by Joe Peacock
Soldier logo. A woman appeared stage-right and strode in the direction of the President, also clad in full MilSec dress uniform. The audience was on their feet, cheering and whistling and clapping. The silhouette of hands and heads partially blocked the view.
"Citizens, I give you Sergeant Sabrina Corta," Cook said as he took one step to the side and allowed the fully healed Sergeant to take center stage with him. Behind them, the pictures of Cain and Curtis separated, and a third photo appeared between them -- that of the Sergeant in full MilSec dress, her name displayed under her photo like the others: Sabrina "Senche" Corta.
The crowd lost its collective mind. Cheering and applause continued to roll despite the awkward looks exchanged between Corta and President Cook. Eventually the commotion subsided enough for the President to begin speaking again.
"Sergeant -- or can I call you Sabrina?" He asked.
"Sabrina is fine, sir," she replied stiffly.
"Well, Sabrina, how are you feeling?"
"I feel like United America's Next Top Soldier," she answered.
Every attendee leapt to their feet, and the entire room erupted in even more raucous applause and cheers.
"Ok, JAQi, got it," Omar said. The din of the cheering audience was silenced as the playback of the footage froze. "Ping John."
A tone sounded, and John appeared on the screen. "Sup?" He asked.
"Dude...Corta!" Omar yelped.
"I know, right?!"
"Okay, so what are the rules for the fantasy league?" Omar asked. "Does it work like football? Can I just bring her off injured reserve?"
"It happens automatically," John explained as he bit into an Imagen RealCheez snack chip. "You don't have to worry about that. Just make sure she's in the lineup for the next operation and you're good to go."
"Okay, got it. What is the next op?"
"Dude, you didn't watch the address?"
"Just the highlights."
"The next operation is MK," John answered. "That's it. The rules changed. No more contests or head-to-heads. It's winner takes all. Whoever gets MK wins."
"Whoa," Omar said. "Maybe I should go back and watch that then..."
"Nah, it's just a bunch of bullshit about snow and weather and stuff. They're pushing an update to JAQi tonight, but who cares. Corta and the new rules for NTS were really the only part that mattered."
"Cool," Omar said, "Thanks for the rundown. I gotta ping Gabby real quick."
"Heh, that's still a thing?" John asked, lifting the bag of chips to his lips and dumping the dusty remains into his mouth.
"Dude, come on..."
John chewed voraciously through the chip debris. "I don't get it man," he said, lips smacking. "But hey, you love her, so whatever..."
"I gotta go," Omar said.
"Later!" John said, his face blinking from existence on the screen.
"Ping Gabby," Omar asked of JAQi, who immediately complied.
"Hey," Gabby responded within a second of the notification appearing on her screen. "What's up? Everything ok?"
"Yeah," Omar said. "Caught up on the address. There's going to be snow? That's pretty crazy."
"It's going to be so beautiful!" She replied. "I'm watching out the window to see it when it starts! You want to come over and watch it with me?"
"Honey," Omar said, "I'm super tired. Today's shift nearly killed me. I'm going to crash here in a minute."
"But...it's the first ever snow in our lifetimes! In, like, five lifetimes!"
"I know," Omar said, "But there'll be more. Right now, I just wanna get some sleep."
Gabby blinked a few times and shook her head slightly. Her disappointment was clear. "Omar," she said. "We really need to...I have some things I want to discuss with you..."
"Can we talk about it tomorrow?" Omar said, exasperated. "I'm really not in a place tonight to do anything besides fall into my bed. Hit me up first thing tomorrow, okay? We can talk about whatever's going on then."
"But..."
"I love you," Omar said rigidly, much in the same way he instructed customers to have a nice day at the cafeteria.
"I...I love you too," Gabby said reluctantly. Just as she was inhaling to start her next sentence, Omar interjected with a hasty, “good night, sweet dreams!" and dropped the call.
"JAQi," he said after a short sigh. "Find some porn with actresses that look like Corta."
A tone sounded. "There are 18,422 videos with actresses that have facial features resembling Sergeant Corta," JAQi said.
"Well, fire it up!" Omar said, pulling himself back out of his pants and resuming his evening’s plans.
7. Into The Subs
It was barely past midnight when Marlowe stumbled up to a doorway in a subterranean portion of Atlanta that could only be loosely considered a neighborhood. There simply wasn't a way to describe the shelters built in and around a conjoined series of damp tunnels that once were used to carry sewage. Before the atmosphere generators and the evaporators, before the biowaste separators and in-house composting, these tunnels had carried wastewater. But that was many years ago, in a time when waste being carried away by the single most precious resource on the planet wasn't considered a waste in and of itself.
Now, the sewers of Atlanta had become the Subs -- subterranean dwellings and businesses for people who didn't want to bother with the surface society above. It started as a third attempt to resurrect Underground Atlanta as a tourist destination, but it quickly became a modern day red-light district. And as more people moved down and set up shop, it expanded into the old tunnels and unused sewers that spanned old downtown. The laws in the Subs were made and enforced by the people who chose to be there. So long as whatever troubles arose in the Subs stayed in the Subs, MilSec (and the populace it protected) turned a blind eye to anything that went on.
This fact had always been very convenient for Marlowe, given her need for both back-channel information and AMP. And she could use a huge dose of both right about now.
With what little energy she had left after ditching the car in an Imagen Foods parking lot and surreptitiously hoofing it nearly two miles into the city, she rose her fist and banged on the door in front of her. And again. And again.
Marlowe lifted her head and stared up into the lens of a camera pointed down from the top of the doorway. "Come on, Jen..." she said weakly.
Finally, a rattle was heard, then the sliding of metal against metal. The door slowly creaked open. Marlowe pushed her way through it.
"Come in, won't you?" Jen asked sarcastically as Marlowe passed by.
Marlowe stumbled over to a couch made from old shipping pallets and bundles of blankets, where she then collapsed. Several of the wooden slats beneath her body groaned in disapproval. One snapped clean through in outright rebellion.
The drastically oversized sweatshirt Jen wore swayed around her like a bell as she shoved the heavy steel door shut. She felt a slight rush of air against the shorn sides of her scalp as it closed. Flinging her hand out, she slapped the switch that locked the top and bottom deadbolts in place. A hollow CLANG echoed through the room, bouncing off of the musty concrete walls of the old sewer maintenance room that Jen had turned into her home.
"Jesus, Marlowe," Jen said in exasperation, pushing a few strands of her coppery hair out of her eyes. "What the hell happened? What are you doing here? How the hell did you even escape? And who the hell were those people who broke you out?!"
"I'm fine, thanks for asking," Marlowe said. She sighed, and closed her eyes. "That's a lie...I'm not okay, Jen."
"No shit," Jen replied. "I guess that makes me not okay by association."
Marlowe shot a look at Jen that was both incredulous and disapproving. "I wasn't followed," Marlowe replied. "You know I'm better than that."
"Yeah, well, in your state, I'm not really ready to trust that," Jen replied. She reached out and slapped another button near the door. The lights dimmed inside and several pre-pro
grammed scripts began running background processes to search any and all Feeds for any sign that Marlowe had been spotted. And more importantly, that she hadn't been followed. After a few anxious seconds, nothing appeared in the alert box on the screen on her desk, nor on the heads-up display in her contacts.
Jen breathed a small sigh of relief. "Nice bracelets, by the way," she said. "They totally suit you."
"Well, I was so envious of the ones you seem to like wearing so much," Marlowe snapped back. "I thought I'd get some for myself. Do you like--"
"--You can't stay here," Jen interjected desperately. She closed her eyes and hoped that had sounded the way she'd rehearsed a few hundred times in her head the past few weeks after witnessing Marlowe’s steady downfall. However, the poker face she'd practiced for nearly all of her twenty-three years couldn't hide her pain. Maybe from other people, but not from Marlowe.
"I don't want to stay here," Marlowe replied after a moment. "I'm not looking to disrupt your new little domestic situation. In fact, I'll go as soon as I get some food and some AMP."
"AMP? What makes you think I still have that crap?"
"Because you got busted selling it a few months ago, right before my life went to shit," Marlowe
