Still, Vestabo finally lifted his hands in surrender and returned to the instructions with Titus. He read them again, and pointed in the recommended direction. Titus insistently pointed the other way, and when Vestabo wavered, Titus started jogging toward the spot where he knew the break in the barrier would be.
Vestabo had to run after him. They were supposed to stay together, according to the underlined order on each set of instructions, otherwise the course would automatically end. It turned into to a race, and Titus couldn’t bear to look back at Vestabo’s concerned expression, obviously worried about his sanity.
Yet when he found the opening and showed him how they could slip through, Vestabo grinned and pounded Titus on the shoulder in congratulations. The kid was so nice about it that he couldn’t even get irritated, much as it galled him to have a first‑year cadet condescend to him.
By the fourth obstacle–the anti‑grav jump, complete with trick pad that let Vestabo sail over while Titus bobbed up and down like a puppet on a string–Titus was ready to call it quits. He’d had enough of these jokes. He hadn’t signed up for this.
Besides, every set of instructions taunted him with the fact that he could simply say “End program” and the torture would be over. He sneered at the wording: “The course will be deemed satisfactorily completed upon the command to End program.” The first time around with Eto Mahs, he had hardly paid attention to that disclaimer, believing there had to be some sort of black mark that would result from quitting such an easy obstacle course.
Now, the only thing that kept him bobbing up and down, trying vainly to get over the obstacle, was the image of Eto Mahs with his mouth set in a tight line, his dark eyes burning down at Titus as he leaped up and down, trying to get over. And his grim expression of satisfaction when he finally did make it to the other side.
A low whistle made Titus look up. Vestabo winked and held up an apple he had plucked from the tree. He was sitting on the wall overlooking the gate, in exactly the same spot Titus had taken after he had completed the task of turning the handle. Now it was Titus sweating and grunting over his unmovable handle.
Vestabo gestured with the apple, then tossed it to him. Titus caught it without thinking, then realized it was just what he needed. He sat on the ground, leaning against the gate, and sank his teeth into the plump, green apple. Sweet, tart juiciness spread across his tongue. He hadn’t eaten an apple yesterday.
Titus nodded up at Vestabo in thanks. The kid shrugged it off with nothing but sympathy in his expression. Maybe he knew there was some sort of trick going on. Titus hoped so. He hated to think of Vestabo’s disillusionment when he had to go through the course a second time. Titus had figured out that all the volunteers were made to go through twice. Little things he hadn’t noticed now stood out. The way Eto Mahs knew exactly where to go to get to each obstacle, and his anguished expression when they had first entered the course. Titus knew exactly how he felt, except he didn’t have someone subtly tormenting him with derision every step of the way.
With that thought, he got back up to tackle the gate. He didn’t care if it killed him, he couldn’t give up when Eto Mahs didn’t.
It was full dark and they were trudging up the steep slope, when the computer voice announced, “Your time is up. Thank you for participating in Communications Course #105.”
The mountainside glimmered, flattening into the holoprojection before disappearing. Titus blinked wearily up at the orange‑gridded walls. All he could think was–it’s over!
As the door slid open and two lab techs with padds entered, Titus quickly stuck out his hand for Vestabo to shake. He even clasped his other hand over the kid’s, looking at him intently, wishing he could warn him. He hoped Vestabo wouldn’t get stuck with someone like him on the tough round.
This time, Titus was shown directly into a room where a white‑coated scientist was waiting. She smiled perfunctorily, getting up with a device in hand and coming around the desk. She pressed the device to his throat. She was a little taller than he was, very slender with short reddish‑blond hair. She was also nearly two decades older than him, but he felt an immediate sense of attraction.
“I’m Professor Joen B’ton,” she told him. “There, you can speak now, Cadet Hammon Titus.”
“That was a psych project, wasn’t it?” he asked, rubbing his throat.
“No, a communications project,” she told him, returning to her seat. “But psychology is an integral part of communications, since it concerns a common system of symbols.”
“I failed, didn’t I?” Titus asked.
Her blue eyes widened slightly. “There is no failure in this project, we simply gather data. The fact that you completed the course two days in a row is excellent. I wanted to thank you–”
“Thankme?” he interrupted, wondering if maybe she had missed Eto Mahs on his way out.
“Yes, you’ve provided us with some valuable data, Cadet Titus.” Professor B’ton held out her hand. “Thank you for volunteering your time.”
What could he do? Titus shut his mouth, shook her hand, and got out of there.
But the sour taste in his mouth stayed with him as he packed and left the Academy. Even during the transport to Paris, where he checked into his assigned quarters at the Federation Assembly dormitories, there was a nagging sense of something left incomplete. He unsuccessfully tried to distract himself with the new sights and sounds of European Earth.
Idly checking over his rooms, he actually wished he had a roommate, someone to help fill up the silence. He decided he didn’t like absolute quiet anymore, not after forty‑eight hours of it. He said, “Computer!” intending to request music.
Instead, he asked, “Do you have an Academy field assignment for Cadet Eto Mahs?”
“Ensign Eto Mahs has graduated and is currently on leave in Rumoi, Hokkaido.”
“What will his assignment be when he returns?”
“That information is not available,” the computer said sweetly.
“Thanks a lot,” Titus muttered.
“Incoming message,” the computer responded.
Titus practically leapt for the desk. “On screen!”
The image of Professor Joen B’ton appeared on the screen, her cheeks rounded in a smile. “Cadet Titus, it’s good to see you again.”
“Uh, you, too, Professor.” Titus felt himself go cold inside, despite her pleasant expression. The waiting was over. He had somehow known there was an ax hanging over his head all this time, ready to fall.
“We’ve had three complete runs, projects 104, 105, and 106,” she told him. “That’s your two, and Cadet Vestabo completed his final round. Since you are the linking factor for this remarkable series, I wanted to inform you that I have placed a letter of recommendation in your record.”
“You did?” he asked, shaking his head. “What about Eto Mahs?”
“Cadet Mahs and Cadet Vestabo will also be acknowledged. But Eto Mahs did not complete his first round because his partner ended the program.”
“Oh.”
“It’s rare we have two completed courses in a row. There’s only been a couple of times that we’ve had three consecutive rounds, which gives us a consistent baseline for the data.” Professor B’ton beamed at him, as if she had personally cheered for him the entire way.
“Professor B’ton,” Titus told her, unable to smile in return. “I don’t deserve your praise. Give letters of recommendation to cadets Eto Mahs and Vestabo, not to me.”