The Defiant
Chapter Nine

I woke up the next morning in my room, freezing.

I sat up and squinted around. My blanket was scrunched at the foot of the bed. No wonder I was so cold.

“Computer, what time is it?”

“It is 07:37, Monday, December 5, 2290.”

“Uh—thanks,” I said, sitting up and stretching.

“You’re welcome,” the computer’s voice said matter-of-factly, then shut off with a beep.

First order of business: clothing. I dressed in a tight-fitting dark red tank top and black pants. I put on another pair of combat boots, then considered the third shelf, the one that held all manner of holsters and gun belts.

The rest of the crew seemed to have remembered skills from their past lives. Four with her piloting and skill with mechanics, Seven with medical knowledge, Six with cooking, Three and her archery. Maybe I had been trained in weapons at some point. So today would be my day to find out which.

I shut the closet door and left my room.

After grabbing a quick protein pack from the galley, I crossed to the training room. I hadn’t seen anyone on my journey up from Deck Three, and had figured the others were still asleep, but I now heard sounds coming from the training room.

I entered and looked around. The punching bag I’d seen leaning against the wall now hung in the center of the room, suspended from a chain anchored in the ceiling.

Five stood in front of it, pounding it with fists and feet, sweat slicking his body and flying from the ends of his blond hair.

“Hey, Five,” I said, chucking him a towel from the rack by the door. He turned, startled, and barely caught it before it hit him in the head.

“Morning, captain,” he said sarcastically, wiping his face with the towel.

I elected to ignore that, and instead strode to the sword wall and selected a long, thin blade with a silver hilt.

“Care to parry?” I asked, pointing the end of the sword at him.

“Sure.” He unwrapped his hands and put his towel and wraps on the floor. He selected a sword as well, a double edged blade with a pommel set in the hilt, like the kind you see in movies.

“En garde.”

Pretty much before I could blink, Five had twisted my sword out of my hand with one clean move.

“Not fair. I wasn’t ready.”

“You said en garde!” he protested, but I was already scooping my sword up off the ground. I went on the offensive, striking near his face and hands, but he easily shifted the balance and knocked my sword to the floor within a few seconds.

Several parries later, my wrist was aching and sweat was beading on my forehead. Annoyingly, Five was still as unruffled and gorgeous as ever, signature smirk twisting his mouth.

“Maybe swordplay just isn’t your thing,” he said smugly, moving to hang his sword on the rack.

I had been thinking the same thing, but hearing it from his mouth infuriated me.

“Come on, one more time. Or are you scared?”

He raised an eyebrow at me and got back into position.

I tapped his sword with mine, and we started to spar. He hit my blade hard with his and it vibrated in my hand, but I didn’t drop it. I pressed toward him, my sword movements unskilled, but making up for it in fury and speed.

Eventually, he stumbled onto his back, dropping his sword to the side. I stood over him, point of my blade at his throat.

“Point made.”

“I thought so.” I helped him up and hung my sword on the rack.

“What should I try next?” I asked, surveying the weapons.

“Are you trying to figure out which one you’ve had previous training in?” Five asked, standing next to me.

“Yeah,” I said, surprised. “How’d you know?”

“That’s what I’m doing, too. I noticed that everyone seemed to have something they remembered how to do from before, so I figured I’d see what mine was. You know, Six and the cooking, Four and computers, Seven and the med bay—”

“Three is really good at archery.” I gestured to the bow. “Did you find your talent?”

“Not sure. I’m obviously pretty decent at swordplay, and I was trying boxing, but I’m not sure that’s my thing either. I was going to ask you to open the armory when you woke up so I could try a few of the guns.”

“I think we should wait until the rest of the crew wakes up to make a decision about guns. I’m sure it’ll be fine with them if we each just get one out for target practice and such, but I think we should decide together.”

“Scared Three’s going to accuse you of being a dictator?”

“Terrified.”

“Yep. So, you want to try out archery and knife-throwing until they all wake up?”

“Sure. I doubt I’m any good, but it won’t hurt to try.”

I was passable at archery, but Five was terrible. He hit the target only once out of over twenty shots. Then we tried knife throwing. Five hit the outer rings of the target several times. I, however, was absolutely dreadful.

“You remember when you said trying knife throwing ‘couldn’t hurt’?” Five said after a particularly hazardous throw of mine in which the knife slid backwards out of my hand and passed within an inch of Five’s left hand. “I’m thinking it could.”

I snorted and retrieved the knife set and put it away. “Unless I’m any good with firearms, they’re not expecting me to be fighting and didn’t bother to train me. I can’t say I’m upset if that is the case.”

“If what’s the case?” Seven asked from the doorway, where she leaned casually against the wall, long legs crossed in front of one another.

“Hey, Seven. We were trying to figure out which weapon, if any, we had a natural skill with,” I said.

“Any luck?”

“No,” Five chimed in. “I’m pretty good at swordplay and knife throwing, and One’s decent at archery, but I don’t think those are the weapons we are specifically trained for.”

“I don’t either. Three was extremely good at archery, from what I could see, and you have medical training. Unless I’m good with guns, my role isn’t as a fighter,” I summarised for Seven.

“I don’t think I’m meant to fight either. I tested myself yesterday, like you guys are doing now, and nearly skewered myself with a sword. I think I’m just supposed to be the doctor. Oh, and speaking of yesterday, Two told me about a door they found when they were exploring the lower decks. It was locked, but I think you’ll be able to open it.”

“Sure. It’s on Deck Six?”

“No, Deck Five, with the engine room. The only things on Deck Six are cargo bays, the shuttle bay, and a prison cell.”

“A prison cell?” I asked, shrugging at Five before Seven and I left the training room and entered the lift. Before the doors closed, I heard him start hitting the punching bag again.

“Yeah. For the guy we’re supposed to bring back from Cebos, I guess. Maybe he’s a criminal or something that we need to lock up on the way back.”

“Of course. Who could forget about being blackmailed into transporting a dangerous felon halfway across the galaxy?”

Seven giggled. We stepped out of the lift and onto Deck Five, which was a similar hallway to all the other decks, except it had only two doors, one on the left that doubtless led into the engine room, and the other, an unknown.

“It won’t open by the touchpad, like the galley, or by DNA sensor, like the quarters. I figured it was voice activated, but it didn’t work for me. I thought it would work for the captain.”

“You’re probably right. The armory won’t open for anyone but me either.”

“You want to try to open it?”

“Sure. Computer,” I said, hearing the answering beep that meant the computer was analysing my vocal patterns, “open the door.”

The computer beeped again and the door slid open, releasing a smell of loam and plants. A look of wonderment settled on Seven’s features, which were still bruised from Eight’s assault. She walked inside as if in a trance. I followed.

The locked room was a kind of greenhouse. The ceiling was hung with long panels of bright lights that hovered over plots holding lush green plants.

“Corn, peas, spinach, lettuce, carrots, potatoes…” Seven listed happily.

“Excellent. We’ll be able to get some fresh food while we’re on this mission. Any guesses as to who the gardener is?”

“Me,” Seven said immediately, and I cocked an eyebrow at her certainty. “It makes sense. I know the plants. They can’t possibly expect me to be occupied the whole time just by being the doctor. We won’t have sick crewmembers the whole time. And, I don’t know, I just feel like I belong here. You know?”

“Yeah, I think I do,” I said, thinking of how peaceful I’d felt passing through the cloud layer to reach orbit.

“Thanks for opening this up for me,” Seven said with a smile, dimpling adorably.

“No problem. You know, I should probably tell the computer to accept voice commands from all of you. I don’t like being the only one who can give orders.”

“You don’t? Sounds like a pretty sweet deal to me.”

“Three doesn’t seem to think so.”

“What is with her, anyway?” Seven asked, running her hand over the waxy surface of a leaf on a small tree.

“I think she just enjoys being cross.”

“Yeah, and Four.”

“She’s a grouch, all right.”

“Five’s a bit grumpy, too. Seriously, why is everyone on this ship at each others’ throats all the time? You’d think they’d realize that we all need to work together on this.”

“I think it’s just nerves. I don’t know about Three, but I get the feeling Four’s not really that bad, deep down. And Five was downright pleasant to me this morning in the training room.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

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