Jahx took his hand back, unperturbed by his discourtesy, and focused on the teacher as he continued the lesson.
Cam shifted in his seat, unable to sit still. What’s a polysaccharide? By the time he looked it up, the teacher had moved on, discussing a new term he didn’t understand. Nucleic what?
The other kids took notes with the one-handed input system on their datapads, their eyes on their teacher. Still struggling with the basics on the datapad, Cam recorded the lecture and resigned himself to figuring it out later.
I hope Gaming Strategy isn’t this hard, he thought, chewing on his thumbnail until he tasted metal. Looking down, he saw the blood trickling from the deformed nail.
Discouraged and lost, Cam fiddled with his datapad, pulling up everything he could about the teacher, professor Rotu, the course, and his classmates, from previous session rosters, to ratings and profiles. The class ranking surprised him: Stempton sat high at the top, outscoring the second-place student by a large margin. Most of his cronies filled the subsequent rankings.
Curious, Cam looked for where Jahx stood. Right in the middle. Average.
He fought the urge to look back over at the kid. As young and human as he looked—and being from Fiorah, where no educational system existed—how could he have managed an average score?
Out of the corner of his eye, Cam noticed that Jahx didn’t even take notes. Instead, he sat forward in his chair, listening intently to every word the teacher spouted.
Thinking of Rogman’s secret assignment, to report on the students and how he’d beat them, he created a new document and wrote down his first observation.
Jahx: average student. Doesn’t take notes. Friendly.
His hand hovered over his last word. A feeling he couldn’t name pulled at his heart until he amended the observation and swallowed hard. Too friendly.
The teacher changed the tone of his voice, projecting his question into the classroom. “Amino acids with side groups carry a what kind of charge at physiologic pH?”
When Rotu fixed his gaze on Cam, he slid down in his seat, hoping that the professor would somehow pass him over. No luck. The teacher pointed at him. All eyes turned to him.
It’s my first day, I don’t know anything, he panicked, seeing Stempton elbow one of his buddies and laugh. I’m just—
Jahx, covering his mouth with his hand, whispered: “negative.”
“Negative,” Cam repeated.
“Correct. You’re a fast learner, cadet Ferros.”
He didn’t let out his breath until the teacher resumed his lecture.
Shaking, he added a note to his observation on Jahx: Kind.
He stared at the word, remembering the taste of dried fruit, then erased it. Kindness gets you killed.
“Your study paper is due on the 30th,” the teacher announced. A collective groan followed. “Ah, now, this counts as half of your grade. Remember, you may do this as a partnership if you incorporate a research component in your results. Class dismissed.”
Partnership. The word churned in his stomach as he dared a look around the room. Other kids, already engaged in negotiations, grouped together in the front, with a several of the older cadets pining to get Stempton’s attention. The red-haired Crexan looked up at him, one of his eyebrows perked in the question he didn’t have to ask aloud.
There’s no other way, he thought, squeezing the end of his desk. But at what cost? How many kids would he have to sideline to meet Stempton’s demands?
Colin’s face flashed through his mind, his dimpled smile lighting his face as he shared one of his mints.
(I can’t do it.)
For Kara. I have to.
“Hey, you need a partner?”
“Huh?” Cam looked to his left. Jahx, with the same calm, sweet expression, pointed at his datapad.
“We could do the study paper together. I can send you what I’ve started tonight.”
Cam looked back to Stempton. The red-haired boy marched up the stairs between the rows of desks, scowling.
“Uh, I don’t know,” Cam mumbled, shoving his datapad into his backpack. “I’m not…”
…good. He thought of Jahx, lying on his back, blood pooling around his head. You don’t want to be my partner.
“Ferros,” Stempton said, standing a row below him, arms crossed over his chest. “What are you doing talking to that launnie?”
Cam stood up too fast, toppling over his chair. Before anyone could say anything else, he blew past Stempton, making sure to hit his shoulder on the way out.
“Psycho…”
Stempton said the insult loud enough for him to hear it as he exited, but not enough for him to want to turn around and chance fighting him in front of a teacher.
Furious, he grabbed the next lift as it whizzed down the hallway.
“Get off!” he shouted at the smaller kid already on the lift. The cadet ducked under the railing and leapt off, crashing into another student as Cam took the controls and directed the transport back to the training arena.
“Chak,” he muttered, gripping the railing. I’m screwed. I can’t do this.
Cam checked his sleeve: twenty-five minutes to get back to the training arena. Not enough time for a real break, but enough not to rush like he did that morning.
He slowed the lift as passed the lower-level barracks, hoping to see Tomia or Iggie. When he spotted Tomia in the corridor talking to another cadet, he stopped the lift and hopped off.
Tomia stopped her conversation as soon as she saw his face. “What’s wrong?”
When he wouldn’t answer, she excused herself from the conversation and pulled Cam inside her barrack, to her bunk toward the front.
“What’s wrong?” she repeated, looking over her shoulder to make sure no one could hear.
All of the questions brewing inside him, every confession and stupid sentiment, clawed at the back of his throat and pulled at his tongue. Losing his family, Kara. Being afraid all the time. Stempton, Rogman—the strange last training session. Colin.
But as he noticed the other kids around them watching, some looking to Tomia, he clenched his jaw and swallowed them back down.
“You’re acting weird, Cam, even for you,” she said.
“Sorry,” he muttered, rubbing the numb parts on his right arm. “Just… Just class. Pressure.”
“Yeah, jeez,” she said, plopping down on her bottom bunk. “Who the hell joins over a month into a course? Maybe you are crazy.”
Seeing that the statement aggravated him, Tomia scooted over and leaned against one of the bedposts, allowing him enough space to sit across from her. “Talk. Or get back to smooshing bugs, or whatever it is you do in your training sessions.”
Cam sat at the very edge of her bed, waiting until the other cadets walking between the aisles passed by.
“Look, real talk, rub to rub.”
“Real talk,” he said, picking at the remnants of his right thumbnail. Without so much as a grimace, he peeled off a chunk of nail and waited until the blood beaded in the raw bed. “You and Iggie should stay away from me.”
Tomia scoffed. “This place eats up street kids. You can’t do this alone.”
“I have to,” he said, raising his voice.
Tomia eyed the other cadets as they tuned into their conversation, then returned her gaze to Cam. “Don’t do this, Cam. Don’t isolate yourself. That just makes you an easier target.”
For reasons he couldn’t explain to her—let alone himself—he got up and, without looking at her, whispered, “no tomorrows.”
“Huh? Cam—wait!” she shouted as he exited the barracks.
I can’t drag her or Iggie down with me, he thought, grabbing a new lift. Not now. Not when the girls had a chance, and he all he had were drastic measures and deals that would kill every last part of him that ever mattered.
As the lift dropped him off at the training arena, he pushed aside the memories of his older sister, of Cerka, and a life already lost, and readied for the next
battle.
Chapter 10
After his final training session that day, Cam hauled himself onto a lift and leaned against the railing as it zipped him down the corridors toward the mess hall.
I’m beat, he thought, the ache of fatigue reaching into his bones. Usually he’d shovel enough food in his mouth reach satiety, then retreat to his barrack for a quick shower before crashing on his bunk. I just want to sleep…
The thought dragged on his body. But it would have to wait. Gotta figure out how I’m going to pass chemistry. He thought of Stempton, of his offer. And Jahx.
No, I’ll do it alone, he thought, banging his fist against the guardrail. But what about gaming strategy?
He pulled up the class roster on his sleeve. Most of the faces he only recognized from rumor, group training sessions, or from the mess hall. Two, however, stuck out: Shiggla – and Jahx.
Shiggla, a popular older girl that ruled the game rooms and the rivaled most of the top students in any competition, would probably ignore a weaker opponent like him. At least I won’t have to deal with her, he hoped.
And Jahx. The sweet younger kid who offered to help him. He shuddered, then stopped himself. Why do I even care?
Maybe because I killed him, he reasoned, thinking of the bizarre training simulation with Rogman. Or because he’s a street kid like me. Or maybe—
He stopped himself.
Can’t get caught up in anything.
Or anyone.
No attachments, no feelings. No tomorrows.
He ate his dinner alone, believing it better that Tomia and Iggie didn’t show up to add to his stress. As he dumped his empty tray, he noticed an unopened package of noodles sticking out the receptacle, as if someone hastily got rid of their tray without putting it all the way in the disposal system. A quick check in his peripheries confirmed none of the other kids looking his direction.
After swiping the package and sticking it in his pants pocket, he hurried out of the mess hall and grabbed another lift. Once past the barracks, the training arenas, and the restricted medical labs, he jumped off the lift and walked the rest of the way to his secret place.
The lavatories in the c-wing corridor had been taken out of use some time ago, before he had arrived on the starbase. From the looks of all the mechanical equipment and tools gumming up the entrance and clogging the walkway, the Dominion heads intended for the lavatories to be converted into something else, but for whatever the reason, the project had gotten sidelined. A thin layer of dust covered the sinks and the fixtures, undisturbed for months.
Cam tiptoed inside, following his usual path foraged amongst the equipment and rodent traps to the last stall. Familiar voices made him pause, as did the three sets of boots he saw shuffling around under the divider.
“What are you doing back here, Drachsi?”
“Yeah, launnie boy—what kind of sick games you playin’ by yourself?”
A body slammed up against the stall in the ensuing scuffle; one of the pairs of boots went upward, disappearing behind the divider.
The movement, the vibrations—the three other kids in his secret area; violence, the stronger preying on the weak. Something snapped. Without thinking, Cam kicked open the stall door, teeth bared, hands in tight fists, ready to take down whomever stood in his path.
“Chak—” Walli, one of the older cadets Cam recognized from A-barrack, cradled his nose as he got out from behind the swinging door.
“Ferros, jeez,” Hoch said. An outerworlder with snake-nostrils and flinty eyes, Hoch held Jahx by the collar against the stall divider.
Cam said nothing, chest heaving, staring down the imposters, fists turning white.
“Alright, everything’s cool, mate,” Walli said, grabbing Hoch and pulling him out of the stall.
As the two other cadets hurried out, Jahx slid down the divider to a sitting position, catching his breath and readjusting his uniform top. “Thanks.”
Cam, still tensed for a fight, couldn’t unclench his fists just yet. “For what?”
Jahx studied his face. “Good timing.”
Why aren’t you afraid of me? he thought as the black-haired boy crawled over to the toilet and reached for something through the crack in the wall. Without a reaction, his fists unclenched.
“What are you doing here?” Cam said, eyes slipping for a split second from the boy’s face to his hiding spot in the removable panel above the toilet.
With a grunt, Jahx pulled out his hand and whatever prize he captured. “You caught me,” he said, a sheepish half-smile upon his face. He offered up the evidence: a half-eaten bread roll.
What? Him too? Cam felt the weight of the noodle package in his pants pocket. “How much you got in there?”
He didn’t mean to sound so aggressive, but he couldn’t help it; he had to know.
Jahx scrunched up in the corner. “Enough to get me a week in detention.”
Anger struck free the words he meant to keep to himself. “Why food, right? I mean, the teachers track everything—but why can’t we just eat whenever the hell we want to?”
Jahx shrugged. “There’s always a reason.”
“Like a test?” Cam frowned, then produced the noodle package from his pocket. “Why do they care if I have another 300 calories?”
Jahx looked at the package, then at Cam, caution in his voice. “Full-blooded Cerkans don’t have the digestive enzymes to be able to process those noodles. You could get sick.”
“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not.”
Jahx regarded him for a long moment, seeming to take in more than his rigid posture. “My sisters don’t know about this.”
“What? This bunk lavatory, those assinos, or the food hoarding?”
“The third,” Jahx said, picking at one of the ribbed knee guards on his pants. “Jaeia might understand. But Jetta… She’d be embarrassed. Angry. She’d tell me we aren’t starving, that we’re not launnies. It’s just…”
Cam recognized the mournful look in his eyes, the way he clammed up, unable to finish the thought. “…just a hard habit to break.”
Reaching over the boy, Cam loosened another panel higher up, revealing his stock of food he’d stolen out of the garbage or snuck off other kids’ trays. He added the package of noodles to the stash and then replaced the panel.
“Don’t tell anyone.”
Jahx looked at his hiding spot. “I won’t. But we should probably switch up locations just in case Hoch and Walli come snooping back.”
“Just moving all this one stall over would probably fool those two,” Cam said.
Jahx stifled a grin. “You’re right about that.”
As he thought to leave, a question slipped: “Hey—what’s a launnie?”
The boy averted his eyes.
“Is it like a rub? Street rubbish? That’s the Cerkan insult for homeless orphans.”
Jahx looked back up at him, blue eyes bespeaking much more than his words. “There’s no real translation in Common. ‘Rat’ is the closest.”
Cam thought on it a moment. “How’d you get off Fiorah? Didn’t think even the Dominion went there.”
“There’s a new occupation.”
“On Fiorah?” Cam couldn’t believe it. “There’s nothing there but those red rocks.”
“Yeah, the mines,” Jahx said, rubbing his knee even harder, eyes losing focus. “The Dominion want something.”
Memories of his family surfaced. “Fiorah have a leech problem?”
“W-what?”
“Leeches. Telepaths,” he said, thinking of his mother and father, his three sisters, of vacant eyes and lost laughter. His hands curled into fists. “They killed my family. The Dominion’s gonna rid the Starways of every last one of ‘em.”
Jahx’s gaze drifted away from him. “I-I don’t know. The Dominion just offered the entrance exam to some of us kids.” His voice trailed off. “It was better than staying.”
“Yeah,” he whispered, “I get that.”
Cam kicke
d his boot tip against one of the rat traps, poison capsules spilling out, lost in thoughts of his old life until he remembered Rogman’s threat: “…you must pass your classes, or else you will be terminated from the program.”
“I gotta go,” he said, turning to leave.
“Wait.” Jahx sprung up and caught Cam before he could wiggle through the obstacle course of machinery and parts. The boy’s hand brushed his fingertips, surprising him with their warmth. Whipping around, Cam didn’t mean to scare Jahx, but he didn’t expect the touch.
“What?”
“Here,” Jahx said, highlighting his sleeve where his direct contact link floated above his arm in blue light. He wanted Cam to receive the image by touching forearms. “Just in case.”
“In case what?”
Jahx responded with a faint smile and a steadfast gaze.
Who are you? he thought, confused by the confidence, the kindness, the dark-haired boy continued to show. He touched forearms, transferring his own private link.
Uncomfortable, but not knowing why, Cam cleared his throat. “I gotta go study.”
As he turned away, Jahx called after him, hope in his voice. “See you tomorrow.”
Cam hurried back to his barrack, afraid of what he might say back.
***
After thirty minutes of going through the chemistry class lessons on his bunk, eyelids growing heavier and heavier, Cam wanted to throw his datapad across the barracks.
“Chak,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead and staring at the forty-two opens tabs. I can’t learn all this. Not if he had to look up every other word or cross-reference with something else he understood.
“Be patient with yourself,” Kara would have told him. “You’ll get it.”
I can’t. I’m not smart enough. Looking around at the other kids uploading their homework or playing games on their datapads, he couldn’t imagine them struggling half as much as he was just to grasp basic concepts, let alone answer the study questions.
“There’s always a way,” Kara once told him as she tried to pick the front lock to an apartment of a neighbor they hadn’t seen in over three weeks. When it wouldn’t open, he followed her to the rooftop as she scaled down the broken fire escape and tried the window. He ran downstairs, catching her opening the front door just as he arrived, a grave look upon her face. The foul smell hit him before her bad news about Mr. Etterman. “I’m sorry, Cam,” she whispered, tears in her eyes as she covered up her nose.
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