Special Forces 01 (35 page)

No, they hadn’t. Rys hid a smile as he set about the engrossing business of amassing food on his plate.

Nick’s eyes were darting between his brother and Rys, expression curious, waiting for more insights on the session. “So what was he doing, exactly?”

“Well, take the first round. Arystair is military trained, so we figure he’s gotta play differently than us, right? We played cutthroat, putting him by himself, just to see how he’d react, as we ganged up on him.” Mark grimaced, a little exasperated. “Or that was our goal, anyway. He turned the tables on us in short order, it was him ganging up on us!”

Rys couldn’t help but grin at that, remembering their faces as he laid down a withering barrage of cover fire.

“Quit it man, I see that evil leer of yours.” Mark waved a fork, still loaded with roast beef, at him threateningly. “It wasn’t anywhere near a fair scrimmage, and you knew it! We looked like a bunch of road kill hit by a paint truck at high speed.”

“I did warn you going in,” Rys responded mildly. “None of you believed me.”

“You warned us that you’re a superior marksman, but you forgot to mention that you could read minds,” Mark retorted. As an aside to his avidly listening brother, who was soaking up every crumb of the conversation, he confided, “And the worst part of it is, I firmly believe that during the first round he was intentionally takin’ it
easy
on us! We signed up for the field to the left of the main gate, and were playing bunkers the first round. I drew the assignment to keep him pinned down and contained, so Jon and Dave were free to move. I’m running for the nearest bunker at top speed, laying down cover fire as I go, so Jon can maneuver into the fifty, and get a clear shot at him.”

“What’s the fifty?” Jessica asked in confusion, trying to follow her son’s story.

“It’s the center bunker on the field,” Nick explained. “It commands a clear shot of the entire field, in both directions, and it’s awesome if you can get to it first. It puts the opposing team at an immediate disadvantage.”

With this explained, Mark continued, “Only Arystair doesn’t run for the first bunker like he’s
supposed
to. He stops about three feet from it, shooting right past the bunker I was heading towards. I overshot it, and ran smack into his paint, like it was just sitting there waiting for me to arrive!” Mark glared at Arystair in renewed aggravation.

“You were running too fast, so that compromised your ability to stop quickly,” Rys explained patiently. “With the ground so slick from the recent downpour, I knew you’d slide farther than you intended.”

Mark muttered something like “freaking reads minds,” under his breath before continuing. “Dave saw what happened and ran up to the next bunker, trying to cover my assigned position. But it didn’t save him, as Arystair disappeared
behind
the bunker instead, and then he just casually takes a step out around the bunker, crouching at a low, tight level, and nails Dave to the max. He stitched him from one side to the other, right across his belt buckle! Jon, by this time, was halfway across the field, out in the open, cause he’s running like a mad dog trying to flank Arystair to get a shot at him. Suddenly there’s no place for him to go. Arystair rolled over and ran up, maneuvering the snake,” Mark turned to explain to his mother, “That’s a long bunker that covers the whole other side of the field, see, a really excellent position — and hammers Jon like he was waiting for his picture to be taken. This guy took us all out in thirty seconds flat.
Thirty seconds.
It was freakin’ embarrassing. The only thing that kept the other teams on the field from laughing us out of the park was they didn’t want to draw his attention to them!”

Nick was suitably impressed by this exciting saga of playing with the guy they found to substitute for him. “And after that, what happened?”

“What happened?! Things rolled down a steep hill from there, and we took a comprehensive beating with an ugly stick,” Mark responded glumly. “At least it did until we stopped playing against him, and he started teaching us some new strategies. Then things got much harder for him, he had to start playing with both hands for a change. He still won every round, though. I don’t think he even got any paint on his clothes, unless he accidentally rubbed up against some that was there from a previous game.”

“You almost got me that last round,” Rys consoled him, suppressing laughter.

“Ha!” Mark clearly didn’t believe him. “You were setting us up like a bunch of dominos, and I won’t be persuaded otherwise. Still, with you on the team, there’s no way we’re going to lose tomorrow. Are you sure that we can’t persuade you to join us permanently?” he added with a wistful tone in his voice, for the twentieth time that day.

“I am sure,” Rys spread his hands apologetically; shaking his head slowly back and forth like his head was on a gate hinge. “I have my own team, as a matter of fact. But I’ll be happy to substitute again if you need me.”

Mark nodded, disappointed, but resigned that the answer was a definite “no.”

Mrs. Bergert was watching him with thoughtful eyes. “Arystair, Mark said that you were military trained. What did he mean by that?”

“I’m from Fourth Colony, ma’am,” Rys responded simply. “I started attending the military academy at eight.” And graduated at fourteen, not that she needed to know that, or what that involved.

“Eight?” she repeated faintly. “That’s too young, surely…”

“In matters of planetary survival, Mrs. Bergert, age is not a consideration. I was grateful for the training. It meant my chances of living to adulthood were remarkably improved.” That suitably darkened the mood around the table. No one knew how to respond to that. Forcing a smile he quipped lightly, “It also means I can easily outmaneuver your sons on the paintball field.”

Mark scowled, as Rys knew he would, and promised in a dark tone, “Only for now, Savar. We’ll beat you some day.”

“Maybe after the competition, we can match my team against yours for a scrimmage or two?” Rys grinned at him in wolfish anticipation.

“You said your team is made of academy classmates,” Mark objected. “They’ll all be as good as you! We wouldn’t stand a chance!”

“How can you expect to win with such negative thinking?” Rys said sweetly, clucking his tongue in disapproval.

“You’ll pay for that later,” Mark threatened, eyes sparking in challenge and good humor.

“Put it on my tab, I don’t have any loose change on me at the moment,” Rys dismissed this with an airy wave of the hand.

***

That night Rys was settled on a roomy air mattress on the floor of Mark’s room. He was comfortable in this place, much more than he had expected to be, and happy to have made another friend. In the darkness of the night, sound was amplified, and he could hear every breath that Mark took in the bed above him.

He’d thought the other boy asleep until Mark said, “Hey, you still awake?”

“Yeah.” Rys turned slightly, facing the bed, even though he couldn’t see anything from this angle.

“I’m really curious…are you and Anne Dorian friends or are you together? I can’t figure it out by watching you.”

“Friends,” Rys answered, a little bemused by the question. “Now you have my curiosity peaked. Why are you asking?”

“Well, there are a lot of guys who are interested in her, but she’s never really gotten close to anyone. Kind of wary and standoffish, you know? Maybe it’s because she’s a politician’s daughter, and moves around a lot. But with you, it was like the two of you instantly clicked. We were all a little surprised by it.” There was a pause and then, “Are you interested in dating her?”

Rys didn’t even have to think about that one. “Yes.”

“I figured. You’d have to be crazy to say no. So why haven’t you made a move yet?”

“I’m not entirely sure how…” Rys slowly admitted. “Bijordan culture is very different in many ways from Fourth Colony. I don’t want to accidentally put my foot in my mouth. And by the way, I don’t have any actual experience in dating either.”

“Wait, wait, back that right up.” Mark abruptly twisted so that his head was hanging off the bed, looking down on him in the dark. In the dimness of the room, only his eyes were really visible, wide with surprise and disbelief. “You’ve never had a date? Really?”

Rys stared back at him warily. “Why is that surprising?”

“Because usually the girls muster some pretty efficient hunting parties and scoop up the good looking guys fast. The only reason why that hasn’t happened to you down here is because Anne’s made her claim on you pretty obvious. She has posted ‘Hands Off!’ markers you could read from a hundred feet away.”

Had she? Rys wasn’t entirely sure what to make of that statement.

“So, was that military academy of yours male-only or something?” Mark continued his puzzled tone clear in the darkened room.

“Negative, it was co-ed,” Rys corrected. “It’s just that there was no time or opportunity to socialize with the girls. Mark, you have to understand that Nova was like this terrifying, all engrossing monster to us, bent on consuming everything in its path. It was well beyond your worst nightmare, and we had no chance of ever permanently defeating it. It occupied our every waking thought, in one way or another, leaving no room for us to relax or even consider socializing. I never thought about dating back home. I didn’t have the time or spare energy to even notice the women in our Division.”

There was a digestive silence before Mark spoke again, voice quiet and subdued now. “That’s…that’s really depressing, man.”

“I know. As hard as it was to leave, I have to admit it was a blessing in some ways. We couldn’t really live full lives on Fourth, not with imminent death hanging over our heads and stalking us in our dreams.” Rys blew out a breath. “The overall quality of my life has improved a lot since we arrived here.”

“So…if the only reason why you haven’t made a move is because you’re not sure how to do it, would you like me to give you some pointers?”

Rys propped himself up on an elbow, looking up at Mark with growing respect. “Would you?”

“Sure man!” Mark briefly rolled his eyes. “Guardians, it’s the least I can do. You’re helping us out on short notice and teaching us stuff besides. I don’t know her all that well, though, so you’re going to have to give me some idea of what she’s like before I can give you some advice. What are some of her hobbies and interests?”

Rys started drawing Mark a profile sketch of the likes and dislikes of Anne Dorian. Mark listened attentively and then started asking additional questions as they occurred to him. When he felt like he had enough information to go on, he began slowly throwing out suggestions. He also pointed out some general guidelines and tips on successful dating. Rys memorized every word, logging and categorizing this valuable data, to share with the other members of his team who were similarly unfortunate in their social skills. Perhaps one day soon he would possess the skills and confidence necessary to ask Anne out on a legitimate date.

And if the Guardians were smiling down on him, she’d say yes.

Chapter Eighteen

“I’m here, Gremlin, what’s the emergency?”

Gremlin looked up from the computer screen in front of him, eyes tight with worry, and waved his Captain into the bedroom. “Come in, sir. You need to have a look at this.”

Rys seldom came over to Gremlin’s foster home; they usually just met in other places. Looking around him now in dismay, he nodded to himself. He had made the smart choice. The impressive array of spare computer parts, various electronic gear, technical books, and manuals would rival any well stocked computer store. The unsteady tower of cannibalized computer boards stacked in one corner was a widow-maker, waiting to come crashing down on some unsuspecting victim that ventured too close. It was a miracle that Gremlin, engrossed in a pet project, hadn’t accidentally bumped some random lynch pin in the pile, and fomented a computer avalanche.

Rys had been puzzled about the reason for Gremlin’s urgent coded call, and then caught the implied message when his Lieutenant declined to disclose any details until he saw him in person. After he broke the connection, Rys made the best possible time answering the summons.

Without a word he took up a position on the stool Gremlin motioned him to, and began to rapidly ingest the information on the screen. He was silent, giving the screen his full attention for several moments. The information was obviously in an unfamiliar code, he couldn’t make anything out using standard techniques. “What in the world am I looking at?”

“The latest proprietary internal message from Nova to their representatives in the Capitol,” Gremlin answered grimly, not breaking eye contact with the screen. “And it’s not asking for a summary of the negotiations on the colony space borders or trade agreements, either.”

Bijordan and Nova (as well as a few Fourth Colony leaders that had survived the war) had been in discussions for months now about exactly where Nova’s borders ended and where the colony space began. Rys had been keeping up to date on the negotiations by “borrowing” the direct feeds to a few security cameras in the Capitol Building. None of the discussions there had any direct correlation to his primary mission (aside from giving Nova an excuse to be on Bijordan soil) so he technically hadn’t needed to keep an eye on the situation. It was just his paranoia that wouldn’t allow him to leave it alone.

Now he was starting to think that he owed his paranoia an apology.

Rys massaged the bridge of his nose with one hand, feeling a headache gathering on the horizon. “What does it say, Gremlin?”

“I can’t read all of it, at least not yet,” Gremlin responded apologetically. “I believe they are employing some form of an ancient dialect, most likely slang from that dialect, no less. What I have been able to read makes me wish I was old enough to drink. I am convinced that what we are looking at are the rough plans, sir, for abducting the major leaders of Bijordan and Fourth Colony.”

For a second, Rys forgot he needed to breathe. “When? Where? How?”

“That’s the part
I can’t read
,” Gremlin growled in sheer frustration. “Get me some cutting edge equipment, a comprehensive Novian dictionary, and a couple of language experts at my beck and call, and I think I can get you that answer within a week. Whoever designed this code really knew what they were doing,” he added in grudging admiration. “A forgotten language really ups the ante, and makes this a considerably tougher security encryption than their battle fleet’s self-destruction codes.”