Elite: The Satellite Trilogy Part II

by Lee Davidson

  To think I’d actually missed her. “That was cruel!”

  “No, that was classic!” she barks over her shoulder.

  “You’re a nut!”

  “You’re too easy,” she says.

  Figures she’d find a way to make it my fault.

  “Seriously, though, when am I supposed to check in on Ryder?” I ask when we’re in the mosaic hallway that connects the lobby to Benson.

  “Whenever you have some free time. Your assignment is still new, so probably not for a while. Things will settle eventually and you’ll find a window.” Then, barely audible, she whispers, “You did before.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Jonathan says Ryder’s doing great, by the way. Mya, too. One of the perks to getting my memories back is that I get status updates on the kids. Pretty excellent, huh?”

  I nod. “That’s good news. So, what exactly do I do for Maintenance? I mean, I don’t have Ryder’s assignment book anymore.”

  “Just make sure your Tragedy is happy. That’s really all Maintenance is about,” Willow says.

  “And how do I do that?”

  “Observe. Determining if someone’s happy isn’t rocket science, kid.”

  “And if someone’s not happy?” I ask.

  “Let Jonathan know and he’ll check it out.”

  We reach the table and Willow’s attention shifts to the others.

  “What’s up stranger?” Owen asks, sharing her always-happy attitude.

  “What’s up yourself? You guys totally missed me, right?” Willow says.

  “Not as much as you missed us,” Owen retorts.

  “I actually did miss you guys. It’s been awhile.” Willow turns a chair backwards before sitting.

  “What brings you back?” Clara asks.

  “Just checking up on one of my assignments. No biggie.”

  Liam decides to pay attention now and I swear Willow shoots him a worried look before turning back to Clara. But then Willow’s beaming her electric smile again and I question whether I imagined the exchange.

  “I heard our kid here is quite the scrapper,” Willow says.

  “Dude, his eye was raunch city! Billy didn’t look so hot either,” Owen says.

  I can’t help but let my exuberance leak out a little at that.

  “How long you gonna be around?” Rigby asks Willow before flipping his toothpick over with his tongue.

  “Not sure. How you been, Rig?”

  “Decent,” he says, gnawing on the mangled wooden stick.

  “You still scopin’ Scarlet over there?”

  Rigby glances sideways at Clara and shrugs.

  “I’m telling you, man, show Whitfield some of that charisma of yours. She’ll be all over you, I swear it,” Willow says.

  When did these two become BFFs?

  Owen jumps in. “Charisma and Rigby? You’re kidding, right?”

  Rigby gives a pained expression. “Dude, that hurts.”

  “I think you should go for it, Rigby,” Anna says and loops her arm through Owen’s.

  Clara pushes a few strands of hair behind her ear. “Seriously, you really should.”

  I turn away, wondering if Rigby is hurt by Clara’s support of a love connection that doesn’t include her, when I catch Liam glaring at me. As if one antagonist isn’t enough, here comes another one of my fans. At least Liam can share a table. Elliott, on the other hand, switches directions when he sees me. I wish I could take back what I said about his sister being a Rebellion.

  “Elliott!” Willow calls, not letting him get away.

  He turns reluctantly and makes a point to look at everyone but me when he crosses to Willow. “Hey Willow, long time, no see.”

  “Hey yourself! How you doin’?”

  “Not bad. Where you been?”

  “Oh, you know, hanging with the hubs and enjoying the time off.”

  “Yeah? What brings you back to this group of losers?” Elliott asks, lightening up a bit.

  This time I know I’m not mistaking the worried expression on Willow’s face before she recovers. “Is a girl not allowed to stop by every once in awhile? Join us, I’ve missed you.” Willow motions to the empty chair between her and me.

  Now Elliott looks my way and points the hate in his voice directly at me. “No thanks.”

  Owen resumes chewing his burger while the others shift in their seats. Liam, who was busy mutilating his tray of food, is motionless.

  “Hey, man. I’m sorry about what I said the other day.”

  Elliott ignores me, leaving our table for another closer to the fireplace.

  “That went well.” Willow’s mumble is followed by a very silent table.

  “Anybody in for Sats?” Owen asks couple of minutes later through mouthful of fries.

  Clara acts like she just got a whiff of sewage. “Swine.”

  Rigby, ignoring them both, shuffles and deals the cards. With break close to ending, and the fact that my stomach is still uneasy because of my strange coding session, I opt to pass on food and play Sats instead. While we play, I notice the other Elites for the first time in the expansive hall. They appear as ordinary as every other Satellite, blending into their respective groups. Well, aside from Lawson and Billy, sitting together six tables away. They’d have trouble blending anywhere other than a steroid convention.

  Then there’s Jackson, on the opposite end of the size spectrum. His volume overcompensates for his small stature. I hear him before I spot him, fully concealed behind a girl who’s no bigger than a pixie. His flannel-clad arms, moving as fast as he talks, are all I can see while the six others at his table are engrossed by his rambling. Whatever story he’s weaving is as animated as it is loud and he almost knocks over his Mountain Dew can at one point.

  Reed is by the fireplace, chatting with others who wouldn’t stand a chance of passing airport security with the amount of metal in their faces. Willow would meld nicely into that group, but—though I’d never admit it to her—I’m glad she’s with us.

  After laying an eight onto the discard pile on the table, I scan the right side of the room for Trina, but find Evelynn instead. She’s sprawled on one of the sofas against the back wall, surrounded by a dozen drooling Satellites. While her all-male fan club focuses on her bare thighs, she laughs at something one of them says. The guy who delivered the amusing bit beams, likely thrilled that she’s noticed him. She catches me staring and her smile widens. It’s a dangerous smile, the kind that says she’s going to share a secret that will bring me down with her.

  “Yo kid, you’re up.”

  My head snaps back to our table at the sound of Willow’s voice and my cheeks get hot. “Huh?”

  “Dude, it’s your turn,” Owen says, too wrapped up in his fan of cards to notice where my wandering eyes had been.

  Nothing gets by Willow, though. “You see something you like?” she asks, looking over her shoulder in Evelynn’s direction.

  “What?” I say, hoping my tone comes off like she’s being absurd. “No.”

  Clara, paying close attention as well, is equally unhappy when she zeroes in on Evelynn.

  “You don’t need any distractions,” Willow states matter-of-factly and returns her focus to her cards.

  After laying down my next card, my eyes—as if I’m powerless to stop them—sneak back to Evelynn. She’s still watching me and I quickly turn back to the table, hoping Willow and Clara haven’t noticed. Not that their approval matters, but Willow’s right; a distraction is the last thing I need right now. My eyes stay on my cards for the short remainder of break.

  7. He gives new meaning to the word “bombed”

  “Ready for another day?” Lawson asks in his baritone voice.

  I answer him by slumping my shoulders until my backpack slides off. Is anybody ever ready for this?

  St. Mary’s Hospital powers back to life with a flicker of lights and the air conditioner kicks on. I follow
Lawson’s lead and pull my book out, reading through the future events as quickly as I can. Lawson wins and has his book shoved into his canvas bag before mine is even closed.

  “Looks like it’s going to be another long one,” I say as I’m zipping my backpack closed.

  He doesn’t answer.

  A few minutes later, I perform my first block of the day, which is actually late afternoon here on Earth, though the drawn shades hide the sunlight.

  The hours that follow are as I anticipate: no better, no worse. I learn to read Meggie’s eye twitch, which conveniently happens before her emotional outbursts. Lawson isn’t so lucky and when he’s caught off guard on two occasions, he curses Brody. Despite my faster reflexes, Lawson still has me, hands-down, in physical strength. Twice now, he’s pulled me up from the floor without a word. No way would Billy be so generous. And Evelynn…heck, she’d probably use the opportunity to jump me.

  Lawson and I work silently through the night and into the next day while Brody and Meggie drift in and out of restless sleep. Janine stops by a few times to check on the couple. On her last visit, she tells the broken pair that she’s made an appointment for them with Dr. Arnoldson, calling him the best therapist in town. When Brody vetoes the idea, Janine fires back and has the two convinced to go to therapy by the time our calimeters drone. I can’t get away fast enough. Even though memories of my cancer-ridden days are vague, I never thought I could hate a hospital more. I was wrong.

  “See you on the field,” Lawson says before being yanked through the ceiling.

  Training day. My muscles tense, wishing for coffee and coding instead. Though, with my recent record of coding, maybe training is the better option.

  A couple of minutes after landing, I’m on my way down to the courtyard. Jonathan is already waiting when Jackson and I, the last two of the Elite group, join the others. Billy laughs at me when I mirror his nasty expression. Jonathan breaks us into pairs and refuses Billy’s request to partner with me again, teaming me with Reed instead.

  While Reed and I are silently crossing the field to a vacant training spot, it feels like a boulder slams into my back. I’m within kissing distance of Billy when I spin around. More than happy for another chance at him, I wrap my arms around his torso and take him to the ground.

  “That is enough!”

  Rolling on the grass, we pause our swinging arms long enough to observe Jonathan standing over us. His disapproval prompts Billy and me to push off each other with more force than necessary.

  “Reed, pair with Evelynn please.” Jonathan turns to face us again. “You two must learn that we are a team.”

  There’s no learning curve wide enough.

  As if hearing my thought, Jonathan says, “The other option is you become too fatigued to engage in this behavior.”

  “Whatever,” Billy snarls.

  “Line up for sprinting drills,” Jonathan says evenly, unaffected by Billy’s attitude.

  Billy’s arrogant expression disappears and he groans.

  Lawson’s deep voice carries to us from a distance. “Oh man. That sucks.”

  I look around for an explanation, but nobody bites. By the expressions of my peers, Billy has gotten us into something really fun.

  “Billy, would you please explain to Grant how these drills work?”

  Billy looks like he wants to kill me, so I return the sentiment.

  “We run,” he growls.

  OK. I can run.

  “Across the field and back. There are five rounds. After each round, the loser does three hundred sit-ups.” He looks me up and down and says, “I hope you like sit ups, Princess.”

  I take in Billy’s massive, angry form and hope that his size makes him slow.

  “Please proceed with your training,” Jonathan says to the others, all still gawking, before wordlessly leading us to the far edge of the field. The walk is a long one and with every stride, I want to maul Billy more.

  Once we’re in position, Jonathan points out a tree as our mid-point destination, a speck at the end of the field at least a mile away. The whistle blows and Billy’s off before I realize we’ve begun. I chase after him, pushing myself harder than I ever have. If I was racing anyone other than Billy, I probably wouldn’t care so much.

  Billy beats me to the tree—which up close is more than seven feet wide—and flashes his most ugly face when he passes me on his sprint back. I push my legs harder and catch him twenty yards from Jonathan, but he kicks into turbo while my lungs threaten to burst.

  He gasps for air and then makes a foolish gesture by throwing out his arms and cocking his head to the side. “What’s up?” he says arrogantly through his panting.

  I hit the ground and try to get my labored breathing in check to downplay how tired I am.Stay focused. The two words repeat in time with the excruciating sit-ups. I push through the last hundred in fast-forward, not wanting Billy to have more time to rest, but his breathing is already even, giving him the advantage.

  I have to beat him.

  Back in position, Jonathan’s whistle blows and I’m ready this time. We reach the mammoth tree at the same time. Something inside me unravels and my pent up hate for Billy explodes. I stay focused on beating him instead of what I really want, which is to beat on him.

  When my victory is announced, I keep my mouth shut. Hunched over and gasping, I watch Billy pumping through his sit-ups. There’s something satisfying about seeing him wearing down.

  His glower is toxic when he stands beside me. Jonathan’s whistle blows and we take off. Billy’s concrete arm plows into me and throws my balance. Losing just one stride is enough to yield him the lead. He crosses past Jonathan first and I’m doing sit-ups this time.

  He won’t win again.

  I’m fully prepared to play dirty this time, but Billy chooses to follow the rules. The break did him good and he’s sprinting at his fastest speed yet. Unless I’m getting slower, which is a good possibility because it feels like razor blades are murdering my sides.

  He cannot win, he cannot win, he cannot win, I think with each labored breath.

  And he doesn’t. I beat him by a blade of grass, so close Jonathan has to call it for me to know for sure. Billy isn’t convinced that I won. He falls to the ground for sit-ups anyway and I narrowly watch him while my body tries to reenergize.

  Our last lap couldn’t come soon enough. Billy looks terrible and if I look as bad as I feel, my appearance can’t be much better. When the whistle blows, I collect all of my strength and take off. Even though Billy’s right at my side, I ignore him and focus on the tree ahead. My mind goes blank until nothing but my loud breathing swirls through my brain. My legs keep stride with each breath: in, out, in, out, in, out…

  I pivot at the tree just half a second before Billy, knowing one misstep is all he’ll need to take me. I focus on Jonathan, his shirt just a red dot in the distance, and ignore the fact that my legs are like dry-rotted rubber bands about to snap.

  When we reach the finish line, Billy has nothing to say and plunges to the ground to begin the torturous sit-ups.

  Even though I swear my calf muscles have detached from the bone, I won’t let myself collapse to the ground. Billy will not have the satisfaction of seeing me weak.

  “Grant, I expect you will want to code. This would be a good opportunity,” Jonathan says sternly. “I hope the two of you will now set your differences aside.” Adding nothing more, he walks across the field in the direction of Trina and Jackson.

  Billy keeps his eyes toward the bluish-gray mountains, huffing loudly each time he hits the sitting position. As much as I want to, I decide not to stick around to watch Billy finish his reps, mostly because I’m afraid I’ll collapse if I don’t move soon.

  Back in my room, I’m certain that my lungs have ruptured. I guess it’s no big deal, seeing as I’m dead and all. I dump my backpack at the door and take my time getting to the coding room.

  When I’m sitting
on the mat, there’s no longer any sign that razors were cutting into my sides just minutes ago. My lungs are already feeling decent, too. Hurray for fast healing. My muscles are still tight, though, so I close my eyes and welcome the unwinding release.

  Then it happens again: the hunting field disappears. In its place is my old bedroom, the lead weight on my chest, and the freezing blade circling my abs like spreading frost. Before the cold vapor reaches my ear, my calimeter buzzes and my eyes spring open.

  “Dude, about time,” Lawson says when I land in the hospital room. The building has already powered on, probably around the time I was trading my sweat-soaked clothes for dry ones. I shouldn’t have taken so long to study my scars, which are now translucent-white and still freezing.

  Lawson’s white teeth contrast with his skin when he smirks. “Sprinting drills. Suck-city, bro.”

  “Tell me about it.” I rub my chest to try and warm the scar.

  “Leave it to Billy to get you into that mess. I had to go up against him once myself not long after he become an Elite.”

  “I thought you two were buddies,” I mock.

  “I didn’t care for the chip on his shoulder when he joined the team. You’ll learn to deal with him like the rest of us have.”

  “Doubtful,” I mumble.

  “At least you got him out of the way. He’s the fastest we’ve got. Well, was. He’s going to be royally pissed now.”

  “Great,” I say dryly. “What’s his beef with me all about?”

  “It probably has something to do with you holding the record for being chosen for an Elite in the shortest amount of time. Billy holds a record of his own: the Satellite who waited the longest to join the team, a whopping sixty-eight years. I think the guy wanted it more than anyone in history. His excitement was snuffed out when he realized how insensitive we Elites can be. Let’s just say he took a lifetime of jabs in about a week’s time. Don’t sweat it; he’s just jealous. He’ll get over it. Although, after the sprinting drill—” Lawson looks at my chest. “You all right?”