The Combat Codes

by Alexander Darwin

  “Where we are?” Memnon asked. “We stand on new ground, finally with a light on the horizon that will let us defeat our rivals.”

  “Light on the horizon…” Murray felt his blood pumping. “Light on the horizon? Your light is a stain! You’re darkin’ growing kids in vats, exterminating them if they don’t fit your mold!”

  Memnon turned to Murray. Even now, as Murray stood red-faced in his quarters, the High Commander seemed tired. As if the man had been through this argument a thousand times before.

  “I understand your position, Pearson, but it takes more than honor to run the Citadel. Sacrifices need be made.”

  “You choose your sacrifices, Memnon. Those kids you’re growing, experimenting with, they’re innocent. They have no choice.”

  “As High Commander of the Citadel, I don’t have a choice, either. I need to do what’s best for Mercuri.”

  “That’s why we’re different,” Murray said. “That’s why Coach was different from you. That’s why he left. There’s always a choice.”

  “Always back to Coach with you,” Memnon replied. “Coach, your shining beacon of honor. The man who could do no wrong.”

  “He deserves my respect,” Murray growled. “He didn’t forsake his beliefs like so many others.”

  Memnon looked Murray in the eye. “Coach wasn’t what you thought he was.”

  Murray shook his head. More mind games.

  “Don’t believe me?” Memnon asked. “Where do you think Coach really went?”

  The question caught Murray off guard. “I… He never told me.”

  “Why do you think he never told you where he was going? What he was doing? You were his star pupil, practically his son. You deserved to know.”

  Murray stayed silent.

  “You think Coach left you. But he didn’t. He never left.”

  “Never left?” Murray raised his voice. “No one has seen the man for nearly two decades!”

  “Just as it is with the Codes, things aren’t as simple as they often seem.” Memnon’s voice quieted.

  Murray wanted to leave right there. Coach was all he had left. Everything else he believed in in this darkin’ city had gone to shit.

  “Yes, Coach and I had our disagreements.” Memnon returned his gaze to the city. “But making sure Mercuri stayed on top wasn’t one of them. Coach understood we needed to make sacrifices too.”

  “He would never sacrifice the Codes,” Murray said.

  Memnon breathed out. “I miss him too, Pearson. He was a solid ear to sound off on, a fist always at your back. I understand.”

  “First you’re saying he never left; now you’re saying you miss him. What games are you playing at?”

  “You think I’ve made sacrifices?” Memnon asked. “You think I’ve given up on honor, on the Codes? Coach made the greatest sacrifice of all.”

  Murray grabbed Memnon’s shoulder, bringing the High Commander’s gaze back to him. “What the dark are you talking about?”

  “He went in,” Memnon whispered.

  Murray stared into the High Commander’s eyes. The man spoke as if he inhabited another world.

  “At first, he was against it. Against it like he was against anything that countered the Codes. No tools, no tech. He fought me every step of the way on the neurostimulants and the new experimental Trials… and it was no different with this. He threatened to leave the second I told him of our plans to access the Cradle.”

  “I remember,” Murray said. “He wouldn’t say what was bothering him that day, but I can clearly remember the day when Coach lost all faith in the Citadel.”

  “He was on his way out,” Memnon said. “He’d already packed up. He walked into the command center and saw the feed I had pulled up on the board. It was the prototype they… the bit-minders were showing me. Selling me their product. Vats… Dozens of them lined up somewhere in the Deep. The brood were inside… babies… all of them floating…”

  Murray’s body trembled, just as it had when Zero had described the Cradle to him.

  “He saw the feed and fell to his knees, right there in the command center,” Memnon said. “The strongest Grievar I’ve ever met, sobbing on the floor.”

  Murray felt like falling to his knees himself.

  “The bit-minders. They picked up on his weakness,” Memnon said, speaking faster now, as if he wanted to finally rid himself of the story. “They’d been running the Cradle for several years already… selling the rights to the brood they were growing to the highest bidders. Kiroth had already purchased one of the firstborn from the Cradle. But the bit-minders said the program needed improvement. The Guardians they were using within the Sim weren’t providing the long-term… nurture… they were looking for. They needed a guide, a mentor inside of the Cradle.”

  Murray was holding his breath. It couldn’t be.

  “They told him he could still help,” Memnon said. “The bit-minders told him that instead of leaving, he could be a part of it all… He could go in.”

  Murray repeated the words hollowly, “Go in…” He closed his eyes, trying to take a deep breath. “Coach… went in… ?”

  “He accepted. He saw it as a way he could still fix things. A way he could teach those kids the Combat Codes from inside the Cradle,” Memnon said.

  Murray was on his knees.

  “He went Deep to their Codex the following day… followed their instructions. They hooked him up. Just like the brood they were growing, they stuck him in a vat to keep his body in stasis.”

  “He… he’s still down there?” Murray whispered. “Inside… the Cradle? On that Island?”

  “He never left us,” Memnon said. “Farmer never left us.”

  *

  Cego felt the warm sunlight pulsing against his eyelids.

  The breeze gently rustled his hair, bringing with it the distant fragrance of blooming flowers.

  Just a few minutes more.

  He lay flat against the soft ground. He imagined he could sink into the earth. His arms and legs, fingers and toes, sinews and entrails would become roots, burrowing into the dirt, his blood pumping toward some source deep below. Part of the earth. Living down in the cool darkness.

  Just a few minutes—

  “How the dark can you be sleepin’ on a day like this?!”

  Cego’s eyes fluttered open. Dozer was standing above him, offering a hand, a wide grin across the hefty boy’s face.

  “He be right for once,” Knees said from nearby. “Rare that Mercuri be seeing blue skies like these.”

  Cego grasped Dozer’s outstretched hand and was catapulted off the ground, suspended in the air for a moment, the sunlight and blue sky streaking his vision. He landed falling forward, tucking into a front roll and springing back to his feet.

  Sol stood inches away from Cego, her arms crossed, her eyes sparkling in the sunshine. “Show-off,” she said.

  The Citadel’s grounds looked different today—the Lyceum’s ancient grey walls stood in stark contrast to the blue skies above. Tufts of grass peppered the yard in front of the round-faced Harmony, and the surrounding trees had begun to sprout buds.

  “I’ll show you how to do a proper roll,” Sol said, turning away from Cego. “Joba, stay just where you are.”

  Joba lay on the grass with his hands behind his head, looking up at the sky, like some giant boulder rolled onto the yard. Abel, who had been propped up against the huge boy, sprang to his feet.

  “Rolling contest?” Abel said excitedly. “In Kee-roth, we jump over rivers for practice. Wider and wider makes bigger jumps, and Abel stay dry longer than most!”

  Cego chuckled. “Maybe we should check with Joba before we use him as a hurdle?”

  Abel looked down at Joba, who just smiled and continued to stare up at the sky. “Joba in. Joba like the plan.”

  “I ain’t be missing out on this one,” Knees said as he lined up next to Cego. “Semester break’s only a few days more, then we be back to training… Need all the fun we can get.�
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  “Level two training!” Dozer raised his fist into the air triumphantly. He was already wearing the blue second skin the team had been awarded at semester’s end. “The Whelps are gonna take Level Two by storm!”

  “Not so sure about that..,” Knees said cautiously. “Other teams are regrouped now. Shiar, Gryfin, Kōri Shimo… they be healed up and gettin’ better, wantin’ revenge. And they say the Scouts be bringing in new Grievar next semester from all over the world. Besayd, Desovi, Kiroth, Myrkos, maybe even some other Venturians…”

  “We’ll be all right!” Cego said, louder than he’d meant to.

  Sol met his eyes before breaking into a sprint directly toward Joba’s hulking form laid out on the grass, her fiery braid trailing her. She launched into the air over the smiling boy, diving headfirst and landing in a graceful front roll before popping back to her feet. She propped her hands on her hips, looking back at Cego across the yard.

  “Let’s see how all right you are trying to match that one!” Sol grinned.

  Cego took a deep breath. He stepped forward and started to run.

  Acknowledgements

  Brazilian Jiu Jitsu allowed me to write this book.

  I’m not talking about gaining the technical know-how to detail the various fight scenes throughout the story (though that knowledge certainly helped).

  I’m talking about Jiu Jitsu providing me with the mental endurance to take on the seemingly insurmountable task of completing a novel. Writing every day, even if what I put down on paper was complete garbage. Grinding out the fifth or sixth or eleventh drafts through a never-ending editing slog.

  The journey of a Jiu Jitsu practitioner seems similar to that of a writer. Getting better requires putting in the work. Whether it’s typing a few new pages or showing up on the mats every day, the rote ritual is where the learning is. And both endeavors have taught me that learning is where the living is.

  That being said, none of this would be possible without the help of my diligent beta readers. Brian, David, Justin and Will, you gave me the encouragement to keep moving and the feedback to point me in the right direction.

  Finally I’d like to thank the training partners and teachers I’ve had over the years, old and new. To the crews in San Francisco and Boston: you’ve made my afternoons both humbling and thrilling.

  Alexander Darwin

  Boston, 2015