Qualify (38 page)

. . . 
or about to be Disqualified
.

“Look at me . . .” he says, seemingly gathering himself after that inexplicable pause. “I
said
, what are you doing?”

Slowly I turn my head a miniscule bit to face him—to face his
eyes
.

“I . . . don’t know . . .” I whisper.

The intensity of his gaze is impossible to describe.

“You what? You don’t
know?
”

“I am sorry, I don’t—”

“I did not tell you to step forward and stand on one foot. So, what are you doing?”

“I—must’ve misunderstood.”

If I’m correct, I think his fury is now white-hot. But oh, he keeps it under such perfect control. . . .

He takes a step closer and slowly looks me up and down. And he looks at Hasmik, who is just about to pass out.

There is perfect silence in the arena, except for a few shufflings of feet and the lonely sound of one boy jumping up and down, his foot laboriously striking the floor.

If I weren’t in the middle of such utter hell right now, I might even find it kind of funny, in a sick, remote, ten-years-later kind of way.

“Your name, Candidate.”

“Gwen Lark.”

He watches me—for what seems to be another extended moment during which his dark blue eyes bore through me and I am rendered into nothing.

“Do you make it a habit to willfully
misunderstand
instructions?”

My heart is racing so fast it feels like I am going into cardiac arrest.

“No . . . only sometimes.”

“And is there a reason you are holding hands with the Candidate next to you?”

I take a deep breath and glance at Hasmik who watches me through narrowed fluttering eyelids, while rivulets of sweat pour down her temples. “She is hurt,” I say. “She cannot stand like that on her right leg. . . . At least not for much longer.”

“I see. So you think you are helping her?”

“I
am
—helping her.”

There is a pause.

“You are
cheating
. The consequence for such action is Disqualification. For
both
of you—”

“No!” I exclaim, and let go of Hasmik’s fingers as if burned, while a sudden lump forms in the back of my throat, and I realize helplessly I am about to cry. “No,
she
had nothing to do with it! It was all my idea! Please, she really
is
hurt!”

“—and punishment for disobeying direct orders is also Disqualification,” Aeson Kass continues, ignoring my outburst. His voice has grown deceptively soft—it is the silence of a coiling serpent—and for some reason it makes it even more terrible.

I stand, still balancing on one foot, breathing in shallow rapid gasps, while the gathering pressure of tears is overwhelming my eyes.

Well, this is it
, I think.

In that exact moment, Hasmik creates a timely interruption by quietly collapsing next to me. One instant she stands upright on one foot, and the next she seems to buckle downward, passing out softly, and lies on the floor at my feet.

I gasp, then immediately move. I crouch before her, reach out to feel her head.

“Candidates, halt!” Aeson’s hard impassive voice resounds above my head. “All of you, stop and you may put both feet down.”

Someone blows a whistle—I am guessing it’s Oalla. It is followed by the shuffle of many feet.

I continue holding Hasmik’s forehead, and she is breathing faintly. A few seconds and her eyes flutter open. Her skin is cold and clammy to the touch, and I see Keruvat Ruo approach and squat down next to me. His large hands examine her, feeling her pulse, then come around her from the back as we raise her up into a sitting position on the floor.

“Please . . .” I whisper to the dark Atlantean. “She really needs a doctor!”

“No . . . I am all right,” Hasmik barely whispers, as she gets up slowly with our assistance and stands upright in a daze.

Incredibly, she then attempts to once again stand on one leg. She must have missed hearing the halt command when she was passed out on the floor.

“You,” Aeson Kass tells her coldly. “For the rest of this class, you are excused. You are also excused from today’s Agility Training. Go back to your dorm and see the doctor.”

“Am I—Disqualified?” she whispers.

“No. Not
today
.”

I take a shuddering breath. “What about me?”

Aeson Kass turns back to me, and again I am seared by the overwhelming intensity of his gaze. It makes me unable to breathe.

“You—I still have not decided.”

The rows of Candidates around me have fallen into perfect silence, watching in fear and suspense.

I notice Keruvat glancing at Aeson, and even Oalla has a subdued expression on her chiseled face.

In that moment Xelio Vekahat moves in closer and speaks softly to Aeson.

Aeson Kass breaks away his gaze from me and turns slightly, listens to what Xelio has to say. I watch their heads together, a contrast of metallic gold and midnight black, hear the lilting sounds of their Atlantean language. . . .

I wait and stare helplessly, and at one point notice how they both glance down at my feet—at my sneakers.

Oh, no! Has Xelio just told him about the shoelace incident?

I am so screwed now.

I feel a wave of numbing cold pass through me, as despair settles around my mind.

But Aeson Kass turns back to me, and his hard gaze has become a peculiar neutral thing. It’s as if his anger has receded somehow, pulled back behind a curtain, and I sense the lessening of pressure.

“Candidate Lark, for the moment, you are
not
Disqualified. However, you will report here later tonight during Homework Hour, for disciplinary action.” He points with a slight motion of his head to the raised platform deck in the back of the stadium. “Be on that deck, on time, at 8:00 PM sharp, to receive further instructions. That is all for now.”

He looks away from me. And just like that, I am suddenly a nonentity.

I watch Hasmik leave my row and walk away slowly. The Atlantean Instructors watch her retreating back.

In the same instant Aeson Kass begins to pace our rows once more, raising his voice yet again into a terrible thing of power.

“Candidates! Resume your Forms and Examples! Show me First Form, Floating Swan! The rest of you who are Examples, stand on your right foot!”

I
t is over eventually, and the Yellow Quadrant is dismissed. We shuffle out of the Arena Commons building, beaten down and so tired that it hurts to think. Outside, it’s clear skies. The mid-day sunlight is so bright it is painful to the eyes, as we walk back to our dorms.

“What an absolute evil jerkhole!” Laronda says to me, as soon as we’re outside.

“Are you okay?” Dawn adds, in her eternally mild voice, but the expression of her brown eyes is serious and extra sympathetic as she watches me.

“Yeah, man,” Jai says, limping next to us. “Sorry about that, Gwen! Like you need any more punishment! This whole Qualification thing is one Big Punishment! I mean, yeah, and now my feet are super-killing me. . . . At least you only had to stand on one foot for five minutes.”

“Hey, girl, you did the right thing there.” Tremaine comes up to me and pats my shoulder.

I nod silently. I am completely numb, beaten down.

“What can you expect? He’s one of their military big-shots,” Mateo says sullenly, walking with his hands in his pockets. “And he is
way
pissed. He thinks it’s all our fault, we killed his friends in that damn exploding shuttle, so he’s taking it out on us.”

“I get it,” I say. “But there was no need to be so merciless! Hasmik was genuinely hurt, it’s not like anyone was actually cheating!”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter. It’s how the military is. Typical basic training—a combo of mindless obedience and endurance stuff. It’s all a bunch of sadist drills, nonstop.” Mateo shrugs.

“I don’t care what it is, he’s still a scary sadist jerk!” Laronda mutters. “And I am so sorry, girlfriend, you absolutely don’t deserve this crap.”

“Thanks, I know.” I glance at Laronda and make a tired attempt at a smile.

“What’s
disciplinary action?
Wonder what kind of punishment it is,” Dawn says.

I don’t reply. What can I say? That I’m wondering too, that I am terrified, full of cold numbing sickness? Even now, it twists my gut with fear and nerves. . . .

W
e get back to Yellow Dorm Eight and the Dorm Leaders are in the lobby, waiting for us with grim faces, together with several security guards. Two Atlantean Correctors in grey uniforms stand in the middle of the lounge, holding pieces of unfamiliar scanning equipment in their hands, and talk among themselves softly in Atlantean. They ignore us completely.

How do I know they are Correctors? I vaguely recognize them from the assembly. There are no other distinguishing marks about them, no special police insignia, merely a yellow armband on one of them and a blue one on the other.

Apparently while we were away being tortured in Combat, our dorm has been searched.

“Everyone, you are free to proceed upstairs to your dormitory floors, if you need to,” Dorm Leader John Nicolard says. “Your belongings are undisturbed, and everything has been left as before. The search scan is non-intrusive. It is now over.”

Candidates throw curious, scared, hostile glances at the Correctors, and many of the teens go upstairs.

I don’t bother. Neither does Laronda, or Dawn, who just shrugs.

“They’re welcome to go through my underwear,” Dawn says, and calmly heads for the cafeteria.

We eat lunch quickly and according to my schedule I get the unlucky class order of having Agility Training right after lunch. Still exhausted from Combat, on all levels, emotional and physical, I trudge downstairs to the Training Hall gym.

All I can think of now is, I really need to conserve my strength . . . for the ordeal later tonight. Whatever it happens to be. . . . Ugh.

Agility Training is the usual painfest. Minor difference is, Oalla Keigeri makes us run
eleven
as opposed to nine laps around the perimeter, and this time I share my demerit with Janice Quinn, as we pathetically tie for last place. We also share a weak smile and then give each other high-fives as we stagger to a stop and bend forward to grasp our knees, while panting for air.

Oalla shakes her head at Janice and me. She then gives me an intent look as she scans my token, but says nothing of a haranguing nature. Probably she pities me, knowing what awaits me later tonight. . . . On the other hand, knowing Oalla, I doubt she’s feeling sorry, just being practical and letting me conserve my strength.

Later we ride hoverboards around the perimeter, learning to handle corners and curves at high speed as we practice turns. Blayne is faster than most of us as he handles the turns, and I watch him cruise past others repeatedly.

“Wow, that was awesome!” I tell him at one point as he passes me from overhead in a very clever maneuver.

Blayne turns his face and merely nods, and I see the flash of his blue eyes, just before the underside of his hoverboard eclipses his face from my vantage point. And he speeds away.

When dinner hour comes, for most of it I am numb. I eat quietly in the cafeteria, tasting nothing, sitting alone, until Laronda and a few others join me, and honestly I don’t even remember who’s there, or what’s in my mouth, that’s how numb I am, thinking, thinking, even while they’re telling me nice things and being all supportive.

All I can think of is,
how much longer till 8:00 PM?

Meanwhile, I notice that other Candidates I don’t even know are giving me looks today. Everywhere I glance in the cafeteria, people are starting at me, whispering. The alpha crowd bullies stare, and sarcastic laughter bursts out from their tables.

Claudia walks by our table and suddenly leans over and grins at me. “Have fun at eight o’clock tonight, Gwen-baby!” And then she moves away.

“Hey, lay off her!” Laronda calls out in her wake.

“It’s okay.” I reach out and touch Laronda’s arm. “Don’t worry about it.”

And then I look down at my mostly untouched plate of spaghetti.

Afterwards we go hang out in the lounge area for about half an hour. Even then, everyone, it seems, is staring at me.

The whole Yellow Dorm Eight knows I am going to be punished tonight. What am I saying? The whole
Yellow Quadrant
knows—they all stood witness to it earlier today.

Which means that probably others know too, Gracie, my brothers. What must they be thinking? They must be going crazy, worried sick!

It’s seven forty, and before heading out, I drop by the bathroom, where I stare in the mirror for a minute and look at myself—pale face, sunken cheeks, terrified eyes, sweaty tendrils of hair sticking out everywhere from my messy ponytail.