Psychotic Academy

The snoring was the worst.

Actually, that wasn’t true. The mere fact Chris Olding still had to share a room with Horatio Cholmondely-Smythe, his arch-nemesis and rival, was the worst. But in terms of actual real reasons it was driving him up the wall, the snoring was the worst.

Cholmondely-Smythe snored like an old-fashioned chainsaw cutting through a tree. And he did it for hours. This was the fourth night in a row Olding had gone without sleep, and the stress was starting to get to him.

Their first year in the Academy had crawled past with agonising slowness as both cadets tried to ignore each other, a difficult feat when they lived in the same room. Cholmondely-Smythe had applied to move rooms, but, lacking a sensible reason, the Academy staff turned him down. Olding had just gritted his teeth and got on with it.

Over the summer, Olding had tried to forget about Cholmondely-Smythe for a while. That had lasted until he’d visited his father, and told the Commodore who he was bunking with. The three-week rant that had resulted ensured Olding was thoroughly dreading his return to the Academy.

And then the snoring had started. Cholmondely-Smythe had proudly announced he’d spent his summer hiking through the Arcturian jungles, apparently with the result he’d learnt to snore like a champion. Olding could only assume it was some kind of defence mechanism against predators. In the cramped confines of their room, the sound rolled off the walls and seemed to reverberate through Olding’s skull.

In desperation, Olding covered his head with the all-too-thin pillow. Although it muffled the sound, it didn’t block it, and Olding rapidly found that he was also facing the additional hazard of restricted breathing. Giving up on the pillow idea, Olding got out of bed, and padded barefoot out into the corridor beyond.

He shivered in the cold as his feet made contact with the bare floors, but was grateful for the blessed silence as the door slid closed behind him. Olding curled up on the floor in to a foetal position, and hoped morning would come before hypothermia killed him.

 

The following morning, Olding awoke to find that, although he was still alive, he was shivering, and stiff all over. He gingerly got to his feet, stretching cautiously, and winced in pain as various parts of him protested at the abuse he’d put them through. Something was going to have to be done, he realised, and soon.

Olding re-entered their room to find Cholmondely-Smythe doing his early-morning callisthenics, performing crunches with great vigour, and, Olding was unsurprised to note, much grunting. Olding stepped over the other cadet without acknowledging his existence, and, pulling out a uniform, began to get dressed.

 

Their first lecture of the morning was ‘Dynamic Risk Assessments Pertaining to Landing Party Encounters’, a less than interesting subject that Olding struggled to stay awake in. The disrupted night’s sleep he’d had started to tell on him, and as the instructor droned on, Olding found it harder and harder to keep his eyes open. Finally, he surrendered to the inevitable, and allowed himself to doze.

He awoke as the lecture ended and the bustle of cadets hurrying to their next class forced him to move. As Olding groggily climbed out of his chair, he was suddenly filled with a new sense of purpose. The idea had come to him as part of a dream in which he had hunted Cholmondely-Smythe through a thick jungle, and, the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced the plan would work.

Olding sat impatiently through his next few classes, only half-concentrating on what he was learning, whilst his mind pored over the logistics and ramifications of his plan. Finally, lunch rolled around, and while the rest of the cadets trooped off to the canteen to sample whatever items of culinary torture were in store for them that day, Olding headed straight for the library.

It took him the whole of the lunch hour to locate what he wanted, and even then he could only read the summary before he had to head back to classes. He made a note of the file he was reading, and returned to lectures. Olding’s enthusiasm was enough to mean he actually played an active role in the self-defence class that afternoon, in what was to become the only time during his Academy career that he didn’t attempt to evade the classes or limit his offensive actions to pointing at his victim and raising an eyebrow in disapproving fashion.

Once classes were over for the day, and after he’d showered and examined the new collection of bruises he’d picked up, Olding went back to the library, accessed a data terminal, and picked up where he left off.

 

The research, it turned out, took several hours, followed by a further two hours of collecting items which his research had highlighted as relevant. But, just as he was being kicked out of the library before curfew, Olding reckoned he had what he needed to implement what he’d mentally termed Operation Ponce-Be-Gone.

He crept quietly into the quarters he shared with Cholmondely-Smythe, to discover that the other cadet was already asleep, and doing a creditable impersonation of an old-fashioned chainsaw. Olding put his bag down slowly, so as not to make a sound, and carefully extracted the first item he needed.
It took him over an hour to finish the practical aspects of his plan, and by the time he was done he was so dog-tired he was almost able to sleep through the snoring.

 

The following morning, Olding was awoken once again by Cholmondely-Smythe’s usual early morning routine of snorts, yawns and then the determined grunting of his exercise regime. So far, so normal. It was only when Cholmondely-Smythe went into the bathroom to shave that the routine began to vary. Olding was just climbing out of bed to begin his own morning routine of scratching and grumbling incoherently when the other cadet shrieked in a surprisingly girlish fashion.

Olding felt a slow grin cross his face, but forced a look of shock as he dashed into the bathroom. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked in a voice that almost sounded concerned.

Cholmondely-Smythe was staring horrified at his reflection, and didn’t notice Olding’s less than convincing tone. “Good Gad!” he said. “My face! My lovely face!”

Olding looked in the mirror, and saw that the other cadet’s features were now a sickly tone of green, with an outbreak of vicious looking acne that threatened to obliterate his cheeks entirely. His eyes were bloodshot and weeping, but his hair was the most shocking. Cholmondely-Smythe’s once blond locks had now become a horrifically bright purple.

Olding took a step back from Cholmondely-Smythe, slapped the nearest intercom, and said, “Cadet Olding to Infirmary! Medical Emergency!”

Cholmondely-Smythe turned to face Olding, and, in a voice that was almost a whisper, said, “What’s happening to me?”

“I don’t bluidy know,” Olding said. “Don’t worry, t’ medics are on t’ way. Just stay there.”

Cholmondely-Smythe staggered out of the bathroom, clutching the walls for support, before sinking down onto Olding’s bed and looking up pitifully. “What could have caused this?”

Involuntarily, Olding’s eyes flickered past Cholmondely-Smythe to the bed, where under his pillow lay the remains of various chemicals and other ingredients that had been directly responsible. “I don’t know,” he said. “Have you changed soap or summat recently?”

“No, I’ve been using the same products since I was but a young child,” Cholmondely-Smythe said mournfully.

“Best wait for t’ doctors then,” Olding said. “No sense in speculatin’.”

While Cholmondely-Smythe gibbered, Olding pulled on his uniform, and was just doing up the last catches when the medics arrived.

“Good grief!” the first medic through the door said, upon catching sight of Cholmondely-Smythe’s face. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel fine,” Cholmondely-Smythe admitted, “But just look at me!”

“Okay, let’s get you to the Infirmary,” the medic said. Turning to Olding, he said, “You his room-mate?”

“Aye,” Olding nodded, hauling on his boots.

“You’d better come along too,” the medic said. “If whatever he’s got is infectious, then you’ve almost certainly been exposed. Don’t worry, we’ll tell your cadet officers.”

Olding’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. This was a bonus he hadn’t considered. He was going to get a morning off classes, with no comeback whatsoever. Whilst Olding was a diligent cadet, he wasn’t so keen as to pass up on the opportunity for a lazy day if one was offered, so followed the medics and Cholmondely-Smythe willingly.

 

The next few hours were a paradise for Olding. He was put into an isolation room, given full access to Academy resources and a comfortable chair, and was able to catch up on all the myriad tasks that traditionally kept cadets busy late into the night and denied them sleep. Every so often, a nurse would come in and check on him, and in the periods the door was open, Olding could see Cholmondely-Smythe undergoing a battery of tests.

Olding knew he should feel slightly guilty about what he’d done to Cholmondely-Smythe, but he justified his actions as being more important than just a practical joke. This was preventing a murder, as if he didn’t get rid of Cholmondely-Smythe soon, he’d have to kill him.

Finally, Olding was let out of the isolation room to discover Cholmondely-Smythe being released from his tests. “Cadet Olding,” one of the doctors said. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Olding said. “Never better.”

“That tallies,” the doctor said, and Olding felt a sudden burst of nerves. Had he been rumbled?
“Well, Cadet Cholmondely-Smythe,” the doctor said, turning to Cholmondely-Smythe, “You have Cadet Olding to thank for this.”

“Oh?” Cholmondely-Smythe said, and Olding began to sweat.

“Yes,” the doctor continued. “If he hadn’t had the presence of mind to call for us straight away, who knows what might have happened? You have a disease called Azzuro’s Nastroitentis. My first clue was when you told us you’d been hiking in the jungles of Arcturus. Azzuro’s is a very rare infection found only on Arcturus. It has precisely the physical symptoms you display, but no further symptoms can develop for months afterwards. It is, however, ultimately fatal if not caught in time.”

Cholmondely-Smythe’s jaw had dropped during the doctor’s speech, and he seemed completely unable to generate a coherent response. Olding was almost biting through his cheek to avoid smiling now.

“Cadet Olding, you haven’t developed any of the physical symptoms, so you would appear to be clear. Cadet Cholmondely-Smythe, I’m afraid you will have to be kept in for the rest of the day, as we start the treatment to ensure the disease never gets a hold. Also, I’m afraid that you will need to be rehoused.”

Olding could taste blood in his mouth, but with a supreme effort, stopped himself from smiling.

“Solitary?” Cholmondely-Smythe asked.

“I’m afraid so, for the rest of the year. We can’t risk you infecting the rest of your cadet block. You’ll be able to attend lectures, and exercises, but you’ll need to wear a bio-hazard containment suit for the rest of this academic year.”

“What?!” Cholmondely-Smythe almost yelled.

“You are also hereby restricted from attending Academy social events,” the doctor continued. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid it’s necessary.”

Cholmondely-Smythe’s jaw was working overtime, but no sound was coming out. Olding tried his best to smile sympathetically at the other cadet, but some of his triumph must have leaked through, as Cholmondely-Smythe growled, “You…”

“It’s good to see you’re grateful to Cadet Olding,” the doctor said, oblivious to Cholmondely-Smythe’s baleful glare. “He’s probably just saved your life.”

Olding shrugged, and said, “It was nothing.”

“You’ll get a commendation for this, Cadet,” the doctor said, approvingly. “You’re dismissed.”

Olding left the Infirmary, and forced himself to wait until he was well clear of the area before he punched the air in delight. A commendation! He’d found Nastro Azzuroitentis in the medical records, had realised the symptoms were perfect, and had seen it as the perfect opportunity to get Cholmondely-Smythe moved. Achieving utter humiliation for the other cadet for the rest of the year was a massive bonus, and to get a commendation on top of that… Olding’s smile turned malicious, and he started planning how he would redecorate his suddenly enlarged accommodation.