Breaking Through (6 page)

Even before
I open my eyes, I know something’s off. Massive energy surrounds me, reverberating off my skin, my bones, my soul.

It takes me a second to identify my surroundings. I’m in a bed, but not in my own bunk. And I don’t remember losing control of my powers before I blacked out.

I see the bed I’m on, my torso lying over the duvet, and the nightstand to my left, but surrounding me is a giant ball of water, blurring out everything on the other side. It’s like a bubble. No water on the inside, none on the outside, though the water flows as though it’s alive—a wave—encapsulating me.

I don’t recall creating this sphere, but it had to be me. Water doesn’t act like this naturally.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I swivel my head in the opposite direction. Captain Barton stands casually on the other side, staring in on me. I raise my arms and concentrate on breaking the water molecules and evaporating them so he can come through and not get wet. I assume that’s what he’s waiting for. Why else would he be here? I’ve evaporated water a million times, and it’s easy. Except this time, I can’t do it. Nothing happens.

“What’s going on?” I say, examining my hands. If Barton heard me, he doesn’t answer.

Bringing the wall down will create a mess, but what other choice do I have? I focus on the water. Focus on becoming one with it. Then I swipe my palm across the air, expecting the water to crash down into a puddle on the floor.

Nothing.

Strange.

“Captain, can you hear me?” I holler.

Again, he doesn’t respond, and for a moment I wonder if I’m dreaming. That maybe I haven’t woken up yet. But this isn’t what I dream about; I’m not in a dark coffin that’s sinking into the depths of the ocean.

Nope. This is real. This is happening.

I slip off the bed and walk toward him. His gaze remains on me, and I’m sure he regrets his choice to bring me aboard. So far, all I’ve done is cause trouble.

“Why am I in here? What happened?” I ask.

Barton touches the water wall, but as soon as his fingers hit, a small wave throws his arm back. He shakes his head instead of speaking.

He can’t hear me.

“The water is protecting me,” I mutter, theorizing the only possible answer. “It won’t let anyone in, unless …”

I repeat Barton’s action, pressing my fingertips against the wall. Instead of throwing me back, the water separates and lets my fingers glide through to the other side.

Barton glances down, and I retract my arm. I’m not surprised it’s completely dry. I step forward to simply walk through since apparently the wall seems okay with me breaking the barrier, but when I press my body against it, a wave bursts and pushes me back.

What the hell?

I study the bubble for a second and an idea comes to me: if the water won’t let me out and it won’t let Barton in of his own action, will it allow him entrance if I’m the one opening the door? It works with my water-protecting-me theory.

With both palms outward, I slip the tips of my fingers through the wall again and separate the water like a curtain. My protector obeys, giving a small passageway into my bubble.

“Come in,” I say cautiously.

Barton moves forward, examining the opening. Another step and he’s inside the doorway. Then he grins as he walks inside. Once he’s through, the wall seals closed. “Nice digs.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I sit back down on my bed. “I wish I understood why I’m in inside said nice digs.”

“You passed out during training two days ago. As soon as we picked you up to bring you to the infirmary, this balloon began to form around you. We barely got you in bed before it expanded and pushed us all out.”

“Wait. Two days?” I’ve lost two whole days?

Barton nods.

I shake my head in disbelief. That amount of time is normal had I lost control of my powers, but I hadn’t … had I? “And the ocean? Other water, has it … been fine?”

He points above us. “This is it. My only guess is that it formed from the air. Can you tell?”

“Um…” I close my eyes and hold my hand up in the air. Silently, I will a drop of water to come down to me. When I feel the wetness, I compel it to absorb into my skin. Then I open my eyes. “Yes. It’s pure. It’s not saltwater.”

“Do you know why this created itself?” he asks, gesturing around him. “We couldn’t even get in to give you medical attention.”

I bring my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them. “My best guess—and that’s all it is, a guess—is that it’s protecting me.”

“From what?”

I try to think back to the last memory I had before everything went black. Had I felt threatened? Scared? Angry?

No. The last thing I recall was the way Barton’s eyes studied me in the weapons room when I held the knife. How the warmth of his skin flooded over my palm as he opened the hilt.

“I don’t know,” I finally whisper. “What happened before it formed?”

“We were in the weapons center, and you said you couldn’t remember if you’d ever shot a gun before. Do you remember now? Have you ever shot before?”

A memory flashes through my mind—a finger on a trigger—but it’s there and gone so fast I can’t even identify if it was
my
finger.

“I…don’t know,” I stammer. “Then what?”

“We went to the dummies to practice. I was speaking to Kray when I heard you collapse.”

A jolt of hope sparks in my veins at the mention of my best friend. “Where’s Kray? Did he hear my thoughts before I crashed?”

“I spoke with him afterward. He says there’s a wall in your head. That when you—”

“Yeah, I know,” I say, interrupting him with a sigh. “When I lose it, all he sees is the wall. Anything before that, though? Before I fainted?”

Captain Barton motions to the mattress. “Mind if I sit?”

“No, go ahead.”

Barton sits close enough that if I reached out I’d touch him. As he does, the bed creaks and I’m surprised I hear it over the sound of the water. “Kray said he heard nothing, but I don’t believe him,” Barton says.

I half grin. “You don’t believe Kray? What, are you a human lie detector or something?” I ask, recalling that Kray had said he didn’t know our captain’s special ability.

Barton chuckles, relaxing into the change of conversation. “Not exactly. I’m not a mind reader or a psychic, and I can’t manipulate anything, move anything, or create anything.”

“What got you into Brighton, then?”

“I’m…intelligent.”

I let my arms fall from around my knees and cross my legs on top of the bed. Right now it’s like the hierarchy between us has thinned out, putting us on an equal level. I like it. “You’re a brainiac? I didn’t realize being smart was a superpower. I thought people like that went to Harvard or Yale, not Brighton.”

Again, he lets out a small laugh. “Yeah, well. It is when you can read a set of encyclopedias and commit them to memory.”

“On the first read-through?”

The corner of his mouth curves up. “On the first read-through.”

“You know
everything
?”

“Only if I read it or hear it somewhere. For instance, I know nothing about how to knit or do papier-mâché.”

“But if I gave you an instruction manual?”

He smiles at me, his golden eyes brightening like the sun, and I decide I like this informal side of him more than his captain counterpart. “Well, I may not be able to knit you a bonnet, but I could tell you how to do it,” he says.

I snicker, enjoying the lightness in his tone. Makes it seem like all the reasons that put us together don’t exist.

“Let me ask you a question, Nautia.”

“Sure.”

He pauses for a second. “Your file says you controlled your ability when you were admitted to Brighton. You were at the top of your game. And then it stopped. What happened?”

Revealing myself completely to Barton had never been on my to-do list, but he’s making it too easy. Smiling, laughing, asking, not like it’s his job, but like he’s concerned about me.

I suck in a breath, noting how the air is thinner now. “I don’t know. Kray believes the wall in my head blocks memories. The summer two years ago and everything before that is gone.”

“Before your brother Nate died?”

I fidget with the hem of my shirt. “I guess. We were twins, and they say twins have a special connection. So all I know is what I feel, and what Cara told me.”

“But no one will tell you what happened to him.”

I shrug. “It’s Navy classified. There wasn’t a funeral or a memorial—nothing. One day he was at Brighton, a Navy hotshot came and recruited him, and I never saw him again. A few months later, I got word he died during a top secret mission. That’s all they would tell me.”

“And the wall just sprung up after that?” Barton asks. I feel his eyes on me, but I don’t meet his gaze. Instead, I stare at the floor, at lines of water snaking out from the bottom seal.

“No, it…” I trail off, because I have no idea when the wall was built. I just know that when the nightmares started, my powers got more difficult to control. I’ve never told anyone about the nightmares. Kray knows anyway, of course. Captain Barton is Navy, though, ranked high enough that trusting him is probably not a good idea. I’ve already divulged more than I should. “I don’t know.”

“Think about it. I want to help you figure this out.”

What Kray said about Barton re-surfaces in my head. How I’m a project for him. I finally peer up, my end of our friendly conversation severed. “So I can control my ability and do my job without putting everyone here in danger,” I say, not hiding the ice in my voice.

“Yeah, that’s part of it,” Captain Barton confirms in the same steady manner as before.

“Part of it?” I challenge. “Okay, then what’s the other part?”

Barton opens his mouth, then closes it as he averts his gaze. His eyes roam over the wall of water surrounding us. “Because no one should have to live like this—inside a bubble of someone else’s making.” He looks at me. “And I want to help you break free.”

“You read my file, Captain,” I say. “Cara’s been trying to fix me for two years. Don’t waste your time.”

“You’re powerful, Nautia. The most powerful aquator I’ve ever met.”

“Oh really? How many have you met?” People with my specialty are in short supply. Nate and I were anomalies—two in one family.

“Counting you? Two.”

“What? Who was the first?”

“She’s a Navy Admiral. I only crossed paths with her once, four years ago when I was first recruited. She manipulated water, but unlike you, she couldn’t create it. The molecules had to already be formed.” He stands up and walks toward the sphere. “If you’re right, and this thing materialized to protect you”—he rotates to face me—“there’s a reason for it. Nature doesn’t act like this. So, no. I’m not wasting my time.”

The way he says it makes me want to believe him. Makes me want to trust him like I never trusted Cara. Something tells me Barton can get stuff done. He’s determined, skillful, super-intelligent. What do I have to lose?

“Okay, then how do you plan to fix me?” I ask.

Barton takes another gander at the bubble. “Let’s start small, shall we? Like figuring out how to get you out of here.”

From where I’m sitting, I examine the sphere. It has shrunk ever so slightly. I focus on each movement of water rippling the surface. It reminds me of one of those spherical fountains where the water gets sucked up through a tube and spills out over the top. Except there’s no sucking or spilling. The water simply plays follow-the-leader, around and around. And according to my new trainer, I’m the leader.

Since Barton’s been inside, the energy around us has changed; the water seems to move slower, less protectively. It’s a subtle change. One I doubt he notices, but I can feel it.

“I think it might just let us out,” I say.

“What makes you say that?”

I grin and push up off the mattress. “Call it a hunch.”

I stand beside Barton and hold both palms out toward the water. Closing my eyes to concentrate, I slowly press into the wall. Like a snake, a stream slithers over each arm and then juts upward. The water’s energy flows over me and into me, and I open my eyes to catch the show. Above us, coils of water spring out like fingers. They dance under the ceiling, reflecting the moonlight coming in from the window. Small beads of water pinch off the lines and float overhead. Tiny rainbows glow from within each one. Like sugar dissolving in water, the orbs break apart before evaporating into the air, until the bubble is gone. Not even a drop lingers in the infirmary.

Barton cocks his head, impressed. “See what I mean? Powerful.”

During the next
few days of training, Nautia is focused and controlled. In hand-to-hand combat, she’s quick and agile, taking on Gibson and Haskal like they’re equals even though they easily have six plus inches and fifty pounds on her. Because of her friendship with Kray, I don’t put the two of them together. I doubt they’d fight each other.

Britta, however, allows herself to be pinned ten seconds into each match. The guys go easy on her because she’s small and young, but Nautia? Nautia pounds her into the mat, and I can’t help grinning each time. Nautia’s not taking her shit.

Britta wipes the blood from her swelling lip. “What the hell was that for, Nautia? What did I ever do to you?”

Nautia shrugs and offers Britta a hand up. “Nothing. That’s the point. Maybe if you fought back, you wouldn’t end up as lunch meat.”

Britta knocks Nautia’s hand away. “Or maybe you’d figure out I’m not a fighter. I’m here to freaking
translate
North Korean. Language doesn’t include using my fists.” She spins around and sneers at me, because it’s my fault she’s getting her ass kicked.

“You might be ambushed, Britta,” I say, uncrossing my arms. “And if you don’t know how to defend yourself, who do you think will be killed first?”

“These people will protect me,” she answers defiantly. Except her voice cracks.

From the other side of the mat, Haskal laughs. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. If it’s between my neck and yours, there’s no contest.” He slides his index finger across his throat for emphasis.

“We watch each other’s backs,” I clarify. “But don’t delude yourself into thinking you’ll survive that way. You won’t. And that’s a promise. Nautia and Britta. Again.”

“What? I just fought her!” Britta squeals.

“Do you have a hearing disability, Officer?”

She stiffens, her nostrils flaring in anger. “No, sir.”

“Good. Let’s get to it then.”

Britta sulks her ass onto the mat. The girls begin on opposite ends. Like their first round, Nautia springs forward to take Britta down, but this time the teenager drops to the mat and rolls away. Surprised at the new development, Nautia loses her balance and stumbles forward. Britta pops up, her eyes blazing. Anger works well for her in this venue, because suddenly she’s on fire. She rushes Nautia. Spinning around, Nautia grins, closelines her attacker, and Britta falls on her back and doesn’t move.

I clap, because that was actually decent. “Much better. Next up, Haskal and Gibson. Move it, soldiers.”

From the floor, Britta slaps the mat before she glares up at Nautia.

“Come on,” Nautia says, offering her a hand again. “Barton’s right. You tried that time. Good work.”

Britta accepts, but she doesn’t say anything. As soon as she’s on her feet, she storms off the mat and plops down on the edge by herself. The spark in her eyes tells me she’s not finished today.

As soon as Gibson outsmarts Haskal and lays him out, I call for the last matchup before lunch: Britta and Kray.

I grab Kray’s arm. “Don’t go easy on her.”

“Yes, sir.”

Britta circles Kray, carefully studying him. She’s at a disadvantage being that her ability is all mental. But everyone has a disadvantage against Kray, which is probably why he cleans up at this level. The use of powers aren’t technically allowed until they master proper technique, but with Kray that’s not possible. He has no on/off switch.

He points to his temple. “Against me, you’ll have to clear your head. I can hear everything you’re thinking.”

Britta shoots down toward his legs, but Kray dodges her easily.

“That’s not going to work on me. You can’t think about your move before you do it,” he tells her, instructing her. “Go on instinct.”

“Listen to him, Britta,” I say, even though Kray isn’t following my orders. I hadn’t expected him to teach her, but I’m glad he’s taking the initiative. These five working as a team is half of what will make this mission successful.

From the corner of my eye, I see Nautia murmur, “Take him down, Britta.”

“I appreciate that, Nautia,” Kray hollers back.

“Anytime, friend,” she yells. Then she pounds the mat to get the youngster’s attention. “Let’s go, Britta!”

Britta strikes again, to Kray’s stomach—and she makes contact! She saw the opportunity to hit while he was distracted. That was lesson numero uno. She’s been paying attention.

She’s not big enough to do much damage, though. Kray doesn’t even blink. He picks her up at the waist, her feet kicking in the air. She screams before he slams her to the mat and straddles her. Then he raises a fist to finish her off.

“Not bad, spitfire,” he says, lowering his arm. “Fighting is primal. It’s action and reaction. Take my advice earlier next time: clear your mind.”

“Nice work today, soldiers,” I say once Kray and Britta are standing again. “Lunch, then partner training.” My gaze lands on Nautia as I say it, and she looks away to peer at her partner, Haskal. After their incident on day one, and Nautia’s on day two, I’ve kept them apart. Today will be the first day they train together, and I’m hoping it goes well. I don’t need any more accidents.

“Sir?”

I look up to find Commander Sickles approaching me. “Admiral Melene on six for you, sir,” he says.

“Thank you.”

I turn my attention back to Kray and Britta, who’ve been training together for a week now. Britta’s trying, unsuccessfully, to perfect pronunciation with Kray.

“If I can’t understand you, how can I translate what you read from them?” she asks, frustrated. Her voice comes out solid like a woman’s, instead of her whiny fourteen-year-old one. “Focus, damn it!”

“Hey, spitfire. Just ’cause I beat your ass earlier doesn’t mean you have to go all she-bitch on me. It’s not like I’ve heard this language before six days ago.”

“Work
together
,” I emphasize. “Teamwork will make or break this mission. The two of you have to figure it out, or we’re just mice inside a trap.”

“Yes, sir,” they mumble in unison.

“I’ll be back later,” I say, before I walk out.

The Closet, as the crew calls it, is on the top deck. The highest point of the
Triton
. I have at least one commander stationed inside at all times. Right now, Commander Ackley has the bridge.

She nods when I enter. “Captain.”

“Commander.”

“Admiral Melene—”

“I’ve been informed, Commander. Take fifteen.”

“Yes, sir.”

As soon as she leaves, I take a seat at the com. I swivel in the chair to the switchboard and flip to channel six. “Admiral,” I say. “Thank you for getting back to me. Did you find anything on Nate Olson?”

“Not much, Barton. But I can tell you where he was stationed.”

“Where?”

“Thirty-three degrees north, one hundred thirty-five degrees east.”

It takes me all of two seconds to figure out the coordinates. “That’s the Sea of Japan.”

“Where you’re headed,” Melene answers.

“Are you saying, sir, Nate Olson was part of TorpMissionOne two years ago? The one we’re finishing?”

“That’s where he was stationed. If he was part of TorpMissionOne, it’s not in his file.”

“Was anything else going on at those coordinates at that time?”

“Not to my knowledge. But TM1 was just as classified as TM2. According the U.S. military, that mission never happened. Like this one isn’t happening.”

“I understand, sir. One more question: who was the lead on TM1?”

Admiral Melene sighs into the phone, and I realize he knows but doesn’t want to tell me. In the background, I hear papers shuffle. I’ve been in his office enough times to know it’s a nervous habit of his.

“Sir, I’m flying blind. I need all possible information to get my team back home in one piece,” I say.

Melene clears his throat, relenting. “That mission should never have happened the way it did. I don’t know how it came to be, but it was a goddamn mess before they ever left the dock. The lead was green—they must have thought having a non-Navy take the reins would work to the benefit of the Specials involved. But the whole thing ended in a fucking disaster that I’m still trying to clean up.”

He pauses, so I prompt him again. “Who was the lead?”

More paper rustling.

Shit.

“Cara Prior.”