“Of course not,” Janus said meekly, “I was just trying to make a point.”
“So is it worthwhile to alienate everyone under your command to make a point on an issue you are wrong about?”
Janus began to open his mouth. “It doesn’t matter whether or not the strategy was correct!” Celes fumed. Janus closed his mouth again. “Marcus was your team captain. You were to follow his orders, whatever they may be. By ignoring him and disrespecting his authority, you undermine your own! Honestly, I thought you had some brains,” she shook her head. “Marcus, come here.” Marcus obeyed immediately. Janus caught a glimpse of the Colonel and Wouris. Both were looking at one another with eyebrows raised. “Marcus, you’ll give Janus a duty to perform tonight that is normally performed by the Valhalla maintenance Daeduluses. Janus, after you perform that duty, the two of you will meet, shake hands, and Marcus will promise to follow your orders exactly tomorrow when we deploy. Is that understood?” She gave both of them a hard stare.
“Uh, yes… uh, ma’am,” Janus and Marcus chorused together.
Celes’ pleasant expression returned. “Now what duty should Janus perform, Marcus? I think it should be something unexpected, yet something that any Adept might be assigned as punishment.”
Janus heard Lyn whisper to Ramirez, “Can she do that?”
“Don’t see anyone arguing,” Ramirez grunted back.
Marcus thought for a moment and cleared his throat, “Uh, what about cleaning all the dishes in the mess. Is that fair?” He asked hesitantly, looking at Janus. Both had their heads cowed. Janus nodded.
Celes looked pleased, “Good.” She smirked evilly at Janus. “Now, all that excitement has made me rather hungry.” She addressed the crowd, “Would any of you like to join me?”
Chapter 9: Punishments
Janus scrubbed furiously at every new pot and pan, every stained dish and plate, trying to relieve his boiling anger. But every new dish only seemed to add fuel to the fire.
All of them. Enjoying themselves, knowing I would scrub them. And all because of Marcus. And Cel— A familiar voice cut him off, “Janus! You stubborn fool! When are you going to learn? What are you going to do?” Janus paused his scrubbing, staring at the pot before him. His face was twisted in the warped metal of the pot. Clara’s voice softened in the back of his head, “Sometimes, we’re our own worst enemy.” He quickly dropped the pot into the water.
Janus finally finished late into the night, but decided not to eat. He couldn’t bear the thought of washing another dish. Besides, his stomach was still churning from his anger and humiliation as everyone in the mess had handed him his or her dishes. Instead, he had felt compelled to head up to the Garden.
Walking slowly through the trees, he tilted his head back to stare through the roof of the dome. It really was beautiful at night. Celes’ rock, however, was deserted. A pang of disappointment struck him, but he sat down upon it and looked up at the night sky, the yew’s branches forming dark streaks within the stars. The night was strangely comforting. It was just like the everlasting darkness of the slums. The twinkling stars were like the glowing lights of the upper levels, holding some great promise, yet always unreachable. The air was warm and still.
The slums…Clara.
Running his fingers through the coarse grass reminded him of his bed in the slums, and sitting there, long ago, when Clara had told him of his adoption. How he had wondered, at that moment, what it had been like for him, before he was abandoned. But Clara had hugged him, bringing him back, and said, “Don’t live in the past, Janus. You’ll miss what you’ve got now.”
Janus stood up from the rock. Everything seemed quieter now, even the brook. Walking slowly through the wildflowers, cast in shades of purple and red in the night, he wondered if anyone was still up in the common area. The sound of familiar footsteps stopped him at the open door of the Garden.
“Good evening, Praetor,” Janus said, saluting.
“She told me I would find you here. At ease,” Janus relaxed, but only slightly. The Praetor watched Janus carefully, noting how his eyes had briefly darted to the space behind him. “She understands you quite well,” the Praetor said pensively, “I wonder why? But still, she was bit fearful of whether you wanted to see her, after tonight.”
Janus turned away, looking at the creek trickling along behind him, “Celes shouldn’t worry, I’m not mad at her. Just a bit – angry, with myself.”
The Praetor gave Janus a hard look, “You know, both Wouris and I thought we had made a grievous error promoting you. We even considered whether we might have to strip you of it.”
Janus nodded, but did not look up.
“However, under the circumstances, I think the punishment concocted by Miss Celes is far more appropriate.”
The Praetor took a step towards Janus, “It is a dangerous thing, pride.”
Janus looked up at the Praetor.
“It can cause great men to do the most foolish of things, blind them to the truth. It can lead any man to sin and believe he is doing good for it.” The warm air of the Garden fought with the cool air from the rest of the city wafting in through the open door, whirling around Janus. “Great leaders are made by teaching them that pride is their greatest enemy. A man cannot learn it without being humbled, yet humble him too much, as both Wouris and I almost did today, and you will alienate him and destroy any chance you have to teach him.” Jennings turned away, “Celes… she may make an excellent Praetor someday, don’t you think?”
“Indeed she would,” Janus said simply.
The grey-haired man watched Janus carefully, “Although, I’m certain she believes you would be the better choice.”
Janus smiled slightly, “But she would never tell me that for fear that it would make my head too big. Unfortunately for her, my head’s already too big and I take it as a compliment I’ve managed to keep everybody fooled.”
The Praetor laughed, a deep laugh that surprised Janus. “You know, that’s the first time I’ve heard you open up all the while you’ve been here.”
“I think Celes has that effect on me.”
“It’s not necessarily a bad thing,” the Praetor smiled again. “Now, I believe Marcus is waiting for you to come shake hands with him and accept his full cooperation for the mission tomorrow. Perhaps you should go let him get to sleep; otherwise he might be tempted to drop his end of the bargain.”
Janus nodded, stood at attention and saluted, “Sir.”
The Praetor saluted back, “Lieutenant.”
Janus found Wouris waiting for him at the entrance to the lift. She stared at him as Janus stopped in front of her. He gathered himself together under her wilting stare and looked back into her eyes.
“I deeply apologize, Sergeant Wouris. Never again will I call into question the value or importance of any fellow Adept, no matter their rank. It was inexcusable.” Janus waited in front of her, his eyes unfaltering.
She gazed at him for several seconds and then nodded. “Good. We meet tomorrow at 0500 hours for final briefing.” She joined him on the lift. “I expect the best out of all Adepts I train. Don’t disappoint me again, Janus.”
Janus saluted and said loudly, “Yes, sir.”
Wouris gave him a hard stare, “You shouldn’t salute me; besides what did I tell you about –” Janus cut her off.
“I believe that since I now outrank you, I’m free to pay you respect by addressing you as I would any other fellow officer.”
Wouris smiled, “Yes, sir.”
As the lift arrived at the bottom, Wouris called out to him as he jogged away. “Oh, and Janus?” He paused. “I expect to see a proper victory next time you play Brigg’s Ball. No excuses.” Janus smiled and hurried off to Sigma 3.
The common room was full. Evidently, everyone was waiting for his arrival, as the room immediately hushed as he entered. Ramirez towered above the adepts, Lyn perched on a chair beside him; both watched him with hard, uncertain looks. Marcus was sitting in a chair, al
l alone in one corner of the room. Janus hesitated for a moment, suddenly feeling the weight of his embarrassment again, and then strode forcefully over to Marcus. Lost in thought, he was staring through a window outside. Janus waited behind his chair for a moment, “Marcus.”
Marcus started and stood up swiftly, saluting, “Sir.” It was awkward, and Marcus shifted uncomfortably. No one breathed.
Janus swallowed and shook his head, “At ease.” He stuck out his hand, “There is no need for that, Marcus. Just keep calling me Janus.” He spotted Celes staring at them from her door, but she averted her eyes. “Sometimes, we all need a reminder of who we really are.”
Marcus smirked and said, “Well, in that case, I’ll try not to forget you are in command.” He grabbed and shook Janus’ outstretched arm. “Now, can we get some rest before we go into battle tomorrow?”
“Yes. In fact…” Janus said, turning to the conspicuously curious crowd, “I think we all should get some rest, it could be a very busy day tomorrow.” The Adepts didn’t react, “NOW!”
“Sir, yes sir!” Adepts leapt from chairs, nearly colliding with each other, as they sped towards their rooms. Janus felt a tug of delight at the sudden activity, and he struggled to contain it.
And then he saw Celes turn back into her room. The delight vanished, “Except for you, Adept Celes. I would like to talk to you for a moment.” The Adepts hushed again and became still. Janus’ eyes roamed the room, “Alone…” Doors quickly slid shut.
Marcus gave Janus a hard look from his doorway, “Don’t be too rough on her.”
Janus remained impassive as he watched Celes walk slowly back through the empty common room.
She stopped in front of Janus, her eyes boring deep into his. Janus felt a slight surge of anger as he stared at her, and a brief grimace crossed his face. Celes recoiled slightly and looked away.
For the first time since he had met her, Janus thought he saw a small glimmer of doubt deep in her eyes. Janus immediately felt himself lurch in discomfort.
“Celes…”
Her gaze dropped to the floor and she choked slightly. “I’m… I’m sorry, Janus. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Her voice rose in pitch, “I got carried away. I don’t understand why I was so angry. It really isn’t my problem, but I just couldn’t accept what you had done…”
“Wait, Celes. I’m not angry at you,” Janus stepped forward, and put a hand on her shoulder.
Celes looked up, her eyes searching his face. Janus pulled his arm back, and looked away. “Thank you, for doing what you did. I needed it. The Praetor said that you were… concerned about how I might react. That you thought I might be angry.” Janus turned away, “But I couldn’t be angry – at least not with you.” He paused and she gently touched his hand. Janus turned back to her, “I’m angry because I screwed up. Because I’m –,” he felt another hot surge, “afraid. Afraid that I’ve damaged my command, my honor – my friendships.”
Celes smiled a bit, “Well, I was afraid I had gone too far.” She paused. “Sometimes the most terrifying things are those that force us to look at ourselves, and wonder what would happen if we could have those few moments back.” She squeezed his hand, “But you won’t have to worry about me.”
“I’m glad for that,” Janus said solemnly.
Celes pulled her hand away and waggled a finger at him, “Good, because you better not expect me to go through anything like that again.”
Janus tried not to smile.
“Well,” Celes said with relief, “think we’re ready for the mission tomorrow?”
“Yes, although I’m still concerned about my command.”
Celes nodded. “You shouldn’t worry about Lyn, Ramirez, or anyone else for that matter. They were disappointed, but they still trust you. Marcus will take time, but he will stay true to his word. I don’t have to tell you that it was a bad idea to let Marcus lead the Brigg’s Ball team today.”
“It was my fault, not his,” Janus said sternly.
“I know that, but it might have been prevented if you had immediately taken issue with him being in charge.”
“I have no problem with him being team leader,” Janus said defensively.
“Then why did you ignore his orders?” Celes said forcefully. “You should have taken command of the team so there could be no dispute about ‘rank’. It might not have been a popular decision with Marcus, but if you cannot make an unpopular decision, you are not fit to lead.”
Janus stared out at the night sky.
Celes smiled softly, “But now I am telling you things you already know.”
Janus turned his head to look at her, “Yes, but sometimes hearing something again is what allows us to do it.” He chuckled, “Clara certainly beat that one into my skull. I swear she aged twice as fast trying to deal with me.”
“And she would probably age even faster if she knew you were about to head out on another mission with a lack of sleep.” Celes said.
Janus nodded, “Yes, she would.” Janus crossed the common room slowly, still reflecting on the night. He paused at the sliding door to his room. “Celes…” Celes stopped in her open door. “Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Chapter 10: To Lightemann’s
Janus woke up to a light tapping upon his door. He rubbed his face ruefully – he was a little sore from the beating he had taken during the game yesterday. He had forgotten to stop by the medical ward after last night’s unfortunate end. Now he would need to go in for a Nanyte injection.
That will be costly. He winced. Very costly.
The tapping sounded again, and he hurried to the door to open it. He was surprised to find Wouris there.
She looked serious, “Come with me.”
Janus quickly threw on a training suit and his boots and chased after her.
She led him to the Beacon of Need. It was dark inside; only the moon above shone through the high skylights, granting a measure of light. Janus paused at the door, the black Infernus armor with the skull face sat silently in the middle of the room.
Wouris walked over to it, motioning for Janus to follow, “I want to show you something.”
Janus stepped carefully into the room, remembering the last painful lesson he learned here from Wouris.
“Do you remember when you first faced this monster?” Wouris asked.
Janus nodded. When he had been training to be an Adept, they had faced ‘Death’ in a mock battle. Janus had been disarmed and knocked backward by the powerful armor. Had it been a real battle, he would have surely died.
“I am going to show you a technique for killing an Infernus if you are completely unarmed.”
Janus was surprised – he hadn’t realized such a thing was even possible.
“It is an extremely dangerous technique and should only be used in the direst of circumstances. At best, you will break your foot, and at worst, the Infernus will kill you.”
She pointed to the narrow slit of a visor that formed the only vulnerable spot on Infernus armor, ‘It requires absolute precision and perfect technique to execute. You must connect the toe of your boot with the exact center of the visor. The visor will shatter, sending it into the face of the Trooper inside. At the very least, they will be exposed, injured, and disabled – if not killed outright by the force of the blow. Very few people know it – I learned it directly from the Praetor – and fewer still can claim to have done it. I didn’t show it to you before now, because frankly, I don’t want you practicing it. I only want you to have it should it be absolutely necessary for your use.”
Janus nodded in understanding.
“The goal is to torque your body so that you can apply maximum force to that tiny area. Stand over there,” She pointed to a spot beside the Infernus. Janus had a side profile of the hulking armor, its red visor just glinting in the dim light.
Wouris walked a short distance away. She took a running leap, and flipped herself over in mid-air. In the moonlight, she seemed to move in slow mot
ion, far too slow to harm anything. In an instant, her body whipped around, and the toe of her boot streaked by overhead – just at the height of the visor, and for a brief moment, the two seemed to collide, and Janus could imagine the visor shattering under the force of the impact. And then Wouris tumbled by, using the momentum of her kick to roll by the Infernus and spring to her feet.
“Do you understand?”
Janus nodded.
“Good. Now you have a mission to prepare for.”
Janus hopped into the showers and enjoyed its warmth for what we would likely be the last time in many days. Carefully strapping on his armor, a greyish-black designed to meld with the swamps surrounding Lightmann’s ridge, Janus made sure every fold, every crease, and every strap was perfect. If he was fit to lead, he would make sure that he led well in every facet of his command.
Returning to his room, Janus felt a rush of excitement. A new shelf had appeared in his wall racks, and there, gleaming in the middle of a red felt cloth, was a Ghostblade.
A small note was there, glowing on the screen of his desk.
“Janus, talked to the Praetor and thought you might be able to use this until we can make you one of your own. Godspeed, Captain Rogers.”
Janus looked in delight at the weapon. Two power cores lay beside it, ready for use. Janus grasped the handle of the unpowered weapon, pulling it from its shelf. It was simple, but that only added to its beauty. Double-edged, the blade was thinner, and longer than normal. Whirling it above his head, Janus tested the balance and the speed of the weapon. It was slightly heavier in the pommel to compensate for its length. It had good balance, but it still didn’t feel perfect to him – just like the Praetor’s more ornate weapon. Perhaps it was impossible, but he felt there should be more…snap.
Janus pulled a power core out from the shelf, and with a twist, installed it into the weapon. Immediately, the weapon began to hum with energy, pulsing with heat. It was said that the Praetor himself had a hand in the making of every Ghostblade in Valhalla. That he was a master sword-smith and that he marked each blade with his symbol. Janus flipped the weapon over, searching for a sign. Near the base of the handle, he found it. A small crescent moon, stamped into the metal. Taking one last look as the blade turned a dull red, Janus grabbed the sheath and strapped the weapon to his back. He smiled at the familiar weight.
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