Vortex

Then the instant communication program in his neural processor activated, and words were net-sent right into his vision center: I know about your drone, Mordred.

Tom was overjoyed, realizing who it was. If there was one person he’d want to share his triumph, it’d be Medusa. “You saw that?” he spoke, knowing she’d hear him. “Awesome. I’ve gotta admit it, though: yours is bigger. Where did you get this guy? I want one.”

Are you an idiot?

Tom blinked. That wasn’t the reply he’d expected. Or hoped for.

Unless you are actively trying to give us away, you need to stop messing around like this!

Tom ignored his sudden, sinking disappointment at her reaction and made a show of shrugging his shoulders. “I know you want to keep what we can do a secret. So do I, okay? But I had to do that thing yesterday. It was a matter of honor. I had to right a wrong. And honestly, Medusa, it’s kind of rich calling me a moron for using that drone when you flew in a Centurion right over Las Vegas, of all places.”

This Centurion was optically camouflaged when I flew it down. It disappeared off the grid years ago. No one will miss it. You tampered with the navigation of an active-duty police drone. Someone will notice. That is not acceptable.

“What, so I should do nothing, then?” Tom leaned forward, irritated. “I should wait until I’m a Combatant and use what we can do as a cheat like you do?”

The drone drew menacingly closer at the implication. Tom knew he’d made her mad, but he stood his ground.

“Don’t you get it?” he said. “This ability we’ve got—we could do anything. We could make the world better. We could be like . . .” He faltered a moment, knowing this would make him sound like a dumb eight-year-old, but it was the only word he could think of. “ . . . superheroes.”

This is not a comic book, Mordred. We are not untraceable, and we are not invincible. We only operate in safety now because no one knows to look for us. The next time you pull something this stupid, I will come back and make sure you can’t do it again.

“Like how? You’ll kill me?”

He’d thrown that out there carelessly. He hadn’t been serious.

Suddenly, the drone swept toward him, the optical camouflaging peeling up enough to reveal the guns Medusa was leveling at his head, and something triggered instinctively in Tom as the red laser–targeting scanners crept over him, the massive machine searing the air around him. He scrambled back until he hit the door to the balcony, and found himself plastered there, staring right down a gun barrel, his heart pounding furiously, cold sweat prickling all over his body. For a timeless moment, they were suspended like that, her missile turret leveled right at his head.

Satisfied she’d made her point, her drone gave a taunting wave of its body, and Medusa planted a gibe in his vision center: That’s the idea.

Tom found himself vividly remembering the moment at Capitol Summit when he’d used her disfigurement just to win. They’d liked each other before that.

He’d changed everything.

“Would it help if I said I’m sorry?” Tom asked her. He wasn’t referring to what he’d done today.

No. Apologies are a waste of air, Mordred. Don’t do this again.

And then her drone roared up and shrank away. Soon he couldn’t even see the drone’s telltale shimmer in the night sky, just a blinding ceiling of skyboards.

CHAPTER TWO

TWO DAYS LATER, the morning sky gathered a purple light as his plane tilted up its rudders, shifted into helicopter mode, and lowered itself onto the Pentagon. Tom stepped onto the roof below the chrome tower of the Pentagonal Spire.

Two armed marines approached, and he flipped his Challenge Coin out of his pocket, raising it up so they’d see the eagle insignia. “Thomas Raines, trainee, US Intrasolar Forces.” The coin flashed green as it simultaneously verified his voiceprint, his fingerprints, and his DNA. One final step, the sweep of a retina scanner, and Tom had officially confirmed his identity for access to the Pentagonal Spire. An elevator swept him into the Pentagon.

Minutes later, duffel bag slung over shoulder, Tom walked into the Spire’s lobby. He paused beneath the massive golden eagle with its outstretched wings, then set off down the corridor to the Patton mess hall.

There, he saw returning trainees, a handful of newly promoted CamCo Combatants, and a dazed-looking new plebe with spiky, short-shorn red hair. She was sitting by herself next to the elevator and mournfully brushing her palm over her scalp. His neural processor immediately pulled up her profile information:

NAME: Madison Andrews

RANK: USIF, Grade III Plebe, Genghis Division

ORIGIN: Connell, Utah

ACHIEVEMENTS: Chairman of the Utah Federation Young Debater’s Society, member of the Fairness in Voting Youth Committee

IP: 2053:db7:lj71::369:ll3:6e8

SECURITY STATUS: Top Secret LANDLOCK-3

Tom caught her eye and flashed her a grin. “Don’t worry. Hair grows way faster than it did before the processor.”

She offered him a shaky smile, and he headed onward toward the massive oil painting of General Patton. There he found what he was looking for. Even though it had only been two weeks, Tom felt a rush of joy at seeing Vikram Ashwan, his best friend. Vik launched himself up from the bench where he’d been waiting; strode over to Tom; and they dropped their bags on the floor between them with simultaneous, decisive thumps.

“Tom,” Vik announced, his dark eyes dancing crazily, “we are no longer plebes.”

“We are no longer plebes.”

Vik gave a solemn nod. “It is time.”

THE ELEVATOR DOOR parted to admit them to the plebe common room on the fifth floor. Tom and Vik stalked out. They saw all the suddenly nervous plebes, then he and Vik did what they’d been waiting to do since coming to the Spire.

“All of you,” Vik shouted, “GET OUT!”

Tom started running around at the plebes, waving his arms in a shooing gesture. “Move, move, move!”

The plebes jumped to their feet and scrambled out of their own common room, scurrying through the doors of their divisions.

Tom and Vik slumped down, satisfied, into the now-empty chairs. Tom reflected fondly upon the times he, as a plebe, had been booted from the plebe common room by older trainees. It gave him an incredible sense of accomplishment, realizing he was no longer at the bottom of the Spire’s food chain.

Vik rubbed his hands together wickedly. “So . . .”

“So?” Tom said eagerly, hoping Vik had some awesome idea about what to do now that they had the place to themselves.

They sat there a few seconds.

“I don’t have any ideas about what we should do now,” Vik finally confessed.

“Yeah, my thinking only went as far as booting the plebes out.”

“I want to go stick my bags upstairs. The plebes will come back as soon as we’re gone. Maybe we can kick them out again later once we’ve figured out something we want to do in here.”

They retrieved their bags, then headed up to the Middle Company floor and into the door with the sword, marked ALEXANDER DIVISION. As they started down the corridor, something astounding happened: they received their assignment to their new bunk. Or rather, bunks.

Tom and Vik realized it when they started off in opposite directions down the hallway. Tom stopped and whirled around. Vik stopped, too, and raised an eyebrow at him.