03-08-2016, 01:48 PM
Standard drill is everything I’ve heard before. The first few days are about separating the strong from the weak. It’s not a challenge. I’ve kept in excellent physical shape ever since I arrived in the Omniverse. With the small exception of my death.
Melee training is a bit different.
“Every soldier is expected to be able to hold their own in melee,” Lunch says, his arms folded behind his back. “Even the archers.”
I can hold my own in basic hand-to-hand but never did any real melee weapons training. Then again, how hard could it be? Stick the pointy end.
“Now some of you might be thinking,” Lunch continued, “It’s as simple as ‘stick the pointy end’.”
Drat.
I’m facing off against R’cheev. She seems as excited as I am not. Even with this leather armour they’ve strapped me into, I don’t anticipate the thought of her walloping me with one of those training swords.
I look down at the weapon in my hand and I’m only glad there’s no blade attached to it.
“Begin!”
She comes at me with an roundward sweep. I easily back out of its range. Teeth grit, the barbarian woman closes in with another flurry of sweeps.
“Come on, Aran,” drawls Lunch. “This isn’t dodge practice. Hit her!”
I grunt disappreciatively. The next blow I block by holding up my sword to cross hers; then I step in with my right hand and sock her in the face.
A whistle blows as R’cheev staggers back holding her nose. “Aran,” calls Lunch. “As impressed as I am with that sucker punch, we’re here to train swords, not fisticuffs.
“What the hell?” R’cheev is not best pleased; as she draws her hand away I see that her nose is gushing with blood.
“Shit,” I swear. “That was accidental. I just …”
“Just accidentally broke my fucking nose?!”
“DiMornere, get to the infirmary.” Lunch waves her away with a hand before turning back to me. “Since you think you’re hot shit, prime, why don’t you face me? No fists this time. If I get hit by anything that’s not that sword, you’re doing laps around the facility until nightfall. Is that understood?”
A few of the onlookers have stopped their training to watch; I hear a few stifled snickers in the crowd. Already I’m being singled out. I try to keep the blood in my veins cool. It’s not that I don’t want to use the sword, it’s that …
“BEGIN!”
He lunges at me without warning. That portly physique hides some serious speed. I move just in time to put my sword between his and my stomach. I feel suddenly sick and fall backwards.
Lunch steps backward. “On your feet, Aran. Start again.”
I try but my legs are like jelly.
The recruiter-cum-sergeant frowns at me as though he realises something’s wrong. But if he does it doesn’t temper his insults. “What’s the matter, no good without your suit?”
I don’t even have the presence of mind to hit back. I grit my teeth, raise my sword, and challenge him with my eyes.
“Begin!”
This time I’m able to block a few hits. But as he comes towards me I’m forced backwards. That sword has to be kept out of range. Before long I’m practically running a circle around the field. I can see Lunch getting visibly winded. That’s one area in which I have him beat, at least.
Finally he throws down his sword arm. I can see by this point he’s actually angry. He raises his voice. “Recess!” he yells.
As the field clears out, he crosses over to me. “Let’s talk in private,” he says.
My heart sinks and I follow him.
We step into his recruitment office. “Shut the door,” he says, before lighting a cigarette.
He takes a deep puff and stares me down before speaking. “Look, Aran, I can see you’re playing to your strengths. That’s fine. But I thought you came here to learn. Or was it just a play to gain the favour of our king? If this is all just a front to you, then say it now. I can fast track you through with a certificate or whatever you need, but don’t waste my time.”
He’s right in a way. Part of my brain lights up, eager to accept the offer and move on. But that’s not why I couldn’t fight him on the field, and he knows it. I’m not going to get away without giving him an answer.
I sigh, and meet his eyes warily.
“Have you ever died, Lunch?”
He cocks his head.
“Didn’t think so.” I continue, after a pause. “I’ve been close. Many, many times. But never once, until that competition, and then it changed everything.”
I can see he has nothing to say to this. “I’m not dodging your questions, Lunch. But I need time.”
He takes a long drag on his cigarette. “I can see that.” He shifts his weight from the desk he’s been leaning against. “But it’s not gonna help you to run from the problem.”
“I know,” I say, and a wave of nausea rises momentarily. I know.
He steps towards the door. “Then you better find a way of figuring it out.” He steps through before turning back. “Oh, and apologise to R’cheev.”
I need a breather.
It’s not too difficult to get out of the facility without being noticed. I move quickly and once I’m out, I run. I’m not sure where I’m running to. But my suit forms around me and I feel safer in its cold, metallic enclosure. More whole. I slump down next to a tree and check on my usual data feeds.
It’s strange how small a world this Omniverse is.
Melee training is a bit different.
“Every soldier is expected to be able to hold their own in melee,” Lunch says, his arms folded behind his back. “Even the archers.”
I can hold my own in basic hand-to-hand but never did any real melee weapons training. Then again, how hard could it be? Stick the pointy end.
“Now some of you might be thinking,” Lunch continued, “It’s as simple as ‘stick the pointy end’.”
Drat.
I’m facing off against R’cheev. She seems as excited as I am not. Even with this leather armour they’ve strapped me into, I don’t anticipate the thought of her walloping me with one of those training swords.
I look down at the weapon in my hand and I’m only glad there’s no blade attached to it.
“Begin!”
She comes at me with an roundward sweep. I easily back out of its range. Teeth grit, the barbarian woman closes in with another flurry of sweeps.
“Come on, Aran,” drawls Lunch. “This isn’t dodge practice. Hit her!”
I grunt disappreciatively. The next blow I block by holding up my sword to cross hers; then I step in with my right hand and sock her in the face.
A whistle blows as R’cheev staggers back holding her nose. “Aran,” calls Lunch. “As impressed as I am with that sucker punch, we’re here to train swords, not fisticuffs.
“What the hell?” R’cheev is not best pleased; as she draws her hand away I see that her nose is gushing with blood.
“Shit,” I swear. “That was accidental. I just …”
“Just accidentally broke my fucking nose?!”
“DiMornere, get to the infirmary.” Lunch waves her away with a hand before turning back to me. “Since you think you’re hot shit, prime, why don’t you face me? No fists this time. If I get hit by anything that’s not that sword, you’re doing laps around the facility until nightfall. Is that understood?”
A few of the onlookers have stopped their training to watch; I hear a few stifled snickers in the crowd. Already I’m being singled out. I try to keep the blood in my veins cool. It’s not that I don’t want to use the sword, it’s that …
“BEGIN!”
He lunges at me without warning. That portly physique hides some serious speed. I move just in time to put my sword between his and my stomach. I feel suddenly sick and fall backwards.
Lunch steps backward. “On your feet, Aran. Start again.”
I try but my legs are like jelly.
The recruiter-cum-sergeant frowns at me as though he realises something’s wrong. But if he does it doesn’t temper his insults. “What’s the matter, no good without your suit?”
I don’t even have the presence of mind to hit back. I grit my teeth, raise my sword, and challenge him with my eyes.
“Begin!”
This time I’m able to block a few hits. But as he comes towards me I’m forced backwards. That sword has to be kept out of range. Before long I’m practically running a circle around the field. I can see Lunch getting visibly winded. That’s one area in which I have him beat, at least.
Finally he throws down his sword arm. I can see by this point he’s actually angry. He raises his voice. “Recess!” he yells.
As the field clears out, he crosses over to me. “Let’s talk in private,” he says.
My heart sinks and I follow him.
* * * * *
We step into his recruitment office. “Shut the door,” he says, before lighting a cigarette.
He takes a deep puff and stares me down before speaking. “Look, Aran, I can see you’re playing to your strengths. That’s fine. But I thought you came here to learn. Or was it just a play to gain the favour of our king? If this is all just a front to you, then say it now. I can fast track you through with a certificate or whatever you need, but don’t waste my time.”
He’s right in a way. Part of my brain lights up, eager to accept the offer and move on. But that’s not why I couldn’t fight him on the field, and he knows it. I’m not going to get away without giving him an answer.
I sigh, and meet his eyes warily.
“Have you ever died, Lunch?”
He cocks his head.
“Didn’t think so.” I continue, after a pause. “I’ve been close. Many, many times. But never once, until that competition, and then it changed everything.”
I can see he has nothing to say to this. “I’m not dodging your questions, Lunch. But I need time.”
He takes a long drag on his cigarette. “I can see that.” He shifts his weight from the desk he’s been leaning against. “But it’s not gonna help you to run from the problem.”
“I know,” I say, and a wave of nausea rises momentarily. I know.
He steps towards the door. “Then you better find a way of figuring it out.” He steps through before turning back. “Oh, and apologise to R’cheev.”
I need a breather.
* * * * *
It’s not too difficult to get out of the facility without being noticed. I move quickly and once I’m out, I run. I’m not sure where I’m running to. But my suit forms around me and I feel safer in its cold, metallic enclosure. More whole. I slump down next to a tree and check on my usual data feeds.
It’s strange how small a world this Omniverse is.