way you can motivate my mom’s archeology techs.”
“Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“Ha ha. Seriously, all they want to do is return to normal, like you do. If they know what they’re doing is actually helping security, that we’re figuring out a way to open the pits and there’s an end point, they’ll be more inclined to assist us.”
“My dad—”
“Probably keeping a tight lid on everything. Doesn’t want the details about the looters and HoLFs scaring the scientists. Right?” The answer is in Niall’s stiff posture. “Well, if you want them to be part of the team, they need to feel like part of the team, working on a common goal. You have to trust them with the truth.”
Niall shakes his head, giving me a tired smile. “And here I thought the prisoners’ revolt would spook you. Instead, you’re giving advice.”
“Good advice,” I clarify.
“And you’re modest too, no wonder I like you so much,” he teases. Then he sobers. “What changed, Mouse?”
“I’m motivated.”
I’m still awake when Radcliff returns. He glances at me sitting on the couch then at the clock. It’s oh-two-hundred hours.
“I couldn’t sleep.” The truth. Every time I closed my eyes, the riot replayed in my mind.
He relaxes. “I’m sorry about tonight.”
Surprised, I blurt, “That’s what I’m supposed to say. It’s because of me. I’m—”
“Not your fault. I assigned four officers to watch sixteen prisoners.” Radcliff straightens. “It won’t happen again. Only eight prisoners will be allowed to exercise at one time.”
A good idea, except that means more work for the officers.
“Get some sleep, Ara,” he says, heading toward his room.
Not so fast. I surge off the couch and block his way.
He raises an eyebrow. “Do you need something?”
“Yes. I want a shift.”
“A shift?”
“A security shift. Everyone’s exhausted. I can take a turn monitoring cameras or guarding the entrance to the pits. In fact, I should be there since I can actually see the shadow…er…HoLFs.”
“You’re still in training.”
“Does everyone train eight hours a day every day when they start?” I already know the answer is no.
“Your case is different,” he says, but it’s weak.
I wait.
“Your parents—”
“Are not in charge of security.”
Radcliff studies me. He’s pissed I interrupted him, yet there’s approval there as well. I’m getting better at reading him.
“Am I part of this team or not?”
“You are.”
“Then please put me on the schedule.”
The next day I’m a few minutes early for training. A nasty bruise is purpling on Elese’s swollen right cheek. It’s hard for me to believe that last night was not my fault.
“I’m sor—”
“None of that,” she says, holding up her hand. “They’ve been spoiling for a fight.” Elese shrugs. “It’s all part of the job. You gotta be ready for anything.” To prove her point she jabs a punch at my ribs.
Without thinking, I block it.
“Ah, progress.” She launches into a series of attacks.
And I spend most of the morning practicing blocks, punches and kicks with Elese before we move on to self-defense—a typical day. Frustration builds—did no one listen to me? But after lunch something is finally different.
Elese hands me a pulse gun. “This one is yours.”
Interesting that Radcliff kept the gun set to my electromagnetic signature. The weapon is nonlethal and built so I can’t accidentally shoot myself because it recognizes me. Plus no one can use the gun on me or the other officers. But, as I witnessed last night, it will send an electromagnetic pulse at the enemy, rendering them unconscious.
She leads me to the shooting range. It adjoins the training area and is long and narrow. There’s a wide red stripe crossing the short width of the floor.
“Ever shoot one of these?” Elese brandishes her own weapon.
“No.”
“There’s no kickback and you’re not going to see anything. But you’ll hear—”
“A sizzle. I’ve plenty of experience with that.”
We share a rueful grin.
She tilts the gun to the side. “See this yellow bar? It means the gun is fully charged. As you use it, the bar will shrink. Once it’s gone, you need to recharge your weapon.”
“How?”
“Ask Radcliff for a pulse kit—it has a charger.”
“What if the gun runs out of power when you’re in the middle of a fight?”
“There are power packs.” Opening the bottom of the gun’s handle, she pulls out a round cylinder and replaces it with another one from her pocket. “Tactical pants are the best. You wouldn’t believe what I have stored in all these pockets.” Her brown eyes gleam. “Wanna see?”
“Er…no thanks. A little mystery between friends is a good thing,” I say.
Her laugh is spicy and