They built a podium in the centre of Arena One. It took the maintenance crew about twenty minutes to assemble it — modular panels bolted together over the same gravel we'd been bleeding on for three days. A large central podium about ten meters in width and three meters high. It held an ornamental trophy in the centre with flags of the federation at each corner. Above the podium, a large holographic image hovered, portraying what was happening below in a large, blue flickering celebration of light.
Osei stood on the highest platform. First overall. His expression carried a measured calm. Miller stood to Osei's left, on the second platform. He'd won the individual phase outright, but the combined scoring across all three phases put him second overall. Jin stood to Osei's right, the third on the platform. The tips of her ears were red. She was staring straight ahead with the rigid focus of someone who'd rather be literally anywhere else.
"We're going to have to mess with her for the next two months for this," Sato whispered.
"You'll be lucky to get past the first minute without her taking your head off," I said.
"I'm taking notes," Tomás said. "For the historical record."
"For blackmail," Hsu corrected.
The ceremony was only brief. Vance, who'd overseen the exhibition's logistics, delivered a summary of the results with the enthusiasm of someone reading a supply requisition. The top performers named, and the phase results listed out. A line about the exhibition demonstrating "the calibre of this training cohort" that sounded like it had been copied from every exhibition ceremony for the past fifty years.
The sponsor section watched from the observation deck. The evaluators leaned forward, their ghostly forms flickering with increased resolution. The corporate logos rotated beneath them.
The ceremony ended, and the podium began its disassembly before the last applause had faded. The exhibition's theatre was over.
The sponsor representatives descended within minutes.
They moved through the crowd with the practised efficiency, datapads open, contract templates loaded, approaching specific recruits with specific offers.
Osei was surrounded immediately. Three corporate representatives and what looked like a military liaison, their conversation low and intent.
Miller was approached by two sponsors simultaneously, their representatives competing for his attention with a barely concealed urgency.
Jin got pulled aside by a Kepler representative before she'd made it back to our table. The conversation was brief — the representative talking, Jin listening with her arms crossed, her expression shifting through assessment to irritation. She returned to the table after three minutes.
"What did they want?" Sato asked.
"Top choice of Firmware, and a sponsored slot in a priority platoon." She sat down. "They said my burst deviation showed exceptional market viability."
"Market viability?" Tomás repeated.
"Their words. I told them I'd think about it."
"Will you?"
"I'll think about where to put their market viability assessment."
Other recruits were having similar conversations across the staging area. Dayo speaking with a Helix Industries representative. Vasquez being approached by two different military liaisons. Wiggin was surrounded by a cluster of sponsors drawn to his mirroring deviation like moths to a very profitable flame.
Park was tracking the sponsor movements on his datapad, cataloguing who approached whom. "Firmware offers are going to the top sixteen. Performance tier for the top eight. Priority platoon slots for the top four." He looked up. "Marcus, you finished sixth overall. That carries some serious weight, even if your deviation hasn't been publicly identified yet."
"Anyone approach you?" Hsu asked me.
"Not yet." I said.
"They will," Tomás said. "Your fighting style is unclassifiable. The sponsors don't know how to categorise it, which means they don't know how to value it. That makes some of them nervous and makes others very excited."
Nobody from the sponsor section had approached me. But I could feel eyes on me from the observation deck .
I found a quiet corner of the staging corridor and pulled up the interface.
[QUEST: PROVING GROUND — COMPLETE]
[Sub-objectives:]
[■ Eliminate five or more opponents in Phase One — COMPLETE]
[■ Win a round without losing a single fighter — COMPLETE]
[■ Achieve a top five seed — COMPLETE]
[■ Advance to the Quarter-Finals in Phase Three — COMPLETE]
[■ Attain top three overall —FAILED]
[QUEST RESULT: 4/5 OBJECTIVES COMPLETED]
[REWARDS UNLOCKED:]
[FRACTURED ANAMNESIS — CULTIVATION METHOD]
[Description: Access an echo of what you can be. Engage in mental combat with a projected version of yourself. Gain XP and Connection points through use.]
[Projected Enlightened Cultivation Grade: F-Grade.]
[CONNECTION SHOP — UNLOCKED]
[Description: Convert connection points into learnable skills. Skills acquired through the Connection Shop must be integrated through Fractured Anamnesis before becoming active.]
[CONNECTION POINTS: 587]
Fractured Anamnesis?A cultivation method that let me fight a mental projection of a possible future version of myself. That's— actually perfect. Though the projected F-Grade gains from it aren't exactly ideal… I wonder what I would have gotten if I had completed all five sub-tasks. I'll also have to look up what 'Anamnesis' even means, and what it means for it to be fractured.
The description was sparse, and the phrasing raised more questions than it answered. What kind of potential was the system projecting from the data it had gathered? Would I be able to use this method to refine my fighting ability? Will I gain XP through this or these new "connection points"?
Questions for later.
The connection shop was clearer in function if not in origin. 587 connection points, accumulated from the threshold's steady climb. In direct correlation with the amount of connection per cent I had already accumulated.
Skills available for purchase?
Though the interface showed the shop as a collapsed menu, I'd need to expand it when I had time to properly examine it. The critical detail: skills purchased from the shop had to be integrated through fractured anamnesis before they became active. Buy the skill, then fight the future version of myself to learn it.
The True-Noosphere seemed to be building a training programme. A private, invisible, internal training programme that existed entirely within my interface.
I hadn't told anyone about the True-Noosphere, not properly anyway. The quest had been invisible. The rewards were invisible. The connection points accumulated in silence while the exhibition played out in public. Everything the system gave me existed in a space nobody could see.
The secret was getting heavier. And the Tiernan name had already taught me what hidden worlds cost the people who trusted you.
I'd have to figure out the shop and the cultivation method tonight, in the bunk. The way I figured out everything the True-Noosphere gave me, like a blind mouse trying to figure out where the damn cheese is.
Maybe I can get Tomás to help me with it.
After checking the interface, I moved back to the crowd to find where the group were standing. By the time I came back, the staging area was already thinning out. I picked the group out from the crowd easily, the squad of misfits giggling and punching each other in the shoulder.
Before I could reach them, I was intercepted by an instructor I didn't recognise. A younger male with a buzzcut, wearing a similar uniform to Kael, except he had the markings of a Warrant Officer emblazoned on his shoulder.
"Recruit Tiernan."
"Sir."
He held out a datapad, the screen displaying a single message.
FROM: EXHIBITION ADMINISTRATIVE OFFICE
TO: RECRUIT TIERNAN, MARCUS — BARRACKS 7
RE: POST-EXHIBITION CONSULTATION
Recruit Tiernan,
The Tiernan Military Trust has requested a meeting with you following the conclusion of the exhibition evaluation period. This meeting has been approved by the exhibition oversight committee and is scheduled for 0900 tomorrow in the Administrative Block, Room 14.
Attendance is mandatory.
The words were plain enough. The Tiernan Military Trust, Grandfather's institution. The family machine, the name on the sponsor board that had caused so much damned friction and followed me through three days of fighting, had formally requested a meeting.
The instructor waited for a response, and I gave a nod.
"Understood, Sir," I said.
He took the datapad back and left.
By the time I turned back to face the squad, they had observed the whole thing go down. Sato and Hsu pointed fingers at me, laughing, and I gave a lopsided grin. I walked over to them as they revelled in my very obvious pissed-off facial expression.
"Damn, just one, huh? That's tough, Marcus, whatever will you do?" Sato teased.
"That wasn't a corporate sponsor, idiot, that was one of the bureaucrats of the facility." Park corrected.
"So what did he want?" Jin asked.
"He was giving me some orders to head to an administration block. The Tiernans are demanding my presence or some bullshit."
The squad went quiet at that, and I quickly tried to remedy the situation.
"Don't worry, whatever their offer is, I'm not leaving you guys."