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Chapter 29

“Charleston! Jambon!” Professor Thurmond called out to the group of rangers warming up in Combat Dome as class got under way. “To the floor!”

Each class, Professor Thurmond chose two people to spar in front of everyone with the new weapons they were learning as a teaching tool before pairing everyone else up to fight.

Charleston groaned on the inside at the sound of his name. Normally, he’d relish the chance to humiliate the bully in front of everyone, but he was exhausted. Not that he’d been up late with Gala – their date had ended with a hug after dinner – but he’d been up late because of Gala.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. The smell of her filled his nose, her laughter filled his ears, and the feel of her pressed against him during their hug filled the rest of him. Sleep, for once, had eluded him, as Gala dominated his thoughts. Once he had fallen asleep, she dominated his dreams so that he awoke unsure if he’d ever slept.

“Charleston!” Professor Thurmond called again. “To the floor!”

Only then did Charleston realize Jambon was already out in the center of the wooden floor, monstrous hammer in hand, waiting for him.

They all trained in the bow and the sword, but each ranger got to choose one more weapon to specialize in. Jambon, of course, had picked a giant war hammer with a nasty looking spike on the opposite end of its flat head. Charleston had to admit it looked impressive, but he also thought it fit Jambon’s personality – big, brutish, and slow.

“Your weapons?” Professor Thurmond prompted as Charleston started towards his opponent.

Jambon sniggered as Charleston hurried to retrieve the knives he’d left in the Staging room.

He’d picked knives because they were easy to conceal, which he thought would be particularly handy when moving incognito among a strange civilization.

He hadn’t realized just how many types there were, though. Looking over his collection now, he chose a parrying knife and dirk. The parrying knife had one of the longest blades of any of his daggers, but it also had two sturdy, nasty spikes that jutted up and out away from the main blade in a vee shape. It was designed to catch a blade, and could even disarm an opponent, if Charleston timed a hard twist of the dagger properly.

Against a weapon the size of Charleston’s body, however, he doubted he’d be parrying much, but he didn’t really have any better options.

The dirk, meanwhile, was an elegant looking dagger with a long thin blade. It was good at penetrating armor and easy to conceal. Again, none of that would matter much against Jambon and his hammer.

But that was what their training was for. They had to learn to fight not just with their chosen weapons, but against what their enemies could be wielding.

Thus, it was dagger versus war hammer.

Still, Charleston had always been at a size disadvantage against Jambon. He knew the best way to defeat the bully was with his superior speed and dexterity. In this particular battle, he would need to use his advantage to dodge, obviously, but not away. He would have to dodge into the swings, minimizing their momentum and the potential damage they would do, while allowing him to get in range to strike with his much smaller weapons.

He started back towards the Combat floor, then grabbed a few throwing knives as an after thought.

Jambon smirked when Charleston returned, parrying dagger in his left hand, dirk in his right.

Laughter came from somewhere in the audience. Jambon’s cronies, no doubt.

“Begin!” Professor Thurmond shouted.

Charleston immediately dropped into a low crouch and sidestepped to his right, opposite Jambon’s dominant hand.

Jambon, meanwhile, wasted no time in attacking. He brought his hammer around in one swift swing aimed at Charleston’s head. The blow would be an instant kill if it landed.

But even in Charleston’s exhausted state, he easily dodged away from it, though he forgot in his weariness the strategy he’d only just decided on.

Jambon, however, hadn’t put his full strength into the blow. With surprising quickness, he halted the momentum of his swing, took a quick step forward, twisted his hips, and brought the hammer back, spike-side aimed straight at Charleston’s ribs.

Charleston brought his parrying knife up to block and knew before the hammer met his blade that it’d been a bad idea. He caught the spike with his knife just as it had been designed to do, only it was never meant to deflect war hammers. The blow knocked Charleston off his feet and sent a painful jolt lancing up his arm. He rolled awkwardly into a crouch and looked up in time to see Jambon swinging his hammer down in an overhand strike aimed directly at Charleston’s head. He leapt to his left, but not fast enough.

The hammer smashed into his right knee with a sickening crunch.

Charleston cried out and fought the instinct to grab his wounded leg as he fell to the ground. Instead, he dropped the parrying knife and dirk and grabbed the two throwing knives concealed behind his back. He only had one shot at this. Jambon brought his hammer up for another killing blow. Charleston whipped the knives out and flung them at Jambon’s chest. One hit sideways and bounced harmlessly away, but the other struck point first.

“Halt!” Professor Thurmond cried.

Jambon didn’t listen. He brought the hammer down straight at Charleston’s head.

Charleston wasn’t sure what happened next. One second, he was beginning a futile dodge, the next, a blinding flash of light exploded in front of him. He thought at first it was the result of a crushing hammer blow to his skull.

But he could still see. He just couldn’t see Jambon.

He sat up. The large boy was sprawled on his back halfway across the Combat floor.

Charleston looked back at Professor Thurmond in just enough time to see a light fading from his wrist where he wore the computer he used to control the Combat floor. “I said halt!” the giant man snarled.

Jambon lay motionless and silent on the ground as the audience of rangers looked on in astonishment. Charleston slumped back to the floor and groaned softly at the pain in his knee.

After a moment, Jambon joined Charleston in groaning and the class erupted in excited chatter. Gala ran up to Charleston and knelt beside him.

“Are you okay?” she asked hurriedly.

He smiled and gave her an awkward half hug. He didn’t say anything. He just buried his face in her neck and took a deep breath of the flowery-spice smell that made his stomach tingle. She squeezed him back and laughed. Some of the others were staring at them, though most were watching Jambon, who was slowly sitting up, a large burn smoking on his chest.

Charleston let Gala turn their hug into lifting as she helped him stand.

“Charleston,” Professor Thurmond said, his voice harsh and his face red. Charleston had never seen the man so angry. “Return to your ship and get that leg looked at by your surgeon.” He turned to Jambon. “Jambon, follow me. The rest of you, pair off and spar until I get back.”

Charleston grimaced as he limped off the Combat floor, Gala supporting him under one arm. Jambon, stunned and in pain himself, stood and trudged off after Professor Thurmond and out of Combat Dome entirely. Charleston wondered where Tank was taking him, but all thoughts of Jambon and their battle vanished as soon as he and Gala reached the Staging room. Without a word, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, then rested her forehead against his, her hands on his shoulders. Her eyes were closed and she didn’t say anything, but Charleston didn’t need words. He felt as if he could beat ten Jambons at that moment.

Gala took a step back and smiled a small smile. Charleston was shocked to see tears in her eyes. Then she turned and was gone, back on the Combat floor looking for her sparring partner.

Just then, two orbs flew into the Staging room and hovered in front of him. A beam of blue energy shot from one to the other, creating a flat surface that looked like a small bed. Charleston had seen Amo, short for Automated Medical Orb, plenty over the years and had even been carted away on it a few times. He gingerly stood and climbed on, marveling as he always did at the feel of the blue energy beneath him. He expected it to tingle or at least be a little warm, but instead it felt soft and cool against his skin.

Thoughts of Gala and her kiss made the ride to Red Ship seem mere seconds. The orbs deposited him on one of two beds in the bright and sterile-looking medical room. Cabinets and drawers with equipment and supplies lined the walls. Two large sinks occupied one corner. A big, circular light stretched down from the ceiling on a multi-jointed metal arm.

Charleston lay back on the bed and wondered when Ragnar would show up. The Viking had himself only just left Med Dome that morning after Savannah’s beating. He should have been released sooner. The regen nanos typically healed any but the most severe wounds within twenty-four hours. But rumor had it that Ragnar had woken up to find his body covered in the blue light of the nanos and gone crazy, taking it for some kind of sorcery. He’d reinjured himself in his efforts to break the spell and had to be sedated, the treatment begun anew.

Charleston was about to stand up and search the room for something to put on his leg, since it seemed the height of idiocy to let Ragnar, son of Ragnar, anywhere near a wound, but he suddenly felt exhausted. The adrenaline from the battle and Gala’s kiss was gone now, and a weariness he’d never felt before replaced it. He would just close his eyes for a second, he told himself.

He woke screaming, a searing, burning pain lancing through his leg. Ragnar was bent over him, prodding his wound with what looked like a stick. Charleston pushed him away.

“What are you doing?!” he shouted through gritted teeth.

“Ragnar, son of Ragnar, assessing damage,” the Viking said slowly, as if sounding out each word not his name.

“Do you even know what assessing means?” Charleston asked harshly.

“See, to see and, and, and,” Ragnar grabbed at the scraggly beard growing in patches on his face and looked up, “determine!” he said happily. “Ragnar learn that today!” he said proudly, then turned and reached for Charleston’s leg again.

Charleston pulled it towards his chest, grimacing as he did so. His knee was really swollen.

“Give it,” Ragnar waved a hand at Charleston’s leg. “Ragnar sturgeon. Ragnar help.”

Charleston fought back a laugh. “Sturgeon, huh?” he asked, unable to help himself. “You like swimming, do you?” He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat on its edge.

Ragnar gave him a quizzical look. “Ragnar, son of Ragnar, Viking. Ragnar not swim. Ragnar sail.”

“Surgeon,” Charleston replied. “You’re a surgeon. Supposedly,” he added under his breath.

“That what Ragnar say. Now give it,” he commanded again, reaching for Charleston’s leg once more.

“Ragnar, I think we both know my leg is injured. Why don’t you just get the regen nanos and we can skip your assessment.”

“Regen what?”

“The little blue things,” Charleston prompted hopefully.

Ragnar’s face darkened. “Witchcraft and demons!” he shouted suddenly. “Ragnar not let shipmate fall under wizard’s spell!” He went to the counter by the sink, then returned holding a bowl of something dark and smelly. “Ragnar make Viking medicine,” he said, stirring the thick paste with the same stick he’d been poking at Charleston’s leg with. “Dull pain. Leg better soon.”

“How soon?” Charleston asked, eyeing the bowl suspiciously.

“One moon, maybe more.”

“One moon?” Charleston asked. “You mean one month?” He couldn’t believe people used to live that way.

“Lay now,” Ragnar said, pushing Charleston back down on the bed with one hand.

Charleston didn’t know what to do. Well, he knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to shove Ragnar away, find the regen nanos, and treat himself. It couldn’t be that hard. But he couldn’t put any weight on his leg or keep Ragnar away from it for long. He sighed and lay back down, hoping the concoction wouldn’t do any harm at least. “Be gentle!” he said in a final protest.

“Ragnar gentle as young lover,” the Viking said and began spreading the ointment over Charleston’s leg.

And Ragnar was surprisingly careful. The ointment stung a little, but then a numbing sensation washed over Charleston’s leg. “Huh,” he said, surprised. “I think it’s working.”

“Of course it working. Ragnar say.”

After a couple of minutes, Ragnar straightened up and looked at his work. “Ragnar good,” he said, licking the paste that was left on the stick.

Charleston blanched, but said nothing.

“Charleston sleep now,” Ragnar said, though his name came out sounding like two words, Charles Town.

“Sure, Ragnar,” he replied. Then after a moment, “Thanks.”

Ragnar grunted his usual grunt, but Charleston thought he saw a hint of a smile as the large boy turned and left.

Charleston stretched his arms behind his head and twisted some in the bed. He didn’t think he’d be able to sleep. He must have slept most of the day already given how hungry he was. He was just thinking of what to cook and whether or not he should get Ragnar to help him when he woke with a start.

“Wha…where am I?” he asked groggily, struggling to sit up. Had he fallen asleep again? Had everything that had happened with Ragnar been a dream?”

“You’re still in the medical room,” Savannah said. She stepped closer to the bed and gently pressed Charleston back down.

“It was all a dream then,” he said, exhaling.

“What was?”

“Ragnar and his goop.”

Savannah laughed. “Not quite,” she said. “Don’t worry,” she reassured him. “I washed it off and applied the regen nanos while you slept.”

Charleston sighed. “Thank you and thank the Planners they made you our backup surgeon.” He grimaced, however, at his mention of the Planners. He still wasn’t sure what to think of them after what he’d learned in the Underground.

“Does it still hurt?” she asked, misreading his expression. “Ragnar’s medicine was actually quite potent. It should have dulled the pain considerably and I’m pretty sure it would have prevented infection.”

Charleston eyed her, again trying to sit up. She wordlessly pressed a button on the side of the bed and his upper body slowly angled up. “You knew he was making that, that whatever it’s called?”

“Sure,” Savannah said happily. “I helped him.”

“What?” he half shouted. “I think he may have made my leg worse while assessing the damage.”

Savannah laughed. “I told you Ragnar needs our help,” she said. “He needs to feel like he belongs, like he has a purpose. His role is to be the ship’s steward and surgeon. We have to let him be those things.”

Charleston eyed her uncertainly. “You know he ate the leftover medicine, right?”

She laughed again. “It doesn’t matter. It was made of natural ingredients. And dirt. There was some dirt in there, but that’s natural too, right?”

Charleston couldn’t help but laugh with her. The whole situation was absurd and had been since day one. He was glad Savannah wasn’t stressed out about it anymore and could appreciate it with him now, too. “So you let me be his guinea pig?” Charleston asked smiling, though the question immediately brought back his conversation with Green.

Savannah nodded. “Yup! That’s what you get for missing dinner. Not to mention our meeting.”

Charleston groaned. “Sorry, Vannah,” he said sincerely. “I totally forgot about it.” Savannah had instituted a weekly meeting with the team leaders to discuss the week’s war game, the crew’s morale, and any other relevant issues.

“Young love will do that,” she teased.

Charleston rolled his eyes in his best impression of his friend. “What did I miss?”

“New York’s also met someone,” she answered with a grin and a gleam in her eye.

“Who?” Charleston asked, happy for his friend and happy he and Gala weren’t the only ones pairing up.

“Davidson, from Green Ship. He’s in Captain class with us.”

“Ooh!” Charleston crooned. “Now you just need to meet someone,” he added with a wink.

Savannah smiled.

“There’s always Ragnar, son of Ragnar,” he teased, looking to get her back some for letting the Viking treat his leg.

Savannah looked away and bit her lip.

“Wait, what?” he asked, his suspicions instantly aroused.

Savannah met his eyes, her face no longer that of an embarrassed girl, but of his captain. “Don’t miss anymore meetings. It sets a bad example.”

Charleston fought the urge to press her on the issue of Ragnar, but decided against it. “I did learn something interesting on my date,” he began and told Savannah about Ms. Dorothy, the various political factions in New Washington, and the rumors that one or more would try to interfere with the Podkind’s mission. “I think Green was right about Jedidiah,” he concluded. “I’m sure he’s finding recruits, probably from among the Stoics.”

“Hmm,” Savannah replied. “Okay.”

“What do you mean, hmm?” he asked excitedly. “We need to do something! Tell someone!”

“And who should we tell?” Savannah asked. “Who can we trust?”

Charleston stared at her. “What?”

“If Jedidiah does have converts in the city, how do we know who to talk to? How would we know if the person we go to isn’t one of the enemy?”

“What about Mom?” Charleston asked. “Surely she isn’t the enemy!”

“You’re probably right,” Savannah replied, “but I don’t think we have to tell her anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“If this Ms. Dorothy knows of these factions, the Council does too. And they also know about the attacks. And they know Charles wasn’t a robot.”

Charleston stared at Savannah and said nothing.

“They know as much as we do, Char.”

“What about Jedidiah? And Green?”

“We don’t actually know if this Jedidiah exists. Or if we can trust Green.”

“We know someone is attacking us,” Charleston growled in frustration. “It couldn’t hurt to at least tell Mom we think it’s this prophet guy.”

Savannah sighed. “Fine, Char. I’ll tell her the next time I get a chance.”

“You see her in Captain class every day!”

“And so do a bunch of other people,” she said. “I’ll have to wait until she comes to see us.”

So far, each of their parents had stopped by Red Ship to ooh and aah over their children’s new home, new responsibilities, and new life, but they hadn’t made it a habit. What Madeline had said that first day was true – the twelve shipmates had to learn to rely on each other for support, not their parents. And either their mentor had passed this message on to their parental core, or the latter had instinctively understood this, for they didn’t make frequent visits.

“Now,” Savannah continued sternly, “let’s move on to more important matters.”

Charleston sighed, not particularly happy about Savannah’s decision to wait to tell Mom, but understanding it was hers to make.

“Tell me all about Gala!” she said with a sudden smile.

 

Chapter 23

 

It was cold on the bluff where Charleston now stood. He was in one of the domes in Forest Branch on the latest challenge given to the rangers by Professor Medina. He and Arkhangelsk had been put in different locations within the large dome and told to survive, explore, and find one another. It was supposed to help simulate searching an uninhabited planet. They were to cover as much territory as possible, collecting data and samples as they went.

This particular task represented a new phase of their training. It had been more than a year since their move to Space Branch and the beginning of Ranger class. Besides the war games, which had ended the previous week with Red Ship owning the best record, that year had largely been split between the classroom, where they learned the theoretical knowledge necessary to complete their mission, the simulator, where they were put in one strange environment after another and told to observe without being observed, and the Combat floor, where they trained with their new weapons.

Charleston had looked forward to the simulations more than to his other classes during those first months of training. Each simulation was essentially a big puzzle with lots of moving parts. Once he figured out what those parts were, it was only a matter of time before he solved the puzzle.

Not that it was easy. He found himself in societies much stranger and different than any he’d ever studied before. That was the point after all.

He and his fellow rangers became increasingly adept at assimilating to a variety of situations. They became experts at blending in and observing their surroundings, both the various creatures they encountered there and the plethora of buildings, structures, and terrain that went with them. From these and the individual behaviors and actions they saw, they learned how to make educated guesses about the larger social frameworks and institutions of each unique society.

Professor Kim constantly reminded them, though, that these simulations were only that – unreal situations designed by humans in New Washington. They represented what the experts thought could be out there inhabiting another planet. The important thing to take away from this training, Kim liked to repeat, was the skills of observation, attention to detail, and stealth needed to gather information about whatever society they found.

But now they had moved on to a new portion of their training with Professor Medina. She taught them Old World skills like advanced stealth, hunting and tracking, and living off the land. Now, they were putting those skills into practice in the various nature domes that made up Forest and Lake Branches.

Charleston loved everything about Ranger class. His relationship with Gala didn’t hurt things either. They spent as much time as they could together and he couldn’t be happier. Even Jambon’s presence in their classes didn’t dampen that happiness, though the bully tried.

Ever since his near defeat of Charleston, Jambon had been acting more and more cocky and had even begun trying to bully Charleston again, though in a weird sort of indirect way. He’d start rumors about him and Gala, or pick on someone who was friendly with the couple. He never did any of this when Charleston was around, and it was difficult to prove he was the one spreading nasty gossip, but Charleston was positive it was Jambon and his cronies.

And then there was the rabbit.

During their initial training with Medina, they were set loose in Forest Branch to hone their hunting skills and to practice building shelters and fires. In one such class, Charleston had been tracking a deer when he’d been drawn to a small clearing by a horrible screaming. What he found there was both shocking and unsurprising. It was Jambon, huddled over a still living rabbit, slicing the skin from its writhing body. He’d driven small sticks into the rabbit’s paws to hold it in place.

Charleston hadn’t said anything to stop him. He’d simply drawn his bow and let loose a mercy arrow into the rabbit’s chest. Jambon had spun to see who’d ruined his fun and Charleston never forgot the look on his face when he saw who it was. First, anger, then a flash of fear, but then a malicious, leering grin, as if he were envisioning Charleston nailed down and under his blade.

A particularly cold gust of wind brought Charleston back to the present. It was freezing on this bluff. He needed to get moving. The sprawling forest below him was enormous, larger than he thought possible in a domed city, and Arkhangelsk was somewhere down there. He had to survive, explore, and find his fellow ranger in that order. He set off towards the forest below him. He’d spied a gap in the woods that told him there was likely a river or stream there. Arkhangelsk would need fresh water the same as he, so it was a good place to start.

He hiked the better portion of the day, gathering water at the stream he’d seen from the bluff, before following its path through the forest. Along the way, he spotted numerous signs of game, but no game itself. He’d have to gather some edible plants or stop hunting for Arkhangelsk and put his efforts towards hunting something to eat. He decided to make camp, gather wood for a fire and shelter, and then spend the final hours before sundown watching a spot he’d found where the stream curved and created a small embankment of clear, mostly still water. He hoped to catch a fish, but if there weren’t any, he’d sit behind a natural blind the curve provided and watch for any approaching animals.

He waited by the stream until dusk fell, then headed back to his makeshift camp, filling the water skin once more. Before setting out to hunt, he’d constructed a lean-to between two pines using a combination of his knife and brute strength. He built his fire directly in front of the lean-to’s opening and settled back on the boughs he’d placed on the ground.

As he watched the fire dance and pop, he thought of Gala. She’d been on the periphery of his mind all day. He wondered which dome she’d ended up in and how her first day of survival had gone. He felt a bittersweet pang of sadness over their forced separation. He missed her but was thankful to have someone to miss.

With such thoughts came the one most dreaded thought of all – what would they do when they started their mission? They’d be separated for good then.

He wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep, but he was awake now, suddenly and fully, hyper alert to his surroundings. Something had awoken him, some noise or movement, and he strained to hear everything around him. The fire had died down to orange embers.

There it was again. It was a scream, but unlike anything an animal would make. He sat up and reached for his bow, holding his breath as he waited. Another scream echoed through the forest. It was coming from the other side of the stream.

He got to his feet and silently set off towards the sound. He crept through the forest. It was eerily quiet and very cold. He could see his breath puff in the air before him with each exhale.

Another scream, this time ahead and to his right. Then another, then what sounded like shouts.

Are those voices? Charleston wondered. But he and Arkhangelsk were alone in the dome.

At least, they were supposed to be.

His thoughts immediately went to Violet and Green and what they’d told him about Jedidiah. He hadn’t thought of the two children or the Underground much in recent months. Learning that everyone in New Washington knew of the various political factions and the potential danger they posed to the Podkind’s mission had the odd effect of diminishing his concern and fear.

That the Planners had experimented on children to perfect the Cure was awful, but they were all long dead now. As to if the current Planners and Council intended to leave with them, he still wasn’t sure, but it seemed unlikely. Either way, he’d been too busy to give it much thought.

That and his relationship with Gala left him viewing the world through the prism of first love.

But now Green’s warning came back to him as if he’d spoken with the boy just yesterday. Had the self-proclaimed prophet infiltrated New Washington? Green had speculated that he and his people were living underground, but given how large these domes were, Charleston now wondered if they hadn’t secreted themselves away right under the eyes of the authorities.

If he hadn’t been hyper alert before, he certainly was now. If Jedidiah and his people were here, he and Arkhangelsk could be in danger. All of them could be.

A pit opened in his stomach. Gala! His pace quickened along with his heart and he nocked an arrow. An arrow!? That’s all he had by way of a weapon against people who’d stolen war suits?

More shouts and screams and what sounded like laughter filled the forest. His mind raced with the possibilities, striving to put all the pieces together of what he’d been told and what he was hearing. If someone wanted to harm the Podkind, to kill them and take their ships, it would make sense to wait until they were divided, separated not only from their fellow shipmates, but from their classmates, as well. The pilots were off flying somewhere with the engineers. The Gunners were practicing somewhere in pairs. The captains were probably isolated as they usually were. It was a perfect time to make a move against them.

Charleston stopped suddenly. How could anyone steal their ships if the pilots were currently test flying them? And why would someone wanting to kill him and Arkhangelsk be so loud?

It could be a trap, he reasoned. And Jedidiah could have gotten to the ships before the pilots took them. But that didn’t make any sense to him. As Savannah liked to say, the simplest explanation was usually the correct one.

He let out a breath and moved closer to the noise. There wasn’t just shouting, laughing, and screaming now, he realized, but something else.

Is that music? he wondered.

Another minute and he crested a hill. Through the trees he saw a huge bonfire with shadows moving around it. He dropped to the ground and watched, trying to solve the riddle of what looked like equal parts party and ritual.

After a few moments, he unnocked his arrow and crawled closer to the clearing where the fire and people were. He froze at the sound of a twig snapping. Someone was creeping through the woods in his direction. He held his breath and slowly reached for the arrow he’d just put up.

Another snap.

He rolled to his side, arrow nocked and aimed in the direction of the sound. A shadowy movement between two trees caught his attention.

A bow waved up and down from behind one of the trees. He let the tension out of the string and his flexed muscles.

It was Arkhangelsk.

After a moment, the girl peeked out from her hiding place, then crept silently to him. She had grown some in recent months, as had Charleston, and she looked more like an adult at this point, taller and curvier. She still wore her curly hair short, whereas he’d let his own hair grow out.

“What were you going to do,” she whispered after she joined him on the ground, “shoot me?!”

“I didn’t know it was you,” he whispered back.

“Who else would it be?”

He shrugged. “What were you doing sneaking up on me?”

She gave him a disdainful look that was painfully reminiscent of the not-too-distant past when they were enemies.

Which, to Charleston’s continual surprise and confusion, they weren’t anymore. It was the same as how their feud had begun. He had no idea what caused the animosity then and he was just as clueless about what had ended it now. All he knew was that something had changed between them right around the time the war games started and he and Gala had begun dating. Arkhangelsk wasn’t as biting in her remarks to him and, in general, mocked him less. She’d also quit hanging out with Jambon, who viewed this as a betrayal and Charleston’s fault.

“If I’d wanted to sneak up on you,” she said, “you’d never have known I was there to draw your bow in the first place. I broke those twigs on purpose so you would know I was coming and not freak out.”

He grunted, then turned his attention back to the clearing. “Let’s get closer.”

She nodded and they crawled until they reached a fallen tree that offered natural cover. Not that they needed it. From their new vantage point, Charleston could see about a dozen people, none of whom seemed at all interested in the woods. Some were dancing around the fire, others were huddled close together leaning up against logs and watching, while some were sitting on stumps, laughing and passing around something glowing. They were all in various states of undress, despite the bitter cold.

One of the people who’d just passed the glowing stick to his neighbor stood and threw his arms up in the air, his back turned to Charleston. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and Charleston thought he saw the lines of some kind of image on the man’s back.

Suddenly, light burst from his hands and arms and shot into the sky. The others whooped and shouted at this miraculous display, while the two rangers watched on in stunned silence. After a moment, the man began waving his arms in front of him in some sort of intricate pattern. The lights that had only just erupted from him now thinned, becoming finer and narrower.

A shape began forming.

It was a bear. A bear made of light coming from a person’s hands.

The man raised his arms again to the sky, and the light bear reared back on its hind legs. The man screamed and the bear roared.

The crowd clapped and shouted at him.

“You’re such a show-off, Jeff!” a woman’s voice sounded.

The man dropped his hands, the light and the bear blinking out in an instant, and turned to face her. “You’re just jealous,” he teased. His voice sounded familiar to Charleston. “But I’ve offered more than once to teach you. I’m very skilled with my hands,” he said in a tone that made Charleston uncomfortable.

The woman laughed. “I bet you are! But I doubt Derrick would like you showing me what you can do with your hands.”

The man sitting next to her said something Charleston couldn’t hear and all three of them laughed.

The first man turned back towards the fire and his seat. As he did so, the light caught his face. Charleston and Arkhangelsk gasped. It was Professor Duman. The fishhook scar that ran from his hairline to his mouth was unmistakable. They exchanged looks then kept watching.

A few more times someone did something amazing, shooting light or fire or something else from their hands and arms. The group’s reaction told Charleston these displays weren’t as incredible as they seemed to him. They continued drinking from dark looking bottles and passing around glowing sticks.

At one point, someone shouted to change the music, and it was then Charleston noticed an orb that looked like Apu on the ground next to one of the logs. The music changed and the crowd continued dancing. A few minutes later, one of the men stumbled away from the clearing, turned to say something to the group, then started off in the direction of their hiding spot.

Charleston could feel Arkhangelsk tense as they waited to see what the man was going to do. He stopped just a few feet from where they lay and urinated on a tree. He then stumbled back to the clearing, shouting and reaching for a bottle. Charleston and Arkhangelsk exchanged another look, but neither made a move to go. They were watching something taboo and secretive and, more importantly, adult. Neither wanted to leave.

They continued watching in silence. After a few more minutes, several of the people shed their clothes and began dancing naked around the fire to shouts and whistles from the rest. Charleston’s face felt hot from blushing, but he didn’t want to say anything to Arkhangelsk and come across as childish.

Still, when two of the naked people slid to the ground and started moving together, the two rangers wordlessly began a slow crawl backwards.

A dozen or so yards from their hiding spot, they stood to a crouch and set off through the woods. Only when they reached the stream did they stop and look at one another.

“What the hell was that?” Charleston asked.

“Sex,” Arkhangelsk replied.

“I got that much,” he shot back quickly. “What were those lights? And what’s Duman doing there? What are any of them doing there? We’re supposed to be alone out here.”

“Yeah, it’s curious,” she replied. “Where’s your camp?” she asked after a moment. “It’s freezing.”

Charleston signaled back the way he’d come. “Just over there about a quarter of a mile.”

Arkhangelsk nodded. “Lead the way.”

They reached his lean-to and built the fire back up until it was roaring. Lying on the ground for so long had frozen them both.

“What do you think we should do?” Charleston asked after they’d warmed up some.

“Explore and survive, like Professor Medina said,” Arkhangelsk replied.

Charleston shook his head. Arkhangelsk always had been a stickler for rules. “No, I mean about Professor Duman and, and, whatever all that was.”

She shrugged. “It’s not our business. Our goal is to explore and survive. That’s what we do.”

“You’re not the least bit curious about what they’re doing out here?”

“Not really,” she replied. “Besides, it seems pretty clear to me. They’re having fun.”

Charleston made a frustrated sound. She always approached things in the most black-and-white way possible. “But why are they here when they’re not supposed to be?”

She turned to look at him. He felt the condescension in her glance more than saw it. “They’re having fun, that’s why they’re here.”

“But they’re not supposed to be!” he replied hotly.

“How do you know?” she shot back, her voice rising. “They’re adults. I’m sure they’re allowed to go places without asking permission.”

“But we’re supposed to be here alone.”

It was her turn to make a frustrated sound. “It’s like you’re not listening, Charleston. They don’t need permission to be here. How would Professor Medina know they were here? You always try to make everything more exciting than it is.”

“And you always try to make everything as boring as possible!”

She got up and headed away from the fire.

“Where are you going?” he called after her.

“I’m not sharing that thing with you,” she said disdainfully, pointing at his lean-to.

“But we’re supposed to stay together.”

She turned and looked at him. “No, we were told to find each other. We did.” Then she was gone, leaving Charleston alone and cursing her for being so literal about everything and himself for trying to stop her from leaving. They may not be enemies anymore, but that didn’t mean they’d become friends again.

He woke the next morning cold and stiff and sore. He stretched and quickly built back up his fire, mulling over what to do next as he did so. He was hungry, for starters, as the incessant growling of his stomach wouldn’t let him forget. But he was also curious about Professor Duman and what they’d seen the night before, even if Arkhangelsk wasn’t.

He grabbed his bow and arrows, kicked out the fire, and loped off into the woods in the direction of the bonfire. He’d go see if Duman and his friends were still there, but also keep an eye out for any sign of game along the way. If he found fresh tracks, he’d abandon his curiosity and let his stomach have its way.

He saw nothing to indicate there were any animals living in this part of the woods and quickly found himself back behind the same fallen tree staring at the clearing. It looked different in the early morning daylight, less mysterious and impressive. He wondered if he’d imagined the lights from the night before. The bonfire was a pile of darkened ash and there were bottles and other garbage strewn about the sleeping figures, most of whom were bunched tightly in groups of two. Charleston tried to pick Duman out from the crowd, but everyone was well covered from the cold and few body parts were visible.

Just then, one of the mounds of blankets shifted and an arm snaked out to rest on the raised shape next to it. In the light, Charleston could see the dark lines of a tattoo stretching from the forearm to the shoulder and disappearing beneath the covering. He’d seen tattoos before – two of his parents had them, as did Madeline – but he’d never seen one so intricate and large. It looked like leafy vines entwined around a person or a thing and it covered every inch of the sleeping figure’s arm.

He lay there watching the group for another few minutes, then crept silently back the way he’d come towards the stream. He’d have another go at fishing. If they were to survive out here, they’d need calories.

As he neared the stream, he smelled the unmistakable aroma of a fire and, more importantly, food. He hurried to his campsite and found Arkhangelsk holding something small and black over the flames.

“Where’d you get that?” he asked by way of greeting.

“I set some traps yesterday.”

“What is it?”

“A mouse.”

Charleston watched as she turned the small animal over, his mouth watering and his stomach grumbling in anticipation. After another minute, she took the cooked mouse out of the flame and slid it off the stick with her knife and onto a flat rock she’d placed next to her. She cut the carcass in half, then handed Charleston one of the pieces.

“Thank you,” he said, taking it and biting carefully into the tiny flesh.

Arkhangelsk made a sound he took to be a “you’re welcome” and set in to her half of their breakfast. It was over disappointingly fast. Charleston hardly felt less hungry.

“We’ll need more of this,” he said with a sigh.

She looked at him again in disdain and he wondered if their relationship was regressing.

“I’ll go set some traps of my own,” he continued, standing. “Then I say we try the stream for fish.”

They spent two weeks living in the dome in this manner, hunting, fishing, gathering, doing all they could just to eat. In the process, they explored a good portion of the area, but Charleston knew there were many places still left to scout. They moved camp a half dozen times out of equal parts necessity as exploration. It was a difficult balance to strike. If they found a spot that had small game or edible plants, it was hard and oftentimes physically painful to leave it for a place that may have nothing at all. But they had to stay on the move as part of their task, and there was always the possibility that wherever they went next might have larger animals.

By the time they saw the glowing blue light of Apu approaching to signal the end of the challenge, they’d only managed to kill a handful of squirrels, three mice, and two decent sized fish. They’d gathered some edible roots and plants to supplement this diet, but both felt as if they’d been living on the brink of starvation. And they stunk to high heaven.

Over the course of the two weeks, their relationship had at first worsened, then gotten better. They had bickered a lot in the beginning, particularly when their hunger peaked and they could think of nothing else. But with each successful hunt or forage, their mutual joy and relief forged a bond between them.

They were surviving thanks to each other and this began softening the edges around their exchanges, even when desperately hungry. By the end of it, they’d begun sharing the same lean-to for warmth. When Apu zoomed up and told them the challenge was over in its tinny, robotic voice, they hugged each other without thinking and laughed from happiness.

A few hours later, they were fed and washed and waiting in one of their classrooms for Professor Medina to arrive. The room was full of too boisterous conversation and raucous laughter. Each pair of rangers had struggled through the same things Charleston and Arkhangelsk had, albeit some with less animosity between them to overcome. Everyone had survived and they were riding the high of navigating the challenge, not to mention being full and clean for the first time in two weeks.

“Did you manage to kill any game?” Gala asked Charleston and Arkhangelsk. Skopje was sitting on the other side of his partner, the four of them in the back row of the classroom. It had been slightly awkward when they’d arrived and sat together. Up until this point, Arkhangelsk had avoided Charleston. But after what they went through together, it felt weird not to sit with each other. Looking around the room, it seemed everyone felt the same way. All the rangers sat with their partners, regardless of what groups had formed in the first year of their training.

“I did, but he didn’t,” Arkhangelsk answered, jabbing a finger at Charleston and smiling.

Charleston laughed. “I caught those fish, though!”

“What about you all?” Arkhangelsk asked. They’d already swapped details about which domes they’d been in and what environment and weather they’d encountered there. Gala and Skopje had been in one of the tropical rain forest domes. It’d been hot, humid, and full of bugs.

“Skopje killed a snake, which was surprisingly tasty,” Gala said. “I got an eel. Not so tasty.”

Before Charleston could reply, the door to the classroom opened and Professor Medina strode in looking stern and serious. “Congratulations,” she began in a tone that didn’t sound overly congratulatory. “None of you died.”

The rangers laughed, then stopped awkwardly when they realized she wasn’t joking.

“But some of you came close.” She surveyed the now silent group of students. “You will do better next time. You will have to do better next time if you hope to have any chance of surviving on a strange planet full of strange plants and animals. This isn’t the simulator and this isn’t tracking a deer you know is there through the woods. This is raw survival in hostile environments. Nature itself is against you. The elements will batter you, kill you if you let them. The animals you need to kill to live are trying just as hard as you to survive. You must sharpen your mind and harden your body. You must train, train, train if you are to make it in these wild, treacherous places.

“But making it is not enough. You must still complete your mission. You must scout the territory you find yourselves in and gather as much information as possible.” She paused and looked down at her wrist computer. “The best any of you did was twenty-two percent. That’s twenty-two percent of one dome covered. Who knows how much of that territory was scouted properly. You must secure water, shelter, fire, and food as fast as possible and begin exploring. Your shipmates can’t wait indefinitely in space while you struggle to catch a mouse. We in New Washington can’t wait indefinitely either.

“Luckily for you,” she continued with a tight smile, “your survival training is just beginning. From now on, you’ll spend half of each month in one of the domes on Forest or Lake Branches. The other half will be spent in Space Branch focusing on your other classes. By the end of your training, you will have survived in and explored each of the unique environments these domes have to offer. Now,” she said, her tone changing, “go get some rest. Classes resume tomorrow.”

The rangers stood and left the classroom, the atmosphere subdued.

“That’s four years,” Gala said once they made their way to the hall and towards their ships. Arkhangelsk had stopped to catch up with some of her other friends and Skopje had disappeared somewhere as well.

“What?” Charleston asked.

“That’s four years of training,” she said.

Charleston nodded. “Forty eight domes, two weeks a dome. That’s right, four years.”

“We’ll be twenty one by the time we finish,” Gala added, her tone a mixture of amazement and what sounded like fear.

“And we start our mission at twenty three,” Charleston replied, reading her thoughts.

They returned to their ships in silence. They now had a clear and definite timeline between their present together and their future apart.

 

The Podkind is a science fiction/fantasy novel written by Johnny Cycles. Click here for the next installment!

Photo by Ruslan Valeev on Unsplash