by Jack Hanson
It was a glorious, hot kiss, the first real one she could remember having. Not the kissing games that teenagers play when they’re younger, but the first one born of passion and hunger. His hair was warm corn silk, sliding through her fingers. The muscles of his shoulder played under her other hand, and she squeezed to get a reflexive swell in return. His hand fit perfectly on her hip, and he smelled like the ocean, salty and wild.
She broke away for a breath, and then pulled him back for more, until the sound of cheers and hoots made them jump. Looking around at the barracks, she saw no one spying on them from an open window, simply a few dim lights showing through the mirrored glass.
“Well,” he said, a little breathily, “I should go back to Draco Barracks… If you’re not doing anything when you get done with Salem… maybe we could do something, if you’d like.”
“I’d like that,” she said, smiling and reaching up to touch his cheek. She kissed his hand, and watched him go. She felt like she was burning up inside, like the cold of the vacuum wouldn’t be able to cool her now.
Walking up the stairs in a daze, she opened the door to find her roommates lounging about, Paris and Sand playing a racing game of some sort on the console, and Salem making popcorn on the stove, her hair tied up inside of a towel.
“Good date?” Salem asked, her back to Jane.
“Oh… Oh yeah,” Jane said, dreamily.
“We almost called for a doctor,” said Sand, coughing.
“Why?” asked Jane.
“Because we thought one of you was going to swallow the other’s face,” he said, finally breaking down and laughing.
Jane put it all together, realizing that her roommates were the ones who had begun cheering, and blushed furiously. Even stoic Paris was trying and failing to hold in a weird, high pitched giggle.
“Oh you little…” she began, grabbing a pillow in each hand and beginning to beat both of the boys with them. For their part, they were laughing too hard to fend her off, only protecting their faces and roaring in full bellows now.
Salem was laughing so hard she started coughing.
Jane turned to look at her. “Oh, don’t think I’m done yet,” she said, running over to begin pummeling the other girl, who shrieked and laughed harder.
“Good... job,” Salem managed between blows and laughter.
As Jane straightened up, she hung up Salem’s jacket, feeling oddly at peace inside. “I got kissed, so I don’t want to hear any lip from any of you,” she announced, then marched to her room and shut the door behind her.
Chapter Eleven—Seeing Red
The stress response of our human janissaries is fascinating. The background noise occurring in their brain is staggering to behold, and hints at infinite potential. More research is required, but we believe the theories behind this project are sound.
—Excerpt from Illurian report on Project Dragoon, dated 2150 CE
It was raining outside; a hard, cold, drumming rain that lashed across the windows. The boys had the room to themselves. Salem was over in Draco Barracks with her friends, and Jane was out again with Hailey. That particular courtship had been going on several weeks now, and it was viewed with benevolence and amusement by her teammates. Of course, they weren’t sure if they wanted to be around when it ended, as these Academy romances rarely lasted. The team wasn’t sure if Jane, smart as she was, knew that though.
Paris was cleaning up a snack of barely cooked venison and fresh vegetables, while Sand tossed a ball at the ceiling, sprawled out on a couch, a cooling cup of coffee next to him.
“Let’s go out,” Sand said, sitting up.
“Hmm?” asked Paris, thinking of the package that had arrived for him, the gift sealed inside a box made of rare boccawood.
“Let’s go into town, see a movie, get some coffee, look at girls,” said Sand, sitting up, his hair a mess. “I’m bored out of my mind here.”
“Eh,” said Paris, a half frown on his face. “I don’t know.”
Sand’s face fell a bit, and Paris thought about how many times Sand had asked for something. He could count the occasions on one hand, and still have fingers left over.
“Fine, let me get ready,” he sighed.
Sand pumped his fist, and began to get dressed. Twenty minutes later, they were on the monorail, and practically had the whole car to themselves. Over at the far end, another cadet sat, lost in his music with his ear buds flashing in time with the beat.
“We go on patrol here shortly,” said Sand, making conversation. The two had hunched under their jackets as they walked, more concerned about getting out of the cold than talking. The transparent covers had deployed during the rain, but the wind was stiff and biting.
“Yeah, it’s funny how time just sneaks up on you like that. There’s the Going Away Formal, and then that Tuesday we have manifest early in the morning,” Paris responded.
“Three more weeks,” added Sand, shaking his head. “Do you think we’re ready?”
“What did Black say? ‘No one is ever ready for their first combat. They either survive it or they don’t, which is a cheering proposition,” Paris noted. “But words of wit and wisdom aside, I think we’re ready. I guess we’re deploying with Beta Team. We’ll have both of Salem’s friends and Hailey there.”
“Are they on the numbers?” asked Sand.
“Yeah, they’re pretty squared away, even that redhead that’s always talking,” said Paris. “I guess Sergeant Ostler keeps them dialed pretty tight.”
“Yeah, he’s an airborne trooper who’s just finishing out his time in the janissaries. He’s got his big stone,” said Sand.
The wings of an airborne trooper, who deployed from high atmosphere, depicted a meteor in re-entry. The ‘big stone’ was a reference to the shape of the Master Airborne Trooper Wings, a mountain of rock hurtling towards a planet that wasn’t shown.
“Well, between him and Black, I’m not sure if I should feel sorry for us having to follow those two crazies into battle, or whoever is standing in front of us,” said Paris.
The two rose as the monorail came to a stop, the doors opening to a frosty slurry of sleet.
“Weather certainly turned ugly,” Sand pointed out, pushing a pile of sleet with his toe. “What’s the weather like on your home?”
“Generally something like this, depending on where you live. Azul III is a lot of islands mainly. We happen to live on the mainland over the tropics,” Paris said. “You?”
“I’ve lived a lot of places. My dad is an executive officer at a mining corporation, so we’re traveling a lot because he tends to stay on the planets for years at a time. We were living in a dome on Athena I when I left for Academy. Big mineral planet, but close to the sun,” Sand said.
“Huh, you’re the first person I’ve met here who’s lived on a Oner,” Paris commented.
Planets were designated by the number away from the star they circled. Most easily colonizable planets fell either on the three or four. Anything outside of those variables made habitation quite difficult.
“Yeah, it was an experience for me. All the buildings are underground even though there’s a dome to hold in all the oxygen. Lots of redundant systems, so if something goes down something else can take over and the colony isn’t destroyed,” Sand said.
“That must have been a worry at the back of your mind,” Paris said.
“Eh, you’re a kid, you learn to live with it pretty quickly,” Sand responded. Ducking into a café, Sand inhaled deeply of the heavily-spiced air. “What about you? What was Azul III like?”
Paris noticed he was drawing a few stares, but it didn’t bother him as much as it would have five months ago. “Gorgeous. Lots of water, lots of fishing and fresh air,” he said, the ghost of a smile playing around his lips. “My parents are scholars, and I remember a lot of time spent in a study with open walls, letting th
e sea breeze sweep in through the house.
“That’s what Cassiopeia was like. Lots of time spent on black sand beaches, fishing and watching the moons, fat and heavy, stay on the horizon for most of the night,” Sand reminisced.
At the counter, Sand swiped a card and punched his order into the menu, a drink calling itself an ‘Illuria Smooth’; a tea comprised of several spices and whipped milk. Paris settled for something to settle his sweet tooth, ordering a double thick malted coffee and joining Sand at the end of the line to wait for his drinks.
After retrieving them, the two headed over to a fireplace and grabbed a booth nearby. The rustic-looking coffee shop had surprisingly light traffic for a Sunday, but considering the weather outside, maybe it wasn’t such a shock.
“I wish we had known about this place sooner,” Sand said. The shop, with its stone floors, open beamed ceiling, and real wooden tables, had been discovered by the group a few weeks ago, and had become a popular place for them to begin or end their adventures.
“No kidding, but think about it, at least we found it now as opposed to in our last month,” said Paris, taking a deep sip of his drink.
“True. Speaking of that, what do you think happens after all this?” Sand asked.
“After all what?” Paris replied, looking over the top of his cup at Sand.
“This,” said Sand, and made a hand gesture. “Us, the team, our lives.”
Paris looked thoughtful for a second, staring at the milky tan swirls of his drink, taking a moment to spoon out a dollop of cream with his finger before answering. “Honestly? I think we just go on living. I’ll try to give you a better answer in the future, if you want,” the Rillik admitted.
Sand shrugged a little, nodding. “I thought about the same thing, really. No use worrying about it until it gets here and even then…”
“It is what it is,” finished Paris. There was a moment of contemplative silence between the two, and Paris was the one to break it. “What are you doing next Exodus? Before you arrive for basic training?” he asked.
“Probably another vacation somewhere with the family, to be honest. My sisters are always happy to see me, but I’m the oldest so it loses its charm after a while,” the blonde boy admitted.
“Would you like to come to Azul? Meet my family?” asked Paris.
Sand looked up, cocking his head in curiosity. “I’d…like that,” he admitted. “The family will just have to do without me for a little bit.”
“Cool, if you decide to change your mind, just let me know, but it’d be nice to have someone there to hang out with for a bit,” Paris said. They both knew they were stepping around some sensitive issues involving Paris’s parents tutoring him under an abbeyah and what exactly that meant. There was generally a sister involved, somewhere.
“You have sisters?” Paris asked suddenly. “How many?”
Sand blinked in surprise, and coughed. “Umm… Well you’ve got Eliza, she’s the baby of the group, and she’s eleven. Then you have Rory, she’s a few years older at fourteen, and finally Clarice is fifteen, so two years younger than me,” Sand said, counting them off. Only Eliza went to another Academy: Arjuna Junior Martial School. The other two were content with attending prep drill four times a year before their time in the Reserves. He explained this to Paris as the two threw away their trash and left the rustic coffee shop.
“So what brought you here?” asked Paris. “What made you want to make the leap to career?”
It was Sand’s turn to think, and he took his time before answering. “Just to do something different, to see the stars on my own terms more or less.”
“So ‘join the Janissaries, see the worlds’ had some resonance for you?” teased Paris.
Sand laughed, an open and free thing. “Sure, I would say so. Ah, here we are,” Sand said, opening the door for the much larger Paris.
Inside was an old fashioned bookstore, with actual salespeople to answer questions, guide shoppers, and give a very human feel to the experience. Kiosks and automated technology was nice, but they certainly lacked the charm of having a real, breathing person there to sell you something.
Scanning the titles, Sand and Paris stayed close together as they wandered through the shop, the interior done in the style of a library from Terra, all sweeping staircases and comfy chairs, fireplaces crackling on all three floors. If you wanted to browse through a book, you couldn’t download it onto your reader. The convenience of a reader was nice, but there was certainly something to holding a real book in your hands and flipping through the pages.
Sand thought how much he loved this place as he looked through a copy of a book by an author named Kent Anderson, telling about the trials of a commando going through a conflict there in a country called Vietnam. It seemed interesting, so he decided to pick it up.
“Hey Sand, that drink is moving through me,” said Paris. “I’m going to use the latrine.”
“Sure, I’ll be around,” Sand responded, looking through the other titles on the shelf. Not finding anything that piqued his interest, he stopped by the counter and paid for his book. Sending Paris a quick message letting him know he would be waiting outside, Sand stepped out on the sidewalk, enjoying the brisk cold air whipping around him. Sighing pleasantly, he leaned against the stone of the building, about to pull out his book and to read a few passages.
“It’s fucko,” said a familiar voice.
Sand looked up, seeing the members of Zeta Team eyeballing him. He straightened, turning to face them and holding the book in one hand. “What about it?” he asked.
“Talking back now?” one of them asked, and Sand snorted.
“What are you talking about? ‘Talking back’? You talked to me,” Sand pointed out. “What do you want?”
“More of what we got before,” said Casey. “I’m still wincing from the ass chewing I got about breaking formation, and you’ve had this coming, in spades.”
Sand shook his head, annoyed, frustrated, and angry all at once. He thought back to words he had heard not too long ago:
“Why don’t you just leave it on the field, or you’ll regret it,” he said, trying to emulate the same tone that Black had addressed Donovan with.
“You have to be this tall to talk shit,” another one responded, holding out his hand well above Sand’s head, getting laughter from his group. This turned into shocked outrage as the book Sand had been holding went flying, slamming into the cadet’s face and causing him to curse as blood began to drip through his fingers.
Sand braced himself, ready for what came next as, in a wave of curses and insults, Zeta Team came in at him. He used his smaller size to his advantage, ducking out of the way and striking, pushing one boy into another while moving. It was an effective strategy, and his time under the Khajali had paid off. His blood sang in his ears, and he laughed to himself at how easy it all was, how the boys who once tormented were now staggering from his blows, bleeding on each other and groaning with pain.
His tactical blunder was letting his adrenaline get a hold of him, and wading back into that fray. The weight of several bodies quickly bore him down, and he grunted and struggled as one crawled up on him, punching him in the face and causing his head to bounce off the stone walkway, dazing him.
“I’m going to fucking kill you! You made me bleed, you son of a bitch!” screamed his attacker in a high pitched voice. His dazed state didn’t help things at all, because suddenly it seemed like the person on top of him got very light.
Blinking, Sand realized that no one was on top of him, and the boys pinning down his legs were trying to get away from his prone torso. Leaning his head back, he saw the cause of this chaos: Paris had found him outside, and was currently laying waste to Sand’s attackers.
One boy tried to run, only to get yanked back so harshly he went flying end over down the sidewalk, shivering as he lay in a heap. Another tried
to square up with Paris but his fists bounced off the Rillik’s muscled torso. In return, Paris delivered a one-two combination that lifted his opponent off of his feet and dropped him to the ground. The larger cadet delivered a series of savage kicks, and Sand swore he heard bone break and the boy’s breathing go ragged.
Sand felt vindicated for a moment, but saw Paris stalk by him to stomp on another boy’s hand, the small bones crushing underneath the heel of his boot.
“Paris, you’re going to kill them,” he managed to say, standing up shakily.
Paris didn’t hear as he pinned another unfortunate to the wall and drove a fist into his guts as the boy pleaded for mercy.
“It’s what they deserve, Sand,” snarled Paris, sounding nothing like Sand had ever heard him.
“We’ve made our point,” Sand said, pulling on Paris’s shoulder, only to be brushed off. Gripping harder, he tried to pull him, but was brushed off again. The pinned boy vomited all over his clothes, streaks of blood visible in the white fluid.
Sand realized that Paris wasn’t in his right mind. He thought about the Khajali berserker rages they had learned about, wondering if this was some variant of that, and the frightful consequences that would result if it was. Paris was not himself, and would not stop until all these boys were dead. That made up Sand’s mind.
He pushed Paris back, surprising the much larger and stronger boy, who dropped the victim he was beating on. The boy crumpled into a heap, but Sand’s attack had triggered Paris’s reflexes, and he lashed out with a jaw crushing punch at Sand, who threw up a hand to block it.
Sand saw red flash before his vision, and his hand whipped up to catch the punch of its own accord. He figured there was no way he could stop it, and closed his eyes as his other hand whipped around as well. Feeling something huge in each of his hands, he realized he was straining against Paris.