We Dare

by Chris Kennedy

  “Man? Have you lost your damn mind? One, don’t call me “man,” I am the under-secretary, and two, you cannot tell me you believe this nonsense about magical beasts and some kind of cult, can you?” asked the under-secretary, though his tone ran from angry to more plaintive, as if he was coming to the realization that something truly horrific had occurred.

  “Believe it? Hell this is my job. Look you two. My agency, for all intents and purposes, doesn’t exist on any flow chart in the government. We clean up messes that other people make, messes that go beyond the veil of normality. We were tracking that Secretary Axton was dealing with things she shouldn’t have been. But what my agency lacks are the internal resources necessary to handle messes of this magnitude. Usually some pathetic dude in his basement finds some arcane text on the internet, and tries it out. We kill them, unless the ritual goes awry and they kill themselves first, usually in really horrific ways. But when the powerful get their hands on this stuff, and they have the resources to really do it right? I’m sorry I had to lie to you Major, and to your team, but we had to clear this nest out before it could unleash truly evil things.”

  I gave Wallen a cold hard stare and didn’t speak for several moments. Then clearing my throat, I spoke up. “Mr. Wallen, you sent my team in with no warning of what it would encounter. In the process I have three dead, one who has gone insane, and a third who is going to be in counseling for a long time due to being sexually assaulted by that creature. Give me a good reason why I shouldn’t tear your head off right now!”

  My voice rose in anger as I addressed Wallen, and I stood up, hurling the chair away. Wallen flinched back from me, and began to stammer something, but it was Colonel Vandermeer that brought me back to my senses.

  “That will be enough, Major!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said. I dropped into the position of parade rest, though I did have the small satisfaction of smelling the scent of urine coming from Mr. Wallen.

  “Again, I am sorry, Major, but there was no way we could have warned you about what your team was really getting into. Pretend, for a moment, that I had told you. Would you have believed me?”

  I will give Wallen a small amount of credit, he hadn’t emptied his entire bladder.

  “So, what do we do now?” the under-secretary asked.

  “My advice? Reveal the Secretary for the scum she was,” I said.

  “Absolutely not!” the under-secretary shouted. “No way in hell are we saying anything of the sort. For one, no one would believe us. For another, that would just tell every wannabe demon cultist that it works.”

  “The Secretary had a skydiving accident while visiting the Punta Prima resort on Menorca. Due to the gruesome nature of the accident, there will be a closed casket funeral,” suggested Wallen.

  I was disgusted by it all. I popped out of parade rest and begin to leave the office in search of a stiff drink.

  “You weren’t dismissed, Major,” the under-secretary said coldly.

  I wheeled back to him. “Sir, with all due respect, you don’t need me anymore. My team does. We are going to go get very drunk, and try like hell to forget this whole affair.”

  “Make sure you do, Major,” Wallen tried for subtle menace, but it fell flat.

  I wasn’t so subtle.

  “Mr. Wallen don’t let our paths cross again. Ever.”

  With that, I left to find that drink, bury my dead, and take care of my living.

  * * * * *

  Philip Wohlrab Bio

  Philip “Doc” Wohlrab has spent time in the US Coast Guard and is a medic in the Virginia Army National Guard. He earned the title “Doc” the hard way in Iraq in 2010. After two tours to the Sandbox he returned stateside to take an instructor assignment with the Guard, where he continued to train the next generation of medics. He earned a Master of Public Health in 2016. He has since left full-time service and currently works in the Department of Defense as an Adaptive Wargaming Analyst.

  # # # # #

  The Chaos of Well-Seeming Forms by Rob Howell

  I opened the pressure door to the New Pittsburgh West-Alpha-12 communal dome and an embrace that would have broken most people’s bones slammed into me.

  But I was not most people.

  Nor was Eric Allardeck, the man who had swept me up. It was a good thing, since I massed well over two hundred kilos.

  “Where you been, you lazy hussy!” He laughed. “I mean, Staff Sergeant Fielding.”

  “Command, Sergeant Allardeck.” I shrugged. “You know how it is, even with the truce and our passes.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Now put me down, you oaf.”

  Once on my feet, I looked past him to see people filling the area, generally organized into two groups. The first group, my family, the Fieldings, glared at Eric and I from the left side of the room, faces filled with thunderous rage. The Allardecks matched them on the right.

  The only face not filled with rage was my Aunt Beatrice’s, but then, she had always been an odd one.

  The Fieldings and Allardecks had been feuding since first landing. One cubic meter was all it had taken to make our great-grandfathers mortal enemies, but Mars has its own sense of whimsy. When the Federated States consolidated New Pittsburgh, its governor saw no reason to make two sets of domes with separate water and air to go to this section of the city just because our families hated each other. In the decades since they arrived, neither family conceded their original steading nor moved.

  And so, the families walked in groups to the other areas of New Pittsburgh. They also made sure there was no evidence for anything resembling assault, nor as had happened, the occasional murder.

  The only others in the dome that morning worked the various kiosks that served the communal area with espressos, smoothies, and soy pastries. Those people huddled nervously instead of offering their wares, watching with wide eyes because this morning we had asked both families to come out at the same time.

  We turned to the families and our Internal Dynamics Mk. V-M2 hands (right for me, left for him) clasped together, almost of their own volition. Oddly, they had been our first touch, other than thumps on the training mat, so they seemed more loving to us than our real hands. We stood close to each other, wearing joyful smiles.

  The families started to rumble. Our enhanced hearing could easily pick up “Damn Allardecks” and “Fucking Fieldings” from various relations.

  “Shall we?” he whispered.

  “Absolutely.” I glanced up. My father was spitting fury. I winked at him. “Who goes first?”

  “You’re prettier.”

  I laughed and turned to the onlookers. “We’re so glad you could be here. Eric and I have asked you all here because—” I hesitated, then glanced up with my real eye at Eric.

  He smirked. “Tonya and I have asked you all here to witness our wedding.”

  The screams of outrage forced us to dampen our hearing.

  Aunt Beatrice, of course, chuckled. I focused my vision to read her lips, which clearly said, “Romeo and Juliet.”

  Eric gauged the Allardeck reaction. “How long should we let this go on?”

  “As long as they need, though we might want to stand in the middle. We don’t want them to actually fight.”

  “Leave that until the wedding reception.” Eric laughed again.

  I loved that laugh, though it had seemed arrogant and mocking the first time I had heard it.

  But Martian Defense Force basic training had a way of cutting through things, especially since cadre had taken great glee in matching us together. They knew, of course. Everyone who had walked Oppy’s Trail was aware of our feud.

  We stepped forward, letting our hands separate.

  My father stomped up to me. My improvements had not changed my height much, so he still towered over me. On the other hand, his finger jabbing into my breastplate surely hurt him more than it did me. I simply ignored what he said.

  Mom, as always, used crueler weapons. “Tonya, dear. Sure
ly you don’t want to disappoint your father like this. Didn’t we raise you well? Don’t you know we tried?”

  “Yes, Mom, I do.”

  “Then surely you see that this is just a mistake, one that’s easily fixed, you know?”

  She was from a completely different family halfway across Mars, but she had taken to the feud easily. I never knew why.

  “It’s not a mistake, Mom.”

  “But, he’s…an Allardeck. You’re so much better than that.”

  The uncles on both sides had already started making threats, and a fight would happen soon. Fortunately, Eric and I were the only ones in the families who had served in the MDF during wartime, so no one else was enhanced. We could, and did, move to separate our clans faster than anyone else. Two hundred kilos had its uses after all, even in the light gravity of Mars.

  I looked over at Nick Allardeck. “I know you’ll never like it, but Eric and I will be married.”

  “I’ll not allow it.”

  “You have no choice.”

  He glared at us with narrowed eyes. “I’ll not allow it,” he hissed again.

  Eric said essentially the same thing to my dad. Dad’s reaction was much the same as Nick’s.

  I glanced up at Eric. We had expected it, so we had planned for it.

  He grinned. “You do it. It’ll be more fun that way.”

  I turned to all in the dome and cut through the snarling. “Your choices are as follows. One, come to the wedding and witness our joy. You may not like it, but we’ll have a feast to remember since we’re eligible for the Enhanced Couple Marriage Bonus. Or two, you can choose not to come. However, I, for one, will expect all Fieldings to give us our traditional wedding O-credit, whether you come or not.”

  “And I expect it of the Allardecks,” Eric said with a snarl.

  “So, come eat an actual cake, or give us your oxygen for nothing. Your choice. The wedding is tomorrow.”

  “Ridiculous!” snapped Beatrice.

  “That’s your choice, Aunt!”

  “Not that, you idiot. I’ll be there in my best. But you’ve given me hardly any time to get you ready.”

  “I’ll just wear my uniform.”

  “Ridiculous!” she snapped again. “No niece of mine will get wed in anything but the gown I wore when my Fred made me an honest woman.” She chuckled with a sly smirk. “Well, mostly honest.”

  Eric laughed. “You better do as she says, love. I’m sure as hell not brave enough to argue with that one.”

  I laughed, though I saw the comment had made Nick almost snarl.

  Eric saw the look too. “Do you have something to say, Dad?”

  “None that a fool like you will listen to.”

  Eric moved to him and they walked to the side. Nick spoke decisively, his fist repeatedly smacking his palm.

  Beatrice took me by the shoulder. “Don’t worry, lass. That one’s stronger than his father. Besides, we’ve barely got time to fit you.” She looked over the rest of the family. “Now get to work, you all. We’ve a Fielding to wed, and we’re damn sure going to look good doing it.”

  Behind me, I was startled to hear Nick suddenly say essentially the same thing. I glanced back. His face was still red with anger, and his eyes burned into mine, but he clearly was not going to let the Fieldings show up the Allardecks.

  Beatrice herded us back into our warrens with the ease of long practice. We went back to her section of the warren. She claimed a much larger area than most, but she was also our clothing mistress. The rooms she ruled included a large area with several good sewing machines and immense storage for supplies. Her piles of fabric included some she had bought—at ruinous shipping costs—from Earth, including silk, cotton, and linen in weaves more advanced than Martian fabric printers could produce.

  “Stand here,” she commanded. She looked at the various young nieces and cousins who had followed her. She pointed at four of them. “You will stay here. The rest of you, go assist…elsewhere.”

  The others scurried away, happy to be released from Beatrice’s critical eye.

  My aunt now marched to her low-pressure chamber, a small area kept at Martian atmosphere and filtered completely clean of particulates. Nearly every warren across Mars had several because they so good for long-term storage. She pressed on its control pad, and after a moment, it sent out a zipped bag. Reverently, she took the bag and laid it on her primary work table.

  Inside was a gloriously white wedding dress.

  She whispered with that sly smirk to me, “I do so hope you’re not a virgin, but let’s have you wearing white anyway, shall we?”

  I blushed. “As you wish, Aunt.”

  “Yes.” She smiled and held the dress up to me. Then she looked at me expectantly. “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “I can’t fit it to you while you’re wearing that uniform, though you always have looked dashing in it.”

  I chuckled and stripped to my skivvies.

  “That’s better.” She held the dress up to me again. “Hmmm. I think we need to take the bosom in a bit.”

  I glanced at her chest quickly.

  She chuckled. “Well, let’s just say my Fred had few complaints on that topic. Of course, I was not so firm in other areas. I’ll have to take in the hips as well. You’re five centimeters taller than me, too, so I’ll need to let out the bottom hem.”

  She turned to the cousins. “You! Measure her arm length.”

  One of the girls complied. “Sixty-four centimeters, Aunt Beatrice.”

  “Not surprising. Your arms are longer than mine. That’ll be a bit trickier, but we’ll make do.”

  The rest of the afternoon and evening consisted of me standing around while Beatrice, and eventually, my parents, told me what to do while they made preparations.

  * * *

  And such preparations!

  The West-Alpha event hall looked incredible, as I suspected between our two families the hall boasted every flower available in all of New Pittsburgh. Even in wartime, there was room in the hydroponic areas for some flowering plants, and they filled the hall with their aroma.

  Each had brought out their ceremonial china, too, much to the relief of the caterers. No one had anticipated a fancy wedding, and the caterers had brought utilitarian, fully-recyclable table settings that were far too prosaic for the splendor in the hall.

  Everyone who entered took a moment to appreciate the hall, inhaling with wide, gleaming eyes.

  The primary question buzzing throughout the day had been who would officiate our wedding. Fieldings asserted it would be Neo-Catholic. Had to be, of course. Pshaw, or some curses to that effect, answered the Allardecks. The groom was a Calvinduist, and that settled that.

  That had been the first question we had answered after Eric had proposed to me. I treasured the memory.

  “Ah. Ummm,” he dithered. It had been a rare moment of uncertainty for him. His proposal, moments before, had been…spirited. As had been my response.

  “Spit it out, Sergeant!”

  He grinned. “I thought you preferred the other option.”

  “Gonna be a short engagement, you keep that up, boy.”

  He had laughed. “The officiant?”

  “Ah. Well, that’s easy enough.”

  “Oh?”

  “We just let the MDF assign us a duty chaplain.”

  “Perfect. That’s settled.” He had smiled that bad boy grin of his. “Shall we continue to discuss that other option?”

  I had laughed and proceeded to show him which I preferred.

  When we found out the officiant assigned to us was an actual Orthodox Jewish rabbi, we insisted he perform the ceremony in Hebrew, not English. Our implants translated Hebrew easily enough, so like always, we understood each other and what was going on. But our families would never understand why we were getting married, so they might as well not understand the ceremony.

  Fortunately, both of us wanted a short ceremony with a big reception, so little
time for everyone to get bored.

  Scrounging was Eric’s speciality—had been so before his first enhancement—and he had helped the caterers provide a spread worthy of the Fielding-Allardeck feud. Actual salmon, canned to be sure, but something that had swam in an Earth ocean. The best created beef, both steaks and hamburgers. Of course, we had tomatoes, since they had taken so well to Martian hydroponics, but we also had grilled asparagus, which had not. Scrambled eggs from real chickens. So much more.

  And the cake. A cake! Big enough to feed both families. Made of actual flour and chocolate and sugar and eggs and milk. Hideously expensive. Might have cost more than a year’s salary for some of my relatives.

  So worth it.

  We put the buffet table down the middle, accessible from both sides.

  We also set up a bar between the two groups. We did not splurge as much here, though there was Terran wine. Martian liquor was what most drank anyway.

  And we stood in the gap between our parents and families.

  I could not believe how I looked when I tried on the dress for the first time. I would never be beautiful, especially since the piece of shrapnel had sliced up through my cheek and eye.

  But I was resplendent in that dress.

  Eric’s eyes widened when he saw me, and his were not the only ones. Beatrice stood with a smug look. The MDF rabbi grinned quickly, then resumed his professional face and began the ceremony.

  Just in case, both Eric and I set our weapon scanners to warn if anyone pulled a weapon, but the promise of cake seemed to make even this feud pause for a bit.

  The only tense moment came when the two of us stamped on glasses after the Seven Blessings. The crunch startled various relatives on both sides out of their inattention, though the sight of the rabbi instructing his young assistant to sweep up the glass calmed everything down.

  For several hours, our families reveled, separated only by increasingly depleted chafing dishes. Then, when the two of us were ready, we had the rabbi flip a coin to see which family would leave first. Dad called heads, it fluttered down to tails, and the Allardecks left first. The MDF rabbi decided to walk with them to West-Alpha-12 just make sure no one set a trap.