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she’d have her pick of specialties.  It might take a bit longer than had she become a navigator, but her plan was still in place.
    The hatch to Classroom 105 was still open, thank goodness, and she slipped in, grabbing a seat in the back row.
    “Glad to see you could join us,” Frank Ferrere whispered as she slid down beside him.  “It’s not like, you know, anything important’s going on.”
    “Oh, really?  Like what?” she asked innocently.
    Frank just rolled his eyes.  He and Liege had battled to be the class honor man, both falling just short.  Frank was number three while Liege was number four.  Out of 115 who had started Basic Fleet Corpsman School, BFCS, that wasn’t bad, but not good enough.  Only the top two graduates got their pick of duty stations.  For the rest, they entered three choices, but the needs of the Navy took precedence. 
    For her first choice, Liege had chosen Naval Hospital First Station , in deep orbit around Earth herself.  First Station was the headquarters of the Federation Navy, and the hospital there was the most prestigious naval hospital, if not the best.  Her second choice was simply “naval hospital,” leaving it to the Navy to choose which one.  By being in a hospital, she figured she’d be able to observe all of the corpsman specialties and choose which one to pursue after her tour was up.
    Her third choice was the FS Admiral San Denee , the newest dreadnaught in the fleet.  If she was going to be in space, she wanted it to be on a ship that had more than the basics in health care.  The Admiral San Denee had what was essentially a small hospital on board.
    With her wide-open second choice, coupled with her high class standing, Liege was pretty sure she’d get one of her choices.  Still, she was as nervous as the other HRs as they waited for Senior Chief.
    The last seven months had been a sea change for Liege, but one to which she’d readily taken.  Two weeks after being recruited, she’d said goodbye to Leticia and Avó and left Nova Esperança for Duggen and the 12-week long recruit training.  Unlike most of the other recruits, she’d never felt homesick.  Other than her sister and grandfather, she didn’t miss anyone, even her irmãs.  Boot camp had been easy, much easier than she’d expected.  The DIs had tried to make it a personal hell, but for a daughter of the favelas, for a gangrat, it was a cake-walk.  She learned to act concerned, but her most difficult task was to keep the smile off her face.
    Out of 525 recruits in her class, 498 graduated, and Liege graduated number nine, and only 0.15 points out of honor grad.  The BFCS A-School was on Duggen as well, so three days after graduation, Liege started learning the basics of being a corpsman.  Now, on the last day of the class, as a newly minted HM-0000, or a “Quad-Zero,” she was about to learn her fate for the next three years.
    The division officer, Lieutenant Commander Parsons, and Master Chief Hospital Corpsman Meung entered the classroom as someone shouted out “Attention on Deck!”
    The class rose en masse, along with their instructors, until the two worthies reached the stage and took their seats.  The class sat back down and eagerly—or nervously—awaited their assignments.
    HMCM Meung didn’t waste time nor formalities.  He stood at the podium and called out the honor graduate’s name.
    “HR Castro, the FS Pronghorn .”
    Liege knew that Sybil Castro was selecting a small mover, but she didn’t know why.  She could have any duty station, and she chose a ship too small for a medical officer.  The corpsman running the sickbay would be an independent duty corpsman, probably an HM2 or HM1.  When Liege applied to a specialist C-School, she wanted a medical officer’s recommendation, not that of a mid-level enlisted corpsman.
    “HR Sukarna, FS Admiral San Denee .”
    Well, hell.  No way I’m getting the San Denee now , Liege thought.
    Still, any hospital or