The Black Stars (2 page)

Mason said it one more time. “Please remove the force field.”

“Or what?” Marcus said.

Mason didn't say anything.

Marcus waited, then rubbed his hands together. “Tell you what. You just walk on out of here, and we won't make you get down next to him. How does that sound, hero?”

“Please, Mason,” Stellan said. “You'll get kicked out. What's more important, huh? I can take this.”

A lightbulb seemed to go off above Marcus's head. His eyes widened, then narrowed, and a slick smile spread across his face. “Ah, wait. You have seven demerits, don't you?” He didn't wait for a response. “Yep, seven. I've been keeping track. Why do you think you're at seven, Steak? You think it might be because of me?” Marcus hated Mason because he was direct competition that happened to be much younger, and that was
before
Mason had humiliated him by showing his cowardly act to the whole school.

He's even more dangerous now,
Mason thought, but he didn't say anything out loud. Sometimes that was better. The mechanism was still vibrating against his arm, but not as intensely. He was allowing himself to stay cool, but his anger was bubbling just under the surface.

“I think it
might
be because of me. And I think you
might
want to walk away right now, unless you want to become a civilian before dinner.”

Marcus was correct. No doubt about it. But Mason didn't care about that. He cared about what was right. And leaving Stellan behind was not right.

Mason let his Rhadgast gloves flow down from his forearms to cover his hands. A Rhadgast had given him the pair of lightning gloves on the Tremist space station, along with an invitation to join their school, if Mason wanted to learn the truth about his parents, which, other than Merrin, was all he thought about.

His gloves had been confiscated almost immediately. ESC scientists wanted to study their properties. The gloves appeared broken; when worn, they didn't conform to the user's hands and arms, and they didn't carry a charge. A story in the media appeared:

MASON STARK SEEN WITHOUT HIS RHADGAST GAUNTLETS

with the subheadline:

WHAT DOES THIS MEAN FOR PEACE
?

The gloves were immediately returned to him, and photographers were allowed into Academy II to take pictures of him wearing them. Then Mason was commanded to keep the gloves in his locker at all times, which of course he didn't do.

Each night he practiced with them for an hour, like he would with any weapon he wanted to master. He would lie in bed and feel the connection. That was all: he never brought electricity to the surface. The gloves came back to life once he put them on, but he was careful not to tell anyone, except for his crew. After weeks of practice, he was able to control the shape of the gloves. He could make them peel back from his hands and turn into bracers that went from wrist to elbow. Under his long-sleeved black shirt (standard ESC uniform, along with black pants and tall black boots) the gloves were undetectable. But always there. They made Mason feel safer, in a way, and were a constant reminder of his goal to find the Rhadgast once again.

Marcus's mouth dropped open once Mason's hands were covered in the purplish material, a kind of grippy rubber. They appeared violet-blue under the harsh gym lights.

“They work…” one of the fifth years breathed.

Marcus swallowed, recovering quickly. “You wouldn't dare.”

No, Mason wouldn't. To attack a cadet with his Rhadgast gloves would ensure he was kicked out of the Earth Space Command for good. Beyond that, Mason didn't want to imagine how the story could be spun, or what it would do to a peace that had been shaky from its inception.

So instead, Mason pointed his index finger at Stellan's pad and let a single tine of violet electricity snap out from his fingertip. It shot between the grouped cadets and struck Stellan's pad. The pad hissed and sputtered and then flickered off … and so did all the other pads in the room. The new silence was deafening in a way; before there had been the hushed whisper of power coursing through circuits, and now there was nothing but a few cadets breathing a little too loudly.

Marcus was still smart, cruel or not. He swallowed. “I have witnesses, Steak. This is it for you. I have three demerits. You have seven. It's over.”

Stellan stood up on the pad and brushed himself off. His hair was sticking straight up, and he wasn't smiling. He looked sad.

Marcus started to say something else, but Mason just pointed at his chest and said, “Leave,” with as much authority as he could muster.

Marcus held his gaze for another defiant moment, then said, “Let's roll.” They walked away slowly, swaggering. Marcus threw a final glance over his shoulder, and Mason saw a fire burning in his one visible eye.
There's an enemy I've made for life.
Then they were gone.

Mason exhaled. Marcus wouldn't tell on him, not without receiving another demerit himself.

Stellan walked over, and Mason let his gloves slide back over his hands until they became bracers again. Mason held out his hand to shake, but Stellan just pulled him into a hug. “You risked a lot,” he said.

“We're crew,” Mason said, as if that explained everything. And, really, it did.

Stellan smiled. “How's my hair?”

Mason allowed himself to grin for the first time. “It's seen better days.”

“Darn. You'll have to help me fix it. I'm going to talk to Juniper Mass at dinner. She kept looking at me in Cross Gates IV today.”

They started toward the exit, and that's when Mason saw Marcus and his cohorts being cuffed by a security team, who must've been watching from a hidden cam. Marcus was already trying to talk his way out of it. He was pointing at Mason and Stellan. The five security guards didn't look amused.

Mason was contemplating the other two gym exits—they hadn't been seen yet, so escape was still a possibility, but escape to where?—when he heard a voice behind him.

“Mason Stark. You are in serious trouble.”

 

Chapter Two

 

Mason turned around slowly. Commander Lockwood loomed over him, his face a rigid scowl.

“I've got it, Patrick, thank you,” Lockwood said to the security guard walking toward them.

Mason would have rather gone with the guard.

Lockwood wasn't a bad guy—in fact, when they were on the SS Egypt together, he was the only officer who really gave the cadets any notice. But he was also fierce, with a hawkish face that was now more intense with his scars. Lockwood had almost died on the Egypt, a victim of several burns from the Tremist energy weapons, but some quick thinking by the cadets kept him alive. Afterward, Lockwood had asked to transfer to Academy II to continue working with the cadets. He taught Mason and his crew in Advanced Space Combat II, which focused on the smaller fighters in the ESC fleet.

“Sir,” Mason said, snapping to attention.

Lockwood continued to stare down at him, which was hard because Mason was now almost the same height. “Son, do you realize how much it will cost to fix these pads?”

“No, sir.”

“Sir,” Stellan began. “I can explain, they—”

“Cadet Runeberg, you are dismissed,” Lockwood said.

Stellan opened his mouth again.

“The word I used was
dismissed,
Stellan. I did not say
Please, I invite you to discuss this further with me
.”

“Apologies, sir,” Stellan said, then stole a glance at Mason, who gave him a tiny nod. Then Stellan walked away.

Lockwood turned his gaze back to Mason. “You fired a Tremist energy weapon on school grounds. Can you even
fathom
the punishment that accompanies a charge like that?”

Mason was sweating now; it dripped down his spine. He wanted to say
Please don't make me leave,
but said, “No, sir,” instead.

“They don't have a charge for it, because they can't imagine it ever happening, ever. Because the very idea of a Tremist energy weapon being discharged on school grounds is rather insane, don't you think?”

“Insane, sir. Definitely insane.”

Lockwood drew in a long whistling breath through his nose, then exhaled just as slowly. Mason couldn't keep his eyes off the pinkish skin on his neck. Only six months ago, it was black, and Lockwood was on his deathbed, giving command of the Egypt over to Mason.

“Come with me,” Lockwood said.

Mason did as he was told, for once. Lockwood led him out of the gym through a side exit.

“Eyes forward!” Lockwood barked when he caught Mason peeking back at Marcus and his cronies, who were being led toward a different exit.

They left the gym, and Mason bumped into a cadet right outside the doorway. “Sorry—Tom!”

Tom Renner stood with his arms folded, frowning deeply. Only Tom Renner could frown like that. “Who was right, Stark? I said you couldn't mess up again. Seven demerits. Yet you had to get that eighth one before the first year was over, didn't you?”

Mason couldn't argue. “What are you doing here?”

Tom shrugged. “I was summoned by our old pal Lockwood here.”

“Excuse me?” Lockwood said.

“Sir. I mean I was summoned by Commander Lockwood, sir.” Tom's attitude toward the rules had softened a bit since the Egypt.

Lockwood grumbled something unintelligible as they walked around the circular hallway that would lead them to the tunnels and to the headmaster's office, where Mason would quickly be ejected from Academy II and the Earth Space Command.

But why would Lockwood summon them both?

“What's this about, sir?” Mason asked Lockwood.

“It's not for me to say.”

If Tom was here, there was a good chance Mason wasn't going directly to the headmaster.

“Are they going to kick me out?” Mason said.

“I guess you should have thought about that before damaging school equipment.” Lockwood let that sit for a moment, while Mason sweated. Then he added, “But I don't think the ESC is dumb enough to give up their biggest propaganda tool since the start of the war.”

Mason didn't like the sound of that. He'd been approached by several recruiting chiefs who wanted to use him in new ads. There was no shortage of applications to the ESC, but they were hoping to attract the best and brightest. Mason's accomplishments at such a young age, they said, were a real advertisement for Academy I. Mason had politely explained that he couldn't have done it without his team, but they didn't care. They wanted a face to go with their ads, a voice. Mason looked up to find Lockwood watching him.

“I didn't mean that,” Lockwood said quietly. “You're more than that, Stark.” And then, as if he remembered Mason was in trouble, he said, “Keep walking.”

They followed the track back to Academy II, which was partially built into the mountain. Mason's heart started to pound when they took a lift to the top level, where the administration offices were located.
Yep, we're going to see the headmaster.

“Have you done something wrong?” Mason asked Tom.

Tom made a face. “Please. Do you even know me?”

“There was that time you—”

Tom elbowed him in the ribs, and Mason fell silent. Lockwood raised a scarred eyebrow but said nothing.

The commander led them to the office at the far end. Mason had been inside before. It was Headmaster Oleg's new office, which had a wide, panoramic view of the red planet.

Lockwood shook their hands. He seemed upset about something, not quite wanting to make eye contact. “Boys,” he said. “No matter what, it's been an honor.”

Uh-oh.

Lockwood started away.

“You definitely did something,” Mason said to Tom. Tom punched him in the shoulder. Mason thought about punching back, but then they'd be rolling around in the hallway on the administration level.

“I did not,” Tom said. “But let's hurry this up. I have class in twenty minutes.” His attitude toward the rules may have relaxed, but not his attitude toward classes.

Mason knocked on the door.

“Come in,” said a voice from within. Not Headmaster Oleg's voice …

Mason opened the door. Sitting behind Oleg's desk was Grand Admiral Shahbazian.

 

Chapter Three

 

Mason hadn't seen Grand Admiral Shahbazian—or “GAS,” to use the nickname given to him by students at A2—since they were both aboard the Will to sign the treaty. Talking to him had been awful then, and it didn't seem like this conversation was going to be any better, judging by the expression on his face. By all appearances, the grand admiral would rather be out on the surface of Mars right now, without a space suit.

“Sir,” Mason and Tom said together, saluting. This man was in charge of the
entire
Earth Space Command.

“Sit down,” the grand admiral replied sharply.

They did, taking the seats across from Shahbazian. Mason couldn't help but think of him as GAS. He felt a tickle in the back of his throat, the start of a laugh.

“Do you know why I've called you here today?” GAS said.

Mason had exactly zero ways of knowing why he was there. It was probably the dumbest question he'd ever heard.

“Let me get to the point,” GAS said. “What I am about to share with you is classified beyond Top Secret. Do you understand what that means? It means sharing this information would result in imprisonment. For life.”

Mason swallowed. Then he reminded himself that he was part of the crew that saved the Olympus space station from getting literally eaten by a Fangborn ship. So GAS couldn't be all that scary anymore.

Right?

“I asked you both a direct question.”

“Yes, sir,” Mason said.

“I understand, sir,” Tom added.