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stake.
    “Hello?” Pechter waved a hand in front of Matt’s face. “Earth to Number Three. Come in, Number Three.”
    “I . . . I’m—” Matt looked around. Everyone was watching him. The doctors. Kyle. Michelle.
    “Sit,” Pechter said.
    Matt sat on the gurney next to Kyle’s, not daring to look at him. Kyle must be smirking.
    The doctor outside the tent flap peeked in at them. “Rush’s starting,” he said.
    “Okay, let’s get these sorted,” Pechter said, motioning for the other doctors. They put away their slates and sauntered over, seemingly unconcerned.
    Pechter took one look at Kyle’s swollen ankle and frowned. “Bad sprain. Pretty good, coming in second with this beauty.” He waved another doctor over. “Let’s give him Accelerated Recovery.”
    Pechter looked at the divot on the chest of Matt’s flak jacket. “Ooh, Purple Heart candidate,” he said, bending down to examine Matt’s wrecked jacket. “Well, not so fast.”
    “What do you mean?”
    In answer, the doctor grabbed a slim metallic wand from a nearby tray and used it to pry something out of the flak jacket. But instead of the shiny metal bullet Matt expected, it was a red, splattered glob of plastic.
    Pechter waved the wand at Matt.
    “Coward rounds. Like a paintball, but with a short-lifespan neural inhibitor that makes you feel, well, like you’ve been shot. But since it didn’t make it through the jacket, we don’t have to neutralize it.”
    Matt just stared openmouthed.
    “You don’t think we’d go and gun down the best and brightest of the Union, do you?”
    Matt’s guts seethed with amazement and anger. “You—you tricked us? Into thinking we could be shot?”
    Pechter raised an eyebrow. “You’d prefer the real thing?”
    Matt shook his head. Of course not! But . . . it was a helluva test.
    They want to see who’s really committed, Matt realized. Anyone with the right academics and athletics could fill out the prequalification forms for training camp. Anyone who passed that stage could accept the up-to-decade-long auditing and surveillance that might get you invited to training camp at any point during that ten years. But not just anyone could pick up a gun and charge in without hesitation. That’s the test he’d just passed.
    Pechter turned to examine Michelle.
    “I don’t need treatment,” Michelle said.
    “You sure?” Pechter said. “Do you even know if you’re hurt? You juiced up, Earth girl? You’re awfully fast.”
    Michelle’s expression went rigid, but her eyes blazed hard and angry. “I don’t need juice to beat these candidates, Doctor.”
    Pechter laughed and nodded at another doc. “Drug scan.” He turned back to Michelle’s glare. “Nothing personal. Just part of the job.”
    The doctor swooped in and took blood, then injected it into his slate. He tapped a foot as he waited for the results.
    “Fourth!” called a voice from outside.
    Matt turned to see another cadet run in. It was the older woman who’d protested before. She looked unharmed, but her breath came in loud whoops, and her eyes were wide and darting.
    Pechter turned to her. “I’m sorry. No gold star for you. But we have a place to recline.” He pointed at a gurney.
    “Five! Six!” came from outside the tent.
    The two kids dressed in Hyva rags came through the door. Neither was injured, though both were covered in mud to their knees. They sauntered in casually, as if the whole exercise had been an evening stroll.
    “You see, Jahl?” one of them said. “I told you. Let the ones at the forefront take out the automated sentries. Note where they are, then walk right through.”
    “You’re too clever for your own good, Peal,” the other told him.
    “Isn’t that what they always say?”
    Pechter stopped the duo. “Sit,” he said, pointing at the gurneys.
    “Okay,” they said together.
    “Seven, eight, nine,” came the voice again. “Another dozen coming!”
    Pechter nodded. “Rush hour.” He turned back