The Ninth

by Benjamin Schramm

  It took Brent a moment to realize how quickly the entire exchange had taken place. From the moment they made contact, to the green light had only taken fractions of a second. Another of the troopers tried the same move on Cassandra. His fist cleanly hit Cassandra. She didn’t even flinch. With a single motion she grabbed his fist and tossed the trooper deep into the common room. He crashed into some exercise equipment, startling the troopers who had been using it. The SW troopers backed away as Brent’s would-be attacker started wailing on the floor. Brent leaned over and took the man’s hand. He focused on returning the man to his normal, albeit nauseating, self.

  “Who dares enter my division and cause such a racket?” a strong feminine voice called out.

  Every trooper in the common room approached the pair at the doorway. From deeper in, Brent could see troopers sneaking out from behind the archways leading to the bunks. A slim female stood in the center; from the way the others distanced themselves, it was clear she was the leader.

  “A Weaver and his pet. Why do you darken my doorway?” the female leader asked.

  “I’d be the last to agree with the other Weavers, but you and your troopers really should show better manners,” Brent shot back.

  “I don’t fear you, Weaver, or any of your kind. Take your parlor tricks elsewhere.”

  “His pet!?” Cassandra shouted as her face flared red. “I only see one animal here. And she is in serious need of an obedience lesson . . .”

  Brent quickly squeezed her hand to silence her. The division leader sneered.

  “You really think you could beat me, little girl?” she chewed her words.

  “I wouldn’t recommend . . .” He stepped in front of Cassandra protectively.

  “It is him!” a trooper shouted from somewhere in the gathering of SW.

  With incredible speed, seven troopers switched sides, taking positions to Brent’s right and left. He was puzzled until they bowed to him like the tripods. Apparently he had friends, even here. He returned the gesture, purposefully exaggerating some of the motions. Gasps escaped the mouths of the SW troopers still standing near their leader. Realization of who Brent was flashed on several faces; it was a mixture of surprise and horror.

  “Just who do you think you are?” The division leader hadn’t figured it out yet.

  As Brent was about to answer, the SW troopers who assembled themselves around him shouted.

  “He is the leader of recruit group C, the grand commander of the war room, and the liberator of the FF,” they shouted in unison to their leader.

  “You can call me Brent,” he said as they finished, trying to hide his discomfort at the troopers’ praise.

  The division leader cackled. The troopers standing near her stepped away while those around Brent remained firm.

  “So, Tyra did it.” The division leader grinned in satisfaction. “I doubted she could pull it off. So, I guess you’re mine now.”

  He could feel Cassandra’s hand tighten in anger. The troopers standing to his sides looked at one another, troubled.

  “No one is above him,” Cassandra announced flatly.

  The troopers around Brent smiled to themselves, as their troubled looks faded. He knew he had heard the line before, but couldn’t remember where. The division leader cast a hard stare at Cassandra that would have struck a faint-hearted person dead. The division leader had lost this round. With the confrontation over, his body relaxed, and he became aware of just how tired he was. Without a word, Brent headed toward the second archway. Cassandra and the loyal SW troopers followed closely. The rest of the troopers in the common room exchanged worried glances. They lacked the cunning to know exactly what had just happened, but they knew something had happened, and their division leader was not happy about it.

  “Tyra is still with her old division. Would you like to use the squad leader’s quarters tonight, Weaver?” one of his new followers asked.

  “The name is Brent.” He smiled at the trooper.

  “Did you want to use it . . . Brent?” a second asked.

  “Not tonight. Would you all mind sleeping in the bunks near the archway? I have a feeling I didn’t make the best of impressions with your division leader.”

  The SW troopers nodded among themselves and moved to take the bunks. Brent led Cassandra to the bunk farthest down the archway.

  “Wouldn’t you rather we had taken a room with a door?” Cassandra waited until they were alone to ask.

  “It would have raised too many questions if we went in together, plus, I think we pushed our luck with the division leader enough as it is.”

  “Ashamed to be seen entering the same room as me, is that it?”

  “Maybe I just don’t want to be accused of trying something and wake up with a broken arm.”

  Cassandra smiled warmly as they prepared for bed. The bunks were too far apart for them to remain in contact while sleeping in separate ones. Brent courteously offered to take the floor while Cassandra took a bunk. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but without the constant barrage of random emotions, he managed to fall asleep.

  Jack leaned back in his chair. Observing Brent had given him less insight than he had hoped. The boy acted as he always did. The only small difference was he never let go of the girl now. Nothing to shocking in that, one didn’t need to be a Weaver to see he cared for her. With a disappointed sigh, Jack turned his attention back to his pad. The fair doctor had forwarded the reports on each of the Weavers receiving treatment. Doctor Benedict was being down right accommodating. Not only had she let Brent go, she had given Jack the reports on the Weavers before he had even thought to ask for them. As a precaution, Jack decided to watch over the doctor a little more closely. Her mind had enough scars from inept Weavers; he wasn’t about to let any more be created under his watch.

  Despite Brent’s weakened state, Jack couldn’t find anything permanent done by the Weavers’ subterfuge. To think the Weavers were so well organized to attempt such a thing. Had the boy been a normal Weaver, the armed guards would have arrived to a massacre. Brent would no doubt already have been dead, and who knows how many of his supporters would have joined him. As Jack read through the reports, he noticed an odd fact. Most of the Weavers showed signs of extreme exhaustion before Brent disabled them. They had been attacking him with everything they had, and then some. Jack had already spoken with some of the troopers to get their side of the story. To stand, alone, against an entire army of Weavers, Brent was either incredibly brave or unbelievably stupid.

  Whatever the case, he was rapidly becoming an epic hero to the troopers. However, the fact that scared Jack the most was the amount of control Brent exhibited. He forced the Weavers to stop breathing. Sure, when a person is scared they breathe faster, or slower when relaxed, but to stop altogether? Even to a Master Weaver such things were impossible. When Jack thought of worst-case scenarios, it had always been Brent driving people to suicide or murder or some kind of extreme emotional state. Planet wide riots, entire populations acting like deranged psychopaths, and other dismal scenarios had been the limit of his imagination.

  For him to be able to decide a person should just stop breathing – the implications were staggering. Everyone in a three hundred mile radius simply dropping dead, gasping for breath as their lungs refused to obey. The only thread of hope was that Brent always undid the damage he inflicted. He had even saved an army bent on his demise from suffocation. Jack wondered how long their good fortune would last. As he was just about finished with the reports, he heard the sounds of stirring from the bed in the room.

  “Enjoy your nap?” Jack asked.

  “Five more minutes,” Nathan said groggily, as he rolled over.

  “You’ll be asking for ‘five more minutes’ until lunch.”

  “Where’s the problem in that? The universe can’t get me in my dreams.”

  “You don’t honestly think the universe itself is after you.”

  “No, just every single human being with the power to ruin my
day.”

  “I know you had a rough day yesterday, but isn’t that blowing things out of proportion.”

  “A rough day? Jack, I was trying to push the academy back into orbit!”

  “I suppose crashing to our doom would qualify as an excuse to bring up Janet Hawkins.”

  “Janet . . .” Nathan lunged forward into a sitting position.

  “Nathan?”

  “I had completely forgotten. Those little brats almost ruined everything.”

  “How could you forget Janet Hawkins?”

  “Not her. Why I sent for you in the first place!”

  “Wait, you mean the Weavers didn’t force you to call me.”

  “No, the little rats convinced me the sky was falling after I summoned you.”

  “So what was so important?”

  “We’ve got to get Brent off the station. His life is in danger.”

  “Isn’t it a little late for that? The Weavers already attacked him. What more threat could the academy pose?”

  “It’s not what’s on the academy, it’s the fact that it’s an academy in the first place!”

  “Want to run that by me again?”

  “Give me a minute to collect my thoughts; I’ve never been good under pressure.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.” Jack chuckled.

  “Before I took that accursed position at Lazarus, I was a general researcher for the Commonwealth. I’ve probably told you about my exploits to the point you know them better than I do. In any case, I was sent here and there to study this and that. I made a number of friends back then, friends I’ve kept in contact with over the years. We argue about theories, gloat over our latest accomplishments and the like.”

  “Okay, so you are popular.”

  “You don’t have to sound so skeptical.”

  “I never said you weren’t, so how does arguing about theories put Brent in mortal danger?”

  “I was getting to that! Well, recently they’ve been getting nervous. The ITU is acting funny. They wanted to know if I knew anything more.”

  “Funny ha ha or funny odd?”

  “Funny peculiar. They’ve been moving around their security forces. Getting too close for comfort. Nothing worries a researcher like a warship in orbit.”

  “Great, so they want to pressure some world to capitulate on a trade dispute, or convince some policy maker to leave them alone.”

  “That’s just it. There isn’t a single world they are trying to establish trade arrays on right now. And there isn’t a single policy coming up anytime soon that would effect them.”

  “So what? You think they are up to something else? All the ITU cares about is credits, credits, and more credits.”

  “Normally I’d agree with you, but after the three titans incident the ITU has had a lot more power to toss around. The whole thing changed how PSFs are calculated after all.”

  “Or it could be they are just reorganizing their trade routes to save a credit or two.”

  “That’s another thing; the trade ships haven’t deviated at all. They are still jumping along the same old routes. With the security forces as they are now, there are even a few ITU trade lanes that are completely unprotected.”

  “Any pirate activity? Could it be a trap to lure them into the open?”

  “For a while they were raiding the trade lanes nonstop. The security forces ignored them completely. Recently, the pirates pulled back.”

  “Even they know something isn’t right,” Jack said, finally accepting Nathan might be on to something.

  “It all fits. The ITU wants Brent out of the picture.”

  “Hold up, how do you make that connection?”

  “Think about it. Our spy was well paid, and who has deeper pockets than the ITU? When their spy failed to terminate Brent we hid him in Medical. For all the ITU knew, we could have moved him to another academy. Right about that time they started shuffling their security forces around. We’ve crunched the numbers, figured out where they are headed. Their fleets will soon be in position to strike at any of the academies.”

  “Okay, I see it now, but I don’t buy it.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Why move their entire military force for a single boy? Why expose their trade lanes to pirates and other riffraff when a single professional assassin could get the job done for a fraction of the price?”

  “After the incident in the mess hall, maybe they didn’t think an assassin could cut it.”

  “But that was yesterday. You said they started moving last week.”

  “But Jack . . .”

  “Don’t worry; you’ve convinced me. I’ll check with my contacts in the military; see if your scientist buddies are getting you worked up over nothing.”

  “Believe me, I’d be happy if that were the case. I’ve had too much excitement for one . . .”

  A gentle knocking interrupted. A man in gray stepped into the room timidly.

  “Weaver Davis?” the man asked slowly.

  “That’s me. What is it?

  “You wanted to be informed if there were any developments with the boy.”

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “He’s changed divisions. Was made official last night. He’s now in the SW.”

  “Under who?”

  “Division leader Valerie Murdock. He’s in the second squad under Tyra Lucchesi.”

  “That will be all.”

  The maintenance man saluted and quickly left the room.

  “Wonderful. Of all the divisions, he had to end up in Murdock’s.” Jack sighed.

  “You know her?”

  “Not personally, but I’ve had dealings with the family. They’ve despised Weavers for generations.”

  “Well, it could be worse, right? After all, hunting Weavers is against the law nowadays.”

  “I suppose that’s true. However, blood feuds don’t resolve without blood – hence the name.”

  “Somehow, I doubt that’s where the expression comes from. You don’t think she’d really take up the old family hobby in plain view. Do you?”

  “You make a point. Murdocks are anything but fools. Plus, he isn’t reporting directly to her; there might be enough buffer between them that she’ll forget he’s there. Wasn’t Tyra the leader of the SF?”

  “No doubt abandoning the division before it sunk completely. Hold on, what was her last name again?”

  “Lu-kess-e, I think.”

  “Lucchesi! Why do I know that name . . .”

  “Is there anyone you haven’t heard of?” Jack asked with a grin.

  “Maybe I do watch too many 3Ps.”

  “One of your scientist friends perhaps?”

  “Don’t think so. It’ll come to me sooner or later.” Nathan shrugged and rolled back into bed.

  Jack didn’t protest as his friend drifted back to sleep. He could feel Nathan’s exhaustion. Nathan had always been a worrier, and recently there was more than enough to worry about. If the ITU was getting involved with the boy, things would only get worse.

  The three tones awoke Brent. For a while he laid still, collecting his thoughts. His dream had been different. Instead of the fifth exam and the metal world, Brent had been in peaceful grassland. Rolling hills stretched out as far as the eye could see. Large herds of animals moved about under an auburn sky, freely roaming and eating as they pleased. It had been a soothing dream, a new experience for him. After the turmoil of the last few days, it was refreshing to get a decent night’s sleep.

  Remembering where he was, he started to get up. As he stirred, he realized he couldn’t move the left side of his body, and there was a weight on his chest. Looking down, he found a large tangle of hair resting on him. After the initial shock, Brent looked around. The bunk overhead was empty. Cassandra couldn’t have fallen out of the bunk; there was no way he could have slept through her crashing down on him.

  Suddenly, a warm soft material caressed his immobilized hand. She was holding his hand close to her chest even in slee
p. The sensation hinted she was well endowed beyond what he had pictured. She shifted subtly; through the blanket he could feel her legs wrapped around his. Apparently Cassandra clung to things in her sleep. From his position he could only make out the top of her head, but her slight movements gave him a mental picture. Brent wondered how she had managed to tangle herself so intricately without waking him.

  She never ceased to surprise him. Despite her magnified strength, she could be incredibly gentle. The same girl that had flung a trooper like a rag doll the night before was now snuggled up to him, clinging as softly as a breeze. With his free hand Brent grabbed his pad. Working with only one hand was troublesome, but he found himself not wanting to wake her.

  Focusing as best he could, despite Cassandra’s occasional slumbering cuddle, he turned his mind to business. He had signed up with Tyra under the condition that he picked the troopers. As he started searching for prospects, every trooper on the station came up as candidates; evidently single digit divisions got whomever they wanted. Brent quickly searched through the names, making mental notes of talents and weaknesses. It had taken a little over an hour, but he had managed to construct a squad that he could live with. He was actually quite proud of the squad he had assembled.

  Cassandra’s knee rubbed against his inner thigh as a reminder they were still intertwined. As he sent the list to Tyra, Brent wondered if Cassandra always slept in late or if she was suffering from exhaustion. After all, he had no idea how long she had been by his side after the trial. This might have been her first good night’s sleep in quite some time. A figure was moving in the distance. As it got closer, he identified it as one of the SW troopers who had joined him the night before. The girl in black and red was moving her head about as she studied the bunks. When she noticed Cassandra on the floor she paused for a moment. As she made eye contact with Brent pinned under the girl, her eyes widened. He shrugged nonchalantly as the trooper turned away.