There are a dozen different terrible puns I could start this post with. Just imagine your favorite (least hated) NACHO pun and insert it [here]. Personally, I prefer to imagine Homer Simpson singing the lyrics to “Macho Man” (by the Village People) replaced with “Nacho Man.” [I’ve got to be a Nacho Man!]
Anywho, during these pandemic times, I find it helps to develop sophisticated manners by which to delineate the passing of time. One of my favorites has been the installation of Taco Tuesday. (I also really love adult beverage Friday nights, but perhaps I’ll share my cocktail recipes another time.) While I never tire of classics such as Texas-style tacos and beans with ketchup (it’s weird but delicious), the wife is the one who masterfully and diligently installs all evening meal programs. And the wife quickly tires of repetition. The fact that I just said, “the wife” three times in the last three sentences I’m sure has her rolling her eyes.
To keep the wife’s creative spark alive, Taco Tuesday has featured such splendorific dishes as tacos pastor, tacos carnitas, fish tacos (blech), enchiladas (not a taco at all, I should point out), fajitas [insert all controversial mispronunciations such as fruh-hEE-tuhz, faj-i-tuhz, and my favorite, fuh-jII-tuhz]. The important thing about this practice, is that Tuesday has been transformed into a festive occasion. You might not be aware of the fact that Amazon’s Echo has access to quite a marvelous collection of Mariachi music. With a simple voice command, meal time is transformed into a cultural and gastronomical celebration.
And by the time it’s all done, you’re that much closer to Wednesday.
The challenge is to maintain the energy week after week. This basic human need for variety and newness, or to “to spice things up,” was the impetus for Taco Tuesday: Epic Nacho Night. And before you roll your eyes too far to roll them back, let me be clear—melted cheese an epic nacho does not make.
To rightly understand Taco Tuesday: Epic Nacho Night, you must first imagine your entire dining room table wrapped in aluminum foil. Next, tear into multiple bags of Costco-style tortilla chips (Santitas are acceptable) and cover the entire table in corny, salty, goodness. There are no plates involved in this process. Although there are some serving dishes involved. Those come next. Fill bowls with all your favorites: hot, melted, artificial-cheese-food, ground beef, beans, cilantro (aka soap-herb for the unfortunate), chive, pickled jalapeños, and of course salsa. (For some reason, black olives are a necessity for the wife. I can’t object seeing how my family puts ketchup on tacos…)
Make some serving spoons available (lest you resort to dipping from the bowls with your hands), and now you’re ready for Taco Tuesday: Epic Nacho Night. The only rule is “if you drizzle it, you eat it.” It should go without saying, but Epic Nacho Night was a smash hit with my boys. Now the only problem is coming up with some way to top it.
Maybe we can turn the kiddie pool into a margarita…
At the Desk This Week
I was supposed to plan out and start Episode 3 of Season 3 of the Green Ones this week. So far, no go. I’ll get in some mental dreaming time tonight and see if I can’t at least get the script laid out by the end of this week (it’s Wednesday as I write this). I had a tentative plan for Ep.3, but it got exploded by the time I finished Ep.2. This kind of thing happens all the time with me. I’ll buckle down and figure out something even better!
Boundaries: Ep.2, Scene 7—12
[Click here to start at the beginning.]
For the hundredth time, I pace the distance between my bunk and the edge of the commons.
Serpent Barracks drew the last lot, meaning we are to have the least amount of turnaround between the two rounds of the tournament. Normally that would be a significant disadvantage. Under our new strategy, drawing last lot means an increased element of surprise. With no clue as to what the controller of the combat chamber might throw our way during the final round, we will need every advantage we can get.
Due to the cancelation of afternoon classes, we’ve been instructed to wait in the barracks until our turn in the chamber. On the down side, drawing last lot means we have been cooped up for over two hours. Depending on how quickly the other four barracks finish the first round, our wait could be an hour longer.
I’m too tired to jog the track around the perimeter of the common room and too distracted to join the toggle contest initiated by Serpent 3. Besides, toggle makes me think of Zorrah. I smile as I picture her defending her undefeated streak in the game that combines strategy and chance.
Playing toggle against Zorrah is genuinely infuriating. Many of her victories come completely without explanation. Often she juggles strategies in midstream or simply throws strategy out the window. Still, she wins every time.
A scuffle breaks out amidst the scattering of toggle stones. I ignore it. There’s been at least three dustups since lunch. Anxiety levels are bursting at the seams. Every cadet deals with the tension differently. One thing Neca and Yetic have taught me, as annoying as they are, is that some people simply love to fight.
I, on the other hand, wish I could sleep. But even if the entire barracks were blacked out and perfectly quiet, sleep would be out of the question. Instead I close my eyes and hail Olin. How are you coping?
There is a long pause before he responds. Fine, all things considered. I miss her already.
Me too. I block out the noises and people around me in effort to envision where in the barracks my brother is.
You really think she’s okay?
Yes. Neca’s right. She’s too strong not to overcome this. I locate Olin in a back corner of the study.
What about the rest of us? Are we going to overcome this?
I don’t know. I try to swallow, but a sudden knot of panic rises in my throat.
What? What is it?
There’s little I can hide from Olin, at least not for long. There’s something else, something from last night I didn’t share.
Olin’s panic level rises. About Zorrah?
No, not directly. It’s about the academy.
I wondered where that speech had come from this morning.
I chuckle out loud, then open my eyes to make sure no one is watching. Everyone seems engaged in their own private means of coping with the tension, so I close my eyes again. You know me too well.
It’s hard not to.
We both go quiet until our silent presence becomes awkward.
Then we’ll talk later? Olin asks.
Tonight after lights out.
Good. I’ve been wanting to follow up about the mystery voice, you know, since your freak out last night.
It wasn’t a freak out. But you’re right, it’ll be good to talk. Maybe you can help me figure some things out.
Maybe? When have I let you down?
I smile. Never.
A barrack-wide chime interrupts our mental conversation and announces that it’s time. We’ve been hailed to the combat chamber.
Turon greets me with a nod as I enter the chamber. His hands are clutched behind his back. His posture and stance toward me are identical to how they had been the day before—before the events of last night.
For a split second our relationship feels the same. Then I see the sadness in his face, hear the disappointment in his voice. I stand uneasily beside him while the rest of the Serpents stream into the chamber.
“Ms. Bluehair, you look terrible. I certainly hope you have not chosen these last twenty-four hours to engage in unadvisable extracurricular activities.”
“No sir.” I breathe deeply and relax. Perhaps Turon knows something I don’t—that even after life altering events, routine can still be grasped. “My looks, good or bad, I assure you are due to genetics. Nothing more.”
“Then I hope I haven’t given offense,” he smirks.
“No sir. I’ve been told beauty is only skin deep.”
“Sometimes.” He turns toward me before continuing, “One thing of which you can be certain, training reaches to the bone. Do not disappoint me today, Ms. Bluehair.”
“Yes, sir. I won’t.”
With that, Turon strides toward a nearby dais jutting from the floor of the chamber.
Out of habit, I examine the visible terrain. Normally, I would already be devising cunning stratagems or figuring possible scenarios. Not this time. The layout of the chamber will be different for the final round, and there’s no point in worrying about the final round yet.
I turn toward the entrance and watch the remaining Serpents as they pass. Some of them return my gaze. Some are already in a far off place, preparing psychologically for battle. Most are smiling.
I smile too. Why not? We know something no one else knows. The feeling is empowering. I’m hoping that feeling of empowerment will carry us through. Because when you live in a world where the future couldn’t be less certain, the present becomes precious. Right now, the present belongs to us.
Serpent 6 enters the chamber last. Bringing up the rear, Cera, Neca, Olin, and Yetic join me. The door closes, locking us in for the duration of the battle.
“Serpent barracks, I thank you for your attention,” Turon starts class the exact same way he has for the last six months. “Today I have a special exercise in store for you.”
My breath catches in my throat, as I worry the admin has preempted us.
“A combat tournament.”
I relax.
“Round one will commence directly. Forty-nine individuals, or a 49 if you prefer, will advance for the second and final round during which you will compete against 49’s from each of the other four barracks. Are these parameters understood?” He turns toward me as Captain of the Serpents.
A new panic forms deep in my gut. What if my speech that morning hasn’t had the desired effect? If even one dorm group revolts, my plan could result in a total disaster. I’m shocked I haven’t thought through the possibility until now. I sense every eye staring at me and realize Turon is waiting for my response. “Yes, sir. Fully.”
“Good. Upon my exit from the chamber, the contest will begin.”
While listening to Turon, I reassure myself. Each of the commanders is onboard. They are excited. They are thrilled. The plan will work. Before I have time to worry further, the moment has come.
Turon finishes with the words, “Round one will resolve when forty-nine cadet signals remain or after the expiration of 45 minutes, which ever comes first.”
I tense, preparing myself for the unexpected.
“Serpents, remember your training.” Turon nods and steps off the dais. After two steps, he hesitates ever so slightly before continuing his steady stride toward the exit of the chamber.
The smile on my face grows nearly as large as the pride swelling in my chest. Not a single Serpent cadet has budged from his or her place gathered around the dais.
Normally Turon’s nod would have initiated a melee as cadets scrambled for cover or joined the ranks of their 49 and prepared for battle. Instead, we have stood together in solidarity. We have begun rewriting the rules in our favor.
The door to the combat chamber slides shut and locks. For the first time, I hear its echo. Instead of crackling EM storms or shouted commands, I hear my own breathing. I hear the breathing of the cadets standing around me.
Victoriously, I break rank and step onto the dais. “I’ve never been more proud to be a Serpent.”
A collective sigh of relief escapes as we acknowledge the ground breaking moment.
“Today we take our domination to a whole new level.”
Hisses and fist pumps spread organically throughout the group. I let the small celebration run its course before getting down to businesses. “Now, if each of the commanders would come forward.”
Name by name, each of the dorm commanders announces the six members of their dorm that will fight as part of the Serpent 49. Lastly, I call the names of Yetic, Cera, Neca, Olin, Tenoch, T’zan and my own name as the forty-ninth.
I nod toward the other commanders and then retake the dais as captain. “Now if the rest of you would politely die with honor,” I do my best to mimic Cera’s joyful grin, and it works. Laughter erupts. Several seconds later, I continue, “Actually, I was thinking we could spend the next thirty minutes working up some special recipes for the other barracks—maybe even some new dishes.”
The remainder of our allotted time for round one goes by quickly. We’ve never gone into a combat scenario with all eight of our commanders. At first, the combined egos make me doubt the strategy. After initially butting heads, the individual strengths and enthusiasms of each dorm group rises to the surface.
Serpent 1 and 3, the two dorms best at toggle, prefer heady yet flexible strategies. They like to poke and prod their enemies and act with determination only after finding a distinct advantage. As a result they’ve developed great instincts and defensive capabilities. I assign both of them to overall defense and ask them to be my right and left when things get ugly.
Serpent 2 is chocked full of fliers. Not as powerful as Neca and Yetic, they’re fast and frenzied. Uncertain I’d be able to rein them in if I tried, I decide not to try. They seem to respect Neca as a poster child of bad boy improvisation, so I slide him out from under the banner of Serpent 6 and make him a 2 with the hope he’ll be able to rally the rest of the 2’s when we need them. As an added bonus, the move might minimize the jostling between Neca and Yetic.
Serpent 4 and 5 both prefer a straightforward smash-mouth style—something I have witnessed in 5 but am surprised to learn about 4. It turns out, 4’s leadership has been forced to adapt to the limitations of their dorm. But for today’s rumble, they’ve chosen their six with the most punch.
Serpent 7 prefers precision and speed. They also seem the least comfortable with improvisation. At one point, about twenty minutes into the conference, a loggerhead forms between the commanders of 7 and 2 over how to coordinate a simultaneous attack via ground and air.
After a minute of wasted time and energy, I suggest the leader of Serpent 7 share command with Olin. Everyone in Serpent Barracks has heard rumor of our connection. Some even think they know how it works.
At first, the proposal is met with ire. In the end, I’m able to convince Serpent 7’s commander that being paired with Olin will thrust them into a central position of importance and allow me to utilize their quick precision at a moment’s notice.
Led by Brutah, Serpent 8 has long been Serpent 6’s closest competition within the barracks. They are capable and proud, so I elect to team them with Serpent 4 and 5 to form the bulk of our muscle.
In the final minute of our allotted time, I realize Serpent 6 only has five members remaining. Cera and Yetic were obvious choices. The new transfer, Tenoch, had proven his mettle the day before, and Cera likes him. T’zan remains one of my favorites. He probably considers himself subpar telekinetically, but he thinks outside the box.
Plus, the thought had occurred to me that while the controller of the chamber can limit our telekinesis, the one thing he or she can’t effect is hand to hand combat. In that department, T’zan rivals Yetic and Neca, and he’s nearly as big as both of them combined.
With a few seconds to spare, I praise the group a final time and stand. The other commanders stand next, then the remaining 49, and finally the whole of Serpent Barracks. When the chime sounds to indicate the end of round one, not a single Serpent has shed a drop of sweat. Our 49 is fresh, inspired, and ready to fight.
The door swishes open and Turon enters. He wears a look of shock a little too readily. I’m almost certain he knew what to expect. Most likely he has been watching from the control room. For all I know, he could be the one sitting behind the controls.
Turon stutters briefly, “With the conclusion of round one, I invite the forty-nine individuals remaining,” he stops and scratches the back of his neck. “Well then, you guys certainly know how to muddle up the place.”
I scan the faces of the cadets around me. If smirks made a sound, ours would have been deafening.
“Let me start again.” Turon clears his throat. “With the conclusion of round one, I invite the chosen 49 to exit the chamber.”
With me and the other commanders at the very center of the circle, it takes a few seconds for the group to part. Without instruction to do so, the 49 also part until everyone is waiting on me to move first. As I do so, a single person claps.
By the time I stride through the bulk of the group, everyone has joined in, creating a thunderous round of applause. It’s another sound I’ve never heard during my six months inside the academy.
Until now, I’ve maintained authority within Serpent Barracks due to my friends and my flattery. Possibly my abilities to compromise and drive hard bargains have helped. Never, until now, have I felt truly admired.
As I exit the chamber and distance myself from the applause, I discover a more terrifying revelation. Never have I felt the pressure to live up to so many people’s expectations.
To avoid any one barracks gaining an advantage over another, all of us are marched into a blank combat chamber. Devoid of any topography or detail, the only identifiers are five colored circles spaced evenly around the perimeter. Without needing to be told, the Serpents head toward the green circle.
“As soon as everyone is inside their corresponding circle, the chamber will render the setting for round two,” Turon’s announcement crackles over the loud speaker.
“Pack in.” I hover on the edge of the circle while the rest of my 49 squish within the boundary. There’s barely enough room for us to fit without sitting on top of each other’s shoulders. “We’ll most likely be in the lowest spot after the transformation. Fliers, get ready for some speedy recon, but don’t rush it. Wait for my order. There’s no reason for anyone to get phased today.”
My nerves settle. From here on out, it’s another session in the combat chamber—just like all the others. “The rest of you, take it easy and stick close. We know where the others are starting.”
I intentionally remain outside the circle until the last of my guys are in. I’m hoping to make the other barracks sweat a bit longer. I count slowly to ten and step across the line. Instantly the floor around us shimmers with telekinetic energy.
Like flowing crystal, the plasteel morphs, burps, and projects. Except for the occasional crack or pop of the material settling into its solid state, all I hear are the sharp inhalations of the cadets around me.
We’ve all seen TK transformation on a small scale, but this is awesome—something I thought only possible in a dream. As I crane my neck upward to watch a cliff birth an overhang directly overhead, I sway and lose anchor.
“Whoa there.” A strong hand stabilizes me. “Watch your step, cap. Hate to see your foot become part of the scenery.”
“Right.” I shake my head and focus on T’zan instead of our constantly morphing surroundings. “Thanks.”
“It’s beautiful though, isn’t it? When you see it as something other than a hunting ground,” T’zan sighs.
“Yes, it is.” I curl my braid around my neck. “Even as a hunting ground I can appreciate it.”
T’zan nods. “Terrible and beautiful are often not far apart.”
I tremble as T’zan strikes a chord deep inside me, dredging up memories of Centavo I prefer to keep pushed down. But I’ve already mentally made the connection between the shifting plasteel and my own soul.
Forces beyond my control, some probably beyond my awareness, are shaping me. Currently, I’m still fluid and energized like the plasteel. The day is coming when my identity will harden. Then my function—my loyalty—will determine whether I be beautiful or terrible.
“Cap?” T’zan shakes my shoulder.
“Right.” A quick glance overhead reveals the plasteel has almost finalized its process. Most of the surfaces have turned from luminescent to milky. “It looks like a typical peek and valley. If so, that means we’ll be limited to two ground foes at a time. First task will be reducing that to one.”
I stand on tiptoe until I spot Neca gathered beside Serpent 2. Raising my voice, I address the 49, “Flyers on my command.” The overhang turns the color of a dove. “Now.” Nearly a dozen cadets shoot skyward, twice what I’m used to working with. I tamp my enthusiasm by reminding myself the other barracks are working with elite groups as well. Plus, there’s the chamber operator to worry about.
I address the ground forces, “As for the rest of us, we’re in a blood ring. Most likely, this valley connects all five barracks in a continuous loop.” Leaving the green circle, I climb up the equivalent of a large rock in order to better address the others.
“Butterfly is behind me, and Jaguar is that way,” I point over their heads. “This is going to be a long battle with a lot of pounding before it’s through. Ami knows that. She’ll take Jaguar toward the softer target, Coyotl. We’ll take it to Butterfly and plan on meeting the Jags on the other side.”
I take a moment to study the inside face of the cliff. It’s dimpled and scarred with clefts and overhangs. “Our confines could provide opportunity for hand to hand combat, so be ready for it. If the operator funnels EM energy away from us, stay out of the direct fire of the enemy and use the rock face to get up close and personal. Understood?”
“The flyers are back,” Cera points overhead. “Or at least one of them.”
Yetic descends into the narrow valley alone, wiping sweat from his brow as he lands.
“What’s the scene?” I ask.
“There’s a teocuali citadel in the middle.”
“A what?”
“A fortress. It’ll be impenetrable with a 49 inside, and both Eagle and Jaguar are in route to it already.”
“Xoxochueyi,” I stamp my foot.
“We’ve got the air advantage for now. But when the ground troops get there, all we’ll be able to do is watch.”
“And the other barracks?”
“Butterfly is hunkering down, but Coyotl is coming our way fast.”
“Has Coyotl seen the citadel?”
Yetic says, “Not yet, but they will once they reach the Jaguar start spot.”
I jump down from the rock and pace before turning toward Yetic. “Do you see any advantage in controlling the citadel by air until enemy ground troops arrive?”
“No.” Yetic jumps down by my side. “It’d be a waste of resources.”
“Agreed. I’ll hail Olin and call everyone back.” I connect with my brother and convey what I’m thinking in the time it takes me to clamor back up the plasteel rock. “Serpent 4, 5, and 8.”
The whole group jumps to attention.
“I want you guys to head off Coyotl in that direction. There’s an inland route toward a citadel in the middle of the chamber. Make sure they take it. Force them up Jaguar’s back as fast and as hard as you can. I want the Jags to take losses before they reach the citadel, understood?”
“Iye!”
“Good. Serpent 2 will cover you from the air. Go!”
They spring into action. The number of cadets on the ground is only 18, but they’re a brutally strong bunch. With air support, I’ve no doubt they could rip Coyotl apart. Instead, I’m hoping we can wield the coyotls like a sword.
“The rest of you are with me,” I face the crew I’ve got left—a little more than half. “Have any of you been pika hunting?”
Cera nods, a smile on her face. Tenoch raises his hand, as do a couple others.
“Good. For those of you who haven’t, the idea is simple. The little critters move up easier than down. They keep their eyes mostly on potential threats from below. When a predator gets too close, they scurry up and into their burrow. So when you hunt them, you start on the top of the mountain and work your way down. Caught off guard and in the open, they’re easy pickings.”
“Let me guess,” Cera interjects, “the butterflies are playing the part of the pika?”
I nod, “And we’ll be picking them off.”
Olin hails me.
I pause as he, Neca, and a flier from Serpent 7 descend on our location. After they land, I continue. “We’ll knock out as many Butterflies as we have to, but I’m hoping we can convince some of them to take their chances storming the citadel. So after the initial assault, as soon as it’s safe to do so, stand down and give me time to talk.”
I turn to Olin, “You guys ready to provide an air lift to the top?”
Several minutes later, with the help of Olin’s ability to divide his focus, the last of us set foot on top of the cliff above the Butterfly start circle. Whether through luck or by design, a shelf built into the top of the cliff shields us from the citadel rising at our backs.
Quietly, we fan out in both directions. I test my grip on the jagged surface of the plasteel engineered to mimic the texture of rock. While it looks like rock, other than the fact its pale grey coloring if far too uniform, the grip is significantly better. Best of all, there are no annoying bits of gravel or dirt to cascade down the cliff and betray our presence.
I give the visual signal. Without a sound, the Serpents start their descent. I position myself within five meters of the nearest enemy cadet and watch to my left as Cera does the same. To my right, Tenoch anchors himself and gives a nod. I hail Olin. You sure this is the best way to deploy your abilities?
We’ve been through this. I’m not going to let them—
Okay, you’re right, we’ve been through this. You ready?
On your command.
Now.
I nod my head for Cera, Tenoch, and the others to follow. As one, we drop onto the enemy occupied ledges below. By the time my feet strike solid ground, the cadet I’ve targeted has focused on Olin’s sudden appearance.
Without hesitation I drive the heel of my palm into the cadet’s chin. I follow with a jab to his solar plexus that drives him into the cliff wall. Ducking his muddled response, I trade places with him on the narrow ledge. All it takes is a simple knee in the back to propel him off the face of the rock, where I suppose Olin will catch him.
In my peripheral vision I spot another enemy cadet taking flight. I chart a path toward my next target. Leaping across the face of the rock, I clutch a solid hold and swing myself into the face and chest of a butterfly cadet before she can muster an EM volley.
But the impact is less solid than I had anticipated, and my momentum sends me tumbling off the rock. At the last second, I clutch a jagged hold. The edge of the plasteel bites hard into my fingers. I’ll suffer much worse if I let go.
I hear a grunt from on top the ledge as the enemy cadet shuffles toward the edge to see if I’ve gone clean over. In the little time I have, I focus all the energy I can muster into my wounded hand.
The moment I see the top of the cadet’s head, I lunge upward and clutch her braid with my free hand.
Startled, she tries to pull away.
I’ve already wrapped her braid around my arm. With a solid tug, I yank her from the ledge. Below me, her scream is cut short, either by Olin’s stasis field if she’s lucky or another plasteel ledge if she isn’t.
At the moment, I haven’t time to worry about anyone other than myself. Which is exactly the kind of position I try to stay out of while in the chamber. Wincing, I lift my injured hand and find a hold further up.
After several seconds of dangling my feet over the open air and intermingling grunts with swears, I pull myself onto the rock. Report. I hail Olin before drawing a full breath.
A dozen angry Butterflies in the net. The rest are holding position. Awaiting your orders.
Good. Where’s their commander, what’s his name, Y’etl?
Directly beneath you, Olin snickers.
What?
You nearly kicked him in the face with your acrobatics. If it hadn’t been for Yetic, Y’etl would have yanked you off the rock.
I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.
Hey what’s not to like about juggling cadets?
Just watch that you’re not leaving yourself exposed.
Will do. Now get moving before our temporary ceasefire expires.
I’m already trying to locate a better means of dropping down to the next ledge. With a little scrambling, I manage the descent with much more grace than my last attempt. “Y’etl, may your next battle go better,” I choose a common greeting under the circumstances, one that allows for both power and compromise.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Y’etl shrugs, “this one hasn’t been so bad, thanks to your brother,” he points toward Olin with his chin.
I rewrap my braid around my neck. “He’s there to ensure none of my own fall as well.”
“Either way, you could have let mine drop. Honestly, my goal for this tournament is to avoid another death.”
His words jolt me. I can’t believe word of Zorrah has already spread to the other barracks. I sputter.
“Don’t sweat it. We’ve gotten used to it. The first one was hard, but after three or four, the cadets learn to expect it.”
“Oh,” I realize my mistake. “You’ve lost so many already?”
“Last week we lost two at once, numbers twelve and thirteen.”
“What?” I’m stunned. “Thirteen butterflies have died? But how?”
“Do you really have to ask?” He sighs deeply, painfully. “Think about it, Calli. Not everybody can be a Serpent. Not everybody can be one of the green ones.” Venom creeps into his voice with the mention of our barrack’s nickname. “You didn’t think all the talent was doled out evenly did you?”
“Well no, but I thought—”
“You though everyone had been given at least a fighting chance. I know,” he laughs. “That’s what I thought when my braid band first lit up red. But it couldn’t be further from the truth.”
I say, “Maybe you don’t have any one who can fly, but—”
Y’etl interrupts, “I bet you get seconds don’t you?”
“I beg your—”
“Extra rations for meals.” He watches me with keen, piercing eyes.
I think of the second protein shake I’d taken the day before.
He shakes his head and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Watch it, Y’etl,” Yetic fires a warning while hovering several meters away. “No quick movements.”
Y’etl ignores him. “I knew it. You guys get all the food you can eat, don’t you?”
“You don’t?” It’s all I can think to say.
Y’etl’s eyes flare and rove around in their sockets sporadically, one moving independent of the other for a brief second. “We’re fed barely enough to stay alive. Look at me.”
I keep my eyes locked on his face.
“Look at me!”
I glance along the length of his gaunt frame. At first I had taken him to be a naturally skinny kid of less than average height. On closer look, it’s obvious he’s malnourished. “I don’t understand.”
“Why waste resources on cadets who don’t have a chance to survive? We’re the rejects, the cannon fodder.”
“But you’ve got victories. I check the rankings everyday.”
He scoffs, “It figures that the winners would never suspect they’re getting outside assistance.”
“Wait,” I lean closer, “you know about the operator?”
“Oh, so you have noticed. Kudos,” Y’etl smirks.
What he’s saying makes sense, but it leaves me with another question. “Why do you still fight?”
He stares through me, as if he’s looking inside himself. “The only other choice is to die.”
A rattle catches in his throat as he pronounces the word, die.
Without warning, rage unhinges me. I clutch my fists and they burst into dark, green flames.
“Whoa!” Y’etl backs away.
I’m not focused on him. I see an ancient jungle. It’s crawling with green light and the quick thrusts of glowing limbs—legs and arms. Bodies spill from the trees. Twitchers.
Calli.
Olin’s voice shakes me from my waking dream. I stretch my trembling fingers until the flames extinguish.
“What was that?” Y’etl seems interested in our proceedings for the first time.
I roll my head, cracking the vertebra in my neck and buying time until I regain my composure. I exhale, “I have a proposal I hope will suit us both.”
Neca nods. “We’ve still got all but two of Serpent 4, 5, and 8 and they’re dug in pretty good. Short of the Jags coming out of the citadel, they should be able to hold their own. The remaining coyotls on the other hand,” Neca smiles and shakes his head, “they’re in a hard spot. And Eagle must have been wiped out by Jaguar.”
“Good. Have your guys—”
“My guys?” Neca raises a brow.
I roll my eyes. “Have the rest of Serpent 2 pull out as if they’re coming to our aid.”
Yetic places a hand on my arm. “And you’re sure this is gonna work?”
“Absolutely not,” I grin. “But I don’t see any other way of getting those guys out of the citadel. And the longer we wait, the worse our chances.”
“Alright,” Yetic shakes his head. “How much longer until Olin and Serpent 7 reach the security lock?”
I hail my brother. ETA?
Another five minutes. How’s it looking on your end?
Axnohtic.
Perfect.
I roll my eyes and slap Neca on the shoulder. “It’s no wonder you two get along so well.”
“Who? Me and Olin?”
I nod. “You’re both so immature.”
“Ouch. And you mistook me for eighteen. Hmmm, what does that say about your taste in—”
I punch him in the arm hard before he can finish. “Shut up and fly.”
Neca places a hand over his heart in mock offense.
“You heard the lady, Nightmare,” Yetic intercedes in some sort of ill-defined attempt to defend my honor. Or perhaps Neca’s very presence is an insult to his manhood.
“Can it, the two of you,” I give Neca my most serious look. “Olin’s less than five minutes out. We’re going now, so get your butt moving. Serpent 2’s role is gonna be critical in making this show even remotely believable.”
“Your wish is my command!” Neca rockets into the air.
I call after him, “It was a command to begin with!” Idiot, I shake my head.
Yetic moves close and takes my forearm.
His touch sparks an animalistic desire in me. I pause to focus my muddled emotions on the plan. Standing on tiptoes, I peek across the featureless hundred meters of high flatland between us and the citadel at the heart of the combat chamber. Its steep walls run all the way to the ceiling. Another third of the fortress lies beneath the level of the plateau.
The bottom portion contains the only set of doors. They open into the inland valley that bisects the chamber, and we can’t get any closer to them without facing a direct assault from the Jag 49.
The key is to find entrance where there is no entrance. That means we strike where the plateau meets the wall. Meters thick and dotted with minuscule slits for windows, the wall is not only impregnable, it will be tough to defend. The lines of site from inside will be poor. That means our chances of reaching it will be good. I just hope we can pull off the impossible once we get there.
Yetic breaks the silence, “It’s going to be a long time to keep up an act. What if the Jags decide not to wait for a clear cut winner?”
I shrug, “Then we make our move early. Either way, it’s gonna be tricky.” I lean past Yetic and glance along the cliff-shelf upon which we’re standing. In both directions, intermingled cadets from Butterfly and Serpent await the visual order to spring over the top. I reach into the air and pull down as if grasping an invisible overhead branch. “Go.”
In response to the signal, Yetic tugs me into the air and flies over the crest of the cliff. Let the show begin.
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