right, but it wrecked my bone growth."
"Huh. Didn't they give you any medical treatment?"
"Oh, sure. I've had an Inquisition's worth. That's why I can walk around today, instead of being carried in a bucket."
Kostolitz looked mildly revolted, but stopped trying to sidle subtly upwind. "How did you ever get past the medicals? I thought there was a minimum height rule."
"It was waived, pending my test results."
"Oh." Kostolitz digested this.
Miles returned his attention to the test ahead. He should be able to pick up some time on that belly-crawl under the laser fire; good, he would need it on the five-kilometer run. Lack of height, and a
permanent limp from a left leg shorter, after more fractures than he could remember, by a good four centimeters than his right, would
slow him down. No help for it. Tomorrow would be better; tomorrow
was the endurance phase. The herd of long-legged gangling boys
around him could unquestionably beat him on the sprint. He fully
expected to be anchor man on the first 25-kilometer leg tomorrow,
probably the second as well, but after 75 kilometers most would be
flagging as the real pain mounted. I am a professional of pain,
Kostolitz, he thought to his rival. Tomorrow, after about kilometer 100, I'll ask you to repeat those questions of yours—if you have the breath to spare. . . .
Bloody hell, let's pay attention to business, not this dink. A fivemeter drop—perhaps it would be better to go around, take a zero on
that part. But his overall score was bound to be relatively poor. He hated to part with a single point unnecessarily, and at the very
beginning, too. He was going to need every one of them. Skipping the wall would cut into his narrow safety margin-
"You really expect to pass the physicals?" asked Kostolitz, looking
PDF Transform
PDF Transform
Y
Y
Y
er
Y
er
B
2
B
2
B
.0
B
.0
A
A
Click here to buy
Click here to buy
w
w
w
w
w .
w
A B B YY.com
.A B BYY.com
around. "I mean, above the 50th percentile?"
"No."
Kostolitz looked baffled. "Then what the hell's the point?"
"I don't have to pass it; just make something near a decent score."
Kostolitz's eyebrows rose. "Whose ass do you have to kiss to get a deal like that? Gregor Vorbarra's?"
There was an undercurrent of incipient jealousy in his tone, class-
conscious suspicion. Miles's jaw clamped. Let us not bring up the
subject of fathers . . .
"How do you plan to get in without passing?" Kostolitz persisted, eyes narrowing. His nostrils flared at the scent of privilege, like an animal alert for blood.
Practice politics, Miles told himself. That too should be in your
blood, like war. "I petitioned," Miles explained patiently, "to have my scores averaged instead of taken separately. I expect my writtens to bring up my physicals."
"That far up? You'd need a damn near perfect score!"