A Soldier for All Seasons

The barracks were cold pop-up buildings that the Federation were fond of. Made from huge insulation blocks, usually sided with cement. Here, they'd sided with wood, giving the buildings a rustic effect.

For anyone that mattered, there'd be a plasma converter running heating into radiators. Here, any warmth probably came from the expanded polystyrene of the insulation, as much smoking as was allowed and, if Nate's own company was anything to by, more than a few grams of illicit spice.

Rivero left him as soon as he was in the building, leaving him wandering the cold hallways for a while. There were several rooms filled with the double-stacked beds he thought he was done with. They were clean and tidy -- someone here ran a tight ship. None of them were empty, though.

It was eerily quiet, his own footsteps loud on the corrugated metal floor.

For a Judge camp, this all looked very...Federation.

"

If you hadn't missed an easy shot onto their holder--"

"If

you

hadn't done your charging bull routine into their entire camp, you mean?"

"Which would have worked if any of you could hit a target from a yard away!"

Nate blinked as he looked on at the argument inside the barracks. Two men, sweaty and red, all fingers and anger. Young, both of them, but he'd been expecting that.

"Uh, hi?" He readjusted the bag onto his shoulder. "I'm Captain Nathan Clancy, are these the barracks for the Eagles? I was told to find a bed--"

"Argh!" The guy who'd been arguing growled, running a hand through hair that looked like it was constantly wet. His bare chest was covered by a cheap snake tattoo. "Fuck this, fuck everything." He smashed his foot into the bedside table, the cheap wood cracking. "Great, just fucking great. Our last spot gets filled by a grandpa."

"Grandpa?" Nathan said blankly. He was

forty.

His nostrils flared and he grabbed one of his cohorts as he stormed past Nate. "This shit's career-killing, I'm talking to Rivero, I don't even care."

That left an awkward silence. None of the others just glanced at him, not rude but not kind either. Except for one guy that stepped forward, hand out. He had the kind of build that Nate had seen a few times in the Federation, and only on people you didn't want to fuck with; like he'd been bullied for being fat as a kid and decided to muscle the fuck up.

If it wasn't for the sleeveless white shirt, someone still might have tried to insult him.

Nate shook the proffered hand. Even his

hand

was meaty.

"Rank don't mean much here, Cap. I'm a Sergeant but you can call me Bastian. Sebastian but nobody's got time for that." He chortled. "Don't mind the Graziano kid, he's got his family turning up the heat and he's desperate not to flop out."

"Call me Nate." Nate turned to gesture at the door. "That was a Graziano?" He'd fought once with a Graziano -- a mafia money family with more than their fair share of bad eggs, but they always did at least one tour in the Federation.

"Yeah, angry and dumb, you can't miss 'em. Just call him Graziano, he doesn't like his first name, whatever it is. Personally I think he just likes reminding everyone that he comes from a big family." Bastian grinned toothily. The man had brown skin and pitch black curls down to his shoulders -- clearly Judge rules didn't follow Fed regulations.

"What's he angry about? Am I really that much older than the rest of you?" Nate threw his bag on the empty bed Bastian led him to, stepping past the silent cohorts as they washed themselves in the dual sinks.

Bastian winced. "Yeah, no offense,

cuate.

But this program is intense and there's a heavy emphasis on stamina and sparring." He shrugged. "Old candidates tend to lose the fights and fail the endurance tests." He paused. "But I'm sure you'll be fine!"

Nate frowned. "Shouldn't my performance only matter to me?"

Someone snorted. A short guy with dark skin and a very pink towel around his waist, walking into the adjoined shower room. He called out over his shoulder. "It's a team game, baby, even in the spars. Don't fuck it up!"

Nate turned back to see Bastian shaking his head, smiling. "That's Hakeem. Can't shoot worth a damn but he's an animal in spars. Don't let his size fool ya -- he almost took someone's eye out yesterday in a three on one."

This is very different to documented Federation training.

Isabelle mused.

You're telling me.

"Come on." Bastian slapped his shoulder. "All this talking won't do shit when you can just see where the magic happens. I'll show you the Oversight deck."

"Greetings, new brother in arms." Nate blinked, barely stopping himself from taking a step back. A Mediator in her battle armor, a strapless silver bodice that appeared leather until it shined in the light. Boots and greaves that stretched up long legs, up over her knees.

She sat on her bed, meticulously cleaning some blood and dirt from her golden leather skirt. Without looking at him, she squeezed it into a dirty water bucket at her feet.

But Nate couldn't focus on that, as while she leant forward, she displayed the quad dragonfly wings of the Mediators -- two tiny opaque gold skittering wings on her shoulder blades, little larger than rabbit ears, and then beneath them the larger translucent wings, far from large but still stretching out either side of her, lined with natural patterns, like leaves that refused to fall to the ground.

They were pale green but they shined with the light behind them, sheer.

"Greetings." Nate coughed out, finally, realizing he'd made the silence awkward.

A Mediator.

Isabelle said in fascination.

But they never leave their planet.

"Ah, Nate, this is Lunar."

"Lunar Moon, daughter of Brightest Moon." She looked at him with dark intense eyes, flipping back chocolate-shaded hair. "I hope you will not disgrace us in battle, Nathan Clancy."

"I look forward to fighting at your side." Nathan returned, barely stopping himself from wincing at his own words.

But it seemed enough for her, for she nodded sharply and returned to cleaning her armor.

Bastian practically marched him out of the barracks.

"Holy shit," Nathan looked at him with wide eyes. "A Mediator!"

The Sergeant laughed. "I know, right?"

"Is it true-"

"Ultimate warriors? I don't know about that, but she's pretty scary. Goes out there with a gunblade and just goes all out action hero."

"But why is she here?"

"Don't ask, my friend. She doesn't like it when she asks."

"Damn." Nate shook his head. For a long time, he didn't even think Mediators existed. They stuck to their planet, a militaristic people obsessed with the art of battle but shunning outsiders completely. Their planet was meant to be protected by fierce impenetrable storms that no ship could fly through.

"Best to leave her to herself." Bastian advised. "They are raised from birth to have no emotions, no friendships, no connections."

Nate held his hands up. "Okay, but does she...y'know?" He beat his arms up and down for a single second, making Bastian snort.

"If she does, I haven't seen it. Wings flutter but she don't take off."

Nate frowned, his visions of a flying warrior woman shot to pieces.

"How are the Eagles losing with a Mediator on the team?" He said incredulously.

Bastian pushed through some plastic door streamers. "Well, you haven't seen the competition. Welcome to the Oversight deck."

"Whoa." The deck was like a vast ship's bridge, surrounded by stacks on stacks of computer consoles and servers. They all led in pipes of messy hastily-laid cabling into the center of the room. The center of the room was where Bastian led him, to the railings that ran in a rectangle, trainees of every shape and size leaning on the railings to watch what was in the pit below.

Except it wasn't a pit.

It was a massive screen, facing upwards. Not one screen, Isabelle corrected him, multiple screens, with a giant screen as the focus. And on it, Nate watched drone footage over a blue frozen lake. On the lake, he watched some figures in their white camo, perfectly still as they watched the snowbanks of the mountain that overshadowed.

"All these people are here to become Judge?" He asked Bastian.

"Most won't. Most will either fail out or become Jury members. But there is plenty of power, prestige and money in being Jury, so even if you don't make Judge--" Bastian shrugged.

"The Serpents are so fucked," he heard someone chuckle next to him, clutching the railing tighter. "Their camo's good and the lake trick might work but their positioning makes no sense."

"What is this?" Nate muttered.

"The Oversight deck." Bastian said simply. "Drone footage from all over the training match. Two matches per day. This is the Splitting Serpents against uh, Plasma Patrol? Yeah, Plasma Patrol." He nodded to himself.

Nate frowned. "But where is this? I didn't see this near the camp."

The large man slapped his shoulder, laughing. "You still don't get it, brother. Doesn't matter where our building blocks are. This

whole

planet is the training camp. Each week, they drop us into a new environment. A frozen lake today, a mountain valley next week, that mountain's top the next. Fuck, last week we were fighting in a jungle they terraformed just to teach us. Look, there's the Plasma's."

Nate followed his gaze to a smaller screen on the side that showed a group of six edging slowly over the snowbank. From the looks of it, they expected a trap, crawling slowly over its crest.

He leaned both arms on the railing, watching with interest. This was unlike anything they'd done in boot camp. Fighting in real environments, but how real was the fight?

Nate asked Bastian, but it was Graziano that answered.

"Real enough, grandpa. The guns are loaded with concussive and disabling beads, linked to the electro-rig they make you wear."

"One hit is a haymaker to the chin, but you can walk it off. Two hits will tell your rig to disable your gun hand, so you drop anything you're holding. You're done."

Nate grinned. "Now we're talking. Real training, as close as it gets."

Graziano snorted. "Settle down before your heart gives out, dipshit. This morning we were fought in a cave with a distinct lack of oxygen. Hakeem was blue before he got pulled."

"And they weren't in no hurry." Hakeem said grimly as he joined the group, the black sponge twists in his hair still dripping from his shower.

"People don't die much, according to the instructors but..." Bastian rubbed the back of his head. "This ain't Federation and I doubt they'll do an inquest, if you know what I mean.

"Don't worry, old man." Graziano rolled something in his mouth and grinned. His teeth were orange with the stain of the spice leaves. "We'll send flowers to your grandkids if you don't make it."

Nate bit back his reply and settled on watching the events on the screen. He had plenty of time to make his mark and he still needed more information.

"What are the backpack rigs for?" Nate asked, studying Isabelle's image of one that she'd taken from his own optics. It was amazing what clarity his own eyes had once she'd cleaned up the noise and zoomed in. The rigs were mostly mechanical but the backpack didn't seem to have any storage, just wire coils.

"Apart from registering the disabling hits, it's an evac-launcher." Bastian explained. "All those drones in the sky aren't just for the show. When you trigger your evac, those coils shoot real fast, real high. The drones hook onto the electromags of the wires and pull you up. They fly you to the medevac, cradling you like a baby." Bastian grinned.

"Or a senior citizen in his diaper." Graziano muttered.

Nate ignored him. "What's with the snow all over the lake?" Huge clumps of it, dusted over the ice unnaturally.

"Serpents' trap." Hakeem explained, grinning with his disconcertingly bright white teeth. "Hiding ropes they've got down, looking to do a good old rope foot-trap."

A rope trap with no vertical pull? It'd make sense in a jungle to leave them high and hanging, but here?

Isabelle thought.

She wasn't wrong. But if it caught the approaching Plasma team and sent them to the ground for a moment, entangling them, that was more than enough time for a shot or two. But would it really catch more than one, once they'd seen it work?

The Plasmas crouched low as they used the cover of the trees on the snowbank. They hadn't spotted the Serpents yet, but the Serpents had clearly spotted them. Still, they held their fire, even when they had a clear shot.

Nate frowned. What were they waiting for?

"You get issued with rope on entry?" He asked Bastian. There was something he was missing.

"Nope. But they leave packages dotted around the environment if you're willing to explore."

"Both teams lost one in the first ten." Graziano explained. "Drone sent down a smoking package, they both saw the smoke. Big fight but the Serpents got away with the package. Got some ropes and some more ammo."

Nate hummed. The Plasmas took slow steps onto the ice. No cracks -- the ice was solid and thick. Still, it creaked, the audio echoing through the Oversight deck.

Two steps became twenty. But nevertheless the Serpents kept their heads down, white hoods on, completely still. Without any movement, they were almost impossible to see. But with their hoods on, heads buried down into the snowy ice, the snow

they'd

laid, there was no way for them to know how close the Plasmas were, no way for them to activate their trap.

Unless.

Nate's eyes searched the lakeside, searched their trees, their rocks. And hidden in a thorny bush, he saw them.

Flankers, three.

They stood and fired. Not at the Plasmas but at the ice within the lake sides. Their projectiles struck the slushy snow, kicking it up and...exploding. The lake was rocked by a explosion that distorted the air, the ice cracking.

The Plasmas whirled around. Only for the camouflaged Serpents to stand and...shoot at the ice as well. More explosions.

"The ammo." Nate realized as the same realization rippled around the trainees.

"They hid it under the snow, all around the lake." Bastian murmured excitedly, watching the explosions ripple around the lake.

The Plasmas ran for the lakeside, slipping and sliding. They were too late.

A huge chunk of ice cracked and sunk into the freezing water, a man-made iceberg, the lake's top sinking like a badly opened tin can. They screamed as they fell. The Serpents just laughed as they sunk into the blue water, because they knew their plan had worked.

And Nate knew it had too. The ropes weren't traps -- they were the rescue.

The flankers pulled on the ropes they'd hidden in the snow, the water rippling as the ropes were pulled through, an invisible salvation. All they needed to do was hold their breath and soon they were gasping, crawling onto the safety of the banks.

The deck was silent, a long breath not exhaled, as they all watched the dark depths of the lake, eyes searching for the drowned Plasmas.

A set of wire-coils shot out of the water high, and the deck cheered as a drone shot down to catch the coils. The drone whirred as it reeled, a little blue spark dancing down the coil as it pulled a figure up.

Three more followed.

But not the last trainee.

"Fuck." Nate said. "Where is he?"

Bastian looked grim. "The rigs work great but you have to orient yourself before you can launch it up. Normally, it's easy but if you're underwater and you're drowning..." He trailed off.

"You don't know which way is up." Nate finished, scowling.

Seconds passed.

The deck's silence split into cries.

The Plasma's were fighting to get back down but the drones weren't releasing them, holding them by their backpack rigs.

"Come on, man." Hakeem clenched his fist.

A minute passed. Nothing. Two. Nothing.

"Fuck."

"You said it, brother." Bastian sighed. "I--yeah."

"I wish he could have died in real battle, not this facsimile of it." Lunar Moon had appeared behind them, scowling. "There is no honor in it."

"The Serpents seemed like were battling real." Graziano said. "Fuckers."

"Their plan was admirable. I hold no disdain for a calculated battle strategy that ends in tragedy. These are the risks we take for a training environment." Lunar replied simply.

"Someone died, Lunar." Bastian pinched his nose.

"Yes." Lunar said.

As much as he wanted to, Nate couldn't disagree. The trainees around the railings started trailing back to their barracks or their training.

"So when do we go in?" Nate asked, feeling that familiar adrenaline rush. "What's the day-to-day here? Are there lessons?"

Bastian shook his head as they went back to their barracks. "Next week is our next match. This isn't a textbook and exam place, man. We

do

study old Judge fights, even some Fed fights, skirmishes, even some dogfights. But there's a heavy emphasis on practical work."

"You said something about sparring?"

The large man grunted, fingers coming up to trace a bandaged wound on his neck. "Yeah, one to ones. One against many. But not just that. Hostage rescues. Deep penetration into enemy environments and self-extraction. They're trying to make us into the do-it-all asskickers,

cuate.

"

"Looks like it's working. Those Serpents looked serious." Nate remarked. He'd done more than his fair share of fighting, but a lot of his grunt work had been by the Federation handbook -- get stuck in, find or make some cover, fire until the fire stops returning, move forward until the battle is over. The flashy stuff and the teamwork plans didn't work so well when you were trying not to endanger a kid straight out of basic who'd pissed himself.

"And most of us have only been here

three

weeks, brother. You're gonna need to catch up fast. It's a high intensity learning scheme, some specialized program one of the Judge maniacs created." He craned his head, looking for anyone listening, dropping his voice. "Along with Rivero."

"I'm guessing Rivero's not just a Gunnery Sergeant." Nate said dryly.

He snorted. "No, fuck knows what she is. But she's a psychopath, so just keep your face blank and nod. I've seen her damn near tear a man's arm off. Even my abuela isn't as scary."

Nate nodded to the man's bandaged neck. "Did she try and bite your head off?" He joked.

Bastian rolled his eyes. "New guy thinks he's funny." He said, but he smiled. "Got that in a spar two days ago. They pay for the best medics here and trust me, you're gonna need it. See these scars?" He pointed to a nasty jagged white scar as he rolled up his shirt and then another on his back. "Got them in my first week." They traipsed into their barracks and Bastian belly-flopped onto the bed below Nate's. "I'm gonna need to pass so I can get that sweet Judge pay for a cosmetic touch up, otherwise I'm never gonna get any lovin' from the ladies, eh?"

Hakeem bared his teeth, flexing his biceps from across the room. "Once we're Judges, we'll get all the pussy, man, don't need no touch up."

"If you boys ever thought of anything other than pussy, maybe you'd get less injuries." A woman said as she walked in -- she was brown-skinned, brown-eyed, brown-haired, though that hair was buzzcut like they did in bootcamp, her nose more curvy than Ana, broken and fixed badly too many times. Ana liked it but he always thought his own nose was probably just as out of joint from all the breaks it had.

"Don't get pissy coz we ain't thinking of you, Lita."

"Believe me, I'd rather get fucked by a rampaging Unifek than spend a minute in your bed, Hakeem. Sup new guy, I'm Lalita, but you can call me Lita."

Nate must have let something show on his face when she said her name because she rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, what of it? I don't look like an innocent little beauty or something."