FountainCorp Security: Diaries of a Space Marine

by Watson Davis

  "Up," Dorothea said. "Anyone can lie on the ground and get their butt kicked. Up."

  Vanessa's hands touched the girl, but Santina shoved them away, forcing herself to her feet, stumbling, swaying from side to side but regaining her equilibrium as she wiped the sweat out of her eyes with her forearm.

  "Hands up," Dorothea said, her hand looping out once more.

  Santina raised her arms before her face, somehow getting her forearms between her head and Dorothea's hand, bracing herself, squeezing her eyes closed; the impact sent her staggering a few steps to the side.

  "If you have the tenacity to not give up, to not give in, to find some way, any way, to keep going, you can make it through," Dorothea lectured, pawing at Santina's head, but the girl jerked back out of the woman's reach. "You can whip the shit out of someone bigger, stronger, even more skilled—if you never, ever give up."

  Santina backed away from Dorothea, but kept her hands up.

  Dorothea said, "You might have your ass handed to you, yes, and you might take a beating, but if you don't give up until you're dead, you're going to beat a lot of people." She lunged forward, swinging her arm.

  The girl ducked, shuffling away, her arms somehow punching at Dorothea, each movement a blazing agony; tears rolled down her cheeks, mixing with the perspiration.

  "Most people fear the pain," Dorothea continued, her arm moving in a long, looping arc. "They just want it to stop, to go back to their comfy beds in their pajamas and eat ice cream."

  Santina moved to block the hand, but it was a feint, luring the girl out of position. Dorothea's other hand lashed out, slamming against the girl's cheek, hammering her to the ground once more.

  "Embrace the pain," Dorothea said. "Let it be your asset, your secret weapon, the source of your power goading you on. No one can defeat you if you keep getting back up."

  Santina pushed herself from the floor, wavering, lumbered away until she found the wall, and let it help her, hold her up. She raised her hands, saying, "When you're going through hell..."

  Dorothea smiled. "Keep going."

  # # #

  "Which suits are we taking?" I raised my hand, leaning back in my seat in the meeting room, near the top, away from everyone, my feet on the back of the seat in front of me. "Loadouts?"

  "Good questions." Edmund lounged against his desk, the mission specs on the screen behind him. "Because of the mission parameters, our teams will be in light recon suits, slugthrowers only. We are playing the spotters on this one, along with Galik's team. Major Barraco's team will be the sledgehammer in heavy suits, but they're going to be hidden and kept in reserve. We only fight as a last resort."

  "We've never drilled anything like this." I gnawed on my lower lip.

  Vanessa raised her hand, asking, “Should we take armor-piercing rounds, just in case?”

  “Not necessary for this op; they’d only slow us down.” Edmund stood, looking around the room. "If there are any other questions, I'll answer them on the ship. Get your kits together. We will meet in the Old Girl in twenty, with the alarm in fifteen. Right?"

  We all stood, shuffling to the door, but Edmund pointed to me. "Dorothea, a word, if you please."

  I stopped in the aisle, my hand on the back of a seat, staring at him, edging aside to let Malordo pass me. I nodded. "Of course, boss."

  He sat down on his desk, pursing his lips. I followed everyone down, hanging back on the first row, and plopped into a seat across from him, watching the rest of the team's backs shuffle out the door and the door shut behind them.

  "You've got something to say to me?" I glared back at Edmund, arching an eyebrow.

  "Yeah." He shook his head, pointing at me, pointing at himself, back and forth. "We can't continue doing this, barely talking to each other, ignoring what we did like we never did it. It's bad for the team, bad for communication."

  "Yeah." I nodded, swallowing. "I agree. We have a good team with good people. But"—I stood, stepping down to the level of his desk, aiming my finger at him—"the biggest problem facing this team is you."

  "Yeah, well, maybe." He stood, taking a deep breath, his fists on his hips. "But I am the team lead, and it is still my team. I've put in the request to Gentili for you to be transferred."

  "Ah, of course." I smiled, my blood pounding in my ears, so many things I wanted to say, so many things I had said to him in my head wanting to cross my lips. "Is this how you deal with tough situations? By not dealing with them at all? By sending them away? We can work this out between you and me. If we communicate."

  "You're a damned good soldier," he said. "You should run your own team. You have more than enough experience. A couple more FC missions, and the brass will be begging you to take one anyway."

  "What does me deserving a team have to do with the price of biscuits on Titan?" I asked. "We're talking about this team, about us, and about communication. My career is a totally other thing."

  "Fine." His nostrils flaring, he moved closer to me, all meaty broad shoulders and musky scent. "You want to talk? I can't do my job with you around. You confuse me. You fuck with my brain. You climb around in there and rattle around, so I’m sending you away. Problem solved."

  "Deal with us, then," I said, pushing his chest with my right hand, trying to make some space that didn't stink of him. "Our relationship, you and me, what are we to each other? Do you want me? Do you want her? Talk to me, and let's do our fucking jobs."

  "Don't touch me." He grabbed my forearm and pulled me in to him, bending down until his forehead touched mine. "Don't tell me what to do. If I think it's best for this team for you to be somewhere else, that's my damned call."

  He wrapped his arm around my waist, crushing me against him.

  I kissed him, my arms around his thick neck, my left leg twining around his calf, yanking it from beneath him and throwing him to the desk.

  When the 15-minute alarm went off, we scrambled to put our clothes back on.

  # # #

  "He's cheating on me." Christal hated her lower lip for quivering as she spoke. She lowered her head so no one would see, gazing at the bottom of her empty shot glass. Her forearms resting on the bar held up the majority of her weight with her legs wrapped around a barstool, feet intertwined with the spokes between the legs.

  Darla patted her back. "Forget him. He's an asshole, and a stupid asshole at that."

  "Right now, he's with that damned new girl, I just know it." Christal forced herself erect, her eyes searching behind the bar for Sean. "She's his damned type."

  Sean stood by the taps, half sitting on the edge of the ice dispenser with his arms crossed over his chest, his lips pursed, his eyes narrowed.

  Christal waved her right hand in the air in a circle, finishing her drink with a flourish before her index finger tapped on her empty glass. "I'll have another."

  "I think you should give up on men, in general," Darla said from Christal's left, swinging around and settling her back on the bar, her elbows resting there with her forearms dangling down, legs akimbo. "They're all a bunch of insensitive, moronic dicks."

  "Thanks so much," Wendell said from Christal's right, swirling his rum and soda, his eyes bleary, one three-quarters open, the other half-closed. "I'm going to take your birthday present back."

  "My birthday was a couple of months ago." Darla lay her head back so she could glare past Christal at Wendell.

  "Yeah?" Wendell nodded, knocking back the rest of his liquor and licking his lips. "I didn't give it to you because I knew you were going to say something hateful and mean like that. So I'm just going to take it back and get a refund."

  Sean pulled Christal's glass away from her to the other side of the bar. "I should call someone to escort you guys home."

  "I can and will arrest you." Christal pointed her finger at him, or at least, in his basic direction. "I'll take another shot."

  "You should find someone new, someone else," Darla said, her head now lying on the bar, her eyes staring at the ceiling. "The
re are some great dating sites. You could meet a nice girl, and you could end up in an emotionally healthy relationship for a change, instead of some passionate mistake."

  Sean poured a shot of vodka into Christal's glass. She turned to Darla. "How many fabulous people have you ended up with from those sites and how long did you stay with them?"

  Wendell laughed and bent forward to point at Darla. "Oh, that's going to leave a mark, that one is."

  "Oh, shut up," Darla said, but with her gaze still fixed on the ceiling, Christal couldn't tell who she was talking to.

  "Maybe, just maybe… and I'm just running this out there as a possibility, mind you, just brainstorming…" Wendell said, "…but if he's having a relationship with a coworker, maybe you should have a relationship with a coworker just to get back at him."

  "Thank you," Christal said to Sean, taking her glass from him, studying it, whirling toward Wendell. "A relationship with a coworker?"

  He nodded, gulping. "Couldn't hurt, could it?"

  Christal thought about Wendell's idea, running through all the single guys in the office, all the single guys in other offices. She sighed, shaking her head. "None of my coworkers are good-looking or attractive."

  Wendell's mouth dropped open.

  "Ha!" Darla screamed, pointing her finger at Wendell. "Take that, you heartless and unthinking penis."

  "Well, that did wound me." Wendell edged away from Christal, turning to glower the other way.

  "I couldn't fuck you." Christal thumped him on his back. "You're like one of my best friends."

  "Like?" He twisted his head around to stare at her. "One? I'm 'like one' of your best friends? I'm your damned partner."

  "Maybe I could make that asshole jealous if I found someone good-looking to start dating," Christal said, throwing back her shot, the vodka burning down into her stomach. She shook her head, blinking her eyes, opening them wide. "Whoa."

  Darla cackled with laughter.

  "So you're saying I'm not good-looking?" Wendell hunched over his glass, leaning on his forearms. "Shit."

  "I know what I'm going to do," Christal said. "I'm going to demand copies of all the FC internal security cam footage, and I'm going to stalk that son of a bitch, that's what I'm going to do."

  "You can do that?" Darla asked.

  Sean shook his head, raising his hands and walking away. "I'm not hearing any of this."

  "No," Christal said, slapping her hand on the bar. "I mean, I can't request access to harass someone, but we've got a case where we need to track a suspect through the FC section of the station. Once I get that, I could stalk Edmund as a bonus."

  "But what are you going to do?" Wendell leaned into Christal, their shoulders touching.

  Christal leaned into him, the weight of their bodies keeping them upright. "What do you mean?"

  "So you're going to illegally commandeer video of him walking around all day and night, and do what?" Wendell rubbed his forehead. "Eat ice cream, drink wine, and scan video of him all day long? What does that accomplish? That's really just sad, if you ask me."

  She pushed him away. "I don't recall asking you."

  "You should watch the girl he's cheating with." Darla spun around to face Christal, her elbow on the top of the bar, her hand holding up her head. "She's super-sexy. I'd bring the chocolate and wine to watch that video all day."

  “I’ve got it.” Christal laughed. "I'm gonna contact the Gorovitz Family and have both of them abducted and held hostage as political prisoners."

  "Have both of them sold into a sex-slave ring?" Wendell stroked his chin, eyes growing even more glazed.

  "You guys watch too many HV shows." Sean stomped back and took Christal's glass, setting it in the sink behind the bar. "The Families don't do those things in real life. They're gypsies and merchants. They’re good, hard-working people."

  Christal laughed, eyes closed, head shaking. Wendell punched her in the shoulder, joining in with his own inebriated guffaws.

  Sean slid his hand in and extracted Wendell's glass. "Right? Families do not abduct people and sell them into bordellos. That shit can't be real. That's HV crap."

  "It's real," Wendell said.

  "We don't allow Gorovitz ships into our space or on our docks," Christal said, pursing her lips. "Which is too bad, because I'd love to donate Edmund and that Vanessa bitch to them."

  # # #

  Darnell Nieve found a seat in a shadowy corner of the club, away from the flashing lights, away from the other customers who crowded the catwalks. He wiped the cushion with a towelette before sitting down and tossing the towelette into an ashtray. After brushing his hands on his trousers, he folded them together on the table before him and watched a pale woman on the stage remove her clothing, gyrating her hips and swinging her pendulous breasts.

  "My old friend." Roscoe plodded up between the tables, his arms spread wide and wearing a smile on his brutish face. "I was just going to contact you."

  "I hope you're doing well." Nieve forced a smile to his lips, nodded, then stood back up and opened his arms. He winced as Roscoe hugged him, squeezing him with unexpected strength, the man's hands running over Nieve's body. "I'm going to need a fresh batch of subjects."

  "I know." Roscoe gestured for Nieve to sit back down, pulling out a seat for himself and dropping into it. "I've heard about your misfortune."

  Nieve eased himself back down into his seat. "What do you mean?"

  "Well…" Roscoe shrugged, failing to hide the grin on his face behind the pursing of his lips. "In my line of work, one hears things."

  "What have you heard?" Nieve moved his hands to his lap so Roscoe couldn't see them shaking, working hard to keep his breathing normal, wondering if he should have brought muscle. Idiot.

  "You are in a bit of a bind." Roscoe crossed his arms, placing his forearms on the table and leaning forward on them to crane his face toward Nieve. "FountainCorp's about to create a mess of the LightDream name based on the samples and data they found on the Frozen Lotus before they atomized the place."

  "FountainCorp?" Nieve licked his lips, swallowing into a now dry throat, his thoughts racing. "I'd prefer that not happen."

  "I suspected that might be the case," Roscoe said with a wink. "We have friends and associates in FountainCorp. Friends who might be willing to help you for a fee."

  "They'll destroy the data and all the backups?" Nieve asked, waiting for the gotcha that always came in any negotiation with a Family.

  "They could be convinced to do that, I think," Roscoe said. "But the sample? That's more complicated."

  "The sample?" Nieve said, crossing his arms over his chest, his breathing easy now. Here it comes. "They retrieved tissue samples? Or lab results? How much?"

  "A little girl they rescued from the station." Roscoe leaned back in his chair, spreading his hands and almost leering at Nieve. "And some bodies that were not so lucky."

  "A girl?" Nieve lunged forward, his hands grabbing the edge of the table. "Someone from the station?"

  "Yes and no," Roscoe said. "One of the subjects we got for you. Jarod thought you might want to take a close-up inspection of her, thought you would be pleased to pay extra for that."

  "One of them is still alive?" Nieve whispered.

  Roscoe shrugged once more. "She'll cost you a teensy bit."

  # # #

  "Hero decided to show up," Vanessa called out, laughing.

  Breathing deep after running to make the launch, I tossed my kit into my locker. "Edmund here yet?"

  "No." Malordo giggled through her exterior comm, already strapped into her flight seat, her helmet hiding her face. "After all his don't-dare-be-late BS, and here you two are, bringing up the rear? Hahahaha!"

  Sly collapsed into his seat, his helmet in his hands, chuckling. "Here he comes."

  Edmund stomped onto the deck, shaking his head, pursing his lips. "Everyone better be on board, all’s I got to say."

  "Yeah." I glanced back at him, catching his eye. "We started arguin
g after the mission brief and kinda lost track of time."

  Edmund slammed his fist against the button to retract the ramp and seal the ship. "Hmm."

  "We were wondering." Vanessa locked into her berth, spreading her hands. "Neither one of you responded to your messages. We were getting worried. We couldn't imagine a single scenario to explain such delinquent behavior from you two."

  "Yeah?" I pursed my lips, grabbing my flight helmet and plopping down into my seat. "That's not conducive for communication, is it? We need to do something to improve our communication skills. Right, Edmund?"

  Sly made the "O" face, his lips forming a circle, his eyebrows raised. He slid his helmet on, the faceplate obscuring his comical expression.

  Edmund stormed past me to the C&C chamber, his own helmet on his head.

  I shoved my helmet on, sat back into my armor, yanked at the straps to buckle myself in, and pulled up the mission specs and supplemental material on my HUD, flipping through the detail files.

  "Okay, everyone," Edmund's voice said in my ears. "Enough chatter. Let's try to focus our minds on the mission. The Unity is going to try to harm a FountainCorp exec, and we are part of the team protecting him. Let's think about that, chatter about that."

  Captain Lu's calm voice broke in over our channel. "Everyone snuggle up and snuggle in, Control gave me the go-ahead."

  Sly leaned over to me and whispered, "You've got to tell me what you guys fought over. Sounds awesome."

  The layout of the station we’d studied during the briefing rose up before my eyes, overlaying the background information on the FountainCorp executive's family.

  "Thanks, Lu. We're clear." Edmund continued, "We are going in quiet to keep a low profile, blend in with the locals, and make sure this Mr. Satele's career doesn't end with a whimper or a bang today. No heroics, but no one with evil intent gets close to our boy."

  # # #

  I leaned against a wall across a street from marble stairs leading up to a fancy apartment complex, a small shop selling leather purses to my left, an ice cream shop to my right, and a crush of foot traffic, carts and lorries honking on the road. A ratty poncho hid my light recon armor from view, with a hood covering most of my helmet and my faceplate dangling from my belt ready to be attached, pistols holstered.