He shook with fury, wishing to kill him, hurt him, make him pay, and even the satisfaction of holding his threat over Blackburn’s head, knowing the guy feared what Tom could do if he went to Vengerov, wasn’t enough to cool the hot rage inside him.

Tom tangled his fingers in his hair, because he was so angry he didn’t feel in control of himself. And he was painfully aware of Blackburn watching him fight to contain himself.

“You had your moment, Raines,” he said after a bit. “You got in a good punch, and I’m even letting you get away with it. You get that.” He leaned closer. “What you do not get to do is toy around with the exosuits. Do you hear me? That anger at me you’ve got pent up in there does not get to come out when you’re dealing with machines that can kill people.”

“Fine.”

“We’re clear here?”

“I told you, I get it! What else do you want?”

“I want you to think. You looked around today and you saw that every other trainee was having trouble controlling those exosuits, and your first impulse—your first one—was to show off to your friend. Didn’t you step back for one microsecond and consider that ability you have with machines, and wonder if maybe you should keep it to yourself?”

“That has nothing to do with this. This was just exosuiting.”

“It was hooking into a machine, Raines, interfacing with a machine and commanding it. Think. About. It.” He jabbed his finger into Tom’s forehead to punctuate each word.

Tom jerked back from him, his stomach churning. The truth was, he hadn’t realized he was doing something so bizarre. He’d assumed he was good at exosuiting.

“Thatta boy. It’s starting to make sense to you now, isn’t it? You’re going to have to be more careful in the future. No more showing off, and no more stunts like the one in Las Vegas.”

Tom’s mouth went dry. His eyes flew to Blackburn.

“Yes, you didn’t think I knew about that.” Every line stood out on Blackburn’s face. “Do you honestly believe the Department of Homeland Security missed some ghost crawling around their server? I am betting there is a crack team of NSA agents trying to trace the source of that drone hijacking as we speak. You know what that means?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” Tom said.

Blackburn stabbed his thumb at his chest. “It means I’m the one stuck mopping up all traces of what you did. I’m not going to condescend to explain to you why my time is of utmost value around this dump. I can’t afford to spend the next few years covering your tracks. You simply have to avoid leaving them. See, Raines, your threat to go to Joseph Vengerov and share what you can do with him if I ‘mess with you’ again? You have some devastating leverage there, but it’s a hydrogen bomb. You only get to use it once. That means if the DHS ever notices your existence, your leverage is null and void, and there is nothing to stop me from taking another crack at extracting every secret from your head. And that’s only if you’re lucky and I get to you first.”

“That’s lucky?” Tom repeated bitterly. “Lucky now means ‘worst case scenario ever,’ then. That’s great. Good to know.”

“Sir,” Blackburn corrected.

“You outrank me. You shouldn’t call me ‘sir.’”

“Raines, you’ll address me as ‘sir’ or I will stick you back down in that cell next to the census device until ‘sir’ is the only word you remember.”

Tom bristled. He’d never hated someone so much. “Sir, yes, sir. I’ll use ‘sir,’ sir. Is that all, sir?”

“Oh, I’d say that’s all. Get into the simulation with the others.” Blackburn jabbed at his forearm keyboard. “It irritates me just looking at you.”

Back at you, Tom thought, but then a tingling sensation shot up his neck, and the Calisthenics simulation cranked to life in his vision center. The Japanese army charged toward Tom in the simulated, World War II–era China, and Tom threw himself into the workout. But however fast he ran, he couldn’t escape his lingering fury at the man who’d nearly ripped his mind apart.

He imagined every single fake enemy wearing Blackburn’s face.

CHAPTER FOUR

TOM CHEERED UP a bit when he arrived in the mess hall, because there was meat loaf for lunch and his friend Yuri Sysevich was waiting at a table. He was still a plebe, since he hadn’t been promoted with the three of them. They mostly avoided talk about Middle Company so they wouldn’t rub it in too much. As it turned out, Yuri had had a far more interesting vacation than they had, anyway. He’d signed up for a relaxing wilderness survival excursion, led by a former Green Beret, where he’d eaten bugs and climbed mountains and fended off wild animals.

“It is remarkable, truly remarkable, how many edible bugs there are to sustain you in the wilderness!”

“How many did you eat?” Tom wondered.

“Five different insects,” Yuri answered proudly.

“Ew,” Wyatt said, rubbing the spot on her head where he’d kissed her in greeting.

“Yeah, don’t elaborate,” Vik urged him, shoveling rice into his mouth.

“Were the bugs you ate like beetles or more like those ricelike mealworm things?” Tom said, watching Vik. Vik had the weakest stomach Tom knew, and it amused him endlessly.

Wyatt caught on to what Tom was doing. “Ooh, you mean the maggoty bugs from festering wounds that start like rice and sprout into full-blown intestinal parasites?”

Vik shook his head. “This won’t work, guys. I know you’re just making stuff up.”

“No, the insects I consumed bore no resemblance to rice,” Yuri answered seriously. “You are thinking of those parasites that grow in rice. They have very gooey, putrid innards, and they are slightly off-white, like the contents of Vikram’s plate right now.”

Vik finally tossed down his fork. “I’m done with lunch because I’m full. That’s why. I’m not stopping because of you three. You have not won this.”

Tom, Wyatt, and Yuri cackled, because they didn’t believe him.

IT TURNED OUT Tom and Vik were in the same simulation group, led by blond-haired, round-faced Combatant Snowden Gainey. Tom pulled up his profile from memory.

NAME: Snowden Gainey

RANK: USIF, Grade VI, Camelot Company, Napoleon Division

CALL SIGN: NewGuy

ORIGIN: North Westchester, Connecticut

ACHIEVEMENTS: Junior world squash champion, member of the Future Financial Innovators of America Society

IP: 2053:db7:lj71::224:ll3:6e8

SECURITY STATUS: Top Secret LANDLOCK-6

Within minutes, Tom realized that Snowden had a totally different leadership style than his previous simulation group leader, Elliot Ramirez.

Elliot had always waited at the edge of one of the cots, visibly a part of the group, yet he’d also greeted them as they came in, which reminded everyone who was the boss. Snowden sort of hung out in the back corner, dread glimmering over his pale features as the number of trainees sitting on the cots with EKG monitors grew and grew. Only once everyone was there did he finally perch himself on a cot.

“Well, as you newbies have probably heard,” Snowden ventured meekly, “Applied Scrimmages as a Middle involves scenarios similar to the ones you faced as plebes, but instead of facing simulated opponents, we directly face other groups of Middles, and we rotate every week. Today we’re fighting Yosef Saide’s group. So, do you guys want to start?” It was posed like a question, like he needed their permission.