Christopher Nuttall - Barbarians at the Gates

“Remove all your clothing,” the head proctor droned dully. “Understand; your person is your sole responsibility. The merest hint of anything suspicious will result in a full and comprehensive search. The discovery of any cheating equipment will result in immediate suspension.”

Roman shrugged and started to disrobe, removing his cadet greys, followed by his regulation-issue underwear. Privacy was never a big concern in a RockRat habitat; besides, any reluctance he’d had about stripping in front of his classmates had been lost in the first two years at the Academy. No one paid undue attention to their fellows, no matter how attractive, as it was completely unprofessional.

Before he forgot, Roman added his terminal to the pile of clothing, which would be sealed away for later collection by the Academy staff. Of course, he still had his communications implant, but that would be useless inside the Examination Hall. It left him feeling oddly naked; on a RockRat habitat, a terminal meant safety, as it alerted the asteroid’s emergency crews if something went badly wrong.

“When you are ready, pass through the security gates,” the proctor continued. “Make certain that you have divested yourself of everything. You must not take anything into the Examination Hall.”

Roman stood up, placed his small pile of clothing in the nearest locker and started to walk towards the gates. He made a final check of his implant, which had downloaded every file he thought might be relevant, before stepping through the gates. The memory implants could store everything a cadet might need to know, although they’d been warned more than once that having information in an implant wasn’t the same as memorizing it, and it wouldn’t necessarily help to have a chunk of information if one didn’t actually comprehend what it meant. Besides, he had a private suspicion that he’d be tested on what information they chose to bring into the Examination Hall as well as their answers to the test questions.

The gate clicked as he stepped through, revealing nothing but a long, barren corridor. A cool breeze struck him in the face as he reached the proctor at the end of the passage.

“Here,” the proctor said in a bored voice, handing him a small bundle of clothing, which would suffice for the Examination Hall. “After you’ve put this on, go to Room 101.”

“Yes, sir,” Roman said. “Thank you.”

He donned the proffered clothing quickly, wincing at the fit—the pants were too tight and the top was nearly falling off. This must be another test in and of itself, as clothing this obnoxious surely must be yet another obstacle to overcome. Living in space could be uncomfortable at best, downright unpleasant at worst. He knew better than to think he’d get a large set of quarters all to himself for several years.

“Remember,” the proctor said. “If you leave the examination room for any reason, you will not be permitted to return.”

Roman nodded, wordlessly.

The briefing notes echoed through his head as he walked towards Room 101. The private—and very small—rooms were supposed to keep cadets from cheating, at least as a group. He’d been told that the small room he’d be assigned to would provide him with absolute silence and enough food and water to refresh himself, if necessary. But he still wasn’t sure if the exams were strictly necessary. He really didn’t know what to expect.

He braced himself as he reached Room 101 and pressed his palm against the scanner. The door clicked open and he stepped inside, taking in the familiar computer terminal—separate from the Academy datanet—and the small food processor in one corner. The room even had a working fresher. He took a deep breath, walked over to the terminal and sat down. The timer on the display counted down the seconds to when the exam would begin. It seemed deliberately designed to torment the eager young cadets.

Roman felt his heart begin to race and concentrated on calming himself, swallowing deeply. Some parts of the exam would be relatively simple—military law hadn’t changed since the Inheritance Wars, although the interpretation was often arguable—and other parts would be complex, challenging him to think fast while under pressure, if these were anything like the exams he’d taken in previous years. He checked the timer again and stood up, fetching a glass of water from the food processor and placing it next to the terminal. The timer was nearly at zero.

“Attention,” a dispassionate voice boomed. “The exam is about to begin. Take your places and prepare for the first section. Cadets who believe they require assistance are reminded that summoning assistance unnecessarily will count against them.”

The terminal flashed once and the exam opened. He checked the first section and confirmed his name, ID code and class, and then opened up the exam proper. It was divided into sections, some with no specified time limit, others with a very limited period before the terminal locked down. There were no second chances with some of the sections, while he could go back to review others until the end of the exam.

Taking a deep breath, he opened the first section and plunged right in.

“I haven’t seen you for a long time,” Professor Kratman said. “I understand that you’re quite the hero of the hour.”

Marius nodded, holding up one hand in salute. Technically, he outranked an Academy Professor, but Kratman had been his commanding officer during the Blue Star War and it was impossible to break the old habit. Besides, he was a guest at Luna Academy; his decision to drop in had been made on the spur of the moment.

“It seems that the Senate doesn’t understand that,” Marius said. He’d tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice, but he couldn’t do it. The Senate had him jumping through all sorts of obnoxious hoops, just because they could, and he’d had to hold his temper again and again and again. Even at nearly ninety years of age, his patience only held so much. “What do you think I did wrong?”

The Professor eyed him in surprise. “Why, nothing, admiral.” He laughed wryly. “You need to step outside the Federation Navy every once in a while. This sort of behavior isn’t at all surprising from the Senate. You haven’t been paying attention to the local media, have you?”

“No,” Marius said. In his experience, reporters were idiots, spies, or merely out to make a fast credit without caring about the consequences. He had never forgiven one particular news outlet along the Rim for reporting details about captured pirates that had made it impossible to bring them to trial. “Why should I care what they have to say?”

Kratman fixed him with an unrelenting stare. “You should know that war is birthed in politics,” he said sharply. “Especially this war. Why don’t you access the daily brief and check?”

Marius hesitated, and then complied, accessing his implant and using it to pull the latest round-up of news from Earth. There was, as always, a deluge of largely useless information, mainly revolving around what the most famous people in High Society were doing—or who they were screwing. He pushed that aside and concentrated on military news, searching for his name. There were over seven thousand hits in the previous twenty-four hours alone. It seemed as if the entire planet was talking about him.

The stories were nearly universally praiseworthy; they discussed his quick thinking, and his actions during the Battle of Earth. There were interviews with survivors of the battle, all of whom credited him with saving Earth, and live footage from the battle itself. The entire planet had seen a fortress explode in orbit and had known, for the first time in centuries, real physical danger. And he was the man who’d saved them.