“All right, since we’re all here, let’s get started,” Kitahara says. His eyes run over us, surveying but not critical. They stop on me, so I narrow in on his thoughts. She wouldn’t have had the chance to train with anyone since she entered prison. I’ll partner with her and we can take it easy today.
I smile thinly.
“It’ll be helpful to be able to watch each other fight, so we’ll take turns. Cathwell and I will partner together first and try to get a rough idea of each other’s fighting styles. Mendel, Johann, you’ll watch us and then do the same.” Kitahara thinks a moment, then adds, “For now, no gifts. Let’s see what we can each do without them.”
“No gifts?” Mendel asks with a single raised eyebrow. What a pain. “What’s the point in that? It’s not like we won’t be able to use them on the battlefield.”
“What, afraid you can’t win without it?” Johann asks, the tiredness from before slowly being replaced by excitement. Finally something interesting.
“Just asking.” Mendel shrugs with an air of carelessness. Damn this guy is annoying. How long is this supposed to last, anyway?
“You never know what might happen in battle,” Kitahara says. “Besides, there wouldn’t be any point in you two sparring if one of you could just burn your opponent alive while the other flings his partner through the roof.” At Mendel and Johann’s joint silence, he shakes his head. “This is to help us get to know each other better. A bonding exercise, if you will.”
Even without words, I can hear Johann’s and Mendel’s internal groans.
Well, this is off to a great start.
We all stretch together, and then Johann and Mendel back up to give us some space. Kitahara and I face each other.
Okay, we’ll start nice and slow. Ease into it.
If I wasn’t mildly amused by Kitahara’s misconception about where I am in terms of strength, I might be insulted. It’s only because I know he’s coming from a logical thought process that I can tolerate him looking down on me. After all, he has no way of knowing I’ve been training regularly with fellow members of the Order for the past few years.
Still, just because he intends to go easy on me doesn’t mean I’m going to do the same for him. He did say no gifts, though, so I flex my hands and tune out all the voices in my head.
“Ready?” Kitahara asks. What a gentleman.
I nod.
He comes at me first. Even though I’ve stopped listening in on his thoughts, I can tell by the purposeful slowness with which he moves that he’s holding back.
He leads with a punch—a hit I easily avoid by skipping sideways—and follows with a swift kick. I catch his ankle and pull him forward off balance. Before he has time to regain it, my leg swings up to land a solid kick of my own to his side. He’s not fast enough to block it, and ends up crashing to the floor.
Okay, maybe I should’ve held back a little.
He rubs the side of his head as he sits up. “Nice, um, job.”
“Thanks,” I say as I loosen my grip over my gift. “You were a little slow.”
I noticed. “Yeah. I’ll work on my timing.” I didn’t expect her to be so fast. Okay, so that was too much holding back. Noted. He looks to Johann and Mendel. “All right, you’re both up.”
Cathwell’s faster than I expected. The grudging thought belongs to Johann, who glances at me as we trade places. I wonder if she’s actually any good or if it was a fluke.
Johann puts aside thoughts of me to focus on Mendel. The former is clearly more into this than the latter, who barely looks bothered to hold up his fists.
Mendel isn’t going to last like that.
Johann charges forward. Mendel is slow to block the punch that comes his way, and falls back several steps. But he doesn’t fall, so the sergeant major keeps throwing punches, keeps pushing him back.
There’s nothing extraordinary about the way Mendel fights—or maybe he just can’t be bothered to go all out—but Johann’s motions are fluid, precise, strong. There are no wasted movements, no reckless shots. That, coupled with a gift over fire, makes for a near-invincible fighting style. I’m glad we’re on the same side.
Johann is just about to land what is clearly the finishing strike when Mendel’s hands fly up in defense. Despite not actually touching his opponent, Johann gets sent flying several yards back, landing on hands and knees with a fury-filled expression.
“What the hell, Mendel?” Johann snarls. “The rule was no gifts.”
Mendel throws up his hands, but it’s hard to tell if it’s out of self-defense or annoyance. “It was reflex, all right? I just reacted without thinking.”
“Is not thinking a habit of yours? Because I can see how that would be hard to shake.”
I laugh. Johann and Mendel both turn glares on me.
“What?” I say. “That was funny.”
“Everyone, calm down,” Kitahara says. His gaze shifts uneasily between Johann and Mendel. “Mendel, you know you weren’t supposed to use your gift. It defeats the purpose of this exercise, and puts you at an unfair advantage against Johann, who followed the rules.”
Irritation flickers over Mendel’s face, but he wipes it off quickly. Calm down. I don’t want to deal with any more annoyances than I have to. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to use my gift. It won’t happen again.”
“See that it doesn’t,” Johann says. The sergeant major doesn’t even glance at Mendel as the both of them stalk back to where Kitahara and I stand.
The major turns to me. His expression is troubled, but he only says, “Let’s go again.” Maybe Johann and Mendel can use the time to cool down.
And so we return to the center and resume our stances. This time Kitahara doesn’t ask if I’m ready. He waits for me to come at him.
I’m not usually the first to attack, but I can tell he’s still underestimating me, so I lunge forward to feign a punch.
He sees through the attack and ducks both my punch and the follow-up kick to his stomach. He aims a fist near my shoulder, but I drop down and spring up behind him.
He whirls around to catch a punch that would’ve otherwise connected with the space between his shoulder blades. He tries to drag me forward, but I jerk my hand back, pulling him along with it, and aim another kick at his stomach. He lets go of my wrist and I clip him as he moves back—but not enough to throw him off balance. He responds with a swing intended for my upper arm.
His intention is too obvious, though, which makes the attack easy to dodge and even easier to counterattack. As soon as he swings forward, I kick his ankles straight out from under him. He hits the floor.
“Your movements are good,” he says. “Fast, strong, and well-calculated. Very nice.” I’m surprised to find no grudgingness in either his voice or his thoughts. He’s genuinely pleased I’m a good fighter.
“Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.” I offer a hand to pull him up, and he takes it.
Looks like I didn’t need to worry about holding back after all. Kitahara looks over to Johann and Mendel, who are silently fuming and bordering an edge between annoyed and bored, respectively. I wonder if either of them even bothered to watch our spar.
They’re still mad. Should I split them up? No, whatever this is, they’re going to have to work it out before we head out tomorrow. “All right, you two are up,” Kitahara says. He almost adds in a reminder to not use their gifts, thinks that will probably just make them both more irritated, and holds off.
We all switch spots.
Johann, who’s realized Mendel isn’t taking this seriously at all, is much less into the match this time. Now both their stances are lacking, neither of them looking happy and neither of them about to go into this match with an ounce of care.
This isn’t going to end well.
Johann starts again this time, probably because we all know Mendel isn’t about to make any moves on his own.
The punches that were before so full of power and purpose now fall with barely suppressed ang
er. Mendel’s blocks are thrown up carelessly, thoughtlessly. It’s almost painful to watch.
A crackle ripples through the air before it happens.
A flare of red flames ignites from Johann’s fist as it connects with the arm Mendel flung up in half-hearted defense. He shouts and falls to the ground, clutching his arm to his chest with hate in his eyes. He manages to diminish the look to pure anger in seconds.
“Weren’t you just harping on me for using my gift?” Mendel demands. “Then two seconds later you turn around and use yours!”
“Sorry,” Johann says in a way that is not apologetic at all. “It was reflex.”
Mendel looks like he’s about to snap Johann’s neck. Before he can try, Kitahara rushes to stand between them. Despite the worry in his thoughts, his voice is surprisingly steady. “Look, everyone’s tense. We’re bound for a difficult mission tomorrow, and with teammates none of us are familiar with. Right now, we need to calm down and learn how to work together.”
“Work together?” Johann asks. “I’ve never needed to work together with anyone in my life. I don’t need this team, and I don’t need you forcing me to try and accept it. I can take care of myself. The rest of you can figure out how to survive on your own.” And with that, the sergeant major stomps out of the room.
Kitahara looks like he might go after Johann, but he hesitates and then it’s too late. He turns to Mendel instead. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Mendel examines his arm as he stands, but there are no obvious markings on him, or any signs there was a fire at all. “But I have to say, I agree with Johann.” Much as I hate to say it. “We’re all strong on our own, right? Do we really need to practice together?”
“We’re heading out tomorrow and we don’t know the first thing about each other, let alone how to work together,” Kitahara says. The strain in his voice is clear now. I feel a little bad for him, but I don’t step in. “Don’t you think it would help our chances of survival and success if we could figure all that out before we enter enemy territory?”
Mendel shrugs with what I am quickly recognizing as his signature careless gesture. “I’m not worried about my survival. If you’re worried about yours, that’s something you should work out for yourself. The other stuff is simple, right? We follow whatever the plan is, we each do our jobs, and then we’re done. One less rebel base in existence.”
“It doesn’t work like that,” Kitahara says. “No strategy is ever that simple, and you never know what problems—”
“Then we’ll figure it out if and when we need to,” Mendel says. He brushes shoulders with Kitahara on his way to the door. “And if we never know what problems might come up, there’s no way we can prepare for them, right? Best not to worry about something that might never happen.”
Kitahara starts to call after him, but the corporal is already out the door and clearly has no intention of coming back.
The major stares after him, expression lost. The nearby soldiers who had been watching start muttering among themselves, and my unease rises. The last thing we need is fact-based rumors spreading when this team is already doomed to bad made-up ones. But much as I wanted to step in and stop our infighting, I knew I couldn’t. Kitahara is our leader. He needs to learn how to lead us and I need to lie low.
Kitahara turns back to me. I wait for his orders—a weird position to be in—but he takes a long time to figure out what he wants to do. Finally, he says, “Let’s stop here for today. You should ease back into training after so long, and I need to sort things out with Mendel and Johann. Try to train independently for now so you can get your basic strengths back up, and we’ll meet again tomorrow morning to discuss specifics of the plan before we head out.”
“Aye, aye, Major,” I say.
But as Kitahara walks away, I get the feeling he’s not going to have much luck talking with either Johann or Mendel.
6
LAI
THE MORNING OF our mission dawns the same as any other. Our team meets early to go over the plan—which is to say, Kitahara tells us the plan and then drills us repeatedly to make sure we’ve got it. And then we head out.
The military has its own underground tunnel system for discreet transportation. So instead of walking through the sector in full combat uniform, where we’d be sure to draw attention, we take the underground passage that leads to the Gate.
The halls are dimly lit and roughly hewn. They twist and turn, dip and rise, fully intended to lose anyone who doesn’t know the way. One wrong turn, and you could fall into one of the many trap pits the military’s set up.
I have to check my breathing as we make our way. Hold back my heart rate, avoid focusing on the too-close walls, put one foot in front of the other. I’m only here temporarily. Everything is fine.
It’s quiet, made worse by the strange tension between us. Kitahara leads the way while I follow a few steps behind. Johann marches with squared shoulders and lifted jaw. Mendel just trails behind, ignoring us all.
After what feels like ages of navigating the tunnels, we surface in a military outbuilding just off the main street that leads to the Gate. We step outside into the cool air and continue on.
The Gate is one of only two aboveground entrances to the Outside. Almost four stories high, made of two-foot-thick starlight metal—a black, nearly indestructible metal that neutralizes Nytes’ gifts—engraved with flowers and several different gods, it is easily the most impressive set of doors in the sector. A small guardhouse squats next to it, pressed up against the diamondlike shell of the dome.
The engineers call the dome “breathing glass,” since it’s designed to take the polluted air of the Outside and refine it into something everyone can breathe. I don’t know much more about it than that, but I’ve always found the crystalline reflective state of the dome oddly beautiful.
Four guards in blue suits, the standard uniform of the Gatesmen, step forward with hands on weapons as we near them.
Kitahara stops a short distance in front of them. “I am Major Jay Kitahara of Team One. I assume General Austin informed you we would be coming?”
The closest guard eyes us. “May I see your identification?”
“Of course.” Kitahara neatly removes his ID card from the pocket inside his jacket and hands it to the Gatesman. The guard turns it over for several seconds, comparing Kitahara’s picture to his face—the black hair and straight nose and brown eyes usually covered by glasses but replaced by contacts today—and then inspects the official insignia of the military that serves as proof of its authenticity. He nods and does the same with each of our IDs before he hands them to one of the other Gatesmen, who disappears inside the guardhouse to have them scanned. A moment later, he returns and issues our IDs back to us.
“You’re free to pass,” the first Gatesman says. He waves his hand and two of the guards disappear into the guardhouse before returning with three hover bycs in tow. “Due to a crash last week, we’ve only got three bycs right now.” He says it unapologetically, and I bet if we were any other team, the military would have made sure we had the right number of bycs. “Keep in mind that the Gate closes at sundown.”
“Understood,” Kitahara says. He glances at me. I can’t really imagine Johann or Mendel agreeing to share a byc with anyone. “Cathwell, do you mind riding with me?”
“That’s fine.”
Two of the Gatesmen place a hand on scanners on either side of the Gate. The thick metal doors slowly slide into the dome until there’s enough room for us to pass through single file.
Kitahara takes a byc and resumes the lead. The rest of us follow.
The Gatesmen watch as we pass into the long, tall chamber of breathing glass on the other side of the Gate. At the very end, there’s another set of doors, also of starlight metal, also at least two feet thick, also guarded by four Gatesmen. Only, these four are completely encased in the black suits and equipment required for contact with the Outside. The equipment wouldn’t be necessary if they
were Nytes, but the Etiole-only Council doesn’t trust people like us to watch over the sector’s Gate.
The Gatesmen say nothing as they let us through. As soon as the second Gate shuts behind us, Kitahara, Mendel, and Johann start up their bycs. The dashboards come to life over the handlebars, three separate transparent screens of stats, graphs, and maps.
It’s been a long time since I was last Outside. The monotonous landscape of dried, cracked ground hasn’t changed. Nor has the orange-brown murk of the sky, scarred here and there by churning scarlet clouds. Giant rocks and boulders litter the ground. There are no roads, no plants, no signs of life other than the distant howls of Ferals—mindless, mutated creatures that roam the Outside. A sign of life we hopefully won’t run into.
“Cathwell, we’re going.”
The air tastes like ashes on my tongue. I can breathe, but it’s like breathing in nonlethal smoke. It smells of iron.
“Cathwell.”
Pressure all over my body encases me in a thin veneer of steel.
“Cathwell,” Kitahara says, and with a jolt, I realize he was saying it out loud and not in his thoughts. I jump up behind him onto the byc, which requires a bit of effort on my part with how high it’s hovering off the ground.
I pull a small ball from the equipment belt fastened around my waist and press a button on it. Flaps of lightweight, highly reinforced plastic unfold and enlarge until I’m holding my combat helmet in my hands. The visor slides into place with a satisfying click.
Kitahara slides on his own helmet, then adjusts the straps around our feet so we won’t be flung off as soon as the byc starts moving.
“Could you hurry it up?” Johann asks from behind us. “We don’t have time to mess around.” Wouldn’t have had this problem if we’d left the dead weight behind.
A Soldier and a Liar Page 6
