“Yeah,” said Rhys, smiling for a second. “Most of them just ended up joining Morbeck because staying made life so miserable. Did you see the two trapdoors in C3 when you were up there?”
I nodded.
“That’s why. Both lead to bulkheads on six, a level below us, as insurance. C1 has the same thing,” explained Rhys. “Anyway, we’re not talking about anything like that, just securing a small safe zone. All we’d need to do is put a few guys here,” he said, again pointing down at the sheet, “where there isn’t anything to lock, and we’d have the whole twenty-five-hundred-square-foot area sealed.”
“It’s a lot of points, Rhys.”
Rhys frowned. “And what the hell are we saving them for? Challenges alone won’t make people unafraid.”
“A few locked doors aren’t going to stop Caelus, either,” said Brandon.
“It’s a start. Do share if you’re sitting on something better.”
Brandon paused and looked down, his face souring. “I mean, I get it, it seems clever and everything, but . . . it’s going to really, really piss them off.”
Rhys was so still he almost looked calm, but when I peered closer I could see the seismic activity behind his eyes. Making me think of all the times over the past year that I’d tried to seem all right for the people around me. I could tell that he knew the right thing to do was to stay composed and talk things out—like he’d been trying to do—though that clearly wasn’t his natural inclination.
When Brandon finally looked up again, Rhys replied, “That’s how we know it’s working. It’s time you found your nerve, Brando.”
Brandon just glared back at him as Daries pulled up a chair beside me, tray in hand.
“There’s a reason that Caelus Erik keeps you in your spot; it’s because you suit him. Because your quiescence suits him. For months you’ve stalled, citing every possible reason, but now we’ve got the opening. We just need will.”
Brandon blew air through his mouth.
“There’s no reason not to build it.”
“The reason,” said Brandon, becoming irate, “is that this will incite him.” And then, turning to face Sebastian, he said, “You know Caelus is coming for you, right? He’s going to try something before the next challenge—I’d bet anything.”
Sebastian gulped.
“Now, why the fuck are you trying to scare him, too? That’s exactly what Caelus wants!”
“Of course it’s what he wants, but shouldn’t fatty here at least know what you’re getting him into? Huh? That seems only fair.”
“Oh, I think he knows,” said Rhys.
“And I’m going to be with him every second we’re not in class,” I offered.
“Same,” Daries said, looking back toward Brandon.
“Whatever. We just need to be careful. I don’t want to see anyone else get . . .” Brandon’s words trailed off and his stare drifted toward the Great Room’s giant glass window. I couldn’t tell if he actually believed what he was saying or not. He mostly appeared to but, on the other hand, sometimes it looked like he just wanted to confess to Rhys, ‘I know, I know, of course you’re right.’
“Hurt,” Rhys finished for him. “Well, they will. But a lot less than if Caelus graduates next year and gets a command position in the Fleet. He’s not fit to lead.”
“That’s the Fleet’s problem. If that’s the product they want, they can goddamn have it,” cried Brandon.
“I don’t think they do want it. I think that’s why we’re here: to make something better.”
“Well, it’s not your call,” said Brandon.
“Maybe it should be,” interjected Daries, who seemed much more at ease than either of them.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” snapped Brandon.
“Guys, we have to stay together here,” said Sebastian. “This’ll all be for nothing if we don’t.”
Daries looked at Rhys. “I guess if we do toss this joker out, Caelus’ll just give us Taryn,” he said.
“Fuck you!” yelled Brandon.
“You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Daries shouted back.
“Both of you, shut up!” Rhys hissed. “Caelus has ears everywhere and if he gets wind that we’re fighting among ourselves he’s going to . . . well, you all know what’ll happen. And that’s the reason right there why C4’s the right thing to do,” said Rhys.
“It’s only the right thing for Brandon it’ll help his personal score,” jeered Daries. “And the last time I checked, Brandy, it’s in pretty damn good shape, isn’t it? All that sitting around and jerking off is working out quite well for you!”
Brandon made a move to get up, but Rhys held him down with an arm, while at the same time shooting a disapproving glance at Daries. Cadets at surrounding tables started looking at us and whispering.
“Try it, Brando! I fucking dare you. We both know how that ends,” Daries taunted through a clenched grin.
Brandon broke free from Rhys and lunged across the table with a wild punch. The impact shoved Daries against his chair, but he pushed off from a nearby ledge to swing back, and before I even knew what I was doing I twisted Daries’ arm behind his shoulder blades, pressing down to make him submit. Brandon was trying to come around the table, but Rhys got to him first, enveloping him in a hold.
Sebastian looked at Brandon, then at Daries, then back at Brandon, panic multiplying across his face.
“Well, we know why Caelus went after Pierre now,” I said, my words cutting through the commotion. Rhys and Daries might’ve been right, but this had to stop. “Everyone sit down now and shut up.”
“Who made you—”
“I said shut up!” Louder this time, figuring I’d racked up enough of a body count the past couple of days that people would listen. I waited for silence before saying, “Let’s ease off the derision here, Daries. But Brandon . . . you’re gonna have to make a choice: either Caelus or us—no more straddling.”
Brandon glowered.
Daries smiled again as he brought his finger to his lip and then held it out in front of him, checking for blood, while Sebastian slid a napkin across the table. Then he leaned toward Brandon and said, “That’s right. I don’t know what Caelus is holding over you, but I swear to God it won’t be half as bad as what I’m going to do if you keep jerking us around.”
Brandon went rigid. Everyone at the table was at their breaking point and I knew this was going to explode again if I didn’t find a way to settle it.
“Let’s make this really simple,” I said. “If you don’t get us C4, and get the doors locked, Sebastian’ll make sure your ship is the first one to get wasted in every Challenge. Or he’ll put you on resupply detail so you can’t rack kills. I’m new, but even I know that would tank your score.”
“You can’t do that. I’m the lieutenant—”
Rhys cut in. “Maybe, but given what happened during the nebula Challenge, do you think anyone’s gonna fight for you if you don’t let Sebastian be the lead tech? You’re not a very good strategist. The only reason you’re lieutenant is because of Caelus Erik, and the only reason Caelus Erik keeps you around is because he thinks he can control us through you. You go back over to him after cutting that link and what do you imagine he’s going to do? Give you Taryn’s spot?”
Brandon’s scowl disappeared. He just looked hurt now. “If we dam off a section of C Block, he’s gonna get me voted out. Then how am I supposed to keep helping you guys?”
“Help? What help?” shot back Rhys.
“Well, let’s see . . . ,” Brandon said mockingly. “Let’s start with requisitioning all that thought-to-be-nonexistent sparring and tactical gear, getting McNarris traded, and making you sergeant, Rhys. You’re the last person Caelus wanted me to choose.”
“Everything you’ve helped with,” Rhys retorted, “happened because Caelus wanted it to. But don’t you get it? If we dam up our own section of C Block, you won’t need Caelus to get your lieutenant votes; you’ll have them. We’ll have th
e numbers to make this a real fight, which is what you’ve always said you wanted! Here’s your chance to prove it.”
Brandon was pale.
“So it’s simple: either we build C4 with your blessing or you get voted out.”
“You might not like who replaces me.”
“We’ll make do.”
“You’re going to lose your rank.”
“Do you think I give a shit about that?” Rhys’ voice was a harsh whisper. “That’s where we’re different.”
Brandon snorted. “Ah, man . . . man, don’t even try that with me. You might have some of these saps gas-lit into thinking you’re this selfless team player, but you know I know that’s horseshit. Since the day you got here, you’ve been intriguing with Fingers, with Castor, with Fin—hell, with anyone who’d listen, angling toward the lieutenant spot, if not the captaincy.” Brandon smirked. “Well, guess what? No one outside of your little circle jerk is going to vote for you, dude. You’re too divisive. You’re too much of a fucking buzzkill. They might vote for Pierre, if he’s still around, but not you.”
With his tight jaw and heavy breathing, it was obvious Rhys was doing everything he could to keep himself from starting up another fight. “We’ll run Aaron here.”
“He’s a Green. You’re going to run a freaking Green?” cried Brandon, a little more desperately than he’d probably intended.
“The Green that stood up to Taryn Miller on his first day, protecting his friend who won us the nebula Challenge. And then beat the shit out of a bunch of Taryn’s boys when they went after him in his bunk. It’s a great story. Even some of Caelus’ main guys might come over once we get momentum.” It was Rhys’ turn to smirk. “That’s why your face just went a few shades whiter now.”
Brandon started to speak, but Rhys cut him off. “You’re chicken shit, but I always thought there was a good guy in there somewhere who’d show up when we really needed him. That’s why Pierre and I played along. We thought maybe, just maybe, Caelus didn’t have as strong a hold on you as you’d have him believe. Was I wrong? Am I still wrong?”
Silence.
“Am I wrong?”
“No . . . ,” Brandon finally said, glancing at me.
“Good, ’cause it’ll be a lot cleaner if you play this cool. We might even let you keep your precious rank for the sake of putting up a united front,” said Rhys.
Brandon grabbed his tray and rose. His food was untouched.
“We’re counting on you, Brandon. Don’t make us look like assholes.”
Chapter 17
Too tired to sleep, all I could do was stare up through the skylight at the stars, wondering what it would’ve been like to stare at them hundreds of years ago, when everyone thought that they were all hopelessly out of reach. Even with Athena Carta, I used to think it was different back on Mars, when it was Verna, Marco, and I believing we could lasso them if we just tried hard enough. God, I wished I could have that feeling again.
The hammock they’d given me was too small, crisscrossing the already overly crisscrossed barracks. Daries had offered me his bunk, said he liked hammocks, but he was bigger than me and I was too grateful to be in C3 to impose on him. So instead of sleeping, I flicked on my U-dev and started going over the rulebook Fingers had sent, most of it long and ponderous. It took twelve pages to explain how points could be applied to a personnel transfer between blocks and twenty-two to list the stipulations of an illness deferral, leaving me nearly as confused as when I had started. The most helpful thing was learning the convoluted requisition process I’d need to go through to get the supplies for my field battery in Chemical Engineering. I wasn’t very good at building stuff, but now I at least knew where to start, and began typing the printed circuit boards, heat gun, electrical tape, tin wire, flux pen, and terithium-ion cells into the fifteen-page form I needed to fill out.
After that I flipped through some of the common files. I read the upcoming cafeteria menus, getting the sense that the kitchen staff was laughing at us with the flowery French names they gave to the worst dishes: Croque Tartine Parisienne. Poulet Provençal. Potato Dauphinois. In the news section, A Block had defeated F Block in a Challenge that lasted eight hours, which was fifty-four minutes shy of a school record. Taylor Octario had been voted down from captain of B Block in favor of Alain Archinesque, and his lieutenant, March Fanning, was subsequently demoted, while C Block was still firmly in first place in the overall points standings.
Finally, at the bottom, I saw the injured reserve list. It was long, but eventually I found Pierre’s name and my spirits lifted, seeing his status had been changed from stable to recovering and he’d been transferred out of the ICU.
The cold air gave me goose bumps as I wrestled out of the hammock and put on my green uniform. Through the red and orange nebula light, puffs of breath came off the bunks and hammocks like exhaust. Outside the room, the air was even colder.
The desk nurse’s expression soured when she saw me. “Why are you here?”
I presented my cuts and broken nose.
“These are emergency hours only,” she said. “Come back tomorrow.”
There’d been quite a bit about wound care in the rule book—the health section saying that even though this was a controlled environment, it was still deep space where there were microbes that our body had never encountered before. All the bolded words and lengthy explanations had made it sound like sterilization was a sensitive subject for them.
“I think this might be infected,” I said, pointing to the spot where I’d smeared the yellow, pus-like toothpaste they’d had in C3 before coming down.
Her eyes narrowed.
“I just noticed it . . . ” I added.
“When you leave a door open you’re just inviting germs in.” Her eyes fastened on me tighter, probing me like an equipment scanner. “You should be more careful.”
“I will next time.”
“Sometimes there isn’t one.”
She frowned as she ever-so gently hiked up her sleeve to reveal bright red kudzu-like blood vessels snaking over a skin graft. It probably went farther up, but white fabric blocked my view.
“There are a lot of pathogens in the universe, dear.”
She must have been stationed on the Rim, where the Verex’s venom actually worked to stabilize their victims vitals for a time—until spores had a chance to grow in the wounds and jump hosts. Fatalities in med units had run almost as high as they did in combat units until tighter quarantines were initiated.
She patted my cheek with her good arm. “Practice turning the lock when it’s safe, because one day you’ll look up and there’ll be eyes glowing in the darkness.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her lips stretched into a weak curve as she typed into her pad. “You’ll be in unit twelve; walk down this corridor and take your third right. Nurse Lynne will be with you shortly.”
The red light above the gate flashed green but when I looked back to thank her, she had returned to her work on the lightpanel, each keystroke echoing over the silence.
The medical bay was a large, white, high-ceilinged room that would’ve looked like a hangar bay had it not been for the numerous honeycomb-like cubicles spread across it, each partitioned with a white curtain and containing a cot. As if the deck were a cross-section, the far wall was an expanse of transparent composite, inviting all of space to look inside and making the planet beyond loom like a giant blue and green eye.
I parted the white curtains of the first cubicle, but there was no one there. The second one was empty, too. There was a Green in the third one, and I withdrew before she had a chance to look up at me. In the last cubicle on the left by the transparent end wall, I found Pierre staring outward at the planet.
“Hey,” I said.
He turned quickly and whispered in a paper-thin voice, “Hey. I thought you were Nurse Lynne.”
“I hear she changes a mean bedpan.”
“Something like that.” Pierre managed a half-
smile, clicking the lightpanel beside him. Through the glare of the bright lights, I could see he had it queued up to game film from the previous Challenge and had notes scrawled across several pages of electronic paper.
“I thought you were supposed to rest,” I said.
“That wouldn’t help anyone,” he replied, winking and reminding me of how Verna would bring her books and problem sets everywhere with her, even out on camping trips. “So, come to bust me out?”
“Maybe.” I had a million things I wanted to talk to him about, but after hearing him strain to speak, I decided to stick to, “I’m not sure it’ll hold together otherwise. Brandon agreed to go along with this C4 idea Rhys had . . . but it took threatening him.”
C4 must’ve been something they’d been batting around for a while now because Pierre didn’t look surprised.
“He doesn’t like that.”
“I don’t think Rhys cares.”
“He should,” Pierre said, turning back to me. “Sergeant Rhys is going to get us all killed.”
“Funny, he and Daries say the same thing about you.”
He laughed, a pathetic, sickly laugh that made him contort in pain. “And what do you think?”
“I don’t know; I just got here.”
“What does your gut say?”
I closed my eyes. “It says this entire place is wrong—the station, the planet, the instructors, the fact that we spend most of our time doing physical instead of Box training. And the students . . . they’re way too vicious—even some of the C3s.”
“What do you think about Rhys?”
“I mostly agree with him.”
“Of course you agree with him. We all agree with him,” said Pierre, sitting up and moving aside his blanket. “But the problem is as soon as you give that agreement some kind of shape, you become a target. And Rhys is one big frigging target. Say what you want about Brandon, but he’s been subtle and stuck around long enough for us to get this kind of opportunity.”
“Why do we need him? Why don’t we vote you—”
“Because we don’t have the numbers, and Caelus’ll just rig it for Taryn.”
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