The Ninth

by Benjamin Schramm

  “Excuse me, Weaver. I thought you might like to know basic starts in forty minutes,” the SW trooper said with her back turned.

  “You can drop ‘Weaver’. Brent works just fine,” he whispered back.

  “I’m sorry, I’m not used to referring to people so informally, sir.” She spoke in a whisper to match Brent’s.

  “I see. So you want me to refer to you as ‘trooper’ then?”

  “I see your point.” She chuckled to herself. “My name is Williams, Penny Williams.”

  “Could I ask you a favor, Miss Williams?”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “My friend here has had a very long couple of days, and I can’t bring myself to wake her. Would you mind waking her in fifteen minutes or so and escort her to the stalls?”

  “What about you?”

  “I can find my way; thank you for the offer.”

  “One more thing, sir.”

  “What is it?”

  “The division leader isn’t exactly the forgive-and-forget type. She’s called a special training session tonight, a whole hour earlier than normal. I doubt it’s a coincidence.”

  “When is it exactly?”

  “Right after the evening meal; she’s not giving us a free minute tonight.”

  “Thanks for the warning.”

  With Cassandra’s wake up call taken care of, all that remained was to escape her grasp. Using slow movements, he managed to break free without waking her. As he was about to snake out his hand, Brent hesitated. He had forgotten his dependence on her. Slowly he pulled his hand away, bracing for the worst. Surprisingly, nothing happened. No strange emotions assaulted him. The memory of the other Weavers and their jumble of emotions didn’t rush over him. He slowly waked away; ready to return to her if any emotions cropped up.

  As Brent entered the common room, his mind was clear. The traces of the other Weavers were gone. He let out a sigh of relief. At least for now he was independent again. Not that Cassandra’s snuggling hadn’t been pleasant. The common room was full of troopers. All of them were training, even at this early hour. Push-ups, weight training, and even some sparring occupied the troopers. The division leader ran a tight group.

  He quickly made his way to the stalls. The etchings above the doorways made the station quite easy to navigate once his had figured out the patterns. Brent didn’t even need to hold up his pad to read them clearly anymore; the faint indentations were as apparent as any street sign to him now. As he made his way, he noticed that, despite the large number of troopers, they were cleanly arranged in neat lines.

  They reminded him of Sanderson’s squad. Even before they had washed for the morning, they were parading around. They regarded him largely with indifference, whether out of fear of his status as a Weaver or out of some feeling of superiority, Brent couldn’t tell. He actually found it refreshing. For the first time in a long while, he wasn’t some public spectacle. To these troopers he was just a nameless Waver demanding no special focus or regard.

  As he reached the stalls, he had noticed the troopers bow to one another like the tripods only twice. His fan club didn’t have many members in the higher grades, or at least they hid their membership better. Despite the different behavior of the troopers, the facilities were exactly the same. At breakfast, the troopers of the SW were eerily silent. The playful banter of the FF was nowhere to be found. Basic was similar to what he remembered, the lifeless droning about past battles and basic combat techniques. Only problem was Brent was incredibly behind. It took him a while to understand the new exercises. Lunch was about as exciting as the monotone history lecture had been. The specialized training was incredibly difficult. Having missed so much, Brent had to struggle just to keep up with the others. Despite it all, he managed to avoid complete disaster. Dinner was as solemn as a funeral. Cassandra took a seat next to him. It had been the first time he’d seen her since that morning; a downcast look dominated her face.

  “We are gathered here to morn the loss of our dear friend Hue.” Brent smiled as he spoke. “He was an endless inspiration to some of us, and a respected colleague to others. None of us will forget the effect Mr. More had on our lives. I ask that we now have a moment of silence for our departed friend, Hue More.”

  Several SW troopers started chuckling as they got the joke. Cassandra’s expression lightened a bit.

  “His elegy will be delivered by his long time friend, Joe King,” Penny added, from halfway down the table.

  That did it; most of the division broke into thunderous laughter. The repressed laugher shattered through the strict and proper façade they’d developed. Some tried to regain their composure, but it was futile. The nearby divisions turned and stared at the laughing troopers with confusion. Tyra sat down across from Brent, Ronald following closely behind her.

  “What I miss?” Tyra raised an eyebrow as the trooper next to her banged on the table as he laughed.

  “I think some of Cain rubbed off on Brent,” Cassandra said with a smile.

  “It wasn’t even that good of a joke,” he said with a shrug.

  “Cain? Who?” Tyra asked.

  “The bookie of the FF,” Brent answered for Cassandra.

  “We are all settled in now,” Ronald spoke formally. “Our possessions have been transferred and I’ve begun working on those transfers you requested.”

  “I hope you won’t have any trouble.”

  “I doubt it. Your list consisted mainly of troopers from lower grades. I’d imagine they’d jump at the chance to join us.”

  “Does he ever lighten up?” Cassandra asked Tyra.

  “Rarely. Ronald is all business. Although, maybe that’s why he is so good at what he does.” Tyra started on her meal.

  “What is the meaning of this?” a familiar feminine voice bellowed. “Silence, all of you! Can’t you see the other divisions are staring?”

  The SW troopers quieted down. They looked like a pack of children caught with their hands in the cookie jar. The division leader stopped behind Brent.

  “I’m guessing this is your fault, Weaver. I hope you’re prepared; tonight’s training will be something special.”

  Brent dared not turn to face the division leader as she spoke.

  “What is the nature of the training, Miss Murdock?” Tyra asked calmly.

  “I believe I just said it was special. Do you have something stuck in your ear?”

  “More like you’ve got something stuck up your . . .” Brent quickly kicked Cassandra’s leg before she could finish her aside.

  The faces of several nearby troopers contorted as they strained to hold back their laughter. The division leader pretended she hadn’t heard Cassandra. The troopers let out a collective sigh of relief as their leader stormed off, presumably to prepare whatever she had in mind for them. The division reluctantly finished their meal and headed toward the examination room.

  “Now I know I missed something,” Tyra said, as she followed closely behind Brent. “What set her off?”

  “I’m afraid it’s our fault,” Penny spoke, as she matched Tyra’s pace. “A few of us defended the Weaver . . . excuse me, Brent. Miss Murdock was ready to have the division forcibly remove him from the common room last night.”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” Brent said reassuringly. “She was looking for a fight; you just gave her an excuse.”

  “If she wants a fight, I’ll be happy to give her one!” Cassandra cracked her knuckles.

  With a slight pause, she stared at her hands intently. She quickly moved to Brent’s side.

  “Are you okay?” she whispered so only he could hear.

  “Fine, why?”

  “You were already gone when I woke up this morning. Don’t you need to hold my hand or something?”

  “My mind has been clear all day; no trace of the other emotions.”

  “I see,” Cassandra said dejectedly.

  “After an entire night of being cuddled, I probably built up a stockpile,” Brent said with a
wink.

  Cassandra’s eyes widened; her face flushed red. As she was about to say something, the trooper in front of them came to a dead stop. They had arrived at the examination room. The division leader was standing by the doorway; a nasty grin lined her face from ear to ear.

  “We’ve got a few newcomers to the mighty SW. Let’s give them a warm welcome. Tonight we will determine if they are Shadow Walker material.” Murdock headed through the doorway.

  “You mean they are nicknames?” Brent asked, as the column of troopers followed their leader. “I thought they were assigned abbreviations to differentiate the divisions.”

  “You didn’t know that?” Tyra asked with a raised eyebrow.

  “You get used to it. He’s a genius in some areas, clueless in others,” Cassandra stuck out her tongue at Brent. “It’s actually kind of cute. He’d never heard of a 3P before he came here either.”

  “Do I even want to know what FF stood for?” Brent asked, ignoring Cassandra’s chiding.

  “Finbarr’s Failures,” Ronald stated flatly as they entered the examination room.

  The scene was an increasingly familiar one. Rolling dunes of sand spread out in every direction. A small collection of ruins was partially obscured behind a large dune several yards out. Murdock stood beside a large ring of sand that was a lighter color than the surrounding dunes. When she walked on the ring it didn’t give way to her step like loose sand did; it was a large circle of compressed sand.

  “Tonight we are going to assess the abilities of our new friends.” Murdock looked at Brent with abject hatred. “First off, let’s see how well they handle themselves in hand-to-hand combat. Tyra, would you mind going first?”

  With a carefree shrug, Tyra agreed. As she made her way to one side of the light circle, Murdock selected a trooper of an average build. The SW trooper quickly took her position and assumed a combat stance. Brent had never seen the stance before, but it looked incredibly uncomfortable. Tyra meanwhile just stood casually. Murdock slowly raised her hand. With a burst of speed she swung it down, starting the match.

  “I give up,” Tyra said, almost instantly.

  The SW trooper had started a lunge only to fall forward in surprise. The division looked at one another. Without waiting for Murdock’s approval, Tyra returned to the mass of troopers. She knew the division leader had no interest in punishing her. Murdock sighed to herself. Ronald moved into the ring.

  “That was . . . unexpected. Do you plan to surrender too?” Murdock asked Ronald.

  “You should know better than to ask me that, Valerie,” Ronald said with an obvious hint of irritation.

  A surprised look flashed over Murdock’s face for an instant. She quickly shook it off and gestured for a stronger looking trooper to replace his opponent. The trooper cracked his neck and raised his two fists. The trooper swiped at the air a few times. The speed and the strength of his punches was impressive. Ronald didn’t seem intimidated. He swept his right leg behind him and readied for the battle. He turned his profile to his opponent, his left arm parallel to the ground. His right arm seemed to hang limply. Every trooper watched the finesse of the movements in astonishment.

  Tyra folded her arms and smiled smugly. Ronald stood ready. Brent wondered why the match hadn’t begun. A quick glance answered his question. Murdock had been taken in by the grace of the movements as well and now stood almost in a trance. Ronald broke his intense focus on his opponent for only a moment to look at Murdock. The glance broke Murdock from her trance. She blushed slightly and quickly started the match.

  The SW trooper rushed Ronald with startling speed. A flurry of punches erupted from the trooper. Ronald easily blocked them all with his left arm. The trooper increased the speed of his punches, but Ronald kept up without breaking a sweat. In a single graceful movement, Ronald’s right leg swept between the SW trooper’s feet, knocking him off balance. As the trooper’s balance started to falter, Ronald’s right fist swung with amazing speed. When the trooper impacted the ground, Ronald’s fist hovered over the trooper’s neck. A gasp escaped from the division. Had he truly meant his attack it was likely the trooper would either be dead or very close to it.

  It took the trooper on the ground a moment to realize what had just happened. With victory firmly established, Ronald helped his fallen foe to his feet, and the two returned to the division. Murdock smiled to herself; she wasn’t the least bit surprised. She gestured for a very large and very strong looking trooper to enter the ring. Murdock shot a glance at Brent. Cassandra noticed the glance and quickly entered the ring before Murdock could order him to take his turn.

  “This seems a little unfair. Maybe we should even up the playing field.” Murdock sneered at Cassandra.

  As Murdock spoke, Brent felt a growing weight on his chest. Several troopers dropped to their knees. Cassandra stood firm. Her opponent didn’t seem to notice, either. Brent remembered the sensation from the exams. Murdock was manipulating the gravity. With labored movements she raised her hand and started the match. The SW trooper charged Cassandra. His speed wasn’t as quick as the others had been, but it wasn’t nearly as slow as it should have been in the increased gravity. Cassandra’s opponent was a heavy-worlder too. The two locked hands. Even without the magnified strength, Cassandra was quite tough. The two seemed to be in a stalemate; unable to break free of one another, they circled the ring. Brent remembered a similar scene from the exams, when Dante had been locked in combat with his double. As they neared the edge, Cassandra smiled. Her opponent took a step out of the ring and lost his footing in the slick sand. Cassandra pressed the advantage and brought him to his knees, locking him in a neck hold. The trooper tried to break free, but they were too evenly matched.

  “That’s enough,” Murdock commanded. “The girl is the winner. Clearly there’s a small amount of brains behind that brawn. Brent, you’re up.”

  “Wait a minute! You can’t . . .” Cassandra protested.

  “Your match is over. Be quiet and join the rest of the division!”

  The kneeling troopers exchanged worried glances. A murmur of protest could be heard, but it wasn’t loud enough to sway Murdock. Cassandra’s opponent remained in the ring, stretching in anticipation of the next match. It was painfully obvious Murdock had planned this. It took huge amounts of effort to take every step. Brent moved like a snail while his opponent didn’t show even a hint of hindrance. He finally managed to enter the ring. He could hear the concerned murmur of the division behind him. Murdock struggled to raise her hand again and started the match.

  The trooper immediately attacked. Brent raised his arms, struggling to mount a defense. The trooper batted him to the side like a bug. As he slid along the ring, he realized the trooper was just playing with him. When he came to a stop a thought occurred to him. He had made direct contact with the trooper. Why hadn’t he sensed his emotions? The trooper approached him and tossed him out of the ring like a rag doll. Murdock showed no intention of ending the match. The once soft dunes felt like millions of jagged rocks in the increased gravity. What was the point of being called a Weaver if he couldn’t depend on his abilities?

  Brent forced his body to stand as the trooper calmly walked up to him. He swung futilely at his attacker’s arm as the trooper grabbed Brent’s left leg and swung him back into the ring. After skidding to a stop, he struggled to stand again. He could hear the division gasp; their protesting whispers grew louder. Looking down he found the sand dirtied with a dark pink. At this rate he wasn’t going to end up in Medical; his next stop would be the morgue. The SW trooper swiped at him with his arm, sending him flying. As Brent crashed against the sand, a searing pain filled his side. Blood oozed from his right arm. As he struggled to stand, he could feel it running down the length of his arm, dripping off the fingers. As the SW trooper approached, his eyes winched.

  “Just stay down,” the heavy-worlder whispered to Brent as he lifted him.

  As he flew through the air, Brent wondered if the trooper conside
red this going easy on him or not. Grating along the sand, one thing was clear in his mind. Murdock wouldn’t be satisfied with his submission. She wanted him dead. As he tried to get to his feet, he started coughing. When he pulled his left hand away from his mouth, he found it covered in blood. Murdock might just get her wish.

  Brent stood up. His opponent was still a fair distance off, and apparently he was giving him some time to recover. He took stock of the situation. He could no longer move his right arm; his left knee was throbbing with pain – just like his back. The sand below was no longer a tan color; it was a reddish black now. He could hear the faint sounds of the division. Whether they were still whispering or he was losing his ability to hear, Brent didn’t know. Murdock watched him smugly, grim satisfaction in her eyes.

  If he could sense the heavy-worlders emotions, he might have stood a chance, but, as always, his abilities remained elusive. It wasn’t fair. Why could the other Weavers strike at him whenever they felt like it? Why were people always gunning for him? First the instructors had custom made exams to force him to fail. When he conquered them they put him in the FF, Finbarr’s Failures, the worst division on the entire station. He had managed to win a trial with the worst division possible. How was he rewarded? The Weavers tried to kill him. Now he was facing a slow and agonizing death, all because he wounded the pride of a division leader.

  Suddenly, Brent started laughing. For some reason, when he recounted it all, he found it funny. The laughter created incredible pain in his chest, but he couldn’t help it. The heavy-worlder stopped dead in his tracks. The division fell silent as they watched the cackling Weaver. Even Murdock was surprised and took a step in retreat; a taint of horror tugged at her face. As Brent laughed, he remembered the rolling hills of his dream. A soothing calm enveloped him. The pain in his body melted away. As he watched the animals move about, he reached out to touch them.

  Brent broke from the dream as he realized he had lifted his right arm. Blood continued to drip from its length as he raised it. He flexed the fingers. They responded! His movements were still painfully slow, but he again had control over his body. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Murdock trembling in fear. With all his strength, Brent slowly charged the heavy-worlder. The trooper stood still, not sure what to expect. He swung his right fist with all that remained of his strength.