The Ninth (27 page)

“Things really that bad?”  Brent raised an eyebrow.

“Let me put it like this: the FF hasn’t won a trial for as long as I’ve been here.  We are a permanent resident of the washout grade.”

“Washout grade?”

“Well, technically we are in the twenty-fifth grade, but everyone calls it the washout grade.  Simply put, there is no lower place to sink to.  If you fail here you get a one-way pass back to wherever you came from.”

“But no pressure, right?”  Brent joked.

“I wouldn’t worry.  Anyone with talent gets adopted out of here.  You probably won’t have to endure the FF past the next trial.”

“What does FF mean anyways?”

“Fighting Freaks!” a muffled voice shouted from behind him.

Brent turned his head and glanced behind him, only to find a helmet with a reflective faceplate mirroring his face back at him.  For a moment he bobbed his head making sure it was a reflection and not another double.  As the mirror image matched him move for move he was confident he wasn’t looking at another double like the one in the combat exam.  Studying the rest of the figure, he realized it was the same shape and color of the giant marshmallows he had seen in the lockers.

“This armored thing is the blushing beauty of Kindra’s reserve forces,” Cain introduced the bulky figure, “the proud third squadron of the illustrious Finbarr’s . . .”

Before Cain could finish his sentence the suited person leaped at him.  However, with Brent between them, Cain had enough time to anticipate the lunge.  Cain quickly dove under the leap and tapped something on the left forearm of the suit that started a strange hissing sound.  Recovering from the failed attempt to grab Cain, the suit spun around.  However, the helmet of the suit continued along the original leap, leaving the rest of the suit behind.  Brent found himself face to face with that of a girl.  Cain was now standing behind him and was laughing thunderously again.  Brent paid no attention to the laughter as his attention was solely fixed on the person standing before him.  From the neck down she was still encased in a bulbous white shell that gave her the appearance of a living being made entirely out of marshmallows.

With the helmet now lying helplessly on the floor he could tell she had earned her nickname.  She was indeed pretty.  She stood perfectly still as Brent studied her.  He had only noticed in passing that she had been of normal complexion, but now he realized that in the few moments since she lost the helmet, her face had actually noticeably changed to a deep red.  He could not tell if she was angry with Cain and his laughter or embarrassed under Brent’s close inspection, but he was certain that she was getting steadily redder, almost unnaturally so.  As the reddening continued to the level of a bright red apple, he began to worry.  Perhaps she needed the helmet for survival. He rested his hand on her forehead to see if she had a fever, and, while she was warm, it was not that great a temperature as to indicate illness.

Two things happened immediately after he felt her temperature with his hand.  The first was her eyes widened in an instant look of total surprise, and the second was that in the blink of an eye she was gone.  Brent turned around and watched as the marshmallow girl moved with a speed he didn’t think was possible in the suit she wore.  He then leaned over and grabbed the helmet that was now rolling around aimlessly and noticed that Cain’s laughter had stopped.  He stood back up with the helmet in hand and turned to face Cain squarely, who was still staring down the hallway after the girl in the suit with a look of complete surprise.

“Who was that?” Brent asked, waving the helmet.  “Will she be okay without this?”

“Hmm?” came the absentminded response that was more of a humming sound than a response.

Brent stared at Cain puzzlingly until finally Cain seemed to come back to reality.

“Did you say something?”  Cain asked absentmindedly.

“Yes, I asked you who she was and if she needs this.”  Again Brent indicated the helmet.

“That was Cassandra.  She gets a kick out of scaring the life out of the new troopers by sneaking up on them in full gear.”

“So she doesn’t
need
the helmet?”

“Oh, she’ll want it back no doubt.  But it’s not like her life depends on it or anything.”

“So what was all that about?  I seemed to lose you for a minute there.”

“Just a bit surprised, that’s all.  Look, I’ve been here in this division for over two years, and that was the first time I’ve seen sunburn Sandra not knock someone out for looking at her face.  Let alone touch her.  When you made contact, I was dead certain I was going to need a mop and a bucket to collect what was left of you.”

“Well then, I guess it’s a relief to be alive.  Wait a minute.  If you knew she was going to beat the tar out of me when I saw her face, why did you disconnect her helmet?” Brent asked with a hint of annoyance entering his voice.

“I assumed she would have had the common sense to hold on to the thing; didn’t think she’d carelessly let it fall off her head.  When it did go flying I couldn’t help but laugh at her.  She is always so careful to cover her face.  For her to let herself be exposed so easily, and to the new guy, it was just too much – I had to laugh.”

“You seem to think lowly of the marshmallow girl.”

At that Cain laughed so hard that Brent worried Kindra in her private room would hear him.  It took a while, but Cain’s laughter subsided, and he placed a hand on Brent’s shoulder.

“You’ve got guts, I have to admit that, but a word of advice.  Never,
ever
, call her that again, not in public, not in private, not even to me.  It’s not smart to intentionally upset a heavy-worlder.”

“Heavy-worlder?”

“Cassandra is from a heavy gravity world on the rim.  She’s spent her entire life in gravity that would make it hard for you or me to even breathe.  As a result, with the academy’s standard gravity, she is as strong as ten troopers – at least.

“Is that why she turns so red?”

“No idea.  I’m not a doctor and I don’t dare ask.  In her book, just staring at her face is a capital offense; asking about it would be an atrocity beyond all others.”

“Let me get this straight.  She has the strength of ten troopers, and yet you make fun of her?  What’s worse, you just made me commit a ‘capital offense.’”

“She seems to tolerate some joking around, although I do have to mind her temper.  You, on the other hand, I don’t think you need to worry at all.”

“Why’s that?

“I think she is scared of you.”

Brent stared blankly at Cain.  He wasn’t sure if he should have felt pleased at the prospect of someone who could snap him in two at the slip of the tongue being afraid of him or sheer disappointment at the prospect of a pretty girl being petrified of him.  Noticing the serious look on Brent’s face, Cain smiled and patted him on the shoulder.

“You worry too much.  After what you’ve been through today, what’s one more perilous encounter?” Cain chuckled.

“With a girl like that in the squad, it’s more like I’m wondering whom I should make my will out to.”

“Leave me the good stuff.  I wouldn’t give it much thought, though.  Things tend to work themselves out.  Try to get a good night’s rest.”  Cain was still laughing as he wandered off toward the back of the long row of alcoves.

Finally free of distractions, Brent laid down on his neat bunk.  Exhaustion pulled at his eyelids.  As he drifted off to sleep he took a final glance at the helmet.  Why was it that the most beautiful things in nature were always the most deadly?

A gentle progression of three tones awoke Brent.  He sat up and felt his forehead.  It was completely dry.  For the first time in his life he had awoken peacefully.  His dreams weren’t peaceful and the normal nightmare had awaited him, but having lived through it had stunted its sting.  It was also comforting to remember bits and pieces of the dream after he awoke.  He knew had dreamt of the final exam with the gaping maw.  A shiver ran down his spine as he recalled the eerie light seeping out of the thing in orbit.

Shaking his head he put thoughts of the previous day to the side and stretched.  Getting out of his bunk, Brent turned and made the bed.  He suddenly realized he was the only one up and about.  The other troopers were still lazing in bed.  As he watched the others contently cuddle with their sheets, an unpleasant odor wafted past his nose.  It stuck him he had been quite active the previous day, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had showered.  Fetching his pad from the locker where he had stored it the night before, he started searching for any information on the facilities of the academy.

After a few minutes of random searching, Brent couldn’t find anything useful.  Whoever had organized data on the pad had done a poor job of it.  It almost felt as if the system had been designed to be intentionally counterintuitive.  Glancing around him he found the other recruits
still
lazing.  Brent sighed quietly to himself.  All he wanted was a shower.  Why was it when he needed assistance there was never anyone handy?  As he put the pad down he noticed the display had changed; it wasn’t on the last page he had pulled up.  Studying the new image he quickly realized it was a map.  At his fingertips was a detailed map of the entire academy.  In no time he had located the nearest facility.  It was a massive complex apparently serving the needs of at least ten divisions.

As he was about to head out he realized he didn’t have a change of clothes.  The night before he had only tossed his pad in the locker after he had rolled on top of it in the middle of the night, and it had jabbed him awake.  Investigating the locker more closely, he found three uniforms, all of them the same type as those worn by the Weavers.  His stomach churned uneasily as he realized he would have to wear the same uniform as those disgusting brats.  A small patch of green and orange on the right shoulder was the only place that identified which division he belonged to.  There was another uniform, but it was much more detailed and rigid, obviously for formal ceremonies and the like.  Behind the four uniforms was the giant white marshmallow.  Cain had said Cassandra wore her “gear” all the time, but didn’t say how it worked.  For now, the only use Brent could make out would be as a beach ball.

Grabbing one of the standard Weaver outfits, Brent headed toward the archway to the common room.  After a couple of steps he stopped and turned back to his bunk.  Gently placing his new clothes on the bed, he grabbed the loose helmet and headed down the rows of alcoves in the direction the girl had run the night before.  Brent had no way of telling which bunk belonged to her, of course, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t have any trouble spotting it.  As he passed bunk after bunk, he watched the troopers toss and turn, attempting to steal as many more minutes of sleep as they could.

Finally, Brent found what he was looking for.  Unlike the other bunks, he came to one that was completely covered in sheets; every inch of its occupant was covered from head to toe.  Resting against the locker was a headless suit.  As he placed the helmet back where it belonged, the suit made a soft hissing sound.  The helmet disappeared as the rest of the suit seemed to ingest it.  The arms got shorter and shorter.  The legs vanished.  In fifteen seconds the entire suit had collapsed into itself and now rested before him as a giant solid white metal marshmallow.  The bunk’s occupant shifted uneasily.  Brent quickly headed back to his own bunk, grabbed his Weaver uniform, and headed out to the common room.

He expected the room to be empty as the rest of the division slept, however there were two neat rows of troopers already assembled near the doorway leading to the hallway.  Brent kept a safe distance behind them as they left the common room.  They seemed to be headed in the same direction he was.  He followed them as they snaked down the corridors of the station.  Every now and then he would spot another group of troopers moving in similar formation.  When the two columns came to a stop, Brent checked his pad.  They had reached the communal facilities.  In pairs of two the troopers entered the new room as their squad leader stood outside the doorway.  Brent recognized him as Sanderson, the one who had gotten him into Kindra’s squad.

“Early riser I see.”  Sanderson smiled at Brent as he entered.

The room was easily twice the size of the common room.  The floor was covered in a square grid pattern.  In the distance he could make out an uneven wall of foggy white.  Brent’s study of the uneven wall abruptly ended when one of the grids on the floor rose, encasing a trooper in an opaque square of foggy white.  Only a rough silhouette of the trooper was still visible, with all details obscured in some kind of privacy screen.

“Take any stall you want.”  Sanderson indicated the grids on the ground.  “The rest of the division is still sleeping so we have free run of this section.”

Hesitantly, Brent made his way to a nearby grid.  Nothing happened as he studied the floor.  He watched another trooper for a clue to how they worked.  The trooper walked to the center of the square, then held perfectly still.  After a few moments the walls rose out of the floor.  Taking the proper position, Brent waited, trying not to move a muscle.

His patience was rewarded as the walls gracefully rose out of the floor.  As the walls reached the ceiling, the equipment raised out of the floor was well, all of it perfectly spaced around him.  There was the standard expected equipment – shower, toilet, sink, and even a rack of dry towels with space for his clean uniform.  As Brent went about his morning routine, he noticed there wasn’t a sound.  Not only did the walls obscure vision, but they contained sound completely as well.

After he was finished and fully dressed, he realized he had a problem.  He had watched another trooper activate the room, but how did one leave?  Brent felt around the room but found nothing of use.  There were no dials or switches on any of the walls.  He stood in the center of the room and studied it.  Not even a hint on how to get out.  Naturally, he had used restrooms before, but never one so elaborate.  He figured the overly complicated nature of the room was probably due to the massive amounts of use ten divisions would put the facility through.  He imagined that when the walls and equipment receded into the floor they would be quickly sterilized and cleaned for the next occupant, that was if he could figure out how to make that happen.

Suddenly, the facilities, seemingly of their own accord, started to sink into the floor.  Shortly after, the walls fell gracefully back into the floor.  Brent smacked his head as he realized all he had to do was stand still in the center of the square room.  When the walls completely submerged in the floor, he was greeted by a maze of foggy white walls.  Apparently, the rest of the division had woken up while he searched for a way out of his prison.  He made his way through the small gaps between the foggy white walls toward where he had entered.  Every now and then a silhouette would get close to a nearby wall.  It was oddly frightening as the black shadows moved around, apparently oblivious to his presence.

Reaching the hallway, Brent found it lined with troopers, each eagerly awaiting a free stall.  Several nearby troopers immediately took a step away from him.  A natural part in the ocean of troopers created a path for him.  He cringed as he waited for them to recognize who he was and start staring, but not one of them did.  Instead, they averted their eyes, looking at the floor or keeping an intense focus on their friends.  Every now and then one of them would steal a glance at him, only to quickly turn their gaze away.  The odd thing was they weren’t really looking at him.  Their eyes would glance toward him but not once meet his eyes or look at his face.  As he passed down the hallway, the troopers continued to clear a path for him.

It dawned on him that he wasn’t a recruit to them; he wasn’t the one who had cleared every exam.  Now he was a Weaver, a detestable little boy like Philip who would strike out at anyone to prove his superiority.  The very idea of being put in the same category as those disgusting boys made him sick to his stomach.  He decided he wasn’t passively going to let that happen.  Abruptly stopping, he turned to the trooper on his left.  The man stiffened visibly under Brent’s gaze.  Brent took a step toward him and reached for his hand.  The nearby troopers audibly held their breath.  Taking the limp hand, he forcefully shook it.

“Name’s Brent.  Nice to meet you.”  He waited for a response, but none came.  “Your name is?”

The male trooper looked to the troopers at his sides for help; they took a step away.

“Doug,” came the weak response.

“Good to meet you, Doug.  Hope you have a pleasant day.”  Brent finished shaking his hand and nodded politely as Kindra had done the night before.

Brent continued walking down the path, abruptly stopping at random intervals to shake a trooper’s hand and greet them.  He left a wake of confusion and blank stares as he progressed down the corridors.  As he made his way back to the quarters of his division, he remembered that Davis had wanted the Weavers to show up two hours before normal training.  Only problem was, Brent had no idea when normal training started.  He stopped again and turned to a nearby trooper.

“When do you start your training sessions?”  Brent asked bluntly.

The female trooper froze instantly.  Unable to speak, she stared at him nervously.

“Leave her alone!”  A second female jumped between them.

The sudden advance against him startled Brent and without thinking he shifted into a combat stance.  Several other troopers watched in a combination of horror and fascination.  He realized they were waiting for him to attack the girl.  The trooper was now shaking, no doubt regretting her impulsive action.

“I’m sorry for worrying you both; I meant no offense.”  Brent placated the shaking girl as he relaxed his stance.  “I was merely inquiring when you started your training sessions.”

The second girl blinked a few times.

“You’re not going to hurt me?”  Her voice was one of disbelief.

“Why would I do that?” Brent asked in as soothing a tone of voice as he could.  “You were only protecting your friend against a possible threat.”

The nearby troopers exchanged surprised glances.

“Why do you want to know when she starts training for the day?”  The girl was still on the defensive.

“Well, I have an appointment that takes place two hours before training starts, but I just got here yesterday and don’t have a clue when that is.”  Brent shrugged.

“Really?” the first girl asked over her friend’s shoulder.  “That’s all you wanted?”

“That’s it.  I’m sorry I scared you,” Brent apologized.

“I think you grabbed the wrong uniform.”  The second girl was relaxing.  “You do know you are wearing a Weaver’s uniform, right?”

“No mistake.  Says I’m a Weaver on my pad.  I can show you if you’d like.”

The second girl stiffened again.  The first patted her shoulder.

“I think he means he can show you his pad, Marie.”  The first girl comforted her friend.

The nearby troopers all burst into laughter.  Marie blushed in embarrassment.

“Well, if you have an appointment two hours before training starts, then you have about fifteen minutes to get there.  Do you need directions?”  The first trooper smiled.

“Thanks, but no.”  He smiled in return.  “I can manage to get there on my own.  Thank you again.”

Brent bowed like the tripod to the two girls and rushed down the hallway.  For some reason he couldn’t explain, he enjoyed the action of bowing like the tripod – it seemed proper somehow.  He rushed down the hallways to the room the Weavers had met in the night before.  As he reached the room, Brent checked his pad, still eight minutes early.  As the doorway opened, he was greeted by a large message on the shining wall opposite him.

“Head to examination room Five One Three C,” read the message.

Brent quickly reached for his pad again.  Strangely enough, the map of the station was already on the screen.  With no time to spare, he rushed down the corridors.  As he ran down the hallways, other troopers jumped out of the way.  He was advancing too quickly for them to create a path for him naturally, Weaver or not.  Bolting down the corridors, he would only steal a glance at the pad when he was sure he wouldn’t run into anyone.  As he rounded the last corner, Brent watched as another Weaver entered the room ahead.  His boots squeaked as he came to a stop just outside the doorway.  The pad indicated he had a minute left.

Taking a deep breath, he steadied his breathing and entered. The room was familiar.  It was like each one used during the exams.  With no one in the outer room, Brent continued on through the second doorway.  For a moment he wondered what waited for him, a drop ship maybe or perhaps another forest.  Instead, it was some kind of warehouse.  Large wooden boxes were stacked about randomly.  The walls had the slight red hue of rusted metal.  Dirty windows let in rectangular rays of light.  A large grouping of Weavers stood in the center of the warehouse.

Counting them at ten, Brent wondered how many remembered Davis’ orders to show up early from the night before.  Instantly, he singled out Jamie.  He was standing slightly away from the main group, watching Brent scornfully.  Philip was nowhere to be seen.  Unlike the troopers who had lined the corridors, the Weavers were silent.  There was no banter or idle conversation.  Each one stood tensely, awaiting the Master Weaver and whatever task he had in mind for them.  Desperate panting filled the room as another two Weavers rushed in.