Alysha's Fall

by M. C. A. Hogarth

  She would bear it for Laelkii, because she could.

  Alysha forced herself down the street, back toward the Academe.

  She returned that evening and tried the door, only to find it locked. No one answered her chimes, and no lights illumined the inside of the house. Concerned, Alysha trotted around the perimeter, peering into each window, but she could see no one, hear no sound. No one answered her calls later from Phantasies either. This pattern repeated for several days, each day adding to her worries. Had Laelkii chosen her husband’s last road?

  On the playing field, Alysha found it difficult to invest herself in the games. She listened to the strategies, half-hearted, offering only occasional suggestions. It was not until the Harat-Shar offered the frontal assault strategy again that she rose from her reverie.

  “That’s crazy.”

  Blue Team looked at her. Alysha wiped at her eyes and said, “If we ram them the way we used to, they’ll just trap us the way we’ve been doing them.”

  “So what do you think we should do?” the Harat-Shar said, almost as if he’d been planning the question. There was a studied innocence on his face even she in her distraction couldn’t miss.

  Alysha stared at their scribbled lines in the snow. “Actually, a frontal assault might work . . . in groups.”

  His brows lifted, and she leaned forward and drew out her thoughts.

  “Leave the flag completely unguarded?” one of them asked incredulously. “Is that wise?”

  “No. That’s why it’ll work,” Alysha said. She knew they should guard the flag, but could not work up the energy to care.

  “I say we try it,” the Harat-Shar said. “We haven’t won again since that last time.”

  The team shrugged and nodded.

  Once again Alysha found herself on the topmost slope, this time planting the flag in the most inhospitable location, full of sliding pebbles and snow-slick rocks. The rest of her team formed into its three-person eggs as soon as the whistle blew.

  Alysha twisted in time to see the eggs shooting off into the fold. Each three-person team went in a different direction, with its one forward guard to tackle any comers and its rear guard to handle ambushes, and its sole runner, the protected one, to try to reach Gold Flag. It was so crazy it might work. Alysha went back to climbing the slope. No one had planted Blue Flag here yet thanks to the sharp stones.

  When she turned, her team had dispersed and she saw no signs of Gold Team. She hadn’t really considered how her position would rob her of any knowledge of the outcome of her plan. Sitting on a rock, Alysha waited. No yells floated back to her perch, nor any whistle to signal the end of the game. Growing bored, she climbed down and strode toward the fold. No sign of either team. Many of the members must be out of the game to have the meld so empty.

  Alysha walked cautiously into Gold Team territory. Finding no opposition, she headed toward the flash of gold.

  When she reached the flag and found no guard she was utterly mystified. She reached out and grabbed the pole, then jerked it from the earth.

  The whistle blew and both teams poured back onto the meld. This time Blue Team headed straight for her, and before she could pause or speak had engulfed her, cheering and laughing.

  “You did it, you did it!” they said, and she was too tired to pull away . . . and indeed, in their eyes, she saw the same laughter and stability she’d seen in Laelkii’s not so many days past. She wondered how much of Rispa and Angel there was in any of them, and when it would appear, and found herself hugging the Harat-Shar.

  “Hey, that was great!” he said, startled by her touch. Then he hugged her back tightly and beamed. “We all got knocked out . . . every single one of us. Except you. You were the last one in the game! We were afraid it would be forfeit ’cause you’d never cross over. . . . ”

  “I almost didn’t,” Alysha admitted. “What’s your name, anyway?”

  “Baner,” he said with a grin and then whooped.

  Blue Team pushed in on her, and she found herself pulled from one embrace to another, found people slapping her shoulder and pumping her hand. She let them, amazed at how easy it was. When they left, she almost collapsed.

  “All right, all right, break it up!” Commander West roared. “Blue Team, that was insane! Five laps, and fast! Gold Team, give me ten, and work harder next time! Go, go!”

  They set off at a run, and Alysha after them. But she glanced over her shoulder and when she did, she found West grinning after her.

  Alysha walked toward the barracks, heading to her room to nap in the half-hour between Applied Tac and History. The churning flow of students in the hall did not fill her with distaste as it had before, but exhaustion drove her to lean against the wall until the crush had cleared away. Closing her eyes, she held her data tablet to her breast and listened to hundreds of pairs of boots scuffing the floor.

  It was the shuffling set that made her finally open her eyes and glance down the near-empty hall, curious about what kind of cadet could walk with such obvious uncertainty.

  And then she pushed herself from the wall and joined Laelkii, who wore cadet blue and black as hesitantly as she stood upright. Her red-rimmed eyes held weariness and her mouth trembled at the corners as if damming back tears, but her hair had been combed and braided to meet regulation, and she was clean and neat.

  Alysha stood across from her, then put a hand on her shoulder. Laelkii rolled her lip between her teeth, looked down. Alysha glanced at her, then at her data tablet with its blinking room assignment.

  “Come on,” she said, her voice quiet in the empty hall. “I’ll help you find your place.”

  Blood Money

  Even two years into the routine, Alysha’s heart still pounded when she stole back to her bed on campus. The forested edge of the Academe grounds proffered better cover for her approach, but she had to sprint the last twenty feet to the barracks door. Sucking her breath in softly, Alysha closed her eyes, listening to the hiss of the wind through the thin grasses, her hands pressed to the bark of a weathered birch. She pulled the silence of the predawn woods into her body with her next breath, then released herself to the open field.

  The crete wall of the barracks slammed into her side and Alysha grabbed at it, claws splaying as she panted. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw only the empty field, the nearest grasses still waving. A shadow briefly darkened the grass, a morning’s winged predator passing. Caution held her taut until she was certain she hadn’t been seen, then she sighed and pushed herself upright.

  Alysha stopped, touched the wall, and bit back a curse. Short, deep punctures laced it, eight arranged in two sprays. She glanced at her fingertips, powdered with crete specks. Her ears flattened to her head. Nathan Lifeweave had implanted the breathnache claws a year ago, and she usually remembered to control their exposure, unless under duress. She didn’t think anyone would link the holes to her, but it bothered her that she’d forgotten to keep her claws velveted again.

  Sunrise wouldn’t wait much longer. She slipped into the barracks, straightening. From here she could pretend she’d been walking to the bathroom if anyone saw her. She strode into the shadowed corridor.

  A figure thumped into her, and she caught a glimpse of a face, purple eyes. Alysha bounced against the wall, holding out a hand. “Excuse me. . . . ”

  The student was already jogging away, hunched over. Perplexed, Alysha stared after him. Was he in pain? Had he just come from the bathroom, or some other room? He looked like he was carrying something. Had he seen her coming in the door?

  Alysha shivered and padded back to her room. Her roommate didn’t even turn over when she slid into her bunk on the other side of the room. She rested on her stomach, hands folded beneath her cheek and the soft gold pillow Rispa had given her mounded beneath her chest. The marks across her back and buttocks were not visible—Tiell preferred his dancers look whole—but she could feel them beneath her short fur, throbbing. When he’d first allowed crops in the back rooms, the resul
ting injuries had made her clumsy, chased sleep away.

  But it was true that a body could grow accustomed to anything, and the hour’s rest before reveille was precious. Alysha twisted until she no longer ached quite as badly and fell asleep a few minutes later.

  “Hey, morning, arii!”

  Alysha glanced up, squinting against the sunlight. “Good morning, Baner.”

  The Harat-Shariin tigraine dropped onto the bench beside her, a towel thrown over one striped shoulder. His muscles flexed conspicuously beneath his stretchsuit as he leaned back. “How’s it going today?”

  Alysha snorted, though she couldn’t quite suppress the smile. “Your posturing won’t work on me,” she said, massaging oil into her foot pad. “You should know that by now.”

  “Hey! Shouldn’t stop a man from trying, eh? You look tired. Sleeping okay?”

  “Passably,” Alysha said. She finished with her feet and tried to work the kinks out of her shoulders. “As well as I ever do, I guess.”

  Baner grinned. “At least you’ll notice the marauder if he comes for you.”

  “What are you talking about now, Baner?” Alysha said, laughing.

  “Somebody’s making off with people’s things while they sleep. It’s spring, so it’s probably some senior pranking. They get feisty on the home stretch.”

  Alysha quieted, concentrated on braiding her hair back.

  “What?”

  “I don’t like pranks,” she said, tying off the bottom of her hair with a band.

  “We’ll probably do it ourselves when we get to senior level,” the tigraine said, waving a hand. “It’s not that important.”

  “It’s not kind,” Alysha said.

  Baner chuckled. “Oh, come on. What part of the Academe is kind, arii? The world’s not kind. The universe surely isn’t. What kind of place would this be if it didn’t prepare us for unkindness?”

  “I don’t know,” Alysha said. “I only wonder what the universe would be like if we didn’t go into it, prepared for meanness of spirit.”

  “Pranking’s not mean-spirited!”

  “Stealing is.”

  Baner opened his mouth, then closed it and looked away, ears flattening.

  Alysha forced a smile. “Come on. That’s Commander West coming out of the gym. We’d better get into formation.”

  “Yeah,” the Harat-Shar said.

  Alysha padded to the edge of the arena, a square of hard-packed earth fifteen feet to a side marked off by white paint. Other cadets converged there as the commander strolled their way, and their murmured conversation ebbed away as they found their place in line. Alysha stood near the middle, already still, waiting; today the line came to order before West arrived, saving them from one of his lectures on punctuality and respect for senior officers. For a Terran Marine dragged out of retirement and pinned with an arbitrary Fleet rank, he had a lot to say about proper command chains.

  Human, medium height, powerfully built and still in shape despite his age, West stood across the circle from them, hands on his hips. His muddy hazel eyes glinted in the sunlight as he glared at them.

  “Not too shabby,” he said, after an interminable period of scrutiny. “Hayden, your hair’s in your face again, but the rest of you are acceptable. Let’s get to the good stuff, then.”

  “Yes, sir!” they answered. Alysha suppressed her grin. West was the only teacher who required this kind of display. It seemed faintly ridiculous still, even after two years.

  “Something funny, Forrest?”

  “No, sir!”

  He stopped in front of her. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Well, since you’re so alert this morning, into the arena with you.”

  That had to be a joke, given the circles under her eyes. Nevertheless, Alysha stepped onto the square, muscles tensing. They’d been doing unarmed combat practice for a few weeks now, with only two other pairs trying out their new skills in the arena. Arena fights were expected to be fought without holding back; West’s words had been, “That’s why we have a Medplex on campus.”

  “Anyone here want to have a go at Cadet Forrest?”

  The muffled snicker was unmistakably Baner’s. Alysha rolled her eyes. The man had no concept of restraint.

  “Mr. Ajasiin. I take it you’d like to jump the cadet?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Any cockier and she’ll grind you into the dirt with your own smirk, mister.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  A wave of stifled laughter ran down the line of cadets. Alysha shook her head, but couldn’t help grinning.

  “Get out there before I slap you myself, Ajasiin!”

  “Aye, sir! Yes, sir!”

  Baner jumped into the square with her, smiling broadly. She shook her head and murmured, “You’re lucky he’s in such a good mood.”

  “If he wasn’t, I’d get the sympathy of all the pretty girls, and maybe some of the nicer guys.”

  “Baner!” she hissed, then laughed. “You’re irrepressible.”

  “Ma’am, yes, ma’am!”

  “Enough talking!” West bellowed. “First person to yield loses! If you refuse to yield before you get pummeled, it’s not my responsibility! If you refuse to yield before you seriously injure yourself, it’s not my responsibility! If you refuse to yield before you bleed to death, I will personally follow you into hell and give you the reaming of several lifetimes! Go!”

  Alysha snatched Baner’s tail and pulled. The Harat-Shar bleated, sending another ripple of laughter through the watching cadets. Jumping away, Alysha waited for him, grinning.

  “That was most unsportsmanish,” Baner said, rubbing his hind end and backing away from her. His smile showed teeth not entirely human. “But I’m not afraid of you.”

  “So, show me.”

  He leaped for her and she ducked. She let him chase her around the edges of the square, keeping her distance. He was playing with her; she’d seen Baner use his body as a weapon when he wanted to, enough to make her wonder if he’d been in real fights before.

  “You’re not convincing me, you know,” Alysha said. Neither of them was breathing heavily, but the sun was warmer than she liked. Beads of oil-sweat began to collect around the neckline of her stretchsuit.

  A stillness came to his crouch that set her fur on end. “I know,” Baner said, then lunged.

  She’d never seen anyone move so quickly. One breath he was on his side of the circle, the next her spine thudded against the hard earth and clouds of dust choked her throat. Baner straddled her, trying to push his hands around her throat.

  “I’ve been dying to be on top of you,” he joked as his fingers strained for her neck.

  “Dream on,” Alysha said through locked teeth, and thrust him off her. She rolled to her feet as Baner circled her.

  “Come on!” West called from outside the square. “Is this a fight or a dance?”

  “Come for me,” Alysha said, grinning.

  Baner leaped, and this time she grabbed his arms and let him bowl her over. Her feet reached for his belly before she hit the ground, letting the breath knock from her before punching up with her feet.

  It should have surprised him, sent him flying out of the square and ending the bout. But he didn’t let go of her arms. The Harat-Shar landed on his knees behind her head and laughed, leaned over, and kissed her full on the mouth.

  Her awareness exploded from the pit of her hips: from the abused lower body out to the throbbing welts beneath her fur. Rage surged after it, wiping away the sun, the smell of earth and wind. All she could feel was another man on her back. All she could taste was another unwanted tongue down her throat. All she knew was hatred, white hatred that wiped everything away.

  “Forrest! Forrest! Damn it, get off him!”

  Alysha let West pull her off Baner, blood dripping from her claws. The iron tang of it struck her almost physically, and with it rushed the rest of the scene: the arena, not the back room; the cadets, not the p
atrons; Baner, not a man who’d paid to rape her. “Baner!”

  The Harat-Shar was rising, shakily, to his feet. “It’s okay. It looks worse than it is.” He staggered. “Okay, maybe it’s worse than it looks.”

  “Lightfoot, Jasek, get Ajasiin to the Medplex! Move! The rest of you, back to practice. Two on two. What are you staring at? Go!”

  Alysha knelt on the ground, shivering. She felt West’s stare on her back.

  “Forrest. Get up.”

  She stumbled to her feet.

  West studied her, but she kept her eyes on the ground at his feet. His voice, when he at last spoke, was softer than she’d been expecting. “Not holding your punches doesn’t mean the same thing as going into a killing frenzy, Cadet.”

  “I know, sir.”

  “Can you explain to me why you almost nailed a hole through Mr. Ajasiin’s chest?”

  Alysha thought of Phantasies, of Tiell and the endless parade of beasts that passed through her room, her body. She swallowed. “No, sir.”

  “Forrest, I can’t make you tell me anything . . . but I’d hate to see your career wasted because you couldn’t control your rages. Whatever it is you hate so much, you won’t find it here, so leave it wherever it came from. Understood?”

  Alysha closed her eyes. “Yes, sir.”

  “Now go see that Harat-Shar and make sure he’s going to live.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The healers in the Medplex were still working on Baner when she arrived. Alysha sat in the waiting room and fidgeted as the sweat cooled on her body.

  “Alysha?”

  She glanced up to find Laelkii standing in front of her. The older woman’s hair had more white than gray now, but her eyes had lost their vague drift in the year since Nathan’s death. Her body filled out the uniform much better, though she still managed to look more like a civilian than a cadet.