<*Cadets! Fall in!*> Chief Kam'ryn's order manifested in their heads, instilling the image of a seasoned academy handler with a stern disposition. The door to the shuttle touched down and the cadets hurried to assemble in ranks. The sounds of the deck filled their ears as techs and crewman bustled to prep other shuttles or move equipment and cargo in and out of the bay. Above them, in the look-out, officers were busy fielding communications and filing flight plans aligning with the day's traffic schedule. Behind them, Earth slowly rose into view of the bay's panoramic gate as the dock passed over. A flawless mirror finish on the deck enhanced the  well-known reputation this ship had for productive efficiency.
 A meter overhead, their handler hovered within a spherical forcefield about an arm's length in diameter, watching them. Chief Kam'ryn's  bioluminescent fish-like form floated in a suspension of pink-hued brine making her appear to be a dull green with glowing white lateral stripes. The sphere gave off a thrumming hum as the repulsor field compensated for the positive ions in the salty solution.  
 In response to her exclamation, the cadets shifted their postures from "attention" to "at ease." <The time has come for you to prove that your professors at the academy deserve their tenure. For the next standard week, your true talents will be tested. You've passed psych tests, so you think you grasp situational awareness and that your responses are refined. You have taken the Kobayashi Maru so you think you're cool under pressure and have an eye for extreme detail.>  
 She passed over and across the cadets as she delivered her standard introduction. Close enough that they could see sparkling columns of sensory and logistic information shimmering to and from points between the sphere's interior and the Atlantean's brain. Having a transparent skull helped.  
  <Allow me to introduce the concept that all of their theories, all of their simulations, and all of their scenarios mean exactly *waste-extract.* I've run ninety-seven classes of academy *cowards* among your ilk out of the fleet. On Zed Barret, no one holds your hand; no one pats your back and tells you it is 'going to be okay.' You are *Com-Divs*. You are expected to command effectively, but more than that, you are expected to *take* commands effectively. You're all here because, somehow, you've convinced the academics that you deserve a bridge of your own and a crew that lives or dies at your order. Today, if you're not willing to put *yourself* on the line, you'll find your bags packed before you can say 'patahk.'>             Her position within the sphere shifted to give the impression that she was eyeing each of them with a stern glare. She knew that the darker, photo-sensitive patches on her face were far more intimidating than if she actually had eyes.  The fact that her species had exposed gastro-esophogeal linings on their underbellies really drove it home.
 <I would ask if you have any questions, but since I already know I'll summarize my response: Few of you have any idea what you're in for.> She paused, revelling in the newly-inspired apprehension and uncertainty she had elicited in the two dozen cadets staring up at her. They saw no smile, no face, no hint of emotion to assess the situation through which thousands of academy graduates passed and became officers or failed and went home. <You will reconvene at your assigned duty stations at oh-nine-hundred. *Dismissed!*>