[Atlantis Grail 01.0] Qualify

by Vera Nazarian

  I don’t bother to disclose the fact that I also have to see Aeson Kass at 8:00 PM tonight, and it’s right here in the CA-2 building. I can sneak off for half an hour and then come back and get in the pool afterwards.

  Zoe agrees, and so I hurry back to my Yellow Section Fourteen to round up some people while she goes in the other direction toward Section Thirty-Nine.

  When I get back to my Section, Logan is down in the “airport terminal area” first floor lobby, waiting for me. He is leaning casually against the wall, and I watch his sleek powerful body as he comes toward me. Glancing into his hazel eyes, I get the familiar warm jolt of electricity.

  “Gwen!” he says with a smile. “Hey, Yellow Candy, I’ve been meaning to see you. Classes have been insane, or I’d have been here for lunch.”

  “Logan!” I hurry to approach him.

  He immediately pulls me by the hand and we come closer, slide against each other body-on-body and almost touch—not quite but almost, because again, surveillance cameras are everywhere and there is still the “No Dating” rule being enforced.

  “I really miss you . . .” he whispers in my ear, leaning in casually as though to adjust my uniform collar, as his hair brushes against my cheek.

  Oh, how badly I want him to hold me! And how much I want to just reach out and run my fingers against his arms, his chest, his soft wavy hair. . . . My skin is prickling with goose bumps, and it’s not the heat of the late afternoon, but the heat that’s rising between us, as we stand in such impossible near proximity, tantalizing each other with our bodies.

  “Hey . . .” I say, looking up into his eyes, while my own are in a dreamy haze. . . . And then I tell him about the dinner and then swimming plans.

  “Oh—forgot to mention, I still have to see Command Pilot Kass at eight, for the voice training, again,” I add.

  Logan’s expression immediately hardens. “Oh, yeah? Did he—tell you this when you were seeing him about Gracie?”

  “Yeah.”

  Logan exhales then nods. “Okay. Then you do that.” But he glances away and looks cool suddenly. . . .

  “What?” I mutter. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he says. But I can tell he is upset somehow.

  And suddenly it occurs to me in that bizarre moment, Is it possible that Logan is jealous?

  WTF? Seriously? My mind is reeling.

  “Logan!” I say. “Hey! You know I have to go see him, for my voice! Remember? It’s not a choice!”

  “Of course, I know.” He glances at me briefly, and there is something odd and vulnerable in the way his eyes meet mine for just an instant, before he again looks away. “But I still don’t have to like it.”

  Logan is jealous!

  I am absolutely amazed! And at the same time, I feel a weird perverse stab of pleasure. It is wrong of me, but it’s what I feel, just for a moment. . . .

  And then I tell him softly about the pool, as a kind of reward.

  “Afterwards,” I say, in my most ridiculous attempt at a seductive voice, “when the voice training stuff is over, and I get out of there, I will see you at the pool . . . in all that sweet cool water. . . .” I briefly run my fingertips over his hand.

  At my feather-light touch, I can feel him shudder slightly. Okay, wow. I did not expect that. . . .

  And then he looks directly at me, and this time his gaze locks onto mine with intensity, and the hazel eyes are very, very dark, his pupils wide. “Do you know that normal surveillance cameras are not going to see very reliably what’s happening underwater. . . ?” he whispers.

  “I know,” I whisper back, feeling a slow, strange, languid pulse-beat awakening in my head. “And there’s very little chance that there are underwater cameras, though with the Atlanteans we never know.”

  His lips curve up sensuously. “I think we can risk it. . . .”

  “I think so too.” And I smile also.

  My lord, I am flirting!

  Chapter 47

  After a large and loud group dinner in a huge and noisy CA-2 cafeteria, during which Zoe Blatt gets to know my friends and we exchange Semi-Finals horror stories, we all make a beeline for the nearby pool. However, it’s seven forty-five, so Logan and I excuse ourselves, and pretend we’re going for a brief walk together.

  “Hey! No fooling around, you two!” Laronda wags her finger at me and Logan. “Remember, they catch you, you be screwed, but not the way you’d like to be, if you know what I mean—”

  “Oh, shut up, jeez!” I say with a grin.

  And then Logan and I head outside, walk down the street briefly and find the glassed-in walkway that leads to the Atlantean offices section.

  “What will you do while I go in there?” I say, pausing with him before the lobby entrance. “It’ll be at least half an hour.”

  He shrugs with a brief smile, putting hands in his pockets. “No worries. I’ll find something to do.”

  And then he turns and saunters down the street into the balmy night, waving at me.

  “See you soon!” I yell back.

  And then I go inside.

  I tell the guard in the front secure area I am here for an appointment to see Command Pilot Kass, and he only asks my name, then buzzes me right through.

  At the door of Office #7 I pause momentarily. Already my pulse is starting its familiar pounding race in my temples—ragged and wild and dangerous, in contrast to the languid sensuality I’ve just experienced with Logan. . . .

  I knock, then hear his calm voice. “Come in.”

  I open the door and a blast of slightly cooler air hits me. I see the now familiar machine room office, and Aeson is sitting at his desk.

  His face is weary and dispassionate as he stares at a console screen, half-turned from me. But as I enter, he looks up immediately. I notice the slightly damp tendrils of his metallic gold hair and a sheen of sweat at his temples.

  “Lark, it’s you—good,” he says, as his dark blue eyes immediately overwhelm me with their unblinking regard. And after a tiny pause, “How is your sister?”

  “She’s okay, thanks,” I reply, and my voice sounds teeny and uncertain. “She is—doing her best, I suppose.”

  “Come on in, come closer.” He motions with his hand.

  I take two steps, and then there’s his desk.

  There’s no other chair in the room.

  I think he only realizes it just now. It occurs to me, he must not have many visitors in this relatively small crowded office. Else there would be another seat?

  “Well. . . . There’s nowhere for you to sit, Lark, sorry about that.” He raises one brow, in an expression that comes closest to minor amusement I have ever seen him display. “For now, you may sit on the end here, if you like.” And he pats the surface of his desk lightly. “I’ll have a chair for you next time.”

  I bite my lip and then use my hands to lift myself up. I perch on top of his desk, at the end farthest from him. My legs dangle down. Good thing I am wearing the baggy uniform pants. It feels surreal, and for that reason I forget to be uncomfortable.

  “Let’s get to work,” he says, looking away as he reaches for a small box in a drawer under the desk, which I recognize as an orichalcum sound damper box—a soundproof container that neutralizes the effect of keying on orichalcum objects.

  “You know what this is?”

  I nod.

  “Open it, and take out a piece.”

  I do as he says, opening the box and seeing several small pieces of orichalcum inside. I pick one out and take it.

  Aeson watches my movements as I sit on the desk, and my legs and feet dangle involuntarily. “Now, close the box. Then set an Aural Block on this piece, so that no one can again key it. If I recall, you had much success with setting Aural Blocks back in Los Angeles.”

  “Oh, yes,” I mutter. And then I clear my throat and sing the complex sequence to key the orichalcum to me and make it obey no one else.

  “All done,” I say almost proudly, while the orichalcum
piece hovers in the air in front of me, now my little perfectly obedient servant.

  Aeson looks at me, craning his neck slightly. “So, you think this piece is now impervious to anyone’s commands?”

  “Well, it should be—at least that’s what I’ve been told. And what I saw happen in practice. So, yeah.”

  In reply he parts his chiseled lips and sings a very strange intensely piercing tone that combines in it a low rumbling vibrato.

  The sound is so rich, so tangible, so awful somehow, that it scrapes along the surface of my skin. . . .

  And the next instant my “perfect little servant” piece emits a brief flash and falls down, inert and dead, on the surface of the desk. It also appears far more dull in color than normal orichalcum—the usual patina of gold flecks is missing from the charcoal grey.

  “Oh!” I say. “What just happened?”

  “It’s fried.” Aeson makes a light sound similar to a snort.

  “Wait! What?” My jaw drops as I stare at the piece. “It’s fried? What does that mean?”

  “Try re-keying it.”

  I frown and then sing the basic sequence.

  Nothing happens.

  I try again, this time loudly, and focusing as I’ve been taught, to not only key an object but to set an Aural Block on it once more.

  Again, nothing.

  “What did you do to it?”

  Aeson watches me with a trace of amusement. At least it’s what I think it is, because there is something there, underneath the surface.

  “Seriously, what just happened?”

  “In plain English, I broke it—scrambled and messed up its quantum atomic structure. It is no longer orichalcum, but something else. So, yes, it’s fried.”

  “Okay, wow.” I stare at the dead piece of now-unknown material, with growing disturbance. “I didn’t know you could do that with sound. That’s mind-blowing.”

  “It is an advanced technique. You will learn it,” Aeson Kass says.

  “Me?” My lips part again. “Okay, that sound sequence sounded impossible, but I suppose I need to try. . . .”

  “Few things are impossible if you know what needs to be done,” he tells me. “And knowing how to completely neutralize orichalcum technology will come in handy for you during Finals. This will be your homework assignment for the week. Show me how quickly you can master this technique. I believe you can do it, especially after what I’ve seen you do the last time we talked.”

  I feel my cheeks start to burn. He is talking about the compelling power voice that I accidentally used on him. . . .

  “I’m sorry about that power voice, I didn’t mean it, I was just so upset—”

  “I know,” he says. And he glances away. “Now, enough for today. Candidate Lark, you’re dismissed.”

  For some reason the way he says it feels very abrupt, so that I start to slide off the desk then pause. I watch him as he takes the damper box and leans down to put it away into a lower desk drawer. His pale strands of hair fall forward over his face, like a golden curtain.

  When he straightens, I find that I haven’t moved, and I am still looking at him.

  “You know,” I say, because yeah, my crazy big mouth takes over. “I really do mean it, I am truly sorry. And—maybe if I had any idea how to control it better, you might teach me so that I don’t do that kind of rude thing again—”

  Aeson Kass grows even more still, and slowly looks at me. “You have no idea what you’re asking, Candidate Lark. It’s not rude—it’s illegal.”

  “Then maybe you should tell me more so I do know? Teach me what I need to know, please!”

  The Atlantean shakes his head. “No,” he says, and his tone is hard and cold and implacable. “The less you know of it, the better. Maybe if you Qualify eventually, and spend time on Atlantis, you’ll get the opportunity to explore this dark aspect. But now—you are a raw beginner. And this conversation is over. Dismissed!”

  “Okay! All right!” I exclaim with irritation, getting off the desk surface. And then I mutter, trailing off. “Don’t need to yell at me like I’m one of your Fleet cadets. . . . What an uptight—”

  “What?”

  “Oh, just chill, take a break, already!”

  Too late I realize what I’ve said. “Damn . . . I’m sorry!” I put a hand over my mouth.

  But he is staring at me, and he is out of his chair. . . .

  “Candidate Lark, any comparison with you is an insult to my cadets,” he says in a soft voice that sends prickling fear along my skin. The intensity of his gaze . . . it cuts through me and I suddenly feel completely transparent, vulnerable.

  I take a step back and find that my heart is pounding.

  “But you are correct about one thing.” He takes a step toward me. “I need a break, and I intend to take it as soon as you vacate my office.”

  This time I say nothing and bolt for the door.

  As I shut the door, I turn back briefly in a kind of visceral inexplicable terror that is also electric and wild . . . and I see him stand, watching me.

  I hurry from the VIP offices hallway of CA-2, almost at a run, turn the corner and there’s Logan. I am a little surprised to see him on this interior side of the glass security barrier and not in the front reception area. How did he get in here past security?

  And then I see he is talking with someone. Hearing me approach, he turns, and I see the person behind him is Nefir Mekei. Both of them grow silent momentarily and then Nefir nods to me with a light smile.

  “Oh!” I say, because my heart is still pounding. “Hi, Instructor Mekei. And Logan! What are you doing in here? How’d you get in? Okay, ready to go?”

  “Just waiting for you,” Logan says, smiling. He then nods to Nefir, and the Atlantean turns away and walks to his own nearby office.

  Logan turns to me. “How was everything?” he says, as we start walking.

  “Stressed! Hot! Pool!” I say, because my heart is still pounding. And then I tell him an abbreviated version on the way.

  We get back to the CA-2 pool area, and looks like everyone has the same idea. The huge pool is packed with swimmers. Some Candidates are doing laps, but most of the teens are just splashing in the water, and there is the sound of happy squealing and laughter.

  It’s a sound I’ve almost forgotten, over these past weeks of the Qualification ordeal.

  The sound of kids having fun.

  And, as I glance around some more, I see there’s quite a number of Atlanteans in the water too, male and female. They are doing sleek elegant laps, their long blond metal hair tied back, their bronzed bodies skimming the water with a noticeable skill level far above our own. They don’t just swim—they appear to be flying. . . .

  We hurry to the lockers and change out of our uniforms into the unisex swimming gear. Logan puts on the swim shorts, and I immediately feel my cheeks flush at the sight of his amazing bare chest and the definition of his hard abs, his beautiful muscled arms and runner’s legs.

  Oh dear lord, good thing there’s cold water!

  I’ve slipped on the shorts and tank top, and now, with a squeal, I jump in ahead of him.

  Cool water closes over my head. The soothing bliss of it surrounding me is indescribable!

  And then Logan’s sleek body strikes the water next to me in a clean dive.

  I emerge to the surface, then spit and sputter, treading water easily. . . . The pool has no shallow or deep end; it’s all the same equal two-meter depth so you have to keep floating. The overhead canopy of glass near the distant ceiling is translucent so you can see the night sky. However the entire area is well-lit with overhead and wall lights. Pool water shadows shimmer along the tiles and reflect in the distant ceiling.

  “Gwen!” someone shouts. “Hey, over here, girlfriend! Par-ta-a-ay!”

  It’s Laronda and a bunch of people from Section Fourteen—in other words, our Pennsylvania RQC-3.

  “Race you!” I exclaim to Logan, and start swimming in decent freestyle strokes
in their direction. For once I am not completely incompetent when it comes to a physical activity, so for a few seconds I give Logan a run for his money before he overtakes me.

  We reach everyone, and for the next ten minutes it’s just carefree silly stuff, and then someone points out the various swimming Atlanteans as one by one they pass by in various lanes, doing their impressive, elegant laps.

  “Okay,” Laronda says in a loud whisper, finger-gathering the water around her teasingly into froth. “I don’t care what anyone thinks, but these people are hot! Just look at all those gleaming bods, the perfect muscles, the sleek, oozing, tight booty hotness. . . . Yum-yum! Mrrrow! Oh lord, thank you, thank you! I can die happy now, if the Asteroid takes me.”

  “Hey, their girls are super-hot too!” Jai says with a silly giggle in a high tenor voice.

  Meanwhile, Logan gives me a slow smile and then submerges and glides smoothly underwater next to me. And the next second I feel a deep stroke of his palms against my waist as he holds my sides and then pulls me down lightly. It’s just deep enough that my mouth and nose is still above water, but now we are both closer to the edge of the pool that has a small shaded overhang.

  Logan remains under a few seconds longer, as his fingers move up and down my waist. And then his hand quickly slides under my tank top in the water, brushing up against my front. I suck in my breath as his fingers barely touch the underside of my breasts then move away. The wonder of it is, the whole thing is almost invisible under the surface waves set in wild motion by all the swimmers. . . .

  I make a small sound, just as he comes back up, deeply inhaling air, and his dark hair is plastered to his forehead in wet curls. But he is still holding me closely, with both hands now sliding up and down my sides and back, and snagging the curve of my waist, my hips, occasionally bumping into me with his torso, the full length of him. . . . When it happens, we both seem to freeze momentarily, floating, while sweet languid honey fills me all over, a rich spreading warmth despite the cool water.

  I know he cannot kiss me here, cannot do anything more overt, but he can touch me underneath the waves. . . .