Qualify (34 page)

“Great. . . .” Laronda shudders. “Just what we need on this planet, more cops. And not just any cops, but scary
alien
cops.”

“We didn’t get around to study their legal system yet in Atlantis Culture class,” I mutter. “What untold pleasures await us. . . .”

Logan again gives me a brief look.

We enter the Arena Commons and it is packed. Every walkway on all the upper levels, and every square inch of the floor below, including the several sections of bleachers, track, and the areas around the equipment in the middle of the great stadium space, is taken up with Candidates from all the twelve dorms of the RQC.

The crowd is huge, and in many places people in grey uniforms and various colored armbands are seen keeping order—Dorm Leaders, security guards, and various adults who are officials. We are jostled closer inward by the stream of incoming teens, as more and more people arrive in the Arena building.

For the first time, it occurs to me, we are, all of us from this particular region, gathered in one place. Candidates for Qualification, together we can fill an ocean . . . or at least a sizeable lake.

And just to think, this is just one RQC out of thousands across the country and around the world.

Talk about fierce competition for each spot!

Everyone’s eyes are eventually drawn to one raised platform near the end of the stadium. On it, a group of Earth officials stands, looking serious, like a bunch of school principals. Someone tests a powerful stadium microphone, and then a man steps forward and speaks, after clearing his throat. The sound of his voice hits the space powerfully and creates a reverb.

“Your attention, please.”

Waves of noise pass around the stadium, then quiet down.

“Candidates for Qualification at Pennsylvania Regional Qualification Center Three. You have been asked to gather here upon the request of the Atlantis Central Agency, which has been notified of yesterday’s tragic incident. As many of you know already, three Atlanteans lost their lives yesterday, and one was injured. After the investigation conducted immediately following the incident, the ACA has strong reasons to believe the shuttle explosion was not an accident but was in fact an act of sabotage, and hence an act of terrorism against this institution, and indeed against all of you, potential Candidates for Qualification.”

Noise rises again in the stadium.

“Oh, crap,” Laronda whispers next to me.

The speaker continues. “The ACA will therefore initiate a full high-level investigation starting immediately, and has sent down a special team to that effect.” He pauses, and in that moment a group of nine Atlanteans is seen, ascending the stage. Their hair gleams metallic gold from the distance so it is easy to tell them apart from the Earth officials.

I stare intently, watching for familiar faces, and can barely make out maybe one or two Instructors, but mostly these are Atlanteans I have not seen before.

I watch their armbands, an even mixture of yellow, green, blue, and red.

One of them is
black
.

My insides do a kind of painful summersault, and something grips me with an unbelievable wrenching force. . . .

Aeson Kass stands among them, and he is upright, appearing absolutely healthy and unharmed—oh my lord, he is entirely
unhurt
. Indeed, his figure is confident, straight-backed and full of that same familiar leashed power that I’ve come to associate with him. And his face—from this distance it is hard to tell his expression, but I am willing to bet it is as cold and hard as stone.

My jaws literally fall open. Or is it figuratively? Whatever—in this moment even grammar fails me.

Seems, I am not the only one. . . . Everywhere around me, furiously nervous whispers sound, and I can hear the mutterings of “Phoebos” and “Aeson Kass” and “wait—isn’t
he
the one who was injured?”

I feel a squeeze at my arm, and it’s Logan. He is holding me, and pressing my arm meaningfully, and his expression is intense.

I nod barely to indicate I get it.
Show no unusual emotion, no response
.

And yet, even Logan cannot keep his face completely straight. A frown and stunned shock is there, somewhere.

While we speculate and stand there, staring in confusion, Aeson Kass steps forward on the platform and takes the microphone.

“Candidates,” he says—and his voice is exactly as cold and powerful as I somehow expected it to be. Gone is the soft calm timbre that I first heard during our brief exchange in my very first Combat Class, which he graced with his presence and in which he explained to
me
why Atlanteans must learn fighting and self-defense. Now he is all hardness and force, and for a moment I wonder if he is using a
power voice
.

“You are here because in the coming days not only will you continue your Qualification training, but you will be observed closely for evidence of criminal activity. Yesterday, three brave and remarkable human beings lost their lives. Three of our finest Fleet Pilots. Three of my beloved friends and brothers. They lost their lives, and I regretfully, once again—
lived
. Had I not piloted the second shuttle separately, I too would now be dust in your atmosphere.”

Aeson pauses. His words that have been ringing out like falling hammer blows, cease. If I did not know better, I might guess he is having trouble speaking. . . .

The stadium is in silence.

“Their names—their names are
Chiar Nuridat
 . . .
Felekamen Gori
 . . .
Tiliar Vahad
. Remember them well, for they died serving the Atlantis Fleet and serving
you
. Pilot First Rank, Chiar Nuridat, Allegiance to Red Quadrant, nineteen years old, seven years in the Fleet . . . Pilot Second Rank, Felekamen Gori, Allegiance to Yellow Quadrant, sixteen years old, five years in the Fleet . . . Pilot First Rank, Tiliar Vahad, Allegiance to Blue Quadrant, nineteen years old, seven years in the Fleet,
astra daimon
—my brother, not by blood but by
heart
.”

He pauses again. His voice never breaks but he stands up on the platform so motionless he could be an effigy. His face is blank—only his body is frozen in grief.

I glance away and see Logan’s face, which shows a wealth of emotion in that instant. It occurs to me, he must be thinking of his own brother Jeff, a real brother by blood, who is soon going to die in the service of his country.

And then Aeson Kass speaks again. “These brave Pilots lost their lives because a tiny crucial part was removed from the flight navigation console on their shuttle. This part is a program chip, smaller than the tip of my finger. We know this because all our vehicles transmit their operational status during flight—and so we knew exactly what was wrong. It was removed, and the shuttle was effectively disabled once it had reached a certain altitude and level of thrust. There were no means of recovery once the critical parameters were reached. A cascade reaction was initiated as a result, and the shuttle exploded.

“The same part was removed from my own shuttle. The only thing that saved it—and me—from a similar cascade and explosion was that I had not yet reached that specific altitude and thrust. And while I tried to regain control of the shuttle, it went into an unrecoverable spin that ended with me unconscious on the ground. I have no recollection, and no explanation, short of a miracle, as to
why
and
how
my shuttle landed without me. But in the process of this investigation, I fully intend to find out.”

As I listen to him say this, I find I am trembling with suppressed emotion. What that emotion is, I am unsure. But it makes me want to jump out of my own skin. . . .

Logan notices my state—he can probably feel me shaking, because his hand is still tightened around my arm. And he watches me with concern.

Meanwhile, Aeson Kass continues speaking.

“Know, that whoever is responsible for this coward act of sabotage and blatant murder, will be apprehended. If the persons responsible are present in this room—know that you will be found, and you will have to answer to
me
.” His final words fall like blades slicing. Aeson glances behind him and nods to the other Atlanteans standing on the platform. They step forward in unison while he moves aside.

“We are the Correctors assigned to this investigation,” one of them says, approaching the microphone. “You will get used to our presence on this campus. If you are stopped and questioned, you may not refuse or resist, on pain of Disqualification and incarceration. If you cooperate and are not found guilty, you will have nothing to worry about. As of this moment, we assume control of this Regional Qualification Center, under the supreme authority of Command Pilot Aeson Kass. He will have final say and final judgment. All else falls within our individual jurisdiction.”

The Corrector falls silent and retreats a step from the microphone.

Aeson Kass, who has been watching impassively, moves forward again. He speaks in conclusion—and is ruthless: “Candidates, you are now dismissed.”

“O
kay, that was terrifying.” Laronda turns to me as we exit the Arena Commons super structure. “One thing I don’t get—how come he looks so strong and healthy?”

“Who?” I glance at her and avoid direct eye contact with Logan.

“He! That scary hottie VIP guy—Aeson Kass, ‘Phoebos,’ or whatever his nickname is.”

“Call sign.”

“Whatever.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I don’t know.”

“He should be beat up or something, don’t you think? Walking on crutches maybe. Bandages, scratches, anything!” Laronda muses out loud. “They say they carried him on a stretcher
yesterday
, all bloodied up. So how come he’s all recovered like that? Is that even human?”

I’m wondering the same thing. But then I think of what I know of Atlantean high-end medicine. The kind that’s available for their
citizens only
. . . .

“If they took him up to their starship and treated him with their high-tech medical equipment overnight, then it probably explains it. They must be able to work miracles!”

“You’re telling me!” Laronda continues to make her eye-popping face.

Logan takes the opportunity to interrupt. “Well, ladies,” he says, with a glance at the crowds of Candidates moving past us. “Have to apologize but I need to run. I see some people from my dorm walking right over there who I need to see, and then, my next class—so I will see you all later. All right?”

He looks at me as he ends speaking, and I nod silently.

“Bye, Logan!” Laronda drawls with a smile and a glance from me to him and back again.

I bite my lip. “Sure, see you later.”

Dawn just waves at him.

And Logan disappears in the crowd.

I wistfully stare in his wake and wonder what’s up.

Chapter 18

E
veryone is super high-strung in Agility Training. The only consolation is, because of the assembly time cutting in we get an abbreviated version of the class.

But first, true to her drill sergeant form, Oalla Keigeri makes us run nine laps, which is two laps more than the previous day. We all struggle, and by lap seven hardly anyone is actually running—more like dragging ourselves in a slow walking “jog” around the perimeter of the gym hall.

I come in dead last once again. But at least I make Jack Carell, the heavy kid, really work for his second-to-last spot, locked in a dead heat with Janice Quinn, who manages to beat him at the last minute and comes in barely ahead of both of us.

Oalla approaches me to scan my token for the last-place demerit. For once her face is unreadable, and she barely registers my presence.

She is still grieving
. . . .

For some reason I find it more frightening than having her wrath directed at me head-on.

Later, we get out the hoverboards and practice making sharp turns on a flat and level plane, sticking to six inches above the floor—no going up and down, thank goodness, so that my fear of heights gets to take the day off.

I notice Blayne Dubois, riding his hoverboard and generally keeping away from the rest of us, as he is practicing rather advanced maneuvers from his lying-flat position. His form is sleek and he looks focused and confident on that board.

At the end of the class, he once again pushes himself up by his hands and arms into the wheelchair, sends the hoverboard away and instantly becomes the same withdrawn and angry guy who slouches with his hair in his face, and who does not talk to anyone.

Once again I get the crazy impulse to approach him, but think better of it.

Instead I head upstairs to Atlantis Tech.

M
r. Warrenson starts out the class by teaching us a few more musical note sequences to orient and move levitating objects.

Laronda is not in my class today, so I am partnered with an older teen boy, Antwon Marks. Antwon has super dark skin and wears a smart earring in his left pierced nostril that has a gold chain running from it to the one in his ear.