By the time the sun woke and began its slow ascent over the horizon, Osmo Martin had already arrived at the Security Agency building's training facilities adjacent to the grounds of the Governor's House. He counted on impressing Security Leader Clyden with his earliness- and perhaps he might overlook that little incident with the parking spot-, except when he arrived, he saw Clyden was already there.
"You're late!" Clyden bellowed. "If you want to make it out of training to become a Security Agent, then you'd better learn to get here on time!"
Dumbfounded, Osmo pointed out, "But- I'm ten minutes early!"
Sec. Ldr. Clyden shook his head. "Uh uh. Two things you better learn right off the bat- One, I am never wrong. Never. So never argue with the Security Leader. And two, if you aren't an hour early for training, then you're late! Got that, punk?"
Osmo almost shot back a sarcastic answer, but then he closed his mouth and nodded. "Yes, sir."
"Good. See that backpack over there against that lamppost?"
Osmo did.
"Pick it up and put it on."
Osmo grunted as he hoisted it to sling it onto his back. "This is very heavy. Must weigh seventy pounds. What do you have in it, rocks?"
Clyden chuckled. "Yep, you are correct, punk. So, at least you are perceptive. Now let's get started. Let's do some warm-ups. Keep the pack on, and we'll go for a five mile jog around the track. See if you can keep up with me."
"No problem, sir. Eh, you forgot your backpack, to keep things equal with me."
Now Clyden laughed. "I am sure you agree, an agent must be in good shape if he wants to be in charge of the security of the public and the governor. Hence, I expect you to be able to run wearing that pack. As for me, I already know I am in good shape. I don't need anymore training. So, therefore, I don't need a backpack. Now let's hustle!"
Clyden led the way to the circular track. Osmo followed right behind, in spite of the heavy weight he carried. Osmo kept up with the Security Leader, but only with much effort. He never guessed by looking at him that Clyden kept in such good shape. One lap, two laps, three... Each lap was a quarter mile. After two miles, Osmo began to huff and puff because of the backpack.
"C'mon, pick up the pace, punk! Don't fall behind!" Clyden taunted, still full of energy.
Osmo gave it some more effort and managed to catch up again and keep pace. Will we never finish the five miles?! he silently moaned. Finally, however, they neared the end of the jog. The hot sun and the pack of rocks conspired to make the last mile unendurable, and yet, somehow, Osmo finished.
He gasped and stopped when Clyden did, ready to take off the backpack. Clyden stopped him. "Tell you what, since it's such a nice morning, let's do another mile."
This produced the desired result; Osmo let out a groan. Clyden secretly laughed, but even more secretly, he was impressed at how much the punk could endure.
After the extra running, with the backpack still on, Osmo did a series of push-ups. When he did fifty, and looked like he couldn't do anymore, Clyden called a halt. "Take ten, punk."
Osmo eagerly dropped off the sack of rocks and sank to the grass, trying not to moan out loud.
Ten minutes later, just as he finally got comfortable, Sec. Ldr. Clyden blew a whistle. From where did he get that whistle? wondered Osmo. I didn't even see that he had one.
"Give me fifty sit-ups. Come on, punk, go, go, double-time! Let's move, let's move! Get the lead out!"
Compared to running the six miles with the backpack, the sit-ups were no problem, or so Osmo thought. And when he had finished that grueling workout, he realized he was exhausted.
Next, Clyden took him to the practice range for a little target shooting. This was the same one where they had done clay-shooting with Sheila and Gov. Bright before. But now the mood was certainly different from that carefree day.
"Try not to shoot any of the service robots, please," said Clyden.
One of the robots, B-12, set up ground targets for Osmo. The youth's hands shook from fatigue as he took aim with the blaster Clyden gave him. Osmo tried to steady his hand so he could shoot the center circle.
"Haha, bull's eye!" he cheered when he squeezed off his shot.
Clyden raised his brow. He said nothing, but Osmo discerned the surprise on his face. Apparently Clyden thought Osmo would be too tired to shoot straight. Well, Osmo proved him wrong.
After several minutes on the shooting range, Osmo failed to keep his perfect score, but he did achieve an impressive one. Clyden dismissed him for lunch around noontime. Osmo went off to find some food and drink. Clyden remained at the training facilities.
The Security Leader's cell phone rang on the secure channel, about the only channel on this world which seemed to work dependably. He greeted Mita.
"Oh," he told her, "he's holding up rather well, better than I expected the spoiled rich guy's kid to do. I didn't tell him, of course, but I must say, I am impressed with his stamina."
Mita said, "He liked to work out a lot in school."
"It shows, the way he endures."
"Maybe you just aren't pushing him enough," suggested Mita. "I think you can break him if you really put your mind to it."
"I thought he was a friend of yours."
"I wanted to be friends with him for years, but he never even knew I existed," said Mita. "I think the only reason he acknowledges me now is because, since I come with you from time to time to the Governor's House, he sees me a lot, hanging out with Gov. Bright's niece. Since he was too dumb to realize I wanted to be friends back in school, well, then, I am willing to be not-friends. Maybe he will like that better."
"Oh, so that's the story."
"Right. So don't hold back when you train him just because you think Osmo and I are friends, Tretl. In fact, I recommend you go as hard as you can, to avoid the appearance of favoritism. I am counting on you."
Clyden said, "I don't think anyone will think that I am showing favoritism, not after the work-out I just gave him. But I don't make him suffer for you, Mita. And, if he still means something like that to you, even to the point of you wanting to get back at him, well, then, it sounds to me like he is still in your system, and in some perverted way a rival of mine. I don't like rivalry. I think you should think less about him and more about me."
Clyden listened to her answer over the cell phone, "Oh, I do focus on you very much, Tretl. It's just that I wasted many years over wishing for something, some notice from him, and I want to be paid back for all those wasted years!"
Tretl Clyden didn't comment on that, but he started to think that maybe it was actually better for him if Mita did think more about Osmo than of Clyden. What's in her head, anyway? he asked himself.
Misfit