The Combat Codes (33 page)

Cego nodded to Sol, who was smiling for some reason. He took one look at Mateus Winterfowl, covered in Joba’s handiwork, and Cego smiled too.

*

With both Dozer and Joba out at the medward, Cego was ready to put the final piece of Operation Recovery into play—himself.

He looked into the bunk mirror prior to heading down to Grappling Level One. Between his extra class load, training every day, studying for his Codes test, and the late nights planning Operation Recovery, he felt weak.

Cego had dark circles beneath his eyes, and a bruise was swelling on his cheek from an errant knee during training yesterday. He ran his hand through his hair—it was getting quite long and unruly at this point. Cego’s back was stiff and his neck felt like a vise was clamping down on it. He was starting to understand what Murray-Ku was complaining about all the time—the constant aches and pains that wore his body down.

As was his habit every day before he left Quarters, Cego rolled down the nape of his second skin and checked on the flux tattoo etched on his neck. He watched the little dragon hatch several times.

“Wow, doesn’t look like you’ll need to do much to convince Shiar that you’re beat up,” Sol said from behind him, looking into the mirror.

“That’s what I was thinking,” Cego replied. “Walking around like this, I’m surprised the challenge hasn’t come already.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t worry about it,” Sol said. “You still look better than any of those prissy purelight boys, always making sure their hair is combed and such.”

Cego could feel the warmth flush to his cheeks. What did Sol mean by that?

Cego stuttered, “Uh… yeah. What’s with that, anyways? Who combs their hair before getting in a fight? It’s just gonna get messed up anyways.”

“I think it’s another of the strange customs they picked up from the Daimyos,” she replied, turning her face in disgust. “Mom used to bring me to Daimyo gatherings along with the Grievar from the rest of the Twelve. She’d comb my hair and put makeup on my face. I hated it.”

“Makeup?” Cego asked.

“Yes… it’s a set of powders and creams that Daimyo nobles use to cover up bruises and scars on their faces. Both the men and women, they put it on whenever they leave their homes.”

“Why would anyone want to cover up their scars? What strange creatures…”

“Strange… and weak. Yet they control us,” Sol said grimly, before quickly changing the subject. “Guess who wears it here, though?”

Cego shrugged. He couldn’t fathom doing something like that.

“Mateus,” Sol whispered. “I saw him putting some powder on in this very mirror to cover up a bump on his cheek.”

Cego shook his head in disbelief. “No!”

“Yes!” Sol smiled as they both tried to contain their laughter.

Cego hurried over to Grappling Level One with the rest of his team. He was thinking about his conversation with Sol. Why was his head still there? He needed to concentrate on the task at hand. He needed to isolate Shiar and convince the Jackals to make their challenge. This was the final touch. If he didn’t pull this off, Operation Recovery would be stopped in its tracks.

The class began as usual—Professor Sapao leading warm-ups and then showing a series of basic techniques for the class to drill. Though Cego usually enjoyed the drilling, he couldn’t focus today. He was looking ahead to the free-rolling period of the class.

During free rolling, the students paired up and grappled for ten-minute rounds, with the goal of submitting their partner as many times as possible during that period. After each round, the students would switch partners. There were five rounds total, so Cego needed to make sure the Whelps timed this right.

Cego started off the free-rolling period with members of his own team—Abel, Sol, and Mateus. He kept it relaxed with Abel, letting the small boy gain top position to hunt for submissions. With Sol, Cego fought harder. He’d never submitted her, though he’d tried to some extent. Her defense was excellent. With Mateus, Cego loved to attack—he really didn’t feel so bad about taking the purelight’s arms and legs at will. As the end of the round neared, Cego pushed off Mateus’s chest and swung around to attack his exposed arm. Mateus wisely tapped as Cego cranked on his elbow.

The buzzer sounded and the students began to search for new partners for the fourth round. Sol, Mateus, and Cego headed directly for the clump of Jackals nearby.

Cego needed to get on the mat with Shiar.

Sol and Mateus successfully initiated rolls with two of the Jackals. Though it was a student’s choice to accept or decline a roll, it would be seen as a sign of weakness to turn someone from an opposing team down.

Cego sought Shiar’s eyes but the boy had already partnered up with a member of his own team. Instead, Knees stood directly in front of Cego.

“Let’s be doing this,” Knees said, his face expressionless.

Cego hadn’t even thought about the possibility of rolling with Knees. Though Operation Recovery was entirely for Knees, Cego had nearly forgotten the reality that his old friend was a member of the Jackals, standing right in front of his face.

“Knees… thanks for the roll,” Cego managed to say, though he was caught off guard.

Knees and Cego squared off.

The Venturian attacked with a ferocity Cego had never seen before—his expressionless demeanor shattered the second the buzzer sounded. Knees leapt at Cego, growling like a beast, trying to pass his guard in every direction. Cego tried to stay calm, but it was difficult at the frantic pace. This wasn’t part of the plan.

Cego wanted to tell his friend about Operation Recovery—about all they were doing to get him back. He wanted to tell Knees they hadn’t abandoned him—he wasn’t alone. But he couldn’t say anything. It was too dangerous. He didn’t know how indoctrinated Knees was as a member of the Jackals.

Though striking was prohibited during free rolling, Knees caught Cego with several cutting elbows to the face as he tried to smash past his guard. Cego didn’t want to believe the strikes were on purpose—but looking into Knees’s wild eyes, he wasn’t so sure.

Cego panted on the floor after the roll was over. Knees didn’t meet his eyes or clasp his hand; he got up and looked for his next partner. What had happened to his friend? Was it the Trials that had changed him, or was it the semester spent with Shiar and the Jackals?

Shiar.
Cego had completely forgotten why he was here, rolling on Jackal mat turf. He looked around desperately. If Shiar already had a partner for the fifth and final round, the plan would fall apart.

Luckily, Sol, Mateus, and Abel had interloped and taken some of Shiar’s potential picks. Shiar was about to match up with Andrew Antonius from the Burning Fists.

“Shiar!” Cego shouted from his spot on the ground.

Shiar swiveled and met Cego’s eyes. The Jackal smirked when he saw Cego on the floor, panting from his heated bout with Knees. Cego didn’t need to pretend he was tired at this point.

“Looking for someone to put you out of your misery, lacklight?” Shiar said as he walked over to stand above Cego.

Cego didn’t say anything. He couldn’t look into the boy’s eyes without seeing Weep in their reflection. The two did not bump fists as the round began.

Shiar attacked furiously from the top, swiveling around to pass Cego’s guard just as Knees had done. He tried to take hold of Cego’s foot and yank it upward into a leg drag, but Cego swiveled his leg to break the grip, recovering his defense.

Shiar drove in for a double-under pass, attempting to stack both of Cego’s legs onto his shoulders, but Cego pushed backward to recover with his feet hooked in the crooks of Shiar’s knees. Cego pushed one of Shiar’s knees out from under him and looped his hand around his neck, attacking the guillotine choke.

Cego felt it immediately—that buzz he got when he knew he could finish the fight. He had just the right angle; the blade of his hand was just deep enough. He could finish Shiar right now. He could tighten the guillotine, and even as Shiar tapped in submission, he could keep squeezing until those jackal eyes were shut for good.

This fight wasn’t about his revenge, though. Or even about avenging Weep. This was about getting Knees back. Cego needed to do something far more difficult than showing strength or fighting through the fatigue. He needed to show weakness. He needed to let Shiar win.

Cego loosened his grip on the choke, barely—he couldn’t let Shiar know he wasn’t going for the finish. The jackal now had just enough room to get his fingers beneath his chin and push his head to the ground. Taking the opportunity for survival, Shiar threw his legs over Cego’s guard and passed to his side.

Snarling and savoring his newfound advantageous position, Shiar glanced over to make sure Professor Sapao wasn’t watching, and then drove two quick knees into Cego’s rib cage.

Cego could hear Shiar’s voice, bubbling up from his memories of the Deep.
It’s only about being strong and
winning.

Shiar ground the point of his elbow into Cego’s face, forcing him to turn away, and then sharply rode his knee along Cego’s ribs as he swung his foot over into mount. Cego looked up into Shiar’s eyes. The jackal was out for blood.

Shiar squeezed down from mount, applying pressure as he slid an arm beneath Cego’s head. Even though he was weary, Cego could predict Shiar’s moves several steps ahead. The jackal was going for an arm triangle, and when Cego defended it, he would pivot to an arm bar.

Just as expected, Shiar started using his head to push Cego’s arm across his face. Cego gave him adequate resistance. Shiar didn’t like that. The jackal snaked one hand over Cego’s face and started to dig his thumb into his eye socket. Cego protected his eye, quickly pushing Shiar’s hand away. The jackal took the opportunity—swinging around into the arm bar.

Cego tapped quickly; the lock was tight. Shiar didn’t stop, though; he thrust his hips forward into the elbow joint. Cego heard several loud pops and then Shiar’s cackle.

*

The Whelps met on the common ground after their last class of the day, their eyes peeled to the big lightboard in the center of the room. Any challenges would be posted on the board in the next few minutes and they were all eager to see if their plan had worked.

The Whelps really did look broken. Even if Xenalia had been accurate in her predictions on each of their recovery times, his team’s current state worried Cego.

Joba sat hunched forward in his chair, the rest of the team giving him a wide berth after the mess in the dining hall. The normal color had returned to his face, though the huge boy still didn’t look quite right, as if he was making an effort to make sure everything stayed down.

Cego had taken a quick trip to the medward after Shiar had dislocated his elbow. Xenalia had muttered something about her job being pointless and Grievar always re-breaking themselves as she stuck a needle into Cego’s arm. Whatever it was, it had numbed the pain, but Cego knew that his left arm would be useless for a few days.

Dozer was in good spirits after returning from his medward stay. He kept reassuring the team that he was OK, though whenever he tried to speak, it was nearly indecipherable. Cego couldn’t tell if it was due to Dozer’s jaw or some of the meds they’d pumped into him.

“Awl I know is dat darkin’ dackal… eel be oming fer us soon,” Dozer slurred, wincing in pain as his jaw cracked.

“What did you say, Dozer?” Mateus asked, smiling slyly. “I couldn’t quite hear you.”

“Dat darkin’ dackal Shiar! Ee’ll be oming for us—soon!” Dozer tried to raise his voice.

“Stop messing with him.” Sol glared at Mateus. “You’re trying too hard. And look, it’s smudged your makeup.”

Mateus inadvertently placed a hand up to his face and then glared back at Sol as the rest of the Whelps laughed at him.

“Hahah-agh!” Dozer tried valiantly to join in the laughter.

A crowd of students had gathered around the challenge lightboard, chattering about the new matchups that had just been posted. The Whelps hurried over.

Cego scanned the screen, looking past the higher level challenges to the bottom of the board. There were three Level One challenges posted:

team jab mantis (lv. 1) challenges team whelp (lv. 1)

team burning fist (lv 1) challenges team whelp (lv. 1)

team jackal (lv. 1) challenges team whelp (lv. 1)

Cego’s stomach sank. All three Level One teams had challenged them. Their plan had worked—they’d appeared weak and Shiar’s Jackals had taken the bait. But so had the rest of the class.

*

Cego paced Quarter D, shaking his left elbow out, as if it would somehow magically heal within the next forty-eight hours.

“I ay we akem all on! Bring em!” Dozer was attempting to shout as he boxed the air emphatically.

“The odds are formidable,” Sol said, level-headed as always. “Accepting all the challenges means nine fights in one day, back to back. We do have the option of just accepting the Jackals’ challenge—isn’t that the point of this whole plan?”

“Yes, it is,” Cego said. “Though if we decline the other two challenges, it will hurt our score. Even if we do pull it off against the Jackals, we’ll be near to last place. We wouldn’t have time to recover from that by end of cycle.”

Sol nodded, swiping at her lightdeck to check on Cego’s calculations.

“You’re right. But we wouldn’t be in last place. We’d be solidly in the third spot. Which means we’d be safe from getting held back,” Sol said.

Mateus chimed in, “That settles it, then. Stick to the plan. We decline the first two challenges, accept Team Jackal’s, win your boy back, and I get traded back to some more cultured Grievar for the next cycle.”

“This is very good for you, no, Mateus?” Abel said. “We win, you be trade to Jackals, and then you in first-place team. But we drop down, third place for us.”

“Er… no. That’s not I was saying,” Mateus said defensively. “I’m just saying we can’t take the risk fighting more than one team. That’s lunacy. We’re broken as it is.”

“As much as I hate to agree with him,” Sol said. “Mateus is right. We are broken. Look at us. We hardly have three fully healthy Whelps right now.”