by Travis Hill
“Veronica,” I whispered. “Are you okay?” I could feel her trembling, almost vibrating.
“I’m not the girl in the picture,” she said. I thought she was holding back a sob. “I tried, but she’s dead…”
“Come on,” I said, scooting next to her in the dark. “It’s okay. You’re not that girl. I don’t want you to be that girl. That girl would get us all killed with her inept bungling. She’d probably end up accidentally blowing away the entire squad instead of shooting the Kai.”
She burst out laughing, which quickly faded. “Look fast, before I end up smearing it all over because I’m about to cry.”
She turned the lantern on and my heart began to pound hard enough that I worried it would beat its way right out of my chest. The girl from the picture stared back at me, slightly older, slightly worn, but there was no mistake that the two were the same, other than one of them looked as if she’d been through a holocaust. I gently traced my finger across her cheek, my eyes devouring every square centimeter of her body visible in the lantern’s glow.
Veronica Hollingsworth stared back at me, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She’d wanted to be alone to put on makeup and fix her hair. But a wash in the sink and a few minutes with a makeup kit couldn’t hide the sorrow, the tortured existence she lived. Up to now, she had hidden it so well I was afraid that I was only having a dream and would wake up inside my CR-31, a proximity alarm blaring in my ear.
“Dana…” she said, reaching out to run her fingers across my bare cheeks, slowly tracing the scar down to my lips.
“I’m way scarier looking than you,” I said.
She began to giggle, then laugh, and I couldn’t help but laugh myself. Just like when we had kissed on the rock in our powered-down suits, the horror of being covered in vomit and human remains suddenly disappeared. Veronica switched from laughing to crying without missing a beat, and I wrapped my arms around her. Her skin had the faint, lingering odor that became an integrated part of all suit operators over a long enough timeline. During our training period with the suits, it had been an unpleasant annoyance, but one that had washed off with daily showering. Six months or more in a suit made it a permanent feature.
We held each other for a while, the soft glow of the lantern providing an eerie but somehow calming atmosphere. Every few minutes, we’d hear one of the others shuffling around nearby, but beyond that, there was only the sound of our breathing, my heartbeat, and the strange sound of rushing water in my ears. Veronica pulled back from me and resumed her visual critique. Her makeup had smeared a little, but it didn’t matter. I saw through it. I let my eyes wander to her neck, clean for the first time in months, which made me grin involuntarily.
“What?” she asked, lifting my chin.
“Your neck. It’s so clean.”
“Of all the compliments I’ve received in my life, that’s one that I can say I’ve never heard.”
I gently pulled her down to give her a short, soft kiss, lingering just long enough to make the rushing water in my ears turn into a flood over a broken dam, before leaning back and allowing my eyes to wander once again. She’d gone all out. It seemed weird that a little burg in rural Montana would have a department store with a lingerie section, but then, this wasn’t 1951, and humans hadn’t been concerned with those kinds of moral quandaries for more than a century.
The nearly transparent lace of her top complemented her stockings, and her matching panties clued me in that she’d taken the time to trim down below. I wanted to slap myself in the head for not thinking of the same thing. All suit operators kept their bodies mostly free of hair, as it was one less thing to worry about in the middle of a firefight. There was nothing worse than having a patch of chest, arm, leg, or pubic hair shift, rub, or rest in the wrong position inside of a suit, because once you were locked in, you couldn’t just pop the seals and have a scratch (or a shave)—especially in a carbon dioxide-sulfuric acid atmosphere at 200°C.
I’d laughed, and to be honest, had felt weird seeing the other operators pay such close attention to it when I linked up with my first unit after graduation. They had smirked at my patchy pockets of body hair, giving each other knowing nods that a noob operator was about to learn a valuable lesson. Our first deployment was the last time I ever forgot to shave my bits beforehand. I spent ten straight days in agony because some of my lower pubes had become entangled with the microweave mesh, which flexed, expanded, and contracted based on movement and temperature. Corporal Tyson offered to split open my suit and give me a shave in exchange for a full month’s pay, which caused the entire platoon to give me hell (and yet a lot of grudging respect, something a fresh, green rookie would die for from his veteran squad mates) when I refused, choosing to tough it out instead. As a result, Cherise Tyson had felt enough grudging respect to introduce me to the partners concept that was frowned upon at the Academy but silently encouraged on the front lines.
All of those memories flashed through my head in an instant, and then there was only me and Specialist Hollingsworth. She ran her fingers across my cheek once more, then down my neck and across my chest. I repaid her with the same, hoping I wouldn’t turn into a pawing teenager because of my sudden, intense need. I let my hands wander in lazy circles across the lacy material, stopping here and there to apply slight pressure, sometimes moving my fingers in a gentle, circular motion whenever I sensed her body quiver.
We lasted another minute, maybe two, before we both turned into sex-starved adolescents. The first time was a wild, almost furious ride, both of us panting and sweating. She even growled at me at some point. I let everything go, clearing out all of the deadwood, the torment, the guilt, the sadness that had been collecting inside me. My mind was a sun-filled meadow, Veronica’s lithe, athletic body below me, her expression locked into her own far-away place I hoped was free of whatever haunted her.
It felt as if she tore chunks of flesh from my back when she came, my brain losing focus for a fraction of a second as I thanked no god in particular that suit operators kept their fingernails trimmed down to the quick. When I came soon after, the world tilted sideways and I saw black bubbles pop in front of my eyes. It took me a few seconds to realize that I’d been grinding my teeth hard enough to make my jaw ache. She giggled and I collapsed beside her, out of breath, a billion volts of electricity surging through every nerve in my body, to the point where I couldn’t feel my toes or the tips of my fingers.
The second time was the slowest, sweetest, most intimate hour of my life. We took our time, silently learning about each other through touch and taste alone. There was no need for words. Words couldn’t begin to describe the violent storm of lust, ecstasy, desperation, and sadness within me that came from knowing we would all be no more than ashes in the dirt, sooner rather than later. We fell asleep, exhausted, only to wake up sometime later and satisfy each other’s needs not only a third, but a fourth time less than ten minutes later.
“Dana,” she said softly as we spooned in the dark tent.
“Yeah?” I asked, moving a stray hair away from my nose.
“Please don’t tell anyone,” she whispered.
“That we spent the night together?” I asked.
“No, that I dressed up. Put on makeup. Pretended to be someone I’m not.”
“Oh. Don’t worry. I’m sure they all know by now. The way everyone smirked at me was kind of a dead giveaway.”
“They didn’t see the makeup or the nightie.”
“No? Then why the hell was Vasquez sweating me about how long I’d be in the bathroom?”
“I saw him going to the bathroom and asked him to keep you occupied for a few minutes. I put the makeup and lingerie on in the tent. They only saw me after I cleaned up and brushed my hair, as I was grabbing a razor.”
“That probably shocked them enough,” I said with a laugh.
She remained serious. “I mean it. I know you guys talk, just like we do. I just don’t want anyone to know.”
�
��Are you embarrassed by it?” I asked.
“No. I just don’t want anyone else to expect that it will ever happen again.”
“Okay,” I said, squeezing her tightly. “Okay.”
“You know I didn’t do it for you, right?”
“I know. You did it for you. You had to be her one last time. You might never get that chance again. It’s kind of a weird coincidence, though lucky for me, that we’d stop in a place that had makeup and clothing.”
My thoughts immediately shifted to Sergeant Lowell. He had seen the picture. He heard every word of our Wire conversation, and who knows how much of our short talk when we’d powered down. I didn’t want to believe he was a devious bastard like that, yet I wanted more than anything to believe he purposely parked us in a place that would allow Veronica to see herself as she used to be one last time. His deviousness had to be given extra respect for letting Hollingsworth’s own mind connect the dots.
“What are you, some kind of psychiatrist?” she asked.
“No, but I was going to have a secondary major in philosophy. You know, to be more than just a stupid suit jock.”
“Aren’t you a draftee?”
“Yeah, but we knew it was coming. You can’t have endless interstellar war for this long and not finally come to the point where you’re running out of volunteers. As for the citizens, they were already demanding we make peace with our enemies so no more young men and women would have to experience the galactic meat grinder.”
“Except our enemy doesn’t want peace.”
“Try telling that to civilians. They’re used to talking heads telling them what to say, do, and think. They don’t know shit about shit when it comes to the hard reality of war, especially with an enemy that isn’t human, doesn’t think like a human, and can’t be predicted as if he were a human.”
“You’re right,” she said, shifting the conversation. “I did it for myself. We’re going to die soon. I wanted to remember something that I can no longer remember.”
“We’re not going to die soon. We’re doing all right.”
“Right now. We’ve been whittled down from two hundred thousand to the twelve of us wandering around western Montana. Our time is coming up quickly.”
“Okay,” I said, not wanting to argue or say anything to suggest she was being a doomsayer.
Even though that same cloud of doom was embedded in my head as well. We were going to die soon. It was only a matter of time, and it felt like we were down to the last bits of sand in the hourglass.
SIX
We woke in a tangle of arms and legs and sweaty blankets. I panicked when I opened my eyes. Sunlight streamed through the store windows, yet the air was dead calm. I sat up slowly, listening for any sounds. Veronica rustled and opened her eyes, then her mouth to say something. I clamped my hand over it, giving her the quiet! gesture with the other. I pointed to my eyes then in a semi-circle at whatever was beyond the tent. She nodded, and I removed my hand.
My rifle was parked next to my suit, but my sidearm was under my folded clothing at the end of the small tent. I checked it, then handed it to Veronica. I counted to three with my fingers, then slowly pulled back the tent flap, expecting to see a Kai plasma rifle pointed at my face, or the insane, demonic visage of a Viper. I was greeted instead with a whiff of something cooking. I looked back at her for a moment, shrugged, then climbed out of the tent as if I were a Spec Ops spook infiltrating an enemy weapons factory.
I heard Veronica chuckle behind me as Sergeant McAdams passed by the aisle, a cigar hanging from her mouth and a beer in her hand. She paused long enough to give us both a once-over, reminding me that neither of us had covered ourselves. I looked back, worried that Veronica might still have her white stockings and lacy top on, or worse, a face full of makeup. Instead, she’d gone back to being Specialist Hollingsworth at some point during the night.
“It ain’t baby back ribs, but it’s ribs,” McAdams said, then continued walking, a light whistle on her lips.
I thought the smell of cooking meat was the last thing that would seem appealing, but as Lieutenant James famously said before getting blown out into space, “Ribs is ribs.”
“What the hell?” I asked Vasquez after dressing and making my way outside. “What happened?”
“Sergeant Lowell ordered us to let you sleep as long as you wanted,” he answered.
“What time is it?”
“Almost four. Want a beer?”
“Seriously? What about the Kai? The perimeter? Vipers?”
“Listen, Private,” Lowell said coming up behind me. “If the Kai show up and we’re strung out, stressed out, and dead tired, is that a better way to die than if we’re properly rested, have full bellies, and the hint of alcohol to brighten our otherwise gloomy ending?”
“Are you drunk, Sir?” I asked.
“No, and that’s a good point. Have a beer or two, but keep it light. We’re moving out soon, but more importantly, if today is the day the Kai finally kill us, I’d like to think it wasn’t because we were too drunk to run away.”
“Roger that, Sir,” I said, giving him a salute. “Does this mean we’re officially giving up? No longer running and fighting? Or whatever it is we’re doing?”
“Negative, Private. This is as close to shore leave as you’ll ever get again, so shut the fuck up and enjoy it instead of wasting it by asking me asinine questions.”
I wanted to ask him about why he picked the department store to hole up for the night, but like almost everything else these days, I kept it to myself. He knew why he did it, and the reasons weren’t as important as the outcome, which wasn’t that Hollingsworth had been allowed the chance to get all dolled up. He gave us something we’d rarely experienced since the day we crash landed in Arkansas: a true break in the fighting, one without concern for what the enemy—or even our own side—was up to. Our side was dying in droves. Their side was trucking right along at whatever pace was comfortable to them, killing our side in droves.
“Roger that, Sir,” I said.
Vasquez grinned at me, then handed me a paper plate with a small rack of ribs on it, and what looked like reconstituted coleslaw.
“What kind of ribs are these?” I asked suspiciously.
“Private Lofgren,” Lowell said loudly, turning around and walking back to us. “Did I not just tell you to quit asking asinine questions and enjoy your moment of rest and relaxation?”
I felt my face turn red as the others laughed at me. I saluted Lowell, took the warm beer offered to me by Corporal Jordan, and wandered off to find a place to eat.
“Didn’t want to be seen with me?” Veronica asked, sitting down next to me.
“No. I just figured you wanted to get on with it. I didn’t want you to think I’d fallen in love with you or anything.”
“I’m partnering up with Bishara tonight,” she said, not looking at me.
“Okay.”
“That doesn’t bug you?”
“Are you looking for a conflict here?” I asked, putting my plastic spoon on my plate.
“No.”
“Then why would it bother me? This is the Marines. We fuck each other without attachment. It’s how it’s always been.”
“I know. It’s just that we never partnered up before, and last night…”
“Look,” I said, reaching out for her hand. “Last night was special. For you, and for me. I got to see you as you were, as you wish you were. It was… I don’t know what it was, other than it was special. It’s passed. I’ll always remember it, remember you, and I’ll always have the knowledge that it was me you chose to be with during that moment.”
“Stop,” she said, looking away. “I don’t want to cry again. I’m done crying.”
“Okay. I’m just saying, it happened, and it means a lot to me. It was more than the typical hookup. I don’t want you to ever think that you were some notch on my bedpost. But I know that you’re moving on, getting back in the groove. We all are. If you want to partn
er up again, of course I’m up for it. Even without the sexy lingerie and makeup.”
“Even if I was covered in blood and guts?”
“Even if you were covered in your own blood and guts, and missing both of your legs and half of your face.”
“That might be the hottest, yet most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard.”
She leaned over and kissed me, allowing me to taste the salty-sweet barbecue sauce from the ribs on her lips for a few seconds, then she was gone. I suddenly lost my appetite, though I powered through the entire rack before calling it quits. A soldier needed calories, and despite what modern science claimed, I believed we still needed meat. Meat had become scarce over the last decade unless you were on the front lines or in the upper echelons of the government. By the time I got to play soldier, meat was nonexistent unless you were a general, an admiral, or the chancellor.
***
“Listen up,” Sergeant Lowell called out over the Wire. “Since it seems this place is haunted, we’ll stay another night. Give the other half of us a chance to get some more rest.”
A few cheers came back over the Wire. I nodded my head, though no one could see it. It was worth the ten excruciating minutes of suiting up, jamming a bunch of tubes into your orifices, making sure all your neural and haptic feedback connections were functioning properly, and then a quick sixty-second calibration, just to climb right back out of the suit for another night.
“Are you and Hollingsworth still together?” Talamentez asked. I hadn’t heard her come up behind me.
“No,” I said.
“You want to partner up?”
I smiled at her. “Sure.”
She gave me a wink and wandered off to some other task, while I returned to mine. I wasn’t sure I wanted any company tonight, but decided to go with my luck while it was hot. I had no idea why suddenly Hollingsworth then Talamentez wanted to partner up. Nina Talamentez, I could maybe see because I’d cleaned myself up fairly nicely. I still wasn’t sure what had sent Hollingsworth my way. I decided I better not whistle while I worked. I knew I was going to get some dirty looks for hooking up with two different women in as many nights, but it wasn’t like I’d be the first one.
