Cry Havoc

by Jack Hanson

  “We’ve got to talk Jane,” Salem said.

  “There’s nothing to say. I just want to be alone. Can you get out? Please?” Jane said again.

  “No, there’s plenty to say, and you sitting in here crying isn’t going to change anything or help you at all,” Salem said.

  “Salem, please. Just go. Leave me alone,” Jane said.

  “Not a chance. You can scream at the top of your lungs for the MPs, but I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to sit right here and we’re going to talk for a bit,” Salem told her.

  “I just want to sleep,” said Jane.

  “Of course you do. You want to sleep and you hope everything will be better when you wake up. It’s not though, it never is. You just keep on sleeping hoping things get better, and when they don’t, you get disappointed and you can’t see any other reason to do anything but keep on sleeping,” Salem said.

  Jane was finally quiet for a moment, her breathing hitching a little as she digested Salem’s words.

  “You don’t know how it feels,” Jane said after a minute, and then realized how trite that sounded.

  “Jane, I do, twice over. I know how it feels when the man you love runs off and gets himself killed in war. First time was when I was seven, and my brother got killed in that final flare up with the Peace Federation. He’s there and you cherish him every day, and then he’s just not anymore. He’s ashes and a rifle, carried by an officer and delivered to your doorstep,” Salem said.

  “That’s different, that’s family. This was the first person I ever really loved in that way,” Jane replied.

  “Yeah, that happened to me my second year here,” Salem interjected. Jane was silent as she went on. “Illicit relationship with a senior cadet, I should have known better. These academy romances, they rarely last. It’s a big galaxy, but you tell yourself you’ll make the leave happen and figure out which star ports you have to hit to get there for a three day pass and where the midpoint is between here and there.”

  Salem reached out again towards Jane’s breathing, and sat against the other girl, who didn’t try and pull away this time. “Except he didn’t die, but he might as well have. I don’t think anyone loves as hard as a fifteen year old girl, and when your letters come back return to sender and he won’t accept your messages or want anything to do with you, even to tell you to go away, that hurts in its own way.”

  “But there’s still a chance,” Jane said. “I don’t even have that.”

  “No, but you have the memories. You have the times when he made you smile, made you laugh, and the memory of how his kisses made you feel. Those aren’t poisoned by the fact he wanted nothing to do with you when he was done with you,” Salem said, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “I wouldn’t want a chance with him. That’s the past, and I don’t think he would have died for me, like Hailey did for you.”

  “What happened?” asked Jane, her own pain a secondary thing for the first time in days.

  Salem shook her head, lying down on Jane’s bed fully and causing her hair to tickle the other girl’s arm.

  “Lies and charm, but I didn’t know any better, so I believed him. I gave him everything, and thought it was enough,” she said. “It wasn’t. But this isn’t about me, it’s about you, crying in here and hoping that something will change.” She took Jane’s hand and squeezed. “Nothing changes unless you make it change, Jane. Hailey wanted you to live, and he died to make it happen. I know it’s trite, but it is true,” Salem said. “So live for him. Celebrate his life with every breath, every laugh, every heartache, and remember that he sacrificed so that you could go on,” she finished.

  Jane’s breathing stayed steady, and Salem moved to pull away, but found Jane’s hand had gripped hers tightly, and wasn’t letting her go. Salem heard the other girl gulp loudly for breath several times, as if she was trying to say something, and then the gasping came, followed by Jane burying her head into Salem’s chest, sobbing heavily. Sighing, Salem pushed herself up so that her back was against Jane’s wall, and let her cry, stroking her hair and making comforting sounds.

  “He’s gone, gone forever. I just don’t want to live without him, Salem!” she cried into Salem’s shirt.

  “No, he’s alive in you, and he always will be, as long as you remember him and what he gave you,” Salem responded.

  “It’s not the same,” Jane moaned, sniffling loudly.

  “It’s not the same, I know, but that’s all we’re given,” Salem responded.

  Jane shook her head. “He was so good, so nice and kind. His parents, they wouldn’t even let me see the body, or respond to my messages, or acknowledge that I knew him. I just wanted to say goodbye,” Jane murmured.

  “They’re…” Salem began, and then shook her head. “I don’t know what their problem is, but they’re on some sort of warpath. It’s just their grief, I hope. We’ll go and visit his grave when we get out of here, and lay a wreath and you can say goodbye then.”

  Jane gasped slightly. “You’d do that… for me?”

  Salem looked down, her smile hidden in the darkness. “Yeah, we’re friends aren’t we?”

  “I didn’t think you really liked being around me,” Jane admitted after several minutes of silence. “I thought you were just being nice when we hung out.”

  “I was, but not nice just to be nice. I liked having you around me, and you could always find some new way to look at things,” Salem told her.

  “Thanks, Salem. I like being friends with you,” Jane said after a minute.

  “I’m glad,” she said, and was surprised at how strongly she felt. Jane didn’t respond, and she heard her breathing go from ragged to deep and even. When she moved to push her away gently so she could get up, she felt Jane’s hand clutch at her, so she simply sat there, waiting until Jane fell into a deeper sleep.

  Sleep found Salem first though, and she slept with Jane’s head in her lap, fingers entwined in the girl’s hair.

  Chapter Eighteen—Awakening

  Gold is for the hero, the child who finally leads, Silver for the sage, blessing the soul that sees, Green is for the stalker, the liar born to deceive, Red calls the killer, the hungry beast that reaves.

  —“Colors,” by the Bhae Chaw poet Xu

  “Again,” said Black.

  The four cadets rushed in at him with their blunted blades, attacking from four different directions. Black stood still until the first reached him – Salem – and then launched outwards and fought through her, the flat of his sword striking the back of her thighs. The training armor she wore locked her legs in response and she fell to the ground, cursing.

  The other three cadets leapt smoothly over her and then fanned out. Paris ran directly at Black, while Jane and Sand came around on either side of him, flanking their instructor. They hit him at roughly the same time. Paris’s blade swept in first thanks to his greater reach. Black threw himself to one side, grabbing Sand and tossing him into Jane, and the two went down in a tumble.

  He brought his blade up as Paris swung down, and the two training swords collided in a shower of sparks. Paris looked at his instructor and saw the man had his teeth bared in a smile. Nodding his head, they locked blades. The next thing Paris knew, there was an impact against his ankle, and he went flying. Black touched his chest with the sword, and he felt his limbs stiffen in place.

  Jane and Sand were on their feet by this time, and turned to feel Black tap them across their shoulders and thigh, respectively, sending them back to the grass.

  “You guys are finally showing some fatigue, so I think we’ve done enough for today,” he said, pressing a button on his wrist and unfreezing their armor. The cadets stood up, thankful Black had finally begun pulling his blows after the first few rounds. They were still sore though, with Paris and Salem trying not to show the strain that came after two hours of good training in me
lee combat as they walked over to where Black and the other two cadets stood. Their instructor took off his helmet and wiped the thin veneer of sweat from his face.

  The four followed suit, sucking water from their built-in water bladders and wiping what seemed like streams of sweat out of their eyes.

  “What kind of conditioning do you have to go through as an assault janissary?” Paris finally asked, somewhat unsettled by how easy the training was to their instructor.

  “Lots of high gravity training,” Black admitted. “Plus I’ve been doing it longer. You troops are younger, but your bodies aren’t used to this kind of strain, using these kinds of muscles,” he said, bidding them to join him as he took a seat at the hydration station. “Five years from now, if we meet again, I’m sure you’ll give me a run for my money.”

  After the Fatima patrol, Black had become much more personable with them, and they found themselves spending more time with him as he took a more active role in their training.

  It’s a mixed blessing, mused Sand.

  Black seemed to know as much as anyone about melee and close quarters fighting, but on the other hand, it was getting near the end of spring and wearing training armor in this weather was a special kind of hell.

  “Do you think we’ll meet again in five years, Sergeant?” asked Sand.

  Black cocked his head, and Sand realized he was waiting for him to clarify.

  “I mean, you’re an assault janissary, Sergeant,” Sand said, and then trailed off.

  “I’m sure we’ll keep in touch,” Black responded. “You guys are my first class, and while there were some ups and downs, I think you’re going to turn out alright. Now, what did you think about that exercise?”

  “I can see what you’re saying about misdirection, Sergeant” said Salem, shaking her head.

  “It seems like you were there one moment, and then I’m wondering where you’re at.” Jane said, nodding in agreement.

  “And you’re constantly moving when you engage, Sergeant, using other people as weapons as well,” Sand said. “It’s different, and I can see why you don’t recommend engaging in close quarters when you’re outnumbered.”

  “That’s right,” Black said. “You guys have to fight as a team, together. Back each other up; don’t fight as solos, because heroes get killed out there.”

  “You make it sound like we’ll be together after we graduate, Sergeant,” said Paris.

  Black shrugged his shoulders, and put down his training blade, then picked up the usual sword he carried. “It could happen,” he said. “I’m glad to see you guys aren’t sick to death of each other anymore.”

  There was some light laughter at this, and then Paris spotted a janissary waving at them from the shadowed treeline across the grassy meadow.

  “Sergeant, I think he’s trying to catch your attention,” Paris said, pointing.

  Black looked over, squinted, and made a humming sound deep in his throat. “That’s weird,” he said as he stood up.

  “What’s that, Sergeant?” asked Salem.

  “Nothing, nothing,” he said, shaking his head distractedly. “I better go see what he wants, in case they just turned this into an artillery range and they’re going to start firing in five minutes.”

  They watched him walk nonchalantly across the field. He stopped in his tracks when he had about a quarter of a way to go. Paris began to stand up to ask what was wrong, when Black suddenly threw himself to the left. A burst of pink mist erupted from his body and something thudded into the tree next to them. The janissary in the tree line suddenly vanished.

  It took them a second to register what happened, but then they were on their feet, rushing towards their fallen instructor. All four had the same thought and couldn’t believe what they were seeing: someone had shot Black.

  There was a puddle of blood underneath him as he writhed in pain, his face pale and waxy. He was reaching around his neck for something as the four surrounded him, kneeling and asking questions all at once.

  “Run… Run!” he hissed as his fingers dug out a small rod, about half the size of a pinky, and slapped the ends three times in succession. “They’ve found me… Go to Archer, get out of here.”

  Black gritted his teeth as another wave of pain hit him. Sand saw a barb of some sort lodged in the meaty mess of Black’s bicep. The muscles seemed to twist and flex of their own accord.

  “We’re not leaving you!” said Jane, not bothering to ask who ‘They’ were. “Paris, grab his shoulders. Salem, Sand, grab his ankles.”

  “To hell with that, I can carry him,” said Paris, and began to heft the muscular man over his shoulder.

  “No,” intoned a mechanized voice from behind them.

  Turning as one, they looked upon something totally alien to them. It was clad in some sort of mechanized armor from head to toe. They didn’t know what was inside of it, as the armor was fully contained, leaving no skin showing. The only writing was the insignia N-2 on each of the shoulder guards. There was a mark of some sort over the heart, but no one could make it out at this distance, as the being stood in shadow trees across the clearing. As it made its way toward then, green lines pulsed through its chest and radiated towards its head. The helmet bore a v-shaped black visor, and covered all of the face and head. The only weapons they could see were the large rifle cradled in its arms, and the hilt of a sword over one shoulder.

  “He can’t leave. He lied to us, lied to all of us. We swore an oath, and now he has to die,” said the figure, laying the rifle down as it approached.

  “Who lied? What are you?” demanded Paris, stepping between the figure and the fallen Black. The next thing Sand knew, he and the other two had joined hParis, forming a line between the assassin and their instructor.

  The armored figure laughed.

  “You’ve raised loyal pups, traitor. Ironic that you could inspire that loyalty, being what you are,” it said, addressing Black.

  With force of will, Black raised his head.

  “Epsilon Squad, I am giving you a direct order. Retreat. Leave me here,” he said as froth bubbled from between his lips. He turned his gaze to the assassin. “I betrayed no one,” he managed. “I broke no oath.”

  “Lies and deception are my bread and butter, and you do poorly at them,” it responded. It switched its attention to the four cadets. “Stand aside,” it commanded.

  There was a sudden feeling of fatigue, a draining sensation that made all four of them want to lie down. Paris reached out to grab the shoulders of Salem and Jane, and Sand did the same with Salem’s other shoulder, bracing themselves until the sensation passed.

  “Oh, you’re that far ahead? Clay’s been busy,” the assassin responded with a hint of surprise in that mechanized voice.

  “I don’t know what you are,” Salem hissed, “but we’re not going anywhere.” She drew her training blade and held it in front of her. The others followed suit, and a row of blunted metal was all that stood between Black and his killer.

  “No dreamblades?” it asked.

  “No what?” demanded Sand.

  “This,” it responded, reaching lazily behind its back and drawing its sword. It seemed to be a normal piece of black metal, until the metal began to shift. It flowed with a sigh, a low moan filling the air as it spun itself around to resemble a dancing flame, and then curled into a scimitar-like blade. It was disquieting to the cadets as they watched the metal shift in front of them. “A dreamblade. My weapon. His weapon.” It paused before adding. “What would have been your weapon?”

  Jane slumped a little, weak in the knees as Sand realized what was in front of them.

  “You’re a FOSsil,” Jane said, her eyes going wide. She bit her lip hard as the realization hit home.

  Sand could now see what the badge was over the heart: a stylized raptor skull, a sigil that had not been worn openly in decades.
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  The FOSsil drove the blade into the earth and clapped. “They tried to erase our name, but it seems they failed. I doubt they’re teaching much of our history, other than the party line. Madness and tragedy, correct?” He looked past them at Black, who was making a low groaning sound in his chest as the veins stood out on his neck. “You didn’t tell them what was happening when they were Manifesting? I know they did Manifest, we all do because we all felt it, even out there on Elysium.”

  There was no answer from Black, and the FOSsil shook his head.

  “I didn’t expect a response from you, considering the pain you’re in right now. That poison isn’t going to kill you, but I’ll give you the death you’ve wanted ever since—”

  Sand attacked, rushing forwards and finding his blade parried by the assassin’s sword. Sand had not seen the FOSsil draw his blade from the ground, but there it was, stopping his attack.

  “I didn’t mind talking, because the longer we talk, the more pain that traitor feels. If you wish to fight, we can do both,” the FOSsil said.

  Sand went sailing through the air, launched by a kick that was too fast for him to see. The other three cadets rushed towards the enemy, who stood his ground. They did not attack in tandem, the swirl of blades was too confusing. Instead Paris took point while the two women worked in from the sides.

  “Pack tactics,” grunted the FOSsil, nodding as he parried the blows effortlessly.

  “You’ve got the wrong man,” spat Paris.

  Their enemy’s blade flowed over his shoulder to block Jane’s attack from behind, and he used Salem’s sword to block Paris’s attack.

  “His name is Black!” Salem said. “Alexander Black! Not Clay!”

  “No, he’s Clay. I have my man,” the FOSsil said. He thrust Paris’s head back with an overpowering shove that sent him sprawling.

  “We’re not FOSsils and neither is he!” shouted Salem.

  The FOSsil slid smoothly out of the way and Jane and Salem’s swords clashed against each other.