Ark breathed. It was what he was good at. His one skill that he could always rely on.
Breathe—push with your right, pull with the left—breathe—keep the sight in focus—breathe—squeeze the trigger—
With a thunderclap, the gun went off. The bullet flew straight down the middle of the shooting lane, hitting the target right in the center—millimeters off bullseye.
“Damn,” Doug said, eying Ark, who was still focused on the target, slowly releasing the trigger until a ‘click’ told him it was ready to fire again.
He breathed. Fire. Breathe—fire.
Every shot centered. Every shot a kill. Breathe.
In the back of his mind, Ark heard Sylvia Leen’s laughter, from the day she had brought him to the firing range.
So, you are good at something. That was all she had said. It was his proudest moment in life.
Emptying the magazine, Ark pulled it out and placed it on the table in front of him. He pulled the slide atop the gun to make sure it was empty, before placing it on the table as well, barrel pointed away from him, down the range.
“You’ve done that before,” Doug said, eying him suspiciously.
“I have,” Ark agreed, still focused on his breathing. It was good to feel the tingle in his trigger-finger, a slight mix of adrenaline and the lingering sensation of the cold steel.
“Huh… It’s a shame guns can’t keep up with psionics” Doug said, shaking his head.
“Won’t matter to me,” Ark said, “I can’t use psionics, anyway.”
“You can’t?”
Doug looked surprised, and Ark realized he had been too engrossed in the feeling of accomplishment he got from shooting that he had let an important piece of information slip.
“I mean—“ Ark thought fast, quickly deciding the best way forward was to deflect, “I’m a mindweaver, you know. I gotta focus on that, not the psionics.”
“I guess,” Doug shrugged, then pointed to the gun at the table. “Anyway, you can borrow that piece for as long as you need it. Keep it unloaded when inside the guild, though. There will be ammunition available in the training room, the non-lethal kind.”
Ark thanked him, before Doug walked back out of the training room with a wave. Around him, the others were practicing their own weapons in cordoned areas, usually against a virtual dummy.
Close by, Mino stood with a large shield and a hammer, fending off the attacks from a shimmering figure with a sword. Mino’s strength was enough to make him dangerous, but he rarely swung the hammer—preferring to accept the blows of the virtual dummy with the shield.
It was instinct, Ark knew. Mino had never been aggressive, which was a large reason why he was ultimately thrown out of the Maze. They had discussed it often, but Ark knew how hard it was for Mino to change this part of him. He just was not fond of hitting others—an admirable trait at most times, just not when you were trying to become a riftwalker.
This was a chance to see what the others were capable of. Jenson and Ran he had already seen fight. They were both good—even if Ran was better. What he was curious about was Rex and Naomi, who were both at the other end of the room.
To Ark’s surprise, Rex wielded a staff, with which she was bashing down her virtual opponent with zeal. Her style looked like a whirlwind, as she rotated back and forth in a pattern that seemed a bit off to Ark. She was not always aiming to hit the opponent, but to create distance, but then she moved in again and repeated the action.
He was sure there was something she was hiding, but from the interaction alone, he was unable to see through her. Keep your secrets, then, Ark thought, turning to look for Naomi instead.
He was less surprised to see her with a bow, standing in a shooting range much like his own, but with moving targets in front of her. The look of concentration of her face was familiar, and her stance look rocked solid as she raised her bow, placed an arrow, and slowly drew back while lowering the bow again to take aim. Every time she let loose, her arrow flew true—hitting with enough force to throw them backward.
Like with Rex, Ark was sure there was something he was missing. Neither of the two were applying their psionic abilities to their weapons, and Ark was certain they were both trained enough to have them.
He knew that the gun, still lying on the table behind him, had once made the weapons that the other trainees used completely obsolete. The gun had changed the face of warfare, since you could train for years and yet only be a competent swordsman; but a novice could pick up a gun and probably kill a competent swordsman after training less than a week.
What had changed that calculation was psionics. Though hard to apply to inorganic materials, it was still possible to augment your sword with an edge that could cut through steel as easily as butter. Combined with augmentation to speed and cognition that allowed you to avoid or deflect bullets, the gun suddenly lost its edge.
Humans had attempted to apply psionics on guns—of course—but it was simply too inefficient. The firing mechanism would break after a few shots, or it would jam from the force twisting the metal and making it unusable.
Even psychics, the psionic users who were the most delicate with their powers—capable of invading their opponents mind and changing their very brain chemistry—could not keep a gun from breaking down.
As a weapon, it was a dead end. Ark knew it, despite how frustrated it made him. It’s the one thing I’m good at, and it’s the one thing that doesn’t work anymore, he thought, clenching his fists and returning to his own practice. The gun on the table was a relic of a bygone era. He picked it up and felt a certain calm return to him, as if it was a piece of him that had finally returned to its proper place, making him whole. Holding it in his left, he traced a finger down the cold steel of the barrel, contemplating. If it was his one advantage, he would hone it until it became useful.
Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
He kept firing until the weapons trainer—who was more of an overseer than an actual trainer—informed them their session was over. It was lunchtime.
Ark quickly collected his gear from Harkon, relief washing over him when the dagger was back in his hands. Doug joined them, as they walked to the mess hall to eat, talking their ear off all the way.
“So, you’re gonna let me see it, right?” Doug said, as they had sat down with their plates and started eating.
“See what?” Ark said, half-listening.
“Your gear, dude!”
Ark remembered what he had promised Doug the previous evening and gave the eager boy a tight smile. “Sure, but I’m not leaving you alone with it.”
“Score!” Doug grinned from ear to ear. “Harkon was really into it, saying it was different from other gear he’s seen.”
Ark could feel the comment sting, even though he knew Doug did not mean it as a slight. He knew it was different, because it was barely developed. The whole point about gear was that it grew with the user, but the only change he had ever gotten out of it was its red edge—which made it sharper, sure, but on the whole it was an underwhelming change.
Changing the subject, Ark nodded to a table further away, where Rex and Jenson sat. “Can you tell us about our teammates, Doug?”
Doug looked over his shoulder at the two trainees and quickly turned back, eying Ark suspiciously. “You want me to be a snitch?”
“No,” Ark said, furrowing his brow, “Just… how long have they been here, where are they from? Stuff like that.”
“Oh, right… I only asked because what that’s what the Princess wanted me to do, you know, tell her everything you did’n’stuff.”
“The Princess? Rex?” Ark said, looking from Doug to the girl in question. She clearly noticed his look and stared right back, calmly sipping her water. Ark broke eye-contact first.
“Yeah… She’s a scary one,” Doug said, shuddering.
“And? Did you agree?”
Grinning, Doug waved his fork at Ark. “Of course I did—I’m not suicidal.”
Ark blinked at the frank admission. “So… you’re spying on us right now?”
“He’s a quick one, isn’t he.” Doug elbowed Mino with a gleam in his eye, “Anyway, you already promised to show me your gear—no takebacks.”
He started eating again, only to stop when Ark and Mino kept staring at him. “What? Oh come on, it’s not that serious. Look, I’m only telling her what you’re telling me, so if you don’t want her to know your secrets, don’t spill ‘em to me.”
“You’re being very up-front about all of this,” Ark said, dryly.
“Sure am. It’s usually the best practice to be on good terms with the riftwalkers in the guild, even prospective ones. Spying on you in-house doesn’t harm the guild, and being up front about it means you can’t blame me later. Simple, right?”
“Right,” Ark said, meeting Mino’s eyes. This felt awfully familiar. “So, does that stop you from telling us about her? Rex, I mean.”
Doug shrugged as he swallowed his last mouthful of food. He had taken about the same amount of food as Mino, and was far ahead of the big guy when it came to finishing his food. “I can tell you what everyone knows. Her father is a guild director who got transferred here a few years ago. I don’t know what he did upstairs, but apparently it was enough to create some bad blood.”
He once again waved the fork, like he was conducting the clatter and general noise of the mess hall, emphasizing each word with it. “I wouldn’t ask about it, if I was you. She’s beaten up anyone who has mentioned it around her, so show some tact.”
“Alright, fair enough.” Ark pursed his lips in thought. It was not much to go on, but it was an opening. “And Jenson? What do you know about him?”
“That he hates being called ‘Jenson’,” Doug said with a grin, then turned more serious as he leaned forward. “Okay, so I don’t know a lot. He’s also from upstairs, but his family is not traditionally aligned with the Explorers—they’re with Solomon.”
“So?” Ark figured there was more to the story, and Doug’s dubious look made him certain.
“So… Him being here means one of two things. Either he really wanted to make things hard for himself, or…”
“Or he was thrown out,” Ark said, narrowing his eyes.
“Right on,” Doug said, pulling finger guns on Ark with a smirk.
“Then what about Naomi and Ran? What do you know about them?”
Doug’s smirk disappeared, as did the finger guns. He looked from side to side, as if expected either of the two to appear at any moment and grab him. Wetting his lips, he very quietly said, “I’m not talking about those two. Don’t make me talk about them, please.”
The reaction was weird, but that in itself was information for Ark to digest. He nodded and let it go. He would have to figure out the rest on his own.
They ended their meal soon thereafter, going their separate ways for their midday break. Ark and Mino both went back to their room and fell onto their beds, already exhausted from the training they had been going through—considering they had not done a regiment like that for over two years.
Ark briefly managed to close his eyes, before he was jolted awake by an alarm that he had set himself. His body ached and protested being forced back into action, but there was nothing to do about it. They had practical combat training—finally.
With stiff limbs, they got into their training gear and lumbered out of their room, taking the elevator down to the training rooms. It was the same as they day before, the same they would be going to almost every day for the next two months. Training room number six, number of the devil, Alistor himself.
They entered, and for the third time running, were the last to show up. The others were already lined up in front of the Instructor, who had assumed his getup from when they had first met him. Shorts and a shirt, flip flops on his feet, and this time he had a toothpick in his mouth, occasionally flipping it around with his tongue.
In a light jog, they joined the line and stood at attention before Alistor, who only acknowledged their presence with the briefest of looks.
“Alright, ladies, since we’re all here, let’s get started, shall we?” He said, tapping his foot. In a near chorus, he got a ‘yes, instructor’ in response, and went on. “Since we’ve got newcomers, I gotta repeat myself. I hate repeating myself, so listen up.”
He began pacing back and forth, arms behind his back. “You shitstains want to be riftwalkers. I’m here to make sure you’re up for the task. That means I’m going push you to the edge of your ability, and probably make you bleed from every damned orifice you’ve got in the process. You know what an orifice is, Tiny?”
He stopped in front of Ark, without looking in his direction.
“Yes, Instructor. An opening in the body.”
“Yes…” He drawled, slowly turning onto Ark and Mino, “And for every time you fuck up in my training, I’m going to tear you a new one. Is that understood?”
Once Mino and Ark both confirmed, Alistor turned on his heel and walked back into center position. Tapping his foot again, he said. “Like before, we start with two-on-two combat, but since we got new members, we adding another team. That means fights are not just about who finds who first, but about picking your moment to engage as well. Pick a stupid moment, and you can end up fighting on two fronts. We clear? Good.”
With that, he began giving orders like a drill sergeant. “Naomi, Rex, you’re team one—play nice. Ran and Mule, you’re our big-boy team number two.”
Ark’s mouth dried out the instant he heard the second team being announced. He had though he and Mino would be put together, but obviously, Alistor had different plans.
“That leaves my two favorite punks,” Alistor said with a grin, “Tiny and Jenson, let’s see how you get on, yeah?”
Ark turned his head, looking down the lane of trainees and found two dark-green eyes, looking back at him with as much apprehension as he felt himself.