by Korn, Tracy
Dr. Denison leads our group out a door just beyond the curtain backdrop of the room. I look up at Jax's group, which is also leaving, but they are exiting through the door where we all came in at the top of the stairs.
We walk through a small corridor with overhead lighting that doesn't seem to be coming from individual fixtures of any kind—it's just…light.
"He said our ship is the Leviathan you were talking about earlier," I say to Arco, stumbling after Avis bumps into me in his excitement to get to the ship.
"Sorry!" he calls over his shoulder, and zips to the front of the group. Arco nods.
"Those are the crew ships—here…" he says, trading his place along the wall with mine in the middle of the current of students heading down the corridor. "You're getting swept up." Arco is taller than most of the other students, save Jax and the cloudies, and looks over the top of our group, then behind us.
"Thanks," I say, feeling wary again. The suppression of the room we just left must be lifting, and I realize it's getting easier to decipher my own feelings from the ones I pick up from other people—this time, they're Arco's feelings of uncertainty. "What's wrong?" I ask.
"Nothing, just wondering where everyone else is… Jax's group, and the other two."
"They went out the door we came through at the beginning of class—at the top of the stairs."
"And the other groups?"
"They all went out a nearby door on each side of the room. It's just like the auditorium at school back home—doors at all the walls," I say. He nods in reluctant agreement and turns his eyes forward again.
"Well, if you don't think anything is wrong, nothing must be wrong. You're the Empath," he smiles, but it comes off as sulky patronizing.
"Arco…what is with your yo-yo mood already?" I ask, exhausted by it.
A blast of cold air hits us in the face and stops whatever he was going to say in response. As we filter through the doorway and onto the metal walkway that runs the perimeter of the space, I see a hangar bottom out below us.
"Whoa!" Myra says, rushing from Pitt's side toward the clear guard wall so quickly that her momentum brings her feet off the floor. Joss is quick to grab her waist before she accidentally flings herself over the edge, and I suck in the gasp just in time to let it out. I don't think I've ever seen anything so potentially dangerous neutralized in the same moment it actually happens like that before.
"Are you OK?" Joss asks, letting her go as Pitt closes the distance between them in a few strides.
"Yes, thank you. Sorry, I just got excited," she says wide-eyed with adrenaline, her face flushing as she brings both her hands up to cover her mouth. Pitt nods to Joss, then puts his arm around Myra and falls back into the crowd.
"Right, please do watch your step everyone—it's a long way down," Denison says to the group after clearing his throat. I look up at Arco and swallow hard as he blows out a breath before we turn our attention back to the deck below, where a fleet of about 15 smooth-lined, iridescent metallic ships with streamlined wing curvatures are lined up in three rows, five ships deep.
"They look just like Jax's picture," I say.
"These are the Leviathan," Dr. Denison says, his voice raised to accommodate the enormity of the space. A huge doorway holds back the dimly lit midnight blue water of the sea just beyond it at the opposite end of the hangar with small flashing lights that flicker in a line.
"How do you keep water from rushing in here when they enter and exit?" Dez asks, apparently studying the giant clear door too.
"The exterior port is clear, so it gives the illusion that the water comes right up to the mouth of this hangar. In actuality, the exterior door is roughly 300 feet from this. Once the vessels enter the primary gate from the outside, they will stop behind this door. That area in between the two doors is called the normalization chamber, where the outside water and any contaminants are removed."
"And then it just taxis through this door?" Myra asks, fully recovered from her scare now and nearly bouncing with excitement next to Pitt, his arm still around her waist.
"Correct. Leviathan ships have hover capabilities as well as propulsion, so once past the threshold, it will find its way to its position, then lock into the grid for an automatically guided landing."
"This place. This is where I started my interview," Arco whispers into my hair, which causes a sudden, strange flutter in my stomach as I remember how adamant he was when he told me about it. "That's not the ship, but this is the place."
"We're going to learn to fly these?" Vox asks abruptly, which makes me stop trying to figure out the flutter and refocus on Denison.
"Pilot them, yes, some of you will. Some will operate other areas. Omnicoders will run the organic core system and will need a Navigator/Coder Hybrid consult, plus an Empath Hybrid as consult. Which kind of Empath Hybrid isn't important, though, because the base group sensitivity and big picture perspective are common to all Empaths, and will be the component most required by the Omnicoders to run efficiently," Denison answers.
"So if I'm an Omnicoder…" Pitt begins, "do I pick my crew?"
"Yes," Denison replies, then turns his attention to the rest of us. "If you have Hybrid Empath, or Navigator/Coder classification, and you are interested in being the consult for the core, make your preferences known to Mr. Spaulding before we go to ship's stations today. Let's head down," he says, and we begin moving down the length of the suspended walkway. Dez and Avis scurry over to Pitt and Myra. I consider going, but then pull back. I want to see what's in this core before I go and sign away my life to it, and to Pitt being the eternal boss of me.
"Are you going to do it?" I say to Arco as we make our way through the doorway and down the steps to the floor of the hangar.
"I don't want to be a mechanic," he says. "Especially not on one of these."
"That's what the Omnicoder job is? A mechanic?"
"Not entirely, but that's a big part of the job. You're responsible for all the systems—life support, hydraulics, weapons defense, there are a lot of biotechnical interactions."
"Wait, these things are weaponized? Aren't we just going to homestead families here? Why would we need weapons to be door-to-door service representatives?" I ask, baffled. "And what kinds of weapons?"
"Lots," Arco replies. "Mostly debilitators, target lock sonar vices, a few other immobilizers. You never know what's out there when you're this deep."
We go through the door that leads to the hangar floor, and the ships are even bigger than they seemed when we were standing on the suspended walkway, which is now directly over us.
"They must be 20 feet tall," I say, tilting my head nearly all the way back to see the top.
"All aboard," Dr. Denison's clone—and I keep forgetting that he's a clone—says, pressing his hand against the side of the ship, which becomes outlined in blue light as it's scanned. A stairway lift emerges seamlessly from the wall of the vessel before extending to the floor, and we follow him into the ship.
Inside, the cockpit is rounded with smooth brushed metal panels just below the enormous window that stretches from one side of the nose to the other. Silver stools erupt like mushrooms from the floor in each of the three areas, one in the middle, and one on either side with buttons, levers, and components sprawling before each one.
"Mr. Hart, have a seat in the middle to demonstrate the customization, if you please," Dr. Denison asks, extending his palm to the chair. Arco takes a few steps up and onto the cockpit deck, then down again into the pocket of the center unit. When he sits, the chair silently expands around him, a back appearing and extending upward and sideways. Arms also appear with a button panel and controls at each end.
"It forms to him," Myra says, grinning like a kid witnessing a magic trick as Pitt slips his arm around her waist again and pulls her in. I'm not sure when that happened, but it certainly explains why a bubbling feeling has replaced the sharp icicle in my chest whenever Vox is in the same room with Joss and Myra. She really does like hi
m, I think as I watch her scanning Joss from several feet away.
"These chairs will adjust to your bodies. They will also work in sync with your nanites to help monitor your blood pressure and other biological systems that could interfere with your ability to navigate this ship."
"So, they're panic proof?" Arco confirms, and from the smirk he doesn't completely commit to, I can tell he's only half kidding.
"As a manner of speaking, yes," Denison replies. "Now then, the results of your simulator trials are in, and with them, your Nav assignments. Mr. Tether, since you're a pure Navigator, the left rig is yours. Mr. Spaulding, have you chosen your Nav/Coder consult?"
"Ellis," Pitt says, and Denison nods to Ellis.
"All right, Mr. Raj, as consult, you'll assist the pilot when you're not in the core, but the latter will be your primary station. Mr. Ling, that will leave the right rig to you. Everyone, please join Mr. Hart in taking your seats."
Avis and Joss walk toward their new stations and sit in the chairs, which conform to them the way Arco's did.
"Wait, I'm staying here?" Arco asks.
"Indeed," Denison says, then, registering Arco's blanched expression, takes another look at his palm pad. He scrolls with his other hand, and nods. "Coder/Navigator hybrid, and even an Empath latency…you're more than qualified to be the pilot Mr. Hart, and your performance in the simulator this morning was enough for me. Please make yourself at home," he says as he crosses to Dez. Arco blinks, then meets my eyes.
"You can do it," I mouth to him after I feel a wave of panic push over me, and after a second, he nods.
"Miss Spaulding, you may have guessed by now that you're our medic?" Denison asks, checking his palm pad again, then looking up at her.
"Well, my advisor told me I was slotted for biodesign."
"That's indeed you, then, Miss Spaulding. Mr. Stryker and Dame Mahgi will show you all around the med-bay. Note that the core is also below, so you would be an ideal choice for Empath consult as well. Mr. Spaulding?" Denison says. Pitt nods in agreement, and Denison angles his head at Mr. Stryker.
"Let's show you around then," Stryker says to Pitt and Dez, then waves Ellis along as they all disappear down a short flight of steps to our rear.
"Miss Ripley, Miss. Dyer, as reader Empaths, your stations will be here and here," Denison says, scrolling on his palm pad again, then pointing to two seats on opposite sides of the back of the room, each with a panel of instruments and screens spread out behind it. "Miss Toll, as a pure Empath projector, your station will be here." He points to another seat with similar, but fewer screens and instruments that falls directly between Vox's station and mine. "Your primary duty on this vessel will be to assist Miss Dyer and Miss Ripley with homestead relations—liaison work, situation assessment, as well as keeping a pulse on ship morale. You will also assist Miss Spaulding in her medical duties, of which she will be informed shortly." Denison gestures to the stairs, and Myra's face lights up.
"I get to take care of people?" she asks, her eyes brightening.
"Should the need arise, yes. You will train with Miss Spaulding and Dame Mahgi beginning tomorrow, and will alternate with Ms. Reynolt the following day. Today, you'll work here with Ms. Reynolt," he says.
"And what are we supposed to do again?" Vox leans back on her elbows against the console behind her and kicks her legs straight out like she's sunbathing right there on the stool. I narrow my eyes wondering why she is still so belligerent in everything she does. There's no way she's getting out of here, so why doesn't she just give up trying?
"You and Miss Ripley will be the team advisors. You will assess all situations you encounter and collaborate on the best course of action, then, you will advise the navigation and engineering crews."
"And who's in charge?" Vox presses. I feel impatience rising in my blood and a prickling heat crawling up my neck. She starts to smirk at Denison, but he just looks back at her calmly. Is she actually trying to push the clone of our teacher? Can't she tell he's just…empty?
"Not you," he says, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as he arches a white eyebrow at her, his sudden wit commanding my attention. "Mr. Spaulding and Mr. Hart will collaborate much like you and Miss Ripley after you advise them, and the final decisions will be your pilot's."
"What?" Arco straightens up in his chair. "Why only mine?" he says, then seems to think better of it, but it's too late; he's said it. Denison doesn't look surprised, in fact, he seems almost pleased, like he's been waiting all day for this.
"Well, Mr. Hart, because you never saw it coming."
CHAPTER 34
Ship Stations
"Sorry?" Arco asks, his face having gone white.
"Your absence of ego, Mr. Hart, is the quintessential trait of a pilot. Ambition is good, but not when lives are at stake. Your testing results across the board indicate optimal levels of selflessness under pressure, so naturally, you are the clear choice for team leader," Denison concludes. The blood that had drained from Arco's face slowly returns, flushing his neck and cheeks. He can't speak yet, but blinks several times, then swallows and begins to nod. He looks at me, and as if on cue, adrenaline rushes my veins like a deluge of water through a tunnel, and my heartbeat crashes against my ribs like it's trying to escape the flood.
"It's OK. You can do it," I mouth to him again. He nods quickly once more as if he's trying to convince himself, then looks back at Denison.
"Thank you," Arco replies to him, then sets his jaw.
"All right, well let's take this out for a spin then," he says to Arco. "Ms. Reynolt, I believe Miss Dyer, Miss Toll, and Miss Ripley are ready for you."
I completely forgot Ms. Reynolt was in the room, and turn abruptly to face her, wondering if she also felt the emotional earthquake that just happened in here. Her eyes dart back and forth between Vox and me, but her face is smiling and calm.
"Certainly. Ladies, allow me to explain your systems to you," she says, and extends her hands to my panel. "Vox, Myra, please join us."
Vox and Myra come over to my panel, and Myra looks like she has a thousand questions ready to ask all at once. I feel her uncertainty, the anxiety at war with her indomitable optimism, and it starts a knot in my stomach.
It's all right, Jazwyn, I hear Ms. Reynolt say in my head, just like Liddick. I startle, then look quickly over to her.
Can I talk to you? Can you hear me? I think in answer to her, and feel a jolt of surprise when she answers me.
Of course. All Reader Empath classifications can talk via telepathy, but only Readers, and only one at a time. I will work with you and Vox to hone this skill.
I look over at Vox, debating whether or not I want to test this, but I have to know. I take a deep breath and focus on her. Can you hear me? I think, but she doesn't respond, and I feel instantly stupid as I step toward my stool, then collapse onto it.
In seconds, it envelops around me like Arco's. The cool, smooth material isn't leather or any other kind of hide, but it's not cloth either. It warms against my skin, and feels more like a thick blanket than a chair pressing against me. I feel calm again, the sweat on my upper lip that I didn't know was there beginning to cool and dry. My heartbeat regulates, and my stomach stops churning. Ms. Reynolt steps out from behind my new seat and begins explaining the panel before us as Vox leans in right next to my face to look at all the instrumentation, a wildness in her eyes.
"So, we're basically supposed to watch how everyone feels on these things?" she asks too loudly, waving indirectly at the screen and raising an indignant eyebrow as she lets her chin fall.
Crite, can't you be civilized for five seconds? What's wrong with you? I think to myself, but then see a smile dawning on her face.
You're breathing on me, I hear her think in response as her eyes dart to mine before she straightens.
The laughter in me breaks like surf on the rocks and spills out as Myra looks over and smiles, a little confused, but smiles nonetheless. The warmth in my stomach begins to radia
te up and out through my arms, the general sense of wellbeing spreading as I realize that being able to talk with Vox this way feels like another piece of the puzzle is falling into place.
"These screens are your lifeline to the outside," Ms. Reynolt says as she pulls her auburn curls off her neck and tucks them up in a twist that she somehow ties into a knot. "This one will send back electropsychic varian—"
"Electro-what?" Myra giggles, interrupting the explanation.
"Electropsychic variances. When you enter a room, you have no doubt experienced the air feeling tense, calm, happy, etc., right?" she asks, and we nod. "That's because of the electropsychic energy that all living creatures emit. It is why some of us can communicate with animals, and even plants."
"Plants?" I say, raising an eyebrow.
"Of course. Plants do not necessarily have consciousnesses, but they do emit emotive energy and can receive emotive energy."
"That's true," Vox adds, and we all turn to look at her. "Strangle bushes and copperhead vines, I've been caught in both of those before and had to persuade them to let me go."
"What?" I say in total disbelief. "Persuade them to let you go. You negotiated with plants?"
"Influenced them is more like it," she smirks.
"So it just occurred to you to try and push the plants. Push them?"
"Wait and see what wild ideas you get when some maniac foliage tries to eat you for lunch, Jazwyn. Then you can judge me," she says behind a cocked eyebrow and another loaded smirk. Myra's eyebrows shoot up as she covers her mouth to contain her laughter, and I roll my eyes and smile back at Vox, somehow feeling…in sync? I don't even know if that's the best way to describe no longer wanting to strangle her with her own hair, but considering the stress and anxiety I've associated with her since the port-festival, I'll take the peace for as long as it lasts.
"Type in anything you like, and a manipulative will appear. You can alter the manipulative by ionizing your fingertips on this, just run your fingers over it, then touch the image," Ms. Reynolt says, gesturing to a circular silver disk next to the keyboard button of my console. "And to evaluate external scenarios beyond the ship, for example, pulling into a port, the electropsychic readings will appear here. You will be able to read them up to three miles out. This will give you enough time to decipher, prepare, and advise countermeasures for any hostile pockets that you—" Ms. Reynolt stops abruptly at the sudden movement that jostles us all—the ship is leaving the dock.
