The Ninth by Benjamin Schramm Page A

have a clue what I am talking about,” Zimmer said with a sigh.  “Very well.  Stealth is all about performing actions or moving around without the enemy knowing you are there.  Infiltration is the art of blending into the common.  A master of stealth can act deep in enemy territory causing all kinds of mischief.  However, if he is caught it is all over.  A captured spy’s only hope is for a swift and painless death.  Meanwhile, a master of infiltration can walk in through the front door, accomplish his mission, and walk out without anyone being the wiser.”  Instructor Zimmer’s response had the wear of being rehearsed.
    The recruits exchanged glances, uncertain how to respond.
    “Time is short, so let’s get you all on your way.  As the Administer requested, you will undergo a test of my personal design.  You will be given some information about the culture and left to fend for yourself.  After a period of time of my choosing, the examination will end, and I’ll judge your performance,” Zimmer said curtly.
    As the skinny man finished, the doorway behind him started to hiss.  Brent guessed it was pressurizing.  As it opened, Brent could make out the interior of a small ship.  Impatiently, Zimmer gestured them to enter.  Cautiously, the recruits entered one by one.  It was a smaller room with bulkheads to Brent’s right and left, probably leading to the rest of the ship.  Lining the walls were twenty uncomfortable looking chairs of solid metal with numerous straps and harnesses.  In the center, bolted to the floor and ceiling, were twenty lockers.
    “You are now in a drop ship,” Zimmer said from the doorway leading to the station.  “There is a chair and locker for each of you, so no fighting.  You’ll find a single piece suit and an ‘ident’ card in each locker.  The workings of the card and the suit have been uploaded into your pads along with a briefing of the city you’ll be infiltrating.  When you are all suited up the examination will begin.”
    As Zimmer stepped back, the doorway sealed and started hissing again.  Brent opened his locker as he flipped through the information on his pad.  The ‘suit’ Zimmer had mentioned was an old dirty coverall covered in fluids Brent couldn’t and didn’t want to identify.  According to his pad, the entire group of recruits was landing in the city of Aoede under the guise of an orbital work crew.  Getting into the coverall was more complicated than Brent had first thought.  As Brent secured himself into his chair, he noticed several of the other recruits were still struggling with their coveralls.  The ident card was a small piece of plastic with an intricate color pattern covering it that shifted in the light.  According to the pad, they served as identification and currency, a primitive pad.
    “If this exam is as difficult as these suits are to get into, we are in deep trouble,” Owen grumbled while fumbling with the last of the coverall’s rigging.
    “I wouldn’t worry,” Erin said with an air of superiority.  “My brother went through his exams last year; told me all about it.  Right now we are in a simulation.  Technicians are watching our every move.  We are in no danger whatsoever.”
    “Simulation?” the diminutive boy asked with awe in his voice.  “You mean this isn’t a real drop ship?”
    Before Erin could form a response, the ship suddenly lurched from its docking clamps.  Everyone not secured in their chairs was thrown around.  Brent could feel the shift as the ship adjusted its pitch and yaw.
    “That felt real to me,” Owen groaned, having been thrown against a bulkhead.
    “Remind me not to listen to Erin anymore,” a female recruit said, sprawled on the floor.
    “Well, the Administer did say things would be different,” the diminutive boy commented, clinging to a strap from his chair.
    Brent noticed he was being pressed into the seat of the chair.  The ship must have already entered the