by Sam Clark
“Bear seems to give him some trouble.”
“No, my lord, not really. Your brother’s just playing with Bear, waiting to the last second to raise his blade and all that. He’s just trying to make it a challenge. Bear’s got strength and a surprising amount of speed, but he’s no hand with a sword.” Austin grinned before continuing. “He’s as likely to hurt himself as somebody else with those big hacks he takes.”
“Well, what about Thoka? He’s clearly better than my brother.”
“He’s not better with a sword than your brother.”
“Then why does Thoka win?”
“Well, let me try a metaphor, my lord.”
Preston raised an eyebrow, surprised that Austin knew what a metaphor was.
“Take you and Bear. I’d say you’re a better swordsman than him. Your technique’s much cleaner, and you’ve got a lot more moves. That being said—and no offense, my lord—Bear’d kill you in a fight as it stands. Wouldn’t be much of one, either.”
Not exactly what Preston wanted to hear, but he wasn’t delusional. He knew the truth of it, so he let Austin continue without objecting.
“First time his blade hits yours, with one of those big swings, your sword’ll be in the next county. All the technique in the world won’t change the fact that you’re not quite fast enough to avoid all those big old hacks of his. Sure, you might juke one or two swings but likely not three or four. And as bad as Bear’s technique is, nine outta ten times it’s good enough to get four or five of his big swings off against you before you’d be able to break through his guard. When he connects, you’re not strong enough to deflect the blow, and that’s that. Again, no shame in it. Not many are strong enough to stand against Bear. I can, but after we spar, I’m usually so sore I can’t dress myself for a week.
“Now in the metaphor, your brother’s you and Thoka is Bear—”
“That’s more of an analogy than a metaphor, Austin.”
“As you say, my lord, but it don’t really matter which it is. Point’s the same. Thoka is stronger and a lot faster than your brother. And unlike that lout Bear, Thoka is pretty good with a sword. A bit sloppy with his technique at times, but his speed makes up for it. He’s good enough that he can last until his speed and strength advantages make the difference.”
“A fine analogy, Austin.”
“Thank you, my lord, and I think we should turn down this side street up here on the left. I want to make sure we ain’t being followed.”
Preston resisted the urge to turn and look around. “Are we being followed?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Guy who came in the bar after Gamma, he’s back up the street a bit. And I think I’ve seen him in the Eagle a few times before.”
“He’s probably a regular.”
“Probably, but better safe than sorry, I always say.”
“Lead the way.”
FOURTEEN
Location: Underground
Date: 8-31-61
In the aftermath of her encounter with Marisa, Czarina determined that the key was getting her alone. If she could just see Marisa one-on-one a few more times, she could make some real progress, and one of her goals would be within reach. To facilitate this, she pushed back the start time of her runs so they ended at the same time as their first encounter. She even started taking it easy during her workouts so she wouldn’t stink the next time they met. However, after two weeks, she’d had no success.
It had been just another two weeks, like all the weeks before. The monotony was weighing more heavily on her after having a taste of something different, even if it was just a burnt-out bulb and a superficial conversation with a girl. She was starting to get desperate. Her morning pep talks went from totally positive to totally negative in the span of days. She wasn’t sleeping. Despite being exhausted, she dreaded lights out. To be alone with her inner critic, with nothing to distract it, to be forced to revisit all her personal failings on a never-ending loop, wasn’t exactly something to look forward to. Any perverse enjoyment it gave her was long gone. Getting out of bed each day was proving more and more difficult. There was no denying that her mental state was deteriorating rapidly. If something didn’t change soon, she didn’t know how much longer she could carry on. She thought she might not be able to last until her seventeenth birthday.
After the first ten days, she started ending her runs increasingly early, in case she was just missing Marisa. A quick, light jog, and then she would just loiter in the halls, slowly walking along the path she suspected Marisa would take. When she got to the end of the hall, she would turn around and walk back to the door leading to the exit tunnel, beginning the process all over again. In the four days she’d been doing that, she had only met one other person: Jenkins. There had been no conversation, only an exchange of dirty looks.
By the fifteenth day, she was at her wits’ end. She had managed no more than an hour’s worth of sleep the night before, and she was ready to give up on more than just Marisa. She was ready to pull the pin and chuck it all.
She decided to stop stalking the halls like a desperate loser and start the lonely walk back to her family’s quarters. Partway back, she saw Marisa coming toward her, alone.
Czarina’s heart began to pound. Sweat begin to trickle down her back, and it had nothing to do with the very slow jog she’d finished a short while ago.
She’d thought about almost nothing else for two weeks, but now that it was here, she was panicking. She’d had thousands of imaginary conversations in her head, and it was as if every single opening line she’d thought of was trying to burst from her mouth at the same time. In that moment, she was certain she couldn’t have spoken a coherent sentence if her life depended on it, which was probably for the best, because she was also certain every single line she’d thought up was wrong.
Just as she decided to cut her losses and keep her mouth shut, with the hope that ‘hard to get’ would work, Marisa made the first move. She winked, clicked her tongue, and gave Czarina the finger gun.
“Wow, Marisa, that was totally lame. I’m embarrassed for you. I mean, what kind of loser winks and clicks their tongue like that? And then to add in that finger gun thing? Not good,” Czarina said, flashing a big toothy smile. A moment later, she realized she’d forgotten to substitute her fake smile, but she didn’t care.
“I was just trying to make you feel better,” Marisa said. “I mean, what you did last time was probably the least cool thing anybody has ever done in the whole history of the world. I was worried you’d be suicidal.”
At the mention of suicide, Czarina’s mind was invaded by an image of her mother, her vacant eyes unblinking, staring up at the ceiling, both arms crisscrossed with deep lacerations, blood dripping down to the floor like a waterfall, forming a large puddle on the ground. So much blood. Then, there was her own ticking clock. Only fifty-five days left. For just an instant, the smile dropped off Czarina’s face. When it returned, the full grin had been replaced by the small, lopsided smile she practiced in the mirror.
She wasn’t sure if Marisa could tell, but the silence between them stretched, and Marisa began shifting her weight from foot to foot. Finally, Marisa reared back and punched Czarina in the shoulder. It wasn’t gentle—it was exactly as hard as you’d expect from someone who grew up in such a martial environment—but she did it with a playful smile on her face.
“Ouch,” Czarina said mockingly as she rubbed her shoulder. “What was that for?”
“For not appreciating my kind gesture. And don’t be such a baby. You train with the men; you should be tougher.”
“I’ve always been more of a lover than a fighter,” Czarina said, raising her eyebrows suggestively. She was only brave enough to say it because she knew Marisa would take it as a joke. Still, the half-second between when the words left her mouth and when Marisa started to laugh seemed much longer. But the momentary anxiety was well worth the reward of hearing such a beautiful sound.
Then Maris
a’s laughter cut off. Her eyes went wide as her smile faded.
Czarina was about to ask her what was wrong when something solid smacked into her back, sending her falling forward. Czarina’s training took over. She prepared herself to land by twisting her body so that she faced whatever or whoever had hit her, and tucked her chin to her chest while throwing her forearms back as she approached the ground to absorb the force of her fall.
Czarina hit the ground hard, but other than a stinging sensation in her forearms and ass, she wasn’t much the worse for wear. The only thing she did wrong, in her estimation, was closing her eyes on the way down rather than trying to locate her assailant. She could, and would, chastise herself for that in depth later. However, right now she had more pressing concerns.
Steve was standing over her, scowling, his hands already formed into fists.
“Hi, Steve. Always good to see you,” Czarina said. She just couldn’t help herself.
Steve growled audibly.
As near as Czarina could figure, the only reason the assault hadn’t continued after her wise-ass comment was because Steve couldn’t decide whether he wanted to use his feet or his fists to bash in her skull.
He raised his right foot, as if preparing to stomp on Czarina. Feet it is.
However, before Steve could bring his foot down, Marisa stepped in and pushed his right shoulder back, momentarily putting him off balance, and turning him slightly away from Czarina. This gave Czarina enough time to sit up, then jump to her feet and away from Steve.
Steve immediately tried to step around Marisa to get at Czarina, but Marisa moved gracefully to stay in front of him.
She placed a hand on Steve’s chest. “What are you doing? We were just talking.”
Steve was a good head taller than his sister and acted as if she wasn’t there at all. He just stared at Czarina, unblinking.
Outwardly, Czarina appeared unfazed by all this except for a slight shaking in her hands from the surge of adrenaline. Unlike most people, she wasn’t particularly afraid of Steve. The worst Steve could do was hurt her physically, and Czarina didn’t fear physical pain. It was one way to feel alive in the bunker. However, she was not going to deliberately seek it out. She would not let her own thoughts sabotage her.
In a fair fight, Czarina was no match for Steve, but she had no intention of fighting fair, and every intention of liquefying Steve’s nuts. Ideally, though, she wouldn’t have to fight him at all.
Steve reached around his sister and pointed an index finger at Czarina. “Who said you could talk to my sister, asshole?”
Czarina made a show of dusting off her shirt. “I wasn’t aware I needed permission.”
“Well, you do.”
“Whose?”
“Huh?” Steve let his hand drop back to his side.
“Whose permission do I need?”
“God, you’re as touched in the head as that dipshit grandfather of yours. Mine, who else’s would you need?”
Not him too, about James… Put it aside. “I don’t know. That’s why I asked. And while we’re at it, why exactly do I need your permission?”
“Because I said so.”
“That’s not a very good reason.” Czarina knew she was playing with fire, and there was no telling what would set him off. However, his hands were no longer closed into fists, making Czarina feel that the danger was past and she could have some fun, or at least a reasonable approximation thereof.
“Because she’s my younger sister. How’s that for a reason?”
“Okay,” Czarina said, “then does that mean you need my permission?”
“Need your permission for what?”
“You talk to my younger sister all the time”—Steve had been at Isabella’s side every day since Czarina had first seen them together—“and you never asked me for permission.”
“I don’t need your permission to do anything.”
“That doesn’t seem fair.”
Steve shook his head. “God, you’re dumb.”
“I suppose, if you say so.”
“Let’s get out of here, Marisa. Dad’s waiting for us.”
Czarina waved. “Bye, Steve.”
Steve gave Czarina his version of the dead-eye stare for a few seconds. Czarina wasn’t impressed; it was a pale imitation of his father’s. He really should practice that in a mirror. Steve then grabbed Marisa by the wrist, turned, and left, dragging his sister along behind him.
Czarina decided to press her luck. “Bye, Marisa.”
Thankfully, Steve didn’t look back. But Marisa did, and she was smiling as big and bright as Czarina had ever seen. It was beautiful. Even better, she waved goodbye with her free hand.
Czarina was jubilant. The way Marisa looked at her as Steve dragged her off—perfection!
She spent the evening joking and laughing with James and Isabella as they watched old TV shows. It reminded her of how things used to be, before her moods had started to take her, before the whole Steve thing. When Czarina went to bed that night, she thought she might actually achieve one of her goals. The excitement of it kept her up most of the night, but when she eventually did fall asleep, she did so with a smile on her face.
FIFTEEN
Location: Underground
Date: 9-1-61
Czarina was catching her breath, hands on knees, after finishing her run. She’d pushed herself harder than she had over the last two weeks. And she was glad she had. It felt good to run fast again. She’d done so mostly because she didn’t expect to see Marisa in the corridor again for at least another ten days. As near as Czarina could figure—and she’d spent a lot of time figuring— Marisa had to have some specific reason to be coming through that corridor alone once every couple of weeks. So, Czarina was free to be a smelly, sweaty mess after her runs for the time being without having to worry about bumping into Marisa. However, even if she’d wanted to hold back, she couldn’t have. Her muscles seemed to have a mind of their own, a desire to go faster and faster, and she’d gladly obliged.
She left the exit corridor, and was quite surprised when she almost collided with Marisa.
The suddenness of their meeting allowed Czarina to speak without overthinking it. “Hey, Marisa, how’s it going?”
Marisa didn’t respond. Instead, she took a quick peek behind her. Czarina’s eyes were drawn to Marisa’s left wrist. The sleeve was pulled up enough to reveal a nasty bruise, a mix of red and deep blue, clearly the result of a hand grabbing and squeezing.
“What happened to your wrist?” Czarina asked, despite knowing the answer. It had to have happened yesterday, when Steve dragged her off.
Marisa looked back at Czarina and rubbed the bruise with her other hand. “This? It’s nothing.”
“How’d you get it?”
Marisa leaned toward Czarina slightly. She was so close to Czarina now, they were practically touching. Czarina could smell the faint hint of soap on Marisa’s skin. It was distracting, but not nearly as distracting as her ample breasts. It took every ounce of willpower Czarina could muster not to peek down.
“Oh… um, at free fighting,” Marisa replied.
Czarina decided not to point out the obvious lie. The girls’ physical training followed the same schedule as the boys—it was just easier—and they hadn’t had a free-form session recently enough to have been the cause of a fresh bruise. Instead, Czarina said, “How’s the other girl look?”
“Huh?” Marisa said, once again looking over her shoulder. She looked back at Czarina and said, “Better than me.” A short burst of laughter punctuated the statement. It certainly didn’t sound anything like Marisa’s laugh from the day before. It felt nervous. Forced.
“I seriously doubt that,” Czarina said. It was a little bold, but as another one of her mantras went, fortune favors the bold.
Marisa smiled weakly in response. She was clearly anxious—afraid, even. And it didn’t require a careful study of facial expressions in the
mirror each day to see it. It was there in the quick glances over her shoulder, the forced laughter—but somehow, it wasn’t… right. There was something else there, maybe, something under the fear, but Czarina couldn’t quite place it. Something about the intensity of Marisa’s gaze when she looked at her, the slight lean forward… and Marisa’s head was held high, and there wasn’t any slump in her shoulders.
Marisa placed a hand lightly on Czarina’s shoulder, and a tingle shot down Czarina’s spine. “You’re sweet, Czarina.”
Czarina was so busy congratulating herself she almost missed what Marisa said next.
“But,” Marisa said, taking her hand off Czarina’s shoulder, “I can’t be seen with you anymore, or…”
Czarina waited for Marisa to continue, but when it became clear she had no intention of saying anything else, Czarina asked, “Or what?”
“It’s Steve. He doesn’t like you, and he doesn’t like us talking.”
Czarina dismissed Marisa’s concern with a slight shrug of her shoulders. “Who cares what Steve thinks or wants. What do you want, Marisa?”
“You know, you’re the first person to ever ask me that. I like you, and I like talking to you.”
All the practice in the mirror paid off, as Czarina was able to suppress the urge to grin like an idiot.
“But Steve will hurt you.” Marisa touched her bruised wrist.
Czarina was caught off guard by her abrupt change in fortune and felt the corners of her mouth dip for just a fraction of a second before she regained control. How could Marisa think she was afraid of her brother? He was just a bully, and bullies were nothing. Would Napoleon have been afraid of Steve? Alexander? Caesar? Or Washington? Nope, not one bit, and neither was Czarina St. John. “Your brother doesn’t scare me, Marisa.”
“He should. He’s crazy. He hurts people all the time—his friends, me—and he doesn’t mean to. When his temper gets a hold of him… he blacks out. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but Dad covers it up. Some of the other officers complain about it, but…” Marisa shrugged her shoulders, then continued. “What do you think he’d do to somebody he didn’t like? Somebody who embarrassed him in front of all his friends? No, Czarina, we shouldn’t talk anymore. I like you too much to see you hurt. Goodbye.”