“OKAY,” I SAY, “THEY POSTED THE rankings and . . . ?”
Regis and his pod head our way. We’re blocking the exit. Regis doesn’t change course. He walks directly toward me, stopping inches from my face. “Hope you enjoyed the med room, Jasper, because you’ll be seeing it again soon.”
Marco takes a step closer. He has my back.
“Is that a threat, Regis?” I say. “Because I’m scared. Real scared.”
“You should be,” Regis says. He brushes my shoulder as he leads his pod out of the mess hall.
As soon as he disappears from view, I spin back to Lucy. “What is going on?”
“That’s what I was trying to tell you before you went and picked a fight with Mr. Friendly over there. . . .”
“I didn’t— Oh, never mind. Just tell us what’s up.”
Lucy points to the rear of the mess hall. “The rankings are what’s up. As in, literally. They’re up. They’ve been posted.”
I glance at the back of the room where the big white poster is plastered on the wall. “And?”
“And we’re in first place,” she says.
Marco, Cole, and I dash to the back wall of the mess hall. My jaw drops when I see the rankings. First place. Regis’s pod slid to third.
“Now I get why Regis is mad,” I say.
“Why everyone’s mad,” Lucy says.
“Who can blame them?” Marco asks. “They got their butts kicked.”
“Not like I helped,” Cole says.
“Oh, stop the pity party,” Lucy hisses at Cole. “It’s not like any of us did much. It was all her.” Lucy turns, likely expecting Mira to be right behind her, but she isn’t. She must have slipped away while we were looking at the scores. “Well, great. She’s gone again. I’m thrilled she shot us up in the rankings, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s . . .” Lucy lets her words drop off.
“A freak,” I say, “I know you were going to say it. Geez, Lucy, you’re no better than Regis.”
“I didn’t say it, Jasper, thank you very much. And don’t you dare compare me to that vat of used ship grease. Plus, what word would you use?”
“A girl, okay? A girl, like you. And a Bounder, like all of us.”
Some cadets still shuffle out of the mess hall. A couple mutter weak congratulations. Others avert their eyes. A few glare. When they’ve cleared out, I spy Mira at her familiar perch by the porthole.
“J-man, Lucy has a point.” Marco throws his arm over my shoulder. “We’ve pulled ahead, but the other pods will catch us. The only way to keep the lead is to show up as a pod. That means Mira needs to show up. Play by the rules. She’s our ace in the pocket for the bounds, no doubt, but we’ve got to get through to her. If they’re ever gonna take us seriously as a pod, we can’t have all the focus be on your flight high jinks and Mira’s flip-outs.”
“Fine.” I don’t have the energy to fight about it. If they expect me to say something, I’ll just go do it. I turn and head for Mira’s table. “Come on,” I call over my shoulder. “We’re a pod, remember?”
I pull out the chair next to Mira. The others take seats, too. They look at me. All of them. Well, all of them except Mira, who is the only person whose attention I need. She presses her fingers against the porthole, and the others press me with their glares. Who made me the spokesperson?
This is going to be awkward. I close my eyes and try to remember the tact Addy uses when she explains things to me she thinks are painfully obvious.
“Listen, Mira,” I say. “We’re top in the rankings, thanks to you. I don’t know how you do that magic with the gloves, but I think it’s awesome”—remember the pod—“we all think it’s awesome.” I look back at the others, hoping someone will jump in.
“He’s right. We do,” Lucy says, and nods at me to go on.
Gee, Lucy, thanks for the help. Never could have done it without you.
“Anyhow,” I continue, “what I’m trying to say is, you need to pull it together a little more. You know, during Mobility and in the dorm. Even here in the mess hall. We really need you to act more like a team player. For the pod.”
Mira doesn’t move. Her right hand is splayed against the window; her left dangles loosely by her side. She gives no sign she’s even heard me.
My mind flips back through all our encounters. I remember guiding Mira into the hall after our first pod meeting. How I took her hand and somehow she made me feel strong and safe.
The last thing I want to do in front of everyone is hold Mira’s hand, but I’m not coming up with any other strokes of genius. I wipe my palms against my uniform pants and reach with my right hand for Mira’s left. I gather up her fingers and awkwardly thread them with my own. I keep our hands beneath the table. If the others see, at least they’re nice enough not to say anything.
“Mira, you’re part of our pod. We’re glad you’re part of our pod. But you need to start acting like it. Do you understand?”
I stare at her, and the weight of everyone else’s stares cuts a hole in the back of my skull. Mira’s hand lies limp in mine. Then, ever so slowly, her fingers curl and press against the back of my knuckles. Her right hand drops from the porthole, and she turns to face us. Her murky eyes slip across the table until they lock with mine and come into focus.
Mira dips her chin. A nod, maybe?
Good enough.
The good news: I managed to get through to Mira. It helped that Lucy convinced Waters we needed the security alarms turned off in the cadet dormitories so Mira could go to the music room without waking everyone up. There was never a big formal announcement about the alarms, but we knew he worked it out. Marco checked the boys’ dorm to see if the alarms had been deactivated there, too. He slid out into the hall and back in one night. I braced for the alarm, but nothing happened. The next week Mira flew during blast pack practice, rode the chutes with us to pod session, and even sat with us in the mess hall. We held the lead in the rankings for the next post.
The bad news: my flight skills barely improved. We always placed in the bottom half in the relay. Some of the other cadets struggled, too, but I was the worst.
Even though we’ve been first-place pod in the rankings for two weeks in a row, the other pods have to be creeping up. Everyone’s percentages are improving. Mira’s perfect score is not as much of an outlier anymore. Marco and I both cleared 75 percent. Unless I get my act together with the blast pack, we’ll be passed for sure.
No matter what I try, I can’t get the hang of the pack’s control straps. My brain knows where it wants to go, but something gets messed up in translation.
And Regis won’t let me forget. Not even for a millisecond.
I’m thinking it all through as I lie on the hangar floor, staring up at the crossbeams, watching the other cadets zoom by in their packs. I just took out half a dozen empty barrels in my last practice pass at the relay course.
Regis flies low and hovers right above where I’m sprawled on the ground, trying to heave one of the barrels off my leg. “No words,” he says. “I have no words for how awesome it is to watch you fly.”
I manage to heft the barrel off me. Regis kicks over another that lands on my stomach.
“I’m finally starting to understand it.” Regis has a sinister smile on his face. Whatever he finally understands is going to be a real treat.
“What?” I should keep my mouth shut, but I stink at that.
“I couldn’t figure out how a klutz like you could be in the first-ranked pod,” Regis says. “But now it’s all coming together. See, I was right. There’s no way you and Dancing Queen are in the best bounding pod. It just doesn’t make sense. The pod leaders rigged the last two rankings. They’ve fluffed up your scores to make the rest of us try to chase you.”
“Yeah, right,” I say.
Regis lands on the hangar floor and stands over me. “My only question is, are you in on it? Or are you stupid enough to think you’re winning for real?”
“Shut up, Regis,” I say. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Regis laughs. “Oh, I think I do.” He soars off for the finish line.
I try my best not to let Regis get to me. It’s easiest when we’re practicing in the Ezone or hanging in the pod room. I wish all Academy classes were taught in pods. It’s the one place I can relax and be myself.
Marco and I wait for Cole after pod session. He stayed late to talk to Gedney. When he steps out of the room, he has a ginormous smile on his face.
“What’s with you, Wiki?” Marco asks.
“Gedney helped me figure something out.”
“What?” I ask. “You’re all lit up like a firecracker.”
“It’s a surprise,” Cole says. “I’ll show you when we get back to the dorm.”
We have half an hour to kill before mess hall. I planned to use the time studying for the Technology quiz, but with Cole all fired up, it doesn’t look like I’ll be getting much studying in.
As soon as we make it to the dorm, Cole grabs a seat at the center table. The dorm is maybe half full; about twenty-five cadets mill around. Cole flips his tablet face up and activates projection mode.
Instantly a military formation shows in the air space above the tablet.
No way. “Evolution?” I say.
Marco leans against the table. “Hack Man, you’ve outdone yourself!”
Cole grins as he manipulates his men in the projection. “No hacking. The Gadget Guru helped me out with this.”
“But how is that possible?” I ask. “I thought all external communications were disabled and banned. You can’t play Evolution without access to the webs.”
“True,” Cole says, “unless it’s in beta mode.” Cole explains that Gedney downloaded the beta version of Evolution of Combat onto his tablet for free play. Since Cole’s tablet is the host, anyone can join the game via their tablets automatically.
“Genius!” Marco says. “Dude, what level is this?”
“World War Two,” Cole says. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his WWII figure. He places it on the table with his scimitar-wielding Crusades figure.
“Of course the Hack Man is a game master,” Marco says. “That’s incredible!”
Cole checks his health points and stockpile. He rearranges the force formation and subs in some new majors. I study his strategy. It’s impressive. He’s playing a long game, but it looks like he’ll take the battle, too. He really is an Evolution genius.
I pull my tablet from my pack and link with Cole’s game. He assigns me two captains and explains the offensive. Marco straddles the chair on the other side of Cole and joins as a captain of an amphibious unit.
Before long all the cadets in the dorm sit at the table with their tablets. Cole directs the advance, and we storm the beach at Normandy. Our offensive line stretches the entire length of the dormitory table. Our soldiers dash for the beaches. I can almost feel the spritz of water from the raging waves and the give of sand against my feet.
For the first time in weeks I don’t feel the pod divisions. I don’t remember how much I suck at the blast pack. I don’t think about the alien behind the occludium shield.
We’re just a bunch of guys playing Evolution. And we kick butt.
“Do you know what they’re saying?” Lucy asks when we drop our trays down at dinner.
Oh no. I have a sinking feeling I know exactly what they’re saying.
“I’ll tell you,” she says.
Of course you will, Lucy.
“They’re saying it’s rigged. They’re saying we’re really in last place. They say some of us have the lowest Ezone percentages in the whole Academy. Can you believe that? We’ve got to do something.”
“Wait,” Cole says. “Who’s saying that?”
Marco looks up from his tablet. Even Mira shifts her weight in Lucy’s direction.
“Everybody,” Lucy says. “I heard it from at least five different girls in the dorm. Even Meggi and Annette are starting to believe it.”
Marco shrugs and looks down at his tablet. “Who cares? It’s not true.”
“I care,” Lucy says. “I thought we were going to do something about this. You know, start acting like a real pod so they’d take us seriously.”
“What if they’re right?” Cole says. “My percentages might be the lowest.”
“Oh, please,” Lucy says. “You hear only the part of a sentence that pertains to you, Cole. Or, in this case, doesn’t pertain to you but you think does because you’re half delusional and completely self-centered. Your percentages are climbing. You’re not the worst. You’re just the worst in our pod.”
“Gee, that’s comforting,” Cole says. “Thanks.”
As they bicker, a great weight forms in my chest, like someone enclosed my lungs in an iron cage. This is my fault. We’ve been so focused on Mira, we haven’t bothered to admit the obvious. My complete failure at flying combined with Regis’s grudge against me has doomed the pod. They’d be better off without me.
They’re still fighting, but I tune them out. When Lucy’s midsentence, I stand.
“Look,” I say in a too-loud voice, “I’m sorry, okay? I’ve tried to work on my flying, but I just suck. Live with it.”
Lucy calls out to me as I rush to the dishwasher to drop off my tray, but I don’t look back. I’ve got to get out of here. Unfortunately, that’s not really an option on a space station. The lights hum, and the walls close in around me as I follow the sensor stripe to the dormitory and the small comfort of my bunk.
The bunks hum with snores. Thank goodness. This day couldn’t have ended fast enough. They posted the rankings right after dinner. Cole and Marco filled me in when they returned to the dorm. We’ve slipped to fourth place. Regis and his minions hounded me right up until curfew. I camped out in my bunk, my nose in my tablet, betting they’d eventually get tired of teasing a nonresponsive bump on the bed. When I wouldn’t take their bait, they harassed Cole, who was so down about his Ezone percentages, he was probably having nightmares that everything Regis said was true. At least they left Marco alone. And, hopefully, the girls fared okay. Mira’s oddities are old news, and Lucy can hold her own.
I count the minutes after lights-out until almost an hour has passed. That’s long enough. Everyone should be asleep. I slip the case from my bunk frame. The leather gives against the press of my thumb, and the metal clasp is cool. I flip open the top and peek inside. The sheen of my clarinet reflects the dim light of the night runners. As I slide my fingers across the dark wood, I shiver. It’s the same feeling I have when Mom makes chocolate chip cookies. The high starts before the first taste.
I know the alarm is off, but no one else does—well, no one other than Marco and Cole—so I have to be quiet. I dangle my legs down from the top bunk and drop the remaining distance to the floor. I’m grateful Cole campaigned for the front bunks. I only have five meters to cross to the exit.
Luck is with me. Finally. I’m due some luck. I make it out of the dorm and all the way to the sensory gym without encountering a single person. The halls are empty. Almost too empty.
The sensory gym is dark. I trace the wall with my fingers to keep my bearings. When I reach the corner, I turn toward the music room. I don’t reach for the light switch. Something about playing music in the dark feels powerful. And the last time I played—alone with Addy on my final night at home—was in the dark. I want to connect the nights. Anchor them in time and space with a huge sweeping arc, so I know there’s always a place for me. A place where I feel safe and loved. A place where no one judges me.
The piano dominates the room. I slip along its side, finding my space in its sleek curvature, resting my case on its wood. I lift my clarinet from its velvet cradle and fit its pieces into place. As I raise the reed to my lips, I erase the humiliation of the blast pack—my failed launches and wacky turns and crippling crashes—at least for a moment. I am in control.
The first note is dead on, and I push until the tone rattles the legs of the wobbly chair in the corner. I close my eyes and let the music guide me. Let it go. Let all of it go.
When the first notes from the piano rise up to meet me, I’m not surprised. On some level, I expected them. I must have known Mira would come. Maybe that’s why I’m here—to be with Mira—although I can’t fully admit it.
Mira’s music swells and weaves with mine. Our song holds echoes of the melancholy tune from before, but our crescendo peaks with joy and promise. The notes carry so much power, they can’t be contained by the music room. They run into the sensory gym, prance along the trampolines, dash through the halls, fly through the chutes, and dance into the infinity of space.
When it’s over, I take apart my clarinet and close the case. I glide my hand along the edge of the piano until I reach the keys. Mira stands, her faint outline visible in the darkened room. She takes both of my hands in hers. I’d let most of my emotion out in our music, but I let what’s left flow into Mira. Homesickness, Regis, the nagging feeling something terrible is about to happen. I let go of the fear that I’m not good enough, that I’m holding back the pod. I release my utter bafflement about why my pod keeps looking to me to lead, and the big ball of awkwardness I know has something to do with Mira.
Her hands curl around mine. Her silent words sound in my mind.
I am here for you.
Hand in hand, Mira and I leave the sensory gym and walk down the hallway that is as empty as when I first left the dorm. And then, all of a sudden it isn’t. The sound of voices swells from an intersecting hallway and grows louder. A large group of people is approaching. Fast. And we’re out of our beds after curfew.
“Quick, we need to hide,” I say. A chute cube is a few meters ahead. I rush Mira inside. “Climb into the trough. Get far enough in so they won’t see you.”
Mira climbs into the chute, and I scoot in after her. There’s only half a meter of flat space between where the chute takes a sharp turn down and where the arrival trough is visible from the hallway. In other words, Mira and I are crammed practically on top of each other.
I don’t know what to do with my hands. Anywhere I set them, they seem to be touching Mira. Finally I just shove them under my butt. Her hair is in my face. I can’t swipe it away because I’m sitting on my hands, so I try to blow it. That kind of works, but not really.
The whole thing is so awkward, I stop paying attention to the voices. Ah yes, the voices, the whole reason Mira and I are stuck in the chute in the first place. The voices are still coming. I inch forward with my head until I can see the floor in front of the chute cube. Dozens of pairs of feet shuffle by.
Where are they going? Or, the better question turns out to be: Where are they coming from?
A loud female voice stands out above the rest: “Thank you for the briefing tonight. We are prepared. There shouldn’t be a problem as long as we follow protocol. Still, raising the alert to orange is the prudent course.”
Admiral Eames?
“Admiral, I agree raising the alert level is imperative. Frankly, I’d feel better if it were raised to red,” a second voice responds. I know that voice. Waters.
“Noted, Jon. Do not doubt we take your warnings very seriously. But in this instance, I don’t want to create false panic. Canceling the field trip to the Paleo Planet would cause alarm and could derail the tourism initiative. Not to mention, I certainly don’t wish to get us off the training timetable.”
“Yes, it’s best to hurry.” Gedney’s there, too?
“We’re all aware of the time sensitivity,” Admiral Eames says. “I understand there’s a standout in the group.”
“A few, actually,” Waters says. “We knew of their aptitude going in, so we’ve grouped them in the same pod.”
“That’s wise,” Admiral Eames says. “With these recent developments, we’ll need them sooner than we expected.”
Wind rustles Mira’s hair and blows it back in my face. As I strain to hear Waters’s response, a low hum drowns out his words. And the walls of the chute start to vibrate.
Oh no. Someone’s in the chute.