Tom became aware of Heather’s fixed gaze. A bit perplexed by the intensity of her eyes, he tipped his can of soda to her.

Heather tipped her glass back to him from where she stood amid the crowd of CamCos, triumph radiating from every plane of her face, flickering with the bright lights.

Tom didn’t even think to wonder about it.

Chapter Seventeen

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THERE WERE SEVERAL reasons most trainees weren’t enthused about the meet and greet at Obsidian Corp. during their first week back after the holiday. First and foremost, it was a waste of time, since Obsidian didn’t sponsor Combatants. Second, people hated visiting because Blackburn was absolutely paranoid about Joseph Vengerov taking advantage of the visit to mess with their processors. Whenever they returned from Obsidian Corp., they had to be isolated from the Pentagonal Spire’s systems and subjected to a five-hour deep scan to check for malware.

It was a great deal of trouble for everyone, and all for very little payoff, but they had to go. Vengerov’s tech waged the wars in space. His surveillance systems and automated weapons protected the other Coalition executives. The codes on his voting machines determined which politicians oversaw the war effort. Obsidian Corp. was too much of a giant in the world to be ignored, so if Joseph Vengerov wanted a visit, the trainees had to go.

The first week back at the Spire after everyone returned from break, Wyatt and the other new Uppers were hard to find.

Vik thoughtfully took advantage of Wyatt’s absence to invade her new bunk and modify her new bunk template. He copied the old one and expanded upon it, adding more photos. One was an outline of Connecticut with some very sad, black-and-white images of people superimposed over it—depressed adults and crying children who had just realized they lived in Connecticut.

“It’s not officially a Connecticut joke, since it’s a Connecticut poster,” he told Tom uncertainly, when Tom reminded him of Wyatt’s relentless android.

He also added a couple more pictures of himself: another shirtless picture and one black-and-white, artistic photo of himself posing philosophically by a window, cupping his chin, looking broodingly at the sky in a very un-Vik-like manner that amused Tom immensely.

The day of the winter meet and greets, Tom hung out for a bit in the weight room behind the Calisthenics Arena, spotting Yuri while he bench-pressed almost three times his own weight. All the other Middles were visiting companies that Tom had been banned from. His only appointment was late in the afternoon, a direct shot on the Interstice to Vengerov’s facilities in Antarctica. Yuri had not been permitted to attend this round of meetings.

“So, what are you up to?” Tom asked, even though it was obvious.

“Exercising,” Yuri said, gazing up at him from under the weight bar.

“Okay, that was a stupid question. Can I ask your advice about something?”