The Ninth (46 page)

“Seriously though, what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know.  Do we really have to share a bunk?” she asked as her face started to redden more severely.

“Not necessarily, as long as I’m holding your hand I seem to be fine.  I don’t think I need much more than that.”

“Okay, so we just need to sleep nearby.  What about the FF?”

“With them partying all night?  Even if I kept the emotions at bay, that music would be more than enough to keep us both up.”

“Good point.  Medical?”

“I’d have to pass on that.  We managed to escape from there without a Weaver ambush or Dr. Benedict dissecting me.  I’d rather not walk back into the lion’s den.  Plus, do you really want to sleep next to me with that woman observing us all night?”

Cassandra shuddered violently at the thought and shook her head.

“Well, I’m out of ideas,” she said with a sigh.  “Nothing but tables and chairs here on the observation deck.  Not exactly ideal sleeping conditions.”

“I wonder . . .”

“Forget it.  I’m not sleeping on the floor, either.

“I don’t mean that.  The division Tyra was talking about.  She said the division leader was rebuilding the entire squad.”

“I remember that.  She got rid of an entire squad after a single mistake.  Sounds like a charming woman.”

“Perhaps, but think about it.  That means there is an entire group of empty bunks.”

“No celebrating troopers, no operating table, and much better than the floor.”

“Then it’s settled.”

“Fine, but you try anything tonight and I’ll break your arm.”

Brent couldn’t tell if she was kidding or not.  It suddenly dawned on him that her emotions didn’t wash over him when they made contact.  Cassandra used to be the only person he could sense, and now she was the only one he couldn’t.  As they made their way to the new division he wondered why things were always so complicated for him.

“Which division was it again?” Cassandra asked.

“The SW, grade six.  It should be to our left.”

“I had learned the corridors around the FF; never thought I’d have to learn another part of the station.”

“Didn’t think you’d be adopted into another division?”

“A heavy-worlder with a bad temper who is never seen outside her suit.  What do you think?”

“I think we are there.”

Brent approached the doorway that silently slid open for him.  Before the pair was a large common room.  While the FF had been partying with the intention of waking the dead, the SW common room was so quiet you could probably hear a trooper drop their pad.  As he took his first step into the room, a dozen or so troopers appeared out of seemingly nowhere.  Their postures betrayed advanced stealth training – these weren’t poorly trained dregs.  They were dressed in black and red uniforms and studied the newcomers carefully.  Cassandra’s face reddened as one inspected her closely.  Her hand started to tighten around his.

“Is there a problem?”  Brent addressed the one closest to Cassandra.

With incredible speed the one in front of him attacked.  A fist lashed out at his stomach.  The speed of it was amazing.  The fist came too quickly for him to dodge it.  He barely had time to place his own hand in the path of the attack.  As the two made contact, Brent could feel his emotions.  It made him sick to his stomach.  The SW trooper showed utter disdain for the pair.  The trooper felt assured of his complete superiority over them.

A second emotion hid beneath the surface.  Revulsion.  Cassandra disgusted the trooper.  Brent could sense every detail of the man’s loathing for the girl at his side.  The hair on the back of his neck bristled as he was filled with contempt for the vile feelings in the trooper.  He noticed a green light pulse down his hand and into the trooper’s fist.  The trooper instantly fell to the ground.

It took Brent a moment to realize how quickly the entire exchange had taken place.  From the moment they made contact, to the green light had only taken fractions of a second.  Another of the troopers tried the same move on Cassandra.  His fist cleanly hit Cassandra.  She didn’t even flinch.  With a single motion she grabbed his fist and tossed the trooper deep into the common room.  He crashed into some exercise equipment, startling the troopers who had been using it.  The SW troopers backed away as Brent’s would-be attacker started wailing on the floor.  Brent leaned over and took the man’s hand.  He focused on returning the man to his normal, albeit nauseating, self.

“Who dares enter my division and cause such a racket?” a strong feminine voice called out.

Every trooper in the common room approached the pair at the doorway.  From deeper in, Brent could see troopers sneaking out from behind the archways leading to the bunks.  A slim female stood in the center; from the way the others distanced themselves, it was clear she was the leader.

“A Weaver and his
pet
.  Why do you darken my doorway?” the female leader asked.

“I’d be the last to agree with the other Weavers, but you and your troopers really should show better manners,” Brent shot back.

“I don’t fear you, Weaver, or any of your kind.  Take your parlor tricks elsewhere.”

“His pet!?” Cassandra shouted as her face flared red.  “I only see one animal here.  And she is in serious need of an obedience lesson . . .”

Brent quickly squeezed her hand to silence her.  The division leader sneered.

“You really think you could beat me, little girl?” she chewed her words.

“I wouldn’t recommend . . .”  He stepped in front of Cassandra protectively.

“It
is
him!” a trooper shouted from somewhere in the gathering of SW.

With incredible speed, seven troopers switched sides, taking positions to Brent’s right and left.  He was puzzled until they bowed to him like the tripods.  Apparently he had friends, even here.  He returned the gesture, purposefully exaggerating some of the motions.  Gasps escaped the mouths of the SW troopers still standing near their leader.  Realization of who Brent was flashed on several faces; it was a mixture of surprise and horror.

“Just who do you think you are?”  The division leader hadn’t figured it out yet.

As Brent was about to answer, the SW troopers who assembled themselves around him shouted.

“He is the leader of recruit group C, the grand commander of the war room, and the liberator of the FF,” they shouted in unison to their leader.

“You can call me Brent,” he said as they finished, trying to hide his discomfort at the troopers’ praise.

The division leader cackled.  The troopers standing near her stepped away while those around Brent remained firm.

“So, Tyra did it.”  The division leader grinned in satisfaction.  “I doubted she could pull it off.  So, I guess you’re
mine
now.”

He could feel Cassandra’s hand tighten in anger.  The troopers standing to his sides looked at one another, troubled.

“
No one
is above him,” Cassandra announced flatly.

The troopers around Brent smiled to themselves, as their troubled looks faded.  He knew he had heard the line before, but couldn’t remember where.  The division leader cast a hard stare at Cassandra that would have struck a faint-hearted person dead.  The division leader had lost this round.  With the confrontation over, his body relaxed, and he became aware of just how tired he was.  Without a word, Brent headed toward the second archway.  Cassandra and the loyal SW troopers followed closely.  The rest of the troopers in the common room exchanged worried glances.  They lacked the cunning to know exactly what had just happened, but they knew
something
had happened, and their division leader was not happy about it.

“Tyra is still with her old division.  Would you like to use the squad leader’s quarters tonight, Weaver?” one of his new followers asked.

“The name is Brent.”  He smiled at the trooper.

“Did you want to use it . . . Brent?” a second asked.

“Not tonight.  Would you all mind sleeping in the bunks near the archway?  I have a feeling I didn’t make the best of impressions with your division leader.”

The SW troopers nodded among themselves and moved to take the bunks.  Brent led Cassandra to the bunk farthest down the archway.

“Wouldn’t you rather we had taken a room with a door?”  Cassandra waited until they were alone to ask.

“It would have raised too many questions if we went in together, plus, I think we pushed our luck with the division leader enough as it is.”

“Ashamed to be seen entering the same room as me, is that it?”

“Maybe I just don’t want to be accused of trying something and wake up with a broken arm.”

Cassandra smiled warmly as they prepared for bed.  The bunks were too far apart for them to remain in contact while sleeping in separate ones.  Brent courteously offered to take the floor while Cassandra took a bunk.  It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but without the constant barrage of random emotions, he managed to fall asleep.

Jack leaned back in his chair.  Observing Brent had given him less insight than he had hoped.  The boy acted as he always did.  The only small difference was he never let go of the girl now.  Nothing to shocking in that, one didn’t need to be a Weaver to see he cared for her.  With a disappointed sigh, Jack turned his attention back to his pad.  The fair doctor had forwarded the reports on each of the Weavers receiving treatment.  Doctor Benedict was being down right accommodating.  Not only had she let Brent go, she had given Jack the reports on the Weavers before he had even thought to ask for them.  As a precaution, Jack decided to watch over the doctor a little more closely.  Her mind had enough scars from inept Weavers; he wasn’t about to let any more be created under his watch.

Despite Brent’s weakened state, Jack couldn’t find anything permanent done by the Weavers’ subterfuge.  To think the Weavers were so well organized to attempt such a thing.  Had the boy been a normal Weaver, the armed guards would have arrived to a massacre.  Brent would no doubt already have been dead, and who knows how many of his supporters would have joined him.  As Jack read through the reports, he noticed an odd fact.  Most of the Weavers showed signs of extreme exhaustion
before
Brent disabled them.  They had been attacking him with everything they had, and then some.  Jack had already spoken with some of the troopers to get their side of the story.  To stand, alone, against an entire army of Weavers, Brent was either incredibly brave or unbelievably stupid.

Whatever the case, he was rapidly becoming an epic hero to the troopers.  However, the fact that scared Jack the most was the amount of control Brent exhibited.  He forced the Weavers to stop breathing.  Sure, when a person is scared they breathe faster, or slower when relaxed, but to stop altogether?  Even to a Master Weaver such things were impossible.  When Jack thought of worst-case scenarios, it had always been Brent driving people to suicide or murder or some kind of extreme emotional state.  Planet wide riots, entire populations acting like deranged psychopaths, and other dismal scenarios had been the limit of his imagination.

For him to be able to decide a person should just stop breathing – the implications were staggering.  Everyone in a three hundred mile radius simply dropping dead, gasping for breath as their lungs refused to obey.  The only thread of hope was that Brent always undid the damage he inflicted.  He had even saved an army bent on his demise from suffocation.  Jack wondered how long their good fortune would last.  As he was just about finished with the reports, he heard the sounds of stirring from the bed in the room.

“Enjoy your nap?” Jack asked.

“Five more minutes,” Nathan said groggily, as he rolled over.

“You’ll be asking for ‘five more minutes’ until lunch.”

“Where’s the problem in that?  The universe can’t get me in my dreams.”

“You don’t honestly think the universe itself is after you.”

“No, just every single human being with the power to ruin my day.”

“I know you had a rough day yesterday, but isn’t that blowing things out of proportion.”

“A rough day?  Jack, I was trying to push the academy back into orbit!”

“I suppose crashing to our doom would qualify as an excuse to bring up Janet Hawkins.”

“Janet . . .”  Nathan lunged forward into a sitting position.

“Nathan?”

“I had completely forgotten.  Those little brats almost ruined everything.”

“How could you forget Janet Hawkins?”

“Not her.  Why I sent for you in the first place!”

“Wait, you mean the Weavers didn’t force you to call me.”

“No, the little rats convinced me the sky was falling
after
I summoned you.”

“So what was so important?”

“We’ve got to get Brent off the station.  His life is in danger.”

“Isn’t it a little late for that?  The Weavers already attacked him.  What more threat could the academy pose?”

“It’s not what’s on the academy, it’s the fact that it’s an academy in the first place!”