They were all ushered into the Great Hall. An ancient word, but aptly fitting even in these advanced years of humanity’s existence. The room was immense. Beams of artificially shaped cellulose stretched impossibly far without buttress, support, or arch. The straight beams ran for what must have been a hundred meters and ended in some cloud-like inorganic.

Auberje’s insides were jelly but the good kind. Exhaustion had set up shop hours ago deep in his small bones, and now he was powered solely off elation. The elation he felt because of 3-4.

They were a wild bunch, ages 7-18. Smart, clever, louder than his family. Boisterous hooligans, his nan would call them, and he thought he might love them all already. They were so kind and warm. Two things he realized now were in short supply in his life with his parents.

As his gaze moved from the beams of wood to the far end of the hall, he realized a fog was billowing around the edges of the massive room. Thick tendrils of smoky haze shifted and flowed like some engineering student’s nightmare of fluid dynamics. He looked around to see if he should be concerned. He saw the determination on the faces of the 3-4’s but didn’t see any fear. He relaxed slightly.

“Right, here’s how this is going to go, firsties,” Flight Leader Miriam spoke insistently but softly, “This is your first Greathing. They are all different. They are not what you imagine them to be.” She sighed loudly, hands falling to beneath her ample bosom, “Look, I’m not going to lie this stuff is weird at first. And you are likely to get knocked out early, but just do your best to stay out of the way and avoid the other berths. Can you do that for me?”

They nodded in agreement. Eight little heads bobbing up and down. The rest of their bodies shifted uncertainly. Unsure of what the Greathing really was. They knew as much as anyone else outside Star Academy. Greathing was the competition at Star Academy. Or it was the practicum. It was either a sport or a spelling bee. No, maybe it was like Math Olympics.

They were not prepared for what came next. A loud voice spoke from the speakers in the walls. “Greathing rules of engagement: Do not touch the mist. Goal: have the most Firsties left alive at the end of 30 minutes. Weapons: Any available. Play area: Great Hall. Mode: CQC.”

“Fuck, this is going to suck,” Nicols “Jacket” Bertie spat, shaking his short-cropped hair. He wore a pair of fatigues in light grey. The rest of 3-4 was around him and Miriam. Auberje knew Miriam wasn’t the head honcho, she was only 16 but he had yet to meet the leader.

A blonde boy with blue eyes and teeth that shone stood near the middle of 3-4’s informal huddle, “Alright, Headmistress, we wager 30 days of food chores that we beat 1-1 and… we want to gain access to the Imperium. What would we have to do to get that?”

“Ah, good. I’ll accept your wager on behalf of the staff. Should you be successful, you will be ineligible for food duties for 30 standard days. As for the Imperium….a ballsy move. Make Jacket your leader during this Greathing. If he can guide you to victory, I’ll give you one standard week onboard the Imperium, spread out over the next three months.”

“One standard week each, Headmistress, in hours. So we can swap and share and extend as needed for key personnel,”

“Very well, agreed.”

“Okay, Nicols, you heard the lady, You set our strategy and lead us today. I have every confidence you’ll do the 3-4 proud.”

Nicols looked ill. His face was chartreuse. An uncomfortable silence filled the group. Auberje wasn’t sure but he would have bet the rest of the group wasn’t thrilled Bertie was in charge. He didn't really understand what they were doing here, but he assumed they were now going to be more important than before as they were part of the goal.

“Err, right. I want the firsties paired with 15s. You guys are our middle tier fighters and you’re good in a scrap. I need you to take them and position yourself in front of them. You are expendable, they are not. Repeat it to me.” Nicols gained steam as he kept talking. The group of 30 or so 15s repeated back “We are expendable, they are not.” The group talked briefly then split themselves up, 8 minders going to the firsties, the rest going to stand around Nicols.

Auberje was paired with a thick armed black boy named Ajax. “Don’t worry kid, I’ve got you. I volunteered and chose you specifically. We’ve got this. This Greathing is interesting already.”

Ajax and Auberje moved toward the huddle when Nicols took a deep breath. Then, he started to issue orders.

“Alright, this is the usual CQC setup, I want 3-4 in 5 squads, you know who you are, take 2 firsties per group except for my squad. We take none, our job is to seek and destroy. We are to take out the firsties of 1-1 as quickly as possible. We will set traps here and here,” bright points highlighted in Auberje’s HUD. Two small chokepoints, alleys between buildings were marked in pulsing red.

He shrugged, his role was to stay alive, he knew. He just wasn't sure what it entailed. Rifles materialized in the air around the teams, different sizes, and shapes. The boys and girls of 3-4 plucked them up like manna from heaven. They checked them, locked and loaded, and split up. The groups grabbed their firsties, Ajax and his squadmates took Auberje. Ajax smiled at him, “Just point and shoot this,” he handed Auberje a submachine gun. Auberje recognized it as a Type 54r. The classic weapon of the Corporation's special forces. The gun seemed very, very real. He swallowed, “Ajax, sir.,”

“I am no sir, Auberje, just a squaddie basic like you,” Ajax was grinning wildly, “Don’t worry, Auberje, these are dummy rounds. They hurt, but they just mark you with colored light. Oh, and they lock up your armor. So don’t expect to move around once you are dead.”

Auberje smiled wanly, the thin sheet of fear whisking itself off his skin in sweat droplets. He felt some of the tension ease. Greathing was a game. Okay, he could do this and he would survive. He wanted 3-4 to win. More than anything, he did not want to disappoint his new friends.

Nicols was giving each squad orders via the HUD. He seemed to be doing a good job. No one countermanded him. When he asked for advice it was given as advice by everyone except the blonde boy who had turned control over to Nicols.

“Alright 3-4, you know the drill. We head to the center of the map, we take Building Green, as marked. GO GO GO!” Nicols sent them running. They were operating on the premise the fog would come from the outside in. So far, it seemed true. Where they were once huddling was now obscured in a thick fog.

Auberje and the team were racing away from it as quickly as possible heading for the center of the room and a tall, windowless structure perhaps 600 yards from them. A dozen small boxy structures were between 3-4 and their objective. On the other side of the objective were hundreds more buildings of varying heights. The tall boxy structure quickly became all Auberje saw.

“You heard Yellow Jacket, let’s go 3-4-1 let’s go go go!” A tall green-haired girl of perhaps 14 lead Ajax, Auberje, and ten others in a dead sprint for the building. Auberje saw Riley with an oversized pistol running beside him. She was in 3-4-1 too.

He smiled at her and she grinned back, grim and determined, they ran together panting quickly as the ground started to change beneath their feet. Where once it was flat and smooth, now it was rocky and sloping. The squad ran hard, trying to overcome the obstacles. Behind them, the fog crept closer.

“Damn it!” The squad leader of 3-4-1 struck her thigh with a gloved fist in anger, “We need a faster way to center build. Headmistress?”

“Yes, Squad Leader Tiana?”

“I’m calling in my chit, I want a Clancy class transport Mark 1 here and I want it stat.”

“Are you sure, Tiana, you’ve not come close to getting another chit in 65 straight games.”

Tiana looked angry but determined, “I'm sure. Pony up, Headmistress and do it now.”

“Very well, your ship awaits.”

A Clancy class Mark 1 transport, sleek, oblong, and black as night materialized in front of them. Two side guns poked out like angry scars on the otherwise gorgeous titanium. “Get in folks, I want Ajax and the kid on the guns, make sure he knows how to shoot. I want Riley and Grim in the co-pilot seats. The rest of you, buckle up with the dropslips. I want to be air support for Hunter Seeker Squad. And I expect you people to fuck up some 1-1s days.”

A chorus of “Yes, Ma’ams” and a burst of action. Ajax strapped Auberje into a bubble seat, showing him the three controls and how to activate his Howler missiles. Then Ajax took his own seat opposite the small hallway and the two of them started looking for targets.

It did not take long to see something to shoot at. Auberje caught it first. A flying object heading their way at speeds far exceeding the Mark 1s.

“What, what is that?” Auberje asked over the open channel.

“Fuckers, we have a Greenie coming in, Ajax and Auberje, open up on it, no howlers. I’m taking evasives, Clancy Chaff needed, Goliath, make it happen,” The stream of words meant nearly nothing to Auberje except “open up.”

He could do that. He squeezed the trigger, putting a line of energy fire sizzling through the air toward the flying object. He must have hit something vital because the object, a ship by all accounts explodes violently. A small object was shot from inside it to the ceiling and exited the arena. “Nice shooting kid,” Ajax said, “You got it!”

“More coming fast, keep firing!” The cry was from Riley. She was peering over a round display. Radar and sensors showed dozens of craft peeling away from the far side of the battle arena. 1-1 was committing heavily to the battle.

Nicols’ voice broke in over comms, “They must have committed to a big wager, we need this win, folks. If you have chits, call them in. It’s the first greathing of the new season. I need air support for 3-4-1. I need two missile batteries.” Again areas highlighted on the HUD, “Stat!”

From over the channel, blonde boy's deep voice, “Headmistress, make it happen. I use 3 chits from last season you owe me for a pair of SAMs and I want a Marchet Antitank rifle.”

“As you wish,” came the voice of the headmistress. It made Auberje pause in his shooting to think of her ethereal feel.

“Kid, don’t you stop firing! THos missiles are not in the air and on target yet. 1-1 might still get here first.”

He blushed, “Sorry.” He fired again and again, swiveling in his chair as he swung this way and that to blast at the small, fleet ships coming his way. He danced around in the chair. This was playing video games with a few steps removed. He swung the weapons system up and down in a chopping motion sending the bolts of light particles out in cross patterns. The ships blew up, but they sent ordinance toward the Clancy and it started to tell. The 600 yards felt like a million miles away. The Clancy lurched and shook as holes started to materialize in the sides of her. Two of the dropslips fell apart and the ship ejected a pair of third years. The 10-year-olds fell from the floor screaming.

Ajax spoke, “Don’t worry, they are fine. Concentrate on the fight.” then to Tiana, “We almost there, Teapot?”

“It’s Kettle, Ajax, and yeah, we are there, settling down now. Get the kids inside, Griffin and Sandwich take over the guns. We are going up and over. I want to eat some 1-1s. Bossman is sending us on the attack. Ajax, you are responsible for the kid's safety.”

“Alright, got it.”

“Let’s go, people, move 3-4-1.”

They moved. He unstrapped, leaped up from his seat, saw Ajax heading his way, and waved him toward the rear hatch. He swung it open. They ran out of the ship, Riley, almost thrown from the vessel, came out too. The Clancy swung up violently, guns firing, and raced off toward 1-1. Auberje saw dropslips open and beams of light send his squadmates to the roofs of nearby buildings. He could see squads of 1-1s and 3-4s engaged in combat. Ajax grabbed his arm, “Come on kids, we are going to take up defensive positions two floors down. The computer says that’s our best bet for a defensive section.”

He opened a backpack he had brought from the ship. He handed each of them claymores, and small oblong objects Auberje recognized as tripwires. He sputtered deftly in his hands. He was used to these being virtual but understood the value of them. They entered the building quickly through a set of swinging metal doors. Ajax paused, placing a tripwire at the entrance, he tagged in the HUD. He showed Riley and Auberje how he did it.

“Never forget you can tell your team where you put the goodies, and you should. We’ve been hacked a few times but better your team gets the info than fragging one of your own.”

“Understood,” Riley said, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed. She slipped her visor down, putting her pistole out in front of her, in imitation of what she saw on the holos at home.

“Never fired a gun before?” Ajax asked her, seeing the stance.

“No, sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. It’s not a requirement in this universe of ours, but here at the Academy, we prepare you for war. You’ll learn. In the meantime, point and squeeze. Try not to shoot Auberje or me. If you do, don’t worry. First Greatihings are meant to be tough. We don’t get to train you. It’s a test to see who needs extra attention.”

“Not me,” she spat viciously, then lowered her head in evident shame, “Sorry, but I don’t need extra attention. I won’t shoot either of you.”

Ajax paused his walking eyeing her plainly, “I believe you.” he put a hand on her shoulder nudging her forward. They made it to the rooms indicated on their HUD as the most defensible. Of course, they were defensible… and already occupied.