Corpsman

by Jonathan P. Brazee

  She’d wanted to change clothes, but they’d all insisted that they all stay in uniform. This was a military planet, after all, and it wasn’t every day that someone was awarded a Navy Cross. Vic had laughed that someone might comp them the meal. Liege didn’t know about that, but as they waited in the bar for their table, some retired colonel paid for their drinks, and no one thought to card Leticia, who was still two months too young to drink.

  Now, after the ceremony and after catching the maglev, she finally had a chance to sit and catch her breath. She still wasn’t too sure that she wanted to eat, but she had to admit, the smell was pretty enticing.

  Porcao de Rio proudly advertised that they served Higgensworth and Griselda. Higgensworth was Higgensworth of Parker Manor, one of the more famous beef cultures. Griselda was Sweet Griselda Blue, one of the more famous pork cultures. Liege had never imagined eating at a restaurant with a patented culture, much less one with two.

  Now, the smell of cooking meat warred with her image of thousands of slabs of living flesh growing in farms around the galaxy. Higgensworth wasn’t even alive anymore. The Blue Angus steer had died 50 or more years ago while slabs of his flesh, like eternal zombies, kept marching on.

  No one else seemed to have her squeamishness, so she thought her reaction was odd as she was a corpsman, supposedly inured to mangled flesh. Leticia was sure excited, at least, although that could be due to this being her first social outing in a long, long time. Liege looked up across to the table to where Leticia was laughing at something Vic had said. She placed her hand on Vic’s forearm, leaning in to whisper something into his ear.

  What? Is she flirting with him?

  Vic whispered something back to her, and she laughed as she leaned back and playfully slapped his shoulder. Liege watched for a moment longer, but Fanny said something about getting another drink, and Leticia turned from Vic to listen to her.

  No, she’s just happy to be out, Liege decided.

  Liege had been a little wary of Tyrell and Leticia coming on the same trip. She dearly loved the guy, who’d do anything for any one of them, but it was also well understood that he’d fuck a dead dog at the side of the road, if it came to that. Leticia was still young and still getting used to living on Tarawa, and she could be a little vulnerable.

  A waiter dressed in some sort of gaucho outfit came to the table and explained the process. Each person had a small wooden cylinder, one side painted green, the other side red. When they wanted meat, they flipped the cylinder so the green side was up. When they were done, it was red side up. He then took their drink orders. For that, Liege didn’t need any explanation. They might not have rodizios in the favelas, but they have caipirinhas, the lime and rum drink that might have originated in Old Brazil but had spread across the galaxy.

  After the explanation, they stood up and went to a very large salad bar. Liege, not sure how much meat she was going to eat, loaded up on the salad. Little signs indicated which ingredients were organic and which were fab, but she didn’t have a mental problem with organic veggies and fruits.

  As they returned to the table and sat down, Vic kept standing.

  He lifted his glass and said, “This is in honor of our good friend and brother-in-arms Doc Neves, and we’ll get to that, but first, I think we should offer a toast to another brother-in-arms, Chief Warrant Officer Tamara Veal!”

  They all stood up and lifted their glasses. People at several tables surrounding them heard Vic as well, and to a person, they all stood up, lifting their glasses high.

  “Here, here!” emerged from a couple of dozen throats.

  Liege felt a lump in her throat as she thought about Tamara, but she had already come to terms with what had happened. She was glad that Vic had thought to remember her.

  “And now, to the reason for the season: to HM3 Liege Neves, our squadmate, our friend, in honor of being awarded the Navy Cross today, we salute you!”

  “Ooh-rah!” shouted her squadmates, joined by at least half of the tables in the restaurant.

  Liege reddened, embarrassed by the attention.

  “He’s going to get someone to pick up the tab for sure now,” Fanny said to Liege. “Smart guy.”

  “OK, OK, sit down,” Liege insisted.

  She tried to focus on her salad, but she was extremely conscious of the eyes on her. No one approached her, thank goodness, but every time she looked up, someone caught her eye and lifted a glass in congratulations.

  A gaucho-slash-waiter approached Liege, a flat wooden platter with a huge piece of beef ribs balanced on one arm. Liege glanced at her little wooden cylinder, but it was still red side up.

  “Ma’am, this is our specialty, costela. Normally, this is by request only, but we’d like to offer it to you now.”

  Liege was hoping for her first piece of meat not to look so, well, like meat. The attentive waiter was looking expectantly at her, and she didn’t want to seem ungrateful, so she just nodded and moved her salad plate to the side.

  He quickly sliced off a fatty-looking piece of meat and laid it on her plate. Then he went around the table giving everyone else a piece.

  “Say hello to Higgensworth!” Pablo said, looking down at the meat with covetous eyes.

  Liege considered just sort of pushing the meat to the side, but she realized everyone was watching her, waiting for her to take a bite so they could begin. She cut a tiny piece of the beef, looked at it closely, took a deep breath, and took the plunge. She put the meat in her mouth. . .

  . . .and it freaking melted! The taste assaulted her tongue, and she looked up at Vic in surprise.

  “Not too grubbing bad, huh?”

  “No, this is good!” she said, taking another bite.

  Two hours later, stuffed to the gills with picanha, fraldinha, ancho, costeleta de cordeiro, and more cuts that she couldn’t remember, and after more than a few caipirinhas, she was in love. She was in love with her ancestral culture, even if she had to travel to Tarawa to discover it, and she was in love with a 50-year-gone Blue Angus steer—her new boyfriend, Higgensworth of Parker Manor. All hints of squeamishness were gone. It wasn’t as if the steer had been actually slaughtered for her pleasure. What she had eaten was simple cloned tissue, nothing more. At least that was how she reasoned it. The truth of the matter was that it was just so freaking delicious. She didn’t know if she’d ever have enough money to make Higgensworth’s acquaintance very often, but for tonight, she was happy.

  And Fanny had been right. Whether Vic had planned it that way or not, the restaurant refused payment.

  She gave out a loud burp, pleased with the volume of it. Fanny tried to follow suit, but what she got out would have embarrassed a mouse, much less a hard-charging Marine.

  “Amateur,” she told Fanny, patting her full stomach.

  Across the table, Leticia was deep into conversation with Vic, who had that sparkle in his eyes that Liege well knew. He wanted to get into Leticia’s panties, that was pretty obvious. But she also knew that Vic was an honorable guy. She could trust him.

  But can I trust Leti?

  “Hey, are we still going to the Deacon’s Hat?” Pablo asked.

  Liege groaned. The Deacon’s Hat was a well-known dance club, and they had planned on checking it out after dinner. But that was before they’d put away a couple of tons each of beef, pork, and lamb.

  “Of course we are, right?” Leticia asked, looking around at the others.

  “If you want to go, then m’lady shall be granted her wish,” Vic said with a horrible medieval accent.

  Really? That’s all you got? Liege wondered.

  She was really too full to dance at the moment, but they only had one night in Kentville, and then they’d be back to the grind. She’d regret it if she simply went back to the room and collapsed on the bed.

  “If they’ve got caipirinhas there, I’m up for it. Heck, if they’ve got beer there, I’m up for it,” she said. “But first, back to the lodge. If I’m going to shake my ass, I’ve g
ot to get out of this uniform and into something a wee bit more comfortable.”

  She got up to the cheers of the rest. Vic put down a pretty hefty tip, and they all started to file out of the restaurant.

  “Thanks, Vic, for all of this. I appreciate it,” she said, pulling him aside.

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s been my pleasure, really, my pleasure.”

  If he glanced quickly at Leticia while he said “pleasure,” Liege let it slide. Tonight was too good a night to worry about possibilities. Tonight was to celebrate the present.

  Chapter 23

  “If that’s your decision, then of course I’ll support you,” Leticia said as they sat around their tiny kitchen table.

  “Kitchen” might be stretching the meaning of the word. There was barely enough room to turn around, and except for a second-hand hotplate, there was nothing with which to cook. All their food came out of a Kiogi fabricator, and their cold items were run through a one-liter chiller. For the hundredth time, Liege reminded herself to look up Kiogi. It certainly wasn’t a universal brand, and judging from the quality of the fabricator, she could understand why. Still, recipes were just programming, and the food it created was OK.

  Liege reached across the table and pushed aside Leticia’s school books to grasp her hands. She just squeezed them for a moment, thankful for her sister’s support. Liege wasn’t even sure what she wanted herself, and it was good to know that Leticia had her back.

  Still holding her sister’s hands, she swung around to where Avó was sitting in his chair, watching a holoserial. At least the living room in the apartment was good-sized, and Liege had sprung for a nice Samsung at the base exchange. Her grandfather seemed happy, more so now that he was getting his treatment.

  “Well, I’ve got to get back. I need to tell the chief today,” she said.

  She’d skipped chow to return to the apartment and tell Leticia. This wasn’t a decision to be made lightly—what she chose would affect all three of them.

  Liege stood and leaned over the table, and still holding her hands, put her chin on top of her sister’s head. She stayed there a moment, then giving one last squeeze, she broke free and turned away. Walking up to her Avó, she put her hand on his shoulder.

  He reached up with his hand to place it on hers, saying, “Ah, Criceto, where are you going?”

  Liege stood bolt-upright and looked back at Leticia.

  Has he regressed?

  “Oh, don’t get excited. I know you don’t think you’re my little Criceto anymore, Liege. But no matter how old you get, no matter how many medals you win, you’ll always be my Criceto.”

  Liege looked back at her grandfather for a moment, relief flooding over her as she saw the slight smile crook one side of his mouth.

  She squatted beside him and put her arms in his lap, saying, “It’s OK, Avó, I will always be your Criceto.”

  “I know you will. Now you’re blocking my view. Come give me a kiss, then go back to work and leave an old man alone.”

  Liege stood up and kissed her grandfather on the cheek. He’d been in treatment for five months, and while Liege didn’t want to fool herself into false hopes, it was obvious that the treatment was having an effect. Navy medicine really was first rate, and as a corpsman, that made her proud.

  Liege waved to Leticia and left the apartment. She checked the time. Noon chow was over, but she’d told Sergeant Vinter she needed some personal time, so there was no hurry. Still there was no reason to dawdle. She’d made up her mind, and stewing over it wouldn’t do her any good.

  She jumped on the tram and rode it to City Center, changing to the Blue Line to get to the front gate. It only took 20 minutes combined, but it would have been nice to be able to afford even a Jetscoot. The economy scooters didn’t have much power, but she could have cut right over to the gate and been there in five minutes.

  Once on base, despite being adamant not to dawdle, it still took her 35 minutes to make it to the H & S Company CP. The battalion aid station took up one of the bottom deck wings, and she climbed the four steps and entered.

  “Hey Liege, what’s up?” Cal Zylanti asked from behind the receiving desk. “I thought First Squad was on the range.”

  Cal was a short-timer, already in his check-out, so he was killing time on sick-call duty. Not that the early afternoon time slot usually had much action.

  “I have to see Chief. Is he in?”

  “Yep, back in his office.”

  Liege started to walk past him, then she turned back and asked, “Cal, are you happy going to SRCC?”

  “Hell, yeah, I am. This is what I’ve always wanted, to be a recon corpsman.” He tapped the Fleet Marine Force Enlisted Warfare Specialist badge on his chest. “This is pretty good—and congrats on you earning yours, by the way. . .”

  Getting “qualed” had taken more time and effort than Liege had imagined, especially while taking care of Avó, but she’d done it, and she wore the badge with a degree of pride. Only 30% of the corpsmen who serve with the Marines ever earn it.

  “. . .but becoming a Special Reconnaissance Corpsman, that’s the ultimate. If I make it through—when I make it through, I mean, everyone will know I’ve got what it takes.”

  “But what if you don’t? I mean, make it through.”

  “Oh, I will.”

  “But what if you don’t? What if you get hurt in training?” she persisted.

  “If I don’t? Well, at least I know I tried. I couldn’t go through the rest of my life wondering ‘what if.’ Not like your regen school, huh? Not much of a chance of getting injured in that course.”

  “No, not much of a chance,” she agreed. “Well, like I said, I need to see the chief.”

  She stepped past the empty triage desks and knocked on the jamb to the chief’s open hatch.

  “Chief, you got a minute?”

  “Neves, sure, come on in,” he said from behind his desk. “I’ve got your class date here. November 3. We’ll process your leave, and you should plan on arriving at Station One no later than October 28.

  “And oh, yeah. I talked to my buddy at Navy Schools Command, and he’s already got you on a priority list for housing for your grandfather and sister.”

  “Thanks, Chief, and I appreciate that. But about the school, I think I’ve changed my mind.”

  She stood back waiting for his reaction. He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and took a few deep breaths.

  “I don’t suppose it would make any difference if I told you how many people went to bat for you,” he said, eyes still closed.

  “I. . .I really appreciate it, Chief. You and Doctor Wright and the CO, even.”

  “And Doctor X’anto, too. He may have rotated, but he still pushed pretty hard for you.”

  “Yes, Doctor X’anto, too. But my grandfather, he’s doing pretty well in his treatment. He likes his therapist. My sister and I, well, we don’t want to change him up again. It could push his recovery back.”

  The chief opened his eyes and stared at her. Liege started feeling nervous, waiting for an explosion.

  “Well, I can’t fault you for that. Family comes first, right? I think it’s a shame, but it’s your choice. I just hope you decide to keep in the reserves. The commitment isn’t too onerous, and if things change in the future, well, you can come back in.”

  “Chief? The reserves?”

  “Yes, the reserves. And I’ll tell you what. The hospital hires some civilians, too. You won’t be qualified for regeneration therapy, of course, but I can call around and see if we can’t get you OJT for radiology or something similar. You can still get your skills while your grandfather goes through his regimen.”

  “Uh, Chief, I don’t think you understand. I don’t want the reserves.”

  “Why not? You’ve invested four years in the Navy. Why throw that away?”

  “It’s not like that at all, Chief. I’ve changed my mind about regen school, not about my re-enlistment. I still want to re-enlist.”
r />   The chief looked surprised and then leaned forward over his desk.

  “Oh, OK, that’s great! Sorry I misunderstood you. That’s great. Really great. Great. I, uh, well, we don’t have too many C-Schools here on Tarawa. Just rehabilitation therapy. Do you want that? Or maybe you want another C-School, a short one, and then come back here? I’m guessing you’ll be re-enlisting to remain on station,” he said, his words coming quick and his sentences jumbled together.

  “Yes, I mean no,” she said, unsure of what question she was supposed to answer first. “What I mean is, yes, I want to remain on station. I have to, if my grandfather is going to keep up with his treatment. But I don’t want rehab, ortho, regen or whatever. I want to remain with the Marines.”

  “Oh,” he said quietly, followed by a louder “Oh!

  “With the Marines. So you don’t want C-School?’ he asked.

  “No, I want C-School,” she said.

  “But you just told me you don’t want rehab. That’s the only C-School we have here on the planet.”

  “No, there’s one more. I want SRCC. I want to be a Special Reconnaissance Corpsman!”

  PART 2

  TARAWA

  Chapter 24

  “Hey, boot! Get your butt over here!” Liege shouted at the newly graduated recruit.

  The private double-timed over, centered herself, then said, “Yes, Petty Officer!”

  Liege looked her over with a critical eye, then said, “Well, I guess they’re letting anyone graduate now, Marine. So come give your sister a hug.”

  “Thanks for coming, Liege. I wasn’t sure you could make it,” Leticia said, giving Liege an awkward, but still heartfelt hug.

  “Wouldn’t have missed it for the world, Leti. I’m so proud of you.”

  And she was. Leticia had grown so much, had matured so much since Liege had left them on Nova Esperança. She’d become the mother of their little family, always giving, never receiving. Liege had always felt guilty that she had left her sister, even knowing why she’d done so, but while she was travelling the galaxy, enjoying the companionship of her friends, Leticia had been home caring for Avó. Not only that, but somehow, she’d found time to come close to earning her degree. A few more credits, and Leticia would be the first university graduate in the Neves family for generations.