Blue Sky Tomorrows

by L. J. Hachmeister

  “We have to go now,” Cam said, grabbing her arm.

  Jetta jerked free. “It’s too soon. We need to wait for Iggie.”

  “Wait for Iggie, then,” Cam said, “I’ve got to take them out now, before they take out Sanders.”

  “No, Cam—that’s not what—”

  He didn’t wait to hear her explanation. Something about her, about the entire simulation, frightened him. I’ve got to end this.

  As he climbed up over the rocks and scaled the back of the towering outpost, his concentration sharpened, his fingers slipping into cracks and hauling him up to the next handhold. He didn’t care about the fatigue of his muscles, or the vituperations Jetta shouted into his earpiece. As he climbed over the top of the tower, he flung himself on one of the soldiers, tackling him from behind. In the ensuing scuffle, an elbow caught his nose. Though a simulation, he felt bones crunching, and part of his left eye went dark. Shots fired from behind. His back and leg seized with pain, making him buck and roll off the first soldier.

  The soldier pointed his gun at Cam’s head. Without thinking, Cam launched himself from his sitting position and double-leg tackled him to the ground. Grasping the soldier by the helmet, he slammed him repeatedly onto the floor until his limbs went flaccid.

  Cam took the second soldier’s gun and aimed it at the first. Still crumpled in a ball, the soldier raised his hands up in the air as Cam shot him in the neck.

  Limping over to the edge, his leg and lower back shrieking with pain, he assessed the battle between the four other cadets and the second outpost. They’re pinned down. He raised his gun, taking aim at the second outpost.

  A loud thump, followed by a cry, caught his attention, and he spun around. Jetta spilled over the edge of the back wall and shot her hand out, as if she could stop him from a distance. “Don’t!”

  But as Cam returned to his position, taking aim once again, Colin’s face ghosted across his sight.

  He backed off, dropping the gun. “What the—”

  Old panic sluiced through. (I killed him—I KILLED HIM—)

  He braced his head in his hands. Stop! No—I didn’t mean to—

  Iggie popped over the wall, breathing hard as she dropped herself next to Jetta. “Tomia’s off. We gotta help her.”

  “What… I need to…” But Cam couldn’t finish the sentence. Confused, he picked up his gun again and looked back to the second outpost. All the anger and fear that spurred him up the tower and fueled his attack dissipated.

  Jetta gathered herself up and caught him by the arm before he could take aim again. “Fire at the other four—but don’t hit them. We can’t let the other outpost know we’ve taken over. Not yet.”

  Cam nodded, still shaken by what he thought he saw. No way… I couldn’t have seen him.

  “Cam,” Jetta said more sharply.

  I’m losing it. Shaking his head, he got back to the notch in the wall and took aim. From the zoom on the gun sight, he saw the four cadets spread out in a line, firing at the second outpost. Soldiers fired back, from both the tower lookout, and from behind rocky barriers on the ground.

  He fired off a few rounds near the four cadets, hitting the tops of the rocky crags and sending plumes of dust into the air. That will buy them some time.

  He looked back at Jetta and Iggie. Both girls stood on their tip-toes, looking over the wall to the valley below.

  “You give her the instructions,” Jetta said to Iggie, pushing off from the wall and grabbing the rifle from the other downed soldier.

  “But I—”

  “You can do it!” Jetta said, joining Cam’s side.

  “Nice,” she said, noticing the dust he had kicked up.

  Cam eyed her, waiting for sarcasm or an insult; things that would have come out of any other cadet’s mouth when he made a good move. But none came. Instead, the green-eyed girl took aim, firing off into the air, in the general direction of their team, but missing by a large margin.

  “Skucheka,” Jetta muttered in her native tongue as the gunfire slowed from the ground team, and the enemy soldiers advanced, coming within twenty meters.

  “Sanders is out,” Cam guessed. “They won’t hold.”

  Jetta ran over to Iggie, looking out into the valley. Concerned by the intensity of their conversation, Cam shot off a few more rounds, then joined them.

  “She needs more time.”

  “We don’t have time,” Jetta said, looking to Cam, then looking back out.

  Cam squinted, his Cerkan eyes not accustomed to such low light. Out in the distance, Tomia stumbled through the uneven terrain, her hands reaching out before her, keeping balance and searching for obstructions. Spotlights from the stronghold, previously trained on the ground team, fanned out, scanning the scree fields, ridges, and valley.

  “Tomia – crouch down, now!” Jetta shouted.

  The Cerkan did so, flopping down as a spotlight swept over her area. Covered by a rock outcropping, she stayed hidden, but trapped. By the timing of the spotlight sweeps, and with her blindness and communications delay, she couldn’t move more than four or five meters at a time.

  Cam ran back over to check on the ground team. Only four guns flashed from inside the protection of the dust plume. Enemy soldiers now surrounded whomever remained active, firing relentlessly, pinning them down.

  “She can’t make it,” he heard Iggie say.

  “She has to.”

  Cam looked back, seeing Jetta climbing over the wall. He knew what she would do, the sacrifice she intended. But it wasn’t hers to make.

  Jamming his weapon into his waistband, he ran over to Jetta and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her back over. As she crashed down on the tower floor, he flipped over and scaled back down, half skidding down the stone wall. He landed on an angle, twisting his ankle, eliciting a sharp pain that traveled up his leg and caught his breath. Forcing himself onward, he put most of the weight on his opposite leg, running as fast as he could toward Tomia.

  “Cam, what the hell?!” Jetta shouted into the com.

  He didn’t know how to explain it to her, let alone himself. With every step he took, with every crunch of his ankle and aching pleas from his back, he closed in on Tomia, ducking and dodging the sweeping spotlights, his need an iron wall against all pain.

  “What—”

  “It’s me,” Cam said, crouching down and holding down Tomia as she fought his grip. “I got you.”

  “You can’t, Cam—”

  “I’ll shield you. We have to run.”

  “Cam, I—”

  “No time,” he said, slinging her arm over his shoulder. He looked at rocky incline fifty meters ahead, where the blue portal glowed underneath a ledge. Part of the stronghold stretched out over the cliff. He spotted three gun turrets, all lit, but none firing. Not yet.

  He tried to time his run, but by the frequency of the spotlight sweeps, he knew it wouldn’t be long until all sights turned on them.

  (I can’t do this).

  I have to.

  “No tomorrows,” he whispered.

  As the yellow light grazed the top of their cover, he lurched forward with Tomia. “Come on!”

  Tomia gripped his sides, nails digging into his suit. He grimaced, pushing forward, hauling her when she couldn’t see the step.

  “Stop, Cam, I can’t go this fast,” Tomia pleaded, tears streaming down her face.

  “Cam, you’re spotted,” Iggie said as the spotlights froze, then converged on his location.

  He didn’t reply, not as the gun turrets zeroed in on him and Tomia.

  “Get on my back,” he said, stepping in front of her and allowing her to climb up. “Don’t cross your legs – squeeze my sides and hold yourself up; grip under my arms, on my shoulders. Hide your head!”

  “Cam!” she screamed as the turrets crackled to life.

  Gritting his teeth, Cam pushed himself faster, harder. Tomia’s weight against his body, the feel of her tension, her vulnerability, of the pain that crashed o
ver him with every step, stripped away all thought, all of his cares except one.

  “Cam, fall back,” Jetta cried. “You won’t make it—”

  Twenty meters.

  The first shot hit him in the chest, shooting fire across his torso and into his heart and lungs. Suit constricting, his breath squeezed down into desperate gasps.

  Thirty meters, he told himself.

  The second shot hit him in the hip. White fire cut across his pelvis, blazing into his intestines, singing his bowels. Nausea rippled through his belly, and he gagged and coughed, struggling to breath, to stay upright, as another shot grazed his right thigh.

  Pain was one thing, but the suit constricting, making it harder for him to move, was another.

  “Cam, please,” Tomia begged, pressing her head behind his. “You’re hurt, I can’t hold on—”

  You have to. I have to.

  “Ah!” she screamed, another shot grazing the top of her knee and splashing his abdomen. She yanked back, off-balancing him as another shot clipped his ear. Right side of his face blazing with heat, he tried to tell her to hold tight, but his stiffened jaw wouldn’t respond.

  Ten meters.

  The final shot got him in the face, blinding him in an instant. The whole world went dark as he crashed down on the terrain, striking his face on the rock. His nose, already throbbing from the enemy’s attack, exploded open. Blood gushed down into his mouth, and neck, but he didn’t stop to tend to the injury. Instead, he rolled over, on top of Tomia, shielding her as best she could as the shots continued, pummeling his back and legs, setting every nerve fiber ablaze.

  “Cam… Cam…” Jetta’s words buzzed in the distance. “We’re coming. Just hold out.”

  Just hold out…

  (“…For blue sky tomorrows.”)

  Suit rigid, his breath constricted and face bloodied, he laid on top of Tomia, arms wrapped tight. He could tell by the feel of her hip and shoulder that she faced up to him.

  “Tomia…” he eked out.

  No response.

  “Tomia…” He shook her shoulder, then touched her face. Smooth cheeks, breath on his fingers near her nose. He patted her around the neck, then felt something warm and sticky near the base of her skull.

  She’s out.

  His heart squeezed down. This was his fault. He acted irrationally, put her in danger.

  What if she’s hurt, bad? No, the teachers would stop the sim, wouldn’t they?

  “I heard that some kids die in the Academy,” he remembered Tomia saying. “Training accidents, bad battle sims...”

  Chak—

  I have to do something, he thought, his body trapped in the hardened suit. But what can I do? I’m already dead.

  He thought of Rogman, of his black eyes, the way his smile portended a lust for violence and war. “What will you do to ensure your survival, Cadet Ferros?”

  A cry boiled up from his stomach, leaking out in a high-pitched howl through his constricted throat. Every muscle in his body screamed, every cell bursting with rage. His suit cracked and bent like weakened plastic. Face and body buzzing, he grabbed onto Tomia’s uniform top with one hand, and, crawling on his hands and knees, his suit zapping him with pain signals, he shuffled them forward. Sharp rocks cut into his suit, sliced through his palm.

  “Cam!”

  Off in the distance, he heard the scuffing of feet. The gun turrets overhead fired in rapid succession.

  Blinded, in the darkness, he pushed forward, lungs on fire, entire body burning inside electric flames. He didn’t know where the blue portal lay, only that the sound of the turrets, the sound of death, meant only one thing.

  “Left, Cam, go left!”

  Words and sound meshed into the rapid pulse in his ears, his breath sucked inward as he gave everything he had to haul Tomia forward, into darkness, into the promise of blue sanctuary.

  Hold out…

  Hold out…

  Please…

  “Cam-cam, don’t make me sing it.”

  (Kara—I’m so sorry I couldn’t—)

  Something chimed. The gunfire ceased. In the background, he heard the whine of the holographics as they powered done.

  “You did it!”

  Kara?!

  No. Not her.

  He collapsed, his body finished.

  (I’m so sorry…)

  Hands turned him over, onto his back. Voices cried out, sounding shocked, horrified.

  “Did we…?”

  “Yeah, Cam.” Iggie’s voice, giddy and thankful. “You chakking killed it. How’d you do that? I thought they got you…”

  As the suit relaxed, letting him breathe again, he opened his eyes. Shadows and light circled in front of him. He made out faces, and a glowing blue sky.

  He wanted to smile, to feel relief, to believe that it meant something. All of his body throbbed and ached. He allowed the others to sit him up, and watched as they tended to Tomia as she revived. The other four, with Wexlan and Vorri assisting Sanders, ran over to their position, cheering and whooping.

  “Aw, chak, here comes the teachers,” Iggie muttered as the doors to the arena opened, and two teachers and a team of medics raced inside.

  Jetta turned to Cam, face grim, perturbed. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. I would have figured something else out. You can’t just sacrifice yourself like that.”

  Cam didn’t have the strength to fight her, to tell her the truth.

  “Is that your idea of ‘thanks?’” Tomia muttered, shaking out her head. “I’m pretty sure he just cheated simulated death to save us.”

  Jetta frowned, but nudged his boot with her knuckles, muttering, “yeah thanks, Cam. I don’t know how you did that.”

  “We couldn’t have done it without you,” Tomia added softly.

  Cam let his head drop down, his strength failing. Still, his heart felt lighter, steadied. As the medics hauled him off, he thought of Rogman.

  You’re watching, aren’t you? he thought, tasting the dried blood on his teeth. The simulations would only get harder, worse, putting more at stake than his academics or physical health. Rogman was up to something, testing him, testing all of them. I have to figure out why, for what, he thought, as the medics shone a light into his eyes, making them sting. Gloved hands lifted from his face, smeared with his blood. Before it’s too late.

  Chapter 13

  Cam didn’t think they’d keep him for more than an hour or two in the infirmary – and certainly not more than a day. He’d shown up with broken bones, lacerations, and abrasions before, discharged after treatment, and expected by his teachers to show up to his next training session. But whatever he’d done this time—whatever damage he’d caused his body or the expensive training uniform—was enough to necessitate more than one doctor reviewing his chart, and medication line to be threaded into his upper arm.

  Cam turned over on his side, trying to relieve the pins and needles running the length of his nervous system. White, over-starched sheets and the thin blue patient gown felt like sandpaper against his bare skin. Grimacing, he adjusted his shoulders and neck to better rest his head against the flattened pillow, trying to find some angle of relief. Flashing monitors, positioned in a ring around him in the isolation bay, shone on his face, making it impossible to find darkness, even closing his eyes.

  Not that it really mattered. Whatever white medication dripped down from the intravenous bag and into his veins made all his problems distant. Even when masked attendants applied cooling gel to his skin, he didn’t stir for more than a few seconds, settling back into a place somewhere in between reality and dream.

  “He’ll need another few weeks at least, Commandant,” someone said, their voice floating in a baritone tremble above his head. “I’ve never seen someone override the neuro-stims in the training suits.”

  A cold, familiar voice hissed back. “I want him back in service as soon as possible.”

  “I’m worried about neuropathy, some of the long-term effects—”r />
  “Then dose him with bioenhancers.”

  “I can’t keep doing that to these kids, sir. We just don’t know the consequences—”

  “I know someone who will.”

  Feet shifted, a chill settled over the conversation.

  “No… No, not that, uh—” Disgust, a fumbling of words. Thing? “I’ll take care of it.”

  “You have your orders, Verdebear.”

  Swallowing felt like crushing glass in the back of this throat. But he felt no thirst, no hunger, only the fires of his nerves, and the teasing flames of old haunts.

  “Wake up, Cam…” someone whispered. A frightened voice. Young, female. “Please, wake up. Something’s happening. I’m scared.”

  When he tried to peel open his eyes to catch a glimpse of her face, a hand touched the back of his arm, sending a shock up into his shoulder.

  “Sorry, Cam!” The hand withdrew as he moaned. “I’m so sorry...”

  Time ticked by again in a confusing blur. At one point his mother visited him at the bedside, her dead eyes staring through him, clutching a bottle to her chest, whispering accusations. “It’s those chakking leeches—they’ve done this! Murderers! Killers!”

  Veins turning white, he heard Iggie’s snorting laugh, saw a glimpse of Tomia’s red hair.

  (Kara. I have to find Kara.)

  Flash forward. The triplets appeared at his bedside, the girls holding hands, Jahx standing far off the right. Their eyes burned like embers, their mouths sucked inwards. “Run, Cam.”

  What is—

  Machine noise, a grating of gears. Something heavy and terrible creaked over him.

  What is that?

  A putrid, earthy odor, punctuated the air, making his nostrils flare, his shoulders hike. Terrified, he forced his eyelids back, vision swimming as a red eye, burning in gray flesh, hovered over his face.

  He shut his eyes, scream caught in his throat. What is that?!

  Iggie and Tomia, their disembodied voices squeezed by fright, answered: Monster.

  No—

  He tried to lift his head off the pillow, but it felt impossibly heavy, pinned to the foam. When he opened his eyes again, there was no monster, only beeping machines, and the steady white drip.