Imposition Page 3

  In front of them, at what Therse guessed would be an equal distance away from both squares, the ball appeared. It was a black sphere about the size of the tomatoes they'd eaten yesterday, hard-looking like a shiny marble and with an appearance like it would really crack you one if it hit you. Therse had to remind himself it wasn't a real marble.

  It dropped, and the field restraining them dissipated. Gen was on it in a flash, reaching the ball before it could even get to the floor.

  He swung hard at it, firing it off towards a twenty-point circle with an almighty ‘whack', narrowly missing the tiny spot as it moved across the skin of the dome. Gen tutted in frustration and leapt for the ball again, smacking it with the play and sending it easily into the center of a giant purple two-point blob. The blob gave the appearance of fizzing, then disappeared altogether.

  “Two points, Genham Drisjic.” The ship's voice, in its usual uninterested tone.

  “The ship's keeping count for us?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “Well, at least it means you can't cheat this time.”

  “The fuck are you talking about? I never need to cheat...”

  Therse used the lapse in Gen's concentration to pick up the ball. He tried out the capabilities of the play, squeezing his index finger as he swung, holding for a second and releasing trigger-like, flinging the little black sphere to the far wall where a gaily-colored orange circle awaited.

  “Five points, Therse Bodan.”

  “Not bad, not bad,” Gen muttered.

  Therse set his shoulders and lay one hand on his hip, looking down the line of the play at Gen as they waited for the ball to reset its position. “Don't sound so surprised. I was always better than you at this kind of thing, remember?”

  Gen tipped his head back, grin spreading wide across his features. “As-fucking-if.”

  “Whatever you say. I won't hear any of your excuses when I wipe the floor with you at a game I've only just learned.”

  The ball re-materialized on the other side of the great dome. Both men sprinted for it, feet hammering down against the squeaking floor. But Therse was faster—a product of his training perhaps—but more likely he was being powered by his sheer will not to let Gen beat him. He had a reputation to uphold, even if it was just between the two of them.

  Therse swiped the little ball and glanced back over his shoulder, his arms moving in a wide arc as his body twisted, pulling the play with him as he chose the spot he would aim for. He felt a connection; wood scraping against wood. He turned just in time to see Gen fire the ball off comfortably into another two-point spot. “Hey!” He yelled.

  “Four points, Genham Drisjic.”

  “Oh, and you can steal your opponent's ball.”

  “So I fucking see!”

  Gen had nothing but a grin for Therse, jogging backwards towards the center of the court.

  They played on, and Therse quickly got the hang of it. He was beginning to see patterns in the way the spots moved; how long they stayed around, how likely they were to teleport when they were a certain size. He decided a tactical sacrifice of the first point would be acceptable if it would give him chance to gain a better understanding of the game. So he hung back a little, still engrossed in the game but all the time watching the dome, watching the way Gen moved, how he acted in response to different scenarios, so that he could plan counter-tactics.

  Gen narrowly sank a ten-pointer with his usual unfair flair for good luck, and with that the round was won.

  “First mark: Genham Drisjic,” the ship announced.

  Gen raised his fists triumphantly and gloated over at Therse.

  “No fucking fair that you didn't tell me about that stealing shit.”

  “Such a sore loser,” Gen laughed. “Weren't you going to wipe the floor with me?”

  “Oh, I'm gonna,” Therse replied as they stalked back to the two black squares on the court to await the re-setting of the ball.

  It re-set and released again, and they both shot towards it. This time, Therse had a plan to seal victory.

  As they continued, dodging and feinting and goading at one another as the points rolled in, Therse could feel himself smiling, loosening up. This was a more pleasant experience than he'd anticipated.

  “It's been a while since I've seen that face on you,” Gen said, looking over at him.

  Something in that look forced an extra heat to Therse's cheeks beyond the sheen of exertion. “What?”

  “Like you're enjoying yourself. It suits you.”

  The truce of kindness was only momentary—the instant the ball returned to the floor, Gen was on it, chasing it as it bounced high back up into the air. Therse knew which spot he would be going for—a large, juicy-looking fifteen-pointer, somehow much bigger than it ought to have been for its value. He positioned himself.

  Gen's moves fitted Therse's predictions exactly. At the same moment Gen swung to hit the ball with an over-confident but well-aimed backhand, Therse was already jumping. Jumping with a spin, so that if he timed it just right —

  His play intercepted Gen's ball swing, catching the little orb with satisfying precision as he continued to turn in mid-air. He brought his arm around in a sharp arc, flinging the ball square into the center of the same fifteen-pointer.

  “Fifty points: Therse Bodan. Second mark: Therse Bodan.”

  “You cheap asshole, that was my frigging shot! You just hijacked it!”

  “Be less predictable then. Not my fault.”

  In the third and final round, all bets were off. Too much was at stake—neither man could afford to come out the loser. They fought for and chased the ball like their lives depended on it, already flagging from the exertions of the previous two rounds. Gen was doing his best to hide his panting, trying to conceal the rapid movement of his chest despite his shirt clinging to him with sweat and making it obvious, at least to Therse's eyes. Therse himself was playing a cleverer game; slackening his jaw, letting his shoulders droop, making himself look more exhausted than he really was.

  His tactics were paying off. Gen wasn't pushing himself so hard to get to the ball, reserving his energy and his strength for a game of stamina rather than impulse.

  Therse had him.

  He crossed the court with a sudden burst of speed, powering over to the ball Gen had been so confident Therse had no hope of reaching before him, his expression twisting in surprise as Therse plucked the ball from the air in front of him and landed himself four points. Therse felt the brush as Gen moved past him, and watched him go. Gen's thin, cheaply-made Navy shirt clung to him, plastered with wet to his spine and across the broad of his back. Clung just tightly enough that Therse could make out the way his muscles moved beneath it.

  Therse watched him as they vied for the remaining points. Gen was lithe and naturally athletic, perhaps a shade taller than Therse, with long muscular legs and broad shoulders. His arms were nicely built and undoubtedly powerful. Gen had always had an impressive instinctive ability to judge a situation, to know its holes and identify threats that might arise, or identify and exploit factors Therse himself might miss, and all without actually having to give it any thought or calculation. Therse knew those skills would one day make Gen a first-rate squad commander in battle, and if he was honest, he was a little jealous that something he had to work so hard at, had to spend so long playing out in his mind, came so easily to Gen.

  Instinct wasn't the only thing Gen had going for him. He had a way with the troops—both under him and even above—that made them listen, take note. They respected him before he even opened his mouth, but all Therse could ever muster from them after what he would consider a rousing sermon was bored compliance. Therse had a fantastic mind for clever tactics and dirty tricks, but could never win his men over in the way Gen so effortlessly could, even though they'd had the same amount of field experience and were both Lieutenants.

  Therse managed to get around Gen again by setting the ball up to land just where he wanted it. Gen was pel
ting towards him at full speed, eyes fixed on the little black prize. Therse hit the ball, and sent it towards empty space on the skin of the dome.

  “Where the hell are you aiming?” Gen laughed, breathless.

  But Therse didn't look back at him. He just stood there calmly, waiting.

  A dense-tone purple twenty-point spot appeared just where the little ball connected with the dome.

  Therse turned to his crew-mate with what he thought might be a sufficiently arrogant expression. Gen looked back at him with a stifled mixture of masked awe, jealousy, and irritation. “Any idiot can whack a ball at some spots. What sets me apart from you is my ability to read a situation.” Therse told him.

  Gen puffed a strand of hair out of his eyes under the visor, and pretended to ignore him.

  I guess we complement each-other, in a way. Two generals of a very different ilk.

  That had been impressive, yes, but they were both very close to the target of fifty points total, and for all his clever tricks, Therse was still losing. The next sink would probably determine the game.

  The ball dropped a little distance away from both of them—the ship at this point not even bothering to re-set properly with the field-boxes—but it looked arguably closer to Therse.

  “What you going to do now?” he yelled back at Gen, running for the ball to claim his self-assured victory.

  Gen ran right at him at break-neck speed, grabbing Therse around the waist with one arm. The sudden force and distraction made him falter, shoving down on Gen's arm to get himself released—but it was too late. He was already heading straight for the ball in a way that would see him to a nice juicy points deduction. His only option was to go for a full stumble and miss the ball altogether, hoping Gen would fudge the shot and allow him a second chance.

  He rolled as he thudded to the floor, facing upwards just in time to see Gen's last points land.

  “Third mark: Genham Drisjic. Match: Genham Drisjic.”

  “Oh, yes,” Gen said, grinning and stepping almost ceremonially over Therse's fallen body.

  Therse had half a mind to grab Gen's ankle and bring the cheating bastard down, but he kept the urge to himself and stood as gracefully as possible. “You are such an asshole. Didn't you see that?” he asked the ship.

  “There is nothing in the rules prohibiting physical contact,” it replied, with all the luster of someone vaguely involved with their dealings whilst at the same time studying the back of a ration packet.

  “There's that, and then there's rough-housing.”

  “You never change, do you?” Gen sneered. “Always wanting an honorable outcome.”

  Therse wanted to give him a good hard shove. He settled for words though, as always. “And what about you? Always wanting to find the easiest, most reliable route to a quick, certain victory, no matter the consequences.”

  “That's war,” Gen snorted. “History only remembers the victors.”

  “I'd like to think history is a little more discerning than that.”

  “You would, wouldn't you? Still, you played well.” Gen flipped the play over in his hand. “Want another?”

  “Not fucking likely, if you're going to be a shit about it. I'm taking this off now,” Therse replied, pulling the induction collar and visor off. The game board dissolved, leaving them back in the dull gray box.

  “Spoil sport,” Gen told him, pulling off his visor too. “The universe isn't always fair, you know.”

  Therse leaned in. “That doesn't mean you have to help unfairness into all the corners of the universe where its absence would otherwise be a merit, just so everything fits your jaded world view.”

  Gen moved in a little more, smiling; so close Therse could almost feel his breath. He refused to yield.

  “You get so wordy when you're mad.”

  “Fuck off,” Therse told him with a flat shove to the chest, turning quickly and stalking away towards the exit.

  * * * *

  They'd gone their separate ways to shower and cool off—their chosen quarters were on the same level but quite far apart, having decided it was probably pointless them living side-by-side on an empty ship. And this way they gave each other space. It was part of their system for when one of them inevitably pissed the other off. There would be a reasonable amount of time allotted for sulking, then everything had to be forgotten. Therse liked that they had such an easy relationship despite being such fundamentally different people.

  He waved his way through the door to Gen's quarters, thinking maybe it was time to tell Gen about the letter he'd been avoiding talking about all day. “Hey Gen, I...what are you wearing that for?”

  Gen was standing in front of his bedroom mirror-screen, dressed head-to-toe in full Navy regalia save for his cap, which still lay on the bed beside him. He turned side-on and straightened his shoulders, jutting out his chin and pushing his hair away. Therse felt under-dressed next to the figure in beautiful deep-blue.

  “I haven't worn this since we graduated. How come we never get to go on any parades? All the others from the academy do.”

  “Because the places we've been posted, no one cares about parades,” Therse replied, leaning back against the wall of Gen's decidedly messy quarters. “You should take that off, you'll only ruin it.”

  “What are you, my mother?” Gen said, but started to remove his clothes all the same. Fancy gold-rimmed buttons were popped neatly through stiff uniform button holes by pristine white gloved hands. He shrugged the jacket off. The shirt beneath it lay perfectly over his broad shoulders, somehow still crisp and white despite their travels.

  Therse realized he was staring, and corrected himself. “Won't be long ‘til we see them all again, and you can complain to their faces then.” He remembered their friends with a fond smile. They'd almost been a small command unit in their own right at the academy—Mal, their leader, a strong-willed and charismatic woman on whom they'd all depended, and Byrn, her responsible second-in-command, had kept the rest of them united despite everyone having such broad interests. If it hadn't been for Mal, Therse would never have known any of them, especially Gen.

  “Yeah,” Gen smiled. “It'll be good to see them; it's been too long. You think they'll have changed much?” He was halfway down the buttons of his shirt. His warm, fair skin showed through where the shirt had begun to part.

  “Hard to say. It's not really been long enough, so I guess probably not.”

  “I'd laugh my ass off if we come back and find Mal's turned into some wrinkled old prune.”

  “That's not how physics works, but even so she'd still be able to punch your face straight off your skull.”

  “No doubt. Mal was the only one at the academy I was actually afraid of.”

  Therse snorted a laugh. “Same here.”

  Gen pulled his shirt off at the cuffs, folding it in an odd display of affection. He placed it on the bed on top of his jacket and smoothed the folds out, brow furrowing slightly. Therse had an inkling as to what was on his mind. It was a while since Gen had been back home. Back to Earth.

  “How's your mom?” Therse asked.

  Gen looked up at him as though his train of thought had been interrupted but not necessarily derailed. He made a sort of sideways nod and rubbed at the place where his shoulder met his neck. A self-comforting gesture. A gesture Therse had seen many times before. “Fine, fine. She's a bit...you know...since Dad...” He broke off and looked at his uniform again, frowning.

  The son of a soldier. The son of a proud father.

  “You going to holo-call her when we get on leave? Spend some time with her?” Therse said, changing the subject slightly.

  “I dunno, haven't really decided yet.”

  “You should talk to her. You know she misses you.” Therse only realized the hypocrisy of his lecturing Gen on talking to people about Important Things once the words had escaped his mouth. He bit his tongue.

  “I know,” Gen sighed.

  “What are you going to do instead, drink and wh
ore all your credit away on Gogh?”

  Gen squinted at him. “Don't imply that I can't pick up women. I've never failed once.”

  Therse folded his arms. “Oh that is such a lie.”

  “Like hell it is! I'm telling you —”

  “What about that girl in that dive-bar you practically wanted to marry? She ran you

  around all evening and went home with some shirtless neckbeard.”

  “Hey that was a one-off; there's no accounting for some people's taste,” Gen said, starting to unbutton his trousers.

  “Do you really want me to stand here and list your failings?” Therse said. “Because I will.”

  “Fuck off. You've been keeping count?”

  “Of course,” Therse nodded, sagely. “It's my job as your future best-man.”

  “Oh, I like how you've decided. Who says I wouldn't pick Byrn?”

  “Because Byrn would look ridiculous standing next to you at the altar in uniform. Like a huge bear-man.”

  “You missed the wedding, remember? I've never seen you in that situation, how can I compare?” He stood up straight, looking wistful. “Hey, you know I just realized something.”

  “What?”

  “You're standing there ribbing me for my failures, but I don't remember you getting lucky ever.”

  “The fuck are you talking about? There's loads of times I've —”

  “Name one.”

  “I don't know, uh —”

  "One. Even when we were on that double date and that dumb girl got drunk enough on neon cocktails to think it would be a good idea to stick her hand down your pants at the dinner table, you still managed to come away empty-handed.”

  “Because she was ugly as hell. Perhaps the difference between you and me is standards.” Therse found himself with a face full of Gen's fatigue shirt. It smelled of him. “Man, gross you've been wearing that.” He flung it back. Gen grinned at him, and dumped the shirt on the bed beside his uniform. He unbuckled his trousers and began to pull them down. Therse caught a glimpse of the crest of Gen's buttocks before he forced himself to turn away.