Nyxia

by Scott Reintgen

  My grip on the sword tightens. “That’s not fair.”

  “Then make it fair,” he replies. “You can’t complain of fairness when you’re the judge.”

  “So either I kill him or he just walks free? That’s stupid.”

  “If you want to give the sentence, you should swing the sword.”

  My shoulders feel the weight of Defoe’s challenge. He’s asking too much of me. Dr. Karpinski stares out, already half a ghost. This is another test. Babel wants to know what kind of judge I am. Karpinski’s crime is a dark thing that will bleed me for as long as he’s alive. A potential murderer will roam the same halls I do. He could strike again. Next time, he might succeed.

  “This is the only way?” I set the blade against his neck. Karpinski doesn’t even react to the cold touch of it. A part of him is already dead. Defoe nods an answer.

  “The only way,” he echoes.

  I nod back to him. The decision is easy. You’re the best of me and you’re the best of her. It’s only true because Pops said it’s true. I let the sword drop to the floor. It clatters at Karpinski’s side like a broken promise. I feel like I’m handing the weapon back to Karpinski, turning my back and showing him where to plunge it. Destroy or be destroyed.

  But I won’t kill for them. Babel wants a willing executioner. They want me to be the hand that plucks the rotting grape from their pristine vines. They can go to hell. My pops would want more than this for me. I have a feeling he’d tell me to be the bigger man, no matter what.

  Defoe strides forward. “This is your decision?”

  “Yes.”

  Karpinski avoids my eyes. His shoulders slump and his whole body collapses down on itself. Defoe snatches up the sword, admiring the sharp edge of the blade.

  “Dr. Karpinski, you’ve been shown mercy.” Defoe brings the sword down in a casual arc. At first I think the swing misses, but then Karpinski cries out and blood fountains down his shoulder, onto the tiled floor. He doesn’t have free hands to stop the flow. His ear is gone, just like that. “You will not die today, but you are marked. Tamper with this process again and I will float you into space with the waste containers. Do you understand me?”

  Through his whimpering, there’s a quiet agreement. Defoe cleans the blade and his eyes flicker back to me. “You’ve been cleared, Emmett. You may return to competition today. If you’ll excuse us, I’d like a few more words with Dr. Karpinski.”

  His words open the door at the end of the room. I make my way to the exit and Dr. Karpinski cries out. I’m almost out the door when I realize that he’s begging for me not to go. I leave him and that horrible place behind.

  When I get back to my room, it takes everything I have to steady my breathing. I hate Karpinski for trying to kill me. I hate Defoe for trying to force me to be less than I am. This is an injustice, a darkness, that I can’t just file away. The endless cabinets of my mind don’t feel big enough now. It’s never failed, not since Grammy taught me how to do it.

  I was nine. We played together like boys do. Six of us running through dirt, pretending it was grass. Throwing a football, pretending it had air. I was fast then, a little taller and a little stronger than everyone else. You don’t get tired when you’re young. You just run and run and laugh and shout until your head hits the pillow. And so I ran. Go routes and slants and posts, always jumping a little higher, always slipping free of awkward-armed tackles. One too many touchdowns later, they got mad. It started small. It’s not fair, one said. You’re too fast, added a second. My two teammates abandoned me. One against five. These weren’t the Most Excellent Brothers either; these were friends of proximity. Before you even really know yourself, the friends formed by the shortest walks.

  I forget who pushed me first. I forget the names they called me.

  But I’ll never forget that first punch. It came from the right. One second nothing, the next second a two-ton train. I spun. They came. I fell. They kicked. It went on until I looked broken enough to stop. They let me up. God, what a mistake. Nine is too young to know the rules. Later I’d know. You never let them back up.

  I don’t even know if I got my hands on the right one. I just know that when I had him, I wouldn’t let go. I didn’t stop swinging until it was just us, and the dirt, and sirens. It was a mess. Charges and accusations and fingerprints. I was too young for juvenile court, but not too young to be looked at sideways, to hear the way they whispered. It all fueled my anger.

  It wasn’t until later that Grammy took me by the hand. She led me out to her garden, just a corner plot under a rusted fence, and had me sit down in the grass. I sat and so did she.

  “Oh now, Emmett,” she whispered. “You’re hot with it, aren’t you?”

  I cried and she let me. There was never shame in crying, not in front of her.

  “Your grandfather didn’t live long enough to teach you, but I will,” she said. “He had reasons to be angry too. Every day gave him new ones. But you can’t always beat the stuffing out of your reasons. Most times, his reasons didn’t even have a name. You understand me.”

  I didn’t, but I wanted to understand her so badly that I nodded.

  “Good, because I won’t say twice. So what your grandfather did, every time it came up, was file it away. I used to hear him sometimes. ‘I for Injustice,’ he’d mumble. Thought he was crazy, but he wasn’t. He’d store it up. File it away. Then use it on something else so he didn’t lose himself to it.” She set her hand heavy over mine. “Remember that. You lose yourself to anger and that’s it. It’s a lonely road, and a long one. But if you find a way to control your feelings, if you can take that anger and make sure you’re the boss of it, then you won’t be so bad off. So file it away. This one? Let’s call it C for Cowards. How you like that?”

  I liked it a lot. After, my uncle started giving me boxing lessons. If someone called me a name at school or shoved a shoulder into me on the street or ignored my texts, I filed it away. I would look forward to Sundays. I would dip and jab, opening up my files and punishing the bag with what the week had given me. It was a way out. For years, PJ would call me the coolest of cats. He always wondered why things didn’t bother me more. You should see your face, he would say. It’s carved out of stone, man. And it was.

  I remember that as I consider Karpinski and Defoe. I can’t control what happens, but I’m more than what Defoe wants to make of me. Babel might have all the keys, but they don’t know what they’re keeping in the cage. Not yet, but I’ll teach them soon enough.

  DAY 28, 8:31 A.M.

  Aboard Genesis 11

  Vandemeer escorts me down to breakfast. He looks excited about my return. It’s not hard to figure out that he knows nothing about Karpinski. The attempt on my life is a lesson I won’t forget. Karpinski claimed he was forced to do this by Isadora and Roathy. The other contestants want to win as badly as I do. But they went for the wrong guy. I don’t forget and I won’t forgive.

  As we walk, it still feels like my insides are wound too tight, but I’m eager to be back, eager to make up lost time. We take the stairs that lead into the massive multipurpose cafeteria. I want to see the others, but I find myself more eager to see the scoreboard.

  My eyes flicker there first:

  I’m stunned. The math makes sense, but I’m completely stunned. My heart races as I realize how far behind I am. It’s all relative. Others will get injured, I remember. Others will be sick. But that doesn’t take away the feeling that I’m in a bottomless pit without much of a rope.

  I’m ten meters from the table when they finally notice me. All of them look like they’re seeing a ghost. I trace faces for signs of guilt, for avoidance or embarrassment. All are too shocked that I’ve returned to give anything away. Only Kaya shows emotion. She looks furious.

  Katsu’s the first to speak. “We thought you were dead.”

  “Takes more than that to kill me,” I reply.

  That brings out a few smiles. Roathy and Isadora exchange a glance. Seen and noted.r />
  “Seriously,” Katsu says. “They wouldn’t tell us anything. You didn’t look good when they took you away, man. I can’t believe they let us think you were dead.”

  Kaya rises to give me a hug. As she does, she whispers into my ear. “Vandemeer told me I couldn’t visit. They didn’t tell us anything. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want you to be alone. I tried to visit almost every day, Emmett, I really did.”

  I nod and pretend it’s not a big deal. But I can feel it burning in just about every direction. The idea that Vandemeer, after all the trust we built in the med unit, would purposefully keep Kaya from visiting is messed up. And if Vandemeer was just following protocol, what’s Babel get out of keeping me isolated? As I pull away from Kaya’s hug, I’m not even sure who to blame or who to be pissed off at. I start in on breakfast instead and half listen as Katsu makes me promise to show him the scars.

  Defoe doesn’t note my presence as he arrives to escort us to morning activities. We’re back to speed drills with nyxia manipulation. I finish in the bottom three for every single one. I’m rusty and slow; the others have had nine more days of practice. I keep pace in the classroom session but lose ground again in the swim tank. My lungs aren’t used to the exercise. My score stays as far back from the others as it was at the start of the day.

  In the pit, I’m matched up with Azima. A nice welcome back to the competition.

  I was wrong about her. She’s not a snake striking from the grass. She’s three snakes. Her lashes come too fast for me to block. I’d love to blame my injury, but as I backpedal and miss parries, I know she’s just that good. And only getting better. On the fifth strike my avatar drops, and Azima raises her arms in triumph.

  The morning has me sweating and tired. I don’t lose the same amount of ground I lost while in the med unit, but Vandemeer was right. I’m not ready. Not well and not whole. My struggles continue in the afternoon. We’re back at the simulated mining site. The others move at a rapid-fire pace. They have plans now, strategies for maximizing their efficiency. Longwei’s in the drill, and eventually they relegate me to nyxia manipulations.

  We lose easily. Katsu mutters something about weak links. His words shouldn’t hurt my feelings, but they do. That night I dream-walk through empty rooms that get smaller and smaller. As the rooms shrink, I shrink with them. I wake up right before I’m reduced to nothing.

  The next day is even harder. I have to give up halfway through my swim when the left side of my stomach feels like it’s been set on fire. Vandemeer suggests a forfeit, but I refuse. Instead, he applies a balm to my wound as we cross over to the pit. The pain subsides just in time for Azima to make me look like a weak and wounded thing. I try to use the trampolines to draw out the fight. Play a little hide-and-seek. Azima’s better at seeking than I am at hiding, though. I catch a spear with my neck and head to lunch.

  As I gnaw on a piece of chicken, it’s hard not to stare at my score. I’m not catching up. I’m getting farther and farther away. Is it even possible that once I was in first? The thought almost makes me laugh. Longwei doesn’t look at me anymore. To him, I’m not a threat. To the others, I’m only worthy of pity. They’ve given up on me too. I want to give up on myself, but I remember Pops working night shifts and Moms getting side-eyed by doctors who didn’t think we could afford their treatments. I remember that if I don’t do something soon, I’ll go home with pocket change instead of treasure chests.

  Wanting something and actually making it happen are two different things. Focused, I still screw up a piece of our machinery at the drill site and don’t manipulate our nyxia deposits fast enough. The other team destroys our time. My teammates don’t hide their glares. Defoe gathers us around, and I’m the ghost in the back of the room.

  “Another Sabbath arrives,” Defoe says at the end of the exercise. “A well-earned break. We’ll open the recreation room like last time. Sleep in and treat yourselves to rest.”

  I drift to the back of the group as we walk through the sleek hallways. My image reflects back to me along the walls and I wonder who I’m looking at, where the real me has gone. Of course, Kaya drifts back to me. She lets her shoulder bump into mine.

  “I missed you,” she says.

  “Yeah? Funny way of showing it.”

  Kaya’s eyes go dark. “Vandemeer wouldn’t let me visit. That’s protocol on board the ship, Emmett. Babel’s call, not mine. Anytime someone gets injured by nyxia, they have to be quarantined. Only their chief medic can see them. What? Think I’m making all of this up?”

  Her explanation makes sense, but it’s been a long day, and I feel like I deserve to be angry at someone, at something. I shrug my shoulders and start walking. “Whatever.”

  She grabs hold of my arm with more strength than I thought she had. I stop short and she waits until I look her in the eye. “You don’t have to act tough around me.”

  I shake out of her grip. “Why do you even care? Answer that.”

  “Because we’re teammates, Emmett. Because we’re friends. Because we’re the same color. You think I forgot any of that?”

  “Kaya, I don’t even know what that means.”

  “You’re blue, Emmett, the same broken as me. Remember? We’re both forgotten. People look past us or through us or around us. I’m blue too. I know what it feels like.”

  I shake my head, and I can tell that frustrates her.

  “For me, it was both of my parents,” Kaya says, voice quiet as dying. “We were very poor. We had to move to a new apartment. They took me there, unloaded all of our things, and put me to sleep. When I woke up, they were gone. They left my things. And a note.”

  Her words break me. I can see how hard it is for her to talk about, how hard it is for her to admit that someone left her behind. But instead of crying, she tightens her jaw and lifts her chin. She stares me dead in the eye and waits stubbornly for me to say something. I don’t want to be liked, not by her and not by anyone on this ship. I just want to go home and fix the world I left behind. I want to save Moms and Pops and myself. Making friends complicates that.

  Kaya doesn’t back down, though.

  “I know something happened to you too,” she says. “You don’t have to tell me what it was or why it happened. But you want to know why I care about you? Why I like you? Because I made a promise to myself when I was little. If I ever saw someone who was blue, like me, I’d never leave them. So I’m not going to leave you just because you had a bad day. I’m not going to leave you just because you’re mad at everything. We’re not just roommates anymore, Emmett; we’re family. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

  She stares at me, and all I can do is look away. I can feel my carefully gathered armor falling to the ground. I don’t want anyone to know my secrets, to see through me like this.

  “You really came every day?”

  “As often as I could.”

  I nod at her. “I’m sorry. Today was hard.”

  “I know, but you’re not that far behind. I’ve done the math, Emmett. This isn’t a game of thousands. We’re still a long way away from the final scores.”

  “But every point matters.”

  “You’re right. So let’s keep earning them. I’ll practice with you tomorrow for our Sabbath. You’ve gotten enough rest in the med unit. Let’s sharpen you back up.”

  I glance sideways at her. “You’d really do that?”

  She laughs. “Have you even heard a word that I’ve said? You’re so stubborn.”

  “I just don’t get it.”

  She hooks her arm into mine. “I like you—what’s there to get?”

  For the first time, I don’t challenge her words. I need something good right now, and it feels like her words are all I have. We wind our way back to the room and set a time for training tomorrow. Before we part ways for showers, she shows me something she’s been working on. It’s a bulky camera, more vintage than vintage. It shines nyxian black.

  “My grandmother had one,” she says. “Com
e here.”

  She flips her grip on the camera and slips an arm around my waist. I put mine around her shoulder and we both smile into the flash. The camera spits out a little square picture. Kaya snatches it, waves it in the air, and hands it to me.

  “I don’t need to see it to know it’s a good one. You keep it.”

  I set it on the dresser and watch as the picture comes to life. We look worlds away from this competition. We look like real friends. If only a shower could wash away reality. I stand naked before a mirror afterward. My stab wound is a scrape of lighter skin just below dark ribs. A readout of vital signs dances to life. It claims I’ve lost twelve pounds. I can see it in my ribs and my cheeks. The mirror screen scans the interior of my stomach. Everything flashes green.

  But there’s a broken that the mirror can’t see. I feel it now more than ever.

  Distracted, I snag my player and open up the back. Vandemeer’s access card gleams with possibility. Knowing Kaya, she’ll want to stay up late and read together. Tomorrow is Sabbath, so we don’t have to worry about bedtimes or getting rest for the next day. But I think I can make our evening way more fun. I throw on street clothes and slide back into the living room. Kaya’s waiting there with a book, but she sets it aside when I wave the access card in her face.

  “You stole it?” she asks, eyes wide.

  “A while ago,” I reply, tucking it into a zip pocket. “It’s his backup card.”

  Kaya drums her fingers nervously. “Have you used it before?”

  “Not yet. Want to do a little exploring?”

  She grins beneath her mask. “Let’s see how far the rabbit hole goes.”

  Together we check the hallways. No signs of Vandemeer. No Babel techies roaming the night. Most of our fellow competitors are safely tucked away in their rooms. I lead Kaya down the nearest passage. I haven’t gotten to use the card yet, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t done my homework. Ever since I first snagged it, I’ve kept my eyes open for corridors and tunnels and stairwells.