Hold B was a large open space for a space station, one of the few structures on the incomplete third ring, roughly quarter of a turn from their quarters and on the third level. It was a bare, windowless, off-white cube eighty feet on a side, the only contents an assortment of bars, boxes and other awkwardly shaped objects strapped to one wall. Dylan and Dimitri would, he hoped, get to the point of being able to use them offensively. Paula needed to get to the point where she thought in three dimensions rather than two, and could hide behind them effectively. Young Jenny - well, he hoped the drug would help enough that she could train as part of the team. If not, then certain aspects of this week were going to be severely curtailed. The major aim was to get them the basis of a working four man whirlwind pyramid. If she couldn't cope - well, that would be a complete non-starter.
Paula was reading the safety instructions posted next to the door. Dimitri was examining the bars and boxes. Dylan was flipping merrily from one wall to another, arms extended, legs piked. None of them were watching him, and he had to try sometime. Mark brought his legs under him, extended his arms, and pushed away from the wall.
There wasn't much force there - he'd known that. No snap at all, and only a little speed. But he did end up moving in a straight line, and managed something approaching a decent flight position.
Stopping was another matter altogether. Even leaving himself what he thought was an age, tucking and spinning to come in feet first took him so long that he was on top of the wall with no time to prepare. His legs crumpled under him, and he was forced to twist and take the impact on the back of his left shoulder, as if he'd been thrown while sparring.
That, of course, wasn't silent. Mark recovered his orientation to find three pairs of eyes on him. "Ouch," he said mildly.
"Are you hurt?" Dimitri asked him.
He shook his head. A bruised ego, that was all. And the realisation that, even in zero g, he was still very much hands-only for the moment.
Drinking through a straw. Eating food chosen based on how well it stuck together, not how good it tasted. Having to tie his hair back if he wasn't to look like a bad hair day from the nineteen-eighties. Sleeping in a bag, with elastic straps the only semblance of weight. Zero g discipline: keeping everything strapped down, or inside something else. Unless you were about to use it again, in which case you could happily leave it floating. It was a long time since he'd used it, as a fourteen year old human at the Rigan Space Academy, on a month's training course on one of their stations. It came back, though, the intervening years melting away. Only the fact that he was on the sidelines, watching others train, commenting, praising, criticising, reminded him that he was older now. That what the other four were working towards lay in his past, not his future.
They improved, slowly. Even the little one was out there from the following day, still green, still dizzy, still needing a whole lot of help. Black badged, and likely to stay that way. Even so, they had to learn to build that pyramid, and they did. Paula and Dimitri on the bottom level. Dylan, to his obvious embarrassment, on their shoulders - he was four inches shorter than she was, what did he expect? And young Jenny, now the Kestrel, on the top. After two days, they could build it quickly and easily. Whether they could do it planet-side was a different matter, but he hoped that maybe Jenny functioning better would offset the additional problems caused by gravity. At the very least, they had a basis to work from.
Spinning was another matter entirely. Quite apart from the issue that their top man was suffering from vertigo, a four-man configuration was intrinsically unstable. Even G-Force had struggled with it, despite their years of experience. Mark decided to let his trainees get good and stable, confident, working together without effort, before moving on. Not to push the pyramid too much, but to have them work on other things: flight trajectories, weapons use in zero g, absorbing a large amount of momentum without doing themselves damage.
It was a good theory, but on their fourth morning there was a clearing of throats as he came into the hold, a few minutes after the rest of them, as he had been checking in with the station commander.
"Commander," Dylan said formally. "Whirlwind pyramid. We'd like to try the real thing today."
Mark looked from face to face. If this was anything other than a group decision, chances were the team was a non-starter. Were the men sick and tired of being held back by the women? Because there was no question, that was what was happening here. Both Dylan and Dimitri were far more adept than Paula, even if she had been given the green badge yesterday. Jenny wasn't even on the same page.
Dimitri was indeed alongside his colleague, nodding in emphasis. But the other two were right there as well, Paula with her face set in a look of pure determination, and Jenny wearing an expression of desperate fervour which said more than words ever could how badly she wanted to be able to do this.
"Sure," he said casually. "All warmed up?"
Four heads nodded.
"Then build your pyramid."
Even yesterday morning, this would have involved discussion, compromise and adjustment. Not any more. Dimitri hit his mark perfectly, caught Paula when she missed fractionally and pulled her back into line. Dylan was already in flight as the two of them stood up straight, and as they caught his ankles and killed his momentum, Jenny was already heading for his shoulders.
She'd hit it perfectly this time, and all Dylan had to do was reach up and steady her as she straightened out from the somersault above his head. The grin of success was obvious even under the grey-green visor.
"Good," he said, still keeping it casual. "Now, Kestrel, Raven, arms out, wings stiff. You two have to provide all the stability. Crane, Osprey, the rest is up to you. Keep it steady. Don't even try to put any speed into it until you feel the gyroscopic effect."
That's the theory, anyway. Mark held onto a strap near the door and watched attempt after attempt end in dismal failure. Gyroscopic effect - who had he been kidding? All the teamwork was gone. No coordination, no solidarity. He suggested one thing and another fell apart. The base pair seemed incapable of rotating as a single unit. Dylan, of standing straight and stiff, transmitting all that rotation directly to the girl on his shoulders. Jenny herself was getting whiter by the attempt, and, ten minutes earlier than the session should have finished, he called a halt.
"I think we need to discuss this some more. Raven, Osprey, can you collect five meals from the messhall and bring them back to our quarters?"
"Make that four," Jenny groaned.
"Five," he restated. "We'll get you a window to look out of, and you'll feel a lot better." That was what Jason always did, anyway. He guessed it must work at least somewhat.
Once back in their quarters, Jenny clung to the nearest bar to the window, eyes locked on the distant stars. Paula detransmuted, cast a desperate look in Mark's direction, and then went to the girl.
"Come on, Jen. Chin up. You're doing great."
"God, I want to throw up."
"Drugs won't let you, you know that. Let's get your helmet off."
Jenny said nothing, arms and legs wrapped round the pole, and Paula undid the helmet for her, lifting it off to reveal brown hair damp with sweat.
"You should have said you were struggling."
"I can't be struggling. Don't you get it? I have to be able to cope or I'm out."
"You're doing fine."
"I'm a complete disaster. We tried that what, fifteen times? I didn't get it right once."
"And neither did anyone else." Mark had been flicking through the training schedule, half looking for inspiration, half giving the impression of politely not listening which was so essential in a shared room this small. But this was enough wailing for one day.
"You have a problem with this move as a team - and with good reason, it's hard. G-Force have practised whirlwind pyramid hundreds, thousands of times. They still practise it." He just barely caught himself before he said 'we'. "You've tried fifteen times, and they were all awful. It needs work. Now, you need to get your balance back, eat something, and we'll discuss alternative ways of approaching it."
Dylan and Dimitri chose that moment to arrive, bearing flasks of soup and what the station referred to as 'bread', though it had the consistency of foam rubber - and a lot of the taste. Even he found it hard to swallow the stuff, though he certainly wasn't going to say so.
Dylan passed out food as he floated through the room, then stopped with one hand against the window, peering into Jenny's face. "You look like hell. Want me to call the doc?"
"There's nothing more he can do."
He patted her arm sympathetically, and gave her just the soup. "Carrot. It's orange, anyway. Give it a try."
"I'm never going to be hungry again."
"Sure you will," Dimitri assured her. "For now, just have a little."
"I know, I know. I'll feel worse without it." She shifted her position on the pole so she could get both hands on the flask and extrude the inbuilt straw, and Mark decided that a change in subject would be no bad thing.
"This morning didn't go so well. To be blunt, it was a mess. Maybe we should leave it a couple of days."
"No," said Dimitri. "We need practice. If we leave it for two days, we will have only one day left here."
"Might be simpler in gravity," Dylan mumbled around a mouthful of bread.
"Harder." Mark looked from face to face, to Jenny's back. "Four's a horrible configuration. Maybe you should work on it as a three for a while."
"No!" The kid was nothing if not determined, he'd give her that. "I can do it. Commander, let me try again. Please."
"It's not just you, though. The main problem is the lack of rigidity in the pyramid below you."
Paula flushed at that, and Dylan looked downright affronted. Regardless, Mark continued. "There's no point in carrying on as you are. I'll take suggestions."
"How do we make it more rigid?" Paula asked.
"Two up, two down?" Dylan was still talking round the bread, though the rest of them appeared to have given up on eating.
"That's not going to help. Or work." Mark made a point of continuing to drink the soup, which was surprisingly good. "If two and two worked better, that's what we'd use. It needs a singleton on top, or it splits apart."
"You're saying we need five," Dylan stated.
"Five or three, yes."
"Commander?" asked Dimitri, and there was a hesitation in his voice which snapped Mark to full attention, "could you stand in there? Be the fifth man for us? It was your position in the formation, I believe."
Second row, on the Owl's shoulders... For a moment, the memory was physical, so sharp it hurt. Then it was replaced with practical considerations. It was zero g, and his legs were working much better than he would have believed possible even three days ago. But it was a long way from being able to catch himself without crumpling to whirlwind pyramid with four implanted, transmuted novices. He said nothing, waiting. If they could see the potential problems, it might be worth a try.
"Mark's a fair bit taller than me," Dylan said. "But then, 'Mitri's taller than Paula is. And we've got to face it, any fifth member we get is going to be taller than I am."
"No helmet," Paula said worriedly.
"No?" Dylan frowned. "But can't you...I mean, I presumed..."
"That I can transmute any time I want?" Mark fought down the urge to snap, and simply said, "No. I can't."
He looked round their faces; four people struggling not to ask one question. He had, he realised, said too much already. He was wearing a bracelet but unable to use its main function. That ruled out some sort of simple spinal injury, and yet he was in a wheelchair back on Earth. There was raw shock on the faces of the two more experienced, concern on Dylan's, and simple confusion on Jenny's. And all of them would, if he didn't clear this up right now, end up assuming the worst.
"My implant failed."
Paula went white. Maybe that hadn't been such a good way to clear things up.
"Failed?" Dylan asked, much too loud, and winced. "Sorry, Commander. Didn't mean to ask a personal question."
"But you want to know what happened to me."
"I'd like to know if these things have a limited life expectancy," Dylan said, more quietly.
"No."
"But you said it failed!"
"Dylan!" Paula moaned, flushing with embarrassment.
"My implant failed because it was damaged a long, long time ago," Mark told them simply. "I grew, it split. All my neural functions went through it, all the time. That wasn't something it was designed for. Part of it burnt out, most of the rest had to be disabled. But the major problem was that some of my neural functions didn't reroute themselves properly until very recently." He glanced around. Fascinated horror on every face. "So...you want to know what my implant doesn't do any more? Pop quiz time. Tell me how it should work. Dylan, you can start."
Four jaws dropped, and Dylan's "um" told him he'd had the desired effect.
"I'm serious. You lot need to learn to think on your feet."
"Okay...first, there are two implants, not one." Dylan locked eyes with him, seeking approval, and Mark kept his face expressionless. "But only one has a power supply. That's the one which handles -"
"Start with the other one." Mark knew he was making the other uncomfortable, but frankly the kid deserved it, pushing for personal information like that.
"Top implant." Dylan indicated just below the base of his skull at the back of his neck. "Deals with the low level stuff, which doesn't need extra power. Things like keeping the chemical balance right for jump, extra sensitive hearing, stuff like that. Um..."
He was clearly running dry, and Mark took pity. "That's about right. Paula, tell me about the other implant."
She'd known him a whole lot longer than Dylan had. Long enough to have been thinking about her answer. "Half an inch lower. Deals with everything that needs more power than the body can provide in real time. All the jump interfaces, generating the field for transmutation, enhanced healing, speed and endurance."
"That's enough." Mark saw the other two relax, and forced himself not to smile. "And what I've principally lost is the power reservoir. I don't have an energy reserve to call on for transmutation. Or strength, or speed, or anything else. But the old physical damage was what triggered all the neural problems." He stopped there. He had no desire to relive the sheer terror of his body randomly disobeying him, let alone months of paralysis, and besides, Jenny looked terrified enough already.
"What about us?" she asked.
"You have undamaged, normally functioning implants, and were checked for my problem the moment Dr Johnson figured out what to look for." Mark sighed. "I got unlucky, mostly because I was implanted at four years old. That's all there is to it."
"Very recently, you said." Dylan frowned. "And neural...that sim flight?"
"Triggered something." Mark smiled wryly. "I told you I owed you one. My nervous system works just fine now. But the power system in the second implant is still completely disabled, and I have a set of leg muscles I haven't used in months."
"Both of those can be put right," Dimitri said slowly. "You can go back."
"To G-Force? No. I'd never catch up again." Even discarding the fact that they'd never trust me again after I walked out. And that I've been told in words of one syllable that I'm no longer one of them.
"To us!" Paula exclaimed, then clamped a hand over her own mouth as if to retrieve the exclamation. "I'm sorry, Commander. After what you've done, you wouldn't want it. But man, could we use you."
"No, you couldn't." Mark knew he had to nip this in the bud right now, and his voice came out so harsh that all four of them jumped. "You need someone who can fight. I'm a jump-pilot and a fast jet pilot, and you have both those already."
"But for now..." Jenny hesitated and carried on, "just for the pyramid? It's not like we're going fast."
The other three were nodding, and Mark took a deep breath. Whirlwind pyramid again, after all this time. "We'll give it a try."
It wasn't the same. It was never going to be the same, since he had no wings and barely enough muscle to lock his legs out. But he could provide extra stability. A solid platform for young Jenny to balance on. A vertical point of reference for Dylan to lock against and stabilise. And with a much more rigid triangle above them, the two on the base found new coordination. Determined, synchronised movements, and suddenly the whole structure was spinning as one entity, picking up speed, and it was glorious.
Briefly glorious. There was a yelp from above him, and the stresses were suddenly completely wrong, before the whole thing collapsed and the momentum spun them off in different directions. He had just enough time to tuck his head in before he hit the wall hard, spinning wildly. The first impact was on his left side, hard enough to hurt. The spinning didn't stop, he had no idea where he was, and only hoped it wasn't about to be among the poles and crates.
Hands caught him from either side and he felt the spinning slow, then stop. Mark uncurled and let himself be guided to a handhold on the wall.
"Sorry!" That was Paula, close to a wail.
"You weren't kidding about the gyroscopic effect." Dylan.
"Commander?" Dimitri, concerned.
Mark opened his eyes and felt his left elbow gingerly. "Well, it worked. Not such a good idea, though."
"Indeed not. Commander, can you move your arm?"
He did so, flexing his wrist and fingers for good measure. "I'm fine. How's Jenny?"
"That was great!" he heard from the other side of the hold. Enthusiasm, for the first time since they'd arrived.
"I guess we were spinning fast enough to count as gravity," Dylan muttered, and Dimitri smothered a laugh.
"I heard that!"
"Okay, enough." Mark straightened out and looked around. Delight on every face. Well worth a bruised elbow. "Do you think you can translate it to a four now you've felt how it should go? Because me doing this out of birdstyle is a seriously bad idea."
"I didn't think it would go so fast," Paula said.
Mark was forced to laugh. "Fast? That? A five-man going flat out is a weapon. Don't forget that." And he missed it so darn much. He looked round the room, everyone else in birdstyle, and briefly had to fight for self-control.
Could they fix the implant, once he was fit again? Given that he had no chance of going back on G-Force, would they even want to? He'd never wanted to run base control, and G-Force had no need of a trainer, but these kids...well, there was no point his worrying about it now. For the time being, he was their trainer, and while birdstyle would have been more than useful, he didn't have it. You used what you had, instead of wishing for what you didn't.
"Now, then. You've felt what it should be like. Hold that feeling, and let's take another look at that four-man pyramid. Dylan, this is down to you. You've got to keep the thing stable."