be.â
James slammed the cup down on the counter and stormed out. Pushing his way through the crowd, he headed straight for the residence, knocking aside anyone who got in his way. All the voices nearby sounded like insects buzzing, and the room swayed at an odd angle, the right corners turning into parallelograms. He stumbled into the residence and collapsed onto the bed. Fortunately, Grace wasnât there at the moment. He wouldnât have been able to explain what was going on right now.
âI just need to get some sleep,â he mumbled.
He had been under a lot of stress lately. It had been a while since he had felt this sort of pressure. Sleep would do some good. He crawled under the sheets. His body shook uncontrollably, and he felt chilled to the bone as he huddled in a fetal position under the blankets. A few seconds later, a drowsiness washed over him. James wiped his brow; it was wet. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and a cool breeze brushed his cheek. That shouldnât be possible. Then, he closed his eyes and suddenly felt very cold.
Â
TEN
M Y F RIEND
James Griffin-Mars shivered as he stood watch on Outpost U-B at the northern edge of the ChronoCom Academy grounds on Tethys. The Outpost was nothing more than a rectangular shelter with four walls, a roof, and a trickle charger that barely had enough levels to keep one band charging at a time, let alone an oxygen band, heat band, comm band, and AI band. Not only that, James had to reserve enough of the charge to power his water purifier, ration utility, and in the end, put enough power into the rover to truck his way back to the Academy two hundred kilometers to the south.
This was all part of the box test, the fifth that James had had to survive in five years and one of the most difficult of the tier curriculum. Each year, the test got a little harder, the resources a little more scarce, and the stay in the box a little longer.
This last time, James had to survive twenty days off five daysâ rations and water. It was a difficult test, but one designed for the initiates to succeed if they managed their meager resources wisely. However, most people failed, with over 90 percent requiring extraction before the twentieth day. The fatality rate hovered around 19 percent.
So far this year, none in his class had succeeded in passing the fifth box test; James was intent on being the first. He was near the end, having survived eighteen days, but was risking failure. He had miscalculated some of his earlier metrics and was scrimping on some of his levels, trying to play catch-up. Right now, he was barely surviving by turning the levels of his oxygen band only high enough for labored breathing, and his heat band just warm enough not to go into hypothermia. However, in doing so, he had let the levels of his comm and AI band lapse so he wouldnât be able to call for help if he were to concede the test, nor could the Academy administrators track his life signs. It was foolish, but James would rather go all out to pass the test than have his odds of success diminished by those level-guzzling safety nets.
Lying on the hard floor of the outpost, shivering and barely conscious, James stared out the porthole at the almost painfully bright reflective icy surface of the moon. Two more days. Forty-eight more hours. The rover required sixteen hours of charge to cover that distance. His oxygen band needed fourteen more to sustain this level of breathing. His heat band ⦠James felt his consciousness leave him as he closed his eyes and embraced the darkness.
âWake up, James.â
He opened his eyes. The frozen plains of Tethys were still there. Bright, uniform, white. Barren. Except now, there was a small black speck in the distance. He couldnât tell what it was. A vehicle? Hallucination? God, for all he knew.
âItâs not God. Youâre not dead yet, my friend.â
James rolled off his side onto his back and
James slammed the cup down on the counter and stormed out. Pushing his way through the crowd, he headed straight for the residence, knocking aside anyone who got in his way. All the voices nearby sounded like insects buzzing, and the room swayed at an odd angle, the right corners turning into parallelograms. He stumbled into the residence and collapsed onto the bed. Fortunately, Grace wasnât there at the moment. He wouldnât have been able to explain what was going on right now.
âI just need to get some sleep,â he mumbled.
He had been under a lot of stress lately. It had been a while since he had felt this sort of pressure. Sleep would do some good. He crawled under the sheets. His body shook uncontrollably, and he felt chilled to the bone as he huddled in a fetal position under the blankets. A few seconds later, a drowsiness washed over him. James wiped his brow; it was wet. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and a cool breeze brushed his cheek. That shouldnât be possible. Then, he closed his eyes and suddenly felt very cold.
Â
TEN
M Y F RIEND
James Griffin-Mars shivered as he stood watch on Outpost U-B at the northern edge of the ChronoCom Academy grounds on Tethys. The Outpost was nothing more than a rectangular shelter with four walls, a roof, and a trickle charger that barely had enough levels to keep one band charging at a time, let alone an oxygen band, heat band, comm band, and AI band. Not only that, James had to reserve enough of the charge to power his water purifier, ration utility, and in the end, put enough power into the rover to truck his way back to the Academy two hundred kilometers to the south.
This was all part of the box test, the fifth that James had had to survive in five years and one of the most difficult of the tier curriculum. Each year, the test got a little harder, the resources a little more scarce, and the stay in the box a little longer.
This last time, James had to survive twenty days off five daysâ rations and water. It was a difficult test, but one designed for the initiates to succeed if they managed their meager resources wisely. However, most people failed, with over 90 percent requiring extraction before the twentieth day. The fatality rate hovered around 19 percent.
So far this year, none in his class had succeeded in passing the fifth box test; James was intent on being the first. He was near the end, having survived eighteen days, but was risking failure. He had miscalculated some of his earlier metrics and was scrimping on some of his levels, trying to play catch-up. Right now, he was barely surviving by turning the levels of his oxygen band only high enough for labored breathing, and his heat band just warm enough not to go into hypothermia. However, in doing so, he had let the levels of his comm and AI band lapse so he wouldnât be able to call for help if he were to concede the test, nor could the Academy administrators track his life signs. It was foolish, but James would rather go all out to pass the test than have his odds of success diminished by those level-guzzling safety nets.
Lying on the hard floor of the outpost, shivering and barely conscious, James stared out the porthole at the almost painfully bright reflective icy surface of the moon. Two more days. Forty-eight more hours. The rover required sixteen hours of charge to cover that distance. His oxygen band needed fourteen more to sustain this level of breathing. His heat band ⦠James felt his consciousness leave him as he closed his eyes and embraced the darkness.
âWake up, James.â
He opened his eyes. The frozen plains of Tethys were still there. Bright, uniform, white. Barren. Except now, there was a small black speck in the distance. He couldnât tell what it was. A vehicle? Hallucination? God, for all he knew.
âItâs not God. Youâre not dead yet, my friend.â
James rolled off his side onto his back and
Similar Books
