“And another thing –” Grendel was cut off by a sharp rap on the door of the observation booth. He switched off communications to the Simulation Sphere and rounded on the door. “It better be important,” He barked, “I’m with a trainee right now.”
“Is it Brag?” The door slid open and a young man strode in without waiting to be invited. He leaned over one of the screens showing the charted heart rate. Even then, it was still bobbing around ten beats per minute more than was average. The instructor snorted disapprovingly.
“Yes, a mater of fact I was just debriefing him on his despicable attempt assassination.” The other man was busy cycling through the recorded charts from the missions that morning. His normally bright and cheery features were drawn into a dark frown. Grendel gave him a severe glace before saying, “You really should teach that boy some resilience, Jofur; he’s been acting like a frightened pip all day. Jumpy as hell.”
“I would be, too, if I had had three kamikaze missions back to back.” Jofur said softly from in front of the screen. As he looked at the recorded pulse monitored through each mission he noticed they looked more like a seismograph of a serious earthquake than a chart of a human’s heart rate. “There’s a reason they have a daily limit for these mission types, Grendel; the chemical and psychological strain can be –” He shook his head, giving a low whistle, “- nasty.”
“You sound like you have a lot of experience in the matter,” the instructor said sarcastically. Jofur straightened and look the older man staight in the face when he said, “Yes, a lot more than I wish.” Grendel coughed, deciding he wouldn’t mock him on the subject anymore. Jofur sat down at the desk and started looking through some of the video footage from the missions. “Remember Ieron?” Jofur asked after a while. The instructor grunted, faintly remembering a thick-necked assassin he had to constantly chase from the simulators.
“He was my Big Brother.”
This inspired the slightest hint of surprise, “I keep forgetting who’s assigned to who, nowadays.”
Jofur continued, “He died from almost five different types of cancer just a few years ago. The medics traced it all back to his excessive uses of the last generation simulators, and the stress and frustration that came with it.”
“He was trying too hard to use a fake life to get over his real one.” Grendel said thickly, the incident had left a dark stain in his memory and had caused a massive reevaluation of the simulators – not to mention the many new regulations concerning how often the simulators were open for use. Jofur agreed with the blunt observation, but he would never admit that openly to Grendel. He had started scrolling through the times.
“You should have withdrawn him after he was stabbed in the stomach.” Jofur said stiffly.
“Hmm?”
“He was bleeding to death for almost seven minutes, and after the second stab he was completely incapacitated.”
“Oh, the first mission,” The instructor commented lightly, “I thought I would give him a chance to bring a few down with him; he was trying right to his last breath.” Jofur gave him a dark look through the corner of his eyes, he was sure there was some rule against ‘unnecessary suffering’ in the books. He would have to find that before this particular instructor had another session with his trainee. The younger man slipped a thump-nail sized memory chip into the command panel.
“You really like to overdo it, don’t you?” Jofur, snarled under his breath. Grendel rounded on him; he hadn’t heard a single word, but the tone had made the meaning apparent. “Whatever you need to say to me you can say it to my face!” His vicious bark was usually enough to startle a lesser assassin into silence; but Jofur was an equal, despite their difference in age, and such shows of force did little to faze him.
“It seems to me you forget that what’s happening in those simulators is affecting a living human.” Jofur stood to his full height and stared at the grizzly instructor firmly. Grendel glared back. He gritted his teeth as he snarled.
“Just ‘affecting’ isn’t enough. They’re supposed to be learning means for survival.”
“All he’s ‘learning’ is to fear every second of every mission because they’ll ultimately lead to some horrid death -” Jofur’s voice was swiftly rising, but the older man’s bark cut through.
“And for an assassin that screws up, that’s exactly what awaits him -”
Jofur hissed sharply, “And do you know, statistically, what the single leading cause of accidents on the field is?”
“Naiveté and arrogance –”
“No, actually; it’s not naiveté, or arrogance, or even inexperience,” Jofur gave a crooked little smile before suddenly roaring. “It’s because of the exhaustion from continuous stress, the kind your ‘training’ –” Jofur gestured angrily at one of the screens, “- causes in the trainees, and the kind you’re teaching to my Little Brother. Do you know what that does to a person on a four to five hour long mission -?”
“These boys need some idea of what the real world is like!” The man roared, a tendon throbbing beneath his ear. Jofur quivered with fury at the gall of the instructor’s exhausted excuse.
“Yes, I get that,” He hissed at first, but his voice soon rose to a pitch to match his opponent. “But in the real world a person isn’t going to face death three different ways in just a few hours and then be expected to stand at attention and go straight to a written examination, not to mention the usual daily training. For lots sake, Grendel, you’ve had him in there since five in the morning!”
Grendel jabbed his finger at Jofur’s face, “You haven’t the faintest clue what this boy is capable of because you spend all your time coddling him and putting bandages on every little scratch –”
The youth shoved the hand away and roared. “He would be capable of much more if he wasn’t being worn thin by your statistical training regime –”
“What’s all this?” The low voice rolled like thunder into the dark observation booth. Both Jofur and the Instructor froze. A bull of a man was standing outside of the door. His skin was as dark as ebony and seemed to absorb all of the light from the hallway behind him. To the two observers in the room, he was the imposing silhouette of muscled shoulders with two steely eyes glinting from a shadowed face. He had to lower his head to walk into the observation booth.
“What’s going on in here?” His words seemed to fill the whole room. Jofur bowed his head, suddenly self-conscious of what the Master Commissioner must have heard. Grendel, in his usual fashion, stood erect and faced the Commissioner with the resolute of feeling he was in the right.
“He was questioning my authority, sir.” The instructor said, “As you know, the training schedules and procedures in the simulators are under my jurisdiction.”
The imposing man nodded casually. “Yes, that’s true,” He pulled a long rod from a pocket on the thigh of his uniform. It folded out into a touch screen. “But that power is always limited by the rules and regulations of Commissionings and the Medical Faction. Medical leave counts as one of those limitations.” He navigated the files on the viewing device and then held out the Visual Platform for the other two to see. It was a form signed by a doctor and two of the head Commissioners. The red seal of the Lotus Garden flashed from the bottom of the page. The instructor deflated in the dim light of the V-P screen. “This isn’t your first offence, Grendel. If you continue to overreach your authority then it will be in my jurisdiction to take you before the Courts. Is that clear?” Without so much as raising his voice, he had cowed Grendel completely.
“Yes, sir.”
Once he had made his position clear, he returned his attention to the V-P, and said flatly, “You have my permission to leave.” The other two hesitated, It wasn’t always clear with this Commissioner as to what was a request and what was an order. When the man’s sharp eyes fell on Grendel, though, the intention seemed clear. “What are you still doing here?”
“Yes sir.” He disappeared as quickly as possible after that. Jofur watched him with the faintest tremor of pity. He realized the instructor had just been removed from the only place he had any authority. The Commissioner was looking over the various computer screens, pausing occasionally to type away at the V-P. Jofur fidgeted beside the door.
“Yes, Jofur, I know you want to ask me something.” The tall man bent over one of the screens. The youth nodded.
“Master Morgan, sir –”
“’Morgan’ is just fine for the moment, I’m not here to reprimand you, specifically.”
“Alright, Morgan,” It felt strange to say his name without any title, it went against his training, “I just wanted to apologize for my outburst before you had come in, I was being a little – eh – uncouth about my opinions.”
Morgan straightened, and gave a weary sigh. He turned to Jofur and spoke to him as a mentor, not as a master. “Jofur, I can understand as well as anyone your concerns for your trainee. I had the same worries over my Little Brother when I was still a part of Double Leaf; as do most who take on the position of Big Brother.” Jofur listened with rapt attention to a side of the Commissioner he had never even considered. “It is good to be attentive to his needs and weaknesses, and to be there to help him through his troubles, but you mustn’t forget your own position and duties. Remember the Assassin Tenet is based on the respect of each member’s place within the whole. It is never about the individual, because the individual will never be as strong as he would be beside his brethren.”
“Sir, it was never my intention of questioning the ways of the Double Leaf; only Grendel. I didn’t feel what he was doing was right considering Brag’s current state. And he’s only seventeen; he doesn’t need this sort of pressure when his Confirmation Mission won’t be for another ten months.” He would have said more, but Morgan had lifted his hand in a gesture for the younger assassin to stop.
“Jofur, your intentions in this situation were never in question. You had every right to challenge Grendel this time. My concern is that you will forget yourself and challenge an equal, or even superior from very single-minded feelings for your LB. When there is confrontation with another assassin you take it before one of the higher assassins or a member of the Lotus Garden before it escalates to a heated shouting match.”
Jofur bowed his head, “That was my intention, sir.” He pointed to the chip still sitting in the command panel. Morgan reached over and plucked up the tiny memory device.
“May I take it with me for further evaluation?”
Jofur nodded. Morgan slid the chip into a protective casing around his wrist. The wide bracelet, like the Visual Platform, was a staple of all the assassins, regardless of rank. He pocketed his V-P and had turned to the door.
“Thank you – and Jofur; understand that this wasn’t a reprimand, merely a reminder.” He paused at the door and gave the younger assassin a polite nod, “And you should go and take care of your Little Brother.”
“Thank you, sir.” Jofur bowed from the hip, but Morgan had already turned away. He called over his shoulder as the door closed.
“Let him sleep the rest of the morning, I’m sure he’s exhausted.”
