---    
Disclaimer:  I claim no rights, express or implied, over any of    
the characters, names, places, events or descriptions contained
in the Tenchi Muyo series.  My use of the aforementioned
items is for strictly non-profit and personally recreational
purposes.    
---

     “Attention on DECK!!!”
     There was a chorus of scrapes and clatters as chairs, suddenly
thrust backward under  the impulse of straightening legs, scratched
fresh marks on a floor that was already marred by thousands of such
blemishes.  A muffled curse followed, bullhorn-loud in the abrupt
silence that descended as the chairs’ motions ceased.
     The  instructor allowed herself a faint smile.  Someone had    
stood up a little too quickly.  Snap-rising to attention from a    
seated position at a desk without incurring a minor knee injury is    
something of an art form.  These children hadn’t  quite perfected
their technique yet.
     The  instructor stepped fully into the room and strode to the    
podium.  Her footsteps  echoed resoundingly in the disciplined
silence.  Reaching the central podium, she stopped and surveyed
the room.
     *Such young faces.  Children.*  She scanned the eyes of all    
fifteen students.  Classes at the Academy were small, to better allow
instructors and students to interact.  The Midshipmen were encouraged
at every turn to think, to question, and to exploit fully the    
knowledge and experience of their instructors.  The Juraian Fleet
had learned from hard experience that thinking officers were better
officers, and made every effort to instill the process of free    
thought in every officer candidate.
     This instructor was one of the best at that;  after all, she’d
been a key player in the movement that had proved to the fleet that
their old officer training system was inadequate.
     The  class leader was a blue-haired, gangly young man with sharp
features and wide eyes.  His close-trimmed hair and angular traits
gave him a hard-edged look that was all out of place with the turmoil
in his mind.  The instructor had entered, but she had not spoken.
Was she testing him, to see if he had the initiative to give the    
class report on his own?  Or was she simply pausing in some private
ritual,  which, if he interrupted by unbidden speech, would sour her
toward him and diminish her appraisal of his judgment?  The question
seemed terribly important to the first year student.  Like most    
Academy Midshipmen, he was self-motivated to the point of near    
dementia.  Failure, in any matter, was a personal defeat.     
     The  instructor noticed a bead of sweat forming on the young
man’s brow and  stifled a smile.    *Poor boy.  I’m not following
procedure.  I haven’t asked him for his report.  I’ll bet he’s on the
verge of a conniption.*  Her mirth darkened.  *He’ll see much worse
in his career than breaches of procedure.  I wonder if he knows    
that?*
     The  instructor knew it quite explicitly.  A military career
in the service of Jurai  could lead a person to some very deep hells.
     When she spoke, she spoke with a softness of tone that was all
out of place with her environment and her position.  “It just doesn’t
matter, you know.”
     The  class leader nearly choked.  “Ma’am?”
     “It just doesn’t matter.”  The instructor smiled gently and    
leaned forward against the podium in a most un-military manner.
“You’re concerned because I haven’t asked you to report.  You don’t
know what to do.”  Her smile broadened.  “Ne, Midshipman?”
     “No ma’am!  I mean, yes ma’am!”  The boy seemed about to come
apart.  His first day as class leader, and already his inexperience
was being made an issue of.
      The instructor outright laughed.  “Stand down, Midshipman!
Think about it for a moment.  What’s the worst that could happen?
It’s a question of form, not substance.  Form, contrary to what    
you’ll hear from many  of my fellow instructors, means nothing.
It’s substance that matters.”  She swept her eyes over the other    
students’ faces again.  Their eyes were still locked forward, their
expressions slack and blank.  *Children,* she  mused.  *So earnest.
They even stand at attention by the book.  Well, it’s time to throw
that  book at them.  Jurai doesn’t need robots.  We have those    
already.*  “That is the first lesson of the day.  In this classroom,
as in the universe, substance is paramount.  Now, Mister Class    
Leader, is everyone here?”
     The  class leader’s demeanor steadied considerably as his mind
anchored itself on this simple, answerable question.  “Yes ma’am!”
     “That, Midshipman Kishumi, is the important fact.  It is also
something I can already tell with my own eyes.  Reporting it to me is
wasted breath.  Henceforth, you will report to me only if someone
is absent.  You will not tell me WHO is  absent- I can tell that    
myself.  You will tell me WHY they are absent.  That is  called    
’value added.’  Is that understood?”
     “Yes ma’am!”
     “Excellent.  Class at ease.  Please take your seats.”  Chairs
scraped once more, and students settled into their desks.  The    
instructor looked at them with an amused air.  “Value added is the    
most important thing you can  give a superior.  Don’t waste their
time with what they already know.   Tell them what they DON’T know.
Got it?”  She smiled again as several students studiously copied
down her remarks in their notes.  *What a bunch of geeks.*
     “Okay, that’s your pearl of wisdom for the day.  Now on to why
we’re here. “  The instructor moved around to the front of the podium
and leaned against it languidly.  Her smile broadened as several
of the male student’s eyes popped.     
     *Yep, still got it.*   The instructor was married, but she made
no bones about occasionally accentuating her curves and basking
in the resulting attention.  She knew it caused a fair amount of    
hostility amongst many of her more straight-laced counterparts
on the Academy staff, but she’d never been one much to care what    
anyone else thought…
     “Now then.  This is a required class.  Can anyone tell me why?”
Hands went up from every Midshipman.  She pointed at one.  “Yes,    
Mister Takabe.”
     The  Midshipman pushed his chair back and stood to attention.
Just as he opened his  mouth, the instructor spoke.  “Okay, first
rule.  You all stand at attention WAY too much.  You’re making me    
uptight.  Class atmosphere is informal in all respects except for    
uniforms and terms of address.  Uniforms because that’s the only    
clothes you people have, and I will NOT accept naked Midshipmen
in my classroom.  The only one allowed to get naked here is me.”  She
outright laughed as a young man in the back row started to nosebleed.
“I’m KIDDING, Mister Kosumi!  Jeeze, you kids are horny!”
      The class couldn’t take it.  Laughter exploded across the room,
except for the hapless Midshipman Kosumi, who blushed a scarlet
red and made a valiant effort to sink under his desk.  After a few    
moments, the instructor held up her hand,  and the laughter slowly
petered out.  “Mister Kosumi, don’t feel too bad.  There was a kid    
last term who tried all semester to get me to sneak into the broom
closet with him.  There’s nothing you can do- or react to- that’s
going to shock me.”  She quirked an eyebrow.  “Now, as I was saying,
there are two points of formality in this class.  Uniforms will be    
worn, whether Mister Kosumi likes it or not.”  The class chuckled,
and Midshipman Kosumi blushed again.  “Second, forms of address.
You will call me ‘Ma’am’ and I will address you as ‘Midshipman’,
‘Miss’, or ‘Mister’.   I want that to be a constant reminder that no
matter how loose we get, you all are still training for war.  Have
fun, but remember your purpose.”  She looked at the suddenly somber
faces in front of her and sighed inwardly.  *I’ve seen too many kids
die,* she mused.  *I wonder how many of these will.*
     “Now, where was I?  Ah yes, Mister Takabe is still standing
up waiting to tell me why we’re here.  Sit DOWN, Mister Takabe,
then give me your answer.”
     Takabe complied.  “Ma’am, this course is required because every
fleet officer is required to have a working knowledge of The Attack.”
     “Correct.”  The instructor stepped forward reached into her    
pocket.   “And why must all officers study The Attack?”
     “Ma’am, we study The Attack because it’s the only successful
attack on the homeworld in the history of the Juraian Fleet.  Lessons
learned from defeats are invariably sharper and deeper than lessons
learned from successes.”
     The  instructor withdrew her hand from her pocket and tossed
something at Takabe.  Surprised, he fumbled an attempt to catch it    
and it landed on his desk.  He looked down at the object and blinked.
“Candy?”
     “Yes Mister Takabe!  Candy!  Botan Rice Candy, to be specific.
My personal favorite.  My husband, the over-generous idiot that he    
is, imports it by the freighter-load from earth.  So I get rid of it
by giving it out for right answers.”   She looked at the rest of the
class.  “Mister Takabe is right in all respects, except for one minor
detail.  He has the important points entirely correct.  The Attack
was the worst debacle ever suffered by the fleet.  It is also true
that  you learn more from failures than from successes, and the fleet
today is shaped  around lessons learned from that catastrophe.
You are entering that fleet as officers.  It is vitally important
that you understand the truths that The Attack taught.”
     “Ma’am?”  Midshipman Takabe was raising his hand.
     “Yes?”
     “Which part of my answer wasn’t correct?”
     “The part where you said that The Attack was the only successful
assault on Jurai.  The Attack was actually a failure.”
     “Ma’am?”  Takabe looked completely confused.  “The space pirate
Ryouko and Ryou-oh-ki singlehandedly destroyed the entire home    
defense fleet!  How is that not a success?”
     The  instructor made a mental note.  She liked this Midshipman.
First day, and he was already challenging her.  All her theatrics
about a relaxed atmosphere aside, that took guts.  “Ryouko didn’t
get what she came for, Mister Takabe.  She was forced away empty    
handed.”
     Takabe looked like he was about to ask a question, but the    
instructor pre-empted him.   “We’ll address that point in a later
class.  That’s more detail than I want to get into on the first day.
The point is that of all your classes, this one may be your most    
important.  This is the one where you learn  lessons that were    
written in the blood of the Home Defense fleet and the people  of    
Jurai.  This is a class about Juraians dying, and, more importantly,
why they died.”  The instructor paused for a moment, letting that    
sink in.  “Now that I’ve thoroughly depressed you all, it’s time to    
make you even more miserable.  Please activate your holopads and read
through the background information I’ve highlighted in the    
courseware.  It’s all the boring stuff- class schedules and syllabus,
reading assignments, test dates, etc.  Ya know, all the stuff I have
to do so the Dean won’t throw me out and get a real professor
to teach this class.”  The class chuckled a bit at that.  “We’ll
start into the good stuff when we meet again on Wednesday.  And no,
Mister Kosumi, the ‘Good Stuff’ is not what you’re hoping it is.”
     The  class laughed again.  The instructor walked back over to    
the podium and leaned against it.  She noticed that despite his    
embarrassment, Kosumi was still watching her.   Just for his benefit,
she arched her back slightly, winked, and smiled.  The Midshipman
smiled back.
     *Good, he’s beginning to relax.  Can’t teach ‘em if they’re
so scared of their sex drive that they’re not thinking straight.*
She adopted a less sensual posed and spoke again.  “You’re all in    
luck, by the way.  Seeing as I’m an incredibly cool person, and    
seeing as this is the last class of the day, you all may leave as you
finish reviewing the courseware.  Remember to read the homework
before next class, though!  I’m a real bitch if you blow me off!”
There were nods from around the class.
     The  instructor sat down at her desk in the corner behind the    
podium and pulled up the courseware herself.  She was an inherently
disorganized, spontaneous person, and she knew it.  It required
constant effort and attention for her to fit into this academic
environment.  She had to work as hard as any student- not at    
learning,  but at things like schedules, course preparation,
and teaching strategies.  Such things just didn’t come naturally
to her.  So she reviewed the material, using the time to strengthen
her grasp on the fundamentals.
     Her  husband had been flabbergasted when she’d suggested
to him that she teach this course, but had seen how earnest she was
and had given his assent.  From the moment she’d heard of the    
course’s inception, she’d  known, deep down, that she had to be    
involved with it.  Some imperative in her demanded that she be    
involved, to teach, be it against her nature or not.
     One  by one the students finished their reading, rose, and left
the classroom.  The instructor mentally noted all those that left    
early, and those who left later.  She’d compare that with the level
of knowledge they displayed at the next class, and use that to    
determine who was a fast reader, who was slow, who was just blowing
her off, and who needed help.
     Finally, the last student left.  The instructor stood and    
stretched.
     *Such young, young children,* she mused.  *I wonder how many    
that young were there, all those years ago.*  A darkness passed over
her face at the thought.  *Best not to think about that.*
     It was time to leave.  The instructor walked out the door,    
locking it behind her- and  locking the memories inside at the same
time.
        
     Later that night, in the Academy’s giant dormitory, Midshipman
Kosumi sat hunched over his holotable.  He was having trouble.
He kept trying to do homework, but his thoughts kept going back to    
the instructor of his last period class.  She’d been so beautiful!
Especially her eyes.  Golden eyes were so rare on Jurai.
     “Vice Admiral Masaki,” he muttered.  “I wonder if she’s related
to the Emperor?”

End.