The Academy

A.D. Corps Chapter 3

The mail that week was all recruitment invitations. It was the only time that you would ever get physical mail any more, and many of the letters were even hand written. Cynthia looked closer. If not hand-written, then at least they used a well-programmed algorithm. She folded the page to better view two words side by side. Well, if not well-programmed, at least the typeface was particularly convincing. She uncapped a marker and wrote “B-” on the corner, before running the pages through her shredder.

Cynthia had been offered a position with a private firm after her second year. If she opted out of it now, coming up on graduation, then she would need to come up with all of the firm’s money that had gone to cover her tuition. What was their name again? Did they still have the same name as three years ago even?

The rumor going around, largely propagated by Eydward and Ronan, was that a new, unknown corp had secured the global defense contract, and was either hand-delivering recruitment letters, or giving their pitch in-person. That would be a nice change, but also kind of forward and creepy. Cynthia couldn’t quite decide if she was disappointed or relieved that no such corp had tried to contact her.

Upon further contemplation, she settled on disappointed. She would be relieved after she turned them away. Just as Eydward had done. Or, so he claims, she thought. Ronan’s story was that he’d put together an anti-recruitment letter and sent it to the corp before they had a chance to ply him. One-upsmanship was an unfortunate character flaw he had though, so it was just as likely that he hadn’t been contacted at all. Maybe more likely, given his flight scores.

Her path set before her, Cynthia had only one more week at the Academy to ride things out and then get set up at the new job. So she put her disappointment aside, and continued grading letters until her shredder was full.

LO AND BEHOLD AT LUNCH THE NEXT DAY

She saw them right away, across the lounge. They were slightly older than any of the cadets, and lacked the uniform or elevated air of the instructors and staff. They were looking around as if slavering over a buffet of living human flesh. These are recruiters.

Making an offer of patronage before a new year starts is bold. Sending a letter of recruitment as the term winds down is standard. Fishing for graduates who are left after the ceremonies complete is perhaps a bit weak, but at least frugal and effective… To show up in person a week before graduation and accost people as they try to eat is just gauche.

One of them was wearing jeans, in an obvious attempt to look young and relaxed. He was stout and confident, with dark pomaded hair and thick eyebrows that twitched and jigged above the sunglasses that he wouldn’t take off indoors.

The other fellow looked as if he hadn’t slept for a couple of days, and hadn’t showered for a week. He was wearing what had once been a very nice dress shirt, along with what had once been a very clean necktie. He had an old-school paper notebook, and kept referring back to it as he scanned the room. His face was friendly at least, if a little sad.

Cynthia blinked and they were both looking in her direction. Mr. Cool pointed at her and spoke to his compatriot. Wrinklepants McCowlick squinted and then shuffled through his notes, and pointed to something on the resulting page. Mr. Cool looked back over at her and then at the notes and then grimaced and shook his head.

OH GOD DAMN IT ARE YOU KIDDING ME

Mr. Cool’s attention seemed to divert and he took Wrinklepants’s elbow and pointed down the corridor. And then they walked away.

What a pair of bastards. Cynthia sat for another half minute, juggling moods, and then got up and scraped the remaining lunch from her tray into the garbage. Don’t follow them. She made her way to the corridor. Two imbeciles working for a scammy operation. They were gone, it seemed. Just go back to the room and get your gear in order for the final run. She started off in the wrong direction, toward the main yard. And who fucking shows up on campus like that anyway? Yep, there they were. Couple of third-chair dildos. Cynthia tried not to smile outwardly, but it was difficult after thinking the words ‘third-chair dildos’.

Her smile disappeared when she saw that the dildos in question were speaking with Beatrixe Housten. Of course.

Cynthia went over the plan in her head. She would stay out of Beatrixe’s eyeline and move closer, using the other people in the yard as cover. She could make it to one of the big iron sculptures, and then from there, get a running start and ninja-kick that blonde cretin in her big stupid butthole. Then she’d turn on the Douche-nozzle Duo and stare them down, breathing slowly. They would back away and mumble their half-assed apologies before turning around and bolting the hell out of there. One of them would trip, and the other would try to help him up, dragging and skittering, looking back over their shoulder at this seething menace that they’d summoned!

Instead, Cynthia skulked around waiting for them to finish talking, and for Housten to head back inside. Finally, she got her fists together and stomped over to the recruiters.

“What are you two ass monkeys doing?” That was rhetorical.

Mr. Cool took off his glasses, and smiled. His vexatious charisma cut her resolve cleanly in two. “Cynthia! Right?” He held out his hand, “I’m Anton Wright, and this is my associate, Douglas Digfeld.”