class of 2989 with a ground-flight test score of two hundred and

winner of the COveted Minuteman Trophy - awarded on graduation for the

best all-round performance while under training.

Brickman paused as he reached the access door to the Snake Pit, took

several deep, calming breaths, checked the alignment of the creases in

his blue flight fatigues, then stepped through into the Rig

Supervisor's Office and logged his arrival by feeding his ID sensor

card into the checkpoint console at the door.

As soon as he was cleared to enter the flight area, Brickman ran at the

double towards the ramp where two Skyhawk microlites were. being

readied by six of the Academy's ground staff. Bob Carrol, the Chief

Flying Instructor, stood at the edge of the runway talking to another

of the ten Adjudicators who had been sent down from Grand Central to

conduct the flight tests and award the marks.

Brickman thudded to a halt with perfect timing, cocked his elbow into

line with his shoulder and saluted, his arm folding like a well-oiled

jack-knife, fingers, hand and wrist rigidly aligned, the tip of his

black glove exactly one inch from the bar and star badge on his forage

cap." Senior Cadet 8902 Brickman reporting for flight test, sir!" The

Adjudicator gave Brickman a dry, appraising glance then lifted the

cover of his video-pad and scanned the text displayed on the

centimetre-thick screen beneath ... He pursed his lips at whatever was

written there, then nodded at Carrol, 'Ah, yes - your star

performer."

Then to Brickman he said, 'Okay. Hear this. Take-off and landing will

be from this runway. Your first turn will be to the left. The rest of

your flight pattern on the downward and return leg will be indicated by

course markers on each level. Lead time will be fifteen degrees of

arc. Points will be deducted for course and altitude deviations, and

-' the Adjudicator paused, '- you'll be flying against the clock.

Overall flight time will be counted in the final pass mark. Have you

got that?"

'Loud and clear, sir!" 'Okay. You roll on the green in fifteen." The

Adjudicator returned Brickman's salute and walked away towards the

Flight Control Room.

CFI Carrol, a sandy-haired thirty-year-old leatherneck, eyed Brickman

sympathetically. Like all the Academy staff, Carrol was a tough,

demanding instructor but if he had allowed himself to show favour to a

cadet, Brickman would have been the recipient. 'I had a hunch you

might draw the short straw. How do you feel?"

Brickman, now standing at ease, allowed himself a brief non-regulation

shrug. He knew Carrol; he knew he wouldn't pick up on it. 'Someone

has to be first."

CFI Carrol greeted Brickman's reply with an ironic smile. 'Yes, I

guess they have. Okay - you'd better get moving."

Brickman sprang to attention and threw another faultless salute.

Carrol acknowledged it with what looked like a half' hearted swipe at

a fly on his forehead. Discipline was one thing; saluting another.

Confronted daily for the last five years by zealous cadets his right

arm had often felt as if it was coming off its hinges. 'Good luck."

'Thank you, sir."

'And Brickman -' Brickman froze halfway through a left turn. 'Sir?"

'This is a cruel world. Good guys don't always finish first."

'I'll try and remember that."

'Do,' said Carrol. 'But don't let it stop you trying." He lowered his

voice. 'Take Number Two The controls are smoother." He dismissed

Brickman with a nod and watched him as he ran towards the parked

aircraft.

The Skyhawk - the only aircraft built by the Federation consisted of a

small three-wheeled cockpit and power pod, with a cowled propellor and

rudder at the rear, slung under a wire and strut braced arrow-head wing