Federation Calendar, Year 58.
Not far from the Lunar Headquarters of the Space Force stood the Commonwealth Interstellar Military Academy.
It was midday. Inside one of the academy's artificial ecological domes, Adrian Vale lay on the lawn with his eyes closed, enjoying what looked very much like a nap.
Adrian was famous at the academy—though not quite in the way most legends are. In the Warship Command Department he was celebrated as a once-in-a-century prodigy; across the rest of the school he was whispered about as the most infuriating problem student in a generation.
The prodigy part was easy to explain. Shortly after his enrollment, Adrian had beaten every instructor in a fleet-simulation exercise. The instructors had intended the match as a test; instead, it had become a lesson in humbling the academy's finest.
Logically, somebody with that sort of talent should have been the academy's pride. In practice, whenever faculty mentioned Adrian, they sighed and said one word: "Headache."
He had a habit of sleeping whenever he had a spare moment. He looked like he had no ambition at all—yet he topped every simulation and exam without apparent effort.
To curb what they called his laziness, the former dean had once arranged a challenge between Adrian and a celebrated officer from the Space Force. Colonel Victor Black had become a Federation colonel at twenty-nine; he commanded a small fleet and was hailed as a rising star.
The dean had expected the match to teach Adrian a lesson about humility. Instead, the exercise humiliated Colonel Black. In a simulated engagement of one hundred warships against one hundred, Adrian had annihilated the opposing fleet while losing only a single ship to light damage.
The result had been so decisive that some officers claimed Colonel Black needed counseling to recover. High-ranking officials murmured their discontent, suspecting the academy had set a trap on purpose. The academy, faced with its prodigy's unassailable talent, had no choice but to leave him to his odd ways.
Adrian rolled over and opened his eyes.
*Ding!* *Congratulations, Host. Artillery Command ability improved to B. Reward: Brain Development +1%.*
He felt his mind clear as if a fog had lifted.
"Open attribute panel," he said softly.
*Host*: Adrian Vale
*IQ*: 380
*Brain Development*: 18% (before reward: 17%)
*Command Abilities*: Artillery Command (B), Evasion Command (C), Formation Command (B), Mech Command (C)
*Mission 1*: Become a true fleet commander, commanding at least ten warships. (Reward: Warp Drive Technology)
*Mission 2*: Reach the rank of Colonel. (Reward: Genetic Enhancement Potion; unlock: Body Function Attribute Panel)
"Artillery Command is finally B," Adrian said to himself. "If Colonel Black faced me again, I could probably sweep him without a single ship lost."
Despite the modest B and C ratings, the scale here did not match the Federation's standards. Humanity had been in the interstellar age for only a short time; its experience in fleet warfare was shallow. Even a 'B' in the system's rankings was not to be dismissed—above A the system listed S, SS, SSS, and EX.
Adrian stared up through the dome's transparent arc at the pinprick stars beyond. Ten years had passed since he had come to this world. He had been transplanted into the life of someone who shared his name and had been given a strange system he called the Commander Ascendant System. Through it, he learned in a virtual space that simulated real war down to the tactics and stress—without blood.
People thought he dozed through the day; in truth he spent hours inside the system, running simulations against fleets from countless races, studying their maneuvers and cataloging strategies.
A voice called from the dome's entrance—clear, brisk, and not a little exasperated.
"You again?"
Adeline Hart—class monitor, top of the academy's merit lists, and heiress to a North American industrial house—stood in the shade, hands on her hips. Her posture was as precise as a parade-ground salute and as proud as ever.
Adrian blinked. Adeline's presence always made him slightly uncomfortable. He had beaten the academy's shining star and, in doing so, had pushed her permanently into second place. She regarded him with a complicated look: irritation, curiosity, and—more than either—an awkward fascination she didn't understand.
"Is the instructor looking for me?" Adrian asked.
"Don't play dumb. The dean wants you in his office. Again. What did you do this time?"
"Do? I attended class and took a nap."
Adeline sniffed. "Right. Very responsible."
Adrian smiled, frowning as she moved closer and dabbed at the dust on his uniform. Her fingers smoothed his jacket like a spouse straightening a tie. Adrian froze for a moment under the oddly domestic gesture.
Adeline flushed and pulled back. The two of them stared at each other in an awkward silence before she turned and left.
Adrian chuckled to himself. *Strange,* he thought. *That was new.*
Five minutes later, he stood outside Dean Malcolm Reid's office on the academy's upper floor and knocked.
"Come in."
Inside, besides Dean Reid, a man in full dress uniform occupied the desk: Admiral Marcus Sterling, five-star rank, the man whose name filled the pages of the academy's history texts.
Adrian straightened and snapped to attention. "Adrian Vale, Class 55, Warship Command Department, Commonwealth Interstellar Military Academy—reporting, Admiral."
The posture was automatic; somewhere in him those old military reflexes remained intact. Marcus Sterling's reputation was no myth. During the Solar System Defense War, when three of the four Federation fleets had collapsed, it had been Sterling who had led the remaining force to a turning victory against an enemy armada in the asteroid belt—an action that had saved humanity.
Dean Reid and Sterling exchanged a look. Reid's mouth quirked with something between pride and concern.
"Adrian," Sterling said, his voice calm and even. "Do you plan to graduate early? With your record, the academy might not teach you anything new."
Adrian didn't hesitate. "If possible, yes. I want to graduate soon and join the Commonwealth Fleet."
Sterling regarded him for a long moment. "Very well. I will personally conduct your graduation assessment: a simulated fleet engagement. If you impress me, I have the authority to recommend a special promotion and place you in command of a mixed fleet."
Adrian's face broke into a grin. The system's missions flashed through his mind—one step closer to the rewards.
Dean Reid's expression, however, was troubled. "Marcus, you realize the risk. He's nineteen. We usually commission at twenty, and the highest rank a fresh graduate might earn is captain. Special promotions straight to field-grade officers are rare."
Sterling smiled, but it was more an expression of resolve than reassurance. "If the assessment shows he's worthy, I will stand behind it. If he's not…" He let the sentence hang.
"Do your duty," Reid said. "But be careful."
Outside the office window, Adrian noticed Adeline watching him from across the quad. He crossed the lawn and called to her.
"What are you doing?" she snapped.
"Walking."
Adeline's jaw set. "Fine. Whatever. I'm leaving." She turned sharply—but her foot missed a step and she stumbled, a sharp twist and a wince.
Adrian leapt forward. "Are you all right?"
"None of your business."
"You're stubborn," he muttered. "Come on. Let me take you to the infirmary."
Adeline folded her arms in defiance, but she couldn't deny the pain. Without another word she leaned forward and, in an instant of impulsive embarrassment, wrapped her arms around Adrian's neck and rested against his back.
Under the curious stares of passing cadets, he lifted her and began across the campus toward the infirmary—an unlikely pair, both of them pretending the moment meant nothing more than routine care.
Adrian had no intention of wasting that chance. Tomorrow's simulation would be the one that determined his path. He had ten years' worth of training in a virtual warspace behind him, and the Commander Ascendant System hummed at the edge of his perception, ready to assist.
He tightened his grip and walked on.