Not knowing what else to do, he grabbed his datapad from the storage slot at the end of the bed and checked the time. 2315. A message alerted at the top in white lettering: Due by 2359: Biochem final, Professor Rotu.
Cam huffed. Yeah, screw it, he thought, finger hovering over the close button.
But he couldn’t. Not if he wanted to finish what he started.
At least take it, he reasoned. Besides, he could easily take one of Jahx’s datapads out of his locker and search for answers. But as he reached for the ladder, his affected fingers brushed the open button.
“Chak,” he muttered again as a red light came on near the camera. With Rotu enabling the pupil tracking feature, his eyes couldn’t stray for too long outside the datapad field. But as he cursed his broken hand, he read the first question on hydrogen.
Well, at least I know this one.
The rest proved less easy. Still, he plugged in whatever answer came to him first, blazing through as the timer ticked down.
I’m so chakked.
It doesn’t matter, he told himself. Just finish the thing. Rotu won’t announce anything until the end of the semester, after the projects are graded.
The end of the semester. Three weeks. He could finish his plan by then, he decided.
Cam exhaled as he typed in the answer to the last question and the test closed, red light blinking out.
Three weeks. He repeated the idea over and over to himself as he accepted his failure on the test, and the inevitable shaming that would follow.
I’m icing out anyway.
Another voice whispered an even darker truth: (If I even make it out alive.)
Returning the datapad to the slot at the end of his bed, he resigned himself to his fate when he heard a sob. He waited several seconds, listening closely amongst the sleep sounds and ticking ventilation system. The sob came again, this time with a rustling of sheets, and a vibration of the beams as a knee or elbow struck the side of the bunk.
Holding onto the metal frame, Cam leaned himself over and looked at the boy below. Curled up in tight ball, he shook and twitched, as if something—or someone—terrible was about to strike.
“Stop… please don’t…” Jahx mumbled. A sob escaped his lips as his hands flew up above his head.
(Just leave him be) bade the harsh voice inside him.
No—he can’t wake up the others. I don’t want any trouble tonight.
(It will only make things harder.)
“Chak,” Cam muttered, lowering himself down the ladder and putting a knee on Jahx’s mattress.
“Hey, Jahx,” he whispered, gently patting him on the side. “Wake up. Come on, man—wake up.”
The boy woke with start, flipping over to face Cam, arms out in front of him. “C-Cam?”
“Yeah,” he said, ducking under the bed and bringing a finger to his own lips. “Keep it down, alright? Don’t want to wake any of these assinos.”
Jahx rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, long eyelashes sticking together with his tears. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Nightmare?”
He nodded, scooting up to a sitting position. Sweat slicked the front of his sleep shirt and matted his hair.
He’s really afraid, Cam thought, unsettled by the boy’s appearance.
Forgetting himself for a moment, Cam asked, “what about?”
Jahx looked away. “Home stuff.”
“That Yahmen guy?”
Jahx nodded, scrunching up the bedsheets in his hands.
“Jeez,” Cam muttered, not knowing what to say. Stupidly, he added: “he must have been really bad.”
Jahx said nothing, his eyes still averted.
“Your sisters sleep okay,” he said, still keeping his voice low as he pointed his thumb at the opposite bunks.
Picking at the sheets, Jahx shrugged his shoulders. “Jetta’s more concerned about the future, and Jaeia just worries about other people…”
Without realizing it, Cam slid down onto his hip, sitting at the head of the bunk. “It ain’t worth it.”
“Huh?”
“Worrying about a ratchakker like that. He’s gone. You’re here. One day you’ll be leading a gigantic fleet. You could crush him like a bug. He’s nothing, Jahx.”
Somehow, even though he meant his words to make the boy feel better, he sensed he’d missed his mark. Jahx brought his knees up to his chest, looking more isolated and alone than before, even as Cam sat close by.
“You don’t understand,” the boy said, sounding fragile, about to break. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. Not even him.”
Cam swallowed hard, cheeks heating up as he sat there not knowing what to say. The reality of what he was doing, and what he intended to not long from now, wrung his stomach. “You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered.
Jahx shook his head. “I have to be. For my sisters. For…” He trailed off, eyes misting over.
For what?
Anger rising, Cam tried to keep his voice in check. “No, you don’t. You can be better than this stupid war. You can get out. Run away. Get to the farthest parts of this galaxy and keep going.”
Jahx inhaled sharply. “I can’t.”
“Why?” Cam said, throwing up his hands.
Blue eyes met his, radiating an intensity that took Cam’s breath away. “Because I’m supposed to be here.”
“What, like some fortune teller told you?”
Jahx didn’t refute his assumption. Instead, he looked away again, indicating the truth went much farther than he initially thought.
“Wait… like a… a telepath?”
Jahx gave a quick nod, eyes flitting back and forth, as if he feared Cam’s reaction.
“Come on, really?”
“Really.”
“What was he? A hustler?”
“She. No, a nun.”
“A nun?” he snorted, irritated by the idea that a telepath could pose as an agent of God. “What’d she say?”
Jahx stared ahead, his mouth falling open for a second, then clamping shut, as if he fought with himself about revealing his secret.
“Look, you don’t have to tell me,” Cam said, not wanting to upset the boy any further. “Just figure that she, or any vision or prophecy, can’t own you. Nothing can.”
Jahx studied him a moment, then replied: “You believe that?”
“Everything I’ve ever believed in is…”
“Just hold out my love—”
“—For blue sky tomorrows—”
He stopped himself before emotions robbed his voice. Clearing his throat, he whispered: “No tomorrows. That’s what I believe in.”
Jahx tilted his head to the side. “Be in the moment; you can’t fear the future. I like that.”
Cam wanted to counter his take on his doomed outlook, but didn’t have the heart, not as the boy smiled at him, light once again present in his blue eyes.
Go; stop talking to him, he thought, forcing himself to divert his gaze. It’ll just make things harder.
“You’re something else, Jahx Drachsi,” Cam said, shaking his head as he pushed himself off the bed and readied to climb back up the ladder.
Jahx lunged, wrapping his arms around his waist, catching Cam in a hug so warm and tight that he held his breath, afraid of what it would do to him. Quietly, the boy whispered back: “So are you, Camzen Ferros.”
As soon as Jahx loosened his hold, Cam muttered something between a thank you and a lame excuse and wiggled away. Crawling back into his bed, he tried not to think of anything, especially the tingling warmth that still flowed through his body.
(Kara would have loved Jahx—)
“Goodnight, Cam,” Jahx whispered from the bottom bunk.
Cam lay on top of his sheets, cool air from the ventilation grate blowing across his skin. He shivered, staring up at the ceiling, remembering his tenth birthday, the day the skies turned black. The day he lost everything that ever mattered to him, and the vow he made to even the score.
“Goodnight, Jahx.
”
***
Rising before lights on, Cam slipped out of bed and quietly dressed, keeping an eye on the surrounding bunks.
I need all the practice I can get in the gaming arena, he rationalized to himself, even as he glanced at Jahx’s bunk for the fifth time. The boy lay on his side, facing the wall, chest rising and falling in a steady sleep pattern. Not that he was afraid to interact with the Jahx again.
I’m not, he reminded himself, grabbing his datapad out of his locker and heading to the arena. (It would just make things harder.)
To his surprise, more than two dozen other students occupied the gigantic gaming arena, spread out between stations, testing and refining their skills in training matches in the early morning hours.
Jeez, this competition is worse than I imagined, he thought, noticing a kid with sleepless, red-ringed eyes mumbling to himself as he ran himself through the same training simulation over and over again.
Cam took a seat in one of the many empty rows of benches that formed a circle around the battle sims and opened his datapad. Using the live feed, he watched all the games at the same time, changing the angles when he couldn’t get a good unaided view.
These kids are all so good, he thought, heart sinking. Even the youngest, a first year like him, cut his fleet across the spherical playing field with deft mechanics, leveling his AI opponent in less than twenty-eight minutes. It wasn’t just the gaming mechanics—operating the keyboards and controls at the console or understanding how the different starcraft maneuvered in the various environments—it was the totality of it, controlling a fleet and facing a live opponent.
I’m not going to be able to stand up to any of them, he thought, looking back to the nervous, overworked kid still running through the same sim. Even the bad ones have some sense of strategy.
Not that he cared about winning. He just couldn’t ice out. Not yet, at least.
I’ll figure it out, he told himself, cracking his knuckles on his bad hand. He thought of his combat training, of the skills he did possess, gnawing on his lower lip. Any way I have to.
He checked the standings and the upcoming matches. All three triplets, still ranked in bottom pool of the Academy students, didn’t have any set matches against veterans or upper-ranked students.
Time to change that, he said, looking up as the first wave of students entered the gaming arena after breakfast. Official matches started at 0600, with a mix of newbies and moderately-experienced students pitted against each other. He watched groups clump together as opponents weeded each other out and sought support from their friends. After the usual banter and teasing, cadets took their seats on opposite sides of the holographic globes as the overhead lights dimmed, and the games initiated.
Cam shifted forward in his seat, forgetting about his datapad, or his analysis. The thunder-clash of sound, the dazzling colors blasting from the spheres, the heated tension that cut through the air—he’d never experienced anything like it. Juggernaut warships scraped across digital skylines while electric-blue fighters zipped across enemy lines, engaging weaker frigates and corvettes. He couldn’t keep himself focused on any one battle, especially as various groups cheered their friends on, or taunted the losing opponent.
It wasn’t until the freckle-faced boy walked in the arena that he was able to pry himself from the excitement and focus back on his objective.
Stempton didn’t notice him, not at first. Surrounded by his usual thug entourage, the Crexan made his way around the arena, watching games for a minute or two, making comments to Hoch and Walli, before moving on. Predictably, he stopped at a game between two cadets at his level, making sure to stand next to the yellow-haired boy ranked the closest to his own standing.
You ratchakker, Cam thought as the boy tensed at Stempton’s encroaching presence, trying to concentrate but fumbling with the controls.
In some way, Cam respected Stempton; he took the time to identify his opponents and employed any means to defeat or disable them. But at the same time, the same behavior served as his ultimate weakness—something that Cam readied himself to exploit.
As the yellow-haired boy resigned in defeat to his opponent, Stempton laughed and moved on, but not before catching Cam’s eye. His entire demeanor changed, shifting from smug satisfaction to shock, then a rising boil. Slapping Walli on the chest and elbowing Hoch to draw their attention away from another match, Stempton pointed his chin toward Cam, alerting his thugs to his presence.
Come on, you bastards, he thought, remaining calm as the trio approached him, hackles raised.
“What are you doing here, rub?” Stempton said, popping up one of his feet onto the bench in front of Cam. Walli and Hoch came up on opposite sides of him, assuming similar relaxed, though threatening postures. “This competition is for qualified cadets—not street trash.”
“I have information,” he said, pulling up a file on his datapad and giving it to Stempton.
“What the hell is this crap?” Stempton said. “A nursery rhyme?”
“The Fiorahian slum song,” Cam corrected. “Something that certain wimps hate.”
Stempton lifted a brow, then looked over the three-part tune. “Why the hell would I want this?”
“Because they’re competing, too,” he said, nodding toward the scoreboard affixed on the far wall. Even though the triplets hadn’t broken into the top 100, he knew even the threat of them competing would unnerve the Crexan.
The freckle-faced boy held the datapad in his hands, lips moving as he read the words. “This is gorsh-shit.”
“Jetta,” he said calmly, even as Hoch leaned in on him enough so that his knee knocked into Cam’s shoulder. “She’s your target.”
Stempton scoffed, tossing the datapad back to Cam. “No launnie is worth my time.”
“Snuff her out,” Cam said. With one quick motion, he yanked Hoch’s propped-up leg out from underneath him, causing him to pitch forward into the aisle. Cam picked up his feet as the boy fell, so that when he crashed onto the ground, he rested his boots on his back. “Before you have a real rat problem.”
“Ferros, you chakking bastard,” Hoch said, fighting his way up. Cam kicked him in the face as he rose. Dazed, he tipped backward, catching himself on a chair. As he regained himself, bringing his hand up to check the blood trickling from his nose, Stempton laughed and stuck out his arm to keep him and Walli from retaliation.
“You’re one vicious assino,” the freckle-faced boy said, still holding back Hoch. “I’m impressed.”
Cam leaned to the side, catching sight of the triplets entering the arena. “I just want this to end,” he said, pointing them out to Stempton and his thugs. “Beat her, and she’ll get kicked out. Her siblings will go down with her.”
Stempton looked over his shoulder, then returned to Cam, fires blazing in his eyes. “How do you know that, rub?”
“All us rats are in the same trap,” he said coolly. Then, to drive in the final thorn, he added: “Besides, what does a player like you gotta worry about anyway?”
Grinding his jaw together, Stempton raised his fists, but Cam didn’t react, not when he knew how hard that hit the boy’s ego.
“Don’t think this is over,” Stempton said, motioning for his thugs.
Cam let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding in as Stempton walked away and targeted the triplets, calling them out as they stepped into the main arena.
Here goes…
“No way,” Stempton said, approaching the triplets with a slow swagger. “I can’t believe you’d even show your faces in here, ratchakkers.”
Other kids, deeply entrenched in their games, alerted to the ire in Stempton’s voice. Some broke off their games to join his side, others paused, watching from a distance as the situation heated.
Cam couldn’t hear much more, not from the stands. Using his datapad, he picked up the sound from the gaming station nearest the triplets and tuned in to the exchange.
“We came to play,” Jetta sa
id, folding her arms across her chest.
Stempton rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I heard you three have been stinkin’ the place up. Didn’t anybody tell you? No rats allowed.”
Jaeia and Jahx, standing behind Jetta, wavered in place, as if they meant to say something, but didn’t. Cam watched their faces, how Jetta’s anger never faltered, but her siblings’ expression grew increasingly concerned.
You won’t back down, Cam thought, seeing the fight in Jetta’s eyes. Stempton is a bully, and street kids know what to do about bullies.
Strike hard and fast—and send a warning to all the other bullies—and everyone else.
Something in Jetta’s demeanor relaxed, as did her siblings’, as Stempton laughed with Walli and Hoch, and all his other supporters that gathered to see the fight. As if they’ve reached some kind of silent agreement…
Even as he fought to entertain the idea, Cam countered himself: Jahx is a pacifist, he thought as Jetta stepped forward and, despite her smaller stature, got in Stempton’s face. How is he allowing any of this?
“I’ll take you, and everyone else in this Academy down,” she said.
“Whoa!” Stempton guffawed. “You’re even dumber than you look.”
“Burn her, Stempton,” Walli said.
“Stupid rat,” Hoch laughed.
“Alright,” Stempton said. “And after I beat you in the Endgame, I’m going to make sure you and your ratchak siblings pay for your lip.”
A dark shadow crossed her face. She wants to hurt him, he thought, shocked at her confidence, and the breadth of her anger.
“After I beat you,” she said. “You’ll wish you’d never crossed me.”
The other kids yipped and howled, thrilled at the prospect of the fight.
With a smug grin, Stempton pointed his hand toward an Endgame console. “It’s on, little launnie.”
Cam couldn’t help but glance at the half-domed, blacked-out cameras spying from the walls and ceiling, imagining Rogman keying in on the action from behind his desk.
As Jetta took a seat opposite of Stempton at one of the Endgame consoles, Cam realized how small she was. Dwarfed by the swirling holographic globe, she looked more like a lost child than a cadet training to be the next great fleet commander.
Blue Sky Tomorrows Page 22