COMPETE: The Atlantis Grail (Book Two) - Preview

CHAPTER SIXTEEN (draft)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I've no idea how late it is, but most of the class has stayed past the hour, trying to complete the assignment of three clean runs in a row. The console desk in the front row just before us is now empty—Erin and Roy got through their exercise cleanly and left ten minutes ago. To my right, on the other side of Hugo, Trey and the purple-hair girl are still at it. And so is Blayne and his partner, a few desks down.

I glance around to see if Logan is still here also, but I don't see him. Not sure where he sat down, so he might still be somewhere in the back rows.

I am beginning to get worried. It feels like it's already after 2:30, and I have another class at 3:00 PM with Consul Denu. The last thing I want is to be late to that one.

We finally complete two clean runs in a row. Hugo is sweating profusely.

"Just one more," I mutter. "One more! We can do it!"

"Okay, yeah, we can do it!" he echoes me.

It's my turn as the Pilot, so I take us out very carefully, engaging the Thrust, staring fiercely at the Red grid. All is well. Then my fingers tremble on the swipe, snagging against the console surface.

There's a familiar BOOM.

I don't know what just happened, but I crashed us in the launch tunnel before we even left the shuttle bay.

Again.

Hugo growls at me.

"Sorry! Crap! So sorry," I mumble, and we start over, with run one.

* * *

When we finally manage to get three clean scenarios in a row, we are almost the last people in the room. Only one other console desk is occupied with an unlucky pair of Cadets. One of them is a round-faced Asian girl, big and bulky, barely fitting into her desk. She slouches over in absolute shame as her partner, a wiry Latina with braids, screams at her in Spanish. I feel for her, really, I do.

"You suck!" Hugo tells me as he starts running out of the open classroom deck area into the nearest corridor on his way to his next class.

I ignore his outburst—because okay, he's kind of right, this time. I did screw us up badly on that final run. Instead I hurry to my own class with trepidation. It's definitely after 3:00 PM, and I am so late!

I arrive on Command Deck Two, find the first VIP quarters hallway, and look for Cabin #11. Passing my hand over the square ID pad, I say my name and ask for permission to enter.

I stand, breathing fast, when the door slides open. A whiff of perfume greets me, followed by the regal voice of the Consul. "You may enter."

I take a step inside, and just wow—in only an afternoon this cabin must have been transformed from a sterile military-style functional space into a frilly oasis, almost an exact replica of the Consul's personal quarters back on the flagship.

Kem is moving around the large room in quiet harmony, arranging fabrics and moving pieces of décor. As it's happening, Consul Suval Denu lounges in a large folding chair lined with cushions, eyes closed, hands folded in his lap upon a mini-pillow, his feet, in their intricate, jewel-encrusted footwear propped up on a tiny foot-rest. I'm guessing the fancy folding chair was one of the things inside that grand trunk, because there's just no way an Atlantean ark-ship would simply have that kind of furniture lying around.

"Gwen Lark, it is poor form, you are late," the Consul tells me after a pause of uncomfortable silence. He opens his eyes and immediately glances at a small digital Earth clock sitting on the side table, which reads 3:19 PM.