Compete (15 page)

“It means, Cadet Hugo Moreno, she is your partner,” Instructor Okoi says, turning away from the two of us, and returning to the front of the room.

“You better not screw me over,” Hugo Moreno whispers to me in the moment the Instructor’s back is turned.

I part my lips in outrage.

Great
, I think.
This is possibly the most important class, and I’m stuck for a whole year with a jerk for a partner
.

A
bout forty minutes later we have learned the names, positions, and functions of various instruments on the flight consoles, and our homework is to memorize them. We’ve also received a very brief rundown of the Four Primary Systems involved in Piloting, the principles being the same whether it’s a great starship or a small shuttle.

“Memorize these concepts and terms,” Instructor Okoi tells us loudly. “Red Quadrant controls Drive and Propulsion. Blue Quadrant controls Network Systems and Central Command. Green Quadrant controls Brake and Shields. Yellow Quadrant controls Navigation and Guidance.”

“In other words,” a boy mutters behind me, “Red is ‘Go’ and Green is ‘Stop’—that’s all kinds of backwards and messed up, the total opposite of traffic lights on Earth. Wonder, how come?”

A few snickers are heard.

“And hey, Blue is the CPU or brains and central nervous system, while Yellow is supposed to be some kind of GPS?” another boy says.

Instructor Okoi glances in the direction of the speakers. “Use whatever comparisons you like, if it helps you remember,” he says in a hard voice. “But the next time you open your mouth and speak in class without permission, you will be disciplined. Now,
silence!
”

There are no more flippant comments after that.

Mithrat Okoi stands watching us coldly, and then he continues. “In addition to the Four Primary Systems, there are other types of secondary systems involved. What is missing, that we have not discussed? Who can tell me?”

A girl with a blue armband and red pixie-cut hair raises her hand. I recognize Alla Vetrova, the Russian girl from the shuttle ride during our transfer to ICS-2. “Weapons!” she says in a confident voice. “How can a military Fleet not have weapons?”

“You are correct.” Instructor Okoi nods at her. “Weapons is indeed one of the important sub-systems on each ship. However, its implementation is managed by all the Four Quadrants—which makes it something we call a
broad sub-system
. No ship can fire a weapon without the coordinated effort of all the Four Primary Systems, as a security measure. We will learn more about this in the days ahead. What else?”

“Life support!” another girl says.

“Good, yes. Life Support is also a broad sub-system common to all the Four Quadrants. Anything else?”

“What about sewers and water filtration and food production? That’s part of Hydroponics?”

Mithrat Okoi nods yet again. “In part, yes. There is a more accurate breakdown, but again, you will learn the specifics later. For now, this is sufficient.”

The Instructor speaks for a few more minutes. Eventually we are dismissed.

“See you tomorrow,” I tell Hugo Moreno as we get up from our seats.

He glances at me like I’m a nobody. “Yeah, whatever.”

I sigh and start to leave. It’s after 2:00 PM, and I am supposed to be back at work at the CCO at 2:15.

However, there’s Blayne Dubois talking to some people in the back of the instruction deck, as he skillfully turns his hoverboard around, levitating upright. It looks like they’re asking him about his board, or basically just checking out whatever his deal is. It won’t really make me late if I stop just for a minute to say “hi.”

I hurry toward him. “Blayne! Hey, Dubois!”

He looks around at the sound of my excited voice, and there’s the familiar toss of his messy longish dark hair out of his face, partly covering his blue eyes. As soon as he sees me, his one eyebrow rises and he gives me the faintest smile.

“Hey, Lark. Here you are. Upbeat as usual.”

“Yeah!” I make a half-smile, half-grimace. “Good to see you made it! And, you’re here on this ship!”

“Yeah, well, the CP had me transferred here. I guess he has some kind of plans for my bright future.” Blayne smirks, as he orients the board partly in my direction, so he is looking straight at me.

“Same here,” I say. “I am an Aide to the CCO. Which means I basically work in his office part time, and take classes part time.”

Blayne raises one brow again. “Hmm, that explains your freaky presence in this Cadet-only class. So, a Civilian?”

“
Undecided
, actually.” I speak carefully. It occurs to me that it’s best not to get into too much detail of what my real plans are, at least not here in public.

“They let you do that?”

“Only until the end of the year, then the CP supposedly evaluates me.”

In that moment I glance to the side and see the two arrogant alphas—green armband muscular guy and purple streaked hair girl, from the observation deck the night before—and they are standing right there, listening to Blayne and me talk. I realize they are among those who stayed behind to ask him stuff and check out his hover ride.

“So who are you exactly?” the purple hair girl says to me. “You two know each other?”

“Just taking this class, I guess,” I say. “And yeah, Blayne and I were in the same RQC.”

“Nice. . . . So, both of you get special treatment,” the Green guy says, narrowing his eyes. “He gets the sweet ride, and you get to take your sweet old time and hold off on choosing your future, unlike us dirty peasant rabble. Tell me, who do I need to kiss or kill to get me one of these?” And he points to the board.

“You just need to be in a wheelchair,” Blayne tells him in a voice gone quiet.

The Green guy blinks, taken aback momentarily.

In that moment the purple haired girl’s smart jewelry pendant starts making a beeping “ding” noise, which must be her clock app. “Hey, we’ve got the next class in ten,” she says to him. “Let’s go, Trey. Just drop it.”

I glance at Blayne. “Sorry, I have to go too,” I tell him, biting my lip. “Hey, want to grab dinner later?”

“Yeah, hey, go . . .” he tells me with a kind of dark abstraction that I’ve seen in him often previously, when he is reminded of his disability. He turns his back on Trey and the girl, ignoring them. At which point the rest of the gawking Cadets disperse.

“See you in the Yellow Quadrant, Cadet Deck Four Meal Hall? Around five-thirty?”

“Sure.”

And then Blayne sings a brief note sequence, which makes his hoverboard flatten and rise three feet above the floor. He nods at me and flies away, lying on his stomach like an Olympic Skeleton rider. In just two seconds he disappears down the long corridor, out of sight.

I hurry in the other direction.

Chapter Nine

W
hen I get back to the Central Command Office, I am definitely late. I tiptoe in past the guards, the door opens, and I hear voices inside.

Aeson Kassiopei is speaking in soft Atlantean with someone via video at his desk. The back of his chair is half-turned so that he appears in profile, and the mech arm of the video display monitor is angled so that you can barely see the screen or the person on the other end.

I glance briefly in his direction, and my face flames with heat for a moment, just from hearing the deep pleasant sound of his voice. . . . So I take even breaths to calm my nerves.

Meanwhile Gennio and Anu are working on their usual consoles near the walls.

“You’re late!” Anu mouths the words at me as soon as I am near.

“Sorry!” I whisper, and pull out my own console, and roll up a chair.

“Hush! Quiet!” Gennio gestures with his finger to mouth, and then points to Aeson.

I nod, and settle in.

And then I again glance with curiosity, because the person on the other end of the conversation is female and speaks in a somehow familiar, somewhat superior voice.

Oh, wow 
. . . it occurs to me. This is the same girl I heard Kassiopei video-talking with once before, back on Earth, when I was in his office at the Pennsylvania RQC-3.

Back then, it had first crossed my mind that he was communicating directly with Atlantis,
in real time
, without any kind of temporal delay . . . and it blew me away. The amazing idea and the impossible mechanics and physics involved distracted me so much that I didn’t have time to wonder about the identity of the female.

But now . . . That girl—my God, I did not see her face
then
, only the fall of her very pale, metallic-gold hair, but she sounded fancy and upper-class, and she appeared to be someplace very beautiful, with greenery and waterfalls in the background. And now as I glance over, seeing only a portion of the screen, I manage to
see
her face.

The Atlantean girl is striking. If Oalla Keigeri can be called merely beautiful, then this one is
perfect
, so beautiful she is
unreal
, like a porcelain doll.

Great eyes, of an unusual green-gold tint, somewhere between hazel and honey. They are outlined finely by kohl and luxurious blue-black lashes, underneath delicate arching brows. Her lips are full and sensual, colored with a pearly rose tint, so that a gloss reflection falls upon them, emphasizing the sexy rounded shape against the translucent pallor of her skin.

Her flowing golden hair cascades down, far beyond the video screen, and some strands are intricately braided, threaded with jeweled metallic rope that hangs in garlands. Similar fine strands of metal garland encircle her forehead, and a single pendant jewel descends between her brows. She’s an impossible cross between a delicate elvish goddess and Nefertiti.

Okay, I need to stop ogling, because—well, because it’s none of my business. I have work to do, the continuing chronicle of our journey to write.

I force myself to look away, call up the English keyboard, open my word processor file . . . and then I fall into a daze again and simply listen to the tones of their voices—
his
and
hers
. Aeson’s confident cool voice has acquired an additional soft inflection, almost gentle. And she, okay, wow . . . The last time I heard her talk she sounded bored, petulant and arrogant. But now she is still somewhat superior, but much more sweet, and she is speaking in an almost caressing tone.

Something strange starts to rise deep inside me, an inexplicable turbulent sense of unrest.

I look up again, because I feel stupidly unable to concentrate. And I don’t even know why. . . .

I reach over and gently nudge Gennio. “Who is that?” I whisper.

Gennio glances at me. “It’s Lady Tiri—Tirinea Fuorai.”

“Who is she?”

“Hush!” Anu interrupts, hissing at both of us.

Gennio nods then continues, whispering even more quietly. “Very important . . . high ranking lady! Tell you later.”

“Okay. . . .”

But I can’t get my mind to focus on anything. Eventually the video call ends, and Aeson disconnects their line, after saying something extremely pleasant, so that the girl fades out on soft laughter.

He then turns his chair and momentarily glances at us. I catch his fleeting gaze and it’s as if I am seared by a force of bright daylight. . . . And then he looks away, and calls up another display screen.

For the next hour I try to focus on my writing, but it’s close to impossible. Eventually Aeson gets up, briskly stretches his arms behind him, then heads out to oversee something in another part of the ship. He merely nods at us briefly, and we are once again left alone in his office.

“Okay, where’s he going now?” I ask.

“Shields Resonance Room, Lower Deck,” Anu says with a tone of chronic annoyance. “They’ve been having problems with field calibration. Then he’ll probably do his gym workout before dinner, then back here again until nine. Sometimes he wanders the ship doing random deck checks. Then more work here in the CCO, calls and meetings. Eventually he might get to his private quarters and bed by midnight, unless he decides to do a midnight jog around the ship via the observation deck, as some of the officers like to do. Let’s see, I can probably give you his entire schedule for the next five days. Want me to keep going?”

“Enough, Anu,” Gennio says, with a sigh. “She will learn the CP’s schedule soon enough. This is only her first day. You will make her crazy.”

“Too late,” I say with a tired smile. “I think I’m already there.”

Anu makes a snort sound.

I decide to use the moment to ask Gennio about that girl. “So who was she exactly, that very dressed up caller who was talking to him just now?” I say in a casual voice.

“You mean, Lady Tiri?” Gennio takes a deep breath. “How to put it? She is—well, it’s complicated.”

“What do you mean?”

“He means, she may be the next Imperial Consort,” Anu interrupts. “You really need to learn the intricacy of our court politics, Earth girl. Your Court Protocol training cannot come soon enough.”