by W. C. Bauers
When it came to dogma, her father had been as devout in his faith as her mother was uncommitted. They’d agreed on little else except their love for each other and for her. Somehow they’d made it work.
Maybe that’s where I got my love for doing hard things. Then Mom died. Then they came. She’d never forgotten the day her father died and she’d tried everything imaginable. It flashed to life. Her hands began to shake, so she set her cup down, and rubbed her hands together.
One of the alien soldiers in the painting caught her eye. It wore a cross around its neck. His neck? Her neck? Its features weren’t what you’d call masculine or feminine. Would aliens be male and female or something else entirely? She thought if other sentients were out there, then the God of heaven must be their God too.
How do you serve something that you can’t see? Or talk to. How do you tolerate a God Who tolerates so much death? She closed her eyes but found no answers there. Moments later she fell asleep.
Twenty-six
MAY 12TH, 92 A.E., STANDARD CALENDAR, 1522 HOURS
REPUBLIC OF ALIGNED WORLDS PLANETARY CAPITAL—HOLD
JOINT SPACEPORT MO CAVINAUGH
Beating feet across the hot tarmac of Mo Cavinaugh gave Promise time to order her thoughts. They’d shifted beneath her like tectonic plates. Crashed together. Pushed up jagged questions she didn’t want to face. The problem with learning something new was you were obligated to do something about it, ply the new knowledge, gain more intelligence (intelligence in the military meaning of the word and an officer of Marines had better be on the evolutionary ladder and on the upward bounce).
Father Francis Tullivan was on to something about making peace with death. Our mutual friend. He got that right. Maybe she’d have a summit and agree to peace talks. Greeting death with a kiss? That didn’t sound appealing. Neither did growing old with bad memories weighing her down.
She’d nearly spilled her guts in the father’s chair during two consecutive sessions, each close to two hours, as he’d pounded color into her skin. They’d talked about the church, the state, her Marines, her nonexistent love life, and even her parents. Father Francis was careful not to pry. When he finished, he’d slathered her skin in balm and clear wrap. Standing before the mirror, she felt lighter than she had in years.
“It’s perfect.” She tried to hold back the tears, and turned her shoulder for a better view.
“Let them come, child. Remember, it wasn’t your fault. You were doing your duty. They were doing theirs.”
Promise inhaled sharply. She’d heard the exact same words only days before, from the most unlikely source. General Granby’s vid.
Because it wasn’t marked priority it had sat in her queue for the better part of a day. It began, “Send one downrange for me, girly.” A still of Great-Grans filled her screen, and then Promise hit PLAY. “Didn’t expect me, did you? I wouldn’t either if I was you. Make that your first lesson. Don’t outgrow your britches.” After that, Grans got straight to the point. “Watch your six, Lieutenant. Politicians have long memories. You just blipped on their scanners like an inbound hostile.” Grans elaborated a bit, and then listed their mutual enemies.
I have enemies … in my own star nation.
Grans told her to grieve Sergeant Morris’s death and not to hold herself responsible. Not likely. “Not your fault, Lieutenant. Don’t even go there. You were just doing your duty, and so was he. Don’t forget that.”
Don’t even go there. How do I not go there? Why do we talk about there as if it’s a place?
“Well, I’m off for the country,” Grans said. “My home away from home isn’t far from here. The alpha unit and I have thought about downsizing for years. Each time we come close the memories convince us not to.” Granby thought hard before saying more. “I may never see a uniform again. God only knows. Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. Maybe it’s time I put my big house to use.” Granby brightened visibly. “Drop by sometime. Make that an order. And let me know if you ever need my help … such as it is. Good hunting, Lieutenant. Granby, out.”
As Promise rounded the corner of the building, she stepped from the shadows and into the blinding sun. She raised her hand in time to avoid the mech coming straight at her.
* * *
Her ride up was a Starburst-class medium-range orbital shuttle, nicknamed the Blowfish. The body was more a cylinder than a plane or wing, which made the bulbous cockpit and nose look out of place. Crewed by five, just like a Marine Corps platoon. The engines took up the ship’s entire aft compartment, and dozens of stabilizers poked out of the hull.
About two shuttle lengths away, Promise caught sight of a familiar profile. No, make that two. Lance Corporal Kathy Prichart and Private Race Atumbi were standing nearby, just off the middle hatch of the medium-range intersystem transport, watching passengers disembark. Atumbi was manning an empty hoversled. Kathy held a datapad and was wearing shades. Then she pointed to a tall Marine wearing tan utilities, and nodded to Atumbi. The newcomer stood in the shuttle’s hatchway, and set his bags down to don his beret.
Now Promise was close enough to see the stranger’s gross features, and they looked out of place. The nose was flat and smoothed-over, and the jaw was too big for the head. Too-pale skin more fitting for a corpse than a Marine. Kathy waved to Promise as the newcomer hit the bottom of the stairs. His name tab said MARGOLEASE. He wore a number of service ribbons and medals, including a purple heart surrounded by three stars and two suns. Promise’s brows shot skyward. That was five total wounds-in-combat; stars for the injuries and suns for the fatalities. Resurrections were rare enough. But twice? It was only then Promise put three and two together. Margolease has five WICs and he’s been jumped twice. That explained his appearance.
“And who do we have here?” Promise met Margolease’s gaze directly even though she wanted to stare at him in the worst way. The man seemed to notice and dipped his head. His salute was as crisp as any she’d seen, and lightning fast.
“Sergeant Jesus Margolease, reporting for duty, ma’am.”
“He’s your new platoon sergeant, ma’am.” Kathy held up the datapad. “His transfer papers just arrived.” Kathy raised her shades and gave Margolease a once-over. “You’re a lot to take in, Sergeant.”
“Lance Corporal! Watch your mouth,” Promise said. “Please forgive her, Sergeant. She should know better.”
“Lieutenant.” Margolease’s tone spoke volumes. “Take a good look at me. Can you blame her?”
The man has a point. “Maybe … still doesn’t make it right … or respectful. A man with five WICs has a story to tell and the right to tell it whenever he pleases. Drinks on me, anytime.” Promise frowned. “Except not today. I’m being kicked off-planet.”
“Rain check, then.” Margolease extended his gloved hand. His grip was firm, measured, and Promise suspected carefully restrained. She held it a moment longer than protocol dictated. “I bet you crush rocks with that, Sergeant.”
“Not quite, but I’m an undefeated arm wrestler.”
“I’ll remember that,” Promise said as she looked into his eyes. They were his most human feature, though the left one was off somehow.
“The cornea and most of the rods and cones were destroyed in an explosion. The doc saved the eye but the optics had to be replaced.”
“Zoom-capable?” asked Promise.
“Yes, with a micro-HUD hardwired to my brain.”
“Really? Can you download telemetry or sync with your armor?”
“Negative, ma’am. Thank the Congress and the AI Acts for that.”
“You’re human,” Promise said with surprise. “Those don’t apply to you.”
“I agree. I am human, and because I don’t regen I’m now eighty-two percent synthetic. Wireless tech might leave me open to a virtual attack. My entire self is drive-by-wire through what’s left of my original neural network. I’m safest that way and so are my toonmates. I can’t even link with a coffeemaker. It was that or one-eye blind and a g
ravchair.”
Promise couldn’t help noticing his ears. P, stop scanning the man’s anatomy.
“I asked for big ears, ma’am. You know, to hear better with, and the points were for style. Thankfully, my inner ears are fine, and so is my balance. Cochlear implants have a long way to go. I manage.”
Margolease tapped the bridge of his nose.
“Crushed by the turret of a hovtank. I have rebuilt sinuses and a top-line filtration system. I can tolerate level-five contamination sites without a rebreather, at least for short periods of time. I can hold my breath for days.”
“Sergeant, I’m happy to have you aboard.” Promise nodded at Margolease and then at her Marines. “That’s my shuttle over there. I’ll see you next week.”
“I hope you enjoy the trip.”
“I’ll try. Kathy, get the sergeant settled and take him to the chow hall. Strike that. Take him off-base and get him something edible. Charge it to my account. Private Atumbi, get his gear stowed. Sergeant Margolease, welcome to Hold.”
“Thank you, ma’am. My friends call me Jay.” The sergeant flashed a set of perfectly straight teeth. “Yeah, I’m walking on glass too. It goes with the image.”
“What’s your call sign, Jay?” asked Kathy.
“Lazarus.”
“Dead man walking,” whispered Kathy.
“Don’t I know it,” replied Margolease.
“I like it,” said Promise. “You’re going to fit right in. Welcome to the Pythons.”
Promise slapped him on the shoulder and felt impossibly hard muscle shake off the blow. “Jay, I am really looking forward to working with you.”
Twenty-seven
MAY 14TH, 92 A.E., STANDARD CALENDAR, 2123 HOURS
PLANET GUINEVERE, NIGHTSIDE
KIES ORBITAL TOUROSPHERE
After two uneventful jumps and a surprisingly fast burn in-system, Promise stepped onto the deck of Kies, a newly renovated pleasure sphere with four-star accommodations and a round-the-clock casino. She was wearing one of the few off-duty ensembles in her locker: a pair of gunmetal slacks and a white blouse with three-quarter-length sleeves, and matching shoes. Promise had wanted something in a quiet system, not too busy, with as few people as possible. Kies was the only operational platform in orbit around Guinevere and it was far enough off the grid for the colonel’s taste. And Kies maintained a small sister resort on the surface, Kies Black Sands. Other than that and a biogenic firm on the surface, the planet was undeveloped.
By all outward appearances, Guinevere was the model HAB planet. But looks were deceiving. A flu-like virus had attacked the initial survey team three months after landing, all but wiping them out. Something like that had never happened before on any other explored world. It ran contrary to the “locked ecosystem” theory. Until Guinevere, alien environs had shown early signs of cracking the human genome only after a generation or more had passed. Guinevere changed everything. Kies Inc. put a biogenic firm planetside for a small fortune when no one else would. In trade, the RAW gave Kies a planetwide lease for a hundred years.
Ms. Night met Promise at the bottom of the landing slip. Night was medium height and wore a cerulean dress slit up the thigh. In the right light, the dress changed to emerald green. She was human, not a mech. This helped explain Kies Orbital Tourosphere’s four-star rating.
Promise’s minicomp chirped as the attendant held out her hand.
“Welcome aboard, Ms. Paen. I see this is your first time with us. And you’re staying the night. Wonderful.” Night paused, eyes focused inward. “You’re checked in and your I-dent is coded to your room. I’ll have your bags sent up. May I generate your retinal key?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Ms. Night looked at her intently. The white of her left eye turned black, and her pupil a solid green.
The focused burst of light caused Promise to blink. A second later, Ms. Night’s eye was back to normal and she was smiling as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
“That’s expensive tech,” Promise said. “Your employer spared no expense.”
“My colleagues carry readers. I served eight years in the Sector Guard before getting out. Mostly customs sweeps in backwater systems. It was incredibly boring except for the five days I can’t tell anyone about.” Night’s smile reached all the way to her eyes. “This”—she pointed to her eye—“was courtesy of Aunt Janie. I believe the two of you have met.”
“Guilty as charged.”
Ms. Night glanced at Promise’s hand. “Are you meeting someone, Ms. Paen?”
“No, I’m running solo.” Promise smiled warily. “Why?”
“Comm me if you change your mind. We have other guests vacationing alone.” She turned both palms upward. “And a small staff of highly trained courtesans. Sometimes it’s nice to have company.” She gave Promise a telling look. “Our questionnaire only takes five minutes and identifies over forty-two dimensions of compatibility. Access the panel over your vanity and follow the instructions. Our house AI, Gunnar, will be happy to assist you.”
Promise’s eyebrows rose. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“I’ve uploaded a map of the station to your minicomp. Are you hungry? Most everything is closed for the night. Except for room service, which is open round-the-watch.”
“Famished, actually. I’ve never been one to eat during transit. The shuttle food wasn’t very good anyway. How’s the pasta?”
“How’s linguine with local surf and turf and fresh greens sound?”
“Perfect.”
“That’s why I’m here.” Ms. Night nodded her head and smiled. “Done. I’ll have it sent to your room.”
“Actually, I’m not ready to turn in just yet.”
Night’s smile froze for a split second before relaxing naturally.
“Then I recommend White Kies, our tiki bar. It’s open all night.”
“A cup of caf will do.”
“Cream and sugar.”
“Please.”
“Consider it done. May I help you with anything else?”
“I’d like to go for a run in the morning before I shuttle down to the surface.”
“The observation deck is a must-see. Guests usually prefer the outer ring.” Night pursed her lips. “I, on the other hand, run on Level Five. It has the most open space and the fewest tourists. You may link your mastoid implant to the ship’s music library. We have over a thousand genres in our files and playlists to suit most every taste imaginable.”
“Thank you. A bit of peace and quiet is just what I need. To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t looking forward to this. My chain of command is very, well, never mind.” Now why did I tell her that? “I’m sorry. I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”
Ms. Night nodded like she understood. “Someone up the COG FUBARed and you took the fall.”
Promise snorted. “Ms. Night, you are perceptive.”
“I’ve had enough of Aunt Janie’s school of hard knocks to last a lifetime.”
“Oh, my room on the surface won’t be ready until tomorrow afternoon, about fourteen hundred hours. Anything you can do?”
Night held up a finger and cupped her ear. “I know someone who—” Her countenance brightened. “Troy, how are you, handsome?… Yes, I know I still owe you dinner. Don’t worry. I always keep my promises. I’ll make it up to you.… Please, stop that, I’m with a guest.” Night dipped her head, turned away. “Ms. Paen … Papa Alpha Echo November … yes, that’s her, she’s due in tomorrow and she’d like an early … Possible?… Noon isn’t early. I’m sure she’d like to have lunch on terra firma … please do that … I’ll hold.” Night blew a puff into her bangs. “He always does this, puts me on hold and makes me wait when I know he’s just going to get me what I want.” Night’s eyes widened and she pointed to her ear. “Ah … yes … Troy, but I asked about Ms. Paen’s early. Fine … I’ll meet you for dinner on Tuesday. What will I be wearing? Let’s keep that a surprise … just wear a tie … about Ms. Paen’s early
… eleven is perfect. Thank you, Troy. You’re a peach.”
Whatever Troy said last caused Ms. Night to blush.
“Ms. Paen, your room will be ready by eleven hundred hours. Your shuttle leaves on the half hour but please arrive fifteen mikes before that.”
“Fantastic. Please thank Troy for me. And it’s Promise.”
“I’ll be sure to do that, Promise.” Night cupped her hands together in front of her and quirked her head.
Right. That. Promise fumbled for her minicomp and hit TRANSFER.
“That’s very kind of you.” Night tapped the side of her eye. “I have a micro-HUD in the same eye. I like to stay informed.”
“It’s been a pleasure, Ms. Night. You’ve been most helpful. I plan to let management know.” The two shook hands and Promise’s stomach growled. “Now, which way to the bar?”
* * *
Ms. Night watched Promise disappear into the station proper. She sat on a nearby bench and began typing into her datapad. A moment later she received an encrypted comm over her mastoid implant.
“Sir, she’s in.… No, sir, I don’t think she will be a problem. She’s a loner. I was subtle. She got my point and she wasn’t interested in company. But—” And Ms. Night took a deep breath. “—she could encounter the client. You know he likes to dine late.” Night visually winced at her employer’s response. “No, sir, I tried. She wasn’t ready to turn in. However, she let something slip. Her superiors aren’t happy with her at the moment. She’s keeping a low profile and picked Kies for a distraction.… Yes, I’ll keep an eye on her. I already have eyes in the sky.… No, sir, I seriously doubt it. Not unless she goes looking for them. And why would she do that?”
Ms. Night tagged Promise with two whiskers, and headed for her room. If Paen did anything she shouldn’t, her probes would let her know. The odds of that happening were remote. And Night was tired. It had been a long day and tomorrow she was pulling a double. One of Kies’s chief shareholders was due in the morning for a tour. Then more guests at noon. She had a banquet at six and everyone from the station chief to the lowly research assistant on-planet would be there, and she still had reports to file. Best to get some sleep while she could. That’s what she told herself before she entered her room, set her minicomp to wake her in an emergency, and tossed it on the nightstand. “Gunnar, something from the oceans, please.” Waves crashing always did the trick. She fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.
