They had him going through simulations. Hypotheticals, problem solving, scenarios and worst case situations.

Every answer felt wrong. Clarkston couldn't tell if he was choosing the right answers or not, or what they even wanted from him.

Who do you trust with your own life?

Who would you choose, your own safety, or another's?

Someone's actions harm the mission. How do you proceed?

Power has gone out on the ship. What do you do?

The Doctor was there at the front of the room, fiddling with a stack of papers. He had told him at the beginning of the test that he didn't have to get all the answers right. That this was just "an examination of his character." Somehow this only served to scare him more. Information could could learned, responses could be taught, the "character" they were looking for was unknown variable, something he had no idea what the judgment of it was.

He didnt know what would happen to him if he failed.

Time didn't seem to exist in that room. Clarkston was alone in there, other than the Doctor's presence. It was rather jarring to be desolately alone when for the past day he had spent every living moment in the presence of others.

And now, all he had was a tablet screen glaring up at him. The words started to blur as Clarkston stared at them, and he groaned, rubbing at his stinging eyes. He would give anything to be in his history class at this moment, or even to just have spent five more minutes with the rest of the teens at breakfast.

He hoped they were ok. Clarkston hated not having eyes on them, to not be able to see them or make sure they were all safe. He didn't know what they were up to, he couldn't protect them if he wasn't there with them.

The tablet chimed at him, and he looked down. Time was counting down and flashing at him, and Clarkston felt that same jolt of panic as before. That un-knowing feeling. He tapped the screen again, and another question stared up at him.

Remove one person from your crew. Who would it be?

He was going to be sick. These questions didn't feel like they were just analyzing him, but also the other teens. Judging them based only on his bias. What if he made the wrong choice? What if something he said, a decision he made, would change everything, would affect the others?

He barely let himself think as he typed in a name.

He didn't really know why he had chosen them, but in a way, it felt right. Everyone else seemed to fit within a tight niche, at least, once his Trainer had explained to him the roles. But even now, thinking back, it seemed like their presence was only to fill a space that didn't exist.

The tablet buzzed, the screen going black. Clarkston dropped it down to the table with a thunk, leaning back in his chair with a heavy exhale. It was over. He was done. He didnt even know how long he had been sitting in that position, hunched over the tablet, but it was finally finished.

The Doctor jumped up from his spot at the front of the room. "Excellent! We will go over these results, thank you for your input. He walked over to the door at the side of the room and pressed a button on the built in comm. "Doctor Dorian calling Joshua Barnes, your trainee is now free for more instruction. Thank you." He went back over to his desk and began stacking up his papers. "The information will be invaluable," he began, shuffling through folders and stuffing other ones full. "Of course, everyone will go through similar sessions, and we will have different questions as time goes on, but the beginning looks into how you process information will guide us in our own decisions."

Clarkston gripped the edge of his table, knuckles turning white. He wanted to do something, to punch the man, but he suspected that would only lead into making things worse. Besides, it seemed that all of the door only opened from the outside. There were no handles on the inner portions of any of the doors he had seen. He was trapped.

The Doctor was still fussing with his papers when the door finally did open, and Clarkston all but jumped to meet his Trainer there. He had to get out of this room, had to get to a place he could call safe. Or at least, whatever could pass for safe in a place like this.

His trainer started talking almost immediately as they left the room, the two of them making their way through the maze of hallways. Clarkston was only half listening, but mainly he was focused on trying to keep track of there we was, checking offshoots into his mental map of the place. The maze-like portion of the building seemed to be almost as large as the hangar side, but it wasn't really like he could tell when trapped inside. He wished he had a frame of reference, or something that could let him know what he was working with.

"And you'll be needing to take your physical first thing tomorrow morning. After that, I believe they have a group simulation set up for the six of you."

Clarkston blinked away his thoughts, trying to focus in on what his Trainer was talking about. Joshua, if that even was his name, seemed fine compared to other people here. No nonsense, but he wasn't harsh. He walked a bit too fast though, and Clarkston had force himself to keep pace with the man, or he would be left behind. "Do you know what the simulation will be over?"

The man shot a glance at Clarkston, but didn't answer his question. "After the simulation, you will go into systems theory with Darius and Ash. That class will extend the rest of the morning, and then you will have a crash course in adaptation to space."

Clarkston quickened his pace some more. "Have you ever been to space?"

"Yes."

His feet stalled, and Clarkston almost tripped from the sudden stop in motion, him momentum carrying him as he righted himself. "What's it like?"

Joshua didn't slow to accommodate Clarkston, his face turned stalwartly ahead. "Empty. Dangerous. Cold." His voice was deeper now, as if these words carried more weight with them. "Every decision is important up there, and nothing you do is without consequence of some kind. My job is to train you, and to make decisions that carry the lesser dangers."

They has stopped by the large double doors that made up the entrance to the dining hall. "Dinner," Joshua said, punching in a code and opening the doors. "I'll see you in two days for more training."

Clarkston stepped inside, and the doors closed behind him. The room was no longer empty, but had soldiers and scientists and other workers crowding the space. All but that first, lonesome table. Clarkston made his way there, and from the corner of his eye, he saw some of the men at the next table over glare at him.

There was just the one tray at the table, a piece of paper with his name and a caloric count of the meal written placed on it. Clarkston picked up his tray and walked over to the window where everyone got their food, a man and a woman bustling about inside the enclosed kitchen. The woman caught sight of Clarkston and rushed over, picking up his paper and inspecting it. She slapped it onto the counter with a sigh. "I swear that man acts like we have all the time in the world." She turned to yell back at the other man in the kitchen. "Tyson, I'm going to need a serving of lasagna from earlier today prepared, then a count of fruit." She clicked her tongue, then gave Clarkston a thing of water, ghe ice cubes in it clinking as she set it down. "I feel bad for you kids, having to deal with the stuff he requires you to eat."

Clarkston gave her a baffled look, and she raised one brow. "Didn't you know? He wantsd you prepped for life up there, so you only get rehydrated space meals. Nothing home-cooked for the six of you." She paused, fingers tapping on the counter. "At least you lot get fresh fruit. He said he doesn't have that in the budget for an entire group this size, so you are the favored ones in that regard."

She turned again. "Tyson! The lasagna?"

The man rushed over, holding a silver packet that the woman opened up and let the contents slide onto his tray. It was the single most unappetizing thing Clarkston had ever seen in his entire life. The woman pushed it over to him. "Eat up kid. Lord knows you'll need it."

Clarkston took the tray with a nod and walked away, his head dizzy with everything he had gone through. The world seemed fuzzy around the edges, the rushed sounds of the cafeteria sounding blurred together, as if he couldn't differentiate the noises from each other. His vision faded out, his feet stalled again, stumbling, and this time, when Clarkston fell, he was unable to catch himself.

○○○

"Just stress, son." Dr. Andrews was holding a clipboard and going over the papers it held. "And lack of caloric intake, perhaps. Have you been eating alright at home?"

Clarkston nodded his head. "Yes sir." That was a lie. "Three square meals a day sir." Another lie. "My parents are farmers." At least that one was true.

The doctor was nodding slowly, but his focus was now longer on the papers. "Your caloric intake will be adjusted, and I suggest you actually eat everything provided to you. It may not be the most appetizing, son, but you'll need every bite as your training goes on."

"Did you see the others today, Sir?" Clarkston's hands gripped the edge of the bed he was sitting on, his leg fidgeting and twitching. "Are they all ok?"

Doctor Andrews didn't answer, just clicked his tongue and walked away. "Leslie?" He called, and one of the nurses snapped jer attention up to him. "See that the food staff get his adjusted diet, and if need be, we can order supplementals for him." He paused a moment, inspecting Clarkston. "Actually, just go ahead and order those supplementals anyways. We'll find a use for them, I'm sure."

The first nurse—Leslie?—nodded, then began pulling out paperwork. The other one came over to Clarkston, holding his jumpsuit and boots. "You'll want to put these back on," she said. Clarkston took a moment to study her. She had faint freckles peeking out from under her face mask, and pale brown eyes. She looked so young. Was she trapped here too? Did she even understand what was going on in this place, or was she kept in the dark about the real reasonings these teens were there? Why he was there?

She looked up and caught him staring. "Avart your eyes," she said sharply. "I havnt got time to waste on school-boys like you."

Clarkston stiffened, indignation zinging through his nerves. "Is that really what you think—"

"Isn't that what every boy wants?" Her eyes scanned him, quick, disdainful. "Get dressed." She all but threw his clothing at him, and Clakrston fumbled to catch it.

"What in the..." He trailed off. It wasn't worth thinking about any longer. All he had done was make a bad impression, for something he hadn't even known he had been doing.

The jumpsuit felt suddenly heavy after having been in the hospital gown his entire time in the medical room, buy Clarkston was grateful for the weight. It made him feel grounded, secure, almost.

His Trainer had been alerted to Clarkston's "episode", as the other nurse had described it to the man. He only seemed to look disappointed that his new student was such a useless lump.

At least, Clarkston was guessing that's what the expression on his face meant. He wasn't really sure, as that Joshua man seemed to blend in with the rest of the personnel moving about the complex. Stone-faced and silent. Clarkston resisted the urge to swing his feet as he waited on the bed, just as his Trainer had told him to. He couldn't even tell what time it was in this place, or even how many days had passed since he had been taken.

Were his parents looking for him? Was his sister alright? He hoped this wouldn't end up too much of a distraction from the math test she was supposed to have had the next Tuesday. Was it Tuesday already? Clarkston hoped Susanne was doing ok...

"Get up. It's time to get going."

Clarkston obeyed mindlessly. He felt like cattle, moving from place to place without any say on his own actions. Of course he had felt bad for the livestock they kept before, but this was the first time he had truly ever empathized with them. Now, he felt like barely a step up from being an animal himself.

"You need to take better care of yourself, <cadet>." Clarkston narrowed his eyes, walking beside Meyer. He tried to remember to different uniforms and stripes military members had worn on their yearly independence day parades, or the veterans who lined the streets every November. That would be coming up soon... his uncle would be in that ceremony this year. Sargeant, perhaps? Sargeant Meyers. That sounded right... maybe.

"What now?" Clarkston asked. His body was complaining from the lack of food, both from ignoring this morning's breakfast, to completely missing out on lunch. He hoped dinner would actually turn out to edible.

"Team building activities," Sargeant Meyers replied.

He didn't say anything more. Clarkston fell in pace just behind him, trying to get their footsteps to fall into rhythm, the mirror the pace the older man carried. The silencewas driving him mad. He was used to a home of bustling family members and traded words, not these clipped, short replies.

They were in the main hangar now. There was a huddling of figures on the floor, with people in white coats moving in groups of twos and threes. The other teens stood in a cluster in the middle of all the activity, harnesses strapped on. Lieutenant Dafferny stood beside them, an identical harness dangling from her hand.

She looked at the watch on her wrist, then back up at Clarkston. "You're late," she snapped.

Clarkston stopped three paces away and folded his arms, shifting his weight. "Sorry. I was busy dealing with the negative affects of kidnapping. Who knew it can be bad for your health?"

Dafferny didn't seem to be amused. She shook her hand, the harness clinking as the metal pieces hit against each other. "Hurry up and get strapped in. Soon enough, you'll be going up."

And there, far above their heads, a course hung in the air.