Compete

by Vera Nazarian

  “Okay.” I nod. “What then should I do if people ask probing questions?”

  He raises one brow. “You tell them whatever is in the Emergency Protocol. In the meantime, you and Moreno are officially in last place, and you get no special treatment, no ‘extra credit’ score for making it back alive out of the Breach.”

  I purse my lips. “Doesn’t bode well for my progress as a Pilot, does it?”

  He snorts, sounding oddly pleased. “No, it does not.”

  But then he looks up at me and says, “However—well done, Lark.”

  And I am dismissed.

  The next few days after the Quantum Stream Race turn into a weird combination of humiliation and celebrity worship.

  Word spreads among the Cadets about what happened to us, the infamous last-place Pilot Pair who came in dead last yet managed to get back safely from a QS Breach. Cadets whisper, and then it gets around to the Civilians and other Atlanteans, until pretty much all of ICS-2 knows what we did and what happened to us. And yeah, supposedly word gets around to other ships in the Fleet too.

  Yeah, we’re semi-famous.

  Some people look down at us as losers. They’re right, we did get the lowest score possible for a Pilot Pair on our ship, in the QS Race.

  And the Cadets who were in line after us to use our shuttle #72 in the Race are pretty ticked off at us. They had to be reassigned to other shuttle lineups and lost some valuable time in the race, because of us. Not to mention, our Team Score really suffered a hit.

  However, most Cadets also think it’s kind of hotshot awesome what we did. Pretty soon we’re referred to as “the Cadet Pilots who Survived the Breach.” In some ways we’re getting just as much attention as the top scoring Cadet Pilot Pairs on ICS-2.

  In terms of overall achievement, the Blue Quadrant is in the lead, followed by Red, Green and Yellow. The first place winner on our ship is Alla Vetrova and her partner Conrad Hart, with a perfect 100 score, which gives them both ark-ship distinctions and First Fleet Honors. Then Erin and Roy Tsai come in second with a 99 score and distinctions. Neither one of these placements is a shocker—both pairs are Blues, and we’ve all been expecting them to take the top spots. However, the surprise is the third-place Pair—Logan Sangre and Oliver Parker, moving up from seventh place in their standings, and receiving a 98 score and distinctions.

  And then there’s us, the notorious losers.

  Hugo goes around puffed up, bragging to everyone he can. I think he’s honestly forgotten—or made himself conveniently forget—what actually happened, and now tells people that we followed the Emergency Protocol to a letter, reacted quickly and appropriately, and that’s what saved our brilliant butts.

  Yeah, I let him talk. . . .

  Meanwhile Gracie calls me, scared to death, and I have to reassure her I’m okay and all is well. Gracie tells me she did decently on her own QS Race, and got a 78 score. Way to go, Gracie! I’m kind of amazed, in a really good way. And I’m so proud of my sister.

  Then, oh wow, out of the blue, Gordie calls me!

  “I thought you’d forgotten your big sis, Gee Three,” I say, seeing my little brother’s usual smudged eyeglasses and loopy grin in the video display. I think I see a lot of greenhouse plants in the background. He must be on his ship’s H-deck.

  “Oh yeah, no. . . . Hey, that was smoking hot,” Gordie tells me. “You guys Breached and then came back! Whoa!”

  “When you put it that way, you make us sound like whales,” I say with a snort.

  “Heh!” Gordie snorts back.

  “Love yah, Gee Three!” I smile at him.

  He just mumbles something back, totally flustered. Typical Gordie reaction.

  I talk to my little bro some more, and then it’s like an old-fashioned phone switchboard here in my cabin. The moment we disconnect, in comes Laronda’s call.

  “Laronda!” I exclaim.

  “You’re alive!” she screams at me. And then we blab for at least half an hour. I learn that Laronda’s Cadet Pilot Pair Score was a healthy 67 for the QS Race.

  “Girl, I am entirely happy with it,” she says. “Now all we gotta do is keep training and survive the big Final Race, months from now. And you—you have to catch up, okay? Okay?”

  “Okay,” I say. “Believe me, I know. But right now, as far as I’m concerned, being in last place is better than being dead.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Laronda shakes her head at me.

  I don’t tell Laronda, or anyone else what actually happened. I think Command Pilot Kassiopei is right. I did something kind of amazing, something I don’t even understand, and we have to keep it under wraps for now.

  The next days and weeks continue in the same general routine, as we come to the end of the middle month of Green season, and enter the third and last Green month before the Jump.

  Yeah, it’s Jump Month. . . .

  The Quantum Stream instability outside has now reached critical levels, and no one but the astra daimon is allowed to fly. So we’re all back to training on the flight simulator consoles in the classrooms.

  In our Pilot Training classes, Instructor Okoi treats Hugo Moreno and me the same as he does everyone else, but Hugo is now both easier and more difficult to deal with. After our shared ordeal in interstellar space, he’s no longer as hard on me as he was before. But his macho posturing has become extremely annoying.

  The only good thing is, now when we practice the various flight scenarios, Hugo does not begrudge me being the Pilot whenever we have to swap roles. “Go ahead, Gwen,” he says benevolently. “You can Pilot this one.”

  Often, as we sit in class, there’s Logan Sangre and his partner, a few desks away. Sometimes, when I look up, I see Logan secretly watching me with an intense hard gaze. But the moment our eyes meet, he quickly looks away. Yeah, there are still many complicated, weird, unresolved feelings there, between Logan and me. . . . But neither one of us wants to take that first step . . . and so, nothing has changed between us.

  Meanwhile, the two other CCO Aides, Gennio and Anu, might be somewhat impressed with me, now that I’ve Breached the Quantum Stream and come back safely. Gennio tells me I did a great job in that shuttle. Anu of course just says, “You got lucky, Earth girl. There’s a saying in my home village, ‘the gods take special care of idiots.’”

  “Anu,” I retort. “As the village idiot, you illustrate this saying perfectly.”

  I often meet up with Blayne Dubois for lunch or dinner. Blayne got a very nice 83 Pilot Pair Score on the QS Race, and he is doing quite well. He also tells me he still teaches the LM forms several times a week, in Combat classes all over the Fleet.

  “What can I say, I’ve got a nice gig going, Lark,” he says with a light smirk. “I can make a career of it and retire with benefits.” And then he adds, “So, how’s Lark Two? Has the wild child perpetrated any new drama since the last time we talked?”

  “What, you mean since last night?” I say with a tiny wicked smile. “Gracie told me you guys were taking up video screen time for over an hour.”

  “Oh, yeah . . . well, slight exaggeration as usual.” Blayne is suddenly very engrossed with moving around the food on his plate. But there’s definitely a shadow smile there, hiding underneath all that hair that’s falling over his forehead.

  My other classes are proceeding reasonably well. Atlantean Language class is fascinating. Although I still can’t speak Atlanteo, I think I can now pick up at least some of what’s being said around me whenever I’m at the Officers Meal Hall. Navigation, Technology and Systems, and Culture classes are all proceeding at a pace.

  However, what’s most surprising is how much I am getting out of Consul Denu’s Court Protocol sessions. The Consul may seem like a perfumed fop, but I realize now it is a deceptive crafty illusion, a front to cover his true powerful aspect.

  Consul Suval Denu is a master diplomat and a master of subtle manipulation, observation, and insight. Very few things escape his notice, and as a result, I am learning to be o
n my guard around him, more so than with anyone else. . . . Because I sense that with a little more time and subtle examination of my behavior, he will know exactly how I feel about the Imperial Prince.

  And that simply cannot happen.

  My Combat class with Oalla Keigeri is progressing well also. I haven’t talked much with Pilot Keigeri, but when I do, she’s a combination of friendly and businesslike, and finds my Er-Du progress sufficient.

  I also notice that ever since I Qualified, Oalla seems to keep all our conversations to a professional level. Not once has she breached the subject of what she told me back on Earth, about how much “I matter” to Kassiopei. It occurs to me—maybe she got reprimanded by the CP for chatting with me, and is now trying to keep an appropriate distance.

  However, it’s quite a different matter between me and Xelio Vekahat. We still see each other almost every day at the gym, and he stops by to talk after every workout. On the day after the QS Race, he comes up to congratulate me on getting safely back from Breaching out of the Quantum Stream.

  “Your talents never cease to amaze me, Gwen Lark,” he says with a steady look and a smile. “I’m definitely impressed.”

  “Thanks. . . .” I wipe the workout sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. I’m dripping wet, and feel a little uncomfortable under the steady hot gaze of his so-very-dark eyes.

  And then I get a crazy idea. “Pilot Vekahat—Xelio,” I say, craning my neck slightly. “You said once that you can help me if I needed help.”

  He raises one handsome raven brow. “Yes, of course. My offer stands.”

  “Good!” I say. “Because I think I need your help. I need to train physically—train hard. I need to become not merely decent at Er-Du and weapons Combat, but really, really good—before the year is over and before we get to Atlantis.”

  “Is that so? And what’s the reason?” Xelio takes a step closer, so that his face is very close to mine, and continues to observe me with intensity.

  I take a deep breath. “I plan to enter the Games of the Atlantis Grail.”

  “What?”

  Okay, Xelio did not see that coming. He makes a laughing sound. “Are you insane?”

  I shake my head. “No, I mean it. I am resolved to enter and win this thing. I need to become a Citizen of Atlantis. And I need you to help me become physically strong. Can you do that?”

  His brows rise and he continues chuckling. “Does the CP know about these crazy plans of yours?”

  I nod. “Oh yes. And he disapproves entirely. He also told me that unless I can prove I’m capable of it, by the end of the year, he will not allow me to enter the Games. So, I must prove him wrong.”

  Since I’m not smiling at all, Xelio stops laughing and looks at me seriously.

  “Very well,” he says unexpectedly, and his eyes cut through me with intense sensual regard. “Proving Kass wrong is a welcome challenge. Yes, I think I’ll enjoy this. We’ll begin tomorrow.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  It is definitely the heart of Jump Month.

  What does it mean? It means that the preparations for the Jump are ongoing, everywhere, and the Fleet is on alert.

  A sense of urgency has gripped us, and it’s somewhat hard to put into words.

  Our velocity continues rising, but it is no longer anything that can be described, not even in mathematical terms—at least not ones I’ve studied back on Earth. In terms of literary metaphor, we are going infernally fast. . . .

  When you go to the ICS-2 Observation Deck, it’s a terrifying, depressing sight, evoking visceral terror. Outside the windows, the universe is a uniform deep grey blur now. Nothing to see, not even vague shadows of stars, only the closest neighbor ark-ships in formation.

  It’s as though nothing in the world exists, only us. And for that reason, most people no longer visit the observation decks of the Fleet ark-ships during these last weeks.

  The things we are taught about the Jump process in our various classes are also intimidating.

  “During the final week leading up to the Jump,” Instructor Mithrat Okoi tells us, “all Fleet Pilots will remain inside. At this time, no one will be allowed to fly ship-to-ship in the Stream—not even the astra daimon. Your classwork on flight simulators will proceed as usual, but on the day immediately preceding and following the Jump, there will be no classes held.”

  “The experience of the Jump is highly complex and individualized,” Instructor Nilara Gradat tells us in Culture Class, on the day she has a guest doctor attending the lecture, to answer our medical questions. “As the fabric of the Quantum Stream around us grows more and more unstable, even the presence of the ship’s powerful shields and various life support systems is inadequate to protect living beings from all the effects. Many people suffer what is called Jump sickness—both before and after the Jump itself.”

  Immediately hands go up, as concerned students want to know more.

  “Jump sickness symptoms include disorientation, dizziness, loss of consciousness, and various forms of agitation, temporary loss of motor function,” the Atlantean doctor picks up at this point and speaks to us. “Some of you might experience nausea, difficulty breathing, elevated pulse rates and panic, others a full body flush and circulation issues. There is also the danger of panic attacks causing you to harm yourself accidentally.”

  Nilara Gradat nods. “For that reason, everyone on the ship—passengers and crew—will be confined to their sleeping bunks, where you will engage the safety harness system. You will lie down and stay flat in bed at least fifteen minutes before the Jump and fifteen minutes after. Fortunately the effects dissipate quickly, and most of you should be sufficiently recovered within the hour.”

  A girl raises her hand and asks tremulously. “How does the actual moment of the Jump feel? Does it—hurt?”

  The doctor shakes his head. “No, it is painless, but it can feel like a momentary loss of consciousness for most people, which is not particularly pleasant. That’s why we strongly recommend you lie in your bed and try not to move too much. The ship’s automated system will issue a thirty-minute warning countdown, to give you plenty of time to prepare.”

  And then we are told: “You will undergo physical examinations to once again test your hormone levels. If the hormonal balance in your body does not match the safe range, you will be given treatments the day before the Jump.”

  In the meantime, our Technology and Systems Instructor, Klavit Xitoi, informs us of another aspect of the process. “To protect against the effects of the Jump, we employ a Stasis System. For that purpose, there’s a cold storage chamber on Deck Level 5. It contains ten emergency storage capsules for those on this ship who are most vulnerable. That includes anyone over and under the safe age.”

  He adds: “Some of your older instructors will be using the capsules, and some of you on this ship who test most poorly on the hormone level exams will be chosen to go into the capsules—all for your own safety. Unfortunately the selection is limited to a handful of individuals, and they will be chosen on the recommendation of the medical team.”

  Instructor Xitoi then takes us on a tour of the Stasis Deck. We go down the spiral stairwells to Level 5, and then into a large brightly lit chamber with two rows of five capsules, surrounded by computer consoles. They look like large glass coffins, and we are given an explanation on how to operate them.

  “One thing you don’t need to worry about,” Instructor Xitoi says in conclusion, “is the fact that all the ark-ships employ an automated Jump Protocol, so that once the Jump System is engaged, no personnel on duty are necessary. The ship takes care of the whole Jump process. So there is absolutely nothing to be afraid of.”

  Yeah, right. . . .

  Overall, I would say most of us are now sufficiently terrified that we can’t wait for this Jump nightmare to be over already.

  At last, Jump Day is here.

  The day before, I go in to the medical deck for my hormone level exam, and fortunately I’m within n
ormal range, so I don’t get any hormone boosters. Some of the other teens are less fortunate, and they end up with a variety of shots and have to drink some kind of clear liquid that supposedly tastes foul.

  I check up on my siblings, and apparently both test as safely within normal range, so no boosters for them, thank goodness.

  Today, everyone’s duties on board the ship are very light. I wake up at 7:00 AM, feeling nervous butterflies in my stomach as though it’s a day of competition of some sort. I force myself to eat breakfast, then head to the CCO.

  The Command Pilot is away doing ship inspections, so it’s basically Gennio, Anu and myself for the next couple of hours. They are running major Jump System diagnostics, and I help as much as I am able, which is not too much at all. This system is so critical that I am not allowed to touch anything, only respond by reading off status code numbers on the screen when asked.

  The Jump itself is scheduled for 2:35 PM this afternoon. That’s when the Fleet will finally reach the necessary optimal velocity to achieve the Jump.

  “Don’t eat a big lunch,” Anu mumbles to us as we work on multiple consoles. “Unless you want to be tossing up the contents of your stomach from Jump sickness.”

  “Is that from personal experience?” I ask.

  “Yeah,” Anu tells me. “During the first Jump on our way to Earth, I got to watch fat-brain here throw up after the Jump. He puked all over the place. Everything he ate for lunch was on the floor—”

  “No, I did not,” Gennio says with a frown without looking up from his own consoles. “Enough, Anu.”

  “Okay, but it would’ve been funny if you did!” And Anu makes a rude laugh.

  “Seriously, Anu,” I mutter. “Are you a five-year-old? What’s with all the stupid?”

  “Hey, you just watch your lunch, Earth girl, this is no joke!”