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She
tried it again.

She
set the block down, she commanded it to come to her, then it
came.

And
the more she tried it, the quicker it came to her, until she had to
stop. Pain stabbed through her arm and hand from catching the
speeding block, but she paid no attention to it.

Instead, she jumped to her feet and she laughed.

Happily.

Wow.
She'd done it.

She'd
mastered the training block.

It had
only taken her years and years of practice. But right now, that
little fact didn't matter. Nida let out a relieved laugh and
skipped around the room.

She
had to show somebody.

She
had to prove to someone else at the Academy what she'd just been
able to do, otherwise she wouldn't believe it herself.

With
another happy little laugh, she opened her door and practically
danced out into the living room.

She
expected to see Alicia there, eating in front of the TV, looking
bored as usual.

She
didn't.

Instead, she glanced over to see two men sitting on her
couch.

She'd
seen one off the Academy bulletins, and she knew the other
personally.

Lieutenant Carson Blake.

In her
apartment. Sitting on her sofa. Staring at her TV.

. . . .

What
the hell?

He
looked up, and so did the man beside him, Lieutenant
Travis.

They
both appeared surprised, and she quickly realised she was in
nothing more than a pair of flimsy black shorts and a
singlet.

“Ah . . . what are you doing here?” she
squeaked as she positioned herself behind the kitchen
bench.

Blake
actually looked flushed, but his friend just shrugged his
shoulders. “Your flat mate Alicia is in her room. We're just
waiting for her.”

“Oh,”
Nida muttered, quickly realising that Travis and Blake were clearly
the two lieutenants Alicia had mentioned last night.

What
with one thing and another, Nida had completely forgotten Alicia
had invited guests around. “Ah, right,” she managed, turning around
to head back to her room.

She
realised she was being rude, but she didn't care. She just wanted
to get back into her room before she blushed an even more
incandescent shade of blue.

No,
red.

She
meant red.

God
dammit, blue was on her brain.

As she
shook her head to dislodge the thought, Blake got to his
feet.

“How
are you?” he asked quickly. “I didn't get a chance to see you after
the accident.” He looked genuinely concerned, and as he crossed
from the lounge towards the open kitchen, he appeared to assess her
for any sign of injury.

Which
was kind of embarrassing considering she was still in her
pyjamas.

“What?” she asked stupidly as she tried to hide behind the
bench.

“You're accident,” he said slowly, as if he were talking to a
child, “in the training centre. The block,” his eyebrows knit
together as he took a swallow.

“Oh
that? It's fine,” she flopped a hand at him.

As she
did, a small drop of blood flew from her palm and landed on the
clean white bench before her.

“Hey,
are you cut?” Blake took several sharp steps up to her
side.

“No,”
she answered automatically, then brought her hand up to stare at
it.

It was
bruised, cut, and blood was dripping down her palm and
fingers.

. . . .

The
cube.

Jesus.

Every
time she'd caught the training block, it had been moving with such
force, it had lacerated her hand.

Yet . . . she hadn't noticed.

The
excitement of being able to move the cube had somehow blocked out
the pain of injuring her hand.

“Um,”
she managed dumbly as she continued to stare at her
palm.

Looking up to see Blake's clear shock, she quickly cleared her
throat, closed her hand into a fist, and nodded. “Um yeah,” she
managed. “Just a little. It's fine,” she added.

He was
looking at her askance, as if she were mad. “That looks pretty
bad.”

“It's
fine,” she squeaked.

“How
did you do it?” he kept trying to shift around the bench to get a
closer look at her, but she wouldn't let him. She just ducked
further around the bench to keep her threadbare shorts from
view.

“Ah . . . fell over?” she tried, knowing
her questioning tone was unconvincing.

Before
Blake could call her bluff, the main doors opened, and Alicia's
friend Bridget walked in.

She
gave Nida a pointed look.

It was
time for Nida to make a discrete exit before she could get in any
trouble.

“Right,” she squeaked, “enjoy your date.” With that, she
turned and practically threw herself at her door.

Once
she was through it and it closed behind her, she leaned there,
shaking her head as she did.

“Oh . . . oh that was
just . . . perfect,” she managed
sarcastically.

Carson
Blake of all people had been in her living room. What was worse,
she'd acted like a complete idiot by not realising she'd cut
herself.

With a
heavy swallow, she brought up her right hand and stared at
it.

It was
badly bruised now. She could see the familiar mottled pattern of
purple, black, and murky red.

The
bleeding was slowing at least.

She
took a breath as she poked her injuries with her good
hand.

They
didn't . . . hurt. Not like they should. A dull
ache radiated from them, sending a mild cold sensation pushing
through her wrist, but that was it.

She'd
bruised herself before, and she'd cut herself—multiple times—and it
never felt like this.

It was
almost as if her brain was preoccupied with something else. Like
her central nervous system was too busy processing the tingles
burrowing into her flesh to bother with the pain from her latest
injury.

She
grated her teeth back and forth, still poking at the bruise, then
she pushed up from the door and stared over to her
computer.

She
wondered whether she should try to contact one of her doctors, just
to let them know what was happening to
her . . . in case it was serious. But with a
sigh, she realised there was no point. They'd already checked her
over thoroughly, and she had a reputation for being a walking
accident—one she didn't want to keep adding to.

Still,
as she turned her attention back to her hand, she decided she would
definitely see someone in the morning if her weird symptoms
persisted. Right now, however, she would have to bandage her
hand.

She
walked over to her bedside table, grabbing a top from it and
holding it tight against her bleeding hand.

Then
she glanced at the training block.

She'd
placed it back in the cradle once she'd finished practising with
it.

It sat
there, locked in place by several strong metal clamps.

She
felt sick as she looked at it.

In
fact, a horrible nausea started to lift through her, making her
shiver and sweat.

As she
stared at the training block, she swore she saw the yellow light on
the cradle flash to blue.

Then
the intercom on her door beeped.

She
jumped, letting out a yelp.

“Ah,
Harper?” someone asked hesitantly.

It was
Carson.

She
was thankful for the soundproof walls. She didn't need him thinking
she was any more. pathetic than he already did.

“Harper?” he tried again. “Are you alright?”

She
clenched her teeth, and sucked a breath through them.

She
shook her head.

She
was starting to realise that just maybe she wasn't
alright.

She
couldn't feel her hand. The pain . . . it just
wasn't there.

And
those flashes of blue . . . .

She
shook her head again, the move sharp and desperate.

“Harper?” Carson asked once more.

She
stood up.

She
had to go back to the medical bay. Okay, so the doctors would
likely tell her she was just being a hypochondriac, but she had to
check.

She
walked for the door.

Alicia
and Bridget would kill her for coming out and interrupting their
pre-date, or whatever it was, but Nida didn't have a
choice.

Plus,
if Alicia didn't kill her, this cold, stone-like sensation
would.

Reaching for the door, Nida was about to open it before she
realised she was still half dressed.

“Woops,” she mumbled to herself as she cast around for her
clothes.

She
walked over to where she'd dumped her uniform.

She
didn't reach it.

“Harper?” Carson tried once more. “Seriously, are you alright
in there?”

There
was a crack.

A loud
one.

She
had just a second to look up as she saw the training block tear
from its cradle.

It
shot towards her.

She
stumbled backwards, throwing herself at the wall and pushing out
her hand to catch the block.

She
managed to catch it, but the force of it bowling into her served to
slam her against the door.

It
also broke her wrist.

She
could hear it, but she couldn't feel it.

Then
the block kept on moving.

Though
she'd caught it, it didn't stop.

It
twisted in her grip, flinging her with it as it smashed into the
door. Her knuckles slammed against the unyielding metal of the door
frame, and she screamed in horror as blood splattered from
them.

She
still couldn't feel it though.

And
the block still did not stop moving.

Yet no
matter how hard she tried to let it go, she couldn't.

It
felt as if her fingers had turned to stone.

Carson
Blake

“Come
on, Carson,” Travis said from the couch, “she clearly doesn't want
to talk to you. Just leave her alone.”

Carson
turned over his shoulder to shoot Travis a silencing glare. “She is
injured,” Carson said clearly.

“She's
always injured,” the woman called Bridget laughed. “Travis is
right. She'll be fine.”

Carson
looked at them both, then he promptly turned around, jammed his
thumb into the intercom button by Cadet Harper's door, and asked to
be let in again.

“Carson, come on,” Travis tried as he finally got up from the
couch.

“Nope,” Carson answered clearly. “You guys can go, but Nida is
injured, and needs to go to the med bay. Plus, after the accident
today, I owe it to her to check,” he added under his
breath.

“What
accident? You mean the one in the training centre? Did that happen
to her?” Travis asked conversationally.

Carson
didn't bother to reply.

Then
he heard something.

A
thump.

A loud
one.

It
came from Harper's room.

He
stood back sharply.

Then
he snapped forward and jammed his finger back into the button.
“Harper, Harper,” he snapped, “open the door. What happened? Are
you alright?”

“She
probably just tripped over,” Bridget tried from behind him, but her
voice wavered.

Travis
now walked quickly to his side.

There
was another resounding thump from Harper's door.

“Okay,
this isn't right,” Carson breathed quickly.

Then
he did something he probably shouldn't.

He
invaded Cadet Nida Harper's privacy by overriding the lock on her
door.

It was
easy, especially with his level of clearance. All it took was
several codes typed into the panel on the wall.

The
door opened.

With a
swish.

And
Nida flew out.

He had
time to duck to the side, furling an arm out to grab her around the
middle.

Her
torso slammed against his grip, as something propelled her
forward.

Everything happened so damn fast.

He
kept his arm around her, but he had to use every gram of his
strength not to let her go.

Then,
with a crack that sounded like bone snapping, something erupted
from her hand.