Chapter 4
Carson Blake
He was bored. Completely and utterly bored. He couldn't think of anything worse than preparing for a lecture.
He had never once considered a career as an academic, yet for some damn reason, they continually invited him back to give talks to the undergrads.
As he paced in front of the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows in his apartment, he tried not to look at his reflection.
Because he looked like an idiot.
"Okay, class," he began in his fake teacher-like tone, "the correct use of your telekinetic implant takes time. But with the following exercises, and a lot of diligent practice, you will soon find yourself getting better," he gave a fake smile, then made the mistake of glancing at his reflection and realizing just how dumb he looked.
Swearing, he took a step back, flopped a hand at the window, and walked over to the couch. With a groan, he let his knees buckle, and he fell with a soft thump onto it. Reaching for one of the cushions, he banged his head against it.
"I shouldn't be here," he whispered aloud, his voice croaky and smothered by the soft fabric around his mouth.
Though he understood the importance of teaching the new wave of cadets coming through the Galactic Coalition Academy, surely his skills could be better utilized elsewhere?
Like back on that damn planet, Remus 12.
When the United Galactic Coalition Council had put together the mission, they'd called it a simple exploratory operation. But that was clearly crap, because you didn't send the Force along to something as wimpy as an exploratory operation.
Not unless you expected trouble.
?.
So why exactly had the United Galactic Coalition Council sent the Force to that remote, desolate, wasteland of a planet then?
It had been a waste of everybody's time, and that random cadet with the unruly black hair had injured herself.
Had injured herself?.
How?
Not for the first time and not for the last, he pushed himself up and pondered that fact.
She'd received a broken rib for god's sake. How exactly did you give yourself one of those by tripping over?
While everybody else had been willing to accept the probability she'd just fallen over, he wasn't. Because it didn't make any sense. How exactly did you break your rib and give yourself a serious concussion by tripping yourself up?
Cadet - what was her name? Cadet Harper, yes, that's it, Cadet Harper - seemed like a serious klutz, granted, but she'd fractured the back of her skull and had broken her rib just below the sternum. How had she done that? Had she rolled down a rocky incline? Had she taken a tumble off a cliff?
No - he'd found her on flat ground, with nothing but dust all around her.
?.
Blake shook his head.
He had a lecture to prepare for, and the United Galactic Coalition Council had hinted they were about to send the Force on an extremely important mission. Yet here he was, wondering how a simple little cadet could beat herself up so bad.
"Get over it," he growled at himself.
Then the computer in his room gave a beep and reminded him in a bored, electronic tone that he had half an hour to finish preparing his lecture and get to class.
He swore loudly, and he fancied the sound of it bounced off the walls.
Standing up, he raced over to his room and selected a dress uniform from his wardrobe.
Yep, a dress uniform. He was giving a lecture, and yet they expected him to look as if he was about to entertain an ambassador or sign a galactic treaty.
Grumbling even more, he pulled on the uniform then strode out into the main room. Catching his reflection in the glass, he grimaced.
Now he would look even sillier while giving this dumb talk. Because, let's face it, while he could defeat mercenaries and terrorist factions, he had zero talent for teaching.
He would be an awkward mess. Yet, with a steeling breath, he still forced himself to walk out of his apartment, down to the closest lift, and out into the glorious day.
The stroll across Academy grounds to the main teaching building was a short and pleasant one.
There was a lovely breeze picking up off the bay far away, and he could smell just a touch of fresh, salty surf in the air.
Enormous trees lined the thoroughfare between the apartment complexes and the Academy headquarters, and their leaves rustled in the slight wind.
If he hadn't had a lecture to get to, he would have kicked off his shoes, found a nice quiet section of the grounds, and taken a nap under one of those grand old oaks.
He didn't have that luxury, though. Plus, the place was already filling up with students, and he watched them all scoot around him, smiling or chatting happily as they did.
He was a bit of a celebrity around here, he knew that, and though he'd once loved the attention, it was starting to wear thin.
During his undergrad years, being popular had been a boon. He'd been invited to all the parties, he'd always had a date, and he'd generally had one hell of a time. Yet now, things had changed, because now he had responsibility. In fact, with every day, he had more and more.
Now he wanted people to get out of his way so he could do what he had to. He didn't want cadets stopping him in the street to ask for holo photos, and neither did he want undergrads running up to him every second to ask for tips on telekinetic implants and deep space combat.
"Get over yourself," he whispered under his breath, realizing how arrogant he must sound.
With renewed vigor, he finally made it across the grounds and into the Academy headquarters. Then he set his jaw hard and forced himself to find the right lecture theater.
As the class started to fill with cadets, he tried not to look at how excited they all seemed.
Okay, so he was relatively competent when it came to the use of his telekinetic implant, but for god's sake, he wasn't the expert everyone kept calling him. If all of these kids put in as much effort as he had, and practiced for as many hours, they would be able to do everything he could.
All too soon, Commander Sharpe came bustling up to him, and the lecture began. With a short introduction, Carson found himself thrust into the spotlight, literally. He had no problem with public speaking, but he couldn't help but feel like a fraud as he stood there and pretended he had the right to be teaching anybody.
Still, he put on a good show, strengthened his resolve, and got through it.
Thankfully, halfway through, they turned off the spotlight and gave him a bunch of telekinetic weapons to demonstrate instead.
This part he loved; this part he could do in his sleep.
There was something so invigorating about the use of his telekinetic implant - or the TI, as most people referred to it.
When he was commanding it, and seeing objects fly across the room with little more than a thought, he felt so in control.
Yet even as he demonstrated a powerful TI weapon known as the 10-pointed blade, it didn't stop him from looking up to see a particularly late cadet creep into the back of the lecture hall.
Though he couldn't see them perfectly from where he stood, he could see their hair.
Harper.
He almost dropped the 10-pointed blade, but with a quick thought, held steady.
She was 45 minutes late.
And that was pretty late considering this lecture only ran for an hour.
Pushing on with the rest of his talk, he soon finished, and before he could get away, he was inundated with questions.
Though technically the class was over, and everyone was free to leave, nobody did.
Nobody except Harper.
He flicked his eyes up to see her surreptitiously slip out the back of the lecture hall.
Ha.
Had he been that boring?
Clearly not, considering every other cadet in the hall was practically fighting each other for a chance to ask him something.
It took a long time to wade through everybody's q
uestions, but eventually he did it, then he finally found himself free and quickly scooted away from the lecture theater before any more cadets could pick his brains.
As he half jogged through the halls, intending to get back to his own office before anybody could waylay him again, he kept his eyes peeled.
For Cadet Harper.
He now had two things he wanted to ask. Why had she been so late for his lecture, and how in god's name had she injured herself?
He rolled his eyes as he realized he should just drop it. The medical staff aboard the Orion would have already questioned her, and if they'd thought there was anything suspicious, they would have looked into it.
He told himself firmly to get over it, but the more he tried, the less he succeeded.
Though he wanted to run into her, he didn't, and soon enough he reached his office. With a massive sigh, he considered the enormous mess of datapads and old, ruined TI weapons that were strewn around the place. He knew he should clean it up, but always told himself he didn't have the time.
So instead of bending down and picking up the junk littering the floor, he pushed his way over to the windows. Then he looked down at the unrivalled view of the Academy grounds below.
Before too long he found himself scanning the lawns, checking every corner for a hint of curly black hair.
When he realized what he was doing, he shook his head.
"Get over it," he commanded himself one last time, "you're just trying to distract yourself from bigger things."
Which was true.
Carson had far larger problems to consider, and just maybe he was using the not-so-mysterious injuries of Cadet Harper to procrastinate.
After he finally convinced himself that was the case, he turned, and he got back to work.