After each Exam, there's a day of rest while the ICR compile data and share the good news with Earth. With the NDA over and the recordings of passing exams released to the public, Of course News channels were putting Highlights in-between stories. Finlay watched together with his Mother during gaps in business. He worked in the family Bar, The Stray's Den, opened by his father before he was even born. That Jamaican Immigrant had an obsession with the mafia, so of course, it was styled after speak-easies. His picture hung behind the bar in remembrance, a plaque with his name under it.

***In Loving memory, Keegon "Wild-man" Roberts.***It was his favorite picture of him, A white dress shirt and a beige trilby... he looked more like a cartel member than a man of the Mafia, But everyone agreed... it was a good look for the old Rasta. The bar was filled with regulars, excited to see if Finlay would make news with his passing mark... it didn't stop them from running the young cook ragged with orders of Patties, Chicken, burgers, fries and cherry pies.

"FINNY! You're done right? come out and watch with the rest of us! You're coming up soon, I can feel it!"

"Comin' Ma!" There's mother's intuition and then there's her psuedo-psychic radar... Honed in on whenever he's slacking around. abandoning his apron and hat. Coming out from the kitchen to join her behind the bar. "How's the rest of the world looking?" waving at some of the customers as they called for him, Mostly congratulations.... seems someone was spreading the news her boy made it past the first round.

"There's the space cook!" "You're not really planning on going are ya?" "Who's gonna make the patties and the coco-bread?"

"I am! you think I just pour beer? I Cook too!" There goes mom again, the tiny blonde Caucasian. Who everyone had started to suspect was dyeing her hair. We have this same argument with the regulars every month... what would happen to this place if Finlay left. he already knew the drill and looked to a distant TV. watching as an examinee from China used what looked like a warhammer to smash his Grandurr open... lots of waste but they got to the juice... they even made the same mistake Finlay did, and took a sip from the open shell. "-Isn't that right!"

"Huh? you want me to scout out a replacement cook? Dean's plenty good he has it down."

"No you smartass, Me! I can cook just as well as you! Right?!"

"..."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"...Wellllll..."

"Oh fuck off."

"Aight." Their little skit drawing the usual chuckles. Finlay's Image came up on the screen, His Holo super imposed to be poking out of his chest pocket. Along with his test time and the waste percentage of 1.2%, he really had gotten a good score. He was apparently ranked in the early 200's, An absolutely grand score considering the 186,000 other passing grades. Though the Patrons were hoping he had done something more explosive. 'Uncle' Dahr piped up over the crowd, Old scotch-irish man, most of the fire red hair on his head had turned gray with age.

"Smart arse is right! your Dad, would'a whacked it with his knife! Mad bastard..." he always sounded meaner than he intended... but he was right... Dad did use a Machete any chance he could. It was a Cleaver and a Spatula, very handy in a kitchen. The old man, started losing his shit, giggling as he saw Finlay sip from the Grandurr juice and gag. "HAH! 'least ya got his liver!" The Roberts men were Notorious lightweights when it came to booze.

"Alright alright! ... I'll drink more..."

"No you wont."

"I know that ma, help me out here..."

"I think it's time for the Chef to hit the sack, he has another test tomorrow... But next Round's free! TO THE CHEF!"

"TO THE CHEF!"

===============================================================================

Finlay had left the house in nothing more than casual civilian clothes, as the email from the ICR had asked, no electronics either. Must be a Written exam... AKA Bore-fest. Graphic T-shirt, Jeans, Sneakers, and Dad's old brown leather Jacket. Hair tied up into a lazy bun, No dreads, Mom was firm on that... the day he gets dreads is the day she shaves it off in his sleep. He hadn't even shaved... he looked and felt like he was back in College.

Spotting Chef Ziq'drie he ran over, assuming she would be the Proctor again.

"Chef Ziq'drie! How are we Doing today?"

"Mr. Roberts, I'm surprised you can say my name so well already. I'm doing quite alright. I'll be one of the overseers for today's Physical ability Exam."

"Physical ability? And it's no big deal, I have a lot of cousins with alternative names."

"Oops! That's supposed to be a surprise... Don't tell anyone... but even the ICR love's a good chuckle now and then. Do you know Which Exam room is yours?"

"Room 14C"

"Ah... well... good luck." Giving what he assumed was a courteous nod, before springing off down the halls.

"G-good luck?" Finlay felt a tinge of anxiety... but he was built alright, kept himself healthy...ish. Although he was starting to regret not going out for more jogs.

He made his way up to the 3rd floor, and found his room, to be greeted with a small empty broom closet. "Uhhh." Stepping inside he jumped a bit as the door sealed behind him. "UHHH..." Then finally, the wall on his right sliding away to reveal a tool-printer with a simple message scrolling across the screen. Please create one tool you would consider the best for YOUR survival. "UUUUHHHHHHH!!" Fuck it, he has NO clue what was going on, but going from those ominous words... he may suddenly be in a not so safe scenario... He looked through the selectable tools, generated by what he assumed were the selections of other Examinees, around the globe guessing from the sheer amount... weapons, extra clothing... some Mad idiot printed a pack of cigarettes? Then he saw it... a Simple Machete. Created 4 times according to it's statistics... "...You better be with me on this dad..." Selecting the tool and watching it print, pleased it came with a Sheath and a Belt clip. Once it was secure, the real purpose of the room was revealed, the wall opposite where he had entered opened. It was a fake-out. The real examination room was a a Large empty Simulation deck with a grass floor. 3 rings marked the grass with a small x. No guess needed there, stand in that spot.

While he couldn't see them, there had to be Cameras and Speakers in the walls. Which were slowing fading from a Blinding white, to a near infinite field of grass and a calm blue sky. simulated wind playing with his hair. "...This is nice... Not really Culinary arts, but nice."

"Sorry for the confusion Finlay."

It was too good to pass up, putting up playful, sarcastic tone. "God? Is that you? I thought your voice would be deeper..."

Thankfully, it seemed his tone was also translated to the Observers. giving him a chuckle in response before continuing. "No Finlay, It's Ziq'drie... While on the station you may pass a habitable non-sapient bearing planet and sent down with an Investigation team. Serving as the team Nutritionist in an emergency situation. For this Exam you'll have to do your best to stand your ground in an escalating Weather endurance test. Being moved beyond the 3rd circle will fail you... the test has already begun."

"Is the concept of a countdown timer just a Human thing? Or were you hoping I'd be Panicking more from the surprise?" Unsheathing the Blade and sinking it as Deep as he could to the Middle of the X leaving just about a 8inches of the Machet and the hilt as a Handhold. He sounded calm, but he could taste the drop in temperature, and the more fervent sway in his Coat. "Spec, Pocket." Watching as the Holo flew into the relative safety of his coat. "C'mon! ... HERE I AM, ROCK ME LIKE A HURRICANE!" ...Could you blame him? how often do you get say that in a possibly literal sense?

He did not have to wait long, watching as the fake sky grew dark from forming clods and winds picked up. Undoing his hair tie, if he was gonna fail... he wanted to look as majestic as possible before hand. Then with a crash, he saw Lightning in the distance.. the first few raindrops falling around him. "...Oh...Oh no." Mere seconds was all it took for him to eat his words as he was thoroughly soaked, the heavy winds already threatening to bowl him over. He crouched low and clung to the hilt for sweet life. Trying to make some light jokes, his voice was drowned out by the swirling winds. One strong gust was all it would take for his glasses to pack it in and leave for the day. Watching as a massive Tornado would touchdown in the distance... and then another. Practically screaming his words managed to make it through once more. "WHERE THE HELL DO YOU PLAN ON SENDING ME?!?!"

Finlay watched through blurred eyes as the twin dark towers grew larger in approach, the roar of the wind drowning out all other sounds. Rain stung like needles as they struck him, he was getting blown away like a flag, and he couldn't help but laugh and smile. The sheer absurdity of it all, any sane idiot would have seen death approaching and given up on this damned test. The Proctors watching this mad man had almost ended his test early, until they noticed him raising his hand, and slamming it down onto the hilt of the machete repeatedly.

Khiksii: "Just what in the world is that fool doing?" The tiny centaur cantered on the review table, no taller than a 16 0z. bottle. He was a Sergeant of the Gallher, a technically Nomadic race. Living on the backs of a much larger creature, building villages as it slept and keeping their benefactor clean of parasites.

Ziq'drie: "... I do believe he's laughing."

"I can see that! But he hasn't even called to end the test! No mercy! Nothing! He's cracked, I'm telling you!"

"Mmmmm... Nope. He's doing just fine, his BPM is actually regulating again... he's calm."

"All the more reason to call it, he's lost his mind."

"And yet... instead of falling into despair, he's hammering in more of his tool into the ground... all to survive and Pass. How much time left?"

"...It's been 5 minutes, I just haven't turned it off because I'm mad."

"Khiky...we talked about this. This is why your cadets are so afraid of you... that short fuse."

"...It's not my fault the rest of the fucking universe is full of giant over confident asshats."

Finlay smacked the hilt harder and harder, pain shooting from his palm to his shoulder. Fully expecting the tornados to keep coming for him, Hungry wolves of wind to devour him, to tear him from the earth ... and then it stopped, nearly as soon as it began. His soaked body flopped onto the ground, leaving him confused and lost. He had forgotten this was only a test in a simulated environment.

Ziq: "Congratulations Mr. Roberts, you've passed the second exam! you and a total 5,732... make that 34 other humans."

Finlay: "Shit! That many!?"

"I KNOW! Simply astounding! I was only 1 of 7 at this stage of testing, you humans are remarkedly hardy. You'll be given a trainee Combat suit on your way out. you'll be needing it for the 4th exam so I suggest you get used to it and learn how it functions."

"...Uhm... Combat suit? I signed up for a Culinary Position, right?"

"Yes of course! we wouldn't be expecting you to go to the frontlines!"

"Then why would I need one of those?!"

"...Mr. Roberts, did you read the terms and conditions of the ICR employment contract?"

"...I... I skimmed it..."

The hearty chortle of a new voice was all Finlay would hear before the speakers cut out and the Sim-room door would reopen. True enough a new bundle of clothes were set out in the "Broom closet." It was better than sopping wet... already taking off his coat in hopes of getting it dried before going home. The apparent combat suit was different to say the least. It definitely didn't look made for war. Maybe the translation was off? This looked more like a casual uniform, a little padded but that added to the comfort.... Shit, he could sleep in this. The colors weren't bad either, black with a white hexagonal Pattern on the chest and outer part of his legs. He felt like a new generation of Power Ranger, and the boots were sweet! They came up just under mid-calf, but they didn't have the rigid firmness of combat boots. His self admiration was cut off by rapid Knocking on the door.

Ziq: "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!? THERE ARE CHANGING ROOMS ACROSS THE HALL!"

How did she know that he changed in here?

"YOU'RE STILL ON CAMERA!"

Now understanding that he just gave half the Universe and their mothers a strip tease, he hurriedly left the broom closet. His wet clothes bundled under his arm, shoot where did his glasses go? "Sorry! sorry! I didn't see the thing! my glasses came off in the wind..."

"You're lucky this isn't a sporting event or that would have been live... now come along, you can have your clothes dried in the changing rooms... I'll print you a set of glasses before I join you."

His embarrassment lessened somewhat, he hurried over to the changing rooms. Nodding to some of the other successful examinees, some of them chuckling, having seen and heard the debacle... Ziq'drie hopping into the room with a new set of glasses for the near blind man, silver with painted hexagons... he was about to complain about it not being his prescription, though his sight focused to perfection. Thank you modern medicine!

"Now then Mr. Roberts... what's this about SKIMMING the application?"

"...No one... really reads those, right? I mean it was like 20 pages of legal jargon."

"33, 33 pages of vital information you'll need to know if you plan to go into unexplored space you-you- you... oh who am I kidding... here's the important stuff then. You know about holo's of course... but do you know to the extent that they are used?"

"....there's more than being a cyber-companion?"

"Sweet grand Matriarch give me strength... yes but they are so much more. They are used for sport, communication and Military applications... Yours is called spec, correct? call him out and guide it to towards the Insignia on your left shoulder."

Following the mantis-woman's instruction, he was gifted with surprise after surprise. First by the Holo-creature sinking into his arm, and then the white hexagons on his uniform shifting to green. Lastly he felt an odd shift in every muscle of his body, light, flexible...

"...Okay, it's cool... But I think I'm missing the point..."

"Do you want the short version or the-"

"Short version."

"...Rude... Every Combat suit is inlaid with Nano-mechanics and synthetic muscle fibers. Made to change to fit the users knowledge of their selected favorite animal, you're only wearing a trainee suit so it isn't as extreme-"

"Do I get to FLY!?" Only to get a swift whack on the head. "OW!"

"No, you ass... Glide maybe with a full suit. It can only do so much... the main thing is that it helps you in combat. Based on what you know about the creature. For example my Ebera-ta has spines that protect it's back, so my suit grows spikes in the same manor."

"But does it pair well with a white wine?" Whack "Ow."

"Yes... Now shut... it gives every soldier a unique edge that can't be truly replicated."

"About that soldier bit... uhm... Aspiring chef in combat suit, why?"

"Space isn't always safe... rarely is, in fact. Pirates, solar storms: living or otherwise, First contacts can get nasty sometimes... so every combat able sapient on board the station is given an honorary military rank, and combat suits for everyone's safety."

"Okay... okay yeah that makes sense... so Exam 4 is another physical test?"

"It's a sparing session with a sergeant... it's also the final test for culinary crew. Everyone's opponent will be randomly selected."

"... Oh boy... yay... I'm so excited... One more question?"

"Yes?"

"How did so many people fail this test?"

"Shooting a tornado rarely works out well..."