Secondborn (Secondborn #1)

A bald man pokes his head out of a doorway. “Oi, bring me back a crella from the Base Exchange.”

She shoots a finger gun at him with a wink. “You got it, even though those things are toxic for your blood. All that dough and sugar’s gonna give you a heart condition.”

“Only if I’m lucky,” he calls back.

Emmy helps me program my guidance system to locate Tritium 101. We leave the Intake facility together, following the glowing map on my hand. We take a heartwood up to level 772, where she shows me which training facilities and dining hall are assigned to Tritium 101. “Don’t make the mistake of failing to report for your ration rotation. If you miss mealtime, you’re not allowed to make it up.”

“Okay.” We continue to an area that resembles a storefront.

“This is the Base Exchange where you can find edibles, entertainment items, personal items—you pay with merits. You can track your merits here, on your moniker.” She shows me my profile menu on a different screen.

“I don’t have any merits. I’m broke,” I muse.

“You’ll earn some. I have faith in you,” she says. “But be careful how you earn them.” Her warning hangs in the air. She purchases a few crellas for the staff back at her post, and we make our way through Deck 772. Branches split off, dark hallways that lead to ports where hanging dormitory airships attach to the exterior of the Tree. The trunk in the center has several sectors: hangars for fighter planes, training facilities, dining facilities, and communications and debriefing areas.

Following one of the branches off the deck, we enter a dark, winding hallway. An airlock to our right has a wide octagonal archway. Above it, the illuminated sign reads “Tritium 101.”

We enter the dormitory airship. The inside is kidney-shaped and tiered like an amphitheater. Each tier has an iron-mesh walkway and columns of capsules stacked five high with round hatch doors. Ladder-like rungs and handrails alternate between columns. The doors are color-coded and numbered. Heartwoods move up and down the catwalks at intervals. The place is almost empty, just a few soldiers here and there.

“I’m Section Black, row 102, capsule 1001D.”

She looks around. “There.” She points to the section with black doors. “We can take that heartwood.” Catching a step up, I hold on to the pole, taking it with Emmy up to row 102. We step off onto the iron catwalk and follow it until we locate capsule 1001D, the fourth in the pillar. I climb the rungs on one side. Emmy climbs the other. The round door has a scanner. It opens upward when I press my moniker beneath the laser. The capsule has a three-foot radius and about a nine-foot depth.

I climb inside. A thick white pallet, a thin white blanket, and a plump white pillow are the only items inside. I lie on the pallet.

“There’s storage for some personal items beneath the pallet,” Emmy says, pulling aside the mattress to uncover a shallow cubby beneath the metal slat. I fold the pallet back down. I can sit up without hitting my head. The ceiling is made of the same material as a virtual screen.

Emmy pushes a few buttons on the console by the door. The virtual screen turns on, dialed to live coverage of the Secondborn Trials. “Aw, that Petree Atom is divine, don’t you think?” Emmy asks, sighing over the secondborn Atom champion as he enters a labyrinthine obstacle course that looks like it was designed by a complete sadist.

“He looks scared,” I observe. And who wouldn’t? All The Trials are designed to kill him.

Emmy climbs in next to me and we watch the screen, shoulder to shoulder. “He doesn’t look scared,” she disputes. “He looks determined.”

I shake my head. “He looks like he’s having second thoughts.”

“He looks dreamy.”

“Where are my clothes?”

“In your locker, in the shower facility in this sector. Do you want to see it?”

We leave the capsule. The door closes and locks automatically. We take the catwalk over to the lavatory. The room is used by both sexes. Rows of sinks and mirrors are everywhere. Individual shower rooms resemble small closets, timed for a five-minute shower in the morning and another after training. I have a designated locker with the same number as my capsule. Inside is a beige-and-brown active-duty uniform, one set of beige pajamas that resemble the clothing I got from Census, a pair of boots, shower slippers, socks, underwear, bra, combat armor, helmet, generic fusionblade, fusion rifle with cartridge, and personal items, all perfectly situated. “Everything a Sword needs to survive,” Emmy says with a hint of sarcasm. “You have a schedule, Roselle. As soon as I release you into the system, you’ll need to follow your schedule and join your unit. Failure to report for duty on time will result in demerits. Get enough demerits and there will be consequences.”

“What kind of consequences?” I ask.

“Depends. Could be loss of meals, loss of privileges, detention—or more painful consequences. Read your Intake manual in your files. Here, this icon on your moniker has your schedule. You see these little icons?” A sword, a rifle, a uniform, armor, and more. “They will appear on your schedule so you’ll know what you’ll have to wear and bring with you for training. Your Stone-Fated locker room attendants will know what you need, and they’ll have it ready for you. Just place your dirty gear back in here and it will be cleaned and returned.”

I nod.

“You’ll need to take your fusionblade with you everywhere you go from now on. You can leave your rifle here unless otherwise directed for training or combat purposes.”

I take the fusionblade from my locker. It’s not nearly as nice as my other one, the one from my grandfather, but it feels better to have it all the same. The smooth hilt is generic, except that it has been coded with my number: 00-000016. I buckle the thigh harness to my right leg and sheathe the weapon.

Emmy shows me the rest of the dormitory airship. There’s a deck below our quarters where fighter planes are stowed. Mechanics and pilots work on the sleek vehicles and the troop movers, readying them for combat missions. The rest of the air-barracks is restricted to higher clearance levels and off-limits to Tropo soldiers like me.

“Most of what you’ll do will take place in the trunk of a forest Tree or on the battlefield. This is really just your quarters. So now, I’ll release you into the system and you’ll get your first activity.” She takes her tablet and stylus from her pocket. “Okay, open your schedule and tell me where you’re supposed to be.”

I open my schedule on my moniker. “Lunch,” I say, “and then fusionblade training in facility Q.”

“I’ll walk with you as far as the dining hall. I’d eat with you, but I’m not coded for your facility,” she explains. “And you wouldn’t want me tagging along with you anyway. I may scare all of your potential Sword-Fated friends away—Atom-Fated, you know—we’ve sort of got a bad reputation lately because of the Gates of Dawn and all.”

“I could never see you as the enemy, Emmy,” I reply. “It would be nice to have a friend like you.”

She grins at that. “You’re special, Roselle. Try not to change.”

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