Hale stood still in the center of the hallway, hands folded neatly behind his back, eyes moving slowly over the faces of his students.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I am Captain William Hale, and I will be your primary instructor for the duration of your stay here at Command School. I’d like to welcome you to your new home, Scorpion Quad. I see you’ve all found your new uniforms. Full marks for that. You will find that I, as an educator, have come to expect my students to fail in every task given. This is not because I don’t believe you are intelligent children. This is not because I don’t believe you’re strong and healthy. This is not because I doubt my own abilities to educate. It is because I will set you up to do so. You found your uniforms. You dressed yourself. Pat yourselves on the back and grin to each other, because it’s the last time I will give you any task without doing everything in my power to see to it that you fail and wash out of my program.

"Try not to take it personally. It isn’t that I don’t like you. I’ve no opinion of you whatsoever. None of you exist. You’re not worth the trouble of not liking. I’ll tell you right up front that I receive pay bonuses and other little perks at the end of each semester for every student I can drum out. And I am good at my job, ladies and gentlemen. If you can be broken, I will find a way. So those of you with cracks and weaknesses had better patch them fast, because I will find them, and exploit them.

"You have all been chosen for this program in the hopes that you will prove yourselves worthy of wearing the symbol of the SOTF on your shoulder. I’ve looked over each and every one of your records. You’re all fine children. I expect that perhaps three, possibly as many as four of you will pass. I can guarantee with one hundred percent certainty that one of you will crack before the end of the first semester, and at least one more every additional semester. I’ve had semesters where I had no one to teach, because no one reached the fourth. But you needn’t worry about me; I still get paid even when I don’t have any students, and still collect the dismissal bonuses."

He began moving down the line of students, slowly, step measured so steadily that it could have ben used as a unit of time.

"You have been selected from among your peers because you all embody certain qualities which, if applied properly, might make you SOTF material. Some of you were chosen for your physical prowess. Some of you were chosen for your speed, stamina, or agility. Some of you were selected for your intellect, your intuition, or your initiative. And some of you are here by mistake. Some of you have no right to be in the IF, much less the SOTF. You are here because of a fluke incident that made you look like more than you really are, or because you washed out of another program and they had to put you somewhere at the last minute and there were still slots free in my program with no worthy candidates to fill them, or perhaps even because you have a guardian angel upstairs with more sentimentality than sense. Whatever your reason, make no mistake -- I will weed you out. It is my job to see to it that only strongest survive. I am natural selection, ladies and gentlemen, and over the next two years you will either evolve, or find yourself extinct.

"For the next two years I am the center of your universe. I decide night and day. I decide work and rest. You will not sleep nor eat unless I wish you to. You will be starved, deprived of sleep, and pushed to your physical and mental limits every day. Free time is a memory. It doesn’t exist anymore. As you might have noticed, my program works differently than others. You will be taking six classes a day instead of the usual four, still the same length, and you will perform an additional three hours of exercises per day. These may range from using simple gym equipment to carrying out mock battles to practicing techniques taught during the day’s classes. Your performance every day is graded, and there are no participation points; if I am dissatisfied with your performance at the end of a semester, you will ice. In your classes, you will be expected to be alert and responsive at all times, and hold an average of no less than eighty-five percent at all times. If, at the end of a semester, your average in a single class is even a tenth of a percent below eighty-five, you will ice. Every semester you will undertake a midterm and a final, structured as operational exercises in which you must achieve your objective working either alone or in groups, depending upon the rules of said exercise. The midterm is worth ten percent of your final grade; fail that and you are in the red zone. The final is worth twenty percent. Fail that and you ice.

"This program has been specifically designed to determine which of you qualify for different levels of service based upon how far you get in the program. It has been designed to make you crack. For that reason, dismissal from the program will not result in dismissal from Command School. Those of you that make it all the way through have a place waiting for you in the Special Intelligence Division of the SOTF. But those of you that do not will be assigned elsewhere. Completion of each semester qualifies you for sequentially higher levels of service, as is outlined in the course syllabi that can be found in your cells. Failure to complete any semester will result in your reassignment to the Marine AIT, where you will train to board Formic ships and be caught and vivisected so that they can study you to learn more about our biological weaknesses. You will find that the Marine AIT students despise you quite vehemently. This is because you are better than them. Get used to it, and don’t let it make you stupid. You bleed just as easily as they do. And you should be advised that no one is going to intervene on your behalf. Stick together, because when you face Marine AIT you will always be outnumbered. Playtime is over now, boys and girls, and no one’s going to save you when the game gets rough."

Hale was back in the center, his back to the students.

Classes were not a single hour each, as Hale had claimed. They were the full hour and a half. All six of them. The classes didn't bother with the usual syllabus-and-overview, either. They launched straight into their work, and if today's workload was light, then Gabe was not looking forward to tomorrow. Afterward -- immediately afterward, without any break for lunch -- they began practice. This consisted of a diverse range of exercises strenuous enough to leave even Gabe and Sol, both of whom were in excellent physical condition, well beyond winded. This went on for four hours, without any allowed breaks. Through it all, Hale stood with his hands folded neatly behind his back, uniform crisp and pressed, un ruffled by any work at all. He watched them, giving orders in a calm, disinterested voice. He didn't shout. Not at all. Gabe was fairly certain that drill instructors were supposed to shout.

Somehow, Hale's apathetic detachment seemed worse.

It was half an hour before lights out when he dismissed them back to their cells, and there was not a single one of them, not Gabe, not Sol, not Rabin, not even Riya, that didn't walk with stooped shoulders and shuffling feet.

Gabe and Sol separated to take showers again, as did a few others -- some appeared too tired to even consider cleanliness. The water was cold. Again. Gabe wondered, dimly, if Hale had rigged it that way. Aside from the other Scorpions, the showers were empty; most of the school was finishing up homework and getting ready for bed by now.

Gabe finished a minute or two before Sol, and waited for her. When she exited they didn't speak. They were too weary to speak. All Gabe wanted to do was curl up in Sol's arms and pull the covers over their heads and sleep for many many years.

But Gabe knew that wasn't going to happen. Because Riya was there. Even in their own cell, they weren't safe.

God damn you, Bryant, I thought I had an ally in the administration. You made sure Sol and I were transferred together all those years in Battle School, and now here in Command School. You checked up on me and watched over me like a guardian angel, to appease your guilty conscience. I'll bet it was you that interfered and suspended the investigation, instead of letting it be terminated. I'll bet it was you that got that file dropped in my lap. I thought I could trust you, Bryant. Why the hell did you let this happen?

"The test is a simulation of squad-based combat in a zero-g vacuous environment. You will use the standard EVA suits and flash pistols you have been training with over the past semester. Each cell is one squad, and your objective is to seek out and destroy the opposing squad. Grading is on an individual basis, so don't expect your team to carry you. Efficiency, accuracy, speed, kill count, and operational strategy and tactics will all be analyzed by myself and two other SOTF controllers and scored. But make no mistake: there is an additional point bonus of twenty-five percent of the pre-existing score for all surviving members of the winning squad, and fifteen percent to all disabled or frozen members. Winning does count. See that you do.

Jackson iced out at the end of the first semester; he'd been borderline for some time, and the final dropped him over the edge. Wells bombed the L2 midterm, and didn't bother attending the final; nothing short of a miracle could have pulled him back up to a passing grade. Lawrence finally cracked midway through the third semester, after Hale had been denying them sleep for almost a week, and one morning just stayed in his cell, rocking on his heels and talking to himself. He was sent to the infirmary, and they kept him there for three days. They didn't bother keeping him until the end of the semester; the next transport to IFC arrived a week after, and when it left, Lawrence was on it.

There was a new group of first-year students now; of the previous year's advanced students, only Dietz and Pedersen had made it to the final semester, and neither passed the final. Hale had assured the new second-year students that his hopes for them were no higher.

That was six months ago. Today was the day of the L3 final. Those that passed, with a total average for the semester of eighty-five percent or higher, would continue on to Level Four, covert operations training. Those few that finished would continue on into the Special Intelligence branch of the SOTF. Black ops and NOC-status, or so the rumors went. Hale didn't give any details. Nobody in a position to know ever did. The students were trying to achieve that coveted objective, but they didn't even know what it was that would be waiting for them.

Not Gabe and Sol, though. They didn't care about positions and assignments. They weren't going into military service once they were finished here. They'd seen enough to convince them that the IF was far from perfect. And no institution, no matter how close to perfection, was worth their lives. No cause but love was worth dying for. They would live for each other after this was all finished, not for any organization.

But skills were currency out there, and professionals of talent were highly sought-after. They would employ their skills for their own benefit, in the service of the goal that stood above all others: the attainment of their dream.

Hale had put them through the ringer that year. Once Gabe and Sol made quite clear that they would not be pushed around, he let any restraint he might have had before die. They were deprived of sleep, of food, and on one memorable occasion, of oxygen.

Going into this final, there were five left of eight. Gabriel, Kinoshita, Minerva, Rabin, and Solenis. Only the best made it this far.

Hale was not sure whether he should be impressed or distressed. The L3 final was usually reached by three, perhaps four students. Five was quite rare. This group was unusually tough, there was no doubt about that. But Hale had had tough groups before. Everybody had cracks. Everybody had weaknesses. Hale always found them, always exploited them. No matter how strong the group, five was exceptional.

Hale was fairly certain that he knew why, however. He'd been less focused with this group than he usually was. Less focused, or more focused, depending upon how you looked at it.

Solenis and Gabriel were two of the five. This upset Hale. He had pushed them beyond what any pair of students could possibly be expected to endure, and they had. He'd done everything to break them down that he could think of, within the confines of his position and his promise a year and a half prior to Bryant. He'd promised that he would leave them in the same cell, and he had. He'd promised to let them have what free time they were allowed to themselves, which he did; though he'd made a point of allowing almost none. He let them take the exams together, against his own better judgement; he'd promised Bryant that he'd separate them no more than necessary, and though he'd certainly tried, he'd been unable to come up with a truly valid reason to do so. Whatever he put them through, he put them through together. Hale kept his promises.

But that was where Hale's fair treatment of them stopped. He'd worked them at least as hard as any of the others, and harder in many cases. He'd set them up to fail at every turn, and every time, if success was possible, they succeeded.

And a few times when, by all rights, it shouldn't have been as well.

As a result, it was possible that his attentions had been a bit narrow with this group. Perhaps, conceivably, the others -- Kinoshita, Rabin, and Thoth -- hadn't received the kind of interest they might otherwise have gotten. This past semester, he'd been a bit more even. He'd not lightened up on Solenis or Gabriel, of course -- no chance of that happening, not on his watch. Rather, he'd simply upped the pressure on the others, to match.

Some were faring better than others. Kinoshita was, of course, unshakable. She had her physical limits just like everybody else, but she didn't seem to have any psychological limit to speak of. She did the tasks she was given, as ably as her body permitted, without complaint. Hale expected her to make it through the course. Legion would make good use of her. Rabin and Thoth were showing cracks; Hale expected at least one of them to break today, if not both.

They were tough, that much was certain. Nobody that got this far could be called anything but. However, there were psychological aspects to this line of work that weren't things that could be taught. No amount of training would teach a student killer instinct. No exercises or simulations were going to make these kids cold-blooded assassins. It had to be in them already.

Rabin and Thoth didn't seem to have it. He'd been wrong before, but not often. Rabin was too honorable; he liked his fights fair, and face to face. And Thoth, well . . . Thoth had yet to show Hale anything that suggested that she could pull the trigger when it was a real person in her sights.

Today, Hale knew, would be a deciding day. Few made it this far, but the L3 Final always separated the soldiers from the assassins. Legion had no place for soldiers. They wanted killers. Cold-blooded, clean, and methodical.

Today, they would see who measured up.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen." In spite of the fact that it was 03:26 hours, and the students had been allowed to return to their cells only four hours before, he did not smile at all. "Evaluation day is here again, and today we will carry out my own personal favorite test. The Level Three Final is an assassination simulation. The scenario is as follows. Your target is a diplomat visiting the station as the guest of the International Fleet. He is a spy, and he has been stealing sensitive intel from us for some time, but for political reasons, the IF cannot dispose of him directly. He will be touring the station with an escort of six bodyguards provided by the Marine AIT."

He picked up one of the five rifles leaning against the wall behind him, and hefted it. It was about a meter long, and looked quite real. Not like a flash weapon at all, not even the flash rifles they'd used in the simulations.

"This is your primary weapon. The ‘vest' being worn my the target cannot be penetrated by your secondary weapon. Arm hits with the secondary weapon register normally, and head hits kill, but his chest is invulnerable. This weapon, on the other hand, provides an automatic kill for all torso and head hits. Limbs register as normal. Your range is unlimited; if you can see him, you can hit him. Bear in mind, however, that you get only one shot."

He set it aside, and displayed a pistol, which appeared quite real as well. "This is your secondary weapon. Arm hits freeze, as usual, and head hits kill. Torso hits now require two shots, to simulate the use of body armor. Understand: the torso sensors are set so that if your second shot is not within three centimeters of your first, no kill is registered. Two shots in the same twenty-eight square centimeters are required to constitute a kill on the torso. Its range is five meters, and it has ten shots. Keep in mind how many it takes to bring down a bodyguard down. Also, remember that torso hits with the secondary weapon do not register any damage, though they do count as one shot from your ammunition.

"All players in this exercise, including yourselves, will be wearing the modified flash suits we've been using in special ops exercises. You pass if you eliminate the target and return to the predesignated safezone alive. Anything less, and you fail. It's that simple."

He turned, and strode for the door. "Mr. Rabin, you're with me. The rest of you will wait until you are called."

If only I had been a little older. I could have killed him first. I could have protected Curtis. Then I wouldn’t have had to go to Battle School. If only…

Minerva jerked back awake as a few students walked pass them in the hall, talking loudly. The lights had come back on, which meant their horror would be over soon. She would almost have expected Hale to keep them there a whole other day, if it wasn’t for the fact that they were leaving for IF Command later that morning. He couldn’t keep them from the transport…..could he?

She peeked at Riya from the corner of her eye, to see if she was awake or not. It was impossible to tell since she had the same blank expression she always had. Minerva couldn’t believe they had made it the whole night standing guard. The entire hellish night. And now it was time for a little payback, she decided. The moment she graduated, some little thing would have to be done to Hale. Something that they couldn’t reprimand her for, but just enough to show that Hale had no power over her anymore. Maybe just a big sign that said “Screw You” left on his desk. She was guessing he got that a lot though. Or maybe she could flip it and reward herself with passing the final exam and getting the hell away from him.

The door to the barracks came open and out walked the freshly rested Gabe and Sol, looking all smug with delight at the fact they had slept all night by themselves. Minerva glared at them slightly as they walked past with their backs turned away from her. She still wasn’t quite sure why she hated them, but if Riya disliked them, then Minerva would follow suit. Riya was the only person who was friendly to her, if that’s what you would call it, and if she hated them so badly, then there had to be something seriously wrong with them.

She was guessing it had to be at least 0900 hours, and it was shear torture to not say something to Riya. She actually envied her for a moment that she could stay so quite for so long. Just as the waiting was becoming unbearable, Hale sauntered around the corner of the hall. Minerva continued looking straight ahead, paying no attention to the evil dictator that stood next to her.

“Your relieved. Dress quickly and proceed to the launch bay. You leave for IF Command today. You wouldn’t want to be late.”

Minerva waited for him to leave around the corner of the hall before she moved again. Even then, it was extremely difficult to move any muscles of her body since she was so sore from the standing. She moved first her legs, to get them warmed up again, then her arms and head, and finally did a few twists of her waist to make sure everything still operated correctly. Then she looked at Riya and reentered the barracks to put on a fresh uniform. As she was pulling on her jacket, she stopped in mid-action and looked around the room.

“This is it Riya. This is the last day in here. We leave never to come back again.”