* * *
I do not recognize the person I have become here at camp. I would never have trusted the likes of Martinez and Ramirez back home, never would have let them talk me into something deceitful or destructive. But it is easy to say that, because in truth, I was never faced with such challenges on my father’s farm. The idea of returning home felt right, so I let myself follow the backwards logic of Martinez. But I’m ashamed now, not just by how things turned out, but because getting sent home would have been quitting. And I never quit.
I messed up, gave up, trusted the wrong people... but I know how to make it right.
Chapter 15
Dinner was uncomfortable, reminding me of those first few days at camp. We sat in silence while the soldiers around us carried on, loud and laughing. Martinez and Ramirez wouldn’t look at me. Angry and stewing, I watched them. When they stood to leave, the first at our table to do so, I hurried to dump my tray and follow after.
Winslow caught me jogging down the convene steps. “Frost,” he called. I stopped, turning to face him. “You spend free time in the hole, remember?”
“Yes. I just want to speak with Mar and Ram first.”
“Alright,” he allowed. “You have ten minutes before I expect you to meet me on these steps.”
Winslow wasn’t in the habit of granting favors. I smiled faintly before nodding and loping off, unwilling to waste another second. I caught up to Mar and Ram as they wended their way through the format huts. “Hey!” I called out, yelling at their backs. Ram turned first and I saw him exchange a significant look with Mar before facing me. “You owe me an apology,” I said in a hard but calm voice.
Martinez, always the first to speak, said, “Things don’t always pan out as planned. Sorry, love,” he tacked on, turning away as if things were settled.
“But they did turn out as planned, didn’t they?” I called. Waiting for them to face me, I then continued. “You knew I wouldn’t get sent home, it was only ever about the birdbane.” Ramirez was watchful, but Martinez seemed genuinely shocked by the accusation. Did he honestly think I wouldn’t figure it out? “You didn’t watch his office to find out when he’d be there, why would you? It’s easy to get caught. You needed a window of time long enough for me to get in, give up, and leave. And that’s why you waited at my shed, because you knew I’d return, bringing the birdbane just like you told me.”
Martinez almost looked uncomfortable, but Ramirez remained unmoved. “It’s done,” he said quietly. “There’s nothing you can do about it now.”
Again, they turned to leave. But I wasn’t finished. “You’re right, Ram,” I said, using his abbreviated name. Our format often called him thus with familiarity, but I meant it in disrespect, no longer willing to stand on formal grounds with two soldiers so undeserving. “That’s why you’re going to do it.”
Martinez asked, “Do what?”
“I want me my mirror back and the two of you are going to get it for me.”
Martinez laughed outright. “How do you expect us to manage that?”
I shrugged. “I don’t care, figure it out.”
“I don’t think so, princess,” Mar replied.
“You are going to do it,” I said with steel in my voice.
“Or what?” Ramirez countered.
“Or I’ll tell Instructor Bardzecki the truth.”
Mar’s laughter cut off abruptly, anger sprouting in its place. “You wouldn’t dare—“
“—Don’t,” I cut in. “Don’t bother with a lecture about ratting on my mates, and please, spare me the speech on loyalty. You’ve already demonstrated exactly how much that means to you, so you’ll excuse me if I’m not jumping at the chance to keep you out of trouble. The only reason I didn’t tell Bardzecki in the first place was because I wanted leverage.” That was a lie. I’d been too flustered at the time to fully realize how Mar and Ram had orchestrated the whole thing, but they didn’t need to know that.
“You have three days,” I said. Adding, “And it had better be in the same condition as when last I saw it,” before turning on my heel and stomping off to meet Winslow.
* * *
The hole turned out to be an old well. It had been carved into the surface of Little Red back when the planet was first inhabited, marking the camp’s origin. It hadn’t been the only well at camp, just the only one that didn’t get filled in after the weather stabilized, rain becoming a regular, scheduled event and water becoming plentiful.
As camp grew, the convene’s foundation was laid over it. So I was led down into the deepest cellar of the main building, to a circular hole made of stone. Winslow knelt, grunting as he lifted the glinting red grate. He waited expectantly as I peered down, trying to find the bottom. I couldn’t. It was simply too dark.
I thought Winslow would hurry me along, bid me to jump. But instead his voice echoed up from the damp shadows, asking, “How do you control a camp full of rowdy soldiers?”
There was a long pause in the near dark before I realized he was waiting for me to answer. “I don’t know. How?”
“With a threat,” he answered, gesturing to the hole. “It’ll be dark and uncomfortable. After a few hours you’ll be bored, but after a few days you’ll be miserable. Not many soldiers get put in the hole. It’s meant to be a deterrent more than a punishment.”
I edged closer. “You’ll come get me in a few hours?”
“Just before curfew,” he answered.
I turned and sank to my knees, preparing to lower myself over the side. Winslow grabbed my arm, stopping me. “Here,” he said, standing upright while circling my wrists with his hands. I wasn’t sure what he was doing, but I let him do it, watching his muscles bunch as he deftly lifted me up, and swiftly lowered me down.
“Okay,” I called when my toes touched the floor. His hands slipped away and my feet thunked down, knees and ankles stinging from the jolt. Next time I’d have to brace myself.
“Watch your hands,” Winslow warned. There was a metallic screech as the grate was closed. He needn’t have bothered. I could barely touch it with my fingertips, and lifting it from beneath was out of the question. I very much doubted if I could even climb out on my own. I certainly wasn’t going anywhere.
“A few hours,” Winslow called down. And then he was gone.
If it was dark up there than it was black down here. I felt the walls, unable to make out my own hands as they moved over the slick stone. There was something growing from the moisture. I could feel it, smell it even. A spongy, slimy something that crawled up the walls and stank of bracken and mold. I knew the floor was damp and puddled, but I grew tired of standing after a time and was forced to sit. I couldn’t quite stretch my legs out, the hole was too narrow. I did the best I could to avoid the wet spots. Eventually my legs would cramp and I’d have to shift or stand back up. For someone afraid of tight spaces, I knew this would be torture. For me it was just annoying, stuck there, trying to get into a comfortable position and knowing it was impossible. And knowing that I ought to be studying but couldn’t—that was the real torture.
None of the other punishments were as bad as the hole, not even close. In the mornings I filled my format’s waterskins. In the evenings I cleared the rec fields, putting away weights and other equipment. I toted laundry, ran errands, and took plenty of turns on night-watch—the last causing much strife among my format.
It was tradition for a pair of soldiers to walk through camp all night and keep watch. On Earth they used to patrol for fires and the like, but it was more for ne’er-do-wells these days, those vexatious few soldiers who were keen on sneaking off when they were meant to be in bed. Each format took a turn doing night-watch, pairing up and wandering around together for a two hour shift. My format had already completed this service before I’d arrived, but because I was forced to do a shift each night, one of my mates had to go with me. Even Roth was
disinclined to the idea, but my format’s outcry was so great, that like it or not, Roth was the first to cave.
It was the dead of night when I was prodded awake, and it took me a moment to gather my wits. Fitallion’s cat sat on my ankles. The odd creature was absorbed in the task of licking its hind leg. Above me Roth loomed, huge as ever, his creamy black skin melting into the dark. Only his perfect set of shining white teeth stood out, glinting when he smiled. “Frost, it’s time to rise and shine, our shift already started.”
I suppressed a groan, refusing to utter even the slightest of complaints when it came to my punishment. I was going to endure it all, and I’d do it with good graces, even if it killed me. On that note I dragged myself up, scattering the cat as I moved. It lurched off the bed with an indignant hiss, disappearing out the open doorway in a flash of crimson fur.
I hadn’t had a chance to talk with Roth since earning my punishment. He’d always managed to put me at ease, so it was unsurprising that I told him everything. As we wandered through the quiet grid of format huts, I whispered a quick succession of the events: Mar and Ram’s proposition, their surveillance, the actual theft, my interview with Bardzecki, and even my time in the hole.
“I wish you would have spoken with me first. I could have told you that soldiers don’t get sent home. Not ever.”
“I think that’s how Winslow feels,” I replied.
“I don’t envy him that job of his. He’s got his hands full with our lot,” Roth said, though he sounded almost proud.
We walked loops around camp. If it had been light out I might have seen a few Scarlets parked on the airfield just north, or the dunes to the south. I questioned Roth as we strolled along, wanting to know more about my format. We ate together, trained together, and learned side by side, and yet there were a few format mates I’d hardly exchanged more than two words with. Roth was happy to oblige. It was obvious that he felt deep affection for his format, even the odious Pumphrey.
I learned that Fitallion fascinated everyone, not just me. He carried himself well, confident, but not arrogant. Some of the soldiers suspected that he already knew everything they were teaching us at camp because he seemed to be good at all of it. No matter the weapon—Fitallion was a natural. But no one was a better shot than Pumphrey (something I already knew), and as Roth laughingly put it, the only thing sharper than his shooting was his tongue (something else I already knew). Edwards struggled both in and out of the classroom, and though everyone gave him a hard time, the format liked him as a whole. Swanson and Steward on the other hand, were not so popular. The two lanky soldiers were too smart for their own good and often wreaked havoc trying to entertain themselves. The only thing they did better than cause trouble was avoid getting caught. Roth regaled me with tales, most of which I hoped weren’t true. Lee was the soldier I knew the least about. He was always there, but never said anything, quieter than even Fitallion. He had thin dark eyes, thick dark hair, and the faintest hint of yellow in his skin. He was short and slight, and still, so still. He seemed almost peaceful when he sat, unmoving, unspeaking. Roth said it was a trick, and that I’d know what he was talking about if I ever saw Lee doing hand to hand combat, apparently he was unbeatable. Dutton was the champion of wrestling. He liked to grab on and grapple, unlike Lee who only came in close to strike. Roth trailed off on a tangent, imagining a match between the two. Some discredited Dutton for his size. He was large and he did love to eat—I could attest to that, but even so he was the best wrestler at camp, or so I was told. Jackson, another mate I was unfamiliar with, was a farmer like me. He was gone often, socializing. He had friends in every format, though not as many acquaintances as Mar and Ram. Roth talked about their ambitions, and how he usually stood on good terms with them, though at the moment he was quite put out with the two. He assured me the entire format would be put out when they learned why I was being punished. I didn’t want Roth to defend me and I told him that. I especially didn’t want anyone to think I was a victim, because the only thing I was victim to was my own naive stupidity.
I tried to sidetrack Roth, hoping I could get him off the topic of Ram and Mar. I wanted to circle back around to the one soldier in our format he had neglected to give insight to: Winslow. But Roth could be stubborn. And by the time he was done griping about Ram and Mar, our shift was over.
Chapter 16
Breakfast the next day was even more awkward than dinner had been the night before. I had begged Roth not to tell the format why I was being punished, and although he never agreed, I thought he would listen. Apparently not. He must have told them during PT when I was too busy sweating up a storm to notice.
Mar and Ram were blasted by pointed, disapproving comments and icy distain. They simply ate faster, shoveling down their food in an effort to escape. I knew I should feel something... guilt, maybe gratitude? But I was too tired to care.
I had to stay up really late and wake up extra early to complete my additional chores, not to mention the two hour chunk of sleep I’d missed doing night-watch. If I barely had time to sleep then I was definitely going to fall behind in my studies, a most depressing thought.
Shuffling to dump my tray, feeling exhausted and groggy, I hardly noticed when someone fell into step beside me. It wasn’t until he said, “Greetings, Soldier Frost,” that he got my full attention. It was First Gridleigh. I remembered him, and I remembered that I was supposed to avoid him. Glancing over my shoulder, I looked for Winslow. He was walking away, bearing down on Mar and Ram as he chased after them, paying us no mind.
Perhaps I hadn’t been very discreet when looking for Winslow’s help, because the gesture didn’t go unnoticed. “So you do remember me,” he said with a gummy smile. Two soldiers had come to hover just behind us. They were a pair of matching squares, big and boxy, Gridleigh’s mates no doubt.
I felt hemmed in and uncomfortable, but fought to be polite nonetheless. “Yes, First Gridleigh, I remember.” Bardzecki thought I was pathetic, and maybe he was right, but I didn’t have to stay pathetic. If being a good soldier included showing proper deference to my ‘betters,’ then I would. I may never respect First Gridleigh, but I could always pretend. “How are you?” I inquired politely.
His jaw clicked shut. For a moment there, with his mouth closed, I thought he wasn’t terribly bad looking. Then I noticed he was mad, eyes pulled down in hostility. “Are you mocking me?”
“What? No!”
Speaking over my protests, he said, “I hear you’ve already landed yourself in some trouble. I’d tread more carefully if I were you.”
I had been trying to do just that. At a loss for what to say, I could only nod, hoping to be agreeable.
Gridleigh was pleased by my response. Smiling at me as if we were co-conspirators, he then asked, “And how are you getting on with Winslow?”
It felt like a trick question, so I tried to step around it. “I’d rather not say.”
He jumped to the wrong conclusion, a smug grin seating itself on his face. “Ah,” he said knowingly. “He’s an arrogant ass, always has been.” He sidled closer. “You know, I could speak with Bardzecki if you like, suggest that he assign you to a new format. He listens to me, and now would be the perfect time. After your recent behavior, I could say a more capable first would keep you in line,” he cooed into my ear.
“No!” I said, jerking away. Oops. I could tell from his face there was no way to salvage my outburst.
“No? You’d rather stay with that insufferable idiot and his band of misfits?” he spit at me.
“Yes,” I said, swallowing thickly.
His hand snaked out, grabbing the loose braid that trailed down my back. His movements were slick and fluid, a blur of motion as he jerked my head around. “Look at these two,” he said, gesturing to the soldiers behind us. They stared back blankly. “And over there,” Gridleigh said, pulling my hair, forcing me to see his format’s table. �
��The sixth,” he said into my ear, the warmth of his breath making me cringe. “An impressive group, are they not?” I had to admit, they were, every one as big and strong as the last. Again he yanked my hair sharply and I couldn’t help but cry out as he pulled my face around more harshly than before. Suddenly I was staring at my own table. I wished one of them would look over, but such was my luck that I went unnoticed. “And that,” Gridleigh said emphatically, “is your format.” His fingers bit into my arm as he gave my braid a rough shake, asking, “That’s where you want to stay?”
Suddenly I couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t care what I was supposed to do, how I should be at camp, or what would impress Instructor Bardzecki. I just knew that First Gridleigh should not be touching me. I lashed out on instinct, my body rejecting his restraint. My elbow rammed into the soft flesh of his side. He released my hair immediately, admitting a small oomph of pain. My freedom was short-lived. I took only a step before his arms crashed around me, hauling me over as we toppled to the ground. We went sprawling into the trash bins together. They skittered away as Gridleigh pinned me to the floor. I pummeled his thigh with one hand, my nails raking his face with the other as I tried to buck him off. He dropped his hand to my throat in retaliation, squeezing until my gasping breath was cut off and silenced.
I panicked, scratching at his hands, but it was over quickly. The moment Gridleigh had tackled me we had the whole convene’s attention. Soldiers were pulling him off now, restraining him as I sucked in air. My own format was hurrying towards me, the table emptying as they rushed over. I didn’t wait though, I ran.
I ran, and I didn’t stop until I reached my shed, throwing open the door and hurling myself inside. I would have collapsed onto my bed, but it was occupied. Fitallion’s cat was taking yet another bath on my blankets, though it had stopped to stare at me. I stared back, briefly deliberating before finally flopping down beside it. I wasn’t sure if touching a Shetheerie’s pet was a good idea, but since we were alone and I was feeling wretched, I couldn’t help myself. Tentatively I reached out, gingerly stroking the fur of its back.
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