Four sits down, keeping her distance from me.
I try to ignore her but she's staring at me.
So I try to be mean and demand, "What do you want?"
"You look pathetic, freak."
"I don't like you. Go away."
"I don't like you either, but too bad. I'm stuck here with you. We're assigned partners, remember? Or did you hit your stupid head?"
"Yeah, and the last ten years of being stuck with you have been torture enough. Stop looking at me."
"Fine. Stop talking to me."
"Fine."
I swipe open my HoloDisplay and occupy myself with studying for our upcoming trigonometry exam. Rendering a solid HoloPen to work with, I start going over the homework from previous lessons, writing in red. The HoloDisplay is made tangible with the pen, and writing on it feels smooth like glass. I like it a lot.
Four brings up hers too and starts scribbling. "I'm going to draw you getting your head chopped off."
"I don't care."
"I don't care either."
"It doesn't sound like it."
"What do you know? Stupid."
"Sorry, what's your GPA?"
"Shut up. Loser."
"I'm not talking to you anymore."
"Fine. See if I care."
I give her a blank stare.
"Nevermind. I don't dislike you, Five. I hate you."
Sticks and stones. That's a lie. Words hurt a lot.
"Now I'm drawing you getting your head chopped off and set on fire."
"Whatever. Your drawing sucks anyway. You're terrible at it."
That shuts her up. Finally.
I think I actually hurt her.
I'm not sure how to feel about that…
Once refresh starts, the Orders arrive with snacks and drinks, bringing me a big sandwich too. Trying not to let Eight see it, I eat the whole thing quickly. Much better.
After that, I avoid everyone and take my snack and drink far away from them. But I can't escape the dirty looks from Eight and Four. Like always, I try to ignore them, switching to scratch at the scabs on my legs instead of continuing to make new ones on my arms. They're already red enough.
"Hey," Three says, slowly approaching with a hand up. "Are you okay?"
"I'm…" My voice chokes off. "Um. I'm fine. Thanks…"
"Okay! Hey, Eight told me you mentioned something about fireflies this morning. Do you perhaps think this is a topic upon which you could perhaps… shed some light on?"
I stare at him.
He does finger guns.
I ignore it. "You… You like insects?"
"I like insects! But mostly reptiles."
"Reptiles are cool."
"Reptiles are so cool!"
"I haven't seen any in a while. Have you?"
"I saw a skink the other day. Over there." He points toward the river bed meandering through the open Field. "By those rocks."
"Oh. What's a skink? And does it… stink?"
"Ha! Nice one! It's a little tiny small lizard fella! Really small. Maybe that big." He pinches his fingers close together. "But this long, nose to tail." He parts them much wider.
"Whoa. What was it doing?"
"I don't know. I didn't ask."
"Very funny, Three."
"I think they eat insects."
"That's mean."
"Life circles around," he says with a shrug. "Or something. Maybe it was hunting. Or basking. Reptiles like to bask. The sun is really warm. Can you tell me about fireflies now?"
"Um. Okay." I'm a little excited. "They make up the insecta family Lampyridae. And they make light by chemical reaction between oxygen and… Wait. That's… Is that religious diction? Um… Lu–Luciferin?"
I pause, looking around.
It doesn't seem like I'm in trouble.
"Um. Anyway, the luciferin is oxidized and produces bioluminescence through cold light. As in, it doesn't release heat. It's just visible light energy. And it's fascinating…"
"I don't get it. Why is that a big deal?"
"Light is energy. Incandescent light bulbs lose a lot of energy as heat, that's why the glass is always hot when they're on. LEDs on the other hand are much, much more efficient, and only generate a fraction of the amount of heat energy, but they still do release it. Luciferin doesn't. It's purely visible light."
"Okay, that's cool. I see why you like fireflies."
"They're pretty. I like watching them when they're simulated out here." With a sigh, I hug my arm to my side. "But the Archway hasn't done it in a while…"
"I'll see what I can do about that."
"Three, there is nothing you can d–"
"I'll see what I can do about that!"
Mister Mason's sharp whistle carries.
He smiles at me. "We should go."
"Yeah. Okay…"
Finishing my drink, I give my trash to the Orders. Maybe I should try talking to Three directly. Instead of hoping he talks to me. Could he be my first friend, maybe? Best not to get my hopes up.
Standing beside him, I murmur, "We can talk some more about this later, Three. If you want."
"Really? Okay! Heck yeah, I do!"
Mister Mason gathers us around. Some whispers itch at my back but I don't pay them any mind. He regards us all with a mixture of pride and discomfort. "Well. It's that time. Let's hold the questions until we get there, yeah? Come on. This way."
Instead of going left at the Cafeteria, we go right, back toward the Dorms. There's a wide atrium called the Dorm Plaza on the center level of them all, the walls of which simulate the Field as if we're looking out over it. A weather report and forecast shows what to expect throughout the day and week.
Looks like sunshine. Damn it…
The large door at the end of the Plaza, which has always been sealed and blocked off, sits wide open. We've never seen what lies beyond it. There's no Field or windows or sky down here, only gray metal and warm light. Not white metal. Gray. It's different from anything I've ever seen in the Archway Complex.
We descend a flight of stairs and then he leads us into a long dark gray metal hallway. Midway down the hall, he lets us into a strange, unfamiliar room.
It's all the same dark gray metal, illuminated by imitation incandescent bulbs, and our equipment is assembled in ten individual stations just in front of us on racks rising out of the floor. Beyond that to my left is a wide open square platform with about a meter rise from the rest of the room. On the far side of that stage thing, I can see another set of gear and a door identical to the one we just walked through. There's space for two giant displays on the wall farthest from the doors, and an observation deck on the side closest to the hallway. The platform itself is illuminated from each corner by amber spotlights hanging from above.
"This," Mister Mason announces, "is the CRD! Combat Readiness Dojo! This one belongs to us, to the Five-Fifty. We're no longer in the Simulation Rooms for this period, we're in here. General group training is over. You're all equipped with the same fundamentals. Now it's time for individual focus. Hang on, Five."
I lower my hand.
"Meaning, only one Subject will be actively participating at a time. The Subject on stage, as we call it, will receive direct and personalized assistance, recommendations, and criticism. The other nine Subjects will be observing, watching how their teammates fight, taking notes, giving feedback, and so on. The idea is to give you specific adjustments while giving everyone in the Deca more of an idea of what it is you're doing during combat. This will enhance Deca synchronicity and build your trust in one another."
There's more whispering behind me, about me.
I hear my name. Why don't they ever stop?
"This room is fully equipped," he says, gesturing around. "You've got refreshment stations in those corners. Facilities on the far side, over there. All of your gear is here, and two Orders will be posted just outside both doors at all times in case of emergencies." Mister Mason fidgets with his black beard. "Any more questions? Five."
I ask, "When do we start?"
"Eager, eh? Slow down, little beaver! Let's make sure everyone is on the same page."
Aw. Beavers are cute. The big teeth…
Oh, and capybaras too. So freaking cute!
Four asks Mason, "How is the Subject onstage selected?"
"It's numerical in sequence. Naughts to Nines. Everyone has a turn. Six?"
The tiny girl adjusts her glasses. "Are we really fighting other Decas? Today?"
"Yes, you're really fighting other Decas. Today. Eight."
"Will we ever be able to fight each other? I really wanna be able to fight within our own Deca."
I cannot imagine why.
"Each of you are too specialized and there isn't much room for common footing in a direct competition with each other. Besides, you're an operational team. Team. All ten of you. Fighting each other is counterproductive."
"I disagree, but whatever."
For once I'm in agreement.
I'd like to beat her.
"Any other questions? Zero."
"Who are we facing? Which Deca?"
"Forty. They'll be here once they finish their warmups. Speaking of, let's get started on those. Gear up, Fifty."
My three favorite words.
I always love getting to wear my gear.
My gear stand itself is just the top half of a mannequin. As far as equipment goes, mine is very light compared to the others'. I only have three different things I need to put on. First is the Cortex, a circular power generator a little larger than my palm. It magnetizes to the metal implant in my chest, booting up with a gentle light blue pulse.
Next is a pair of Bracers, two rounded white triangular plates which magnetize to the backs of my hands. They boot to life and sync up with the Cortex, then pulse a soft blue glow on my pale skin. They're pretty…
Last is the most important. The Halo. The sleek titanium ring opens across the forehead, so it's more like a laurel in my opinion. As a Prime Digit Five in the Archway Program, this is my specialty. It's my gun, basically. And a lot more than that. The Halo is the conduit of my ability.
Conduction of psionic forces through the Halo Stream.
With my Halo, I don't feel half as weak. Or scared.
Putting it on is like falling into a dream. I drop out the back of my skull and plunge into an infinite sea of cosmic mystery. As if I'm swimming through a nebula or slowly being atomized by a black hole. It's transcendent. Impossible. Unreal.
It is the best feeling I have ever experienced.
With a gradual exhale, I close my eyes and visualize the connections–skin, muscle, tendon, bone, nerve, spinal column, brainstem, medulla, amygdala, frontal lobe. Everything flows together.
When I open my eyes the Halo generates its own visuals, adding even more information to my vision. Around my teammates glows a soft color specific to each person, the gradient smoothly shifting as their thoughts change and their bodies move and their emotions sway.
Aura. That's what the Program calls it.
I focus on my own condition, keeping a keen eye on my blood pressure and thankfully finding it stable now. My heart rate is nominal, and so are my cardiovascular conditions. None of my problems from this morning persist. I am calm, prepared, and ready.
With that, my psionics counteract gravity and lift my body a few centimeters off the ground with a gentle weightless float. I love floating. It's so relaxing. I'm constantly tempted to lay down and lounge, suspended just above everyone's heads.
But I've never actually done it.
I think I'd get in trouble…
"Zero," Mister Mason says, "you have the full lead. Consider me a bystander from here on. The Five-Fifty is officially your Deca."
"Yes, sir." Zero's Cortex blinks red, and her Aura glows the same scarlet shades. She's far from nice, but she isn't mean to me either. It's good that she's in charge of us and not Eight. "Hurry up, Three."
"I'm trying," he groans, slotting his full armored helmet on as the mechanical stand itself dons his ExoArmor. "Can't make this thing go any faster!"
"Then listen up. Five-Fifty, this is our chance. I know some of us are friends with the people in Five-Forty, but for the next few hours, they are our enemy, and I don't want to see any gentleness or mercy spared. We will win because we have trained hard to do so. They won't know what hit them."
She's radiating red. Why is she so agitated?
I don't get it.
"Are you done, Three?"
He stomps over, armored up. Even taller now. "Fit as a fiddle, boss!"
"Mister Mason, how do we do this in the new environment?"
"The same way you do it in the Sim Rooms."
"Yes, sir. Form up, Five-Fifty!"