Imposition (4 page)

"Be less predictable then. Not my fault."

In the third and final round, all bets were off. Too much was at stake—neither man could afford to come out the loser. They fought for and chased the ball like their lives depended on it, already flagging from the exertions of the previous two rounds. Gen was doing his best to hide his panting, trying to conceal the rapid movement of his chest despite his shirt clinging to him with sweat and making it obvious, at least to Therse's eyes. Therse himself was playing a cleverer game; slackening his jaw, letting his shoulders droop, making himself look more exhausted than he really was.

His tactics were paying off. Gen wasn't pushing himself so hard to get to the ball, reserving his energy and his strength for a game of stamina rather than impulse.

Therse had him.

He crossed the court with a sudden burst of speed, powering over to the ball Gen had been so confident Therse had no hope of reaching before him, his expression twisting in surprise as Therse plucked the ball from the air in front of him and landed himself four points. Therse felt the brush as Gen moved past him, and watched him go. Gen's thin, cheaply-made Navy shirt clung to him, plastered with wet to his spine and across the broad of his back. Clung just tightly enough that Therse could make out the way his muscles moved beneath it.

Therse watched him as they vied for the remaining points. Gen was lithe and naturally athletic, perhaps a shade taller than Therse, with long muscular legs and broad shoulders. His arms were nicely built and undoubtedly powerful. Gen had always had an impressive instinctive ability to judge a situation, to know its holes and identify threats that might arise, or identify and exploit factors Therse himself might miss, and all without actually having to give it any thought or calculation. Therse knew those skills would one day make Gen a first-rate squad commander in battle, and if he was honest, he was a little jealous that something he had to work so hard at, had to spend so long playing out in his mind, came so easily to Gen.

Instinct wasn't the only thing Gen had going for him. He had a way with the troops—both under him and even above—that made them listen, take note. They respected him before he even opened his mouth, but all Therse could ever muster from them after what he would consider a rousing sermon was bored compliance. Therse had a fantastic mind for clever tactics and dirty tricks, but could never win his men over in the way Gen so effortlessly could, even though they'd had the same amount of field experience and were both Lieutenants.

Therse managed to get around Gen again by setting the ball up to land just where he wanted it. Gen was pelting towards him at full speed, eyes fixed on the little black prize. Therse hit the ball, and sent it towards empty space on the skin of the dome.

"Where the hell are you aiming?” Gen laughed, breathless.

But Therse didn't look back at him. He just stood there calmly, waiting.

A dense-tone purple twenty-point spot appeared just where the little ball connected with the dome.

Therse turned to his crew-mate with what he thought might be a sufficiently arrogant expression. Gen looked back at him with a stifled mixture of masked awe, jealousy, and irritation. “Any idiot can whack a ball at some spots. What sets me apart from you is my ability to read a situation.” Therse told him.

Gen puffed a strand of hair out of his eyes under the visor, and pretended to ignore him.

I guess we complement each-other, in a way
.
Two generals of a very different ilk.

That had been impressive, yes, but they were both very close to the target of fifty points total, and for all his clever tricks, Therse was still losing. The next sink would probably determine the game.

The ball dropped a little distance away from both of them—the ship at this point not even bothering to re-set properly with the field-boxes—but it looked arguably closer to Therse.

"What you going to do now?” he yelled back at Gen, running for the ball to claim his self-assured victory.

Gen ran right at him at break-neck speed, grabbing Therse around the waist with one arm. The sudden force and distraction made him falter, shoving down on Gen's arm to get himself released—but it was too late. He was already heading straight for the ball in a way that would see him to a nice juicy points deduction. His only option was to go for a full stumble and miss the ball altogether, hoping Gen would fudge the shot and allow him a second chance.

He rolled as he thudded to the floor, facing upwards just in time to see Gen's last points land.

"Third mark: Genham Drisjic. Match: Genham Drisjic."

"Oh, yes,” Gen said, grinning and stepping almost ceremonially over Therse's fallen body.

Therse had half a mind to grab Gen's ankle and bring the cheating bastard down, but he kept the urge to himself and stood as gracefully as possible. “You are such an asshole. Didn't you see that?” he asked the ship.

"There is nothing in the rules prohibiting physical contact,” it replied, with all the luster of someone vaguely involved with their dealings whilst at the same time studying the back of a ration packet.

"There's that, and then there's rough-housing."

"You never change, do you?” Gen sneered. “Always wanting an honorable outcome."

Therse wanted to give him a good hard shove. He settled for words though, as always. “And what about you? Always wanting to find the easiest, most reliable route to a quick, certain victory, no matter the consequences."

"That's war,” Gen snorted. “History only remembers the victors."

"I'd like to think history is a little more discerning than that."

"You would, wouldn't you? Still, you played well.” Gen flipped the play over in his hand. “Want another?"

"Not fucking likely, if you're going to be a shit about it. I'm taking this off now,” Therse replied, pulling the induction collar and visor off. The game board dissolved, leaving them back in the dull gray box.

"Spoil sport,” Gen told him, pulling off his visor too. “The universe isn't always fair, you know."

Therse leaned in. “That doesn't mean you have to help unfairness into all the corners of the universe where its absence would otherwise be a merit, just so everything fits your jaded world view."

Gen moved in a little more, smiling; so close Therse could almost feel his breath. He refused to yield.

"You get so wordy when you're mad."

"Fuck off,” Therse told him with a flat shove to the chest, turning quickly and stalking away towards the exit.

They'd gone their separate ways to shower and cool off—their chosen quarters were on the same level but quite far apart, having decided it was probably pointless them living side-by-side on an empty ship. And this way they gave each other space. It was part of their system for when one of them inevitably pissed the other off. There would be a reasonable amount of time allotted for sulking, then everything had to be forgotten. Therse liked that they had such an easy relationship despite being such fundamentally different people.

He waved his way through the door to Gen's quarters, thinking maybe it was time to tell Gen about the letter he'd been avoiding talking about all day. “Hey Gen, I...what are you wearing that for?"

Gen was standing in front of his bedroom mirror-screen, dressed head-to-toe in full Navy regalia save for his cap, which still lay on the bed beside him. He turned side-on and straightened his shoulders, jutting out his chin and pushing his hair away. Therse felt under-dressed next to the figure in beautiful deep-blue.

"I haven't worn this since we graduated. How come we never get to go on any parades? All the others from the academy do."

"Because the places we've been posted, no one cares about parades,” Therse replied, leaning back against the wall of Gen's decidedly messy quarters. “You should take that off, you'll only ruin it."

"What are you, my mother?” Gen said, but started to remove his clothes all the same. Fancy gold-rimmed buttons were popped neatly through stiff uniform button holes by pristine white gloved hands. He shrugged the jacket off. The shirt beneath it lay perfectly over his broad shoulders, somehow still crisp and white despite their travels.

Therse realized he was staring, and corrected himself. “Won't be long ‘til we see them all again, and you can complain to their faces then.” He remembered their friends with a fond smile. They'd almost been a small command unit in their own right at the academy—Mal, their leader, a strong-willed and charismatic woman on whom they'd all depended, and Byrn, her responsible second-in-command, had kept the rest of them united despite everyone having such broad interests. If it hadn't been for Mal, Therse would never have known any of them, especially Gen.

"Yeah,” Gen smiled. “It'll be good to see them; it's been too long. You think they'll have changed much?” He was halfway down the buttons of his shirt. His warm, fair skin showed through where the shirt had begun to part.

"Hard to say. It's not really been long enough, so I guess probably not."

"I'd laugh my ass off if we come back and find Mal's turned into some wrinkled old prune."

"That's not how physics works, but even so she'd still be able to punch your face straight off your skull."

"No doubt. Mal was the only one at the academy I was actually afraid of."

Therse snorted a laugh. “Same here."

Gen pulled his shirt off at the cuffs, folding it in an odd display of affection. He placed it on the bed on top of his jacket and smoothed the folds out, brow furrowing slightly. Therse had an inkling as to what was on his mind. It was a while since Gen had been back home. Back to Earth.

"How's your mom?” Therse asked.

Gen looked up at him as though his train of thought had been interrupted but not necessarily derailed. He made a sort of sideways nod and rubbed at the place where his shoulder met his neck. A self-comforting gesture. A gesture Therse had seen many times before. “Fine, fine. She's a bit...you know...since Dad...” He broke off and looked at his uniform again, frowning.

The son of a soldier. The son of a proud father.

"You going to holo-call her when we get on leave? Spend some time with her?” Therse said, changing the subject slightly.

"I dunno, haven't really decided yet."

"You should talk to her. You know she misses you.” Therse only realized the hypocrisy of his lecturing Gen on talking to people about Important Things once the words had escaped his mouth. He bit his tongue.

"I know,” Gen sighed.

"What are you going to do instead, drink and whore all your credit away on Gogh?"

Gen squinted at him. “Don't imply that I can't pick up women. I've never failed once."

Therse folded his arms. “Oh that is
such
a lie."

"Like hell it is! I'm telling you —"

"What about that girl in that dive-bar you practically wanted to marry? She ran you

around all evening and went home with some shirtless neckbeard."

"Hey that was a one-off; there's no accounting for some people's taste,” Gen said, starting to unbutton his trousers.

"Do you really want me to stand here and list your failings?” Therse said. “Because I will."

"Fuck off. You've been keeping count?"

"Of course,” Therse nodded, sagely. “It's my job as your future best-man."

"Oh, I like how you've decided. Who says I wouldn't pick Byrn?"

"Because Byrn would look ridiculous standing next to you at the altar in uniform. Like a huge bear-man."

"You missed the wedding, remember? I've never seen you in that situation, how can I compare?” He stood up straight, looking wistful. “Hey, you know I just realized something."

"What?"

"You're standing there ribbing me for my failures, but I don't remember you getting lucky ever."

"The fuck are you talking about? There's loads of times I've —"

"Name one."

"I don't know, uh —"

"One
. Even when we were on that double date and that dumb girl got drunk enough on neon cocktails to think it would be a good idea to stick her hand down your pants at the dinner table, you still managed to come away empty-handed."

"Because she was ugly as hell. Perhaps the difference between you and me is standards.” Therse found himself with a face full of Gen's fatigue shirt. It smelled of him. “Man, gross you've been wearing that.” He flung it back. Gen grinned at him, and dumped the shirt on the bed beside his uniform. He unbuckled his trousers and began to pull them down. Therse caught a glimpse of the crest of Gen's buttocks before he forced himself to turn away.

He watched the screen news for a minute while Gen dressed again.

"You seen the news about Carbera?” Gen asked him.

"Yeah,” he said after a while. “Navy fleets are arriving there already—most of the really nasty shit is going to happen now.” He turned back to look at Gen, who was now thankfully re-dressed. “Anyone arriving late to the party is going to get tasked with clean-up duty."

"Us, you mean?” Gen clapped him on the shoulder with a grin, heading for the door.

Therse wanted to tell Gen the truth about his reassignment—the truth that meant from the moment they landed at Gogh Planetary Hub, he and Gen wouldn't be serving together any more. That from then on, he'd be leaving Gen behind. But it was just too difficult. “...Right,” he said, swallowing it all back down again.

On the way out of Gen's quarters, Therse remembered something he'd been meaning to ask. “So where's this biohab anyway? You haven't shown me yet."

"No, I haven't, have I?” Gen replied, smirking and backing away.

Therse raised an eyebrow at him, then realized what he was planning. “Don't you fucking dare."

Gen skipped backwards a little. “If you want to see it, you're going to have to keep up.” He turned and ran for the transporter module, about a hundred meters down the corridor.

"Fucking bastard, there's no way you'll lose me!” Therse yelled after him, feeling the grin he'd had earlier in the games sim return.

As they pelted down the empty hall, Therse had the uneasy realization that Gen was promptly pulling away from him and accelerating. When he reached the module, slamming the button to call it with a victorious fist, Therse was still at least twenty-five meters away. Gen waved at him and disappeared into the wall. Therse forced his legs to go faster against their ample protest, not wanting to miss his ride.