Wings

by Fearadhach MecRaudri

  Once she had her boots on, she stood, intending to head to her lockers and change. A few of the eggs looked about to challenge her, but even sparing uniforms had rank insignia sewn in. They got a look at the stripes on her cuffs and the belt around her waist and thought better of it.

  The distinctive splack of wing meeting flesh caused her to stop her progress toward the lockers. She turned toward the sound to find one of the juniors whom she most despised sparing with another of the egg-heads. She couldn’t even remember the junior’s name. Just another of the silver-spooned twerps whom she had needed to slam into the mats a few times. As she remembered, this one had actually taken a second session, and a cracked rib, before he took the hint.

  The egg, however, she managed to put a name to: Santiner. He had been one of the ones assigned to her for orientation, and she had to admit that he'd been far better than any of the other freshmen in that group. Not only did he not leer, but he actually got onto his fellows a couple of times when they got out of hand. She’d had to put him in his place immediately, of course. Couldn’t have a bunch of egg-brains thinking she needed protection from a freshman, but he didn’t seem to take it personally. She had mentally added him to the small list of 'good eggs' in her mind.

  After a moment of watching the fight she found another reason to be impressed with the boy. He had made it to a red-belt! Some seniors who never made it past red, and here he started at it. This fit with the intensity she had seen in him, though. He had that haunted single-mindedness she had come to recognize in others like her: people in this to make The Column pay.

  She noticed Ventur eyeing the same match, and alternated between watching the fighters and watching the instructor. She had to admit a liking for the man, even if his face seemed to be set into a permanent scowl and his only moods seemed to be grumpy or grumpier. He might be hard, and tough, but he was always fair... and did not show the favoritism toward the silver-spoons that many other instructors did.

  This fairness made him one of the most popular instructors with the low-born students like herself, and his taciturn manner made the silver-spoons -so used to being fawned over- seem to practically thirst for his approval. She supposed his popularity made speculation on what had maimed his wing one of the general past times around the Academy with students competing to come up with the wildest and most unlikely story. Despite his hard reputation, she found him to be an excellent teacher, and always willing to teach a little extra if you were willing to learn.

  Ventur turned his attention towards another mat, and her attention returned to Santiner and the junior just in time to see the older boy use his wing to prevent Santiner from circling to the side. This caused the beginnings of anger to stir in her belly. Only black belts with at least one knot were allowed to cause contact with another’s wings, even to block. This was a protective measure, since only a knotted black could be trusted to strike a forming wing without risking damage to it. This also meant that birdboys were strictly forbidden from using their wings in any way when facing those who could not attack them.

  She realized that the junior had been using both his circling and wings to keep Santiner’s back to Ventur, which kept the junior facing the instructor. This meant that he could tell when the instructor faced away, and he could use his wings freely to keep Santiner off balance. Santiner had obviously figured out his opponent's intent and tried to check over his shoulder, but the older boy used his wing to slap the younger off balance, then deliver a harsh blow to the gut.

  Santiner staggered back, and she felt a grudging respect as he kept his feet. She noticed that Ventur had turned back to the boys after hearing wing hit flesh, but Santiner had no way of knowing that, and so remained hemmed in by the wings.

  It only took a few more moments for her to realize how well the junior had Santiner trapped. Every time he started to act his movement was matched by a wing twitch which would be interpreted as normal movement by anyone who didn’t know that the birdbrain had been using his wings to advantage. The two stood staring at each other, appearing to be in a contest of wills with both making small movements of the body, but never quite moving their feet.

  Finally, Ventur turned away, and Santiner’s opponent started cheating again. The featherboy hit him about the head with each wing in rapid succession as he moved in, keeping Santiner off balance and confused. Santiner had been lifted up then dashed to the ground before he could even sort out wing from body. She felt her temper rise even further as the featherhead not only abused the rules, but threw Santiner down every bit as hard as she had thrown her over-persistent the egghead.

  This egghead deserved some credit, though. He only lay there stunned for a few moments. Then he looked up at his opponent looming over him, gave an insulting smirk, and sucked air back into his lungs. He did a kip-up, something she doubted she could manage that quickly after that sort of throw, forcing the other guy to backpedal -hard- or risk a head in the nose. The upperclassman's eyes flickered to Venture before he signaled his readiness to continue. The featherbrain’s smirk never wavered, even after Santiner managed to get a well-placed toe into his stomach, and sent him to the ground. The jerk stood, and waited for Ventur to turn before nodding his assent to continue. Santiner attempted another lightning close, but a wall of feathers flew into his way him. His sudden stop brought him momentarily off balance, and that gave the junior all the opening he needed.

  So, it went for fall after fall. She found her respect for the freshman (did she actually not call him an egghead?) growing as he stubbornly refused to leave the mat nor to sink to his opponent’s level. Fall after fall after fall. Ventur had turned his attention away from the two of them completely now, and the featherbrain actually kicked Santiner once after he'd gone down. She didn’t know this jerk’s problem, but she felt hot anger rise in her cheeks.

  Santiner lay on the ground again, and the bastard went to kick him, but this time got an elbow slammed into his shin. He limped back slightly in surprise, and Santiner kipped to his feet.

  They gave no signal this time, the two simply went at it. She realized that, even though the weasel had a red belt, Santiner had him completely out classed. She knew that silver-spooned featherbrains were sometimes given marks they didn’t deserve, but didn’t realize that could actually extended to combat marks as well. He had not gained that belt from Venture. Who then?

  Her newfound respect to the freshman began to wane. He should have, by now, either refuse to continue the session or gone ahead and taken the demerits for attacking the wing.

  This bastard needed learn. She pushed off from the wall, adjusted the three knots on her own –black- belt, and started for their mat, ready to challenge this jerk to fight someone from whom he couldn’t hide behind his wings, when Santiner finally stood up for himself, and artfully. The featherbrain made a full-body attack, knee coming up and fist swinging in from outside with a wing right behind it in a maneuver that would bring either fist, wing-joint, or knee into hard impact with Santiner’s body.

  The freshman stepped clear of the threatening knee, brought his open palm up in a thrust-block which just happened to miss the fist and landed squarely upon the mid-wing joint. The distinctive wet splack of palm on cartilage sounded through the hall, muffled by feathers, and the silver-spoon reprobate went down screaming.

  Ventur rushed over at the sound of the impact. The instructor held no expression on his face, and listened almost impassively to the bastard writhing on the floor. The Junior alternated between screaming in pain and demanding that Santiner be disciplined for attacking his wing.

  She pulled her lips into a line, realizing how bad this could get. She had wanted him to give the wing a good swat, not do serious damage to it. The jerk’s wing had already started to swell slightly, and his screaming had become mumbles as blood rushed to the injury and the junior turned white with pain. She feared the boy had gone into shock, with his face ashen and bone-white hands clutching the wing joint. She couldn’t help but smile to see t
he smugness gone from that face. He could barely able to get his accusations out through clenched teeth and tears of pain.

  She took another look at the wing, and realized that real damage had been done. That joint would require serious therapy before it could take weight again. The fool had just earned himself an extra year at Academy, he'd be out for months with no way to catch up.

  As she realized the extent of the injury, she also realized that the featherbrain had stopped responding to anyone. He just repeated his accusations, word for word, a litany of demands that Santiner be punished. The realization hit her like a brick, and turned her disdain for the junior into flat-out hatred. He had planned this! His accusation had been memorized, planned out ahead of time.

  She did not know the reason that the idiot would do such a thing, but the intent suddenly became clear. He had entered into the bout with a plan to either humiliate Santiner by illegally using his wings, or get him a huge pile of demerits for attacking them.

  The one thing the now-writhing bastard had not counted on was Santiner’s ingenuity, nor the depth of his skill. She felt some small satisfaction from the fact that he’d bought himself an extra year of training with his stunt. However, her anger stoked even higher as she realized what this could mean for the freshmen.

  There would be a full disciplinary hearing, with the potential for expulsion. She doubted that they would actually expel him, since he could plausibly claim an accident, but this would follow and haunt him for the rest of his career unless someone did something now. The fire of fury fully ignited, she advanced with deliberate steps towards the mat, walking slowly to ensure that Ventur would notice her approach.

  Venture’s posture spoke volumes about the knowledge that far more was going on here than the obvious, and that he did not want to do what he had to do, but he had no choice.

  The rules regarding wing contact during practice were harsh and strict, and were there for a reason. Even the fully matured wings of a Legion birdman were fragile and difficult to repair. In the trainees this was both more and less true. It took some time for the wings to fully form and complete their growth, during which damage to the soft tissues of the wing -like the wingsail- would repair so quickly it seemed regenerative. Damage to the cartilage-bone structure, however, could permanently cripple an adult wing.

  Wings still in their final growth phase could recover, but this idiot had just bought himself weeks of intensive care, all with no guarantee that they wouldn't have to cut the wing off and make him re-grow it. She felt a very reluctant pang of sympathy there. Even he didn't deserve that. Not quite.

  Venture motioned the student MP’s to come over, and told them to place Santiner under house arrest until an initial hearing by the Commandant could be called. That she couldn't understand. Take him to the Commandant, yes. Even hold him in detention, but a full hearing? That could mean...

  It hit her like a brick, then. The subtle disdain she'd seen from some of the silver-spoon teachers ever since she put that particular jerk in his place. The demerits she'd been given unearned from the same. How unreasonable some of the teachers, and the other silver-spoon students, could be. This little fink had very high-placed connections. Santiner would not be disciplined for this, he would be expelled. Tossed out of not only the academy, but the legion as well, and possibly put in jail besides. Her cheeks grew hot and her feet directed themselves toward Venture. Every shred of self-preservation, and of her ambition, screamed at her to stop. Something else, deeper within, over ruled them all.

  She shook her head angrily and stepped directly in front of Venture. Egghead or not, the boy didn’t deserve this. “Sir, I witnessed the whole thing, and respectfully request that I be allowed to speak before you place this freshman under arrest.”

  A look of relief, chased by fear for her, passed so quickly across the instructor’s features that she doubted anyone else caught it. He nodded, and she continued, “Sir, the freshman here did nothing wrong and has, in fact, put a great deal of effort into following the special combat rules despite this one’s flagrant abuse of them.” She made a dismissive gesture toward the junior rolling on the ground clutching his wing. He was in a cold sweat now, clutching his wing and mumbling his litany of accusation.

  “He has been using his wings as both offensive weapons and a defensive shield for their entire sparring match. He was doing a very effective job of herding Santiner with them such that he could keep you in sight and not get called on his actions. The swing which caused this mess was an offensive swing of both hand and wing, aimed at the freshman’s head. The freshman’s move was to block the fist, but instead hit a wing joint which was where it had no business being.”

  Ventur’s face grew darker with her every word, and his chin began to tilt downward slightly. “You are sure of this?” At her nod he leaned forward slightly, and fixed her with an even harder stare. “You are absolutely sure?” She nodded. “Sure enough to go before a disciplinary hearing and testify on his behalf, knowing that the cameras in this room are not working today?” She nodded again, her face growing hard. “Even though he will almost surely have plenty of friends there to back him up?”

  She tossed her head to clear her hair out of her eyes, and stared unflinchingly at him. “I do not fear these ‘friends’ of his, sir.” She increased her volume, and changed her posture so that the freshmen, the ones who had been cheering the fool she had slammed on the mat, were included in the conversation. “Besides, I am not the only one who saw what he was doing. Right?!?” With that word she raked her gaze across the room, daring anyone to claim not to have seen what happened.

  She picked out one young man who she had noticed wincing when Santiner had taken a blow. “You! Michelson, is it? Am I wrong? Have I distorted anything at all?” The one she called out hung his head and stepped out. He looked about to speak, but an animalistic growl came up from the junior writing on the floor. They locked eyes for a moment, then Michelson hung his head and mumbled incoherently. Another sweep of the room showed that all the other cadets hanging their heads, refusing eye contact.

  A space had formed around Michelson, as if they didn’t want some taint from him to be transferred to themselves. Her mood went from angry to fully enraged. “And you call yourselves cadets??? Pride?!? Honor?!? Courage?!? I see none of that here. I see a bunch of ball-less little boys who are unwilling to stand up against the school bully! You are going to let this worthless, silver-spoon, feather-brained piece of trash get away with intimidating you like this? While he is writhing on the ground!? Would one of you little pukes please grow a pair!

  “Look around you! LOOK. Ask yourselves if you want men who crumple like this standing next to you in a firefight! Look at yourself! Would you want you standing beside you in a firefight? I’m going to copy down the sign in sheet when I leave here. I want to know the names of you worthless, spineless, gutless, castrated cowards before I leave here so that, if any of you dumb bastards don’t realize what worthless wastes of genetic baggage you are and drop from the Academy, I can make damned sure you are never at my back when things are truly tough!

  “You walk these halls with your heads high, and your backs *so* straight, so full of pride at being Academy Cadets. Where is that pride now? Where are those spines you are so proud of!?! I’m a Crash-damned girl, and I have more balls than all of you put together! I don’t know how you bunch of little spineless worms managed the courage to beat out the rest of the sperm and get to your mother’s egg!

  “So, that’s it, is it? Is that all there is. The pride of the Academy? Is this all your much-vaunted honor really comes to? Is there not a one of you with the courage to simply admit the truth of his own eyes?!”

  Her fellow cadets seemed to grow smaller with each word, heads hanging lower and shoulders slumping. What she saw sickened her. The room was being used predominantly by the underclassmen at this hour which was, of course, why she had come here now. Only now it looked like she'd have to teach a lesson to an entire room full of g
reenies, rather than one.

  She shook her head, put her right foot forward, turned her hip slightly, and put her left hand on her hip. She’d brought them down enough to listen, now time to push them, see if they had the strength to push back. She hoped to The Rescue that they did.

  Her head shook a few times as she began to speak, causing short brown hair to sway slightly. “Oh, you poor, poor, pitiful boys. You think you can just sit there and let this pass over you. Tsk, tsk tsk. Do you think really think you are Cadet material? Academy material? Legion material? When a single girl, also a cadet and smaller than most of you, can cow you all? You hopeless, childish COWARDS!!!” She spat the last word with all the venom and contempt she could muster. She brought her feet abruptly together, and punctuated the first syllable of the word with the clackers on her boots, the non-verbal command to call everyone in the room to attention.

  It worked. They all snapped to attention, forcing them to stand tall, unable to hide within themselves as her accusations washed over them. They all stood for a moment, chins high but eyes turned down under the weight of her words.

  She held her breath, trying not to show it. She had done all she do, it was now up to them. She managed to keep her breathing controlled as one of them finally brought his eyes up, and had to suppress a smile as she saw Pride return to them. The smile grew even harder to suppress when she looked at the junior lying on the ground, and saw his eyes go from anger to pure hatred.

  All the extra hours she spent to earn those clackers on her boots suddenly became worth it when the young cadet began to speak with a steady, strong voice. “It is as she says, Sir, though she doesn’t have all of it. I will testify to this as necessary.” The greenie -a sophomore- turned a level gaze on her after Ventur nodded grimly, and she could feel him daring her to challenge him further.