Spectrum

by Samantha Mina

  I was supposed to be the secret weapon of the Diving Fleet. The Conflagrian Multi-Source Enchant came all the way to Ichthyosis to become a diver just so Lechatelierite, of all people, could figure out how to wield that weapon best, for the benefit of the alliance. But, by ceasing all interaction, we were letting that asset go to waste. It was infuriating. It was stupid. It was too stupid a move for either of us to make. And, yet, we both continued to make it, every day we let pass. Why? It made more sense for me to be intimidated into silence, since he was the one with the power here and I was the one who stepped out of bounds. But, why would he avoid me? Moreover, for this long? Because of one rude outburst? I understood if that’d make him blow me off for a day or two. For a week, even. But, surely not a month and a half. The punishment didn’t seem to fit the crime.

  “Hey, Miss Bloodclot!” Amok’s obnoxious voice drew me from my thoughts.

  I looked up at his smug face and the band of men behind him. They were wearing short-sleeved, tight, white shirts stamped with a blue triangle. Yes, short-sleeved. We were all issued such ‘summer trainers,’ but I didn’t think it ever got warm enough to actually wear them. Thirty-two degrees wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I thought about t-shirt weather.

  Amok clutched his shoulders and faked an exaggerated shiver. “Are you cold, bloodclot?”

  I was wearing my diving suit, minus the flippers. I knew we were staying on land today, but I decided to wear my arrhythmic suit and boots because there was a limit to the amount of magic I could continually use to keep myself warm enough not to lose circulation to my extremities. Even the diving suits were only heated to about forty degrees. I found that the crystal the System guard gave me on July twenty-fifth made me feel warmer and stronger, when kept close to my body. I didn’t understand why, but I welcomed any help I could get. Nowadays, I kept it in the utility belt of my diving suit.

  “Change into your summer trainer,” Amok ordered.

  I stared.

  “You heard me, little girl,” he barked, adding a handful profane, Ichthyothian words to that address. “That’s an order from the Second-in-Command. Now, move it!”

  Embarrassed in front of my comrades and infuriated by Amok’s stupid orders, I hastened back to the locker-room. I emerged a minute later in my white shirt and pants. Already, I felt goosebumps rise on my pink arms.

  This morning’s practice entailed a mock skirmish against unit two. The Ichthyothians were quick and alert, as usual. The Nurians were slower and more reserved. But, no one suffered as much as the one whose heart pumped Conflagrian blood. Fumbling with my electro-shock gun, my extremities prickled and my face flushed.

  “South wing’s spotted us; get down!” Amok hissed, and fifteen bodies went flat as salmon patties against the ice.

  Something was wrong. Despite the numbing cold, my mind continued to race, piecing together a puzzle, making sense of a subtle nuance my eyes picked up, just moments ago. I turned my head and zoomed out my sight seven miles, scouring the invisible skyline. My suspicions were confirmed.

  “Face front and be ready for the slide, bloodclot!” Amok hissed.

  “Sir, they’re coming around, from the north,” I spurted.

  “What?” He squinted at the blinding horizon. “I don’t see a thing. And, Edenta’s heat-sensor only detected the presence of—”

  “They divided into three groups and sent the biggest one north. Now, they’re deploying via left shift slide, coming in fast,” I interrupted.

  Fifteen pairs of eyes looked at me in surprise.

  Amok snapped his head forward. “Four way split!” he ordered, actually listening to me. “Circle back. Right slide into the shoots at twenty-five, forty-five, seventy-five and one-oh-five degrees. Quickly, now, move it!”

  I wasn’t sure everyone really believed me, but they followed Amok’s orders. And, sure enough, all four of our sub-groups emerged from the ice-tunnels right where the majority of unit two was gathered. We had them completely surrounded and quite thoroughly surprised. They didn’t last very long after that.

  They would’ve been the ones surprising us if it weren’t for me.

  After practice, we returned to the locker-room. I gratefully wrapped myself—soaked summer trainer and all—in a towel. Amok swaggered over to me, flanked by his favorites, a Nurian named Apha Edenta and an Ichthyothian named Illia Frappe. As Amok approached, I dropped the towel and rose to my feet. He looked pissed. I guessed he didn’t come to commend me for making the observation that saved our unit.

  “How did you see unit two from seven miles away?” he demanded. “You didn’t have any tech on you.”

  Uh oh. “I just… noticed some movement in that direction and figured it was probably them.”

  “Don’t lie to me. You knew the details of their groupings and methods of approach. How?”

  I was silent.

  Amok folded his bulky arms. “Stealing intel from the real enemy in battle is great, but that’s a hell of a lot more difficult than nicking info from the unit two soldiers who bunk with you. Cheating like that now isn’t going to help you later when you’re out there, facing the Conflagrians. I have half a mind to send you to the despot, so he can kick your lying, red ass.” And, with that, he stocked away, Apha and Illia following suit.

  I sat down very suddenly on the bench. How stupid of me. Stupid! I risked exposing my magehood to my comrades. And, for what? A stupid drill. I couldn’t get caught using magic again. Sure, Amok only believed I was spying on my bunkmates, but sooner or later, if he kept noticing more strange ‘incidents’ like this, he’d figure out the truth. Either that or he’d report me to Lechatelierite who already knew the truth and would get angry at me for being sloppy. Then, I’d really be in trouble.

  But, what was I supposed to do? My magic could very well save lives and make a difference in battle. Was I supposed to withhold my assets and hamper the fleet’s effectivity just because I didn’t want to get in trouble with the officers?

  My mind was swimming. Lechatelierite had offered to help me with this. Six weeks ago, he called me into his quarters to talk about this very issue. But, what did I do instead of seizing the opportunity? I insulted him and pushed him away. Now, he didn’t want anything to do with me.

  “We’re meeting the despot in ten minutes!” Amok shouted. “Diving suits, now!”

  * * *

  We were used to being supervised by Lechatelierite during our daily practices. But, he was always at a distance, watching from the manta ray. It was easier to forget to be nervous when you couldn’t actually see him. Now, it would all be different. Now, he was going to join us in the water, like it really would be in battle.

  This afternoon’s lesson entailed learning a ‘tricky water fighting technique’ called the ‘spin-toss maneuver.’ The name sounded silly to me, but of course I kept that thought to myself. We lined up by the shore in eleven columns of ten. I was at the center of the first column, right behind Amok. Snow began to fall.

  Lechatelierite emerged, wearing a diving suit identical to ours, except for the three, cobalt-blue, upside-down-V bands on his upper arms. Amok had two such bands on each arm, as second-in-command. The rest of the Ichthyothian unit leaders had one blue bar per sleeve and the sub-leaders had one silver bar per sleeve.

  Lechatelierite walked with a steady and confident gait. He had made a full recovery, at last. In the natural light, his skin seemed almost the same color as his suit. That kind of pallor would make anyone else look weak or anemic. But, the Commander pulled it off; his white face seemed all the more threatening and dangerous in contrast to his thick, unruly, dark hair.

  Without a word, we followed him into a convertible vitreous silica which rocketed forth as soon as we boarded, ascending until we were about half a mile above the raging sea. When the manta ray began circling, Lechatelierite yanked open the floor-shaft and stood dangerously near the opening. Air whistled through, tossing fat flakes onto the visors of our helmets. We backed away, leaving the
Commander alone at the edge, looking down into the dense snowfall and the distant, tumultuous waves. It was all a rather intense sight, to our Nurian eyes.

  He turned and faced us, stretched his arms into a point high above his head, bent his knees and simply said, “Follow me, soldiers.”

  He tipped backward into the opening, tumbling gracefully through the air, disappearing into the storm. It was hard to believe this was the same man who’d spent a good part of the past age in a wheelchair.

  My pulse shot through the roof as we prepared to follow him down. From the corner of my eye, I saw Amok smirk at me. That sent a flash of heat through my hair. Before thinking twice or contemplating the appropriate steps or maneuvers, I defiantly strode forward and hurled myself off the edge. Dumb move. Instead of dropping in a straight line, the wind threw my body to the left, creating a chasm between myself and the rest of the tumbling divers. While I sloppily somersaulted, the white blur of the snowstorm made it impossible to tell which way was up. Fighting panic now, I strained my eyes to see between the flakes, focusing on the approaching sea. I was getting close, now. I thrust my arms above my head, forced my spine straight, kicked my legs back and pushed a button with my tongue on my helmet’s mouthpiece to seal the vents and activate the oxygen beads. And, cold striking my body, I broke the surface.

  Once underwater, I looked around for my comrades. Not too many got blown this far off-course, like me. Furious with myself, I swam toward the cluster, as quickly as possible. I hoped to slip into the crowd unnoticed, but I should’ve known better. From behind his visor, Lechatelierite’s critical eyes followed me. I screamed in my head. It was our first drill with the Commander present, and I blew it. He was choosing his officers in less than a week, and I allowed my anger against that heap of dragon dung, Amok, to ruin my concentration and wreck my performance.

  Lechatelierite didn’t leave me with much time to lament my mistake, though. He set us hard at work learning the spin-toss, a funny-looking but apparently effective maneuver. It required three soldiers: a tosser, catcher and flyer—though, when needed, the flyer’s trajectory could be altered so one person could play both tosser and catcher. First, the tosser and flyer would launch in unison from the hull of a submerged ship. Then, upon breaking the surface, the tosser would, well, toss the flyer into the air, sending him on a wild, tumbling arch during which he’d shoot while being a tough target to hit. Finally, the catcher, stationed several feet away, would, well, catch the flyer and bring him safely below the surface.

  Lechatelierite ordered everyone to triplet-off. I was about to join up with Nurtic Leavesleft and Tose Acci when the Commander suddenly materialized beside me and declared, “July, you’re my flyer. Acci, tosser.”

  That left him as the catcher. My stomach knotted. I absolutely couldn’t mess up. Of all one-hundred-ten in this fleet, Lechatelierite would work closest with me.

  We all spread out, scattering across a square mile of sea. My group wound up much further southwest than the rest. My nerves twisted as I followed Tose twenty feet below the surface and prepared to boost off the hull of crystalline one. I stood with my back just a few inches in front of him.

  “Ready?” he asked. “Three… two… one!”

  We took off in unison. So far, so good.

  The moment we broke the surface, Tose launched me on a wild, disorienting tangent through the air. As I spun, I tucked my knees, tensed my muscles and kept my spine and neck erect. I had no control over my own landing. It was terrifying, to feel so helpless and uncertain.

  Without warning, my body hit Lechatelierite, hard. Or, rather, that’s how it felt to me; in truth, he just caught me from behind, arms locking securely around my ribcage. He pulled me underwater. Several seconds passed but my dizziness didn’t relent; I hoped he wouldn’t let go, quite yet. There was no way I’d be able to swim on my own like this.

  Lechatelierite didn’t let go. It took me a moment to realize we were heading back toward the crystalline. His hold on me was so tight, my breathing was restricted.

  “I have to toss you again, Scarlet,” his urgent voice sounded in my helmet, but the words didn’t register. “Kick off with me once we reach the hull. I won’t let go of you until we break the surface. I’m going to throw you straight up this time, but you’ll still be spinning. Fire your weapon, but only when facing southwest. Don’t shoot the whole time—you could hit our comrades or blow our cover. I’ll catch you. Ready?”

  “W-what?”

  “I spotted a Conflagrian scout ship, to our southwest,” he spoke very quickly. “We’re the only ones within firing range, so we’re going to have to take it down ourselves, before they see us and call for backup. We’ve got one chance, Scarlet. One toss. Ready?”

  “Commander?”

  Lechatelierite shouted through his intercom to the entire fleet, “Attention! There’s a Conflagrian scout patrolling to our southwest. All of you are out of firing range. Don’t approach or engage. Halt all practice until the threat is eliminated. Stay still and below the surface. July and I are going to take it out, before it calls for reinforcements.”

  My feet came in contact with the crystalline. Lechatelierite’s arms were tense, around me. “Ready?”

  No. “Yes, sir.”

  “Now!”

  Lechatelierite supporting my weight, we rocketed up insanely fast. In a matter of seconds, we broke the surface and he launched me at least three times higher than Tose did. Spinning, I closed my eyes, pictured my body’s trajectory in my mind and fired only when appropriate.

  Lechatelierite caught me the moment I heard an explosion in the distance.

  “You got it,” he declared.

  Relief swept over me like a warm ray of Conflagrian sunlight. He pulled me back underwater.

  “Reoriented?”

  Wait, which way was up? “Yes, sir.” I didn’t want to tarnish this triumphant moment by asking him to baby me.

  He let go, and, immediately, I began to tilt. I was so dizzy, I didn’t even realize I was tumbling headfirst until a hand roughly caught my collar.

  “Liar!” Lechatelierite barked, in Nurian. He wound an arm around my waist, swam to crystalline one and grabbed a rung.

  “Sir, I’m… sorry.” I fought the urge to bang my head against the hull. I shot down a real enemy ship, for Tincture’s sake, and I spoiled the victory like this?

  “All divers to the shore!” Lechatelierite called, universally. “We took out the Conflagrian scout, but we have a critical matter to discuss.”

  Everyone was further north than Lechatelierite and I. Which meant the entire fleet was already assembled by the time we arrived, watching the incredibly embarrassing sight of Lechatelierite dragging my limp form through the water and helping me onto land.

  Face burning, I felt dozens of pairs of eyes follow me to my place in line. I felt like a little girl. Next week, when deciding who to promote, would Lechatelierite remember the Conflagrian ship I destroyed and the soldier I saved during our first surface-riding practice? Or, would he just remember how he had to pull my flaccid form to safety after our first tossing drill? And, the lie I told him about reorienting? And, our dreadful conversation from six weeks ago?

  “Attention!” Lechatelierite called in Ichthyothian and all eyes thankfully turned from me to him. “We took care of the enemy craft. However, we must note, this is the first time Conflagrian presence has been spotted this far north in the Septentrion Sea. Which means all of you need to be ready, at any moment, to switch from training to real combat.” Lechatelierite began pacing, hands clasped behind his back, as usual. “We can’t afford to let another week pass before officer appointments. We need our units organized by the end of tomorrow.”

  A single day. I gulped. I had just one day to undo every one of my million mistakes.

  Lechatelierite determined it would be best to lie low for the remainder of the afternoon. So, instead of heading back out, we sat in a lecture hall, on base, listening to him critique our ice-surface pract
ice videos from this morning.

  “These videos will be replaced by three-dimensional holograms, once the PAVLAK is up and running,” Nurtic whispered excitedly from his place beside me. “We’ll have hand-held devices that can project—”

  “Attention, Leavesleft!” Lechatelierite snapped. “As I was saying,” he continued, testily, “unit two, you need to sharpen your awareness.” He played a bird’s-eye-view video of my unit encircling them and taking them apart. “Nice ambush, unit one. I commend you for anticipating your opponents’ actions so well,” said the Commander—the man who rarely issued praise.

  At this, Amok shot me a wicked glance that silently screamed ‘cheater!’ Lechatelierite noticed, but went right on speaking. It didn’t matter; he was only too smart to understand what Amok’s glare meant. A knot formed in the pit of my stomach.

  “Now, we’ll proceed to the pool, so we can go over the spin-toss, one more time,” he declared, after he finished lecturing straight through dinner. We’d already missed lunch today. Did Lechatelierite ever get hungry? “We won’t practice in it now, as it’s getting late. But, I need to give you a more thorough demonstration of the move before we return to it tomorrow.”