Jerry did not understand why Alex was doing it.
He noticed the changes first. Alex was out of bed before the bell every morning, sweating through his shirt by the time Jerry woke. He came back from the yard red faced and panting, dropped onto the floor, and did push ups until his arms shook.
At the end of class he slipped away to the gym while Jerry went back to the dorm to read.
’Why is he working so hard on this?’ Jerry wondered. ’It’s not in the books. Kelly never mentioned it.’
He asked once, over breakfast. Alex only shrugged and said his body felt better when he moved it. Jerry did not push. He went back to his tray and let it go.
Then, halfway through the second week, he turned a page in his textbook and stopped.
It was a short Chapter near the back of the Volume he was currently reading , it was easy to miss. The heading read Physical Conditioning and the Pilot. He read the first paragraph, and then the second. By the third he had stopped breathing.
The suit amplified the body, it said. But it could only amplify what was already there. A pilot with poor endurance tired quickly in the suit, no matter the synchronization. A pilot with weak muscles could not control the frame’s full power.
The gap between a conditioned pilot and an unconditioned one showed most clearly in the first minutes of a fight, and sometimes those minutes were all a pilot got.
Jerry read it twice.
’So he was right,’ he thought. ’He knew before I did.’
The next morning, he was waiting outside the dorm when Alex came back from his run. He stood with his arms folded, shifting from foot to foot.
"I want to come with you," he said. "To the gym."
Alex looked at him, still catching his breath.
"You need a permit."
"I’ll ask Kelly."
He did. She gave him a card without asking why, only raising an eyebrow and scribbling her name. That afternoon, when the bell rang, Jerry gathered his book and followed Alex down the stairs.
The gym was bigger than Jerry had expected. It filled most of the ground floor, a wide room with a rubber floor and a high ceiling. Along one wall stood a row of machines. Weights lined another. Mats covered a corner, and a pair of heavy bags hung from the rafters. Kelly leaned in the doorway with her arms crossed, a stopwatch in her hand.
"Forty five minutes," she said. "I’ll be here."
She didn’t usually join Alex when he used it alone.
Jerry stood in the middle of the floor and turned in a slow circle.
"I don’t know how to use any of this," he admitted.
"That’s ok." Alex pulled him toward the first machine. "I’ll show you."
He was not an expert, but he had learned enough over the past week to explain the basics. He showed Jerry how to adjust the seat on the chest press and how to set the pin in the weight stack. He showed him how to breathe out on the push and in on the return. He showed him how to keep his back flat and his elbows soft, and he corrected the way Jerry held the bar until it looked right.
"Start light," he said. "Way lighter than you think."
"How light?"
"Lighter than that."
Jerry lowered the pin by three plates and tried again. This time the machine moved smoothly. He pushed, exhaled, returned.
"Ok," he said. "That’s better."
The first day went by in a blur. They moved from machine to machine, Alex demonstrating, Jerry copying. Leg press. Shoulder press. Rows. Lat pulldowns.
When they were done, Jerry’s arms were trembling and his shirt was soaked, and he lay on the floor with his eyes shut, laughing weakly at the ceiling.
"I can’t feel my legs."
"You will tomorrow."
He was right.
The next day, Jerry limped down the stairs like an old man. Every step sent a spike of pain through his thighs. But he showed up, and Alex showed him the next set of movements, and he did those too. The third day was better. The fourth was better still.
The week passed that way. Every morning Alex ran. Every afternoon they trained. Each night they walked back to the dorm side by side, too tired to speak, and fell into their bunks. Days ticked off on the little clock on the desk. Monday. Tuesday. Wednesday. The other inmates in the facility watched them in silence from across the room, and no one bothered them.
By Friday, Jerry could handle real weight. He was not strong, but he was steadier. His shoulders held straighter. His breath no longer came in ragged gasps between sets. He could do ten push ups without collapsing.
Alex noticed. He said nothing, but he noticed.
On the last afternoon of the week, they finished their circuit and sat on a bench with towels around their necks. Kelly had stepped out for a moment. The gym was nearly empty.
"Hey, Alex," Jerry said.
"Yeah?"
"Do you want to spar?"
Alex turned his head.
"Spar?"
"You know. Fight. A little." Jerry’s eyes were on the mats in the corner. "There’s a section on it in the book. It says you should practice with a partner. I want to try."
Alex studied him.
He did not answer right away. A cold thought had slid into his head, and he could not ignore it.
’He’s a criminal.’
The boy sitting beside him was thin and pale and had cried on the bus, but he was also the one who had told him about a robbery that went wrong and a man who was not supposed to be there. Somebody had died. Alex did not know how much of it was an accident.
’What if he pulls something stupid? He could go for the eyes. Or the throat. Or grab something heavy.’
He looked at Jerry’s hands. They were small and fidgety. They did not look dangerous.
’Then again, he’s asking nicely.’
He weighed it for a while, and in the end he nodded.
"Ok. Light. No dirty stuff."
"Right."
They pulled on a pair of padded gloves from a rack near the mats and stepped into the corner. Alex stood loose, hands up, knees bent. Jerry mirrored him awkwardly, his elbows sticking out at strange angles.
"Ready?"
"Ready."
Jerry charged.
It was a wild rush, all arms and no plan. He swung a punch from far too low, and Alex slipped it with a half step and let it pass. Jerry stumbled forward. He swung again, harder, and Alex leaned back from the waist. The glove whistled past his chin.
’He’s fast,’ Alex thought, surprised. ’But he’s got no idea what he’s doing.’
Jerry kept coming. He threw a flurry of punches, most of them wild, some of them close. Alex blocked with his forearms and backed toward the edge of the mat. He did not hit back. He wanted to see how far it went.
Then Jerry overreached.
He put his whole weight behind a straight punch and left his ribs wide open. Alex stepped inside it, let the glove slide past his ear, and tapped him once, lightly, in the side. It was barely more than a touch.
Jerry gasped and stumbled. His foot caught on the edge of the mat, and he went down on one knee.
Alex stopped and lowered his hands.
"That’s a point," he said.
Jerry stayed on the mat for a second, breathing hard. His face was red. He pushed himself up slowly and stared at Alex.
"Again," he said.
They went again. The second round was the same as the first. Jerry rushed. Alex slipped and tapped. The third round went slightly longer, and Jerry got one clean hit against Alex’s shoulder before being knocked back onto the mat. By the fourth round he was wheezing.
"That’s enough," Alex said. "You’re tired."
"I’m fine."
"You’re not."
Jerry looked at him for a long, hot moment. His jaw was tight. His eyes had gone bright and wet, and his gloves hung from his fists like anchors.
"You think you’re so much better," he muttered.
"I didn’t say that."
"You didn’t have to."
He yanked the gloves off and flung them onto the rack. Then he turned and stalked toward the door, his footsteps loud on the rubber floor.
"Where are you going?"
"To read."
The door banged shut behind him.
Alex stood in the empty corner of the gym, his hands still raised. He lowered them slowly and shook his head.
’Sore loser,’ he thought. But he almost smiled.
He did not think much more of it that night. He was tired, and Jerry was asleep by the time he reached the dorm.
But the next week, when the bell rang after class and Alex walked down the stairs toward the gym, Jerry did not follow.
He stayed in the classroom with his book open on the desk. He did not look up as Alex left. He did not come the next day, or the day after.
Jerry never came back to train.