In the meantime, schools of sharks fell from the sky and began flailing about on the field, teeth gnashing at passing soldiers. A giant squid tumbled down next and latched on to the pirate ship, while Captain Hook swiped madly at it with his hooked hand.
More and more elements from other simulation programs bled into theirs. Blinding light flooded the horizon as a hydrogen bomb detonated in the distance, and Klingon warriors began appearing all over the field. By the time the Death Star filled the sky and blotted out the sun, Tom had put his pikestaff away and Vik had sheathed his sword. They both sat and enjoyed, then began placing bets on various fighters. Tom put ten bucks on the Tyrannosaurus rex, and Vik bet on the Terminator. They both shouted in dismay when the T-rex charged off to tear apart one of the dying sharks, abandoning the battle altogether.
Vik elbowed Tom. “Really takes your mind off the meet and greets, doesn’t it?”
“What meet and greets?” Tom said, playing along. But his mood dampened instantly.
TOM DIDN’T PAY much attention to the malfunctions that kept popping up in the Calisthenics feed, in the Applied Scrimmages system. Some groups had a terrible time with the malfunctions. In one scenario, the Turks were chucking plague-ridden victims over the walls of Constantinople, and the trainees were inside. The trainees discovered only after they started dying of the simulated Black Death that the pain receptors were on full, and they couldn’t escape until they’d all died horribly.
Wyatt’s group had a great malfunction. An Amazonian warrior scenario became accidentally X-rated as Cadence’s group fought Elliot’s. Since Wyatt was in Elliot’s group, she saw everything, and she walked around all the next day in a sort of daze. Tom and Vik got enough details to cross their fingers and hope for a good malfunction the next few times they hooked in, but it never happened again.
Tom saw Blackburn and Wyatt working together more and more. They always seemed stressed out and frustrated, trying to pinpoint the source of the system faults. Tom didn’t dwell on it, though, because he had problems of his own. A month after the meet and greets, the Middles all woke up to their evaluations from the companies.
Tom lay on his bed awhile with his verdict sitting in his net-send, then he gave in and opened it. There were no specific comments in the evaluations, just two simple options: Would like / would not like this trainee to return.
Simple options, but they meant everything. People like Nigel Harrison, who managed to score return invites but failed to charm, could condemn themselves at this stage of their career to having no sponsor down the road when they aimed to make Camelot Company.
Tom, unlike Nigel, had openly alienated every single one of the companies. Stomach churning, he flipped open his eval. His eyes moved over the five “would nots” checked next to the company names. It was no surprise at all, but he still felt like someone had punched him in the stomach, driving the air out of him. He stared at those words, suspended in front of his vision center, wondering how to feel about the official confirmation that he’d destroyed his own future.
Tom shut off the program. He couldn’t really sort himself out. So he forwarded his eval sheet to Vik, labeling it “Do I win something?” Then he waited, his stomach hurting.
Within a minute, Vik came dashing into his bunk, breathless. He proclaimed, “You are officially the most accomplished Doctor of Gormless Cretinism this world has ever seen!”
Tom decided this was the right response. He hopped out of the bed. “I know, right? Five out of five! Ka-pow.” He mock punched something.
“It must be a record,” Vik marveled. “That has to be a first, man. I don’t think anyone’s done that before. Five in one day. Has anyone else ever, ever, in the history of the Spire, pulled that off?”
Tom laughed. “No way. I’d bet I’m the first. I should frame it and stick on the wall or something. Like a trophy.”
Vik snapped his fingers and pointed at him. “You can! Tom, you can, man. I’m sure of it. We can add it to your bunk template.”
Soon, Tom’s giant Gormless Cretin statue held up a triumphant scroll of the message, like it was the Declaration of Independence or something similar. Various trainees began trickling in to admire it and congratulate Tom.
Of course, they weren’t all impressed. Giuseppe frowned. “Why would you put proof of your abject failure on the wall?”
Vik sighed tragically. “You just don’t get it, Giuseppe.”
Tom gave a helpless shrug. “You just don’t.”
That made Giuseppe angry. “No, this is what I don’t get: why you are both so in love with yourselves, you have giant statues of yourselves in your bunk templates.”
Vik sighed tragically again. “You just don’t get it, Giuseppe.”
Tom gave a helpless shrug again. “You just don’t.”
That drove Giuseppe from the bunk. As soon as he was out of sight, Tom and Vik began cackling. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long, because Yuri and Wyatt didn’t seem to appreciate the display, either. They examined the scroll of failures, and Yuri came over and gripped Tom’s shoulder. “I am very sorry.”
“Huh? Sorry?” Tom echoed. Yuri was ruining this.
“He’s okay with it,” Vik insisted. “Really, Yuri.”
“If I got a report card with all F’s, I wouldn’t put it on a wall,” Wyatt told Tom. “I also wouldn’t show it off to everyone and get people to talk to other people about it.”
Tom forced a laugh. “This isn’t the same as a report card. I mean, take away their money and power, and who cares about Reuben Lloyd or Sigurdur Vitol or . . .”
“But no one’s taking away their money or power,” Wyatt pointed out. “Everyone here cares about them.”
“I believe you are being in denial,” Yuri told him. “This is no good for you, Thomas.”
Tom’s eyes flipped up to Yuri’s. He was so tempted to say who denial brought to mind.
Vik didn’t have his self-restraint. “If you want to talk denial, then let’s look at—”
“Wyatt,” Tom cut in. None of them talked to Yuri about his hopeless plight as the eternal plebe, and it wasn’t the time right now.
Wyatt grew anxious. “What about me? Why am I in denial?”
“Because. Because . . .” Tom fumbled a moment for a sufficiently distracting excuse. “Uh, you’re from Connecticut, so you think Connecticut is an okay state. But it’s not. It sucks. You know why? Because Snowden’s from Connecticut. Therefore, Connecticut sucks.”
Wyatt got very distressed over Tom’s impugning her state. So distressed, in fact, that joy filled Vik’s face. “Bless you, Tom, for handing me this glorious new weapon.”
“Shut up, Vik,” Wyatt said.
But Vik had already settled on Tom’s bed. He muttered, “Connecticut . . . Connecticut . . . What to do with Connecticut?”
“I am fully aware of how thoroughly done for I am here,” Tom informed Wyatt, bringing them back to the subject at hand. “There is no denial. It’s acceptance.”
“Not acceptance,” Vik said, paying attention again. “He is embracing it, Evil Wench. And that’s why you are awesome, Doctor. You are a hero and an inspiration to us all.”