Degrees of Wrong Read Online Free PDF Page B

unhinged at the corners.
    “I cannot tolerate insubordination on my ship,” he continued.
    The rage rekindled in my stomach and my eyes narrowed at the exquisite being that was Captain Marek. “Perhaps I should leave,” I offered, acid saturating my tone.
    His eyes narrowed too. “That will not be necessary. Lt. Horan is capable of administering appropriate discipline.”
    Lt. Horan smiled. I stifled a reflexive urge to choke him.
    “I was told to ask for Dr. Folsom as soon as I arrived,” I ground out.
    “Dr. Folsom has not yet boarded the ship. We’ll be picking her up soon.”
    “I was also told you knew I was coming.”
    “I am aware of all new cadets boarding the Bellator .”
    I was going to scalp Geoffrey, I decided. After I strangled the life from Lt. Horan. But I needed to check his blood pressure first, because medically, that was a concern.
    “Lieutenant, continue as you see fit,” Captain Marek ordered. He turned his gaze to me, and despite my intense dislike for this man, my heart fluttered a tiny bit when I glanced at his mouth on accident. “Cadet Morgan, you report to Lt. Horan. You are to obey him, unconditionally.”
    He turned and walked away amid a line of saluting cadets. I wished I had something to throw. I was almost mad enough for a hand gesture—maybe two.
    I whirled around, back to Lt. Horan’s unmistakably triumphant grin. He ripped the laptop from my grasp, handing it to Little-Man. “See you on board, twerp.” He winked at me. “I have a special treat for you.” Turning to the line of obedient cadets, he shouted, “Man the pods and move out.”

Chapter Three
    What I thought was the end of the line was actually the front.
    I peered over the edge of the dock at the transport pod. It was a small round vessel, painted black—of course—in stark contrast to the glistening emerald crests keeping it afloat. The open top revealed three rows of bench seats big enough for at least nine passengers.
    The lump in my throat grew exponentially as the conductor jumped in and held out his hand to lower me into the craft. Struggling to establish footing in the pod, I realized it wasn’t actually moving with the tumult of the sea. It must have some sort of complex technology keeping it immobile, even in the onslaught of morning tide. Then I wondered if it was advanced indeed, or just further evidence of my ignorance.
    The lump was now choking size.
    Ebony tossed me a charitable smile as I made quick work of strapping in, cinching the belt to a life-saving tight. These pods must have been for short-distance travel only. Any length of time spent on this hard rubber bench would numb my lower extremities into uselessness.
    Ebony waited until I could breathe again before she spoke. “Is this your first time in a pod?” she asked.
    I nodded.
    “It’ll be okay.” She patted my hand.
    After our pod reached full capacity, the conductor took his seat in front of a buffet of buttons spanning a wide touch screen. He let his finger wander over the control panel as if it were a menu and he were choosing the best wine to accompany the meal. His selection started the craft, its loud thrumming overtaking the peaceful slosh of the waves.
    “The shield will come over us next,” Ebony said.
    As though her voice commanded it, the glass shield eased over our heads and hissed, locking into place in the front of the pod, enclosing us into a bubble. The vehicle’s hum grew high-pitched, and we began our descent into the ocean.
    I watched in terror as the water crept higher, and unreasonable panic played havoc with my breathing. As the pod submerged, the high-pitch thrumming all but disappeared, and we took in the view in silence. The glass made the water even clearer, revealing an established, thriving marine community. To the left and right, as far as the eye could see, the underwater coastline played host to its masses. Schools of fish darted around in an array of color, and crabs, large and tiny,