her out—3.13. "I'd do better than that if I didn't have chemistry," she complained. "I've got a 3.8 in PT."
"Because you have those crazy reflexes," complained Dai. It was weekbreak, and the two of them were hiding out in a study room of the library—if they showed their faces on campus, some upperclassman was sure to yell for them to do something: run to the barracks for a piece of sports equipment, a thendel racquet or a fieldball glove, or return some pulsebooks to the library, or even proofread and correct homework. Dai sprawled in his chair. "I still don't know how you manage to progress at the speed you do. What are you bench-pressing now?"
"Fifty-five K, standardized."
He grimaced. "I'm up by exactly half a kilo. How do you do it?"
"I don't know." The truth was, however, she was beginning to suspect there was more to her steady gain in physical strength than just training. She knew it wasn't the food they were given—it was supposed to meet all nutritional standards, but judging from the taste, it probably had about as many vitamins as sawdust.
"As long as I hold a 3.0 or better, I'm not worrying," Dai said.
"Why a 3.0?" asked Asteria with a smile. "Don't you make offerings to the God of 2.5?"
"Sure," he said, grinning. "I'm no heathen. But I've signed on for the third term in space. While the Aristos are having summer break, I intend to be serving on a Fleet ship."
"I signed up too," Asteria said. "I didn't know about the grade requirement."
"It's just for first-years," Dai told her. "After that, 2.5 is good enough. Not many first-year students sign on, though."
"Why not? Space experience—"
"We're serfs," he reminded her. "For us, space experience is going to be doing the work even Cybots object to doing. Aristos don't like getting their fingers dirty."
"I'm not afraid of work," Asteria said. "Summer can't come too fast for me."
"Time does seem to fly by when you're having fun," Dai agreed with a grin, flexing his nearly healed wrist. "Six more days to midterm." He stretched and yawned. "And then we can get away from this zoo for half a day once a month. And at least we'll be out of orientation after midterm. We'll have study period instead for two days a week and pilot pre-training for the other four. Have you ever flown a ship?"
She shook her head. "Not a spaceship. Dad let me handle the controls of a skimmer once or twice. Not takeoffs or landings, but cruising. It's not the same."
"No, it isn't," Dai agreed wryly. "Anyhow, there's one subject where I've got the edge on you. I've flown an orbiter…umm, twice. Took off, docked, and landed."
"You couldn't have been old enough."
"Sure I was," Dai insisted. "I lived through it, didn't I?"
Asteria's hands itched to be at the controls of a real spaceship. "I thought you had to be licensed, and you can't get a license until you're seventeen."
Dai shrugged. "I'd had lots of simulator hours already. And flying a real ship—well, Dad was kind of loose about that—and anyway, my uncle was along in the pilot's seat. I was just copiloting, but he let me handle everything. Almost everything. He did the fine controls on the docking maneuver."
Asteria was only half-listening to Dai's chatter. "What will pre-training be like?" she asked aloud.
Dai scratched his nose thoughtfully, and in the light of the study cubicle, Asteria noticed that his red hair seemed a little more intense in color than it had on the Stinger. Of course, he ha d bulked up a little too—despite Dai's complaints, no one could go through six hours of intensive PT a week without adding muscle. He yawned again—he always seemed starved for sleep—and said, "I hear you start out with the physics and math of spaceflight for three days, and the fourth day is simulator time. Next term, it's two days of classroom, two days on the sim. And before we move up to Midship 2,
"Because you have those crazy reflexes," complained Dai. It was weekbreak, and the two of them were hiding out in a study room of the library—if they showed their faces on campus, some upperclassman was sure to yell for them to do something: run to the barracks for a piece of sports equipment, a thendel racquet or a fieldball glove, or return some pulsebooks to the library, or even proofread and correct homework. Dai sprawled in his chair. "I still don't know how you manage to progress at the speed you do. What are you bench-pressing now?"
"Fifty-five K, standardized."
He grimaced. "I'm up by exactly half a kilo. How do you do it?"
"I don't know." The truth was, however, she was beginning to suspect there was more to her steady gain in physical strength than just training. She knew it wasn't the food they were given—it was supposed to meet all nutritional standards, but judging from the taste, it probably had about as many vitamins as sawdust.
"As long as I hold a 3.0 or better, I'm not worrying," Dai said.
"Why a 3.0?" asked Asteria with a smile. "Don't you make offerings to the God of 2.5?"
"Sure," he said, grinning. "I'm no heathen. But I've signed on for the third term in space. While the Aristos are having summer break, I intend to be serving on a Fleet ship."
"I signed up too," Asteria said. "I didn't know about the grade requirement."
"It's just for first-years," Dai told her. "After that, 2.5 is good enough. Not many first-year students sign on, though."
"Why not? Space experience—"
"We're serfs," he reminded her. "For us, space experience is going to be doing the work even Cybots object to doing. Aristos don't like getting their fingers dirty."
"I'm not afraid of work," Asteria said. "Summer can't come too fast for me."
"Time does seem to fly by when you're having fun," Dai agreed with a grin, flexing his nearly healed wrist. "Six more days to midterm." He stretched and yawned. "And then we can get away from this zoo for half a day once a month. And at least we'll be out of orientation after midterm. We'll have study period instead for two days a week and pilot pre-training for the other four. Have you ever flown a ship?"
She shook her head. "Not a spaceship. Dad let me handle the controls of a skimmer once or twice. Not takeoffs or landings, but cruising. It's not the same."
"No, it isn't," Dai agreed wryly. "Anyhow, there's one subject where I've got the edge on you. I've flown an orbiter…umm, twice. Took off, docked, and landed."
"You couldn't have been old enough."
"Sure I was," Dai insisted. "I lived through it, didn't I?"
Asteria's hands itched to be at the controls of a real spaceship. "I thought you had to be licensed, and you can't get a license until you're seventeen."
Dai shrugged. "I'd had lots of simulator hours already. And flying a real ship—well, Dad was kind of loose about that—and anyway, my uncle was along in the pilot's seat. I was just copiloting, but he let me handle everything. Almost everything. He did the fine controls on the docking maneuver."
Asteria was only half-listening to Dai's chatter. "What will pre-training be like?" she asked aloud.
Dai scratched his nose thoughtfully, and in the light of the study cubicle, Asteria noticed that his red hair seemed a little more intense in color than it had on the Stinger. Of course, he ha d bulked up a little too—despite Dai's complaints, no one could go through six hours of intensive PT a week without adding muscle. He yawned again—he always seemed starved for sleep—and said, "I hear you start out with the physics and math of spaceflight for three days, and the fourth day is simulator time. Next term, it's two days of classroom, two days on the sim. And before we move up to Midship 2,
Similar Books
