Chapter 22
Itake a deep breath and forcibly unclench my fists, as I stand staring at the ranking list outside the training room. We were near the top before my fumble yesterday. My mistake plummeted us firmly to the middle of the cohort.
This morning Berkley got our points knocked further down after a very public altercation with Chef that ended with him being removed from mess hall duty indefinitely.
Captain Kethler had been furious, and I'd wanted to throttle Berk until I saw the look on his face.
Like me, Berkley is well versed in self-punishment.
My emotions still feel heightened; the torrent of memories slipping through the cracks keeps me on edge, and I suspect Berkley and the others are feeling the same way that, along with the time constraints, make me sure there's no way for us to climb out of this hole we've dug for ourselves.
Not in time for our first assignment, anyway.
Farra's struggling. Her body has healed enough that she can participate, but I see the way she jumps when there's a sudden noise. How her breathing picks up when an officer comes too close.
I can't have our group spiraling any more than it has.
Resolution settles firmly in my bones, as I walk through the training room doors. My crewmates aren't here yet, which is good.
Because I have a plan. A disastrous plan, but a plan.
I walk up to the Legion, who are all at their usual perch ––a training ring designated for higher ups.
To my dismay, all four of them are here.
I was hoping to trap Lachlan by himself; he's by far the most approachable.
My temperature rises as I see Fallon and Lt.
Valo having what appears to be an argument under their breath.
Vera is on the ground stretching, her dark brown skin glistening in the light.
She looks lethal, even like this. She catches me staring awkwardly and gives me a vicious look.
A look that might make other women cower, but something about it makes me straighten.
Fallon pushes off of the ropes, seeming to end the conversation abruptly, and blusters past a group of cadets, jeering at them as he leaves the room. I note the rift––how the others subtly glance at each other in silent conversation. Fallon seems to be the odd man out.
A throat clears.
"Need something, Treow?" Lachlan asks.
Bless him for having some semblance of regular people skills.
"Yeah, actually, I have a couple of questions about the tower, if you don't mind," I say politely. I see Tane watching in my peripheral, scowling at us––like my voice is grating on him. I angle my body away from him so that he can't distract me.
"What do you want to know?" Lachlan asks, folding his arms and leaning casually on the ropes of the ring behind him.
"I just want to know specific rules; what I can use or do to get to the top, and what it guarantees me if I succeed." The need to fidget calls to me, so I stick my hands in my pockets.
Lachlan rubs the stubble on his face, as if contemplating his words carefully. I feel the eyes of the others searing into me, but I don't give them the satisfaction of turning.
"Ok, well, the rules are pretty simple. You’re only allowed to use the materials provided," he says, pointing to the silver disks at the bottom of the tower, "and you have to make it to the top, sound the siren, and get back down without... expiring."
I nod. Sounds simple enough, but I need more assurance than that.
"But other than that, there are no rules. Like if I choose to go bare-handed up there and somehow make it to the top, I can? And what exactly am I getting out of this?" I ask, trying not to sound too bossy, and hating myself a little for it.
His eyes narrow at me in question.
"What do you mean bare-handed? You have to use the shields and bands..."
Shields? I glance over at the bottom of the tower to the disks. Well, I guess they do look like shields. That makes sense.
"... also, cadet, I have to warn you. No woman has ever made it to the top. And I don’t need to tell you that about 95% of the men don’t either.
I think you’ve seen a few attempts this year alone go wrong.
There are safer ways to get points," he states simply. But the way he says it all, it almost seems like a challenge; like he’s daring me.
I use it to inflate me.
Raising my eyebrows with a small smile, I ignore his statements and say, "Sorry, but you didn’t answer my other question. What exactly do I get out of it?"
"You get a junior leadership position. Even as a cadet, you’ll be given first dibs on assignments, sit in on meetings. You’ll have influence on who goes where in your cohort... within reason, obviously," he adds with a chuckle.
A small smile creeps past my lips. There it is.
Not only will I be able to ensure my entire crew gets a good assignment while we all sort out our shit, I can influence where Deacon’s goes as well.
I can get a better insight into what is happening around base, and everything else we’ve been trying to figure out.
"And if I want to wear those shields on my head and scale the tower naked, as long as I get up there, sound the siren, get down in one piece, I’m good?" I’m pinning him with a look, my voice loud.
His eyes widen a bit at my brazenness, and then he lets out a soft chuckle.
"I suppose you can do whatever you want."
"Ok, great, thanks… Lachlan? Or are you a Lieutenant, too? I don’t remember ever hearing your official position names, or how to address you," I admit sheepishly. We were probably told at one point. Listening is hard.
"Just Lachlan is good." He lets out another chuckle, shaking his head.
"Ok, thanks again, Just Lachlan!"
I feel eyes on me as I walk towards the tower's base. Namely, Tane’s gaze searing into my back, after listening to our entire conversation.
I ignore him, letting that new thread of determination push me forward.
I have to figure this out quickly, before my crewmates, or Deacon, get here to try and change my mind.
I duck under the rope sectioning off the base of the tower, and kneel by the pile of materials.
I start trying to organize everything.
The two shields are heavy, spanning almost the length of my arm. My fingers run idly over the engravings etched onto the back, too faded to really make out, but right away I know they're ancient. I press my thumb into the edge, waiting until I feel a subtle sting and pull away. Good––sharp enough.
I roll the shields over, so the handles face upwards. The grips are long and wide, covered in the same material as the tether. Some sort of strong, stretchy fabric. I shake my head. They really screwed women over with this one. My hands aren’t even big enough to grip these properly.
I work as quickly as I can, trying to get as much of the stretchy material unraveled from the handle.
The handholds are padded thickly, but for this to work, I’ll need the whole length.
Once I’ve got it worked off, I pull it from the metal handle, leaving it bare, except for a small, thin layer of fabric, and I decide to leave the tether in one giant full piece.
I work my lip between my teeth as I think through my next steps. Originally, I thought I could do this barefoot, using the tether around the tower instead of binding the shields together. But now I have to bring these stupid things with me.
One thing I know about myself, and women in general, is our arms may not be as strong, but our legs are sturdy, so I'll need to rely on my lower body strength.
Sitting down, I take off my shoes, and a very bad idea comes to me.
Eyeing my shoes, I make a decision that I'll likely regret later.
Using my knife, I cut the stretchy fabric clinging to the handles as close to the metal as I can, so it keeps its length.
Then, taking my shoes off, I cut between the soles and the toe cap, working through the thick, black material, stopping about halfway down the shoe.
I leave just a layer of ribbon on the handholds, and as I shove them into my mutilated boots so the metal handle is sucked into the toe.
Now for the fun part.
The metal handles, without all the padding, are thin. But I don't exactly have slender feet, so I have to shove with all my strength to cram them back into the shoes. The split toes of the shoes gape open like the bills of talking ducks.
"Maple, what are you doing?" Berkley demands. He's looming behind me with a small group of onlookers.
I completely ignore him, tying off the smaller strips of fabric tight around my shoes, closing the toes and anchoring them in place with my feet secured inside. I use my teeth to hold one side as I pull hard, willing the fabric to hold me and my shoes in place.
I realize that I should have collected the rogue strands of fabric that re-coiled when I'd cut them from the disks.
Walking with them already on my feet is a nightmare.
The shields are only curved where the hand holds are, and they're flat around the outer edges, so I look ridiculous as I fumble to grab the fabric and walk it around the tower.
I hear more protests from behind me. Deacon has, unfortunately, joined Berkley, and I can hear them asking me –– maybe the Legion––to stop this.
I stand for a moment, staring at the looming structure in front of me, at the stains that are likely long-dried blood. My chest feels tight as I try to take a deep breath. Suddenly, it is too loud, and the light feels too bright as the room sways.
My attention slides unwillingly to the crowd, and I see Deacon's eyes pleading with me.
"Maple, come on... Don't." He looks shocked. Pained.