Special Forces 01 (34 page)

“How come you haven’t joined any of the sports teams since you enrolled here?” Dave wanted to know. “I mean, I’ve watched you in PE. You’re pretty athletic, and it looks like you keep in shape somehow.”

Rys blinked at him in surprise. Joining a team hadn’t even occurred to him. “To tell you the truth, I have never considered it. We don’t have much in the way of sports where I am from.”

“I call dibs!” Dave stated hastily, with a pointed look at his two buddies. “We could really use another good player on the baseball team if we are going to take the Regional Finals again this year.”

“I have no idea how to play baseball, I have never even see a game,” Rys said patiently, half-amused at this unexpected turn in the conversation.

“Dude, I was watching how quickly you picked up tennis. I’ll bet you could probably be in the starting line up inside of a week.”

Jon slowly straightened, eyes thoughtfully evaluating Rys, when something occurred to him out of the blue. “Do you know how to play paintball?”

Rys cocked his head and turned to look at him. Why did he want to know? “Yes, as a matter of fact I play as often as my schedule permits. Why?”

For some reason his response made all three boys look at Rys with something akin to kids eyeing a case full of candy. Their expressions made him feel a little uncomfortable, but he waited for them to tell him what was on their minds. Patience cost him nothing, and often paid handsome dividends.

“See, we have our own paintball team,” Mark explained excitedly, his words coming out in one long, unbroken string. ”My younger brother is our fourth player. We must field a four man team, by regulations, to be eligible to compete in tournaments. The thing is, he’s down sicker than a dog with the flu right now and we have a major tournament this weekend. We have worked really hard, and have a good chance to be in the hunt for the top slot. Would you be interested in joining us and substituting for him?” Please? His eyes added plaintively. Rys was torn. Part of him really wanted to play with them, as it could prove to be fun, while expanding his base of friends. There was another part that was not so sure it was such a good idea at all. These were
civilians
and he seriously doubted they were used to the level of intensity that he routinely employed. There was no way they could keep up with him. An interesting idea began to form and grow in his head…
but if I occupied the sniper position, it won’t matter as much if they could keep up with me or not…
“I will agree to fill in on your team, if I can I be your sniper.”

It was almost possible to see their hopes for a trophy magically appear from thin air, moving firmly within their grasp. “Are you a good shot?” Jon was holding his breath in anticipation of the answer he somehow knew was coming.

“I maintain a marksman’s level,” Rys admitted with a modest nod of the head, not used to extolling his own achievements, or being around people who weren’t already familiar with them.

Mark grinned like a soldier who had just stumbled over a full box of ammunition in the dark. “In that case, you are hereby granted the position of sniper. I assume you’ve got your own gear?”

“Affirmative,” Rys answered without thinking.

“Sweet! Do you have a pump or an automatic marker?”

“Pump,” Rys responded cautiously. There was a heated debate in the paintball world about which type of gun was better, a pump action or an automatic. An all-out war of words could sometimes erupt between opposing factions over which one was superior, and why.

Fortune was with him because Mark beamed an approving grin at the answer. “Good. We’re all pumpers too. Automatics are just overkill and a waste of paint. Why lob in an entire hopper of expensive ammo at an opposing team, when one well-placed paintball will get the job done?”

Rys relaxed at this observation and smiled back, nodding in agreement. “I had a sar— an instructor who firmly believed that only people with poor targeting skills preferred automatic rifles. He said that if you couldn’t hit something on the first try, continuing to spray it with twenty more rounds wasn’t going to improve your chances of victory.”

“He’s absolutely right,” Jon agreed. His eyes were sharp and focused on Rys’s face, clearly evaluating and weighing him. “There’s a rumor making the rounds that you were in a military school before coming here. Is that true too?”

Apparently the incident in biology had been circulating in the school rumor mills. Which was alright, it served as good a cover for Rys. “That’s true.”

Mark snapped his fingers, suddenly enlightened. “That is why you’re a marksman. You were trained at the academy.”

“Yes.” Rys shrugged, like it wasn’t any a big deal.

Dave’s eyes had a calculating quality to them, as the gears turned in his head. “A sniper that is military trained. Oh man! The other teams don’t have a
prayer.
This is going to be a slaughter!”

“We should definitely practice together, to get our teamwork meshed up and smoothed out, before this weekend,” Mark mused aloud. “Just to get a feel for how we move together. Are you doing anything tonight, Savar?”

“Not a thing,” Rys replied, reviewing his schedule in his mind.

“Cool. You wanna play after school?”

Rys felt elated at the prospect that he could just cut loose and have a little fun in the immediate future. It had been a while since he had busted out of his daily routine, and purged his system of all of the stress and frustration he had built up lately. “Sure. Where should I meet you?”

“Dave, the two of you have your last class together, right?”

“Right,” Dave confirmed. “Savar, I’ll just grab you after class is over. You can follow us to the field.”

“I will need to detour briefly by my house and pick up my gear,” Rys informed them.

Mark waved this concern away. “Dude, we all need to do that! We don’t exactly tote our markers in our backpacks between classes. Dave will just ride with you. He’ll direct you to the right field once you’ve got what you need.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

***

Rys pulled up in front of the Bergert house, thinking back to the sequence of events that had gotten him drafted to a civilian paintball team. The actual paintball “practice session” had been a lot of fun and Rys had enjoyed spending time teaching his three new companions strategies they had never envisioned before. After almost three hours of playing, they’d decided to call it quits for the day. Their stomachs were beating a staccato on their ribs, and promising dire retribution if they weren’t fed soon. Rys was all set to return to the Bloch house when Bergert intercepted him, and talked him into spending the night.

Putting the car in park, Rys got out and took a good look around him. The Bergert house looked a lot like the Bloch house, only without quite so many toys in the front yard. That made sense, as Mark only had one younger sibling, and he was fifteen. Grabbing his duffle bag from the back seat, he followed Mark up the sidewalk to the front door.

Mark entered the house with a cheery, “Hey Mom, I brought home a new friend to spend the night! We’re starving, what’s for dinner?”

Rys shot him an incredulous look. “You didn’t call ahead and give her a head’s up about me on the drive over here?!”

“Naw, she’s cool with it,” Mark assured him with a careless slap on the shoulder. “My mom loves company. The only time she’s really happy is when she has at least fifteen people to feed. She was raised in a very large family; there was always a mob for meals.”

He had no chance to respond to this revelation before a matronly woman with short, dark hair and pretty green eyes appeared from the kitchen doorway. Judging from the smudges of flour on her apron and left cheek, she had been in the middle of meal preparation when her son’s voice called her away. “There you are, Mark, I was getting worried that you might miss dinner! And who’s your friend?”

“This is Arystair Savar,” Mark introduced casually. “Arystair, this is my mom, Jessica Bergert.”

Rys nodded his head in her direction. “It is a distinct pleasure, ma’am, I hope this isn’t inconvenient for you.”

“And it’s a pleasure to meet you, Arystair, you are most welcome. Another set of sneakers under our dinner table won’t even be noticed! Mark, have him throw his things in your room. Dinner will be ready in five minutes, so don’t dawdle. And tell your brother he can come down and join us, since he’s not contagious anymore.”

“Just pitiful, right?” Mark snickered.

“You’re only laughing because you didn’t catch it. Yet,” his mother reproved.

“Comes with having a superior body in top condition, germs just bounce off my genetic shielding,” Mark retorted with an outrageous wiggle of the eyebrows. “Come on, Arystair, it’s this way.”

Rys automatically scanned the interior of the house as he followed Mark inside, following his training protocols when entering unfamiliar territory for the first time. It was thoroughly middle class from the modern color scheme to the slightly worn furniture, not unlike the Bloch house, he decided. He found himself relaxing as he realized this; it was a comfortable environment to be in. Mark’s room was the first one on the right, and revealed a lot about the young man. There were posters of football players, flashy sports cars, and one for a popular video game that Dylan liked too. The place was reasonably tidy—for a civilian, that is—with only the unmade bed and an overflowing laundry basket in one corner being the exceptions. Through a door left ajar, Rys glimpsed a bathroom sink and vanity.

He put the bag where Mark indicated, and followed through to the bathroom to wash up a little. They’d gotten decidedly enthusiastic playing paintball, and so were covered from head to toe in paint smears, grass stains, and ground in mud. Rys was in and out of the shower in less than two minutes, which surprised Mark.

“Do you normally take showers that quickly?” his host asked in transparent surprise.

“Well, not quite.” Rys rubbed at his wet hair with a towel, which probably sent it in spikes every possible direction. “I generally take about three minutes, when I am not in a hurry.”

“…three minutes,” Mark repeated slowly, eyes squinting as if he were trying to imagine what that would be like. “Um, just a guess, but is that a side effect of attending a military school?”

“Well, that and being raised on Fourth Colony,” Rys admitted. “We were always short on water there, so we had limited shower allotments.”

“Huh.” Mark just shook his head, grabbed a clean set of clothes, and disappeared into the bathroom.

With nothing further to do, Rys wandered out of the room and into the kitchen, seeing if he could make himself useful to Mrs. Bergert with dinner. It was polite and only fair after all, since he was an unexpected guest. As he rounded the kitchen doorway, he nearly bumped into her. His hands shot out reflexively, steadying the salad bowl in her hands before it could fall to the floor.

“Oh, Arystair!” she gasped, stepping back in surprise. “I wasn’t expecting you down quite so soon, that was certainly a record for a cleanup. Good catch, by the way.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” he apologized, releasing the bowl back to her sole possession.

“No, don’t worry about it; I’m just a little amazed, my sons don’t ever get cleaned up that fast.” She regarded him with the same startled expression Mark had previously presented him with. Were both of her sons into extended showers? “I assume Mark is in the shower now?”

“Yes, ma’am. I was wondering if you could use some help with your dinner preparations.”

She blinked, drawing a blank for a moment as if she wasn’t quite following him, then surprise registered on her face. “Oh, my, that’s never happened before. Well, I certainly will not turn down the offer of help. If you could grab that pan with the roast and put it on the table—oh, make sure to put down a hot pad first. They’re in that drawer there, next to sink.”

Rys followed the directions she gave him, helping to set the table and transfer various steaming components of the evening meal into bowls. Everything smelled really good, his stomach was ready and willing to do this repast justice. The peach cobbler was especially drawing his interest; the aroma tantalized his taste buds, and the demands from his ravenous stomach were unrelenting.

They had the table completely set, and the food containers distributed, before either of the Bergert sons made an appearance. A boy of about fifteen wandered in, and looked around, clearly surprised to see a stranger helping his Mom. Rys assumed this was Jason, Mark’s younger brother. Even though they had never met, he supposed that the dark circles under his eyes, the red chapped nose and the pale cast to his skin were the results of his recent bout with the flu. He shuffled more than walked, as though his joints were painful and complaining. When he caught himself staring at Rys, he scrambled for something to say. “Uh…I’m guessin’ you’re Mark’s friend.”

“Arystair Savar,” Rys introduced himself with a polite smile and nod. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m Nick.”

“Nick, Arystair, go ahead and sit down,” Mrs. Bergert directed. “Nick, is your brother still in the shower?”

“I heard the water shut off on my way past the bathroom,” Nick responded, dropping into the nearest chair.

“Then he’ll be here in a minute,” his mother responded in satisfaction. “Your father is working overtime tonight, so we can start as soon as Mark gets here. Arystair, judging from the way you two were decorated when you came in, you must have stopped for a round of paintball after school.”

Rys noticed out of the corner of his eye that Jason perked up at the mention of paintball. “Yes, ma’am. Mark asked me to substitute for Nick, since the competition is tomorrow, and he didn’t feel that Nick would be up to playing at the top of his form yet. We scrimmaged today for some team practice, to insure we understood and anticipated each other’s moves, then we worked out some new strategies.”

Mark finally showed up, hair still dripping, with a grin stretching from ear to ear. “You shoulda seen this guy, Mom. He’s like a freakin’ force of nature, an octopus with four markers couldn’t have covered the field any faster than he did. Nobody stands a chance against us tomorrow, not with him on the team; he is our new secret weapon.” Thinking about it, he added ruefully, “We certainly didn’t stand a chance against him during our own scrimmage.”