Noah sat through his first classes that day in silence. No one called on him to answer questions of astrophysics, or about the nature of planets in their orbits or the nature of Keppler's laws as they applied to space travel as he knew it. No, instead he was quiet, paying attention to class, taking notes on the digital desk (commonly just called a desk), waiting for the bell to ring out once more, indicating that it was time for lunch, and time to move on from astrophysics towards something more that he could control; rather than the intangible laws of physics. He would eat lightly, this he knew, because he would have the live-fire drills with House Vega and House Regulus later today, and it would be better to work in three dimensions on an empty stomach, rather than a full one. It wouldn't be the first time someone blew chunks while working on a live fire drill, but Noah refused to be the next one to do so. He doesn't think much about lunch, focusing instead on the lecture about radio astronomy and its part that it plays inside astrophysics and the development of astrophysical understanding since the discovery of the Hyper Gate on Earth's moon, and the advent of Aldnoah-based technologies in the years since the cooperation between United Earth and the Vers Empire of Mars. There was no need for him to think too hard about the subject matter, it felt like it came naturally enough that just through studying his textbook, and through attending classes, he would do well enough on his upcoming exams, especially for this class.

The bell chimes throughout the classroom, and it feels almost like being snapped out of a daze. Quickly, Noah takes a look at the corner of his desk, where the time is projected, showing that, in-fact, it is time for the bell to ring. Not early, not late. Right on time. He logs off of the desk, and the desk automatically ports all the information and notes that he had taken to the central server-bank where he would be able to access his notes from his notebook, and from his desk in his room back in the House Vega dorms.

Noah is a gentle-looking young man, with short brown hair, hazel eyes, and a look about him that has made his classmates and housemates wonder what it is exactly that he thinks about. Sometimes, depending on the lighting, he can almost look forlorn, or sad. But in those same moments, he doesn't feel such things. Just quiet, internal contemplation of the world around him, and how he can fit it into his narrative, into the story that he's always writing. The story that he keeps in a little paper notebook that was in his uniform jacket's breast pocket. The one that has several sister volumes of notebooks in his dorm room, and back home on Earth, with his Father and the rest of the family that his father had found when he had been recently widowed. A story that he had always been writing, with characters that he didn't need to think about in order to write, because they came naturally with years upon years of the story telling that he has practiced and comes almost as a second nature to him. The story has been written and rewritten, edited, changed, and rewritten again and again over time. There was something to be said for the fact that he was able to tell the story verbally as if it were lived through, rather than imagined.

It's what he thought about, at all times; even in the moments when he should be focusing on his classes, or his studies, or something along those lines when he needed to be focusing. But he was able to move on past the thoughts, move beyond the storytelling and the characters, and move onto the story of battle; of a fight between himself and whatever his opponent was. But until those moments, he had to focus on keeping both the story in his mind, and the attention that he needed for his classes in his mind at the same time. He knew he'd have one of those moments later today, after lunch.

He followed his classmates out of the classroom, giving small nods to those who acknowledged him, and then the instructor themselves as he passed in front of the lectern that the instructor had been teaching from just a few moments ago. The precession of students, all leading out of the building that dotted the carved-out interior of the space-rock that was the Academy. A hollowed out rock, brought in from the Asteroid belt, its orbit stabilized, and its insides carved out, and outsides set spinning in a singular direction to give a torus of gravity for comfort and to give those students and instructors a band of comfort where they could live. It was a dozen kilometers long, and just as wide, giving a band of about a kilometer along the perimeter where the student housing, classrooms, and instructor housing all was. The gravity would taper off, but much of the remainder of the surface was dotted with Kataphrakt hangars, and other facilities for communication, power in-take and ship hangars that were needed for the operation of such a station in between the orbits between Earth and Mars. He looked up as he walked, where the sky should be, there was a gently sloping upwards ceiling, indicating that he was inside an artificially constructed facility; not on the surface of a planet as he was so used to. Seventeen years of living on the surface of a planet where the curves of the celestial sphere above him indicated a nothingness that was beyond his reach, millions of meters above his head. There was no ceiling outside of buildings, just the sky above. Although, he supposed that to the Martian students, this might be more familiar than it wasn't to him — most Martian settlements lived deep within caves of Martian rock, carved out and downwards, using the remnants of geothermal energy that the dormant liquid core still created through the process of gravity crushing down the planet onto itself. Giving warmth and power from the geological forces that still occurred on an otherwise deadened planet. He knew of a few that were surface-bound, but those places were considered rural breadbaskets, rather than desirable cities on the surface. He didn't quite understand all the nuance of how the Vers and its citizens lived. He had taken basic classes that talked about the basics of their culture, of their way of life, and had found it completely foreign to him, even from a young age. He didn't understand why they didn't use more of the prevailing winds on the surface to power its settlements, although he knew that in the recent decades, the use of Aldnoah-based technologies was giving rise to a greater political power among the citizenry, away from the noble and ruling classes. He didn't know how that played into something like his classmates being here. Or how they were chosen to be here. He figured that it would be much the same as it was on Earth; that students took mandatory tests in specific fields to show aptitude for or against a particular subject, and then given an invitation to the Academy, in order to continue their studies as a citizen of Earth; but also as whatever they had tested into. Noah had tested into piloting, and that was as simple as it got.

He followed the precession of students towards a courtyard, where several other students were laying on the grassy yards imported from Earth, enjoying their lunch break in the artificial sunlight. He knew that more than half were Martian students; enjoying the freedom to actually enjoy the grass for what it was, rather than its purpose in an enclosed system such as this Academy. He wished that he could enjoy the artificial sun that even his fellow Terran students did; something felt wrong about it, it itched at his skin if he sat out in the artificial light too long. So he tried to avoid being out in it as much as he could.

It wasn't a far walk to the dormitory that served both as a cafeteria for the Vega students, and as their housing; he spent his walk in his typical quiet contemplation of the school, of the things around him. Of his classmates, of the nature of the things around him. He made his way to the cafeteria, following the line of students in, and waiting in line to get the food the same as the rest of everyone else. It doesn't take long to get to the front of the line, pick out what meager things he is going to eat before he needs to head to the hangar to start his pre-launch procedures. He eats in silence, alone. Not intentionally, it's how things happen. Occasionally those who know him pass by his table and he raises his hand in greeting to them after they greet him first. He isn't hated, or shunned. He's quiet, and this is how he lives his life. There is no complaints from him, no wishes for things to be different. This is how things are, and he doesn't mind it at all.

He finishes his food, takes care of his dishes and silverware, before leaving the cafeteria, and taking the path out of the dormitory building, and towards one of the trams that ran along the interior and exterior of the Academy, running from the various stations in the interior of the academy, from the various centers of school buildings, to the various hangars for the students, and even the plaza in the middle of the dormitories; the place that he was headed, the station that would lead to the tram that would whisk him to the House Vega hangar, where his own Kataphrakt waited for him. The tram was silent as he sat on one of the benches, there weren't very many other students on the tram, mostly those wearing the uniforms of House Vega or House Regulus, as those were the ones who needed to be prepared for the drills that were to be done in the afternoon hours. Many of the students, he recognized were mechanics and ground crew. He didn't recognize anyone from his own ground crew, but figured that they were either already in the hangar, or would be taking the next tram to the hangar.

It wasn't a long ride between the dormitory station and the first of the hangars. Those belonging to Pollux and Kaus houses; then Antares, Procyon, Sirius and Deneb. Alphard, Rigel, and then finally the hangars of Vega and Polaris, those two hangars where the two houses kept their piloting department Kataphrakts; those that belonged not to the students but to their sponsors, which made Noah's own Kataphrakt something of a rarity in the school. A Kataphrakt that was owned by a private sponsor, one that not a single person in the school, could dig up any information about. Noah liked it this way. It meant that his Kataphrakt was just that much more personal than other student's own.

The tram stopped at his station, and he stood up, adjusted his jacket, and then moved for the door of the tram. Immediately, he was greeted by the colder air of the hangar. The hangars were always colder than the rest of the academy; they were the closest to the outside, even when the massive launch doors were sealed shut, temperature leaked out through the material, causing the heaters and warmers of the hangars to constantly be working. He passed over a line marked "zero-G zone" and kicked off from the deck, his shoes automatically enabling the magnets in the soles so that when he hit something metal, he would stick to it. He flew along, following a walkway as he passed the lined up Kataphrakts, ones of different colors and styles, some were ostensibly Martian in their lines and shapes, others were very easy to identify as variants of Terran Kataphrakts. Generally, if you were a Terran student, you had a Terran Kataphrakt, and if you were Martian, you had a Martian Kataphrakt. But there were a few exceptions to this rule. Noah was not one of them.

He put his legs out from behind him as he flew, and felt the click of his mag-boots to the walkway, where he stopped just to the side of a Kataphrakt, painted in dark grays and in reds. Painted along the collar was the machine's name: "Monarch". There was a small smile on Noah's face seeing the name of the machine. It was like a look of someone seeing an old friend, and in a way, it was like he did see an old friend.

"Ho, Thorn." A voice called from further along the walkway. Noah looked from the machine named Monarch, and towards the direction he had been called from. It was time for him to switch his mind from being called "Noah" to being called "Thorn", his callsign.

"Ho, Nina." He responded, raising his hand in greeting. "What's the word?"

"Same as always," the dark-haired, young woman who was his crew chief responded as she floated closer to where Thorn stood. She stands a little shorter than him, and wears the garb of a mechanic, coveralls, and a toolbelt that is strapped to her legs to keep it in place. A headset around her neck that they'd use when talking over the radio between the Kataphrakt and the maintenance crew. "We're doing some final calibration on your scope, and making sure that your ordinance laser is charged enough."

"The thrusters?"

"All checked, twice by the rest of the crew, twice by me." Nina was quick, and didn't have a problem keeping up with Thorn's tight tolerances for his own Kataphrakt. "You'll be good to go." There were no 'should's or 'probably's when working with Nina, she was beyond sure of things that Thorn himself might otherwise struggle to be sure of. In that respect, she was beyond a 'talented' mechanic and crew chief.

He nodded in acknowledgement of what she had said. Nina was used to the way that Thorn communicated, in short answers, and nods.

"Jester just needs you to sign off on your fuel and payload; and then you'll basically be good to go." She handed him a clipboard that she was holding.

He looked it over, looking at the ammo counts, ammo types; fuel and fuel types; and then finally his weapons. A large-bore sniper rifle, and a smaller bore sidearm. He looked it over twice, flipped the page over to look at the other side, which was the calculated weight and balance of Monarch with the weapons and ammo loaded; before flipping it back to the front page, and signing it off. Nina took the clipboard back with a grin. "Gonna have fun today, LT?" She used the slang that all the mechanics used; referring to him by his hypothetical rank, as if he were military — despite neither of them having rank, and both being students.

Thorn shrugs, "Guess so. Just a drill today."

"Either way, Monarch's all yours. Give us a shout when you're ready to go." Nina backs away, pulling her headset over her ears, before kicking off the deck, grabbing the handrail, and using her inertia to swing over the railing, and gracefully float down to where the rest of the maintenance crew was waiting for her, following her check-in with Thorn.

Thorn glances at a nearby digital clock, mirrored in such a way that would give anyone a view of the time, no matter how they were oriented in the zero-G. Twenty-five minutes to go until he'd need to start his pre-flight of Monarch. He kicks off again, headed the way he came from, back towards the locker room for House Vega, where undoubtedly there would be already a gathering of other students getting ready for the day's drills, either those who were needing to be the mechanics and ground crew, or those who were actually going out on the drills. Either way, he needed his vac-suit, and that meant that he needed to be in the locker room to change.

He passed back into the normal-gravity zone, and landed gracefully, before continuing his pace towards the locker room, pulling off his jacket as he walked. A group of female mechanics nearby murmured among one another in hushed tones as he passed by them; he could feel their eyes bore into him as he walked. He wasn't sure whether it was out of admiration, or out of jealousy. It wasn't exactly a secret that there were some students who thought that their assignments to particular departments were unfair; that they were able to pilot just as well as the pilots were able to. Something about this particular instance made him want to spin around on his feet, and shout at the group that they were wrong about piloting, that it wasn't this simple thing, and shouldn't be taken lightly. He doesn't.

Once in the locker room, he moves between the benches and the rows of lockers, towards his own locker, stenciled on it is his callsign; "Thorn". He uses the palm-pad to open the locker door, and stashes his jacket inside the locker. He sits on the bench as he undoes his shoes, and places them in the bottom of the locker. Then comes the rest of his uniform, until he's just in his underwear; then comes the process of suiting up. He starts with his legs first, pulling the material of his thin-but-airtight suit around his legs and hips, before standing up and hoisting it up around his shoulders, zipping up the front as he does. The suit is fitted perfectly for him; and comes on simply in the colors of House Vega; gray, brown, orange. He flexes the gloves, and then turns back to the locker, picking up the choker-like neck clip that his helmet attached to and kept a perfect seal between the two parts of his vac suit, even if he didn't put his helmet on until he got into Monarch. He grabbed his helmet from its rack, and then sealed his locker again; heading for the exit. The total time to do all of this was only about ten minutes, still giving him fifteen before he was expected to be doing he preflight. Already, numerous other pilots were filing in and out of the locker room, all getting ready for their drill session, and all getting ready for work in hard vacuum. He exited the locker room; the girls from before were no longer there.

He kicked off into the zero-G zone once again, floating down the walkway, back towards Monarch. Once there, he swung around to the front of the Kataphrakt, towards the open cockpit hatch. He grappled the lip of the cockpit with one hand, and sliding their helmet onto their head with the other. A satisfying click rang through the helmet once it attached itself to the neck clip. He turned around mid spin into the cockpit, and landed against the seat of the Kataphrakt, he didn't harness himself in, but steadied himself nonetheless. He switched a couple switches into the correct place, and instantly screens along the inside of the Kataphrakt sprung to life; showing informational readouts and other startup information.

On one screen that came up, to his left, he dialed in his ground control frequency. 121.9000 mhz, an oddly specific, yet satisfying number to be assigned.

He reached for the left control stick of Monarch, depressing one of the buttons on the front of the stick. "Ground control this is Thorn, commencing pre-flight." He spoke to the 'hub' of ground control, not his particular crew chief, although she was listening all the same. It wasn't her turn to talk yet.

"Roger Thorn, clear for pre-flight. Ordinance is loaded."

"Copy that control, switching to the ordinance frequency for verification." He spoke again.

"Roger, call back when ready for startup sequence."

He clicked the mic in response. There was no need to acknowledge them verbally. He dialed in a new frequency; 135.5000 MHz — one of the frequencies used by all the Kataphrakts, to communicate with the ordinance master. He waited a second, made sure the frequency was open, that no one was talking, before speaking himself. "Jester this is Thorn, ordinance check, Monarch is reporting code tango."

The response back was quick, almost inhuman; "Thorn, Jester, Confirm Code Tango. Hmm… first try, better than the last student, cleared for frequency change." It was the voice of the automated payload master, nicknamed "Jester" by the students for his quick reaction times, and his sense of humor. Thorn smiled at the less than subtle dig at the previous student.

"Copy, frequency change approved; over to ground control."

He dialed back in the frequency for ground control, and pulled up another screen with his other hand. He pushed the talk button again; "Ground control, Thorn, radio check for all on net?"

"Copy that Thorn; commencing radio check for all... Fuel?"

"Check." Said a voice.

"Kat' Harness?"

"Check, ready for standard dismount."

"Ordinance?"

"Safe." Spoke Jester's voice again; as an AI, he was able to be in multiple places at once, and this was one of those places he could be.

"Catapult?"

"Disarmed."

"Maintenance?"

"Clear."

"Crew Chief?"

"Crew is in position, ready for startup." Nina responded over the radio.

"Thorn this is Control, clear for start-up when the gate open."

"Copy that."

The gate meant the large launch door at the end of the hangar that didn't lead towards the academy, but rather out towards hard vacuum. This wasn't a simulated combat launch, it was a 'standard dismount', meaning that he'd use the thrusters to navigate out of the hangar, following the person on his right. He ran through his checklist of things before start-up, making sure that everything had been done, and that he was all set to close the cockpit, and get settled into his harness. He slung it over the shoulders of his suit, buckling himself into the seat, and switching the cockpit control switch to close and then locking it.

There was nothing left to do now, but wait for the signal that he was clear to start Monarch, and get on with the rest of his day.