Caleb scraped the last of the hospital protein off his tray. His right hand could hold the spoon now, provided he kept his elbow against the mattress. Lifting the arm still sent pain into his shoulder.
The medics had cleaned the cut across his back and taped his ribs. He had eaten everything they brought him. The heat beneath his sternum had eased, but his stomach cramped when he looked at the empty plate.
An orderly reached over the bed for the tray. A flat comms tab sat behind his ear, and a tiny red lens blinked in his collar as he leaned in.
The man's hand stopped above it. His shoulders drew back. When he turned toward Caleb, a milky film covered his eyes.
Caleb kept both hands on the blanket.
"Rest while you can," the orderly said. "The draft is coming. They'll put you where I can watch you work."
The voice had come from another hospital worker before. Caleb watched the man's hand, waiting to see whether it would reach for him.
The orderly blinked. The film cleared. He looked at Caleb, then at the tray, and snatched it up.
"Sorry. Long shift."
He hurried out without meeting Caleb's eyes again.
Caleb reached behind his ear. The comms chip sat warm against his skin. He left it there and pressed the call button for another meal.
***
By evening, the surviving recruits stood on the gravel floor of the deployment bunker. A medic worked along the rows with a bag of fresh dressings. Anyone who could stand had been ordered to attend.
Suzu stood in the front row, ten yards to Caleb's left. Her white prototype was gone. The medics had removed the bone spikes and stopped the bleeding; a carbon-fiber brace held her injured leg straight beneath the gray academy uniform, and fresh compression wraps showed above her collar.
The ward band on her wrist cleared her for the draft only. A crutch leaned against her boot. When the medic asked her to use it, she shook her head, then shifted more weight onto her good leg as he passed.
Kei picked at the tape around his wrist. Beside him, Taichi kept touching the bandage on his broken nose and pretending he had not.
Caleb wore his disposal jacket. He had folded the right sleeve back so it would not rub the dressing on his arm.
Captain Rufus Barrett walked to the microphone on the raised platform. There was no mass driver on his shoulder now. In the Seventh Division's dress uniform, he looked almost fit for a ceremony until he glanced at the injured recruits.
Eight glass observation boxes projected from the wall above him. Caleb could make out uniforms inside, but not faces.
"Replenishment draft," Barrett said. "First through Eighth, then we reverse the order. When your name appears, acknowledge your captain and wait for the quartermaster. I select for the Seventh."
The board above the blast doors lit up.
[FIRST DIVISION: SUZU SHISHIDO]
Suzu saluted the first box. She held her shoulders square despite the brace.
The Second took Ren Kawakami. The Third took Taichi Arakawa, who punched the air before remembering to salute. Five more names completed the first round. The order reversed; on the way back through the Third, Kei Hosoda's name appeared.
Kei let out a breath Caleb could hear from the next row. He looked over. Caleb nodded to him, keeping his good hand at his side.
The rounds continued. Recruits stepped out of line, some grinning, some looking sick. The empty spaces let Caleb see the board without lifting his chin.
Barrett selected Kenji Sato. The Eighth took Mina Arisato.
The board turned red.
[DRAFT CONCLUDED]
Thirty recruits were still on the gravel.
"Unselected applicants," Barrett said, "return your access tags at the gate. Clear the field."
A boy ahead of Caleb went down on his knees. The recruit beside him caught his shoulder, but the boy pulled away and covered his face.
Caleb looked at the board once more. He had put his arm through another fight because the alternative was the disposal yard, its wages, and the debt waiting at home.
He stepped out of line.
"Captain."
Barrett looked up from his datapad.
"Twelve confirmed hits with a damaged arm," Caleb said. "A Class-6 breach. You counted both. Why am I going home?"
The recruits nearest him stopped moving toward the gate.
A panel opened in the Second Division box. A broad man in a white uniform rested his forearms on the railing. His silver hair was combed back, and he had not bothered to stand for any of his own selections.
"Because we couldn't evaluate your combat feed," he said.
"You saw the Honju."
"We saw a dead Honju when the arena cameras came back. Shishido's core shot got the credit. Your personal recording is behind an Executive lock. It wasn't available to the selection panel."
Caleb felt the chip beneath his hair. He had been able to see a public audience while his own feed still showed one. He had assumed that meant somebody had seen enough.
"Ask the recruits who were there."
"I have your scores." The captain lifted his datapad. "Good judgment. High battle-sense marks. One-point-two percent sync and a medical file longer than your service record. I need someone who can carry the rifle tomorrow."
Caleb flexed his right fingers. Pain ran up the arm. He stopped before the captain could see him testing it.
The microphone in the First Division box came on.
"Request an emergency intake slot," Nell said.
The silver-haired captain turned toward her. "The draft is closed."
"Then vote to reopen it for one recruit. The First will take the ranking deduction."
"You already have your pick."
"And the Seventh needs another experienced body. I'll surrender the slot to Barrett, if he'll accept it."
Barrett stared at the First Division box. Caleb could not see Nell through the dark glass, but he knew the silence she used when she was waiting for an answer.
"First pays the point penalty," Barrett said. "Seventh takes the recruit. Is that your motion?"
"Yes."
"Why spend your point on my intake?"
"You saw the breach from the platform. Make the selection yourself."
The Second Division captain gave a short laugh. "She's making you finish the favor, Ren."
Barrett turned to the board. "Seven captains vote. I abstain as the recipient."
Lights appeared beside the division insignias. Caleb counted the first three green lights, then two red. He waited through the last pair without breathing.
"Four in favor," Barrett said. "Three opposed. Motion carries."
He lowered the datapad and looked over the thirty remaining recruits. His gaze stopped on Caleb.
"Thirty years old?"
"Yes, Captain."
"Good. Somebody who won't ask me to put his highlight reel on the briefing screen."
Barrett tapped the selection.
[SEVENTH DIVISION: CALEB TREADWELL]
Kei caught Caleb's good shoulder. Caleb barely felt the squeeze. He was watching the blue letters, making sure they stayed there.
Static clicked behind his ear.
The private-feed icon opened, covering the selection notice with purple text.
[THE SEVENTH. THAT WILL DO.]