FountainCorp Security

by Watson Davis

  Santina shrugged, forcing a "Yeah" out through her tightening chest.

  "So, here it is; here's the deal," the soldier said. "If you really want to die, let me know. I will put you out of your fucking misery."

  Santina couldn't say a word; she peered into the soldier's eyes, into her soul, comprehending her seriousness, her horrifying sincerity. Santina realized how close to death she was, and she realized she wanted to live. She wanted to live. Santina peeked up at the place where she thought the doctors had placed cameras to monitor her.

  "Don't worry." The soldier smiled, shaking her head. "This is between you and me. The cameras are off, a malfunction. But when I was about your age, I thought I wanted to die, too. I convinced myself I'd fought through hell for nothing, just to end up in a worse place than I'd left."

  Santina blinked.

  The soldier released her throat. "I don't know what you've been through, but I don't give a rat's ass. That's for you and your heart to work out, but I'm going to tell you something someone special told me when I had the barrel of a blaster in my mouth. I want you to hear me out, okay?"

  Santina nodded. "K."

  "A sergeant major told me something an old politician on Earth said a long damned time ago. He said when you're going through hell, keep going."

  Santina licked her lips and sighed, waiting for the soldier to say something more, something deep, something important. She blinked her eyes. "That's it? Those are your words of wisdom? That's supposed to help me deal with what I've gone through, what I've seen, what I've heard?"

  "That's all I got." The soldier grinned, backing toward the door. "Think about it. If you decide the memories of the shit you've gone through are too much for your prissy little butt to bear, tell me, and I'll end you, quick and painless, with nothing the medicos can piece back together."

  "Keep going, huh?" Santina grunted.

  "Yeah." The soldier opened the door. "And if you keep going, you might just be able to get a little revenge on the fuckers who did this shit to you."

  Santina stared at her, studying her grim face. "Have you?"

  The soldier stopped, her body halfway out the door, raising an eyebrow. "Have I what?"

  "Gotten your revenge?"

  "No," she whispered, her eyes gazing into the distance, her nostrils flaring, her body tensing. "Not yet."

  # # #

  I entered the meeting room knowing I faced an ass-chewing of epic proportions, gnawing on my lip and trying not to think about old wounds and unsatisfied scores. The door slid shut behind me. The whole team sat in a half-cylinder room, like an amphitheater with five sets of seats, each seat on a half-circle raised from the previous tier facing the leader's desk and whiteboard. Vanessa, bright-eyed and smiley, sat with her back straight in the first row, right in the middle in front of Edmund’s desk. Lorber huddled up to Vanessa's left, the desk on the right unoccupied. Callus, Moritz, and Boultinghouse spread out on the second tier with empty desks between them. Malordo lounged on the top level, her boots kicked up on the back of an empty seat a level down.

  Edmund lounged on the front edge of his desk, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, arms over his chest, his face scrunched up, scars rippling. "So glad you finally decided to join us."

  I stopped a step inside the door, checking the time, blinking. "I'm four minutes early."

  "Maybe that's good enough for Martians, maybe that's good enough for HART," Edmund said, rocking to a standing position, his arms still crossed, "but in FountainCorp Security, if you're not five minutes early, you're late. Got it?"

  "Yes, sir." I inclined my head, bowing, so he wouldn't see me roll my eyes. I created a reminder to go back through my scheduler and change all the start times for meetings. "Won't happen again."

  "Make sure it doesn't," he said. “And don’t shut off your medcomp reporting feed again, either.”

  I nodded and peeled away, jogging up the steps to an empty seat on an empty row, where I dropped myself in, and made myself comfortable, with Edmund watching me, making a show of waiting for me. I bowed my head to him.

  "This is a sign of the bigger problem," he said. "Moat at least has been through FountainCorp boot camp, but even she's new to the team. We didn't have enough time to get everyone fully integrated before this last cock-up of a mission, and we paid the price for our lack of prep. So we've got a lot of drilling to do in a short amount of time."

  I glanced through my messages, finding a response from Human Resources thanking me for my interest in our Jane Doe and her history, but telling me they didn't need my help in returning her to the safety of her own home station, as well as a message from Director Perisho thanking me for everything, but letting me know I should concentrate on fitting in with my team and let people whose jobs are dealing with PTSD survivors deal with our Jane Doe’s emotional state.

  "Do I have anyone's attention?" Edmund asked.

  "Sir, yes, sir," I said, raising my eyes to focus on him, realizing he was looking at Malordo and grateful for my luck, but he shifted his attention to me, glaring.

  "And what do you think should be on our training agenda, Hero?" he asked.

  "Zero-G CQB," I said without hesitation. "Zero-G movement, comm protocols."

  "Why is that?" He waved his hand and the desk folded down into the platform.

  "We've got plenty of footage of ourselves to critique from the Lotus, and on a personal note, the majority of my close-quarter battle training has been under gravity." I shrugged. "I ran into both Vanessa's and Sly's backs more than once. I hate to slow down the team. If there's some other area that would be more beneficial to the team overall, I will do everything I can to improve that, but in my free time, I'm going to be working on my zero-G movement, because it sucks right now. That’s the skill I’ll have to work on the hardest to even achieve a satisfactory level."

  "You do suck in zero-G." Edmund clasped his hands behind his back, nodding. "So, please, do work on that on your personal time, but we need more work on simple fire-zone coordination. While we're on our way home, stuck in this quarantine, we're going to drill, ladies and gentlemen. We're going to drill until you can point your weapons the right damned way in all situations."

  A 3D fire-zone map appeared, a map shown in military meeting rooms a million times. "Now, give me your undivided attention," he said.

  I pulled up a picture of the crude tattoos on Santina's wrist and the base of her neck, pictures I'd taken during our conversation, and started a search, looking for similar tattoos, which gangs used them and which stations they frequented, glancing up at times to follow along with Edmund's training session.

  What am I doing here? The Jane Doe had asked me if I'd gotten revenge for what happened to me. My stomach knotted at the thought of things I couldn’t allow myself to think about, hadn't thought about in years. Don't think about that shit. That's over.

  My queries, every damned one of them, came back with an 'insufficient privileges' warning. "Dammit."

  "What are you doing up there, Hero?" Edmund called out.

  All eyes turned toward me.

  I looked up, blinked, trying to calm my breathing, to diminish the pounding of my heart. "Taking copious notes, sir."

  "Would you please come down and lead us through the next scenario?"

  "Gladly."

  # # #

  A day out from our home station, I sat down in a conference room I'd never seen before. A round chair reached up from the blue-gray carpet like some artist's demented vision of a silver calla lily instead of a goddamned chair created for you to sit in and be comfy.

  I chose a seat between Vanessa and Sly, shifting my ass around searching for a comfortable position, a way to slouch with my legs crossed, but the sadist who'd designed it made it so you had to sit up straight.

  I slouched in the seat anyway.

  The conference table was a simple metal affair, the surface a polished chrome reflecting the coffered ceiling above, the recessed lighting calm, cool, blue, the
table a long ellipse with fourteen of those abominable chairs.

  Edmund sat across from me, arms crossed, his lips twisting like he'd sipped something foul. Malordo walked in, the last one, six minutes early. She patted my shoulder as she walked by. She sat down on the other side of Sly, settling into the seat without fighting it.

  "Okay." Edmund reached out his hand and placed his palm on the table. "We're all here. Let's get this started."

  Two holographic images appeared at the end of the table—one a library, with wooden shelves full of old-style books and elegant sculptures, the other a conference room similar to the one we were in.

  Our ops commander, Admiral Sylvi Gentili, sat ramrod-straight in her conference room, thin lips set in a frown, her face wrinkled and her hands clasped before her. "Captain Motayen."

  "Yes, ma'am." Edmund inclined his head in a mini salute.

  Director Gus Perisho, the Human Resources agent who worked with the team—gray-haired, brown-eyed, mildly lined but athletic—slid into a chair with thick pillows on the arms and back, a chair looking infinitely more accommodating than this crap we were sitting in. He bounced in his seat, getting the cushions just right, making himself comfy, and leaned back with his elbows on the arms of his chair, his fingertips touching each other.

  Admiral Gentili said, "Good work, Edmund. You and your team adapted well to an escalating situation and gathered important intel on a Unity operation."

  "Thank you, ma'am." Edmund glanced back at me, face sour.

  Director Perisho sighed, his normally chipper expression now grim. His voice soft, a few decibels above a whisper, he said, "I think it only appropriate for us to take a moment of silent reverence for the fallen: Sergeant Tam, Private First Class Landry, and Private Palson."

  He closed his eyes and bowed his head.

  I sat up a little straighter, shifting back into the chair and looking around the table to find everyone with their heads bowed. I squeezed my eyes shut, following everyone's lead, a lump in my throat, a tightness in my chest. I will not cry, dammit.

  "Treasure their memories and try to find some time to think on them during the next few days. They all deserve at least that. Also, let's take a moment for the fifteen thousand inhabitants of the Frozen Lotus station, and whatever horrors they experienced before they met their end."

  With my head still bowed, I peeked, opening my eyes just a bit and glancing around to see everyone with their eyes closed. I shut my eyes again, picturing those once-human zombie things coming at me in my mind, but they transformed into leering miners and painted dolls in tutus. My hands tightened and I ground my teeth.

  Director Perisho continued, his voice droning on, somehow soothing, hypnotic. "Don't think of them as the horror they became, but as real people, mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, that someone somewhere loved. But have no guilt, for what you slew were no longer those people. Okay? Everyone good?"

  Hearing deep breaths and murmurs, I opened my eyes once more and sat back, releasing my tension, not able to consider those things anything other than things that had needed killing.

  Director Perisho glanced at something offscreen, raising his hand, his eyes narrowing. "As soon as the doctors lift your quarantine, I'll schedule individual counseling sessions with everyone. We're going to deal with a lot of ghosts after a mission like that."

  Sly snorted, nodding and mumbling under his breath.

  "Just as I get you guys up to full strength, we're down three again." Admiral Gentili shook her head. "Sorry I couldn't give you some sort of warning about what you found in the Frozen Lotus. We projected this to be a quick in-and-out mission, a great team-building experience for our two new recruits. But, Edmund, do you want to go over the reorganization until we can get some more soldiers to fill out the ranks?"

  "Sure." He leaned forward, resting his massive forearms on the table. "We're going to keep three shorthanded units, but with lead, sergeant, and grenadier. The sergeants and grenadiers will share gunner duties between them."

  Everyone nodded.

  "First Unit will be me, Callus, and Moritz. Second will be Fine, Boultinghouse, and Lorber. Third will be Ohmie, Malordo, and Moat."

  "What?" I shifted in the seat, leaning forward, peering past Sly to Malordo on the other side, fearing she might think I'd done something to take her job as a unit leader. "I didn't... I mean..."

  Fine exhaled, crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head. Sly didn't turn toward me, but reached out with his fist and hit me in the shoulder.

  "It was Missy's idea." Edmund glared at me. "You've got the résumé, but you're going to have to prove to me you understand the concept of orders; namely, the following of said orders."

  Malordo smiled at me, eyes twinkling, shrugging. "When we were up against the shit, I ranked you, but you were in command."

  "I ranked both of you," Fine said, striking the table with the palm of his hand, "and look where that got me."

  "And I'd be a shitstain in space—" Malordo pointed at Fine, rising from her chair.

  "Children," Admiral Gentili said from the end of the table. "This isn't the time or place to work out these issues, but we will work them out, have no fucking fear of that." She stared at something on the other side of the holovid cameras, out of their view. "We do need to talk about the results of the mission. We didn't get the data we expected, but we did get some interesting specimens and some data about the research the Unity is conducting for their future terrorist attacks."

  Above the table, another HV image appeared, showing the station heartbeats before it was nuked out of existence; a hole in the hull gushed atmosphere, but more than atmosphere, more than gases and bits of furniture and pieces of a station once home to thousands of human beings; no, it gushed bodies, tumbling into space, some still alive, or at least not quite dead.

  The scene on the HV shuffled to a sterile examination room, the color scheme of the harsh bluish metal and worn biohazard signs familiar. I recognized Dr. Battenfield, the doc who'd worked on me to fix my ears. One of the creatures lay strapped down to a brushed-metal table, more of a workbench than a gurney or a bed, its skin seeming to adhere to the metal, blue plasma bolts darting out from it.

  The creature strained against its bonds, its chalky skin growing grayer and darker as it struggled, its muscles in harsh relief, pulling up beneath that darkening skin like wires and cables, the HV getting fuzzy with interference.

  "But more importantly, we'd like to thank the team for extracting one Santina Steger."

  Santina?

  The picture switched to the Jane Doe: thin, her eyes haunted and haunting, gazing at things the cameras couldn't pick up. She lounged on a bed with a plump mattress and a fat blanket, wearing a faded hospital gown with stylized flowers and stems, picking at her fingernails, yanking the skin off in chunks from her cuticles. There was still a bandage around her wrist, but she was in a different room from the one where I'd talked to her.

  I swallowed, a hard knot forming in my chest, a desire to kill something burning in my muscles, but I had no one to shoot at. I couldn't look away. She reminded me of something, sitting there, tapped something in me, dredging up memories I’d thought I'd come to grips with, the nightmare of my past, of revenge I needed, debts needing to be paid, vengeance I'd somehow forgotten somewhere along the way.

  Director Perisho said, "Santina, along with several of her friends, went missing from Firefox station two weeks ago."

  I took a deep breath, rocking back and forth.

  "We're having problems getting her to tell us what happened," Perisho said. "We suspect Unity abducted the kids as a group. We're looking for other mass abductions from Belt stations."

  I wrapped my arms around my chest, holding myself steady while bile bubbled up in the back of my throat, the foul bitterness like ashes in my mouth and blood roaring in my ears.

  Sly whispered, "Dorothea? You okay?"

  I couldn't trust myself to answer. I sat mute while Director Perisho expl
ained some of what was being done to the kids in this Unity laboratory and how he'd be working with her to heal the damage done, and I pretended to listen to Admiral Gentili as she went over mission details.

  All I could think about was revenge.

  Cookies

  "Santina?" Gus stood up from the leather chair at his desk, smiling as he tossed a clipboard onto his desk. He held his hand toward her, beckoning her forward.

  Santina edged into Gus Perisho's office, hesitating, ready to run the other way back into the reception area. She wore black jeans and a baggy, gray, cable-knit sweater straight from the FountainCorp catalog, her dusky skin pale, dark eyes shadowy, her hair falling around her face despite everyone's best efforts to pull it back and contain it. Her mouth twitched in little movements, almost like she was trying to say something, possibly an internal dialogue, her head twisted back and forth searching for a place to go, to run, to escape.

  "Please, do come in." Gus stepped around the desk, still holding his hand out to her, and approached her, hunching over so as not to be too big or too threatening. "It's such a pleasure to finally meet you in person."

  She let go of the door, easing it shut by backing into it, her hands behind her, gulping as she studied his office.

  I should have chosen somewhere more sterile, with less stuff, fewer distractions. He kept up his smile, taking her hand in his own—her hand markedly colder than his—and he put his other hand on her shoulder, hoping she'd find a bit of contact reassuring, grounding. "It's so important to talk to people in person, one-on-one, don't you think?"

  She flinched away from him, from his presence, glancing back—a quick glance almost like he'd caught her doing something she shouldn't have been doing. "Yeah. I guess."

  "Sit down wherever you feel comfortable." Gus moved away from her, letting her go, setting her free, wondering if she'd choose the couch, or the two chairs by the stand in front of the old globe of Titan, or the big chair in front of his desk.

  She took a step into the room, her head swiveling, checking the floor before moving her foot. She clasped her hands before her chest and her elbows close to her sides as she made small and careful steps.