He was distracted when Chang ran him through the basic assessment, checking his pupils, his sensation of touch, his circulation. And then the lieutenant turned on a recording with various musical notes and asked Tom to identify them.

“I don’t know anything about music—” Tom began to protest.

But he did know them. With a strange shock, he listed E, C, D, A.

The nurse saw his shocked face, and patted his shoulder. Then he gestured for Tom to sit up. “We upload a few gigs of information to test you out, plus some class assignments so you don’t start off behind. You should have a reference database for your first week here, correct?”

Tom’s brain called it up. “Yes.” There was a file manager in his brain. In it were three files: Civilian Classes, Calisthenics, Trainee Specific Programs. And he knew he could just open and peruse the files with a thought. He just knew it.

“And where are you supposed to go right now?” Chang asked him.

“To meet Vikram Ashwan. My new roommate.” Tom paused. Again, something he just knew. “This is so weird.”

The nurse nodded. “You’ll get used to it, I’m told. You’re dismissed, Plebe.”

Tom opened his mouth to tell him he didn’t know where to go, but the Pentagonal Spire answered him this time, a mainframe with a careful tracking module following every recruit within its walls, feeding data into Tom’s neural processor.

Tom hopped down from the bed. His legs held, and he wasn’t even dizzy after lying in bed for three weeks. He started for the door.

“Mr. Raines, don’t forget this,” Lieutenant Chang called, holding something out in his hand. “It belongs to you now.”

Tom reached out and took the metal object. He held it up and realized it was a Challenge Coin just like the one General Marsh owned. The coin was stamped US INTRASOLAR FORCES. It flashed green when he held it, just like the general’s coin had.

A strange but awesome feeling shivered through him as he gazed at the bald eagle and realized this was now his.

He felt Chang’s dark eyes on him. “Welcome to the Pentagonal Spire, Mr. Raines.”

CHALLENGE COIN IN pocket, Tom followed the map that loomed in his awareness like some nagging worry. The Spire said Vikram was 8.6 meters northwest of him. He stepped through the door into the first floor hallway, and indeed, Vikram was 8.6 meters away from where he’d been. Tom’s neural processor even ticked down the distance as he closed it.

When he clapped eyes on the Indian boy waiting for him, more text planted itself in his vision:

NAME: Vikram Ashwan

RANK: USIF, Grade III Plebe, Alexander Division

ORIGIN: New Delhi, India

ACHIEVEMENTS: Top honors for Youth Innovation at the International Science and Engineering Fair, recipient of the Enterprise India Scholarship

IP: 2053:db7:lj71::338:ll3:6e8

SECURITY STATUS: Top Secret LANDLOCK-3

Tom must’ve looked shell-shocked, because the kid with dark skin, bushy eyebrows, and a high hairline of bristly hair flashed him a grin. “Weird, right?”

“Weird,” Tom agreed.

“Great thing is, you and I don’t need introductions, Thomas.”

“I guess not, Vikram.”

“Call me Vik. Not Vikram.”

“Tom. Not Thomas.”

Vik studied him as they headed toward the elevators. “That’s strange. You have N/A listed under Achievements. Not available?”

Tom realized Vik must be seeing his profile, the way he’d seen Vik’s. “More like not applicable,” he said honestly.

Vik raised his eyebrows. “Brace yourself. Everyone here has achievements. You’re going to get asked that a few million more times.”

“Right. Guess I can’t change it.”

Vik thought about that. “Actually, you could if you wanted to. There’s a girl who can stick something in there. I heard she tweaked some profiles for people before the last round of promotions. We’ll see her at morning meal formation.”

The time for the Spire’s formal breakfast popped instantly into Tom’s brain. “At oh seven thirty.”

“Right, at oh seven thirty, so you’ve got just enough time to get into your uniform.”

Then, information hit: Uniforms. Dark tunics with an Intrasolar Forces insignia on the collar, division-specific insignia on the sleeve, camouflage fatigues, combat boots, gloves, portable keyboard …

Tom must’ve stared a bit too long at the sudden images dancing before his eyes, because Vik waved in his face, then jabbed his thumb toward the elevator doors as they slid open. Tom headed inside, and Vik punched the button for floor six.

“That data flow’s a pain, right?” Vik eyed him knowingly. “See, neural processors are useful because there’s no fixed time of year for new plebes to join the Spire, but then latecomers have to download a lot more material just to catch up with the trainees who have been around longer. It makes a rough transition even worse.”

“When did you join?”

Vik shrugged. “Couple months ago. But I remember it like it just happened. I kept noticing all the stupid details about stuff and couldn’t tune them out, and the processor kept defining every new term. It took me maybe three hours to start getting my head straight.”

Tom touched the scar on his head. “I don’t think this is so bad now.”

“Really?” Vik wagged his thick eyebrows. “So you’re saying you’re better at handling a neural processor than I am?”

There was a note of challenge in his voice that made Tom’s mouth quirk. “Yeah, sure sounds like it.”

Vik had this crazy gleam in his eyes. “So you don’t need some more sy-nap-tic pru-ning?”

The term slammed Tom—Synaptic pruning: During the development of infant brains, excess neural connections are culled and destroyed in order for the world to take on a logical representation within the human mind....

It took Tom several moments to remember himself, to remember how to will off the datastream.

“Maybe you have fantastic neu-ral e-las-ti-ci-ty?” Vik added.

That term hit, too: Neural elasticity: Elasticity refers to the ability of the brain to adapt as a result of new experiences by adding or removing neural connections. The brain is most elastic during periods of youth before …

“Or maybe you’ve got—”

Tom shoved at Vik’s shoulder before he could throw out another term. “Okay, stop!” He laughed. “You got me, okay?”

Vik gave a laugh that sounded like a giggle.

“Funny guy,” Tom said.

“I have a great sense of humor,” Vik agreed. “It’s been called sparkling.”

The elevator doors slid open on floor six to reveal the plebe common room that Marsh had shown him on his tour.

Vik waved around them. “On your tour, they probably told you this is the plebe common room? It is. Technically, it is, but we plebes never use it. It’s the largest and best equipped, so the upper-level trainees like to spend their free time here and kick out any plebes who try to linger.”

“And you guys let them?”

“Sure,” Vik said gamely. “We all aspire to one day be upper-level trainees who kick plebes out of their own common room. I know I do.”