The Combat Codes

by Alexander Darwin

  Murray had walked to Cego’s side before he left, grasping his shoulder tightly. “I’m going to figure this out for you, kid. I promise,” the burly Grievar had said. “Just concentrate on your studies.”

  Cego hadn’t known how to reply to Murray. Part of him didn’t even want Murray to delve into his past—perhaps it would be easier to forget where he came from. He’d replied, “Thank you, Murray-Ku,” as the man turned and walked from the hall.

  Cego stood by a pillar with Dozer and Knees as they waited for something to happen. Dozer was having trouble containing his excitement in front of Knees, who was statuesque in his silence. Cego knew now was not the right time to prod his Venturian friend about what had happened within the Sim.

  “Do ya think we’ll get to bunk together? Just like in the Deep?” Dozer asked.

  “Don’t know,” Cego replied. “Though I hope I don’t end up with the lot of them.”

  Cego looked wearily at the pack of purelights, who had stayed clumped together, chatting in excitement. Gryfin Thurgood stood tall and proud at the center of the pack. Shiar was at Gryfin’s side, whispering to him. The jackal was already trying to form his allegiances.

  A few other kids were scattered around the room, like solitary islands at the fringes of the mainland.

  Solara Halberd stood apart in proud indifference from the rest of the purelights. She looked like she was ready to pick a fight, her fists clenched and her jaw tucked.

  The smallest of the twenty-four, the dark-skinned Kirothian named Abel, had made his way to the side of the biggest boy in the room, Joba Maglin. The two looked like a parent and child in size difference, though Cego knew Joba was actually the youngest kid in the class. Abel whispered something that widened Joba’s strange, broad smile.

  Kōri Shimo, the first pick, was sitting cross-legged by a pillar, just as he was when Cego had first seen him. His eyes were closed. Many of the kids in the room occasionally shot nervous glances at the boy.

  “Shut up and line up! On the wall!” Professor Hunt suddenly called out in his booming voice.

  The kids quickly scrambled to get in a line against the wall, the purelights jostling to keep together.

  “I am Professor Mack Hunt.” The man’s voice softened now that he had their full attention. “As Commander Aon said, welcome to the Lyceum.”

  He stroked the rough stubble on his face as he paced in front of the kids. “I stood where you stand over three decades ago, in this very hall of the Valkyrie. I was eager, as I’m sure you brood are, to begin my studies. I can remember the day as if it were yesterday.”

  “I see many weary faces here,” Hunt looked directly at Knees, who was nearly slumped against the wall. “You brood think you had it hard in the Trials? We didn’t have the Sim when I went in. It was as real as a kick to the nethers. I stood where you stand right now, with a fully shattered knee. Eviscerated by a Level Sixer with a love for taking the limbs of fresh Trial-takers. And you didn’t hear a peep out of me, so I don’t want to hear no griping about how the Sim gave you some headache now, all right?”

  “As I was saying… many things have remained the same at the Lyceum for centuries. Here are two things that won’t be changing anytime soon. Number one. All students here stand on equal ground. I don’t care whose son or daughter you are or what you’ve done before you got here—all students stand in the same Circles. You work hard, you learn, you improve. That’s what matters here.”

  Some of the purelights snidely shook their heads.

  “Two. I know that some of you are not used to taking orders.” Professor Hunt eyeballed the purelights. “You’ll soon find out that will not be the case in the Lyceum.”

  Professor Hunt walked down the row of students, silently assessing them.

  “Your first order will be to break into teams.”

  Professor Hunt elaborated. “Here at the Lyceum, each new incoming class of students is broken up into four teams of six. You will bunk with your team. You will take challenges with your team. You will feel the pain of your team. And speaking of pain, you will get fluxed with your team today to start things off.”

  Dozer excitedly whispered to Cego, “Finally! I’m gonna get a proper flux tattoo, not just this stupid thing.” He rubbed the top of his head where the brand from Thaloo’s was now covered by his short-cropped brown hair.

  “Top four Trial-takers. Get up here,” Professor Hunt ordered.

  The top four Trial-takers walked away from the rest of the students—Kōri Shimo, Cego, Gryfin Thurgood, and Shiar.

  “You four are our team captains,” Hunt said. “You will each take turns picking your teammates.”

  Cego hadn’t been prepared to make any decisions, let alone a huge one like picking the group of kids that he would be bunking with and fighting alongside. Even worse, for his first pick, he’d need to choose between Dozer and Knees.

  Kōri Shimo started off the team selection. In a barely audible whisper, he picked the largest purelight in the room, Wilhelm Bariston, a hulking boy who looked like he could already grow a full beard. Wilhelm confidently strode out from the line and took his place by Kōri’s side.

  It was Cego’s turn. He stared at his two friends against the wall. Dozer was tapping his foot rapidly, clearly excited at the prospect of being here at the Lyceum, training with the great masters, getting his first flux tattoo. Knees didn’t show any of Dozer’s enthusiasm. The Venturian looked like a shadow of himself, his shoulders slumped and his eyes void, as if he didn’t care if Cego chose him or not.

  Cego knew that Dozer would likely get picked first by the other teams—the thick-shouldered, heavily muscled boy looked more intimidating than the lanky Venturian. Knees had placed higher in the Trials, but he would run under the radar as he always did. Cego needed to choose strategically.

  Cego looked Knees in the eyes. Forgive me, my friend.

  “Dozer,” Cego said. Dozer hooted and walked to Cego’s side. Knees didn’t seem to even register Cego’s choice.

  Gryfin Thurgood picked Marvin Stronglight next, the sixth-ranked student from the Trials.

  It was Shiar’s turn. The jackal stepped forward and slowly paced in front of the line, eyeing each kid, sniffing at the air and even grabbing Joba Maglin’s huge forearm as if he were appraising the quality of a slab of meat.

  Cego clenched his fists and held his breath as Shiar made his way down the line.

  Don’t pick Knees. Don’t pick Knees.

  Shiar stopped in front of Knees, looking curiously at his old bunkmate from Thaloo’s.

  “Knees.” The jackal spat the name as he turned and locked eyes with Cego.

  Shiar took his place back beside the other captains, Knees following behind him.

  Cego couldn’t concentrate on the rest of his picks after that. He wasn’t thinking strategically anymore, so he picked up the leftovers, those kids he knew wouldn’t be picked otherwise.

  He selected the huge lacklight, Joba, and his little Kirothian friend, Abel. He picked the twenty-fourth-ranked Trial-taker, Mateus Winterfowl. He picked Solara Halberd, who although ranked fifth overall, was standing up there as the last round came to a close.

  Solara squeezed her way into the spot next to Cego. She was just about as tall as him. She looked at him defensively, as if she expected Cego to tell her to get out of line.

  “All right! Now that we have our four teams, let’s move on,” Professor Hunt said.

  Hunt led the class out of the Valkyrie’s rotunda and down a long, dim-lit corridor. Cego watched Knees walking ahead beside Shiar. His friend fell forward with each step, as if he could barely catch himself from sprawling to the ground.

  He wanted to walk next to Knees and tell him he would have chosen him next. He wanted to tell his friend about his own experience in the Sim—maybe it would help Knees to know he wasn’t alone. He couldn’t do it, though.

  The twenty-four emerged from the long corridor into another massive rotunda that extended several floors upward. The
Harmony—sister tower to the Valkyrie, where the Lyceum’s classes were held.

  The hall’s shape was similar to the Valkyrie’s, with supporting pillars that ran the height of the structure. The Harmony wasn’t full of echoes and flickering torches, though—this hall was bustling with brightness and movement.

  Each floor above had a circular balustrade encrusted with spectrals, the wisps spiraling toward the domed ceiling far above. Students bustled along the circular walkways, disappearing behind sliding doors and stopping to chat along the railings.

  On the ground floor, students carefully watched several large lightboards tuned into SystemView. Some were jotting down notes on handheld decks as they studied the Grievar on-screen. Off to one side of the room, there were several practice Circles laid out on the floor, where students were grappling casually, experimenting with techniques or sitting and chatting on the rubber canvases.

  “Welcome to level zero, also called common ground,” Professor Hunt said. “This is where students of all levels can congregate, set up private meetings with professors, watch SystemView, or experiment with techniques within our common Circles.”

  Professor Hunt led the class around the periphery of the common ground as he continued to speak.

  “Each floor above is segmented by year. Because you have just gained admittance to the Lyceum, all of your classes will take place on Level One. We have six levels, one for each year of student. At the end of the year, if you pass testing, you’ll gain access to Level Two.”

  Cego peered up, looking toward the top floor. He didn’t see any movement along the balcony up there.

  Professor Hunt continued. “You all must believe you are an elite group now, after having passed the Trials. However, by the end of your studies here at the Lyceum, you will be far fewer. On average, only thirty percent of our first-year students make it through to Level Six graduation. Look around you at your classmates—there’s only a handful of you that’ll make it through in total.”

  The twenty-four Level One students in the class sized each other up, some straightening their backs to make themselves appear bigger. Dozer whispered to Cego, “Us three’ll be up there on Level Six. Knees too, together by the end of it.”

  Cego nodded and glanced over at Knees. His friend looked out of place standing next to Shiar and his team of ornately uniformed purelights.

  “From the look of ’em, Mack, not sure if any of these whelps will even make it to Level Two.” A young, thickly muscled Grievar with a well-trimmed beard pulled up next to Professor Hunt, appraising the new class. Several prominent flux tattoos ran along his arms, legs and neck, swirling under the light.

  “I think that you forget that you barely made it up there either, Kit,” Professor Hunt said jovially to the Grievar. “Students, I’d like you to meet one of our Level Sixers, Kit. He’ll likely be assisting some of your professors this year when he isn’t off studying for his Knight’s test.”

  Kit’s eyes twinkled as he took a superfluous bow. “Well met, whelps in training. You’re in good hands here with Professor Hunt, believe me. Keep your eyes open and you might even learn something from him,” he slapped Professor Hunt on the back as he walked off.

  Cego watched Kit go. Level Six. He could only imagine how much Kit had learned during his time at the Lyceum. Cego wished he could access that knowledge now without having to go through six years of arduous training and testing first.

  Professor Hunt walked the class to the opposite end of the room across from the training Circles, where a stone staircase led up and down.

  “This leads up to each class floor. Sometimes, you’ll be asked to go past floor one to help clean up a training room or bring down some equipment. Otherwise, don’t go up past your own floor unless you’re told to,” Professor Hunt warned.

  “Head downstairs to get to the dining hall. All students share the same one,” he added.

  Cego could see Dozer’s eyes light up at the mention of the dining hall. It was strange seeing all of these amenities provided for the students after slaving away in Thaloo’s Circles. Cego almost felt guilty that he had access to these resources when there were so many kids barely surviving in the Deep.

  “All right, first things first; now that you are officially Level Ones, we need to get you properly fluxed,” Hunt said.

  The students followed Professor Hunt through a pair of sliding doors off the common ground, into a narrow room with a long mirror set against the wall. A large black cylindrical door spun around at the other end of the room.

  An older student emerged from the spinning door, grinning as he looked down at a flux tattoo of a black bear on his shoulder.

  Professor Hunt spoke briefly with a heavily fluxed Grievar standing by a lightboard queue. She was covered head to toe in swirling patterns, as if her bare skin was the anomaly.

  The four teams each split into one corner of the room as they waited to enter the dark room. Though he was captain, Cego had no idea what to say to any of these strangers. Solara Halberd stood next to him in complete silence.

  “Good to have you on the team,” Cego stuttered. Solara didn’t reply; she stared forward at the mirror across from them. Cego didn’t know what else to say, so he paused in awkward silence, shifting his feet as they waited their turn.

  Kōri Shimo’s team was the first to emerge from the dark room. They each had a new flux tattoo on their neck, red and swollen. It wasn’t difficult to make out the design—it was a small, growling wolf pup.

  Cego’s team was called into the dark room next. As they stepped into the rotating door and the light completely disappeared, several glowing chairs came into view.

  “Take a seat and the fluxer will do the rest,” a voice said from the darkness.

  Cego could barely make out a woman standing over a table, intently working on a large man lying facedown. The woman held up a small metal rod that glinted red. Cego could recognize the alloy even in the darkness—rubellium.

  A spectral clung to the end of the rubellium rod. As the woman traced the metal along the man’s back, the spectral followed along the tip, burning brightly and searing the man’s skin. The large Grievar on the table writhed in pain.

  Each of the six made their way into one of the fluorescent chairs. Cego sat in between Solara and Dozer.

  As soon as Cego settled in the chair, a small spectral floated up in front of his eyes. An audio box built into his headrest emitted a robotic voice—“Level One, standard team flux protocol initiated. Maintain position until completion.”

  Cego tried to hold still, waiting for something to happen. The spectral floated across his body, as if examining him, until it stopped above his left shoulder. Suddenly, the wisp became brighter, almost white. Cego could feel the heat as it landed on his neck, searing into his skin. It felt like it was trying to burrow into the side of his throat. Cego gritted his teeth and exhaled deeply several times. He wouldn’t scream.

  Cego tried to shift his eyes to the left without moving his head. He could see that Solara had a white-hot spectral branding her neck as well. She shifted her eyes toward Cego and smiled through her clenched white teeth. Cego smiled back. He forgot about the pain momentarily.

  The pain melded into the darkness like the whir of a fan. Cego almost enjoyed it. It prevented him from turning to the events of the past few days. The pain blurred the questions he had about the Sim, about his past. The pain distanced the look on Knees’ face as he’d walked to Shiar’s side.

  And then the pain stopped. The world came back into focus around him, as clear as ever. Cego stood up with the rest of his team as they made their way to the dark room’s exit. He caught Mateus Winterfowl discreetly trying to wipe the tears from his face.

  His team went straight to the long mirror in the waiting room to examine their new flux tattoos. Cego examined the swirling design on his neck.

  It was a small white egg. The egg suddenly cracked and a tiny dragon with yellow eyes popped out of it. The dragon furiously batted
its wings, trying to fly out of the egg unsuccessfully before settling back in. The flux tattoo then reverted to the unhatched egg and repeated the process.

  Now it made sense that the Level Sixer, Kit, had referred to them as whelps earlier—baby dragons that couldn’t yet fly. Cego could remember seeing a full-grown dragon fluxed on Murray’s back, the biggest design the old Grievar had. It was hard to believe that Murray had once been a whelp too.

  Shiar’s team was called into the dark room next. Cego and Dozer watched as Knees passed by, heading toward the revolving door. “See you on the other side, brother,” Dozer said.

  Knees didn’t look back.

  *

  It wasn’t surprising that the other three teams, composed primarily of purelights with connections to the Twelve, claimed the newest of the Level One bunks. Even though Professor Hunt had said everyone was on equal standing here, those privileged kids still had some sway within the halls of the Lyceum.

  Quarter D was the oldest of the dormitories in the Lyceum, a leftover prior to the renovations several years back. The décor was a hodgepodge of furniture, carpeting, and drapes from a variety of different times and places, as if they had thrown together all the unwanted items into one room.

  The room was lavish to Cego’s eyes, though. Warm comfort mats in a variety of colors, big shield windows with a view of the Citadel’s grounds, and even an old mechanical jogging machine to warm up before class. The wooden cots were old and creaky, but compared to Thaloo’s prison, this room was a palace.

  Quarter D’s inhabitants included Dozer, Abel, Joba, Solara, Mateus, and Cego. It seemed fitting that a room made up of mismatched furniture and equipment would house this eclectic group.

  Though Cego was having a difficult time making connections, Dozer immediately befriended the others. Perhaps the big lacklight was distracting himself from his separation from Knees. He playfully sized himself up with Joba, standing on the tips of his toes and still only reaching the huge boy’s shoulders.

  “No words to describe the fear you feel facin’ off with me?” Dozer asked Joba, who remained silent but appeared to be taking Dozer’s friendly competitiveness in stride.