Compete

by Vera Nazarian

  “Lark, is there any other less hellish place we can eat?” he says loudly near my ear, over the din. His long hair sweeps into his eyes as he leans in to hear my answer.

  “How about the Residential Deck Meal Hall?” I shout.

  “Probably just as bad, if not worse. There are more Civilians than Cadets.”

  “We could wait a little?”

  “I’m starving,” he tells me.

  I get a daring idea. “We could try the Officers Meal Hall in Blue,” I say. “As an Aide to the CCO I have access. And you can be my guest!”

  Blayne raises one brow. “Sure, why not. At worst, they kick me out and mildly spank you for your gall in bringing me.”

  I smile and roll my eyes. “Then let’s go!”

  Minutes later we’re in the Blue Quadrant, approaching the Command Deck. Blayne is levitating next to me, keeping the nose of his board up at a 30-degree angle, so that he’s not lying completely flat but resting on an incline, high enough so that he can speak to me face to face.

  Now that we’re out of the densely populated areas and on the Atlantean-officers-and-crew section of the ship, the corridors are manageable, and we get to our destination in no time.

  “So how has life as an Aide been so far?” Blayne asks, glancing at me sideways.

  “About as exciting as I imagined,” I say, as we arrive at the doors of the Officers Meal Hall. “It’s only been one day, but feels like a whole week of insanity crammed in.” And I start telling him about the other two Aides and the office.

  The Officers Meal Hall is thankfully not over-crowded. I blink at the soothing dim lighting and see some empty tables, and hear plenty of lilting Atlantean conversation and occasional laughter. There are no Atlanteans I know present. Again I feel a little self-conscious coming in here, but it dissipates as soon as I take a step inside, with Blayne following me via hoverboard.

  As Blayne and I move to get our trays and step up to the food bar—that is, I step up while Blayne floats several feet above the floor—I do note a few curious glances in our direction, and several long appraising looks at Blayne and his excellent command of the hoverboard in LM style. That’s because he skillfully controls the board with his lower body while managing to balance himself upright and hold his food tray with both hands as if he has no disability. But no one says anything, and so I take a deep breath and forcibly ignore everyone else.

  Blayne on the other hand becomes a little stiff. “You’re sure this is okay, me being here?” he says at one point. “Just let me know if not. . . .”

  “Yeah, it’s fine,” I tell him confidently, pouring myself a tall glass of nikkari juice.

  We fill our plates with something alien but pleasantly aromatic, and grab seats at an empty table. Blayne maneuvers the board so that he can transfer himself over to the bench seat. Once seated, he manually adjusts his lower extremities, and softly hums a sequence so that the board remains hovering upright next to his seat. I glance over at his motionless “dead” feet, the pristine sneakers that never walked the floor, and the clean tube socks. . . .

  “I’m really glad you got that hoverboard at last,” I say a few minutes after we’ve been chewing in silence. “How did you convince them to let you have it?”

  Blayne looks up, after forking a big chunk of some kind of swirly noodle-like dish with pungent greens. “Believe it or not, it’s the same board I had from the Finals. When they Qualified me and let me inside the shuttle, I told them I needed a wheelchair, so they just let me keep it.”

  “Wow. . . . Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  I make a small snort sound and chew my food.

  Then, after a few moments I take a deep breath and tell him about George.

  Blayne looks at me seriously as I am talking, and his blue eyes are intense and unblinking. “I’m really sorry,” he says when I’m done. “I know how much your brother means to you—and your sister. And—” He grows silent and stares at his food.

  It occurs to me that he is thinking about his own siblings back on Earth, who never Qualified at all. I suddenly feel guilty bringing up George when Gracie and Gordie are here with us and okay, while Blayne has no one at all.

  So I quickly change the subject and mutter something about the CCO and classes and the recent orbital pass of Jupiter. Blayne listens to me, eating quietly, nodding occasionally.

  “Gwen Lark.”

  With a start I hear a low and cool voice coming from behind. I turn around and look up, and see a tall Atlantean with raven-black hair standing over me. A mane of glorious long hair, so dark it’s bluish black. . . . A stone-cold handsome face, lean and hard, looking down at me impassively. . . . Intense dark brown eyes highlighted in kohl.

  It’s Xelio Vekahat.

  “Oh, Instructor Vekahat!” I say, almost choking on my food. “Hi!”

  For a moment he says nothing, and his expression is stony, while his eyes seem to bore into mine. Is he here to admonish me for being here? Or maybe for bringing Blayne into the Officers Meal Hall?

  But the next moment his face changes and his lips curve up into a remarkable smile. “Congratulations, Gwen,” he says. “It is very good that you Qualified. I was certain you would—Shoelace Girl.”

  “Oh!” I say, and my lips part in surprise, while I smile back at him. “Thank you, Instructor Vek—”

  “The proper address now would be Pilot Vekahat,” he corrects me, continuing to look at me with amusement. “But you may call me Xelio—or Xel. I think the formalities are mostly behind us, and since you’re not one of my Cadets, you’ve earned the right.”

  “Okay . . .” I mumble. “Thank you.”

  “So, Gwen,” he says, stepping over the bench and sitting down next to me at our table, and completely ignoring Blayne. “How do you like being on board an Imperial Command Ship? Is Kass treating you well? Hope there are no beatings. What exactly are you now, his personal Aide?”

  Even beyond the sarcasm, there is something odd in the way he says it, putting emphasis on the words “his” and “personal.” Furthermore, I feel oddly uncomfortable at his overwhelming masculine proximity, the musky faint scent coming from him. . . . In that moment I recall the amazing, bronzed, muscular torso underneath the uniform that sits so well on him, recall his perfect warrior moves from Combat Training.

  “Everything is great so far,” I say, glancing briefly in his eyes. “And yes, I am an Aide to the CCO. The work is very interesting. . . .”

  “I’ll bet.” Xelio continues looking at me closely, as though he is just now seeing me in a new light, examining me under a microscope, and that smile is now a faint permanent fixture on his face.

  I blink, then look away at Blayne who is watching us interact with a kind of semi-bored bland look that he often has. Meanwhile he continues eating.

  “This—this is Blayne Dubois,” I say awkwardly. “He is a Cadet and—”

  “I know who he is.” Xelio turns to look at Blayne and gives him a brief nod of acknowledgement.

  I grow silent and there is a very awkward pause while Xelio once more watches me, which is now making me silently crazy. Why doesn’t he say anything? What is this?

  Fortunately in a few more seconds, the Atlantean takes a deep breath and sits back somewhat. “I think your baidao stew is getting cold,” he says comfortably. “So I’ll let you eat in peace.”

  “Oh, no, it’s okay,” I mumble, trying to be polite.

  “It’s fine.” All of a sudden Xelio leans toward me and places his large hand over mine—a very light, brief touch. “If you have questions, if you need help with anything, at any time, let me know.”

  His palm is strong, warm, and there is a brief electric sensation at the point where our skin makes contact. . . . And then he lets go, and gets up, stepping over the bench. “Have a tasty meal, Gwen—and you too, Cadet.”

  As I glance up at him, open-mouthed, he pauses again and says, “I mean it—any time.”

  And then he walks
away and exits the meal hall.

  I am still staring in the wake of his tall back and that mane of black hair, when Blayne says with a typical smirk, “Well, that was interesting, Lark. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that guy has the hots for you.”

  “What?” My mouth falls open even wider. “That’s ridiculous!”

  Blayne snorts and takes another forkful. “You’re right,” he says. “Obviously he must be into me, and just using you to get closer to my own desirable self.”

  Chapter Ten

  We finish eating eventually, Blayne gets back on his board, and we escape the Officers Meal Hall without seeing anyone else familiar. Blayne tells me he is beat, and then flies off to his Cadet Deck for a supposed nap. Knowing Blayne, I bet he’ll just go to read his ebooks until lights out, hiding somewhere in a corner of his barracks, maybe lying on his bunk. He’d told me at one point, when we were still back on Earth during Qualification, that he prefers the really old-school text-and-image ebooks, not the Holo-Stories or 3Dbooks, and he’s downloaded enough ebooks reading material onto his tablet to last him ten lifetimes. Lucky guy!

  I head back to my own cabin. Suddenly I am exhausted too. It’s as if the weight of the strange day has come crashing down on me. It is not even 7:00 PM, and I definitely need to get some rest before my 8:00 PM secret voice training class with Command Pilot Aeson Kassiopei.

  I turn down into the corridor on Command Deck Four and walk the length of it, staring at the Atlantean numerals on each door until I get to cabin #28.

  As soon as I enter my room, the sensor lights go on. Then a small beep comes from the wall over the table with the built-in computer display console area.

  I turn toward it, and the screen lights up. The system tells me there’s a video phone message from Laronda Aimes. The time stamp says she called about twenty minutes ago.

  Laronda! OMG! She made it! Yes! Laronda made it!

  I plop on the chair with excitement and call up the vid-phone message.

  There’s loud noise in the background, and then Laronda’s familiar grin and short relaxed bob-hair with its blond streak highlights falling over her forehead fills up the screen, and she practically yells into the camera. “Gwen! Gwen Lark! Hey, girlfriend! It’s me! Me, moi! Where are you, Shoelace Girl? Hanging out with your fancy-pants Command Pilot? Call me! I’m in my Barracks, baby! Ark-Ship 809, Cadet Deck Four!” And she points to the Cadet star button on her chest with her nails, freshly painted dark red and sleek-looking against her dark brown skin, and sticks her tongue out at me. Then the picture fades out.

  Oh my lord, I think, Laronda is a Cadet! How in the world did that happen?

  I immediately activate the callback function, and then wait as the ship-to-ship system tries to access her direct line.

  Five seconds later, the screen comes back on again, and there’s Laronda, this time live. At once, both and she and I scream and squeal and make kissy-faces at each other.

  “Oh wow, you are a Cadet, you crazy, cray cray craaazy!” I exclaim.

  “I know!” Laronda again points to her Cadet star insignia. “I figured, what have I got to lose? And as a Cadet I’ll get better opportunities and probably more dough eventually—or whatever they use for currency.”

  And then she opens her eyes wide at me, and points at my own chest with only an ID token. “And you! What is this? What are you? Civilian? No way! I was so sure you went military too, what with the Imperial Command Ship assignment—”

  “I’m neither, actually.” And then I tell her the whole story.

  “An Aide to the CCO? Holy crap! What is that?” Laronda shakes her head. “And your Phoebos guy, the CP—oh my gawd!” she suddenly screams. “He’s a prince! A goddamn Imperial Crown Prince! What the Eff, Girl? How did that happen? Did you know? That he’s a prince? Kass is Kassiopei? Oh. My. Gawd!”

  “I know!” I chuckle and snort.

  “So—how is he? Any different? All ‘princey’ and full of himself?”

  I smile. “Yeah, he is. . . . Same as before, actually.” And I describe some of what took place, leaving out most of the really weird tense conversation between him and me. Because, to be honest, I’m not even sure of how to speak about it to anyone, not even a friend like Laronda. However, I do mention my plans for entering the Games of the Atlantis Grail, and his negative reaction.

  “Well, for once, he’s right!” Laronda exclaims. “This is crazy stupid! How can you even think about entering their Death Olympics? I mean, imagine you had to enter ordinary Earth Olympics. Let’s be real for a moment—would you qualify for the Olympic Trials in, let’s say, figure skating? Pole vaulting? Gymnastics? Weightlifting? No? Then hell no, you wouldn’t qualify for any crazy Atlantean events either! Come on, girl! Give it up!”

  I take a deep breath. “I can’t. . . .” And I tell her about George. Then about Mom and her cancer, and Dad, and—

  I trail off. . . . It occurs to me yet again, I have no right indeed. Everyone else, Laronda included, is suffering the same loss of family as I am. What gives me the right to think I can do anything about mine?

  But at the same time, the crazy mantra resumes in the back of my mind, drilling into my consciousness. It’s the same words I’ve heard for many days now, over and over. . . .

  I do not accept it.

  Meanwhile, Laronda’s serious face watches me from the video screen. “Oh, no, not George,” she whispers. “I am so sorry, girl. So sorry!” And Laronda’s eyes fill up with tears.

  At which point my own eyes start getting fuzzy too, and the screen blurs.

  I take a deep shuddering breath, and then I tell her, “Okay, I need to stop, I know. I’m sorry, this is selfish crap on my part. You have your own little brother Jamil back at home, and your Auntie Janice . . . I know.”

  “Hush . . .” Laronda tells me, wiping her eyes and her runny nose with her sleeve.

  Home. Where is ‘home’ anyway? Even now, we are hurtling through space, millions of miles away. . . .

  We stare at each other for a few long moments in silence.

  Then Laronda perks up, and changes the subject and tells me the good stuff. For example, it turns out, Dawn Williams and Hasmik Tigranian are both on her ship.

  “Oh, yeah?” I smile, wiping away the moisture in my own eyes.

  “At the end of the Finals, Dawn kind of saved my butt!” Laronda says. “When that cavern explosion happened, and then we were all flying up through that long terrifying chute up to the surface of the Atlantic Ocean, Dawn kept me and Hasmik both from bumping into the walls. She made sure we flew straight, and then we all sort of held each other and our hoverboards close together, and we all got out! Next thing we know, we’re in an Atlantean shuttle, all of us Qualified, and rising up into Earth orbit!”

  I laugh with joy. “So where are they now?”

  Laronda rolls her eyes. “Both chicas went Civilian on me! Can you believe it? They’re together on Residential Deck Four!”

  I shake my head and grin.

  “I mean, Dawn, Dawn!” Laronda continues. “She’s all tough and has the best scores, and then she goes and becomes a Civilian! She told me she has no interest in fighting or butt-kicking and just wants to make it to Atlantis and settle down in peace, study biology and agriculture, and maybe raise the Atlantean equivalent of chickens!”

  I giggle and Laronda snorts. We continue talking for a few more minutes until I realize what time it is.

  “Oh, crud!” I exclaim. “I have to go! I have to see Command Pilot Kassiopei!”

  “Huh? This late?” Laronda raises one brow.

  “Yes, it’s my voice training.” I figure, since Laronda already knows all about my special Logos voice, it makes no difference if I tell her I am still getting voice lessons. But just in case, I warn her: “By the way, please don’t mention it to anyone else, okay? About my freaky power voice, I mean. The CP wants me to keep it discreet.”

  “So, one-on-one private lessons with a yummy-hot commanding officer who’s
also a prince, eh?” Laronda again raises one very meaningful brow and then wiggles it. “Don’t worry, my lips are sealed.”

  I bite my lip, and she bursts out laughing.

  It’s almost 8:00 PM when I come rushing up to the CCO. It’s the evening shift for the crew, and the guards at the doors have been changed. These two new ones don’t know me, so I have to explain myself and then one of the guards calls the CP via his wrist device, then waits for verification.

  At last I am allowed inside.

  As I walk in, I see Aeson Kassiopei standing up behind his desk, and he is in the process of turning off several screens and retracting the swinging mech arms back away from his work surface. I manage to catch a glimpse of one before the display goes blank, and it appears to be a news feed of Earth, a scene of urban chaos and orange flames and burning buildings. On the bottom of the screen the marquee strip in English has the words “nuclear reactor sabotage” and below it, something like “orange alert terror threat.”

  I stop in my tracks and stare. Aeson turns in that moment, seeing me, and immediately my pulse awakens and begins to pound in my temples at the sight of his cool clear gaze, his dark lapis-blue eyes trained on me impassively.

  “Take a seat,” he tells me without any other preliminaries.

  “Was that Earth?” I ask nervously, feeling a wave of cold enter my gut. “What is happening there?”

  “Nothing . . . it does not concern you.” His answer is soft, and he does not look at me, while he continues to turn off the equipment.

  “But—I just saw everything burning!” I exclaim.

  He pauses to glance at me. “Don’t. . . . Don’t look, don’t think. It is not something that can be helped, and it does not help you to dwell on it.”

  “How can you say that?” My lips part and I take a step closer. “It’s Earth! My family is out there! My home, everything!”

  “I know.” He stands motionless, watching me. “But your home is now here, and on Atlantis. You have to let go.”

  “Easy for you to say!”