“Take any stall you want.” Sanderson indicated the grids on the ground. “The rest of the division is still sleeping so we have free run of this section.”
Hesitantly, Brent made his way to a nearby grid. Nothing happened as he studied the floor. He watched another trooper for a clue to how they worked. The trooper walked to the center of the square, then held perfectly still. After a few moments the walls rose out of the floor. Taking the proper position, Brent waited, trying not to move a muscle.
His patience was rewarded as the walls gracefully rose out of the floor. As the walls reached the ceiling, the equipment raised out of the floor was well, all of it perfectly spaced around him. There was the standard expected equipment – shower, toilet, sink, and even a rack of dry towels with space for his clean uniform. As Brent went about his morning routine, he noticed there wasn’t a sound. Not only did the walls obscure vision, but they contained sound completely as well.
After he was finished and fully dressed, he realized he had a problem. He had watched another trooper activate the room, but how did one leave? Brent felt around the room but found nothing of use. There were no dials or switches on any of the walls. He stood in the center of the room and studied it. Not even a hint on how to get out. Naturally, he had used restrooms before, but never one so elaborate. He figured the overly complicated nature of the room was probably due to the massive amounts of use ten divisions would put the facility through. He imagined that when the walls and equipment receded into the floor they would be quickly sterilized and cleaned for the next occupant, that was if he could figure out how to make that happen.
Suddenly, the facilities, seemingly of their own accord, started to sink into the floor. Shortly after, the walls fell gracefully back into the floor. Brent smacked his head as he realized all he had to do was stand still in the center of the square room. When the walls completely submerged in the floor, he was greeted by a maze of foggy white walls. Apparently, the rest of the division had woken up while he searched for a way out of his prison. He made his way through the small gaps between the foggy white walls toward where he had entered. Every now and then a silhouette would get close to a nearby wall. It was oddly frightening as the black shadows moved around, apparently oblivious to his presence.
Reaching the hallway, Brent found it lined with troopers, each eagerly awaiting a free stall. Several nearby troopers immediately took a step away from him. A natural part in the ocean of troopers created a path for him. He cringed as he waited for them to recognize who he was and start staring, but not one of them did. Instead, they averted their eyes, looking at the floor or keeping an intense focus on their friends. Every now and then one of them would steal a glance at him, only to quickly turn their gaze away. The odd thing was they weren’t really looking at him. Their eyes would glance toward him but not once meet his eyes or look at his face. As he passed down the hallway, the troopers continued to clear a path for him.
It dawned on him that he wasn’t a recruit to them; he wasn’t the one who had cleared every exam. Now he was a Weaver, a detestable little boy like Philip who would strike out at anyone to prove his superiority. The very idea of being put in the same category as those disgusting boys made him sick to his stomach. He decided he wasn’t passively going to let that happen. Abruptly stopping, he turned to the trooper on his left. The man stiffened visibly under Brent’s gaze. Brent took a step toward him and reached for his hand. The nearby troopers audibly held their breath. Taking the limp hand, he forcefully shook it.
“Name’s Brent. Nice to meet you.” He waited for a response, but none came. “Your name is?”
The male trooper looked to the troopers at his sides for help; they took a step away.
“Doug,” came the weak response.
“Good to meet you, Doug. Hope you have a pleasant day.” Brent finished shaking his hand and nodded politely as Kindra had done the night before.
Brent continued walking down the path, abruptly stopping at random intervals to shake a trooper’s hand and greet them. He left a wake of confusion and blank stares as he progressed down the corridors. As he made his way back to the quarters of his division, he remembered that Davis had wanted the Weavers to show up two hours before normal training. Only problem was, Brent had no idea when normal training started. He stopped again and turned to a nearby trooper.
“When do you start your training sessions?” Brent asked bluntly.
The female trooper froze instantly. Unable to speak, she stared at him nervously.
“Leave her alone!” A second female jumped between them.
The sudden advance against him startled Brent and without thinking he shifted into a combat stance. Several other troopers watched in a combination of horror and fascination. He realized they were waiting for him to attack the girl. The trooper was now shaking, no doubt regretting her impulsive action.
“I’m sorry for worrying you both; I meant no offense.” Brent placated the shaking girl as he relaxed his stance. “I was merely inquiring when you started your training sessions.”
The second girl blinked a few times.
“You’re not going to hurt me?” Her voice was one of disbelief.
“Why would I do that?” Brent asked in as soothing a tone of voice as he could. “You were only protecting your friend against a possible threat.”
The nearby troopers exchanged surprised glances.
“Why do you want to know when she starts training for the day?” The girl was still on the defensive.
“Well, I have an appointment that takes place two hours before training starts, but I just got here yesterday and don’t have a clue when that is.” Brent shrugged.
“Really?” the first girl asked over her friend’s shoulder. “That’s all you wanted?”
“That’s it. I’m sorry I scared you,” Brent apologized.
“I think you grabbed the wrong uniform.” The second girl was relaxing. “You do know you are wearing a Weaver’s uniform, right?”
“No mistake. Says I’m a Weaver on my pad. I can show you if you’d like.”
The second girl stiffened again. The first patted her shoulder.
“I think he means he can show you his pad, Marie.” The first girl comforted her friend.
The nearby troopers all burst into laughter. Marie blushed in embarrassment.
“Well, if you have an appointment two hours before training starts, then you have about fifteen minutes to get there. Do you need directions?” The first trooper smiled.
“Thanks, but no.” He smiled in return. “I can manage to get there on my own. Thank you again.”
Brent bowed like the tripod to the two girls and rushed down the hallway. For some reason he couldn’t explain, he enjoyed the action of bowing like the tripod – it seemed proper somehow. He rushed down the hallways to the room the Weavers had met in the night before. As he reached the room, Brent checked his pad, still eight minutes early. As the doorway opened, he was greeted by a large message on the shining wall opposite him.
“Head to examination room Five One Three C,” read the message.
Brent quickly reached for his pad again. Strangely enough, the map of the station was already on the screen. With no time to spare, he rushed down the corridors. As he ran down the hallways, other troopers jumped out of the way. He was advancing too quickly for them to create a path for him naturally, Weaver or not. Bolting down the corridors, he would only steal a glance at the pad when he was sure he wouldn’t run into anyone. As he rounded the last corner, Brent watched as another Weaver entered the room ahead. His boots squeaked as he came to a stop just outside the doorway. The pad indicated he had a minute left.
Taking a deep breath, he steadied his breathing and entered. The room was familiar. It was like each one used during the exams. With no one in the outer room, Brent continued on through the second doorway. For a moment he wondered what waited for him, a drop ship maybe or perhaps another forest. Instead, it was some kind of warehouse. Large wooden
boxes were stacked about randomly. The walls had the slight red hue of rusted metal. Dirty windows let in rectangular rays of light. A large grouping of Weavers stood in the center of the warehouse.
Counting them at ten, Brent wondered how many remembered Davis’ orders to show up early from the night before. Instantly, he singled out Jamie. He was standing slightly away from the main group, watching Brent scornfully. Philip was nowhere to be seen. Unlike the troopers who had lined the corridors, the Weavers were silent. There was no banter or idle conversation. Each one stood tensely, awaiting the Master Weaver and whatever task he had in mind for them. Desperate panting filled the room as another two Weavers rushed in.
“Well, that’s enough waiting.” Davis’s harsh voice rang out in the warehouse. “Looks like we are missing seven. How unfortunate for them.”
Stepping out from behind a large stack of boxes, Davis startled most of the Weavers.
“How come we have to be here?” Jamie pouted more than asked. “The Administer gave everyone an additional day off.”
“Because you don’t belong to the Administer; you belong to me. Didn’t I already go through this?” Davis stared squarely at Jamie.
Jamie remained silent.
“Excellent. Today we are going to start slowly.” Davis walked toward the Weavers, carefully looking each of them over. “First off I’m going to assess your abilities.”
“Assess our abilities?” a Weaver questioned. “But we already did that. Isn’t a full report of our assessment on file?”
“Yes, there is; I’ve read through it already. But there is a problem with it.” Davis turned toward the questioning Weaver.
“A problem?” the Weaver continued.
“Yes, I wasn’t the one to conduct the assessment; the data in the report is useless.” Davis sounded final.
After a moment of silence Davis continued.
“Good, looks like we’ve got no more complaints. Then let’s begin.” Davis smiled faintly.
On cue, several troopers emerged from behind boxes around the warehouse.
“Now the FF has generously volunteered several of its troopers to my disposal. They do have the day off, so be respectful; they are donating their time for you. On the floor you’ll notice several markings. I want all the Weavers to follow the yellow line and line up at the far end of the warehouse. The troopers will follow the blue lines and move to their starting marks,” Davis commanded.
Studying the markings, the troopers and Weavers quickly filed to their appropriate locations. As Brent took his place at the end of the straight line of Weavers, he noticed that across from them was a long line of troopers, exactly seven longer than the Weaver line. Matching them in his head, Brent found he was partnered with a familiar bulbous, white suit. Davis walked down the line of Weavers, reordering them. Brent remained at the end of the line. Davis then walked down the line of troopers. He paused behind the armored trooper for a moment, raising an eyebrow. Shrugging to himself, he tapped the shoulders of the spare seven and pointed to the doorway. They quickly fled with big happy grins on their faces. Brent wondered if they had really volunteered.
“Now, I am going to explain this once and only once. So pay attention!” Davis spoke slowly and authoritatively. “The first Weaver will tell me what emotions they sense from the trooper opposite them. The trooper will then follow the green line and march away from the Weaver. When the Weaver can no longer sense the emotions, they will raise their hand and the trooper will return to the starting position. We will then repeat the process with the trooper following the red line. After the Weaver raises their hand, the trooper will return to the starting point and then repeat the process one final time, following the orange path. After the first Weaver finishes all this, the trooper is excused and may return to their day off. The second Weaver will then run through the same process and so on and so on. Begin.”
As Davis took his pad out, the troopers and Weavers glanced again at the intricate pattern on the floor.
“Annoyance. With maybe some worry.” The first Weaver started. “Probably upset about loosing his day off and being the first to do this.”
“Skip the interpretation,” Davis cut in. “That’s for big boys. Just describe what you sense.”
The trooper waited a beat before he walked down the green line. The line took him on a straight path away from the Weaver. The Weaver concentrated on the trooper. As the trooper reached the center of the room, the Weaver reluctantly raised his hand. The trooper quickly ran back to the starting position and, after another beat, started down the red line. The red path led the trooper around the warehouse, turning at random intervals in random directions. After only a quarter as long, the Weaver raised his hand. The trooper returned to the starting point and waited a beat. The orange line took the trooper behind a large stack of boxes, obscuring line of sight for the Weavers. As soon as the trooper left the Weaver’s sight, the Weaver raised his hand.
Gleefully, the trooper ran out of the room. The process repeated over and over. Brent was surprised at the variance in the Weavers. Some could sense forever but only in a straight line. Others couldn’t sense much until the trooper went behind the boxes. A few even did their best when the trooper was moving around randomly. As the last Weaver finished, it was Brent’s turn. He stared at Cassandra in her armor but had no idea what he was supposed to do.
“Nothing. I don’t sense a thing,” Brent admitted.
The other Weavers snickered. Davis raised his hand, silencing them.
“Perfectly all right. Miss, would you mind sticking around?” Davis directed at the armored trooper.
As Cassandra nodded, Brent wondered how Davis had known she was a girl. The suit completely masked all characteristics of a person; even the walk was mechanical and devoid of personality.
“Despite the military’s attempts, I see some potential in some of you.” Davis looked over his notes on his pad. “Several of you could become quite useful. However, that’s for another time. There is one more test for all of you, then you can go out and enjoy the rest of your day.”
The mood of the Weavers instantly brightened. Davis guided Cassandra to the chair he had been sitting on through the first test. As he returned to the center of the room, Davis snatched a chair that had been hidden behind a pile of boxes. Brent wondered what else he had hidden around them.
“For the last test you will use your abilities. One by one I want you to use your abilities on me,” Davis said as he sat in front of the Weavers.
The Weavers exchanged glances with one another.
“What do you want us to try to do?” Jamie asked.
“I want you to try everything you’ve got,” Davis said with a grin. “Whatever abilities are in those skulls of yours, I want you to use all of them. No holding back, no restraints, no objectives. Just go wild. Trust me. I am more than capable of dealing with whatever you throw at me. When I’ve got enough to know what you can do. I’ll wave on the next Weaver. Feel free to take a breather if you need it.” Davis leaned back in his chair.
The first Weaver looked for assurance from his fellow Weavers. The others shrugged. Taking a step toward Davis, the first Weaver stared intently. Oddly enough his right foot started tapping. The longer he looked at Davis the quicker the tapping became. After a few minutes Davis smiled and wrote something down on his pad. When he finished, he waved on the next Weaver. The first collapsed and was panting a bit. The second stepped up to the plate and focused on the Master Weaver. The second Weaver’s ears wiggled up and down with increasing speed. One by one they worked down the line in this fashion. Davis would write something down and wave on the next Weaver. The new Weaver would then do some odd involuntary motion until Davis was satisfied. Brent noticed Jamie’s eye did the same twitching it had done when Jamie had tried to manipulate him. After a long while, all the Weavers finished; only Brent was left. Most of them were still on the ground gasping for breath. Brent wasn’t sure what Davis expected of him. However, instead of waving
Brent on, Davis stood up and approached the Weavers.
“Good effort.” Davis helped the last few Weavers to their feet. “Either you desperately wanted to impress me or wanted to seriously maim me. Whatever your reasons were, I got what I wanted. You are all free to go about your day as you see fit. However, remember that using your abilities outside my training is forbidden. I will see you all tomorrow. Dismissed.”
“What about the new kid?” Jamie snickered. “Isn’t he going to embarrass himself?”
“Perhaps you’d like to spend the rest of the day running laps around the docking bay?” Davis quickly asked in a hostile tone. “Perhaps every Weaver here would like to join you?”
“What?” Jamie was shocked.
“I said dismissed. That was an order.” Davis sounded deadly serious. “It wasn’t a suggestion or playful banter. When I give you an order, you will carry it out. If you plan to disobey my orders I will make them more demanding of you. Is that understood?”
“Understood, Weaver Davis.” Jamie snapped to attention.
“Excellent. Dismissed,” Davis repeated.
At once, the Weavers quickly left the room. Not one of them dared speak. Following the order, Brent also calmly made his way to the doorway. Cassandra didn’t budge.
“Brent, would you mind staying here for a bit longer?” Davis shouted after most of the other Weavers had left the room.
As he nodded and worked his way back to Davis, it dawned on him that it had been a question, not an order. Again, Davis reached behind a pile of boxes and magically produced another chair. He set up the chairs so all three of them would be able to see one another in a small circle. Brent sat in the chair Davis set out for him.
The Ninth Page 23
