Episode 3

Chapter 003

The first wall had cracked.

Now the clock had teeth.

At 10:08 a.m., Simon stood in Medical Bay Two with his sleeve rolled up, three sensors stuck to his chest, and a doctor who clearly thought poor judgment was contagious.

"Your vitals say no," the doctor said.

Simon looked at the glass wall beyond him. Eleven waited in the consent room with Maya, one paw on the handbook as if guarding evidence.

"My vitals say maybe."

"They say acute stress response, blood pressure instability, and possible neural strain."

"Maybe in a longer font."

Lydia, standing by the door, did not smile. "Mr. Vale, the Commission will not certify a bond if the candidate cannot survive the procedure."

"Then certify limits." Simon tapped the monitor readout. "No combat bond. No field work. Consent imprint only. Ten-minute observation. If my vitals spike, abort."

The doctor frowned. "That is barely useful."

"It blocks the transfer release."

Maya looked through the glass at Eleven. "And it gives the cub a legal voice."

That landed.

The doctor hated it, but the Commission loved liability more than convenience. Eleven had passed a voluntary approach test. The footage was recorded. The disposal bid now looked less like efficiency and more like someone selling a willing starter beast around procedure.

At 10:31, Simon signed the limited bond waiver.

At 10:34, Eleven pressed his paw to the other side of the bond plate.

The room lights dimmed.

A thin ring of blue-white light formed under Simon's feet, then under Eleven's. Regulated bond-space, the handbook memory supplied. A legal bridge. No ownership. No command slavery. Consent, capacity, and responsibility.

The Index opened before the Commission system finished its first scan.

[Legal bond-space contact detected.]

[Candidate: Eleven, juvenile Blacksteel Bear.]

[Stored pattern: Blacksteel Hardening incomplete.]

[Copy transfer available: corrective timing scaffold.]

[Cost: host stamina crash, neural pain, twelve-hour recovery recommendation.]

[Risk: beast overload if forced.]

Simon felt Eleven through the bridge. Not words. Pressure. Anger. Pride. Hunger. A hard little will that had no interest in being saved if saving meant being owned.

Good.

"No force," Simon said.

The doctor looked up. "What?"

"Procedure note. Consent remains active only if Eleven advances."

Eleven heard his name.

The cub stepped forward.

The bridge brightened.

The Index loaded the pattern.

Pain drove a nail through Simon's skull.

He nearly broke contact on instinct. His hand clenched around the edge of the plate. The room smeared white. Somewhere, the doctor swore.

[Transfer in progress.]

Not power. Not a miracle. A timing scaffold: step, breathe, turn, harden at the final instant. Simon felt it scrape out of him like a wire pulled through bone.

Eleven staggered.

Maya's hand flew to the abort panel.

"Don't," Simon said through his teeth. "Ask him."

Maya looked at the cub. "Eleven?"

Eleven's claws dug into the mat.

He stayed.

The scaffold settled.

[Transfer complete.]

[Host condition: critical fatigue.]

[Beast tolerance: stable.]

[Skill pattern status: corrected foundation unlocked.]

The bridge snapped off.

Simon hit one knee. The doctor caught his shoulder before he went all the way down.

Across the room, Eleven shook himself once.

Then his forelimb darkened.

Not the sloppy flash from the yard. This was a clean black sheen rolling from shoulder to paw, held for one full breath, then released.

The evaluation system chimed.

B-011 BLACKSTEEL

FOUNDATION HARDENING: STABLE

BOND CONSENT: ACTIVE

HANDLER LIMIT: MEDICAL RESTRICTION

Maya covered her mouth with one hand.

Lydia recorded everything.

The senior trainee, watching from the corridor with two other staff, whispered, "That cub couldn't hold hardening yesterday."

Simon wiped blood from his upper lip. "Yesterday had bad instruction."

His voice came out thin, but it carried.

The doctor's tablet pinged. "Consent imprint valid. Medical restriction severe. No field combat for forty-eight hours."

The clock on the wall read 10:47.

The transfer release died fifty-three minutes before noon.

The handler arrived with a new document, pale-faced. "The private buyer's objection failed."

Lydia accepted the file. "Reason?"

"Recorded voluntary preference, corrected foundation skill, and welfare-risk conflict. Also..." He glanced at Simon. "The buyer used a disposal-transfer form while offering a starter resale clause."

Maya's voice cooled. "So he wanted to buy a failed cub cheap, then sell him as corrected if Simon's footage proved useful."

The handler did not answer.

He did not need to.

Lydia's pen moved across the tablet. "Forward that to compliance."

There it was.

Not a punch. Not a speech. A paper cut in the right artery.

The senior trainee stopped watching and left the corridor.

Eleven padded over to Simon's side of the room. The cub could not cross the medical line, so he sat at the edge and stared at the doctor.

The doctor stared back. "I am not the villain here."

Simon leaned against the bond plate. "He is deciding whether you are food-adjacent."

Eleven huffed.

Maya laughed once, short and startled.

The handler cleared his throat. "There is still a license condition."

Simon closed his eyes. "Of course there is."

"Limited starter-bond status requires one Commission-supervised task within twenty-four hours or the bond remains kennel-restricted. Given Mr. Vale's medical limit, only noncombat tasks qualify."

Lydia pulled up the task board.

Most listings were gray. Pest suppression, barrier repair, arena cleanup after live drills, low-rank escort. All locked by medical restriction, insurance, or gear deposit.

One listing remained blue.

PLAINFORD DISTRICT TRANSFER TASK

BAMBOO FACILITY INTAKE AUDIT

BLACKSTEEL COMPATIBILITY: PREFERRED

PAY: 500 COMMONWEALTH MARKS + FEED CREDIT

RISK: LOW / ADMINISTRATIVE

Maya's face changed before Simon finished reading.

"What is the Bamboo Facility?" he asked.

Lydia answered first. "A private training site with Commission contracts."

Maya's jaw tightened. "And a history of making Blacksteel cubs look worse than they are."

The task board refreshed.

STATUS: CLAIMED BY SIMON VALE