by S. A. Tholin
"Making it look like a temporary glitch is easy," Lucklaw said. "The hard part is accessing the force field generator. It has to be disabled from inside Nexus."
"Oh," said Joy, who, by the dread in her voice, had understood where the plan was going, and Cassimer had to remind himself once more that his mind was made up and could not be swayed.
33. Joy
Finn's first apartment had boasted roaches the size of mice and a fuzzy black something growing on his bedroom walls. Those things, in addition to the criminally high rent and the criminally high neighbours, should've made it an absolute nightmare of a home. But as far as Finn had been concerned, only the view had mattered. Best in town, he'd liked to say, as proud as he'd been blind to the fact that few people considered the spaceport a desirable view. Even the most avid ship-spotters would've balked at the idea of living with rattling walls, vibrating floorboards and windows sooty with engine smoke - but Finn didn't like ships. He liked what they represented, and most of all, he liked what the military transports represented. He and Joy would sit by his kitchen window, and he'd point them out to her as they roared past. As Cassimer knew arc ships, Finn had known the names and classifications of troop carriers. With a fair degree of certainty, he'd guess their destination and purpose, spinning her tales of the adventures awaiting the soldiers.
He'd never told her that what he really wanted was to be onboard one of those ships, but she'd known it all the same; just like she'd known that Miana was different from the parade of previous girlfriends by the way he spoke her name, and just like he'd known that she spent so much time reading about mysteries because trying to find meaning in myth and happenstance seemed simpler than finding meaning in her own life.
But becoming a soldier meant leaving Mars, never knowing where he'd be from one day to the next, and that kind of life had been made impossible for him when their family had been reduced to two; big brother and little sister, all alone. Finn had been forced to make do in the private sector, and in his own way, he'd been a good soldier - but even so, he would still stop and point to the sky whenever a troop ship flew overhead.
However, even in Finn's wildest daydreams, she very much doubted that enlisting had looked quite like this.
"I feel like I'm having a princess day at the spa," she said. The infirmary had briefly turned into a salon/laboratory, and she sat in front of a mirror as Rhys and Hopewell worked on her. Lucklaw sat in a corner, in front of a computer as per usual.
"Wouldn't recommend getting used to it, your highness." Rhys dabbed her arm with antiseptic. "It's all downhill from here." As if to underscore his point, he jabbed the long needle of a syringe into the crease of her elbow.
"Ow," Joy complained, although there was no pain. The sight of the needle piercing her skin was enough to make her twitch.
Hopewell, standing behind her, smacked her head lightly. "Sit still or I swear I'm getting the clippers out and shave this ragged mop of yours."
Not quite so ragged anymore. The girl who'd spent seven months tunnel-crawling and spider-brunching was disappearing a little more with each snip of Hopewell's scissors. Matted hair turned glossy, split ends and impossible tangles expertly reshaped into a neat, shoulder-brushing bob. If it weren't for the lack of too-red lipstick, it could've been the Joy who'd once posed for her Ever Onward profile picture.
"Would've liked to take off more, but since you nixed the short crop, we need to leave enough length that it can be tied back to regulation. The commander's surprisingly strict about hair."
"I got the sense he's strict about everything."
"Well, most everything," Hopewell admitted, "but I never had a commanding officer yet that wasn't lax about at least one thing. They're only human, you know? Commander Cassimer'll write you up for swearing which, to be honest, is..." she leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially in Joy's ear, "bullshit."
Joy laughed. Hopewell really wasn't so different from Elodie in Zoology. Really not so bad at all.
"But he'll let you listen to pretty much any music you like."
"Says you," said Rhys. "He erased my entire collection of Camorgue without so much as a warning."
"Camorgue?" Hopewell made a face. "That's not erasure; that's euthanasia. You should thank him for it. In fact, you know what, next time I see him, I'll thank him, on behalf of the hearing universe."
"They're an acquired taste, in so far that you need to have taste to enjoy them, lieutenant."
Hopewell rolled her eyes and set down her scissors. "Another good thing about the commander is that he's willing to listen to suggestions. Plenty of commanders don't. Some of them would really rather that you pretend to have no opinions at all. Just say 'yes sir' and follow orders and be a good little robot. Cassimer's not like that. He understands that we're people, too."
He knows you are, Joy thought, but he doesn't think he is.
"Maybe you just think he listens because he's quiet," Lucklaw said.
Hopewell stretched a hair band between her fingers and twanged it at the corporal. He yelped as it struck his cheek.
"You've not been in this company near long enough to say a damn word about the commander. So shut up, yeah?"
Lucklaw did, sullenly rubbing the red mark on his cheek.
"Besides," Hopewell said, beginning to braid Joy's hair, "I'd rather have a quiet commander than one who talks too much. I mean, I've served under commanders who - I won't name names, but Rhys knows who I'm talking about - who will go on and on about their stupid mineral collection for hours without realising that their rank is literally the only thing stopping their men from bashing their skulls in."
"Nobody likes that," Rhys agreed, "but what about the ones who want to go out drinking with you off duty? Or the ones who turn up at every social gathering even though the invitation was clearly only made out of politeness?"
"Or the ones who want to spend leave with you. Earth have mercy, my commanding officer on Phobos actually suggested the whole team go on vacation together. Two weeks at the beach, he said. It'll be fun, he said. A team building exercise, he said, not realising that all three of those words are basically the opposite of what I want from a vacation." She shook her head with disgust. "At least Commander Cassimer had the decency to look mortified when I bumped into him on leave."
"You never told me that," Rhys said. "The commander on vacation? The company chief must've twisted his arm for that to happen. Where were you holidaying?"
"Well." Hopewell glanced towards the door. The habitat was quiet and dark. "I guess there's no harm in telling."
Since he's not within earshot, Joy thought. Almost said it aloud, too, out of some strangely protective urge, but curiosity got the better of her.
"My sister and some of our friends had met up on Nerys to celebrate my twenty-seventh. You familiar with Nerys?"
Joy shook her head.
"It's a small seedworld, with nothing much to recommend it barring a few fancy resorts in the mountains. I doubt they'd get much business if Nerys didn't happen to be less than five hours from Scathach Station. Don't even get much of that business, to be honest, because there are planets with cheaper bars even closer than that. Mostly it's just officers playing golf. They built a real nice spa there a few years back, though, which is why we were going."
"Thrilling tale so far." Rhys faked an exaggerated yawn.
Hopewell ignored him. "Chastity - my sister - was all about exercise at the time, and she'd seen adverts for the hiking trails on Nerys. She talks us all into going, and we end up spending six hours trudging through bug-infested woodland to reach the top of the mountain that allegedly offers a breathtaking view of Nerys's waterfall valleys. Maybe it does; I wouldn't know, because when we finally reach the summit, someone's up there already."
"The commander."
"Yeah. Just sitting there on the cliff's edge. Enjoying the view, I guess, but at that point I was way too flustered to notice anything. Didn't know what to say, so I kept my head down and hoped he wouldn't
recognise me, but of course he bloody does. Hopewell, he says. Commander, I say."
"That's it?" Rhys yawned, this time genuinely. "Not much of a story."
"It was awkward. And afterwards I had to field a million questions from my sister and friends. Who was that guy? they asked. You should invite him to the party! they said. Stars, Ginny wanted me to give him her details. Can you imagine?"
"Not unless you tell me more about this Ginny." Rhys grinned. "Or hey, why not pass me her details - captains might not have the same clout as commanders, but we've got plenty more swagger."
"Plenty more creep factor, too," Hopewell said, and then laughed, adding: "Which, to be honest, is Ginny's type. Ask me again on Scathach, and who knows."
"Will do," Rhys said, before turning a critical eye to Joy. "You doing all right there?"
"Why? Should I be feeling something?" She rubbed the crease of her elbow, where Rhys had injected the primer. He'd manufactured it days ago, combining a blank primer with her own DNA. Once in her bloodstream, he'd explained, it would rapidly integrate into her system, permanently rewriting her genetic structure. Not an implant like the h-chip, but a whole new bit of Joy.
Rhys laughed. "No. You want me to remove your old h-chip?"
She shook her head. She'd been happy to see the med-bracelet go, but the h-chip was a connection to a past that she wasn't yet willing to let go of; a reminder of what once had been.
"In that case, I'm calling this integration a success. She's all yours, corporal."
"Working on it, sir." Lucklaw tapped away at a screen. His eyes shone silver and his face wrinkled with concentration but, to Joy's relief, his nose wasn't bleeding. "Whoever wrote the primer installation manual needs to learn how to keep it brief. I could figure it out myself eventually, of course, but I've never done this before. Never met anyone who didn't have their primer since birth."
"A life's worth of information flowing through our veins. Mind you, mine is like 90% sports stats." Hopewell set down her box of bobby pins. "So, what do you think?"
"I think you've got a real talent, Lieutenant," Joy said, turning her head to admire her neatly braided updo.
"Hair's what I'll be doing after this tour. My sister owns a salon on Kepler, got a stylist job waiting for me whenever I want it."
"From soldier to stylist. You don't think you'll miss the excitement?"
"I'm a bit of an idiot, so sure, I suppose I will. But excitement..." Hopewell shrugged. "It's easy to come by and easy to get too much of. You'll find out soon enough."
"Ah, princess here's no stranger to excitement," Rhys said. "Didn't you hear about the tractor incident?"
"I did. Shame you weren't on the team then - that sort of performance would've earned you a nice chunk of merits."
"Speaking of which, please verify these details." Lucklaw approached, holding the screen of a tablet towards her.
SOMERSET, Joy Catherine
Date of birth: 11/05/1543
Citizenship: Primaterre (provisional)
Date of enlistment: 27/07/1686
Grade: Private (provisional)
Merit balance: 10,000
The form continued, listing everything from her height and weight to the terms of her enlistment (which were much as Cassimer had described; a minimum of three years pending successful completion of Basic Training). It even had a sad little entry for Next of Kin, left cruelly blank.
But it was the day's date that caught her eye.
"It's summer?" Cato seemed to have only two seasons: thunderstorm season and dust-and-thunderstorm season. She'd forgotten the subtle change of nature and weather as winter eased into spring and spring burst into summer.
"It's always summer somewhere," Rhys said, and he was right, of course - but July meant summer in Kirkclair. It meant sitting on the laboratory roof and eating ice cream with Elodie and going on road trips with Finn. It meant artificially-boosted sunshine and blooming empress trees. It meant breezy smiles, late nights under the glow of lanterns, and wearing dresses that were slightly too short.
Finn and Elodie might be gone, and she might be stuck on Cato - but on Mars, it was summer.
Lucklaw cleared his throat impatiently, and she nodded to confirm.
"Good. I pulled most of your info from your Hierochloe employee file, but thought it best to double-check. Rhys, you got the equipment ready?"
"Lean your head back a ways." Rhys stood over her, a small box in his hands. "In lieu of augments, you're going to have to wear these." He tilted the box towards her. It contained two contact lenses and an earpiece.
"If you all have augments," she asked, grimacing with discomfort as Rhys slipped the first contact into place, "why do you have this stuff on hand?"
"Redundancy. Augments are durable, but not indestructible. It only takes one medic to stitch up a body, but a factory's worth of techs to piece an augment back together. Visual augments are particularly vulnerable, so we always carry backup equipment for comms and visual interfacing. How do they feel?"
"Fine." Like nothing at all, truth be told, and neither did the earpiece once Rhys had finished inserting it.
"I'm going to boot your primer now. It's just the basic military package, but considering your inexperience, this may be a rough ride. So I'm going to go slow, okay? You ready?"
She nodded. Lucklaw pressed a finger to his tablet and a soft tone, not unlike a nightingale's call, trilled in her ears.
The Primaterre sun glowed in the air before her, bright, welcoming and jarring. She blinked, but it didn't go away. She shut her eyes, and it blazed white against the inside of her eyelids.
"What do you see?"
"The Primaterre logo. It's really bright - too bright. I can't see you anymore. Can't see the room." She reached for her eyes, to rub them or to remove the lenses, she hadn't decided, but panic was setting in and -
- Rhys's strong hands closed around her wrists and held them fast. "Relax," his hoarse voice puffed in her ear, the smell of nicotine strong on his breath.
"You can make it smaller, or transparent, or a different colour if you like. If it helps, imagine that you're at a computer. Mentally go through the steps of making the logo smaller. You don't have to be accurate or authentic, just visualise it. Will it."
A computer. Her own computer, on the worn surface of her kitchen table. The artificial sunlight streaming through her windows. A dark ring left by Finn's coffee mug. Oh, how she could visualise it - and how she wished she could will it.
She went through the steps as Lucklaw had instructed, and the Primaterre logo blinked in response, swirled once and then rapidly shrank to the size of a pea and floated to the periphery of her vision.
Lucklaw, smirking, was looking at her fingers. "Moving your fingers to type. Children do that, you know."
And so had he, when hacking the Ever Onward, but she refrained from mentioning it. The Primaterre logo still unsettled her. Seeing something that wasn't really there made her uncomfortable, and why shouldn't it? Usually, only mad people saw things that weren't there.
"Initialising the military package now. It'll ask you to verify your personal information. I've already authorised it on my end, and the commander sent his codes through earlier, so just go ahead and accept." He paused, and then added, with uncalled-for condescension: "Think 'yes' really hard."
Information floated in her vision like a swarm of insects, and the urge to swat it away was difficult to ignore. Her right temple throbbed with pain.
"Blood pressure spiking," Rhys said. "Hang on a second, Lucklaw."
Another injection, this time into her neck. Rhys took her head, gently leaning it backwards, and wiped blood from her nose. When he saw the look of alarm on her face, he smiled reassuringly.
"Don't worry. Your system's not used to the strain, but I've got you."
At Rhys's okay, Lucklaw proceeded, and a long string of random characters glowed in front of her.
"Take a couple of minutes to commit the code to memory."
"It's really long," she complained.
"Yes, so take your time." One of Rhys's hands was around her wrist, his thumb pressing to feel her pulse. "Don't let the corporal rush you. In the days of ancient Earth, men who would become knights had to spend a night in vigil; in silent contemplation of honour, duty and mortality. This is not so different and if we had the time, we'd make it more of a ritual. Breathe, Joy, and seek purity; see and seek clarity."
Rhys's uncharacteristic gravitas made her stomach flip. "What does the code mean?" She muttered the numbers and letters under her breath, repeated them, tasting and tracing their shapes with her tongue.
"It's your kill switch. When activated, it commands your primer to send an electromagnetic pulse through your body. The pulse destroys your primer and shuts down all neural function."
"What?" She turned in her seat, expecting to find the medic smiling at her, smiling at his little joke at her expense, but he wasn't smiling at all. "I've been saying the code over and over and you're telling me that it'll kill me? How do I cancel it?"
Now he did smile. "There are numerous layers of fail safes. You're not going to accidentally kill yourself, but trust me, if you're ever unlucky enough to be taken captive by enemies like RebEarth, you'll be glad to have the option. Don't you think Gaius Feehan would've died a happier man if he could've just switched himself off?"
"What fail safes?" she asked, still nervous and still unwilling to think too much about Gaius Feehan.
"First you have the usual confirmation requests. Three, I think, these days. After that, the primer checks your vitals, looking for signs of mental or physical distress. It also checks your position and cross-references it with the positions of other Primaterre soldiers that could be alerted and come to your aid. The kill switch does a whole lot of detective work before it'll fire, and even if you wanted to, you couldn't override those fail safes. Only the commander has the authority to do that."
