“Match!” the instructor shouted, and the light flashed.
“Pierre, my man, you didn’t tell me you could fight like that,” I called out.
Master Sergeant Paters stepped into the ring. “He’s not as good as you’re making him look. One of you pussies needs to get in here—two if you have to, but if I have to send three, you’ll all be rank-disciplined and doing work detail at 0400.”
A single hand shot up.
When he saw it, a barely perceptible fear washed over Pierre’s face, while Master Sergeant Paters’ mouth stretched into a yellow-toothed smile, accentuating the crater-like pockmarks on his cheeks. I worked my way around to where I could better see just in time to catch Pierre pound fists with Caelus Erik.
As soon as Paters yelled, “Fight!” Pierre stepped out hard, but Caelus, turning, beat him to the offensive. Pierre drew him into a grapple and while it initially seemed like Pierre was going to be better at it, Caelus was lightning quick, on to the next move before his opponent could deal with the previous. Two minutes in, Pierre’s face was already strained and dogged; at three, he fell out of his stance following a punch and Caelus used his momentum to pull him forward into a takedown, finishing with a brutal elbow under the ribs.
“Point!” called the master sergeant as Pierre writhed on the floor.
“It’s just a bruise—you got this!” someone called out.
“Come on, Caelus. Make him eat it!”
Caelus muttered something to Pierre as he took most of the count getting up, but there were so many people crowding in from the other matches that I only caught Pierre wincing as he stumbled back into a fighting stance. As before, he tried to go on the offensive, though it was only a few seconds before a flurry of blows landed on him, one thud after another.
“Come on, Pierre,” I urged him in a whisper, seeing his reactions getting feebler as pain etched deeper into his face. After a while—and a few more body blows—I was reduced to hoping he’d simply make it out without serious injury, given how sparse Paters’ refereeing was. But then, just as I was wishing that Paters would give Caelus the point, everything flipped and Pierre came over the top, cracking his knuckles across Caelus’s face and following through with a low side kick that brought him to the mat.
He must’ve been dogging on purpose. I’d done the same thing in the New London Tae Kwon Do U15 Championship, letting this kid who’d won seventy-three matches in a row think that seventy-four would just be more of the same, mimicking everything about his previous two opponents’ style and demeanor. Verna and Marco had been in the crowd going nuts when I’d hit the switch. It’d been one of the best moments of my life.
In this case, I wasn’t sure the amount of abuse Pierre had taken was worth it, but when Paters started the third round, all his steps’ heaviness was gone. Just like the way he spoke, his movements were fluid and graceful—every ending of a stride was the beginning of another. A liquid pivot. A protean glide. I cheered as Pierre landed a crescent kick on Caelus’s shoulder. Caelus dodged the follow-up roundhouse, but he ceded ground, stepping close to the ring’s white boundary line and then skirting it as Pierre came bounding after him, landing a couple of glancing blows.
For a moment I thought the balance had shifted, but Caelus boomeranged from the line and recaptured the initiative with a kind of relentlessness I’d never seen before, simultaneously cold and raw. There was calculated recklessness and then retreats to form. There was polish and grace, but there was desperation, too. Loathing and then serenity. An impossible, near-continuous shifting of gears where every attack was an onslaught and every retreat appeared a trap, making Pierre pause and consider, which compounded into a lethargy that Caelus increasingly exploited. Pierre did the best he could, but it was evident that his gamble on the takeout strategy had finally depleted his reserve.
Sensing this, Caelus ratcheted it up even more, suffusing every attack with anger. Brutal. Accelerating. The ebbs disappearing into constancy. Pierre was still up, still shuffling, but the blows were coming so rapidly that it would only be a matter of time before he slipped and something landed.
And then it did. Pierre had gotten himself turned around after a series of grappling maneuvers and when he spun back to face Caelus, a wound-up side kick was waiting for him just below his chest protector. Even from where I was standing twenty units away, I heard Pierre’s ribs break, the sound a combination of crunch, grunt, and scream, and he doubled over and collapsed on the mat. Before Paters could say “point,” Caelus chopped at Pierre’s throat so hard he seemed to crush his trachea. Then he dusted off his hands, bowed, and sauntered off, leaving Pierre motionless on the mat.
Seeing no one move to help him, I rushed forward, but Master Sergeant Paters barred the way. “Are you his boyfriend or something?” he taunted.
Most everyone was just standing, staring, while a few were even filing to the exits. I looked around for the two medics I’d seen on duty earlier, but they must’ve already left, too. Wanting to cry out, I made another attempt to get by Paters, and this time he grabbed me. “I can send you to Medical, too, if you like,” he said.
I glared at him, but stepped backward. He gave my arm a final, strangling squeeze before releasing it. “Watch yourself.”
The words rattled around in my head as I feigned turning, then pivoted and tried to bolt by him a third time—but Paters’ clothesline almost separated my neck from my shoulders and I sprawled hard on concrete, just inches from one of the mats. I was stunned, fighting for breath.
He looked down at me, his pockmarks inches away from my face. “Maybe your fat friend there can come, too. We can see how tough he is without all his little toy ships. Would you like that?”
I couldn’t reply.
“I asked if you’d like that!” He kicked me hard in the ribs. Even though I was still wearing my chest protector, the ones here only covered about three quarters of your torso, and I felt the full force of it.
I tried mouthing “no,” but it was useless.
“I can’t bloody hear you!” he shouted, kicking me again. His eyes were lively and tireless. The scariest thing about them wasn’t that they seemed to be taking pleasure in this, but that there was intelligence behind them. A tip or a glint of something measured behind a window. And then the strangest thing happened: Paters winked at me. Or at least I thought he did. Before I could think any more about it, though, he extended his leg yet again, grazing me as I tried to roll out of reach.
“I’ll make you smarter than any of those teachers ever will. They have to trick you into remembering, but I can make you feel it in your guts.”
I stared at him as he smiled. You’ll get yours, I thought.
Once I was able to stand and the pair of medics had returned, I flung off my sparring gear and walked backward toward the door, watching as they knelt down by Pierre and opened their kits in a routine, leisurely fashion. The air flowing through the vents was cool when I finally reached the corridor, and I stopped and braced my head against the wall. Other Blues walked past, some talking, most silent, none looking that concerned about what had just happened. We were in the Physical Wing for class, so only a fraction of them were Cs and knew Pierre, but still, this wasn’t the Fleet I’d read about. Technically, they contracted the station’s operation out to Mars, but it was still under Fleet oversight and graduates became Fleet officers. Maybe it was because we were so far out in deep space. Maybe I was overthinking it and it was just a big test after all. Maybe the older kids were just playing parts. Maybe a lot of things—but even with the best interpretation, it was fucked up.
I wasn’t hungry, but I’d told Sebastian I’d meet him for lunch so, grimacing, I slid my U-dev from my pocket and let it lead the way. Blood was still streaming from my nose, so I held my sleeve up and tilted my head toward the ceiling, but it gushed down my hand anyway, splattering on the floor as I walked.
I’d only been here two days. How much abuse could a body take? How did Brandon, Rhys, and the rest k
eep going? Bleed, patch, bleed, patch, bleed, patch. Over and over again.
Chapter 16
The Launch Bar in the Great Room was a lot bigger than the cafeteria in C Block. Instead of long benches and closely-spaced chairs, the tables were spread out in an archipelago of clusters and singles across the floor. Metallic islands in a white sea. Refuges. And if there hadn’t been all the unfamiliar faces from A, B, D, E, and F Blocks, I would’ve felt like I could put my guard down. I wasn’t quite sure how far into the alphabet the other blocks went, since the different under-tunics were visible only above the one-suits’ collars, so except for the pilots with their bright orange flight suits, everyone was just another Blue or Green, or occasionally a Black lieutenant or captain with dark brown leather boots.
I spotted Sebastian and pulled up a chair opposite him; I’d been anxious to see him all morning. Outside the Box he wore the perpetual look of someone who was just about to ask you for directions, befuddled and awkward, touching things as if he thought they would burn him. Yet he was right-side up, clearheaded in a straightforward, charming way that calmed me down. And now that we were at the same table, collapsing the noise around us into a manageable background drone, I felt like I’d become reattached to some semblance of the world I knew.
“Pierre’s hurt bad, Seb. I was just at Physical Combat in the Mat Room and Caelus smashed him up pretty good.”
Sebastian’s eyes widened.
“It didn’t seem like any big deal, either. The Blues just left, like they would any other class, and the Reds let Caelus walk.” My voice turned to a whisper. “I know they’re supposed to be hard on you. I get discipline. I get that the military is supposed to break you and build you back up. But this is different.”
“I know,” he said softly.
“So maybe we should do something different, too.”
“Like?”
I wasn’t sure where I was going with this. I’d always been good at dealing with tough things—not that growing up in a wealthy family on a wealthy planet provided too many of those. But ever since I’d stopped feeling like I had something to lose, enduring something just to save oneself from hard choices seemed silly. Cowardly even. “Like maybe we should leave . . .”
The words surprised him. “How?”
“I don’t know. We could slip into the hold of one of those freighters.”
Sebastian looked skeptical. “Our access cards wouldn’t even get us near the cargo bay.”
“We can figure something out . . . I, I just can’t stay here. Even if we win—win the Challenges, get Caelus removed—it wouldn’t matter. I wouldn’t want to be part of a Fleet that acts like this.”
“They’re not going to just let us leave.”
“But that’s not a reason not to try.”
“Aaron . . .” Sebastian was placid. He was in his element, weighing options and calculating probabilities. “Aaron, if someone can keep you from doing it, it is a reason. At the very least, it’s a reason to really, really think it through first.”
“Yeah, but this is really, really messed up, don’t you think?” I asked more loudly.
“Of course, but—”
“Or have things changed now that you’ve become popular?”
Even though I was on edge after everything that had happened, I hadn’t expected to say this. I hadn’t even thought it, but by the time I’d reconsidered, the words had already left my mouth.
A few seconds passed and it was like he hadn’t heard me. The “thinking” expression he’d had on before was frozen in place until very slowly it transformed into hurt as he turned away, crestfallen, and gazed first at some plants and then at the huge, cylindrical lights above us, doing everything he could to not look wounded.
“Sebastian, I didn’t mean that at all. I wasn’t thinking. I . . .”
“It’s fine. I see how you’d think that, given—”
“But I don’t think that; I don’t think it at all. I know you better than that. I’m just tired,” I said, feeling terrible. And I was tired. The searing, heavy, intoxicated kind of tired, after two mostly sleepless nights.
“Me, too,” said Sebastian. “And just so you know, it’s not so great for me here, either. The Mat Room and the Tread Room are killing me, but even in a class I thought I’d be good in like Thermodynamics . . .”
“Thermodynamics?”
“Yeah, I thought about what Fin said about the kind of energy field you’d need to block Mylan Chip signals and started thinking that maybe you could live on that planet down there after all if you channeled the infrared radiation from the nebula into a lightwall shielding you from the atmospheric storms. I handed in this paper outlining how a mini Dyson’s net could actually do it and . . .” Sebastian shook his head. “And the professor only gave it a twenty-three!”
“You had a paper due already?” I asked, but I shouldn’t have been surprised; I had all kinds of things being assigned to me: a report in Military History, a role-play script in Military Psychology, and I had to figure out how to build a field battery from scratch for Chemical Engineering.
He nodded, continuing, “Though it doesn’t make any sense because I double-checked the calculations, and they all look right.” He glanced around the room, not sure what to do with his hands or eyes, too disheartened and unnerved to handle both his inner world and the outer world at once. “So, it’s not that I’m doing really well. But the thing is . . . even if we left the station—stowed away on one of the freighters, like you say—then what? They’re going to come looking. Of course they are. And they’ll find us.” He looked at me pleadingly, as if he’d been the one to lash out. “And that’s true whether I’m appreciated here or not.”
I sighed. “I know.”
“I just think we should learn more before doing something . . . about something we don’t understand. And then if we decide to make a run for it, we’ll know it’s the right thing to do. We’ll have the resolve. Because I don’t think you can last very long on the run if you don’t believe it’s the only way.”
“People here haven’t exactly been forthcoming.”
“We just have to watch things.” Sebastian stopped for a moment, his brow furrowed. He looked like he was thinking to the point of pain and I wondered what he must look like in the Box, running all those algos in his head. “Clearly we know about—”
Before he could finish, the lights dimmed and then went off. Startled, I looked around, expecting people to be equally perplexed, but everyone just kept on eating and talking like nothing had happened.
Just as quickly the lights were back on again.
“What the hell was that?”
“Power fluctuations caused by the nebula,” said Rhys, sitting down next to Sebastian while Brandon took the seat by me. “You’ll get used to it.”
I wanted to ask them more but, judging by the looks on their faces, there was only one thing they wanted to discuss.
“I saw the whole thing,” I said. “They were sparring in the Mat Room, and Caelus sucker-punched him.”
“Was Paters ‘supervising’?” Rhys asked, eyes burning.
“Yeah,” I said. “I tried to—”
“There’s no point trying to do anything with the Reds. That won’t get you anywhere,” said Brandon.
“Does Paters always give Caelus a pass?” asked Sebastian in a warble, still only partially recovered from my “popular” remark.
“If there’s blood, Paters’ll pardon anyone,” Rhys spat. “Three months ago when some C2s tied Bluerine Sayers down on the treadmill, he swears Paters looked in through the door and keep walking. Bluerine talks it down because he’s like this big, tough guy, you know, but . . . I think it messed him up pretty good.”
“Bluerine? I think I just fought him today in the Mat Room. He’s a C3 Storm?”
“Yeah, hard to believe right? He’s never been the friendliest cat, but he’s always helped us out. And the fact that we couldn’t help him back . . . I think made a lot of people think
twice.”
Brandon looked down at the table.
Rhys leaned forward, his posture perfect as he turned to me. “And this thing with Pierre’ll do the same thing. It’s not going to matter how many Challenges we win if everyone’s scared of being smothered in their bunks or taken out in a training room.”
I nodded, trying to follow along, still unsure of exactly how things worked here.
“So we’ve got to keep the techs safe. Keep everyone safe. The Greens are too new to be afraid, but the only Blues that have switched wings post-Challenge have been the brave ones.” Rhys laughed cynically. “Which is to say, hardly anyone. So if we want to beat Caelus, we can’t ask them to be.”
Brandon looked at him, puzzled.
“Considering the C3 barracks is full, and C1 and 2 aren’t safe at night with Caelus and Taryn, we need a C4. And now we have the points.”
“But where?” asked Brandon.
“I’ve scouted some possible locations . . .” Rhys slid a sheet of electronic paper between Brandon’s elbows, which were propped up on the table. “We should requisition the storage unit and junction C229. It’s well-positioned, down one level from C3 so we can lock doors at these chokepoints.” He pointed down at the paper. “Here, here, and here—to keep Caelus’ guys out.”
“Students can lock doors on Corinth?” I asked.
“Yeah, with enough points you can do almost anything. Vital areas get expensive, but this is just an out-of-the-way corner,” Rhys explained.
“Remember when the As’ old SO Cara Morbeck waited till her other wing was broke and then bought the access codes to their barracks?” Brandon laughed. “It was god-awful expensive, but a helluva move. They all had to crawl through a maze of vents every time they wanted in or out for the rest of the term.”
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