Chapter 9: Social Animals
Dormitory Hall
Hours of studying had taken their toll on Fox's heavy eyelids.
Some forty landmark battles and galactic heroes ago, he'd fallen asleep face-first into the open textbook pads sprawled on his desk, too exhausted to feel the flat touchscreen smooshing up against his cheeks. Stirring faintly, he savored a reprieve away from the prying eyes and endless barrage of expectations that dogged him every second he was awake. Here, there was only the undisturbed stillness of his room, broken only by the occasional soft twitch of his brown-tipped ears. Just as he was about to turn over in his sleep, he felt a splash of light creep into his eyelids and bathe his cheeks in a nuzzling warmth. His eyes fluttered open groggily as he fumbled about for the lamp he must have left on…
It was only a heart-stopping second later that he shot upright, realizing that it wasn't his desk lamp. It was the morning sun, beaming in through his window. A glance at the clock only made him grow paler.
Fox sprang out of his chair so fast he nearly fell over, racing to start and stop a myriad of tasks at the same time—poking his head through a t-shirt, yanking on his belt, fumbling his mini-fridge open for a hasty egg sandwich, all while shoving books into his schoolbag in a frantic, aimless spasm.
Dammit, dammit, DAMMIT! You slept in AGAIN, you lazy disorganized IDIOT! He groaned. This time, Professor Dunaway's gonna fly my tail up the school flagpole—
In the middle of sweeping papers into his bag, his hand hit the holo-live radio on his desk, its garbled voice filling the room: "—when you add Orion Fur Gel to your routine, you'll notice the change…and so will she. With a lush sheen and powerful scent—"
Fox groaned exasperatedly but didn't have time to shut it off. He raced to his closet and began rifling through for a clean uniform, while shoving his boots on. Amidst fumbling with the straps, his elbow hit the switch to his closet-slide door—shutting its painful, steel edge on his tail.
Fox's hand flew to his mouth as he unleashed a muffled yowl, tears filling his eyes as the biting surge shot from his tail to his spine. He yanked his delicate plume free, gingerly patting down the fretted ends, but not before tripping over his unfastened boots and spilling his bag open, sending books and papers everywhere. Exasperated to the point of helplessness, Fox stared at the floor, as the radio on his desk continued to chortle, almost mockingly:
"..Clarissa Danes, with Corneria News Hour, and gosh it's a beautiful morning today. Just makes you glad to be alive, doesn't it?"
Fuming, Fox hurled his boot at across the room and knocked the radio over, yelling something garbled and profane.
Cadet Success Room 44B, Academy West Wing
Caroline was sweating bullets in her seat at the back of the classroom, feathers becoming oily under the nearby window splashed with sunlight.
"This is getting ridiculous, Steph," She muttered out the side of her beak. "You can't keep relying on my notes every time you forget to do the reading."
Stephanie glanced up from the datascreen concealed on her lap under her desk. "For the last time, Carol. I didn't forget. Something just…came up, that's all."
Caroline rolled her eyes. "That 'something' wouldn't happen to be the Zero-Gigi live concert was holding on the Midnight Channel, would it?"
One of Steph's spotted ears twitched in annoyance. "Look, I have a life outside this boring class. You really think I'm gonna constantly miss out on it because our stupid professor doesn't want to chill out and give us a night off?" The Hyena's eyes resumed their covert dart towards her lap. "Now, button it. You bleating over my shoulder isn't helping me read any faster."
The blue jay's feathers ruffled. "Well, if I'm so damn annoying, maybe you can use someone else's notes. Or better yet, do the reading yourself like the rest of us."
"Well, aren't you just a studious little cherub? This is the thanks I get for lending you one of my jackets after yours got ruined by that idiot Frog the other day?" Steph hissed angrily. "Great way to repay a friend in need, Carol."
That seemed to shut Caroline down, as her only response was a dry scoff and a wary glance back to the front. Steph certainly didn't feel brave about her stunt, covertly studying the notes on her lap as she watched Dunaway stroll down the desk rows, feeling like a Papetonian tunnel rat hiding in plain sight. Coming to Dunaway's class unprepared was one thing, but cheating right under her nose—in the belly of the beast—was something most students wouldn't attempt without a death wish.
As another student froze up on her, the Collie pursed her lips in disapproval. "Good grief, I'm not asking for the world here…just the tactic that won the Battle of Ivella IV." She glanced around. "Fine. Is there anyone bold enough to volunteer the answer?"
A hand shot up, and Stephanie's expression warped into a disdainful one when she saw that it was Meryl's.
The insufferable overachiever just had to make her presence known in every class, practically leaping out of her chair to kiss the teacher's tail…but what made her a real annoyance was her refusal to let Steph copy off her notes before class. The little priss even pretended to be shocked, too, as if breaking the rules was something she couldn't imagine doing. So Steph saw to it that her mink friend Romi was helping repay the favor:
Each time perfect little Meryl answered a question, Romi flicked a small piece of crumpled paper at the back of her neck, at just the right angle that Professor Dunaway couldn't see it. It had the same satisfying effect every time: Meryl would flinch mid-sentence, sending a ripple of mirth through the students seated around her.
Dunaway looked at her strangely. "Something wrong, Cadet?"
Like clockwork, the Tabby kept her chin up, biting back a moment's embarrassment like nothing was wrong. "No, ma'am. Sorry, ma'am."
Steph smiled, but brief triumph faltered the minute she returned to the notes on her lap.
"Ugh. Five hundred formations memorized," She muttered. "I swear, we might as well get assigned corrective surgery to get stringy tails and flat noses…if we're going to slave away like Venomians, we might as well look the part."
"You're telling me." Romi paused her paper-flinging, sank in her chair. "I'm about ready to drop out, guys. I wanna be a pilot, but not enough to endure four more years of this." She nearly wailed amidst whispering. "Do only the brainy machines get to join the Fleet, or something?"
A look of distaste fouled Caroline's pretty features. "I dunno about that…I know someone who's scraping along just fine, and she isn't brainy in the least."
She didn't need to elaborate: They'd all spent the class fighting the urge to glare at a certain black cat in the room, even as she let out an excited giggle with every question she got right. Stephanie glowered, sickened by that insufferable Monroe girl's voice alone.
"Did you see her flaunting herself at lunch the other day?" She murmured. "Boys on every side, having them wait on her hand and foot like Simian servants, practically drooling over her. Ugh, she has absolutely no shame, and the boys around here just reward her for it."
Caroline made a dry, amused tweet. "Why, Stephanie Hart, do I detect a sting of jealousy?"
The Hyena's ears flattened. "You'll detect the sting of something far worse if you don't shut your beak."
"My, my, having a spirited conversation in the back of the classroom, ladies?"
Failing to realize the growing volume of their voices, all three girls' ears and tails shot upright in alarm at the sound of Professor Dunaway's calm, placid voice targeting them from across the room. The girls gulped, greeting her presence with a tense, embarrassed silence.
"Oh, please. Don't stop on my account. I can only applaud you for gossiping brazenly during my lecture." Her gaze found Steph. "Or did you have something insightful to add? Maybe something to quote from the textbook?"
Stephanie hastily scooted in to hide her notes, the color draining from her face as she began mumbling something indiscernible in a meek voice.
"Sorry? What was that? I'm not familiar with that chapter of the book." Abandoning all pretenses of cordiality, the Collie's eyes became frigid behind her glasses. "You know, Cadet, there's two things I won't stand for in this classroom. One is complete disregard for basic school etiquette, and the other—"
Then, much to Steph's relief, everyone's attention was torn away by the slide door opening…with Fox McCloud barreling in, panting and eyes wide. All over him were the remnants of a hectic morning: his tail was inexplicably fringed at the end, and the flaky remnants of breakfast hanging off his whiskers. His uniform was a crinkled mess, and hung off one of his knobby shoulders. Upon looking around and seeing that class had started without him, he turned paper-white.
"—is tardiness," Dunaway finished, before giving him a somewhat amused up-down glance. "So good of you to finally grace us with your presence, Cadet 93."
"Professor!" Fox collected himself to throw up a feeble salute. His small voice and timid green eyes made every girl smile, Steph very much included. It was refreshingly cute how someone as famous as Fox was still so hopelessly insecure in public; even as she and the others waved at him under their desks, he flushed to his ears and diverted his gaze.
"I daresay you've outdone yourself. Thirty minutes late this time." Dunaway held her wry tone of faux impressment while eyeing the state of his uniform. "And you even spiffed yourself up for the occasion."
"I've got a good reason this time, Professor. I was…" There was a labored pause as he very transparently tried to muster confidence in his voice. "…getting another glance at today's reading."
"Is that right?" One of Dunaway's shapely eyebrows launched above her spectacles. "Well, then, you should have no trouble giving me the correct answer to this morning's fleet scenario on the board."
Fox's face fell. "Fleet scenario?"
"The Battle of Hermia, from last night's reading?" The Collie tapped the Lecture Globe at the front, sparking alight and flashing a glowing holographic recreation of ships, sprawled out in mid-air behind her. "Surely you know what formation won the battle, since you've spent hours pouring over the chapter, no?"
"T-The Battle of Hermia…right..." He repeated in a frail voice.
Stephanie felt herself cringe, and even the other students around her winced. It was obvious the poor kid had no idea what the Professor was talking about. To his credit, he stood his ground and squinted hurriedly at the holographic display. His eyes darted about them obliviously, either stalling or trying to jog his memory.
"It was…Battle Formation V, right?" He made a transparent effort to inject confidence into his voice. "The Cornerian Fleet won the battle with Formation V!"
The Cornerian ships moved into a pincer formation, and were instantly engulfed in a holographic fiery explosion, splitting apart before Fox's dismayed eyes, while Dunaway curled her lips.
"Congratulations, Cadet. You've now altered the course of history. Thanks to you, the Battle of Hermia ended in total Cornerian defeat, and plunged the Outer Lylat System into another eight centuries of war and famine."
Fox implored her quickly. "Professor, you've got to believe me. I did do the reading, I just—"
"Cadet 93," She stopped him, dropping the curtness in her voice. "You remember what I said on the first day, about not giving any of my students special treatment?"
A dejected Fox lowered his head with a conceding nod. "Yes, ma'am, I remember."
"And do you think it would be fair of me to adjust that standard for you?"
"…No, ma'am."
"Then you know my policy on lateness?"
There was a slight wince in Fox's slow nod. Dunaway ran her classroom just as tightly as any real Cornerian vessel; and on a real starship bridge, crewmen who neglected their duties were denied the dignity of a seat for the remainder of fleet operations. The Collie was no different.
"A desk in my class is a luxury, as you well know," she said. "So I'll have to ask you to stand in the back for the remainder of the lecture. If it's any consolation, you weren't the only one to come in late." She gestured towards the rear of the class. "…Cadet 64 seems to share your sense of punctuality."
o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o
Leaning against the back wall, Wolf was in his own headspace when he heard the Professor mention him.
Haggard from a brutally-short night's sleep and the last few days of disciplinary flight practice, Wolf had already been half-asleep. When Fox McCloud rattled the whole room awake with his arrival, it wasn't exactly a boon to his lousy morning. As he watched the boy nervously made his way over to the same back wall, Wolf greeted his presence like a rancid odor, crinkling his snout and choosing to mentally check out.
He watched as the scrawny boy trudged over, who looked up and observed a nervous distance from Wolf's much taller silhouette.
Even at the back of the room, Fox attracted a hushed sliver of gossiping and people pointing at him, which only made it harder to for Wolf to refrain from rolling his eyes.
o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o
Once Fox had trudged his way to the back, Professor Dunaway acknowledged the rest of the room.
"Well. It's become nakedly apparent to me how few of you did the readings, and how even less of you understand them." She pursed her lips. "And frankly, I don't feel like wasting time dishing out material that isn't going to stick…so for the sake of your grades—not to mention my dignity—I'll cancel today's lesson plans in favor of a much-needed jaunt back to basics."
She tapped her wrist device again, the holo-display changing from titanic modern-era warships to tiny bronze craft of a bygone age, scattered across the grid like floating glands of honey.
"We'll spend the day venturing back four thousand years, to the first war that shaped our galaxy…and the vital tactics within it."
Several chairs squeaked as everyone slouched in their seats, knowing better than to voice their disappointment with groaning.
Meryl, however, didn't join the chorus of grumbling. She furrowed her eyebrows, before raising her hand. "Um, Professor…I was wondering..." She suddenly paused, lowering her hand and tawny ears timidly. "I-I mean, if it's not a stupid question to ask…"
Dunaway offered a gentle nod. "That all depends on the question, Cadet."
"Well…" Hesitation labored Meryl's nervous mewing. "Should we really be covering tactics this old? I-I'm not trying to question your teaching methods or anything," she blurted quickly. "But I have to wonder…you know, how useful these will be to us here and now."
The Professor raised her eyebrows. "Considering they were the only thing that stood between us and the open jaws of a Venomian invasion during the Interstellar Conflict, I'd say these tactics have proven pretty useful."
"Yes, but that was eons ago. So much has changed since then: our ships, our technology…" Meryl's freckled face scrunched in confusion. "If a war broke out tomorrow, how efficient would these old strategies really be?"
Practically everyone turned around in their seats to give her an odd look, even snicker. It was a bizarre question to ask in this day and age: the idea of a war breaking out across the galaxy was about as outlandish as Fichina becoming a tropical planet overnight. But Professor Dunaway didn't greet the question with the same mirth.
"Hmm. Not a perspective I'm used to…but not an unwelcome one." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "The best answer I can give is that unlike starships and weapons, the right strategy never becomes outdated. Outthinking one's opponent is a timeless art of combat…an art that the Cornerians mastered generations ago."
She continued her stride at the front, her elegant tail swaying gently like a large feather duster.
"In fact, the strategies our ancestors used in the first war is precisely how we've prevented all future ones. That's precisely why we'll never retire them, Cadet. At the risk of sounding overly patriotic…" She glanced at some of the other species of student in the room. "…it's why the role of galactic custodians of the Lylat System falls solely to us, the Motherworld."
Norm, a chocolate-colored Labrador who had the loudest voice in the class, flashed a cocky grin. "Damn straight. No one messes with Corneria. We're the strongest—always have been, always will be."
The interruption caused Dunaway to stiffen. "Thank you for that invaluable insight, Cadet. I don't, however, recall asking for any."
Norm's ears fell in embarrassment, before a sleek Cheetah chimed in behind him. "Besides, it's not even true. Katina's the strongest planet in the Lylat System."
"That ain't true!" Norm barked at her heatedly, buckling around in his seat. "Corneria's a galactic superpower. Katina's just a tiny feline planet. There's no way they'd beat us."
A few other Canine students clamored in agreement, but the Cheetah just scoffed. "Oh, please. That might've been true once, but Katina's fleet is getting better every day. And if a war ever broke out, we could topple Corneria easily."
"We'd never lose to a bunch of felines." Norm spun back expectedly. "Tell her, Prof…Corneria would totally clobber Katina in a real fight, right?"
Dunaway turned her nose up. "No self-respecting Cornerian academic, high on even the most feverish fumes of national pride, would indulge in such speculation…especially to demonize an allied planet." The Collie's voices rigidified sternly. "Let me make this clear: Katina is our ally. And we aren't going to war with them, or anyone else any time soon."
"That's not what my dad says," piped up a Spaniel Cadet in the front row. "He doesn't think the Felines are our allies…or that they can even be trusted."
A weary sigh came from the Professor. "Some Cornerians may still feel that way. But that's just four thousand years of leftover friction, nothing more."
"Yeah, but why?" A Rottweiler Cadet asked. "Did we fight them, or something?"
Dunaway visibly stifled a laugh. "Oh, heavens no. I know, it's tempting to think that of all planets, the Canine world and the Feline world would be the two with the bloodiest history of conflicts—but thankfully, that's one cliché that Lylatian history managed to avoid."
That left the Rottweiler looking confused, his doughy face scrunched up. "So why do so many Cornerians split so much fur over what Katina does?"
"Because we're the only planet willing to stand up for ourselves, that's why," the Cheetah cut in curtly. "We chose to hold onto our traditions, instead of letting another planet walk all over us."
"Wrong, again." Norm gave her a tired, bitter look. "It's because you decided to split off after the First War ended, instead of joining the Free Alliance under Corneria, like everyone else. We offered you unity, safety…and you chose isolation."
"The right to rule Katina belongs to her Royal Family," the Cheetah hissed. "Them, and no one else."
Rolling his eyes, Norm sighed. "Yeah, go ahead and cling to those backwards traditions of yours. What good's it done you? Was it worth turning your back on Cornerian protection? Think your precious Royals will help you if a crisis hits?"
Quiet irritation began to simmer in the Cheetah's voice. "We'll take care of ourselves. We have a right to our independence."
"Pfft. You call it independence; I call it vanity."
Professor Dunaway's eyes flashed dangerously. "That's enough. Both of you."
The Cheetah's fur bristled, as she snapped: "There's nothing vain about choosing not to bend over to a bunch of canines!"
"No one's asking you to bend over!" The exasperated Labrador threw up his hands. "Just to grow up and join the intergalactic community with the rest of us. Just accept Corneria's protection. Is it really that hard? I mean, what else are you going to do, rely on your own Fleet, instead of the best one in the Galaxy?"
"We're doing just fine without having the Motherworld drag us about by our ears, thank you very much," the Cheetah said. "Our Fleet's a lot stronger than you dogs give us credit for."
Norm sneered. "You lot would never be able to hold your own in a war."
The Cheetah returned his glare, fur bristling. "You Cornerians could always wage one and find out."
THWAP!
"When you're quite finished."
Both dogs and cats cheering and hissing at the verbal sparring match suddenly recoiled as Dunaway's firm hand came down on the desk at the front of the room, making a cracking sound akin to rawhide that was only half as terrifying as the savage bite in her voice. All of the haughty fervor evaporated, as silence returned to the room.
"Now, there will be no more wanton political chest-beating, in my classroom or any other. You can leave that garbage at the school gate where it belongs." The Collie's quiet, bitingly-frigid tone cleaved over them like a sickle to wheat. "You'll all be joining the same Fleet when you graduate—so we expect you all to cooperate, regardless of any petty differences. So you'd best quash them here and now, or I'll make sure you never see the inside of a real starship. Is that understood?"
Silence lingered, before humbled nodding rippled across the meek students.
With a last irritated twitch of her whiskers, Dunaway resumed her businesslike posture. "Good. Now, let's get this lecture underway."
o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o
Wolf sighed in relief, not knowing how much more of that shouting match he would've been able to stomach. Politics was the one part of Lylatian society that he couldn't wrap his head around.
These people invented robots and space travel, but they still haven't grown past bitching about things from a thousand years ago? He thought. Guess they aren't as 'advanced' as I thought…
Reclining against the wall with his eyelids slackening, Wolf lazily steered his gaze towards the classroom window, as often did during these boring lectures.
Only this time, Fox McCloud was in the way. Blocking the soft morning sunlight with his frame, the boy was leaning farther away, clearly intimidated by Wolf's towering height. He lifted his head in surprise, mistakenly returning the glance in his direction with a small, nervous smile. But Wolf just scowled and turned his gaze back frontward. He was in a foul mood already from his spat with James the other day; the last reminder he needed was the sight of James' perfect, prodigal son that the entire school was obsessed with.
Even now, nearby students engaged in their periodic ritual of excitedly whispering and pointing at Fox. And on the occasion that their eyes would fall on Wolf, their expressions would become flat and dismissive. All their enamorment with him standing up to James had long since passed, with most of them not even knowing him by name, outside of "That Idiot who thought he could show up James McCloud." His embarrassing loss had soiled him with an aura of shame that everyone strove to avoid.
Wolf's eyes passed over at all of them: all of the "normal" kids he'd coveted since his first day. Those unassuming eyes and bright smiles, windows to companionship and normalcy that he wasn't used to, all of which were suddenly further out of reach.
He sighed. All those aspirations about blending in and making friends would have to wait. Not just because of the time needed to repair his reputation, but his new feverish errand: his private game of supremacy with James.
Petty friendships and social flings would only distract him from that. Make him lose.
They can all wait…I've got four years to mingle with them. To try at being 'normal'. Whatever that means…
But this thing between me and James…that needs to be settled now. I have to shut everything else out…till it's just him, and me.
He was still lost in thought when his wandering eyes fell on an unmistakable green outline. An amphibian student, only a few feet away, was hunched over in its seat in the back of the room.
The sight of Slippy made Wolf forget everything, guilt worming into his stomach. He hadn't talked to the Frog since the incident in the lunchroom, having completely forgotten about him. He sighed, letting his shoulders fall.
Maybe I should tie up one last loose end before locking myself into "No Distractions" mode.
Slowly, moving as little as possible, he slid back-first against the wall, moving to where the boy was sitting. "Yo, Slippy—" He called out in a whisper. "Can you hear me?"
There was a scrape as the Frog jolted upright in his chair, turning in wide-eyed fear.
"Shhh. Easy, it's just me!" Wolf hissed.
Frantic look deflating, Slippy still grimaced jumpily towards the front of the room. "We're not supposed to be talking. The Professor'll tear us apart!"
"Just—pretend you're paying attention. Keep your eyes ahead and don't look this way." Wolf kept his gaze at the front of the room, moving his lips as little as possible. "Listen…I just wanted to say, about what happened at lunch the other day—I wanted to say that I'm sorry."
From behind, Slippy froze. "Wha—sorry? For what?"
"It was my fault you got embarrassed," Wolf said humbly. "You gave me all the signs to stop, but I was too stupid to see 'em. That was all on me, and I wanted you to know that."
He waited for the Frog to say something, but Slippy's back was rigid, as if unsure if the apologetic tone being offered to him was genuine.
Discouraged by the awkward silence, Wolf let his shoulders fall. "Look, if you're pissed, and you don't wanna talk at all, I get it. But I mean it when I say that I never meant to put you through that. I didn't even know about your…um…" His voice hinged uncomfortably.
But to his surprise, the Frog chuckled. "You mean, my 'condition'? It's fine. Folks back home don't know what to make of it either." He stuttered less, seemingly comfortable enough around Wolf to open up. "They thought I was sick with something that would go away when I got older, but it just stuck. Just my luck, huh?"
"'When you got older'?" Wolf broke to glance at him. "How old are you, anyway?"
Slippy glanced down at his desk. "You probably won't believe it, but I turned fifteen a few months ago."
Wolf had to stop his jaw from dropping. The kid looked and sounded like he was ten at the oldest. Despite having his back turned, he could hear the defeated smile in Slippy's voice.
"Yeah. There's the silence, right on cue." He conceded a small dip of his speckled head. "It's only natural, I suppose…it's not exactly normal. Believe me, the kids around here love to remind me every day."
"That's not what I—"
Slippy shrugged. "No worries. Kids back on Aquas used to give me a hard time about it, too. It happens to all the latepoles."
Wolf furrowed his brow, muttering the strange word under his breath. "'Latepole'? Wuzzat?"
Slippy paused, clearly not used to anyone taking the time to ask. "A less nice way of saying 'a genetic oddity'. Some Aquans get hit with developmental problems while they're still tadpoles or efts; younger parts of them stay while the rest of them grows. Small limbs, short height, voice staying at a certain pitch…" He trailed off into a worbled tone. "I don't have it as bad as others, but it still sucks sounding like I haven't hit puberty. It's not so bad if I can get the other kids to ignore me…"
"Which is why you try to stay so quiet," Wolf finished, feeling guiltier than ever.
"S'okay. Can't blame you for not knowing." The Frog rested a tired cheek on his hand. "Same way I can't help it if everyone else around here finds it weird. Or funny."
Wolf's gaze hardened. "Yes, you can. The way that Fritz guy and his cronies treat you is foul," he growled. "You should stand up to them. A few choice words, couple of lost teeth…then they'll respect you."
Slippy snorted. "Yeah, right. I bet that works wonders for big guys like you." He glanced at his stubby hands. "Me, not so much."
"That's a lousy fucking excuse not to try," Wolf said flatly. "You're gonna be a pilot someday. How d'you plan on fending for yourself out there, if you can't even do it here?"
The Frog went silent, shrinking uncomfortably. At first, Wolf sighed impatiently. And then, an idea played on his expression, one that made him glance about, sly and unassuming.
"I s'pose…just this once, I could do it for you."
That made Slippy rigidify in his seat, like someone had applied a stun bolt to it. "W-What?"
"Don't get excited," Wolf clarified with an instant snap of his voice. "It won't be a regular thing. I'm not gonna be anyone's bodyguard. But I can get this guy and his friends to leave you alone, and we'll be even for what happened at lunch. Sound like a good deal?"
Gratitude, or even relief, was not at all in the reaction that Slippy gave him. The boy actually turned around, looking at Wolf like his head was on fire. "Teach Fritz a lesson? What are you, nuts?"
Wolf looked at him strangely. "What're you all anxious about? I won't say anything that leads back to you, if that's what you're worried about."
Maintaining a dumbfounded stare, Slippy finally blurted: "I don't know what you're thinking of doing, but if you know what's good for you, you'll drop it." His high pitch strained within the confines of a whisper. "I don't want anyone going toe-to-toe with him, especially on my account. He's not someone you wanna mess with."
Wolf gave a dubious snort. "That poncey little wallflower? I'm supposed to be afraid of him?"
"You really don't know who he is, do you?" Slippy asked incredulously. "Who his family is, outside of this school?"
"Should I?" He almost regretted saying it, if nothing else for the way his casual tone seemed to stun Slippy into silence.
"Man, I'd love to live under whatever rock you've been hiding under." He sighed, before hastily adding: "Look, you seem like a nice kid. You might even get far around here." There was a pause, before he shut his eyes within a wince, as if hesitant to risk saying too much. "But stay outta Fritz's way if you know what's good for you. You're not the first to take him for granted, but you might be the first person lucky enough to never cross his path."
Wolf furrowed his eyebrows, starting: "What're you—?"
"Don't ask anymore," Slippy said instantly, looking frailer the longer he spoke. "You don't have to take my advice. But if you're gonna poke around, find out what Fritz is really like…then I can't have anything to do with you. I'm sorry."
The school bell rang just as he rolled out the last sentence in the same garbled, frantic breath. The Frog snatched up his school bag and bolted out the door before everyone else, leaving Wolf confused where he sat.
o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o
Academy Interior Firing Range
Shwa-THOOM! Shwa-THOOM!
The crackle of plasma, dispersion of holographic targets, and metallic click of magazines hastily being changed all echoed against the chrome walls.
The few students that managed to get headshots let out elated murmurs. Pigma grunted in approval.
"Alright, alright, don't get full o' yourselves. You're still years away from landing a shot on a living, breathing target." He gestured to the next row of students. "Now, dig in near the sandbags, and kneel in the same stance—I said kneel, not squat. You're taking aim, not a dump, for God's sake…"
If there was one lesson that the Cadets actually enjoyed amidst their laborious class schedule, it was Arsenal Training. Nothing nursed their boredom or kindled that adolescent need for adrenaline quite like assembling a weapon and unloading a few rounds against some holographic targets. It was the one part of the day everyone looked forward to; the one instance of empowerment and control they'd feel all day.
It helped that it was one of the few times they got to work with Pigma. He wasn't cut out for many teaching roles at the school: he made little secret of his aversion to kids, and knew next to nothing about book learning. But he knew blasters; even to the point where he harbored more nostalgia and fondness for guns than people. His blunt and laid-back approach also made him instantly likeable among the students, along with his boredom that would often compel him to reminisce about his younger, reckless days as a Space Marine—regaling his exploits and irresponsibly leaving in grisly details, much to the Cadets' excitement.
Even as they were assembling their weapons at individual worktables, they were listening wide-eyed to him as he demonstrated an anti-armor Blaster Carbine for them, before turning it in his hands.
"Hmph. You kids don't know how spoiled you are. I woulda killed to have one o' these Straata Double-Pulses when I was your age—back then, only space pirates could get their hands on this kinda hardware. My old platoon was in an Eldard bog when some pirate scum had us pinned us down with these." He grinned nostalgically. "Guy next to me got hit. Brain came outta the back of his head like a Giffa Melon bein' smashed—"
"Commander Dengar." Drill Instructor Carver, who was co-teaching the class alongside the Hog, cut in flatly. "No distractions, remember?"
Pigma's fond smile disappeared into a bored, guttural sigh. "Fine, fine. My bad, Neil…you take over." He set the rifle down, and began to wander the room.
The Painted Hunting Dog nodded sternly, before swinging back around. "C'mon, you runts! Finish up with that assembly! NOW!"
Just as Pigma was building his reputation as the "cool" teacher, Carver was cementing his as the killjoy: Always there to enforce protocol, always there to force everyone to assemble their rifles before shooting—which was a complete buzzkill, and made even worse by his savage voice making them fumble with their rifle parts.
If he was thinning anyone's patience, it was Wolf's. Time in prison had worn his tolerance for authority figures that shouted down and degraded him...and this Carver guy was pushing him worse than any of his Wardens.
He was still attaching the slide panel onto his rifle, when Carver kicked at his tray table. "Hop to it, you lazy cretin!"
It sent a bounce across the table's surface, sending Wolf's stray rifle parts spilling onto the floor. His fur spiked as he bottled his irritation into a vile stare. The Drill Sergeant, stooping his veiny neck to return his glower, seemingly to dare him.
"Somethin' on your mind, Cadet?"
Wolf clamped his lip. The tracking anklet in his boot was a constant reminder of the price for retaliation. But boy, was this guy tempting him.
"…No, sir," He finally said.
Carver curled his lip and turned to resume his stroll down the aisles, and it took all of Wolf's restraint not to take his half-assembled rifle and fling it at the back of his head. Suddenly, he heard a weathered, hearty voice.
"Whoa, ease up there on that rifle, tough guy. You're going to snap it in half."
Wolf turned to find Pigma standing over him, only to realize that he was clutching his rifle so bitingly-hard that it was wedging into his palms. Flushing in embarrassment, he diverted his gaze and began sweeping up his parts from the floor.
"I thought part of the deal with me attending this school was that none of you could act like you know me," he mumbled. "Aren't you breaking the rules?"
Pigma wore a deadpan expression, handing him a screw. "Dunno what you're talking about, Cadet. I'm just here to make sure you put together this rifle properly. Besides…" He lowered his voice. "It's not a problem if I don't get caught. You of all people should appreciate that sentiment, kiddo."
He maintained his stiff, businesslike expression as he winked covertly to Wolf, who smiled despite himself. "It's good to see you again, Pigma." He sighed. "Sorry I haven't talked to you since I got here."
"Don't worry about it, kid," Pigma nudged him good-naturedly. "I'm just happy to see you out here, mingling with all these other kids, instead of wastin' away in some Juvie Hall. You were always meant for bigger things, Wolf…now look at ya: finally here, in your Academy duds, like you've always dreamed."
Wolf didn't reciprocate his warmth as he continued to tinker. "I dunno, Pigma. The way things are going, maybe it should've stayed a dream."
The Hog looked instantly concerned. "Now, why would you say that? You've only just started—you haven't even taken your first exams yet." His casual tone vanished. "Don't tell me you're going let James rilin' you up shake you off-course."
Wolf's hand froze over a slide panel. A spike of annoyance twinged in his fingers. "You heard about that, huh?"
"Only me n' the whole school." Pigma leaned in, pretending to inspect the half-assembled rifle while keeping a wary eye on the other students. "Listen, I know you're probably frustrated with James right now—"
"Did he send you to talk to me?" Wolf recoiled suspiciously. "Is that what this is, you playing peacemaker?"
The Hog threw up his hands in surrender. "No one sent me, kiddo. You know I don't take sides whenever you n' James go at it." His eyes softened. "But I always wanna hear your side of it."
Wolf knew that the Hog was only trying to reach out to him, fairly. Where James was cold to him and Peppy doted him, Pigma strove to be a balance: laid-back, hearty, less a parent and more an older brother. But the fierce loyalty to his leader, also meant that he'd never fully side against James…despite whatever sympathetic airs he put on.
Still, with no one else to vent to, he planted his hands on the table, and let out an unguarded, weary sigh.
"I just can't make heads or tails of him anymore, Pigma. It's like he's got it out for me—not any of the other kids, just me. When I was younger, I thought he was just being strict, but…" His gaze searched his rifle's plastic sheen. "If you could only see the look in his eyes when he talks to me now."
Pigma sighed sympathetically. "Jim can be like that sometimes. When he thinks he's right, he doesn't budge…not even for me n' Peppy. But I've learned that the more stubborn he is, the more he's lookin' out for ya."
There it was, right on queue. The usual barrage of defenses made to excuse James' behavior. Wolf could only roll his eyes. "If you're going to roll out the usual 'James may be mean, but he means well' or 'he really cares about you' crap, don't bother—I've heard it all from Peppy."
"Listen to him," Pigma said sternly. "None of us are your enemies, Wolf. Not even James."
"Is that why I never get into messes like this with either of you?" Wolf grumbled, sliding his stock into place.
"You've argued with me n' Peppy plenty, and you know it," the Hog snapped back sternly. "And don't pretend that this recent tussle between you n' James was a purely one-sided affair. You can act like James is the only one stirrin' up these fights, but you've got a knack fer prolongin' these fights yerself, Wolf. That much I know."
Wolf savagely bit into him. "You think I go looking for these confrontations? I'm not here to start shit with James or anyone else—I'm just trying to keep my head down, blend in with the other kids! Have things go normal for once!"
"Someone who wants to avoid attention would've backed out of that fight, not kept it goin'," Pigma retorted. "You can't claim to wanna blend in, while also wanting to show up James. Those goals don't gel with each other."
At a loss for words, Wolf turned his gaze floorward, past the table and to his boots. Dialing back some of the scorn in his voice, Pigma sighed with a rub of his stubble-ridden cheeks.
"Look, I know how stuck up James can be, but he wants the best for you—if he's being hard on ya, it's probably for a good reason."
Wolf shook his head dubiously. "I'm not sure he needs a good reason anymore, Pigma. Sometimes I think he's just trying to fault me for anything he can." His eyes fell. "That he hates me."
Pigma's eyes softened. "You couldn't be farther from the truth, kid. Jim cares just as much as I do. However harsh me might come off, his heart's always in the right place—"
"You don't see the look he gets every time he gets the upper hand," Wolf murmured, his fingers creeping up his arms for leverage. "This time, James didn't exactly make it a private affair. He didn't even file out the room; he made the other kids watch. He wanted to put me down nice and public, where he could make a lesson outta me."
For a moment, Pigma looked confused, before his expression retreated yet again. "You made the confrontation public first, Wolf. You challenged him where everyone could see it, instead of taking someplace like his office like a normal student."
"Yeah, but what forced James to bite back? To double down, and drag my face in the mud for everyone to see? You think he'd punish any of the other kids like that?" Wolf gritted his teeth. "What part of that is having his heart in the right place?"
Pigma continued to read Wolf's face as he spoke, alarm spreading across his doughy features when he realized that the boy wasn't exaggerating. He fell into silence.
"I don't know what his deal is. Maybe I never will." Wolf let out a brittle sigh. "If there's a deeper motive behind all this, I'd love to know, Pigma. Because at this point, I don't things are ever gonna change between me n' him."
The Hog's look was strange. His mouth opened and closed repeatedly, without a word emerging. There was something torn about his expression, helpless…either that, or there was something he desperately wanted to tell him; Wolf couldn't tell.
"Look, kid. Maybe it's best that I change your schedule, and place you under a different instructor. Maybe forcing you and James to constantly interact isn't what both of you need right now. I can talk to the Faculty, see if I can arrange somethin'—"
Cold anger trickled through Wolf's lungs like ice water, climbing to the hard scowl on his face.
"No. I'm not going to scuttle to some other part of the school to give James a wide berth." He slid the last panel on his rifle into place. "I'm staying right where I am…and I'm gonna make my way to pilot's status, right where James can watch."
Pigma wore an urging look. "But Wolf—"
"I appreciate you trying to help. But I can handle James…and I'm not about to run away." He shouldered his weapon, raising his voice before storming off. "If that's all, Commander, I'd like to get some target practice in."
o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o
The trap would only work if all the right places fell into place. There wasn't any room for overacting, or laying it too thick.
Katt knew that, as she continued piecing together her rifle at the assembly tables with the other students. Little by little, she began to sneak in new layers to her façade:
A clumsy slip of her hand here. A vulnerable frustrated little pout there. A screw or panel slipping from her fingers, timed perfectly to look organic and not too exaggerated. Any untrained eye would easily assume that she was a complete stranger to laserarms…instead of a street urchin who used to smuggle them for a living.
Pretending to be something she wasn't had become something Katt had turned into a borderline art form, one she was devilishly proud of. More times than she could count, she'd conned her way out of going hungry or being stopped by the steely gaze of galactic police…just by wearing the right guise. And this school was no different: in one room, she'd pulled the "lost, lonely little orphan" routine. Then the airheaded ditzy schoolgirl act in another. Whatever role the situation called for, she slipped into—drawing on a cornucopia of mannerisms and voices that she'd spent years refining to a startling-convincing sheen.
Except right now, her goal was different. "Sheltered", "clumsy", and "out of her depth" was the order of the day; not to blend in, but to attract attention. It was made even better when, in a stroke of perfect timing, Instructor Carver made his predatory stroll past her table. At the sound of her struggling, the Painted Hunting homed in on her.
"YOU! You've been on that rifle for twenty minutes, Cadet! Are you gonna assemble it in this century?"
"I'm trying," she pleaded, projecting her voice ever so slightly, attracting a few unenvious glances from the other students.
"Try harder." The Painted Hunting Dog leaned in relentlessly, his snarl exposing his fangs. "If this is the best you can do under calm, controlled surroundings, I'd hate to see how sloppily you'd handle yourself in an actual firefight. You'd be easy pickings for the enemy—dead weight. Useless."
Fumbling under his scalding gaze, Katt's elbow knocked over a stray screw dangling near the edge of the worktable, making Carver shake his head and walk off. Sighing, Katt stooped down to pick it up, before she heard the soft rustle of movement next to her.
"Having trouble?"
Katt traced the unmistakably soft voice up to a dappled Tabby, who was holding out the screw for her.
It all of Katt's restraint to hide a smile. She'd gambled everything on Meryl being the one to come over and help. Having observed her for days, she'd suspected that—in a class full of unhelpful, selfish students—the round-eyed, innocent Tabby was the exact kind of person who couldn't possibly turn her back on someone in need.
The unsuspecting little wallflower straightened, her eyes bright and readily helpful. "U-um, I couldn't help but overhear—well, not that it's really eavesdropping if it's Carver's voice…" She smiled, somewhat sheepishly, glancing at the other students. "But I've, uh, noticed that compared to everyone else, you seem a bit lost."
"Oh, really? My, aren't you observant." Katt took the screw stiffly. "Look if you're here to gloat, go ahead and have your laugh, then go."
"That maybe how some girls around here get their kicks, but I don't." Meryl dipped her head gently. "Want some help? I'm no blaster nut, but I might be able to give you a few pointers."
Katt sighed haggardly. "Why bother? I'm never going to get the hang of this." That's it. Play up the bitterness—act like too you're ashamed to ask for help. Place the bait, and let her take it. "I'm like a Fichinese bumpkin tripping over her own ears."
"Don't let it get to you," Meryl mewed, scooting next to her and gently retrieving the rifle. "No one here's a pro at any of this."
"Could've fooled me." Katt glanced at her. "You're Meryl, right? You seem to be breezing through everything."
"Cadet 471," The other girl corrected formally. "And I wouldn't call it 'breezing'."
"Really? 'Cuz I haven't seen you mess up at anything. Classwork, flight maneuvering…you don't even look tired like the rest of us when class starts in the morning." Disgruntled, she planted her chin on her hand. "If you're just a robot posing as a cute Lylatian girl, now's the time to open up about it, hon."
Meryl cracked a brief smile, which she quickly wiped off. "Not really. I just really want to pass and join the fleet, that's all." She lowered her head back to her work, her bashful eyes disappearing behind the long orange bangs spilling at an angle.
Katt hid the smile playing on her lips, having fun coaxing a smile or giggle out of the shy girl. For someone who excelled brilliantly in every class, it was transparent that the Tabby barely possessed the confidence to speak at full volume to someone right next to her…as if raising her voice above a timid squeak would be a step too far.
The glint in Katt's eyes became hungry. No doubt about it: this girl was everything she needed.
Meryl handed her a miscellaneous slide panel. "Here. That should be the last piece."
Sliding it in place, Katt weighed the gun in her hands. "I do wish we weren't being forced to use these cumbersome things...especially when pistol would suit my hands better. Still, they make for a cool pose. Y'know, as an action hero for holomovie poster, maybe?" She brandished the rifle, sticking her lips out garishly. "Think I've got the chin to pull it off?"
The faux-stoic look she wore tugged a loud snort out of Meryl, only to clear her throat nervously. "You'd better stop. We shouldn't be goofing off."
"Well, aren't we a killjoy." Katt rolled her eyes. "Ease up a little, wouldja, hon? Breathe. I know we're all in the rat race to make the graduation list, but you don't have to play up the Little Miss Studious act every second you're awake. There's no one to impress right now, m'kay?"
A spike of irritation ruffled Mery's fur. "I'm not trying to impress anyone. I'm just trying to avoid getting in trouble."
"Doesn't mean you have to avoid having fun, too."
"We're in a military school. We're not supposed to be having fun," Meryl said. "We're supposed to be focused on our studies. Nothing else."
Katt blew a raspberry. "You can. I'm seizing all the fun I can get before Graduation Day comes, and all that boring adult responsibility kicks in. I'm gonna stay up late, dress how I want, eat what I want, everything. We're not gonna have this kind of freedom once we're shipped off to lick some Admiral's boot as Fleet grunts, so you can bet I'm gonna live it up…make this the best vacation I've ever been on."
Meryl looked at her, looking strangely enamored. She didn't seem to buy most of what Katt was saying as any more than fanciful boasting, but the confident way she spoke seemed to fill the Tabby's eyes with wonderment. Even envy.
Katt caught her glance. "Even you have to admit that sounds like a good time."
"It sounds lovely," The Tabby's charmed smile fell into a forlorn look, as she sighed wistfully. "Just not all that realistic. Not in a school like this."
The distant hum of laserfire and awestruck voices drew Katt's gaze past her, making her curl her lip. "Sounds to me like someone doesn't agree with you."
Brow furrowing, Meryl traced the sound over to the firing range and past the trenches, where an entire row of holo targets were blown apart from an impressive distance—each by a headshot from Stephanie's smoking blaster. She laughed triumphantly, having her posse of friends fawn and squeal around her. Any unassuming person would look at her, and think she was just another giddy schoolgirl, having mindless fun with her friends.
Evidently, Meryl did know better, judging by how, even at a distance, the hyena's grating voice and high-pitched laugh made her recoil.
"Oh, yeah. Stephanie knows how to enjoy herself, alright." A sliver of resentment seeped out of her soft voice, as she returned to the rifle parts. "The same way a Fortuna Marsh Piranha knows how to enjoy itself…"
Katt studied her, recalling her little winces with paper flung at her during class. "So I've noticed. In fact, I've noticed that she's made you her favorite chew toy."
Meryl flinched, like something had been flung at her. Her eyes remained glued to the table, where they burned with a humiliated boil. "You could say that."
Katt tilted her head curiously. "What'd you do to get on her bad side?"
"Simple. I refused to break the rules for her," Meryl grumbled, as she slammed rifle parts together. "She and her posse probably think I'll cave in at some point…once they pester me enough."
"Maybe you should break a few to get even with her." Katt glanced at their blasters slyly, deciding to let her disguise slip ever so slightly. "Like say, oh, I dunno…let loose a stray bolt? Then say it was an accident?"
The other girl nearly dropped her half-assembled rifle, turning to gape at what she just heard. Katt held the devious look, before vanished like it was never there, as she broke into a bubbly laugh.
"Oh, that face is priceless. You thought I was serious, didn't you?" She shoved her playfully. "That was a joke, sweetie. You really need to chill out."
"I need to chill out? You're—" Meryl looked at all the other tables of students, lowering her voice. "You're joking about shooting someone! You could get expelled for that kind of talk! Besides, that's no way to get back at anyone."
Katt tapped a scheming finger to her chin. "Too right. Especially for someone like Stephanie…not when humiliation would cripple her so much more." Her eyes danced about. "Let's see: it needs to be something sublime, something that'll have her crying for weeks. We could dump ink into her laundry, or sneak some coals under her bedsheets and singe that tail off—"
"'We' aren't doing anything." Meryl hissed firmly. "I'm not going to be a part of any scheme, and you're not going to do anything that'll get us both in trouble, got it?"
There was a deflated pout from Katt. "No need to be such a downer about it. You don't even know if we'll get caught."
"I don't care if you have the most fool-proof plan in existence!" Meryl snapped. "It's not worth the risk!"
"Come on, hon," Katt retorted with a reckless smile. "Half the fun is in the risk."
Meryl looked at her, stunned. "…Risking expulsion just to get petty revenge? That's your idea of fun?"
"Oh, God no," She clarified, her eyes lighting up with a manic thrill. "Getting away with it, watching Steph seethe and boil from afar, having the satisfaction that she'll never know it was you—that's the fun part."
There was a moment where the Tabby sat there, looking taken aback by the eager irreverence and almost adrenaline-fueled talk she was hearing, made even stranger by the unassumingly bubbly, girlish mouth it was emerging from.
She timidly retreated her gaze back to the table. "Nothing's worth that kind of risk. Not even getting even."
Katt's whiskers twitched as she tsked disapprovingly. "And that, my darling, is the precise attitude that ensures you'll never get anywhere in life. If you're gonna sleepwalk to the rules of other people all your life, petrified of getting caught, you'll deny yourself simple pleasures in life." She reclined in her chair. "Just imagine if I was held back by that kind of fear. What kind of life with that be? No pickpocketing, no mugging, no conning or thieving…"
She found herself stifling another laugh as the other girl straightened up, eyes growing saucer-wide.
"You're lying," Meryl said instantly. "You haven't done all those things."
"On the contrary, my darling." Katt ran a hand through her bobcut of fur and gave it a careless flip. "There isn't a rule I haven't broken."
Meryl smirked dubiously "Lot of big talk. Let me guess…you're one of the orphan students here on that government program aren't you?"
"Mm?" Katt extended her arms and stretched. "What makes you say that?"
"Because they all do the same thing you're doing. Blowing lots of hot air about what kind of 'untamable miscreant' you were before coming here, and why no one should mess with you." She rolled her eyes jadedly. "I'm sorry, but I've heard that spiel far too many times to be impressed by it anymore."
A knowing purr slipped from Katt's lips. "Ah, but that's where I differ from all those pretenders. Because I'm not lying."
Meryl's eyelids lowered in extreme skepticism. "Oh, please. I've heard it all. What were you before being drafted into the Academy? A juvie delinquent? State ward? Public enemy?"
Katt paused. A small frown played on her lips as glanced about, combing the room for anyone else listening in, debating whether or not it was worth spilling the truth. The girl would never believe her, but…this was too much fun. The reaction alone would be worth savoring.
"Well, just between you and me, hon…" She feigned a nervous look around, and lowered her voice. "I'm actually a felon who's escaped the law on five planets, forged my way into this school under a phony passport and transcript, with the intent to lie, cheat and backstab my way to the high-ranking seat of a Cornerian flagship."
That clearly wasn't the answer Meryl was expecting. She stared back, caught somewhere between wanting to laugh and looking insulted. "Well, that's a new one." Finally, she just shook her head. "You're certainly creative, but you must think I'm as dumb as Stephanie to fall for that."
Katt shrugged. "I suppose that's the natural response. I can't make you believe it if you don't want to."
"Believe what, exactly?" Her eyes moved up and down, clearly probing Katt's silky fur and city girl looks. "That a sixteen-year-old girl is some kind of solo uncatchable con artist?"
It was Katt's turn to correct her. "Not 'solo', per se…I can't take all the credit. My lughead of a boyfriend, Falco, is my partner in crime—in fact, he's been in the street game longer than I have. Not as good of a pickpocket as I am, though," She added as a matter-of-factly. "He was always the bruiser, not the stealer."
Meryl held in a laugh. "Yeah, right. You couldn't pickpocket anyone. You'd break a nail first."
Katt's fur spiked irritably, glaring at her. "Y'know, for a sweet, quiet little bookworm, you can be quite hurtful."
The Tabby threw up her hands. "Oh, come on! You expect me to believe that a preppy, giggling little housecat like you—I mean, really? You're not from the streets. You just aren't. You're just a girl trying really hard to jerk me around, who doesn't even know her way around a rifle."
"Am I?" Katt countered with a raised finger. "Or is that something I've merely chosen to have you believe?"
"Oh, what, I'm supposed to believe you being a klutz and getting grilled by the Instructors is an all an act?" scoffed Meryl. "That you're messing up on purpose?"
Katt rolled her eyes, like it was obvious. "Of course. I can't very well blend in with all these other…amateurs by demonstrating skill I shouldn't have, now can I?" She aimed her sly look about. "Believe me, I've handled more blasters than anyone in this room…but I unfortunately can't show you. Not without blowing my cover."
"How convenient." Having long surrendered all pretenses of taking the girl seriously, Meryl returned to her rifle. "Okay, Miss Fugitive From Justice…I'll play along. Aren't you technically blowing your cover by telling me all this? I could easily report you."
"You?" A dubious laugh rattled Katt's whiskers. "Don't be absurd, darling. You don't have the spine to do anything to me—you couldn't even stand up for yourself in class when Meryl and her cronies were pelting you with paper."
It was swift and potent. The blow sent a physical ripple up the Tabby's fur, wiping her bemused smirk clean off.
"That isn't any of your business. Besides, it wouldn't gain anything. The best thing to do is to just ignore her. To…"
"To turn the other cheek?" Katt finished for her. "Let them push your face into the dirt, say after day, while you cling to being the better person? Yes, I suppose you could. But that's not very satisfying, is it?"
She hid a manipulative smile as Meryl's gaze fell, sliding into a defeated silence. Katt continued to drive the shame in, twisting it with a mocking sense of reverence in her voice.
"Don't look so down. That kind of restraint is admirable, if nothing else. Heaven knows I couldn't do what you do—constantly putting up with someone you hate, never allowing yourself to lash out at them—"
"That's not—" Meryl blurted, before sighing exasperatedly. "I don't hate her, I just…"
Katt smiled fiendishly. "Oh, darling. You and I both know you do. Even with a cute little button like you, it's painfully transparent. I saw it in your eyes now, just like every other time Stephanie manages to crack that schoolgirl facade of yours—the way you stare at her with the boil of Lylat and Solar combined, and then bottle it up before anyone else can see it."
Growing more and more visibly uncomfortable, Meryl snapped. "Even if I do, there's nothing I can do about it."
"Of course you can, darling. You just won't. It's not in your nature."
Katt's face was atonal and unchanging: chipper, playful, like a little girl talking about one of her favorite dolls as she dressed Meryl down.
"I know your type all too well: Static. Dead inside. Mommy and Daddy's little girl, never broken a rule a day in her life, too nice for her own good—nose glued to the grindstone and feet glued to the high ground. Even at the cost of being pushed around. Her lovely violet eyes peeled away at her. "But deep down, you don't see that as a virtue. It's the part of yourself you hate…that frustrates you, because of how weak it's made you. And staying quiet as people mistreat you, taking it on the cheek…that's just your way of coping."
A slow, frantic look of insecurity grew on the Tabby's face with every word Katt spoke, visibly unsettled by how the girl was seemingly able to dissect her with just a glance.
"And if I were the gambling type," Katt mewed. "I would bet my life that's the reason why you won't stand up to Steph or the others. Because it's easier for you to just close your eyes and cope—to never stop long enough to think about it." She put on a mocking, wistful voice "If I just don't think about it, I'll never have to deal with it, right?"
A look of horrified confusion spread rapidly across Meryl's doe-eyed features. "H-how do you—?"
"That's your logic, isn't it?" Katt cut in, an underlying sadistic thorn creeping into her rosy voice. "Because then, you'll never have to confront the reality that people like Meryl are always going to push you around…and you're just going to let them, no matter how weak, small, and pathetic it makes you feel." The scornful smirk gave way to a sad look. "And I can't imagine how you keep living like that."
There was a loud metallic scrape. Meryl pushed the rifle away and almost stood up, looking furious. Whether or not Katt's outlandish claims of being a criminal were true or not didn't seem to matter to her; the way she was reading Meryl, dissecting her with that violet gaze…that was certainly real.
And it sent an unnerving, angry prickle that spiked her dappled fur.
Katt let out an airy, impressed laugh. "My, my. So the cat really does have claws… That's the most Ive seen you open up emotionally the whole time I've been here." She nodded approvingly. "There you go. Let it all out, it's perfectly healthy."
"Stay away from me," Mery said, voice trembling. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing—"
"I'm not playing any game. You think I'm saying all this to be mean, but I'm really not. I think it's quite sad." Almost seamlessly, her tone became benign and helpful again. "And that's why I want to help you."
It was working. The Tabby started calming down, lured back in by the change in Katt's voice. "How could you help me?"
"By protecting you from a common enemy." Hiding devilish grin, Katt honeyed her words carefully. "I know Steph's type; people like her only have the advantage by closing in on people who are isolated. Small. Unwilling to snap back." She offered a hand. "Don't you think Meryl and the Gals would be less pressed to pick at you if you had a friend or two?"
"Is this how you make new friends?" Meryl narrowed her eyes. "By probing them psychologically?"
"Only the ones I want to help." She arched her eyebrows sympathetically. "And believe me, you need it, darling."
"Sure you can handle being around someone so static? Dead inside?"
With a dry tsk, Katt readjusted herself in her chair, waving a hand. "Don't take what I said to heart darling. Despite the things I say, I still think you're the only cool person around here: You're cute, capable, tough, resourceful, smart…you deserve to be a pilot, more than anyone here." Her cooing voice hardened protectively. "And you deserve to do it without those bitches bothering you every step of the way."
Meryl's shoulders slackened, visibly coming around and on the verge of falling for her dulcet tone. Then a suspicious brow shot up. "And what do you get out of it?"
"Besides seeing Steph royally annoyed?" Katt beamed fondly. "I get an adorable, sweet little doll for a friend. I couldn't ask for anything else." She held the smile for a second, before a begrudging scowl slackened her eyebrows. "Well, that, and I also have no idea what I'm doing in some of these classes, and could really use someone to tutor me, practice routines with, and leech off of to make it to graduation day."
Meryl almost laughed at her shameless gall. "Oh, is that all?"
"But we can still be friends, I swear!" Katt said hurriedly.
The discomfort spiking Meryl's fur wavered, finding some strange ease in the girl's silliness. "Well…it would beat being by myself. Plus I've seen that boyfriend of yours…the big guy with the Mohawk. He could buy me some protection against those others…"
Katt's eyes flashed. She hadn't even thought of that. "That he can." She made a beckoning, pawing motion with her hand. "What d'you say darling? Besties?"
There was a stiff air of apprehension about the other girl. She had seen so many sides of Katt in only a few minutes—sweet, sadistic, playful, predatory—and was clearly debating which one to trust as the real one. If there was any trusting Katt at all.
"Listen, Cadet 121—"
"It's Katherine or Katt, darling. Numbers are for shoes and lottery tickets."
Meryl sighed. "Katherine, then. You sound like someone who says and does whatever they want…to shock people, to amuse yourself, to get attention. But I'm just trying to keep my head down and graduate."
Katt's dainty finger instantly perked up. "And I wouldn't dream of making any trouble for you. just You keep your pretty little head down, focus on what's ahead and let me handle everything behind you, hon. And who knows?" She aimed a playful wink. "Maybe I'll get you to loosen up. Introduce you to that thing called 'fun' that's foreign to you."
Despite a hesitant air about her, Meryl smiled. "Somehow I don't think yours and my definitions of 'fun' are compatible."
"Stick with me, sweetie, and that'll change before you know it." Katt grabbed her hand. "Now, c'mon, we've still plenty of target practice left…Steph's aim is improving and she's getting dangerously close to developing a pattern of confidence, and I for one will not stand for it." She brandished her rifle eagerly, suddenly back to being the bubbly schoolgirl from moments before. "Let's go ruin her day. Just think about how sour she'll be when one of us gets a bullseye! Oh, she'll be positively livid."
Meryl finally gave in and released the laugh she was suppressing at the antics of her strange new companion.
"You're so weird, Katherine."
o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o
Academy Sparring Chamber
"Keep those hands up, Cadet! Higher! You're leaving yourself wide open for the enemy to—"
SLAM!
Before Fox knew it, his arm was twisted in his opponent's grip, and he found himself hurling through the air in a grapple that sent him outside the dueling ring and slamming on his back against the wrestling mat, with a loud smack that sent ripples into it.
Lying in a damp patch of sweat and embarrassment, Fox hoped in vain that the sound of him being thrown like a sack of dirt hadn't been heard by everyone else.
But of course, it had. The sound had an instant domino effect, prompting the other pairs of students to break their sparring poses and stare at him, the sea of scrutinous eyes causing a singe of embarrassment to flare under Fox's fur. It only seared more as his opponent, a sinewy Mole Rat, threw up his hands apologetically. "I-I'm sorry!" His eyes darted to the teacher standing outside the ring. "I didn't mean to throw him that hard—he's just so…light."
That awkward pause as he tried to find the right word nearly made Fox groan in embarrassment. Professor Rivaldi, the Crane acting as their Unarmed Defense Trainer, waved off the other student.
"It's alright—just take your place back on the mat." He turned to offer a feathered hand to Fox. "C'mon, sport. We'll find the right partner for you. It's only a matter of finding someone in the right weight class."
Fox heard the dwindling patience peaking through the Crane's kind tone sighed. It was just the nice, adult way of saying: You're so skinny and weak that we need to find you a partner who won't flatten you like a sheet of paper.
He lowered his voice miserably. "I don't know who's left. I've lost to pretty much everyone."
"Well, we…we haven't had you spar with any of the female cadets yet."
The Crane tried to keep his voice low for the boy's sake, but there enough of the other kids were in earshot to react with a muffled chirp of unrepressed giggling. He suddenly realized his inadvertent damning of Fox's painfully-small physique, and shot a glare at the other students, who instantly returned to their exercises.
"Professor," Fox said, barely able to take any more embarrassment. "Can I hit the showers? I think I've done all I can today."
Professor Rivaldi shoulders sank. "Oh. Yes, Cadet…by all means. We'll try again tomorrow."
The whole room was drenched in a silence that followed Fox on the way out, as he snatched up his duffel bag and trudged out. The other students gawked at him astonishedly, their voices and eyes clinging to his every step like flies to a moldering carcass, all debating the same question in collective hushed tones:
How could James McCloud's genes have produced someone so weak?
o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o – o
The rosy hues of the artificial dusk settling outside caught Fox's fur as he walked down the hall, the windows dousing him in a radiant gleam that was anything but complimentary to his bagged eyes and hollowed face.
He walked into the foyer, electronic textbook under one arm, feeling physically drained. It had been a rotten day in a long string of rotten days, another deluge of wrong answers and wince-worthy screw-ups in every class. All of that naïve, first-day enthusiasm was being quickly eroded by the harsh reality of his deficiencies.
It wasn't helped by the constant spotlight that was on him. Even now, people in the hallway were already whispering excitedly as he walked by. Fox groaned exasperatedly and walked a little more briskly. It was bad enough that he'd been forced to have lunch in the Faculty Lounge just to avoid other kids gawking him while he ate. Now it was getting to the point where he couldn't even turn the corner without someone gushing over him or badgering him with questions about his dad.
The worst part is they had all seen him mess up in flight training and in class. By now they should've realized that he was really just another student, like them. But of course, they'd never see him that way.
They want the Fox McCloud they've heard about, not the one I keep giving them, he thought miserably. And they're not going to rest till they see him...
He skulked hurriedly, trying to retreat to his dorm, away from all the fake smiles and hungry adoration—
"Excuse me." A voice from behind trapped him.
Fox felt himself wither helplessly at the sound. Before turning around, he mangled his frail voice into a polite tone. "Yes? Did you need someth—"
The last syllable hung on his tongue as he found himself facing a beautiful Samoyed, taller and definitely a few grades higher than him, clad in an Ace jacket. Pretty girls were abundant around the school, but this one was stunning, with sea-green eyes and athletic build were accented by lovely white fur, blindingly-flawless and pristine to where it almost seemed translucent. The sight of her rattled Fox out of his groggy stupor, rendering him wide awake.
"Sorry, I know you're probably used to people crowding you, but..." Despite being older, she looked like she was plucking up the courage to talk to him. "I think you might have the wrong edition of the textbook. You were citing the wrong answer key in class. For, like, all the questions."
Furrowing his eyebrows, Fox glanced down at the monochrome screen of his book, before asking in a tired voice. "Let me guess. We aren't using the 5th Edition?"
She flipped up her book sheepishly. "...6th Edition, actually."
"Wonderful," Fox muttered.
"You could borrow mine, if you'd like." The girl offered brightly.
Fox looked from the book to her, already wary for the inevitable. Signing her book bag, letting her bandy him in front of her friends...it was always something. "So, what's the catch?"
The girl blinked. "Excuse me?"
Bitterness erupted from Fox's voice. "Look, we both know you're not just here to be nice to me. I have to do something for it, right? Autograph something, introduce you to my Dad? Just tell me."
Looking surprised, she just handed it to him. "No, nothing like that. Just...give it back when you're done, I guess."
That was it. She didn't even look at him as she walked off…no demands or pestering. And there stood Fox, completely baffled, feeling an instant stab of guilt for prematurely judging her. He called out: "Wait, I—I didn't mean—I thought you were—sorry," he finally settled on.
The girl stopped to concede a small shrug. "I get it. With how everyone crowds you, I guess I can't really blame you..." She looked around. "Is it always this way for you?"
Fox's ears fell. "Only when I go out..." Or breathe loud enough to be noticed, he thought bitterly. He grimaced at the whispering kids around them. "Oh, God. They're gonna start moving in now that you've talked to me."
The girl looked around alertly. "There's a way to get out of this building into the courtyard. A private one."
Color returned to Fox's face. "Is there?"
She took his hand. "C'mon, this way."
It took some maneuvering through the crowded hall, but she led him through the trophy room and Alumni Gallery, before entering a quiet, shaded part of the grounds. Past a series of hedgerows, they emerged in the eve-splashed outgrowth near the Golden Arwing Fountain where, to Fox's relief, there didn't seem to be anyone around.
The girl pointed ahead. "If you follow the maroon tiles, they'll take you to the dorms. Use the East Wing—there's probably no one there at the moment."
"T-Thanks, but…" Fox paused, scratching his head. "How do you know out about all these secret spots?"
She folded her arms, and sniffed. "Hey, now. You're not the only one stuck outrunning a lot of unwanted attention. Though, mine mostly takes the form of boys who won't take 'no' for an answer." She aimed a playful finger at him. "Which is why I'm showing you all this in good faith, okay? I don't wanna turn around and find out I've got another stalker I've got to shake off."
She teased him with a sly smile that instantly sent his bashful gaze to his boots.
"N-No, of course not! I'd never do something like that…honest!" Fox gulped. He knew he had the breathing room to bound off and retreat to his dorm…but right now, his mind was too blank, too transfixed by the girl in front of him. He drummed his fingers nervously on the textbook she'd given him, trying to work the nerve to say something.
"Hey, um..." He paused, then started again. "I didn't catch your name. I mean, I know we're supposed to be using our Cadet Numbers and all, but—"
The girl laughed and extended her hand. "Elaine Tompkins. It's lovely to meet you."
He felt his heart race with how close she was, the sweet scent of her apricot lip gloss tickling his nose. "Same." He returned his gaze floorward. "I guess introducing myself is probably pointless."
"Probably. She dropped her cheeky smile, tilting her head. "Y'know, it's funny. My friends and I talk about you, a ton—we're always arguing and speculating what kind of person you're really like, up close. But to be honest, you're not at all what I was expecting. You're a lot more…"
"Disappointing?" Fox let out a ragged sigh. "I'll bet."
"I was going to say 'exhausted.' Don't take this the wrong way, but…" Her eyebrows arched. "You look and sound miserable. In every class I've seen you in, you look like you're on the verge jumping out the airlock."
Fox lowered his sunken eyes. "I'm getting there."
Elaine cocked her head. "Wanna talk about it?"
"What's to talk about?" Fox snorted wryly. "You've already seen it Everyone's gotten their first taste of the real Fox McCloud today, and I bet they're all bitterly disappointed. All of them probably started the day excited, bursting at the seams to see the Fox McCloud that was going to steamroll over every class and pull death-defying stunts…only to spend the day watching me fumble like in every class an idiot." His voice dropped to a mumble. "Probably not the Fox McCloud they were all expecting."
Elaine dipped her head sheepishly. "Okay…maybe a little. I mean, it is a bit strange. I thought if anyone would have things come easy to them in this school, it would be you."
Fox nearly let out a bitter laugh, despite himself. "You'd think so, wouldn't you?"
The pretty Samoyed punched his arm playfully. "Don't sell yourself too short. You'll get there, eventually…but not if you let everyone's expectations weigh you down, and make you a sourpuss all the time. Everyone else might want to see you dominate the skies or do insane tricks…but y'know what I'd like to see? You coming to class looking happy for once. That's the Fox McCloud I still haven't seen yet."
The resigned, ashen look moldering Fox's expression faded. Elaine was a lot more tomboyish than she seemed at first glance…something he certainly wasn't expecting, but really liked.
As a small, hopeful smile appeared on his face, Elaine beamed. "There he is. You should let that Fox out more often. He has a nice smile." She tapped him playfully on the ears. "Now, I gotta get going. See you around, 'kay?"
As she began to stroll past him, Fox shook himself out of his excited daze, and blinked astonishedly. Had that really happened? Someone being kind and helpful to him, without asking anything in return?
"U-um, hey!" He blurted in a clumsy attempt to stop her. "Besides getting your book back to you...is there really nothing I can do to pay you back? You've been pretty cool about...well, the whole situation.
She tapped her chin, ponderous green eyes darting from him to the dusky hues poking through the trees.
"It's almost evening. Why don't take me to dinner?"
Fox blinked. "Dinner."
"Why not? Lunchroom's on the way to the dorms. We could grab something and...y'know." She shrugged. "Talk."
"That's all you want?" Fox asked quizzically. "To talk?"
"That's it."
He paused for a moment, before shooting her a suspicious look. "I don't have any stories about my Dad, if that's what you want.
Elaine smiled reassuringly. "I didn't ask for any. Honestly, I'd rather hear how your day's been."
Fox's expression lapsed. "Really?"
She nodded. She couldn't see it, but hope and confusion were racing through his mind. Could it be possible? Someone just interested in him, and not who he was or who his Dad was? He managed to catch himself and clear his throat.
"That...that sounds great, actually." He smiled hopefully. "I'm up for it."
Elaine grinned "Great! Come on, let's go."
Fox was still lightheaded as he followed her, still grappling with his one victory in a day full of losses. The evening dusk brightened his orange fur with a soft glimmer, lighting up his tired, ashen features.
Maybe today wasn't a total loss after all.