After a late night in medbay, morning patrol came too early. Still sipping a mug of caf-blend, I staggered into the pre-lift room and fumbled for a canteen and other supplies. After three tries, I managed to clip them to my belt. We didn’t have our own — no sense in wasting them when someone died on or off base — but they sterilized everything before cycling out to the next mage or shifter.

“You can’t take that,” an officer said. 

He stood at the door to the lift deck, clipboard in hand even though everything he could possibly need was on his comp. Yeah, humans were asswipes, but they were the ones with power, so… I drained my caf and set the mug on a cart with several others. And I kept my eyes down while I did it.

See — I can be taught.

Once past the gatekeeper, Avon and I jogged toward our assigned lift. It was smaller than the one we’d ridden yesterday, with a single row of seats and five-point harnesses to keep us in place. We’d need them; this size lift rode like a bucking devil. Tracer and his shifters were already inside, but Twenty-one — or whoever Tracer’d picked — was missing. With a grunt and a jerk of his chin, Tracer welcomed us, and we strapped in, leaving the only open seat between Tracer and me.

Then A’s stupid head peeked in the lift hatch, and green eyes darted around like a mouse on steroids. 

I bared my teeth, tense and ready for a fight, and Avon rested a hand on my knee in a wordless command to calm down.

A half-turned and Twenty-one popped into the lift, propelled by the hand that yanked him to a halt. He spun to face A, who gestured like a maniac.

“A! Have you seen Lea?” Twenty’s shouted question echoed into the lift, and A glanced over her shoulder, then at Twenty-one.

“It’s fine.” Grinning, Twenty-one waved at the squad. “I’m sure they’ll take good care of me.” He shooed A away. “Get going.”

Clearly, he had no issues interpreting the asshole.

Twenty-one flopped into the last seat and, after Tracer prompted him, fumbled with his safety harness, dropping a wrist comp. It clattered on the metal floor, and I unstrapped to snatch it. The lift lurched, taking off before I was back in my seat, and Avon grabbed my arm as I scrambled to re-secure myself. Tracer slammed an arm across Twenty-one, locking him in place, and the puppy gasped and clutched at the seat when the lift rattled and its motor howled.

By the time my harness was in place, the ride had steadied enough for Tracer to relax a bit; I weaseled Twenty-one’s straps around the leader’s arm and tugged them tight. Then, finally, I grabbed the headset mounted to the wall above me and slipped it on, drowning out the noisy lift. Tracer got his in place, then sorted Twenty-one out.

“You’re late,” Tracer said once everyone was on-mic.

“Sorry! I couldn’t figure out how — ah!” Twenty-one fumbled in his lap, then scanned the lift floor. “I lost it!”

“This?” Avon handed over the wrist comp. “Why aren’t you wearing it?”

“It’s got pokey bits.” Twenty-one turned the comp over, revealing the charge prongs.

“Yeah.” I rolled his wrist over. “They go in your — Oh.” Smooth, unblemished skin confounded my expectations. I prodded, feeling for a synthskin cover over the port. The rough ride could have hidden something, but it wasn’t likely. “Maybe it’s on your other arm.” I reached for his right wrist, knowing that I wouldn’t find anything; the humans always put our ports on the left wrist.

Tracer and Avon watched unhappily. 

“Where did you say you’re from?” Tracer sounded calm, but the way his team stiffened put him to the lie.

“Not around here. That’s what A says. And—”

“We need something more specific.” Tracer leaned against his harness to give Twenty-one a hard look that was, with the seating, more of a side-eye.

I couldn’t blame him for his question, even though I wanted to tell him to back off. All shifters and mages had power ports fused on their fourth hatching anniversary — though they didn’t encourage us to keep track of such things. Humans didn’t get ports, of course; their wrist comps ran on batteries. Rumor — a bare whisper on the breeze, that no one started and no one repeated — held that Rican mages didn’t have ports or wrist comps. But no one got past the firewalls, so…

“I-I don’t know.” Twenty-one couldn’t meet his eyes, shrinking like a puppy that expected a blow. “We were somewhere else. Then we were here.”

A long, drawn-out not-silence filled the lift, and my teeth rattled as the ride grew choppier.

“Nevermind,” I said, unwilling to leave him hanging. “Put it in your pouch for now. We’ll figure something out later.” Something that didn’t involve getting a port installed. I’d screamed myself hoarse for three days when mine was installed. Or at least I’d howled anytime I’d been conscious.

A chime through the headsets presaged a shift in the lift’s motion that rattled us like beans in a can. Then we thumped to the ground and the doors popped.

Sim was clear of his harness first, shoving the doors open further and checking the area before jumping out. The squad followed, and we ran to the edges of the 50-foot burnt clearing. Just in time, too — the lift’s doors slammed shut, because those hydraulics were always in good repair, and took off with a backwash that tumbled Twenty-one into the greenery.

Welcome back to the green hell.

With our link online again, I could feel Avon helping Twenty-one to his feet and I assessed the clearing while I waited for the feedback to settle. The plants had begun encroaching over the old burn, but hadn’t yet gotten so far that I needed to fix it. 

Which was a shame, because that would have been the most interesting part of the day.

Instead, we trudged off and swept to the west and north before circling back to the patrol point. Then we waited on our asses until the lift deigned to show up. 

Through it all, Twenty-one. Never. Shut. Up. Questions, comments, and stories — A this and Twenty that — it seemed like if he could breathe, he had something to say about it. I tried to keep up, answering where I could and asking a few leading questions. Avon cozied up to the wolf twins, working his way into their confidence. Because that was all it was — a means to an end. He couldn’t actually want to get to know them.

That’s what I told myself, but the quick grin he gave in response to one of their comments planted a seed of doubt. I let Twenty-one pull me back into his swirling wonder while my eyes lingered on Avon’s profile.

It was nearly dark when we got back to base, and A waited in the post-lift area, buzzing like he’d mainlined triple-strength caf-blend.

Because a hyperactive asshole was better than just an asshole, right? I sneered as I dumped my gear for cleaning and stepped into the showers. They weren’t as fancy as the ones in the dorm area, which had shampoo and soap dispensers. These squirted a mist of harsh lye-based soap — you’ll only forget to close your eyes once — then hosed it off with skin-smarting water pressure. It didn’t encourage lingering. I hurried out, grabbing a towel and a fresh set of grey fatigues in basically my size.

A tried to pull Twenty-one away before he stripped, and Tracer stopped him.

“Showers aren’t optional unless you’re bleeding.”

A’s green eyes darted around the room, not resting anywhere, and his mouth opened and closed like he was trying to catch bugs.

“Hey. What’s so important it can’t wait until Twenty-one’s clean?” Avon, still damp from the showers, stepped in to help.

“The medico, sir.” A jittered in place, then pulled in air until I was ready to take bets on when his lungs would explode. It burst out in a word vomit that put Twenty-one’s chatter to shame. “Themedicowantedhimanhouragoandsaidhewastocomestraightawayandnottakeanydetoursbecauseshedidn’tcareifhestarvedhewasgoingtogethisdosebeforesheclockedoutandifwekeptherlate—” 

“Woah woah woah.” Tracer held up his hands, still stained from the plants we’d fought. “Stop.” He began to scrub his face, but stopped with a grimace. “I got the message that Twenty-one is supposed to report to medbay. They aren’t gonna want to see him smelling like he does. Less than a minute and he’s through the shower.” He shoved Twenty-one in that direction. “Grab him some fatigues. Then run if it’s so important.”

The wrist comp clattered across the floor when Twenty-one shoved his pants down, and Avon scooped it up.

“Meet us in the mess hall once you’re done.” He waved the comp over his shoulder as he walked back to get dressed. “We need to figure this thing out.”

Twenty-one was out of the shower, hopping into the pants A handed him while the cloth stuck to his damp skin. He was still tugging on the shirt when A, carrying his boots, dragged him out the door.

“Did you have to invite him?” I slumped against the wall, waiting for Avon to sort himself out, and kept my voice low enough the shifters could pretend they didn’t hear.

“Who?” Avon laced his boots.

“A is for asshole. Duh.” I thumped my head backward. “Can’t we skip?” My stomach snarled its opinion.

“Ah, no.” Avon stood and stretched. “They don’t tolerate hunger strikes.”

“What do they tolerate?” I grumbled. “Fine. Hurry up so we can eat before they skate out of medbay.”

Dinner was a mixed bag. When Twenty-one showed up, A was nowhere to be seen. But two squads had fallen that day, and the humans were pulling the next class of scouts out of training three months early. And we didn’t get the comp to work.

***

The second day of patrols was as tedious as the first, though Twenty-one’s questions branched out a bit. He hung off Vista’s attempts to explain how she could be bigger as a bear than she was in her root form. He dogged the wolf twin’s steps, prying for answers about where their tails came from, and did it feel weird? Sim was next, but he wouldn’t give Twenty-one any satisfaction, keeping silent no matter how many questions Twenty-one came up with.

Avon moved half a step ahead of Twenty-one; pressing Sim and Vista in turn before settling in next to the wolves for another long chat. I gritted my teeth. He was just mining them for information, like he said he would. I needed to focus on the Twenty-one. I followed the bouncing Twenty-one as he approached Tracer next.

Tracer was an easier target for his questions.

“What did you shift into?” Twenty-one waved his hands. “It was kinda like Eve and Nye, but not really.”

“A Saluki.” Tracer’s lips curled up, but his eyes stayed focused on the green hell. “It’s like a wolf, but not really, pup.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Wolves are the ancestors of my form, if you go far enough back. Humans domesticated them and created breeds for specific tasks. Salukis were a breed before the Cataclysm.” Tracer shrugged. “Hell, humans might still breed them somewhere. They wouldn’t tell us.”

“Why not?”

“Need to know, pup. If we don’t need to know — or they don’t think we need to know — we don’t hear it.” His face darkened at the reminder, and Vista bumped his shoulder.

“Ah.” Twenty-one nodded sagely. “There are fleas on the dog.” He frowned. “What’s a dog?”

The affronted look on Tracer’s face was priceless, and I wished I could have immortalized it. Instead, I did what I do best — I threw flames on the pyre.

“A Saluki.” I grinned and ignored Avon’s urge toward caution. “A Saluki's a dog.” I rushed on, knowing what Twenty-one’s next question would be. “And fleas are nasty little blood-sucking bugs.”

“Blood-sucking?” Twenty-one’s eyes went wide. “How do they do that?”

“By bi—”

“What do you mean, there’re fleas on the dog?” Tracer demanded. “How the hell do you jump from ‘need to know’ to fleas?”

“It’s about importance, right?” Twenty-one glanced from me to Tracer. “If you’re important, they tell you things. Whenever they won’t tell me something, A says ‘there are fleas on the dog.’ But,” he continued as his face fell, “I don’t really know what that means. Does that mean I’m not important?”

Flames wreathed around my right hand and I considered the damage I could do with my collar locked. Not enough, really, but if there was a big incursion, A’s new squad might get assigned. Then I could—

Avon ended that line of thought, drowning it in a wash of stillness, and the fire flickered, dying. Twenty-one’s next question startled me enough that I dropped the magic.

“How do you do that? Do you think I could learn?”

The puppy wanted to learn about mages? I smirked. He’d come to the right mage.

***

In the darkness, Avon moved against me. I groaned, flesh plumping, and rubbed back. Warm fingers tugged at the waistband of my fatigues, and I tried not to whimper in anticipation. We didn’t usually, but I’d been so stressed lately, and sometimes you just needed someone else’s hand. Even if you were bonded so close it was nearly your own.

The door whooshed open and the automatic lights came up. We rolled apart; Avon toward the door while I rolled away, frantically tucking myself behind my zipper.

“Hey, guys!” Twenty-one’s smile faded as the door hissed shut behind him. “Were you, uh, doing something?”

“Yes!” My cheeks burned.

“Oh.” He blinked, face falling. “I’ll come back later, then.”

“Like a kicked puppy,” I muttered, and Avon relaxed back on the rumpled sheets. Louder, I said, “No, it’s fine. It’s…” I checked my wrist comp. “It’s after midnight. What are you doing up?”

“I have trouble sleeping after an injection. A usually helps, but Twenty’s…” Twenty-one shuffled his feet and shrugged.

Avon frowned, and I knew we’d be having a talk with Twenty in the morning. He wasn’t on our team, but Twenty-one cared about the fucked up bastard.

“So you came here to…?” Avon asked.

“I was going to ask you something.” Twenty-one frowned. “But it took awhile… I guess I forgot what.” He nibbled a thumbnail, then looked between Avon and me. “What were you doing?”

Groaning, I pulled a threadbare pillow over my face. Trust that was what the excitable puppy remembered for longer than 30 seconds.

“Just letting off steam.” Avon shrugged, and the bed creaked under our weight.

“Why?”

“It feels good, sometimes.” Avon’s diplomacy deserved awards, but had no one explained sex to Twenty-one? I peeked from beneath the pillow, studying the boy. “Do you ever…?” 

Nope — no awards earned, I decided, and threw the pillow at Avon.

“I don’t think so.” Twenty-one half-turned. “I can ask A, though.”

“No!” I sat up, and Twenty-one stopped before the door opened. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“Maybe Twenty then?”

“Maybe not?” I scrubbed my hands across my face while Avon laughed silently around the pillow. “Or at least not until morning.”

“You’re probably too young,” Avon said, setting the pillow to the side. He was asking without asking — again — how old Twenty-one was. I burned for the answer even as I knew it was, as Avon had said, too young.

Children shouldn’t fight wars.

“That’s probably it.” Twenty-one grinned like a fool. “Even with the accelerated growth, I only came out of the pod nine—”

“Accelerated growth?” Avon sat up, wholly focused. This was new, even in Twenty-one’s stream of endless newness. Uneasiness balled like a rock in my gut.

“Yeah,” Twenty-one started rambling. “A said we came out of the womb pod, all slimy and gross, and the doctor was mad because there were two of us, and that threw off his calculations. Then into the growth chamber and out we popped.” He waved a hand at his grown body, then tipped his head to the side and looked at Avon. “How long have you been out of the growth chamber?” 

“We? Was that you and A?” Avon ignored Twenty-one’s question in favor of his own. “And Twenty?”

Twenty-one scratched his head and smiled before answering. “A said Twenty got accelerated to about 18 years like me, except he’s been out longer.”

I ground my teeth. If I heard ‘A said’ once more, I’d burn something. There had to be a way to wean Twenty-one away from his dependency on that asshole.

“But A’s been in lots,” Twenty-one continued, oblivious to how close I was to exploding. “She’s been accelerated to sixty—” 

“She?” The rage in my voice stopped Twenty-one, and Avon gripped my knee; an urge toward caution I couldn’t heed. Something fizzled through our locked bond — faint and distant. Static-y. The strangeness of that almost cut through my anger.

Almost.

“Yeah?” Twenty-one licked his lips. “But it doesn’t matter, right? A said—” 

In a flash, I was off the bed, out the door, and halfway down the hall. I knew where Twenty-one’s room was and knew he shared it with Twenty and A. Just like Avon and I shared. Just like the shifter teams shared. I’d chosen not to go there; mages and shifters didn’t mix, and Twenty-one, whatever he was, wasn’t a mage.

But it didn’t matter, because he could be, once I got him free of that bitch’s manipulations.

I burst through their door, triggering the automatic lights. Twenty groaned and tugged the thin sheet over his head on the farthest bunk. A lay on her stomach, with her feet at the bed’s head and a flattened pillow wadded beneath her chest. One arm disappeared under her stomach.

Whatever she was doing, it wasn’t sleeping. 

“You’re a girl.” Flames flickered across my knuckles as Avon and Twenty-one skidded into the room. My collar pulsed, but I ignored the warning.

For once her restless eyes weren’t trying to look everywhere at once, though it’s possible my rage provided sufficient incentive this time.

“Yes, sir?” A asked, green eyes flitting between Avon and me.

“What’s it matter? Is there a difference?” Twenty-one asked, drawing A’s focus.

Just. 

Like. 

Always.

Twenty snickered and pulled the sheet tighter, and I repressed an urge to burn the fabric. I wasn’t mad at him.

“Yes.” A nodded decisively. “The plumbing. You have an outie.” She shrugged one shoulder. “This one has an innie.”

I choked on air and spit, coughing and sputtering while Avon patted my back.

“That’s it?” Disappointment coated Twenty-one’s face.

“Well…” With a tipped head, A considered her answer. “You can empty your bladder standing up and not make too much of a mess. This one doesn’t have dangly bits to get caught if there’s no clothes.”

“That’s… No… That’s not right.” I buried my face in my flame-free hands.

“It’s not?” Confusion laced Twenty’s tone. 

“It is…” Avon choked down a laugh. “Technically, it’s correct.” He snickered and cleared his throat. “Based on the evidence presented, Twenty-one is an… outie and can pee standing up. A is an innie and… doesn’t have… dangly bits.” He broke, laughing until he had to wrap his arms around his aching gut. 

My ache? All in the head, and I tamped down a twinge of… not sympathy, but… I shook my head. They were just so fucking clueless.

“Bed. Everyone. It’s nearly one and patrols start early.” Shoving a bewildered Twenty-one toward his bunk, I hauled Avon from the room. The door slid shut, leaving us standing in the bright hall. It’d been three days since they arrived, and my head hadn’t stopped spinning.

“Shut up.” I glared at Avon’s mirth-filled face. “Just… shut up.”