All-Patron Reward: Born of Ice, Chapter 3

We continue our look at one of the early drafts of Demons of the Past, specifically a draft that started decades earlier than the final draft. 

In this particular section, we see a sequence which remains intact (in a general sense) as part of Varan's background: how he ended up making peace with Remin Canta, and how he first encountered Veshdar Morno. 

Details, of course, changed quite a bit.

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iii.

"That could be trouble, Sasham." Jearsen said quietly.

I nodded, already feeling my gut tighten. "Oh, ice! I didn't mean to embarrass Canta again. He just seems to get led in the wrong direction more often or something."

We had just left the classroom part of the Survival courses, and were enroute to mess. Jearsen frowned. "Canta never was very quick on learning in classrooms, Varan. But he happens to be class expert in a few things himself. Mostly jiatsu."

I winced. Jiatsu was a popular martial artform, mainly because it taught maximum destruction in minimum time. It was, of course, inferior to Tor in every way except the speed at which it could be learned. The problem was that I was no Tor master; I was just about ready to test for Green Master. If Canta was really devoted to his art he might be a Red, and a Red in jiatsu will destroy a Green in Tor quite handily, unless the Green got lucky.

We entered the mess hall, a huge room almost a hundred meters across; it served the entire ten-kilometer wide base, so it had to be big. Right now it was awash in a sea of pearl-gray uniforms. "Why gray?" I wondered aloud.

Jearsen smiled. "You never heard that?" He straightened to attention for a moment and quoted what was obviously a DI speech. " 'Why gray? Our uniforms are the gray of a clouded sky. Like the clouds, we arose from the ocean. Like the cloud, we pass where we will, silent, our passage unmarked until we surround our objective. When the time comes, we, like the cloud, drop wherever we are needed, and rise again. Like a cloud we pass, like clouds we are untouched by any enemy that strikes at us, and like the thunderhead we carry the power to strike back at those enemies. We are the Marines, born of the sea, riders of the sky, carried on the winds of war to strike like the lightning and the whirlwind. We are the Marines.' "

I had stopped to listen; for a minute I felt the thrill and glory of the Corps as they all must feel it. I waited a few seconds before I spoke. "That's... well... I liked that."

He chuckled. "Yeah. Hard to find the right words for it, isn't it?" 

We picked up trays from the racks on the wall and headed for the line. I loaded mine with whipped kuma and a plainrunner steak in sweethot redfruit sauce. As an afterthought I added a large bowl of Borealan Ice Surprise.

"So why are you Navy boys dressed in dark blue and gold?" Jearsen asked.

"I don't have as impressive a quote to throw back at you, but it does relate to the sea. As my dad put it, the uniform is the blue of the purest, kindest, warmest tropic waters that encircled Atlantis. Like that sea we protect, and like it we are terrible when the storm comes upon us. And we wear the gold because, like the Honor of the Corps, it never tarnishes nor grows dull, and resists that which dissolves other metals." I saw his gaze suddenly shift over my shoulder.

"It won't be tarnish on your gold, Navy."

A blow just between my shoulderblades pitched me forward in an ungraceful belly flop. The kuma and Ice Surprise splattered out in slick white and green streaks, and I skidded forward another meter on top of the steak.

"Nice shot, Canta." Jearsen said, getting up from where he'd landed in getting out of the way of my dive. "You're pretty good at knocking down target dummies and people from behind. Can you hit anyone from in front?"

I could hear heavy footsteps halt momentarily. "Anytime you want to go one with me, you just let me know, old man." Canta's bass growl replied. "But your bluebird buddy is first in line."

I rose slowly, feeling sticky warmth plastering my dress shirt to my chest. I didn't even want to look down; laundering uniforms, like getting our own food, is one of the menial tasks the Empire uses to "build character" in its recruits. Kuma wasn't bad... but redfruit on blue velasilk? Ugh.I got the Ice Surprise out of my eyes and glared at Canta, and his troupe of snickering backups. "Ok, you tzil." I said, and spat out an incidental mouthful of mixed kuma and Surprise. "How do you want it?"

"How about right away, Navy boy? You're so helpful to me in class. I just can't wait to repay you." Canta came slowly forward in the drifting gait of jiatsu. He was several centimeters shorter than me, but built like a block; a heavy-gravity type.

I brought my arms up in the classic parallel-arm pose of Tor and began the Fast Center meditation.

Fast Center never was fast enough for me. I barely ducked his first spin-kick. I was still too distracted by my meal dripping down my shirt to focus properly; that's why I didn't realize that the first kick had been a setup.

Stars exploded across my vision as a sledgehammer caught my chin. I was vaguely aware of crashing into a table and scattering several other diners. I slowed and slid off the edge, thudding painfully into the floor. I worked my jaw; nothing broken. I heard a tinkle as a sliding foot shoved aside a fragment of crockery, dove forward blindly.

To smack into another table. The haze of pain reddened my vision. The roars of laughter hurt a lot more.

I could hear Jearsen shouting. "Varan! Varan! Behind you!"

A swish of moving cloth; the tap of a foot landing on the floor; indrawn breath - THERE!

Hands braced on the table leg, I pushed up and out, straightening my body with every ounce of strength I had. Both feet caught Canta in mid-chest, just where I knew it would. This time he was the one crashing into chairs and Marines.

I got up, head still spinning but clearing; blindsiding is a Tor specialty, and knowing that it had worked was enough to give me back come confidence. Fast Center, get centered.. Canta's getting up already and he doesn't look hurt. Just REAL mad.

That gliding motion is hellishly deceptive; Canta was up to me almost before I saw him moving. But this time I was centered. I blocked two strikes, evaded a third, saw an opening, dropped and swept his legs out. Canta fell, tucking to roll, but I continued the sweep-roll and my left foot hammered his chin. His elbow jabbed into my thigh, numbing the leg, but I used the other leg to catapult myself clear. Focus, dammit! Feeling returned to the leg in a leaden flood. Canta got up again, a little slower this time. Thank Torline for that; I'd been wondering if he was invulnerable.

He lunged into a handspring approach that almost caught me flat. I dove forward at the last second, hands on a chairseat, bounced to a tabletop, came up, arms crossed and ready. Canta landed on the table and we stood there, trading blocks for several seconds.

"Truce yet...Canta?" I gasped, fending off several jabs and avoiding a sweep kick.

"Not... a chance... Navy boy." he muttered while blocking two kicks and eluding several chops and throw attempts.. I dropped and rolled off the tabletop, he followed. Torline and Atlantis, he was good. Orange at least. At least half of my blocks were more luck than skill. I had to end this somehow.

It was then I became aware of a large ring of people around us. Canta noticed my glance, risked one of his own. Both of us stopped.

The entire circle was composed of unfamiliar faces. That wasn't comforting by itself. But even worse, under the stains of food that we'd scattered in our combat, these unfamiliar faces were wearing the red slash insignia of the Marine Dragons; the Assault Strikers. They were not amused.

I looked at Canta. He was already backing towards me. I turned and backed towards him. When our backs touched, we moved back apart by a few inches. "You know, Varan... this was a real stupid set of moves."

Two Strikers detached from the group, circling us lazily. "Truer words were never spoken, private." one said. "You seem so eager to show off your moves, and I said to myself, 'Well, Morno, since you no longer have any lunch to keep you busy, you might as well join in!' "

"Canta... I hope you were holding back. Holding back a lot." I muttered.

"Sorry. I was giving you all my attention. You aren't bad... for a Bluebird."

"Nice last words. You're pretty good yourself, for a mudfoot."

The Dragons shot towards us then. I spun away, getting caught by a foot but not much else. Canta dove forward and under, trying to knock his attacker down, but the Dragon eluded that with an almost bored air. In that split second we'd already lost our only advantage, the back-to-back guard position. I'd never practiced team fighting.

The Dragons obviously had. They'd already picked on Canta as the more dangerous. Both hit him at once, an impact that echoed in the hall even above the shouts and cheers. Canta went down.

Now it was just me and two Dragon Strikers. I considered just dropping to the floor and letting them kick me. But I'm no coward. If they were going to beat me, they'd at least find me waiting for them. My arms came up, parallel, and I Centered.

A booming voice cut across the hubbub. "What in all the Hells of Atlantis is going on here?"

Helkoth shoved his way through the circle. He took in the whole scene, me, the two Dragons, Canta on the floor. "I asked a question, Marines."

Morno jerked a thumb towards me. "This Bluebird and one of your other students decided to have a fight on our table. We were just giving them further instruction."

"I give the instruction here, Lieutenant. Back to your table."

The Dragons started to disperse, then Morno turned back. "Sargeant, come to think of it... I outrank you. And I think that I owe your Navy student at least one shot for dumping grilled ribs on my dress grays." He moved towards me past Helkoth.

Suddenly he seemed to levitate into the air and smashed down, barely rolling at all. "Outrank that." Canta snarled. He was bleeding from mouth and nose, but he stood like a rock. "He's my squadmate, Dragon, and you can damn well go through me to get him."

"Enough, private!" Helkoth snapped.

"Not near enough, Sargeant. Shorty doen't know when to stay down." The Dragon started for Canta.

"Touch him and your rank goes to private, Dragon! I can talk to the Commandant and I'm just about ready to take it that far. Your entire unit has been giving me grief ever since you arrived on this iceball. That propaganda about an elite corps has gone to your heads." Helkoth gave him a glare that would kill your average recruit. "Now back off."

The Dragon returned the glare for a second, but dropped his gaze. Even Admirals never get the hang of outbullying a DI, and the Dragon knew he was in deep if Helkoth really took the matter up with the Commandant. "Yes, Sargeant." he said. But the glance he gave Canta and me said it was far from over. The ring of spectators faded away as though it had never existed. Helkoth didn't. "Varan. Canta. I want to see you in my quarters. Five minutes."