September 29th, 2013

The Cadet: Part 3


Parthi tapped on the office door frame to get the occupant’s attention. When he looked up, she asked, “Petty Officer Touraabin, do you have time to talk about an exercise program for me?”

“You’re Cadet-?” He looked at her with narrowed eyes.

“Gens, Petty Officer.” Parthi was fairly sure she had the military courtesy right, but it was only her first day at the Academy.

“Shouldn’t you still be squaring away your gear, Cadet Gens?” He was tapping his pencil on the papers in front of him.

“Not that much gear to square away, Petty Officer, and it’s all done.”

He looked sceptical. “Then come in and take a seat. What do you think you want?”

“Firstly,” she began after she had sat down on the visitor’s chair, “your advice on whether I need to do any extra work over and above the first year PT program to get me back to where I was before my grandparents cut me back to three hour long gym sessions per week.”

“What were you doing before that?” The pencil had stopped tapping.

“Two hours gym per day, mainly as shipboard maintenance and something to do, plus an hour of unarmed combat practice a day. I’ve kept up my forms but I haven’t sparred in months.” Parthi finished and waited expectantly.

“So, how long did you live with your grandparents?” The pencil was being flicked against the knuckles on his opposite hand now.

“A little over six months.”

“Then I suggest you start with the first year PT program, that’s an hour, five days a week, and we step you up from there.” Parthi nodded in acknowledgement. “With your unarmed combat, what style and what level were you graded at?”

“My teachers never called it anything in particular, unless haidarna means more than I think it does, and they never talked about grades, just about winning fights.”

The PT instructor was looking sceptical, “They taught you haidarna and they were into tournaments but they didn’t grade you?”

“No, Petty Officer, they weren’t into tournaments, they were into not getting killed in a fight.”

Her correction hung there for a moment.

“Let’s organise that grading as soon as possible, shall we?” He reached for a hard diary. “So, how long were you under instruction for?”

“Seven years.”

He put the diary down. “I need to call some people. I’ll get back to you after PT in the morning.”

“Thank you, Petty Officer.”