Zero Drift
Copyright© 2026 by Charlie Foxtrot
Chapter 2
The system used the word anomaly the way a survey log used unclassified: to mark the specimen it intended to come back to, not the specimen it had decided to ignore.
She was awake before anyone screamed and shouted to get up. 0500 after a long day of travel was nothing new for her. The cold hard floor against the soles of her feet was bracing. No soft rug, no private, cramped cabin. No hurried cup of coffee on the way out to an observation post before sunrise.
Now she was in a different sort of new environment.
The bunk room was still dim, with only shadows affording any sense of privacy. She understood the psychology of the intake process. It was the first steps in breaking recruits down. Stripping for the medical scan set the tone. She grabbed her issued clothing, walked to the communal showers and took care of her morning routine without appearing to notice the semi-clad flesh around her.
Once clean and dressed, she returned to her bunk, stripped it and deposited the sheets and blankets in the marked bins. Her notice went into the left shoulder pocket of her coverall, folded first in half, then into thirds so it fit the pocket exactly. Its two sentences were easily recalled, but she had the paper as well.
She had expected screaming sergeants out of a bad vid-flick. Instead, there were civilian workers in the mess hall, pointing them in the right direction, serving them bland but nutritious food. It was fuel for the day, but she didn’t overload on it. She wanted to be on her toes this morning.
She peeled off from the majority herd moving toward the assembly hall. She registered the unsynchronized movement of the recruits before she noticed it with her normal senses. The smell of unearned sweat carried under the noise. Murmurs echoed, steps meshed uncleanly, and the incessant rustle of hands fiddling with the unfamiliar feel of the coveralls all grated on her ears. It all faded as she walked toward Secondary Hall B. Quiet crept up on her as the murmur of voices and shuffling of feet fell behind. A few others seemed to be moving in the same direction, but none were near. She walked through the entrance, spotted her name and a number next to it, 14, Assessments.
She glanced at the outline placard, then began moving. Past the corridor marked Review, where she could imagine psychologists asking recruits all kinds of questions there, evaluating if they were fit to join. Then past the corridor titled Returns. She didn’t know what happened in those areas. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
She walked on, turning up the next corridor clearly marked Assessments.
She moved down the corridor, noting every room number and placard. 01-Staff Offices. 02-Captain Antonio. 03-Briefing Room A. 04-Captain Morenz. 05-Records. 06-Briefing Room B. 07-Captain Vance. 08-Personnel Files. The corridor was longer than the word Assessments had suggested.
Eventually, she reached 14-Intake Assessment. She checked her overlay. 0623. Early. She opened the door and stepped through.
The room was clinically sterile, off-white walls, metal and plastic chairs lined up in precise rows. Three seats on each side of an aisle, facing a nondescript black-framed doorway. The other recruit was already inside. She held at the threshold for the half-second it took to register that the room had filled before she could become invisible in it. The recruit stood with his back to the wall as if he were anchoring the entire building. He was a big man with a baby-face, younger than her, avoiding eye contact and tugging at his coverall as if it were too tight across his shoulders.
High Frame?
She walked to the back row of seats, opposite the large recruit, and sat. She turned her body just enough to lean against the wall and keep the other recruit in the periphery of her vision. Three minutes later, the door opened again.
Another recruit, slim, smaller than the giant against the wall. He took in everything with a glance, his eyes moving constantly despite his face remaining placid. He walked to the front row of seats, took first seat on the side opposite from Nara, and sat. His back was straight and his shoulders square, but it felt like he was glancing about the room. It reminded her of a new survey observer running too many environment checks.
We’re a cohort of anomalies.
They sat in silence, each with their own thoughts, avoiding obvious observations of one another. The other two carried the small motion that organisms produced when stillness was not their native state. Her own breathing slowed to the room’s rhythm.
What will secondary assessment be?
At precisely 0700, the door opened.
She turned enough to see him as he walked directly down the aisle toward the black-framed door. He wasn’t physically large, but his presence immediately dominated the room. Big-baby-face stood straighter. Fidgety-guy stopped his incessant scanning, focused on the man. He was controlled, precise, like a coiled spring under tension. He had short hair, trimmed into a flat-top and shaved at his ears and neck. His uniform was the mottled grays of the MEC, but there was no tab on his shoulder.
He stopped at the door, turned and faced the room. Nara knew he had locked in on all of the recruits, but there was not obvious tell. In her overlay, his name showed, “Sergeant Pike”. Nothing else.
“Seats,” he commanded without looking at the big recruits. He moved, or the room rearranged itself until he arrived at the closest seat, two rows directly behind fidgety-guy, who was unnaturally still.
“Welcome to MEC.” He let the statement hang for a moment. “I am Sergeant Pike, your assessment officer. Each of you were flagged during intake for additional evaluation. You may have opportunities we won’t present to your fellow recruits.”
He paused, taking time to look each of them in the eye. Nara met his gaze.
“The remainder of the day, you will be tested. You’ll make up anything you missed from the regular training in the evening. If you can’t keep up, well, that will tell us something about you as well.”
“Recruit Camden, you’re first.”
Fidgety-guy, Camden, stood as the sergeant turned and the black-framed door slid open, revealing a dim lit corridor. Pike motioned, Camden moved. The sergeant followed. Five minutes later, Sergeant Pike was back.
“Recruit Talven.”
Big-baby-face rose. He didn’t even glance at Nara.
Another five minutes. She let the still quiet of the room surround her.
The door opened. “Recruit Tholren.”
She stood before she heard her name, already moving forward. The hallway was brighter now. It wasn’t long, maybe six meters. There were two doors opposite one another at the end. She stopped, unsure which way to turn.
“Recruit,” Pike said from behind her. “Your overlay rates your Signal highly for a non-combatant. It is why you are being made this offer. Observational skills can have special utility within the MEC. But you have a choice to make.”
“The left hand door will return you to standard infantry squad training. You’ll spend twelve weeks working with recruits to become a finely-honed fireteam. You’ll run exercises until your responses are habit. You’ll likely earn a destination, maybe even a skill.” He paused his spiel.
“The right door will place you into the special assessment regime. Several weeks of close observation embedded within a similar training pipeline. You won’t be hoping to join a standard fireteam, you’ll be hoping to survive the selection process. If you don’t you’ll be recycled, sent back for regular training. Special assessment is not any sort of fast-track to promotion.” Another pause.
“It is your choice.”
His tone was sharp, as if he had said the same thing countless times. But Nara sensed there was more. Instinctively, she knew questions were not allowed. She had to make a choice on little to no data.
A countdown timer appeared on the wall before her. Three minutes, and the clock was already running.
I came here to measure myself, to see if the system was right about me.
Between Arv Teralune’s fact recitation and clean data, and her actual application to join, that question had been floating between the forefront and background of her mind. She had decided she wanted to know if the system was right about her. Now, doubts arose fresh once more.
Do I want to be different? Special?
It was a question she had struggled with since childhood. All of her mother’s not-so-subtle positioning and guidance. Her own sense of rebellion. No arranged marriage for her. No destiny as a frontier wife or politician’s plaything.
I may have resisted being special, but I always chose a different path. What if the system is wrong about me?
It was a truth she needed to admit to herself.
But maybe a hitch in the regular MEC infantry would be enough to set her apart. It was definitely not the proper career her mother would approve of.
Then she thought of the designation tab on Arv Teralune’s coverall last night. Without knowing why, she knew he was not regular infantry. Twenty-six months of a three-year survey contract filled, and the best idea for her next step had come from a relative stranger to her, just someone she considered competent.
A minute left on the clock.
“No choice is a choice, recruit,” Pike said from behind her.
She knew she had time. Time now was a luxury she could afford.
What was special assessment? Why don’t they provide more information?
The lack of data was a clue.
The assessment has already begun.
With that realization, her decision was affirmed, and so was her timing. She did want to be special.
She watched the clock countdown. A rushed decision, on a timer, with no information. A normal recruit would seek safety in numbers and choose the left door. They were looking for outliers, the people that would rely on their own judgement and senses. But she was not going to let them dictate the pace of their engagement.
Twelve seconds.
What if the door is locked?
Just because the test had begun didn’t mean it was a fair test.
Eight seconds. She turned to the right, grasped the handle, turned it without resistance, and opened the door. She stepped through before registering the room, knowing only that the path before her was her future.
She was surprised to find herself in a bland office. No windows, no adornment, just a desk separating two chairs with a terminal sitting on it, the screen dark. Sergeant Pike followed her in, closing the door then moving around to sit behind the desk.
“Take a seat.”
He watched her. He was older, maybe forty, but with high Echo, he could be decades older. She didn’t think that was the case. She sat, keeping her back straight and looking directly ahead, resisting the urge to look him in the eye.
Everything is a test.
“Why did you wait until the last few seconds to make your move? You decided well before then.”
It was statement of fact and observation, not a guess.
“I had the time. I chose to use it.”
Pike nodded, moved the terminal between them and typed rapidly. “Special assessment began the moment you entered the corridor, but you realized that.”
He looked up, waiting for a comment. She chose to remain silent.
“In special assessment, we’ll always be watching. We look for behavioral patterns, just like the system. We’ll watch for stat increases and distribution, and we’ll be watching for sustained performance under direct and indirect observation. If we see the potential we believe you have, then we’ll propose assignments that will foster your growth of that potential.”
It all clicked with Nara. It was a field observation exercise. Noting animal presence was only an environmental inventory. Paying attention to the individual behaviors, the group interactions, and the overall pack or herd dynamics is what produced insight. The patterns were the signal that would unlock insight.
“You just understood something.” Again, it wasn’t a question. “What was it?”
Her eyes found his. “I performed special assessments under a different name for over two years. I realized what you were describing was what I had done.”
His eyebrow arched. He glanced at the terminal. “Alien survey work,” he read, then nodded. “Similar, but not the same. Look for the differences, understand them, and it may serve you well.”
He leaned back, looking at Nara, assessing her in a way different from his cold evaluation. “Do you really have what it takes to be special within MEC, recruit?”
Everything’s a test.
“Yes, Sergeant.” Her voice remained firm.
“Your training squad is on the confidence course, south of the mech bays. You have six minutes to reach them before the next evolution. Monitor Cutter is expecting you. Dismissed.”
Nara stood, exited the way she came at a jog, and picked up her pace once she reached the outside. She cut to the perimeter road to avoid formations of recruits moving along the interior paths. She’d spotted the route before knowing she’d need it the night before. She reached the course with twenty-eight seconds to spare.
Twelve hours later, after a second shower for the day, she climbed into her new rack in a different squad bay. Three minutes later, the lights cut out.
A longer path again?
Her mother’s admonishment echoed in her mind. She would not answer it, even to herself.
The squad would move to the orbital facility in the morning. Monitor Cutter had informed them the real training would begin there.
Sleep arrived.
Special, in her mother’s vocabulary, was a thing daughters were when they could not be elegant. Nara had taken note.
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