Brinus sat on the kitchen countertop, clad only in a pair of gym shorts. He had a mint-flavored nico-pop in his mouth, designed by Dr. Calnori, and a cup of steaming hot coffee in both hands. He eyed himself in the mirrored wall in front of him. He’d lost 15 pounds over the last week, and it showed. His muscle was defined. Too defined. He could see every ab, and there were cut lines between his lats and pectorals.

  He may be thinner than he should, but he liked it. He smirked and flexed his arms and chest. . His body was V-shaped but not like a bodybuilder's. Unlike before, the kitchen smelled like tarken tea smoke, burning paper, and charcoal. The walls had a slight yellow stain on the mirror and wood paneling.

  Simmie came into the kitchen. He put a cigarette in his mouth and lit the other end. He was shirtless as he grabbed a pot of coffee from the coffee maker.

  “How was your first week not smoking?” Simmie took a drag and blew out.

  Brinus smiled with a large, toothy grin. He crossed his ankles and shifted his position. He stared at the little stick between Simmie’s lips and licked his own. “You have no idea how bad I wonna smoke.”

  Simmie put it out on the counter and disposed of the butt in the replicator. “My bad, I forgot.”

  Brinus jumped off the countertop and walked up to Simmie, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s okay, I love you just the same.”Brinus kissed him, then opened his eyes and stepped back with his nose scrunched. “Did you brush your teeth?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Your breath tasted like a coffin nail.” Brinus’s nose scrunched again. “I have to get ready. Love you!”

  He gave Simmie a light peck on the cheek and left the room. He thought he saw a shadow behind him as he pulled on his uniform, but said nothing. When he was fully dressed, he glanced around and pulled a cigarette out of a drawer in the dresser and placed it between his lips. He snapped his fingers and the tip ignited, and Brinus took a long draw . Simmie came out of the closet just as Brinus titled his head back, blowing the smoke into the air.

  Simmie sighed and crossed his arms and ankles, leaning against the wall. “I found the smokes yesterday. How long have you been sneaking them?”

  Brinus rolled his eyes, taking another draw and blowing smoke into Simmie’s face. “It’s just one. What will it hurt?”

  “You’ll never quit if you go with the just ‘one mentality’.”

  “Do you know how difficult it is to quit a four-pack-a-day habit? I need…”

  “Excuses don’t produce results.” Simmie offered his hand to Brinus to take the pack from him.

  “It’s only my first week. I promise this will be the last pack I buy.”

  Simmie rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You do you, love. See you tomorrow. I’ve got a 24-hour shift, so I won’t be home tonight.”

  Brinus rolled his eyes, taking another draw, tilting his head back, and blowing smoke out into the fan. “I’m havin’ a tough time.”

  “I know. You get this one pass for the week. Get rid of them, and I will pretend I didn’t see anything.”

  Brinus shook some ash into the ashtray on the desk. “Calnori’s helped me through the worst of it, but I can’t shake it.”

  “Ask yourself this. Are you apologizing to me or to yourself? Why do you feel guilty? Is it because you know you did something wrong or that you’ve been caught in your lie?”

  Simmie gave Brinus a kiss on the cheek and left. He crushed his cig and sat on the bed, his eyes teary. Simmie was right. He tried justifying it, and he knew there was no excuse.

  Two hours later:

  Brinus talked to his military tactics professor after class. The classroom blue carpet and plain wood walls with ornate oak paneling along with four rows of wooden desks. A podium was in front of a hologram projector. Smoke filled the room to the point of making him antsy and jumpy, like an addict needing a fix. It mixed and swirled with the light, creating beams through the smoke.

  The professor said, crossing his arms in front of his chest, “So, that’s your opinion of the recent battle?” Everyone left the room after class.

  “Yes, sir, Professor John.”

  Professor John shifted data pads and put them in a briefcase. He said, “That is an interesting take on using Captain’s Order 66 in a fleet battle you gave in class today. You would risk contaminating the entire solar system if you set off antimatter detonation.”

  Brinus put a lollipop in his mouth and flicked a lighter absentmindedly while swinging side to side. “In my opinion, sir, you risk contaminating a planet entering orbit in transwarp. In theory, when enterin’ a star system, the captain floods the system with X-rays, beta-rays, and gamma rays from the warp bubble. It’s like trading Bliss for Rage, you just have to choose your poison.”

  Professor John pulled out a pack of smoke from the briefcase and offered one to Brinus, who shook his head. “No, thank you, sir. Are you too blind to see that I am quitting?” Brinus’s eyes widened, and he put his hand over his mouth.

  Professor John snapped and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is there something wrong with you?”

  Brinus rolled his eyes, sighed, and then said in a voice that a serial killer could only replicate, “I would rather die of a thousand blaster bolt wounds than smoke again. Have a blessed day, sir.” He gave his screw-you smile and then sneered, “May the temple spirits bless your heart, my sweet summer child.”

  Brinus turned on his heels and left with his nose in the air.

  He was in Commander Tom’s office an hour later. Commander Tom wore a scowl on his face, his pupils were dilated, and he had his arms crossed. “Why did you insult your military tactics professor?”

  “Sir, with respect...”

  Commander Tom slammed his palm onto the desk and screamed. “I did not ask for your opinion, Smokestack! You will apologize to him! You will then serve three days of detention!”

  Brinus saw an opportunity for Malicious compliance. They talked about it yesterday over lunch. He made his classic screw-you smile. “Sir, I’m restricted to my quarters. I can only leave for work and school for another two and a half months. I cannot...”

  Commander Tom stood up, leaned over his desk, and shouted, “Shut the fuck up, Smokestack! I knew taking you on would be difficult, but really?! Come on, man! Don’t be so obvious with the malicious compliance! I guess next, your triquarter will run out of power, and your workstation intercom will fail at the same time! I’ll be damned if you pull that fucking bullshit on me!”

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Brinus’s face hardened, and the corners of his eyes narrowed in a look of contempt. He began shaking his leg and tapping a lighter.

  Commander Tom Laughed and leaned back into his office chair, his hands moved behind his head. “I love the balls on you, kid, but sometimes it is best to follow orders. There is the correct way of insubordination, and then there is the wrong way to do it. Do you hear what I am saying, Smokestack? Do exactly what the professor says exactly how he says it to the letter. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Brinus nodded.

  “Dismissed!”

  Captain Plato entered the weapon officer’s office as Brinus left.

  “Is your plan going to work?”

  Captain Plato nodded. “Captains need to be role models, not addicts. Anyway, do you think he’ll take the right lesson?”

  The Commander turned in his chair and scratched his face. “I think so. I hope to turn this into a teaching moment for him. His military tactics instructor doesn’t even smoke. Never has. The way he told me, tarken tea leaves make him nauseous and have a headache like an allergy or some shit.”

  The two men laughed. Captain Plato flexed his claws and swished his tail side to side slowly. “I told you he would take the bait, didn’t I?”

  Commander Tom walked up to the replicator and said, “Two shots of Diet Parla, filled with shaved with the cola at 4 degrees Celsius.” The two shots of soda appeared, and Commander Tom handed one of them to Captain Plato. “I heard you gave up drinking after the Battle of Hoth Prime. How did you know your plan would work?”

  Captain Plato flicked his tail side-to-side slowly and twitched his whiskers. “Brinus is predictable. He’s irritable from not smoking for seven days. Even if the medicine helps with physical cravings, he still has psychological issues to deal with. He won’t get better for another two months.” The two men were silent for a moment upon reflection. “The kid needs to channel his rebellious spirit into things that won’t get him in trouble. If he can figure out how to be a menace with minimal backlash and without the mouth, I think he will have a long career and make vice admiral before he is given a pardon.”

  Tom sighed and began writing with a stylus on a datapad. “You’re right, but he’s a criminal and needs discipline. I’ve got paperwork to fill out. I’ll check on him later.”

  “See you after lunch, I need to discuss calibrating the new plasma torpedoes with you.”

  Captain Plato left his office.

  The following day at 0600 hours:

  Brinus

  “Brinus Helios is reporting for duty, sir!”

  Suddenly, a burst of flames engulfed him as soon as he walked through the door. Brinus felt the fire lick his clothes and shoes. It made him laugh and felt warm, like sitting in front of a fireplace on a cold winter night. The fire stopped after a couple of seconds. It looked like he walked right into a fire trap. The floor and doorframe were unharmed.

  Brinus laughed. “That was fun! Let’s do it again!”

  The teacher exited his office and spoke to the four upperclassmen who had pranked Brinus. He said, “You had your fun. Now leave.”

  One of the pranksters slapped him on the back. Another slapped him on the shoulder. A third prankster ruffled his hair.

  The three upperclassmen left after exchanging fist bumps with Brinus.

  “Sorry about that. It’s a common prank they play on popular freshmen. They heard you were being detained today and wanted to pull the fire version of the prank on you since you’re a fire mage.”

  Brinus laughed and slapped his teacher on the shoulder. “Hey, it was fun, and no one was hurt, haha!”

  “So, are you going to apologize to me for insulting me yesterday?”

  Brinus remembered the malicious compliance lesson from earlier. After sighing, looking down, and then up, and said, “I am so sorry for my actions. I wish to apologize to those affected by my bad behavior. I know I violated social norms and will, from now on, be more respectful to those around me.” He made a fake, sad look that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  The instructor sighed, crossed his arms, and snapped, “You need to work on your sarcasm, Smokestack. Make it less obvious. If this were a real situation where you faced discipline, you could be in a lot of trouble for that little mouth-off. Now. Try again, and make your sarcasm less obvious.”

  “Yes, sir.” Brinus cleared his throat and said, “I wish to apologize for my actions when I said I would rather die from a thousand blaster bolts than smoke. I realize I caused you distress and wish to extend my hand.” Brinus gave his hand and shook the professor with a classic dead-fish handshake.

  “I almost believed you. What gave you away was the handshake. Remember, keep your thoughts in your head. Use incomplete sentences while filling in the blanks in your mind. Try again.”

  Brinus cleared his throat again, he looked at his professor’s nose, a trick he learned in the syndicate when he needed to lie to someone’s face, and then said in a firm voice, “I am so sorry…” , “... and I hope we can come to an understanding…” “All is forgiven…” Brinus offered his hand to shake. He smirked, trying to hide his screw-you smile.

  “Good, I like it. Remember to practice it in the mirror for ten minutes a day, making incomplete apologies. Oh, try not to do that smug smirk; you will make a lot of enemies that way. I will give you some facial exercises over your class email to help you mimic facial expressions better and stop you from making that annoying smirk. The key to sarcasm is incomplete sentences and keeping your face neutral. The key to malicious compliance is to get everything in writing or on raw video. You must get everything on record. Did I tell you what I did before I retired from the military?”

  Brinus tilted his head and narrowed his eyes in curiosity. “No, sir.”

  “I worked in naval intelligence. Let me show you some facial yoga exercises, and then we’ll do some more sarcastic apologies.”

  Commander Tom entered the classroom as Brinus stood in front of the mirror panel. The professor assigned him the task of practicing facial yoga.

  The Commander entered the classroom and sat across from the professor in his office. He sat at attention out of habit. “How’s he doing, Professor John?”

  Professor John smiled and shuffled some electronic papers on his desk. “He seems to be catching on. I’ve introduced him to facial yoga to help him with facial expressions. You know, working with him isn’t so bad. I thought he would back-talk more.”

  Commander Tom shifted in his seat, closed the door, and whispered, “He is one of only 50 convicts left in the third task force and about 800 cadets left in the other four task forces they were recruited in. The Admiralty has a vested interest in seeing these convict recruits through the Navy get their commission. Most of the cadets were KIA, WIA, or discharged for bad conduct.”

  Professor John turned on music in his stereo to cover up the conversation and said, “Why is the admiral so hell-bent on seeing the remaining convicts get the help they need? Wouldn’t it be easier to send all of them to a halfway house and integrate them into the labor force?”

  The Commander shrugged and then shifted in his seat. “From what I understand, Central Command doesn’t want the program to be a complete failure, even though it is.”

  Professor John whistled and put his hands on his desk. “Wow, only 50 convicts remain?”

  Commander Tom nodded and leaned forward in his seat. “If I were aware of the political element, I wouldn’t have had him as a student.”

  The professor frowned and crossed his arms and legs in a self-soothing posture. “What does that mean?”

  “Let’s just say it’s within our best interest to make Brinus succeed in the military at all costs.” Commander Tom rose from his seat and looked back at the professor. “Remember what I said when grading one of his papers or his end-of-year war game?” He winked and walked out of the office.

  The professor swallowed as Commander Tom left the office.

  Admiral Nelson and Captain Plato were in the admiral’s private dining room. The room had elaborately carved furniture, gold-leafed walls, crystal mirrors inside the eight-block panels, and a compass rose made of black and gold marble with white marble floors.

  The table was made of epoxy wood, with gold melted into the 100-year-old tree trunk and cut into a 12-person dining table shape. There were five bagmen and a first bagman. Plato had a variety of seafood. The admiral’s steward had just served lunch to the captain and his chief of staff.

  Captain Plato cracked open some crab legs, and juice flew in all directions. “What will happen to the convict recruitment program?”

  Admiral Nelson flicked his tail and flexed his claws. “It will be retired after next month’s budget meeting. Most convicts left over are like Smokestack; they have behavioral problems similar to him, but nothing we can’t manage. They’ll continue to get the services they need because eight hundred integrated convicts sound better than one hundred thousand failed cadets. The program has been a clusterfuck: sexual assaults, insubordination, and antisocial behavior. It won’t be resurrected again unless there is a recruiting emergency.”

  Captain Plato crossed his legs, his pupils dilated, and he flicked his tail rapidly from side to side. “I heard about the Munch Massacre. A company of convicts fragged their commander and then murdered a village after being in the field for 200 days. In the end, the unit was deemed unsalvageable and terminated.”

  Admiral Nelson nodded and adjusted his uniform shirt. “It was the worst war crime in a century that no one knows about. It was blamed on combat fatigue and the convicts having unstable personalities if I remember, but it was hidden from the public.”

  “Here’s a toast to the careers of eight hundred men.” Nelson and Plato tapped their glasses and laughed.

  “May they have long, successful careers.” They both chuckled.