Cyprus

  Psychosomatic Output: Unavaible

  Synaptic Rank: Unavaible

  “Damn it!” Cyprus smmed her fists into the navigation console. “I knew we shouldn’t have gone.”

  Her entire body trembled with adrenaline and fear, and she held her head in her hand. That was a HWND pilot, it had to be. There was no other expnation for a civilian freighter to pursue them.

  “What have we done?” She moaned.

  “Pull it together,” Recli snarled, “We’re alive, aren’t we?”

  For once her fear of the Shadari was outweighed by the suffocating dismay she felt in her chest.

  “Don’t you get it? They scanned me. They can pin to me this! It’s enough for the whole damn Sovereignty to decre war.”

  A deep rumbling growl rippled from the lizard’s throat, “Then why didn’t you destroy the ship?”

  She gaped at him, “That’s even worse! What do you think would happen if-“

  A massive, cwed hand cmped around her throat, ending her words in a strangled yelp. The lizard lifted her from her feet with ease and brought his elongated jaw close to her face.

  “Do not speak to me like I’m a freshly hatched whelping,” He hissed.

  She nodded frantically, and helplessly pawed at her neck. She could feel his talons piercing her skin. Just as she felt her consciousness start to slip, he released his hold and she dropped to the floor gasping for air.

  “If it is as you say, then we don’t have a choice.” He licked his teeth hungrily. “We must start now.”

  She stared up at him from the floor; her throat burned. He gnced down at her, reptilian eyes fshing with predatory excitement. In that moment she was struck by an overwhelming sense of despair, she had inadvertently started something she wasn’t sure she could finish. Now she truly did not have a choice. After watching that fight unfold, it was evident how truly outmatched they were against the HWNDs. The Relocs were obliterated before they even had a chance to fight back.

  “We need HWNDs.”

  Recli stared at her, “I will get them.”

  She took a deep breath and got to her feet. “It’s not going to be easy, the Ordanians will fight us they’re an entire pnet of Sovereignty sympathizers.”

  “Let me worry about that, you only need to get us on the surface.”

  She swallowed, “Then what are we waiting for, we have an assassination to pn.”

  Recli’s guttural ugh filled the cockpit. A trickle of blood ran down the fresh ceration on her neck. She could still feel the iron grip around her throat, and the talons that teased her death.

  Jericho

  Psychosomatic Output: 350 Units

  Synaptic Rank: unbound

  Jericho’s chest heaved as he stumbled to his feet. The crown y on the floor where he had torn it off in frustrating failure. He was shirtless, the sweat-sodden uniform had been uncomfortable.

  Randrea’s brow furrowed in concern as she weighed another stim in her hands. She gave him a questioning look and he managed a nod.

  It had been 42 hours since he first started his training, and since then he had refused to rest. Subsisting only on stims and a nutrient rich drink that just barely staved off his ravenous hunger.

  At some point Sto'ram and Dight had arrived to watch, though he wasn’t sure when. He stopped tracking time several attempts ago. Part of him wanted to give up. It would be so easy to deny the stim and succumb to his exhaustion. He was sure his prolonged exposure to the neurological strain was inflicting permanent damage. His brain felt like mush. Why was he doing this again? Was it even worth it?

  He could hear his mother’s cackling cruelty, “of course you want to give up! You’re worthless! I expected nothing else.”

  Randrea’s strong grip sturdied him, and he refocused his gaze on her smiling face. “You’re close, don’t give up. You almost have it.”

  She bent to stab the stim into the meat of his thigh. The explosion of pain caused his knees to buckle, but a strong arm wrapped around his back kept him propped up. Jericho could hardly keep his eyes open as the tremors of agony rippled through his body.

  Yet the resulting burst of energy was swift, and it exterminated the creeping infestation of fatigue.

  “Are you alright?” Randrea murmured.

  Awareness hit him like a sp to the face. Randrea’s face was only a few inches away from his own and he could feel the warmth of her breath on his cheek. For a single blissful second he succumbed to the intoxication of her scent.

  “Jericho.”

  He leapt out of her grip and tried to shake the color from his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I- uh- thanks.”

  Please don’t kill me, I promise I’m not normally this weird. I’m exhausted.

  She waved off the apology and scooped the crown from the floor. “You got this.”

  He swallowed and nodded. Behind her Sto'ram and Dight were watching intently. Were they secretly hoping that the crown would kill him?

  He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants and found that the fabric was already drenched.

  “Here we go.”

  The crushing pressure of the crown was all too familiar and he was still powerless against its weight. It pinned him to the floor like a stone on paper.

  At least accessing the AI was easier now. It was the only real indication of any progress. In the neurological haze it seemed to glow like an illuminated path through a shadowy forest.

  “Again?” It seemed surprised.

  “Help me.” He thought.

  “I don’t know how.” Its voice was mournful.

  How many times had they exchanged those words? By now he had figured out the right steps. He had to isote the pressure and fight with his mind, not with his body. That was easier said than done. With a colossal effort he forced himself to y still, and his thrashing stopped.

  “Take the load.” He insisted.

  “There’s too much!” The AI wailed.

  How many times had the AI refused? It was like arguing with an infant. It had no true concept of situation’s severity and it whined like a small child. Wait, what did it say.

  “Why can’t you take it?” He asked.

  The AI whimpered, “It’s everywhere, I can’t handle everything at once.”

  It’s everywhere? Maybe this wasn’t a single focused assault, but an attack on a hundred smaller fronts. If he could identify and isote those attacks, then he could stand a chance.

  You can do this. Arthros is counting on you.

  Piece by piece he allowed his mind to fixate on individual components of the pressure. He offered each isoted component to the AI and the computer gdly accepted.

  Piece by piece the pressure lessened.

  Eventually he was physically able to push himself to a kneeling position. His vision was blurry, but he could see Randrea staring wide-eyed. The sight of her fueled him even further, until every muscle in his body was straining to lift him to his feet.

  Tears sprang to his eyes when he realized he was standing, and a scream tore from his lips as he lifted his arms and ripped the crown from his head. It cttered to the floor, and he sank to his knees, openly sobbing into his hands.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Randrea gazing down at him in wonder. Dight was standing behind her, the eyes on his shoulders wide in amazement. Sto'ram remained expressionless, but her orb-like eyes didn’t frantically dart around but remained fixed on him.

  “You did it, I don’t believe it. You did it.” She murmured.

  He frantically wiped away the tears as ughter bubbled from his lips. He sat on his knees, every ounce of energy spent. He had no reserves left to stop the accumution of emotions that roiled inside him.

  A geyser of uncontrolble ughter.

  Randrea started to chuckle too, and she helped him to his feet with a wide smile. “Are all humans this insane?”

  Jericho wobbled on his feet as the st of the stim’s effects started to wear off. He grabbed her arm to keep steady. “No, I’m one of a kind.”

  Wow, what is wrong with you.

  “I agree,” Randrea muttered. Jericho gave her a surprised look and she turned away, “Let’s get you to the infirmary.”

  “Randrea.” Sto'ram cut in.

  Jericho looked at the Titulonist and saw her holding out an open palm. Floating a few inches above her hand was a holographic portrait of him, above were runes he didn’t recognize.

  Randrea narrowed her eyes, “Jericho’s? What’s wrong with it.”

  The Hokkonian twisted open her own palm. A ring on her forefinger fshed, and his portrait appeared above her palm. Her jaw dropped as she stared at it. Jericho squinted at the Hokkonian runes written above his portrait, but he didn’t understand them either.

  “What is it?” His heart hammered in his chest.

  Why do they look so spooked.

  “It’s your psychosomatic output, it’s changed.” She whispered.

  “That’s good though, right?” Her confusion was starting to worry him.

  “I mean normally yes, but this.” She frowned, “I’ve never seen this before, not even with Graito.” Her intense gaze flicked to his, “Do you know what your Psychosomatic Output was when you got here?”

  He shook his head.

  “I do, I scanned you after Graito knocked you out. You were at 300 Units, you didn’t even qualify for a Synaptic Rank.”

  Jericho made a line with his mouth, “That sounds about right, Arthros told me it was terrible.”

  Randrea nodded slightly, “That is terrible, but your number has changed.”

  “It’s gone up though right, it couldn’t have gone down.”

  “Jericho, it’s at 1,000.”

  Her white eyes were filled with something unrecognizable. Dight’s rumbled something that sounded suspiciously like apprehension. Sto'ram was unreadable.

  “Why are you making it seem like that’s bad thing? 1,000 sounds really good.” He asked.

  Randrea shook her head, “It’s not that it’s bad. It’s just unheard of. No one progresses that fast.”

  Here it goes, I’m going to have to tell her why. I’m unbound or whatever. “It’s because-”

  “I told you he had potential, didn’t I?” A deep voice came from the arena doors.

  Jericho turned to see the Commander standing with hands csped behind his back. “Congratutions, Jericho.”

  Jericho grinned, “Thank you sir.”

  The female wasn’t convinced, “this goes beyond potential Cap, he qualifies as rank 1 but his psymetra still isn’t calcuting. Have you ever seen that before?”

  Arthros was silent for a moment as he stared at Randrea. His face was a mask of impassiveness, “No.”

  Randrea opened her mouth to say something, but hesitated and then said nothing. She continued to study Jericho’s portrait.

  The Commander, satisfied that she wasn’t going to press the issue, dipped his head, “bring him to the infirmary then meet me in my office. Same goes for you two.”

  Dight rumbled and Sto'ram nodded.

  He paused, “Where’s Graito?”

  Randrea winced and shook her head.

  “Wait, what about me?” Jericho asked. “I don’t want to go sit in the infirmary while you guys have a meeting.”

  Arthros studied him with a cool gaze, “It’s a debrief for pilots only.”

  Jericho looked up at Randrea but she didn’t meet his gaze, “But I passed the crown test.”

  The Commander blinked, “You’ve shown you’re capable of handling the most basic requirements. That doesn’t cssify you as a Pilot.”

  “But I just trained for two days- “

  “Enough.” Arthros snapped, “You’ve only done what is expected.”

  The words stung. Was that truly the extent of the praise he received for slowly killing himself? “I did what’s expected? I didn’t stop for two days straight! I’ve proven that I’m good enough.”

  He pushed his luck too far, and Arthros stalked up to him. He shrank away from the bristling Hokkonian.

  “You’ve proven nothing.” Arthros snarled, “The crown didn’t kill you, but I will if you openly disobey me again. Don’t forget where you stand, human. I’ve protected you, but you’re not one of us yet.” The look in Arthros eyes softened, “Your effort has not gone unnoticed, get some rest because this is only the beginning.”

  The Hokkonian turned on his heel and walked out of the arena. Sto'ram and Dight followed him out. Leaving Jericho standing like a berated child beside Randrea.

  She gave him a tight smile, “You heard him.”

  He followed her blindly out of the door, his mind whirling. Arthros had said that it was only the beginning, but what could that truly mean? He had proven he could withstand the pressure of a HWND, wasn’t that enough? Anger fred and he grit his teeth. He defied the odds and proved them all wrong. There wasn’t a single person, Arthros included, who truly believed he would survive. Yet here he was, and all he received was a tongue-shing. Whatever was coming next, he would attack with the same determination he had with the crown. He would prove to everyone that he was good enough.