Chương 64: 2.5 Team Building

When Hector crested the hill that morning and the compound came into view, he paused and scanned the fields, wondering if he'd catch sight of his team. He was still early—fifteen minutes ahead of the time Mathews had set, but that didn't mean much. How many teams had he been on that started early?

"All of them," he muttered as his eyes fell on a familiar oversized figure wielding a silvery cylinder like a sword. Perry was trying to hit a much smaller, quicker combatant—Kristina—but she was too slippery. Hector smiled as he watched; Evie zoomed in his optics, and he had a decent view as the two went at it with their stun batons. The two practice weapons were clearly customized; Kristina's was narrow and curved while Perry's was a meter long and twice as wide around as any baton Hector had ever seen.

After a few minutes, Hector concluded Perry couldn't hit the fox-eared woman—and that was a good thing. Stun-charge or not, that baton would probably break her bones. As they separated and walked toward the gym, Hector started moving again. By the time he crossed the paved lot and followed the path past the admin building, the entire team was assembled on the lawn outside the gym—including the Ventress kid.

Perry was standing off to the side, oversized baton resting on his shoulder, and the others were all standing in a loose semi-circle, focused on Mathews.

"Not too bad," Perry said as Hector approached.

"Only a little late." Hector ignored him. Mathews motioned him to come closer.

"Hector. I was just introducing the team to our newest member." She motioned to the blond-haired kid.

"Meet Frederick Ventress." Hector sized him up, noting he was already wearing a compression suit, but his was a good deal higher quality than those the others wore; the joints flexed with integrated micro-actuators; the material carried that muted, expensive sheen of reactive weave, and even the fit looked better; rather than an auto-sizing feature like Hector's—and the others on the team—his looked tailored. Worse, it was bright royal blue while everyone else wore black and gray.

"Not like Hector's been on the team any longer," Perry helpfully added. Hector felt his familiar friend, that hot, angry alter ego, crawling up his spine and asserting himself behind his eyes. He fought him down, though, took a deep, steadying breath, then nodded, stepping forward, hand out.

"Good to meet you, Fred." Frederick cocked a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, letting his golden eyes fall lazily on Hector's face as he ignored the proffered hand.

"Hector, is it? Well—" He made a show of turning his shoulder to him.

"—what do you say, Commander Mathews? Shall we get busy? I understand we've much to do and little time with which to do it."" Rude," a high-pitched voice whispered from just behind Hector. He lowered his hand and turned to see Paige there, smiling impishly at him. He shrugged, tilting his head in agreement. Meanwhile, Mathews carried on.

"Frederick has a point. Coincidental with his arrival, I've just been informed that the Kessler Rift is quickening."

"Uh, quickening?" Perry asked, stepping forward with one hand up.

"Put your hand down, Perry," Mathews said, sighing.

"I was about to explain the situation if you could just—""Commander," Red interrupted, "if the rift is quickening, then we really might want to think about giving up this slot."" Dammit, Red!" Mathews ran her fingers over her shiny, smooth hair, drawing them back toward her bun as though she was adjusting it, even though everyone could see there wasn't a single strand of hair out of place.

"If you're going to act like a know-it-all, then you ought to damn well know it all. This rift has quickened nine times on record, and it stabilized immediately afterward."

"Sorry, Commander," Kristina said, "but I'm with Perry. What, uh, what does quickening mean?" Paige nudged Hector, and he glanced at her as she once again grinned knowingly at him. She mouthed the words, " Poor Mathews," and he nodded.

"Okay, everyone shut up. The next person to interrupt me is spending the day doing solo climb-drops." Mathews glared around the semicircle, making eye contact with each of them. When no one spoke, she said, "Quickening means exactly what it sounds like; the rift emits various signals at regular intervals that get quicker and quicker as it approaches its phase shift. Well, it's doing that faster than usual, which means our raid is going to come faster than we thought."

Hector knew very well what quickening meant, and he also knew why Red had suggested they give up their raid slot. He didn't agree, but he voiced a concern: "Sometimes the quickening lasts longer than one phase."

"Erm, right," Bobby said, seizing the opportunity to weigh in.

"Meaning our time inside could be shortened!"

"What did I just tell Red?" Mathews glared at Bobby, then shifted her scowl to Hector.

"This rift has done this before. The quickening has always ended after the phase shift." Hector shrugged. He was certain of one thing: he didn't want to wait for another rift-opening.

"So, how long?"

"Yes, Commander," the young Ventress agreed, "how long do we have?"

"A week." She shrugged.

"Maybe ten days."

"Oh, fates!" Kristina cried.

"What's the plan, then?" Perry was muttering to himself, pacing behind the group as he thumped his baton on his shoulder. Hector watched him. So far, he'd written the guy off as obnoxious, but there was a dangerous gleam in his eye. He wondered what kinds of stims he might be on—what kinds of hormones he was using to feed those bulging muscles.

It was more than just the muscles, though; his cybernetic arms were combat models, and his every twitch, his every twist of the wrist on that baton looked loaded with violent potential—explosive, pent-up energy.

"The plan is the same as before." Mathews said.

"We get to working as a team, and we make sure we're as ready as we can be when that rift opens up." She pointed at Hector, then jerked her thumb at Frederick.

"We'll get started with a demonstration from you two. Everyone wants to see what you're made of, so we'll have a little exhibition." As the team reinforced her statement with enthusiastic agreement, fist pumps, and hoots, Mathews added, " And after that, we'll do some team building." ### Iris looked over the base administrator's shoulder, through the window to the grassy lawn outside.

It was the nearest of several fields at the staging base or raid compound or whatever you wanted to call the place, and it was the only one that interested her at that moment. Hector was out there. She'd watched him stroll across the field to the group of similarly dressed folks—his raid team, no doubt. As a result, she'd heard very few of Tribune Calderon's words. Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

"…one of the benefits of being so far removed from the city. Is that what interested your company?" Iris smiled and nodded, though she had no idea what the question referred to.

"Tell me, Tribune, why are those soldiers gathering in a circle out there?"

"Oh, those aren't soldiers—they're sort of like mercenaries. The Empire raises money by offering rift access to private interests a few times a year. This is one of the groups hoping to capitalize on such generosity. In fact, that's Melanie Mathews; her team is going in at the next opening."

"Intriguing." Iris stood, moving away from his desk to stand by the closer of two windows, giving herself a better view of the scene.

"Ahem," Calderon stood and moved to loom over her right shoulder. He was a large man in every sense of the word. He was well known for his bellicosity, but Iris had seen none of it; her petite, youthful appearance had a way with men like him, so long as she didn't push it—so long as she played the innocent angle properly.

"As far as your recruitment efforts go—for the games as it may be—these aren't the sorts of folks I can influence. Well, that's not precisely true; everyone who wants rift access is eager to be on my good side, but I think we have more promising prospects among the Imperial teams."

"Is that right?" Iris asked, but her eyes were on Hector, watching as he squared off with a dashing, blond-haired fellow. It was interesting watching them size each other up; they made for quite the visual contrast—dark versus light; golden eyes versus icy blue; hard, angry angles versus elegant, smooth curves. They were well matched, size-wise, but there was something about Hector that was frightening, something about his every movement that was a little bit thrilling.

"These are undisciplined folks. None of them have gone through the Imperial training that takes a man or woman, erases the flawed individual inside, and builds them up again—stronger, braver, sharper. The teams I have here are the best of the best, too; they aren't your run-of-the-mill soldiers." Iris glanced at him, nodding, trying to look impressed.

"Are your soldiers Invicti, then?" Calderon sputtered, reaching up to adjust his collar.

"No, no! The Invicti don't have a unit stationed here. They frequent rifts in the Jovian System and on Old Earth."

"Oh, I see! I'm sorry, Tribune, when you said best of the best, I assumed—""Think nothing of it. No, the fact is that many of my soldiers are on par with the Invicti; it's just, well, they don't recruit frequently. You understand—""I do, but can you tell me why these two men are looking at each other as though they intend to murder one another?"

Calderon shifted his gaze out the window and nodded, reaching up to stroke his severely trimmed mustache—only a few centimeters of extremely short hair at the center of his upper lip.

"They're going to fight. An exhibition, it seems—see how their team gathers around to watch?"

"Exciting!" Iris didn't have to feign her interest. What was Hector up to? Had he come straight from the tournament at the mines to pick fights with other rift raiders? Blanca, be sure to record this in long-term. My father will want to see it. //Of course, Miss Sparling. //"Ugh!" Iris accidentally vocalized her disgust. Just Iris, Blanca—for the last time.

"Something the matter, Miss Sparling?"

"No, no. My apologies—an unintended reaction to a message from a colleague." Calderon pointed, tapping one of his thick fingers against the diamond-glass pane.

"Here they go. See the way the Royal started to flicker with aura?" Again, Iris's reaction was genuine. She looked at the base administrator with wide eyes.

"He's a Royal?"

"Oh yes. A Ventress—he's here to earn his Rift skull." Iris quickly looked away, hiding her scowl. A rich boy playing at war, earning a decorative emblem on his family sword. Disgusting. I hope Hector— The thought died unfinished in her mind as the two sprang into action. Calderon was right about the Royal; his body was alive with aura—a flickering garment of pale purple light that flowed over his shoulders and arms. A small amount even seemed to adorn his head like a partial crown.

Hector, on the other hand, was bereft of aura. Even so, when the Royal lashed out, his left fist flashing and snapping forth a purple-tinged whip, Hector dodged the lightning-quick attack, shifting his shoulders and hips just enough so that the aura weapon crackled through empty air.

"He's smooth," Calderon conceded. Iris played dumb.

"The Royal?" The old soldier chuckled, shaking his head.

"He's impressive for a youth, but that dark-haired one—he moves like he's seen some action." Iris fed the Tribune's pride; such men loved to explain things to pretty young women.

"Is that aura impressive? I've only seen a few. Is the purple a symbol of the Empire?"

"For a youngster looking to do his first rift, it is. As for the color—that's more to do with him, personally, than anything to do with being a Royal. I've seen men and women with auras of every shade. Some—" Calderon broke off, wincing, as Hector seemed to blur, sliding through the air like a trick of the light to come up behind the Royal and deliver a punishing punch to his kidney.

"How was he so fast?" Iris asked, genuinely surprised; Hector hadn't displayed that sort of speed at the RMC tournament, even when he'd gone mad with that crimson aura of his.

"He may have a wire-job…" Calderon cleared his throat and looked down at her.

"I mean a cybernetic augment that would improve his speed and reflexes." He shook his head, looking back to the fight.

"He could have finished the fight just then, but he backed off. See how he looks toward the team leader? He's waiting to see if Mathews wants him to keep going. Meanwhile, the Royal gathers more aura; he'll try something foolish, no doubt."

"That dark-haired man doesn't look like he has cybernetics."

"Hard to tell with good wire-jobs. You might be right, though. Aura can make a man quick, too."

"I didn't see any aura—""He's facing us this time. Watch his eyes." Calderon moved forward, his face a centimeter from the glass. Iris was sure he was holding his breath, and she grinned behind his back. The poor man was probably wondering if he could recruit Hector—and maybe the Royal. Even as the thought formed in her mind, Hector's opponent flickered with purple light again, but this time he didn't summon a whip; this time his body seemed to shift, flashing left and right, and then it split.

Hector was facing two golden-haired Royals, and when they both attacked, Iris, too, held her breath. Hector was fast, but was he fast enough to face down two skilled enemies? To her surprise, he didn't use his speed boost—whatever its source was. He backed up a step, then grinned, his eyes glinting with an almost feral excitement. He held out his left hand and made a beckoning motion, and the Royal on the left—real or simulacrum, Iris didn't know—charged.

Hector leaned back and snapped out a kick, his foot striking the Royal on the chin, even as the other copy attacked. Hector ducked and weaved, moving into the fight, sliding through the gap between the reeling Royal who clutched his chin, and the other, who swung his fist in a wild haymaker, overshooting his target, and simply grazing Hector's shoulder.

At the same time, Hector delivered a flurry of decisive blows to the second copy of the Royal—a punch to the gut, another to the side of the head, and then a knee to the outside of the man's femur, likely striking the long nerve there. Iris was no stranger to fighting; she'd seen hundreds of matches at the mine, and her father had insisted she learn some self defense. Those first three perfect strikes were impressive, but the next five cemented Hector in her mind as something special.

He spun on his heel, delivering a kick to the first copy. Then he followed the momentum, driving an elbow into the stumbling man's skull, just above his ear. After that, he carried through to drive his knuckles into the second copy's throat in a beautiful, snapping left jab. As both men reeled, Hector kicked the first one's left knee out, then spun and delivered a right hook to the other one's nose.

As both copies fell, the one with the broken nose shimmered and faded in a cloud of purple steam, and only the original Royal was left, writhing in the grass, face bloodied, wheezing for air. The team standing around whooped and hollered, and one of the women, a slender but tall one with augmented white fox ears, ran forward to slap Hector's hand in celebration. Iris could imagine the sound their two palms made. She wondered what they all were saying. She could have Blanca try to read their lips, but it felt wrong.

I didn't earn it. //A strange notion, Miss Iris. // Iris frowned, but didn't correct the AI. At least she was using her first name.

"That was something. I don't see many matches between the likes of them that keep me entertained," Calderon said, chuckling.

"That Royal's going to get a talking-to from his mother this evening…assuming he tells her about this. Maybe he won't."

"Don't you think he has a watchdog?" Calderon tilted his head, contemplating the question. After a moment, he nodded.

"You're probably right. I'd wager a direct heir to the Ventress Trading Consortium would have a hell of an intrusive set of daemons running around in his head."