Adult Test, Julie Steimle [ebook reader with internet browser .TXT] 📗

Pivoting on the ball of his foot about face, he marched down the hall.

Salvar glanced to Zormna to see if she’d kick a fit for being so brusquely handled, but she obediently followed the green-clad solider, her head still stiffly high. Shrugging he followed, unaware that all she could see while staring at the back of this older soldier was a man who might have been involved in the deaths of her parents. It was hard to think of little else. Her uncle JAver had often said that the People’s Military were just as guilty as the High Class. And remembering the nightmare of the day they had raided her home and killed her parents, she clenched her fists to keep from using them. After all, the Kevin had advised her over and over again that she had to learn to live without retribution.

The Kevin’s words rested in her mind and she relaxed, remembering his advice. “Zormna, the High Class can’t help being High Class anymore than you can help being a Tarrn. The difference is what you choose to do. Don’t stoop to their level. Don’t become like them. Be better than them.” 

Become better than them? That was a high order for someone so hot tempered. But what could she do? She wondered as she marched after this man, going deeper inside their high security prison. She was a Tarrn, someone who was hunted. It was frustrating to think about, especially when she knew she had to keep working with those that would kill her if they knew what she was.  She just hoped that one day a better situation would present itself.

Their path led them through a maze of tunnels intersecting others. Unlike the Alpha District compound, the route they took led them past not just soldiers’ quarters but also prison cells where they could hear the echoes of criminals calling out to one another to pass the time, though there were also other cries that scraped across Zormna and Salvar’s nerves—sobbing and screaming for someone to stop. In those corridors they saw thugs being hauled from another location, punks from the undercity with tattoos on their faces, black jackets similar to the one that seer-like undercity kid wore, and freakishly spiked hair styled with long ponytails. One winked at her as a P.M. squeezed his neck to steer him into an interrogation room. He didn’t struggle much. Zormna she suspected they were routinely brought there for some thing other than civil control though she wasn’t sure what. She also spotted more ordinary looking citizens being dragged with bruises and burn marks on their faces and arms being hauled away to their cells, victims of undercity raids. With a shudder, Zormna looked away.

  They eventually walked away from the prison area to broader hallways that echoed more emptily with their footfalls. They came to a coded door, and the green suited man stopped. He punched in his code, peering over his shoulder as if making sure the cadets did not watch. Zormna merely smirked back, knowing she did not need to know the code to break into that door—or any of the others. Her mastery of computer systems by that time extended to anything with data chips and wires.

“Your cards.” The Dural looked to them, reaching out his hand.

Zormna rolled her eyes and produced hers.

Salvar grimaced as he pulled out his. “Really…you can’t even trust us? I am the Kevin’s son, you know.”

The green suited officer looked down his nose at him. “I wouldn’t even trust the Kevin.”

The door slid open.

Zormna marched right in. “Of course not.”

“Do you know who I am?” Marching into the room after her, the P.M. in green towered over Zormna with a severe glare.

She gave him a wan look.

“I am Dural Korek, head of this section of the People’s Military.” He stood over her. “You are in my compound now, not the Surface Patrol. You will obey my orders, and you will give no backtalk. The Kevin may take backtalk from the children of rats, but I will not tolerate even a peep out of you unless you are ordered to do so. Is that clear?”

Zormna’s eyes darkened as her chest lifted in defiance. She folded her arms firmly across herself though she glanced at Salvar for some solidarity. But he was waving at her to not say anything. Rolling her eyes, she turned to glare at the P.M. again.

She said, “I don’t care who you are. I am not here as one of your peons. I am here on the orders of Alea Dezbah only. If you want me to help you, be nice. Otherwise I’d be happy to go home.”

Dural Kordek grew red in the face. “You little flea! You are here under my command—”

“I’ve heard enough.” She turned on her heel and headed back out the door. “Come on, Salvar. We’re going home.”

Salvar looked confused but followed her.

The Dural forcibly grabbed her arm and held her fast. “You have no right to—”

But Zormna snapped back in such a manner that even the Dural was shocked. “No! You have no right! Let go or I will use force.”

The Dural could not help snorting with amusement at that comment. Zormna was much smaller than he was, for starters. However, she reached for his wrist and wrapped her fingers around it in a hold that was prelude to a tackling maneuver he recognized, and it startled him.

Another People’s Military officer marched up to them from the hallway looking from his superior to the two cadets. He cleared his throat, speaking at once. “Dural Kordek, I see you have brought Cadets Zormna Clendar and Salvar the Kevin’s son.”

All three of them looked at the newcomer. Zormna recognized him as Dural Hendron, a P.M. that dealt often with the Surface Patrol and the Alpha District who usually came around when Alea Arden was holding roll call. He was a nervous sort of man, blond with light green eyes, dressed in the usual P.M. blue.  

“What is it, Hendron? You know this insolent child?” Dural Kordek lifted his chest up, still bristling.

Zormna jerked her arm out of the head Dural’s grasp, stepping two paces away. Then in a strolling walk, she went over to Dural Hendron and saluted him in the proper Surface Patrol manner. “Hello Dural Hendron. Is this your commander?”

The young officer apologetically smiled to the both of them and explained carefully each person to the other. “Yes, Cadet Zormna, this is my commanding officer, Dural Kordek.”  Then to his superior, he said, “Dural Kordek, this is Cadet Zormna Clendar, a personal favorite and ward of the Kevin.”

“The Zormna Clendar?” Dural Kordek stepped back from her, blinking at her as if he was at last seeing her.

Holding back a moan, Zormna cringed. Of course her reputation had preceded her. Like in the Surface Patrol, she made those in the People’s Military that knew her feel uncomfortable and often anxious. It had something to do with her already full record that listed her as a hacker, prankster, and extremely resourceful; besides being one of the Kevin’s favorites. She had hacked in to read it once. It was also clear they knew she had applied for the Adult Test at the earliest date possible—even the earliest in their history. If she passed, she would be the youngest adult on Arras, making her one of the most dangerous people on Arras too, especially within the protection of the Surface Patrol.

Their silence she took as an opportunity to address the reason she and Salvar had been dragged all the way to ISIC. “So, what’s wrong with your computer?”

Dural Hendron looked at his commander apprehensively and spoke with care as not to offend him. “We have been upgrading the entire system throughout the compound, but this computer here is leftover from the ancient days—old parts and systems. We added new parts to it, and it looks as if the old computer has accepted them, only something has gone wrong in the transition. I think the translation codes or the modulator is out of synch, or the communications link with the ships has interfered with the main scrambler. Either way, we can’t communicate with our new ships, making it hard to keep a monitoring lock on them.”

He then led her through the room to the access panel. They passed the room full of spacecraft that were under construction alongside a few rejects with heaps of parts. Many of them looked like fighter jets not unlike the Zeta district issue for the Surface Patrol. Salvar followed along, looking at them. His face contorted with bewilderment as he looked back, pointing. “Dural Hendron, what does the People’s Military need with ships like that? I thought all you ever used were flight scooters and emigration shuttles.”

Dural Kordek glanced back at Salvar narrowly. But Dural Hendron kindly answered the boy as if guiding a tour, rambling over the demographics of the current political mood and the growth of something or other that Zormna didn’t pay attention to since it was all babble in big speak with the entire purpose to obscure the fact that he wasn’t answering Salvar’s question at all. Salvar certainly looked confused. He looked to Zormna, but she had already taken off the panel under the computer console and was too engrossed in the wire chip network of the machine in front of her to care.

First prodding the machine wiring with her fingers to inspect the changes she then picked up the scanner offered her, tapping into the chips to double check if what they had said was right. Sure enough the system was scrambled as if trying to speak three languages at the same time. She reached out her hand to Dural Hendron without even looking to the others. “Hand me that detacher.”

Making a face at Dural Hendron, Salvar saw the toolbox that had been left by an earlier technician, walked over to it, and searched for the tool.

“It’s on the right side.” She still did not look out from the machine, engrossed in the mess they had made of the insides. 

Salvar picked up the black handled device and laid it in her open palm. By then Dural Kordek stepped back from the others, rocking on his feet before he started to walk away.

“Good bye, Kordek,” came the echoing call of Zormna from inside the machine. She had removed two other panels, exposing layers of micro-wires in the cramped space inside of the computer.

Though the Dural nodded before going back to his duties, his eyes had a piercing glare at her. It was clear he was willing to use her, but not like her.

When he was gone, Zormna dug in deeper, her voice echoing inside the computer in an off-key hum. She never could quite get the melody of that old tune, having no ear for music. When she was sure the head Dural was completely out of the area, she climbed out of the machine and straightened up, facing Dural Hendron.

“So, why does the People’s Military really need this upgrade?” she asked him, tilting her head. “You didn’t really answer Salvar’s question.”

Shifting nervously, Dural Hendron ignored Salvar’s accusatory glare. “I told you. It is necessary to upgrade to keep track of our ships—”

Zormna rolled her eyes.

He stopped. “You don’t believe it?”

“I wasn’t asking about the computer upgrade. I’m asking about the new ships, like