The Armor of God

by Diego Valenzuela

  “You’ll be all right, Ezra,” said Erin with a smile. The memory of opening his eyes and seeing her face covered in dust, tears leaving tracks down her face, suddenly returned. “The explosion hurled you towards me. I thought you were dead, when it happened.”

  “I should’ve been so lucky.”

  “Don’t say that crap,” Garros growled. “I know how you feel—we were both there, and I know how it feels, having survived when Alice and the others didn’t—”

  “Garros,” Erin tried to stop him.

  He ignored her. “Now you know how valuable your life is in here, and how fragile. We like to say to the new guys that it isn’t, but it is. We cannot afford to lose pilots. We’re the only ones who can fight the laani. Without us, humanity will vanish. You follow?”

  Ezra barely did. His eyes had wandered off towards the far wall by the entrance, where four new pictures had been hung. He hadn’t yet walked up to see the faces on the wall—it was too difficult to think of Alice or Susan staring back at him over proud smiles. “Who is that?” he asked.

  Staring at the new pictures stood a woman in military uniform, still as a statue.

  “That’s Miles,” said Erin. “What was her first name? Regina?”

  “Rebecca,” answered Tessa. “Hadn’t you seen her before, Ezra?”

  “I think so,” he said. “I saw her at the party when we got here, I think. Who is she?”

  “She is, or was, one of Absolute Omega’s crewmembers,” replied Tessa. “She wasn’t summoned for your synchronization test so she wasn’t there when it happened. She was close with Alice. I don’t think I have seen her since the ceremony.”

  “I heard she locked herself in the dormitories, only comes out to pay her respects to the picture,” Erin said. “If you think you’re dealing with guilt—she lost three close friends, coworkers, and maybe her job because of the accident.”

  “It happened. We survived. We did. Get the hell over it,” Garros said, and Ezra didn’t think he was being honest at all. The guilt of living, the loss of a close friend—and his leader—had cast a shadow upon him he wasn’t ready to see.

  Ezra stared at Rebecca. The stripes and symbols on the shoulder of her army uniform matched Kat’s, but with the addition of one stripe at the bottom, suggesting she was a rank higher. Maybe a lieutenant? Ezra still hadn’t yet memorized the system.

  Suddenly, Rebecca turned away from the picture of Alice and left the dining hall.

  “There she goes,” Tessa said. “Back to bed.”

  “Poor girl. What else is she going to do? She’s in mourning, and it’s not like she has a pilot or a Creux to attend,” said Erin. “Blanchard, in better news, you and your friends passed the Advancement Test. How do you feel about that?”

  “I’m glad,” Ezra said, but his tone was not very convincing—he didn’t even care enough to ask for his score. “Who won the pool?”

  There was a quiet moment, and Ezra would have felt responsible for the awkwardness if it didn’t seem so insignificant now. “No, Blanchard, we—we didn’t think it would be appropriate to . . . never mind. We’re really proud of you. We’re happy you’re going to join us,” she said. “Tomorrow before lunch we’re gonna gather all the pilots to cast a vote for the new CDSL.”

  “Can I vote for anyone?” Ezra asked. “Any pilot, I mean.”

  “No,” explained Erin. “You need a few prerequisites to be a candidate: two years minimum in Zenith, at least two hundred and fifty hours in the Equivalency Suits, at least fifty successful Creux operations. The only pilots who cover those bases are Felix Goodwin, of Iron Seraphim—I don’t think you’ve met him; he doesn’t socialize—Garros, Jed, and myself.”

  “Jed—is he the one in the recovery room?” asked Ezra, remembering the burnt bald man he saw before meeting Jena’s father.

  “Yes,” said Erin. “He’s doing better than he was when you met him.”

  “I vote for Garros,” said Ezra, and the bald pilot spat out his coffee in surprise.

  “It’s a . . . private vote, Blanchard,” said Erin, sounding somewhat hurt by Ezra’s candor.

  “And the wrong vote,” added Garros, cleaning coffee from his beard with his arm. “I know we’re friends, Blanchard, and I appreciate it, but I don’t want the position—if I win, I’ll step down, so don’t waste your vote on me.”

  “I want it,” Erin said. “I’d be good at it. I was friends with Alice; I learned from her. I’m not supposed to say any of these things, but I’d appreciate your vote.”

  “Well, okay. I don’t know Felix, and Jed doesn’t seem to be in condition to be promoted. I don’t care. I’ll vote for you,” Ezra said, and wanted to finish: But you should know, last time I got someone promoted, bad things happened.

  He didn’t say it. He didn’t say anything for the rest of the meal.

  The only thing on his mind was Rebecca.

  That Monday started a new bittersweet period in their life in Zenith. It would take months for Ezra to really recover from the effects of Absolute Omega’s destruction, but Zenith had a way of always moving forward, and Ezra felt like a passenger on an unstoppable train, always being herded forward, never being allowed to linger on what had past.

  Now that all four had passed the Advancement Tests, most of the Entry Lectures were taken from their curriculums, replaced by more advanced and intricate versions of themselves. The biggest change for him was the fact that he, Jena, Kiva, and Poole wouldn’t take all their classes together. Now, each had a curriculum designed to cater to their specific educational and training needs. Ezra, being the pilot of a Tank-class Creux, would take fewer science courses and more physical and combat training. Jena and Poole’s Creuxen, though of different classifications (Long Range and Support respectively), shared many similarities in combat, so they were rarely apart.

  Akiva seemed to be in too many places at once; The Armor of God was so well rounded, it didn’t have a specific class: it was a wildcard, and could function and excel in any position it was needed. His coursework would no doubt be the heaviest of all.

  And then, for all the time Ezra didn’t spend with his three original friends, he spent it with Garros and by extension with Erin. The two of them seemed inseparable, and Ezra wondered if there were romantic feelings involved. Tessa joined them often; it seemed to him that she would like to enjoy their company more, but was afraid of being a third wheel. She seemed to join them more often when Ezra was there.

  At the end of the first day, he sat down to have the first meal with Jena, Kiva and Poole in a very long time. Though he had grown to really like Garros and Erin, there was still another layer of confidence among the four who stepped into Zenith together—the kind of trust he had felt towards Alice and Susan—and he depended on that trust to comfortably say what he wanted to say.

  When they were all sitting down, Ezra opened the conversation: “I need to tell you three something—something I haven’t told anyone else, about what happened,” he said, and this air of mystery drew their attention. “I think what happened wasn’t an accident.”

  “What? The explosion?” Poole asked.

  “I don’t think it was an accident,” Ezra repeated. “I’m not trying to be cryptic or paranoid; I’m not going crazy, even if it sounds like I am. I’m just going to tell you what I know, and I want you to help me figure it out.”

  “There’s nothing to figure out, Ezra,” Kiva said.

  “Just listen. Alice wasn’t someone who would lose control of her Creux—not ever. We didn’t know her so well, but all the other pilots can’t believe it happened either. I read her book; she could control that thing like a trained dog. It had absolutely no dominion over her, its temperament was defined as ‘calm’ and ‘unlikely to lose its temper.’”

  “So then what happened?” Jena asked.

  “She wasn’t being herself. Did you notice how she got to the labs late, looking tired and smelling like booze?” Jena and Kiva nodded; Poole’s brow was twisted by a judgm
ental frown. “She got drunk the night before.”

  “You saw her?”

  “He did more than that,” Poole sneered.

  “I know what you think you saw, Poole, and you should shut up—you don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Ezra.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” said Kiva. His voice had begun to take the quality of an angry snarl rarely heard from him. “What did she do?”

  At first, he was hesitant to reveal Alice’s actions the night before her death, but considering the situation, there was no reason to keep it a secret. “She came into my dormitory, looking for me. She was—she was drunk, and she was crying. I know what it sounds like but we only talked.” Ezra chose to keep their kiss to himself; that was an irrelevant truth. “She kept going on about the end of Zenith, how no one knew what she was doing, that she was scared of Milos Ravana.”

  “Just stop, Ezra,” Akiva said. “She was scared so she lost control of Omega. That’s all there is to it. Stop trying to look for puzzle pieces that don’t exist.”

  “Let him talk, Kiv,” Jena said.

  Akiva protested by getting up, pushing the table, and making the dishes and cutlery clatter. “There is nothing to talk about. She’s dead and we’re not. It’s no one’s fault. Just let it go!” He walked away, followed by the eyes of everyone close enough to hear his tantrum.

  “What the hell?” Ezra asked, a bit intimidated by Akiva’s sudden anger.

  “What’s the matter with him?” asked Poole.

  Jena sighed. “He feels guilty. When you were still in recovery, like two days after the incident, we had a really long talk. He was crying, and said that he felt like what happened might have somehow been his fault.”

  “I thought they had cleared him and Milos of any responsibility.”

  “They’re still looking into it, but they did, and he wants to believe it’s true: that he didn’t have anything to do with it, but I guess a part of him believes maybe Milos Ravana, if not him, might have done . . . I don’t know, something to her or her Creux. That thing has been sort of a Devil in Zenith for a long time.”

  “What do you think?” Ezra said. “I don’t want him to hear me say this, so please don’t tell him, but . . . maybe it’s true. I’m sure Kiva didn’t do anything, but Milos . . .?”

  “Yeah,” Jena said, and both looked at Poole.

  “I don’t know,” Poole said. “It’s just a pile of metal; I don’t think it’s consciously evil like people around here think. This isn’t the first time a pilot has died like this, Ezra Blanchard. I understand she was good, I read her book as well, but she was capable of making mistakes.”

  “Maybe,” Ezra agreed. “But she was acting strange. I want to find out why.”

  “Ezra, I don’t want to . . . I mean, you know you’re my friend but wouldn’t it be better to just let it go? I know how much you liked her but Kiva and Poole are right—she just messed up.”

  “I can’t just let it go, I’m sorry. They died doing something we have to do again, just a few days from now. I need to know why it happened. We need to know why it happened! I don’t . . . I don’t want it to happen again,” Ezra said, running out of air, choking on a knot in his throat. “To any of us.”

  “How do you expect to find out, Ezra Blanchard?” asked Poole. “If Dr. Mizrahi doesn’t know. If Corporal Higgins isn’t here anymore. Not one of us knows enough about the Creux, or the accident itself.”

  “No, but one of Absolute Omega’s crewmembers wasn’t in the docking chamber during the accident,” Ezra said. “Her name is Rebecca, and she—”

  “Is she the creepy one who stares at the pictures all day?” asked Jena.

  “Yes, and it’s not creepy, she’s just paying her respects,” said Poole.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I just . . . I don’t like seeing her there.”

  “If there’s anyone who knows whatever it was that made Alice act the way she did before the day of our tests, it’s her. I’d like to talk to her. She’s been locking herself in the Absolute Omega dormitory, and I intend to go there later. I’d like it if you could come with me; I don’t want to do it alone.”

  Poole nodded. “I think it was just an accident, but if it wasn’t, I want to know too.”

  Ezra smiled and turned to Jena, who was still considering Ezra’s pitch. She eventually shook her head. “I’m sorry, Ezra, but . . . I wish you wouldn’t look into it. What if you discover something we don’t want to know? What if Akiva—I mean, if Milos Ravana—is responsible?”

  “Wouldn’t you want to know if it was?” Poole asked. “You’re going to have to synch next to it again.”

  “I’m sorry. I just don’t want to stir things up. I already lost too much in here. I just want to do my job and then move on to whatever is coming for me. I’m sorry, Ezra.” Jena got up as well, grabbing all of her gear, including the bow and quiver she was training to wield. “I have a meeting with my counselor. I really wish you’d let it go.”

  He couldn’t help but feel disappointed to watch Jena leave him.

  Two hours later, Ezra stood next to Poole, staring at the logo of Absolute Omega imprinted on Alice’s dormitory door. A black veil had been hung to cover the logo as a sign of respect and mourning.

  It took them entirely too long to muster the will to knock. Neither one of them had ever spoken to Rebecca. What would they say? Was there even a way to handle the situation with tact? Poole probably wouldn’t know.

  “What are you doing?” Akiva’s voice boomed behind them. They turned before knocking, to face Akiva looking bigger and angrier than usual.

  “Nothing,” Ezra said. “There’s just someone I need to talk to.”

  “I asked you to just leave it alone. Why can’t you listen to me?” he asked, moving closer to Ezra, towering over him menacingly.

  “We just need to know something,” Poole protested. “Why do you care?”

  Her words angered Akiva, but he managed to swallow his rage and take a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. Right now, you need to come with me. They’re gathering all of Zenith in the Grand Lecture Hall.”

  “Why?” asked Ezra.

  “Some announcement. You better come,” said Akiva and walked away in a huff.

  Ezra sighed his relief. He hated to admit it, but even though Akiva was his friend, he was deathly afraid to ever confront him in any capacity; he was so much bigger than him.

  The conversation with Rebecca would have to wait.

  Ezra and Poole walked together towards the Grand Lecture Hall, which sometimes doubled as an auditorium, talking about Akiva’s strange and uncharacteristic behavior. Both had felt hints of a threat in his words, and both found it hard to believe from their regularly composed friend.

  How could he feel so guilty that he’d bare teeth at his only friends? Unlike Ezra or Jena, Akiva hadn’t really clicked with anyone else in Zenith. Not even Milos Ravana’s crewmembers seemed to like him very much.

  When they got there, it was like they were the last ones—the place was completely full, and a lot of people were standing up in the aisles, waiting for the announcement that had gathered them there with such urgency. Ezra found Jena standing not far from the door, and walked towards her.

  “What do you suppose this is about?” Jena asked him. “I was in the middle of a counseling session when suddenly they asked us to gather here.”

  “I don’t know,” he replied and both looked at Poole, waiting for her opinion. She just shrugged.

  Ezra spotted Akiva leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the huge hall, eyes still angry and fixed on the podium, where Dr. Yuri Logan waited. Behind him, Dr. Mizrahi sat between two empty chairs.

  After five more minutes of waiting, Dr. Yuri finally spoke into a microphone. “I’m sorry to summon all of you in here so unexpectedly. It won’t take very long so you can all go back to your work.” He checked his watch. “Good grief, or to bed.”

  There were scattered laughs,
but judging from the stress on Dr. Yuri’s face, collective mirth was not really among his priorities in calling this meeting.

  “We just need to announce that there will be some . . . reconfiguration in the organizational chart of Zenith.”

  Ezra heard people begin murmuring quietly. “Oh crap, someone’s getting canned,” someone said behind him. He turned to find Garros sitting a few rows back.

  “Don’t be afraid, this won’t affect the pilots and no one here should fear for their job,” Dr. Yuri said, savvy to the possible speculations that would naturally follow an announcement like that. “There will be a new director in Zenith, someone you’ll look up to as your new employer, and superior.”

  Ezra frowned.

  “Some of you already know her. Some of you have worked, and even lived, with her. She is one of the original members of the Zenith board, and a dear friend. Please welcome back your new director—”

  Ezra’s eyes went wide when a woman walked into the room and approached the podium.

  “—Dr. Tara Blanchard.”

  Chapter 12

  What the Dead Leave Behind

  A million eyes: all on Ezra.

  “Ezra, what is your mom doing here?” asked Jena.

  He wished he had an answer.

  “Good evening.” His mother, dressed in formal clothing he had never seen her wear, spoke into the microphone. Dr. Logan took a seat behind her. “I want to apologize again for the sudden summons; I personally didn’t think such a dramatic announcement was necessary, but here we are. My name, if you don’t know me, is Dr. Tara Blanchard. I’ve been on the board of operations in Zenith since its creation, originally working closely with Dr. Dahlia Mizrahi, may she rest in peace.”

  Dr. Mizrahi didn’t react to the mention of her defunct sister.

  “I am intimately familiar with every operation taking place in this facility, as well as the Creux Defense Program itself, even if I haven’t worked here in over ten years. Recent events that took place within this facility have urged some changes in protocol, security measures, and, of course, personnel. As Dr. Logan says, none of you should fear for your jobs or positions—the changes will take place strictly on an administrative and directorial level. Part of these changes is Dr. Logan’s decision to step down from his position as Director.”