arises when we consider what happens if we nock an exclusively wooden arrow into the bow. When there is no metal for the gemin to heat, what does the gemin do... in, that, case? In testing, as it turns out, the gemin generates its own surface to heat. Turning the head of a sharpened wooden arrow shaft into pure red hot charcoal.” He boisterously ejects his voice into the lecture hall. Grabbing a desk ruler he points it forward at the students, in a loose fencing stance.

“The deeper you think about it, the more complicated it becomes. You can turn anything into a weapon. A table leg, a leather strap, a length of chain, or a tool like a desk ruler.” Rosin taps the ruler against the table.

“What happens if I mantle a gemin into something like this? Does it become a charcoal blade? My hand must grasp it in some way. Which side becomes the handle so to speak? Does mantling the gemin on a specific side, or in a specific orientation cause a change to that position?” He taps the ruler upon the table in silence until his short attention becomes mentally tired of doing so.

“The truth is that we don’t know until we test a specific object for the first time. Even then there can be changes between two seemingly identical mantles. The most important takeaway from this lesson, vital in understanding, is that a gemin is under the control of its wielder. A mantled gemin in an object that is intended to become a weapon will become a weapon. One likely more powerful than even its wielder expects.”

Professor Holiday revealed a red gemin from his pocket. To Temora’s eyes, it appeared to be a similar-sized stone to the one that was socketed in the eye of his cane. Perhaps, it was the exact same stone. He pressed the stone up firmly to the base of the ruler.

With both the stone and ruler in the same hand, it blinked into wisps of fire and blue plasma. These wisps shimmered down the entire length of the desk ruler, as wide as the professor’s own arm. With a flick of the end of the ruler into the open air it discharged an elemental bolt with a crack as if from a whip. The bolt of plasma impacted a metal plate hanging from the far side of the hall ceiling. Leaving the plate ringing from the impact. There was a small sooty scorch mark on its face.

He released his tight grip on the ruler and stone. The ruler blinked out its last whisper of plasma and returned to normal. Rosin then pocketed the red gemin into his waistcoat.

“Difficult to predict right? Unfortunately, your survival in combat may depend on approximating unexpected results. Forbid the enemy mantles a swivel gun, crossbow, net launcher, harpoon, or a main ship gun. Evaluate your situation quickly. Requisition an enemy’s gemin in any case where you feel you might be able to do so. Even if the stone fights against you.”

The class had already rolled over its allotted time, and the platoon of young novices were prepared to leave. Professor Holiday dismissed the mob of students out onto the campus. As the boot camp approached its final week, the platoon was given more freedom to leave the compartment than when they first started. Students and faculty held the soldiers in high regard, and although many of the platoon were still novices by rank; they knew of the prestige that was associated with being under Holiday’s tutelage.

As the mob approached the mess hall, students of other platoons greeted theirs with the usual formalities. They lined up with the cafeteria staff to be served. The Argentian schools never had assigned times for meals. Students were free to eat at any time between courses. Outside of the first six school grades classes were not scheduled at regular intervals. For Temora, there would on certain days be enough time to eat a full meal and walk home to retrieve belongings before her next class called attendance.

The mess hall building contained a mixture of students of different ages, grades seven through to Apprentice Rising. While the academy had students and faculty of all ages, there was a separate mess hall for Apprentices and higher. After becoming a Lecturer, they would deliver meals directly to your office.

The cafeteria staff was comprised of primarily young women and many of them were culinary students of the academy. Temora was thankful she did not end up there, as she considered just a few years ago. Cooking was more like a hobby for her, and she didn’t want to ruin it with the stress coursework.

A woman behind the counter grabbed an empty tray and placed it onto a rail where it was served with a dry-rubbed meat dish, that to everyone’s relief was not poultry. Followed by fried potatoes, a barley pottage which was spiced more heavily than the meat was, salted fresh steamed carrots, and a waxed paper cartoon of tart pokopomme juice; which she was excited to see refrigerated.

The group of three sat together in their section of the long wooden benches in the large mess hall. The tables each covered half of the length of the room. Maybe twice the width of a city street, it could sit twenty people on each side. Only an arm span's worth of walking space existed between the tables. The wood of the seating had been worn and polished into natural depressions from a century of use. Making it more comfortable than its appearance would suggest.