Qualify (80 page)

I do as he says, opening the box and seeing several small pieces of orichalcum inside. I pick one out and take it.

Aeson watches my movements as I sit on the desk, and my legs and feet dangle involuntarily. “Now, close the box. Then set an Aural Block on this piece, so that no one can again key it. If I recall, you had much success with setting Aural Blocks back in Los Angeles.”

“Oh, yes,” I mutter. And then I clear my throat and sing the complex sequence to key the orichalcum to me and make it obey no one else.

“All done,” I say almost proudly, while the orichalcum piece hovers in the air in front of me, now my little perfectly obedient servant.

Aeson looks at me, craning his neck slightly. “So, you think this piece is now impervious to anyone’s commands?”

“Well, it should be—at least that’s what I’ve been told. And what I saw happen in practice. So, yeah.”

In reply he parts his chiseled lips and sings a very strange intensely piercing tone that combines in it a low rumbling vibrato.

The sound is so rich, so tangible, so
awful
somehow, that it scrapes along the surface of my skin. . . .

And the next instant my “perfect little servant” piece emits a brief flash and falls down, inert and dead, on the surface of the desk. It also appears far more dull in color than normal orichalcum—the usual patina of gold flecks is missing from the charcoal grey.

“Oh!” I say. “What just happened?”

“It’s fried.” Aeson makes a light sound similar to a snort.

“Wait! What?” My jaw drops as I stare at the piece. “It’s
fried?
What does that mean?”

“Try re-keying it.”

I frown and then sing the basic sequence.

Nothing happens.

I try again, this time loudly, and focusing as I’ve been taught, to not only key an object but to set an Aural Block on it once more.

Again, nothing.

“What did you do to it?”

Aeson watches me with a trace of amusement. At least it’s what I think it is, because there is
something
there, underneath the surface.

“Seriously, what just happened?”

“In plain English, I broke it—scrambled and messed up its quantum atomic structure. It is no longer orichalcum, but something else. So, yes, it’s fried.”

“Okay, wow.” I stare at the dead piece of now-unknown material, with growing disturbance. “I didn’t know you could do that with sound. That’s mind-blowing.”

“It is an advanced technique. You will learn it,” Aeson Kass says.

“Me?” My lips part again. “Okay, that sound sequence sounded impossible, but I suppose I need to try. . . .”

“Few things are impossible if you know what needs to be done,” he tells me. “And knowing how to completely neutralize orichalcum technology will come in handy for you during Finals. This will be your homework assignment for the week. Show me how quickly you can master this technique. I believe you can do it, especially after what I’ve seen you do the last time we talked.”

I feel my cheeks start to burn. He is talking about the compelling power voice that I accidentally used on him. . . .

“I’m sorry about that power voice, I didn’t mean it, I was just so upset—”

“I know,” he says. And he glances away. “Now, enough for today. Candidate Lark, you’re dismissed.”

For some reason the way he says it feels very abrupt, so that I start to slide off the desk then pause. I watch him as he takes the damper box and leans down to put it away into a lower desk drawer. His pale strands of hair fall forward over his face, like a golden curtain.

When he straightens, I find that I haven’t moved, and I am still looking at him.

“You know,” I say, because yeah, my crazy big mouth takes over. “I really do mean it, I am truly sorry. And—maybe if I had any idea how to control it better, you might teach me so that I don’t do that kind of rude thing again—”

Aeson Kass grows even more still, and slowly looks at me. “You have no idea what you’re asking, Candidate Lark. It’s not rude—it’s
illegal
.”

“Then maybe you should tell me more so I do know? Teach me what I need to know, please!”

The Atlantean shakes his head. “No,” he says, and his tone is hard and cold and implacable. “The less you know of it, the better. Maybe if you Qualify eventually, and spend time on Atlantis, you’ll get the opportunity to explore this dark aspect. But now—you are a raw beginner. And this conversation is over.
Dismissed!
”

“Okay! All right!” I exclaim with irritation, getting off the desk surface. And then I mutter, trailing off. “Don’t need to yell at me like I’m one of your Fleet cadets. . . . What an uptight—”

“
What?”

“Oh, just chill, take a break, already!”

Too late I realize what I’ve said. “Damn . . . I’m sorry!” I put a hand over my mouth.

But he is staring at me, and he is out of his chair. . . .

“Candidate Lark, any comparison with you is an
insult
to my cadets,” he says in a soft voice that sends prickling fear along my skin. The intensity of his gaze . . . it cuts through me and I suddenly feel completely transparent, vulnerable.

I take a step back and find that my heart is pounding.

“But you are correct about one thing.” He takes a step toward me. “I need a break, and I intend to take it as soon as you
vacate
my office.”

This time I say nothing and bolt for the door.

As I shut the door, I turn back briefly in a kind of visceral inexplicable terror that is also electric and wild . . . and I see him stand, watching me.

I
hurry from the VIP offices hallway of CA-2, almost at a run, turn the corner and there’s Logan. I am a little surprised to see him on this interior side of the glass security barrier and not in the front reception area. How did he get in here past security?

And then I see he is talking with someone. Hearing me approach, he turns, and I see the person behind him is Nefir Mekei. Both of them grow silent momentarily and then Nefir nods to me with a light smile.

“Oh!” I say, because my heart is still pounding. “Hi, Instructor Mekei. And Logan! What are you doing in here? How’d you get in? Okay, ready to go?”

“Just waiting for you,” Logan says, smiling. He then nods to Nefir, and the Atlantean turns away and walks to his own nearby office.

Logan turns to me. “How was everything?” he says, as we start walking.

“Stressed! Hot! Pool!” I say, because my heart is still pounding. And then I tell him an abbreviated version on the way.

We get back to the CA-2 pool area, and looks like everyone has the same idea. The huge pool is packed with swimmers. Some Candidates are doing laps, but most of the teens are just splashing in the water, and there is the sound of happy squealing and laughter.

It’s a sound I’ve almost forgotten, over these past weeks of the Qualification ordeal.

The sound of kids having fun.

And, as I glance around some more, I see there’s quite a number of Atlanteans in the water too, male and female. They are doing sleek elegant laps, their long blond metal hair tied back, their bronzed bodies skimming the water with a noticeable skill level far above our own. They don’t just swim—they appear to be flying. . . .

We hurry to the lockers and change out of our uniforms into the unisex swimming gear. Logan puts on the swim shorts, and I immediately feel my cheeks flush at the sight of his amazing bare chest and the definition of his hard abs, his beautiful muscled arms and runner’s legs.

Oh dear lord, good thing there’s cold water!

I’ve slipped on the shorts and tank top, and now, with a squeal, I jump in ahead of him.

Cool water closes over my head. The soothing bliss of it surrounding me is indescribable!

And then Logan’s sleek body strikes the water next to me in a clean dive.

I emerge to the surface, then spit and sputter, treading water easily. . . . The pool has no shallow or deep end; it’s all the same equal two-meter depth so you have to keep floating. The overhead canopy of glass near the distant ceiling is translucent so you can see the night sky. However the entire area is well-lit with overhead and wall lights. Pool water shadows shimmer along the tiles and reflect in the distant ceiling.

“Gwen!” someone shouts. “Hey, over here, girlfriend! Par-ta-a-ay!”

It’s Laronda and a bunch of people from Section Fourteen—in other words, our Pennsylvania RQC-3.

“Race you!” I exclaim to Logan, and start swimming in decent freestyle strokes in their direction. For once I am not completely incompetent when it comes to a physical activity, so for a few seconds I give Logan a run for his money before he overtakes me.

We reach everyone, and for the next ten minutes it’s just carefree silly stuff, and then someone points out the various swimming Atlanteans as one by one they pass by in various lanes, doing their impressive, elegant laps.

“Okay,” Laronda says in a loud whisper, finger-gathering the water around her teasingly into froth. “I don’t care what anyone thinks, but these people are
hot!
Just look at all those gleaming bods, the perfect muscles, the sleek, oozing, tight booty hotness. . . . Yum-yum! Mrrrow! Oh lord, thank you, thank you! I can die happy now, if the Asteroid takes me.”

“Hey, their girls are super-hot too!” Jai says with a silly giggle in a high tenor voice.

Meanwhile, Logan gives me a slow smile and then submerges and glides smoothly underwater next to me. And the next second I feel a deep stroke of his palms against my waist as he holds my sides and then pulls me down lightly. It’s just deep enough that my mouth and nose is still above water, but now we are both closer to the edge of the pool that has a small shaded overhang.

Logan remains under a few seconds longer, as his fingers move up and down my waist. And then his hand quickly slides under my tank top in the water, brushing up against my front. I suck in my breath as his fingers barely touch the underside of my breasts then move away. The wonder of it is, the whole thing is almost invisible under the surface waves set in wild motion by all the swimmers. . . .

I make a small sound, just as he comes back up, deeply inhaling air, and his dark hair is plastered to his forehead in wet curls. But he is still holding me closely, with both hands now sliding up and down my sides and back, and snagging the curve of my waist, my hips, occasionally bumping into me with his torso, the full length of him. . . . When it happens, we both seem to freeze momentarily, floating, while sweet languid honey fills me all over, a rich spreading warmth despite the cool water.

I know he cannot kiss me here, cannot do anything more overt, but he can touch me underneath the waves. . . .

And he
does
.

“G
wen!”

I start, coming apart from Logan, because I think we’ve managed to sort of embrace while upright in the water, our hands all over each other, without making it too obvious what we’re doing.

“What?” I say to Laronda.

“Stop petting, and look!”

I splash-turn to where she’s pointing and Dawn swims up to us in the same moment to mutter, “Hey, look, Gwen, it’s your Atlantean a-hole, Phoebos! Isn’t that him, over there?”

“Wow,” Hasmik says. “He’s—”

“Amazing!” Laronda finishes.

I stare . . . and my gut does this weird thing where my heart kind of lurches then dips down into my other internal organs and then hammers against my diaphragm or lungs or whatever—it feels like an internal war is going on inside me, and there’s this crazy drum-beat. . . .

Aeson Kass is walking along the distant opposite side of the pool. He is wearing nothing but swim shorts, and his long sun-metal hair is pulled back into a segmented tail, the kind of hair fashion that other Atlanteans use when swimming.

His body is perfect . . . just as I suspected. His skin is tanned to a deep-bronzed sheen, or maybe it is the natural coloration of his body. Wide shoulders and chest tapering into a slender waist, tight hips encased in shorts, gorgeous defined abdomen, powerful legs, muscular arms.

And he still wears the black armband around one bicep.

Aeson turns his head and says something to a couple of other Atlanteans walking behind him. I recognize them immediately as our RQC Combat Instructors, Oalla Keigeri and Keruvat Ruo, also wearing standard issue swimming gear and showing off spectacular bodies. Oalla laughs, and Keruvat leans in to say something else, at which point Oalla shoves him back lightly with her hand, followed by more laughter.

In that same moment Aeson takes a step to the edge and dives into the pool. His body hits the water like an arrow, and he disappears under the surface. I blink and moments later I see him surface many feet away, and then begin moving with powerful effortless strokes that hardly break the water, as he swims laps in one of the farther lanes.

At some point he passes by us, six lanes away, and he never breaks his stride. I freeze and hold my breath in suspense, but I don’t think he even sees me. . . .