Bloody Hands || E. Wiggin

003

Status: Edited

"I hope you know what you're getting into, Graff."

"She's tough. You saw the footage. Besides, her grades exceed expectations. It doesn't matter what her personality is now. Battle School always brings out the worst in these kids anyway."

"No matter how inhumane, I hope you're right."

"We train these kids to kill. Were we really ever human in the first place?"

~~~

The shuttle towered above our small group as we huddled in it's shadow on the tarmac. The chattering voices of the other kids around me seemed to dull for a moment as I studied the machinery. Two enormous rockets clung to the comparatively much smaller body of the shuttle. For so many recent technological improvement, the shuttles had remained relatively the same.

My attention refocused on the group. Most of the kids were male, looking to be around my age. They were laughing at something a stout boy had said, clustered together like a herd of sheep. Or wolves.

I tried to smile, to listen in to the jokes that were being made, but a sudden panic gripped me. These would be our last moments on Earth for a long, long time. The thought of being in space was both exciting and terrifying. What's here for me? I asked myself, studying the reporters that flocked the scene, prowling the outskirts with their sleek cameras. Mother and father? Daniel?

The door to the shuttle was opening and there would be no turning back. I followed as our group was led into the ship. A carpet rose up along the wall to my right, and in studying it's odd placement I missed a last glimpse of Earth as the door sealed shut behind us.

We were lead further into the ship, the hallway lined by dull metal walls lit up with harsh fluorescent lights. My eyes followed the carpet as it snakes upward behind the bars of a ladder. A sudden wave of nausea gripped me as my senses became disoriented. Was this the floor or the wall? Which way was up?

I took a deep breath as we climbed the ladder into a circular room filled with seats. It didn't matter what was up or down, or it wouldn't soon, anyway. In null gravity, the floor was what you wanted it to be. Yet I drew my attention away from the oddness of the shuttle in order to focus on strapping myself into my seat.

We were forced to watch videos on how the shuttle functioned as well as important safety precautions, but all the while there remained a pervading buzz of excitement about the room. It died as the ships' engine rumbled to life. Silence settled over us as we waited anxiously to be lifted off of our home planet and into a new life.

The force of the lift cemented me to my seat and I waited, anxiety gnawing at my stomach, for the feeling of heaviness to pass. When it did, we were left floating in our seats, only held in by our straps.

A cheer erupted from the group, and even I couldn't help the small grin of excitement that overtook my features. But across the room, one boy remained silent.

His eyes were cold and blank, surveying the room calculatingly. In a flash they met mine, a beautiful electric blue that froze me in my place, a shiver zipping down my spine. With a stiff jerk of my head, I looked away.

"Launchies!" My attention snapped to the man who swung himself up into the room. Colonel Graff dug his feet into two small hooks on the floor to keep his body upright and unmoving. "Welcome to space. I hope you didn't piss yourselves on the ride up."

I took no part in the nervous laughter that spread throughout the crew, noticing with small satisfaction that neither did the blue eyed boy. The laughter died out quickly, however, as the Colonel began his introductory speech about Battle School.

Tuning him out, I couldn't help my attention from being drawn back to the boy across from me. He was watching Graff and though he didn't seem to be listening, his brow was wrinkled in concentration. I was caught by surprise when a laugh suddenly bubbled from his lips, leaving the room deadly quiet.

"What's so funny, Launchie?" Graff's faced turned cold, a slight redness blossoming on his cheeks as he stared angerly at the boy.

There was no response from him, but Graff was losing patience fast. "I asked you a question!" he barked.

"Sir," the boy started carefully. "The way you're standing. In null gravity there's no up or down. I imagined you on the wall instead of the floor. And then the ceiling. I thought that was funny." He seemed less sure of this now as he watched the Colonel.

Graff looked around the room. "Do any of you think this is funny?"

"No, sir!" The boys chorused quickly.

A slight grin had formed at the corners of Graff's mouth. "Yes it is. So get your heads out of your asses and start thinking! The only one on this whole ship with at least half a brain is this one." He pointed at the boy. "Ender Wiggin."

I frowned along with the rest of the Launchies. Why is he picking on him? I could already see the animosity growing in the group, eyes on the boy across the room. Why was Graff singling him out? What purpose did it serve?

"He's the best out of all of you pinpricks," Colonel Graff said with finality, rubbing salt on the wound. He swung himself into his seat on the aisle without another word, purposefully refusing to meet the scathing eyes of the launch group.

I glanced back to Ender, realizing with sudden horror that the boy behind him was unfastening his seatbelt. He raised his fist and in an instant it connected with Ender's head.

My eyes flew back to Colonel Graff, but he remained decidedly unaware of the unfolding situation.

The boy struck Ender again. Stop, I wanted to say, wanted him to say, but words stuck in the back of my throat as I watched, disgusted with myself for not being able to get a word out. But I couldn't, even as Ender's eyes trained on mine, unseeing.

At the next strike, Ender's hand shot out to grab the arm of his attacker as it came down. He pulled with all his might, sending the boy flying forward. He collided with the wall above me before rebounding towards another. On impact, his arm twisted under him and he screamed as the roomed filled with the gruesome sound of bones snapping.

Graff was up in an instant, catching him so that he couldn't continue his course into another wall. A medical team appeared to sedate him and tie his freshly broken arm into a hurried splint.

When he'd been taken care of, Graff turned to address the room gruffly. "I told you all," he called, eyes spectacularly cold. "Ender is the best. Don't mess with him."

We flew the rest of the way to Battle School in silence.