Season 1, Episode 4: "Tactical Diplomacy"

"Tactical Diplomacy" was a term coined by the United Systems to describe the act of negotiating with an enemy via high-velocity projectiles. To the recruits, it was finally "Gun Day."

The range was a sprawling indoor arena filled with "Pop-Up Patriots" (allied targets) and "Static Scourge" (enemy targets). John stood at Station 7, holding the AR-15 "Justice-Bringer." It was heavy, smelled of gun oil, and felt like it could punch a hole through a mountain—or, in John’s hands, a very expensive ceiling fan.

"Listen up!" Vane shouted, walking behind the line with his hands behind his back. "A Star-Vanguard is nothing without his rifle. But a rifle is nothing without the wisdom to know what not to shoot. This is a discernment test. If you shoot a Patriot, you get a demerit. If you shoot a Scourge, you get a point. If you shoot me, you get a burial at sea. Fire!"

The range exploded into noise.

Pop-up. A silhouette of a friendly medic appeared. John held his fire. Good. Pop-up. A multi-limbed Swarm drone. John squeezed the trigger. Click.

"I'm out of ammo?" John whispered.

"No, you're out of luck," Vane barked, standing right behind him. "Your rifle is jammed, Recruit. It’s a simulation of a 'Budget-Cut Jam.' Use your Link-Pad to call in a secondary weapon. And do it fast, the Scourge are closing in!"

John’s fingers flew. Down, Left, Down, Up, Up.

"PERSONAL SIDEARM DEPLOYED," his wrist chirped.

A small pod slammed into the deck next to him. John grabbed the pistol, but in his haste, he didn't notice that his Link-Pad had also registered a lingering Right press from his thumb hitting the edge of the casing.

"AUTOMATED TARGETING ASSISTANT ACTIVATED."

A small, floating drone—roughly the size of a grapefruit—popped out of the pod. It hovered over John’s shoulder, projecting a bright green laser beam onto the field.

"Oh, cool," John muttered. "Auto-aim."

He leveled the pistol. The drone’s laser locked onto a Scourge target. Bang. The target shattered. Bang. Bang. Two more went down. John felt like a god. He was finally doing it. He was a natural.

"Excellent work, Recruit!" Vane shouted, actually sounding impressed. "Now, clear the 'Ambush Wave'!"

Twenty targets popped up at once—a mix of friends and foes. The drone’s processor began to whir loudly. The green laser began to flicker. Because the "Budget-Cut" simulation was designed to be difficult, the drone’s targeting logic was currently trying to calculate the most "efficient" way to clear the room.

"Wait, why is it pointing at the fire extinguisher?" John asked.

The drone didn't answer. It just turned the laser red.

"John, get down!" Sarah yelled from the next station.

The drone, deciding that the fastest way to neutralize all targets was to create a massive cloud of obscuring chemicals, fired its own miniature dart into the high-pressure fire suppression tank on the wall.

PSHHHHHHHH!

The room disappeared in a thick, white cloud of retardant foam. The recruits began coughing and swearing as the floor became a slippery skating rink.

"I can't see!" Kael yelled. "Is the test over?"

In the white-out, John felt the drone tugging on his jumpsuit. It was using its tractor beam to pull him forward. John, thinking the drone knew a way out, followed it. He stumbled through the foam, sliding and flailing, until he felt his hand hit a large, red button.

"SITUATION RESOLVED," the computer announced.

The foam began to clear. John was standing at the very end of the range, his hand on the "Instructor’s Emergency Victory" button. Behind him, the entire range was a disaster. Every single target—both friend and foe—had been knocked over by the sheer force of the foam blast.

John stood there, covered head-to-toe in white suds, looking like a very confused snowman.

Vane walked through the foam, his boots making a squelch-squelch sound. He looked at the cleared range, then at the drone, which was now hovering innocently over John’s head, chirping a happy little tune.

"Recruit," Vane said, wiping a glob of foam off his own shoulder. "Did you just use a fire extinguisher to achieve a one-hundred-percent neutralization rate?"

"The... the drone suggested it, sir?" John stammered.

Vane looked at the drone. The drone turned its laser blue and projected a small holographic "Thumbs Up."

Vane let out a long, weary breath. "Technically, the rules state that any recruit who clears the field without a single 'Patriot' being shot by a bullet passes the course. Since you used foam instead of lead, you didn't 'shoot' anyone."

He scribbled something on his pad. "You’ve passed. But for the love of the Stars, don't touch the 'Orbital Strike' training module until I’ve had my coffee tomorrow. You’ll probably find a way to make it drop a piano on me."

John watched him leave, then looked at his drone. "We're going to be friends, aren't we?"

The drone responded by accidentally zapping John’s Link-Pad with a tiny spark of static, changing his wallpaper to a picture of a kitten.