Zero Drift - Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The system used the word anomaly the way a survey log used unclassified: to mark the specimen it intended to come back to, not the specimen it had decided to ignore.

She was awake before anyone screamed and shouted to get up. 0500 after a long day of travel was nothing new for her. The cold hard floor against the soles of her feet was bracing. No soft rug, no private, cramped cabin. No hurried cup of coffee on the way out to an observation post before sunrise.

Now she was in a different sort of new environment.

The bunk room was still dim, with only shadows affording any sense of privacy. She understood the psychology of the intake process. It was the first steps in breaking recruits down. Stripping for the medical scan set the tone. She grabbed her issued clothing, walked to the communal showers and took care of her morning routine without appearing to notice the semi-clad flesh around her.

Once clean and dressed, she returned to her bunk, stripped it and deposited the sheets and blankets in the marked bins. Her notice went into the left shoulder pocket of her coverall, folded first in half, then into thirds so it fit the pocket exactly. Its two sentences were easily recalled, but she had the paper as well.

She had expected screaming sergeants out of a bad vid-flick. Instead, there were civilian workers in the mess hall, pointing them in the right direction, serving them bland but nutritious food. It was fuel for the day, but she didn't overload on it. She wanted to be on her toes this morning.

She peeled off from the majority herd moving toward the assembly hall. She registered the unsynchronized movement of the recruits before she noticed it with her normal senses. The smell of unearned sweat carried under the noise. Murmurs echoed, steps meshed uncleanly, and the incessant rustle of hands fiddling with the unfamiliar feel of the coveralls all grated on her ears. It all faded as she walked toward Secondary Hall B. Quiet crept up on her as the murmur of voices and shuffling of feet fell behind. A few others seemed to be moving in the same direction, but none were near. She walked through the entrance, spotted her name and a number next to it, 14, Assessments.

She glanced at the outline placard, then began moving. Past the corridor marked Review, where she could imagine psychologists asking recruits all kinds of questions there, evaluating if they were fit to join. Then past the corridor titled Returns. She didn't know what happened in those areas. She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

She walked on, turning up the next corridor clearly marked Assessments.

She moved down the corridor, noting every room number and placard. 01-Staff Offices. 02-Captain Antonio. 03-Briefing Room A. 04-Captain Morenz. 05-Records. 06-Briefing Room B. 07-Captain Vance. 08-Personnel Files. The corridor was longer than the word Assessments had suggested.

Eventually, she reached 14-Intake Assessment. She checked her overlay. 0623. Early. She opened the door and stepped through.

The room was clinically sterile, off-white walls, metal and plastic chairs lined up in precise rows. Three seats on each side of an aisle, facing a nondescript black-framed doorway. The other recruit was already inside. She held at the threshold for the half-second it took to register that the room had filled before she could become invisible in it. The recruit stood with his back to the wall as if he were anchoring the entire building. He was a big man with a baby-face, younger than her, avoiding eye contact and tugging at his coverall as if it were too tight across his shoulders.

High Frame?

She walked to the back row of seats, opposite the large recruit, and sat. She turned her body just enough to lean against the wall and keep the other recruit in the periphery of her vision. Three minutes later, the door opened again.

Another recruit, slim, smaller than the giant against the wall. He took in everything with a glance, his eyes moving constantly despite his face remaining placid. He walked to the front row of seats, took first seat on the side opposite from Nara, and sat. His back was straight and his shoulders square, but it felt like he was glancing about the room. It reminded her of a new survey observer running too many environment checks.

We're a cohort of anomalies.

They sat in silence, each with their own thoughts, avoiding obvious observations of one another. The other two carried the small motion that organisms produced when stillness was not their native state. Her own breathing slowed to the room's rhythm.

What will secondary assessment be?

At precisely 0700, the door opened.

She turned enough to see him as he walked directly down the aisle toward the black-framed door. He wasn't physically large, but his presence immediately dominated the room. Big-baby-face stood straighter. Fidgety-guy stopped his incessant scanning, focused on the man. He was controlled, precise, like a coiled spring under tension. He had short hair, trimmed into a flat-top and shaved at his ears and neck. His uniform was the mottled grays of the MEC, but there was no tab on his shoulder.

He stopped at the door, turned and faced the room. Nara knew he had locked in on all of the recruits, but there was not obvious tell. In her overlay, his name showed, "Sergeant Pike". Nothing else.

"Seats," he commanded without looking at the big recruits. He moved, or the room rearranged itself until he arrived at the closest seat, two rows directly behind fidgety-guy, who was unnaturally still.

"Welcome to MEC." He let the statement hang for a moment. "I am Sergeant Pike, your assessment officer. Each of you were flagged during intake for additional evaluation. You may have opportunities we won't present to your fellow recruits."

He paused, taking time to look each of them in the eye. Nara met his gaze.

"The remainder of the day, you will be tested. You'll make up anything you missed from the regular training in the evening. If you can't keep up, well, that will tell us something about you as well."

"Recruit Camden, you're first."

Fidgety-guy, Camden, stood as the sergeant turned and the black-framed door slid open, revealing a dim lit corridor. Pike motioned, Camden moved. The sergeant followed. Five minutes later, Sergeant Pike was back.

"Recruit Talven."

Big-baby-face rose. He didn't even glance at Nara.

Another five minutes. She let the still quiet of the room surround her.

The door opened. "Recruit Tholren."

She stood before she heard her name, already moving forward. The hallway was brighter now. It wasn't long, maybe six meters. There were two doors opposite one another at the end. She stopped, unsure which way to turn.

"Recruit," Pike said from behind her. "Your overlay rates your Signal highly for a non-combatant. It is why you are being made this offer. Observational skills can have special utility within the MEC. But you have a choice to make."

"The left hand door will return you to standard infantry squad training. You'll spend twelve weeks working with recruits to become a finely-honed fireteam. You'll run exercises until your responses are habit. You'll likely earn a destination, maybe even a skill." He paused his spiel.

"The right door will place you into the special assessment regime. Several weeks of close observation embedded within a similar training pipeline. You won't be hoping to join a standard fireteam, you'll be hoping to survive the selection process. If you don't you'll be recycled, sent back for regular training. Special assessment is not any sort of fast-track to promotion." Another pause.

"It is your choice."

His tone was sharp, as if he had said the same thing countless times. But Nara sensed there was more. Instinctively, she knew questions were not allowed. She had to make a choice on little to no data.

A countdown timer appeared on the wall before her. Three minutes, and the clock was already running.

I came here to measure myself, to see if the system was right about me.

Between Arv Teralune's fact recitation and clean data, and her actual application to join, that question had been floating between the forefront and background of her mind. She had decided she wanted to know if the system was right about her. Now, doubts arose fresh once more.

Do I want to be different? Special?

It was a question she had struggled with since childhood. All of her mother's not-so-subtle positioning and guidance. Her own sense of rebellion. No arranged marriage for her. No destiny as a frontier wife or politician's plaything.

I may have resisted being special, but I always chose a different path. What if the system is wrong about me?

It was a truth she needed to admit to herself.

But maybe a hitch in the regular MEC infantry would be enough to set her apart. It was definitely not the proper career her mother would approve of.

Then she thought of the designation tab on Arv Teralune's coverall last night. Without knowing why, she knew he was not regular infantry. Twenty-six months of a three-year survey contract filled, and the best idea for her next step had come from a relative stranger to her, just someone she considered competent.

A minute left on the clock.

"No choice is a choice, recruit," Pike said from behind her.

She knew she had time. Time now was a luxury she could afford.

What was special assessment? Why don't they provide more information?

The lack of data was a clue.

The assessment has already begun.

With that realization, her decision was affirmed, and so was her timing. She did want to be special.

She watched the clock countdown. A rushed decision, on a timer, with no information. A normal recruit would seek safety in numbers and choose the left door. They were looking for outliers, the people that would rely on their own judgement and senses. But she was not going to let them dictate the pace of their engagement.

Twelve seconds.

What if the door is locked?

Just because the test had begun didn't mean it was a fair test.

Eight seconds. She turned to the right, grasped the handle, turned it without resistance, and opened the door. She stepped through before registering the room, knowing only that the path before her was her future.

She was surprised to find herself in a bland office. No windows, no adornment, just a desk separating two chairs with a terminal sitting on it, the screen dark. Sergeant Pike followed her in, closing the door then moving around to sit behind the desk.

"Take a seat."

He watched her. He was older, maybe forty, but with high Echo, he could be decades older. She didn't think that was the case. She sat, keeping her back straight and looking directly ahead, resisting the urge to look him in the eye.

Everything is a test.

"Why did you wait until the last few seconds to make your move? You decided well before then."

It was statement of fact and observation, not a guess.

"I had the time. I chose to use it."

Pike nodded, moved the terminal between them and typed rapidly. "Special assessment began the moment you entered the corridor, but you realized that."

He looked up, waiting for a comment. She chose to remain silent.

"In special assessment, we'll always be watching. We look for behavioral patterns, just like the system. We'll watch for stat increases and distribution, and we'll be watching for sustained performance under direct and indirect observation. If we see the potential we believe you have, then we'll propose assignments that will foster your growth of that potential."

It all clicked with Nara. It was a field observation exercise. Noting animal presence was only an environmental inventory. Paying attention to the individual behaviors, the group interactions, and the overall pack or herd dynamics is what produced insight. The patterns were the signal that would unlock insight.

"You just understood something." Again, it wasn't a question. "What was it?"

Her eyes found his. "I performed special assessments under a different name for over two years. I realized what you were describing was what I had done."

His eyebrow arched. He glanced at the terminal. "Alien survey work," he read, then nodded. "Similar, but not the same. Look for the differences, understand them, and it may serve you well."

He leaned back, looking at Nara, assessing her in a way different from his cold evaluation. "Do you really have what it takes to be special within MEC, recruit?"

Everything's a test.

"Yes, Sergeant." Her voice remained firm.

"Your training squad is on the confidence course, south of the mech bays. You have six minutes to reach them before the next evolution. Monitor Cutter is expecting you. Dismissed."

Nara stood, exited the way she came at a jog, and picked up her pace once she reached the outside. She cut to the perimeter road to avoid formations of recruits moving along the interior paths. She'd spotted the route before knowing she'd need it the night before. She reached the course with twenty-eight seconds to spare.

Twelve hours later, after a second shower for the day, she climbed into her new rack in a different squad bay. Three minutes later, the lights cut out.

A longer path again?

Her mother's admonishment echoed in her mind. She would not answer it, even to herself.

The squad would move to the orbital facility in the morning. Monitor Cutter had informed them the real training would begin there.

Sleep arrived.

---

Special, in her mother's vocabulary, was a thing daughters were when they could not be elegant. Nara had taken note.

In the special assessment squad, she wasn't elegant or special, at least not in a noticeable way. Each of them must be special in some manner that mattered to MEC or the system, but it wasn't obvious. The cold floor and the dim lighting were just a new environment to navigate as she rolled from her bunk, a lower one today, grabbed her kit and coverall and headed to the showers. She was trading ten minutes of sleep for the luxury of hot water working over her sore muscles. She wasn't the only one.

"Are you nervous?"

She'd registered the slow build up of resolve before the question was asked, so wasn't surprised. It was Recruit Camden who preferred being called Dick rather than Richard.

"Not really. It's just a shuttle ride. I've been on dozens." She finished slipping her shoulder into her coverall, then pulled the reinforced zipper up from the waist. Dick's eyes flickered over her.

"Not the ride up, what comes next."

"Questioning your decision?"

"No. Maybe. No." His rapid-fire response was reminiscent of his constant over-sampling the environment yesterday.

"Did you listen to the briefing after dinner?" It had been one of the few times they were allowed to sit for more than twenty minutes yesterday. Special assessments would get their version of basic, but at an accelerated pace. Then they would be rotated through fireteams with a seasoned sergeant to gain experience.

"I did, but wouldn't it make more sense to train us up on the station instead of rotate us into teams dropping on the moon?"

Varex was a mineral rich moon with three corporations 'negotiating' over it. MEC was one of the negotiation tools in play. MEC's experience was that real work was what moved recruits forward. Classroom time and static scenarios did not.

"MEC's been doing this for a couple of decades. Didn't you read the briefing materials before joining?"

She had pored over the available data prior to deciding, then reviewed it all again in transit.

"I did, but it feels different now. How can you stay so calm?"

They were walking back to the squad bay now. "Look, we've got weeks before any real assignment will happen. Do what the instructors tell you to. They may be demanding, but they want us to succeed. They want us to develop and grow so they can use us. Remember that."

His eyes kept scanning the dim room. Then the lights snapped on and a discordant chime sounded. People stirred, many quickly getting out of bed and starting for the showers.

"You've already got your head on a swivel, Dick. Keep doing that and follow orders, and it will work out."

She turned away, walked to her bunk quickly, stripped it and checked the area. Her only personal possession was the notice. She grabbed it, folded still, and tore it in half quickly. It went into the trash bin next to the laundry chute for her sheets.

Breakfast was delivered efficiently, then they were marched to the shuttle field outside. Marching in formation had been one brief lesson after the confidence course. They had then practiced it all day as they moved around the intake complex. They were not proficient, but had improved.

They were almost professional as they marched through the wide doors of the shuttle bay at the field. Nara registered eyes on them before she noticed the different color lines painted on the epoxy-coated floor, or the non-coms of the standard squads watching their charges. The institutional efficiency of this operation was different than the quasi-civilian feel they had experienced for two days.

Monitor Cutter had them toe the blue line, literally. "Listen up. When ordered, you will turn to the left, and move down the blue line to the shuttle hatch. I will count you in at the door. Your number is your seat. Don't forget it. Once at your seat, sit, strap in, and wait. No grab-ass, and no chatter."

He did not ask for questions. The normal recruit squads were on yellow and green lines, facing the special assessment line. She spotted the baby-faced giant with a group on the yellow line. His eyes swept over the special assessment group, meeting hers for the first time.

Regret?

Then Monitor Cutter commanded a left turn, and they were moving toward the shuttle. Boarding first implied they were the most junior group, by long tradition. The most important people boarded last and debarked first. Nara didn't mind. First on usually got a viewport, which was worth the wait on the destination end.

"Eleven, twelve, fourteen," Cutter counted. Nara was fourteen. She entered the shuttle, ducking her head despite the higher hatch height than the research team's shuttle had, and moved down the aisle, scanning number. Seat fourteen was on the left, or port, side of the shuttle, all the way in the three seat row as she had hoped. The small viewport was its own reward.

She sat, slipped the shoulder straps on but did not tighten them, fixed her waist belt, snugged it tight, then pulled down the tabs for her shoulders, pressing herself back against the thin padding of the seat.

More recruits filed in. Several struggled with the simple shoulder straps, showing they had only flown commercial shuttles before. Survey and military craft expected more rigorous maneuvers. They would learn. She saw Dick fiddling with his shoulder strap. He looked back at her gaze.

She reached up, tapping her shoulder tab, then motioned twisting it and pulling it straight down. Dick's eyes widened, looked at his own strap and saw what she was indicating. A moment later, he was seated and secure. Other recruits, she let figure it out on their own.

Monitor Cutter walked down the aisle, checking each of his charges. He looked her over and gave a curt nod of approval.

Everything is a test.

Eventually, every seat was filled and an almost quiet settled over the compartment. A sergeant stood at the front.

"This is a ferry trip, not a combat mission, so seating is maximized for transport. The straps and harnesses are the same, however, so make sure you understand them. We've got forty minutes from lift-off to arrival. You will not unfasten your harnesses during that time. For grounders, there are sick kits in the seat back in front of you. Use them. If you puke anywhere besides a sick kit, you'll be scrubbing this compartment until the flight crew is satisfied, and they all have sensitive noses."

The non-comm staff chuckled. The recruits kept quiet. Nara noted the differences.

The deep vibration of lift generators told her their journey was beginning. Dim sunlight flashed in the viewport as the shuttle taxied from the hangar and onto the field proper. The nose lifted without ceremony and natural gravity pushed her back into her seat. Almost immediately, the pressure increased as the shuttle lifted off. It wasn't a high-gee maneuver, just steadily increasing pressure until it felt approximately like a person was sitting on top of you, pressing you down.

Nara turned her head, watching the morning light fade to darkness, then pure black filled with stars. Despite being on the inner edge of the Fringe, there were no Flux Auroras visible. She had seen one only a few times, and had not yet stopped wanting to. The acceleration dropped, but not to zero. The pressure was comfortable, creating a sensation of lying flat on her back with her feet resting above her. The forward end of the compartment was up. She glanced down her row. Two coveralls down, the recruit in her row had her eyes closed and was breathing too fast. The recruits riding above her were beyond what she could check for.

Instead, she looked out the tiny viewport. The vagaries of orbital mechanics meant she spotted Varex distantly from her viewport. She'd read what she could about the contested moon. MEC's parent corporation, Meridian Holdings, had the strongest claim to mineral rights on the planet. Two other corporations had competing claims based on purchased leases from an exploration team and a 'Garch household, House Rhyssen, that had a tenuous claim on the whole system.

The moon was habitable, barely. Native ecosystem, atmosphere thin enough to require minimum life support, climate cold and dry and windy. More detailed survey data was restricted.

The blue-pink moon slipped from her view. She checked her overlay. They would be arriving soon. The orbital training complex would be similar to the survey hub she'd worked from on Vassal-7, but bigger. There, the survey company had been less than five hundred people. MEC had nearly that many recruits arriving today; the station hub had to support more than two thousand people. Details on the training hub were another set of restricted data.

She only got a glimpse of the spinning station. The dual-wheel configuration was standard across human space; counter-rotating rings prevented precession from gyroscopic action; the hub connected the two sets of spokes holding the rings. Her brief sighting indicated the rings looked thicker and wider than she expected. Her estimate of the number of MEC personnel was revised upward. It wasn't a small station.

The shuttle pivoted during its approach, backing into the docking bay, which was another difference in her experience. It did give her a view of the spinning wheels, dotted with wide viewports and antenna like extrusions. Seams and color differences in the hull metal told a story of decades. Then her viewport was obscured as the shuttle snugged back into its docking bay. The solid clunk announced their arrival.

"Wait to unbuckle," the sergeant in charge called out. "Monitors, supervise disembarkation from the rear."

Nara sensed movement behind her. She knew she was six rows from the back of the craft. It was no longer down. Depending on the recruit's comfort with zero-g, it might take some time to get them off the shuttle.

Fortunately, it wasn't that long. Monitor Cutter appeared, floating at her row with his hands above him to hold position with the rails set along the ceiling. "By row, Unbuckle," he said. Nara did, then waited for the other recruits.

"In turn, exit and pull yourself to the rear port. Find the color you were on dirt-side. Follow it to the descent lifts."

Nara nodded. Standard exit and descent to partial-g. She just had to find the blue lift down. She was the last of the row to start down the aisle. Dick was two recruits ahead of her. Cutter was already instructing the next row.

Dick, Nara, and another special assessment recruit named Kincaid were the only passengers in the blue elevator. Nara chose not to wait for more of their squad. Kincaid's face was flushed and he had a sick kit clutched in one hand.

The descent was slow, gradually increasing their sense of weight while giving their inner ears time to adjust to the Coriolis effect. Kincaid's color improved. Even the half-G of the rim was better than free fall, apparently. The bottom of the lift opened into a utilitarian open space, larger than she expected on the station. It spanned the rim with the lift shaft centered on one end of the room. Viewports lined opposite sides. One showing the star-speckled blackness of space with the second wheel whirling past as it rotated in the opposite direction, the other filled with a view of Varex, filling two-thirds of the visible sky.

"Recruits!" The voice was sharp, demanding attention. "Squad bay alpha moon-side of the lift shaft. Racks are assigned. Find yours, confirm full kit inventory. Move!" The monitor was not Cutter, but the voice was the same kind. She had an expectation of her commands being followed. Nara wasn't going to argue.

The squad bay was different, but familiar. Instead of open rows of bunks stacked three high, the bay was divided into pods, two-high bunks with a small passage separating them. Large lockers were at the ends of the bunks. Wall panels separated the bunks of the pods, affording a sense of privacy.

Gear, as well as a rolled up mattress pad, was stacked on each rack. Nara smiled at her top-rack. She saw her name on one of lockers, opened it, and grabbed the equipment checklist. A simple diagram illustrated the stowage MEC expected. Nara began sorting and placing each piece of clothing and equipment in its designated spot.

"Locker inspection!" The order was barked out by Monitor Cutter twenty minutes after he arrived with the rest of the special assessment squad. Nara moved to stand next to her locker. She had followed the diagram meticulously.

When it was her turn, Cutter looked at the neat shelves, the folded clothes, and the carefully hung web-gear. His gaze traveled up from the boots at the bottom or the locker to the spare sheets on the top shelf.

Without a word, he reached out and pulled three shelves of clothes out, letting them tumble to the floor. "Incorrect order of storage. Try harder, recruit." Then he was on to the next locker. By the time he finished, Nara's pile on the floor was the smallest.

"Attention to detail, recruits. You build this skill here, where it is safe, and you apply it down on Varex where it isn't. Do not let your attention waiver, it could cost your fireteam dearly if you miss something important. Recover and try again. Ten minutes!"

The second non-com, Monitor Kessan, walked up and down the bay, offering corrections before Cutter blew a whistle. One shelf was dumped this time, a sleeve of a t-shirt sticking out to one side. Nara kept her expression neutral.

Again the squad worked their lockers. Nara fixed her mistakes.

Everything's a test.

"Dick, your web gear is hanging on the wrong hook, which means you don't have enough room for the field pack. Kincaid, don't you know how to fold coveralls?" She moved to show him. The squad was only going to pass together.

The fourth round was the final one. "Squad!" Kessan called after Cutter gave her a small nod. "Fallout. Gather around."

And so it went. Each evolution was practiced. The mundane was used to teach focus and attention to detail. Close-order drill was used to build unit cohesion. Drills seemed random, but slowly, over days and weeks, a pattern emerged. Behavior was ingrained in them. Fitness improved. A sense of pride began to emerge. They were a unit, by their own measure. Rotations beginning soon would test that measure.

Nara stood the fire-watch in the large training area outside the squad bay. There was virtually no risk of fire, but having one member up was SOP to make them aware of threats before they emerged. Tradition called it a fire-watch. Varex was spinning slowly outside the moon-side window. The mottled clouds occasionally gave over to show a patch of brown or blue, lava-like regolith or blue reflected light off one of the six oceans.

Her mother would view it as a horrible place; no place for a lady.

I can't wait to go there.

---