The West Sea

Chapter 5: Politician

It was the third day of training and Arman had been falling behind his platoon's mandatory exercises. He had no problem with the physical activities. In fact, he even excelled in some of them. But coming from the Metro's slums, he had little to no idea about thermal hydraulics, Amanium transfer procedures, and core conjunction mechanics that, to his dismay, had already been taught to Metro Academy graduates before they entered the training program. 

"It's basic science, recruit!" Shouted the instructor at Arman who felt a bit embarrassed standing in front of the classroom trying to figure out the equation for the correct ratio between powdered Amanium and salt water.

The instructor, a woman by the name of Mathilde who had been serving the Division for two years, did little to stop the class from laughing at the obviously confused Arman as she once again asked the troubled recruit.

"Quiet now! So what is the ratio between an ounce of a purified Amanium powder to sea water and turn it into a viable power source for a standard issued Hydro-Rifle? Answer me!"

Arman looked around as if trying to find the answer. At the back of the class, sitting behind her desk was Dara. She was staring at Arman, signalling him to look at her four fingers waving beneath her left arm.

"Well..." said Mathilde again. "What is.."

Arman then spoke in reply, " Four... Ma'am... The answer is four."

"Four what?!" Shouted Mathilde, looking for a more complete answer.

Arman looked at Dara again. She was making an L shaped sign with her thumb and index finger.

"Liters, ma'am?" Arman hesitated.

"Took you long enough! Now sit down so we could continue this class. Or would you like me to walk you through the standard core assembly method?"

"No, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." Arman rushed back to his seat just across from Dara who sighed in relief as the rest of the platoon chanted "Loser" in the background.

"Thanks," whispered Arman to Dara as he focused on the board in front of him, more puzzled than before.

Mathilde then continued the lecture, finishing here graphs and computations on the digitized lecture board.

Recruits were given a four-day refresher course on basic operating procedures. From how to repair and maintain their Hydro-Rifles to steering and navigating Amanium-powered transports.

Arman, who looked absolutely distressed as he stared at the classroom board, tried his best to decipher the series of numbers and words the instructor was writing. All of it was new to Arman. Most of the words he saw didn't even register to him.

As soon as the class was dismissed, the platoon was directed to the mess hall for their lunch break. Arman, paralyzed with the thought of having to complete the training without the knowledge his fellow Academy graduates had, had a vacant expression in his face.

Dara, still sitting in her seat, tried to reach out to Arman only to be interrupted by Marcus and his pack of arrogant goons.

"What did I say to you, Ruger? Didn't I tell you this scrap dog doesn't know what he's doing here?" Marcus said with a pompous voice directed at Arman.

"That's right, " Ruger replied; his big, oaf-like stature shadowed Marcus in front of him. "This bum doesn't even know basic science. Right, Hugo?"

"Yeah, yeah." Hugo's reply was short and had a feeling of doubt behind it. He was as large as Ruger but had a more timid personality.

Marcus stepped in closer to Arman's face.