Chapter 10
Captain Starling ambushed Colt after practice.
“Not bad up there today,” he said. “Not bad at all. Of course, practice went a bit long, so you won’t have time for makeup, but that shouldn’t—”
“Makeup?” Colt asked.
“Trust me, I know. You’re going to look washed out, but there isn’t much we can do about that now. We’re already running late.” Captain Starling took him by the elbow and led him into a room that wasn’t much bigger than a closet.
Colt recognized the reporter from one of the twenty-four-hour news stations, but he couldn’t remember if it was CNN, FOX, or MSNBC. The man was tall and slender, and his skin was an unnatural orange that could no doubt be blamed on the makeup that Captain Starling had been fretting over. He wore a dark suit with a red tie and copious amounts of cologne.
“That’s him?” The cameraman asked the question loudly enough that Colt could hear.
Not that Colt blamed him. He would have expected more too. Superheroes were supposed to be tall and have a commanding personality that oozed confidence.
“What’s going on?” Colt was suddenly aware of the fact that he hadn’t taken a shower, and he was fairly sure that he had forgotten deodorant.
“The first of many interviews,” Captain Starling said, slapping him on the back as though it were good news. “You’ve become a bit of a sensation, but we’re going to make you into a global icon. You’ll be bigger than Elvis, the Beatles, and Michael Jackson combined. Justin Bieber will want your autograph, and Lady Gaga is going to have Phantom Flyer posters hanging in her bedroom.”
After the interview Colt had enough time to gulp down a protein shake before he caught up with the rest of Phantom Squad for a training session in one of the simulator rooms. The advanced hologram tech allowed the staff to run cadets through actual battle scenarios without the threat of death, thanks to a fail-safe mechanism, but in the advanced levels, injuries weren’t only possible, they were common.
He wasn’t surprised to find Glyph and Grey already there, telling everyone about their first day as Agents of CHAOS.
“You realize that you’re not actually superheroes, right?” Pierce said.
“I’m afraid you’ve been given bad information, Cadet Pierce Bowen,” Glyph replied. “The United States government has officially designated each of us as an active-duty superhero. We were even given identification cards.”
“Congratulations.” Pierce’s sarcasm was lost on Glyph, who bowed his head in recognition of what he thought was an actual compliment.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.” Agent Daniel O’Keefe, who was better known to the cadets as the Gamemaster, stepped onto the platform just outside the control room. He was short and stout with unusually broad shoulders, a paunch, and stubble that ran over his cheeks despite the fact that all personnel at the Intergalactic Defense Academy were supposed to be clean-shaven. “The good Lord has seen fit to bless us with another day. Good morning,” he said with his Irish brogue, “and I’ll be darned if I’m going to waste it. In fact, I have a special treat for you.”
“We get to take a nap?” Ethan said, earning laughter from the rest of the squad.
“I’m afraid not,” O’Keefe said. “As you know, we’re sending the sorry lot of you to the jungles of Gathmara in less than three weeks as part of Project Betrayal, and we fully expect you to complete the mission despite your abysmal performance in the simulation chambers so far.”
“Nice pep talk,” Pierce said under his breath.
“What was that, Cadet Bowen?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“That’s what I thought.” Agent O’Keefe glared at Pierce for a long moment before he turned back to the rest of the squad. “What you might not know is that we have an advance team on the ground just outside of Dresh right now, working with the Soldiers of the Grail. Now who can tell me why that’s important?”
Glyph raised his hand.
“Yes, Cadet Gundar?”
“Five warlords representing five separate armies rose to power after the fall of the Thule government, and each warlord declared himself to be the rightful leader of their people. The Soldiers of the Grail are one of those five armies, and they are the only remaining army to stand in opposition to Aldrich Koenig and his Defense Corps.”
“At least one of you has been paying attention in class,” Agent O’Keefe said.
“Thank you,” Glyph said.
“So we have the Soldiers of the Grail and the Defense Corps, and their hatred for one another runs deep,” Agent O’Keefe said. “Can anyone other than Cadet Gundar name the other armies?”
There was a long pause before Jonas sheepishly raised his hand.
“Cadet Hickman?”
“The Dagon Alliance, the Vril, and the Black Sun Militia.”
“Excellent.” Agent O’Keefe pulled what looked like a remote control from a pouch on his belt and entered a series of commands that resulted in a hologram of a flag appearing in the middle of the room. “Each of the five armies has its own bloody symbol, and if you have half a brain you’ll memorize which is which.”
“What’s the difference?” Pierce said. “They all want to kill us.”
“Are you sure about that?” O’Keefe said.
Pierce narrowed his eyes as though trying to distinguish if that was an actual question. “Yeah, I’m sure.”
“Has anyone heard the expression that ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’?” The instructor scowled as he waited for a response. “Anyone?” He shook his head when Colt and Danielle were the only two cadets who raised a hand. “It means that we have something in common with the Soldiers of the Grail—we both want to take out Aldrich Koenig and his Defense Corps.”
“Are you saying we made an alliance with the Thule?” Pierce asked, his defiance not lost on the other cadets.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Agent O’Keefe said. “Which leads me to my little surprise. I’d like to introduce you to Agent Rhane, a DAA field operative who has spent most of the last decade on the ground on Gathmara.”
“Does my father know about this?” Pierce said.
“Yes, he does. As does the president,” Agent O’Keefe said. He walked over and rapped on the window with his knuckles, waving for a man to join him on the platform.
Agent Rhane was around six feet tall, and despite the fact that he looked like he was pushing sixty years old, he was built like a gymnast. His black hair was flecked with gray, especially around the temples, and he wore a patch over his left eye.
“Tell me this is a joke,” he said with a slight southern twang, though it was hard to pinpoint which state the accent was from.
“This is it,” O’Keefe said in a way that made it sound like he was just as disappointed.
“Were we ever that young?” Rhane asked.
“Afraid so.”
Pierce raised his hand, but he didn’t wait for anyone to call on him. “You’re one of them, aren’t you.” It was an accusation, not a question.
“What makes you say that, Cadet . . . ?”
“Bowen,” Pierce said.
“So he’s the one?” Rhane asked as he glanced over at Agent O’Keefe.
“That’s him, all right.”
“Go on,” Rhane said, turning his attention back to Pierce.
“If you really did come from Gathmara,” Pierce said, “how do we know that you didn’t kill the real Agent Rhane, shape-shift to look just like him, and infiltrate our campus?”
“You don’t, so I suggest you sleep lightly tonight,” Agent Rhane said with a smile that made the hair on the back of Colt’s neck stand on end. “And for the record, I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to teach you how to survive on Gathmara so you have a snowball’s chance of accomplishing your mission.”