The Gauntlet

by Megan Shepherd

  Break some bones for me, boy!

  Leon gritted his teeth. He couldn’t even fulfill Bonebreak’s dying request. What kind of a hero was he? He looked away, furious. The Axion shoved them into the recess room with the other prisoners. One entire wall had been torn away by the storm, and wind howled through the gap. The chill bit into his rain-soaked clothes, and he hugged his arms across his chest as they pushed him toward the wall, where the other prisoners sat in silence. Serassi, a bruise marring her face, her hair loose and messy, clutching her ribs. Willa, bleeding from multiple gashes. Redrage, wheezing through her shattered mask.

  “Sit,” an Axion ordered. “You try anything, you get shot.”

  He pushed Leon and Mali down next to Serassi.

  Leon grumbled as he eyed the Axion guards. He couldn’t stop his teeth from chattering. Rage made his muscles feel extra tight. He flexed his fist, desperate for something to slam it into.

  Then, a soft hand touched his shoulder.

  “Thank you,” Mali said. “You did it. We know where Anya is.”

  She gave a smile.

  His heart leaped. He flexed his fist again, his tense muscles easing only slightly. “Lot of good it does us here,” he muttered. “Theta seems damn far off right now, with those guns pointed at us.”

  “But she’s alive,” Mali said. Her hand tightened on his shoulder. Her eyes were so clear, so focused on him. Like she really saw him. A small pocket of warmth opened in his chest, and he stopped shivering quite as much. For the first time, he started to see what a future might look like for them, back on Earth. His family would lean on him hard to join up the smuggling operation, but with Mali’s support, he’d resist that life. He’d do something better. Maybe own a bar. A pawnshop. He looked down at his muscles, flexing them.

  A cop?

  Bloody hell, had he actually just considered that?

  He sighed—it didn’t matter. They’d probably all die here anyway. The others looked terrible. Serassi winced as she leaned against the wall. He could tell from her eyes that she was uncloaked, and she hunched forward over her hurt ribs in a very humanlike way. So different from the stiff Chief Genetics Officer who had once told him to strip naked so she could perform tests on him.

  In the central vestibule, the Axion were speaking among themselves. A pounding noise started, and he wrinkled up his face as he strained to see what was happening.

  “They’re trying to break into the puzzle chambers,” Serassi explained. “It’s the strongest part of the structure, the only part the storm hasn’t completely torn apart yet.” For a second, a ripple of dark pleasure crossed her face as she nodded toward the wall monitor. “They’re worried. The last I saw before those monitors shorted out, Cora had made it to puzzle ten. She could be on puzzle eleven, or even puzzle twelve by now. They’re getting desperate enough to physically break into the modules and stop her. Her winning is the only thing that still threatens them. That’s why they haven’t killed us yet—bargaining chips, in case their plan fails.”

  “Can they break in?” Mali asked.

  “I don’t know,” Serassi said. She pointed to the Axion guards just beyond the doorway. One was speaking in emphatic words Leon couldn’t make out. “He’s updating his superior on battles beyond this planet. They’ve invaded Armstrong. They’ve taken over nearly ten percent of the galaxy, crippling the entire Intelligence Council system.”

  “That means they’ve won,” Mali said flatly.

  Serassi’s face returned to its tight, passive look. But then she glanced to the side. “Yes. Unless Cora and Cassian come through. If Cora wins, it will trigger the evolutionary jump for humans and Kindred. Not everyone will feel it right away, but we’re close enough that it’ll be almost instantaneous for us. You’ll feel it in your body: strength as if you could lift an entire shuttle. And in your minds. You’ll be able to read the thoughts of everyone in this room. If the evolutionary jump happens, it doesn’t matter that the Axion outnumber us. We’ll be strong enough to defeat them here.” She smiled. “And everywhere.”

  Leon decided he liked Serassi infinitely more like this, with her hair messy and a smirk on her face, than with that mask of indifference. He exchanged a look with Mali, who was staring at her scarred fingers. He reached down and took her hand, squeezing tight.

  “How will we know if Cora loses?” he asked.

  The smile faded off Serassi’s face.

  “We’ll know she’s lost,” she said, “if the Gauntlet ends and the Axion kill every one of us.”

  41

  Cora

  THE SIX CASSIANS SEEMED to be spinning faster. Cora pressed a hand to her head, trying to stop the sensation that the room was moving. But it was moving, she realized—it was swaying back and forth, tossed around by the coming storm.

  She was out of time.

  She whirled toward the first Cassian, then the second, then the third. She let her mind clear of worries: about the storm and about the Axion just on the other side of those walls, waiting to kill her and everyone she loved. She ignored the throbbing pain in the back of her skull. She didn’t think about how, if she lost, the entire known universe was doomed.

  She focused instead on her memories of Cassian. The paragon burst spread through her as a warm sensation. The first time she had ever seen him, in her dreams, when he had been so beautiful that she mistook him for an angel. And then the time in the snow when he had made stars appear in the night sky to comfort her. And she thought about their first kiss. Standing in the ocean, the warm salty waves lapping at their thighs, as he had pulled her into an embrace. I want to know what it feels like, he had told her. And electricity had sparked between them as their lips touched, shooting straight to her heart.

  She pressed a hand to her chest, holding on to that feeling, multiplied by ten by the warmth of the paragon burst.

  Knowing him, as he knew her.

  Knowing him beyond appearance, beyond name or rank, knowing him more deeply than the stock algorithm ever would. Knowing him as deeply as she loved him.

  Her head jerked toward the fourth Cassian.

  He looked in every way identical to the others. His black suit showed no signs of dust or tears or battle; his left arm was extended, not revealing any kind of wound. The look on his face was just as masklike as the rest.

  And yet there was something different about him.

  Her heart beat extra hard. A warm shock of feeling. A spark.

  She crossed the room, grabbed his outstretched hand, and pulled him into the center of the room. “You,” she said, staring into his eyes. “It’s you.”

  The music stopped.

  She was afraid it was the storm causing more interference, but then the other Cassians vanished, one by one. The chandelier overhead flickered and disappeared, followed by the ornate walls and the marble floor, until they were standing on a plain metal grid. Her dress faded into plain black clothes, and her hair fell loose around her face, once more tangled and dirty. His fine suit changed back to a torn uniform.

  He suddenly clutched his left arm, crying out in pain.

  “Cassian!” She caught him as he stumbled. She led him to the wall, which he leaned against for support. “Are you all right?”

  “I couldn’t move,” he said, wincing in pain. “I had to do what the Gauntlet wanted me to do. I wasn’t in control of my own body.”

  “It’s okay now,” she said. “I’m sorry I had to hurt your arm—I didn’t know how to tell you apart from the others.”

  “How did you?” he asked.

  She looked into his eyes. There had been a time when making eye contact with him had been nearly impossible. But now she felt a thrill at connecting with him on this level, of truly knowing him. “Remember when I told you that I wanted to know you as well as you know me?”

  The corner of his mouth turned up. “You were lying. You were trying to trick me.”

  “I guess it wasn’t entirely a lie,” she said. “It turns out I do know you already. Yo
ur heart. The stock algorithm can’t disguise that.”

  She pulled back, resting a hand on either side of his face, looking into those eyes that weren’t so different from her own. He leaned in at the same time she did, and their lips met. She felt that familiar spark. Though they had touched often enough for her to be used to it, it still surprised her. She leaned closer, wanting to feel more of his warmth. He wrapped a hand around her back, holding her close.

  “I love you, Cassian.”

  A rumble overhead made them both look up.

  A door opened in the ceiling.

  Her heart started thumping anxiously as her fingers squeezed against his shoulders, wanting to hold on to this moment with him, this small moment of victory, of pure love.

  Because there was only one puzzle left. And she knew it would be the hardest of all.

  The ceiling was ten feet high, so Cassian made a stirrup with his hands for Cora to step into. “You climb up first,” he said. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  She rested her hands on his shoulders to steady herself and then placed a bare foot into his palms. He lifted her easily, even with his hurt left arm, and she reached for the doorway, catching the edge, pulling herself up with her improved strength.

  She flexed her sore fingers, looking back down through the doorway.

  “Your turn,” she called.

  He knelt down, preparing to jump—but the door slid shut.

  42

  Cora

  SHE GASPED. “NO!” SHE slammed her hands on the metal floor. “Cassian!” She pounded her fists harder. She couldn’t do this alone. She needed his confidence in her. She needed—

  “It won’t do any good,” a voice said from behind her. “That door opens for no one but me.”

  She shoved up from the floor and spun toward the voice. It had had an odd quality to it, almost an echo. She found herself staring at an empty, plain chamber. The lights were faint, but it was clear that she was alone.

  “Where are you?” she asked cautiously.

  The room grew a few degrees colder. Air blew from unseen vents. Dust drew together, forming a sort of column in the center of the chamber. She stepped away from the phenomenon tensely, prepared to fight or flee to a corner. The column of air solidified into a hologram, made of the same glowing lines as the ones that had formed the Gauntlet model from puzzle nine. Slowly the lines rearranged themselves until she was looking at a person.

  Well . . . not a person. The outline of a person. It was about her height, androgynous, with no hair or clothes or anything but the glowing hint of a face and body.

  “Welcome to the final puzzle,” the hologram said.

  She took a step cautiously to the left, hesitant to trust her own eyes. “Who are you?”

  “I am the stock algorithm.”

  Cora swallowed, staring at the glowing figure. The stock algorithm was a program, not an entity. And yet this hologram had referred to itself as though it were alive.

  “I have taken on a form you will recognize, but I am formless by nature. I am not alive or sentient. I am merely a program developed by the Intelligence Council, designed to serve many functions. Here, my task is to test you and all lesser species.”

  Its voice was layered, as though there were many voices speaking at once.

  “You aren’t . . . real?” she asked.

  “I am not alive, but I am very real. I can process information. I can govern and follow protocols. I can even reach into your mind and extract memories and fears. I am, by many definitions, more intelligent than any living species in existence.”

  She narrowed her eyes, her initial wonder fading. “Then why don’t you stop the Axion? If you have superior morality, you must know the war they’re waging is unjust.”

  The stock algorithm’s glow slowly changed from green to red, then yellow. “I am merely a program. I do not have physical form. I cannot stop anyone or anything.”

  “But you could let me win,” Cora said.

  The stock algorithm changed to a blue glow. “Programs cannot cheat. Only sentient life can do that.” It turned back to red. “There was a time you were planning on cheating me, in fact. I can see it in your mind. It wouldn’t have worked. The evolutionary jump can only be triggered by a legitimate win.”

  Cora narrowed her eyes. “I don’t need to cheat. I’ve come this far on my own, even without perceptive abilities.”

  “Yes,” it said. “Impressive. But you are not finished yet.”

  The room rumbled again. Cora wasn’t sure if the stock algorithm was causing the vibration or if it was the effects of the storm.

  “It is interesting you bring up morality,” the stock algorithm continued, oblivious to the effects of the storm, “as you must realize that this final puzzle is, by process of elimination, a moral one.”

  Cora reached involuntarily for a jacket she wasn’t wearing anymore, a pocket she didn’t have. Mention of morality had made her think of Lucky’s journal. Lucky’s words had helped her defeat the fifth puzzle, and it had helped her maintain her sanity in a crazy, impossible world. With him on her side, and with all of humanity’s nuanced morality from the paragon burst, she felt she could solve anything.

  “Go ahead, then,” she said, glancing at the swaying chamber. “Throw whatever you’ve got at me. If you’re going to pit Cassian against me again, I’m ready.”

  The stock algorithm cycled through the different soft colors again. “The final puzzle is personal, yes, but not in the same way as the others in the third round. I have already tested your relationship with another. It is time to test your relationship with yourself.”

  She swallowed down a bubble of worry. Her confidence wavered at the hologram’s words, but she held her ground. The room rumbled louder, the shaking so hard it was threatening to unbalance her. She held her hands out for balance as the stock algorithm started to flicker like static.

  “What do you mean?” she yelled over the roar of the storm.

  “The ultimate show of a superior species,” it said, flickering faster now, “is in selflessness. The Gauntleteer must symbolically prove that he or she is not more important than the species as a whole.”

  Cora’s lips parted in confusion. The hologram was fading quickly.

  “Wait! What does that mean, exactly?”

  The room shook harder, throwing Cora back against one of the walls. The roar of wind poured in through cracks, chilling her to the marrow. The stock algorithm outline was growing fainter, its holographic body disappearing in the interference.

  “What am I supposed to do?” she yelled.

  The stock algorithm’s voice filled the room, but the wind whipped it away.

  “What?” Cora yelled. “What did you say?”

  For a second, the face of the stock algorithm reappeared.

  “Turn around,” it said.

  And then it was gone.

  Cora clutched the wall, holding her hair back from whipping around her face. She squinted into the wind, turning toward the back wall. The plain metal grid was gone now. An illusion replaced it, though it flickered like static too, threatening to vanish as the storm grew. But even with the interference, the scene before her was enough to make her breath go still.

  She took a shaky step forward, forgetting about the storm.

  The back half of the chamber was now a scene of night on Earth. Rain poured from dark thunderclouds that blocked out the moon, soaking the pine trees below and forming puddles on the asphalt. She could hear the rush of a swollen river below her.

  She was standing on a bridge.

  Her eyes scoured every detail, head whipping back and forth. What was this place? She felt as though she was supposed to know it—it felt too specific to be random. But her memories were gone. She knew what a bridge was, even knew that pines like this grew mostly around the East Coast, but it meant nothing to her. Was this where she lived? Had something happened on this bridge, during this rainstorm?

  She took a shaky step toward the e
dge, looking down at the water. Dizziness gripped her and she pulled back, breathing hard. Her pulse was racing. Sweat beaded on her forehead, and she wiped it away, staring at her hand.

  Her body seemed to remember this place, even if her head didn’t.

  She closed her eyes. Figure it out. Why would the stock algorithm show me this place? But without her memories, whatever she was supposed to prove here was impossible. She paced, chewing on a fingernail, gaze darting from lamppost to lamppost.

  Think. Remember. The bridge . . .

  The squealing sound of car brakes suddenly echoed in her head. She dropped her hand and whipped around toward one of the lampposts. Yes. Those squealing brakes—that was a memory. She remembered! Something had happened here. An accident. A car . . .

  And then it hit her.

  Everything.

  A car swerving to avoid another one in the wrong lane, smashing into the lamppost. The other car plunging through the guardrail, a man and a girl in the front seats, falling toward the river.

  She raced to the guardrail, looking downward.

  She had fallen here.

  She remembered.

  But something felt off. She glanced back at the lamppost—her memories were from that angle, watching herself, not from a car falling off the bridge. And then it hit her. The memories weren’t her own.

  They were Lucky’s.

  Her fingers gripped the guardrail, steadying her against this realization. They were Lucky’s memories, coming from the paragon burst, not hers.

  And yet . . .

  When she looked down at the water, there was the slightest, faintest image in her head. A word: Love. Then more: Cora, I love you. Hold on. Somehow, she knew those had been her father’s words as they plunged over the bridge, words that Lucky, far away in the other car, couldn’t have possibly heard.

  Could his memory have triggered her own? Was there a chance her memories could be recovered, in time? That they were still there, buried deep?

  The storm raged harder overhead. She tossed her head up.

  She needed to act—now.