by S. V. Brown
With a grin, Paris couldn’t define, the marine barked at him, “Move it, mascot.”
“Yes, um, officer.”
“I’m not an officer, sir mascot. I’m a sergeant.”
Sir Mascot? Could mascots even be officers? He hadn’t been knighted, that he knew of. Paris was insulted, and confused. The sergeant’s uniform was pretty spiffy though so what would his look like? As he marched behind the marine he asked, “Excuse me, ah sarge. Is that mascot as in ‘witch’ or ‘good luck’?” If he was going to say “witch” Paris decided to put a spell on the soldier and get the hell out and hide for a few hundred years.
The sergeant gave him a contemptuous look. “You don’t know anything about the marines do you … sir?”
“Um—”
“Good luck, it means good luck.”
Paris breathed out in relief.
“I don’t understand it though.”
Paris hurried his pace a little, struggling to keep up. “Why?” Did he have the warehouse marine to thank or curse for his position?
“Usually our mascots are pretty, and female.”
Paris scowled.
Ahead was a marine cart. As Paris climbed in he wondered how it moved for there was no horse. The marine poked a key into a keyhole and turned it. The thing rumbled.
“Ah, it’s a marine mobility unit.” Paris was suitably impressed.
The sergeant gave him another withering look. “It’s a jeep.”
As they drove along in silence Paris grew amazed. It was a few hours but Paris couldn’t believe the distance they’d made in that time! He shivered, wrapped his arms around himself feeling chilled and jumped when a sweater landed on his lap. He twisted seeing a frizzy mass of brown hair framing the face of a girl grinning at him from the back seat. Next to her was his pack and boots. “Hi, Paris.”
He glanced at the sergeant, who seemed unperturbed, before pulling on his top twisting again to grab his boots. Thick soft tubes were stuffed inside.
“You need to wear those things on your feet, they’re socks. It’ll make wearing boots more comfortable.”
He pulled them on liking the cushioning and warmth. Next, he pulled on his boots noting they were more comfortable and his feet didn’t move around as much. “Nice.” He turned to stare at a curvy Path in her marine uniform. “What are you up to?”
“Saving your scrawny arse. I’m the mascot and I just fogged Mick’s brain a little.”
Paris sighed. “I owe you.”
She shrugged prettily and grinned. “We’re in the marines!”
“What am I doing?”
“Well, you are down as a medic,” she said smiling and leaned forward to watch the road. “But we can change that if you’d like?”
Paris saw Ispa looming ahead again and sighed. Soon he’d be off this world. He wondered though, at how things might have been. Feeling depressed he said, “You knew they were controlling me.”
Path nodded, her green eyes serious. “I was trying to find a way to release you but the spells were complex.”
Magician’s Elect were the top dogs. And now he was stuck in the marines! “Damn it.”
The sergeant stopped off by Career Worlds and Paris was reluctant to get out.
Path winked at him and jumped out and he followed suit, albeit slowly. She leaned over and touched Mick on the head. “Continue your duties.”
“Yes, ma’am. See you soon?”
Paris saw the lovesick expression and groaned.
“Yes, on the ranger. Bye now.”
He took her hint and drove off, startling some horses not used to mechanical beasts.
“What are we going to do? We’re stuck with the marines now.” Paris peered into the window hoping not to see the crazy chick.
Path nodded solemnly but pointed out, “This gives you time to escape them and work out a plan. Besides, how long are we in for?”
“Didn’t you check?” He said accusingly, pretending he knew.
“No. I just wanted to be with you.”
Feeling like a dog to his cat, he shuffled his feet and hung his head. “I didn’t read the fine print.”
“I’ll sort it out!” she said cheerily.
Paris knelt down and checked his pack even as Path ducked into Career Worlds. After several minutes a smug looking Path came out and strutted towards him. She was so tiny and appealing he wasn’t surprised she ended up the mascot. Her face was round and lips, pink.
“Only twenty years, Paris.”
He stared at her. “Only?”
She nodded, looking a little alarmed.
Paris yelled in delight. “That’s great news!”
Path clapped her hands and accepted his hug, meowing in his ear. He laughed and set her down.
“Come on then, let’s get off this planet.”
Spell Seven – Defying Gravity Act
Paris and Path waited in line to board the dark shuttle that would take them to the war ranger with other marines still lining up behind them. They made a merry bunch. Not in the least bit keen to get off the planet, Paris thought ironically and inwardly snorted. No one looked back. At first he’d been a little miffed Path was with him but as she placed her tiny hand in his, the resentment died away. Did marines hold hands? He doubted it. But she was the mascot so maybe it was okay.
They took another step forward and waited again.
“What adventures do you think we’ll have?”
Paris had no idea but he’d watched shows on brave heroes ranging off in space to save worlds. He sighed. They were almost at the hatch. Inside it was dark and two marines stood on either side checking credentials. Every time someone new stepped in they moved to the right and disappeared into the depths. At last it was their turn. The bored looking marines grew more animated and they were shown to the left. Paris wondered if those for the meat grinder were heading right and he was grateful that he’d been saved from that. Actually, he should remember to thank Gareth for that ring. The one ring that saved them all, well, him at least.
Paris leaned down. “Considering they don’t get training like I thought they would they are all well-disciplined.”
She nodded and her features were hidden from his in the darkness of the passage. They followed a marine and then turned right and were shown to a small space with three rows of chairs. They were buckled in and left to wait. Paris realized he should have gone to the toilet and kept turning around to get the attention of someone.
“What’s the matter with you?” Path asked, leaning towards him from the row across the aisle.
He mouthed, “Loo.”
Her emerald-colored eyes widened and then she giggled. Clicking her fingers and batting her eyelids saw Paris released and allowed to go. He moved to the back of the room, seeing a little dunny sign flashing “vacant”, he opened the door and moved in. As he was relieving himself an announcement sounded from outside.
“Marines, we are lifting off.”
“Oh…”
He was flung to the side and the liquid from the toilet sprayed up. He quickly tucked in his neglected boy just in the nick of time as his front was flung against the door. Even so it took him a moment to recover. He tried to seal the toilet lid but it was too late. He stunk of pee. Moaning that magic didn’t have a place everywhere was pointless and he couldn’t open the door. He tried to cast a spell but was flung to the side. After that he just crouched down.
An hour later the door opened and Path peeped in. “Oops.”
He bit off his reply as she handed him fresh clothes. Paris didn’t need to see his reflection in the little mirror again to know his hair was dripping and sticking up, he had red marks on his face, and was paler than usual. But he did glance at the mirror as he left, seeing it smeared with saliva when his face had been pressed up against it.
“There’s a shower in the next block.”
Fuming he left and quickly dashed into the next block desperate to clean himself. After drying and dressing he headed back down the passage and was awarde
d with a few frowns from those running ranger checks. But no one questioned it. Paris thought it was because how could he have gotten out of the harness unless someone official released him? Groaning softly Paris hurried back and sat, trying to work out how to get the harness on.
“Paris.”
“What?”
“We don’t need it at the moment.” Path’s voice was apologetic. “I’m sorr—”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Paris—”
He raised a hand. “Ah, ah.”
“But—”
He turned and frowned. “In the future if they don’t let us out it’s probably for good reason.”
“They should have hatches on the toilets.” She sounded annoyed at the marines lack of thought. “I’m going to suggest that!”
Paris’s mouth opened and then closed. He put his hands on his face and groaned. When Path “suggested” something it usually happened. A man’s voice sounded close to him.
“Is there anything wrong, sir?”
He looked up and spread his fingers peering up at the marine. “No, just feeling like an idiot.”
The smartly dressed marine stood stiff in the aisle. “We’ll be docking with the war ranger in one hour. You may roam around the blue quadrant and then return to your assigned seats at the announcement. Is that clear, sir?”
Paris nodded. He stood and noted he was taller than the marine. In fact, he was taller than most of them. “One thing I’m not clear on is what to call everyone.”
“Never mind, sir. It’ll be clear once you’ve spent a night on the old bird.”
Paris kept quiet but met the eyes of Path who raised her eyebrows.
“I could find out?”
The marine frowned.
Paris shook his head. “No! We’re marines, Path.”
The marine shouted. “We’re marines!”
A resounding shout echoed around the room and came from the passage. “Oorah!”
Paris half laughed but saw Path’s warning look. He resumed a more serious disposition and nodded to the marine. “Very good, marine.” Paris quickly headed out to explore the blue quadrant. Most of the hatches were sealed and coded not to be opened. He was able to access the gym but he quickly left after being assaulted by the smell and seeing the muscular bodies parading around. Were they just that keen? They were on a shuttle ranger so why use the gym? He didn’t want to admit he didn’t want to strip off to give them something to laugh at; his white, bony body. The next open hatch led to a mess but there was no one in there so he headed back for their cabin. When he returned he saw Path curled up in the seat having a sleep. A marine was gazing at her and sighing while another marine came in with a blanket, arranging it on her. He leaned down closer to Path and stood, puzzled.
“What?” the other marine asked.
“Our mascot is purring.”
Before Paris knew it he was sure every marine allowed in their quadrant came in to listen to Path. At one point he couldn’t get up to go to the loo. But even when he did reach it the smell assaulted him.
He backed out and bumped into a marine. “Anything wrong, sir?”
“Ah, there’s a mess in there.”
The marine frowned and opened the door. He started yelling, “Corporal Jones!”
“Yes, sir.”
‘Get a private in here. Some idiot broke protocols. Find whoever it was and bring him or her or it to me!”
“Right away, sir.”
The marine looked up at Paris and apologized. “We’ll get the head cleaned a.s.a.p. there’s another across the way.”
“Some people!”
“They have no respect, sir.”
“Thank you.” Paris got out of the room, headed for the one across the passage, strangely empty now the marines were all in his compartment, and after relieving himself stared at his image in the mirror. The dark eyes and hair stood out with his pale almost skeletal appearance. Everyone seemed to be calling each other “sir” and he couldn’t work out the insignias. Some markings were of solid red squares, some triangles, others were circles and there were even a couple of love heart shapes. Maybe it was some kind of secret insignia code. Still, he couldn’t wait to get on the war ranger and begin in earnest. When he returned he saw who he thought must be the private cleaning up the mess and muttering something under her breath. Somewhat embarrassed he returned to his seat determined not to be an idiot again.
The rest of the trip was uneventful and he had no screens to watch the docking procedures. Paris filed through, with Path, through a hatch, an external trap, a tube, into another trap, then hatch and into another corridor. There were no portholes, no monitors, no wall displays. He was shown to a small cabin.
The marine said, “Before I forget make sure to stow away your gear when not in use.” He also gave Paris a quick safety talk, and then he said, “Now, this cabin has been assigned to you, sir. For the duration of your stay.”
“Huh?” Paris noted a few green uniform stacks folded nicely on the bed with solid red diamond shapes on the shoulder tabs. Shiny black boots sat next to a rugged pair of tanned-colored boots on the floor. His pack was there already as well.
“For the period of time you signed up for, sir.”
Paris stepped in, ducking through the hatch, and raised his arms. He could almost touch the wall on either side while it was about twice as long as he was. The narrow bed was to his right, a long desk to his left. At the foot of the bed was a metal chest. Under the desk were cabinets and lockable drawers. There was a small stool fixed to the floor in what looked like a concave recess in the desk and a monitor attached to the wall.
“But we get to go on planet don’t we?” Paris would go nuts in here.
“Depends on the mission. Sometimes we board other rangers, sometimes space stations, occasionally planets.”
“I see.”
“Actually, sir.” He lifted something off the little desk. “Here’s your training pill. Once you take it you’ll see.”
Paris stared at the little plastic container that was opened. Inside was a yellow capsule.
“Liquid data, sir. It’s called the TC. Contains your duties while on board, your roster, your first mission and how to be a marine.”
Paris lifted the pill out. “Liquid data. I heard about these.”
“You get a few chances to get it right as the commander likes a big hug club. The last marshal liked a big nookie club putting it politely, sir.”
Paris grumbled. Just his luck he missed out on that. “I’d heard the marines don’t have commanders or marshals?”
He shrugged. “They’re trialing new systems such as amalgamation of the heads. Like shoving a chef in a jet fighter if you ask me. But the good news is if she gets booted out then it’ll be the usual stuff.”
“I haven’t heard marines swearing, is that the commander’s doing as well?”
The marine rolled his eyes. “Yes, sir. We have to be polite at all times and watch our language or we get detention like naughty boys and girls.”
Paris almost found that funny. “What does TC stand for?”
“Training Corp, sir.” The marine tapped the desk making it light up. He smiled, came to attention and strode out. Paris ignored the desk with keyboard rising out between the concave recess and monitor to lean out of the hatch. He saw Path waving from a few hatches away. He checked up and down the passage and headed for her cabin. To his annoyance the mascot’s cabin was three times as large, she had her own bathroom, and sitting room.
“This just isn’t fair!” he said turning around on the spot.
She smiled prettily. “Well, you’ve done pretty good too.”
He paced around. “Have you even seen my cabin?”
“Most share with two others while the bottom few ranks are in one big cargo-like area.”
“Oh.” He felt a little self-conscious now.
She lifted her pill. “Together?”
He nodded. “Do you have water … I didn
’t notice any in … my … room.”
But she had her own little kitchenette as well. Grumpily he accepted the cup and on three they took their pills. He blinked and waited but nothing happened. He looked down at Path who was tapping her little foot. “Do you feel anything yet?”
She shrugged. “Mustn’t work on us.”
“What do you mean? They know where we’re from.”
She waved her hand breezily. “Not where we’re from. Who we are. There was a clause in the files that said, ‘No magicians allowed’.”
Paris slapped his hand to his head. “Are you crazy! Why didn’t you say!” He quickly ran to her hatch, peered out and tried to close it. It took several goes. He supposed the pill was supposed to tell him how to operate the hatch controls properly. He returned and she was curled up on the sofa, her brown frizzy hair like a cloud, and green eyes innocent. “But Paris, you signed first. I just followed.”
“Marines don’t just blindly follow!”
“Yes, they do.”
“No, they … oh yeah, you’re right.”
He paced around and clenched his hands before collapsing on the sofa next to her. “What are we going to do? Do you even know what sort of trouble we’re in!”
“We’re magicians aren’t we?”
Paris groaned.
She sat up and jumped off the couch heading to her desk with computer. Her fingers danced over the keyboard and she called up their files.
“What are you doing?”
“Here. You are a medic with the L Squad. It lists everything you have to do. But just use magic. What we need to do—”
“Is get a handle on marine life outside the jobs.”
“I think you just get a short haircut and say ‘oorah’ a lot.”
Paris laughed at her. “It’s more than that. But … good thinking.”
She purred and rubbed up against his arm in a way he used to like when she was a cat but now it was a little disturbing as it was her breast on his arm.
“Err, Path?”
Purrrrrr?
He began to enjoy it a little more. “Never mind.”
Spell Eight – Token Act
