“If they were just sitting free in the safe, I can’t wait to find out what’s in this baby,” said Ethan, now with the small lock box in his hand. It was made of some type of corrosion-resistant metal and appeared in perfect condition without a single blemish on its surface.
Jaego passed over his pinch bar, but the end was too large to gain purchase in the lid. The wind was really starting to pick up as Ethan gave up trying to open the box.
“It’ll have to wait. How about we stash this stuff at the house and get going. We’ve got less than an hour to make it back for training, and the Sarg will kick our arses if we turn up late again.”
Jaego put the chain of rings over his neck and stood, waiting while Ethan pulled in the lobster pot. As the wire mesh breached the surface, the contents came to life. A dozen Tri-Lobs thrashed about the enclosure, madly trying to get back to the water.
Ethan held up the pot, a wide grin across his face and all thoughts of his brush with death forgotten. “Treasure and a haul of food—what more could we bloody want, eh?”
Chapter Four
A low murmur of conversation died under the combat instructor’s glare, eyes narrowed as he examined the group of teenagers. There was nothing soft about Sergeant Kerr. Grey hair was buzz cut, uniform starched and his voice more gravel than words. He stood in the middle of a large room, two-thirds of the floor covered by a jigsaw of training mats. Ethan and Jaego knelt at the mat’s edge with four other students, awaiting the next part of his lesson.
“Jaego, how old is everyone in this class?”
“Sixteen, Sarg.”
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “In another year, you’ll be old enough to enlist. And yet I don’t see soldiers before me.” He looked them over again before shaking his head. “All I’ve got is a bunch of distracted kids who don’t understand that these lessons might save their life one day.”
Ethan let out a short sigh at the lecture; it was one he’d heard many times from the sergeant.
“You got something to say, boy?” asked Kerr through gritted teeth.
“No, Sarg.” Ethan dropped his gaze out of respect for the man and straightened his back. “I just don’t see soldiering in my future. The corporation’s business is robotics—that means after graduation I’ll be stuck behind a computer doing some sort of software design…”
“Not with your marks,” said Jaego. “You’ll be lucky to make it into manufacturing.”
“Piss off, you’re no bloody genius yourself,” muttered Ethan.
“Enough!” shouted the sergeant. “I don’t give a damn about your marks in other classes, or where you think you’ll end up in the future. All I care about is whether you can stand your ground in a fight. Get it?”
Each boy nodded, faces looking suitably chastened.
“Seeing as you two have so much to say, you’re up first. And if I think either of you aren’t giving one hundred percent, you’ll face me next.”
Ethan met Sergeant Kerr’s eyes for a moment and inwardly smiled. Not much chance of that. He’d never backed down from a contest in the past, and today wouldn’t be the first.
Ethan moved to the centre of the mat, muscles relaxed and face blank. He wore a grey martial arts uniform of loose cotton trousers and jacket. Ethan tugged on the ends of the black belt about his waist, tightening the knot one last time in preparation. The thick cotton of the jacket felt comfortably heavy on his shoulders, already damp with perspiration from the first part of the class. His brown hair was plastered to his head with sweat. One drop gathered at his hairline, then broke free, running down tanned skin to drop from the tip of his nose. Outside the temperature was hot enough to melt tarmac. Inside, it was little better, slow-spinning fans on the high ceiling providing negligible relief to the students.
Jaego walked out to join him, a deep line of concentration between his brows as the pair faced each other.
“Show respect,” ordered Kerr.
The boys gave a slight bow to each other, eyes locked, faces tense.
“Begin!”
Jaego came at him fast, fists jabbing in quick succession. Ethan knew his mate was a natural brawler, happy to wear a few punches in any fight. He allowed his body to move on instinct, weaving aside from one punch, but the second caught his jaw a glancing blow, crunching teeth together painfully. His head rang with the impact, grey dancing at the edge of his vision as he fought on. Sucking copper from his teeth, he blocked Jaego’s next strike and kneed hard at his thigh.
Ethan darted out his right hand, gripped his opponent’s jacket and drew him into a clinch. With another ten kilos of muscle and five centimetres height, Jaego had the advantage of reach and strength. If Ethan was to have a chance, he needed to get Jaego on the ground where his superior grappling skills might even the fight.
Jaego wrenched backwards to escape the clinch, and instead of resisting the force, Ethan went with him, hooking a foot behind his ankle in a trip. The larger boy went down heavily, landing on his backside. Jaego immediately twisted to the side, but Ethan had no intention of letting him regain his feet. He came in hard, landing on Jaego’s back. Whipping a hand under Jaego’s chin past his throat, he grabbed hold of the jacket and wrenched the material back across his trachea and applied a strangle. To anchor his position, Ethan wrapped his legs about Jaego’s waist, making himself an unmovable mass. Jaego bucked underneath as Ethan tightened his strangle, the jacket material crushing trachea and carotid arteries as he drove his left forearm into the back of his opponent’s neck.
Jaego’s face went red as he continued to struggle.
“Stop being stubborn,” grunted Ethan. “Just tap out.”
But instead he fought on, trying to unseat Ethan’s position on his back by rolling to the side.
Suddenly Jaego went limp.
“Stop!” ordered Kerr.
Ethan immediately released the strangle and wormed his way out from beneath Jaego’s body to kneel beside him. Kerr squatted opposite, brow creased with concern.
Jaego started twitching all over as blood reached his brain once more, causing a reperfusion seizure that lasted a few seconds before he opened his eyes. Ethan sighed with relief at seeing his mate awake again, unhurt.
The sergeant placed a hand on Jaego’s chest, stopping him from getting up. He pulled a small torch out of his pocket and shined it in both eyes, checking for pupil reaction. Happy with what he saw, he allowed him to sit up.
“Do you know where you are?”
Jaego winced, rubbing at his neck. “Yeah, I’m in the combat training hall, getting my arse kicked.”
Kerr let slip a rare half-smile. “And what’s the month and year?”
“What’s with all the questions?”
“You got choked out. Protocol says I have to ensure you’re alert and orientated before I can let you continue getting your arse kicked. Now what’s the month and year?”
“The month’s June, and the year is 2194. Happy?”
Kerr grunted as he rose, satisfied with the answer. “Next time, don’t be an idiot,” he said as the boy regained his feet. “This is a training session. When you’re beat, sometimes it’s best to learn from it and move on. Save the heroics for when your life is in the balance.”
The sergeant turned back to the rest of the students watching. “Ok, Trudy and Gwen—you’re next!”
The boys walked back to take a seat at the edge of the mat as the new pair stood for their turn.
Ethan clapped a hand to Jaego’s shoulder, a broad grin covering his face. “So, what does that make it now? Four wins to your two? I barely even broke a sweat that time!”
Jaego just shook his head, returning the smile ruefully. “That bruise on your jaw says different, mate. And don’t worry, I’ll return the favour soon enough,” he said, rubbing at the red line across his neck.
A loud thump on the mat drew both of their attention. “Nice one,” said Ethan under his breath, seeing that Gwen had employed a shoulder throw to win her match. He turne
d back to his mate. “I might talk to my dad tonight, see if he had any ideas about finding a buyer for the rings.”
“Ah, can it wait?”
Ethan looked up to see Kerr glaring at them. He shut his mouth, resigning himself to the role of an attentive student for the next half hour. He might have won the bout, but it had cost him a growing headache and aching jaw, and Ethan had no desire to make it any worse.
At the end of the lesson, Ethan and Jaego stood to leave with the other kids.
“Not so quick, I want a word with you two,” said Sergeant Kerr as they were halfway to the door.
Ethan sighed, and waited for the other students to leave. Within a few moments, the only people in the gym were Jaego, the training sergeant, and himself. Both boys stood quietly, waiting for Kerr to take the lead. He waved them over to a few seats at the side of the mat. Ethan eased down into one of them, knowing he was going to be stiff the following morning. For a change, the sarge didn’t seem angry as he looked them over, just tired.
“What’s going on with you guys? The logs show you haven’t completed the required training sessions on the gun range. If this continues, there’s going to be wider repercussions.”
“What do you mean?” asked Jaego.
“He’s talking about our parents, aren’t you?” said Ethan.
Kerr nodded. “They’ve all signed contracts that have specific clauses related to you. Taking part in combat training is not a choice guys, it’s a bloody requirement. If you don’t hold up your end of the bargain, it could see your parents lose employment and your whole family thrown out of the complex.” Kerr flicked his gaze to Ethan. “And your father’s walking on thinner ice than most.”
Ethan felt a tremor of apprehension go through his body. Off the island, there was nothing but miles of wasteland. “Surely not, Sarg? We’ve lived here our entire lives, expulsion seems a bit extreme.”
The instructor grunted a short laugh. “If there’s one thing the corporation does not joke about, it’s defence. Any company unable to defend its own assets is fair game. You’re either strong, or you’re finished.”
Ethan wasn’t quite sure whether to take him seriously. He’d heard rumours of families being expelled but had never known any of the people involved. It was a taboo topic people usually avoided like the plague.
“Expulsion aside, I think you should seriously consider pursuing a contract within the defence stream. You’ve both developed solid technique, but more importantly, you’re natural fighters who don’t cower when the going gets tough—and that can’t be taught.”
Jaego touched a hand to his neck again, a slight flush of pride rising at his cheeks.
“And with a defence career comes security. If the worst happens and you find yourself without a job, first of all, you stand a chance of defending yourself out in the Wastelands. Second, if you find your way to another corporation, there’s a good chance you’ll gain employment with few questions asked. Or worse case—there’s always the army. If you can shoot straight and fight, they’ll take anyone.
“I know this is a lot to consider, but you’re sixteen now. Almost men. It’s time to start acting like it.” The sergeant looked across to a clock on the wall. “Look, it’s five o’clock. There’s time for you to make up one of your sessions at the firing range, how about you get your arses into gear, yeah?”
“So, what do you think?” asked Ethan as he pulled a t-shirt over his head in the change room, wincing slightly as the fabric squeezed past his bruised chin. After the discussion with the sarge, he’d had been mulling over the man’s advice as they changed into clothes for the shooting range.
Jaego finished doing up the laces of his boots and sat up, one eyebrow raised. “About a job in corporation defence?”
Ethan nodded.
“I don’t know, I guess it makes sense. Can’t be any worse than wrapping my head around coding or getting stuck in manufacturing.”
“But?”
“My mum wouldn’t be happy. She’ll overreact, thinking I’ll get shot in the first patrol or something.”
Ethan gave a short laugh. “Yeah, mine will probably act the same way. But seriously, it wouldn’t be that bad,” he said. “It’s not like we’re at war now—defence is nothing more than a private police force for the corporation during peace time.”
Jaego gave a noncommittal grunt.
“Look, at the end of the day we’re making a decision about our own life. No matter what our parents think, they’ll have to get over it eventually.” He picked up his rucksack, stuffed his sparring clothes into it and stood ready to go. “Right, you coming or what?”
Jaego lurched to his feet, grabbed his stuff and headed for the door. “Yep, let’s get this shoot over and done with, I’m bloody starving.”
“Check it out, Gwen just beat your score,” said Ethan. The two mates were sitting at the back of the indoor shooting range waiting for a space to open. Twenty lanes were occupied by training teens and Viperob soldiers, each shooting at targets placed at varying distances.
“Must have been a mistake.”
Ethan smirked. “Nope. No mistake. You just got wiped off the top spot of the leader board.”
Jaego scowled and muttered something incomprehensible.
“Cheer up, mate, it was always going to happen. You had one fluke of a shoot—but that girl’s consistent day in day out. It’s no shame to be second behind her.”
Ethan watched as Gwen rested her pistol on the bench and hit a button to bring in her target paper. A man-shaped printout scooted toward her bench with six neat holes drilled through a centre-of-mass bull’s-eye.
“You’re only saying that because you’re sweet on her,” said Jaego, shoving an elbow into his mate’s ribs.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Despite the denial, Ethan’s eyes were drawn back to Gwen as she packed up her stuff. She had a compact, athletic frame; but considering the enforced diet and martial activities undertaken by each teenager, that was hardly unusual amongst his peers. She did have eyes that smiled, honey-blonde hair and a cheeky sense of humour that had gotten her into trouble more than once during class. Yeah, he’d be lying if he said he wouldn’t mind getting to know her a little better.
“You better not be staring at my arse, Ethan Claymore.”
Ethan jerked his eyes up to see Gwen shaking her head at him, a half-smile on her face.
“Nah, that would be against school regulations,” said Ethan, his cheeks blushing pink at being caught out.
“Yep, because those rules have ever stopped you before.” Her smile took any sting from her words as she stripped her gun and placed the parts in a tray. “I’m done for the afternoon; either of you guys want my lane? I believe there’s a new top score that needs beating, Jaego?”
Jaego stood and walked up to take her place. “Not for long, Gwen. Not for long.” He touched a button on the wall beside the lane and a few moments later a panel withdrew on the bench top, exposing a pistol. Jaego picked up the weapon and ran through a basic check, careful to keep the barrel pointing down range and away from his friends. “So what distance were you shooting at for that score?”
“Forty metres.”
“Fifty it is then,” he said, punching numbers into a pad to send a new target down range.
Gwen returned her dissembled pistol to a counter where a company clerk took it off her hands, then returned and took a seat beside Ethan. “I haven’t seen you shooting on a Wednesday night before. Isn’t it usually Monday and Thursdays for you guys?”
“Yeah, but we had a few missed sessions to catch up on. I got Ben to swipe our cards the other week, but it looks like we got caught anyway. We just had the Military Man himself chew us out over it.”
“What, Sergeant Kerr?”
“Yep. Anyway, enough about that.” He cleared his throat. “I was wondering if you want to catch up sometime…”
“Claymore! Lane six is free. Either get up there or go to the
back of the queue. Your choice,” shouted one of the range supervisors.
Ethan looked back and saw Gwen waiting for him to continue and lost his nerve. “Ah… I better get moving. I’ll catch you in class, ok?”
Chapter Five
Viperob.
The corporation name was everywhere. Stamped on utensils, machines and even the walls of his apartment, emblazoned across everything the corporation owned like a brand on cattle. To Ethan, the word blended into the background, with even the company logo on his towel rendered invisible by sheer familiarity.
There was little space to move in the tiny bathroom he shared with his mum and dad, his elbows bumping into the walls of the coffin-sized shower cubicle as he leant down to dry his legs. The shower had washed away the stink of the training session, but done little to cool him down; a prickle of sweat was already spreading across his back again in the humidity of the bathroom. The extractor fan had broken down months earlier and they were still waiting for a repair.
Ethan wrapped the towel about his waist and stepped out of the bathroom, leaving the door open for some of the steam to escape. The rest of the apartment was cooler, but not by much. There was never a need to wear any more than a light t-shirt and shorts at home. Situated on the eastern face of the tower complex, their apartment soaked up the heat of the morning sun, then hung on to it until late in the evening.
In a narrow hallway of slate grey, the doors to both his and his parents’ bedrooms opened on either side of the bathroom. Ethan walked into his room and sidled into the narrow space between his bed and cupboard, a gap barely wide enough to accommodate his feet. He spent as little time there as possible, the cramped space making him feel claustrophobic. His parents’ room wasn’t much bigger, but at least they had space to stand and get dressed.
Ethan pulled on a clean pair of shorts and shirt, each emblazoned with the Viperob logo, then walked into the main living area. The room was the largest of the flat, and yet he could still walk from one side to the other in less than ten steps. Truly spartan in design, the handful of furnishings were all draped in military grey. A polished concrete floor felt cool underfoot as he walked to the small kitchenette. The Tri-Lob he’d caught were cleaned and waiting in the fridge for dinner once his parents got home. Just the thought of food set his stomach grumbling, but in the meantime, he’d have to settle for a glass of water.
The Viperob Files Page 3
