Wasteland 2087 - Chapter 4

Myra immediately butts heads with her Combat and Survival teacher.

Chapter 4.

Que and I arrive at school slightly late, but there's practically no punishment for tardiness. The school is already bustling with activity; Shelter College 801 is one of only two schools in the shelter, and hosts around four hundred students. The other, belonging to the order, is 801 Academy. It boasts better classrooms, better teachers, and much better equipment--like working holobooks, for a start--and it's where they train their would-be sensics.

College 801 is our slice of hell; our equipment is always busted, our teachers are stressed and overworked, and if you break your holo, you're screwed--hence my current dilemma. Despite the challenges, the first few lessons are a breeze for me; I've never had issues with Language Arts, Mathematics, or Science. In fact, intellectually is where I excel, which is why I decided on Innovation and Technology, and Medicine and Healthcare for my electives--two classes I figure could really challenge me.

As per the school's rules, every student must also choose a forced elective from either Engineering and Maintenance, Agriculture and Hydroponics, or Environmental Studies under Shelter Operations. However, being part of ASMC Operations meant that my chosen elective was Combat and Survival--potentially my biggest hurdle yet. I've been labelled the "sick girl" my whole life thanks to my weak immune system, and combat training was going to be a whole new level of difficulty for me.

As the day drags on, I find that the start of 2087-88 feels much like the end of 2086-87--academically, at least. The work I've over-prepared for seems trivial, even with my slight hangover and the lingering pain from this morning's accident. Watching my classmates struggle with texts they should know inside out leaves me puzzled. Then again, it's probably because while they are out partying, socializing, and having fun, I'm usually at home buried in another textbook.

Don't get me wrong; I go to the occasional party with Que and Veii, but when there is studying to be done, I feel more at home reading textbooks on my broken holo then being drooled on by the limited selection of boys from College 801. Regardless, I feel pretty good about myself by the end of the day. I'm acing my staple classes and my two electives, but this new class is going to be physically demanding. I just hope I can keep up; there's no Veii or Que to help me this time. I'm on my own.

I walk into the small classroom. Three people have already arrived, and are talking amongst themselves. While it's hard not to recognise everyone with only thirty people in your form, I had no idea of any of their names. Veii is the one that could rattle off everyone's name, and I'm the one who just nods and pretends like I've known it the whole time.

From what I can tell: there is the pretty blonde girl who Que used to like; there is the shorter red-haired girl--who I recall once tried to trick me into buying cookies for some debaucherous fundraiser to lower the age of consent to fifteen. I told her just to do it behind her parents' back like everyone else does. Then, there is the would-be bully guy; I can only assume he would be if Veii had never have personally stamped it out. I decide it's better not to feign interest, but as I take one of the seats at the back, I glance over and make eye contact with one of them--the blonde. She's actually quite gorgeous, with sparkling green eyes, long wavy hair, and large full lips that curl into a smile as she spots me. I share a forced smile and give her a nod as turn back to stare at my non-functioning holo. I figure at this point it's worth a try, and smack the side of my holo, wholly expecting it to shatter. Surprise and shock fills my expression when it instead hums to life; this is the one lesson I would love to takes notes on, so perhaps my luck is changing.

At that moment my holo is snatched from my hands, and I'm left grasping at the air. I look up.

"You won't be needing holos in this class," the teacher says as he places it on the desk in front of me, the soft hum fading back to a lifeless hunk of glass. "This is Combat and Survival! This can't be taught in a classroom or through a holoscreen!" I immediately don't like him. He killed my precious holo three seconds after its miraculous rebirth, and he has an air of arrogance about him. He is tall and lean, with short-cropped sandy brown hair, and piercing amber eyes. A full beard of stubble covers his jutting jaw, which casts a shadow over a shirt that's a size too short for him. Maybe it would be impressive to girls who hadn't seen Veii shirtless before, but now he was my enemy. My poor holo didn't deserve that treatment.

I hadn't noticed, but the room filled whilst my holobook drama ensued. The teacher snatches up a holopen as he takes his place at the front of the room and writes on the board. Fluorescent pink lines trail behind the pen at first, earning a couple of giggles. He sighs, clicks undo, and fumbles with the controls for a moment before continuing in white. "My name is Mr. Hamilton. You can call me Mr. Hamilton, and if we really get to know each other, then you can call me Mr. Hamilton." He scrawls his name on the board and then turns to us, leaning against his desk, "Let's get this straight; I am to prepare you for the surface. That requires testing your physical limits, your awareness, your survivability, and of course your combat prowess. We only have six positions for USMC recruits this year, so four of you will not make it." I feel his eyes settle on me as he speaks. Oddly insulting, but I feel a deep, burning desire to prove him wrong.

"I'm going to do one of you a favour right now, because we only cut one student each module." He starts pacing the room, "Students cut in the later modules find it hard to adjust to the other forced electives." He stops beside me, "Some have to repeat a year, after missing too much." He kneels down to my eye level, and actually turns to face me, "You wouldn't want to repeat a year, would you?"

At first my mouth drops. I can't believe the audacity and arrogance of this guy to try and call me out, and my inner Myra takes over. My eyes narrow at him as my jaw clenches slightly.

"Well, Mr. Hamilton, if we're going to judge early, why don't we all get a shot?" I ask, my own my eyebrows held high. He smirks, and straightens up.

"I'm sure this will be good. Have at it, Miss Longwood," he replies with smug indignation.

"Well, judging by your macho bravado and attempts to single out the 'weak link'," I say, air-quoting, "you've shown your hand; your low self-esteem must stem from either rejection from ASMC duty, or fear of it."

"Actually, I have done my time in the ASMC. It's why they choose me to teach this class!"

"Ah, of course, then it's imposter syndrome; feeling unqualified and insecure. Were you dropped from active duty?" I ask condescendingly. He stands stiffly, staring at me with his arms folded, and gives only a slight raise of the eyebrows --but I was far from finished. "Yeah, thought so. So now you overcompensate by acting superior but coming off pretentious; acting knowledgeable but coming off obstinate." I would love to slap that smirk off his face; I can feel my cheeks flush in anger. I know I should stop, but he is provoking me--and if there's one thing that I've come to expect from myself, it's never knowing when to stop.

"Obstinate?" he chortles, pacing behind me, "Isn't it my job as an educator to give you all the facts, and set realistic expectations?" Hamilton replies with matching condescension.

"It's your job as an educator to inspire and uplift your students, not tear them down to validate your self-worth--or lack thereof. You're a teacher, not a prophet. You sound like you're ready to recite Order doctrine. You have no idea who's going to be cut from this class or when." I can't believe I'm ranting at him, but he pushes all my buttons.

"You have a problem with the doctrine of the Order, Miss Longwood?" Hamilton asks, apparently hoping to catch me out as a heretic.

"You have a problem staying on topic, Mister Hamilton?"

"No, you bought it up. You have quite the reputation as a troublemaker, from what I hear."

"I'm not the only one who has a reputation; a history of struggling and failing students, more dropouts from this class than any other, even outside of 'quotas'. At what stage does the school board start asking questions about your competency?" The class is deathly quiet--a lot of dropped jaws. The pretty blonde girl has a huge smile on her face.

"Well... I guess you have me all figured out, Miss Longwood."

"Good, then can you stop wasting everyone's time! Just return to the front of the class with your little holopen and start the lesson!"

He turns and starts towards the front of the classroom, infuriating smirk still firmly in place, "This is the start of the lesson, Miss Longwood!" he says as reaches the holoboard, "The ASMC does not give a crap about your feelings. If you are going to succeed, you need to learn to defend yourself--as Miss Longwood has expertly shown us." He starts writing a word, "If you are going to succeed in the ASMC you need to have two things above anything else," he finishes the words, and gestures to each as he repeats them aloud, "Respect and Integrity. Without them, the ASMC will eat you alive." He smiles at me, and gives what seems like an impressed nod. Now I'm not sure if he got the baited response he wanted and made me help show students how to be more assertive, or if it was one hell of a recovery. Either way, my emotions are once again confused. Should I still be angry, or proud? And what the hell is up with the men of this shelter!