Bounders

by Monica Tesler

  The freckly kid looks at me. I shrug. He shoves his foot into his shoe and walks up the aisle.

  The tall guy turns to the meaty boy. “Hey, Regis. Go back where you came from.”

  I brace for Regis to flip out or maybe even throw something, but he doesn’t. His shoulders roll forward, and he mumbles, “Whatever,” before heading to the front of the craft.

  The tall guy offers his hand to me. “Sorry about your head, dude. The name’s Marco. Marco Romero. I’m from Amazonas.”

  I shake his hand. “I’m Jasper. Americana East. And this is Cole.”

  Marco extends his hand to Cole, but Cole doesn’t take it.

  “We’re not here to have fun,” Cole says. “We’re here for an important Earth Force assignment.”

  Marco laughs. “Yeah, whatever you say, Buzz Kill. Later.” He turns and disappears into an aisle a few rows up.

  I plop onto my chair. “Why didn’t you shake his hand?”

  “I don’t like him,” Cole says. “You didn’t see what happened. He was with that guy Regis. They stole the kid’s shoe, played catch across the craft, and then nailed you in the head with it.”

  “Oh.” Marco seemed okay to me, although the whole scene was a little odd. If Addy were around, she’d remind me I stink at reading people.

  The engines jump to life, sending vibrations through the craft. Cole’s face brightens. I’m sure mine does, too. In a matter of minutes we’ll be airborne. Destination: space station.

  “May I have your attention, puh-leeeze,” Florine Statton says, dragging the word please out so long, she sounds like she’s in pain. She stands at the top of the aisle, still wearing her giant sunglasses even though there’s nothing sunny about the passenger craft. “The captain has informed me the atmospheric push is rough. You need to fasten your harnesses.”

  A chorus of clicks runs through the rows.

  “Once we engage Faster Than Light Speed, or FTL, we’ll shift into autopilot,” she continues. “Then you can move about if you choose. We’ll arrive at the space station in a few hours.”

  Cole and I flip around in our seats to see the final gear check. As I watch the flight crew communicate through hand signals, I inhale a huge whiff of . . . roses? A long pink nail taps me on the forearm.

  Florine stares down at me through her sunglasses. “Ex-cuuuse me. I said it was time to fasten your harness.” I’m doused with another wave of her rose perfume as she flashes her bright cold smile. Honestly, I’ve never seen anyone with whiter teeth. They’re even whiter in person than they are on the webs.

  “Sorry,” I say. Cole and I snap into our five-point harnesses. Florine moves down the aisle, checking the other Bounders.

  “What’s her deal?” I whisper to Cole. “Why is she wearing those sunglasses? And why is she on the craft anyway?” Cole seems to know a lot. I figure he’ll know why she’s here.

  Just as Cole shrugs, a head pops up over the seats in front of us. A girl with wide-spaced eyes and warm brown skin stares at us. Her braided hair is tied with red and yellow ribbons.

  “Florine Statton’s been appointed Director of Bounder Affairs at the EarthBound Academy,” the girl says. She stares at me like I asked the most ridiculous question she heard all day.

  “How do you know?”

  “I asked.”

  Okay. Pretty good way to get an answer.

  “Who are you?” she asks. Her high voice tickles my ears.

  “Jasper Adams. This is Cole Thompson.”

  “What? Can’t he speak for himself?”

  Cole stares at the girl vacantly. I kick his shoe. “Oh. Hello,” he says, looking away.

  “Hello, yourself. I’m Lucy Dugan. I had to give up drama club to come, you know. This better be good. I’m sure it will be. Florine told me all about the dorms and the teachers and the end-of-tour field trip to the Paleo Planet. Have you heard anything about how they’ll group us at the Academy?”

  “Wait a minute,” I say. “How do you know Florine? When did she tell you all this stuff?”

  “I don’t really know her. I met her this morning.”

  Florine’s voice blasts over the intercom. “The captain has been cleared for takeoff. Do not make me come through the cabin again.” And, as an afterthought, “Puh-leeeze.”

  I peek behind me through the window. Smoke billows out around the craft, blocking the view of the sea. When I turn back, Lucy has disappeared into her seat. I’ll have to talk to her once we clear the atmosphere. Lucy has a lot of info, and she knows where to get more. When Cole’s head of facts draws a blank, I bet Lucy can fill it in.

  “This is your captain. Prepare for lift-off.”

  The floor rumbles, and I lean my head against the backrest. An odd pulling sensation seizes my body, and then an enormous weight compresses me, constricts me, holds me in place. The noise grows until it sounds like a freight train chugging through my brain. I fix my eyes on the front windows and try not to hyperventilate.

  The world falls away as we rush up past the skyscrapers, the lifts, the air rail.

  Up.

  Up.

  Up.

  I lose all sense of direction. All I can see out the window is whiteness. I don’t know if the whiteness is smoke or clouds or the thin air that crowds the atmospheric orbital line. The craft shakes and the engines roar. I’d do anything just to stop the noise.

  The pressure creeps into my lungs and squeezes. I strain to raise my head from the seat back. I try to lift my hand from the armrest. Nothing budges. My body is a prison. My breath comes in short bursts. I’m not sure how much more I can take.

  Boom! The noise is so loud, my brain almost explodes.

  Then . . . ahhh. Every single cell in my body relaxes.

  My arms float up from the armrests. My body lifts off the chair and pulls against the harness. The vise grip that holds my lungs lets go.

  “I am now stabilizing gravity,” the captain says over the intercom.

  A few seconds later I feel like myself again, in control of my mind and body. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

  “You have to see this,” Cole whispers.

  Cole has unbuttoned his harness and is facing backward in his seat. Who knows if we’re allowed to do that, but Cole seems fine. He hasn’t floated away or anything.

  I unbuckle and turn. The entire rear window of the craft is filled with the image of Earth just as it looks in the web pics. The creamy white swirls of clouds mix with the royal blue of the oceans. Clusters of green mark the vegetation lands. The scorch zones stretch flat and brown. And the silver circles show our cities. It’s beautiful. My throat gets tight, and my eyes fill up. I shake my head to snap out of it. No way do I want to look like a sap.

  “That’s Americana East,” Cole says, pointing to the silver circle on the edge of the American continent. “It’s one of the twenty-two cities visible from space.”

  I nod. Cole likes to state facts, and I don’t think he does it just to sound smart. I think facts keep him grounded. And we’re definitely not grounded.

  “Is that where you’re from?” I ask.

  “Yes. District 17.”

  “I’m District 8,” I say. How many minutes before we engage FTL?”

  “Less than ten. The crew conducts a second systems check, but it won’t take long.”

  “Scoot over.” Lucy stands in the aisle and shoves my shoulder.

  “Shouldn’t you be in your seat?” Cole says.

  “Who’s asking?” Lucy steps over my legs, pushes up the armrest separating Cole’s and my seats, and wiggles her way between us.

  “It’s simply gorgeous, isn’t it?” she says.

  “That’s Americana East,” I say. Geez, I’m starting to sound like Cole.

  “Yeah, uh, no kidding,” Lucy says. “Is that where you’re from?”

  “Yep. You?”

  “No, thank goodness. You Easties are way too stressed-out. I’m a Westie.”

  “Really?” I’ve never met anyone fr
om Americana West. I’ve never met anyone who has been to Americana West. Come to think of it, until today, I’d never met anyone who had been anywhere other than East—ever.

  “There’s West,” Lucy says, pointing out the window. “What are all those smaller circles in between?”

  “Those are the farm plots. All the food for the American continent is grown in those three zones,” Cole says. “You can’t see from here, but all the transport lines connect at those plots.”

  Lucy studies Cole. “Are you, like, one of those trivia magnets?”

  “What do you mean?” Cole asks.

  “You know, a lot of Bounder kids have a head for facts. They love to sort and categorize and memorize them. But that’s definitely not how it’s expressed in me. I’m more of a high-energy, low-focus type.”

  “Me too,” I say. I really have no idea what Lucy is talking about, and I’m not sure about the high-energy part, but I definitely don’t have a head for trivia like Cole does.

  “How do you know?” Cole asks Lucy. “I’ve read all the published literature on Bounders, and I’ve never seen any mention of that.”

  Lucy shrugs. “I asked. You do go for annual testing, don’t you? Those docs see hundreds of us. They’re gold mines when it comes to Bounder scoop.”

  Addy and I went every year for examinations, but I never thought to drill the doctors and scientists about other Bounders. Until I turned ten, I didn’t even know if the examination team would clear me for the space station. I’ve heard a lot of kids in the Bounder Baby Breeding Program don’t make the cut. Actually, I never really thought I’d make it. There’s nothing particularly special about me. Addy’s hyperaware and always tuned in to people, but I’m basically the opposite. Now here’s Cole with all the facts and numbers, and Lucy seems kind of like Addy. Maybe they made a mistake. Maybe I’m not supposed to be here after all.

  A bell chimes, and the captain announces we’re about to engage FTL. Lucy returns to her seat and buckles in.

  “Have you ever traveled at FTL?” Cole asks.

  I laugh. “I’ve never left Earth.”

  “Me neither,” Cole says. A loud thud shakes the craft. “Did you feel that? They just folded back the sides.”

  I crane my neck to look out the front window, but all I can see is an endless field of stars.

  The craft buzzes like my apartment building’s backup generator. Then, for a split second, I feel like I’ve been flung against a wall and smashed with a flyswatter. Before I can even process the feeling, it’s gone. And we’re just as we were before, except the front window is blurred with brightness. We engaged FTL.

  Lucy pops back over the seat. “So, like I asked before, do either of you Easties know anything about how they’re going to group us at the Academy?”

  “Why don’t you tell us what you know?” I say. “Because you obviously want to.”

  “Thanks, I will,” she says. “I don’t know much, but they’re going to divide the cadets into pods. Florine told me.”

  “Pods like quantum pods?” Cole asks. A pod usually refers to the group of five quantum aeronauts who crew each quantum ship.

  “Kind of like quantum pods. There will be groups of five kids. Some of the teaching happens all together, but most of the lessons will take place in pods. Each pod will be paired with an instructor. And I heard a rumor that some of the quantum aeronauts are going to be instructors.”

  Pods. That will be weird. So much depends on who’s in your pod.

  “I have my fingers crossed Maximilian Sheek will be my instructor.” Lucy smiles and makes a dreamy face. “Have you seen his latest EFAN interview? I can’t believe he studied opera. A natural baritone! And he’s looking for that special someone who appreciates the arts!”

  “Yeah, the art of being annoying,” I say. “You sound just like my sister. I can’t wait to meet Edgar Han. Do you know he trains for ultramarathons while on duty by running in place in an equal-gravity chamber? And he’s an accomplished photographer—there’s some arts for you. He’s the coolest aeronaut by a mile.”

  “Yeah, right,” Lucy says. “Sheek’s clearly the best, but I wouldn’t mind being paired with Malaina Suarez. She has advanced degrees in Sustainability, Logic, and Military History, and I think she’s the youngest female officer ever promoted to aeronaut. She may be kind of new, but she seems fierce.”

  “Fierce?” Cole says. “Suarez is far from fierce. . . .” Cole launches into an endless monologue about every aeronaut who ever lived and their relative fierceness as determined by their rank in the bounding training protocol.

  “I wonder if we’ll be ranked,” I say. “How do they determine the pod assignments?”

  “Is it random?” Cole asks. “Or do they assess personality and skills compatibility like they do with the aeronauts?”

  “Florine said they based the assignments on the data they collected during our years of testing, to make sure each pod has well-rounded skill sets,” Lucy answers. “But she also said they’re still finalizing things and may make changes after seeing how we mesh. They want to create the best balance within the pods.”

  “What do you think the chance is we end up in the same pod?” I ask. “Pretty slim, right?”

  “Maybe not,” Lucy says. “If they see we click, maybe they’ll want to put the three of us together.”

  “You want to be in our pod?” Cole asks.

  Lucy shrugs, but I think that means yes.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “I figure you guys are pretty smart. After all, you grabbed the best seats on the craft.”

  I look around at the other Bounders. Most kids are sitting quietly, staring at the info screens or gazing blankly out the windows. A boy in the next row rocks back and forth. His lips move without sound. At least a dozen kids pace through the aisles. A girl with short black hair huddles beneath a blanket she scared up from who knows where. Some kid I can’t see hums really loudly. A big group of kids up front hover around Regis, and they all crack up at the same time. I spy Marco slipping into the hallway reserved for officers. Cole’s right. He’s trouble.

  Lucy and Cole watch the others, too. I’m sure they’re doing the same thing I am—gliding over each face, sizing everyone up, wondering who will be in their pods. I hope the officers are watching. I hope they see how well we get along. I really want to be in the same pod as Cole, and I’d even be fine with Lucy.

  “I’d be okay with most of these dopes,” Lucy says, “as long as I’m not stuck with Dancing Queen.”

  “Who?” Cole asks.

  “Oh, you know, that batty girl at the aeroport. I’m shocked she even got through. One of the doctors told me tons of Bounder-bred kids are loony like that.”

  There’s obviously a lot I don’t know about Bounders. In my mind, all I can see is the pale thin girl dancing through the crowd, her arms outstretched, her head lifted to the sun. And her mother’s voice—Mira! Mira!—calling her back to Earth.

  “Look! Snacks!” Lucy says.

  Sure enough, two low-ranking Earth Force officers—plebes—push a large cart down the aisle. They dole out snacks to the Bounders. Their cart is full, but that won’t last long. Regis and his crew pounce on the bounty.

  “This is what stinks about these seats,” I say. “We get last pick at snacks.”

  “Don’t count on it.” Lucy slips out of her seat and skips off to the snack cart. I almost dash after her, when I notice a small figure clad in chain mail in Cole’s hand.

  “Whoa. What is that?” I ask. “The Crusades token?”

  Cole nods. Every time you level up in Evolution of Combat, they send you a new figure with a scan key to open the next level on your tablet. The figure Cole holds is retired. The current Crusades token has a battle-ax, not a scimitar.

  “Do you know why I think they retired him?” Cole says. “Scimitars weren’t used in the Crusades. It’s a sword that originated in Southwest Asia.”

  “Why do you know that?” I ask. Cole stares at me w
ith blank eyes. “Never mind.”

  “Do you play?” Cole asks.

  “Evolution? Yeah. Who doesn’t?” I can’t wrap my head around his retired token. “How long ago did you clear Crusades? I don’t know anyone who has the scimitar.”

  “Two years ago.”

  Two years ago? How is that possible? Evolution just came out a couple of years ago. “What level are you now?”

  “World War Two.”

  “Yeah, right.” I probably should know Cole wouldn’t lie about something like that. I don’t think he brags. He just tells you how it is.

  Cole stares at me, expressionless.

  “Okay, so you’re World War Two,” I continue. “Show me your figure.”

  Cole reaches inside his Earth Force jacket and fishes something out of the interior pocket. He hands me a small figure dressed in green fatigues and a bucket helmet.

  “Dude,” I say, “that’s unbelievable. And I thought I was good. I’ve never met anyone who’s even reached World War Two.”

  “What level are you?”

  “American Revolution.” I’m stunned. I’ve always been the best at Evolution. I suck at basically everything else remotely cool, but the kids at school come to me as the Evolution expert.

  “That’s pretty good,” Cole says. I can tell he’s trying to be nice. “Do you think they’ll let us play at the space station?”

  “I’m not sure.” They’re cutting us off from most media access, but maybe Evolution is outside the restrictions.

  “Scootch.” Lucy stands in the aisle. She took off her Earth Force jacket and is using it as a sling to carry snacks. “Please don’t tell me we’re talking about that awful game.” She must have spotted Cole’s figures. “I refuse to share these snacks until you put those things away. No Evolution. No exceptions.”

  That’s annoying, but I’m starved. And, honestly, I don’t want to hear any more about how awesome Cole is at Evolution. I wave a hand at him, and he shoves his figures back into his pocket.

  Lucy squeezes by me in a yellow T-shirt that says PACIFIC PLAYERS DRAMA CLUB on the front and CAST on the back in bright red letters. She dumps the snacks on the seats and crouches in the row to sort the loot.