“He’s right,” Iggie said. “We don’t know them. They could be psychos, too, just like Stempton.”
Tomia took a hard look at the triplets as they quietly consumed their meals, then returned to their private conversation. “Or maybe they’ll be the bloody bastards to save the universe.”
Iggie laughed and raised her drink. “Hell yeah. To the street rubs and rats, saviors of the Starways!”
As his two companions changed subjects, talking about their upcoming classes and other Academy gossip, Cam hung on Tomia’s observation. “Or maybe they’ll be the bloody bastards to save the universe.”
Yeah right—a street kid saving the universe? What a joke. Even Tomia and Iggie, who rightly qualified for the Academy, would never rise into any leadership position. Not with their background. And even if they did, they’d be sent into the worst battles, to the front lines against the USC. That’s how it always went for Cerkans.
Cam dug his fingernails into his uniform pants, wanting to break through the tough fabric. None of us could ever make that kind of difference.
(Especially a cheat like me.)
The boy turned his head in Cam’s direction, blue eyes connecting. Cam gasped, surprised by something in his gaze, contrasted against the emaciated frame of a poor kid plucked from a black-market world.
A calm sentiment, wound into single word, slipped through his chest. Always.
Frightened, but not knowing why, he looked away, pretending to pick at the last few morsels of food left on his tray.
“See ya, Cam,” Tomia said, taking her tray and walking over to a disposal with Iggie.
He gave a quick nod and then chanced another look at the boy. Him and his sisters had vacated the table.
As he threw away his tray and headed back to his barrack to change into his training uniform, he couldn’t shake the strange feeling. Once at his bunk, he rifled through his storage locker until he unearthed his practice gun. Holding it in his hand, even with the safety mechanisms overriding any kind of real protection, his nerves steadied.
Play it safe, he promised himself, taking a deep breath. Stay clear of everyone. No friends, no enemies. Can’t die now.
He would find a way to survive, then find his way to Kara.
Alone.
It’s all the mattered.
Cam changed his uniform, holstered the gun, and left for training, avoiding his reflection in the chrome finish of the transport lift that would take him to the arena.
It’s all I’m worth.
Chapter 8
The next six weeks went by faster than any he could remember. With back-to-back basic training courses, only broken up by meals, Cam didn’t have time for anything other than sleep.
No more, he thought, hunched over on his knees, struggling to catch his breath as the obstacle course reset into a new pattern. The teacher, positioned by the one-way mirror looking into the training arena, signaled him to ready for another run by lighting the sleeve of Cam’s training uniform yellow. Not again…
Other kids, at least the ones above age eight, only trained once a day with other students. He trained alone most sessions, up to seven, sometimes up to nine, times a day. And with minimal instruction, only the red, yellow, green lights to signal him to stop, ready, and start, and a thirty-second holographic tutorial on how to use his training gun when he first arrived, he didn’t know what he needed to do better or change each run, only that the enemies, and the obstacles proved more challenging each time.
Why are they doing this to me?
Cam put his hands on his head and straightened up, trying to allow more air into his lungs as the landscape, previously resembling a pitted moon, smoothed out into a gray-sand desert with a glowing horizon. Pale aliens with fast-moving tentacles populated the last simulation, whipping him into the rocks, leaving him with fresh cuts and bruises. Looking down at his battered hands and the bloody rip in his uniform along the leg, Cam didn’t see how he’d complete another sim. Especially if they kept upping the difficulty.
No place to run, he realized, not seeing hiding spots in any direction in the infinite gray landscape.
His sleeve flashed yellow. The sim would start any second now.
Cam tried to unholster the gun strapped to his right thigh, to ready himself for whatever monsters would soon appear, but the gun wouldn’t move, striped interface glowing. He tried again and again, using two hands, but the gun stayed fixed, as if it had locked in place.
“Chak,” he muttered, slamming down on the grip with his fist.
His sleeve blipped. Turning over his forearm, he read the instructions highlighted in red: DESTROY THE ENEMY.
Huh?
Something slammed into him. Cam fell hard to the ground, catching glimpses of red hair and bared teeth as he tried to regain his bearings. The gray sand flew in every direction as his attacker struck him again and again with his fists, landing each blow on recent bruises and fresh cuts.
Cam shrimped to his side and kicked himself away, allowing him enough time to realize his attacker.
Stempton.
As the red-haired boy lunged for another assault, Cam took a fistful of sand and threw it at his face. Stempton grunted and tripped, falling just short Cam’s position.
Cam slammed the boy’s head into the ground, then threw himself on his back. Exhausted, he hit Stempton in the back of the neck, hoping to end the simulation as quickly as possible. As soon as he heard the crunch, and the boy’s body went flaccid, he backed off and stumbled away.
What…why did they want me to do that?
An even harder thought chased after the first. How could I do that?
(Colin.)
Standing a few meters back from the body, he looked to where he thought the observation room sat, disguised by the holographics of a dusky sky, and pointed to his arm. No red to stop, to indicate he’d completed the simulation.
“Come on!” he shouted, voice cracking.
No more. I don’t want to do this anymore.
Killing aliens and USC soldiers in simulation was one things. But other cadets—
I’m not like that!
As he waved his arms, trying to trigger the exit to appear, he heard a grunt. Turning on his heels, Cam saw the boy jerk and twitch until he placed two hands in the sand and pushed himself up.
But it wasn’t Stempton. Not anymore.
A boy with black hair and pale blue eyes stared back at him. That strange Fiorahian boy I saw in the mess hall weeks ago—
Cam froze, even as a locking mechanism on his holster clicked.
No—why him? he thought, backing up. The boy followed him with his eyes, posture relaxed, looking just as pale and skinny and helpless as before. He’s just standing there!
A message popped up on his sleeve. DESTROY THE ENEMY.
The gun in his holster buzzed.
No, he thought, backing up faster. But the boy stayed fixed, even as Cam turned and quickened his stride, only to look back and see him the same distance away.
A shriek filled the air, piercing Cam’s ears. Cam fell on his knees, bracing his head, unable to escape the terrible cry. The boy stood in front of him, mouth shut, eyes plastered wide open in a crazed expression.
DESTROY THE ENEMY flashed on his arm.
Writhing on the sand, Cam felt something warm trickle out of his ears.
Make it stop—MAKE IT STOP!
Screaming, he reached for his gun and squeezed off six shots in the direction of the sound. The shrieking ceased.
Cam, disoriented and nauseated, wobbled and swayed until he collected enough of himself to assume a crouched position. Ears ringing, he searched his surroundings.
No…
The boy lay on his back, blood pooling around his head.
Dropping his gun, Cam looked away.
“Well done, cadet.”
Cam turned his head toward the sound of a speaker as the landscape disappeared, but the hologram of the dead boy remained. A man with a thick mustache and dark eyes approached
from the illuminated exit. He wore an officer’s uniform, and had more service decorations than any teacher, officer, or soldier he’d seen.
“I am Commandant Rogman. Proctor Garrisen informed me of your special status. I’ve been watching your progress for past few weeks.” He shifted his gaze to the hologram of the dead Fiorahian boy, his stern tone punctuated by thrill. “I am pleased with your performance.”
Cam got to his feet and stood at attention, knees shaking. He didn’t look at the Commandant, afraid of the intention in his midnight eyes.
“Keep this up, and I’ll make you into something more than any of these other cadets.”
What? Cam didn’t understand. How could I? I’m not taking any classes, I’m not doing anything but train.
“S-sir,” he said, barely squeaking out the words as the Commandant walked away. Rogman stopped and turned around, black eyes cutting straight through him. “Might I take classes as well?”
The Commandant raised an eyebrow. “You want to take classes?”
“Yes,” he said, still averting his eyes. He didn’t want Rogman to look into to him, to see why he needed to take regular classes in order to have access to computers and interfaces.
“Why? The other cadets here are the best of the best. The competition will annihilate you. Here,” he said, waving his hand at the training arena, “is where your talents are best invested.”
Cam rubbed the scars on his arm. I don’t have any talents.
Or maybe he did. He glanced at the dead boy.
“…just hold out, my love….”
“Please, sir,” he whispered.
Rogman twitched his mustache, regarding him before supplying his answer. “Three conditions: it cannot disrupt your training, and you must pass your classes, or else you will be terminated from the program.”
Cam gulped. I shouldn’t have—
“Finally,” Rogman said, black eyes glistening, “I want monthly reports on the cadets in your classes and group training sessions. Observe them. Tell me their strengths, their weaknesses. Tell me how you’ll beat them.”
Cam didn’t understand. “Beat them?”
Rogman sneered. “Yes. This Academy isn’t just a school. It’s a battlefield. Each cadet is your enemy, your competition for survival to the next level. What will you do to ensure your survival, Cadet Ferros?”
Kara, he thought, hands tightening into fists, chest muscles tensing. Ears still ringing, body aching, he steeled his gaze to the Commandant’s, and poured all of his confidence into his words: “Anything.”
The Commandant smirked, his mustache twitching. “Well then, Cadet, let us begin.”
Chapter 9
As Cam opened his storage locker next to his bunk that night, he noticed a flashing message on his sleeve.
SCHEDULE UPDATE: REPORT AT/TO
0730 Biochemistry – 104
0730 Gaming Strategy – 102
Two classes, scheduled on different days, between his hours of physical training. Cam closed down the message, excitement and terror lighting up his exhausted muscles. He hadn’t gone to a formal class in months. Years, if he didn’t count all the times Kara tutored him, or he squeezed into an overcrowded classroom with kids both above and below his grade.
What grade would I be in? he thought, pulling off his uniform top and kicking off the bottoms.
Fifth, maybe, on the Starways standard track. Biochemistry wouldn’t be an option, not until high school, and definitely not to a student of his caliber.
His hands shook as he folded his uniform, placed it in the locker, and put on his sleep shorts. How am I going to even pass those classes?
“You’re smart,” Kara once told him, showing him a paper of his she marked up with a red pen, “but you’re not the type of smart that people recognize right away.”
“What kind of smart am I?” he asked her, upset that he’d missed so many questions.
Kara smiled, returning his paper and prompting him try again. “The one who always figures it out in the end.”
“Ferros.”
Cam turned around. Stempton and three other kids about his size stood between him and the aisle, blocking him against the bunk lockers. Cam’s bunkmate, a squirrely kid who kept to himself, scampered off with his datapad, not wanting to find himself a part of whatever was about to go down.
Cam stared at all four of them, not moving, letting them see his bare chest and arms. He wouldn’t let the medical staff treat any of the old scars, or even the new wounds. Most kids couldn’t stand the sight of his disfigurements, turning away, just as Stempton’s cronies did.
But not Stempton. Grinning, he turned his hand into a gun and fired it off at Cam.
“What’s up, killer?”
Cam didn’t know if he meant it literally, not that it made a difference.
“What do you want?” he replied, confused by his own shame and anger at the sight of the red-haired boy.
“Just talk,” he said, shooing off his mates. Alone at the end of a row of bunks, Stempton took one more look around before lowering his voice. “I hear you’re tearing up the basics program. Killing ‘bots, soldiers, aliens—whatever they throw at you.”
Yeah, whatever, he thought, remembering how the red-haired boy’s neck crunched. …Or whomever.
Frustrated and unable to look him in the eye, Cam shut his locker and tossed his datapad onto his top bunk. I just want to sleep.
“You’re in group training sessions C and D, yeah?”
Cam’s gut kicked in, sensing the edge of some kind of manipulation. “So?”
“I also saw your name added to my classes in 104 and 102.”
Cam’s stomach dropped.
“Look, Cerkans are stupid, especially half-breed humans like you. And you’re already a month behind; you’ll never pass those classes.”
As he squared to Stempton, the bully laughed and casually shoved his hands in his pockets. “Relax, psycho, I’m not trying to start something; I’m just speaking truths.”
“You don’t know what I’m capable of,” Cam said through gritted teeth. In the last six weeks he’d put on 10 kilos, mostly muscle, gone up a shoe size, and outgrew the length of his first jumpsuit by centimeters. He’d never grown so fast or seen himself with muscle before. The fears he had matching up against the kids from the Homeworlds faded. Now, he sized up to most anybody his age, or even a few years older.
“I think you’re capable of the best kind of thing in a soldier,” Stempton said, the violence in his eyes offsetting his grin. “So, here’s my offer—I’ll help you pass your classes. In return, I’ll give you some names of some kids in C and D that need a break from curriculum.”
It took him a moment to process what the bully proposed. He wants me to hurt his rivals in basic training…
Why couldn’t he just take care of it himself? That jerk has plenty of followers.
Dread tore at his gut. I’m missing something; he’s got an angle on me.
But what? He cracked his knuckles and ground his teeth together. I’m not smart enough to see it.
“Just leave me alone,” Cam said, sounding just as unsure as he felt.
Stempton shrugged. “It’s your dumb assino, not mine, that’ll get iced.”
With his followers watching from a few bunks over, Stempton, chin up and still smirking, walked away.
What just happened?
Too tired to give any more thought to it, Cam crawled into bed.
I’ll figure it out, he told himself, shutting his eyes and imagining Kara’s reaffirming hug. Stempton’s freckled face, and Rogman’s menacing grin, infiltrated the image of his sister. Discomfited, he pushed it all away, until the only thing that remained was his anger, and the acid burn in his throat. I have to.
***
With his first training session ending at 0720, Cam rushed to his class on the other side of the starbase, jumping lifts and running down the halls until he reached room 104.
“Ah, Cadet Ferros, welcome,”
the teacher said, looking up from the holographic image labeled macromolecule rotating over his desk. The entire class, already seated with their datapads out and interfaces launched, stared at him. “You must be quite the genius for Commandant Rogman to allow you to join my class so far into the curriculum.”
Stempton and his group of followers, sitting toward the middle of the classroom, whispered amongst themselves and pointed his direction.
“Go on, take your seat,” the teacher said, inputting commands into his sleeve.
Still catching his breath, Cam wanted to shrivel up and run back the other way. He felt the entire classes’ gaze on him as he searched for the only open seat in the far back of the class, his cheeks burning red.
“Today we continue our studies of the structure and functions of proteins,” the teacher said, waving his hand at the classroom entrance. As the door slid shut, the lights dimmed, and the holographic image on the teacher’s desk changed to show coiled structures that Cam didn’t recognize. “Let’s first look at this chain of amino acids…”
Cam produced his datapad from his backpack and clicked it into the desk, downloading the day’s lesson and all that he’d missed.
“Chak,” he whispered, despondent at the volume of reading alone he’d have to catch up on. And the study questions—more than he’d ever done in his lifetime—how could he fit any of that in with his training schedule?
Cam looked to his left, to the boy staring at him. He didn’t recognize him at first, not with how much he’d grown and filled out. It’s that weird boy from Fiorah, he realized, recognizing his dark hair and cherubic features. The air squeezed out of his lungs. The boy I killed—
“What?” he whispered, not intending to sound as harsh as it came out.
The boy didn’t respond right away, studying him with intention. Even in the low light, Cam couldn’t help but stare back, taken by the calming blues of his eyes.
“I’m Jahx,” he said, offering his hand, palm up.
Cam jerked back in his seat, muscles tensed. But Jahx kept his hand out, a faint smile upon his lips.
A Fiorahian greeting? Cam didn’t know how to respond. Unsure of himself, or the protocol, he offered a grunt and an uncomfortable glance at the boy’s hand.
Blue Sky Tomorrows Page 6