He laughed. “There are no cameras in here, Hunter Candidate. You can save—”
Then he really looked at me. “You mean that, don’t you?” He sounded…shocked.
“I do, sir.” I was baffled. Of course I meant it! There is nothing—nothing—that is more important in a Hunter’s life than protecting the Cits without Powers. And that wasn’t something that had just been drummed into me by the monks and the Masters. That was something I felt just as bone-deep as I did my love for my Hounds and theirs for me.
“Wait here a moment,” he said, and got up and left the room by a door behind his desk.
I felt eyes on me.
No cameras? Well, maybe not public ones. But there were cameras in here. And something I had just said had thrown him off. Karly said there were cameras everywhere; now I would bet there were plenty of cameras that weren’t visible. I kept my Hunt face on.
I stilled my breathing and listened, hard. There were voices in the next room, and I thought one was Severn’s. It didn’t sound exactly like arguing, but something had gotten them worked up.
A moment later Severn came back. “All right, Hunter Candidate, I’m passing you on to the next phase.” He opened that same door and waved me through. As I passed him, he called into the next room, “Armorer Kent, she’s all yours.”
A MOMENT LATER, I was facing the stranger from flat on my back on the floor. Before I could blink, he’d come at me. I’d been caught completely off guard.
He was sitting on me, laughing.
I lost my temper, but I hadn’t lost my training. And he was slightly off balance, leaning over. I grabbed his neck with both hands and pulled, while I kicked myself into a back somersault with my legs. I managed to send him sailing over my head, and I kept my momentum going to get back to my feet. He was as quick as any of my Masters, though, and I wasn’t balanced when he came at me again. This time since I knew he was coming for me, I moved as far off the line of attack as I could, and with his attack instead of against it. The momentum he gave me let me roll out of the way and get to my feet again. Then it was really on.
All I can say is, it’s a good thing there wasn’t any furniture in the room; it had a slightly padded dark gray floor and four light gray walls with a couple of metal cabinets set flush into the walls. Now, hand-to-hand is not what I’m good at; pretty much everything I have is primarily defensive and designed to get me away from my attacker. Aki-Do, mostly. I mean, really, back home, if I was in a position where I was close enough to a monster to need hand-to-hand, and my Hounds were nowhere around to help, I was pretty much in the deepest kind of trouble possible and aggressive hand-to-hand wasn’t going to save me. There wasn’t a lot of space in this room to get away, so I was kind of stuck in a fight I was definitely going to lose. We traded advantage back and forth for a little, but he was infinitely better than I was, and eventually he got me pinned, face in the carpet, arm twisted behind my back in the most painful of hanari holds. I banged on the floor with my free hand, and he let me up.
“Not bad,” was all he said, as I stood up and pulled my clothing back into a semblance of neatness, then got my little bag from the doorway. As I did, I finally got a good look at him.
His outfit was half-purposeful—knee pads, elbow pads, shin guards, kidney belt, shoulder pads, and bracers all of scarlet and yellow—and half-fanciful. The clothing under the padding was scarlet and yellow, and another one of those odd, asymmetric styles; one long sleeve, one short, slashes of yellow through the scarlet, a shirt with an uneven hem, one boot that went over his knee, the other that ended at the ankle. He had a craggy face with heavy eyebrows, bright green eyes, and red hair that was cut short on the sides but long on the top and back. There were feathers attached to it at one side—long, thin feathers banded in scarlet and yellow. I’d guess him to be physically at late middle age, still a prime fighter, though his years? No way to guess that.
“Thank you, Senior Armorer,” I said immediately, giving him the full bow I would have given one of the Masters. He laughed. His voice was dark and smoky.
“Nice. I could get used to being bowed to.” He beckoned to me. “Come on. Your hand-to-hand is passable enough. Let’s find out what else you can do.”
The first thing he did was take me down another set of long corridors to a real armory, one that was a lot bigger than anything we had at home. Some of the weapons hanging on the walls or on racks didn’t even look like weapons anyone sane would actually use. I couldn’t identify what they were, even, just what they kind of looked like. There was a set of things with the hilts of swords, but with one to five long, flexible blades like whips. Seriously? How could you even pick up something like that without hurting yourself? There were not one, but two objects like very large knives that had three blades. One was more like a cross between a huge knife and a short spear, but the positioning of the blades was just really strange. The other had three blades in a sort of fan. I mean, why? There was a whip made out of chain—again, why? And things that looked like animal claws. And a circle of metal with the outside edge sharpened…
I couldn’t even imagine how some of these could be used without doing more harm to yourself than to whatever you were trying to fight off….Granted, they were all apparently made of what we call “Cold Iron”—which is iron forged with carbon and not much else in it, which messes badly with magic. So I suppose if you were stuck face-to-face with something that used magic, they might be useful. Maybe. But the way I was taught, the last thing a Hunter wants is to be up close to anything from the Otherside.
He waved at the racks. “Tell me what you recognize and what you know how to use, and how good you are with each one.”
I was a little nervous, but mostly confident. I’ve been using weapons for years, after all. Mostly I wanted to make the senior armorer pleased with getting me. So I told him, in detail. Knives—both hand-to-hand and throwing—a sling, a slingshot, a spear, a bow, a revolver, a shotgun, a hand crossbow, and a rifle. “I know how to use an automatic pistol, of course, both semi-and fully automatics, but what I am used to is a plain old six-shot revolver. We save the automatics for times and places where nothing else will do. The six-shots are easy to maintain, easy to make reloads for, and can be dropped in the mud and still work after. And to be frank, if you are facing off a single target that you can’t drop with six shots, you are either in a situation where no gun will help you, or you have no business holding a gun in the first place.”
He nodded. He didn’t say anything, but it didn’t seem as if he was unhappy about what I had told him.
“Does every dirt-digger up there know how to use what you do?”
I shrugged. “Pretty much, Senior Armorer. We start kids as soon as they want to learn, which can be pretty young. I was four when I picked up weapons. I was seven when they let me Hunt.” Truth, of course. Even though being above the snow line keeps the Othersiders off, it doesn’t entirely stop them from trying to make lightning raids, especially the ones that can fly.
“What would have happened if I’d come in here without knowing all that, sir?” I asked after a moment.
“A lot of time spent in here, with instructors, and with me, learning how to use basic weapons,” he replied.
Well. Uncle had said to ask the armorer. This seemed like the moment to do just that. “Sir? This…I don’t understand some—a lot—of what I saw on the train and I’ve been hearing about. Everyone getting vidded, all the time. Channels for Hunters. Trending? I just—” I waved my hands, helplessly.
He waved at me to follow, and I did, into another little office just off the armory. There were two chairs, one behind a desk and one in front. We both sat down.
By this time, I was getting hungry and thirsty. Breakfast had been a long time ago, and Uncle hadn’t offered me anything to eat in his office. I’ve gone days without food, though, so I didn’t say anything.
He opened a white cabinet in the wall next to the desk, and pulled out two bottles, then tossed me on
e. It was metal, cold, and full of icy, tasteless water. I was awfully glad of it. Hungry I can deal with; thirsty is harder.
“We have thousands and thousands of people all crowded together,” he said. “Just to arm and train them all would be impractical. To keep them trained would be impossible.”
That didn’t seem to answer my question, but I kept my mouth shut and nodded.
“Imagine what all those people with arms right at hand would mean! Disputes between neighbors could turn into massacres.”
Okay. I could see that. It was bad enough on the Mountain where everybody knew each other and fights got broken up real quick. All those strangers…it would never work. And that assumed that what got in across the Barriers was actually something that a hundred ordinary armed Cits could take down without someone, probably a lot of someones, getting hurt or killed. Our own folk on the Mountain make plenty of mistakes when they gang up on Othersiders. People get caught in crossfire. People do stupid things. People try to be heroes. And they are used to working together, and it’s never more than twenty or thirty at most.
“So that’s why we do what we do and let them watch,” he continued. He waved his hand at a camera up in a corner. “We’re on camera most of the time, and each of us has a vid channel. We aren’t the only ones who are, of course, you’ll see.”
He looked over my head for a moment, and I guessed he was thinking. “You’re a smart girl. I think you’ll understand this. When you put something dangerous on vid, it does something to the way people think about it.”
I had to shake my head at that. I didn’t get it, not yet, but I wasn’t getting much time to think. “So,” he said. “In the old days, there were sporting stars. Do you ever remember reading about those?”
“Uh…vaguely?” I replied. I did remember…something. Not much. Just that people were as famous for playing games as actors or musicians were.
“Well, we’re sports stars. So we have…fans. People who follow what we do.”
I gaped at him then.
“Trending means you are going up in popularity, like a sports star.” Just accept it, I reminded myself. Apex isn’t the Mountain.
“But what happens if things get really bad?” I asked. “What if a Hunter gets hurt, or even killed?”
“That doesn’t happen too often,” he replied. “But first of all, you aren’t on a live feed, you’re on a delay. That gives the controllers time to decide if what’s happening should go out on your channel. It also gives them time to decide if you are in over your head. If so, they splice in footage of another Hunt, and send in the Hunter Elite.”
I know my eyes went big when he said that. The Elite—the people who could take on a Drakken, or even a Folk Mage. The people who got shuttled to all the hotspots, to escort and protect refugees. The Elite were…well, epic. I hoped I’d get to meet some.
He smiled a little. “If you hit something you can’t handle, or something entirely unexpected, you’ll get pulled off the Hunt and the Elite will be sent in. Yes, there are Hunters who are hurt; it happens, people accept that. It’s part of what keeps things just real enough that they don’t turn around and demand that the government stop spending money to support us. But for a flat-out crisis situation, it’s dealt with by the best of the best, and completely off camera unless the takedown is so smooth that it’s to our advantage to show it.”
Well…okay. That seemed sensible. Even if all the rest of it wasn’t.
He spoke into his Perscom. “Ping Karly, the girl’s ready for outfitting.”
Outfitting?
Karly came in about a minute later and crooked her finger at me. I got up, bowed a little to the armorer, who again seemed amused by it, and followed her out. We went down another corridor to a room with a half dozen desks and computers in it.
“Now, don’t take this the wrong way, but you can’t wear—that stuff,” Karly said, bringing up a screen that said Outfitting.
“This isn’t my Hunt ge—” I began, but she interrupted me.
“No, listen to me, don’t jaw. We’re on vid. You see what I’m wearing, what Armorer Kent wears. Each of us has to have her own colors, and her own signature look. That’s so people can tell, immediately, who it is they’re looking at. And you need to wear outfits that look professional. Like the other Hunters wear, not like…” She didn’t finish the sentence, but I got the picture. I wasn’t supposed to look as if I just got brought in from the backwoods, even if I was. “Got that?”
If Armorer Kent hadn’t just given me that talk, I don’t think any of this would have made sense. As it was…well, it still didn’t make sense, but I knew I had to accept it and go along with it.
She took my silence as agreement. “Right. First thing we need to do is pick your colors.”
Well, the color combinations on the first, second, and even third page she showed me were…no. No way would I ever, ever have wanted to wear anything in those colors, especially not to Hunt. But finally, on the fourth page—
“That!” I said, stabbing my finger at the monitor.
“Charcoal, light gray, and silver-gray. Good choice.” She tagged the combination, and moved it to a folder. “Now we pick some styles.”
That got…ugh. Okay, please don’t get me wrong. I love pretty things. I love new clothes. But…I’m used to getting maybe one new outfit a year, now that I’ve stopped growing. “Eat it up, wear it out, make it do or do without,” is one of the sayings people back home live by. I wasn’t used to being presented with page after page after page of Hunting gear, something called “casual wear,” dresses…
It was bewildering and began to make my head hurt, or maybe that was hunger. Karly glanced at me, took pity on me, and said, “That’ll do for now. I’ll get you an outfit so you can get changed, and I’ll show you the mess—that’s where we eat.”
All I heard at that point was “where we eat.” Karly went out and came back a minute later.
I nearly lost my jaw when she presented me with one of the new outfits to put on. I mean, when had they had the time to make it?
It was more or less based on my old Hunter gear; I must have just picked it instinctively. I had a hooded tunic with a pointed hem dipping halfway to my knees, front and back, and long sleeves that had points over my hands. There was a very wide belt—I would have said a kidney belt, and it was made for use and protection, not just for show—that went over it, and an amazingly soft shirt that went under it. The tunic seemed to be made of suede leather, the belt of glove leather. Both were gray, but there were designs of stylized leaves in charcoal, edged in black, from the hem to about four inches deep on the tunic and two inches wide on the center of the belt. Then there were pants of the same suede with the leaves running up the outside of the leg, and boots that matched the belt.
Karly pointed me at a washroom to change in, and turned up just as I was pulling on the boots. I stood up quickly, stamped them into place, and gave her the nod of respect. “Senior Hunter,” I said.
She said nothing, just walked around me. Even though we were both in leather, we couldn’t have looked less alike. When she came back around in front, I could see she was smiling.
“You look good, kid,” she said with approval. “Those are good colors on you.”
I flushed. “I don’t like bright colors,” I said, faltering. “And…how could anyone ever Hunt in things like that?”
“Field gear is muted, and they ’hance the colors on the vid-feeds,” she explained, and when I looked baffled, she elaborated. “What we wear to Hunt is just grayed-out versions of our colors. The editors in the vid-studios make the colors brighter before they send the feed out to the vid sets.”
“Oh…” For a moment I felt foolish. Then I shook it off. It didn’t matter. There was no way I wanted to wear things like the armorer did. “And this is all for the cameras?”
“Exactly. You’re going to be on vid a lot, and it’s important for your standings that you not be confused with anyone else.” Karly loo
ked at me as if she expected me to say something, but I just looked attentive. “Anyway, you are probably starving, I am starving, so let’s go to the mess and I’ll introduce you to your fellow Hunters.” She snickered. “Good place to do it, since they’ll have to choose between stuffing their faces and hazing you, and they’ll likely pick stuffing their faces.”
“But what about—”
“All your things were taken to your quarters,” she said, anticipating me. “Don’t worry, no one threw anything out.”
Well that was a relief. I had the feeling that, nice as these things were, I would be wearing my comfortable old familiar stuff when I could.
THE MESS, OR MESS HALL, was a lot like our communal building in Safehaven, except this was clearly used only for eating, and our community hall was used all the time, for anything where a lot of people needed to get together. Schooling, quilting, sings, dances, pretty much anything where more people wanted to gather together than would fit in someone’s house.
At the back of the room was something I recognized from a couple of pictures in history books as a fancier version of our food lines. When we have a communal dinner, everybody brings dishes, they all get put on a counter, and you go along and help yourself. This was the same, except that the food was all in steel containers that were the same size, and the containers all fit into a counter made for the purpose. Steam rising above it all told me that the counter kept hot things hot, and probably cold things cold. It looked like the same arrangement as at home: serve yourself. Karly led me over to it, and I imitated her, getting a bright blue tray and some plain white china (all uniform; a lot different from our handmade stuff) and steel silverware, looking over the almost obscene amount of food on offer.
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