I settled into my seat, then felt around inside my helmet, trying to figure out what was bothering me. What are these lumps? I thought, prodding the inside of the helmet. Maybe the size of a requisition chit or a large washer, the round lumps were underneath the inside lining of the helmet, and each had a small metal portion at the center, sticking through the lining. Had those been there before?
“Problem, cadet?” Cobb asked.
I jumped; I hadn’t seen him approach my mockpit. “Um, my helmet, sir. Something’s wrong with it.”
“Nothing’s wrong, cadet.”
“No, look. Feel in here. There are these—”
“Nothing’s wrong, cadet. Medical ordered your helmet swapped out this morning, before you arrived. It has sensors to monitor your bioreadings.”
“Oh,” I said, relaxing. “Well, I suppose that makes sense. But you should tell the others. It might distract some of the flight if their—”
“They only swapped out your helmet, cadet.”
I frowned. Only mine? “What . . . kind of readings are they taking about me, then?”
“I wouldn’t want to guess. Is this a problem?”
“。 . . I suppose not,” I said, though it made me uncomfortable. I tried to read meaning into Cobb’s expression, but he was stoic as he met my eyes. Whatever this was, he obviously wasn’t going to tell me. But I couldn’t help feeling that it had something to do with my father, and the admiral’s dislike of me.
I pulled on the helmet, activating the radio and then my hologram. “Bim!” Cobb said in my ear, acting as if nothing had happened. “You knitting a sweater or something? Back into your seat!”
“If I have to,” Bim said.
“Have to? You want to go sweep floors instead of being a fighter pilot, boy? I’ve seen rocks that fly almost as well as you do—I could drop one in your seat, paint the head blue, and at least I’d stop getting lip!”
“Sorry, Cobb,” Bim said. “No lip intended, but . . . I mean, I talked to some cadets from Firestorm Flight this morning. They’ve been dogfighting this entire time.”
“Good for them! When they’re all dead, you can move into their room.” Cobb sighed—loudly, in an exaggerated way. “Here, let’s try this.”
A set of glowing golden rings appeared on the battlefield. They were just larger than a ship, and several were dangerously close to floating chunks of debris.
“Line up and confirm,” Cobb said.
“You heard the man!” Jerkface said. “Fall in at my mark!”
The eight of us flew to Jerkface’s ship and settled into a line, then gave him verbal confirmation.
“Flight ready, instructor!” Jerkface said.
“Here are the rules,” Cobb said. “Each ring you pass through gets you one point. Once you begin a run, you have to maintain a speed of at least Mag-1, and you can’t circle around if you miss a ring. There are five rings, and I’ll let you each do three runs through the course. Highest score gets two desserts tonight—but a warning, if you crash, you’re out with your score frozen where it was before you died.”
I perked up and tried not to dwell on the idea that the prize was useless to me. At least this might distract me from the uncomfortable helmet.
“A game.” Hurl said. “Like, you’re actually going to let us have fun?”
“I can have fun,” Cobb said. “I know all about having fun. Most of it involves sitting and dreaming of the day when you all stop asking me stupid questions!”
Nedd chuckled.
“That wasn’t a joke!” Cobb said. “Go.”
Hurl whooped and hit her overburn, zipping toward the debris field. I responded nearly as fast, accelerating to Mag-3, and almost beat her to the first ring. I flew through it right behind her, then glanced at my radar. Bim, FM, and Morningtide were on my tail. Arturo and Nedd flew in formation, as they often did. I expected Kimmalyn to be last, but she actually flew ahead of Jerkface—who delayed for some reason.
I focused on the course, racing through the next ring. The third one was practically behind a big chunk of debris. The only way through it at speed would be to use a light-lance to turn extra sharp.
Hurl whooped again and executed a near-perfect hook turn through the ring. I made the tactical decision to shoot past it—which proved wise as Bim tried to pivot through it, and smashed right into the chunk of debris.
“Scud!” he yelled as his ship exploded.
Jerkface still hasn’t started the course. I noted.
I made the fourth ring—it hovered between two hunks of debris—but missed the last one, which was behind a large floating metal box, requiring a light-lance turn to spin around it. I ended that run with three points, though Hurl got four. I hadn’t counted the others. Poor Kimmalyn crashed getting through the fourth ring.
The rest of us curved around the outside of the debris field for another run, and Jerkface finally flew in for his first run. He was watching to see us go through. I realized. He was scouting the battlefield.
Clever. Indeed, he got four rings like Hurl.
Hurl immediately raced in for her second run, and I realized that—in our eagerness—we’d been going several times faster than Cobb’s stated minimum speed. Why would we want to fly faster? Simply to get done first? Cobb hadn’t offered any points for that.
Stupid. I thought. It isn’t a race. It’s a test of precision. I slowed down to Mag-1 as Hurl—trying to hook that third ring again for the sharp turn—lost control and slammed herself into a nearby chunk of rock.
“Ha!” she exclaimed. She didn’t seem to care that she’d lost. She just seemed happy that there was a game to it now.
I focused on the third ring, going over and over in my head the things Cobb had taught. As I swooped past, I launched my light-lance into the asteroid and not only hooked it, but—to my surprise—swung around on the energy line so that I curved right through the ring.
Bim whistled. “Nice one, Spin.”
I released the light-lance and pulled up.
“You wanna try this one, Arturo?” Nedd asked as the two of them flew toward the third ring.
“I think our chances of victory are higher if we skip that ring each pass.”
“Too bad!” Nedd said, then hooked Arturo with his light-lance and pulled him after, diving for the ring.
Of course they both crashed. I hit the fourth ring easily, zipping between the two flying chunks of debris. But I missed the fifth one, spearing only air with my light-lance.
“Nedd, you idiot,” Arturo said in my ear. “Why did you do that?”
“I wanted to see what would happen,” Nedd answered.
“You wanted . . . Nedd, it was obvious what would happen. You just got us both killed!”
“Better here than the real world.”
“Better neither. Now we won’t win.”
“I never eat my first dessert though,” Nedd said. “Bad for the bod, my friend.”
The two went on bickering over the radio. FM, I noticed, didn’t try either of the difficult rings—she stuck to the three that were easier.
I gritted my teeth, focusing on the contest. I had to beat Jorgen. It was a matter of honor.