By the following morning, the morphine still made the hospital ceiling move.
Caleb opened his eyes, tried to stretch, and found that his right arm no longer belonged to him. A rigid brace held it against his chest. The shoulder burned beneath the padding.
"Hey. Easy."
Kei stood beside the bed with a paper pamphlet in one hand. He caught the chair before it tipped over.
"The nurse said you were awake," Kei said. "She also said you were not supposed to test the arm."
Caleb lowered his good hand. "You shot the ground."
Kei blinked. "You watched?"
"I woke up for the important part."
Kei smiled, then looked down at the pamphlet. "I passed the duel bracket. Targeting is the last Phase One screen. After that, the survivors go into Phase Two."
Caleb stared at the ceiling. "Good for you."
"You could try again next year."
"I can't afford next year."
The words came out sharper than he intended. Kei stopped fidgeting.
"Right," he said. "You need the contract."
He reached for the tray table and set down a small package wrapped in red paper. Thick black tape held the folds shut.
"What is that?"
"It was outside your door. I thought it might be food."
Caleb's stomach cramped.
The pain came fast enough to bend him. Acid rose into his throat. His right arm jerked inside the brace. Something under his ribs pulled tight, then tightened again.
"Food," he said.
Kei ran for the door.
Caleb curled around the hunger. The pain was not the normal ache of an empty stomach. It felt as if a second body had reached into him and started taking inventory.
Kei returned with three protein bricks and a bowl of broth. Caleb tore open the first wrapper with his teeth. The brick was dry and tasteless. He swallowed it in pieces, chased it with broth, and ate the second before the shaking stopped.
Kei watched from the foot of the bed.
"I am going to ask the nurse for a larger tray."
"Ask for four."
When the worst of the cramp eased, Caleb pulled the tape from the red package. A silver injector sat in the foam. Green fluid glowed behind its glass window.
Kei leaned closer. "Apex combat stimulant. Fifty thousand credits on the underground exchange."
"Will it fix the arm?"
"No. It can force working muscles past their limit. It can't repair a damaged nerve. If the pathway is dead, the stimulant only gives your heart more work to do."
Caleb closed the box. He had no use for an expensive way to die. Even selling it would take a buyer willing to ask no questions. He set it within reach instead of throwing it away. The green fluid moved slowly when he tipped the box, thick enough to cling to the glass.
He pushed the sheets aside and stood.
Kei stared at him. "Your ribs were broken yesterday."
Caleb pressed his left hand to his chest. The skin was hot beneath the hospital shirt. The ribs held. His right arm remained mottled and weak.
The hunger had not been a side effect. It had been the cost.
"It rebuilt the important parts," Caleb said.
"What did?"
Caleb looked at the clean hospital scans on the wall display. "A Class-4 put a tendril through my chest at the depot. They scanned me and found nothing left in the wound."
Kei's gaze moved from the scans to Caleb's hand against his ribs. "You think something stayed inside?"
"I can feel it. The doctors can't find it."
The door opened before Kei could answer.
The nurse who had checked him the previous evening entered with a discharge tablet. Her safety glasses had fogged above her mask. The tiny lens sewn into her collar blinked red as she crossed the room.
"Visiting time is over," she told Kei. "I need to prepare him for transfer."
Kei picked up his pamphlet. He looked at Caleb's bare feet, then at the box on the tray. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"No," Caleb said. "I'll find you after targeting."
Kei hesitated, then went out. The door slid shut behind him.
"Central District will take you for neural rehabilitation," the nurse said. She angled the tablet away when he tried to read it. "Six months is the estimate. Medical pulled you from the trial."
A low siren sounded through the ceiling. The final Phase One screen was beginning to assemble. Caleb looked at the door. The nurse stepped between him and it.
Her foot stopped halfway through a step. The paper cup on the tray rolled to the floor. She did not look down. The red light in her collar went steady.
"Nurse?"
Her eyes clouded over. A white film covered the pupils. When she spoke, another voice settled beneath hers.
"You need to keep fighting."
Caleb pulled the rolling tray between them. "Who are you?"
The nurse's hand went behind her ear. She pulled out a matte-black comms chip and placed it on the tray. The discharge tablet lit again.
[APPLICANT 4013: MEDICAL HOLD]
[BLACK-CLASS REVIEW: PENDING AUGMENT ID]
"The military will read this as a medical augment," the other voice said through her mouth. "Wear it at the targeting line. The Black-class review will clear you for the last Phase One screen."
Caleb looked from the chip to the transport order. "And if I leave it here?"
"Central District takes you. The roster closes before they bring you back."
"You bought my stream."
"I want the military comms too. The chip gives me their audio. That is my price for clearing your hold."
"You know what's in my chest?"
"I know it is hungry. Keep fighting and I will send what it needs. In Central District, they will keep scanning you until someone decides to cut."
Caleb looked at the box of green stimulant. The sponsor had sent the first dose before he understood why he needed it. He could not tell whether the warning about Central District was true. The transport order on the tablet was real.
The nurse's fingers reached toward his face. They stopped an inch from his skin, as though the body had reached the end of an instruction.
The nurse collapsed.
Caleb caught her badly. His working hand took her shoulder. The damaged arm jerked against the rolling tray, sending its wheels into her knees. They stumbled into the wall together. She slid down, breathing hard, and the cloudiness cleared from her eyes.
"What happened?" she asked.
"You passed out."
She looked at the overturned tray and the black chip resting beside it. Her hand rose to the bare place behind her ear. She did not reach for the chip.
Boots sounded in the hall. A second siren warned that the targeting roster would close in minutes.
The medical hold still glowed on the tablet. Without the chip, transport would take Caleb away before the roster closed. With it, the sponsor would hear the military through him. He took the Apex injector and his canvas jacket first. Then he fitted the chip behind his ear.
Static filled his skull, followed by the sponsor's quiet breathing.
The nurse caught his good wrist. "You are not cleared to leave. Security is coming."
Caleb eased her fingers off rather than jerking his arm away. He put one boot on; the other had vanished under the bed. There was no time to search for it.
"I know," he said.
The door opened. A guard filled the frame. Caleb went past the end of the bed, slipped around the rolling tray, and ran.