After a night in the recovery ward, the scanner finished its third sweep and chimed. Nell turned the readout toward Caleb so he could see the green tissue-mending report for himself.
He tried lifting his right arm. The dressing pulled at his collarbone before his hand reached his face. Whatever the machine called standard, it still hurt.
Nell set the wand on the bedside table.
"You've been throwing yourself under falling junk since we were nine. You could try moving away from it."
"The junk keeps finding me."
She crossed her arms. The leather of her jacket creaked against the chair. He knew that sound from arguments long before either of them had worn a uniform.
"Keep the dressing on," she said. "And tell the medic when it starts bleeding."
Caleb looked at the tubing in his left hand. The nutrient infusion had eased the cold under his ribs, and the cut had stopped wetting the tape. It had given him enough strength to sit up. He still couldn't hold his right elbow clear of the mattress for long.
The ward door swung open. Mabel Bristow came through with a datapad, her rolled sleeves exposing the scars on her forearms. She stopped between the beds and waited for the nearest conversation to end.
"Captain Barrett is alive. He's down a leg and out of active duty. Until further notice, I'm Acting Captain of Seventh Division. Take assignment questions to me."
Caleb loosened his grip on the sheet. He had last seen Barrett bleeding under broken concrete, with the Mimic using his voice. A missing leg was something the captain would have to live with. He would get the chance.
Mabel brought up the personnel list.
"Surviving a live deployment gets you an automatic promotion to Rank E. Combat stipend eligibility and surplus artisan access. You still have to learn to use the equipment."
She scrolled down.
"Twenty recruits across the divisions overperformed. Arakawa, Hosoda, Shishido and Treadwell, you four and sixteen others go straight to D. Your access records are updated. Find kit that will hold together. Drills at thirteen hundred."
Caleb checked his name when she turned the pad. The D was beside it. He had earned it on the platform, and the damaged arm lying across his stomach wouldn't let him mistake the letter for better muscles.
Mabel moved on to the next row of beds. Nell watched her go.
"Barrett will hate the desk," she said.
"He can yell from a chair."
"You'll hear him from here."
Caleb smiled until it pulled at his neck. Nell caught the movement and pointed at the dressing again before she left.
***
By late morning, the ward medic had checked the dry dressing and watched Caleb walk the corridor. She cleared him for the controlled drill, with orders to stop if the wound opened. He left after a meal, carrying the same sore arm he had brought in.
The artisan wing smelled of solder and burnt coffee. Caleb followed the welding noise to a workshop at the end of the third corridor, carrying his helmet under his left arm.
Armor plates hung from a cage inside the door. A hand-painted sign above them read Hem & Hammer. Beneath it, a notice promised no refunds, returns, or complaints. Somebody had added a smaller warning about touching unfinished seams.
He ducked beneath the lowest plate.
"I need a Rank E tactical undersuit."
The welder stopped and flipped up her mask. Pink hair, greasy at the roots, was tied back with a zip tie. She kept chewing gum while she checked the bandage at his neck.
"You're the pipe guy."
"I have a name."
"I watched the tunnel feed. Your name wasn't what bent the pipe." She slid off the stool. "Dot. You generate terrible marketing and excellent stress-test telemetry."
Caleb set his helmet on the counter. She looked at the D beside his name on its identification display.
"You can ask for better than E now."
"I need something that fits before thirteen hundred."
Dot reached into a locker and pushed aside a bundle of loose cable. The undersuit she laid on the counter landed heavily enough to move his helmet.
"Ballistic-weave hybrid. Reinforced joints. Rated two and a half percent yield instead of your one-point-two. Hold it up."
He unfolded it with his left hand. She took the other sleeve before he had to raise the injured arm and pulled the chest panel flat between them.
"The seam pattern's mine. I want your visor diagnostics when you wear it. Straight off the helmet, before somebody cuts them into a highlights reel."
"You watched enough to know I get hit."
"Your old suit tore at the shoulder before the ceiling came down. Then the feed cut off. I need the readings that tell me which seam failed first."
He ran a thumb along the reinforcement. The fabric gave under it and returned to shape without puckering.
"You get the suit readings," he said. "You don't get to talk over my squad channel."
"I have a welding torch running beside my head. You think I want to hear you argue?"
She turned his helmet far enough to inspect its diagnostic port. Caleb watched her fingers work around the cracked housing. She treated the helmet as a machine she could fix, and the bandaged man beside it as somebody who could bring it back broken.
He picked up the suit.
"Deal."
"Bring me useful damage, scrubber. Something I can improve."
"I'll try to be considerate when I hit the wall."
Dot pulled her mask down. Welding sparks were falling again before he reached the door.
***
The collar sat close to his bandage without dragging it when he turned his head. Caleb flexed his left hand, then raised the right far enough to catch his rifle sling. The new fabric moved with him. The muscle underneath still limited the lift.
He ate a ration bar outside the staging ground and kept another within reach on his belt.
At the racks, the armorer checked his loss report and issued a standard replacement for the rifle he'd left in the flooded tunnel. Caleb tested the sling before taking it. The cramps had eased enough for him to check the action without leaning against the rack.
Kei and Taichi found him there. Taichi had a bandage across his nose and a chip in his front tooth that showed when he grinned.
"Look who got out of the surplus bin."
Caleb tugged the collar away from the tape. "Same man underneath."
"My count's holding," Kei said, talking over Taichi. "If it stays up through tomorrow, I can get the tier-two optics. Low-light filter."
"Check the mount before you pay," Caleb said. "Your old one shakes."
Kei bent over his rifle to test it. Taichi glanced at the closed public icon on Caleb's visor.
"Your crowd still gone?"
Caleb touched the access control. The red padlock returned, covering the button. He could open the receipt for the tunnel settlement and the cleared interest payment. He could buy ordinary supplies with what remained. Starting another public session still required somebody else's permission.
"For now," he said.
Nell walked down the deployment line, carrying the drill map. She spread it across the rack and made them move their rifles clear.
"Simulated Rupture Zone. Shifting terrain and controlled hostiles. Find the biological nexus. Keep your partner moving when the floor shifts."
Suzu stepped around a transport crate. Her repaired white armor left the brace visible through the joint plating. She checked her rifle while Nell assigned them.
"Shishido and Treadwell, you're paired."
Suzu started toward the arena. Caleb followed, testing the sling against his shoulder with each step.
***
Artificial twilight dimmed the arena. Resin spurs stuck through patches of false moss, which compressed beneath Caleb's boots before he reached the first ridge.
Suzu took point. She swept her rifle across the ruined walls, pausing at gaps where a drone could hide.
"Keep your spacing, Treadwell. Call movement before you engage."
He watched the ground beside her feet. The moss covered the base of a resin root, and her next step put the brace close to it.
A drone drove out of the moss on her left. Suzu pivoted and brought the rifle around. Her boot caught under the root just as the machine's blunted claw came level with her chest.
Caleb lunged into her with his left side. They fell together into the dirt. The claw caught his ribs as they rolled, forcing the air out of him and leaving a sharp catch when he tried to breathe again.
The drone turned beyond the ridge. Suzu pulled her boot free while he tore the wrapper off his spare bar. He chewed with one hand pressed against his side. Warmth moved beneath his sternum, and he could draw a fuller breath before the last mouthful went down.
Suzu checked his collar, then raised her rifle over the ridge.
"I had the shot until my foot caught."
"The moss hides the roots. Watch where the brace lands."
She scraped the dirt away from the joint with her glove. Beyond them, the drone swung toward the sound.
Caleb pulled her muzzle down before it cleared the ridge.
"It followed my boots before it saw us. I'll go left and make noise. Get above it and take the casing."
Suzu looked at the resin slope, then at the machine's plated back. She shifted her grip to carry the rifle one-handed while she climbed.
"Keep it turned away from me."
He went left, stamping into the spongy floor. The drone followed the vibration. Caleb ducked beneath its sweeping claw and fired into the knee at close range, feeling the sling pull against his sore shoulder.
The knee plating buckled. He stepped clear as Suzu fired from the ridge. Her plasma round went through the exposed central casing, and the machine folded into the moss.
Caleb climbed up to her, breathing carefully. She had taken her helmet off and sat with the braced leg straight. He lowered himself into the space beside her without putting his weight against it.
"Clean shot," he said.
She looked down at the smoking casing. "You kept it turned."
Nell came up the resin steps and logged the kill. She checked Caleb's stance before looking at the wreck.
"Clean bait. Like the compactors. Next time, get her foot loose before you spend your ribs."
"I'll ask the drone to wait."
Nell tapped his shoulder with the corner of the pad and went down the steps.
His public icon changed to green. Purple text appeared beside it.
[??? : I'll let the crowd watch the drill. The switch stays with me.]
Caleb pressed the public control. The padlock covered it even as the count climbed to forty-five thousand.
He had viewers again. She still decided when they could see him. The earnings receipt behind that locked control remained credited, with this month's interest marked paid.
***
A red dot moved across Caleb's visor and settled over Suzu's face. She was brushing dirt from her brace, unaware of the mark he could see.
[??? : Step away from her.]
He reached toward Suzu's shoulder. Before he touched her, a gold panel covered the reticle.
[SSS-AUTHORIZATION]
The dot vanished. An older man's voice came through Caleb's earpiece, clear enough to make him check the channel indicator.
"My asset forgot her manners. Apologies for the static, recruit. Keep up the good work."
The channel closed. Caleb stared at the blue military display. He had seen the threat aimed at Suzu, but he had no sight of a weapon and no proof the dot could fire anything. Somebody had overridden the woman who had overridden his feed.
Suzu looked up at his hand hovering near her shoulder.
"Are you functional, Treadwell?"
He lowered it and checked his rifle. The receiver was still hot against his glove.
"I can move."
"Then let's find the anchor."
She fitted her helmet and stood. Caleb got up beside her, keeping the gold authorization tag in view until it faded. He wanted the name of the man who could interrupt his buyer. For now, he had a drill to finish and Suzu walking ahead of him.