Caleb ran down the white corridor in hospital briefs, a stained canvas jacket, and one boot.
The green arrows on the floor pointed toward the firing range. Security shouted behind him. The sponsor's chip rubbed the skin behind his ear. It had not cleared anything yet. If the proctor's board rejected it, he would have run out of a medical ward in his underwear for nothing.
A double-bolt door waited at the end of the hall.
It opened as he reached it.
The proctor stood in the dirt with the surviving applicants. They were already in their combat suits, rifles hanging from their chests.
He looked at Caleb's clothes, then at the guard closing in behind him.
"Medical pulled you an hour ago."
"The clearance changed. Check it."
Several applicants turned. Someone laughed at the hospital briefs beneath his stained jacket, then stopped when the guard closed on him.
The guard caught Caleb from behind and locked both arms around his ribs.
"I will remove him," the guard said.
Caleb planted his feet. The grip tightened. He threw his weight over one hip and sent the guard onto his back.
The guard rolled with a curse. A green indicator lit on his belt.
"Five percent output," he said.
He crossed the distance before Caleb could step away. The armored palm struck Caleb's jaw and knocked him into the dirt. Gravel cut his cheek. A knee pinned his damaged shoulder, and the arm beneath it failed when he tried to push up.
Caleb had wanted the proctor to look at a tablet. Now three officers were looking at him instead.
Two more officers entered the range.
"Now, now," the proctor said. "If he is too injured to test, stop using him as a practice dummy."
"He is stronger than the report says," the guard answered.
Caleb dug his fingers into the man's leg and shoved. The guard tipped sideways. The other two officers drove Caleb face-first into the gravel before he could rise.
His ribs protested. The sponsor's chip warmed behind his ear.
"Stand down," the proctor said.
The officers released him. Caleb stayed on his knees long enough to make sure the floor had stopped moving. Blood and grit came away when he wiped his mouth with his good hand. The proctor was still reading, his thumb pressed to the corner of the tablet.
The proctor read from his tablet. "Clearance updated. Applicant 4013's augment ID completed the Black-class medical review. He may continue under observation."
Caleb pushed himself upright.
"You have two minutes to gear up," the proctor continued. "If the suit locks your joints, you are out. Medical will be waiting at the door."
Caleb limped to the surplus racks. He unfastened the rigid medical brace and left it on the lowest shelf. Without it, his bruised arm sagged against his side. He shoved the arm through the suit sleeve, pulled the standard armor over his hospital clothes, and locked the chest plate.
The lining needles pressed into his back. His damaged shoulder tightened before the rest of the suit could calibrate. He held the rack until the heat beneath his ribs settled.
The rifle with the least rust still had a cracked stock. He took it anyway and tested the safety with his left thumb.
Kei was waiting in formation.
"You are insane," Kei whispered. "They were going to break your arm."
"I needed the proctor to read the clearance."
Taichi leaned out of the second row. His red-trimmed armor was clean, and a camera drone hovered over his shoulder.
"Watch closely," he told the drone. "The scrubber escaped the ward to wash out in public."
Suzu stood farther down the line. Her eyes touched Caleb's taped knuckles, then moved away.
The calibration board lit up.
[SUZU SHISHIDO: 72%]
[TAICHI ARAKAWA: 15%]
[KEI HOSODA: 18%]
Caleb's result appeared last.
[CALEB TREADWELL: 1.2%]
The rifle felt heavier than it had in the rack.
The comms chip clicked behind his ear. One line appeared on the military HUD.
[TWELVE HITS. I DID NOT CLEAR YOUR HOLD TO WATCH YOU MISS.]
The message disappeared before Caleb could answer it.
The proctor climbed onto the firing platform. "Final Phase One screen. Twelve confirmed hits to advance. The suit will help with recoil. Do not fight the assistance."
Caleb checked the safety again. He had to make twelve shots count with an arm that could barely hold the barrel level.
The blast doors opened onto a ruined street filled with smog and mechanical targets.
The starting siren sounded.
Taichi fired first. His custom rifle dropped four targets in three seconds. Suzu shot without looking hurried. Each round struck the center of a steel plate.
Caleb raised his surplus rifle.
Wind, distance, and recoil predictions crowded his visor. The green aiming point vanished inside the data.
A target rose behind a broken wall.
Caleb fired. The rifle kicked high. The round tore through concrete above the target.
[MISS]
Taichi laughed. "He shot the sky."
Kei kept his weapon downrange. "Ignore the numbers. Find the green dot. Let the suit catch the recoil."
"If I let it catch the recoil, it will break my jaw."
"It will not."
Another target rose beside a wrecked car.
Caleb inhaled. He stopped trying to control every movement. The green dot settled over the painted chest.
He fired.
The suit fibers hardened just before the stock struck his shoulder. The round hit the target and broke it apart.
[HIT]
The next target crossed between two broken pillars. Caleb led it too far and struck the rear pillar. He swore, lowered the rifle, and found the green dot again before the stock had stopped shaking.
Targets rose and fell across the street. He worked from the near ones to the far ones, using a low concrete lip to steady the barrel when his right arm trembled. Each recoil sent a sting up his shoulder. The suit caught some of it. It could not give him a better grip or tell him which target would turn.
Seven hits. He counted because the HUD numbers kept sliding over one another. Kei called a warning when a target rose behind the car. Caleb turned, fired too soon, and missed. He let the next one come into the open.
Ten.
His stomach cramped. He pressed the rifle stock into his good shoulder and fired at the seam on a moving target. The plate broke. Another target appeared in the same lane. He followed it until the green dot held still for half a breath.
The proctor blew the cease-fire whistle before Caleb could check the result.
The board filled with scores. Suzu led with perfect accuracy. Taichi followed. Kei passed comfortably. Names below them turned red and disappeared. The screen narrowed a field of two hundred applicants to fewer than eighty.
Caleb's name settled at the bottom of the list.
[CALEB TREADWELL: 12 HITS]
The red elimination line stopped beneath it. The last shot had counted. Caleb lowered the rifle before anyone could see how badly his hand was shaking.
Taichi pointed at the board. "Twelve? He missed the first shot by half a street."
Suzu changed her magazine. "He spent most of the phase fighting the suit."
Kei jogged over, sweat shining beneath his helmet. "You passed."
Caleb lowered the rifle. His right arm was already going numb again, and hunger had started to pull under his ribs. A medical attendant waiting at the range exit checked his fingers and strapped the rigid brace back over his loosened armor. "Leave it on until the next check," she said. Caleb nodded, watching her carry the score sheet away.
"Barely," he said.
Kei grinned. "Barely still counts."
Caleb looked through the firing-range smoke toward the closed blast doors.
The trial had one more phase. He had a gun, one viewer, and a body that charged him for every useful movement.
"Then let me try the next one."