Chapter Four
Gemma stepped through the doors into the dormitory, her eyes widening as they scanned the massive room. Their living quarters housed all in one vast space, males and females together—over two-hundred people at least.
Her stomach sank. Staying unnoticeable was going to be harder than she thought.
Gemma fidgeted with her poison ring as she wandered down the aisle between black, metal bunkered beds that lined the west and east sides of the room. At the foot of each was a set of two drawers marked either “top” or bottom.”
At least they gave us some semblance of personal space.
Gemma eyed the raven-haired girl whom she’d run alongside on the way here and snorted.
No way I’m sleeping anywhere near her.
The north end of the room contained two doors, a gigantic electroglass screen with the time and number of contestants that remained between them.
Gemma marched toward the screen, away from the entrance to where she might stay hidden, and stopped where a guy with messy, light brown hair leaned against a set of drawers.
He observed the chaos of people arguing over where they wanted to sleep, his arms crossed over his chest and his face impassive.
The more easygoing the person, the fewer questions they asked. He’d make the perfect bunkmate.
Gemma walked up to him and pointed with her thumb at the beds. “You have a bunkmate yet?”
He turned his head toward her. “Say again?”
“Has anyone taken the other bed?”
He shook his head. “Nah, it’s all yours. Well, the top one at least. Already claimed the bottom.”
She shrugged and held out her hand. “Perfectly fine. I’m Gemma Proctor.”
His eyebrows flicked up before he smiled softly, shaking her hand. “Christian Holm.”
Gemma climbed onto the top bunk before continuing. “So, Christian, what sector are you from?”
A pair of boys had started fist-fighting over a bottom bunk, and Christian didn’t respond, his attention preoccupied.
Whatever. She didn’t want to make friends in this place anyway.
Every muscle in Gemma’s body ached as she lay on her mattress, and though the lights were still on and voices bounced around the room, she succumbed to exhaustion in seconds.
It seemed her head had just hit the pillow, though, when a loud siren blared, lights blazing nearly as bright as Reva’s blue sun.
Gemma shielded her eyes until they adjusted enough to glare at the timepiece: 06:00.
She groaned, slowly dragging herself out of bed, her limbs stiff as she climbed down the ladder.
A loud thud sounded from the entryway as the double doors to the dormitory burst open. Four guards in red lieutenant uniforms marched inside. A fifth—a prepossessing, red-haired woman—entered after them, clad in a dark-blue captain’s uniform trimmed in gold.
The Dissent had cautioned Gemma about her: the Kaizen. She was known all across the Planetary Systems for both her beauty and brutality. This was the last person Gemma wanted to provoke.
“That was the morning bell, in case you haven’t figured it out,” the Kaizen spoke with authority. “You have fifteen minutes to prepare yourself for the day, then you will follow me to your first test.”
“But what about breakfast?” one of the contestants asked.
The Kaizen shot them a glare so harsh that even Gemma wished she were dead. “You will eat when I tell you to eat. Understood?”
The contestant nodded and slunk behind their bunkmate. The room was silent.
The Kaizen roared, “Well, what the fuck are you waiting for? Move!”
Gemma rubbed her neck before weaving through contestants panicking to get ready. Her heart hammered in her chest as she found the locker rooms tucked behind the two single doors opposite the main entrance. This is it, Nadine. The Trials had begun.
Gemma squeezed between two girls to a sink, thankful she hadn’t bothered to change into bedclothes last night. A quick brush of her teeth and adjustment of her braid, and she’d be ready to go. She refused to get kicked out on the first day.
Or ever, for that matter. She would win a spot on the Oranos Space Station and fulfill her mission.
Exactly fifteen minutes later, the Kaizen shouted for her lieutenants to lead the way. Anyone who wasn’t ready had to pack their things and leave.
The remaining participants were led to a dimly lit area where multiple electroglass panels had been arranged across the room.
On the floor, cerulean ultralights pulsed, directing them to stand between two of the panels where a square, black mat sat.
Service robots stood on the other sides of each station, electropads in their hands.
These were medical stations. They had one in the infirmary in Perileos, albeit a very old one.
It scanned for every possible malady and sensed any wound or broken bone a person had ever acquired in their life.
The ones here had to be the latest models and—unlike the one in Perileos—would see everything.
“Welcome to your first test,” the Kaizen said. “This is your medical exam. You will not proceed any further unless you are deemed fit enough for life in artificial gravity. Each of you will take turns standing between two panes of electroglass. Turns green, you’re good. Turns red, you leave. Go.”
Gemma studied those in front of her. Most passed their exams, but her heart ached for every person who failed. They were ushered by sleek, round robots through a door that Gemma suspected led to the exit. Some of the contestants held their heads high; others sobbed.
Gemma couldn’t blame them. Returning to Perileos was essentially a death sentence.
With the blazing blue sun at Reva’s back and an asteroid field around the rest of Reva’s circumference, Perileos was cut off from the rest of the Illari Galaxy.
Any goods they received came through the Oranos Space Station, and they were lucky to see deliveries every two or three weeks.
Perileos’ people might as well be enslaved to the mines, living to work until they died, struggling to barely make it by.
They shouldn’t have to live like that.
Gemma was waved forward, and she stopped between two panels, her pulse quickening. Was there something about her medically that she didn’t know? She hadn’t had an exam in three years; it was possible.
Her stomach churned. At least if the test was about skill or intelligence, she would know she’d given it 110 percent. But to stand between these panes and watch her medical biography flash before her . . .
Her knees locked in fear.
“Please raise your arms,” a voice piped in through her biochip.
Gemma obeyed, and the screens scanned her body. They showed her fat percentage in relation to her muscle mass; her height and weight; her body’s oxygen and carbon dioxide percentages. It even showed how many red blood cells she had circulating in her system.
The screen turned green. Gemma shut her eyes, taking a deep breath.
She’d passed.
Breakfast contained no more than eggs, juice, and some type of meat, but given that real meat and eggs were hard to come by on Reva, every contestant ate multiple servings, Gemma included.
She had to admit, the food was delicious. No matter how many bad things she’d heard about Zion, no one ever mentioned terrible food. She now knew why. It was delectable.
A food tray slammed onto the table, and svelte curves plopped into the chair opposite Gemma.
The girl she’d trekked with across Reva held up the wrist Gemma had bandaged. “I never did thank you for this, did I?”
“Not properly.”
The girl rolled her eyes and huffed. “Fine then. Thank—” She pretended to cough. “Oh no, I can’t do it.”
“Figured as much.” Gemma popped another bite of food into her mouth, then her tray was yanked away. “Seriously?”
“What? You got the last piece of sweet bread. I’m taking half of it.”
Gemma glared at her as the girl shoved half of the pastry into her mouth and grinned.
Gemma put down her fork, sighing. “Look, whatever your name—”
“Imara.”
“Right.” Gemma ran her tongue across her teeth. “Look, Imara, I don’t know what your problem is with me, but I’d really appreciate it if you’d leave me alone. Call it even for wrapping your wrist.”
“No.” Imara swiveled in her chair, crossing one long leg over the other. “You’re gonna be my ally.”
If she’d had anything in her mouth, Gemma would’ve spit it out. “I’m sorry. Why exactly would I do that?”
“Because look at the number of women in this place. There’s, like, what? Two guys to every one of us? When push comes to shove, they pick each other every time. So, you need someone to watch your back, and I need someone to watch mine.”
Gemma leaned backward and crossed her arms over her chest. Imara had a point. They didn’t know what tests they would be expected to pass and, while Gemma had a basic idea thanks to the Dissent, the trials were different every year.
It was what made Rami so good at what he did. He was ingenious, crafty, and brutal. Every year, the Trials had gotten harder and harder to pass. And if there came a time when they were expected to team up, Gemma knew she looked like she didn’t offer much. She would easily be passed over.
Maybe a partner wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
“What makes you think I want you as my partner, though?” Gemma asked.
Imara smirked. “Because I’m not afraid to do whatever it takes to win.”
Gemma both liked and feared the way she’d stressed the word 'whatever.'
Imara could turn on her when it suited her. In fact, Gemma wouldn’t put it past her.
But Imara might also be an excellent ally in achieving her purpose. If Imara helped her get close to Rami . . .
“All right,” Gemma said. “You’ve got a deal.”