[Atlantis Grail 01.0] Qualify

by Vera Nazarian

  “I don’t think so,” I say, looking up at him.

  “What did you say?”

  I feel like I am suddenly short of breath, as they are all closing in on me. Why is there no one else in the lounge when you need it? Where is everyone?

  “I said—I cannot sing . . .” I say suddenly. “The audio machine made a mistake. It was an accident.”

  “Nooooo,” Claudia drawls. “You can’t take it back, Gwen-baby.”

  I take a deep breath, because if I don’t I will pass out. “You know what?” I say.

  “What?”

  “Screw you!” And with those words I shove past them all and run up the stairs to the third floor girls’ dormitory. I find that I am shaking.

  Because of this crappy incident, I end up skipping lunch. I sit on my bed, hunched over, rubbing my arms with both hands, and I think.

  Neither Laronda nor Hasmik are around, and there are hardly any other girls on the dorm floor now, since most have gone to the cafeteria.

  Oh, how I wish the other Gees were here now! Where are my brothers? Where’s Gracie? For that matter, haven’t they heard about the awful “disciplinary action” against me yesterday, and why haven’t they tried to see me, to make sure I’m okay?

  There’s no way I am going to sing.

  No one, not even the bullies can make me do it. Especially not to prove a stupid point.

  But—what’s going to happen to me if I don’t?

  I plop down on the cot and lie there, on top of the covers, with the overhead light glaring directly into my eyes.

  The alarm claxons go off indicating time for the 1:00 PM class.

  It’s time for Combat.

  Somehow I drag myself downstairs to the basement Training Hall.

  The Instructors are not there yet. But, just my luck, all the alpha crowd a-holes are here, waiting for me. Quickly I walk as far away as possible, to join another grouping of Candidates, with Jai and Tremaine and Jack Carell. No one else I know is in this class today.

  “Hey, Gwen!” Jai gives me the usual white-toothed grin, and then remembers. “Hey, so how was yesterday, the punishment? Did you get in trouble big-time, or what?”

  “Not that bad,” I mumble, and tell them the abbreviated version.

  “Okay, so it could have been worse,” Tremaine says. “At least that Phoebos guy didn’t put you in lockup or something.”

  “Yeah.” I roll my eyes.

  In that moment, Oalla Keigeri and another Atlantean girl come into the gym hall.

  The new Atlantean girl, it occurs to me, is somehow familiar. I recognize her and her super-short, straight, metallic hair. She was there, the night of the shuttle accident, up on that upper level walkway in the Arena Commons building, walking next to Xelio and a whole bunch of other Atlanteans while we Candies were all having dinner at the “food court” cafeteria below.

  This girl is taller than Oalla and more bulky-muscular, with a powerful and at the same time curvaceous physique. Her skin is golden-brown, a mid-tone range between that of the fair-skinned Oalla and the very dark Keruvat who is absent from our class today. Her eyes are a pale hazel color, and she has amazing sensuous lips that are full and naturally pouty-sexy. She wears the same grey uniform as the other Instructors, but her armband is green.

  “Attention, Candidates!” Oalla claps her hands and blows her whistle. “Line up!”

  We do as we’re told, forming the two opposing rows.

  I notice that the person standing directly across from me as my sparring partner for this class is none other than Claudia Grito.

  Oh, great. . . .

  Meanwhile Oalla turns to the other Atlantean girl and nods.

  “Good afternoon, Candidates!” the short-haired girl says in a deeper sonorous voice. “I am Erita Qwas, and I am going to be working with you today in place of Keruvat Ruo who is teaching Combat at Green Dorm Three.”

  “All right!” Oalla commands us. “First, we do warm-ups!”

  Fifteen arduous minutes of hell later, we are lined up and ready for Forms.

  “Today, you will practice actual full-contact sparring Forms which require you to defend yourself and attack your opponent. This means that you will be striking each other for real and not by accident,” Oalla says in a hard voice, pacing in the middle space between our rows, followed by Erita.

  “You will begin with the Floating Swan,” Erita responds. “And then you and your sparring partner will take turns with the opposite combination of Second Form, Striking Snake, to attack, and Seventh Form, Running Scarab, to defend yourself.”

  Oh, no, I think, Please, lord, no, no! Claudia and I are going to be beating up on each other!

  “Row to my right, show me Striking Snake! Row to my left, show me Running Scarab!” Erita exclaims loudly. “First, watch, then follow our lead!”

  And with those words the short-haired Atlantean demonstrates. She and Oalla assume the graceful starting position of Floating Swan, and then Erita attacks. The Snake strikes repeatedly, focused and relentless, while Oalla’s Scarab defense involves arms being placed strategically to block each strike, echoing the rapid multi-arm movements of the ancient beetle rolling a ball of dung. They repeat the Form exchange slowly three times, and then speed up. . . . Oh, they’re lightning-fast!

  First, Erita is the Snake, and then Oalla. They switch several times, and each of them is the Scarab to the other’s Snake.

  “Candidates, your turn! Rows, approach each other, begin sparring!”

  And as I stand in the Floating Swan, before I even have a moment to collect myself, Claudia steps forward with a sneer and strikes me. . . .

  Her blow lands, hard, against the side of my face on the left. I feel a blinding pain, and stagger back, but there is no time to recover, because Claudia strikes again.

  This time I have enough presence left to recall the defensive hand motions that constitute the Running Scarab. I block Claudia’s strike with the back of my arm, and quickly extend my other arm to push her away. My face is still burning with pain while my eyes begin to sting with gathering tears. . . .

  “Switch!” Erita yells. “Snake becomes Scarab!”

  Which means I am now the attacker. I assume the Striking Snake but my first blow falls on open air, as Claudia dodges my arm without even bothering to counter with her own. “Come on, Gwen-baby . . .” she whispers. “Are you going to cry now?”

  In answer I strike with my other arm and quickly extend the hand into the snake. It lands on Claudia’s collarbone, and I feel the thud and her cry of pain as she misses the opportunity to block me.

  “Feels good?” I say with a sudden crazy little smile. And then I strike again.

  What in the world is happening to me? I feel an unexpected immense rush of energy driven by anger. And I no longer care about being afraid.

  “Switch!” Oalla cries.

  This time Claudia has a grim terrible look on her face. She purses her lips as she strikes at me.

  But I am ready for her. There is something that suddenly clicked into place in my mind, and I can see the logical relationship between the Snake and the Scarab, how one fits into the other. These two Forms, they are mates of each other—like dark and light, yin and yang, melody and harmony.

  And suddenly it is so easy and clear, how I need to move.

  My defending Scarab is effortless, and Claudia does not come close to touching me even once. I, on the other hand, have hit her on the other side of her neck, this time above the collarbone, then bruised her shoulder, and even her right cheek. . . .

  This is unbelievable.

  I’ve just beaten up Claudia Grito.

  Chapter 23

  Combat class is over and I am breathing hard, while an unbelievable rush of adrenaline and elation is still surging through me.

  Claudia, meanwhile, hisses, “You are dead now, bitch.” She then turns her back on me and quickly races upstairs past the other Candidates going up.

  Okay, that was—I have no words for
what just happened.

  As I start to walk to the doors, Oalla passes me and nods. “Nice job today, Candidate. Your sparring is good.”

  And behind her, Erita gives me a faint crooked smile. She then passes a handheld gadget over my token and says, “Credit.”

  I get out of the Training Hall, and honestly, I don’t even know if there’s a floor under my feet, or how I’m putting one foot ahead of the other—that’s how incredible I feel. For the first time after a gym class I am moving with a powerful buzz of energy as opposed to being utterly defeated in body and spirit.

  I got a credit in Combat. No. Effing. Way.

  The buzz carries me upstairs, but as it wears off slightly, the side of my face starts to make itself felt. I wipe the sweat off my forehead and touch the side of my cheek where Claudia managed to get in one blow and yeah, that’s going to bruise, if it hadn’t already. I bet I’ll look like Gordie now, with my matching shiner.

  Last class for the day is Culture. I meet up with Dawn and Laronda and we grab the seats in the second row.

  “Wow, look at your face,” Laronda says, examining me. “How did that happen?”

  “Combat. Claudia,” I answer with choppy words, but I am smiling.

  “What? Did she hit you? What a b—”

  “Not as much as I hit her,” I admit, grinning now.

  “What? Way to go, girlfriend!” Laronda claps, and looks at Dawn.

  Dawn raises one brow and calmly nods her approval.

  “It appears, an ice rink opened up somewhere in hell, because I can spar,” I announce. “And I got a credit for the day’s class!”

  Laronda punches me on the arm and then does a seat dance by wiggling in her desk chair.

  I let out a minor squeal and punch back, then lean over and punch Dawn who cringes away mockingly to retain her dignity. Soon we get so loud that some of the other Candidates start glancing our way.

  We are interrupted by the arrival of the Instructor.

  Nefir Mekei brings a sudden damper to settle over the good mood. Because today’s lecture is about the importance of family ties in Atlantis. I don’t remember much of what he says, because suddenly I’m thinking of my parents back home, and so it seems does everyone else. We sit and remember the families and relatives left behind. Grim reality washes over us. In less than twenty months, they are all going to be dead. . . .

  Everything in the world that we know will be no longer.

  “On Atlantis, parents and children have strong traditional ties,” Nefir tells us, pacing before the desk. “We honor and respect the older generations, gladly defer to their wisdom and experience. But in turn, the power of society lies with the young.”

  “Is this why you only take teenagers for Qualification?” someone asks. “How come the strict age restrictions of twelve through nineteen?”

  “Yes, a good question.” Nefir turns to the speaker, an older girl. “We can only make room for the young who will have time to adjust and contribute to the society. And there are other reasons that you will come to understand later.”

  I raise my hand. “What about the older adults here on Earth who have proven themselves to be valuable, even indispensable? I’m talking about brilliant scientists, engineers, talented artists, or others who have other worthy things to offer. Why don’t you take any of them? It seems illogical to me that you would not make exceptions for them.”

  “I fully understand your reasoning,” Nefir says softly, turning his serpentine gaze upon me. “But unfortunately I cannot give you a good answer now. It is a complex thing and it has to do with certain aspects of our society and the real means at our disposal. Suffice it to say, if we could do it, we would take your adults, as many as possible. But we simply cannot. Nor would they be able to fit in sufficiently well, or integrate into Atlantis.”

  Okay, that’s one mysterious and vague reply, I think.

  “One thing I can tell you,” Nefir continues, turning away from me and addressing the class in general. “We start on our life journeys very young in Atlantis. For example, children commit to the Fleet at the age of seven. Other professions require similar early commitments. It is a rare teenager who is not yet apprenticed in some field.”

  Wow, I think. That explains the highly skilled and advanced Atlantean Instructors and Pilots who are hardly older than our own age.

  “What about social stuff?” a boy asks with a smirk. “Do you guys have a social life? Like, dating, messing around, and so on? Do you have love and romance and marriage?”

  “Obviously there’s procreation . . .” another guy in the back mutters, and a wave of nervous laughter passes over the classroom.

  “Yes,” Nefir says, and his expression lightens somewhat. “Yes, we do. Bonds of love between individuals result in sanctioned unions, similar to your own marriage. Children are born and families grow to prominence. In fact, some families—including the Imperial Family Kassiopei, the oldest one in our recorded history, and a few others from Poseidon—are so ancient that they are said to have roots in the original colony of Atlantis.”

  “Okay,” the boy persists. “But how young do you have to be to begin to date, or get in a union, or whatever?”

  “It depends. Some begin what you call ‘dating’ at the equivalent of sixteen Earth years, which would be approximately twelve Atlantean years, others later. A few, earlier. However, we do not encourage intimate relations before true physical and emotional maturity.”

  I raise my hand.

  “Yes, Gwen Lark?”

  “What determines maturity?”

  Nefir suddenly smiles at me. “An excellent question as usual, Candidate. We prefer to consider each individual and their situation on a case-by-case basis.”

  After class is over, we head down to eat dinner. I am still flying high after my successful day, and according to Laronda my bruised cheek is already turning bluish.

  “Heh, badge of honor,” Dawn says.

  I nod and cannot help grinning.

  Before we make it to the cafeteria, which smells like garlic and French fries, I see a familiar face in the lounge.

  There’s my sister Gracie, sitting in a well-padded chair with her feet up, and looking like a mixture of “determined” and “a little lost.” She’s wearing her black sequined sweater and dramatic dark mascara. Her token blazes red in high contrast.

  “Gwen!” she cries, and waves to me nervously.

  “Oh, lord, Gracie! Where have you been?” I exclaim, approaching her in a hurry. “I’ve been looking for you for days, what happened? How are you? Everything okay?”

  But Gracie stares at my bruised cheek. “Yeah, I guess. . . . But oh no, what’s that on your face?”

  I tell her about Combat. “Just like Gordie, I’ve got a shiner that matches his own—have you seen his?” I say with a smile, running my fingers through her dirty-blond hair to fix a few loose tendrils around her ear.

  She cringes away from me initially. “Hey! Stop fussing like Mom.” And then her face takes on a familiar frown as she remembers. . . .

  “Sorry,” I say, letting my hand fall. But I am still smiling.

  We stare at each other, and it’s amazing, but my little sister appears almost grown up, with her tired pale face and serious focused look.

  “So tell me, how are your classes?” I ask, when I really want to be asking, Have you been hanging out with that guy Daniel all this time?

  And then, seeing Dawn, Hasmik, and Laronda waving from the cafeteria doors, I add, “By the way, let’s head in to grab some food, okay? I skipped lunch, so I’m starving.”

  Gracie nods, and starts telling me all about their sword fighting Combat class and the weird amazing multiple swords and knives of different shapes and lengths they have over there, as we go in to the cafeteria together.

  We occupy a table in the corner, away from the loud alpha crowd tables in the middle of the room.

  Today they’re serving hot sandwiches. Dawn goes up to the food server and asks for a spe
cial plate piled high with just cheesy fries, for all of us to share.

  “Ooh, yum-m-m!” Gracie reaches for a very long fry and suddenly points it at me in what looks like a blade weapon position, before reversing and bringing it up to her mouth.

  “Look at you!” I say, and my lips curve upward.

  “Red Quadrant—we’re the warriors!” Gracie announces proudly.

  “I can totally see that.” Dawn chews her own fry and dips it in ketchup. “And ooh, look, blood.”

  Gracie starts to giggle and then grows serious. “I really should be eating over at my own Red Dorm, but I suppose it’s okay this once,” she clarifies. “Did I mention, we’re supposed to have strong allegiance to our own Quadrant, and not really associate with others—”

  “Yeah, I think you Reds mentioned it before.” I nod, lifting my glass of milk to wash down the French fry taste in my mouth. “Seriously, what’s all that about? How come no one here in Yellow really makes a big fuss about Candies socializing with other Quadrants?”

  Gracie shrugs. And then she remembers something else. “Oh, Gwen! What happened to you yesterday? I heard—Logan said you got punished by that awful scary Atlantean dude who’s in charge of everything—he didn’t hurt you, did he? I mean, that was you, right?”

  “Yeah, that was me.” I shrug, and tell her the same abbreviated version of the disciplinary action.

  “Your sister got in trouble—she try—she help me, and I’m so sorry,” Hasmik says to Gracie with an anxious look, reaching with her hand to pat me on the arm.

  “It’s over, don’t worry about it,” I tell her, and change the subject. “So, what else did Logan say? Any other meaningful news?”

  Gracie takes another French fry and pokes it into a puddle of ketchup. “They say—” she looks up at me—“I mean, some guys in Red say that there is good reason to think that the awful shuttle explosion thing was caused by this scary terrorist group called Terra Patria. . . .”

  “Oh, yeah?” I glance up at her. I recall that Terra Patria is one of the many fringe groups that had emerged during the early days of this whole asteroid and Atlantis end-of-the-world fiasco. It is strongly anti-Atlantean and has claimed responsibility for quite a few incidents over the past months. Terra Patria is a dangerous mix of home-grown extremists and desperate crazies. Or so we’ve been told in the media. One thing’s for sure, neither the President nor Congress approves of their actions.