The Academy Defenders

by T. J. Robinson

  Mr. Rockwell smiled. “This young man is Lincoln Thomas. He has a gadget I would like you to examine, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “No trouble at all, sir,” Mr. Worthington sighed. He stood and waddled toward Lincoln, who handed him the G2. As Mr. Worthington examined it, Mr. Rockwell had Lincoln repeat the story of how it came into his possession.

  “Fascinating,” mumbled Mr. Worthington after Lincoln finished. “I would guess it comes from the late eighteen hundreds. It is carved from pine, a wood famous for its mysterious power. And Boggs turned it into a sword?”

  Lincoln nodded.

  “If you don’t mind, I would like to try something.”

  Lincoln nodded again, and for the next several minutes, Mr. Worthington stared at the G2 intently, muttering different things under his breath. Nothing happened. Finally, Mr. Rockwell cleared his throat.

  The sound broke Mr. Worthington’s concentration. He shook his head in disappointment and handed the G2 to Lincoln. Lincoln had put it halfway back into his pocket before Mr. Worthington stopped him.

  “Wait,” Mr. Worthington said, snapping his fingers. “That’s it!”

  “What do you—” Before Lincoln could finish, Mr. Worthington continued.

  “Try to focus all of your energy on the G2. Imagine it transforming into the sword you saw the agent holding. Gordon, you may want to step back.”

  Lincoln looked at Mr. Rockwell, who nodded encouragingly and moved a step back. Lincoln stared at the G2, trying to imagine it turning into a sword. Once again, nothing happened. He looked up at Mr. Worthington.

  “I feel like an idiot,” muttered Lincoln.

  “Focus,” Mr. Worthington said encouragingly.

  Lincoln looked back down at the G2. He took a deep breath and cleared his mind, focusing his entire being on the small piece of wood in his hand. Suddenly, a surge of energy flowed through his body. The strange markings along the G2 began to glow. It felt warm to his touch. Then the wooden handle transformed into a sword.

  “Well done, Lincoln,” Mr. Worthington exclaimed. “Now imagine it transforming into a dagger.”

  Lincoln did as directed, and the sword immediately transformed into a dagger. “This is awesome!” he shouted. He looked away from the dagger and saw Mr. Worthington staring at him in shock. Lincoln’s concentration slipped, and the dagger turned back into a wooden handle.

  “What?” Lincoln asked Mr. Worthington.

  “Your eyes,” said Mr. Worthington, still staring at Lincoln.

  “What about them?” Lincoln asked, perplexed.

  “They never changed.”

  “So?” asked Lincoln.

  “So?” repeated Mr. Worthington incredulously. “They should glow a bright grey whenever you use your powers.” Mr. Worthington took a closer look at Lincoln. “But they do have a ring of grey around the outside of the pupil. Fascinating.”

  Lincoln didn’t like the way the head of Guardian Gadgets was now staring at him—as if Lincoln were an interesting object to be studied and examined. He took a step backward.

  “Is there anything else you can tell us about the G2?” asked Mr. Rockwell.

  Mr. Worthington’s attention diverted back to the wooden object, and his head bobbed up and down excitedly. “I believe you are holding one of the eight legendary mayokes. Centuries ago, a Japanese Guardian created them in honor of the eight Founders. They are powerful tools, capable of transforming into almost any physical object. Of the eight, five were lost, and the other three are kept hidden by the Guardian Council. I think you have managed to find one of the lost ones.”

  Lincoln held the mayoke out to Mr. Worthington, who looked at it greedily before shaking his head. “You found the mayoke, not me. What you do with it is between you and Mr. Rockwell.”

  Mr. Rockwell and Lincoln thanked Mr. Worthington for his help and left his office, dodging the piles of clutter along the way. As they went to the elevator, Lincoln tried to give the mayoke to Mr. Rockwell, but he refused it too.

  “Mr. Worthington was right. The mayoke is yours. I will, however, suggest you refrain from telling others about it. I’m afraid some of your fellow recruits may be inclined to attempt to get their hands on it. And may I also suggest you keep it with you whenever possible? You never know when it may come in handy. Now, why don’t we take a tour through Roemick Tower?” suggested Mr. Rockwell. “That will give you a chance to see everything before your training begins.”

  Lincoln agreed, and they spent the next few hours touring Roemick Tower, starting with the first floor. It held the lobby and the Assembly Hall. The second floor held the cafeteria and a room Mr. Rockwell called the Combat Training Center. It was a large room, full of equipment, with a giant, nasty-looking obstacle course taking up nearly half the space.

  “Here in the Combat Training Center you will be trained to develop your new physical talents, realize your limitations, and learn how to defend yourself with a variety of weapons,” Mr. Rockwell explained.

  Moving on, they visited the third floor. There was a large foyer with a giant stained-glass window depicting the eight Founders. They were gathered together, each holding a sword high in the air while staring ahead with fierce determination. In the middle of the foyer stood a large marble statue of a man offering a prayer while kneeling on one knee. At the bottom of the statue, Lincoln read,

  Roemick

  The Man behind the Legend.

  At the end of the foyer was a pair of doors opening into the Rites Training Center, or the RTC, as Mr. Rockwell called it. It was even larger than the Combat Training Center. The back right corner of the room resembled a school classroom, full of desks and chairs facing a large chalkboard. The rest of the room was divided into eight sections. Each section was unique. One was full of clocks. Another was full of rings of flickering fire. A third section consisted of a large, circular area filled with hundreds of old streetlamps, none of which were currently lit. It didn’t take long before Lincoln realized each section represented one of the eight rites.

  The fourth floor held normal classrooms. This is where the first- and second-year recruits spent their mornings studying normal school stuff. The fifth and sixth floors were full of what Mr. Rockwell called simrooms, while the seventh floor held offices for many members of the Atlas staff.

  Finished with their tour, Lincoln’s orientation was now complete. Mr. Rockwell shook his hand. “Lincoln, I enjoyed our morning together and look forward to having you here for the next five years.” Mr. Rockwell glanced at the clock above the elevator. “Sorry I kept you into lunch. Our detour to Mr. Worthington took longer than I expected. Hopefully, the other recruits are still in the cafeteria eating.”

  They shook hands and parted ways, and Lincoln headed to the second floor in search of his new friends. It was easy to see why the other recruits liked Mr. Rockwell.

  CHAPTER 6

  KING OF THE TOWER

  THE TANTALIZING SMELLS OF FRESHLY baked bread and spaghetti filled Lincoln’s nose as soon as he stepped off the elevator. His stomach growled, and he hurried into the cafeteria.

  Lincoln may have been late for lunch, but the cafeteria was still full of recruits and buzzed with the sounds of hundreds of people talking simultaneously. Lincoln weaved through the crowd to the back of the line of recruits waiting for their food. The three recruits in front of him were in the middle of a discussion about something called the Challenge and ignored Lincoln for the entire twenty minutes it took to reach the front of the line.

  Lincoln had yet to see Milo, Skylar, or any of his other friends. Now, with his tray full of food, he scanned the crowded cafeteria one more time. They were nowhere to be seen. It looked like he would be eating alone. Nothing unusual about that, he thought with a sigh, remembering the many times he had done so back home. He found a spot at one of the tables and had just taken his first bite of spaghetti when he felt someone poke him hard in the ribs.

  “So you’re too cool to eat with us?” Milo said, looking ang
ry.

  “No,” Lincoln stammered. “I couldn’t see you.”

  Milo laughed. “I’m just messing with you. Come on, we’re in the corner.”

  Lincoln grinned and followed Milo to a table full of recruits, including Skylar, Jack, and Kennedy. Milo sat down. Butterflies filled Lincoln’s stomach as he realized the only space left at the table was a tiny spot next to Skylar. He sat down carefully, squeezing next to her.

  “Thanks for not ruining my lunch too,” she whispered, and gave him a small grin. Lincoln grinned back. He felt a little less nervous.

  “Everyone, this is Lincoln Thomas,” announced Milo. “He’s our new first-year.”

  “So, Lincoln ... did anything exciting happen during your meeting with Mr. Rockwell?” asked a skinny, dark-skinned boy with curly, black hair and a Hispanic accent. “My name’s Guga Jango, by the way.”

  “Nah,” answered Lincoln dismissively, following Mr. Rockwell’s advice and not mentioning their visit to the head of Guardian Gadgets. “And you can call me Link.”

  “Alright, Link it is,” Guga said with a smile.

  “Guga’s from Brazil,” said Milo with envy in his voice, as though being from Brazil must be the coolest thing ever. “Tell Link about how you got to the academy.” Milo gave Lincoln a grin. “This is going to blow your mind.”

  “It’s not that big of a deal,” Guga protested, squirming in his seat. Unlike Milo, Guga didn’t seem to crave the limelight.

  “Yeah, right,” scoffed Milo. “You only stopped three gangsters from killing a poor old woman. No big deal.”

  “They weren’t going to kill her. They just wanted her money.”

  “Whatever,” Milo replied, rolling his eyes.

  “What happened?” Lincoln asked, intrigued.

  Guga shrugged his shoulders. “It’s really not that big of a deal. I grew up in the favelas of Rio de Janeiro,” Guga began.

  “Those are the slums,” interjected Milo. “You know, like the hood.” Guga gave Milo a look. “Sorry. I’ll shut up and let you tell your story.”

  “Like I said, I grew up in the favelas of Rio. A lot of the kids there end up joining the local gangs and running drugs. One day I ran into some kids a few years older than me. They were in an alley, robbing an old woman. I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing. So I stopped them.”

  “Yeah, by breaking their machine guns in half!” interjected Milo again, unable to contain himself.

  Guga shrugged. “I was just lucky my powers came right then. Otherwise, I’d be dead.”

  “I wish something that cool had happened to me,” Milo sighed, giving Guga another envious look.

  After that, the remaining recruits sitting at the table introduced themselves. Lincoln listened, nodded, and tried to remember each name, there were just too many new faces, and after the first half dozen he gave up.

  As soon as they finished, Lincoln had a question for Milo. “I heard some other recruits talking about something called the Challenge. What’s that?”

  “Here we go,” complained Sean, a pudgy second-year recruit from Great Britain. “If you want to spend all day talking, just ask Milo about the Ch—blimey!” A flying french fry caught Sean square on the nose. Milo smirked at him before turning to Lincoln.

  “The Challenge is the best part of the academy. It’s a yearly competition between the dorms. Each dorm picks a squad of eight recruits that competes in one of five different games. The game changes every year. Last year it was the Rundown. This year it’s the Atlas Hunt. The Keepers will let a creature loose into Sector 8, and the six squads race to find and capture it before the others.” Milo’s eyes gleamed with pride as he added, “My brother Simon is the Finn squad captain. He’s the only captain who’s not a fifth-year.”

  “Capturing a wild animal doesn’t sound that hard,” Lincoln scoffed, “especially with eight Guardians.”

  “I said a creature, not an animal,” corrected Milo with a laugh. “And trust me. The creature will be unlike anything you have ever seen. The last time they had the Hunt, five different recruits ended up in the Trauma Center.”

  Lincoln must have looked worried, because Milo quickly added, “Relax. You have nothing to worry about. The squads almost never include first-year recruits. Tryouts are tough.” Lincoln nodded, somewhat relieved. “Besides, the Challenge is just before Winter Holiday. We’ve still got tons of time.”

  Soon, Lincoln and his friends from orientation were the only ones left sitting at the table. “I have an idea,” announced Milo. “Why don’t we go check out the arena? I’m sure there’s something fun going on down there.”

  “Awesome,” answered Jack.

  “I’m in,” added Skylar.

  “Fine,” groaned Kennedy.

  They all looked at Lincoln. He nodded.

  “Alright,” said Milo, slapping Lincoln on the back. The five of them left the cafeteria and walked to the arena.

  The Atlas Arena was even more impressive up close than it had been from the Lulu. Thick, white pillars supported the circular bleachers, and an enormous arch with Atlas Arena etched on the front rose high above the entrance. Lincoln and his friends walked under the arch and through the open gates into the arena.

  The bleachers enclosed a giant field of grass. In the middle of the field was a red brick tower surrounded by a circular pond. The tower was tall, nearly as tall as the bleachers, and circular, with at least a fifty-foot diameter. Windows, balconies, fire exits, and stairways were positioned randomly around the tower, covering most of its exterior. At the very top was a large, flat platform which sloped downward on all sides.

  Two recruits stood on the platform, facing each other. As Lincoln watched, one of them yelled and jumped twenty feet into the air, swinging his fists like a club as he came back toward the ground. The other recruit sidestepped the attack just in time, grabbed his opponent by the foot, and flung him off the tower. Lincoln gasped as the recruit fell fifty feet, landing with a splash in the pond below. But the recruit simply swam back to the tower, climbed out of the water, and disappeared into a door at the bottom.

  Milo grinned and pointed to the recruit at the top of the tower. “That’s my brother Simon.”

  Lincoln squinted at the recruit. Even from a distance, he could see the resemblance. Simon was taller and stronger, but he had Milo’s same curly hair and pointy chin. A blue bandana was tied around his forehead.

  “What are they doing?” Lincoln asked, watching Simon move back to the center of the platform.

  “King of the Hill, academy style,” explained Milo. “We call it King of the Tower. Simon’s the king. Everyone else is trying to get to the top of the tower and throw him off, but Simon’s sneaky. He probably has a couple of recruits helping him. They’ll be hiding somewhere inside the tower.” As if to confirm Milo’s statement, a recruit dressed in green flew out a window near the top of the tower and crashed into the pond below. “The staff’s always changing the field around. Last month, they built a bunch of miniature buildings and let us go wild with paintball guns. It was crazy.”

  “Can we play?” Jack burst in, interrupting Milo.

  Milo grinned. “I thought you’d never ask. The rules are simple. Get to the top without getting thrown into the pond. Oh, and of course, no rite control, it’s cheating.” He looked up as his brother chucked another recruit off the roof to the pond below. “I’ve got a plan.”

  “NOW,” Milo yelled from the bottom of the final stairway. Jack jumped from his hiding place and raced for the door to the roof platform. Lincoln, who was hiding behind a nearby wooden box, tried to do the same, but stumbled and nearly fell. He caught his balance just in time and raced forward, a few steps behind his two friends. Milo’s plan had been simple. Go as a group, and if someone managed to catch one of them, sacrifice yourself to help the others. Both Kennedy and Skylar had already done so, and now so was Milo. He launched himself at the two much bigger recruits who stood guarding the final stairs. They tumbled through a window, an
d Lincoln heard a distant splash as all three of them hit the water. Jack was already halfway up the stairs when another recruit leaped from a final hiding spot and grabbed his ankle.

  “Go!” Jack yelled at Lincoln and then tackled the recruit who was holding his ankle. Lincoln sped past the wrestling recruits and up the stairs, heart pumping as adrenaline rushed through his body. He burst through the door at the top and onto the platform.

  Simon stood at the edge. He looked at Lincoln, surprised. “You must be the new kid. What’s your name again?”

  “Lincoln,” answered Lincoln, confused. Why was Simon talking to him? From what Lincoln understood about the game, Simon should be throwing him off the top of the tower right now. And after what Lincoln had seen earlier, he knew Simon could do it in a heartbeat. Hesitantly, he took a step forward.

  Simon laughed. “Relax, Lincoln. I don’t fight untrained recruits. Still, I’m impressed you made it this far, even with Milo’s help. Congrats on becoming the new king of the tower. Good luck.”

  Simon turned and leaped off the tower’s edge. Seconds later, the door burst open and another recruit jumped onto the platform, easily overpowering Lincoln and tossing him into the pond below. He surfaced just in time to see Simon leaving the arena. Shrugging his shoulders, Lincoln swam back to the tower and continued the game, playing for the next several hours. He even made it to the top one more time, though just like the first time, he was thrown off less than a minute later.

  The sun had set when the game finally ended. Lincoln and his friends hurried to the cafeteria for dinner. They spent the evening together in the dorm great room sharing stories, just like the night before.

  CHAPTER 7

  COMBAT TRAINING

  THE REST OF LINCOLN’S FIRST WEEK passed quickly. He spent the time with his new friends, either goofing off around the dorm or at the arena playing King of the Tower. Before he knew it, August 31st had arrived, and classes would begin the following morning.