Chương 63: Crowley’s Doubts

"An introductory course in xenomorph physiology concludes here," Selina announced. She clicked the remote, and the projector mounted beneath the lecture hall ceiling died with a dull hum.

"Hell yeah!" Ted threw his notebook almost to the ceiling without caring that the pages might scatter everywhere.

"Freedom!"

"QUIET!" The sergeant by the door unleashed such an acoustic artillery blast that my ears rang.

"Class isn't over yet, cadet! Pick that notebook up off the floor. Move it." The guys in the front rows winced. I watched Ted scramble after his notebook and lazily considered my own prospects. If command really decided to move me into a physical training instructor position, my routine would turn into this. Standing guard by the doorway while some professor lectured, occasionally barking at a pack of teenagers with hormones raging out of control. Frankly, it sounded miserable.

"What freedom're you talking about, cadet?" Selina lowered her glasses down the bridge of her nose and looked at Ted over the thin frame. In moments like that, she had the gaze of a federal judge.

"Your final tests're in three days. Until then, there'll be no rest. You'll sit in this classroom from bell to bell memorizing your own notes. And I'll sit here making sure at least something remotely resembling knowledge sticks inside your heads." Ted glanced sideways at the sergeant, who was still drilling into him with a heavy stare from beneath the brim of his cap.

"Yeah, and the sergeant isn't going anywhere either." The corner of Selina's lips twitched upward for barely a fraction of a second.

"Strictly to make sure none of you confuse a classroom with a game room. Burn this into your brains: you're here to study. If you wanna gossip about life, go to the lounge." The timer on her watch beeped briefly, announcing the break. The cadets shuffled toward the exit, gloomily discussing their chances of failing the theory exam, and soon the hallway filled with the scraping of army boots as most of them headed toward the library. I stayed where I was.

When the door closed behind the last cadet, I stood, walked to the podium, and placed a thick folded sheet of paper in front of Selina.

"Here. Full breakdown of the entire group's abilities. The way my system reads them."

"Thanks." Her eyes skimmed the neat lines for a moment before she carefully slipped the paper into the deep pocket of her white lab coat and patted it with her palm.

"I'll go over it right after lunch. Maybe I can still make a few adjustments to their individual training tracks."

"Isn't it a little late for adjustments?" I pulled a chair closer and sat across from her, resting my elbows against the cool tabletop.

"Graduation's in three days. The guys're already mentally packing their bags."

"Not at all." Selina clicked her tongue in disagreement.

"First of all, not all of them'll pass. A third'll fail the exam on the first attempt, and we'll keep them stuck here for another week. Some of them for a month."

"You sound like you've already got a list of who's gonna fail." I tilted my head slightly, waiting for an explanation.

"It's nothing personal, Tom." She adjusted her glasses back up the bridge of her nose.

"Every class consistently has at least one cadet who either trips over his own feet on the obstacle course or writes complete nonsense on the written test. Pure statistics."

"You can't argue with numbers. You've got a point there," I admitted.

"And what's the second reason?"

"Second, the ones who do make it through the filter'll go home. After that, they'll have to sharpen their skills on their own. We're not a charity foundation, and we're not gonna hold their hands until retirement. We hammered the basic safety procedures into their heads and gave them direction. The rest's on them. Time to grow up."

"Hammered's definitely the right word," I muttered, remembering the daily drills.

"The only thing they didn't do was brand instructions onto our foreheads about only using abilities in the middle of nowhere and without witnesses."

"And it works." She smiled softly, appreciating the bluntness.

"I'll tell you a little secret, Tom. More than half these kids quit training during the very first week after leaving camp. But the moment they go beyond the perimeter for the first real portal run, their training discipline jumps to one hundred percent. Every single one of them."

"Isn't the first deployment supposed to be an easy introductory trip with veteran Corps escorts?"

"Technically, yeah." Selina nodded.

"Just a guided tour. The problem's that after every coming-of-age ceremony, they tell them directly: 'Next time, boys, you'll be going in alone. Nobody's gonna cover your asses.' That clears the mind and cures laziness surprisingly fast."

"Proven method." I drummed my fingers against the table while staring straight at her.

"All right, I get the cadet situation. But did you forget something yourself?" Selina tilted her head slightly, studying me with a narrowed gaze like a cat hearing rustling in the corner.

"Enlighten me. What're we talking about?"

"Another dose of poison for my immune system."

"Oh, that." She didn't even bother pretending to feel sorry.

"My fault. Slipped my mind. I meant to tell you yesterday: the project's closed. No more special compounds. You metabolized every sample I had clearance for."

"And the verdict? My immune system grinds up any infection without consequences now?" Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

"At the moment, yeah."

"What does 'at the moment' mean?"

"Your readings're at their peak right now. They're perfect. But there're no constants in our world." Selina sighed, slipping into the dry professional tone of a researcher.

"Pharmacology and virology never stop evolving, Tom. Give it a year or two, and somewhere in Langley or Fort Detrick they'll synthesize some new nightmare capable of bypassing your defenses. Biological arms races never end."

"Only if I don't stop progressing." I looked at her expectantly.

"My body adapts with every new strain. The stronger the poison, the stronger the response. Maybe it's time to stop dealing with Earth's bureaucratic nonsense. Time to move on to heavy artillery: xeno viruses."

"Slow down, Tom." Selina instantly lost all trace of irony, and her gaze hardened.

"I already told you, access to portal biomaterials requires top-level clearance. This isn't an aspirin tablet."

"Well, you handled the Omega steroid issue suspiciously fast." I narrowed my eyes, making it clear her arguments felt shaky to me.

"Because nobody in the Pentagon gives a damn about that obsolete junk," she replied dryly.

"To them, it's just leftover Cold War stockpile trash. Portal biological samples're different. Crowley controls that monopoly, and the old man's digging his heels in. He's got doubts."

"Why's that?" I narrowed my eyes.

"I thought you were one of his top favorites, and he signed your reports without even reading them."

"He's not doubting my competence, Tom. He's doubting you." Selina looked me dead in the eye without a trace of her usual irony, and that heavy stare sent a chill crawling across my skin.

"Crowley's not thrilled that a cadet who's barely been here a minute's already trying to get his hands on the Corps' strategic trophies. And honestly, I've got questions too. I'm not sure your [Trainer] can metabolize a xeno matrix. You're human, and so far we've only tested your immune system against Earth-based pathogens. There's a very real chance your superpower'll choke on an alien structure, your DNA chain'll go straight to hell, and you'll just bleed out on my table from internal hemorrhaging."

"I see." I scratched my chin while processing the information. The news was bad, but there was no point panicking or getting angry.

"So at this stage, we've hit a dead end with upgrading my immunity?"

"I didn't say that." Selina adjusted her glasses with a familiar gesture.

"We need time. First, I'll run a couple dozen expanded blood tests. Meanwhile, you'll finish your graduation requirements, go through your first portal, get your official contract, and secure your place in the Corps roster. You'll become one of us. By then, Crowley'll cool off, and I'll have finished the calculations."

"Sounds reasonable." I nodded. There was no anger, only pure calculation. From my office job experience, I knew perfectly well how any large system worked. Management always valued initiative and employees capable of delivering results, but nobody handed a million-dollar deal to the most ambitious rookie during his first week on the job. First, you built a reputation, formed connections, and became an essential part of the team. Only after that did you step into the major leagues.

The rules here were exactly the same. The stakes were just much higher than money.

"All right, let's shelve xeno biology for now. How's the Omega upgrade coming along?" I shifted the conversation toward something more tangible.

"Faster than I expected." Selina smugly lifted her chin, and the familiar sparks of professional vanity lit up her eyes again.

"Once my [Engineer] got the full chemical breakdown and layered it against the dynamics of your metamorphosis, the algorithm produced two viable options. The first's conservative: we cut the side effects and reduce the fatality risk to a minimum. The second's aggressive: we squeeze everything possible out of the formula, increase power output, and push muscle growth to the absolute limit."

"Option two," I answered without hesitation.

"I need a new level, not another vitamin supplement."

"Who could've guessed." She sighed theatrically and looked away, although deep down she was obviously pleased with my choice.

"I've already started the reactors and begun synthesizing the base compound. But the process is delicate. Bringing the reagents to the proper condition'll take at least a week."

"Seven days." I thoughtfully drummed my fingers against my knee.

"Too bad. We won't make it before the final tests and the sparring match."

"And why're you in such a hurry?" Selina looked at me over the rim of her glasses again.

"Graduation's just a formality. Nobody's stopping us from staying in touch afterward. We can do the injection later in a calmer environment. Honestly, it'll be better that way. No sergeants breathing down our necks and no screaming kids everywhere."

"Fair enough," I agreed, though a faint trace of disappointment remained.

"I just wanted to walk into the dojo against Sam as prepared as possible."

"There's that primitive fistfight obsession again." She rolled her eyes as if Sam and I were planning to play in a sandbox. I did not bother arguing. If after nearly five years of working together on the base she still did not understand that every sparring match for Sam was not just trading punches but a genuine art form, then my lectures definitely would not help. Since direct physical enhancement was temporarily on hold, I would need to make up the difference through equipment.

In the end, good engineering compensated for almost any biological weakness.

"The sergeant mentioned you can rebuild the S-Armor tactical kit. You willing to handle an upgrade?"

"Tom, I designed that armor from scratch." Notes of creator's arrogance slipped into her voice.

"Of course I can modify it." I ignored another burst of her pride, silently reached into my pocket, and pulled out a folded sheet with a rough sketch. After unfolding it, I slid the diagram toward her.

"Considering my anatomy and the fact that I operate equally well with both hands, the standard setup isn't enough. I need the balance distributed symmetrically. It'd make sense to mount a third reserve tank on the back and redesign the holsters for dual pistols so I can fire both at the same time."

"Childish doodles." Selina skeptically examined my sketch while delicately pinching the paper between two fingers.

"But there's a grain of common sense here. Easy job: we'll put your kit on the rig, weld new mounts, rewrite the distribution valve firmware, and add a couple new modules. I think I can assemble this configuration in about five hours."

"Perfect. Thanks."

"There's just one thing..." Selina paused, and a familiar sly spark flickered in her eyes.

"That kit weighs a lot. Heavy, rough armor, and somebody's gotta haul it from storage to the workshop. And as you can see, I'm a fragile woman. My back definitely won't thank me for that kind of workload." The hint was as subtle as a ship's anchor chain. Only a complete idiot could have missed it. I could have played dumb and reasonably pointed out that she would never have to carry crates herself anyway. The base had an entire duty platoon and cargo carts for that.

But damaging the relationship over something so minor would have been stupid. Selina would turn stubborn out of spite, drag the upgrade process out for a week, and I would end up stuck with the default setup right before deployment. Pure pragmatism demanded compromise.

"I'll stop by your room after dinner tonight. I'll work on your shoulders and back," I promised calmly as I stood up from the chair before she could add anything else to her list of "hardships."

"Holding you to that, massage boy. I'll be waiting," she purred after me. I pushed open the heavy lecture hall door and stepped into the corridor. Sam, I really hope you appreciate the lengths I have to go to in order to secure upgrades for our fight.