Beneath the Red Sand

11 || Chapter Eleven

The next morning dawns with the wail of my alarm clock instead of the sun. Sighing, I rush to get ready for my first excavation class. It begins at 0600 hours, so we have two hours of training before breakfast. I arrive five minutes early, and I slow to hide that I've had to run most of the way here. "Thought you'd get here earlier," Noah smirks. He leans against the wall by the classroom entrance, framed by blue light from overhead.

"Funny. When did you start showing early for anything?" I ask with a laugh. "Anyway, how did your talk with Jacqui go?"

"It went as well as it could have," he says, shrugging. He doesn't frown, so it must have gone all right. "All's not forgiven, but we're working on patching things up."

"That's good." I'm glad for them. It must have been hard for them to lose their friendship, and even though it will take time for them to get it back, at least they're trying now. It will be nice to have them getting along.

Mr. Gryffin arrives and presses his thumb against the wall panel by Noah. The door slides open, and the ten of us who have already gathered follow him inside. A sweaty locker room smell overpowers the room worse than my dance studio back home, and I wrinkle my nose. I'll have to get used to guy stench. Wait — did I miss an impromptu workout session and squander an opportunity to prepare for class?

"Okay, recruits, listen up. My name is Bryce Gryffin, but in this class, you will address me as Mr. Gryffin or sir at all times. I am here to teach you the basics you'll need to do your job and survive in the harshest environment mankind has yet faced. Be forewarned — not every one of you hopefuls is cut out to make the excavation team. We need the strongest, the brightest, the most efficient. Prove yourself worthy, and you'll reap the rewards. Fail to do so, and you'll find yourself seeking a job with another team. Now, warm up and show me what you've got."

Noah and I comply, sitting on the floor to stretch our legs, our backs, our arms. The others do standing stretches, or jog in place. The instructor watches us all, taking note of everything from our strength and balance to our precision and endurance. We'll need all of that to survive on his team. I hope I'm proving to him that I'm good enough—better than good enough.

"How did telling your parents go?" Noah asks, sinking his upper body into a stretch so it rests against his legs. He's surprisingly flexible like I am.

"Not as well as I wanted." I sigh and prop my elbows on the floor, my legs stretched out in front of me as wide apart as I can get them, which is almost a split. Maybe I'm being competitive, trying to impress him, or both. My voice falls to a near whisper as I add, "They say he's doing his job by being cautious."

"Of course they would." For some reason, Noah doesn't seem surprised at this. Did he try telling his grandfather, too, and get the same response? "Adults tend to keep it under wraps if they suspect something—especially in the military. It could end badly for them if they're wrong. Or if the wrong person finds out."

"Yeah, I noticed your grandfather's quite—"

"Diplomatic?" He laughs, a bitter edge coloring the sharp staccato of it. "Yeah, he's had to be."

"So he didn't believe you either?"

"He can't afford to, Kassi."

I nod. I get it—Admiral McClure is in a sticky political situation. He's got to trust his second in command, or, at least he has to appear as if he does.

A hush falls over the group, and I look up to see Mr. Gryffin addressing the class. "Okay, recruits, same drill again. Let's see if we can shave off two minutes off your time."

Is he going to do that every day—challenge us to get stronger, quicker, better? A hope and spark of joy flares inside me, and for a time I lose my nervousness as I throw myself into physical exercise.