SLAM (3 page)

But all that’s finished. It was
finished when Abial volunteered to go against Serena during her
test. And now Serena feels like an idiot for not suspecting
something. For thinking Abial was just competing, like they always
did.
Backstabber.

Suddenly she wonders why the other girl did
it. Could the need to hold on to her status as the youngest Arena
success be the only reason? Had it led Abial to betray Serena in
the most personal and cruel fashion possible? Or could there be
something more?

The thought-memory of her baby
brother’s crumpled body jumps back into her mind. It’s too much to
bear, and Serena digs her fingers into her bruised thigh. The pain
blots out the fake image Abial slipped through her
defences
, and she sighs, adjusting
herself on the bed. She wants to remember Damon as he was: playful,
silly, and kind. He always knew when she needed a hug, and when she
wanted to be left alone. He never made her feel like she had to put
on a front, even though he was just a kid. Now, when Serena has one
of her frequent nightmares, there’s no small, squirming body
climbing into bed to give her a cuddle before she even wakes. No
little hand to hold hers and tell her it’s all going to be okay, in
that utterly self-possessed way he’d had ever since he started
talking. One of the benefits of being a Psionic is the truly
intimate emotional links you can form with people; especially
talented Readers like her brother. He knew her inside out. He would
understand, even now. He’d understand why she needs to
fight.

She is strong, but small; small enough that
the idea of her being a soldier would be ludicrous to anyone not in
the know, which is most of the world. But here at ARC, physical
size is irrelevant. The power you wield and the control you have
over it are all that count. Mastery of your Talent takes years of
hard practice, but she works harder than anyone. Up at dawn,
physical training in the gym, tactical training, and school on top
of that. She’s barely breathed for years. As the daughter of the
man who now leads ARC – the freedom-fighting group, those who are
sick of being hunted down by the Institute for the threat they pose
to the power-hungry government – a lot of eyes are on her. But it
isn’t this that makes her so desperate to succeed.

Damon will be seven now, if he’s still alive.
She hasn’t seen him in two years. An ARC team caught sight of him
just over a year ago, but was overwhelmed by the Institute soldiers
guarding him, and had to retreat. She wishes she’d never watched
the vid from the operative’s helmets. Her newer nightmares are of
the moment her brother’s eyes landed on the stocky figure of their
father as he held the soldiers back with his psionic powers,
struggling to reach his young son. Instead of showing recognition
or hope, Damon’s soft, childish face had remained blank and
unanimated. Empty. The brown eyes that had always lit up when his
daddy entered the room looked right through him, like he was a
stranger.

The memory chills her to the bone,
and she moves the icepack away as though
it
is the cause of her pebbling
flesh.

That’s what the Institute does to kids, to
people like her … people with powers. They take young telepaths
away and wipe them out so the organization can use their gifts as
tools. The Institute abducts whoever is found; anyone Talented and
unlucky enough to be born inside a major City is usually captured
at birth. Even in the rambling and dilapidated townships, you’re
lucky to avoid their hunters for long. A few of the slum dwellings
are made from old shipping containers, and the metal can help hide
psionic signal. Some escape, that way. But the larger your psionic
Talent, the stronger you are, and the more difficult it is to
control. Readers find it easier to remain unnoticed, because their
power is passive, but Projectors, especially those strong enough to
have telekinesis rather than a more subtle skill like mind control
... that’s harder to hide. And once you get on their radar, they’ll
stop at nothing to track you down. ARC tries to fight, to take back
the stolen and rehabilitate them, help them learn tricks to protect
themselves and keep themselves safe. After that, they can do what
they want. Leave, if that’s what they desire, or stay and join the
fight.

The fight Serena chose to join.
She has Talent, and it’s too dangerous for her to be out there
alone until she’s able to cloak herself. For now, ARC keeps her
safe. The education teaches her how to protect herself, and
the
defences
give her a shield against
the soldiers of the Institute. But she’s training to be an ARC
soldier for one reason, and one reason only: The better prepared
she is, the more likely
she’ll
be able to get to
Damon.

And that’s the only thing that
matters now. After all, it
is
her fault he was stolen.

Closing her eyes, she tries to shut out the
memories, and the overwhelming feeling that she’s let her baby
brother down, again.

*

She stays on the bed for an hour or so before
the unrelenting pain drives her through the annoyingly sympathetic
company of ARC headquarters to the Medical Bay. By the time the
third active operative, his insignia shining on mismatched civilian
clothing, has slapped her supportively on the shoulder, she is
holding back the urge to deck someone.

Trying not to show how much her
leg is hurting, she hobbles miserably into the Med Bay for
treatment. It’s a slow day, and they soon have her relaxing under a
ray to break the bruising down. After watching the buzzing green
line move up and down her skin for a while, she closes her eyes
and, bored, meditates, carefully gathering her power and shaping
it, filling herself with the crackling energy that belongs to her.
Meditation is part of the everyday routine for a Psionic.
Controlling their power – harnessing it and bending it to their
will – is something they’ve all learned in training. Much of her
education has been in this sort of tamping down, which helps her to
keep her power ready to use when she needs it, but
not
involuntarily. After
her scene at the Arena, she feels like she definitely needs to get
a better handle on the link between her power and her emotional
state.

She breathes in and out as regularly as
clockwork, working at it, until the friendly nurse approaches to
tell her she can go.

Her leg feels much better, and she has cheered
up enough to join her bunkmates at their table in the mess hall,
taking their gentle teasing as good-naturedly as she can when she
gets there. ARC recruits are warriors in training, and expected to
hold their tempers and suck it up.

Of course, keeping her hot temper
under wraps is something Serena has always struggled
with
.
And
thinking about what happened – what led to her injury – is probably
only going to make things worse. Instead of revisiting her failure
over and over, she deliberately decides to focus on the future. She
has a month to get ready. Next month, she’ll get it right. Next
month, her shield will be flawless; attacks will slide over it like
water over glass. Next month, she’ll become an
operative.

Her light blue gaze scans the
room, and fastens on the avatar of her defeat. Abial is sitting
with Ria and Daine, two respected operatives. Usually she would
have been on the end of
this
table with the rest of her year mates. Either
she’s deliberately trying to separate herself from the ‘kids,’ or
she’s rubbing her elevated status in Serena’s face.

Or, maybe, Serena mentally concedes, Abial is
too ashamed to try to join them.

It’s probably a good thing, since Serena can’t
guarantee that Abial doesn’t have a swift punch to the face waiting
in her near future. It’s always a safe bet to aim blows above the
neck, as Abial has sucked at shielding her face ever since they
were kids, first learning to build an invisible wall around their
bodies. Normally, it would be out of bounds to use information like
that. But since Abial already broke one of the unspoken rules of
psionic combat by using knowledge of Serena’s shielding frequencies
against her, Serena feels she’d be justified. What Abial did was a
violation of her trust. A kind of emotional assault, made worse by
the fact that it was done to hurt. To cause her to fail.

She stares at Abial until the other girl meets
her gaze, half wishing for something she can understand – an
apology, an explanation. Anything to justify how her closest friend
could turn on her like that, and block her only path to her
brother. But Abial just twitches an eyebrow, a placid expression on
her broad, tanned face.

Serena stifles a growl and narrows her eyes.
She mouths ‘next time,’ and grins when Abial blinks and looks
away.

Jue nudges her gently in the side with an
elbow. “You could fix global warming with a stare that cold. We’ll
just put you outside to look at the sun! Oh presto, problem
solved!”

Shannon snickers and Serena forces herself to
relax a little, digging into her bland food with sudden
gusto.

THE DAY OF
her retest crawls toward her, the hours stretching out
unbearably. Serena spends the entire month watching the calendar
and training, almost glad of the punishment duties and extra
classes that keep her so occupied she doesn’t have too much time to
dwell. In fact, it seems like she barely sleeps. She’s taken to
eating in her room or the gym; just grabbing a foodpack so she
doesn’t waste time socializing. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that
this helps her in her quest to avoid any interaction with her
former best friend, who fortunately appears to agree entirely with
that plan. Apart from when it comes to training with Kion, who runs
specialist classes once a week, they barely catch sight of each
other.

Finally,
finally,
the day dawns. Her nerves
are singing as she pulls on her tight-fitting shock suit for her
retest. The thin gel pads that harden with impact lie flat and snug
against her lightly muscled frame. It feels good, like a second
skin, and surely that’s a good sign.
Third
time lucky. Isn’t that a saying from somewhere?

The mission setup will be just
like the last: A team of eight qualified operatives are in charge
of the Arena’s
defences
. Serena’s challenge: To
make it through the ‘city.’ Strength, secrecy, and a combination of
the two are all acceptable methods. If she can hide her psionic
presence, she might be able to avoid the opposition until the very
end. If not, it will come down to a telekinetic and physical fight.
She just has to get through, by any means necessary. One of the
oldest operatives, Jamal, passed his test by taking a bunch of MREs
in with him and holing up. Eventually the hunting team got too
hungry to keep looking, and the rules state that once you’re out of
the Arena, you can’t re-enter. When the operatives left to get
food, they were out, and Jamal just walked over the finish line in
plain sight.

They changed the system, after that. Now
there’s a time limit, which means she’ll have only thirty minutes
to make it across. Thirty minutes to get past whatever hunters are
out there, through the streets, and to the other side of the
Arena.

She bounces on her toes gently,
embracing the familiar rush of adrenaline fizzing in her blood.
This time, she’s fighting smart.
Avoid
them ... then they can’t hurt you. Hide and run; no heroics, just
out the other side before time runs out. If they don’t find you, no
one can do what Abial did to you.

Suddenly the noise announcing the start of the test blares,
and the light over the entrance goes green. Serena slips into the
darkness. The defending operatives – those hunting her – will be
entering from the other side at the same time. She sends out
tentative mental feelers, trying to ascertain their positions,
while keeping her shields prepared for anything. It’s a delicate
balance, and difficult to learn; keeping the invisible layer of
protection
solid enough
to absorb a direct blow, but
fluid
and ready to whirl bullets
away from their intended path. After checking her defences, she
looks up and spots a camera in front of her, and a slow grin
spreads over her face – a wolf’s grin, teeth flashing in the
gloom.