Compete (5 page)

Unlike my siblings, Logan has made his inevitable decision immediately.

“Gwen, I have to join the Fleet Cadets,” he tells me on the night before the fateful Decision Day, as we have come to call it, as we talk quietly away from the others, standing in the semi-anonymous twilight of the observation deck, watching the constant visual anchor that is the Sun disk. The Earth, it is like a small bead, now . . . a pearl on the black velvet of space.

“You understand why, don’t you?” he says. “It’s part of what my
orders
are.”

By orders, he means the fact that he is part of secret United States government special ops, an organization called Earth Union. And he has been tasked to infiltrate the Atlantean deep layers of society, for reasons that supposedly involve ultimately
doing more
on behalf of Earth than just saving the ten million Qualified at this time of the impending asteroid apocalypse.

How is that even possible? What more is there to be done? How can anyone else on Earth be saved?

I have no idea, and I have serious doubts. But I trust Logan’s motives and integrity even if I don’t think there’s anything he or anyone else in Earth Union can actually accomplish. I believe that Logan
wants
to do the right thing, according to what he believes in. I also know in my heart that Logan Sangre—this remarkable boy I’ve had a crush on for years, and whom I might actually dare to call
my boyfriend
at this point in our acquaintance—is smart, capable, and not a terrorist.

“As a Cadet, I will be close to the action, close to their military high command,” Logan tells me. “I will be listening and watching, and looking for sensitive information that may help us—help Earth.”

“Supposing you do find something, how do you expect to relay any of that useful information back to Earth, when we’ve already left orbit and are more than halfway to Mars by now?”

He looks at me, and smiles very lightly. “That’s not something you need to worry about.”

Okay, again I have no idea what that means, but I can make an educated guess—Logan either has some kind of fancy special technology to communicate with Earth, or knows someone on the inside, someone Atlantean, and
they
have the means to relay the information back.

As for me? When I start to consider the pros and cons of being a Cadet or a Civilian, I feel a rush of rising panic. And yet, I too have made a very early and firm decision.

T
oday is the fifth day onboard the ark-ship—Decision Day. Our life decisions will be formally announced today. And yes, incidentally, today is the day we reach and pass the orbit of the proverbial Red Planet. Unfortunately, Mars is somewhere on the other side of the Sun right now, so we won’t be able to actually see it as we fly past its orbital boundary, sometime later today, around 2:13 PM, UTC.

Starting at 9:00 AM, we are to be called in groups of about ten people before a panel of Atlantean commanding officers on our ship. All of this is scheduled to happen in the large meeting chamber located near the central hub of the Command Deck. There we will be interviewed individually, our ID tokens scanned and our choices witnessed and recorded. Yes, this is a formal ceremony, and afterward, there will be no going back.

We wake up at 7:00 AM UTC—the ship is functioning on Earth time for our sake. In addition, this is reminiscent of our Qualification training schedule.

Over these past five days I’ve gotten accustomed to not hearing claxon alarms, but instead seeing a growing
brightness
as it somehow seeps past my closed eyelids. The light itself is sufficient to wake you. I am not sure how it works exactly, even if you have a blanket drawn over your face—but it does. And I admit, as a wake-up method it is far less jarring, so I prefer it.

And so, I open my eyes, squint and stretch tiredly, and then the clarity of stress hits me, as I realize what day it is.

Everywhere around me I hear noises of waking teens and rising conversation. This temporary barracks is co-ed, so boys and girls make their way to the same lavatory facilities in the back of the long chamber, separated only once you’re inside, into the men’s and women’s portions. Apparently now that we’re all Qualified, Atlanteans don’t seem to care if we fraternize—or maybe we’ve been simply given a temporary break until we “move in” properly.

In the bunk above me, Gracie is still asleep, curled with her blanket over her head, so I stand up and touch her gently. My younger sister has her usual problem getting up in the morning, regardless of when she went to bed the night before, so I take my time with her. In addition, over the last few days, ever since the trauma of Qualification and losing George, Gracie seems to have reverted to her childish, younger, whiny self. Just like that, she’s let go of her tough exterior and semblance of maturity she’d gained from the two months of training with the Red Quadrant. I am guessing it might be a form of post-traumatic stress disorder, and I hope it’s temporary.

“Gracie!” I whisper near her ear and tap her shoulder. “Gracie, you need to wake up now, today’s the big day. Come on, Gee Four, up, up!”

“No-o-o-o-o!” Gracie moans, clinging to her blanket, and does not move.

Meanwhile I can hear Gordie on the first level bunk closest to mine, waking up and yawning loudly.

In that moment Logan looks down at me from the third level bunk directly above. His dark hair is tousled, and his face is softened with sleep. “Hey, you,” he says, in an intimate voice that cracks, and there is something boyishly vulnerable in the way he just stares and blinks at me, and then smiles.

As usual, my heart melts at the sight of his smile. I don’t care if Logan is a sleepy mess—he is
Logan
. And in moments he gets down from his bunk with easy athletic movements. Minutes later, I finally manage to drag Gracie down and off we all go to use the facilities, after getting Gordie up also.

W
e make our way to the closest meal hall, a large cafeteria-like chamber with many long bench tables and a self-serve bar along one wall. Here we eat in haste, what looks to be some kind of breakfast dish of mixed fruits and vegetables that taste vaguely like an egg scramble. The veggies are all grown onboard the ark-ships, inside their hydroponics and greenhouse facilities, and are mostly unknown varieties native to Atlantis, with a few Earth plants thrown in to make our dietary transition less weird. I see tomatoes, mushrooms, and zucchini on my plate in addition to unknown alien stuff. But it all tastes okay, and besides, I am too nervous to care today what it is I’m eating.

“This is yucky,” Gracie says, poking at her plate with a fork.

“No, it’s not,” I respond wearily. “Come on, you need to eat, Gee Four. Please, for once, cut the crap.”

“It’s okay,” Gordie says, shoveling the food in his mouth, as usual.

“It tastes like eggs. I hate eggs,” Gracie moans.

“Okay, jeez,” I say. And then I point to my tall glass filled with alien fruit juice called
nikkari
—a thick algae-greenish liquid resembling one of those fancy wheat-grass health drinks from a trendy juice-bar bistro back on Earth. “See this? It looks weird but tastes really good. Heavenly, actually, light and fresh like watermelon ambrosia or something. I bet you can just drink it like a protein shake. Try it!”

Gracie stares at the green juice and makes a face.

Gordie reaches over and picks up my glass and takes a swig. “Hey!” he says. “Yummy!”

“See?” I tell Gracie.

But she continues to grimace. “You do realize that Gee Three liking something is empirically meaningless? He’s a pig.”

At that, Logan, who sits next to me, starts to laugh.

E
ventually we get out of the meal hall and hike toward the central hub of the ship in order to line up for the decision ceremony thing. Good thing we’re relatively early, because the line is already significant, snaking through several corridors of the command deck.

Teens whisper nervously all around us as we stand, milling about.

Eventually the line starts moving. Atlantean crew members direct us into a large, brightly lit, sterile chamber where we see a slightly elevated dais near the back wall, over which hangs a grand square logo of Atlantis. On the dais is a long table with a panel of seated Atlanteans who look important.

I recognize Captain Bequa Larei in the middle, and on both sides of her are two officers, a total of five people.

Meanwhile, we are lined up before the dais in rows, and we start filling the room.

“Each row will approach the panel of commanding officers,” an Atlantean officer tells us. “You will then come up to the Captain, one at a time, give your name, be scanned, and announce your choice, Cadet or Civilian. Your choice will be recorded and you will be given your formal orders and assignment. Now, proceed!”

My heart begins to beat faster. We are in the middle of the room, with about five rows ahead of us. Next to me on the right, Gracie looks very pale and Gordie is not much better. Logan stands on my left and looks composed, his face unreadable. But I sense by his excessive stillness that he is far more affected than he chooses to admit.

The first row of the Qualified approaches the command panel. The first person, a short bulky girl, takes a single step to climb up to the dais and stands before Captain Larei.

“Your name?” Captain Larei says, while the Atlantean officer to her right scans the girl’s red ID token.

“Adriana Regalo.”

“State your choice. Cadet or Civilian?”

There is a brief pause. And then the girl says, “Civilian.”

The captain nods. The Atlantean officer this time to the left of her scans Adriana Regalo’s ID token again. “Noted and recorded. You are assigned to this ship, Red Quadrant, Residential Deck One. Proceed there to receive your permanent orders.”

The girl nods and then quickly moves out of the way to allow the next person their turn.

This goes on for about ten minutes. Most people choose “Civilian,” and are assigned to this ship, though there are a few “Cadet” choices thrown in. The first teen who chooses “Cadet” is told to proceed to “Blue Quadrant, Network Systems, Cadet Deck Two.” Everyone stares at the boy as he nods stiffly and gets scanned.

At last it’s our row’s turn. We step forward.

I exchange glances with my siblings and Logan, and take Gracie’s hand briefly. My heart is pounding now, and I feel cold with an approaching sense of doom.

Four people in our row are ahead of us. And then, Gordie. . . . My younger brother glances at me, scratches his cheek and pushes up his glasses nervously. He then goes up the dais and stops before the captain.

“Gordon Lark,” he says gruffly, as an Atlantean officer passes a gadget over his blue token.

“State your choice,” says the captain in an emotionless voice.

I clench my fingers into bloodless white-knuckled fists.

“Civilian,” Gordie says, after the slightest pause.

I exhale in impossible relief. I think Gordie does too, because his previously glum expression suddenly lightens up. Indeed, there’s almost a smile there, as I see him turn his head back at us slightly.

“You are assigned to this ship, Blue Quadrant, Residential Deck Two. Proceed there to receive your permanent orders,” Captain Larei says.

Gordie nods, and steps away.

Gracie is up next.

Again I catch my breath.

Gracie looks at me and her eyes are momentarily terrified. She then steps forward and stands before the captain.

I watch the back of her head, her long dirty-blond hair, and notice how stiffly she stands.

“Grace Lark,” she says in a clean steady voice, so that momentarily I am proud of her control after all these days of her being an emotional mess.

And then comes the big question.

Gracie pauses.

I hold my breath and pray.

“Cadet,” she says suddenly.

Even the captain must not have seen this coming, because the Atlantean gives Gracie a closer look. And then, apparently liking what she sees, Captain Larei nods.

My heart, oh God, it has gone into overdrive. . . .

Gracie! What have you done?
I think, as I forget to breathe.

“Noted and recorded,” the captain says, while another officer scans Gracie’s token. “You are assigned to this ship, Red Quadrant, Drive and Propulsion, Cadet Deck One. Proceed there to receive your permanent orders.”

Oh, Gracie
. . . .

And then, it’s my turn.

I am still reeling from what has just happened. But I take a deep breath, forcing myself to be clearheaded for what I am about to do.

And then I step forward.

“Your name?”

I stare directly into Captain Larei’s kohl-outlined eyes, watch her handsome face and the stern lines of her golden metallic hair.

“Gwenevere Lark,” I say in a hard, cold voice that’s not my own.

While an Atlantean officer passes his hand-held device over my ID token, I breathe shallow and feel the pulse racing in my temples.