I caught Swan and Stew just before they went into the hut, grabbing their tunics and dragging them around the corner. “You didn’t tell them yet, did you?” I asked.
Swan brushed my hand away. “No, we’re going to let you do the honors.”
“Yeah, better you than us,” Stew added. “Ram and Mar are going to go berserk. Those two are hotheads.”
I threw a quick glance around the corner to make sure that the conversation remained private before asking, “Where is it anyway?”
“That was always irrelevant,” Swan said, preoccupied with straightening his vest. “They just have to believe you have it.”
“In other words—you stole it. Was that the plan all along? Steal the birdbane for yourselves?” I said, somewhat annoyed but not at all surprised.
“Nope, just a perk,” Stew said, smirking. His upturned smile pulled his long nose off-center.
“You’ll bluff about the birdbane and they’ll get you the mirror. It’ll all work out,” Swan assured me.
“Actually, that’s why I wanted to talk to you,” I said, sparing another glance around the corner. “I have my mirror.”
“What?” Stew sputtered.
“I got it last night,” I explained. “Bardzecki gave it to Winslow, allowing him to return it to me.”
“Jeez,” Stew said. “Winslow heaped on the chores as punishment for dragging you out last night, and all you got was your mirror back? Did he even scold you?”
I couldn’t help it, thinking of last night made me blush. I jerked my head down, trying to hide it by staring at my boots, but it was too late. They were smart, and I saw Swan send Stew a knowing look before I managed to avert my eyes.
Stew got the hint, dragging out the word, “Weellll,” as he gave me an appraising look. “I guess Swan was right—things did work out. In fact, I think you got the best end of the deal.”
“But what about when Mar and Ram realize the birdbane is missing?” I asked. That was the real reason I’d dragged them off to have this conversation.
“No point in worrying about that now, is there? We’ll deal with it when it happens,” Swan answered calmly. Too calmly. We all knew Mar and Ram would not be pleased to find their precious treasure had been molested. But he was right. There was nothing I could do about it now.
“Come on,” Stew said, “or we’ll be the last ones to arrive. And something tells me Winslow won’t be pleased to see you in our company after last night. Or anyone else’s company for that matter,” he added, jabbing me in the ribs with his elbow.
Hostile take it! I thought as I followed them around the corner and into their hut. They’d never forget my blushing, and had probably drawn all the wrong conclusions from it. Winslow wasn’t soft on me. And as if to prove it, he ignored me completely as I trailed in, the last to arrive. He’d reverted to treating me in his former manner since breakfast, with cool disinterest and vague tolerance.
“Alright,” he called. “This won’t take long. I’m just going to hand out your quarterly marks and then you can go about your usual free time business.”
Winslow began to pass out the half-sheets of paper, quickly flipping mine into my lap before moving on. No special treatment there. I had just started to unfold it when Mar (whose bottom bunk I was currently sitting on) crumpled his paper in a tight fist, cursing.
I wasn’t the only one to notice his reaction. Immediately Ram drew closer. “What is it?”
Martinez spit out in an angry voice, “I got a minus in weapons.” Ram’s gaze dropped to the fisted paper and he grabbed for it, but Mar pushed him back roughly. “I already told you what I got!”
“What reason did Bardzecki give?” Ram demanded.
“Lack of motivation,” Mar ground out.
I had always assumed that Ram was the sensible one, but I watched in trepidation as he launched himself at Martinez, shouting, “You lazy ass!”
The two began to brawl within the small confines of the hut, smashing into bunk frames and adobe walls, grunting and cursing. In the back of my mind I’d been waiting for them to get angry, and although their upset had nothing to do with me, I couldn’t help but respond as if it did, jerking upright and pressing myself out of the way. Surprisingly my format did the same, flattening themselves against the walls to give Ram and Mar the space they needed to wale on each other. I glanced around wildly, wondering why my mates looked on with mild interest instead of interfering. The night before, when Gridleigh and Swan had fought, it hadn’t seemed real, the birdbane insulating the reality of it. But this was real. This was right in front of me, the meaty sounds of pounded flesh filling my ears. Sure, Gridleigh had singled me out, frightening me on more than one occasion, but those scenarios had ended quickly, broken up before they had even started. This fight just continued, past the blood and sweat, my entire format content to watch. I couldn’t take it.
Seeing a small space open between them, I jumped to fill it, yelling, “Stop it! Stop!” It was a mistake. Ram had been throwing a low punch that he didn’t have time to pull. His fist landed, thrust solid into my gut. At the same time, Mar had launched himself forward, intending to plow Ram off balance. He collided with me instead, sending me clear across the hut where I crashed into the corner of a bunk, crumpling to a heap on the floor.
The hut erupted. My mates, who’d stood prone, watching the fight with little interest, swarmed to lift me gingerly from the floor. Ram and Mar had ceased fighting, staring down at me in dismay. I didn’t see much after that. They all winked out.
* * *
I came to slowly. It felt like waking from a deep sleep. With the growing awareness came a severe ache in my stomach and back. I couldn’t help but groan, curling into a ball as I rolled onto my side. Firm hands pushed me flat again.
Winslow’s deep and emotionless voice filled my ears. “Frost, how do you feel?”
“I’ll be fine,” I rasped, hoping it was true.
“I told you fights were common at camp,” Winslow continued. “What on Little Red were you thinking, jumping between Martinez and Ramirez like that?”
Stew answered for me. “She couldn’t help it, women hate violence. My sister never tried to interfere though, just cried.”
“Well she was successful at ending the fight,” Pumphrey snarked, his nearby voice making me crack an eye. His face was hovering far too close. With a clumsy hand, I tried to swat him away.
Roth laughed. It was a comforting sound.
“She’s been in two fights already,” Stew observed. “That’s impressive considering she hasn’t been a camp very long. I haven’t even been in a fight yet.”
“That’s no coincidence,” Jackson explained. “There are plenty of people who’d like to hit you, trust me. They’re just too afraid of your revenge to do it.”
“Frost, do you want to go to the doctor?” Winslow asked. “We can take you there if you don’t feel up to walking.”
I imagined them carrying me through camp to the infirmary, all the staring soldiers. “No!” I said hastily. “Just let me rest for a bit before I go lift weights with Roth.”
Someone snorted.
“You won’t be lifting weights today,” replied Winslow. “Or doing anything else for that matter.”
“What about Ram and Mar?” I asked. “What happened to them?”
“I sent them out, along with Edwards. The three of them were only making the situation more hectic,” answered Winslow.
“No, I mean, what were they fighting about?”
“They have grand ambitions,” Swan answered. “If all goes according to plan they’ll be commanders one day. But that’ll only happen if they get accepted to Hamilton, one of the better training camps, which will only happen if they get decent marks. So what you witnessed was Ram expressing his disappointment. Mar’s marks will lower their chances.”
“Are they in the infirmary now?” I asked.
Another snort.
“Fighting for them is therapeutic,” Jackson said. “Lets ‘em blow off steam. It’s so common we hardly notice anymore. If they went to the infirmary after every fight, they’d never have time for class.”
“We found your marks still folded on the floor,” Roth rumbled from nearby. “Want me to tell you what it says?”
I had forgotten about that, and shrugged with indifference.
I heard the crinkle of unfolding paper followed by Roth’s rich, thick voice. “You got a plus in every subject, Frost, good job. Even Bardzecki gave you a better than neutral score.”
“She scored as well as Swan and Stew,” Dutton grunted, a little surprised.
“I suppose that means she’ll be able to help Pumphrey with his minus in Shetheerie when she’s feeling better,” Swan needled.
“Rot that!” Pumphrey replied, but it lacked its usual heat.
Fitallion wove his way between the clustered soldiers, carefully handing me a glass. “Drink this,” he said. “You’ll feel better.”
My eyes were falling shut before I’d taken more than a sip, the pain slipping away. The last thing I saw was my format’s blurring faces, and the first upon waking was an unfamiliar bed. They had taken me to the infirmary after all. I didn’t want to think about how they’d gotten me there, or who had carried me, but I hoped it had been Winslow.
Chapter 23
The infirmary wasn’t empty like on my first day at camp. The cot across from me was occupied by a soldier who had hurt himself while playing fracas. Dr. Pruitt was in the process of checking to see if he had a broken collarbone. My injuries were not so serious.
I had a wicked bruise that spanned the front of my waist and a welt just beneath my shoulder blade to match, but surprisingly they hurt not at all. I was of the opinion that whatever concoction Fitallion had given me, it was meant for the horses. It’d knocked me out all night and left me feeling numb all morning.
I woke up at dawn, Dr. Pruitt telling me to stay put and rest up, but it was now late afternoon and I was growing restless. My format had been in to see me, dropping by between classes. Ram and Mar had apologized. Of course they had waited until I was alone, not wanting to condescend with an audience. Frankly, I thought it was peculiar. For once, Mar had said very little, while Ram, who usually seemed somewhat omnipotent with that little book of his, had been off his game, delivering a halting series of ‘I’m sorrys’ mixed in with an equal number of chiding remarks about how I ought not to have interfered. That was the general theme among my format’s visits, each of them separately finding a way to say the same thing—I should never have put myself between Ram and Mar. As if I hadn’t learned my lesson. Edwards made a fuss, attempting to take my hand while he stood at my bedside. It was embarrassing, but luckily Roth intervened, pushing him aside before tipping a few textbooks onto my lap.
Their attitude seemed to have changed over night. I knew my format’s resentment had been waning, but this was different. Suddenly they were solicitous about my health, clustered around the cot as if it was my deathbed. Lee spoke, quietly telling me that he hoped I’d be feeling better soon. Lee never spoke. And for once Pumphrey didn’t speak. No scathing comments on my unwashed hair or anything of the like. Dutton had saved me a biscuit from breakfast, though he gripped it like he was starving, and I eventually told him to eat it himself because I wasn’t hungry. They were all out of sorts. Perhaps they felt guilty, I wasn’t sure. But the books and visits hardly occupied my mind, and being stuck in bed was growing more intolerable by the minute.
I waited until Dr. Pruitt was done delivering the bad news: the soldier across from me did, indeed, have a broken collarbone. After he’d pulled the curtain closed, allowing the soldier to sulk in private, I called to him. “Dr. Pruitt, can I go yet?”
“I’m sorry, Fiona, but you’ll need Instructor Bardzecki’s permission,” he answered, the only other person apart from Doug to call me by my first name.
“Why?” I wondered, taken aback.
“Well, when they brought you in I asked if you’d recently received any other injuries, and apparently you’ve had quite a few since coming to camp.”
“Not really,” I said, shaking my head.
“So you weren’t momentarily knocked unconscious by a Kodiak’s recoil as Winslow indicated?”
“Well, yeah,” I shrugged.
“And were you knocked over by a soldier at the dunes like Swanson and Steward said?”
I nodded, hardly believing they had told.
“Mave also mentioned a rumor. She said you’d been in a fight during breakfast,” he added. As if he hadn’t already made his point.
“Mave was here?”
“Yes. She and two other ladies brought your breakfast, but you slept through. You’ve had a great many visitors, even a few soldiers who aren’t from your format came by looking very concerned. I suspected they were merely curious, so I sent them on their way,” he added good-naturedly. “But the visitor you’ll want to see is Instructor Bardzecki. He’ll have to consent to your leaving.”
“But, why?”
“Your format explained how you came by these injuries, and I know it was an accident, but even so, taking the other ‘accidents’ into account, I had to report it,” he explained.
“Am I in trouble?”
Dr. Pruitt shook his head immediately. “I shouldn’t think so. It’s clear you didn’t instigate any of those situations.”
“Being female doesn’t make me any less aggressive,” I said in annoyance. I had had it with being treated like a fragile doll. “My mum is very fond of throwing things when she is cross.”
He smiled, but it wasn’t condescending. “I only meant, that by all accounts, you aren’t a troublemaker.”
“Oh,” I mumbled. “Will you tell Instructor Bardzecki that I went to the dunes?” That would get me in trouble, and I’d only just managed to shed some of my chores. Ram and Mar had taken on a load, both for the birdbane incident and this most recent brouhaha. And then there was Swan and Stew, their additional chores came from taking me out of camp.
“Unless the particulars come into conversation, I see no point in mentioning it,” he replied. I relaxed a bit. “But, Fiona, try to remember that we are constantly wrangling the Triangle Patch into submission. This planet doesn’t love us. The sand can be more ornery than any soldier here at camp, so I suggest you stay away from the dunes.” I wouldn’t go again, if for no other reason than his kind suggestion. “Now, try not to go mad while you wait for Instructor Bardzecki. Though I feel sure you’ll be sleeping in your own bed tonight.”
Instructor Bardzecki strode up a few minutes later, jerking the curtain aside and staring down at me with his deep-set eyes. For the first time I noticed the small cleft in his chin. It was just like Winslow’s, and Gridleigh’s for that matter (his only redeeming feature).
“Are you alright?” he asked, though it sounded more like an accusation.
“Yes, Instructor Bardzecki. I’d like to leave the infirmary.”
“I hear there have been some altercations. Do you have any complaints?”
“No, Instructor Bardzecki.” Complain about his beloved nephew? I think not. I wouldn’t have said anything that risked extending the conversation anyway.
“Fine,” he said. “You can go.”
I didn’t need to be told twice.
* * *
I was forced to sit out of PT and combat training for three days, doctor’s orders. It was ridiculous. I was sore, that was all, no serious damage to keep me out of action. I suspected Bardzecki and Winslow were behind the order, though I couldn’t say why I thought so, just a hunch. I would have been grateful for the break in physical exercise when I’d first arrived at camp, would have regarded it as a blessing, but now I was chafing at the bit. I had been growing stronger, getting tougher, and the sudden setback in my trainin
g only frustrated me because I knew, now more than ever, I had to prepare for trials. I was terrified of being the weak link. I’d been concerned when my format was less than fond of me, but now that they were all so polite and friendly, the idea of letting them down filled me with panic.
The only activity I was permitted, aside from studying, was target practice at the range, though on Winslow’s express condition that I go nowhere near the Kodiak. Swan and Stew had laughed at that, but I knew he wasn’t joking. So that was how I spent my free time, target practice at the range with Fitallion as my tutor.
I waited for him in the northwest corner of camp. The range faced outward. The targets were placed at varying distances in front of piles of rock and sand meant to stop the bullets. I was surprised how busy it was, nearly every station occupied, soldiers standing over hip-high tables with protective gear cupping their eyes and ears. Not seeing Fitallion among them, I paced the pathway, waiting for him to arrive.
Fitallion was by far the most fascinating soldier at camp, though perversely it was Winslow that often occupied my mind. But even so, Fitallion’s mere presence demanded notice and attention. He towered over his fellow soldiers, a graceful tree. His body was similarly shaped, and yet subtly different, with arms, legs, and torso tapering more severely than a human’s flowing curves. His skin was undoubtedly strange. The faint bluish hue seemed to glow from beneath his pale skin, just a hint of delicate discoloration along his oddly narrow neck and wrists. While a few of his features seemed somewhat feminine, like his eyes which were overlarge and saucer-shaped, he was entirely masculine. His sharp, narrow nose ended with defined, slightly flaring nostrils which gave him an intensity that a light expression could not broker. His lips, like his eyebrows, were made of flat, horizontal lines, adding to his hard mien. Seeming much older than the typical eighteen years of my fellow soldiers, the deep lines that were etched around his mouth made him appear mature, as did his attitude. His hair was a wavy mass of rich, yet faint ginger-brown and when the sun reflected off his head, it turned his hair bone white. He was the only soldier, apart from myself, who was permitted to let it grow long, though he kept it tied back at the nape of his neck with a leather thong.