Loralynn Kennakris 2: The Morning Which Breaks by Owen R. O'Neill, Jordan Leah Hunter Page B

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    “End it.” He gave her arm a squeeze. “She wants you to end it. That’s why you’re here.”
    She yanked away and, turning again, was back at Mariwen’s bedside. All those people were crowding around and jostling her but they were sort of gray and she couldn’t focus on them clearly and it was quiet—everyone was still talking but it was quiet. She leaned over and Mariwen was very near, her face was still—so still —and fragile and more beautiful than anything should ever be and now her parted lips were even paler: frosted as though her breath had frozen on them and it was cold—why was it so fucking cold?—and she could see the slender ice-blue vein in Mariwen’s throat, feebly pulsing, and—
    Was that a gasp?
    She’s trying to breathe!
    No . There was a gentle pressure on her elbow, forcing her arm forward . . .
    Look! She’s trying to breathe!
    No. She wants you to end it. Let her go. She wants to go . . .
    Kris’s arm moved forward. She didn’t want it to but she couldn’t help it. The tiny flutter of that pale blue vein grew unnaturally large in her vision as her hand reached out for that pure white throat— just squeeze, just a little squeeze —and her thumb touched, felt the frail beat under the chilled skin as her fingers started to close . . .
    Kris bolted upright in her bunk, her whole body shaking, her hands clenched into fists and her heart hammering so loud that Tanner, Baz and Minx, who were all staring at her with shocked expressions, must have heard it clearly. Baz keyed on the lights.
    “Wha’appened?” He rubbed a hand across his face. “You okay? You screamed.”
    Unable to speak, Kris nodded. Minx said something low and unintelligible and rolled over. Baz started to get up and Tanner shook his head. Baz looked over at him. Tanner repeated the gesture. Baz lay back down.
    The shaking began to subside. Kris let herself collapse slowly back onto her bunk and someone killed the lights. She rolled onto her side, toward the wall, and jammed her face hard into the pillow. No matter what, she was not ever going to let them hear her cry.

Chapter Ten
    CEF Academy Orbital Campus
Deimos, Mars, Sol
    Three nights later, Kris looked up at Basmartin across the narrow common table in their dorm. “Gawd, do we really have to do a unit on the history of slaving?”
    There was only the two of them at the moment—Tanner was off getting some simulator time and Minx hadn’t been seen since dinner—and they’d been reviewing the upcoming units for this quarter’s history class. With all the new challenges of their second quarter, Kris had missed this gem her first time through. They still had the same scholastic load but now practical training, especially in the lethal arts, was added as well. Their ship drill had been stepped up, becoming much more realistic; their unarmed combat training had intensified, with leagues set up in imitation of the All-Forces Unarmed Combat Tournament, and they had begun small-arms training.
    This last was a most unexpected pleasure. Like most cadets, Kris had never handled a firearm before in her life, and while she was mostly indifferent to rifles, she found that a well-balanced sidearm in her hand gave her considerable joy, especially when used to make holes in silhouettes on the live-fire range. Neither her enthusiasm nor her skill ascended to the heights Basmartin’s and Tanner’s did—both of them had promptly joined the Academy’s lower-division pistol team, and Tanner looked like he was bidding fair to bring back a trophy—but she was able to hold her own on a good day and at no time did she disgrace herself.
    The biggest change, however, was their introduction to track-specific simulations. The simulations cadets had access to for their first quarter were of a general character, emphasizing team exercises and stopping short of being true wargames. They were conducted on a level playing field and things went as advertised, the uncertainties