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everybody's time, and that random cadet with the
unruly black hair had injured herself.
    Had
injured herself . . . .
    How?
    Not
for the first time and not for the last, he pushed himself up and
pondered that fact.
    She'd
received a broken rib for god's sake. How exactly did you give
yourself one of those by tripping over?
    While
everybody else had been willing to accept the probability she’d
just fallen over, he wasn't. Because it didn't make any sense. How
exactly did you break your rib and give yourself a serious
concussion by tripping yourself up?
    Cadet—what was her name? Cadet Harper, yes, that's it, Cadet
Harper—seemed like a serious klutz, granted, but she’d fractured
the back of her skull and had broken her rib just below the
sternum. How had she done that? Had she rolled down a rocky
incline? Had she taken a tumble off a cliff?
    No—he’d found her on flat ground, with nothing but dust all
around her.
    . . . .
    Blake
shook his head.
    He had
a lecture to prepare for, and the United Galactic Coalition Council
had hinted they were about to send the Force on an extremely
important mission. Yet here he was, wondering how a simple little
cadet could beat herself up so bad.
    “Get
over it,” he growled at himself.
    Then
the computer in his room gave a beep and reminded him in a bored,
electronic tone that he had half an hour to finish preparing his
lecture and get to class.
    He
swore loudly, and he fancied the sound of it bounced off the
walls.
    Standing up, he raced over to his room, and selected a dress
uniform from his wardrobe.
    Yep, a
dress uniform. He was giving a lecture, and yet they expected him
to look as if he was about to entertain an ambassador or sign a
galactic treaty.
    Grumbling even more, he pulled on the uniform then strode out
into the main room. Catching his reflection in the glass, he
grimaced.
    Now he
would look even sillier whilst giving this dumb talk. Because,
let's face it, while he could defeat mercenaries and terrorist
factions, he had zero talent for teaching.
    He
would be an awkward mess. Yet, with a steeling breath, he still
forced himself to walk out of his apartment, down to the closest
lift, and out into the glorious day.
    The
stroll across Academy grounds to the main teaching building was a
short and pleasant one.
    There
was a lovely breeze picking up off the bay far away, and he could
smell just a touch of fresh, salty surf in the air.
    Enormous trees lined the thoroughfare between the apartment
complexes and the Academy headquarters, and their leaves rustled in
the slight wind.
    If he
hadn't had a lecture to get to, he would have kicked off his shoes,
found a nice quiet section of the grounds, and taken a nap under
one of those grand old oaks.
    He
didn't have that luxury though. Plus, the place was already filling
up with students, and he watched them all scoot around him, smiling
or chatting happily as they did.
    He was
a bit of a celebrity around here, he knew that, and though he’d
once loved the attention, it was starting to wear thin.
    During
his undergrad years, being popular had been a boon. He'd been
invited to all the parties, he’d always had a date, and he’d
generally had one hell of a time. Yet now, things had changed,
because now he had responsibility. In fact, with every day, he had
more and more.
    Now he
wanted people to get out of his way so he could do what he had to.
He didn't want cadets stopping him in the street to ask for holo
photos, and neither did he want undergrads running up to him every
second to ask for tips on telekinetic implants and deep space
combat.
    “Get
over yourself,” he whispered under his breath, realising how
arrogant he must sound.
    With
renewed vigour, he finally made it across the grounds and into the
Academy headquarters. Then he set his jaw hard and forced himself
to find the right lecture theatre.
    As the
class started to fill with cadets, he tried not to look at how
excited they all seemed.
    Okay,
so he was