Several days later, Cassian had decided that there were exactly two things worse than running the maintenance stairwells beneath Decima. The first was running them carrying thirty kilograms of equipment. The second was discovering that Commander Varek had apparently gone out of his way to include as many of them as possible.
"Move!"
Boots hammered against durasteel as Mynock Squad spilled from one service corridor into another. Cassian caught D-SEVENTEEN stenciled across the bulkhead and checked the chrono strapped to his wrist. Nine minutes remained.
"Braize, how far?"
The Chiss checked the datapad fixed to his forearm without breaking stride. "Eight hundred meters."
Cassian glanced over. "That's it?"
"Vertically."
Cassian looked toward the stairwell waiting at the end of the corridor. "You're kidding."
Braize didn't so much as look up from the datapad. "I rarely do."
"You're hilarious."
"I know."
The exercise had sounded considerably easier when Varek explained it that morning. Retrieve a communications package from Stores, carry it through a designated route in Decima's maintenance levels, and establish a functioning command post within forty-five minutes. No opposing force. No blasters. Just Mynock Squad, several heavy equipment cases and enough facility between them and the destination to make Cassian suspect someone in command had developed a personal grievance against elevators.
He took the first flight two steps at a time. The others followed, the communications package divided between them as evenly as they had managed. Two larger cases hung from shoulder straps while smaller components had been distributed across the squad. Cassian carried one of the heavier pieces himself, its strap biting into his shoulder every time it bounced against his back. By the fourth flight the formation had begun to stretch.
"Keep the pace!" Cassian called as he reached another landing and checked his chrono. Seven minutes. Barely enough, but enough. Someone muttered farther down the stairs.
Cassian glanced back. "Didn't catch that."
"Nothing, Fortis!"
"Thought so."
He grinned and started toward the next flight. Braize followed close behind, then Zelle and Rondo, the latter carrying another of the heavier cases. Two more cadets came around the turn below them before Cassian slowed and looked back over his shoulder.
"Mott?" No answer. "Mott, sound off."
Only static answered through the squad channel. Rondo stopped beside him, looking down the stairwell.
"What?"
Cassian looked to Braize. "Last time you saw him?"
"Two levels ago," the Chiss said. "He was moving."
Rondo checked his chrono. "We've got six minutes. If we stop here, we're done."
"I know."
Cassian was already pulling the equipment case from his shoulder. He shoved the strap toward Rondo, who caught it more from reflex than cooperation.
"What are you doing?"
"Congratulations. You're promoted." Cassian pushed the case fully into his hands. "Take them to the checkpoint."
Rondo's expression flattened. "We don't make the time without you."
There wasn't any mockery behind it, which almost made the objection worse. Cassian checked the chrono once more. Five minutes and forty-two seconds.
"Then don't waste any more."
Rondo held his gaze for a moment before turning toward the others. "Move, Mynock!"
The squad continued upward. Cassian went the other direction.
Two levels below...
He found Mott sitting against the bulkhead with one leg stretched awkwardly across the landing and his boot resting beside him. The ankle underneath had already begun to swell.
Cassian stopped in front of him. "You planning on finishing?"
"I'm fine," Mott said quickly.
Cassian looked at the ankle. "Great."
"It's nothing."
"Even better." He crouched as Mott reached for his boot. "Don't put that back on."
The other cadet frowned but let his hand drop. Cassian wasn't a medic, but the swelling was obvious enough.
"What happened?"
"Rolled it on the last landing."
"And didn't say anything?"
Mott glanced toward the stairs. "We're being timed."
Cassian checked his chrono. Four minutes remained. Somewhere above them, the rest of Mynock Squad was still climbing.
"Can you stand?"
"Yeah."
Mott planted a hand against the wall and pushed himself upright. His injured foot touched the deck and immediately folded beneath him. Cassian caught him under the arm.
"Fantastic."
"I said I can stand."
"Barely."
Mott shot him a look as Cassian slipped beneath his arm. "Fortis, we're already going to fail."
"Then quit wasting my time."
They started upward.
Progress was slow for all of one flight. Mott tried to put weight on the ankle again, stumbled, and Cassian finally gave up on the arrangement entirely.
"Alright. Enough."
Before Mott could argue, Cassian ducked under him, hauled him across his shoulders and stood with a grunt.
"Fortis—"
"Save it."
The fireman's carry was hardly graceful, especially on the stairs, but it was faster. Cassian took the steps one at a time, one hand braced against the rail whenever he needed it. Somewhere between sections D-Nineteen and D-Twenty, the chrono passed forty-five minutes and began counting upward in red. Mott noticed.
"Sorry."
Cassian kept climbing. "For what?"
"We would've made it."
"Probably."
That answer quieted him. Cassian shifted Mott's weight across his shoulders and kept moving.
Eleven minutes late...
The designated endpoint turned out to be an emptied storage room. Mynock Squad had already assembled the communications station in the middle of it by the time Cassian arrived with Mott over his shoulders. Commander Varek stood near the far wall, datapad in hand. Of course he was there. Braize knelt beside the final power connection while Zelle watched diagnostic information crawl across the portable transmitter. Rondo stood nearby with his arms folded, but whatever irritation he had been nursing disappeared when he saw Mott.
A medical orderly moved forward. "I've got him."
Cassian helped Mott onto the nearby bench before turning toward Varek. The commander checked his chrono.
"Fifty-six minutes. The standard was forty-five."
"Yes, sir."
Varek glanced toward the communications package. "Operational?"
"Fully functional, sir," Braize answered.
"Good." His attention returned to Cassian. "Why were you late?"
"Mott injured his ankle approximately eight hundred meters from the checkpoint, sir."
"That wasn't my question."
Cassian stopped. Varek simply waited.
"I went back for him."
"Why?"
Cassian hesitated. "He was hurt."
Varek waited.
"I went back for him."
"I know."
The commander looked down at his datapad. Cassian's shoulders loosened slightly.
"Exercise failed."
They tightened again.
"Sir?"
"Is there a problem, Cadet Fortis?"
Cassian caught himself before the answer escaped. Braize was suddenly very interested in one of the transmitter readouts.
"No, sir."
"Good." Varek entered something on his datapad, then looked back toward Cassian. "You exceeded the allotted time by eleven minutes and fourteen seconds. Your route through maintenance section Dorn added almost three minutes, and your equipment distribution put too much weight toward the rear of the formation. By the time Mott dropped out, nobody noticed."
Cassian glanced toward the far side of the room, where the medical orderly had Mott seated against a storage crate and was already working on his ankle.
"The injury was an accident," Varek continued. "The separation wasn't."
"Understood, sir."
Varek let his gaze pass across the rest of Mynock Squad before nodding toward the communications station. "Break it down."
For a moment nobody moved. Rondo shifted the case resting against his leg and looked toward the commander. "Sir?"
"You're repeating the exercise."
That got everyone's attention. Zelle looked toward Braize while Rondo's expression settled into something considerably less amused. Across the room, even Mott stopped arguing with the medical orderly long enough to look up.
Varek checked his chrono. "Cadet Mott is finished for the day. The rest of you aren't."
Cassian looked at the assembled equipment, then back to Varek. "Same objective?"
"Same start. Same objective. Same time limit." His gaze moved briefly toward Mott. "One fewer person." Nobody said anything. "The service lift will take you and the equipment back to the lower staging level. Your time begins when the doors open." Varek tucked the datapad beneath one arm. "You made the decision to go back for him. Now finish the exercise with the squad you have left."
Cassian held his gaze for a moment before nodding. "Yes, sir."
"Five minutes."
Mynock Squad moved almost before he finished speaking. Rondo and Zelle started breaking down the communications station while Braize disconnected the portable power unit. Cases opened around them, cables disappeared into storage compartments and components were stripped from the transmitter as quickly as they could manage.
Cassian stepped around one of the open cases and took the route map from Braize. "That route cost us three minutes."
Braize crouched beside him, still coiling a power lead. "Mostly on the stairs."
Cassian expanded the surrounding maintenance levels. A lower service corridor ran parallel to much of their original route before reconnecting farther up the complex. "What about this?"
Braize leaned closer to the datapad while Cassian traced the lower service corridor with one finger. It ran farther than their original route, but avoided most of the stairwells before cutting back toward the upper levels.
"Longer," Braize said.
"Flatter."
"Mostly."
Cassian followed the route to where it rejoined the climb. Two flights remained at the end, but that was considerably better than what they had just done. "We'll take it."
Rondo dropped one of the larger cases beside them and crouched to help repack it. "We're still short Mott."
Cassian looked over the equipment scattered across the floor. He already had one of the heavier cases assigned to him; Mott's sat open beside Rondo. After a moment he reached over and began pulling the smaller components from it. "Give me the case. Split these up between everyone else."
Rondo glanced toward Cassian's other load. "You're taking both?"
"Looks that way."
Zelle collected two of the smaller components as she passed, leaving Braize to take another. It wasn't perfectly even, but it kept anyone else from carrying substantially more than they had on the first attempt. Cassian returned his attention to the map while Rondo finished securing the remaining equipment.
Braize tapped the point where the lower corridor turned back toward the upper levels. "D-Eighteen. Two flights from there."
"Better than six." Cassian studied the surrounding passages for another moment. A maintenance accessway provided a route back to their original path if the lower corridor was blocked. He pointed it out to Braize. "We'll use this if we have to."
By then the communications station had almost disappeared back into its cases. Cassian handed the datapad off and pulled both heavy straps over his shoulders. Mott's case settled awkwardly against the opposite side of his back, forcing him to shift his stance until the weight balanced.
Rondo noticed. "You sure about that?"
Cassian rolled one shoulder beneath the straps. "We'll find out."
The service lift at the rear of the storage room took them back toward the lower staging level. Mynock crowded inside with the repacked equipment, tired enough that the ride down passed mostly in silence. Cassian remained nearest the doors, looking over the squad while Braize checked the revised route one last time.
"Lower corridor to D-Eighteen," Cassian said. "We make up the distance on the flat sections and stay together on the stairs. Keep track of whoever's behind you. If somebody starts falling back, say something."
Rondo's eyes dropped briefly toward the two cases hanging from Cassian's shoulders. "That includes you."
"Yeah." Cassian adjusted one of the straps. "It does." The lift slowed beneath them. Datapads disappeared, cases were lifted from the floor and the squad shifted toward the doors. Cassian took one last look across Mynock before turning forward. The doors opened onto the lower staging level and his chrono started.
"Move."
They did.
