She didn’t know why it bothered her so much.
People died in battle. That’s just the way it was. You dealt with it and moved on, trying to convince yourself that they were the lucky ones. So, why did she always have such a hard time letting it go?
The water suddenly didn’t feel relaxing to her anymore so she reached up and shut it off. She stood there for several more minutes, wringing the excess water from her hair.
As she did so, she noted the tiny droplets of water that trickled down the wall, cutting their meandering paths through the thin layer of condensation. Some of the drops collided into one another, joining to form larger drops that continued on their way, faster and more deliberately than before.
Others weren’t fortunate enough to cross paths with another, destined to forge their way alone on the long journey to the great unknown abyss below--only then finally rejoining their companions.
She briefly considered the metaphorical significance, but quickly admonished herself. She must be tired. It was only water on a wall.
Finally, the air in the stall started to become as chilly as her mood. She stepped out and finished drying herself before dressing in a fresh set of fatigues.
She gently combed her hair, looking thoughtfully into the depths of the smudged mirror. Out of the blue, she considered cutting her hair short like many of the other military women did. It would probably be more convenient.
She pulled the mass up and tucked it behind her head, turning her head side to side, trying to visualize the effect. She certainly looked different, but it was just a facade. She was still the same person--Sheryl Lanis, 4th Tier Battlemancer of the 33rd Arcane Corps--the Widowmaker.
Shards, she hated that name! Some of the grunts in the 33rd had started calling her that and, somehow it had caught on. Most didn't have the stones to say it to her face, but she heard the rumors. They thought she was some reckless and coldhearted bitch who didn't like anyone.
Maybe she was, a little. But she got the job done, didn’t she?
She wasn’t very good with people. She knew that. It wasn’t like she could just channel some techniq that would change who she was, and, quite frankly, she didn't want to. She wasn't here to make friends. She was here to fight a war. And if they didn't like how she did it that was their problem.
She let her hair drop loosely over her shoulders. Several loose strands draped in front of her face. She gently brushed them back behind her ears and frowned. Some things just couldn't be changed so easily.
She gathered her gear and left the showers.
***
Lanis reentered the hangar and immediately headed toward the exits at the aft end. She managed to navigate the throngs of soldiers with no further social encounters and was nearly to one of the hatches before a voice called out behind her.
“Well, look at that. If it isn’t the Widowmaker!”
She hesitated, mentally cringing at both the sound of her nickname and the gratingly familiar voice that uttered it.
It was Drew Braxton, a Major from the 33rd’s 6th Ranger Company, and an officer with whom Lanis had engaged in several less-than-amiable discussions regarding tactics.
It had become apparent some time ago that the two of them did not share the same perspective on issues of command, although Lanis suspected that there was a certain underlying hint of jealousy involved on the Major’s part. Whatever his reasons, Braxton had decided that he didn't like her, and took any opportunity to put his contempt on display for all to see. For her part, Lanis considered the feeling mutual. It was really no more than a conflict of personalities--one that she was in no mood to deal with, particularly at the moment.
In another unit, Braxton might have taken advantage of his rank to make her life miserable. But in the Corps, rank protocols were a bit less strict. Also, as a Battlemancer, Lanis could count on a certain degree of preferential treatment. Bearing the gift did have its advantages.
She should have just carried on and ignored him, pretending that she hadn't heard. Unfortunately, it was too late for that. Her hesitation had betrayed the fact that she had.
She still wanted to just walk away, but, for some reason, her legs defied her. What was she afraid of? She’d danced the line of life and death with an Imperial Stalker. What could Braxton possibly say that would compare to that?
He stepped away from the small group of officers he’d been chatting with and glared at Lanis with his arms folded across his chest. He had a narrow, chiseled face and his long nose was crinkled up in an arrogant sneer as he appraised her through narrowed eyes, like some aristocratic noble staring down at a lowly peasant. The potential confrontation had drawn the interest of the other officers, who dropped their own conversation to watch.
Gray, who’d just left the crowd at the armory, overheard the commotion and headed toward the rear of the cluster of officers, his face creased with lines of concern.
Basking in the attention, the Major pressed on.
"Word is that you tangled with a Stalker out there today," he said with a sardonic tone, "Don't keep us in suspense, Lieutenant. What happened?"
"Some other time," Lanis replied.
"I see," he snorted. "I heard that it didn't go very well.
"Bit off a little more than you could handle this time?" he chuckled.
Lanis turned her head slightly but didn't look back. "He was amped."
"Amped? A rare bird, indeed," Braxton said with a clear measure of disbelief in his tone. "I suppose that WOULD look pretty impressive on your record wouldn't it, had you actually brought it down."
He altered his stance, taking on a slightly more aggressive posture.
"So, did you realize that you were outmatched before or after you ordered your team to engage?"
"If you have a point to make, then MAKE it." Lanis bristled, "I lost some good men out there."
"So I heard," Braxton said flatly. "Must have been tough. Sounds like the cards were really stacked against you." He almost managed to sound sincere.
"But at least you managed to make it back, safe and sound… more less."
"Lucky, I guess," Lanis replied quietly.
“Apparently more lucky than some," Braxton said coldly.
It was all Gray could do to keep from jumping in at this point. Braxton had always been a jerk, but this was really pushing it, even for him. It was pretty obvious what he was doing and it was a miracle that Lanis hadn't taken the bait so far.
Or was it? Gray had seen these two go at it before but Lanis had always given as much as she'd gotten in those exchanges. He was surprised and more than a little concerned to see her taking this so quietly. Maybe that backlash had affected her more than she was letting on.
But it couldn't last. The Chief had a temper, no doubt about it, and eventually Braxton was going to find the right button to set it loose. And THAT wasn't going to be good for anybody. Unfortunately, before Gray could act, Braxton decided to stop playing around.
"Tell me, Lieutenant... how many did you lose this time?” he sneered, apparently no longer content to mince words, "How many men did you toss to the flames for the chance to put another kill on your record?"
Gray sucked in his breath as silence fell over the group like a zapper burning away the Etherum. And just like the shockwave of Vim flowing back into the resulting void, the reaction came quickly.
Lanis whirled around and glared at Braxton with an intensity that could melt warded steel. The Major took a small step back, perhaps suddenly realizing that was about the least thing a combat channeler could do him.
Lanis's trembling lips betrayed an intense inner struggle. She looked utterly exhausted, but the expression in her eyes was hard and focused.
“Suck Dust, Braxton,” she growled, then spun around and stormed toward the aft hatch, seemingly oblivious to the soldiers and crew that were forced to dodge out of her path. Braxton fumed at the insult, and the lack of respect for his rank, but to his questionable credit, he settled for staring daggers at t
he lieutenant's back as she left. Only once she was well out of earshot did he finally turn back toward the group, quickly covering his disconcertion with a disdainful sneer.
“Fraggin’ bitch," he muttered, but it was clear that he was rattled.
Gray finally let out his breath as he watched Lanis exit the hangar. He was amazed at how well she'd managed to constrain herself and a little concerned as well.
“With all respect, Major, I think you're lucky to be alive," he glanced at Braxton, "…sir," he added.
Braxton glared back at him, clearly offended, but Gray held his ground. Braxton looked back at the empty corridor where Lanis had gone, then, apparently deciding to quit while he was ahead, marched forcefully through the bystanders, who could do little more than exchange confused glances as they slowly dispersed.
SIX
Skycruiser CAS Landry
Officer Quarters
03:30 hours
4 Ii’Laan, 1394
Lanis was too lost in her own thoughts to acknowledge the handful of people she passed in the corridors on the way to the officers quarters on C-deck. The encounter with Braxton had shaken her more than she realized, and she was still trembling when she found herself standing in front of the nondescript metal door that led to her berth.
The gray paint around the door was cracked and peeling slightly around the edges, revealing small patches of rust beneath. It seemed that, despite the anti-weathering wards placed on the ship’s hull, the persistent power of nature would always find a way to destroy man’s work. Nothing lasts forever, she thought.
The door squeaked slightly as Lanis pushed it open stepped into the small room. She flipped a switch on the wall, activating a pair of lights tucked amongst the pipes and wires that ran along the ceiling. The pale light of the dusty bulbs revealed a small, unadorned room with metal walls that contained a small bed, a tiny desk mounted to the wall, a single chair and a footlocker. The room was little more than a large closet but offered far more privacy than the enlisted men got. Such was one of the perks of being a Corps battlemancer.
Lanis tossed her bundle of toiletries on the bed as she closed the door behind her. She crossed the room, knelt down by the footlocker and lifted the lid, revealing an interior neatly packed with clothes, spare uniforms, and a handful of personal items; typical of what you’d find in most any soldier’s personal effects. She tended to travel light, having discovered, over the cycles, that there were very few things she couldn’t live without.
But there was one thing in here that went with her on every assignment.
She dug down to the bottom of the locker and pulled out a small, gray, metal box with a hinged lid that was secured with a tiny padlock. She went to the bed and sat down, gently setting the box in her lap.
She’d gone through this same ritual many times before but it never got any easier. She nervously chewed her bottom lip as she stared down at worn and dented container, as though steeling herself for what she would find inside.
Finally, she took a deep breath and pulled out the metal chain around her neck. Dangling between her metal ID tags was a small brass key, dirty and worn from cycles of use. This key went with her everywhere, and only death itself would separate her from it. With a gentleness that bordered on reverence, she removed the small lock from the box and slowly opened the lid.
Inside was a single picture in a worn wooden frame, nestled in a bundle of pale cloth that was packed neatly in the bottom of the box. Lanis gently reached in and lifted the picture out. She then set the metal box on the bed next to her and held the picture in her lap with both hands.
The frame was simple wood, its once-prominent grain pattern now smoothed and darkened by cycles of handling. The glass in the frame had a slight haze to it that never seemed to come off, regardless of how Lanis had tried to clean it. She reminded herself, yet again, to replace it when she got the chance. The picture inside was old and faded but the frame had done its job, keeping the print intact.
The image of her father, in his dress uniform and cover, smiled up at her with his familiar, lopsided grin.
Lanis stared at the picture for a long while before she finally set it down. She reached back into the box, pulled out the fabric and gently unfolded it across her lap. The little yellow dress had started to fade a bit over the cycles. The tear along the bottom had been rather poorly stitched--her unskilled attempt to repair it when she was still a child--giving it the appearance of a ragged scar that would never heal. The faint stains of oil and blood were still visible despite repeated cleanings.
Her aunt had tried to throw the dress away, insisting that it was hardly worthy of a rag. But Lanis had recovered it from the trash and kept it hidden. Her mother had so liked this dress.
These two items were all that Lanis had left of her birth parents. They had died during the Imperium attack on Fort Belden in the spring of cycle 1380, almost eleven cycles ago; a day that Lanis couldn’t forget if she tried.
Even now, she found herself back at Belden. The sound of the sirens, the soldiers darting about, the explosions, her mother taking her down into the bunkers with the other children, and leaving her there.
By some twisted work of fate, it was on that nightmarish day that Lanis’s Vimsensitive gift had fully manifested. Her first true sense of magic had been terrible screaming of ethergenic weapons and the sickening harmonics of Netherdragon channeling. Isolated from the deadly horrors of the carnage above but forced to endure the battle through her Vimsense, Lanis had felt every spell woven by those horrible monsters. She’d spent hours huddled in the corner of the shelter, surrounded by dozens of terrified children and other non-combatants--yet very much alone.
Coalition reinforcements did finally arrive to drive off the attackers, but it was too late. The base had been destroyed and nearly all the defenders killed, her parents among them. Lanis didn't know how they died, but she had nightmares of them being killed by netherdragons for many cycles. Later, she would learn that those dreams had paled in comparison to the reality.
Afterward, Lanis had gone to live with her aunt and uncle Vamellin. It was a tough life. Her uncle was a staff officer in the Coalition Navy and was rarely at home, so Lanis had been raised by her aunt Sandy, a hard-tempered and practical woman. Lanis was already accustomed to military life and adapted well. The lessons she gleaned from her adopted family only further tempered her resolve and she'd enlisted in the Coalition Armed Forces as soon as she was old enough, determined to serve in any way she could.
Her exceptional scores in magical aptitude and focus guaranteed her entry into the Arcane Corps and her obsessive dedication allowed her to excel in Battlemancer training. She'd made 3rd tier by the time she graduated Advanced Combat Channeling school and reached 4th only a cycle later.
Armed with cutting-edge Coalition BoosterTech and powerful combat magic, she'd made it her life’s goal to take back from the Imperium every bit of what they’d taken from her, with interest.
“Hi Daddy,” she whispered, pressing her lips together in a strained smile. "I almost got another one today," she began, "…but…" her voice faltered.
She looked away, catching sight of small desk by the wall. A wave of anxiety washed over her as she realized that, sooner or later, she would have to write a report detailing the day’s operation. She would have to compose, in painful detail, the sequence of events, enemies encountered, tactics employed, and ultimately, the deaths of eleven men under her command.
Eleven men whose lives had been entrusted to her. Men with families who would never see them again. Families that would forever wonder why their fathers and sons didn’t come home when others did. Fathers and sons who might have come home had she just not…
She let out a depressed sigh.
Widowmaker. The word itself seemed steeped in accusation.
Lanis swallowed hard and closed her eyes.
***
Little Sherry Lanis sat in her fathers lap with tears streaming down her cheeks. Her long, b
lack hair was tangled and stuck to her face in matted clumps. Her father slowly rocked her back and forth as they sat on the porch of their little house at Fort Belden.
“Better now?” he asked, gently wiping her hair away from her face.
She nodded and forced a slight smile. He lightly tweaked her nose and she recoiled, contorting her face in annoyance but giggling, despite herself.
“Good,” he said.
“You’re a big girl now; and big girls don’t cry, right?”
Lanis wiped the tears from her cheeks and, with a little sniff, compressed her lips and tried to put on a stolid face. Her father chuckled and smiled with pride.
“But remember,” he said, “To me, you’ll always be my little girl.
“So, if you ever do need to cry, you can come to me and it’ll be okay.”
***
Lanis gazed down at the picture. The image began to blur as unbidden tears welled in her eyes.
She curled up on the bed, rolled over and stared at the wall, hiding her face from any imaginary eyes that might be watching. She clutched the faded yellow dress and the picture tight against her trembling body.
Little Sherry Lanis had fallen off her bike again.
The first sobs came hard, followed by slight whimpers as her highly practiced composure finally succumbed.
Sheryl Lanis--The Widowmaker of the 33rd Arcane--buried her face in the pillow, and cried herself to sleep.
GLOSSARY OF TERMS
Alchemechanics - The scientific theory that serves as the basis for Enchantech engineering, the science of applying magical effects to technology.
Amphedrine - Amphedrine is a combat drug similar to adrenaline but with the added effect of temporarily suppressing the effects of channeling backlash. Side effects can be severe, including nervous system damage, memory loss, and even permanent reduction of channeling ability. Normally reserved for cases of extreme backlash where a channeler risks death due to Vim saturation.
Big Girls Don't Cry: Shadowdragon War Diaries Vol. 1 Page 7
