Breaking Through by D. Nichole King

something you get when you’re in battle. I’m about tell them to stand up when Nautia raises her hand into the air, mesmerizing me. Lazily, she twirls her wrist a few times. Then she opens her palm, and a small ball of fresh water suspends above it.
    “Did you just pull water from the air?” I ask.
    She brings the swirling ball to her lips and drinks it down. “Better than bottled water,” she says, her smile brightening at my interest.
    She creates two more balls. One she offers to Gibson, who nods and levitates it to his mouth. The other she holds out to Kray, and he drinks from her palm. After Kray sucks down two, Nautia looks at me. “Do you want some?”
    When I hesitate, she adds, “It doesn’t touch my sweaty skin. The water’s clean, I promise.”
    More than wanting to taste the water she creates, I want to be that close to her, drinking from her. I want to peer into those ocean eyes as I do and thank her just to hear her say “You’re welcome.” But I won’t do that, because it’s a dangerous path to tread for a million different reasons.
    I swallow and reel myself in. I break my gaze away from her to address everyone. “Push ups. Here on the deck. Two hundred, minimum.”

    By ten o’clock in the morning, my recruits stare at me as if they’re praying whatever I have for them next will kill them off. What they don’t know is tomorrow will be worse.
    I lead them to the weapons training center. Lasers scan my retinas at the door. “Captain Riley Barton,” I say clearly for the voice detection program.
    “Access granted,” the computer replies, and the metal door slides open.
    “Officers first,” I say, motioning them inside.
    Like zombies, the four of them stagger forward. Nautia brings up the rear, and I follow her in. Unlike the others, her clothing isn’t drenched with sweat, even though it was soaked ten minutes ago. I snicker, thinking about her reversing her earlier skills. Instead of creating the molecules, she probably broke them down and evaporated them into the air.
    She must have heard me laugh, because she glances over her shoulder. For a second, our eyes lock before she slides her attention forward. I straighten and don’t say anything.
    Once everyone is inside, I clear my throat as I walk in front of them. “There’s a station for each of you. Pick one. Those will be your weapons for the remainder of this mission. Get comfortable with them. I’ll come around to each table to set up your microchips with your fingerprints.”
    There’re ten weapons on each table. Knives and guns, mostly, with one defective grenade to practice aim. Light chemical warfare devices are in a different training room for a later date.
    Gibson, Haskal, and Kray pick up their weapons individually and examine them. Grins on their faces, they nod their appreciation for the power they hold. But none of them have the reverence that’s in Nautia’s expression. She stares at the weapons, not touching them. Her gaze roams over each one.
    Against my better judgment, I walk over to her table. I tell myself it’s to coach her, but deep down I know that’s only half true. “You ever shoot a gun before?”
    Her brows pinch together, her focus remaining on the table. “I…don’t think so.”
    “You don’t think so?” I repeat. “I’m pretty sure you’d know if you had.”
    She tucks her lower lip between her teeth, then lets go of it slowly, white skin returning to pink. “Yeah. Right.” She looks at me, then says confidently, “No, I haven’t.”
    “How about a knife? Ever handled one of those before?”
    She shrugs a shoulder. “Sure. If a steak knife counts.”
    “Pick it up,” I instruct, nodding to the one on the end. It’s the smallest of the three.
    Carefully, she lifts the hilt into her palm and looks at me, uncomfortable. I reach out and touch the top to activate the microchip. As I do, her nostrils flare and her stare becomes more intense. I can almost smell the anxiety pouring off