Starship Liberator Page 10

A week later, Derek took a wrong turn coming back from chow. This wasn’t as surprising as one might think. Academy was a sprawling space station and the staff seemed to take delight in reconfiguring the corridors every few days to keep the cadets on their toes… or, Derek surmised, to provide them with ready-made mistakes.

  As he rounded a corner, he saw two adult-sized shapes in front of him. His hyper-alert mind, trained by excruciating attention to the arcane regulations of Academy, registered the Firstie uniform, and his body reacted by moving as far to the right as possible in order to slip by.

  A large hand contacted his chest and shoved him forcefully backward, hard enough to make an ordinary kid tumble. Derek’s reflexes saved him, barely, allowing him to retain his feet.

  That didn’t matter. A blow fell on his back, more of a slap than a punch. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw two more Firsties, and then he focused on the one in front of him.

  Skorza.

  A shiver of fear and a thrill of confrontation shot through him. He’d never failed in a one-on-one physical challenge, even against non-enhanced adults, so he had no reason to think this time would be different. Besides, whatever might happen, he would survive it like he survived the blanket party, just one more bump in the road toward becoming a mechsuiter. After all, this time he wasn’t being pinned down by a blanket held at its four corners.

  As Skorza reached for him, he twisted away and dodged forward, intending to dash beneath the outstretched arm and be on his way. However, the hand caught his collar and yanked him backward and into the midst of the four Firsties.

  He’d forgotten many of the cadets here were also genetically enhanced physicals, or at the very least they were selected examples of the fastest, sharpest, most competent adolescents from across the population of the Hundred Worlds. Add in that these boys were older, further along in their development, and it didn’t seem as if he was going to avoid what was coming.

  “Okay, Cadet First, what’s this about?” Derek said evenly. “I need to be on my way.” He glanced around at the wide spot in the corridor, noting that the cameras within sight, oversized ones visibly set there to show the staff were watching, had socks slipped over them.

  If he’d designed Academy, he’d also have micro-sized video pickups scattered around for just such an occasion, but he had no idea if the staff thought in those terms.

  “This is about you being out of uniform,” Skorza said, lifting Derek by his collar and shaking him, his feet dangling off the ground. His old-style tunic, made of materials grounded in the traditions of the service, wool and cotton and only a smattering of synthetics, began to split at the seams. The four laughed uproariously.

  “Also,” said one of the others from behind him, “your underpants have become inoperative.” A hand reached past his waistband to seize his regulation military briefs and pulled, tearing the material as it friction-burned his man-parts. More laughter followed.

  Derek should have taken the abuse, should have played along, but a deep sense of injustice seized him. This wasn’t how a future hero of the Hundred Worlds should be treated. He lashed out with his foot, planting it right in Skorza’s crotch.

  The move caught the Firstie by surprise. He dropped Derek and hunched over, groaning.

  As soon as Derek’s feet touched the ground, he bent at the waist and mule-kicked backward, aiming again for the groin of the cadet behind him, but instead making heavy contact with his abdomen. A grunt showed some effect, and Derek whirled, hands up in proper defensive combat stance, weight balanced on the balls of his feet.

  This turned out to be a rookie mistake, he realized, as his four opponents instinctively did the same. He should have continued to attack wildly and then run when he had a chance. Now…

  He gave as good as he got. Even at thirteen, he was faster, sharper, better than any single one of them. But against four bigger, older specimens with more training and excellent reflexes, his advantage evaporated.

  They left him curled on the deck, bruised and battered across every bit of flesh he could feel. One eye was closed, the other barely open, and several teeth seemed loose. He suspected ribs had cracked from their heavy kicks after he was knocked to the ground.

  “Try that again, you stupid shit, and things will get worse. A lot worse. And don’t think that bitch Engels will protect you either. I got her number. And the staff? They won’t help you if you can’t help yourself.” Skorza hawked and spat, the glob landing on Derek’s cheek. “Have a nice fucking day, rat,” he said as he and the others left. “Mechsuiter, my ass.”

  Chapter 10

  Academy Station.

  “What happened to you?” Cadet Engels asked when she next saw Straker. She realized as soon as she’d asked the question that his bruises told her everything she needed to know. “You go hand-to-hand with a battle-bot?”

  “No, Miss Engels. I fell down some stairs.”

  “Right... A physical with your scores. Lying violates the honor code, remember?”

  Straker stared at her, his eyes angry. “Then I’d really rather not say.”

  Engels returned the stare, trying to decide what tack to take. This wasn’t the first time someone had taken a beating at Academy, but it was the first time for anyone in her charge. “Fine. Somebody kicked your ass and you don’t want to admit it.”

  “I don’t want to make it official, if you must know. Tattling to the chain of command will make me look weak. I’ll survive, and I won’t quit, so it really doesn’t matter.”

  Engels crossed her arms over her crisp, creased tunic. “It matters if it gets worse. What will you do then?”

  “I have a plan.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I respectfully decline to answer, Miss Engels. And please don’t tell the faculty or staff. I have to take care of this myself. That’s what they expect.”

  “They expect teamwork,” she said. “You’re not a lone wolf here, Straker. We succeed by working together. Like whoever gave you that beating did. I bet they trapped you, didn’t let you run, right?”

  “I respectfully decline to answer, Miss Engels.”

  Engels sighed in exasperation. Males. Teamwork didn’t come naturally to many of them, especially the ones who thought they were destined to be heroes. “Fine. At least keep your buddy Loco or someone else nearby. Don’t go places alone. That’ll make it hard for anyone hazing you. Academy is a big place and it’s not nearly as tight as they’d like you to believe. There are abandoned spaces on this asteroid where you could hide a body that would take months to find, maybe years. Or never.”

  Straker stared at her, processing this news. “You mean the cadre don’t know what’s going on at their own station? I was depending on them being smarter than that.”

  “There’s a big war on. Everyone is stretched thinner than they want us to know. A lot of this program is veneer. Think about it. In peacetime, Fleet might have the luxury of sending a full complement of the best and brightest to teach at Academy, but right now, they need those people at the front, on fighting ships and in critical ground force positions. So they’re understaffed, using less-than-outstanding officers.”

  Straker’s bruised eyes clouded. “I didn’t realize that.”

  “So you see, you need to tell me what happened. I promise not to refer it up the chain unless you want me to. I’m your UCS. I’m on your side.”

  Straker lowered his gaze. Engels thought he might be tearing up. Tough kid, but she’d found even the toughest had soft spots, especially those who’d lost sisters and mothers, like his file said. She wondered if she’d been assigned to him for exactly that reason.

  “Thanks, Miss Engels,” he said, staring at his shoes. “You figured it out. Skorza and three of his buddies jumped me in section 6-X. They covered up the cameras. I fought back, and they did this.”

  “You shouldn’t have fought back. You’re a sub-Fourthie. Everyone puts up with some hazing.”

  “I had to. It was the right thing to do. What
would you have done?”

  Engels shrugged. “I don’t know. Some bullies, you punch them once in the nose and they run away. Some will keep doubling down until someone gets hurt… or killed.”

  “That’s what I’m going to find out.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  Straker lifted shining eyes, a smile on his face that abruptly frightened her. “You’ll see. And you’ll be there.” Then he walked off, without even asking to be dismissed.

  Cadet Straker had changed, Engels realized. He’d turned some kind of corner. It must have been the beating, or what it meant to him. Most kids would have pulled in, turtled up.

  Not this one. This one would attack a problem until he destroyed it.

  Or until it destroyed him.

  * * *

  Four days later, during self-directed workout time, Derek walked up to Engels in the gym, where she was pumping iron on an overhead press machine. Loco trailed him at a distance, and Derek saw one of Engels’ friends exchange glances with her as he approached.

  “Miss Engels, Cadet Straker requests permission to speak freely.”

  “Speak.”

  “Skorza’s in the ring.” Derek faced across the hangar-sized sport-hall toward the section containing the hand-to-hand section and pointed with his chin. “He’s always here during this period. I hear he takes all comers. Thinks he’s the best fighter here.”

  “He is the best fighter here, Cadet Straker,” said Engels’ classmate, a squat, muscular girl, Cadet Second Melkin. “At least, the best striker. And if you’re thinking of going up against him, you’re sure not big and strong enough to take him to the ground and win there. In fact, you’re crazy to even think about it, no matter that your scores are off the charts, wonder-boy.”

  Derek raised an eyebrow at Engels. Had she blabbed what he’d told her?

  In response, she made a lips-are-sealed gesture and shrugged.

  Okay, Melkin had made a lucky guess, Derek realized.

  “I am going to challenge him. And I’m going to beat him. The trick is to beat him in the best possible way. For that, I need to know how he thinks.”

  Engels took a deep breath and wiped her hands on a towel. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, should I fight him to a draw? Will that earn his respect? Or should I humiliate him in public?”

  “What you ought to do is walk away,” said Melkin. “If not, go a couple rounds and then lose gracefully. That will let him feel good about himself. He’ll probably leave you alone after that.”

  “No way, Miss Melkin. I refuse to throw the fight. If I lose, he’ll have to beat me.”

  “He already beat you,” said Engels heavily. “You’re not even fully recovered.”

  “I heal fast. And it took him and three buddies to do what they did, with no rules. One on one? In the ring? I can take him.”

  Engels considered. “He’s fifty percent heavier and four years older. But if you think you can, I’d say, finish it right away. The longer you go, the more the fight favors him. If you can crush him fast, do it. Knock him out cold as quick as you can. It will be that much more impressive.”

  “I’m with Engels.” Melkin gave him a mock salute. “But I’ll believe it when I see it. It’s your funeral, kid.”

  “No,” Derek said, squaring his shoulders. “It’s his.”

  He strode across the gymnasium, the other three following, until he stood next to the ring where Skorza sparred with one of his classmates, Cadet First Neekers.

  Derek recognized Neekers from the beating. He seemed to be letting Skorza push him around the ring. Straker wondered if this was some kind of submissive behavior, or if Skorza was really all that good.

  Best not to underestimate his enemy, though. Derek felt his stomach twist at the memory of the pain inflicted on him. His spirit refused to fear, but his body might be smarter than his mind on this one, the human animal remembering suffering it would rather avoid.

  Derek mastered his churning guts to begin taping his hands and pulling on the regulation fight gloves, the smallest, lightest kind that left fingers free for grappling, and incidentally slowed punches the least. He’d already dressed himself in suitable physical training clothes.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, rat-boy?” Skorza said from above him, jumping onto the padded top of the ring’s head-high barrier to support himself on his hands and hips. “I’m not done sparring yet. Go find someone your own size to beat your ass.”

  Raising his voice, Straker said, “I challenge you, Cadet First Skorza. Standard bout rules. Let’s see how you do without anyone to help you.” He deliberately did not taunt Skorza too openly and risk a charge of disrespect to an upperclassman. With a bully, there was always the chance he would try to claim to be the victim, work the system and appeal to authority. According to his readings on the topic, bullies were insecure. They therefore placed excessive value on their peers’ view of their status.

  Skorza’s eyes narrowed as he glanced around, apparently well aware of how this might make him look. Accepting a challenge from a sub-Fourthie might actually lower his status in others’ estimation. Straker hoped to put him in a spot where he couldn’t afford to back down.

  “Naw, kid. I don’t fight rats. It wouldn’t be fair.”

  “You’re right about that, Cadet First. But that never stopped you before.” Straker moved laterally and entered the ring, Loco holding the gate open for him. “What’s wrong? Are you afraid of me, Cadet First Skorza? Or only of losing?”

  “All right, twerp, if you’re that crazy. Let’s do it. I’ll go easy on you, though.” Skorza danced around the ring, making eye contact with the gathering crowd, trying to appear the reasonable one.

  One of the enlisted physical training staff stepped into the ring. “Do you both agree to this match?”

  “Affirmative, Sergeant.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “Standard rules apply. Three rounds of three minutes each. Follow my instructions, protect yourself at all times. Victory will be by knockout, submission, or by my judgment if it goes the distance. Understood?”

  “Affirmative, Sergeant.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “Ready?” The noncom held out his hand and arm between them. “Fight!”

  Derek advanced, one fist out to touch his opponent’s in the standard gesture of a respect.

  As he’d hoped, Skorza ignored it, making himself look like a poor sport. Instead, Skorza leaned into a fast, hard right to Straker’s body.

  Rather than dodging, Derek stepped inside the bigger boy’s long reach and slammed the heel of his hand up under Skorza’s chin, as hard as he could.

  Shock and pain ran down Derek’s arm, but he’d executed the strike perfectly, faster than anyone could envision without really understanding what the speed and precision of his genetic enhancement could do.

  Skorza went over backward and hit the mat like a sack of meat, out cold.

  The referee counted to ten while the stunned crowd began cheering. Derek locked eyes with the three Firsties who formed Skorza’s posse, and they all showed fear.

  Good, Derek thought. If that’s what it takes to keep you out of my way, you will be afraid.

  Loco and some other sub-Fourthies who’d experienced Skorza’s abuse carried Derek off on their shoulders while the training staff gave the fallen Firstie medical attention.

  After a shower and change to standard uniform, Cadet Engels found Derek in his squad room. “That was well done, Cadet Straker.”

  “Thank you, Miss Engels.”

  “But I doubt that will be the end of it. Skorza will be looking for a chance to get even.”

  Derek rolled his shoulders, and for the first time, felt almost Engels’ equal as he lifted his eyes to hers. “I’m counting on it, Miss Engels.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Better that you not know, Miss Engels.”

  “Cadet Straker—”

  “Sorry, M
iss Engels. I have class now. Thanks for your help. Will that be all?”

  Engels sighed. “I guess so. Go.”

  Derek marched away, head up, shoulders back, aware he’d passed a point of no return.

  Chapter 11

  An ambush mentality, a preference for unpredictability and a reluctance to follow rigidly specified methods, is the essence of light infantry tactics. The ambush mentality generates other, secondary light infantry characteristics. One is the speed with which light infantry adapts to the terrain. Far from resisting adverse environmental conditions, light infantry exploits them by turning rough terrain to its advantage, using the terrain as a shield, a weapon, and a source of supplies.

  -The History of Light Infantry; The 4GW Counterforce by William S. Lind and LtCol Gregory A. Thiele, USMC.

  Academy Station.

  Derek and Loco walked deliberately through the maze of Academy’s corridors connecting its many operation and training modules. This one was old, and had not been altered within the short experience of the two sub-Fourthies. It was the ninth time he and Loco had taken this route in the past few days.

  Several of the passageway’s surveillance cameras were visibly nonfunctional. If Derek hadn’t been assured by Engels and others that the staff wasn’t trying to fool the gullible cadets, he would have thought the situation constituted a sting, an invitation tailor-made to catch misbehavers and kick them out of the program.

  That’s the way he’d have done it if he were in charge. But it had become clear over the past few weeks that he thought differently from the adults in command of Academy, and different from the cadets around him.

  So, today, he took the chance no one was watching.

  No one except other cadets.

  As they rounded a likely corner, Derek spotted Skorza and Neekers barring their way. From a side corridor behind them, two other Firsties blocked their retreat.

  While Derek stared Skorza up and down, Loco let loose a burst of loud, raucous laughter that echoed down the hard metal passages, and he began making apelike gestures, scratching his underarms, gibbering and hooting.