Bounders (20 page)

Waters walks into the circle. He must have been hanging back along the edge of the Ezone. “Gedney, if you don't mind, maybe I can step in here.”

Gedney moves aside, muttering. He's too quiet to hear, but I bet it's something like
No time to waste
or
Don't delay
. I hold back a laugh. That guy cracks me up. He moves like a snail while he urges us to rush. Whatever. Somehow speed and learning how to tap our inner sources don't really match up.

Waters reaches into his pocket and withdraws a pair of gloves. He fits them onto his hands, pressing firmly on his fingers to align the fit. He lets his arms hang loosely by his sides, and jogs in place. Then his body jerks like he's been struck—the neural connection—and he holds his hands out as the current blasts toward his palms.

“I will never get tired of that,” Waters says with an enormous grin. “Anyhow, Gedney is the mastermind, but I'm perhaps a little less murky. Let me get to the meat of this. The light is a manifestation of matter, but not all matter. It's a manifestation of the matter available to construct all of you. That's why you needed to provide a bio signature to enter. The Ezone is preprogrammed to recognize your matter composition. When Gedney activated the program, all the matter that is you and can be used to construct a replica of you appeared in this room. Your building blocks, if you will.”

“I don't get it,” Lucy says. “We're not made of light.”

“No, you're not,” Waters says. “But the bright light against the blackness makes an excellent training room. And if you remember Gedney's demonstration in the pod room, when you use the gloves to manipulate matter in order to bound, the gloves enable the matter to glow.”

“Building blocks?” Cole says. “That's not possible. The building blocks of organic matter are far too small to see. There are lots of lights in here, I'll give you that, but nowhere near equal to the number of atoms needed to rebuild us. If that's what you're suggesting.”

“You're right on both counts, Cole. That is what I'm suggesting. And atoms are certainly too small to see with the naked eye. But, as it turns out, atoms are smart. And they're even smarter in the presence of those gloves. The atoms in this room sense you. They've given you a head start by assembling in larger masses.”

“Smarter in the presence of the gloves?” Cole asks. “I don't understand. How is that possible? I've never read anything about that kind of technology.”

“Well, Cole, some of this you'll have to take on faith—partly because I don't know the answers, and partly because the answers aren't mine to impart.”

Hmmm. What exactly does that mean? The answers aren't his to impart? As in
secrets
? I never knew before I came to the EarthBound Academy, but Earth Force is full of secrets. The alien prisoner pops into my brain. I can't see a connection, except for the secrecy, but I'll have to give it some thought later. I have enough to focus on now.

“So, your job is to gather together your building blocks. Assemble the atoms needed to replicate yourself.”

“Great,” Marco says. “No problem. Except how the heck are we supposed to do that?”

“It's hard to explain, but you just know. Your brain knows on some innate level, and you can tap into that level through the gloves. I'm not good at it. Gedney's the best. Well, I should say, Gedney's the best for now. We suspect—in fact, we've bet our careers and, dare I say, the future of humankind—on the assumption every one of you will be better at this than anyone has ever been before you.”

“Why?” I ask.

“Your brains are better attuned to this. You have an advanced ability to open your minds and absorb limitless stimuli without triggering your filtering systems. And you have the ability to process all that information. Simply put, no one other than you Bounders is capable of that because we bred it out of our genes. Ha! I'm still pained to think about it. Genetic engineering was hailed as one of the biggest advancements of the twenty-first century. Humanity's own technology is its greatest folly.”

There is so much packed into Waters's words, I can't begin to digest it all. Filtering systems? Genetic engineering? I guess it boils down to a simple fact: Bounders can work the gloves. That's why we were born.

“Okay, so grab a spot,” Waters says. “Spread out. Focus. Think about what I said, and hopefully it will help you tap in. Try to gather the materials necessary to replicate yourself, the first step of bounding. You'll have half an hour to prepare, and then we'll test.”

“Oh no, no, no. Wait a second . . . ,” Lucy says. “You're going to rank us? Already? We're not nearly prepared. We need more help, more guidance. I mean, how can you expect us to master this in half an hour?”

“Your concerns are noted, Lucy. No one expects perfection. You'll be given a score based on the percentage of correct material you gather. In four weeks we hope all of you will be at one hundred percent. We'll start free-bounding Academy-wide in your second tour of duty this fall. And, as you may have heard, the top-ranked pod will be the first to free-bound on the last day of this tour.”

I stare at the blackness behind my eyelids. Tap in to my source? Ummm, sure. Fear creeps up my throat and presses against my windpipe. I'm not afraid of the gloves or the light or even the idea of free-bounding. Not anymore. What I'm afraid of is much worse. I'm afraid I'll fail. I'm afraid I won't be able to do it. I'm afraid I'll be as much of a disaster with the gloves as I am with the blast pack.

I force a gulp of air down my constricted throat and focus. The current between my brain and the gloves sparks. I sense the power, but I'm not sure how to access it.

Let go.
The words appear in my brain. Mira? No way. I thought I'd heard her cry for help in the sensory gym, too. But how could that be possible? Still, for a split second I was sure she was there. There, as in,
inside my brain
.

Well, it's worth a shot. I relax my muscles, starting at the tip of my toes and moving upward. By the time I reach my neck, my body feels like jelly, and I'm not sure how much longer I can stand. My eyes roll inward until I see a faint orange-yellow glow that must be coming from inside my brain. Without warning, my brain grows—larger and larger—its energy pushing outward so I'm not sure it will be contained by the four walls of the Ezone.

And then I'm there. I'm part of the light. Everything slows, and even the smallest spark sharpens with exquisite detail. Just like Waters said, I know. I know what is a part of me, and what isn't. There is a natural attraction between the lights that can bond together to form a replica of me. There is no other possible solution. It's just right, in the purest way I've ever known.

My heart whips around inside my chest, but I'm no longer afraid. I'm overwhelmed with a joy unlike anything I've ever felt. I am comforted, because I know with certainty everything in the universe is right and ordered and made of equal parts logic and intuition.

I pull together my light. Reaching, grabbing, reigning it in. When I've harnessed all the light within reach, I flash my gloves to the corners of the Ezone, where the other lights float. I reach out with my mind and draw them to me.

The brightness in the room grows more concentrated, and the patches of blackness expand. The other cadets are harnessing their light, too. Cole has a small sphere in front of him. He still gathers light within reach. Marco's and Lucy's spheres are bigger. Mira, though . . . at first I think I must be seeing things. Her sphere of light is enormous, at least twice as big as mine. She stands still, her hands by her sides, serenely gazing at her light.

Waters claps his hands. “Good. Nice work. All of you. We're off to an excellent start. Gedney, kill the program.”

Without warning, the room darkens. As the light extinguishes, something is yanked from my chest. I sink to the ground and bury my head in my knees. Exhausted. Empty. Lonely.

“We'll start the testing now,” Waters says. “You'll each be tested individually. You'll have sixty seconds to gather your light. Your score will be based on the percentage you've gathered. The pod's score will be posted to the Academy rankings. Bear in mind, your scores will be posted as a cumulative number: one pod, one score. No one outside our pod will know the internal score breakdown. And I expect to keep it that way. Understood?”

We grunt our agreement, but we're all so tired, we don't have much more in us than that.

“Remember,” Waters says, “the pod that places first in the rankings will free-bound in front of the entire Academy on the last day of this tour of duty.”

Marco catches my eye and nods. Yep. We have to win this.

“Lucy, we'll start with you,” Waters says.

“Really?” she says. “Can't someone else go first? Or, if I have to go first, do they really all have to watch? I mean, it's not that I don't love spectators. I'm an actress, you know. But I haven't mastered this. Like, at all. And I really want a chance to practice before—”

“Lucy, get ready.” Waters waves around a mechanical device. “Gedney cooked up this clever measuring tool—a quantum caliper—to gauge your percentages. The clock starts in ten seconds.”

Lucy hops up and dashes to the center of the Ezone. A few seconds later the lights appear. At first she does nothing.

Come on, Lucy! Do it for the pod.

She raises her arms and reaches for the light. I'm impressed; she's fast. She carves a huge circle of black around her. When Waters calls time, she has a good-size sphere of light.

“Nice work, Lucy,” he says. “You clocked in at twenty-three percent. Cole, come on up.”

Cole walks to the center of the Ezone. “Before I start, can we talk through strategy? I'm not sure how to begin.”

“You'll get the hang of it,” Waters says. “This is all about practice.”

Cole shifts his weight from foot to foot. When Waters starts the clock, he throws his arms out by his sides. He waves his hands, brushing the light around him, but his sphere grows at an agonizingly slow pace.

“Okay, Cole, you got the first one under your belt,” Waters says. He checks the quantum caliper. “Four percent. Next time try not to think so much.”

Cole looks crestfallen. It's one thing to disappoint yourself—another thing to disappoint your pod. I know all about that, thanks to the blast pack. When Cole slumps down next to me, I pat him on the back. “You'll do better next time, for sure.”

“Jasper, you're up,” Waters says.

Watching Cole brought on even more nerves. Lucy hit 23 percent. I have to beat that. I close my eyes and shake out my arms, waiting for Waters to start the clock.

As soon as he says go, I open my eyes and take stock. The light comes into focus, and I tap in, sensing what I'll need. Then I'm off. I scoop the light as fast as I can. When I've gathered everything within arm's reach, I pull light from across the room.

“Time,” Waters says. “Very nice, Jasper. Fifty-seven percent.”

Fifty-seven percent? Yeah. That rocks. I'm not klutzy at all with the gloves. In fact, somehow the gloves make me feel like I'm in total control.

“Dude, that was incredible,” Marco says. “How'd you do that superhero magnet move?”

I shrug. “Just tapped in, you know. To my inner source.”

Marco laughs. “Yeah, right, so easy.”

“Marco. It's you,” Waters says.

Marco pushes up and crosses to the center. “Let's get to it, then. Let me tap that inner source.”

As Marco grabs and pulls at the light, he scrunches his face up like he's in pain. He definitely has an edge on Cole, but I can see his weakness. He's trying too hard, like he has to force everything rather than finding the natural flow.

“Stop,” Waters says. “Excellent first try. Thirty-one percent.”

That's good. And Marco shows promise. He'll do better next time. That leaves only Mira.

Mira strides to the center of the Ezone. Again, she seems taller, or, I don't know, maybe more elegant? Like I even know what that means. The word just popped into my brain when I looked at her.

Waters starts the clock, and Mira lifts her arms. Light races toward her. She isn't grabbing the lights; she's commanding them, beckoning them to her. Effortlessly. Her arms glide in wide scoops and falling arcs. Amid the sparkles, she dances.

And then she is still. Like before, she stands motionless in front of a large sphere of light.

Waters hasn't called time.

Lucy looks at me with her eyebrows raised. I shake my head. What is Mira doing? Doesn't she know her score affects the whole pod? Come on, Mira. Not this, too.

The seconds tick on.

“Time,” Waters says with a strange tone in his voice. It's hard to describe—too quiet and a tad questioning.

The light before Mira vanishes, and her shoulders slump like something has been ripped from her. She walks past us toward the door of the Ezone and leans her forehead against the wall.

“Well?” Lucy asks.

“What?” Waters says in that strange tone.

“Duh. Her score,” Marco says.

Waters doesn't respond. He simply stares at Mira.

Gedney shuffles out to meet Waters. When he reaches him, he grips Waters's shoulder to steady himself.

“As I suspected.” Gedney says, reading the quantum caliper. “One hundred percent.”

“ONE HUNDRED PERCENT? I MEAN REALLY,
one hundred percent?” Marco whispers. “How the heck did she do that?”

Cole, Marco, and I huddle in a corner of the boys' dorm before breakfast.

“Don't talk about it anymore,” Cole says. “My score is just too humiliating.”

“Come on,” I say. “You'll nail it next time. Plus, no one can hack like you. No one.”