Page 79 of Silver Elite

Impulsiveness.

Impatience.

Classroom learning.

They could probably figure out the third one based on my written scores.

After the test, each of us is given a radio call sign. It makes me feel like I’m in one of those spy movies they show in the theater inHamlett. The Aberrant spies always lose, obviously. And if it’s a Prime spy infiltrating an Aberrant cell, then the Primes win. Obviously. Propaganda is the General’s favorite pastime.

Lyddie’s call sign is Blue Jay. Kaine’s is Condor.

Mine is…

I tap the icon in my profile.

My jaw drops. That fucking asshole.

Kaine leans over my shoulder and snickers. We’re gathered in a large room in the tech wing of the main building.

“Broken Dove,” he reads out loud. “I don’t know if that’s badass or just a bad omen?”

“Bad leadership,” I mutter. “The captain’s making a point.”

Betima grins. “You’re an expert on the captain’s motivations now, are you?”

I notice Ivy frown at that. She’s next to Betima and not being discreet about eavesdropping. She doesn’t like me. But that’s fine. I don’t like her, either.

“All right, let’s get started.” Ford’s deep voice booms from the doorway.

He strides inside, clad in a black shirt and khaki fatigues. It’s the first time I’ve seen him out of navy blues, and I wonder where he’s coming from this morning.

“This is Lieutenant Hirai. Communications.”

A short, squat man in his late twenties steps forward. He’s missing his two front teeth, but that doesn’t stop him from flashing a gummy smile.

“Hiya,” he greets us.

“Lieutenant Hirai knows everything there is to know about the tech on this base. Comms, cameras, signal jammers. Any tech questions should be directed at him. He’ll be fitting you with the comms you’re going to use during ops.”

Hirai holds up a black case about the size of a sugar cube, then flicks it open to show us the item inside. The comm is no bigger than my pinkie nail. Flat, beige, and so tiny you can only see it when it catches the light.

“This,” Hirai says, utterly delighted, “is not your average comm. Itis every operative’s dream device. I’m talking cutting-edge, extremely versatile, worth-billions-of-credits kind of technology. The kind of tech that makes you want to weep from its sheer splendor.”

“This is weird,” Kaine whispers to me, and I choke down a laugh.

Hirai presses his index finger into the small case then holds it up. The beige disk sticks to the pad of his finger.

“This little guy here was solely designed to give you a tactical edge in the field. It’s got advanced audio processing capabilities that can filter out background noise and enhance speech clarity. It even detects enemy movements through sound alone.”

I try not to raise a brow. Well, damn. Does the Uprising know about this thing?

Hirai grows more animated. “It’s equipped with a built-in biometric sensor that’s capable of monitoring your vital signs in real time, children. Real! Time! The data gets relayed to the Command Center. Gives us crucial insight into the physical condition of our operatives.”

Still beaming, he distributes the comms to each member of our cell.

“The mic is voice-activated,” he explains. “It stops transmitting and receiving after two seconds of silence. You can also start and stop transmission with voice commands.”

Ford, who seemed bored until now, sweeps his gaze over the group of recruits. I swear it lingers on me.

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