5
“You gonna meet us at the E-club?” Hussein asked as they changed out of their workout clothes.
“Nah, I promised Mala that I’d meet her at the range,” Rev said. “We might be by later, though.”
“You’re going shooting with her? Now we know this is serious.”
“Yeah, right. We’re just going to shoot. She’s got a new Franklin .44 and wants to snap it in.”
“Snap what in, your gun?”
“Bite me, Hus-man.”
“Save that biting for her.”
“Did you say a Franklin .44?” Nix asked. “Can I come with you?”
“Leave the lovebirds to themselves,” Hussein told him, putting his arm around the sergeant’s shoulders.
“But I want to try a Franklin out. All the reviews say it’s pretty sweet.”
“Three’s a crowd. And you, Rev, make sure you shower good. I know you’re all swole up now after our sets, but women like their partners smelling pretty and clean.”
“Your mind’s always in the gutter, Hus-man,” Rev said.
“Right where I like it.”
Rev frowned and grabbed his towel, wrapped it around his waist, and started for the showers. He couldn’t help but see himself in the mirrors over the sink, and Hussein’s comment bothered him. Was he good-looking? He was powerful. That was obvious. But the harness to support Pashu changed the topography of his body. He wasn’t some model with a cut body, that was for sure. He was chunky and more than a little lumpy, if he was honest with himself, and his social arm and the larger sleeve that he had to be able to connect to his IBHU only added to his decidedly unique appearance. The four thugs outside the VGW hadn’t had any problem recognizing that he was different, after all.
He wasn’t buying into Hussein’s insinuations about Mala, of course. She was just a friend, and they were only going shooting. Hardly a romantic date if that was his goal. But in general, he wasn’t sure if the body in the mirror matched his own view of himself.
He tried not to let it bother him as he showered, but instead of using the rose soap he preferred, he made it a point of dialing the neutral soap gel instead. Hussein was off base in thinking he had to smell nice just to go to the range.
The other two hit the showers a couple of minutes behind him. Rev wasn’t up for more ribbing by Hussein, so he rinsed off, hit the sonic-blast, and hurried back to the locker to change. He gave his utilities a sniff and wrinkled his nose. They weren’t reeking, but he could tell he’d worn them over a long day. For a moment, he considered going back to his room and getting into a clean set.
No. They’re fine for two Marines just shooting. I can’t let Hus-man’s shit get to me.
He rushed getting dressed and started off. Not quick enough to escape one last shot. “Have fun snapping it in,” Hussein shouted out just as Rev was stepping through the door. Rev raised a middle finger with his social arm as the door swung closed behind him.
I love him, but sometimes, Hus-man can be a real pain in the butt.
The base shuttle was just pulling into the stop in front of the gym, so Rev hopped on. This one was going clockwise, so the recreational range was only three stops away. A single civilian was on the shuttle, and she gave Rev’s social arm an eyebrow-raised stare before she quickly shifted her gaze out to the buildings they were passing.
Prostheses were not as rare as many people might think. It was true that most people went through regen, and even the existing prostheses were almost undetectable by most folk. But now that military personnel weren’t given the option for regen, there were many more, and most Marines were opting for the visually obvious options. The civilian was working on a Marine base, so she shouldn’t have been surprised at seeing Rev.
Or maybe I’m just being a little sensitive right now. Thanks, Hus-man.
Rev sat silently until his stop, then hopped off. On a base full of training ranges, the recreational range was probably the most popular. Marines like to shoot, and if left to their own devices, would find corners of the base or off-base to scratch that itch. The Corps, in a long-standing practice, felt it was better to manage this proclivity by giving Marines a controlled, safe space, complete with an armory and a cafe. Each rec range had three sections: a shielded energy weapon range, a slug-thrower range, and the “Neanderthal” range where almost any thrown or bow-type weapon could be used.
Rev entered the range, signed in with a retinal scan, and went to the cafe where Malaika was sitting with a half-eaten burger and fries. Her eyes lit up when she saw him, and she put down the burger, wiped an arm across her mouth and her hands on her shorts.
“Sorry, I didn’t know when you were coming, and I was starving, so I got some chow. You want some?”
It had been two weeks since he’d last seen her, and he didn’t know if he should shake her hand or give her a hug, so he took away the choice by grabbing a fry and dipping it in fire sauce before chomping it down.
“No, I’m good. But you eat. We’re in no hurry.”
They sat down, and Mala made short work of the burger while Rev helped with the fries. A piece of lettuce escaped her mouth as she tried to hurry, and she shoved it back in with a, “Sorry. Not very lady-like.”
Rev laughed and said, “But rather Marine-like.”
The fire sauce started to burn a bit, and Rev took a sip of her WandiCola. Rev was a Coke man, thinking that WandiCola was a little too sweet, but he needed something to cool the fire.
But then, with Hussein’s teasing fresh in his mind, he realized that while sharing food was normal among Marines, it was also something couples did. “Hey, I didn’t mean to just help myself. Do you want me to get you another straw?”
“What, you think I’m worried about germs with all the nanos we’ve got running through our bodies? Right.”
She ate the last fry, licked her fingers clean, and said, “Let’s get some shooting done.”
They walked over to the armory. She got scanned and told them which weapon she wanted—and Rev wondered just how many she had—and in thirty seconds, the box opened, revealing a darkly blued Franklin .44. Rev craned his head to see it. It was an impressive-looking piece.
She took it out and handed it to him, watching his eyes intently as he hefted it.
“Nice,” he said, and not just to be polite. It felt natural in his hand. “Let’s try it out.”
There were a dozen Marines on the ground floor armory using crossbows and pilums, and two Marines were even using slings. Using ancient weapons was back in vogue, with some reenactors even dressing the part. Rev kept waiting for someone to show up in animal skins—they were using the Neanderthal range, after all.
Rev and Malaika climbed the stairs to the second deck, which was their destination. A single Marine was on Target 1 at the very end, firing what looked to be a competition air rifle.
“I like Target 11, if that’s OK with you,” Malaika said. “It’s sort of my thing.”
“I’m good with that.”
Malaika put the weapon down on the table and started back to the ammo dispenser, but Rev intercepted her. “It’s on me.”
“But I invited you.”
“And you brought the main player. Let me pick up the rounds. Anything specific I need to get?”
“We can go with range rounds. Forty-fours.”
Rev entered the order for 100 rounds, then at the last second, ordered another ten jacketless kinetic rounds. If they were going to do this right, then they might as well fire a few lead rounds downrange. Malaika’s eyes lit up when she saw the kinetic rounds.
“Twenty-five or fifty?” she asked.
“Let’s start at twenty-five meters to get a feel for it, then extend the range.”
Malaika sent the target down the twenty-five meters. The targets could go out to fifty meters, but with the range rounds, they could simulate up to two klicks—way beyond handgun range, but within that of many of the long guns.
She handed the Franklin to him, but he wouldn’t take it. “It’s your weapon. You deserve the first shot. And with a k-round. Make it real.”
Malaika didn’t argue. It probably would have been better to get a feel for the weapon before moving to kinetic rounds, but it just seemed right to pop its cherry with the real thing.
They both put on their ear protectors, then she loaded five rounds into the magazine and snicked it in before she stepped up to the firing line. She was all business, lithe and sure of her movements, as she brought it up, aimed, and fired a single shot.
“Nine ring, seven o’clock,” Rev said as the close-up image popped up in the screen above the target.
Malaika shifted her stance slightly and fired again.
“Bullseye.”
“This is sweet,” she said, holding out the almost black handgun.
She fired once more, then asked Rev to give her a human target. Rev dialed one in. There was a slight shimmer, then the figure of a clown appeared twenty-five meters away.
“Very funny.” But she double tapped, hitting the left eye dead on and just nicking the right eye.”
“It’s like I could just think the round to the target,” she said, causing Rev to turn and stare at her.
Enough people had seen Rev in action with Pashu that it had to be getting out, but she hadn’t mentioned it to him, and he wondered if she was hinting at something there.
She dropped the magazine, cleared the slide, and handed it to Rev. “You’re going to love it.
Rev reloaded the magazine and inserted it into the .44. “As much as I want to kill that clown, can you give me a standard target?”
A moment later, the round target shimmered into place. Rev fired, the recoil pushing back against this hand. Between his M-49, which was a magring weapon, and Pashu, he hadn’t fired a chemical round since Tenerife. His first shot was in the eight ring and high, but he brought the next two into the ten ring.
“Clown or something different.” There was a hint of a challenge in her voice, and he couldn’t back down.
“Clown.”
He brought the weapon to the half-ready, left side of his body leading. As soon as the clown appeared, he fired twice, then looked up at the screen.
“Well, you killed the sucker, at least,” Malaika said.
Both rounds hit the clown’s face, but just high of the eyes. And that hurt. Rev was competitive by nature, but to do worse than Malaika, an infantry Marine, dug at his ego.
“Hey, we still got a hundred rounds left. Let’s see how we do with them.”
The range rounds fired a synthetic bullet, designed to be able to mimic the ballistics of any number of types of rounds. A small control panel at each firing position programmed the round, any outside conditions such as wind or precipitation, and range, with anything over fifty meters being simulated. Where the bullet actually passed through the target didn’t matter. Where it would have passed through if it had been a real round was what appeared on the screen. The bullets were far less lethal than any actual round—although they would still smart if they hit someone. Behind the targets, the bullets would be caught in the “range moss” and recycled for use over and over until they finally gave up the ghost.
Rev and Malaika spent the next seventy minutes putting the Franklin through its paces, firing under every conceivable condition, even pushing the range out to fifty meters. Rev was only mildly surprised that he fired slightly better with his social arm than his organic arm.
He was more surprised that Malaika was clearly the better shot, and that gnawed at him.
“Once again, a grunt kicks a Raider’s ass,” she said with a laugh as she broke down the Franklin to clean.
“It’s your augments,” Rev said, grasping for any excuse.
“Of course, it is. But that doesn’t take away from the joy in kicking your butt, Recon Raider.”
Her response gave Rev pause. He’d just been trying for any excuse, but she was openly admitting it.
“Is that true?”
<Augments given to infantry are different than those given to Raiders, and those would make marksmanship easier for them, so don’t let that get to you.>
“You know it bothers me? You reading my mind again?”
<I don’t have to be able to read your mind. I can read your bios, and those indicate you are frustrated. Given that Malaika just “kicked your ass,” as she said, it was a calculated probability that you were not happy at the outcome and were reacting to it.>
Rev did feel a little better now that he knew Malaika had an advantage, but not completely. And advantage could be overcome with effort, and he swore that the next time, he’d come out on top.
Malaika finished cleaning the .44 and turned it back into the armory. The two walked out the door and to the shuttle stop. They discussed the Franklin until the clockwise shuttle appeared in front of the mini-PX down the street.
“Well, that’s me. Thank you for breaking it in with me. It was fun.”
“No, thank you. Prestor Nix was jealous when he heard I was joining you. He wanted to come, too. We’ll have to do it again sometime.”
“Sure. Whenever,” she said.
The shuttle left the mini-PX and started toward them.
Once again, Rev didn’t know if he should shake hands as if they were just playing ball or give her a hug.
“What are you going to do now?” she asked. “I’ll probably just watch the holo. A new Prince of Demons season just dropped today.”
“I’m not sure.”
The shuttle pulled to a stop in front of them.
“Well, thanks again,” Malaika said as she started to step aboard.
“Hey-some-of-us-are-getting-together-at-the-E-club-do-you-want-to-come?” he blurted out in a rush.
“Uh, sure,” she said, sounding surprised.
The shuttle started moving, and Rev jumped on board.
“I mean, if you want.”
“Yeah, sure. Better than just going back to my quarters. But the club is the other way.”
“I guess we should have waited. We can get off at the next stop and grab a counterclockwise shuttle, or just take this all the way around. It might be roundabout, but it will get us there.”
* * *
It was the long way around, not that Rev cared. Almost forty minutes after leaving the range, the shuttle came to a stop outside of the E-club. The two Marines jumped off and entered a decidedly quiet club.
“Wow, it’s dead in here tonight,” Malaika said as she looked around where Marines were silently watching some of the screens mounted throughout the place.
“There’s my crew,” Rev said, pointing to a table in the back. “We’ll liven them up.”
They made their way to the others, and Rev said, “What’s with all the serious faces? You’ve got beer and cider. What else do you need?”
Tomiko pointed to the screen mounted over the next table. It was only then that Rev looked, and most of the screens and the main holo were on the same channel, where a newscaster was speaking.
“ . . . situation is still unclear. We are trying to get our local correspondents to give us a better understanding on what steps authorities are taking.”
“What’s going on?” Rev asked, trying to make sense of the broadcast.
“Trouble on San Jacinto,” Tomiko said.
“So, what else is new?”
“Not like this.” She scootched over on the bench seat so Rev and Malaika could sit down.
San Jacinto was an independent world closer to the center of human space where entertainment was the main earner. Gambling was the main pull, but almost anything else, either real or simulated, could be experienced. Want to be a Conan? No problem. Get jacked in and hack away at bodies to your heart’s content. Don Juan or Annie Iago? Get jacked and enjoy virtual partners ready for anything. Want to try the rarest delicacies in the galaxy? If you had the money, you could get them on the planet. Synth drugs were readily available.
It was the holy grail of liberty ports. Most militaries restricted their sailors and soldiers to one of three reservations where it wasn’t quite anything goes. The entertainment was limited to what was legal in the major nations. But for young military members, that was more than enough, and commanders sometimes held that over a crew and embarked troops as a reward for a deployment well done. And with the war, places like San Jacinto were more likely to be authorized by commands where losses had been heavy.
The San Jacinto police didn’t care what you did as long as you didn’t interfere with others or damage anything, and young servicepeople being, well, young servicepeople, they were often arrested and eventually returned to their ships once damages were paid. But some drunken sailors wouldn’t garner the news attention that Rev saw on the screen.
Slowly, though, things became clear, and it was worse than he’d expected.
By dint of bad timing, both Frisian and Union ships were in orbit over the Rio de Plata reservation, with hotels booked long before the present difficulties between the two nations.
The Frisian ship was a personnel carrier returning troops from a devastating battle against the Centaurs. The Union had two ships that had been on anti-piracy patrols and were scheduled to go back into the war rotation.
The news report kept showing holos of the initial fight. Frisian soldiers and Union sailors were at a beer and dance hall. It wasn’t clear from the video who started it, but there was arguing, then pushing, and finally an all-out brawl. The San Jacinto police, probably on alert given the current situation, quickly moved in with their roboenforcers and stopped the fight, but not before a Union sailor had been killed, his head smashed in with a chair.
Close to a hundred soldiers and sailors were arrested and locked up. The commander of the Union two-ship force, probably after reporting back to New Mars, demanded that the San Jacinto authorities turn over the Frisian soldier who killed the sailor.
The San Jacintans refused, but the Frisian maroon-master commander, whether because he feared the locals would accede to the demand, or whether it was because they’d just had their butts kicked in by the Centaurs and simply had no more fucks to give, broke into the jail to free the Frisian prisoners, and then they managed to board some shuttles and took them up to their ship before the authorities could react. Technically, this was an act of war against San Jacinto, but one that could have been diplomatically defused as no San Jacinto citizens had been killed. But then the situation deteriorated.
Before the Frisian ship could leave orbit, the two Union destroyers moved to block it. The force commander ordered the ship’s captain to send over the suspect. Not surprisingly, the Frisian commander refused.
And that’s where the situation was as Rev watched the broadcast. Three ships in a holding pattern while commercial ships and a single Grant’s World corvette under the Council of Humanity flag left orbit for the safer confines in the system.
Both the Perseus Union and Frisian Mantle governments were already accusing each other of instigating the incident and threatening to send more forces to the planet, and accusations and denials of Centaur prisoners were back in the forefront. This specific incident had all the earmarks of becoming the proverbial powder keg, with the larger issue being the Union not sharing Centaur intel and tech.
The other nations were also weighing in on the overall conflict. The reporter announced that the Hégémonie Liberté had joined the independent worlds of Tigana 3, Nowhere, Bugatti’s World, and Paxus in siding with the Union, while the Manifest Destiny Sphere, the Synergy Alliance, the Association of Independent Worlds, the Rigel Cluster, and several more nations and individual planets were already announcing support for the Frisian Mantle. Even with the major corporations staying silent so far, that meant almost seventy percent of humanity had chosen sides.
It wasn’t surprising that the Heg supported the Union. They had a long history of cooperation, and they had never fought against each other. What was surprising was some of those who were siding with the Frisians. Not the MDS, whose philosophy was flexible, to be generous with the term. But the Rigel Cluster received huge amounts of financial support from the Union and was considered an ally.
It was evident that the Union’s denials of the Centaur prisoner accusation were not being believed, and erstwhile allies were turning against them.
All the while, the Council of Humanity was pleading for the governments to back off the rhetoric, reminding everyone that the real enemy was the Centaurs, not each other.
“I bet it’s the angel shits who’re spreading all these rumors,” Hussein said as they watched the screen. “Anything for their tin-ass masters.”
Hussein was more apt to believe conspiracy theories than any of this team, but in this case, Rev thought he might be on to something. Not the initial Frisian accusation of the Union having a Centaur body, which, of course, was true. But of the escalation. Not all of the Children of Angels had been rounded up, and those who were still out there had to have revenge on their minds. And fighting breaking out between human forces would go a long way in helping the Centaurs take over human space.
“If they’re afraid that war is going to break out, then why aren’t we in Condition One right now instead of watching this on the news?” Radić asked.
“If this goes any further, we will be. But right now, the Navy will be scrambling,” Tomiko said.
“The Heg navy, too?” Strap asked.
The Union navy was nothing to sneer at, but the Hégémonie Liberté was the largest and best-equipped among all of humanity, and if fighting did break out, they were a nice security blanket.
“Who knows?” Tomiko said. “If they are siding with us, I’d have to guess so.”
The conversation died down as they sat and watched. All of them had enlisted or been conscripted during the war with the Centaurs. Until the Children of Angels, and those traitors were a different situation, none of them had fought fellow humans. But for the first time in their lives, it looked like that might be a possibility.