Dynamis | Chapter 21 - Ambivalent (Patreon)

The punching bag swung away as Lilibelle’s fist connected. As it came back, she pivoted to her left, struck it with her right shin, then spun on the ball of her right foot and threw the heel of her other foot into the bag as it leaned left. Drops of sweat spilled down her head, off her brow onto the floor, down her chest and into her sports bra. Her body ran hot, growing hotter with every strike she delivered.

“Huah!” she cried, punching the bag twice on its return. Two hooks. One left, one right. The chains fastening the bag to the ceiling clinked with every strike, the noise irritating her in a way it never had before. So long as the chains were intact, the bag would remain firm and resolute. It would take every beating she gave it, completely unfazed by her attacks. No evidence of her struggle would withstand.

And that pissed her off.

“Stupid fucking…” Her words trailed as she drew deep breaths, pattered the mat with pocks of sweat. Every muscle in her body had hit that sweet spot where she no longer felt the strain of her tendons stretching. Only the tough, hardened balls that would come back to bite her in the morning. “Why won’t you break?!”

She struck it with another right hook. The bag swayed. The chains clinked. The divot made by her attack vanished in an instant.

“Screw this,” she said, taking the guards off of her hands and shins and throwing them into a corner. She pinched her black tank top, pulling it rapidly to create air, stared at the punching bag for a time, then gave it one last blow with the back of her hand as she strode past it toward the exit.

Shutting the door behind her, Lilibelle hung right and started down the hall. She stopped at the women’s locker room and plucked her I.D. out of her bra and pressed it against the reader. The bracket at the top of the reader flashed green and the lock clicked. She slipped inside, returned the card to its spot, and snaked her way around the row of lockers in the center of the room, taking a seat on the bench that spanned from one end of the lockers to the other.

Three days had passed since she last spoke to Karl, and not once had he approached her. Some unreasonable part of her had hoped that maybe Karl would talk to her again, especially now that her suspension was no longer in effect. Instead, he continued to keep his distance. Occasionally, he’d glance in her direction, open his mouth whenever they stumbled into one another, but not so much as a simple greeting had escaped his lips. She felt like she was leering at her ex.

Maybe this is for the best, huh? Is that how you handle obstacles, you little bitch? You just walk around them and pretend they’re not there? She shot to her feet, clenched her jaw. Her anger was getting the best of her again, and that was exactly how she’d ended up in this predicament to begin with. She reached toward her locker, stopped short, then steadied her breathing, just as Karl had told her. After a few seconds, his face resurfaced in her mind’s eye, and tears threatened to fall. No! Stop that! You barely know him! Get over it! Remember why you joined. Remember what this is all for. That is all that matters.

“Oh, Sister,” someone said over the wall of lockers, breaking Lilibelle free of her thoughts. “I did not expect to see you here.”

“Hello, Emiko,” said a stern voice. Daidari’s voice.

“My, is simple etiquette and gratitude just beyond your comprehension?” the voice chided after a brief silence. The sound of feet padded closer to the wall. The sharp strike of skin crackled the air, accompanied by Daidari’s shrill squeak. “Do you think what you did yesterday was acceptable? Need I remind you why you are here? It wouldn’t hurt to show some respect.”

“Respect?” Daidari scoffed, and Lilibelle edged closer to the wall to hear better, taking care not to lean against the lockers. “You undermine me in front of my peers, flaunt your status as a free mercenary, and speak to me like a child, and I’m supposed to show you respect? Respect is earned, Sister, not given.”

The lockers suddenly rattled as something crashed into it. Lilibelle pulled away while Daidari’s whimpers filled the air.

“If it were not for me, you would still be at home, bunkered under the ground like a rat, you fat bitch,” Emiko hissed. “You should consider yourself lucky that Mother and Father have silver tongues. I would have left you behind like the garbage you are.”

“How would that be different from any other day?” Daidari said, the subtle hints of fear tinting her voice.

“That is a most interesting way to voice your gratitude,” Emiko hissed. “Need I remind you who gave you that DF? Who outfitted it, Sister? Who drove it into the ground, made sure it was safe, spent tens of thousands of credits just to make sure it ran properly? Who, Sister? Who?”

Daidari didn’t respond and the lockers rattled again.

“Ungrateful brat.”

Lilibelle listened uncomfortably while the sounds of shifting fabrics and clanging locker doors met her ear. She considered getting dressed and playing it off like it didn’t matter. After all, if they felt comfortable with airing their grievances with one another in the open, then why should it bother her? But as her fingertips brushed the handle of her locker, she stopped. Emiko was evidently proud of her reputation, and if she caught wind that Lilibelle had heard, who could say what she might do to silence her?

“You would do well to remember why you’re here,” Emiko said, a tone of finality to her voice. “I put you here, and I can just easily take you away.” Her footsteps padded toward Lilibelle, away from the lockers against the walls. Lilibelle scurried to the end of the row of lockers at the center, pressing her back against them until she heard the door shut.

Daidari sobbed softly, and Lilibelle waited for her chance to leave.

—

Karl pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “With all due respect, sir, is there anyone else I could pair up with today?”

Gerald sighed. “Orders come directly from the top. Says you’re to pair with Daidari Ishima.” He set his clipboard on a crassly chrome table beside the large egg-shaped dome reserved for simulation training and pocketed his hands into his lab coat. There were already a pair of students inside. “What’s wrong with Ishima?”

“Her and I differ on too many subjects,” Karl said firmly. “It’s a catastrophe waiting to happen.”

Gerald shook his head and stared at him with heavy eyelids. “First Katsun and now Ishima?”

“I know how it looks, sir, but trust me when I say that this is not going to end well.”

Gerald cackled. “And your performance with Katsun was exemplary, was it?” The wrinkles of his forehead rolled with the rise of his brow. “You’re pairing with Ishima and that’s the end of it. If it bothers you enough, you can take it up with the admiral.”

Karl swallowed. Talking to the admiral was not an option. “I understand.”

“Don’t go far,” Gerald said, gesturing to the dome. “They won’t be in there for much longer.”

“Of course.” As he turned to leave, his breath caught at the sight of Daidari rounding the corner.

“Punctual,” Daidari said after she closed the distance between them in three elegant steps. She was wearing her neurosuit. Unlike the one Lilibelle wore, the roads that connected the diodes on her suit were a dark blue. “Very good, Donovan.”

“You can call me Karl,” he said. “If we’re going to pair up on a regular basis, it’s important that we address one another on a first-name basis, don’t you think?”

Daidari’s gaze swept over him as if she were scanning him. She crossed her arms and tilted her head inquisitively. “Let us see how today’s simulation goes first.”

Karl worked his jaw. “All right.”

He tried to distract himself with anything he could see while he waited for their turn. His attention returned to the simulation dome. Dozens of thick cords and tubes spilled out from an orifice under the dome, each of them feeding into several computers installed into the walls. An assistant tended each terminal, observing the information as it came on screen. The data would be recorded and a grade would be awarded based on their perceived compatibility.

More worthy of note, however, was how much more attention the mics were receiving. Typically, the assistants would use them to speak to the students inside in order to gauge how their bodies were reacting to the systems. Anomalies were common, so having a link to the world outside the dome was paramount. However, Karl could only count a handful of times any one of the researchers had used the mics to communicate with the students inside.

Today, they hardly went a minute without speaking.

As Karl turned around to face Daidari, two other students walked into the room, one of them being Lilibelle. They shared glances before Lilibelle strode forward to stand beside Derrin Testatone. Derrin gestured for a high-five and Lilibelle quickly slapped it away.

What’s got under her skin so badly?

Daidari glanced over her shoulder. “Miss Katsun seems to be taking this situation more negatively than I anticipated.”

Karl wasn’t sure what to say. It seemed every time he opened his mouth, someone was ready to tell him why he was wrong. It became an exhausting game of back-and-forth debate where the winners earned the silence of their lessers for their efforts. He was getting sick of it.

“I think she just has an issue with her new partner,” Karl finally said as he leaned to one side to look at her. Lilibelle caught his gaze, then raised her hand to block him from her view. Karl retracted and lolled his head back, stretching the muscles in his neck. “She has a very… particular method of approach.”

“And what is your preferred method?”

Karl looked at her. No one had asked him that yet. “Depends on the situation. A lot of times, though, I prefer to play defense. It’s why I prefer the support role, if I can have it.”

“You prefer control, then.”

“Call it whatever you like.”

The slightest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Daidari’s mouth. “Very good. As it so happens, I prefer to lead the assault. Our preferences should complement one another.”

That was the hope when I first partnered with Lilibelle, but look how that turned out. “Yes,” Karl said, forcing a smile, “I agree.”

Lars Aldaret and Daisy Gardletter made up the remaining students, neither of which were conversing with one another. Karl had thought that his situation with Daidari and Lilibelle would be awkward, but seeing how everyone else was getting along, he was starting to think he’d been the luckiest of the bunch. It wasn’t any secret that they were an item, and he was willing to bet that Lars and Daisy were not the only ones who were dating.

“All right, shut it down,” Gerald said as he motioned to two of his assistants. The doors to the pod hissed, and Gerald shook the hands of the students—Shelly Welwer and Sark Gibbons—as they exited. Sark marched past the line like a man on a mission, never once looking over his shoulder at Shelly. Shelly kept her hands in her lap, a sullen expression pulled over her face. “Karl Donovan, Daidari Ishima! You’re up!”

Karl breathed deep through his nose and exhaled through his mouth before starting toward the pod. Daidari remained behind him, the clicks of their shoes tingling every nerve in his body.

“Support in that seat”—he pointed to the chair on his left, then the one to his right—“combat in that seat.” The chairs had their backs turned to one another, with a good foot or two worth of distance between each other. “Get comfortable. As soon as you’re secure, we’ll provide you with a list of templates for the simulation.” He patted Karl twice on the shoulder, gesturing him inside.

“Thank you,” Karl and Daidari said in unison.

Karl ducked inside and settled into the seat on the left. It was still warm from its last occupant, which helped set him at ease. Daidari took the seat behind him while he fastened his belts. Gerald watched the entire time. When they were done, he stepped inside and double-checked the belts to ensure they were attached correctly.

There were a few discrepancies between the simulations and the real thing. First of all, their neurosuits weren’t hooked into anything, which meant there would be no bond between them. With no link to fret over, they didn’t have to worry about sharing sensations, synchronizing their brainwaves, or any of the extra weight that came with the cords and tubes that hooked into their suits. Deadeye insisted that their neurology exams sufficed to prove which conductors were compatible with one another. They wouldn’t know how a true bond would feel until their first neurolink in a DF of their own.

Secondly, despite how sophisticated the technology behind the DF systems was, having been on two ride-alongs, the difference between simulated movements and the real thing was night and day. He could still remember how it felt when the DF took off and how it glued him to his seat. He could still hear the hum of Silver Tongue—Sean and Carly’s DF—reverberating throughout his entire body as they scorched through the skies, as well as the resulting explosion that heated his skin later that night.

Gerald stepped out, and a door descended over the door frame, sliding into place. A firm click followed, and darkness surrounded them.

“Can you hear me?” a man asked through a speaker in the ceiling.

“Yes, I can hear you,” Karl said.

“Yes,” Daidari replied.

The screens lit up, blanketing the room in a brief flash of stringent white light. Immediately after, schematics for three different DFs appeared, one on each of the three screens, the monitors dimmed to prevent eye strain. The fourth display at the bottom detailed the combat scenario.

“You have six minutes to read the scenario and pick your loadout,” the voice said. “The scenario will start only once both participants have selected the same option.”

“We should read the scenario first,” Daidari said.

“Agreed,” he said, nodding.

The scenario detailed a rogue Deadeye DF pursuing a potential Sovereign threat. Last sighted off the coast of Sirishtan, the Sovereign was deemed responsible for the destruction of an entire settlement, as well as one of Tranquil’s—a rival mercenary group—bases. The mission parameters were simple: locate the DF and convince it to come home. Force was permitted.

Karl hoped that the mission might elaborate on why it was so important to bring the DF back by any means necessary, but the scenario hid no such detail. The metal of his chair whined as he leaned back to consider the situation.

If the DF is a friend, then we’ll have to find some way to communicate with one another. Barring extraordinary circumstances, all forms of long-ranged communication which required the use of radio waves or microwaves were forbidden. He briefly examined each module’s loadout in search of one that might have some other method of communication. A thinner module, the third one in the upper righthand corner, featured a DF rigged with complex lighting equipment for traversing dark areas. That’s it. That’s the one.

Luminescent communication was nothing new. Arranged in the right pattern and with the correct frequency, simple messages could be relayed from one DF to another, so long as they were fluent with the archaic language. Fortunately, most people were taught the language from a young age. Even he was no exception. Being able to report on the activities of Fiends at a moment’s notice made the difference between life and death.

With only four lights attached to the DF, however, communication would be a slow process. No information had been provided on their target’s schematics, so it would be foolhardy to assume that the target DF could relay a message back.

Still. There’s no other way to communicate. It has to be this way.

“All right,” Karl said, “I’m done, and I think I know which schematic we should go with.”

“As do I,” Daidari said, the leather of her chair squeaking with her movement.

“I’m looking at module Axis-31. We can use the lighting rig to communicate with our target and guide them back to Deadeye. Communication will be a slow process, but it avoids destroying the DF and harming the conductors.”

“... I cannot say I agree with your selection.”

Karl frowned. “Can you elaborate?”

“Our first priority is to see the DF home, is that not right?”

“Of course.”

“Then,” Daidari said, “with that in mind, we should outfit for extended combat with a focus on weight capacity.”

He didn’t like where this was going. Wanting to assume the best, however, he asked, “Your reasoning?”

“We will need to carry the DF.”

Ice flowed through Karl’s veins. “You intend to carry it back?”

“Yes. Altruistic as your selection is, we cannot assume that our target will listen. For that reason, we should employ gear suited for prolonged fights if the worst should happen.” She clicked something on her side of the room. Moments later, one of Karl’s screens partitioned so that another bracket appeared on screen, detailing the module monikered Firehose. “If you scroll to the bottom, you’ll see that this one has the highest weight capacity. Perfect for our situation.”

“Yes, I see that,” Karl said. In fact, its weight capacity was so great that it was nearly double what the other two were capable of. Armed with a pair of piston-powered wrist stakes, Firehose could punch holes in even the sturdiest of makes. Additionally, it had no firearms, so the cost to repair and replenish its resources would be minimal. Assuming they didn’t get hit. “But this means we go in with the assumption that they aren’t going to listen to us at all. With no way to communicate, combat will be our only option.”

“If they were stupid enough to pursue a Sovereign on their own, then we were never going to be able to convince them, anyway. Whatever encouraged their reckless behavior is nothing we can solve. All that matters now is that they return to base.”

Karl chewed on her words and glanced at the countdown above the screens. They had less than two minutes left to come up with a plan and make their selection.

“What you’re suggesting, Ishima, implies they would better serve as corpses in our hangar than as heroes of Nesharis.”

“Is that how you interpret my approach?”

“Yes. I get that this is a simulation, but we should look at this the same way we would if this were a real scenario. There are people in there.”

“That is exactly how I am approaching it,” she said slowly. “The mission states we are to bring back the DF. Nowhere does it say that we are to protect the lives of the conductors. The very fact that we’ve been given permission to exercise force as we deem fit says to me that this DF is very valuable, and that the lives of the conductors are irrelevant in the face of the Fiend threat.”

“That’s what it comes down to? The value of the DF?”

“As I said, the mission doesn’t state anything about the conductors.”

Karl clenched his jaw and tried to spin this another way. “What about their value to Deadeye? Are they not also part of the DF? That’s two more conductors we’ll have to replace. Months of training and credits.”

“That’s a fair assessment and could possibly be part of the parameters. But we shouldn’t guess, Mister Donovan. The mission statement is simple: bring the DF back to Deadeye,” she said slowly. “More than rescuing the conductors, what I care about is eliminating the Fiends, and the sooner you realize that someone has to die to see that end, the sooner they’ll disappear.”

Thirty seconds remained on the clock.

“Fine. We do it your way,” Karl relented.