The hatch into the control room is locked. It takes Zorrah two seconds to override it. At my request she backs down a meter, allowing Olin and I to take lead.
With Olin’s help, I shove the hatch upward and climb through. The room is sparsely lit by a smattering of small lights and blinking LEDs attached to a bank of computer displays and a big board of switches. I rise to my feet.
Olin spurts through the opening to join me, and Zorrah is only a few seconds behind him. In less than a minute all six of us are crammed into the control room. Olin provides enough light for us to navigate the mess of equipment.
Cera breaks the silence, “So what is it exactly they do from up here?”
Zorrah answers by narrating her assessment of the workspace. “This switchboard channels raw telekinetic energy into assigned sectors of the combat chamber. The computers assign each of those sectors a 3D map.”
“So the plasteel walls and floors will assume whatever form the computer describes?” Olin asks.
“If provided with enough telekinetic energy to do so, yes.”
Yetic pipes in, “And these units over here?”
Zorrah spins in Yetic’s direction. “Unless I miss my guess, those are for organizing and controlling the series of shield panels we saw in the crawlspace. That’s how they isolate the chamber, through a series of redundant shields maintained by the same closed system of raw energy.”
“So when Olin blew this morning—”
“He temporarily drained necessary power away from the shielding, causing the whole chamber to shut down.”
I interrupt the lecture on telekinetic engineering, “As fascinating as all this is, none of it explains how we got cheated. How are they targeting the available energy and how do we stop them from doing it in tomorrow’s tournament?”
“I’m getting to that.” Zorrah dances across the room, careful not to trip on any cords, and takes a seat at a workstation surrounded by blank displays. She places her hand lightly on the keyboard, and the two dozen displays flicker to life. After a few quick commands, each screen fills with a different view of the combat chamber.
“So this is where they watch from.” Cera steps between Yetic and me.
I glance at her through my peripheral vision and see the glare of the screens reflecting in her eyes.
“By the looks of it, they do more than watch.” Zorrah continues to type. “From this workstation, a single person can manipulate the outcome.”
“What do you mean? Manipulate how? By changing the topography?” I don’t like the sounds of where this is going.
“By creating EM storms, by throwing up temporary shields, by changing topography, anything.”
“Wait a minute,” Yetic steps forward, “so all of our victories?”
“Oh,” Zorrah stops. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
I shake my head in a vein attempt to shake off a sudden wave of doubt and nausea. “You’re saying it’s possible someone wanted us to win? Someone helped us?”
Neca kneels beside Zorrah. “Did someone want us to win today? Did anyone help us?” He shakes his head and turns toward me. “We did that. You did it. This room isn’t about favorites. It’s about control. They don’t care who wins or loses, as long as they’re in control of the outcome. We upset that today, because we took control.”
Yetic puts his arm around me. “As much as I hate to say it, I think Nightmare’s right.”
“Okay,” I breathe deeply. “That means the question is, how do we keep control if the administration wants so badly to take it back?”
“We won’t keep control, not as long as we’re in the academy,” Neca shoots back.
I feel my temperature rising. “Well, what then?”
“All we’re trying to prove is that we can keep winning, despite the challenges.”
“On that note,” I turn toward Zorrah, “any luck figuring out how to level the playing field?”
“It doesn’t make sense,” she huffs.
“What doesn’t?”
“I can’t find any evidence of the ability to focus EM energy along specific wavelengths.”
“So someone can change the playing field, but they can’t target anyone specifically?” Olin clarifies.
Zorrah nods while turning to face me. “Whatever happened this morning, it didn’t originate from here. The system simply isn’t set up to do it.”
“So we’re back to square one?” Cera asks.
Olin starts pacing in the cramped space between Zorrah and the hatch. “It’s a closed system. We all know that. But what if part of the system isn’t here.”
The rest of us stare at him, waiting for more.
“I don’t know, like a portable computer.” Olin hesitates. “I mean, what if something is missing?”
Or someone. The realization blooms within my brain.
Now you’re catching on, Bluehair. The mystery voice returns, this time clearly emanating from within my own thoughts. Your dark-skinned friend is right though. Control is fleeting. The voice washes over me until I’m no longer sure where I am or why.
In the background I hear Zorrah babbling on excitedly. “Of course! That means I’ll need access tomorrow, straight from the chamber.”
Maintaining control takes constant effort. Forget sleep. Forget friendship and love.
“How are you going to do that?” Olin asks.
“All I have to do is set myself up as a user. If I cover my tracks…
The best you can hope for is loyalty. Even that comes hard. Speaking of, the little one—it’s too dangerous for me to let you keep her.
“There. Now I’ll be able to get in and out and erase my user status before they even know I was here.”
Let’s see how you deal with losing one under your care.
Straining against the overwhelming current of the voice, I snap back into the moment. But I’ve lost something during the transition—some critical piece of information.
“All I have to do is execute—”
“Wait! Zorrah, don’t!” I’m too late. In horrifying slow-motion, her tiny body electrifies. Snapped taught and arcing in every direction, she dances in the current for a split second before being flung backward into the wall.
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