Agent Atlantis

Chapter 12--Potential Moles

The instructors did not look happy to be there.

There were three of them: Instructor Denma, a woman with graying hair and sharp black eyes that were scanning every weakness in Luke's form; Instructor Lamfatur, a man who looked fresh out of college with emotionless eyes and probably only here to fulfill a job requirement; and Instructor Maol, an hunched old man who was probably born in the eighteen hundreds.

"Are you Luke Jenson?" Instructor Denma asked as Luke reached the entrance of the Colosseum-looking structure that he'd seen the morning before. She didn't even wait for him to respond before snapping, "You're late."

Luke glanced at his watch. Four twenty-two in the morning. "I'm eight minutes early."

That didn't seem like the right thing to say, though. Denma's gaze only soured. "In a cinch, the main weapon of secret agents is surprise. Don't even bother trying further if you can't even do that."

Luke wanted to go against her words. How was he supposed to know what to do? Looking back at his past missions, surprise was the least of his concern. A mixture of pure stealth and brute force could handle most threats.

Before he could voice any of this, though, Instructor Maol seemed to take pity on him. "Leave the boy be, Instructor Denma," he said in a croaky voice, like his mouth was as dry as sandpaper. "It's his second day here."

Maybe not everyone is unpleasant here, Luke thought. I might be able to enjoy the year . . .

"If he's this incompetent that he can't even show up on time, the test will be over earlier," Maol said, a cunning glint in his eyes.

This old geezer . . . Any positive thoughts Luke had evaporated as his eyes grew colder. Everyone's the same. I can't trust anyone except myself.

"Hmph." Denma glared at Luke, then turned on her heel and stormed into the sparring arena. Maol limped after her, while Instructor Lamfatur, who'd resorted to staring at the horizon and the rising sun, waited until Luke went forward to follow.

What a friendly bunch, Luke thought sarcastically as he walked through the huge entrance arch as tall as a crane.

His mind had already been broiling since last night, when Collins had kicked him out. Turns out, you needed keys to access your dorm room—and most of the administrators had already retired for the night. So Luke had spent his night in the dorm's lobby on a dusty old couch with his legs and head hanging off. Some of his fellow students who returned late gave him funny looks, but he didn't care. It was better than sleeping on the ground.

He didn't even need an alarm to wake up. At two in the morning, the whole dorm decided to awaken, chattering to themselves loudly. Luke followed suit similarly, following them to a breakfast of bread, butter, and eggs. It was delicious.

The food had offset his mood—but when he saw the inside of the sparring arena, his dark emotions quickly returned.

It reminded him of a gym—but with all the equipment having been spread out over a sandy football field. There was a boxing ring in one corner. There were various ranged and melee targets dotting the landscape, with exercise equipment and dumbells stations in between. Only a few of each were being used this early in the morning. Luke wondered how many missed arrows one had to dodge while exercising. Looks like you'd get a broken back, rather than increased reflexes, Luke noted as he observed a power rack with heavy barbells wedged in between two melee targets.

At least the seats aren't horrible, Luke thought as he turned to face the audeince section, which could fit up to ten-thousand people. Each person had their individual seat—not sharing a bench. They looked hard and uncomfortable, but Luke would take that.