She caught a motion from his hand and noticed that he had tucked a thumb into his belt. His black belt. She had to smile at that, though she kept it to a half-smile. She allowed her chin to dip slightly in respect to the younger cadet, for the challenge implicit in his action could not have been easy. He had seen her trounce the other guy, and probably several of his other classmates.
Many of the remaining cadets began to step forward, added their willingness to testify, each mimicking the stance of the one who had gone first. By the time they were done she had counted all of those she’d noticed watching, and a couple more. She finally allowed her features to soften, and nodded slowly toward the young men, acknowledging them as worthy of her respect. They stood a tiny bit straighter as she turned back to Venture and saluted smartly.
“Sir, the accusation has been formally charged and confirmed by three or more witnesses.” An amused shuffling came from the cadets at the phrase ‘three or more’ as the regulations were quoted. “I respectfully request…”
Ventur waved her to silence with a gesture, his face unreadable. “No reason to quote the regulations at me, young lady. You have done the right thing here, don’t spoil it by being officious at me in my own practice room. You two, grab a stretcher and take him to the infirmary.” He then looked down at the gasping junior, “As for you: two demerits for breaching the Rules of Engagement, two more demerits for doing so with premeditation, and two more demerits for willfully making false accusations against a fellow Cadet, and two Honor demerits for accusing him of the very infraction you were committing!”
A slight collective gasp rose at this. Six demerits for a single infraction would likely have triggered a panel of inquiry on this guy, but the two honor demerits stacked on top would force a panel to convene. This guy may have bought himself time in the pen, on top of an extra year at the Academy.
Ventur hadn’t finished, however. “Furthermore, you need to learn that those rules are there to protect you, not be used at your convenience to try to show up someone who is a better fighter than you. That joint of yours is probably going to need surgery, if for no other reason than to make sure that you don’t get clots caught in the wrong places. It is going to be several hours before they will be able to control the swelling enough to do anything.
Perhaps a strong dose of pain will set the lesson in where the Academy, thus far, has not. I am forbidding that they issue any form of painkiller or pain relief until five hours have passed, or they are ready to perform surgery, whichever comes first.”
This brought a full gasp from the room, and the cadet on the ground began to howl in pain and rage. He turned eyes full of hate and promised revenge on Ventur as the two students, one of them a freshman bird candidate, went about loading him on the stretcher.
The wounded Cadet screamed threats in a voice strained with hate and pain. “Do you realize who I am, you old fool!?! Just who do you think you are to sentence me out of hand like this? As if I was one of the rabble in here seeking favor? I’ll have your job for this! I have friends! My family has friends! You will be lucky if.. AHHhhhHH” his words fell into an unintelligible scream as he was lifted and, none too gently, placed on the stretcher. Before he could launch into another tirade a wing-candidate cadet leaned down to whisper briefly in his ear and he fell silent, glaring at Ventur. His glare did not waver until the other two had carried him out the door and out of sight.
The rest of them stood there stunned. Venture had taken a personal risk in handing out that strong of a punishment on his own initiative. Instructors, especially combat instructors, had a fair bit of latitude when it came to dispensing discipline…but denying painkillers to someone with a forming and injured wing? That generally went beyond the pall. Of course, a cadet acting as this one had was the same.
Lura shook her head slowly as she watched the looks of admiration turned on the combat instructor. She did not know why he'd be willing to do that and, by the set of his shoulders, be ready to face the fight his actions would bring, but she decided he must have some sort of reason. She hoped he wouldn’t have too much in the way of problems. She’d had a good opinion of the man before today, and now considered him to be one of the best men she’d ever known.
She hoped that idiot cadet’s family would not be able to make too much trouble. The Commandant generally discouraged that sort of thing, but trying to stop influential families could be like trying to stop the wind: they would find an opening somewhere.
Ventur appeared to shake himself from some private reverie and turn his attention back to the room. He first looked at the cadets who had chosen to stand for their fellow. He allowed an expression of approval onto his face, and met each of their eyes in turn. This was his way, she knew. Ventur would never say two words when one would do, and not that if a look or gesture was enough. Each cadet straightened as he felt the approval of the instructor they had come to admire.
Each cadet met the instructor’s gaze, then turned his head to her, nodded in the informal salute which underclassmen were required to give Seniors of rank, and quietly left. Their actions puzzled her slightly. The nod was generally a begrudging or absent minded thing, and this situation did not require it, but they did it anyway. They also seemed to mean it.
As the implications of those salutes began to sort themselves out in her head, Ventur went to talk to Santiner. It seemed strange that heaping humiliation on a bunch of underclassmen had somehow earned her newfound respect in their eyes, but she put the puzzle aside in an effort to listen to what Ventur had to say to one in particular.
Only a few words were intelligible, but the gist of it seemed to be Ventur telling him to learn better control of his rage, how he should have backed out of the fight, and caution about allowing his hatred for The Column to consume him. This caught her attention, and she was able to hear Santiner’s angry reply to the mention of The Column, and speaking of what it had cost him in his life. A curious sadness seemed to come over Venture’s eyes at the vehemence of Santiner’s answer, and the instructor decided against pushing the matter further.
Venture then turned and raised his voice enough that it would carry to her, “That was a brave thing you did, Lura, but foolish. All the more foolish for not stopping that fight and informing me! I know how you like to handle your problems on your own, and would hate to have anyone interfere with one of your special ‘lessons’ to the underclassmen, but allowing that farce of a fight to continue was severely out of line!
“I expect better from a Senior who has earned her clackers, do I make myself clear?” He waited for her to acknowledge the point, then crossed his arms and glared at her until she could manage to put the proper note of meekness in her manner before continuing. He then turned back to Santiner, “Due to the nature of what has happened, I am confining you to quarters until such time as this matter can be taken up with the Commandant and he approves your release.
“Don’t look at me with that tone of voice, boy! Her theatrics may have gotten you out of being placed under guard, but you still have to stay put until the matter is settled. Use the time to cool your head so that you don’t go out and get yourself in further trouble. That’s an order, by the way.”
Venture turned back to her. “I would hand you a demerit for failing to perform the duties of a Cadet non-Com by not stopping that fight, but to do so would weaken your position in the tumult which is about to come down on top of every one of us who was in this room, and none of us need that. Instead, I am ordering you to escort Mr. Santiner here to his quarters, and wait outside his door until you are relieved or his confinement is lifted.
“That is all. DISMISSED!”
He got the last words in before she could even form her protest. She swallowed her irritation at being handed that sort of menial duty, particularly with plenty of MP’s-in-training still in the room. But he'd made an order of it. As she began to escort him out of the room they began to talk quietly. She felt surprise at how easily the conversation flowed between them, a
nd found her irritation at the duty slowly, reluctantly, slipping away. She found this a little disconcerting, but decided the matter did not deserve much analysis.
***
Ventur watched the two cadets walk out of the combat hall. Just as they made the door, he noticed a slight shift in the girl’s movements and a tilt of her head, just so… He started to call them back, but the demands of discipline stopped him. He silently cursed himself for a fool for not seeing it sooner, then shrugged. What would be would be.
His sub-conscious may even have pushed him to do it. The two of them reminded him so much of his lost friends, Natia and James. They had been an excellent match for each other, and nearly dead-ringers for these two. James had been full of fire and vinegar, much as Santiner, but for not quite the same reasons. Natia had been the same, and both of their fires had been rooted in a drive to help those whom they saw as the downtrodden in society.
These two were such a close match to that pair. Both full of fire, her from a large family, him from an unknown background. The differences between them and his lost friends were easier to count than the similarities. James’s family had been of lower status than Santiner’s, but known. Natia’s had been of higher status than Lura’s, and directly related to Cohen to boot. These two held a razor-sharp hatred for The Column, where his friends’ passion had lain in compassion instead. Either way the passion of both pairs was to bring justice to the world.
He could admit to himself, now, after all these years, that he had truly loved Natia, and would have taken her as his own if not for James. The friendship with James had been strong, however, and he knew that James loved her more. There had never been any discussion, in fact he felt sure that his friend had never known.
Natia did, however. They had spoken of it once, in a strange, almost surreal conversation where she admitted to loving them both, but a cold analysis of personalities had revealed to her that she and James were a better fit. She had shed a single tear that night, then vowed to help him find a mate who matched him as well as she matched games, and that she would always love him as a friend and brother. Yes, these two were a close match for his old friends, ready to take up another’s cause as their own. He just hoped that the two of them found a better end to than the two he had lost.
He shook his head again to clear it of old memories, turning to the task at hand. His mind went to the reports to be filed. He didn't even want to think about the Crash-damned flack he knew he'd catch over the punishment handed out to that fool with the busted wing. Wouldn’t be the first time, though, and this time the justification happened to be true: he didn’t want to have to put up with that kind of thing happening again. He might lose a few day’s pay out of it, but not publicly.
Then came the matter of the girl. She had shown solid command potential, well above that required to have the clackers on her boots. He would put her in for officer consideration, for she certainly had the leadership skills required. He couldn’t help but admire the way she had taken a bunch of young men who were ready to jump at their own shadows and brought them to stand up against an upperclassman, and a winged one from an established family at that.
Being able to do something to advance the career of one who deserved it always brightened his mood, and so a slight smile played across his face as he sat down and began the paperwork.
Chapter 12
Torfan knocked on Sharon’s door and fidgeted with the bottle in his hand. His wife had needled him about going on a hot date when he left with the bottle, but she’d known the truth. He and Sharon had barely spoken in the weeks since the confrontation in Lucas’s office, and this bothered both of them. It was not, exactly, a matter of avoidance on either of their parts, just the fact that they worked in very different circles and kept all too busy. He had suggested that they make it a point to spend some time together on a regular basis. She had agreed, and they had decided to meet once a week for dinner as long as they felt a need. In order to make his wife feel comfortable they had set the first meeting at his place. He smiled to himself at the memory of that evening, and so found himself smiling as Sharon answered the door.
She had dressed simply, in her typical subdued work slacks and blousy shirt. She returned his smile and let him in. He set the bottle on the nearby counter and took a look around, surprised by the class of quarters she had chosen. She could have requested one of the larger suites in the base, but she had instead taken a mid-sized two bedroom apartment, and converted one bedroom into a second office.
Looking around confirmed some of his initial suspicions about her. The living room, kitchen, and bedroom were completely spotless, except for evidence of a thin coat of dust recently removed. The rooms were Spartan, with simple furnishings and few decorations.
The decorations told their own story, however. The ancient vase, the replica painting of what appeared to be a city on Old Earth, and the lamp which could have very well been a survivor of The Crash… all these told of a woman used to moving in sophisticated circles. Only the office looked like it had ever been used. A pile of papers lay on the corner of desk he could see, and the soft glow coming from the room spoke of at least half a dozen screens.
He hugged Sharon and walked over to set the wine bottle down on her kitchen table. She had set the table for two, with a simple spread of steamed vegetables, sautéed beef, and rice. A glance at the kitchen and showed it to be as spotless -and unused- as the rest of the place. Sharon laughed lightly, “You don’t have to worry, Torfan, I have no wish to burn the base down, nor to poison you. The food was ordered in. Last week’s disaster in your kitchen from my abortive attempt to help your wife was enough for me.”
Torfan chuckled softly with her, “I don’t know how you do it, sometimes, Sharon. You can take any event and turn it to your advantage. You nearly managed to set my wife’s kitchen on fire twice, something which is nearly a hanging offence with her. Yet, somehow, that was the perfect thing to do to set her at ease.”
”I think it had something to do with her seeing me standing there, hair out of place and soot on my blouse, looking disheveled and annoyed, that ended any worries that made her feel threatened. I also thought she took the whole situation with remarkable aplomb, by the way. Please let her know I said so.”
”I shall do so first thing. She did offer to teach you to cook, by the way. She said that anyone who savors food as much as you do should learn how to fix it. Well, anyone but me, because I have her to take care of that for me.”
“Wow, sweet, saucy, and brave, I like her more and more. She is a heck of a lady. Tell her I appreciate the offer, and warn her that I may just take her up on it. Actually, you should probably warn the fire crews as well.” The she delivered an impish grin as she motioned for him to sit.
He chuckled and accepted the offer, “I’m surprised you would show such an interest now, after what happened. You always struck me as the sort who does not suffer looking foolish gladly, and you have to admit that you didn’t look your best standing there wreathed in smoke.” He raised a hand to forestall any ire from her at his comments, “I only mention that because it turned out to be the best thing you could possibly have done. What happened, and how you handled it, and your willingness to laugh at yourself, somehow managed to disarm my wife’s deep-laden emotions in ways nothing else possibly could have. I have to hand it to you for that.”
A rueful smile came to her lips as she prepared her plate and dug in, “Well, it wasn’t what I planned, but you can’t argue with results. As for wanting to go back and learn, you are right, I despise looking foolish. I also despise having anything that I can not do. Therefore….” She waited for him to acknowledge the point, then continued, “I am just glad that you were able to pull rank and get us some food, or the whole thing could have turned into a disaster.”
“Yes, well, I don’t like abusing my authority like that, but sometimes it is justified. Thankfully the kitchen staff didn’t begrudge me the privilege, although I have a feeling that they will r
emember it the next time they want something. Ah, the joys and trials of leadership, I guess.”
Sharon smiled around her fork, and they continued to talk amicably through dinner. They spoke with a boisterous candor which made the exchange of ideas easy, and found themselves each helping the other to find solutions to all sorts of problems. After some time the moved from the table to the couches, and found themselves in danger of totally losing track of time.
As the evening moved on they became aware of how much time had passed, and by unspoken agreement began to wind their conversation down. As Torfan rose to go, however, Sharon fixed him with that piercing stare which made one feel like a bug pinned in a child’s display case. “Ok, Torfan, out with it. Candor is part of the point of these meetings, and you have been trying to force yourself from asking me some sort of ‘indelicate’ question all night.” Her chin tilted down sternly at his half-formed protests, and she leveled another hard stare at him, “I am not promising to answer you fully, or even to answer at all, but I know you well enough now to know that you need to get the question asked.
Even a refusal to answer from me is information of a sort, and your unconscious is going to plague you with this until it gets some sort of answer. Whatever it is, we are friends.” Torfan kept his own surprise off his face at her reaction to the word ‘friends’. Her eyes widened, and she rocked back slightly in the chair, looking away - down and to the left. The motion came and went, almost unnoticeable, but it spoke volumes even though it didn’t cause her to miss a beat. “I promise not to be offended enough to be angry at you for more than a couple of days.” She allowed her lips to quirk in a half-smile at that last statement, and leaned forward as if to hang on whatever words came next.
Torfan poured them both another glass of wine, and settled back into his seat. It took a few moments of hesitation for him to find the words, and ended up directing his speech at his glass rather than her, “There are a great many mysteries about you Sharon. It is only as I have gotten to know you better I that I realize just how many there are, and how significant they are. But first, the reason I hesitate to bring this up.
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