Birthright-The Technomage Archive by B.J. Keeton

which school you’re from, though, you will find new training uniforms in each of your assigned quarters. I’ll be making rounds to check in with each of you later this evening. Unless there are questions, you may go.”
    As the students moved toward the door, Ceril saw Roman smile mischievously. “Good luck finding your quarters. I'll see you all tomorrow.”

    ***

    Ceril hated his quarters.
    It wasn't that they weren't nice. They were. The room was just nothing special. The room was big enough, and it had a similar layout to the Phase II dormitory he was supposed to share with Swarley at Ennd’s. The problem with this room was that Ceril had no roommate to fill the extra space. The room was pretty empty, except for his bed, a desk, and a trio of chairs in one corner. He assumed it was so that Recruits could study together, or visit each other.
    But he was alone, and he didn’t know anyone. Having extra chairs and no one to fill them made Ceril homesick.
    If he understood Roman correctly, none of the Recruits had roommates. Ceril was sure there was good reason for it, but after years of Phase I and living with a roommate, a good reason didn’t make his quarters any less lonely.
    As Ceril examined the room, he found his uniforms hanging in the closet—three identical sets of full-body fatigues. They were dark blue, maybe even black, and had a zipper going from the crotch to the neck. They looked like they would be a little big on him.
    His name was on the right breast. Only it wasn’t patched or embroidered like the rest of the uniform’s decoration. It was displayed on a tiny, flexible screen. When he touched it, it just felt like the fabric of the fatigues. As he watched, the text on the screen rotated between CERIL and RECRUIT. He figured that once he picked a path of study, it would rotate between MEDIC, SCHOLAR, or SOLDIER, too.
    He smiled as he watched his name and rank rotate in and out. Maybe being a technomage wasn't going to be so bad.
    As he flicked between the uniforms, he saw a dress hanging behind the fatigues. Not a dress. A robe. It was thin, but surprisingly heavy. There was no zipper anywhere, which gave him the impression it had been made to pull over his everyday clothes—probably the fatigues. The robe, like the fatigues, had patches and insignias on the sleeves. It even had the rotating nametag screen. Ceril liked the robe far more than he did the fatigues, so he pulled it over his head and noticed a heavy hood. He pulled it over his head and looked around the room.
    No mirror. He sighed because he was sure that he looked like a villain from a cheesy holovid, and he wanted to see it. He let out a low “mwahahahahaha” to complete his mental image of himself. His playful megalomania was interrupted by a high-pitched trill that came from the desk in the center of the room. The paging system at Ennd’s used the same sound.
    “ Answer,” he said.
    A holographic bust of Roman appeared above the desk. The bearded man’s eyes fixed on Ceril, and he smiled. “Making yourself right at home, I see. How do you like your quarters, Ceril?”
    Ceril snapped the hood from his head and he moved closer to the desk. “They're fine, sir. Thank you.”
    “ I'm glad to hear it, Ceril,” said Roman. “I just wanted to make sure that you had everything you needed.”
    “ I think so, sir,” Ceril said.
    “ Very well, then,” Roman said. “Your itinerary for the next month of orientation has been sent to your tablet.” As he spoke, a section of the desk’s surface peeled away to reveal a portable computing tablet. “If you have any questions, please ask.”
    “ I will,” said Ceril. “Thank you, sir.”
    “ Have a good evening, Ceril,” said Roman.
    “ You, too,” Ceril replied, but Roman's image had already faded.
    Ceril plopped down on his bed. From where he lay, he could see out of the room’s single window. Just having a window meant his quarters were on the outside edge of the ship, near