Chương 63: 2.4 Exercises

Ventress! Hector stared into the darkness, trying to focus on the water stains that were barely visible on the ceiling above his bed. His mind had been going in circles all evening, and when he'd gone to bed, telling his friends—his other team—that he had an early morning, things had only gotten worse. The kid was a Ventress! One of the Great Houses, and more importantly, the house that had profited the most from the demise of the Contis—from his betrayal and death.

Ventress wasn't a single line, though; it sprawled—offshoots, marriages, branches tangled everywhere. The man who'd supposedly killed Hector Finalis was a Ventress by marriage—Alistair Ventress-Dane. Two connections to my betrayal, and now this kid falls into my lap. Fate plays games with me. //You never believed in fate in your old life. // Well, things are different now, Evie. I'm haunted by a pair of ghosts —Britt's image floated through his mind— and by my past. Why was I spared?

Why did my neurodeck survive the recycler—survive in deep space long enough to be salvaged? Why did Grando find it instead of someone else? Why Paul's body? And now I'm about to go into a rift with a devil-damned Ventress? Maybe I don't believe in fate, but I know there's more to life than this! Hector flung his hand into the darkness of his spartan room. //I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. // He sighed, turning onto his side.

"You didn't," he whispered. The truth was that he was feeling more than a little used. He was feeling like a pawn, and the thing that angered him the most was that he didn't know who or what was using him. Was it some unseen hand? Was it fate? Karma? Was he bound by forces beyond his understanding to deliver justice? It wasn't the first time Hector had struggled with the notion of free will. In his old life, the opposing force was easier to picture: the Empire.

He'd risen through the ranks, true enough, but he'd always answered to someone. He'd taken pride in the scraps of freedom he'd earned: a house of his own, a collection of rare weapons, even some art.

"Pathetic." It all seemed so small now. Like a caged tiger taking pride in the shady tree his captors planted in his enclosure. Even if I call myself free, even if I don't serve the Empire, am I bound by some invisible thread? //Please consider the rather distinct possibility that this Ventress youth has joined your rift raid purely by coincidence. // Hector slid out of the bed, away from its soft, gel mattress, and onto the hard cement floor.

He stretched out on his back, closed his eyes, and began his empty-mind drills—breathing slow, thoughts stripped down to nothing. He'd had enough speculating, worrying, and gnashing his teeth at the things he couldn't control. It was time to be still. Tomorrow I'll do the only thing I can: move forward. ### The next morning found Hector clear-eyed and clear-headed, despite only sleeping for a handful of hours.

It turned out that the old trick of taking the questions you can't answer and stuffing them away where you don't have to look at them was a winning strategy—at least for the short term. He was up at 0500, drank a large glass of water, then hit the courtyard where he began calisthenics and body-weight exercises. Though he didn't wake Sass, he fully expected her to be there. He was only moderately disappointed when she joined him ten minutes late.

Bleary-eyed and yawning, she peered at him from the little villa's stoop.

"You could have woken me."

"You have a clock." He pointed to the flagstones before him.

"Come on, you're late." Grumbling, she stumbled down onto the dusty cement stones and came to stand before him.

"What's first—" Her question became a gasp as Hector stepped forward, scooped up her right leg, and hooked her other heel with his, dropping her to the hard ground. Sass was no stranger to rough sparring, and she knew how to fall; she protected her head, tucking her chin as she released some of the force by slapping the ground with her right arm and palm. Hector released her and backed up a step.

"One to zero."

"Oh? That's how we're doing it?" Sass grinned, leaping to her feet and assuming a fighter's stance.

"Come on, then!" ### Two hours later, Hector sat across from his unexpected student, watching as the young woman, soaked with sweat, struggled to work through the first Invicti breathing exercise. Her hands shook where she held them—one against her chest, the other on her stomach. Hector could see the trembles of the tiny ligaments in her joints, exhausted from their earlier exercise. She inhaled through her nose, then exhaled. It was too quick.

"When you breathe out, it should take longer than when you inhale. Your body breathes on its own; this is you taking control back." Sass didn't reply, but he could see her eyes darting around behind her lids. Her mind was unquiet, but that was to be expected. Hadn't he just drilled her to the point of puking? Hadn't he demonstrated how little she knew about fighting? Of course her mind was racing; it was exactly as he'd planned.

Every day will be a little less shocking, and she'll find the quiet part of her mind more easily. Starting out aggressively would lead to more noticeable improvement—he hoped. It wasn't like he'd come up with the program; every Invicti recruit went through something similar.

"I can't do this," she growled, opening her eyes.

"All I can think about was that throw; I didn't even see you move around behind me, I—""We're done with that for now." Hector took a breath, trying to remember how his Invicti mentor had spoken to him. Some of it wouldn't make sense; when he'd been recruited out of the Guard, he'd had to go through the Abattoir—the Invicti culling ground in Old Africa, where he'd undergone months of intense training, always at the risk of elimination.

Only after that had he been assigned a mentor and received his first coaching on the Doctrine. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it His long pause seemed to work almost as well as if he'd said something more; Sass sighed heavily, closed her eyes, and renewed her efforts. She pressed her palms against her chest and stomach and began to breathe consciously again. Hector allowed himself a small smile, amused that his inability to find the right words had been the key.

It made sense, though; hadn't he already known that few words were better than too many? He let his mind drift back to his Invicti training, wondering if he was pushing things too quickly with Sass. Watching her, he decided the breathing exercises were just fine. If it went slowly because she wasn't ready, then it would go slowly. There was no deadline. In the meantime, he'd give her small doses of the training he'd received at the Abattoir.

Despite his desire to stay attentive and mark Sass's progress, he found his mind drifting back to those days under the brutal African sun. The Abattoir. The smile that split his lips wasn't pleasant; it was the look a wolf might give a foundering deer. Not a pretty name. It didn't matter; it wasn't a place meant to be discussed in polite society. It wasn't meant to be discussed anywhere. The Invicti liked their secrets.

After a few long inward gazes—crystal-clear recollections of blood-stained yellow grass, hot orange dust caking his every pore, buzzing drones, and the shrieks of captive rift dwellers—he blinked and refocused on Sass. She was breathing perfectly. Her face was smooth and untroubled, and her hands had ceased their trembling. Nodding to himself, Hector fluidly stood and quietly padded across the courtyard to the door.

He'd glimpsed movement earlier, and when he peered through the cloudy glass pane, he saw Lemon walking toward the kitchen, a steaming mug in one hand. Hector slipped inside, careful to be silent; he wanted Sass's meditation to end naturally. On bare feet, he didn't make a sound as he stalked Lemon down the long hallway. She reached the kitchen a second ahead of him, but he held his tongue; he didn't want to startle her and make her drop her coffee.

Instead of speaking, he leaned against the corner, watching as she shuffled over to the little kitchen table and sat down. The house had come sparsely furnished, but it had everything they needed: a table, some chairs, a couch, and beds in every room—enough. After Lemon's mug hit the table-top, Hector cleared his throat. She jumped, jerked her head toward him, and scowled.

"You scared me!"

"Sorry." He nodded to the coffee machine next to the fridge—the only appliances in the place.

"Any good?" She shrugged.

"Good enough. I think the creamer is out of date." He walked over and grabbed one of the five coffee cups off the shelf, sliding it under the machine's nozzle.

"No creamer, huh?"

"Well, this vanilla one tastes off. Maybe try the—" Hector pushed the brew button, shaking his head.

"I don't need any.""'Course you don't." Lemon sighed, sipped her coffee, and then asked, "How were things with Sass? Your shirt's soaked." He nodded.

"She was fine."

"And now you're going to workout with your team?" Hector leaned against the counter, tilting his head as he regarded her.

"Yes. Any plans?"

"Just some shopping. Orin was whining about our lack of drinks and snacks."

"And the kid?"" Kit? I'll bring him along."

"Swing by the university, too." Lemon arched an eyebrow.

"Kit's a bit young for—""I need you to look something up. My AI will message you." Lemon held her cup against her cheek. Hector wondered if she was chilly; he certainly wasn't.

"Um, can't your AI just look it up?"

"No, it's an offline archive. It shouldn't take you long. Just go to their library, pay for access, and type in the search my AI sends you." She nodded, setting her cup on the table.

"Sure. Anything else?" Hector picked up his cup and took a drink. It was terrible—thick, oily, and bitter enough to bring tears into his eyes. As he dumped his cup into the sink, he said, "Get this damn thing serviced. You can put Orin on that. He and Demon should see about getting a license for a sentry drone."

"Um, do I take that out of Grando's account, or…" She was talking about an Imperial bit-vault Grando had set up in Hector's name. He'd promised regular deposits—enough to pay the team a salary—and some operating expenses. It was all money Grando had earned betting on Hector, so it wasn't like the crime boss was being generous. In any case, Hector had promptly put Lemon in charge of it.

"Nah. We don't want to risk payroll falling short. Here—" Hector walked closer to her, drawing his bit-locker necklace out from under his sweat-soaked shirt. Lemon held out her ring, and he tapped the necklace against it.

"I'll give you five thousand. Just message me the receipts." //Transfer complete. Bit-locker (half-moon necklace) balance: 27, 421. 88 bits. // Hector was feeling flush as far as bits went. On top of his winnings from the mine tournament, he'd also gotten a chunk of money from Grando for the little heist he and Orin had pulled on a rival gang.

"Okay." Lemon licked her lips, glancing at her ring almost nervously.

"I hate walking around with this much money on me—" Hector jerked his thumb toward the hallway.

"Take her with you." He'd seen his "student" approach from the corner of his eye. Sass frowned, and her skull tattoo darkened menacingly as she folded her arms across her chest.

"You just left me there!" Hector's left eyebrow lifted slightly.

"You were scared?"

"N-no!" Sass glanced at Lemon, then back at Hector.

"I wasn't scared, but—""But you found your emptiness. I didn't want to interrupt." Sass's expression immediately brightened, and her skull faded to a shadow of itself.

"Was it good?" Hector walked past Lemon, paused beside Sass long enough to look her in the eye and grunt affirmatively, then walked past her.

"I'm going for a shower. Don't want to be late on my first day."

"It was good, right?" Sass called after him.

"Did I do it faster than your first time?" When he didn't respond, he heard her say in a quieter voice.

"I think I impressed him." He almost didn't hear Lemon's reply as he slipped into his room: "Oh, you did, hon. He was telling me how hard you were working out there." Hector snorted, pulling his shirt over his head.

"Liar." //Lemon will be good for Sass. She's good at nurturing. // Sass needs to be tough. He finished stripping down as he walked through the cramped bathroom into the chem shower. Water wasn't ubiquitous on Mars, at least not in far-flung settlements like Kessler's Reach. It was there, but it was tightly controlled. Ninety percent went toward terraforming efforts, which didn't leave a lot for showers. Hector punched the red button and closed his eyes as the powdery chem-wash misted over him.

//She is tough, and you should get to know her better before you decide she needs breaking down. // Am I breaking her down? I thought I went easy on her. Hector vigorously scrubbed his flesh, rubbing the powder into every nook and cranny. //I just know you're comparing your experience to hers. It's a different time and a different situation—a different person. // I'll keep it in mind. Hector punched the green button and sighed as the steam nozzles in the ceiling sprayed their warm mist over him.

He knew the spray wouldn't last long, so he rubbed his skin clean and, despite the brevity of the ritual, he was feeling much renewed when the hissing spray ended. As he dried off, he glanced at the ceiling, trying not to let his eyes linger on a certain tile—the one behind which his backpack and the drive-core cipher hid. He hated leaving it there, but he couldn't very well bring it with him to training. It was well hidden, anyway. He'd tucked it up into the insulation that filled the void beneath the roof.

Dried, he left the bathroom and looked at the garment bag hanging on the hook behind his bedroom door. It was his training uniform—a skin-tight compression jumpsuit like all the others had been wearing.

"All right, Evie," he said, blowing out a pent-up breath. He walked over and lifted the bag off the hook.

"Let's go see how these guys operate."