If anything, the academy’s interior was even more amazing. Codi flowed in with the rest, queuing to sign the obligatory mountain of paperwork and couldn’t keep herself from gazing around like a child. The roof glittered with a storm of lighting nodes that channelled the crisp morning sunlight in through the building itself. The light was natural in every sense. Even the fresh air was funnelled in through special vents to create the oddly pleasant sensation of being outside while within the corridors. The walls shone stark white, polished and spotless, maintained by a dedicated phalanx of janitorial staff. No expense had been spared to make Battlecast’s appearance match its impressive record of Gauntlet performance.

First was the usual heap of disclaimers that essentially meant she was taking her life in her hands by even competing. No academy run by a half-way sensible administrator would agree to take responsibility for injuries obtained in the line of competition. Codi signed away without a second thought. It was part of the course.

She, however, also had a slightly specialised contract reserved for Battlecast’s top competitors, a contract that allowed her to be exempt from virtually any other commitment than training at the academy. In return, she committed to full time attendance and also had to deliver a result at the tournament.

Despite looking forward to showing off her skills, Codi couldn’t help but feel apprehensive when she discovered only two other fighters qualified for this automatic inclusion in the Battlecast line up. Ripple was one. The other was the hulking young third place finisher from last year’s competition, Chris O’Leary.

“Well, well, well,” he said as he approached the desk, a grin splitting his features. “Look who showed up.” Codi met his gaze, bracing herself for an unpleasant conversation.

A year seemed to have made all the difference to O’Leary’s demeanour. He looked just a bit more collected. He was still built like a bull and she got the feeling he’d learned to balance his brute force with a measure of control. A brave fuzz of stubble now bristled around the lower half of his face and he had his hair chopped into a close, professional military crop. There were no real regulations with regard to appearance – the exoskeleton masks could cope with even the most outrageous fashion statements – but first impressions counted for a lot in the Gauntlet. O’Leary was stating his intent in no uncertain terms.

“Chris,” she said, inclining her head. He extended a hand and she shook. At least he seemed content to be civil.

“Quite the crop of newbies,” he commented, jerking a thumb towards the crowds of new comers at the other desks. “I guess by law of averages we ought to find some talent in there, eh?”

“We were both newbies last year,” Codi replied smoothly.

“True enough.” Chris scribbled away on the various sections of the contract. His signature was an unrecognisable mess that bore little resemblance to his name.

“How exactly do they pick the team that goes to the Gauntlet?” Codi asked as she too started wading through the forms.

“It starts with the budgeting,” Ripple put in. “This year they’re sending a team of twenty. That’s three pacer teams and enough people to compete in all the different events. As for how they pick, there will be practice tournaments and regular performance evaluations. You need to keep your standards high. Then there’ll be the outside assessment.”

“What does that mean?”

Chris gave a derisive snort. “It means a bunch of ‘experts’ will do the rounds of all the major academies one month before the tournament kicks off. Two weeks after that they release their rankings for the fighters who’ll be competing. It’s a massive marketing scam, basically. It gets folk worked up before the competition actually starts.”

This was all news to her, but Codi wasn’t surprised about her ignorance of the assessments. Her old academy barely qualified as a minor player. These assessors would have had no interest visiting a tiny backwater that the rest of the civilised galaxy had written off as making up the numbers. Now, however…

Finishing off the mountain of forms Codi handed them over to one of the many Battlecast admin staff. From there they were directed towards the main training arena where the hoard of new recruits would be divided up and assigned a sub-trainer. Chris and Ripple seemed content to walk with her, a fact that helped calm the nerves that were beginning to make themselves known. Now that she’d signed the papers she had the full weight of expectation on her shoulders.

As they followed the flow of bodies, however, Codi couldn’t shut out the argument that erupted just behind her because she seemed to be the cause of it.

“It’s a joke!” a boy was saying. “I’ve grafted here for three years and some walk-on gets bumped into the first team? Gimme a break!”

“You don’t know that for sure,” a girl replied. “She might-,”

“You saw her signing up with the golden pair. Of course she’s in the first team. Skated in on luck.”

“Gareth…”

“I thought this was the best academy in space. They shouldn’t be scooping up strays who don’t belong here.”
“You’re being unreasonable.”

“Am I? Tell that to Jaxo and the others. We all deserve first crack over that entitled brat!”

Codi decided she’d heard enough and rounded on the speaker. He looked to be around her age with a long face twisted in anger. His long dark hair hung in a ponytail and he glared at her through hard granite coloured eyes. His facial expression made it clear he’d known exactly where she was when he voiced his misgivings. Accordingly, she grabbed him by his jacket and rammed him against the corridor wall. A gasp of surprise rose from the nearby recruits who immediately parted into a circle to watch the confrontation.

“Okay, smartass,” she hissed. “If you’ve got a problem with me at least have the backbone to say it to my face. Otherwise shut your stupid mouth and live with it.”

The boy’s glare faltered but he still kept enough composure to wrench himself free of her grip. “You don’t belong here.”

“Not according to the people who matter.” Codi stepped close, her stare one of controlled fury. Then another individual detached herself from the surrounding group to intercede. She glanced at the newcomer and realised it was the girl who’d been staring at her as though she were a celebrity.

“This is silly,” the girl said, her voice small. “C’mon, we’re all on the same team.”

“She isn’t one of us.”

“Stop it!”

“I don’t need your help, Leela.” Gareth shoved her dismissively away and made to step forward, but Codi grabbed him with both hands and slammed him back against the wall, anger beginning to get the better of her.

“You should listen to your friend,” she snarled. “Because I am about ten seconds away from knocking your teeth out.”

She saw Gareth’s angry mask falter as he realised she was not making an idle threat, but before things could escalate any further a firm but gentle hand descended on her shoulder.

“Codi, leave it alone,” Chris said. His voice sounded slightly amused. “There’ll be plenty of time for sparring down the line. You two can knock bells out of each other then.”

The common sense in his statement cut through Codi’s anger and she reluctantly released her grip. With a contemptuous shake of her head she turned away. As she did, Chris addressed the younger Battlecast fighter.

“And Gareth, wise up and get a sense of perspective. This isn’t a private members club, it’s a Gauntlet academy. It’s a whole lot bigger than you.”

Codi could barely contain her surprise at O’Leary’s words. As they started walking again an eerie quiet descended over the once wild and rowdy new bloods. Anyone who shared Gareth’s opinion evidently decided it would be best to keep it to themselves for the time being. Gradually the buzz of conversation rose back to a normal level, whereupon Chris started explaining.

“Sorry about Gareth,” he said. “He’s a good fighter but he’s a hot head too. Doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut.”

“I’ll say.”

“Just forget about it. If he keeps it up just wait until you get a chance to spar with him. That’ll shut him up.”

“It’s more than that,” Ripple interjected. “If you get caught having an unsanctioned fight they can revoke your scholarship.”

Codi blinked in surprise. “Really?”

“Really. You’ve got to keep your nose clean around here if you want to get to the Gauntlet. The coaches don’t want loose cannons on the team. Do what your told and fight when they tell you to fight. This won’t be the same as Brax-Delta.”

She couldn’t really argue. Last year they’d only just had enough people to field a team in the first place. Here, if she messed up there was no shortage of willing and capable fighters to take her place.

They emerged into the main training arena to be greeted by a line of instructors who stood like drill sergeants, feet apart, hands clasped behind their backs. They wore identical outfits of jet black trousers and t-shirts emblazoned with the Battlecast crest, each wearing a different coloured band around their right bicep.

Standing on a podium just behind them was Bronagh Llewellyn, wearing the same outfit with one subtle alteration: her band was stark white, a mark of status. Behind her, hanging from the vaulted ceiling like some immense Orwellian controller was a colossal screen filled with names.

“Quiet!” Bronagh barked once all the recruits entered the arena. They fell silent. “Today you will be divided into your training cadres. Each of these fine men and women are Gauntlet veterans. They’ll be your coaches – they won’t be your friends. They and I have one job: to make you good enough to win the tournament.”

Codi couldn’t help noticing that the woman’s tone had changed markedly from her introduction at the academy entrance. Gone was the happy enthusiasm, replaced by a drive for results. Frankly, the latter made more sense to her. They’d need a bit of ruthlessness to get results.

“You will be divided into your cadres and there will be no complaints. You will be working, training and learning as a team. I have complete faith that you will all perform admirably.” She made a sweeping gesture to the looming screen display. “Your names will be posted in alphabetical order with the corresponding colour of your trainer’s arm band.”

Without any further ceremony the names began rolling down the screen in bold geometric font. When it came to running their programme the Battlecast administrators seemed comfortable to dispense with the flash and glamour that the media hungered for and just get on with the task at hand. Slowly but surely old and new Battlecast fighters began filing out of the group to join their respective coaches.

It took a while for Codi’s name to pop up and next to it was a cyan bar of colour. She looked for the instructor with the corresponding armband and found a wily looking old man with steel coloured hair and a goatee to match. Despite his obvious age he looked as strong and tough as any of them, with lines of hard muscle and sinew visible beneath his shirt. She stepped out of line and crossed the space toward him. The instructor gave her a stiff nod as she passed but said nothing.

Only once she joined the group did Codi realise that she’d ended up in the same training cadre as Gareth and she cursed inwardly. For his part he shot her a vicious glare when she took up her position. She couldn’t wait to spar with the imbecile and wipe that look off his face.