The Proving (2 page)

And that meant glory. Glory was earned. Glory was owned. Glory was affixed to one’s chest in the form of medals and colored ribbons. In Clan Sparta, glory was everything.

Father was off-duty for the day but still wore his Spartan dress uniform, complete with the honorary red half-cape hanging over his shoulder. His cape was affixed with a gold chain. The matching gold buttons on his uniform strained in their buttonholes to keep the fabric in place around his broad chest. He’d rolled up the cuffs of his sleeves, and his narrow wrists belied his otherwise vigorous appearance. He was getting old. Soon, younger Spartan officers would begin challenging his authority.

But Father wouldn’t give in.

When they arrived at Parliament, Father would unroll his sleeves and put on his black gloves to hide his thin wrists. He always did that, Skye noticed.

“Cassidy. What is a Specter?”

“The enemy,” Cassidy whispered.

Skye nudged him. “Speak louder.”

“The ENEMY.”

“Cassidy, how do you destroy a Specter?”

Her brother’s hands caught Skye’s attention. His fingers were twiddling madly. He wouldn’t look at Father. “VR bullets.”

“Made of?”

“Electricity.”

“Explain.”

“A pulse.”

“
Explain
.” The strain in Father’s voice was obvious. Cassy’s hands briefly clutched the red cushion of his seat, then returned to his lap. The seats had no armrests. Clan Sparta’s mag-train was designed to transport as many soldiers as possible. That meant tight seats along one wall and a weapons locker along the opposite wall. A few windows, only to provide a visual of the field.

Don’t let your nerves get to you, Cassy,
she thought
. Don’t do it . . .

“A proton pulse,” Cassy whispered. He had a high-pitched voice, soft. It already sounded weak, but when he whispered it made him sound almost pathetic. Father hated when Cassy whispered.

“Cassidy. How do they hunt? Speak up now.”

He shrugged. Finally, he couldn’t control himself. His hand went to his mouth. He began biting nervously at his knuckles. With one long stride, Father was in front of them both. He slapped Cassy across his face. Cassy’s eyes welled with tears. He stared at Father’s gold belt buckle.

Skye fought the urge to flinch. Flinching was a sign of weakness. She wanted to protect her brother but knew any gesture to comfort the boy — even so much as wiping the tear off his cheek — would only set Father’s rage upon her instead. She often wondered why he was so harsh, so cold. Perhaps it was because Father was not their
biological
father. They’d both been created in a test tube, the product of Athenian in-vitro fertilization. Both Skye’s and Cassidy’s parents were nothing more than the frozen eggs and sperm of ancient honored warriors. Still, such things meant nothing to her. Cassy was her brother, plain and simple. And the urge to protect him erupted inside her like a thunderstorm when she saw he needed help.

“Wipe your tears,” Father ordered. He turned to Skye, looking down. “Answer for him, then, since you’re so obviously willing.”

Skye drew in a sharp breath. “Specters are solitary but will call to each other if they sense danger. It’s an instinctual act, one that can be exploited by forcing multiple enemies into tight spaces. They can’t phase through solid surfaces without expending energy, and they’ll draw energy from each other if they’re too close. Shoot the strongest one first, maim it. If it tries to drain energy from the others, pick off the weakest ones.”

Father turned to Cassy. “You hear that, boy? Look up.”

Cassy looked up, quickly wiping another tear away.

Father reached out, gently touching Cassy’s chin. Father’s stern expression softened just a bit. The wrinkles on his forehead thinned out. Skye felt a twinge of jealousy. That gentle forgiveness was reserved for Cassy.

“You
must
know this, boy. The survival of the human race depends on us.”

“I know it,” Cassy said, his voice high and whiny. “I just couldn’t
remember
it all.”

“Someday, you will be called upon,” Father said. He turned, staring through the curved windshield of the mag-train. The vehicle had begun to slow. Skye watched the conductor’s left hand as he drew his finger slowly along a red switch on the display panel. Inside the rails on either side of the train, the electromagnetic suspension system adjusted flawlessly to the change in speed. Underneath the train, secondary magnets kept it floating. No friction. No wheels traveling along rails. One of Clan Persia’s technological feats and a great source of pride.

“Will we see them?” Cassy asked. “Do I have to shoot them?”

Father didn’t answer.

“I’ll protect you,” Skye said. She aimed her finger like a gun. “They’ll be farther away than a Disc Toss goal.”

At that, Cassy’s eyes lit up just a bit. He loved Disc Toss — it was a game hesitantly tolerated by Clan Sparta, and only because the elders recognized it to be good fitness training. Skye enjoyed watching Cassy play. In the game he shed his shy, nervous demeanor. He was nimble and quick, but never threw the plate-sized discs for goals. Instead, he maneuvered his way to the opponent’s goal and then passed the disc to a teammate. Skye often watched him with a touch of pride. He was going to grow up to be fast.

Now if only he could be a little more aggressive.

Then Cassy will be Father’s favorite, without a doubt. “Skye who?” he might say when someone points out that he has a daughter, too. Maybe I’ll even have to remind him from time to time.

She shook the thought. That was neither here nor there.

“I don’t wanna shoot them,” Cassy whined.

Father spun. “
Want
.”

“Fine. I don’t
want
to shoot them.”

For a moment, Skye thought Father might close the distance again and deliver another slap. But instead, Father simply drew in a deep breath. “You’ll do whatever you must to complete your Proving. The Proving isn’t a game. The Proving is your first step to adulthood. You will be tied to the other members of your Coterie for the rest of your life. You will depend on each other. And you will protect the people of Neo Berlin when called upon.” He made a fist in front of Cassy’s face, causing the boy to flinch. “Glory.”

Cassy looked down. His feet didn’t quite touch so they hung over the floor, swinging slowly. He looked funny, wearing his little gray Ecosuit. The spidersilk fabric was incredibly strong, and just durable enough that it wasn’t a discomfort. The shoulder plates, shin guards and wrist guards were all made of a ceramic fiber, strong enough to temporarily stop a weakened Specter but mostly only good for protecting against more physical threats.

Which, for an awkward thirteen-year-old, mostly meant bumping into things. Kids were so clumsy. Skye couldn’t remember ever being as clumsy as Cassy. He seemed to always have bruises and cuts.

She looked down at her suit — at least it fit well. Her boots were a little snug, but not so much that they were uncomfortable. And the armor was “breathing” like it should, keeping her from overheating. She’d had one of the Spartans in the armory remove the three emergency rations on her belt and replace them with an extra fuel cell. The cell could be used to power her VR rifle or her Xenoshield system, depending on what she needed more at any given time. The short-wave shield wasn’t on yet — if it were, she would feel a very gentle force pushing her butt away from the seat, so subtle that it would be completely forgotten a few moments after it was turned on. When it was on, it would form a thin, invisible protection against a Specter attack.

They’d all heard stories of shields failing. Sebecus Specters pulling themselves from the ground, glowing a sickening reddish orange, their lizard-like eyes singling out an unfortunate victim. Coteries who had completed their Proving had a hard time explaining what it was like, coming up against the creatures. The veteran Spartans always said the same thing: “Imagine ghosts. Long-dead ghosts of long-dead creatures that no longer exist. They glow like they’re on fire. You can see through them. They move like they’re swimming underwater. They
moan
.”

And then they touch you. They move through you. And then you die.

“Listen to your Parliamentarian,” Father ordered. “His name is Gabriel Martinez. He will assume leadership. If he’s a good leader, he will seek consensus. If he’s a poor leader, he will try to give orders.”

“Who are the other kids?” Cassy asked.

Father ignored him. He was looking at Skye now, piercing her with his dark brown eyes. He rarely looked into her eyes for so long — her left eye crossed just a bit from time to time, and though it didn’t affect her vision, it made Father uncomfortable. A visual sign of weakness that Skye was expected to overcome. “Trust the other clan members only as much as you need to. You. You, Skye. You will be their protector. They will depend on your martial skills. They’ve wasted generations skulking in front of their computers and lab equipment while the Specter threat grows. Don’t forget that.”

“I won’t,” Skye said. She felt a touch of pride in the way he was talking to her — like an
adult
.

Father turned to Cassy. “When I was eighteen, my Coterie underwent our final Proving in the southern swamps of Wei-Gan. Satellite data had pinpointed a small nest of Specters that were getting too close to the rice farms. There was worry that they might damage the farming machines, and so it was our job to wipe them out. When we arrived, we found ourselves surrounded by more than a dozen Specters. Someone from Clan Persia had made a mistake with the satellite data. Or perhaps not.”

“What do you mean?” Cassy asked, sitting straighter. He’d never heard this story, but Skye had. She’d heard it five years ago when she’d been the little one, the Young Adult, going through her first Proving.

“Clan Persia failed in their duties. They monitor the satellites. They provide tactical data. And they nearly killed us.”

“But Father was too strong,” Skye told Cassy, smiling. She nudged him with her elbow. “He had a few tricks up his sleeve.”

“The clans maintain an alliance because it’s the only way to survive against the Specters,” Father said grimly. “Others will speak of unity and togetherness and all manner of ridiculous notions of brotherhood, but you must always remember that Clan Sparta is the strongest. We are the warriors. We are the ones whose weapons protect the last of the human race. Trust your Coterie no farther than you can spit.”

Don’t trust anyone. Don’t trust the clans, and don’t trust the citizens. Don’t trust Parliament. Don’t trust your neighbors. Don’t trust your shields.
When Father spoke, he didn’t make eye contact with Skye. But she understood he was talking mainly to her. It would be her job to keep her brother safe. Some thought the Proving was a dangerous waste of time but Clan Sparta relished the opportunity to take its children beyond the safety of the shield so they could see what Earth was really like.

What it had become since the Specters fell from the sky.

The train slowed further. They were close now, moving underneath the massive skyscrapers in the heart of the city. Skye leaned back and closed her eyes. She thought back to five years ago, when she and four other Young Adults had followed four New Adults north, beyond the safety of the Shield and into wilderness where Specters lurked. They’d seen only one, just one, but it had been enough to send a jolt of energy through Skye’s entire body. Energy she’d never been able to release, as if a spring had coiled tightly somewhere within her.

They had been deep inside an old forest full of new growth and the charred remains of tall, much older trees that had burned in a fire years prior. The black trees stood like skeletal fingers, looming. It was a frightening place, and the sun seemed to set faster than usual so that they were still half a mile from their vehicle when darkness fell. The New Adults had made a mistake. They were confused and arguing with one another. The boy from Clan Sparta and the girl from Clan Athens shoved each other at one point and then one of the Young Adults started crying.

18-year-olds arguing. 13-year-olds crying. And Skye, ever alert, clutching her VR pistol just as she’d been trained. Then she saw it: a lizard-like creature with a long crocodile snout and narrow eyes. A tail. Diamond-like spines protruding from its back.

Its ghostly body lifted out of the ground.

Skye fired her pistol. Again and again and again.

“They hide underground,” Father told Cassy. “They can move through solid objects, but not extensively — it requires too much energy. You’ll see their color change, from dark orange to yellow, as their energy is expended. When they emerge, shoot them. Don’t hesitate. Don’t be afraid. They can be killed, like all things.”

Father turned back to the windshield. Cassy brought up his hand to bite his knuckles again but Skye caught him, grabbing his hand and pulling it down. She met his eyes and shook her head. He scrunched his face, frustrated.

Scared.

His face wasn’t clean. Skye leaned in, examining his skin. There were still faint black marks on his cheeks, and cut-like lines under his chin. The marks were from last night’s Carnivale, a silly tradition of the Free Citizens that merged with the clans’ own festivals dedicated to ritual customs. For Clan Sparta, that meant a night of face painting. Black lines were drawn on faces to signify the passing of knowledge. Lines were made sharp with the use of needle-like ink dispensers. Some Spartans simply tattooed them on but most used a washable ink, as the custom had changed over time and facial markings of any kind — with the exception of scars — were frowned upon as “flamboyant.”

The ritual was a rare opportunity to celebrate as a clan and gave parents an excuse to publicly dote on their children. For Skye and Cassy, that had meant seeing Father and Mother smiling and laughing as artists — free citizens, mostly — went around and decorated the children’s faces and arms with creative markings in various colors. For the adults, those markings became much more codified: black lines only, except on the darkest skin when white lines were permitted. Each line signified a piece of ancestral history. Knowledge passed on. Each dot on the cheek was a Spartan in one’s own bloodline. A Spartan who had earned glory.