Cry Havoc

by Jack Hanson

  “Uh, Sergeant Black… sir,” she began, speaking low.

  “Speak up, cadet. You don’t need to yell, but learn to talk from your chest, and stop mumbling into your shoulder. No one is going to take you seriously if they can’t hear you,” he instructed.

  Black watched as she steadied herself and did as she was bid. The result was a marginal improvement.

  “Sergeant Black, my hair doesn’t need to be styled, and she doesn’t have to do my hair,” Jane said.

  “No, she will, and she’ll do a good job, and you’ll do the same for her. Then you two will look uniform,” Black informed her, then silenced her with an upturned palm. “This matter of hair is closed, or we’ll all shave our heads.”

  The two females nodded, and his attention turned to Sand. “Cadet Falconer, did you wear that uniform out of the barracks like that?” Black asked.

  Sand jumped, and shook his head. “No, Sergeant Black, I did not. I slipped looking at the Old Bloods and tripped in the grass,” Sand replied.

  Black nodded.

  “Okay, that’s fine then. First time seeing one, then?” Black inquired.

  Sand shook his head. “I went to Cassiopeia II this exodus, and some Surf Fins were migrating through. They stopped to talk, and helped herd some fish our way,” he explained.

  The other cadets were looking at him, and now that he was getting his wish he was blanching from all the attention. He tugged at the mandarin collar of his uniform, feeling very hot suddenly.

  “I’ve only seen Surf Fins once, and long ago. It’s amazing how long that neck of theirs is up close,” admitted Black. “Keep an eye on your surroundings next time though.”

  Sand nodded.

  Black stepped over to Paris, who could look him evenly in the eye.

  “Cadet Fairnought,” Black addressed Paris. “Chief Donovan said some filthy things to you. Do you follow the Khajalian Code?”

  Paris looked surprised. “No, no I don’t really follow Khajalian culture at all,” he murmured.

  “Hmm,” said Black after a minute. “And why’s that? Who was your abbeyah? Your blade scholar.”

  Paris licked dry lips, seeming surprised at the depth of knowledge Black possessed about Khajalians, even knowing the actual word they used for tutor.

  “I just don’t, sergeant, and I don’t think you’d know him,” Paris responded.

  “Cadet, I didn’t ask if you thought that I’d know him, just what his name was,” Black said.

  “Rhulo, abbeyah of the Deep Divers Sept,” Paris found himself saying after a minute.

  Black made another of those low hums. “Well, if you don’t follow the Code then I don’t have to order you to not count coup. And for what it’s worth, I don’t know Rhulo, but I do know of him. There’s not an excess of Khajalians who have sided with us. And…” Black leaned forward to address Paris so only he could hear him. “Your scales are only a weakness if you let them be. Donovan sensed it, and struck blood only because he knew you would let him.”

  Paris stiffened, eyes locked straight ahead. “I didn’t choose it, Sergeant Black,” Paris replied woodenly.

  Black gave a slight shake of the head. “We don’t always get to choose,” he said, and pulled away from Paris, walking to where Jane stood.

  “Third in your class, correct?” asked Black.

  “Yes, Sergeant Black,” said Jane, mumbling into her collar.

  “Say that again?” Black asked.

  Jane began to speak, and then caught herself. “Yes, Sergeant Black,” she said, barely audible to Sand.

  “Well, Winchester, did you score second or first?” Black inquired.

  Salem gave a small shake of her head. “No, Sergeant.”

  “Okay. Well, Cadet Harper, that puts you in charge of the team,” he said.

  The other three heard that and looked down the line at her. Salem’s eyes were big, but Jane absolutely goggled.

  “Uh, Sergeant Black, uh, I don’t ah… That’s just for academics here,” she began.

  “I know,” Black told her.

  “Well, uh I don’t think… I don’t think I’m the best candidate,” she explained.

  “I know. You mumble, you’re unsure of yourself to a fault, and while you’re obviously intelligent, you still hesitate when you know the answer,” Black said, each comment making her flinch. “But you’re going to be a janissary, barring getting killed or disgraced. You’ll be leading one day, and those flaws will get people killed. So we will fix them now, simple enough.” Black spoke with the same tone of finality he had settled the hair issue with.

  “So, to the rest of you,” he began as he walked to center himself on the team. “It behooves you to help her, especially since you have that live patrol coming up. If you’re going to give advice, give it constructively, and learn to work together. Cadet Winchester, Cadet Harper. Help each other out.” The heels of his boots clicked together. “Oh six hundred Physical Training. Epsilon Team, fall out.” Without another word, Black gathered his kit and walked towards the cadre housing, a series of towers that were behind the academy itself.

  The group looked at itself, unsure of its new advisor.

  Sand was the first to speak. “I thought physical training didn’t start until the second week of classes.”

  “He’s right there, still,” Paris said, nodding at Black’s back. “You can go inform him of his mistake.”

  Sand swallowed, and then shook his head. “No, no, that’s fine,” he murmured.

  Salem turned to look at Jane.

  “Well, I supposed we should be heading to the barracks now and figure what we want to do about this,” she told Jane.

  “I really don’t care what we do,” Jane mumbled, back to her old habits now that there wasn’t anyone there to correct her.

  “Well, that will make it easy then,” Salem replied, and began to walk back alone. The rest followed at their own pace, Sand stopping to wander over where the Old Bloods had stood, their claw marks still imprinted in the grass. He stood there, fascinated, and then headed back to the barracks.

  As he approached, he saw several figures waiting for him outside, and figured it was the rest of Epsilon Team, wanting to enter as a group. He picked up his pace, jogging but stopped short as he realized that it was the team members of the cadet he had bumped into earlier.

  “Look, there’s fucko,” said one of them. In the fading light, they all looked the same: tall and broad from three years of training. All had at least several inches of height on him. Sand swallowed, and steeled his nerves.

  “So you don’t know where the fuck you end and I begin, huh?” asked the cadet he had bumped into. Sand could make out the name Casey on his uniform.

  “I wasn’t watching where I was going, sorry,” said Sand, and tried to brush past the group. He was shoulder checked and almost went sprawling as they surrounded him.

  “Apparently not, since you just bumped into me again,” Casey said.

  Gritting his teeth, Sand looked up at him.

  “You were in my way,” Sand shot back, and kept eye contact with Casey for several seconds; long enough that he didn’t see the fist coming from the left that turned his whole world white and caused him to stagger.

  There were no further words, at least nothing Sand could make sense of, as kicks rained in on him. He instinctively covered his face and head, grunting as the hard boots found their way into his guts and caused him to retch the dinner he’d eaten before his shuttle ride.

  One more good kick and someone leaned in to hiss at him. “If anyone asks, you fucking fell. Don’t be a snitch.”

  A few minutes passed after his attackers walked away. Too dazed to stand right away, Sand only made a series of dry grunts as he picked himself up off the ground, staggering around in a circle to try and find his soft cap. He finally located it near where he
’d fallen, next to the puddle of vomit he’d left on the cement walkway. Breathing heavily, he tried to brush himself off, and pulled away a sticky hand. He realized he’d vomited on himself, and gave another sigh as he limped up the stairs into the barracks.

  Sand made it to his room, his face throbbing from the sucker punch that had kicked things off. He thought he’d have to explain things when he wandered in – why he had vomit down the front of his blouse and why the left side of his face was swelling – but the common room was empty. Voices were coming from the latrine, so Sand staggered into his own room, waiting until they had gone to bed so he could clean himself up.

  Jane and Salem stood facing the long mirror, a reader showing a display before them. It was a quick reference to the Code of Common Uniform and Appearance Manual, the handbook for all the regulations regarding how one should look on and off duty. Salem had scanned open to the part on female hairstyles, specifically human hairstyles.

  “We have a few options here,” said Salem, pointing at the diagrams. “We can do a bun that’s no larger than the size of a man’s fist, a ponytail that’s tied up on itself, or a tightly wound braid that’s worked into a ball. What do you want to do?”

  Jane shrugged. “I don’t care,” she murmured.

  “Oh, well that’s good. Let’s do the braid then, since I have a lot of hair and it’d be really hard to put it in a bun or ponytail,” Salem said.

  Jane made a face. “I’d rather just do the bun.”

  Salem looked sharply at her. “I thought you didn’t care,” she said.

  Jane shrugged again.

  “It seems like a lot of work for that braid. Why don’t you just cut your hair?” Jane asked.

  Salem blinked and goggled at Jane. “Cut my hair? Do you know how long it took me to grow it out and get it just right?” she asked.

  Jane shrugged again. “I’m just saying. Why do you care so much?”

  “Because most men don’t like it if you look like a boy,” said Salem a little testily.

  “I don’t care what boys think,” replied Jane.

  Salem bit back her retort of “Well that’s obvious,” and cut her eyes at Jane. “Look, it will take us five minutes to do this braid at the most. More like three if I do it,” she said. “Didn’t you do hair when you had sleepovers as a girl?”

  “I never wanted to go to sleepovers,” said Jane, frowning back at Salem. She didn’t add that she wasn’t invited to any. “It’s going to take longer for me to do your hair then it will mine. How’s that fair?”

  Salem sighed and shook her head. “Look, I’ll do your hair and then I’ll do my own, okay? “

  “I’m supposed to do yours,” said Jane.

  Salem gave another drawn out sigh.

  “How’s he going to know? He’s not psychic,” said Salem.

  Jane looked away, knowing she was just being obstinate now and if she kept it up it’d be obvious she was just annoying Salem for the hell of it.

  Salem spoke into the lengthening silence. “Maybe… maybe boys will notice you if you do your hair differently.”

  “I don’t care if they do,” grunted Jane.

  “Well… maybe you should try it before you dismiss it,” Salem said lightly, and then reached a hand over to Jane’s hair. Jane jerked her head away from Salem, who tried again. Jane, shook her head, but didn’t move as Salem’s fingers deftly wove her hair into a braid, and then looped around loosely at the back of her head. Salem made a surprised sound when she looked at her handiwork.

  “You know, if you put some conditioner in your hair, and maybe did some work with your makeup, you’d get your share of attention,” admitted Salem.

  Jane blushed, frowned, and then got up, mumbling something under her breath. Salem watched her go, confused and a little hurt, and frowned.

  “Whatever,” she said, and left for her own room.

  Sand heard the two doors slam shut, and eased himself off of his bed, looking to see if anyone was out. He passed by Paris’s room, and heard only light, regular breathing through the door. Relieved, he winced at the wounds that were now stiffening up, and made his way to the showers.

  Chapter Four—Setting the Tone

  My soldiers should fear my sergeants more than the enemy.

  —Attributed to Frederick the Great, General and King of Prussia

  Salem entered the suite they shared, too tired to scream at Jane like she’d originally planned. Jane, for her part, was bent over, dry heaving again in big empty gulps. She sounded like Paris looked, his legs quivering, unable to fully support himself. Flopping down on the big couch, Salem stretched her legs and arched forwards suddenly, rubbing furiously at a muscle cramp that had developed. Once she had worked the knot out, she tentatively touched the shorn ends of her sweat-soaked hair that rested against her neck, and remembered how they’d gotten to this point.

  * * *

  The morning hadn’t even started when they were up, getting ready for physical training. Sand had apparently already used the facilities, but was moving slowly from what she could see. It had been dark, and she assumed that he was a late riser. The shadows had hidden the real reasons, and they hadn’t waited for him when they formed up in front of Sergeant Black, who was wearing a plain sweatshirt with the crest of the school – an eagle in flight over a jug of water being poured out – over his heart. Underneath that, Salem thought, he was most likely wearing the same uniform the rest of them were wearing: shorts and a t shirt emblazoned with the same symbol.

  Oddly enough, or maybe not, he carried his blade. In a galaxy where every soldier was equipped with some form of personal shield against projectiles, melee weapons had returned as a necessity on the battlefield. Assault janissaries carried melee weapons with them at all times, since, technically, they were always ready for combat. Most carried a long knife as a nod towards esprit de corps, but just as many carried a full-sized weapon with them. It was a dangerous galaxy, after all.

  “Okay. Why’s Sand dragging tail today?” Black asked in his quiet conversational tone. He nodded in the direction of Sand, who was trying to jog but clutching his side as he limped along. Salem thought back to the last time she had seen Sand, and felt her apprehension building.

  “Team leader?” Black asked, canting his head slightly in Jane’s direction.

  “I don’t know, Sergeant Black,” she said, mumbling again.

  “Excuse me?” Black asked.

  Jane fixed herself and projected a little. “I don’t know, Sergeant Black,” she repeated.

  “Go police him up,” he said with a nod, and began pacing back and forth.

  “C’mon…” sighed Jane, and the three jogged over to where Sand was catching his breath, stopping short when they got close enough to see what was wrong with him in the dim light.

  “What happened to you?” Paris asked after a second, vocalizing what everyone was thinking. The entire left side of Sand’s face was a swollen bruise, his eye almost shut due to the swelling. He had other bruises along his arm, and they could see one peeking around his collar.

  “I fell,” said Sand sullenly, unable to look at any of them. They were all silent, not knowing him well enough to know what to say. Salem reached out, and Sand pushed her touch away with his shoulder.

  “Hmm,” said Black from behind them. “Okay. Huh?” he added thoughtfully, sliding between Jane and Salem and kneeling down in front of Sand. The sergeant chewed on his lower lip while he looked him over. “You fell?” he asked.

  Sand nodded, unable to meet the sergeant’s neutral gaze.

  “No, you didn’t,” he said.

  “I… I fell, Sergeant. I turned at the top of the stairs and fell down,” he said.

  “No you didn’t. You got sucker punched right here,” Black said authoritatively, his breath smelling of peppermint as he brushed a finger along the side of Sand’s he
ad. “The definition from the bruises looks like you were kicked. Lift up your shirt.”

  “Sergeant, I…” Sand began.

  “I’m not going to say it again. Lift up your shirt,” Black cut in.

  Sand grudgingly lifted up his shirt while the other three turned their heads at the mess of bruises that was Sand’s torso.

  “Don’t you dare look away, you three,” Black said with the first real hint of animosity any of them had heard from him. His head turned with glacial slowness, and the three looked at Sand’s battered torso hesitantly. “You just keep on looking. We’re going to deal with this shortly. Cadet Falconer?”

  “Sergeant?” he asked.

  “I understand you don’t want to be labeled as a snitch, that’s understandable. I want you to tell me what happened after I dismissed you four. No, not even that. Just answer me a question, did you walk back alone?” Black asked softly.

  After a moment, Sand nodded his head. “Alright, well, today’s an orientation day, but you need to get those ribs checked out. Can you make it to the infirmary?”

  Sand nodded again. “I’m not hurt that bad,” he said.

  Black shook his head. “No, you are, but you’re still standing. I read your file, I know you’re a rather good lightweight boxer, but this was a gang attack. Not too much you could do. Go on to the infirmary, troop, get yourself some breakfast to go and rest up in your room today. I’ll make sure your instructors know you’ll be under convalescence.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Sand said, nodding and shuffling down the walk towards the infirmary.

  Jane watched Sand walk away. Softly, so Sand couldn’t hear, Black spoke again.