Zac
Zac unleashed all his pent up energy on the boxing bag. His fists were fast as he threw punch after punch, seemingly without tiring. T'arq was holding the bag steady, absorbing the impact.
“Something, or someone… has really gotten under your skin,” T'arq grunted.
In reply, Zac threw another flurry of punches against the bag; stopping and moving backwards, sweat pouring down his chest.
Every time Laila was near, it was as if she scrambled his brain. He hadn’t meant to blurt out that blunt question. It was so out of character that he felt slightly embarrassed that he had even done it, even if he was glad that he had asked and had cleared the air a little.
But he was still frustrated… and uneasy around Laila. He felt like two very different versions of himself. In the months since his injuries, all he had wanted was to get revenge against the Xakul. To get back into the fight. To be the Taurean warrior that he had trained to be his whole life.
But now?
He had regained use of his arm. That was true. According to the doctors, that was an unbelievable achievement, but Zac was still hesitant to trust the damaged limb. His accuracy with his laser pistol was down and his reaction times were slower.
Zac was beginning to wonder if he was still cut out for combat. But if that was taken away from him, what did he have left?
As the only son of a high-ranking Taurean military leader, he had been groomed to continue the family name—the family legacy—since the day he was born. Hell, the whole Taurean culture revolved around the order of your birth. First sons took their father’s names, second sons and all daughters were named using a combination of their parent’s surnames.
So Zac was a Qu’Rell, just like his father. And he was expected to be like his father in all ways, as tradition dictated.
But was that what he truly wanted? He wasn’t sure anymore.
He prowled forward to land blow after punishing blow against the pads that T’arq held, finally letting his hands drop when he felt his arms fatigue.
“Are you done? Do you want to hit the mats?” T'arq gestured to the wrestling mats that took up half the room.
Zac nodded, removing his gloves and wraps. As the two approached the mats, the others in the training room moved off to one side to watch them spar. T'arq and Zac were both large for Taureans, and if Zac was more heavily built, T'arq countered this with agility and speed. They had trained together for so long that they both knew the other’s exact moves, and it usually came down to a mistake made by one man that resulted in the win by the other. Back and forth it would go.
“Best out of five?” Zac asked. T'arq nodded in agreement. The two warriors walked to the center of the mats, bumped their fists together, and nodded.
Zac was thankful that his reaction times hadn’t extended to the wrestling mats—one place where he felt like his old self. A wave of calm washed over him as he wiped a hand over his brow to clear the sweat and steadied his gaze on his friend.
Dropping to a crouch, they kept their distance, circling each other and waiting for an opportunity. They dropped and lunged as if on some invisible cue, grasping for a dominant hold, attempting to throw the other onto the mat. Soon, they were both slick with sweat. Any grip they got on the other was rapidly countered, neither gaining an advantage. That was until Zac caught sight of Laila pushing her way to the front of the group of spectators. He paused, distracted, and T'arq took advantage of his momentary lapse, quickly throwing the larger warrior to the mat and pinning him with a triumphant shout.
Pulling him to his feet, T'arq clapped him on his back and grinned. The two took their positions for round two, their impromptu audience applauding and shouting encouragement.
T’arq shook his head and smirked, “A bit distracted, Zac?”
Zac ignored the jibe and lunged, T’arq side stepping out of range. Back on the offensive, Zac caught one of T’arq’s feet and, standing smoothly, simultaneously swept the other out from under him, taking the younger warrior down to the mat. T’arq clapped Zac on the back as the two stood, breathing hard.
“Now we’re even.”
The next round went to Zac, and the following to T’arq leaving them two apiece. More serious now, the two men circled each other warily, neither willing to attack unless the perfect opportunity opened. A flash of chestnut curls caught Zac’s eyes once more, and he turned his head for a split second. That was all it took. The next thing he knew, he was flat on his back, pinned to the mats under a triumphant T’arq.
Zac stood and congratulated T’arq, and the two left the mats and headed for the showers. Zac looked for Laila, but she had already gone.
* * *
So far, the training sims had gone better than expected; the two human troops moving well, especially, Zac thought, considering their inexperience. The sims had become increasingly more challenging, but Laila and CJ had impressed him with the way they worked almost seamlessly with the Taureans, facing each challenge with courage and resourcefulness. Occasionally, he was forced to admit that they had provided solutions that would not have occurred to him.
Laila had followed orders to the letter, taking the time to discuss minor details with the team in the post-sim debriefings. Zac was learning to appreciate her attention to detail, and to trust her judgement.
Today's training session would be the most challenging yet.
So far, Zac had avoided picking up a weapon, thinking the only way he could take part was to act as an observer, so he wouldn’t embarrass himself by hesitating or, as had happened once early in his rehabilitation, completely freezing.
Who had ever heard of a warrior who couldn’t handle a weapon?
