The Gauntlet

  Rolf and Nok exchanged a cautious look. The crowd was murmuring louder. Glints of pickaxes and hammers shone here and there, a reminder of how quickly the crowd could be overcome by panic and end up doing something rash.

  Rolf nudged Nok. “You got this.”

  Nok cleared her throat, addressing the girl loudly. “Who are you?”

  “My name’s Makayla. I was in one of the menageries on the Kindred station. We’re refugees. We have a dozen more ships behind us wanting to know if it’s safe to land. There’s a lot of wounded people with us. Animals, too.”

  “Do you believe her?” Nok whispered.

  Rolf’s fingers tapped anxiously. “Ask her which menagerie—”

  But the girl, Makayla, had caught sight of something in the crowd that had stolen her attention. Her eyes went wide with surprise, then anger, then determination. She strode through the crowd toward the dance hall.

  “Stop!” Nok called. “Hey, girl, whatever your name was, don’t move!”

  But Makayla didn’t listen to Nok. She strode right up to the group of mine guards congregated near the dance hall. Rolf’s thoughts raced—what was this girl planning? Should he grab a pickax too, just in case?

  She walked past the biggest of the guards. Right to Dane.

  Dane’s eyes were wide—he clearly recognized her. For a second, worry flared in Rolf’s mind. A friend of Dane’s was certainly no friend of theirs. But then Dane’s eyes narrowed.

  “Makayla,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Dane,” she replied, as though spitting out something distasteful. And then she drew her fist back and punched him in the jaw.

  Several people gasped.

  Dane stumbled backward into the crowd of surprised mine guards. Ripples of worry ran through the crowd, but Rolf just leaned close to Nok.

  “I have a feeling we can trust this girl,” he said.

  22

  Cora

  CORA STOOD BEFORE THE portal door that led to the Gauntlet’s first puzzle chamber. It was five feet high, ringed by blindingly bright lights. It faced the dais where the four Chief Assessors sat, their delegations behind them, watching. Cora’s eyes fell on Serassi, and she felt a stab of anger.

  Traitor.

  “Once you enter,” Fian explained from the dais, “the stock algorithm will take over. There is no exiting or stopping the Gauntlet until you either complete the first round, after which you will be granted a break before moving on to the second, or you fail.” He tented his fingers.

  The lights suddenly flickered and Cora looked up, along with the Chief Assessors. She could almost feel the storm’s wind howling outside, pushing against the structure. But then the lights brightened again.

  Fian pointed to the monitors, which displayed an unintelligible series of symbols. “These coded monitors will allow us to track your progress. Though we do not judge you ourselves, we observe in order to ensure a fair run. Each of our aides has been trained to interpret the coding. Now, approach the portal door.”

  Lights illuminated on the floor as she approached, as though guiding her way. Each step made her knees shake harder—or was that the storm, making the structure tremble? She looked over her shoulder and caught Willa’s eye from the bench along the rear wall. Willa touched a hand to her heart, and Cora remembered her words. The Gauntlet will take everything from you. It searches for weaknesses and exploits anything it finds.

  Cora touched her own heart in response. Then her hand dropped to the edge of her black Gauntleteer shirt. It felt as light as cotton, no sign of the nanocircuitry she knew was embedded there to monitor her physical fitness and mental capacity.

  “I would wish you good luck,” Fian said, “but luck is a human concept. There is no logic in it. A lesser concept for a lesser species.” He lifted a hand over the control to open the portal door. At the same time, the lights flickered irregularly again.

  He pressed the control, but nothing happened.

  He pressed it harder.

  Then the room began to quake. The smirk on Fian’s face faded as Brother Magga gripped the edges of the dais with his long fingers and Crusader whipped his head around toward the other Axion.

  “What is happening?” Crusader demanded. The charming note to his voice had vanished.

  “An earthquake,” Redrage explained calmly from behind her mask, tapping a few controls on the panel. “A part of the storm. It’s stronger than we anticipated.”

  The lights flickered again.

  “This is a farce!” Fian pushed to his feet. “How you Mosca ever became intelligent is beyond me!”

  “Quiet down,” Redrage hissed. She stood up, pacing anxiously. “The stock algorithm evaluated the forecast weather patterns and judged the conditions to be acceptable. The quake will pass. They rarely last more than a few minutes.” She sauntered over to Bonebreak and Ironmage, exchanging a few hushed words with them.

  Cora paced in front of the door, the floor lighting up each of her steps. The tremor wasn’t enough to cause more than a mild vibration, but she was already so jumpy that she felt like she might pass out.

  As if sensing her growing panic, Ironmage and Bonebreak came over to the portal door. Ironmage handed her a cup of water and then leaned in close.

  “Listen,” he whispered, jerking his head at the Mosca’s Chief Assessor. “My brother and I have been working on Redrage, like I said. Trying to negotiate a deal for some under-the-table information. She stuck to her morals for a while, rambling about safeguarding standards for the galaxy . . .” Ironmage rolled his eyes. “But it seems the other delegates have irritated her since they first landed. The Kindred ordering her around, even though this is our territory, and those boring Gatherers always reciting the rules. Redrage just now relented to share some information—nothing too revealing, but enough to give you a chance, which will annoy the other delegates.”

  “I didn’t think anyone could tamper with the Gauntlet,” Cora whispered.

  “We aren’t tampering,” Ironmage said. “We can’t change anything; we’re merely relaying information that happened to fall into our lap.”

  Cora leaned in close.

  “The first puzzle,” Bonebreak explained quietly as he took the empty cup back from her, “is a moral one.”

  Cora straightened. “That’s it?” She’d been hoping for something more useful, like the key to solving one of the more difficult puzzles.

  Bonebreak let out a grunt. “That information cost us a percentage of trade rights if you win. The first puzzle is almost never a moral one. Just take heed.”

  Overhead, the lights resumed full power.

  Her thoughts vanished as the earthquake’s tremor underfoot stilled. The floor stopped shaking, and the monitors ceased rattling.

  Redrage returned to the dais. She pressed a few more controls on the panel, then nodded. “The meteorological disturbance has passed. Our controls should function again at regular capacity.”

  Fian strode over to where Cora stood with the Mosca. His fingers dug into her upper arm as he dragged her back toward the portal. She struggled, hating the feel of his cold skin on hers. “Chief Assessors,” he called over his shoulder, “prepare to open the door to the first puzzle chamber. The Gauntleteer is ready—”

  The ground rumbled again, interrupting him. But it didn’t have the same vibrations as the earthquake. The rumble felt more like wheels—or a great rolling ball.

  Cora gasped. The other rover sphere!

  “Wait,” Brother Magga said, frowning toward the direction of the sound. “Someone approaches. Open the entrance into the hallway.”

  “No!” Crusader said. “We have already been delayed long enough!”

  Bonebreak and Ironmage, however, were already unlatching the heavy gates. Cora craned her neck as the rumbling grew. She caught sight of the rover sphere plowing down the hallway, throwing rain and mud against the walls. It must have just come from the storm outside.

  The Axion delegation jumped up. The room e
rupted in surprised muttering.

  “Highly unusual . . .”

  “Against protocol . . .”

  “Appears to be a Kindred steering it . . .”

  “Enough!” Crusader yelled with a note of strain in his voice. “Enough distractions! It begins now.” He slammed his hand on the controls. With a whoosh of pressure, the portal door cracked open from the bottom, rising slowly, letting out a blast of cold air that made goose bumps erupt on Cora’s bare ankles. She tried to step backward, but Fian still held her tightly.

  “Oh, no,” he whispered in her ear. “No escaping this time. No one rushing to your rescue now.”

  The rover sphere rolled to an abrupt stop by the dais. Through the muddy glass windows, Cora could just make out three figures inside.

  The portal door kept rising. Fian pushed her toward it. Cold air was on her calves now.

  And then the rover sphere door cracked open. She nearly cried out. She knew those faces!

  Mali.

  Leon.

  Cassian!

  He was at the rover sphere’s controls. Her heart started thundering violently. She blinked and blinked, unable to believe it, trying to get out of Fian’s grasp. Her friends spilled out of the rover sphere and she twisted toward them. Cassian was alive. He was here. Her eyes drank him in. One hand clutched at his ribs, as though they were bruised. And his skin—she winced. Pockmark scars dotted his arms and neck from the wire probes the Kindred doctors had tortured him with. A sickening feeling struck her as she realized they looked just like the bullet holes from her nightmare.

  His eyes found hers in the crowd. She felt a ripple of the same electric spark as when they touched—bright and jarring, but now heavy with guilt. Cora stifled a sob. He was limping. She’d never seen him like this before—weak. The distance between them ate at her. If only she could feel his warmth, hold him close, tell him she was wrong to have doubted him, tell him that she loved him.

  “Cassian!” She nearly dislocated her shoulder trying to tear herself from Fian’s grip.

  Cassian took a step forward but hesitated, as though fearing to get too close. In the next instant, Kindred and Axion aides swarmed between them, stopping Mali and Leon before they could come any closer.

  “Cora!” Cassian called. That moment of hesitation was gone. He shoved an Axion out of his way.

  The portal door was nearly entirely open now. Cold air brushed the back of her neck. Serassi and Leon were arguing, looking like they were moments away from punching each other. Mali was glaring between the Axion and Kindred delegations as though she didn’t trust either one. Two Axion aides grabbed Cassian and held him back with a rifle pressed into his spine. In the commotion, their eyes met. Memories flooded Cora of the last time she’d seen him, tortured and screaming in agony.

  “Let me go!” she cried, trying to pull free from Fian’s grasp.

  Fian’s eyes went to the portal door. He smiled.

  Cora hissed in a breath, realizing her mistake a second too late. Fian’s hands were already moving before she could react.

  “My pleasure,” he said, and shoved her through the portal door into the first puzzle chamber.

  23

  Cora

  CORA SLAMMED INTO A hard metal floor.

  Bursts of pain radiated from her knees and palms. She took in the room in a daze: a ten-by-ten-by-ten cube, glowing panels on all sides, walls and floor and ceiling identical, so that she suddenly wasn’t certain which way was up. And the portal door . . .

  The door was closing. She scrambled for the gap, trying to see through. Back in the central vestibule, two Axion guards were holding back Cassian. Mali and Leon were yelling something to Willa and Anya.

  The door kept lowering. Five inches left. Four. Three.

  “No!” she cried. “Wait!”

  Fian’s boots suddenly loomed before the narrowing crack. He crouched to meet her gaze. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll handle your Warden.”

  And the door sealed.

  “No!” She clawed at the door, then pounded with her fists. Nothing. She shoved herself to her feet, breathing hard, pacing. Fian was planning something, she knew it. Something even worse than what he’d already done to Cassian.

  She kicked the door one more time. Useless. It wouldn’t open again until the first round was complete. She spun back toward the chamber. She had to get through these puzzles—they were the only way back to Cassian.

  She took a step forward, and the chamber went black.

  She stopped. Blinked in the darkness. Cold air from unseen vents snaked up her ankles. She held out her hands and shuffled forward until she touched the place where she guessed the door had been. She felt for the seams, but they were gone. It was just a wall now, identical to every other side.

  She raked her nails across her scalp. She closed her eyes, trying to send Cassian a psychic message. Cassian . . . answer me, please . . . But there was no response. The walls were thick, designed specifically to prevent telepathic communication.

  She cursed.

  Without warning, a rumble spread through the darkness, and she took a quick step away from the wall.

  The lights flickered back on, blindingly bright.

  She shaded her face with her hands, waiting for her eyes to adjust. Her heartbeat pounded in her chest. The stock algorithm was capable of engineering any possible habitat or scenario; she could find herself on the edge of a cliff or charged by a lion—and there were no safeguards.

  Die here, die for real.

  The bright light faded and she was able to warily open her eyes, surprised to find herself still in the ten-by-ten-by-ten cube. No illusions or habitats. The only difference was that a small table had materialized in the center of the chamber: a wooden desk filled with blocks that looked like toys.

  She eyed the table cautiously. She knew better than to trust anything that appeared so innocent. She turned back to the wall, resting her fingertips on the smooth surface.

  I’m coming, Cassian, she thought. Hang on.

  She drew in a steadying breath and approached the desk. There were nine blocks, each with a number printed on the top: 8, 105, 2, 34, 300, 1, 15, 90, 4. There had to be some pattern. She reached for the first block, but it was fastened to the table. It could slide left or right or up or down, but it could not come loose. She tried another, then another. All the blocks could slide, but only in certain directions. She slid the 34 between 15 and 90 but wasn’t able to move the 4 anywhere except up.

  “Rolf,” she muttered, “I could really use your brain right now.”

  The first puzzle they’d found in the cage had been a number puzzle, like this. Rolf had figured it out almost instantly, spinning its numerical gears until the lock opened and candy poured out onto the floor, filling the toy store with a sickeningly sweet aroma. The memory started to make Cora’s stomach turn.

  “Think,” she told herself. Cassian is waiting. He’s in trouble. All she could picture was those scars on his arms and neck. She couldn’t change the fact that he’d been tortured—but she’d be damned if she’d let it happen again.

  She gripped the edge of the desk.

  There had to be some relationship among the numbers. What was it Willa had said in their training? Sort out the numbers and you will end up with one word. The word will be your key to solving the puzzle.

  By that logic, if the 2 was a B and the 4 was a D, then they shouldn’t be next to each other sequentially. But she still couldn’t move the 4 at all, and what number would 300 represent, anyway?

  She tossed a glance over her shoulder, worried about what might be happening outside—only to realize she wasn’t sure anymore which wall had held the portal door. They all looked identical now. And knowing how the Kindred could manipulate gravity and forced perspectives, for all she knew she’d come in through the ceiling and was now standing on one of the walls.

  “Come on. Concentrate.”

  She started to hum aloud, forced at first, but after the first f
ew notes, the tension eased from her shoulders. The sound of a soft melody always settled her mind.

  She touched the 300 block. If this puzzle was anything like the one Willa told her about, then 300 had to represent a letter. If she added the digits, 3 plus 0 plus 0, she got 3, which would be a C. And there was a 1 block, which could be A . . .

  It was starting to make sense. Four of the blocks could stand for A, B, C, and D. Cassian had told her that the puzzles got harder as she progressed, which meant this first one might really be this simple. She slid the 1 in front of the 2, and the 300 next, but the 4 still wouldn’t move. She tried to pry it up, but it wouldn’t budge.

  She hummed harder. Her pitch rose with her frustration, turning into a growl, and she tore herself away from the desk. “I don’t have time for this!”

  Her eyes caught on the edge of the 4 block, and she stopped. The corner of the number 4 was loose—a label glued to the top of the block. She stepped closer. When she’d pulled so hard, the edge of the label had started to peel free. Hesitantly, she picked at it with her fingernail. The corner came up cleanly. She tried the same with the 105 cube.

  It came up cleanly, too.

  She swallowed. I could peel up the labels and rearrange them without moving the blocks at all.

  She glanced over her shoulder.

  Charlie had once done the same thing with their old Rubik’s Cube toy. On a long car ride, their father had told them the first one to solve the Rubik’s Cube would get to choose where they stopped for lunch, thinking it would distract them during the long car ride between campaign stops. She’d driven herself crazy trying to twist the cube to form six sides of the same color, but Charlie had just taken out his penknife, secretly peeled off each of the colored stickers, and moved them around. Their dad had thought Charlie was a genius.

  Slowly, Cora started humming again.

  She peeled the label a little bit farther. It was cheating, yes, but her friends were in danger—and what did it matter as long as she got it right in the end? She and Mali had made the same argument when they’d devised the idea to cheat the Gauntlet. That plan had failed when Fian had closed all the loopholes, but the same strategy could help her now.