by Dan Krokos
The Uniter stood in front of a legion of Bloods. “I am here to put us back together. I am here to restore dignity to our order.”
And that’s exactly what he did. He warred with the Stones who would not cooperate. He warred by himself. Though there is no record, it was said the Uniter created an impenetrable dome of black lightning around himself, then walked directly into the Stones’ camp, repelling any who came too close.
By then the Divider was an old man. He was wearing a different kind of armor than before, Mason noted. It looked exactly like the armor worn by the Tremist King, or at least the armor he used to wear.
“Yield,” the Uniter said.
“Never,” the Divider replied.
The Uniter killed him on the spot. Eyewitnesses said the Uniter had been corrupted by the gloves and began killing Stones left and right, even those who submitted to his power.
Soon after, the Stones agreed to peace with the Bloods, and the Uniter disappeared into the woods, never to be heard from again. It was said he joined up with a group of Tremist who chose to live a simpler life among the trees. It was said his gloves were still out there, waiting to be found by the next person who needed them.
Construction on what would become the Rhadgast sphere began. (Mason was right: half the school was below ground.) The Stones would retain their identities but war no longer. And so it has remained to this day.
But Mason’s focus had drifted during the last parts of the lesson.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the gloves.
Chapter Thirteen
“It isn’t okay to show that,” Jiric said when the lesson ended and the lights returned. “That is anti-Stone propaganda.”
Broxnar chuckled, rubbing his hands together. “My dear rhadjen. I believe it’s called history. You can’t know where you’re going until you see where you’ve been.”
“It demonizes the Stones,” Jiric said. “Just because we didn’t choose to die.”
Risperdel snorted. “You mean, just because you chose other people to die instead of you.” But she didn’t say it with malice, somehow; it was a friendly jibe. Jiric only fluttered his eyes and pretended to ignore her.
Broxnar cleared his throat. “That’s enough, Risperdel. As I said, history. I myself made the hard choice. There is no shame in it. Some might argue letting yourself die is the easy way out. The way of not choosing at all.”
Mason hadn’t thought of it like that. He didn’t really agree, but he could see where Broxnar was coming from. Perhaps the Stone decision isn’t any easier than what Mason had done.
A bell chimed.
“That’s all,” Broxnar said, tugging on the sash around his waist. “Remember what you saw here today.”
The students left with three minutes to reach their next class. The hallways were full of rhadjen running to and from classrooms. Many of them found the time to stop and gawk or point at Mason and Tom. It was day two, technically their first full day, but the attention was already getting old. They were humans, so what. They were almost the same species. But at the same time, it wasn’t as bad as the attention they got at Academy II. Here Mason was an oddity, not a hero.
“So what did you think of our history?” Po said, sidling up to Mason and Tom as they climbed one of the many spiral staircases.
“It was definitely interesting,” Tom said.
“And explains a lot,” Mason said, a little too loudly, though he didn’t mean anything by it one way or another. Lore, who was walking just a few paces ahead, turned around to give her seven hundredth glare of the day. Or maybe it was just her sharp eyebrows.
“Yes it does. Hey, listen. Tonight, if you want to have a little fun, meet me outside the Inner Chamber. You, too, Thomas.”
“See?” Tom said. “Even he can call me by my full name. It’s not that hard.”
“I’m working on it, Tom,” Mason said.
“So you’ll be there?” Po asked. “Great!” he said, before Mason could answer. By then they were already at the next classroom.
Their second teacher, Grubare, wore robes of jade green, no ornamentation, nothing to say whether he was for the Bloods or Stones. His eyes were black as coal, but his hair was silvery-pearl. He watched Mason and Tom as they found empty seats within the room.
On the desk sat a small, monkeylike creature covered in bristly blue fur. It was eating a small chunk of neon-yellow fruit that it turned over and over in its tiny paws. It’s head had four eyes instead of two, one in front, in back, and on each side, so it could see 360 degrees. The eyes were sleepy, half-lidded, as it nibbled on the fruit.
“This is going to be amazing,” Jiric said, before Lore hushed him.
“You’re right, this is amazing,” Grubare said from the middle of the room. “We’re making history, isn’t that right? Humans, not only on Skars, but inside our facilities, learning our secrets. It is so amazing.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Jiric said.
“Silence. You’re to write an essay about the meaning of the word amazing and its relation to the human race. By tomorrow.” Grubare turned his dark gaze upon Mason and Tom. “I have been asked to tolerate you in my classroom. No, I have been ordered to tolerate you. Do not disturb the lesson.”
“We aren’t plan—” Mason began.
“You are disturbing it right now.” As if to send the point home, the creature chirped and climbed up Grubare’s sleeve to settle on his shoulder. And as soon as it was settled, it popped up and disappeared into a fold inside Grubare’s robe. “And you are disturbing my gromsh.”
Gromsh? “I’m—”
Tom nudged Mason with his elbow, a gesture Mason had learned meant, Shut it, Stark, if you know what’s good for you. So Mason shut it.
Grubare went on with some lesson about the current socioeconomic climate emerging from the western continent and the impact it would have in trade over the coming decade.
Mason assumed this was some boring economics class (Academy I and II had their fair share of those), but then he heard Po whisper to Risperdel, “Why are we learning economics? We’re supposed to go over defensive tactics for zero-gravity battles. We have a test this week.” Mason, having missed the first four weeks of the semester, hoped he and Tom wouldn’t have to take it.
Risperdel shrugged, then lifted her chin in Mason and Tom’s direction. “Maybe he doesn’t want to teach them.”
Mason and Tom found the lesson interesting, though without context Mason didn’t really know what Grubare was talking about. The rest of the lesson finished without incident, mainly because Mason was able to keep his mouth shut the entire time. Still, Grubare’s eyes found him often, as if searching for some reason to scold. It was only at the end of the class that Grubare said, “Make sure your belts are operational. Tomorrow we will be in the gravity room, and we will see if you can continue your training here at this school.”
Jiric and Risperdel exchanged worried looks.
Mason expected more classes throughout the day, but at lunch Po told him everything after this would be “physical” in nature. Meaning combat. Mason felt his blood quicken at the word. He was ready to show the Rhadgast what he could do.
“They’re going to test us,” Tom said beside him. “See what the humans are made of.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?” Mason said.
Tom ignored him. “Oh look, they’re testing us now.”
A group of four Stones were walking toward them from across the refectory, which was at the very top of the dome, on the side overlooking the valley. One entire wall was curved glass that ended at the top of the dome. From this high up, Mason could see deep into the valley and the mountains beyond.
The lead Stone reached the table and said nothing.
“Hello,” Mason said. Perhaps they just wanted to greet the school’s newest rhadjen. Perhaps they wanted to be Mason’s new best friend.
“Go sit down, Juneful,” Lore said calmly. Juneful. Was he from the same royal family as Reckful?
/> She wasn’t exactly defending them, but Mason appreciated the gesture.
“You’re going to get all of us in trouble,” Jiric added.
Mason caught Risperdel’s eye, and she rolled hers. “Just be cool,” she whispered. Mason nodded.
“You’re on the Blood side now?” Juneful said to Lore, after taking five seconds to process her statement. He was clearly the leader of the four. His hair was long and black and flowed free. Mason was already imagining a series of defensive moves if Juneful attacked. Having long hair was a stupid choice, tactically. Mason could grab a handful of it, and from there the fight would be in his control. But maybe long hair had some kind of ceremonial significance. Or the Rhadgast were cocky enough to just not care.
Juneful seemed to notice Mason scanning all of his weak points, his pressure points. His eyes narrowed.
“Is there something you wanted?” Mason said. He’d been dealing with bullies his entire life and was a little sad to find out they were no different here. Tremist bullies were just as clever as the slow-witted muscle-bound morons he had dealt with at Academy I and II. He began to wonder what the true differences were between Tremist and humans.
Juneful didn’t seem to know what to say. Po was staring at Mason intently from across the table—the whole team was—but Mason kept his eyes on Juneful. His three boys were behind him, safely. They were followers. They were no threat.
“I suggest you go back to your table,” Mason said. “I know you’re curious about what humans can do, but I don’t think you want to find out right now, in front of all your friends.”
Juneful’s mouth opened in shock, just a tiny bit. “What about you, human?” he said to Tom, no doubt ignoring Mason until his dull, aggressive brain could figure out the correct response. “Do you need your boyfriend here to protect you?”
“No,” Tom replied. “But I like to let him because it makes him feel better, and because he doesn’t mind dealing with scum.”
Mason laughed. He couldn’t help it; it was the perfect thing to say. Had he not laughed, Juneful would’ve probably sat right back down. But he did laugh, and it felt good to laugh again. It felt good that Tom felt good enough to crack a joke. So Mason laughed, but he never lost his readiness.
As he watched, the gloves hidden inside Juneful’s robe slipped down over his hands. During school hours, no student was allowed to have his or her gloves over their hands unless they were in a combat-oriented class. Mason didn’t know the punishment for violating that rule, and he didn’t want to find out.
There was a tray of food in front of Mason. Juneful’s hand darted down toward the edge of it, and Mason anticipated he would try to flip it into Mason’s face. Mason did not want this to happen for a number of reasons, including that the food here was somehow worse than the sludge they served on ESC spacecraft. The refectory had better food available—he’d seen strange and colorful fruits and vegetables being served to the older students—but he and his team got various protein-based gelatins. It would make quite a mess and ruin the robes he’d gone through hell to earn. So Mason grabbed Juneful’s luscious locks and yanked down just as Juneful was starting to lift the tray with his fingers. Juneful’s face smacked into the tray with a wet splat. Some of the gelatins flecked Mason’s robe anyway, but it wasn’t nearly as bad. As Juneful was bouncing up, Mason shoved him one-handed into his three friends, who all toppled onto their butts.
Everything stopped.
Juneful blinked goop from his eyes.
As every Stone in the refectory stood up from their tables.
“Now you’ve done it,” Po said, stretching his arms and yawning. He seemed resigned to their fates.
“You with me?” Mason asked Tom quietly.
Tom sighed. “That was ill-advised, but I guess we’ve done stupider things. Of course I’m with you.”
“Okay, then,” Mason said, and stood up, letting his own gloves slip down over his hands. “Who’s first?” he called to the room.
“Sit down,” a voice said behind him.
Mason looked over his shoulder to find Reckful frowning down at him. “I don’t think tactically that would—”
“Sit down,” Reckful said. He put his hand on Mason’s shoulder and pushed him into his seat. Mason instantly transformed his gloves into bracers.
“What is the meaning of this?” roared a voice from the other end of the refectory. It was the head of the Stones, Master Rayasu. He stormed into the empty space between the tables, his robes flaring out around him, violet eyes blazing in a way that had to be artificial. Mason saw Grubare, who still wore nothing to signify if he was Blood or Stone, standing in the corner, watching. His gromsh perched on his shoulder, staring at Mason with at least one of its eyes.
“A little altercation, that’s all,” Reckful said.
“Altercation?” Master Rayasu said it like he’d never heard of the word before.
Reckful seemed prepared with a response. “Well, I’m sure these four didn’t come over to our newest students and say hello, only to have Mason and Tom dump food on them and push them on the floor from a seated position. I can’t imagine one human, unprovoked, doing that to four Stones … can you?”
“How dare you…” Master Rayasu said to Reckful.
“Master Rayasu,” Reckful said, not cowering before the leader of the Stones, “would you kindly ask your students to sit down?”
All the Stones in the refectory were still standing. Mason could suddenly feel his pulse in his ears and neck. If this had been an ESC cafeteria, the instructors would’ve ended the fight and sent all offending parties to the brig, where the details may or may not be uncovered. Here it seemed like the two instructors were about to tear each other apart.
Po stood up. “Sir, Juneful was about to smash the tray into Mason’s face. Mason was just faster.”
“He’s right,” Lore said. “I warned them. I told you to sit down, Juneful.” Mason had a feeling she wasn’t defending him so much as she was embarrassed by the Stones.
Once Lore spoke, Master Rayasu frowned, some of the anger draining from his face. It seemed that a Stone speaking against another Stone settled the matter, at least with everyone watching. “I see,” he said.
Master Rayasu looked down at Juneful, who appeared to be waiting for permission to move. Bluish-green food dripped off the end of his chin into his lap. “Stand up. You embarrass every Stone.” With that, Master Rayasu stalked away.
Juneful stood up along with his friends, but there was a new look in his eye. It wasn’t the simple boredom that drives most bullies to bully. This was something new, something dangerous and calculated. Mason had just made fools out of them in front of the entire refectory, nearly a hundred rhadjen, who would no doubt spread the news throughout the school by end of day.
Reckful audibly breathed a sigh of relief.
Mason twisted around to look up at him. “I’m really sorry. They were going to ruin my robes.”
Reckful sighed again. “Robes can be cleaned, you know. You realize this is still your first day of classes?”
“Yes, sir.”
Reckful didn’t say goodbye, he just left, following after Master Rayasu. Mason imagined them having some knock-down, drag-out Rhadgast fight in the hallways, away from the students. Wall-to wall-lightning, and all that. He wondered who would win in that situation.
When Mason turned back to the table, everyone was staring at him and Tom again.
“Do you know what you’ve done?” Lore said. “Juneful isn’t dumb. He won’t forget.”
“Neither will I,” Mason said.
Lore snorted through her nose, as if to say You have no idea what you’re talking about.
Chapter Fourteen
After lunch, Mason was disappointed to find out that first-time rhadjen had to undergo stringent health and stamina evaluations. Mason and Tom spent three hours running and jumping while wearing biofeedback harnesses. They were of course in excellent physical condition, thanks to the ESC. Ov
er the last few months Mason had noticed an increase in his muscle mass and strength. They finished the final test, dripping with sweat, and were told that they were cleared for combat exercises.
That night was the weekly free-for-all, held in a room above the Inner Chamber. The room was a perfect replica of a forest, much like the one Mason and Tom had traveled through, minus the strangling vines. These trees had bright red and purple leaves, and branches that appeared flat and sharp, like they were made from swords rather than wood. The perimeter of the room was thick with trees planted in what felt like real soil under Mason’s feet. The trees became sparser toward the middle of the room, where there were only a few trunks that could be used defensively.
The rules were simple:
1. Any rhadjen of any age can enter the free-for-all.
2. You have to turn down the power of your gloves as low as possible, so you can only stun, not maim or kill.
3. Falling down equals disqualification.
4. Last rhadjen standing wins.
There was no actual prize for winning besides bragging rights, but that was enough to get plenty of teams involved.
Po pulled Mason and Tom aside as the participating rhadjen filtered through the trees. The room was immensely tall, and some chose to scale the jagged branches. Mason watched as they disappeared into the leaves.
“Hey,” Po said, grabbing his attention again. “I think you should sit this week out. Juneful is already gunning for you, and I’m sure everyone else is, too. Because, you know, humans.” He shrugged.
This was not surprising.
Mason looked at Tom. Tom looked at Mason.
“We’ve decided not fighting would show weakness, which would invite further harassment,” Tom said.
