He finished his second run with four points again, making the third ring but skipping the last one, which was hardest. That put him at eight points, and me at only seven. FM, playing it safe, would be at six. I wasn’t sure about Morningtide, but she tried the last ring and missed, so I was probably ahead of her.
The four of us remaining swooped around for our final run. Again, Jerkface hung back, waiting for the rest of us to go first. Fine. I thought, hitting overburn and zipping through the first ring. I had to hit every one of these to have a chance. FM, notably, didn’t try to fly through even the first ring. She just zoomed carefully over the top of the course.
“FM, what are you doing?” Cobb asked.
“I figure these clowns will all get themselves killed, sir. I could probably win without any points at all.”
No. I thought, streaking through the second ring. He said we keep our points if we crash—we merely can’t get any more. So she wouldn’t win, careful or not. Cobb had accounted for that.
I approached the third ring, hands sweating. Come on . . . Go! I launched the light-lance and hit the debris square-on, but didn’t push into the throttle the right way, so I ended up swinging around, but missed the ring.
I gritted my teeth, but disengaged the light-lance and managed to pull out of the turn without smashing into anything. Morningtide tried the ring, and almost made it, but ended up crashing. Jerkface still waited outside, watching to see exactly how many rings he’d need to win. Clever. Again.
Scud, I hated that boy.
I was so distracted that I actually missed the fourth ring, which was one of the easy ones. Furious, my face growing cold, I used my light-line to spear the big square piece of debris, then spun downward—curving straight through the fifth ring, which so far as I’d seen, nobody had hit.
That left me with a total of ten points, while Jerkface was at eight. He would close that gap easily. I felt my anger boil as he finally started toward the course. Who did he think he was, sitting back there like some ancient king, watching the plebes scramble before him? He was so arrogant. But worse, he’d been right to wait. He’d been smarter than I had, and he’d gained a distinct advantage. He was going to win.
Unless . . .
A terrible idea took root in my mind. I spun and hit my overburn, accelerating to Mag-5 and sprinting back toward the starting line. Above me, Jerkface went through the first ring at a leisurely pace, at exactly the minimum speed.
“Hey, Spin?” Nedd asked. “Whatcha doing?”
I ignored him, turning upward, dodging through floating pieces of debris. Ahead of me, Jerkface approached the second ring, an easy one—and the one that would bring him to ten points.
Straight on . . ., I thought, overburning. Pushing my acceleration to the red line of where—in a climb like this—I’d risk dropping unconscious.
“Spin?” Bim asked.
I grinned. Then smashed my ship right into Jerkface’s, overwhelming both shields and blowing us to pieces. We exploded into light.
Then we both re-formed at the edge of the battlefield.
“What the hell was that?” Jerkface shouted. “What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking how to win,” I said, sitting back in my seat, satisfied. “The way of the warrior, Jerkface.”
“We’re on a team. Spin!” he said. “You brash, self-centered. slimy piece of—”
“Enough, Jorgen,” Cobb snapped.
Jerkface fell quiet, but notably didn’t give his usual obsequious “Yes, sir!”
The holograms switched off, and Cobb walked over to my seat. “You’re dead.”
“I won anyway,” I said.
“It’s a tactic that would be useless in a real fight,” Cobb said. “You don’t get to take home points if you’re dead.”
I shrugged. “You set the rules, Cobb. Ten points for me, nine for Jerkface. It isn’t my fault that he doesn’t get to try for the last few points.”
“Yes it is!” Jerkface said, standing up out of his cockpit. “It absolutely is your fault!”
“Enough, son,” Cobb said. “It’s not worth getting worked up over this. You lost. It happens.” He glanced at me. “Though I guess I’ll be wanting to change the rules of that game.”
I stood up, grinning.
“Five-minute break,” Cobb said. “Everyone cool down and don’t strangle one another. That causes too much damn paperwork.” He hobbled over to the door and stepped out, perhaps to fetch his midday coffee.
Kimmalyn ran over to my seat, her dark curls bouncing. “Spin, that was wonderful!”
“What does the Saint say about games?” I asked.
“ ‘You can’t win if you don’t play,’ ” Kimmalyn said.
“Obviously.”
“Obviously!” She grinned again. Bim walked by and gave me a thumbs-up. Over his shoulder, I saw Jerkface glaring at me with unmitigated hostility as Arturo and Nedd tried to calm him down.
“Don’t worry, Jorg,” Nedd said. “You still beat Arturo.”
“Thank you very much. Nedd,” Arturo snapped.
Kimmalyn left the classroom to get something to drink, and I settled into my seat and dug one of my canteens out of my pack. I made sure to refill all three each day at the bathroom.
“So,” Bim said, leaning against my hologram projector, “you’re really into warriors and things, eh?”
“They inspire me,” I said. “My grandmother tells stories about ancient heroes.”
“You have any favorites?”
“Probably Beowulf,” I said, then took a long pull of water from the canteen. “He literally slew a dragon, and ripped the arm off a monster—he had to resort to his bare hands after his sword wouldn’t cut the thing. But then there’s Tashenamani—she slew the great warrior Custer—and Conan the Cimmerian, who fought in the ancient times before writing.”
“Yeah, they were great,” Bim said, and winked. “I mean . . . I hadn’t heard of them until now. But I’m sure they were great. Er. I’m thirsty.”
He blushed and walked off, leaving me confused. What was . . .
He was . . . he was flirting with me. I realized, stunned. Or, well, trying to.
Was that possible? I mean, he was actually cute, so why would he . . .
I looked at him again, and caught him in the middle of what seemed like a blush. Scud! That was the strangest thing that had happened to me since starting flight school, and I spent my mornings talking to a slug.
I thought about guys, but my life hadn’t exactly left me time for that kind of thing. The last time I’d had any romantic inclinations had been when I’d been eight and had given Rig a particularly nice hatchet I’d made out of a rock and a stick—then had decided he was gross the next week. Because, well, I’d been eight.
I jumped to my feet. “Uh, Bim?” I said.
He looked at me again.
“You ever heard of Odysseus?”
“No,” he said.
“He was an ancient hero who fought in the greatest war that ever happened on Earth, the Trojan War. It’s said he had a bow so strong that, other than him, only a giant could pull the string back. He . . . had blue hair, you know.”