The Academy commandant stared at the two files on his desk, wondering what to do about the very different problems they represented. Two cadets, equally brilliant, but with personalities that could threaten their careers.
The older cadet, while no slouch in the classroom, showed his true genius in the cockpit. At seventeen, three years into his training, he could fly anything in the Academy's inventory-and had, to include taking an antique F-15 out for a joyride. As the commandant understood it, an instructor had condescendingly told the cadet that his skills weren't adequate to handle the 20th century fighter, and probably never would be. The cadet had given the F-15 an appraising look, then left class without another word. The next morning, he had dropped a stack of papers on the instructor's desk as he left class, saying only, "The instruments need calibrating." The baffled instructor had picked up the papers; to his shock, they were a complete report on the cadet's checkride in the F-15. An inspection confirmed that the plane had been recently flown, and, as the cadet had said, the instruments were in need of calibration. Half the instructors were in awe of him; the other half wanted him dismissed from the Academy.
"If only his people skills were as good as his flying," the commandant sighed, then mentally revised the statement. The boy was outgoing and gregarious; by all reports, his roguish good looks and charm netted him his choice of dates, male and female both. The only fault in his people skills-if it could be called one-was that he did not give respect easily. The people he respected had earned it, and he made no secret of when he was respecting a position rather than its holder. Not the worst quality to have, but a sure way to make enemies in the cutthroat world of Garrison politics.
By contrast, the other cadet was almost TOO respectful, all but groveling to his teachers and anyone he perceived as older. When he had first come to the Academy, just two years earlier, that near-subservient nature, coupled with almost feminine looks, had made him a target for bullies. The bullies had quickly learned that the feminine appearance and unassuming nature hid a master martial artist. Leaving five of them in a bruised, groaning pile had assured the cadet of peace in the future, as had gaining the friendship of an older, darkly intimidating cadet.
The commandant sighed. The boy at fifteen was an excellent pilot, and had a genius for strategy and tactics that had frontline commanders clamoring for his services. But, despite-or perhaps because of-being two years ahead of the other cadets his age, he still had only the one friend, and tended to keep to himself. That tendency had been made worse with the news of his family's death in a car crash, and the commandant feared for the boy's sanity.
Two cadets with completely different problems . . . how to help them become the well-adjusted officers he knew they could be? Opposite problems. . ."It's just insane enough to work," he said aloud, and paged his secretary. "Have Cadets Kogane and McClain report to me on the double." As he sat back to wait, his hand fell on the note from Marshal Graham, requesting candidates for his Arus project.