4. Martial Training

After twenty-cycles of martial training, Lance wanted to leap out of an air hatch-at least he wouldn't have to tolerate Haxus's caustic abuse. When he'd been assigned to Central Command, Lance had never anticipated his greatest thorn would be martial training. He hadn't expected to enjoy it like a day at the spa, but it broke him down and left him exhausted in the barracks every night. Lieutenant Haxus drilled them to scale obstacles, run exhausting distances, and on mental endure. Haxus delivered the grueling training Lance yearned for.

Yet, Lance never foresaw a crucial detail-Haxus would be petty.

During the first day, Haxus praised the efforts of certain cadets, and after several days, even Lance couldn't help but identify a pattern. To Lance's chagrin, Haxus glazed over Hunk, whose strength and size glossed over any physical flaws. Haxus's ire settled like a thundercloud over Lance's head, and after every drill, Haxus rained down snide, verbal abuse upon him.

Today was no exception.

"I see we're unable to surpass a seven tick distance again, cadet," Haxus said, leaning over the runners' track. Lance propelled himself through the finish line, staggered forward several paces, and promptly vomited upon the track. Haxus's mocking laugh drifted through his haze-a cause of weakness and exertion.

Curse Hunk-Lance did miss three meals a day.

Several Galra cades sprinted by Lance, who sagged against the fence to catch his breath. Lance wiped the spittle off his mouth, and it stuck like glue in his dusky, purple fur. It wouldn't matter how many cadets' ran slower than him-even Lance learned in the first several sleep cycles that his abilities were worthless. The rankings of the Galra Central command weren't fair, and he had to suffer through Haxus's hazing.

Lance's two choices were desert or suffer-so he had one choice.

The Central Command cadets cheered for their tribemates, but Lance staggered away from the finish, dejected. It would never matter that he always finished in the top fifth of cadets during their speed trials-he'd seen that Haxus changed his times several sleep cycles ago when he'd had his best time. Lance finished third, and the top Central command cadet was fifth-so Haxus demoted Lance to sixth via a flimsy technicality.

After that, all hope in the fairness of the universe evaporated from Lance's soul.

You can survive five life cycles in this assignment, Lance mentally coached himself-even as he gagged and dry-heaved between the bars of a fence.

"What a loser…"

"Wonder how many ticks he'll lose for tossing his stomach..."

Too many-that's how many-Lance thought as he tried to swallow his bile. He failed and vomited on Hunks's feet.

Hunk shook off his flexible, charcoal boots and scattered intestinal sludge across the space deck. "Come on, Lance-not here."

Lance flushed, and his fur tingled. He'd at least expected to rely on Hunk-a cousin and genuine friend-but competition would severe them as well. Lance decided that's what martial training was really designed to do-destroy friendships.

"Sorry," Lance stammered and wiped the vomit off his foot-molded Galran boot.

Dripping with sweat, Hunk ignored Lance and bolted for the shower. Lance's stomach jerked-in two sleep cycles, they'd deploy for Central Command. Tomorrow, they'd take their skills tests for their assignments at Central. Not like that mattered now-Lance had lost his closest family and friend several sleep cycles ago.

"Cadet, what's wrong?" Haxus sidled up to Lance. Haxus's teasing was barely veiled.

Lance cast Haxus a cool, sideways glance-even as Lance moped at his own sweat-drenched fur face.

"Finished my run-sir!"

Lance bellowed the 'sir'-Haxus had punished him for forgetting the 'sir' on sleep cycle four.

Haxus gave Lance a cool, sideways look of appraisal. Lance froze like prey that had been spotted by a massive beast. If he didn't move, if he didn't appear threatening, maybe this predator wouldn't see him.

"You're going to love Central Command," Haxus drawled, stepping behind Lance. Every hair in Lance's body itched to turn and face his aggressor. Even as his hackle's rose, Lance stayed rooted.

"Why is that...sir?"

Haxus chuckled lightly. "You'll get a chance to see how real soldiers serve the empire. There's always a cadet here or there that gets assigned to central that doesn't belong…"

Unable to control himself, Lance spun around-and Haxus kneed him in the gut, dropping Lance to his knees. Haxus stepped around Lance with ease and a lazy, "Dismissed."

Lance's hand dropped to the floor, and even long after Haxus's footsteps retreated, he stayed hunched and trembling-barely containing his rage. He was impotent to act against Haxus-his superior officer-or as Haxus himself might've said, his superior in every way.

That's not true, Lance told himself, shaking his head and breaking his self-imposed stasis. That bastard had no heart-admittedly not something highly prized in the Galra army.

You'll find a way to survive at Central-for five sun cycles at least, you'll have to, Lance thought as he wiped the spittle from his mouth with the back of his hand.

When he entered the showers, Hunk was already dressing to leave. His little talk with Haxus meant that Lance was the last to shower, and they were the only ones there. This time, it was Lance's turn to ignore his former friend.

Hunk cleared his throat loudly. "You...ugh...ran fast today."

"I usually do," Lance said, stripping off his training suit before stepping into the shower.

"Look, cat, I'm sorry I haven't hung around with you as much," Hunk said, his voice drifting in from the main room. Lance gritted his teeth, refusing to reply. He didn't need Hunk's pity. Ever likable, Hunk was popular among the recruits. It probably helped that he didn't have their commander hazing him during every training session.

"Lance?" Hunk's voice was softer, and he stepped back into the shower room.

"You know I'm in here," Lance snapped.

"I just wanted to...to say I'm sorry."

Lance rolled his yellow eyes. "You're sorry-for what-treating me like the pariah I am? Yeah, I noticed. No one wants to hang around with Haxus's chew toy."

Hunk's shoulders drooped. "Look, cat-"

Lance pushed past him. Lance said, "We'll be at central soon-where you'll have plenty of space to avoid me."

"That's not-"

Lance pulled on a clean smock for bed and left the room. He didn't want Hunk's pity. It was going to be difficult enough for him to survive in central. No one, not even his old friend, could be counted upon anymore. Martial training had taught him that much. He was in the Galra army now-friends were a luxury he couldn't afford.

The final day of martial training, all cadets took a series of tests to determine their assignments and placements-piloting proficiency, a technical test with several parts, martial skills, and a psychological evaluation. In the morning, Lance took piloting and technical skills. Lance's only hope of possibly escaping drudgery on Central Command was to do well on those, but he doubted he finished top in either category. While he knew his way around a cockpit, his reflexes in the fighter simulation hadn't been good-he didn't have the killer instinct and worked to evade rather than attack.

"Cadet Toki," the name boomed over the speaker. Lance glanced up from where he slumped on the wall. They'd split the group during the marital tests, and Lance would go last in his group. At least he didn't have to test with Hunk-that would be unbearable.

He's probably acing these tests, Lance thought, and his shoulders sagged. He wasn't concerned about his run time, which he'd already done, but now, he would have to spar. His specialty was dodging, but he was terrible at landing a blow or pinning an enemy.

"Cadet Lorran."

Lance's stomach rolled, and he shuffled forward. The door slid open, and Lance walked down a short hallway. At the end, a metal ring awaited him, and his guts twisted when he saw Lieutenant Tyra with two heavy swords-one in each hand. She flipped the one blade around and presented it to Lance handle first. While Tyra hadn't antagonized him like Haxus, she hadn't been pleased with his inability to decisively finish his opponent.

Today, the hard look in her gaze meant she'd likely take that displeasure out on him personally.

Lance walked over to his red starting mark, striking a starting position against Tyra. "Commence match."

Tyra smirked and began to pace, trying to ease her way closer to Lance, who backed away but avoided putting himself directly against the wall.

"Come at me, pup," Tyra said, grinning. Lance swallowed, but he didn't take the bait. His only chance was to trick Tyra into attacking him at the wrong time and from too far away. He toyed with distance, sometimes moving faster or slower, and he threw in some trick cross steps, but Tyra kept pace.

Lance feigned an attack, and with a grunt, Tyra charged. Lance dodged the initial blow, but she caught him under the knees. Dropping his sword, Lance used both hands to vault over her. He sprawled on his knees and staggered up. Tyra lunged at him, but he wriggled out of her grasp and kicked her in the face.

Trya hissed, and Lance dove for his sword. Tyra knocked the air out of his lungs when she collided with him. She pinned him beneath her, even as Lance struggled for the sword that was beyond his fingertips.

"Do you yield?" Tyra asked mockingly.

Glancing longingly at his sword, Lance muttered, "I yield."

"I knew you would," Tyra said, but she got off Lance, allowing him to breathe. Lance left the arena, knowing he had his poorest score of the day.

Being a terrible warrior should keep you from active combat, Lance told himself, but a part of him wished he could've shown them wrong and defeated Tyra.

After washing up, Lance went to an assigned room for his personality test. Unlike the martial test, no one administered the initial test to him, which was a relief. The first part of the test had him picking from hypothetical circumstances, and in the second part, he wrote essays on several moral issues. Of course, he lied on most of it and answered like any good Galra cadet. He knew the lines-the empire brought peace to the galaxy, Zarkon's long reign provided untold stability-blah blah blah.

When asked what he would personally do in battle, Lance kept it vague and refused to state where and how he'd prefer to fight. He didn't want to be on the front lines, but he didn't want to come across as a coward. 'It depends on the situation I find myself in and the people who are attempting to harm myself and my fellow soldiers' was his thesis, and he elaborated on it with more equivocating language.

When he finished his personality test, Lance waited in the room for his final assignment. When the door slid open, Lance's stomach dropped. The one good thing about today was that he hadn't seen Haxus at all-but now, he stood in the doorway, sneering at Lance.

"Cadet Lorran, let us see how you fared," Haxus said, pacing around Lance. To keep his palms from sweating, Lance placed them on his lap.

"Predictably, your martial scores were abysmal," Haxus said dryly, "and your personality is...lacking...for even an average Galra soldier."

Lance pictured himself tackling Haxus, and he swallowed a lump of hatred in his throat. If Haxus were the one he'd fought today…

You would've been just-no, more-embarrassed than if you'd lost to Lieutenant Tyra, Lance told himself. Haxus would've taken personal pleasure in humiliating him.

"It seems like you have at least some redeeming talent with your software and electrical skills," Haxus said, turning to face Lance. A cruel grin crossed Haxus's face. "But it also seems like you've had plenty of experience piloting slow, cargo aircraft."

Lance's stomach dropped. For a moment, he held out hope that he'd done something well enough to get a somewhat interesting assignment, but the devious gleam in Haxus's gaze told Lance no such thing had happened.

"To make up for your personal failings, I think a double shift could prove useful for you, Cadet," Haxus said, fixing Lance with a challenging stare-daring him to protest.

"Yes, sir," Lance squeaked. He hardly trusted himself to speak at all.

Haxus grinned. "I thought you'd see it my way. You'll do your normal shift piloting cargo and maintenance ships, and you'll do a second shift every several sleep cycles in the comm room. The solar night is an awfully dull time, but a cadet with your skills should be able to manage it."

Numb all over, Lance nodded like an automaton. At least his training had taught him one thing-how to lie and obey when all he felt was pent-up anger.

Haxus waved a hand. "Dismissed."

Lance stood and walked out of the room, feeling like he was in someone else's body. If he thought about the monumental unfairness of his assignment, he might snap and try and murder Haxus. That would land him in prison, and he didn't want to go there-he'd barely survived martial training.