fandomhigh | Macro-Tactics, Monday, Period One

Class was held in the Danger Shop -- not because Kerrigan was intending to render any large landscapes this time, but because it made it infinitely easier for her to project a few smaller things, maps, simulations, that kind of thing. As it stood, the room was large, metallic, in possession of a few screens, chairs, and a massive round table in the center of the room that, for the moment, was still a dullish black.

"I'm Lieutenant Sarah Kerrigan," she announced, the rank she hadn't held in years rolling easily off her tongue. "Welcome to Macro-tactics. Some of you have taken classes by me before; to you, I'm saying you're in luck. We're going to be a little less hands-on for this one."

She tilted her head, eyes flicking over each and every one of the students present. Memorizing, perhaps. (Really, she was listening) "Macro-tactics. The art of war from a top-down perspective, if you will. Remember that when you engage in a war, if you're at the head, you're the one putting lives on the line, and people are going to die for you. If you can't deal with that, get the hell out of the War Room."

There. That might give their ethically-inclined brains a little shock to the system.

"What we're going to be talking about is resources. Troop placement. Extensive maneuvers. You have to be able to manage every detail of a strategy from the top without getting involved yourself. Most wars aren't about whose strategies are the most perfect, but about who makes the least mistakes, so here's lesson number one: don't make them." Her lips widened into a smile. "So learn to do the impossible, kids. It's always interesting."

She leaned back. "I'm your very first teacher of the semester," she said, "Which means none of you should be sick of introductions yet. Name, I don't care about your class, and give me one battle, personal, historical or fictional, that interests you. And why. Nobody cares if you can drop a name. Oh, and do tell me if you think you'd be capable of sending men into battle."

Then her eyes flicked to one last section of the room. "Frost," she said, "See me after class."

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Cally certainly didn't have an easy answer to that question prepared; she hadn't expected to be in this class, let alone answer such a question. She couldn't help sending a look composed of equal parts curiosity and wariness at the instructor as she did her best to think on the spot.

"My name is Cally; my people don't have battles. We're isolationists, and so far, no one from outside has tried to change that." So far. How long would it be, though? The Federation wouldn't ignore them forever, no matter what the current council believed. It took a breath and the realization that not being at home meant she didn't have to be circumspect in her views, for Cally to add, "I don't entirely agree with that policy; there are battles worth fighting, even if they're not our own."

Kerrigan prodded lightly at the new girl's mind, careful as she seemed to be about her own thinking. She halted for only a second, brow frowned in thought-- and then she responded properly. "So you're a rebel," she said. "My kind of girl. In a manner of speaking."

Cally's eyebrows rose, then knit, at the touch to her consciousness; she sought the teacher's eyes before sending, //In a manner of speaking?//

Aloud, she added, "I only disagree with them; I think I would have to take action to truly be called a rebel. I'm still trying to discover what that action might be."

Glad to see you've joined the conversation, Kerrigan returned, with a little twitch of her mouth. Always good to have another telepath around here. "Some dictators would say that rebellion starts in the mind, whether you like it or not," she said. "If you're lucky, nobody's going to force your hand."

//Everything starts in the mind,// Cally thought at her, a nod her only external reply. Her former teachers had known that far too well, and Cally was beginning to see the possible advantages of a place like this, if she were here by choice. //There would never be a class like this on my homeworld.//

Kerrigan moved on to the next student with ease, like nothing was going on at all. That's a strategy that works. For a while. Stick your head in the sand long enough, and someone will cut off your neck.

//My people say that he who trusts can never be betrayed, only mistaken.// And for whatever it was worth, Cally still believed that. //I fear that trusting they'll be ignored by an oppressive empire that hasn't tried to swallow us *yet* qualifies as mistaken.//

Edited 2010-08-31 16:35 (UTC)

That's cute, Kerrigan replied, But in my experience, he who trusts can pretty easily be screwed over -- especially when there's an oppressive empire in the picture.

//Many planets near us have learned that, I think. Officially, they joined it willingly, but reports leak out that say otherwise.//

Dictators hate it when their dirty laundry looks bad, she said, eyes shifting towards Cally one more time. Interesting. If you need any pointers, come by my office hours. Us telepaths need to stick together.

As if she would turn down such an invitation, in a place as mentally silent as this one. //Thank you; I would like that.//

Macro-Tactics, Monday, Period One

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