Imposition Read Online Free PDF Page A

they both shot towards it. This time, Therse had a plan to seal victory.
    As they continued, dodging and feinting and goading at one another as the points rolled in, Therse could feel himself smiling, loosening up. This was a more pleasant experience than he'd anticipated.
    "It's been a while since I've seen that face on you,” Gen said, looking over at him.
    Something in that look forced an extra heat to Therse's cheeks beyond the sheen of exertion. “What?"
    "Like you're enjoying yourself. It suits you."
    The truce of kindness was only momentary—the instant the ball returned to the floor, Gen was on it, chasing it as it bounced high back up into the air. Therse knew which spot he would be going for—a large, juicy-looking fifteen-pointer, somehow much bigger than it ought to have been for its value. He positioned himself.
    Gen's moves fitted Therse's predictions exactly. At the same moment Gen swung to hit the ball with an over-confident but well-aimed backhand, Therse was already jumping. Jumping with a spin, so that if he timed it just right —
    His play intercepted Gen's ball swing, catching the little orb with satisfying precision as he continued to turn in mid-air. He brought his arm around in a sharp arc, flinging the ball square into the center of the same fifteen-pointer.
    "Fifty points: Therse Bodan. Second mark: Therse Bodan."
    "You cheap asshole, that was my frigging shot! You just hijacked it!"
    "Be less predictable then. Not my fault."
    In the third and final round, all bets were off. Too much was at stake—neither man could afford to come out the loser. They fought for and chased the ball like their lives depended on it, already flagging from the exertions of the previous two rounds. Gen was doing his best to hide his panting, trying to conceal the rapid movement of his chest despite his shirt clinging to him with sweat and making it obvious, at least to Therse's eyes. Therse himself was playing a cleverer game; slackening his jaw, letting his shoulders droop, making himself look more exhausted than he really was.
    His tactics were paying off. Gen wasn't pushing himself so hard to get to the ball, reserving his energy and his strength for a game of stamina rather than impulse.
    Therse had him.
    He crossed the court with a sudden burst of speed, powering over to the ball Gen had been so confident Therse had no hope of reaching before him, his expression twisting in surprise as Therse plucked the ball from the air in front of him and landed himself four points. Therse felt the brush as Gen moved past him, and watched him go. Gen's thin, cheaply-made Navy shirt clung to him, plastered with wet to his spine and across the broad of his back. Clung just tightly enough that Therse could make out the way his muscles moved beneath it.
    Therse watched him as they vied for the remaining points. Gen was lithe and naturally athletic, perhaps a shade taller than Therse, with long muscular legs and broad shoulders. His arms were nicely built and undoubtedly powerful. Gen had always had an impressive instinctive ability to judge a situation, to know its holes and identify threats that might arise, or identify and exploit factors Therse himself might miss, and all without actually having to give it any thought or calculation. Therse knew those skills would one day make Gen a first-rate squad commander in battle, and if he was honest, he was a little jealous that something he had to work so hard at, had to spend so long playing out in his mind, came so easily to Gen.
    Instinct wasn't the only thing Gen had going for him. He had a way with the troops—both under him and even above—that made them listen, take note. They respected him before he even opened his mouth, but all Therse could ever muster from them after what he would consider a rousing sermon was bored compliance. Therse had a fantastic mind for clever tactics and dirty tricks, but could never win his men over in the way Gen so effortlessly could, even though