Vortex (6 page)

He imagined every single fake enemy wearing Blackburn’s face.

CHAPTER FOUR

T
OM CHEERED UP
a bit when he arrived in the mess hall, because there was meat loaf for lunch and his friend Yuri Sysevich was waiting at a table. He was still a plebe, since he hadn’t been promoted with the three of them. They mostly avoided talk about Middle Company so they wouldn’t rub it in too much. As it turned out, Yuri had had a far more interesting vacation than they had, anyway. He’d signed up for a relaxing wilderness survival excursion, led by a former Green Beret, where he’d eaten bugs and climbed mountains and fended off wild animals.

“It is remarkable, truly remarkable, how many edible bugs there are to sustain you in the wilderness!”

“How many did you eat?” Tom wondered.

“Five different insects,” Yuri answered proudly.

“Ew,” Wyatt said, rubbing the spot on her head where he’d kissed her in greeting.

“Yeah, don’t elaborate,” Vik urged him, shoveling rice into his mouth.

“Were the bugs you ate like beetles or more like those ricelike mealworm things?” Tom said, watching Vik. Vik had the weakest stomach Tom knew, and it amused him endlessly.

Wyatt caught on to what Tom was doing. “Ooh, you mean the maggoty bugs from festering wounds that start like rice and sprout into full-blown intestinal parasites?”

Vik shook his head. “This won’t work, guys. I know you’re just making stuff up.”

“No, the insects I consumed bore no resemblance to rice,” Yuri answered seriously. “You are thinking of those parasites that grow in rice. They have very gooey, putrid innards, and they are slightly off-white, like the contents of Vikram’s plate right now.”

Vik finally tossed down his fork. “I’m done with lunch because I’m full. That’s why. I’m not stopping because of you three. You have not won this.”

Tom, Wyatt, and Yuri cackled, because they didn’t believe him.

I
T TURNED OUT
Tom and Vik were in the same simulation group, led by blond-haired, round-faced Combatant Snowden Gainey. Tom pulled up his profile from memory.

NAME:
Snowden Gainey

RANK:
USIF, Grade VI, Camelot Company, Napoleon Division

CALL SIGN:
NewGuy

ORIGIN:
North Westchester, Connecticut

ACHIEVEMENTS:
Junior world squash champion, member of the Future Financial Innovators of America Society

IP:
2053:db7:lj71::224:ll3:6e8

SECURITY STATUS:
Top Secret LANDLOCK-6

Within minutes, Tom realized that Snowden had a totally different leadership style than his previous simulation group leader, Elliot Ramirez.

Elliot had always waited at the edge of one of the cots, visibly a part of the group, yet he’d also greeted them as they came in, which reminded everyone who was the boss. Snowden sort of hung out in the back corner, dread glimmering over his pale features as the number of trainees sitting on the cots with EKG monitors grew and grew. Only once everyone was there did he finally perch himself on a cot.

“Well, as you newbies have probably heard,” Snowden ventured meekly, “Applied Scrimmages as a Middle involves scenarios similar to the ones you faced as plebes, but instead of facing simulated opponents, we directly face other groups of Middles, and we rotate every week. Today we’re fighting Yosef Saide’s group. So, do you guys want to start?” It was posed like a question, like he needed their permission.

Everyone dropped back to sprawl across their cots, and Tom twisted his head to the side to exchange an excited grin with Vik. “Got your back, Doctor.”

“You, too, Doctor.” Vik’s eyes gleamed crazily.

And then Tom hooked in his neural wire and his senses dimmed as he was sucked into the simulation.

He found himself surrounded by chaos, World War II–era sailors screaming and rushing past him, the ship they were on jolting violently, fires flaring, seawater gushing into cracks in the hull.

Tom shouted for Vik, and they met up on the rocking deck, gasping for air, seeing a German U-boat in the distance slinking away.

“We’re done for. Already,” Tom said, incredulous. They hadn’t gotten a chance to fight. The sim started this way.

“Life rafts!” Vik gestured toward a crush of frantic sailors, all eager to evacuate.

Tom gave a quick nod, realizing this must be the scenario: they’d get in those life rafts and fight Yosef’s group. Maybe the Nazis would double back and attack again? Or maybe they’d face off with pirates or something?

Tom and Vik grabbed their place in the last life raft that dropped from the ship. A powerful wave tossed them from the main vessel as it sank into the churning ocean.

Soon, the water grew calm. Awe filled Tom as he marveled, not for the first time, that this was his life. He was sitting here on a rescue ship with his best friend, witnessing a devastating shipwreck like it was real. The raft was supposed to have two wooden oars, but it only had one. Tom and Vik steered their raft as best they could with it, and helped soaked, shivering trainees into it as they encountered them. Soon, they were sitting with Lyla Martin of Genghis Division, as well as two other Middles Tom had seen around: Walton Covner and Marrion Trout of Hannibal Division.

When Snowden Gainey appeared in the life raft with them, Tom realized the guy had actually been sitting out of the scenario until now, letting them undergo it by themselves. That was another huge change, because Elliot was a lead-by-example type.

“So,” Snowden said nervously, “is this it?”

“I saw some of our group drown,” Walton noted. He was a large kid with very dark skin, thick black hair, and an air of stoicism about him.

“Well.” Snowden rubbed his palms together. “Well, that’s unlucky for them. I should tell you, Yosef and I agreed together to run this scenario with the pain receptors on.”

Tom shrugged, but he heard Lyla sputter with outrage. “Why? Why would you do that?”

“Well, it’s a time-compressed scenario—” Snowden began.

Lyla seemed ready to punch him. Marrion groaned, too.

“What’s the catch here?” Vik asked them.

“Time-compressed scenarios,” Lyla explained. “Space combat takes place at machine-fast speeds, so the neural processor can be used to speed up your perception of time to keep up with it. Some training programs use that function to give you an artificially extended scenario.”

“Really?” Tom sat up, fascinated. “So wait. We could spend days doing this scenario?” Awesome. Fighting pirates for days on end . . .

“Weeks,” Lyla said. “And you’re not going to be happy about that soon.”

That’s when Snowden announced, “Looks like everything’s in order here. I’ll pop in later.” And his avatar vanished, leaving them all together in the life raft, bobbing listlessly on the ocean.

Tom stared at the empty space where he’d been. Lyla’s last words rang in his ears and it occurred to him that there might be a reason Snowden wasn’t participating in the sim.

As time passed and Tom grew dreadfully thirsty, he became certain of it. The problem with the scenario was, it felt true to life—like they were all on a life raft, floating in the middle of the ocean with no supplies but a canteen of water Walton salvaged that was rapidly being depleted. The worst thing was, they knew they could be stuck out here for weeks.

Tom swished the canteen grimly, hearing only a bit of water sloshing. “What happens now?”

“We’ll die of dehydration. It will be slow and painful,” Walton answered. He sounded very calm about it.

Tom scanned the horizon for pirates or Nazis or anything, but no one came and attacked them. What was holding up Yosef’s group?

When Snowden appeared in the life raft again to check on them, they were ready. They all turned on him and demanded an explanation for the scenario.

Snowden nodded pleasantly. “It’s a survival scenario. You win if you survive.”

Tom gaped at him. “Wait, that’s it?”

“That’s it. You’re fighting the most dreadful enemy of all here. Impatience. Ooh, is that water? I’m parched.” And then he did the unthinkable—Snowden plucked the canteen from Walton and swigged down the last of their water.

They all sat there, watching his Adam’s apple bob. Disbelieving rage surged through Tom. Snowden had just arrived. He couldn’t possibly be as thirsty as them, but he drank their water!

Marrion Trout couldn’t take it anymore. The slight, black-haired girl declared that she was bored and “totally over this,” then she threw herself overboard. For a few minutes, she treaded water, working up the courage to drown herself even though the pain receptors were on. And then fins cut through the water, and Yosef’s group finally revealed themselves by tearing her apart.

“Impatience?” Walton pointed to the blood blossoming in the water. “Sure it’s not about sharks?”

“Oh. Yes,” Snowden said. “It’s about surviving the sharks, too. Actually, it’s mainly about the sharks. Good luck!” And then with a wiggle of his fingers, he disappeared again, leaving them with an empty canteen and a whole bunch of ravenous sharks.

Three days dragged by in scenario time. They grew desperate with thirst, terribly sunburned, and achingly hungry. They’d managed to splinter the wooden oar into a makeshift spear, but as soon as they killed the first of Yosef’s group, the sharks began steering clear—waiting for the humans to break down and come to them.

Walton gave up during the night and gulped a bunch of seawater.

Tom woke up to the sound of Walton’s frantic slurps. “This is not going to end well for you, man.” Tom’s voice was so scratchy he barely recognized it.

Walton nodded, his mouth dripping with seawater. “It’s very salty.”

Vik shivered where he was sprawled out next to Tom in the raft. They all had oozing boils on their skin from exposure and saltwater, but one of Vik’s had become infected, and the telltale red marks of blood poisoning were creeping up his limbs.

Tom was completely restless. He wanted to do
something
other than fantasize about tall glasses of water and hamburgers. He tried to figure out what this scenario was testing. Reactions under pressure? Under intolerable thirst and boredom? What?

As the sun rose, and grew higher in the sky, Tom’s skin began to burn in the spots where he wasn’t already blistered. Meanwhile, Walton announced, “I am the king of Mars.”

Tom forced his eyes open and saw Walton standing in the middle of the raft. The saltwater had finally kicked in and started killing his brain, so now he was hallucinating.

Lyla was across the raft from Tom, her muscular arms folded listlessly over her body, blond hair tangled around her shoulders. “No, you’re not the king of Mars. Sit down.”

Walton raised his arms and held them outstretched. “Beep, beep.”

“Stop that,” Lyla snarled.

“Beep, beep.”

“Stop that!”

“I am an antenna to signal the coast guard.”

“Walton, sit down, man,” Tom urged him.

Walton shrieked, “BIRDS LIVE ON YOUR HEAD!” He flung himself over and began tugging on Tom’s hair, the sudden shift in weight rocking the raft violently, nearly capsizing them.

“Aah! Stop!” Tom fended him off with the oar end of their spear, and Walton retreated to the other side of the raft. Tom’s scalp felt hot and sore, and he pressed his hand up to discover a bald spot. “Come on, man! You tore out some hair!”

“It’s okay. I’m a doctor,” Walton replied.

Vik stirred from where he’d fallen into a delirious sleep. “Doctor?”

“Yes?” Walton said, perking up.

“No!” Tom said, holding up the spear end this time to keep Walton back. He leaned over to nudge Vik. “Hey, Doctor. I’m here.”

“Not you.” Vik’s voice was as hoarse as Tom’s. “Real doctor. Think I’m sick. Water.”

“We don’t have water. This is a sim. It’s not real, remember?”

“Right. Sim.” Vik heaved himself up painfully. It took him several moments to get enough energy to say, “I hate this sim.”

“We’ll win or die and it’ll be over.” Tom knew that was optimistic, though. He wasn’t sure how to win.

“Hate it,” Vik moaned.

They’d all gone over it a bunch of times. This whole sim was ultimately rigged against them. Yosef’s group, playing sharks, were in their natural environment. They had stuff to eat, plenty to drink, and they could survive the ocean elements. Their group had nothing. They’d bunched some seaweed up to try luring down seagulls, but the birds kept their distance. Vik dragged his shirt in the water, then tried some of the plankton he caught, but it made him violently vomit over the side of the boat, which was really counterproductive when they were all dying of dehydration.

The most water they could get was from the condensation on the raft first thing in the morning, and even that tasted like salt. And Walton’s madness wasn’t helping anything. He was reaching into the air now, swatting at something only he could see. Lyla sighed and asked what he was doing.

“Bats,” Walton said, agitated.

“You should jump in the water and let the sharks eat you,” Lyla suggested. “You’re basically dead already. Worse, you’re annoying me.”

“No, I’ll survive. I have gnome minions. Just nearby. They’ll rescue us.”

Lyla sighed. “Walton, you do not have gnome minions.”

“You’ll see. I’ll go get them.”

Then Walton hurled himself into the water with a resounding splash. Tom, Vik, and Lyla all waited for his scream, but it never came. Soon, he’d swum so far Tom couldn’t see him. For a delirious moment, Tom marveled at the clean escape Walton had made. His water and food-deprived brain tried to wrap around it, and all Tom could think for a long moment was that Walton truly did have gnome minions out there, helping him.

Then fins cut their way through the water, and Walton’s scream rose in the distance, killing that fanciful idea.

“Ugh.” Vik threw his hands over his eyes. He leaned back on the raft, tugging at his shirt like he was hot, even though his teeth were chattering. “This is awful. So we have to live through getting eaten by sharks, or we die slowly and painfully of dehydration. Guys, there’s only one option here.” Vik rallied his strength and sat up. “We can’t win. Let’s all . . . you know. Kill each other somehow.”