The Academy

[bbgrom]

После долгого перерыва возобновляю поцтинг в этом журнале. Ибо мне есть, что запоцтить.

Отрывок, фрагмент, пришедший мне на ум. Вторая Заря, ~400 год N.D. Арманд в Академии. Всего лишь один из студентов... или нет?

Я неожиданно понял, что Вечные содержат слишком много пафоса и эпика. Сами по себе они интересны, но надо же и нормальными жизнями жить. Так появилась Обитель Крыльев, о которой я скоро напишу, и история Арманда в Академии. История простая, шаблонная и в то же время необычная. Или это просто моё ЧСВ переходит в стадию ФГМ, и я напейсал романтический бред.

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-So, where is she now?
-Somwhere on Celtics, in a school.
-Aww, Draiman, you out for schoolgirls now?
-You say it like it's something bad.
-And you're so proud of yourself, casanova.
Armand turned to face his friend:
-Nat, shut it. You want to moralize, go moralize Kenji.
-No-no, not at all. Infact, I'm proud of you. And Shinoda, he's just godlike. Do you know who his next victim is?
-On the field? No idea. Guy's got mad skillz.
-Not on that field, man. On the one that matters.
-Enlighten me.
-He asked Nathalie B out.
-What? Nathalia Bogatova, of Shield-three?
-Yes, her. Do you have an objection?
Armand doubled in silent laughter, waving his head.
-I want her on my team. He wants her in his bed. No contradiction here.
-Well, look who's moralizing now.
-It's not... Do you know Bogatovs?
-Why, yes. Twins, and stuff.
-And stuff. I really respect Kenji, but it looks like we'd have to drink in his memory.
-What, you think Konstantin's gonna kill him?
-No. He'll just start openly discussing how Kenji is in bed. Like *he* was there, and not his sister.
-Oh, so gay. Kenji would cut down the road.
-Won't be the first. One guy from second year transferred northward. Didn't last a week, even though he was ears-deep in love with her.
-That's brutal.
-That's Konstantin. Chop-chop, here she goes.
Armand Draiman, Nathaniel Duvalle and a dozen other students rose up from their places as the teacher entered the class. She gestured them to their seats and started in her deep, soft voice:
-Hello again, my dear tactics. Who's going to tell me why we are here now?
Nate stood up:
-We are here to learn, as you are here to teach us, Lady Jaina.
-Good, Nathan. Sit down. What do you want to learn from me?
Another student rose in the second row:
-We want to know, how our actions and words as leaders affect the world.
-Excellent, Mara. What was the last thing we wrote down?
The politics lesson went on. Lady Jaina Kestrel, politics teacher and Valor government liason for Defence, Inc. Central Academy explained the inner works of diplomacy and balance of forces to the fourth-year students of Tactica division, would-be leaders of DefInc's new teams.
At one moment, she stopped her explaination and bent down before the table, punching something in on her infopad. Her free-flowing summer dress offered those few, who weren't busy solving the sample diplomatic task, an excellent proof of nature's generosity towards select individuals. The proof was of perfect round shape, slightly tanned and absolutely symmetrical, as any set of female breasts should be.
-I'd hit that. -Nate declared with a hint of daydream in his voice- I'd hit that like a fist of an angry god. Or a jackhammer. Or like an angry god with a jackhammer.
Despite his true feelings about that statement - or, maybe, because of that feelings - Armand replied:
-I'd hit that like an armor-piercing explosive incendiary shell hits a block of frozen-solid mineral oil. Go in deep, setting the whole thing ablaze on the way, and then BANG- and moist, glistening shapnel all over the place.
Nate froze up for a second, comprehending what he just heard, and then slowly turned to his friend:
-You, sir, are a fucking warrior poet. I need to write that down.
-Don't forget the copyrights, man.
Having allready written down the solution, Armand just sat still and marvelled at Jaina. Dark-haired, like most people of Draken descent, yet tall and shapely just as a Valorean aristocrate should be, with eyes of dark cyan, she was a "do want" piece for every male and a few women in Central, from the youngest freshman to the elder Master Sentinel. She was the sex symbol of the Academy. She basked in their attention, recieving more gifts than any two other women in the corporation combined, and more stares, glances and other eye-aiming gestures than a mandatory news broadcast. Yet everyone knew she has no significant other, nor she wished to choose one from the people at campus.
The lesson was over, the works were submitted, and Lady Jaina left the class, giving a sly wink in two friends' general direction as she passed through the door.
-Man, did you see that?
-What, Nate? What was I supposed to see?
-She winked at me. Really, I swear, she did.
-Well, it seems that Godess favours you today. Go do something, before the blessing is over.
Armand pulled his data key from the slot on the table console, pocketed it and followed his classmates as they left the room. Outside they scattered, walking away in all directions. The lecture time was over for today, and the practical time started. Bobbing his head side to side, hands in his pockets, Armand went down to the game room - large space separated into isolated cubicles, each with a pretty powerful gaming computer. Their tactics trainer encouraged them to take full advantage of this room, practicing abstract tactics in simulators to develop a specific way of thinking. Nate, with his grand plans to certify as tactic, commander and investigator, "had no time for games" (although he did seem to find enough time for a girl or two), but Armand, with his perfect marks in most of theoretical studies and long- passed basic skills tests, had a pretty lax schedule, so he could afford spending couple of hours of waiting to bash some more arrogant n00bs. He plugged his data key in, loading his profile, manipulator configs and NIA patterns database, connected to a game and went on proving his mental superiority over schoolkids and nerds of all kinds. The only real opposition he found was some guy from A.R.E.S. Command&Control division, but he made a mistake of relying on heavy infantry too much, and was exquisitely cyber-raped by Armand's sniper squad.
His watch vibrated, and Armand quickly looked at the time. It was two and half hours after the end of lectures. He apologised, said goodbye and disconnected from the game, leaving his less-than-experienced teammates to fend for themselves against a pro-gamer team.
His car was in the far corner of the parking lot. It was not uncommon for students to have their own vehicles, but most of them spent their money on each other, parties and shiny new gear. Armand also had a hidden advantage of being a rich kid from the beginning, his father owner of many buisnesses and stockholder of many corporations. But instead of buying turbine-powered bikes, natural-gem jewelry, prestigious real estate or other useless luxury, he spent those money on his own training and education, couting every cent spent with plans to return more, than he had taken. His posessions were scarce, the car - four-door sedan with isotope battery power and all-wheel independent drive- being second out of three most expensive things he ever owned.
He hopped into the seat, snapped the safety belt and started off, heading for the other side of the White City. While battery-powered car could not accelerate the way that turbos could, independent motor-wheels outmaneuvered mechanical drivetrain under any conditions, and one load of isotopes was enough for near a year of riding, while turbocars ran from one fuel station to another, refueling as often as they could in fear of running out of gas on the way. Armand liked that, liked the quiet, steady run of his vehicle, that could last seemingly forever. But just when his thoughts went to the "Long Road" song, he was already at the end of his jouney. He spiraled down into the undergound parking and drove the car into one of the "shadowed" slots, isolated with low-transparency panels so the only thing one could tell from looking at such slot was the fact that it was occupied or vacant. The slot has been reserved for him in this parking for almost a year allready. And he kept driving in there every other evening.
Leaving the car behing the milky panels, he called the elevator and went up to the fifteenth floor. There, the student sneaked out of the cabin, reached the door and opened it with a press of the finger on the biometric panel. He was always welcome in this house.
The home greeted him with the smell of apples and vanilla and a sound of running water. Dropping his bag and gun belt to the floor, he passed the hall and entered the bathroom.
-Honey, I'm home.
-Oh, Amn. I've been waiting for you. Come in here.
Armand quickly undressed and took a step over the edge of the bathtub. Warm water falling right through the celling washed away all his thoughts, worries and hopes. He stood still for a moment, savoring the feeling, then opened his eyes and kissed the woman that loved him. She pressed closer to him, embracing him as tight as soapy arms could squeeze a wet body.
-I missed you so.
-We see each other once an hour, Jaina.
-That's different. We hide, look at each other like we're nobody to each other.
-Such is our lot. You knew how it's gonna be.
-I never imagined it would be so hard...
-Our whole lives are hard. We are what we are.
He sealed her lips with a gentle kiss and started to fall backwards. Jaina picked up the game, trying to catch him and ending up lying on top of him, on the bottom of the bathtub, warm rain beating softly against her back.
-If you think it's hard for you, imagine how I must feel, with all the teenager thoughts and hormones.
-You, Armand, are the most self-aware and self-controlling teenager I ever met. And we both know that all too well.
-You, Jaina, are the least prune and detached teacher I ever met. And you never cease to amaze me with this fact.
-Want me to amaze you some more?...