The diplomatic mission

As the last of the students filed into the auditorium, the doors closed behind them. Everyone was chatting excitedly. It was very rare for the entire student body to be gathered this way. The nocturnal students yawned sleepily. The few students from species that hibernated this time of year snored quietly in their seats.

Cha'Rolette used her powers to help Gerald float to his seat, which he thanked her for. He winced in pain as he sat down and checked his bandages. His pain medication was wearing off, and the damaged nerves in his back were hurting so bad he could barely move. Even though his skin had been replaced, he could still feel it roasting.

"What is this about?" Gerald asked, trying to hide his discomfort.

"I'm not sure," she said, sitting down alongside him.

Zurra rolled in as a pink ball and came up to them. "Hey, I want to sit with Geri," she pouted. "I saved his life. That means I get to sit next to him."

"But there are no more seats, as you can plainly see," said Cha'Rolette coldly.

Zurra puffed out her cheeks, then reformed her buttocks into the shape of a chair and sat down in the isle next to Gerald. Cha'Rolette rolled her eyes.

Director Nathers walked out and the auditorium went quiet. He placed a pair of glowing fingers against his throat and his voice carried everywhere, even waking up one of the hibernating students from class 2-C.

"Welcome class of 202, welcome staff and professors; welcome everyone to the third quadmester of this cycle."

Everyone lightly applauded.

"I have brought you all here because for the first time in eighty cycles, we are adding a new curricula to Central Exeter."

The students looked at each other in surprise. Everyone was awake now and giving their full attention.

"Here to explain it is a good friend of mine. We served together for fourteen cycles. He needs no introduction, Admiral T'bob Qetimong Greir."

There was an expectant hush from the students as Nathers walked off the dias.

Admiral Greir fixed his cap over his closely-cropped white hair and walked out onto the stage. Despite his years, he stood straight as an arrow, his age somehow making him seem more imposing rather than less. They knew him as the hero of Embers, the man who had outfoxed the ArchTyrant, but seeing him in person was so much more powerful than any recording.

"Good morning students," he began. "We live in changing times. The use of high-yield wireless crystronics is rapidly changing our social and economic landscape. When I was your age, knowledge was a skill. A historian, for example, was useful in my day because he or she or it knew things that other people did not know. Their knowledge itself was a skill, because it was more efficient to ask the historian rather than tear through mountains of archives on a dozen different worlds."

"But no more. You each have instant access to more historical data than my generation could have ever dreamed of. The roles of the scholar, the critic, and the professor, are becoming laughably obsolete. Knowledge is no longer a skill. Thanks to Central Core, it is free, instant, and ubiquitous. This has led many to ask if education itself is even necessary anymore..."

From the corner of his eye, he could see Director Nathers swiping his hand across his neck from offstage, pleading with Greir to leave that line of reasoning unexplored.

Greir brought his hand up and coughed into it. "Ahem. So, in a world where knowledge is no longer a skill, how do we train you in a way that will add value to you? We train you with the one thing that has always and will always be a valuable skill: Experience."

Greir rested his hands at the small of his back, revealing the firearm at his side. Zweitlan, he called it. The weapon that had pierced the ArchTyrant's black heart.

"It is something we in the military have learned at great cost, and at great loss of life. Give me a thousand soldiers, each of them as illiterate as rocks, but each with a hundred cycles of experience across multiple theaters of operation, and I will beat an army of treg-head scholarly greensaddles ten times my size every single time..."

Gerald was distracted as Gwof made his way over to him in the dark.

"What are you doing here?" Gerald whispered.

"I couldn't wait," Gwof whispered energetically. "I couldn't sleep I was so excited to give it to you." He held up a simple looking black belt.

Gerald raised an eyebrow. "A belt?"

"Yes, isn't is great?"

"Umm..."

"Oh, but this is perfect for you. It has a full holo-imaging system built into it. It can project normal clothes over you. That way, you can look fabulous, but still actually be wearing your Cossack."

Gerald moved to rebuke him, but then changed his mind. "Okay, that's actually pretty cool, but now really isn't the time."

"I've already programmed a couple thousand outfits into it."

"Get out of the way," Zurra complained, stretching her neck out so she could see over him.

Several of the nearby students shushed them.

"Sorry."

Admiral Greir reached his point with his gravelly voice. "...And it is for precisely that reason that we are implementing the new Kalia Greir Program. Academy students will be selected at random to spend one quadmester traveling aboard a special ship designed for this goodwill tour. You will receive real-world experience in diplomacy, negotiation, mediation, and practical jurisprudence."

The students looked at each other excitedly. A few cheered.

"Don't be misled. This will be no pleasure cruise. You will be conducting actual diplomatic missions for the Alliance Military, reporting to actual superiors like myself, and using real diplomatic authority to resolve actual planetary disputes. The consequences of your actions will be real and lasting, and failure to preform your duties properly will result in court-martial."

No one cheered at that one. Many of the students were now looking nervous.

"But the experience you gain will be worth more to you than a thousand diplomas."

Admiral Greir clicked his boots and crossed his arm across his chest in salute. He smartly turned and walked off stage. Only once he was out of view of the students, did he allow himself to lean against a table for support, and clutch his aching hip.

Director Nathers patted his friend on the back and scooped up the pair of commission tablets.

"I thought we were only going to send the boy?" Greir whispered, looking at them.

"Last minute change of plans. I'm getting rid of both problem students at once."

Greir shrugged and wiped the sweat off of his face with a handkerchief.

Nathers walked back out on stage and took a randomizer out of his shirt pocket. "The following students will come up to the dias to receive their military commissions for this quadmester. Nathers tapped the randomizer and waited for the result. Only someone standing directly behind him would have been able to see that the device was turned off.

"From Class 1-A, Trahzi," Nathers called out.

Some of the students clapped politely. A few seemed disappointed that they were not picked. Most arrived at the conclusion that sending Trahzi away was a very good thing.

Trahzi appeared in a flash of fire up on the stage. Nathers was so surprised he nearly fell over. She accepted the tablet and looked it over curiously, as if she didn't know what to make of it.

Nathers tapped the randomizer again, barely able to contain his joy. "And, also from Class 1-A, Gerald Dyson."

Trahzi looked like she was about to scream.

Gerald looked like he was about to faint.

The student body rose up as one and cheered wildly, clapping their hands and pumping their fists. A few threw flowers up onto the stage, although where they came from no one could be sure.

"Oh, here, this is perfect, you can use it now," Gwof gushed as he locked the belt around Gerald's waist. A flash of hard-light later, and Gerald was now wearing a flawlessly tailored school formal dress uniform.

He barely noticed, though. His mind was blank as he hobbled his way up to the stage, the fresh skin on the bottom of his feet feeling like he was walking on hot coals.

"Good riddance, Dyson," Cleylselle cheered out as Gerald passed, slapping him roughly on the back. Gerald nearly passed out from the pain. He began to sweat as he approached Nathers.

Gerald avoided looking at Trahzi, but he could feel her glaring at him from behind. It was so strong, he could feel the back of his neck burning as he walked up to Nathers and accepted the commission. "So, uh... when do I leave?" he asked, fidgeting with the tablet.

"Immediately," Nathers said with a satisfied grin.

There was a spark from Gerald's belt, and then suddenly the student body made the most unusual sound. It started as kind of a gutteral gasp that morphed into an embarrassed roar, finally evolving into mocking laughter.

Gerald looked out at the crowd. The boys were pointing, some of the girls were covering their eyes, while other girls looked on with flushed fascination.

Instinctively Gerald looked down, and found that he now appeared to be completely naked. He dropped the tablet and curled over, covering himself as best he could. Some of the girls began cheering in approval at his muscular, sculpted physique. It only took three seconds for nearly seven thousand images to be recorded and uploaded into the school's net site.

In the crowd, Ilrica blushed from head to toe, while Zurra cheered and threw some credit chips up on stage.

"Woo Hoo! That's my bride! Shake it, baby, shake it!"

"Oh, my goodness," Gwof said to himself. "You could grate cheese on those abs."

"Mister Wonthreen, why is Gerald... naked?" Cha'Rolette asked as she covered her face and looked away, blushing brightly.

"Technically he is not naked. He is just wearing traditional Mauflaxxian wedding attire."

"Which consists of?"

Gwof cleared his throat. "Earrings."

Gerald was beyond humiliated as he stood before the jeering crowd, as naked as the day he was born, except for a very stylish pair of earrings.

"I swear I've had nightmares just like this," he said as a credit chip hit him in the head.