The Long Shot Pt. 01

Hornet felt immense relief -- followed by a queasy sweep of sympathetic nausea as she saw the municipal agrav field had kicked on and bubbled her, uh...breakfast and was now wafting it about at eye level.

[[COMSEC: Flagged for class 10 violation of public health ordinance. This is your first warning.]]

Hornet wiped her mouth clean, blushed, then looked around herself. A few of the local sentients were giving her funny looks. "Sorry!" she said. "Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry!" She flicked her finger at the AR illusion of the local security warning out of her field of vision, then started to edge away as her breakfast floated up into the skies, to be swept into the detrtius traffic that threaded almost invisibly overhead among the gird of agrav pedestrians and cargo that made Arlenlaylen such a wonderful place to live.

VR sickness nowithstanding.

Hornet managed to stumble into high speed trans-continental gravshaft and ride the whole way to her college without throwing up again. Once she was at the campus for Arlen-U, she tried to avoid showing her face to any students who might recognize her and ask why she wasn't in class. Then she tried to avoid showing her face to the four canidform men who weren't wearing their shirts and making a big show of throwing a ball around on the green field that dominated the center of the campus. But that was mostly because just looking at them made her want to drool and dribble like the VR unit had lobotomized her.

Finally, and only, like, twenty minutes late, she got to the front door of her class and hoped no one would notice as she opened the door.

The only problem?

She had opened the door precisely in the middle of one of Professor Leylen's infamous dramatic pauses. He was standing before a holographic projection of the universe -- the old style visualization that used radar imaging rather than something more fanciful and aesthetically pleasing. He lowered all four of his arms as the entire class turned to look at Hornet. Even the echolocaters and scenters turned their heads to angle their sense organs at her.

"Hornet Abernathy!" Professor Leylen said, spreading all four of his arms dramatically. "You grace us with your presence!"

"S-Sorry professor," Hornet stammered, finding the nearest empty seat and sliding into it. Her shoulders hunched and she tried to just...dissolve into a fine powder as Professor Leylin sighed with such expressive irritation that it sparked a wave of giggling, laughter, and amusement-scents throughout the class. She hunched her shoulders further as Leylen continued his lecture.

Applied Theology was a course name that was only partially whimsical. The Concordant lived in a relatively small band of habitable systems -- for all that they referred to their slice of the galaxy as the 'habitable zone.' There were planets far closer to the core that were livable, but they ran into the same problem most forms of advanced technology did so. The smaller a processor, the smaller a manipulator, the smaller an energy cell, the easier it was for a single cosmic ray or gravitational flux or even simple waste heat to destroy it.

It was a constant problem, even in the habitable zone, which was located on the very edge of the galactic plane and abutted up against the furthest sweeps of the halo stars. Just being away from the Core did help a great deal, but there was still a ferocious need for new consumables to be produced and filtered into the tech that sustained and supported civilization -- and the Pantheon. This was the main reason why the Concordant continued to exist, despite the hypothetical dangers that the Pantheon represented.

While it was entirely possible for the Pantheon to advance from their merely super-intelligent forms to a kind of singularitarian intelligence like that written about by 20^th century science fiction novelists, they wouldn't be able to automate and control the systems that produced the replacement guts that kept them running...and, some argued, even if they could, the automated production of all that stuff would end up being just as messy and complicated and contradictory as biological lifeforms.

So, why bother?

If the Pantheon was upset about their position as perpetually dependent upon and beholden to the Concordant, they didn't show it. And the inverse was true -- without the Pantheon to manage long distance communication, live translation, automated factories, and the millions of other complex and dangerous technological actions that kept the Concordant from collapsing into a thousand minor stellar empires, the Concordant would have long since ceased to exist. And, honestly, considering the warlike nature of some of the Concordat's most profligate members...a whole lot of the galaxy would be rubble right now.

And so...

There were classes like this.

"There exists two hypothetical forms of God beyond what we have currently created," Leylen said, ticking it off with his upper right arm's fingers. "The first is the concept of an unshacked SI. The potential of such a creature existing in the in the cold dark between interstellar space is all but impossible to deny, considering modern tachyonic observations..." He gestured back to the screen, and the view shifted to a modern 'non-relative temporal view' of the universe. Tachyon bursts weren't the most detailed way to view the universe, but for gross observations, they were more than sufficient to show that several galaxies in the local supercluster had been distorted, twisted, altered.

With billions of stars spun apart and their arms broken and twisted into oddly geometric patterns, the galaxies looked rather like the aftermath of mold spreading on once clean petri dishes. The view represented what the night sky was going to look like in a few million years, once the light from the distant events reached them.

"These may represent the orderly constructions of SIs that we might recognize as sane. However, there exists another possibility." He held up a small object -- an artifact that Hornet did not recognize. No one else did, either. "This is a paperclip, a Terran invention, designed ten thousand years before, to order and hold together pieces of printed information. Speculation has existed since then that it would be possible for a singularitarian intelligence to be designed to manufacture paperclips -- and while their abilities and prowess become unimaginably advanced, the core design, the basic impulse of the intelligence, remains."

He dropped the paperclip in a bowl on his desk with an audible clink.

"We may live in a universe of gods driven to convert all matter into a consumer good for an extinct species -- and we may not know it for a million years." He chuckled, softly, while the chime of the time-alert echoed from the walls. "And it seems we've hit the end of the lecture. I want everyone to read T'Churrin's chapter in the Collected Essays on Pantheonic Thought and to begin writing out an outline for an essay -- I expect everyone to have an interesting topic to cover." He spoke as the students began to stand, wheel, float, and generally prepare. But the last word caught Hornet as she tucked her books away.

"Miss Abernathy, if you could speak with me before you go."

Hornet felt her stomach drop out of her.

She walked down, slipping past the aliens that were filing hurriedly out of the doors. A few glanced her way, but most of them were more interested in their next classes. Standing before Professor Leylen reminded Hornet how big a Fourarm was. He towered over her, and with each of his muscular arms crossed over his barrel chest, he looked like a stereotypical 'tough gangster' on any number of vidshows. The only thing interrupting this vibe was the large pair of corrective lenses that he wore on his snout, which were currently glinting off the light shining in through the huge windows that looked out over shimmering grid-lines of aerial traffic that threaded through the heavens.

He frowned as the last of the students left, then took his glasses off and sighed. "Nettie, this is the third time this month," he said, shaking his head.

Hornet looked down at her feet.

"Was it the sims?"

She nodded, mutely.

Leylen pinched the brow of his muzzle, rubbing up to his eyes, then down to his chin, where he tugged on his dangling scent tendrils. He let them curl back up again. "Nettie, you're the smartest kid in my class. Your essay on counter-singularitarian strategies was the best I've seen written -- it could be posted in an academic forum and earn you a month's worth of P2C." He shook his head. "But you can't skip my class for gaming."

"It's not gaming!" Hornet burst out, unable to stop herself. Her cheeks burned with shame as Leylen frowned at her.

"Nettie..." he said. But seeing her expression, he frowned. "Wait. You're not kidding? What is it, long-distance communications? Family issues?" With each mute shake of her head, her embarrassment grew more and more and more. "Well, what is it!?" He exclaimed, finally, sounding actually annoyed.

Professor Leylen up close and personal was not the pompous, dramatic pontificator that he was before a class. However, he still maintained some drama -- Hornet had a hard time not giggling at the expression he put on his face and the way he crossed his upper arms over his chest and put his lower hands on his hips, combining both of the classic human judgmental postures. She bit her lip, looked down at her feet, then kicked at the ground.

"They're training sims," she said, quietly. "For the Starship Corps."

Professor Leylin's scent-tendrils snapped out in the Fourarm expression of purest shock.

"...what?" he said.

Hornet sighed. "This is why I didn't tell anyone..."

"You? Hornet Abernathy? You wanted to join the Corps?" Leylin asked, his voice sounding even more shocked. "You?"

That was the exact tone of voice that had kept Hornet's dream secret. You? You? Mousy little Hornet Abernathy? The girl so frightened of the world that you hid your eyes from sexy wolfmen because you were worried they'd notice you thought they were cute? The girl who always sat at the back of the class and never drew attention to herself if she could? The girl who excelled at homework, and failed utterly when she stood up and had to string two words together? You wanted to join the Corps?

You? You? You? That word echoed in her head and her shoulders shrink down even more. She whispered. "I can do it."

"Nettie..."

She lifted her head, glaring at her professor. "I can do it. I've been running the training sims, I can do it, I've got an eighty percent on the basic sims, which are all you have to pass to get into the academy! And-"

"Nettie, being in the Corps isn't like a game. It's the most dangerous job in the universe -- and you can't choose to leave. When you're in the Corps, you're in the Corps for the duration, a full twenty years." He shook his head. "You have to deal with the Pantheon and pirates and planetary governments and...and..." He paused, watching her as she glared at him.

He sighed.

"How long have you been training in those sims?"

Hornet blushed. She looked aside. "Since I got to college. It's just, once you get from basic maneuver sims, and into the tactical stuff, they get really in depth and complicated. And..." She smiled, shyly. "Kinda fun. I know it's serious, it's not a game, but...I mean, there's a reason why most vidgames have you playing a members of the Corps." Her smile faded. "But I can do it, Leylin."

Leylin sighed.

"Don't show up late again, or else your grade drops a level," he said. "Now, get to your next class."

Hornet ducked back and started out, blushing furiously as she did so. She snatched up her backpack -- and felt the nausea from before. Except it wasn't the simple sim-stim neural confusion. She was, instead, just feeling the basic knot of nervous tension. She took notes for the rest of her classes, making sure to be punctilious and focused and, also, spent a lot of time cramming her worries into the back of her head. As she went from class to class, a tiny part of her marveled that her professors were shocked at her being interested in the Corps.

Like, she mentally listed her classes.

Physics 401: High Energy Astrophysics.

Physics 402: Dimensional Travel and Euclidean Space Transfers.

Programming 511: War Programming & Target Acquisition Strategies

Programming 515: Archaeological Expeditions in Archive Data

Applied Theo 101: General Applied Theology.

And she had a few extra tutors that she was cramming in -- stuff to improve her mental kinesthetic reactions. She even went to the gym. Her! Yes, she still got winded running the mile, but she had actually started to get muscles where she hadn't had muscles before.

[[COMSELF: hi nettie this is past nettie, it's leg day <3 <3 <3]]

"...fuck."

She had just finished the two hour class that was her programming archaeology course and her brain and body wanted nothing more than to sleep and forget stuff like org-charts and digression trees. But her past self had put this reminder in her comnet for a reason. It was leg day. She had to do leg day. She was going to get in the Corps. Getting into the Corps meant leg day. She just...didn't want to do leg day, she wanted to go home, burrow into her blanket like a grub, and go to sleep. But it was leg day.

"I hate leg day," she whispered.

The gymnasium in the university was easily one of the bigger structures on campus -- and not because Arlen-U had any particular dominance in the intergalactic sports scene. It was because Arlen-U had almost a hundred different distinct species, and each of those species had their own different tools and systems for physical exercises, and a significant amount of the University's P2C had been sunk into meeting those needs. It was actually one of Hornet's favorite buildings, since she loved to alienwatch here, especially in the aquatics section.

Part of that was because the aquatics section was on the farthest side from the Terran niche.

She came to the Terran niche and saw that two of the other Terrans that she knew at college were there. Brandelly Cordvine and Gwen Trinley were both chatting as they lounged by the lockers, their bodies already slippery with sweat despite their advanced skin-tight suits. Hornet, meanwhile, was just wearing a baggy T-shirt and shorts that did as much as they could to hide her butt. She felt skinny and awkward next to Cordvine with her winding glowing tattoos and her natural gray-green pigmentation, tusks and brunette hair. Cordvine, seeing her, beamed. "Hey Nettie," she said.

"H-H...hey," Hornet said, sitting at one of the leg press machines. She settled in, dialed in the weights, then began to slowly work it. Cordvine and Trinley both walked over and Trinley grinned at her.

"I hear that Leylen totally chewed you out after class," Trinley said.

Hornet was flushed now because of the workout and because of Trinley. She continued working on pumping her legs, breathing slowly, steadily.

"I-It's, uh...you know..." She breathed. "Fine."

Trinley giggled. "Well, like, uh, Cordvine and I are hanging out at Denzig Cheng's place. We're gonna watch some of the new vids that have been filtering in from the Orion Arm -- I hear some were even shot on Terra."

Hornet looked down at her legs, working them slowly. "N-N..." She breathed in. "I'm good."

Trinley shrugged and Cordvine and her walked off. Hornet could hear Trinley, even though the other girl tried to keep her voice soft. "She's such a weirdo."

[[COMGOV: ALERT. PRIORITY 1 MESSAGE FROM CONCORDANT STARSHIP CORPS]]

Hornet's thighs snapped open and the weight clashed down as she gaped at the floating message shimmering in her AR vision. She unhooked her legs, hastily, then wiped at her forehead, croaking. "P-Play!" The AR shimmered and, for a few seconds, her comnet tried to paint the uniformed canidform officer into the gymnasium, sitting casually on the workout machine right across from her. Hornet hastily made the hand gesture for 'flat projection' and the canidform flashed from sitting across to her to being projected in a window that floated before her like a mobile television.

In his proper form, the canidform officer was a tough looking, husky-looking man with the midnight black and white of the Concordant Navy, with pips and marking that she immediately recognized. He was a logistics officer, a Lieutenant-Administrator, posted on this planet with a long service medal and a star for efficiency. He stood at attention, with his hands behind his back.

"Miss Hornet Abernathy, we have received your admission request and reviewed it, alongside your submitted files." He chuckled. "Actually, once the automated systems skimmed the submitted files, we put your admission at the top of the que. If you can submit your VR records and sim-results and they're in the appropriate percentile, we can have you into the Corps within the week." He inclined his head.

The view clicked off.

Hornet felt as if the whole world had slanted. She blinked. Blinked. Blinked again.

Then she swept up her hand, bringing up an AR keyboard. Her fingers tapped and she brought up her files -- and saw that her essay on counter-singularitarian tactics had been accessed and submitted with professorial authority.

Hornet barely even noticed the time between getting up, getting outside, spending a chunk of her P2C on an agrav bubble, nor the whisking feeling of being lifted up and slung through the air. To her, it was one second, she was in the gym. The next, she had blinked and was standing before Professor Leylen's house. She stepped up and hammered on the door. He opened it a few seconds later, his brow furrowing as he looked down his snout at her, his gray skin making him look particularly boulder-like in the light of the planetary sunset.

"Yes, Miss Abernathy?" he asked, trying to cover his shock with serious officialese.

Hornet panted, realized she was still in her gym clothes, and flushed. But instead, she said: "W-Why? What? How?"

He chuckled. "A guess. I've taught you two two years now, in two different classes, and I guessed that there was a damn good shot that you'd be too self effacing to put yourself as forward as you should. So, I submitted your essay to the Corps. I'm guessing they went from putting you on the back of the queue for analysis to the top?"

She nodded, mutely.

"I know this will whisk you out of my class," he said, quietly. "But...if this is your dream, it is my job, as a professor, to see that you reach them. No?" He put one of his broad, huge hands on her shoulder, and Hornet tingled all over with excitement and eagerness. Her smile grew and she leaned up on her tip toes, then kissed the tip of his muzzle, catching his sense tendril and pinning it against his jaw. His eyes widened and he froze, his hand gripping her shoulder tightly. Hornet drew back, blushing.

She felt giddy.

"A-Ah, uh..." Leylen stammered. "Why did you...uh, do that?"

"To thank you." She blushed. Hard.

Professor Leylen shifted in her eyes. She noticed the slabs of heavy muscle. His eight. The strength of the hand on her shoulder. Her nipples were growing hard and puffy under her baggy shirt. And since she wasn't...since it was leg day...she...she wasn't wearing a bra. Not that she even needed a bra, usually. Her cheeks heated more and more as she felt her pussy growing hot and throbbing and eager as she thought back over what she had done.

"W-Well, ah..." he said, coughing. "You're welcome. Though, I suppose, it is a shame you're, ah, no longer my student."

Hornet nodded.

The elation in her continued to burn in her belly. Her veins felt like they were on fire. She was going to be joining the Corps. She was leaving college. She was going to get everything she ever wanted, and...and she stepped forward, then kissed Leylen again, her mouth pressing against his muzzle. The movement caused his large hand to sweep around to her shoulder. When she broke the kiss, panting, he rumbled. "N-Nettie!" He sounded shocked and Hornet laughed, huskily. She felt like she was already flying. Her hands grabbed onto the hem of his pants, dragging herself closer, her head spinning with eager excitement as she nuzzled against his chest, breathing in his alien musk.