My parents may have forgotten about this life altering event, but I have not. It was a sunny fall afternoon like any other school day during my sixth grade year (or some such grade…come on, my memory isn’t a steel trap).
The bus drops me and my sister at the end of the road. We fight and bicker and fend off the neighbor’s Australian Shepard on the walk home. (I hated that dog.) As we reach the gravel drive leading up the hill to our house, I realize something is amiss when I walk into a buzzing cloud of carnivorous flies, a river of sticky blood, and the overbearing stench of death. The apocalypse!
Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating the event slightly in my then-hormone-addled memory. Closer to the truth was that our barn-full of rabbits were hung skinless and dripping blood from the coral fence. All but the last of them had met their executioner—my dad—who had conveniently held a public hearing on the matter while everyone was at school. (The rabbits didn’t get a say.)
That last bunny was a little French Lop, not much for the eating anyway. (And one rabbit can’t more rabbits make.) So it didn’t take that many tears to stay her execution. She lived on for several more years before meeting her demise…probably from a snake or something. I don’t really remember. The point is that when you grow up the way I did, all animals save cats, dogs, and horses were for eating. (I’ve since eaten one of those last three. I’ll let you guess as to which one.)
For better or for worse, my kids haven’t been raised this way. The proof is that we are now an “Indoor Bunny Family.” Yep, we got a little Dutch (mixed-breed) bunny a couple weeks ago, and the scamp has already settled in as a member of the clan. He promptly recognized me as the dominant member of the household and bit the wife to assert his second-in-line to the throne status. (The wife is scheming on how to get it back while dreaming of bunny snuggles in the weeks and months and years ahead.)
Dynamite is his name, and he lives up to it. He stumbled into our family after beating up too much on our friend’s bunny. Hey, just like with people, some bunnies play better with members of other species than they do with their own. He’s rough and tumble enough for two young boys. He’s a dominate. And he growls when you tease him with baby carrots. The little guy can get down right feisty. But he’s no Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog.
To prove it, he got taken down a notch by a box. The whole family, even the wife, witnessed his embarrassment. It happened while Dynamite was heading downstairs to the basement for his afternoon siesta. We’ve got a multi-level house with a partially finished basement. For now, it works great to use one of the basement doors as a door to his cage. We open it in the morning so that he can have his run of the house while still having access to his litter box, hay, and water. (Yes! He uses a litter box better than any cat I’ve met. He doesn’t bark. He doesn’t really shed. And he even comes when you call him.)
On this particular afternoon, someone had left a cardboard box at the top of the stairs. On his way around the box, Dynamite clipped it just enough to start it slowly tumbling. He glanced back up the stairs after hopping down a few steps and saw the box tumbling down after him. And like Indiana Jones fleeing the boulder in the cave, Dynamite barreled down the rest of the stairs with the box picking up steam right behind him. He narrowly escaped through the crack in the door at the bottom of the stairs before the large box crashed to its resting spot against the door.
And just like that, Dynamite’s tough guy facade had cracked, and he knew it. Since then, he’s settled into more of a snuggler and adventurer. He still growls if you tease him with a carrot. But then again, who doesn’t?
At the Desk This Week
Well, sickness has unleashed itself upon my household. So…I’ve not been able to write this past week. Before that I was cruising better with Episode 2 of Book 3 of The Green Ones. Hurdles keep coming, but I still think I’ll have Season 3 ready to go soon after I finish streaming Boundaries. I’ve got 12 weeks. Roughly 3 months. I need to finish Episodes 2, 3, 4, and 5. Hmmm. I’m gonna need to get to work. Fingers crossed people!
Boundaries: Ep.1, Scene 1—Scene 5
[Click here to start at the beginning.]
Cera, Zorrah, and I stand our ground in an elevated corner of the combat chamber. Scattered around us like human shrapnel, fellow members of Serpent 6 writhe in pain.
“Ten o’clock high!”
Exhausted, I throw up rubbery arms. The three of us combine to temporarily deflect a crackling EM assault.
Using the dregs of my mental energy, I hail Olin telepathically. We’re pinned and getting slaughtered. We’ve gotta launch an offensive now. Static pops inside my head until I center on Olin’s voice.
Coordinates. Come on, Calli. Concentrate, he says.
I shake off the fog. Can you see Ami?
Sector B-6, square in the middle of the chamber.
Converge there on my order.
Olin hesitates. Are you nuts? Half of us will get stunned on the way in.
I grit my teeth. Just make sure you aren’t one of them. We’re ending this as soon as we get there, you and me together. There’s a long pause, and I worry Olin has been stunned. Olintl?
Give me a second to spread the word.
I realize I have to do the same with the groundlings. “Zorrah, Cera!” Before I can convey the new plan, Cera lowers a shoulder into my stomach and bulls me behind a low barrier wall. I land hard on my back as the chamber above us explodes with a sudden EM storm.
Dark red, nearly black, the storm bears the signature of Jaguar 4—the Jags under Ami’s leadership. I struggle to inhale a full breath. “How are they drawing so much energy?” Cera grunts and rolls off of me. I jerk suddenly and sit up. “Zorrah?” I scramble from behind the barrier on all fours. “Zorrah!” I locate her piled on top of another of our Serpent compadres, unconscious and twitching.
“Xoxochueyi.” I duck behind the barrier and grab Cera’s hand. “Round up everyone still mobile. We’re charging B-6 ASAP.”
Surprise rises in Cera’s eyes momentarily. “Right.” We pick each other up and burst out opposite sides of the barrier.
“Serpents!” I muster reserves of grit and rage. “B-6 on my lead! We end this now!” I snag the arm of a teetering boy I barely recognize, apparently a new transfer, and yank him along in my wake until he’s running on his own two feet. I hail Olin. Now. Go now.
On our way, sis. I hope for your sake this works.
It’ll work. I know it will. I just hope we’re not overplaying our hand. Six months into our first year of the academy, and Olin hasn’t yet revealed half his abilities. During the academy’s thousand-year history, I doubt anyone has done what we are about to.
I concentrate on establishing a smooth running rhythm with Cera keeping pace on my right. I scan the ranks. Less than a dozen groundlings remain. Hopefully we’ve still got Olin, Yetic, and Neca along with a couple other capable fliers. Out of the 49 Serpents we started with, it’s not much. But it’s enough.
Movement dances in the corner of my eye, and I spot the backside of a Jag in retreat. The flyers must be producing the desired effect. It’s possible the groundling Jags, who had pinned us moments earlier, may not know how few of us remain. They should be confronting us in the open in effort to finish us off. Instead they’re melting away.
We reach the spot where the battle turned for the worse, and I hurdle the unconscious bodies of those who fell a half hour earlier. The scorch marks on the plasteel are clearly visible. There’s even distortion and stress fractures at ground zero—proof the Jags are somehow violating the contained EM limits of the combat chamber.
Questions gnaw at the back of my mind. The combat chamber is supposed to be a closed system. Not only have these attacks been the largest Jaguar has been able to muster to date, they’ve come too quickly and left precious little energy for us.
Before I have time to piece together answers, Cera sounds the alarm. “Three o’clock low!”
I curse myself for not staying in the moment. Closing my eyes, I force my instincts to self-correct. See the whole, not the part. When I open my eyes, I ignore my three and focus on my nine instead. “They’re trying to surround us! Just keep running!”
It’s a brilliant tactic, but too by-the-book. They’re expecting us to hunker down once we realize we’re surrounded, or to lose heart and surrender. What they don’t realize is they’ve thinned their ranks between us and sector B-6.
I scrape the bottom of my will, dragging up a bucket full of sludge and determination. If we move fast enough we’ll have the numerical advantage. Stepping into an imperceptible depression, my knee nearly buckles. I stumble for two more strides before a stabilizing arm rescues me from face planting into the rubber floor. It’s the transfer I tugged along earlier.
We exchange thankful nods.
“Don’t stop for any reason!” I feel the temperature rise a degree, but don’t have time to sound the alarm. The EM storm hits toward the rear of the ranks. The crackle licks my sweat-soaked back. Steam rises from Cera’s braid as she runs beside me.
“Keep running!” A wave of doubt ripples through me. If this were a real battle, I’d be getting us all killed.
I shake it off. Surely the storm had been aimed at me. They’re trying to stop our progress, but we’re moving too quickly, and we’ve nearly closed the distance. Overhead I spot the tale-tell blurs of aerial battle.
A brilliant shock of blue streaks toward the ground and strikes out of view. Olin and the others are giving the Jags all they can handle while flying close enough to ensure an EM storm would stun more Jaguars than Serpents.
Leading the groundlings, I reach the defensive barriers indicating the transition into sector B-6. As I prepare to barrel-roll over the chest-high wall directly in front of me, I glance from side to side. The new transfer is on my left, Cera on my right. I know what they’re thinking. “Punch ‘em once and keep running!”
I hit the top of the wall with my hands and chest and stomach all at once. Flopping my legs over, I clock a shocked Jaguar cadet in the temple with my knee before landing on him. Refusing to register my exhaustion, I push up with my hands and keep running.
Despite the fact I know we’re completely surrounded, I feel a slight tinge of relief. The next EM storm will be one of ours.
The ground slopes upward as we reach the middle of sector B-6. Amidst a jungle of ten meter-high blocks of plasteel, I hear the echoing bare feet of the few Serpents still with me. “When we reach the center, work your way out the other side as quickly as you can.” I gasp for breath. “And keep running.”
“Calli, you can’t,” Cera objects.
“We’re gonna burn down the whole sector,” I huff, “and everyone in it.”
“Xoxochueyi.” The new transfer swears under his breath.
I nod to myself. Suddenly we emerge into the center ring. I spot Ami hovering over a high platform. The battle surrounding her isn’t as fierce as I had imagined. After fighting for nearly 45 minutes, everyone’s exhausted.
Forming a quiet space inside my head, I hail Olin. We’re here. I need a lift to the platform.
Coming up. My little brother’s response is curt. He’s tired too.
I continue running of my own volition for a few seconds. Then my feet lift from the ground. With breath caught in my throat, I do my best to prepare for the showdown. If I’m to give Cera and the others time to clear the blast radius, I’ll need to get under Ami’s skin—something I haven’t had time to give any thought until now.
Thankfully, whoever’s in charge of my assent choses a steep trajectory, using the platform itself to mask my approach. Anyone above it won’t know I’m coming until I’ve joined them. In the blink of an eye, I arrive.
Hovering a meter above me, it takes the leader of our toughest competition a moment to spot my arrival. “Calli.” Ami spits out my name while launching a rushed EM pulse.
I barrow from Olin to cloak myself until the energy washes past. Masking my exhaustion and resisting the urge to take a defensive posture, I open my eyes and smile. I need my defense to appear as effortless as possible. “I see you’ve learned some new tricks.”
Ami sneers. “I see you’re still relying on your little brother for something as simple as levitation.”
I ignore her personal gibe and continue my effort to undermine her confidence. “It’s cute how you thought some bigger fireworks would be enough to win.”
Ami narrows her eyes. “You’ve got nothing but a few gnats overhead. When they get tired, we’ll swat them down.” I shrug. She says, “Without your brother, you’ll be defenseless.”
A few Jag flyers assume positions around the platform. Ami shares a smug look with each of them before returning her full attention to me. “We win. You lose. The only question is, how painful do you want your defeat to be?”
So far so good. She’s willing to play the role of a cat toying with its prize. A little longer, and Cera will have gotten the others out of range. “Humph,” I pout. “When you put it that way, I simply don’t know what to say. After all, we’ve both grown so comfortable with our roles—us Serpents winning, you Jags coming in a close second.”
Ami emits a low growl, her hatred boiling.
I only need a few seconds more. I hail Olin. Get ready. Make sure Yetic and the rest are clear, but try not to draw Ami’s attention.
You sure we should do this? Olin asks. I know what’s coming next. What if someone gets hurt? Or worse?
Ami floats down to the surface of the platform and drops to her feet.
I don’t have time to properly reassure Olin now. Nothing will go wrong. Just wait for my order.
Olin continues to buzz in my head. What if they see me before I reach you?
Ami advances to within arm’s reach. She’s wound up more than usual—angry and ready to spring. It takes all my control to not react defensively to her presence. Instead I smile and say, “It is nice to have family to rely on in situations like this.”
“Oh, your brother can’t help you now.” Ami holds up her hand. As she balls it into a fist, it bursts into hungry, red flames. Fluid and shimmering, the electromagnetic energy flares from between her clenched fingers as if her flesh were the surface of the sun. The heat from it licks my skin and I’m unable to hide my surprise.
Ami continues, “Earlier, I was willing to give you the choice. But it looks like you’ve already chosen a painful defeat. I can’t say I’m disappointed.” Her hand blurs in my direction.
There’s not even time to think, much less move. Out of nowhere, Ami funnels a tremendous amount of energy into my chest. In a burst of blinding pain, the combat chamber is erased. My tether to reality is cut as I tumble into the vast grip of unknowing.
At the brink of the event horizon between consciousness and unconsciousness I sense an awareness tumbling alongside me—Olin. A single word forms in my thoughts. Now.
Fire ignites in my chest. My arms shoot out and my eyes open. Yetic’s face comes into focus hovering over me. I clutch for the firey fingers I’d felt pressing into my heart moments earlier, but the sensation is gone along with the hand responsible for it.
“Calm down, Cal.” Yetic helps me sit up. “It’s just me and Instructor Turon.”
I blink away the fog and take a long few seconds to confirm my surroundings. I open my mouth. My throat’s raspy. “What happened to the chamber?” The obstacles and topography have disappeared, leaving behind a cavernous empty box. I’ve never seen the combat chamber like this.
Yetic looks from me to Turon and back before shrugging. “I guess we shorted out the system.” A smile creeps across half his face.
My surprise at the condition of the chamber gives way to my memory of the final moment before my blackout. I grasp Yetic’s hand. “Did we win?”
He tugs me to my feet. “Of course.”
Turon takes over. “You, Ms. Bluehair, along with thirty-eight of those under your leadership, died. While the entire Jaguar 49 was eliminated, technically rendering Serpent victorious, I would hardly celebrate.”
Turon reprimands Yetic with a humorless stare before continuing, “Now that the danger of Ms. Bluehair expiring permanently has passed, I suggest the two of you hurry to your next class. I have some work to do before this afternoon’s training sessions.” He gestures at the formless void of the combat chamber before ushering us toward the exit.
Still groggy, I let Yetic guide me. We reach the first of the double doors without another word.
As the door retracts, Instructor Turon hails us. “Your poise today, Ms. Bluehair,” he hesitates. “I’d be amiss not to point out the fact that, while thirty-nine of your people died, ten of them survived. Well done.”
I look over my shoulder and nod. “Thank you.”
Yetic and I exit through the second door and emerge into the low ceilinged corridor. The singular passage runs the length of the underground academy and connects its myriad of classrooms to each of the five barracks. In turn, each of the barracks are broken down into eight dorm groups of forty-nine. The 49 is the basis for life within the academy. My 49—the best 49—is Serpent 6. Today, we’ve managed another win, barely.
“That was the most complimentary thing I’ve ever heard Turon say.” Yetic squeezes my forearm. “You should have seen the look on his face after Olin detonated. I missed the best of it because the lights went out for a few seconds.”
“Really?” I ask.
“You better believe it. We broke the chamber, plain and simple.”
“But everyone was okay? I mean—”
“Yeah,” Yetic puts his arm around my shoulders, “everyone else woke up with the standard resurrection command. You had us scared there for a bit.”
“Ah, I’m flattered.”
“No joking.” Yetic lowers his brows. “I had to order the rest of the 49 to class, or the whole dorm would have been there when you woke up.”
“Wait,” I stopped and forced Yetic to stop with me. “What about lunch?”
“Missed it.”
“How long—”
“Over an hour.”
“Xoxochueyi.”
Yetic nods toward the nearest monitoring device while tugging me into motion. “What do you say we avoid being any later than we already are.”
I level a glare at the watching eye mounted high on the wall before relenting. We proceed along the eerily empty corridor at a steady jog. During my entire six months in the academy I have never been so physically alone. I can’t escape the sinking feeling we are somehow out of bounds—that we’re being secretly penalized by some shadowy figure seated behind a bank of displays.
I see him in my mind’s eye. It’s the same mysterious man who startled me in the interview closet during registration, and he’s shaking his head in disapproval.
By the time Serpent 6 is dismissed from our last class of the day, History of the Millennium, it’s clear I missed more during my blackout than Yetic let on. As we shuffle toward the Serpent barracks for dinner, the group buzzes around me like a bunch of drones anxious to rub elbows with the queen.
Cera winks before continuing a conversation with the new transfer who’d helped lead the charge earlier. Olin refuses to make eye contact. Zorrah is glued to my back, assuming her typical role as my personal body guard. Trying not to think about Neca, I raise an angry brow at Yetic.
He shrugs and shakes his head.
It’s possible something happened while he and I were together that neither of us know about. Through the corner of my eye, I check the nearest monitoring device. The spherical half-bubble mounted high on the wall reflects the images of those passing beneath it. Whatever has happened, no one is willing to talk about it in the corridor.
After a few angry shoves and a tense moment with Jaguar 3, the second best dorm group from Jaguar, we reach the Serpent barracks. Everyone is clearly on edge, but no one offers an explanation. As we cue for food, I wonder if my mind has taken too many stunnings. Maybe everyone’s simply glad I’m not dead. Or maybe some of them had hoped to take my place.
I’d been out a whole hour! I hate not knowing how the battle ended or what happened to Ami. I accept my tray of rations through the slot in the wall and continue shuffling forward.
Maybe everyone is afraid we’re in trouble for breaking the chamber. Had I come across as weak when Ami knocked me from the platform and put me under for an hour? Finally I land on the key issue troubling me—how the teocuali had Ami done it? Her skin had crawled with flames like the Queen of the Shadows.
I clutch my bruised ribs and roll my sore shoulder in its socket. Had I really almost died? I sort through my spotty memories of the platform. Ami had known of her advantage. It had shown in her eyes. But what she did should have been impossible. If not for Olin’s presence…
Someone jabs my sore ribs with an elbow.
Perturbed, I stare down Yetic.
He points with his chin to a protein shake thrust from the wall in front of me.
I snag it and wait for a second. I take the second one without making eye contact with any of my fellow Serpents. Not that it would matter. No one would question me. But I don’t want to draw attention to the fact I feel so exhausted.
I sit at one of the many tables sprouted from the floor of the commons. Zorrah has explained to me a half dozen times how infrared sterilization works, but I still can’t get over the sensation of eating on the floor.
Olin sits to my left, Yetic to my right.
I fork in a mouthful of the dried beans that are never cooked long enough before addressing my brother. “So, what’s the news?”
“The news?” Olin stops, fork midway to his mouth.
He’s upset, though I’ve no idea why. I keep eating, not wanting to draw undue attention to our conversation.
“Oh, I don’t know. There’s the fact you almost killed yourself today for an axnohtic game.”
I bite down hard on my fork, nearly chipping a tooth.
“Worse yet, you asked me to help.” Olin slams down his fork, flinging squash across the table in the process. “And of course, I obeyed.”
Several tables around us go quiet.
Trying to ignore his outburst, I tip back one of my shakes and then wipe the froth from my mouth with the back of my hand. “When are you going to get it through your thick skull—every single one of these games, as you like to call them, are a matter of life and death. If we don't win, we die on graduation day. Three and a half years is the only difference.” I shake my head. “A loss is a loss. It doesn't matter to me whether I die now or die then.”
“It matters to me!”
“Olintl,” I reach for his hand. It has turned white from pressing down on the table’s surface. He doesn’t retract it. “Don’t worry. I plan on living, just like you do.” I look him in the eye. It’s obvious to everyone we aren’t eating anymore, including the nearest monitoring device.
“It’s not that,” Olin lowers his voice and faces forward. He folds a tortilla and half-heartedly pushes beans around his plate.
“Then what?” I ask.
“I have friends, Calli. You know I've never had friends.”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. “You mean Zorrah?”
“Zorrah, Cera, Neca.” Olin snarls slightly as he says Neca’s name, revealing he’s still angry at me for choosing Yetic.
Suddenly his meaning hits me. “You’re enjoying life in the academy more than worker city.” I can’t believe it. “Despite the monitoring, the uncertainty, the pressure, the threat of bodily harm, and your constant objections, you like it. How?”
“You want to know how?”
“Yes.”
“I don't care.”
I swallow another bite of beans and narrow my eyes. “Be careful, little—”
“I don't care what the academy thinks. I don't care what the regime thinks.”
“Olin, stop. Keep your voice down.”
“See, that's the difference between me and you.” Olin stands up and looks directly at the nearest monitoring device. He points at the bubble while staring at me. “Whatever happens, I don't belong to them.”
Zorrah intercedes, “Olin.” Her voice is coaxing, sympathetic. “You’ve made your point.”
Olin sits with a dramatic flare and lowers his voice. “I’m discovering new abilities each week. I'm growing stronger, more confident.” He takes a break to chew and swallow his soggy tortilla.
I glance toward the other tables long enough to indicate the show is over. Wandering eyes find their way back to the food in front of them. Whatever happened with Ami, it hasn’t cost me my status as commander of Serpent 6 or even captain of the Serpent barracks.
Olin continues less conspicuously. “I know you have always cared for me, always been there for me. After mom and dad, it was just us. Now there are others. The green ones, Calli. We're really a family, bigger and better than ever. You're just too teocuali busy worrying about the all-watching eye to see what's right in front of you.”
Yetic clears his throat before I can respond, “Speaking of the administration, seriously, what’s the news? Clearly Calli and I missed something.”
Zorrah responds first, “A combat tournament has been announced for tomorrow afternoon.”
“What?” I nearly choke on tortilla.
“What’s the prize?” Yetic leans forward on both elbows.
“Forget the prize,” I interrupt. “They can’t throw us back in the chamber after what happened today. Not without a few days rest.”
Yetic gives me the stink eye before returning his gaze to Zorrah. “The prize?”
Unable to contain her excitement, Zorrah shrugs apologetically before bursting out. “The winning 49 gets to tag along with a masazin detail—above surface.”
I snort into my shake and glance at Cera.
She nods, a huge smile on her face.
“Which one?” Yetic seems ready to soil himself.
Zorrah lets the tension build for a long second. “Scout and Probe.”
“Xoxochueyi.” It is the most sought after detail—real combat duty outside the dome.
“A teocuali S&P detail. We have to win,” Yetic states what we all know in our hearts.
Despite the tingling sensation I get when imagining the vast forest beyond the shield dome of New Teo, the tournament doesn’t sit right with me. “Am I the only one who thinks this stinks?”
“It was a last minute announcement at the end of lunch,” Olin pipes up. “As if they had just come up with it.”
Zorrah sighs and stares into her half-eaten plate. “You think they’re targeting us?”
I say, “After what happened today? Yes.”
“What did happen today?” Yetic lets the question hang as he finishes the last of his shake.
I look to Olin.
My brother draws a deep breath before answering, “When I saw Calli knocked from the platform, I lost it. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
Cera interrupts, “But you did just fine. Better than fine. You stunned every last Jag without hitting a single friendly.”
Olin shakes his head. “I blew up. The storm should have killed half of us, for real. I’m sorry.”
I squeeze his hand. “I felt it too. It was as if someone behind the scenes was stacking the odds against us.”
Yetic nods. “I couldn’t do much more than be a distraction. I thought maybe the Jags were blocking me. But there’s no way they could have focused that kind of disruptive energy on all of us.”
“So what we’re saying,” Zorrah adds in a horse whisper, “is that someone at the controls of the combat chamber was directing the limited energy resources toward the Jaguars?” All eyes remain glued on Zorrah’s doll-like features. “I’m not even sure how that’s possible.” She scratches the back of her neck. “But, I guess if they knew which frequency each cadet gravitated toward, and if they could convert the energy into specific wavelengths along the EM spectrum, it could be done. There’d be more overlap for some of us than others.”
Yetic drums his finger on the table. “The real question is not how, but why?”
“We’re undefeated. The administration is looking to mix things up.” It makes perfect sense to me.
“Do they need a reason?” Olin asks.
“Ultimately, no they don’t. But there’s always a reason.” I buy some time by finishing my second protein shake. Everyone waits for me to put down the cup. “I think it’s a test.”
“How do you figure that?” Yetic cracks his neck, casually scanning the commons in the process.
“We’re exhausted. We just suffered our most costly victory, and now a surprise tournament we can’t afford to lose?”
“One that most likely won’t be fair,” Olin adds.
I nod. “Unless…”
“Unless what?” Yetic scoots closer, increasing his protectiveness over me.
“Unless we pass the test,” I say.
“Wait,” Zorrah leans across the table, “I thought the test was the tournament itself.”
“Oh it is, Little Fox.” I smile at her and cast a conspiratorial gaze at the rest of them. “But this test includes a take home portion.”
“You lost me,” Yetic says.
Olin rests his elbows on the table and clasps his fingers in front of his mouth as he speaks. “She’s suggesting we break into the chamber control room and even the odds.”
“We what?” Yetic bursts out before catching himself.
I ignore him. “What do you say, Zorrah? Would you like the opportunity to check in on Icpitls One and Two?
Her eyes dance with joy as she raises trembling fingers to her mouth. “I could access them from the door lock in the dorm.” She stares at the table, nodding. “The rest would be easy.”
“What would be easy?” Olin asks.
“Well, the combat chamber is a closed system. I can’t access it remotely. But security is a different matter.” Zorrah smiles mischievously. “We could take the whole academy offline. You know, make it look like a system-wide failure, so as not to draw suspicion.”
“We are not talking about this. Have you all lost your minds?” Yetic growls.
I clutch his arm and use my most tender voice. “Think about it. Would you ever go into battle without your full arsenal? Why should we not use every weapon at our disposal?”
“It’s against the rules.”
“What rules?” I scoff. “Since the moment we left the ball field to enter the academy have you seen or heard one single rule? Has an instructor every told us to do or not to do anything outside of class?”
Yetic stares at me, uncertain of himself. “We both know there are rules.”
“But we don’t know what they are.” I breathe deeply. “Maybe Olin is right.”
My brother mocks me with a surprised gasp.
I ignore him. “Maybe I’ve been too worried about what the administration thinks—too worried about pleasing people who have given no criteria on how to do so.”
Yetic shakes his head. “If we get caught—”
“We won’t,” Zorrah interrupts. “Not with the icpitls.”
“I may not know how to please the academy officials, but,” I look from Yetic to the rest of the group, “in this case I know how to please the people that mean the most to me.”
Yetic grunts.
A buzzer indicates the end of dinner and provides warning that the tables will retract in thirty seconds. I shovel in the last of my food and stand with tray in hand. “If we step back into the combat chamber before undoing whatever it is the administration has done, we’ll lose.” I stare directly at Yetic. “We can’t let that happen.”
He nods his reluctant assent.
Before dismissing the inner core of Serpent 6 for daily toilet and wind-down, I grip each of them in turn with my eyes. Everyone’s agreed. “Good. One hour after lights out, be ready.”
A flip switches somewhere beneath the floor. With a rush of pneumatic pistons, the tables retract downward until level with the floor. While double checking my tired mind for any important bit of planning I might have let slip, my eyes rove across the commons on their own accord. Unfortunately, they connect with Neca. I divert my gaze too late and scramble for a distraction.
“So, Cera, can you introduce me to the new transfer?” I grip her forearm as we join the cue for dropping off our trays.
“Interesting one, that,” she smiles. “His name’s Tenoch, and he’s got iron totoltetls.”
“It’s about time we get some of those around here.” I rib Yetic as my thoughts flutter toward Neca.
Still upset from being the odd man out during our dinner table scheming, Yetic’s eyes smolder at the insult to his manhood.
Maybe I’ve pushed him too far. He has accepted my command over Serpent 6 while insisting I defer to his dominance in our coupling. I’m still wrestling with the balance. I shudder as I think of saying the words, but there’s no room for hesitation. “Don’t worry, Golden Boy, you’re the only man for me.” If only my heart believed the words were true.
An hour past lights out, Zorrah emerges from her bunk and trudges sleepily across the room. To any watchful eyes potentially leering at a display of darkened dorm rooms she looks like a half-asleep cadet who drank too much water after dinner.
Bracing herself with the doorframe, she takes a moment. She inhales deeply, as if taking a yawn break before continuing to the head. The pause continues a moment longer than it should, then she turns to face the racks of bunks within Serpent 6.
I peel my eyes, focusing through the dark for the signal.
She nods her head before continuing toward the showers. I wait a dozen seconds and pull back my sheets. Still in full uniform, I drop my bare feet to the floor. The room expands and contracts around me, as if it were a lung. I can’t see the bunks lining each wall from floor to ceiling, but I know the cadets sleeping in them. To an extent, their survival depends on me.
Gods, I swallow, don’t let me let them down. Clutching Zorrah’s uniform in my hand, I slip out of the room.
“Zorrah,” I whisper. “All good?”
“The eyes are down. All of them.”
I work my way across the pitch black latrine looking for her. “Where are you?”
“I had to go to the bathroom—I mean, hit the head.”
I swallow a laugh. “And I thought you were acting.”
“I was at first.”
I hear rustling from both ends of the room as Zorrah finishes up and the next member of the green ones enters. “Hello?” I ask.
“It’s Cera.”
A minute later Zorrah has gotten dressed and everyone has arrived, Yetic being the last. “And you’re sure the eyes are completely down? They won’t see or hear anything?”
“Yes,” Zorrah whispers emphatically. “It’s not rocket science.”
“No of course not. You just talk to computers,” Yetic retorts.
“They’re not computers—”
“Don’t try to explain it, unless you want his head to explode.” An unwanted voice joins the others. “What am I saying? By all means, continue.”
“Neca, what are you doing here?” Groping in the dark, I try to put myself between Yetic and Neca before a full-blown testosterone blowup ends our mission before it starts.
“Are you kidding? I’ve got more experience with this sort of thing than the rest of you combined. Other than Zorrah, I bet the rest of you have never so much as snuck a biscuit.”
“Back to your bunk, Nightmare,” the threat rises in Yetic’s voice. “This isn’t a booze run for the old man.”
“Then what is it?” Neca asks.
“Can it, both of you.” I clutch Yetic’s hand in the nick of time and turn toward the sound of Neca’s voice. “We’re fixing the broken combat chamber so what happened today doesn’t happen tomorrow.”
Neca whistles through his teeth.
I sigh. “You might as well come along, cadet. Your skill set could come in handy.”
“We don’t need him,” Yetic objects.
“Maybe not, but there’s no reason to take that chance, unless you two squabbling hens can’t silence your clucking for the next hour.” A wonderful silence fills the next few seconds. “Perfect. It’ll be the six from Serpent 6. Now let’s get out of here before it becomes seven.”
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