Another pro was that, though she wasn’t a war veteran like the Ichthyothians, she was no stranger to facing and defying death against all odds. She’d managed to defend herself from the System in hand-to-hand combat when she was only ten, though outnumbered and untrained.
Scarlet also had great foresight. At sea, she could glance at any situation and almost instantly figure out what was likely to occur next and how it should be handled. She was always several steps ahead of her comrades. She could keep track of a dozen things at once; she saw everything and remembered everything. She moved through the water nimbly and gracefully, her body a white blur that evaded every crosshair. She had Amok’s dexterity, Inexor’s dependability and the awareness and aim of…well, an eye-mage, I supposed. All in all, Scarlet was simply the most brilliant and capable subordinate I’d ever had. I was excited about working more closely with her. And, I was far from easy to impress.
But, the risks of promoting Scarlet were also many. For one, her authority would be hard for the others to swallow, despite her obvious brilliance. Scarlet was younger and smaller than everyone else, and a woman. And, to everyone’s knowledge, Nurian. I knew the Ichthyothians would be uncomfortable with having to answer to any Nurian, much less a petite Nurian woman. I was well aware of the chasm that persisted between the two nationalities, despite six long weeks of joint training. I knew the only thing that could begin to close that gap was the harrowing life-and-death experience of real battle, which we were yet to experience together.
Scarlet was also a risky choice for personal reasons: my bizarre draw to her hadn’t abated, despite my best efforts. It was going to be tough to work so closely with her without that feeling intensifying. For six weeks, I ignored my best soldier, hoping that strange interest would fade. For six weeks, I didn’t make optimal use of the incredible asset she could be. And, for what? Nothing. I hadn’t made any progress with stamping out my dangerous fascination with her. Instead, I was just frustrating myself every day, knowing I was willfully wasting her incredible talents. I couldn’t do that anymore. It was stupid. The fleet needed her. Ichthyosis needed her. I needed her, working with me, in position of influence, where her brilliance wouldn’t be hampered. As for my draw to her, I was just going to have to suck it up and have some discipline, because Ichthyosis needed me to and my job was to do whatever was best for my country, no matter my personal struggles. Having Scarlet as my second-in-command was the best choice for this fleet, and I was just going to have to deal with whatever challenges that tossed in my path. Just because I was attracted to her—intellectually and physically—didn’t mean I had to be a fool and act on it. I figured I, of all people, would have the self-control to maintain a professional relationship with her. I had the willpower to interact with her without things escalading into a violation of the Laws of Emotional Protection.
Not that she’d necessarily want it to escalade, anyway. Whatever spark I’d perceived between us during our talk in May was now long gone, at least on her end; these days, she only ever regarded me with a distant, fearful gaze.
As my divers headed for the barracks, I caught Scarlet’s eye and motioned for her to come speak with me.
“Call everyone to attention,” I told her. “I have one last announcement to make.”
I stepped back a few paces, giving Scarlet plenty of room, waiting to see how she’d handle this.
Wide-eyed, she turned and called, “Attention!”
And, for the first time in the history of my command, my men didn’t respond to a call of attention.
“The Commander has another announcement!” Her face reddened all the more. “Hey, everyone!”
Those nearest to us turned and watched with some amusement on their faces. The ones closer to the door just kept walking. Scarlet was rapidly failing her first test. I took three strides forward.
“Atten-HUT!” I erupted.
The room went silent as every man halted and whirled around, snapping their boots together.
“I believe my second called you to attention, soldiers! I don’t care if the System dropped an incendiary in here; there’s never an excuse to break discipline in my fleet! Understood?”
One-hundred-nine hands saluted in unison, to the sound of, “Sir, yes, sir!”
I could practically feel the heat of Scarlet’s cheeks burning, beside me. She looked down at her boots.
I went on with my original announcement: “I’m holding an officers’ meeting in the lecture hall, promptly at thirty-four o’clock. Be late, and that’ll show me just what kind of leader you’re going to be. Now, go check your unit assignments. Dismissed.”
They filtered out into the corridor. Scarlet hesitated, looking at me.
“Go,” I ordered, rather sharply. “I’ll see you at the meeting.”
And, she fled, like she couldn’t wait to get away from me.
Fifteen minutes later, my twenty-two officers entered the hall. They were exactly on time. I knew Scarlet arrived at least five minutes ago—I saw her small boots pacing, below the door-crack—but she waited for the others to catch up and walk in with her. She was that afraid to be alone in a room with me?
I went over what I expected from them, as leaders and sub-leaders, then opened the floor to tactical discussion. They took notes, asked questions and addressed one another with confidence and respect. The Nurians—who usually tended to be wordy, beating around the bush with tiresome ‘pleasantries’ whenever they needed to say anything—made a special effort to be direct and concise, as they spoke with the Ichthyothians. The only one who didn’t make a peep the entire meeting was Scarlet. She had the most brilliant, creative mind of anyone at the table, and she didn’t make a single comment. I was seeing red.
At thirty-six o’clock, I dismissed them. Scarlet was the first one out of her seat.
“Miss July, a word,” I ordered, in Nurian.
She turned with that disorienting, astonished expression on her face as the last of the officers disappeared down the corridor. We were alone.
“Close the door.” I didn’t make further preamble, or suggest she sit down, or anything of the sort. I was pissed off. “Let’s get one thing straight, right now,” I advanced on her, pitch low and intense. She actually took a step back, lower lip trembling, ever so slightly. “I don’t care if you’ve got more magic than the entire Tincture administration.” I grabbed her roughly by the collar. “If you’re going to be my second, you’re going to cooperate with me. Period. That involves opening your damn mouth in a strategy session. We’re re-entering this war in a matter of weeks—maybe even days—so you better drop the wide-eyed-shy-little-girl act or I’m demoting you to the pit of hell. Got it?”
The surface-rider-in-the-shuttle-lights look didn’t leave her face, but she saluted me solemnly.
“Yes, sir,” she breathed, in Ichthyothian.
Suddenly, the door opened. Colonel Austere, a laptop and binder in his arms, stopped dead when he caught sight of us. His eyes slowly traveled from my angry scowl, to my hand on Scarlet’s collar, to her saucer-stare.
“Is there a problem, Commander?” Austere asked, faintly.
I let go of Scarlet and she backed away from me about three yards.
“No, sir,” I answered. Austere always had a way of making me feel like a schoolkid.
He blinked. “Should I come back later?”
“No, sir. We’ve just finished.”
I waved for Scarlet to go and she practically flew out of the room. I gave Austere one last glance before following suit.
His eyes were confused and suspicious.
“If you ever have trouble disciplining your soldiers, Commander, you can always come straight to me,” he called when I was halfway down the hall.
“Thank you, sir, but that won’t be necessary,” I retorted over my shoulder.
Scarlet was already about a hundred feet ahead of me. She had a lot of weight on her small shoulders, now. No one in this fleet would carry the brunt of the war like the two of
us. As I watched her tiny body flee, I wondered if I made the right decision, after all.
Scarlet July
What was wrong with me? I tore down the hall like System warriors were on my tail. What was I so afraid of? I skidded to a stop, unbuttoned my collar and inhaled the frigid air, still feeling the aftereffect of the Commander’s grasp. So, I was a good flyer and a quick strategist. So, what? That just made me a better diver. That didn’t mean I could lead. My head spun. Since I laid eyes on Lechatelierite, there was nothing on Second Earth I wanted more than for him to think highly of me so he could use my gifts against the System. All I could think about since setting foot on base was how badly I wanted him to promote me so I could finally work closely enough with him to make a real difference. I would’ve been comfortable with becoming a sub-leader, perhaps. But, second-in-command of the entire fleet? I’d never really led a group in my life. Most of my existence was spent in some degree of solitude. And, now, I was supposed to be the right hand of the Leader of the Nurro-Ichthyothian Resistance.
Something small and white passed silently to my left, in the darkness. It was Lechatelierite, making his way back to his quarters. His last words to me tonight were a threat of demotion. I’d been his second for all of two hours, and already he was considering taking it away.
I forced myself to continue down the hall, creeping quietly past Lechatelierite’s quarters. Right next door was Amok’s old room. Mine, now. So, I wasn’t going to hear Nurtic’s viola serenades in the barracks, anymore. I’d miss them.
I entered the unfamiliar space. It was small, with a bed, desk and laptop. I sat down on the edge of the bed, put my burning face in my hands and wondered what would happen, now. It’d be irresponsible not to do my best with what Lechatelierite gave me. I may not have felt ready to take on this position, but he apparently thought I was, which meant I was obligated to give it everything I had. Sure, I had plenty of ideas. But, knowing what to do with the fleet wasn’t the problem. It was getting the others to listen to an eighty-pound, sixteen-age-old, ‘Nurian’ girl with secret Conflagrian origins—that was the real problem. Despite his age and physical littleness, Lechatelierite’s authority came forth from him like breath. He managed to keep everyone under his thumb, but while still giving us enough freedom to contribute our individuality. But, what was I supposed to do, imitate him? I pictured myself pacing, hands clasped behind my back, mimicking his glower and bellowing at guys twice my size with, ‘There’s never an excuse to break discipline in my fleet! Understood?’ What a joke. Of course, I couldn’t imitate him. I had to find my own leadership style. What I could borrow from Lechatelierite was some of his confidence.
I pulled off my uniform and lay down for a while, listening to the furious clicking of Lechatelierite’s computer keys, next door. I got up, dug through Amok’s—my—drawers until I found a supply kit with a needle and thread. Then, I collected the rank bands I haphazardly tossed onto my desk and got to work, sewing them on my sleeves.
In the kit, I also found a coil of coated wire and steel clippers. I cut a length of the wire, wrapped one end a few times around my crystal, and created a loop with the rest, wide enough to fit over my head. Now, I’d always carry the stone against my skin; I had continual access to the inexplicable warmth and strength it provided.
Though I was way too tense for sleep, I made myself lie back down. I was determined to be the best officer Lechatelierite ever had. I was going to give him my all. The alliance possibly depended on it. And, I couldn’t let my commander reenter the war with a shred of doubt in his mind.
Scarlet July
I woke up late, this morning. I slept right through the trumpet call. I didn’t know it was possible to stay unconscious through that blaring alarm. I was so wound-up last night, I lay awake until almost three o’clock, listening to Lechatelierite’s keys pitter-patter like a sleet-storm on a metal roof. I guessed he also had trouble with insomnia.
I entered the mess hall after most of my comrades had already gotten their meals. Every head near the door turned to look at me as I walked in. Face burning, my eyes dropped to my white boots. Confidence, I reminded myself. I lifted my head and marched to the serving line. I pulled a tray off the rack and looked unappetizingly at today’s offering. As a former street urchin, enough food was a godsend to me. But, nonetheless, I doubted I’d ever adapt to the strange things military Ichthyothians ate. Everything was bland, tasteless and cold. This morning’s breakfast was unsweetened frozen yogurt and chilled green melon. Yesterday, lunch was cold, plain chunks of tofu with half-cooked rice and dinner was partially-defrosted salmon paste on crackers. Salmon was one of Ichthyosis’s few edible natural resources, so one would think the Ichthyothians would’ve become creative at preparing it, by now. Wrong. Everyday, we ate the same, disgusting goop made from boiled salmon that tasted like it’d been frozen for months. Living in Ichthyosis made you frigid both inside and out. I took a cup of plain yogurt and left the line.
I scanned the mess hall for a place to sit. My unit was on the far right. But, I didn’t want to sit with them; they needed at least one part of the day without their officer’s eyes on them. So, I looked to the left and saw Lechatelierite speaking with Illia Frappe over a tray of untouched melon. I didn’t want to sit anywhere near the Commander, either. I settled in the center of the room, by Nurtic—who gave me a big, dimpled grin as I approached—and Tose Acci, the most un-Ichthyothian Ichthyothian I’d ever met. Unlike the other veterans, Tose was moderately approachable and actually capable of holding friendly conversations with Nurians without inevitably finding some way to offend or condescend. When he didn’t understand the endless media references the Nurians tended to spout, he didn’t do as most vets did and stalk away while making biting remarks about wasting time and mental energy. He’d listen attentively and try to remember things. He was one of very few Ichthyothians with the humility to learn from Nurians, whether the topic was pop culture or pilotry. When we Nurians arrived at Icicle, Tose took an immediate interest in Nurtic, because of his flying skills. Nurtic was currently giving Arrhyth Link after-hours piloting lessons, and I had a hunch it wouldn’t be long before Nurtic would take on a second student.
After about five minutes of trying to force down some yogurt—whose sour taste and rubbery texture reminded me of unwashed socks—while listening to Nurtic and Tose chatter about how to avoid weathervaning while navigating vitreous silicas through snowstorms, I felt a shiver run down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold food. I turned around. Lechatelierite towered over my shoulder.
“We’re not training until seventeen o’clock today,” he said in his accented Nurian, without so much as a good morning. “After breakfast, we’re going to the lecture hall for tactical review with Colonel Austere.”
To keep my nerves in check, I avoided his eyes. He didn’t call me to attention and he wasn’t giving orders; this was supposed to be casual, mealtime talk. I had to act cool.
“I didn’t see a notice posted this morning, sir. How will everyone know?” It was like some sort of game between us; he always spoke to me in Nurian—though he was well aware it wasn’t my native language—and I always spoke to him in Ichthyothian.
“You’re going to tell them,” he answered brusquely as I thrust an overfilled spoon into my mouth.
And, with that, he marched back to his table. I glanced at the clock, cheeks packed with yogurt I didn’t really want to swallow. There were only seven minutes of breakfast left. I hastened out of my seat, slime slithering down my throat.
“Attention!” I called.
The room buzzed on. I could practically feel the Commander’s critical, knifelike stare.
“I said, ATTEN-HUT!” I snapped in a more Lechatelierite-like manner.
The hum gradually died down. My face heated as dozens of pairs of cold eyes surveyed me with amusement.
“Immediately after breakfast, go to Colonel Austere’s classroom for tactical review until seventeen o’clock. Thank you.”
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I sat down. Some of the soldiers bit their lips, like they were withholding laughter. What was so funny? The little girl playing leader?
“It’s ‘lecture hall,’ not ‘classroom,’” Lechatelierite’s voice was in my ear.
It took all the discipline I had not to jump out of my seat. Wasn’t he sitting at the far-left corner of the mess hall? How did he get over here so quickly? Sneaking up on an eye mage was quite a feat. He turned in his tray and left breakfast early. I scowled at his retreating back. So, what if I said ‘classroom’ instead of ‘lecture hall’? Did he enjoy putting me down so much, he had to point out such a minor error? I dropped my spoon and got to my feet. When I turned in my tray, I saw Lechatelierite hadn’t eaten very much of his breakfast, either.
The lesson was nine and a half hours of intense boredom. I couldn’t believe the administrators of Icicle Academy actually thought we needed to review such basic concepts. I glanced around the room, struggling to keep my eyes open. I could see just fine through closed lids, but I had to at least give the impression of paying attention. The Ichthyothians looked as bored as I. They shuffled and stretched and yawned, momentarily forgetting their military discipline, while the Nurians strained forward and hung onto Austere’s every word. Nurtic, who was sitting next to me and diligently writing everything down in his sloppy lefty handwriting, often leaned over to whisper questions to me. Lechatelierite was in the very last row, pen in hand, stern eyes not on Austere, but all of us. So, he was observing and analyzing us. Everything we did meant something. Apha and Nurtic, paying attention and doing their work. Me, sitting there like a rock, spiral notebook untouched. Knowing how much Lechatelierite would love to catch me doing something else wrong, I quickly grabbed my mechanical pencil and opened my notebook. But, my mind groaned at the prospect of taking notes on pre-calculus. Pre-calculus! We were up to multi-variable calculus by the time we were brought to Ichthyosis.
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