by John Murphy
Sowell glanced around. “Did you really kill somebody?”
Killian paused a long time. This would be his most challenging answer yet. “Yes,” he said succinctly. “It was self-defense, and it was horrible, so I really don’t like talking about it.”
All true.
Killian exhaled with relief.
His first kill had been horrible. Killian remembered the feeling of hot guts in his hands.
He had just escaped a refugee camp and was hiding. The anarchists surprised him and dragged him through the dark streets. He yelled for help, but he knew none was coming. One of his captors punched him in the jaw. He saw stars, and pain shot through his skull.
He woke up in a blown-out building. An electric lantern illuminated the broken walls and debris. Three grungy men with heavily pierced faces and lips drooping from absent labret stones snarled in his face.
“Filthy American!”
“Capitalist pig!”
“Earth rapist!”
Their breath had the stench of rot.
They jabbed his arms and torso with knives, just enough to draw blood. They laughed maniacally and danced around, taking turns at him. Their shadows moved like dark spirits on the walls.
He curled up in a fetal position, his arms wrapped tightly around his head. The men punched and kicked him. They laughed with fevered insanity.
“Cut him open! Cut him open!” one of them said in a shrill voice.
Two of them grabbed his arms and pulled his body.
He screamed, “No! No!”
This is it, he thought. He’d be dead soon. He prayed that it would be quick, but knew that it wouldn’t.
He felt them tugging his shirt up and over his head, exposing his back. He continued to kick and cry. One of them put a knee on his lower back. Another’s knee crushed his head into the rubble on the floor.
“Confess, you pig!”
He felt the sharp edge of a knife on his shoulder.
“You gonna confess? Or are we going to have to gut you like you kill animals?”
“Animal murderer!”
“Noooo!” Killian screamed.
He felt the knife run down his back, burning as it went. He felt blood pouring down his skin.
“Confess, murderer!”
“I confess! I confess!”
Another slice down his back, burning, bleeding.
Gunfire sounded outside, rapid, deep, echoing.
“Cut the light! Cut the light.”
A rumble and roar of heavy machinery. A Global Alliance patrol.
His captors leapt up and threw something over the lantern. They sought cover behind broken walls. They were silhouettes against the floodlights on the vehicles slowly rolling by.
Killian scrambled back, pulling his shirt down and wiping away chunks of debris from his face. Grit in his eyes made it difficult to keep them open. As he crawled backward, his arm struck a loose plank.
His captors watched several vehicles pass.
He grabbed the plank and stood on shaking legs.
Killian swung the plank and struck the nearest man. He felt a solid connection with the man’s head. The anarchist went limp.
The other two looked up. Killian swung for them, losing his grip on the plank. It flew and struck one of them on the torso. The men scrambled over the broken walls and were gone.
An arm clutched at Killian’s leg. He fell over. He felt the fire from the cuts on his back. Two feet away he saw a glimmer of the large blade knife the man had used on him, a machete. He elbowed over the dirty floor and grabbed it. The man stood and weaved about in a daze.
Killian got to his feet and lunged forward, swiping the machete across the man’s middle. In the faint light something fell to the floor with a sickening splat. Intestines. The man looked up into Killian’s eyes, stunned. He knelt where he stood and pawed at his unfolding innards. He fell to his knees, yelping and whining madly as he tried to stuff them back into his gut.
Killian’s breath heaved as he watched, unable to believe what he was seeing. He knelt next to the man to help him gather up the loops of flesh and push them back into his stomach. They were hot, slippery, and smelled like diarrhea and rot.
The man clenched Killian’s neck, thumbs pressing into his throat. Killian beat the man’s wrists, but he couldn’t free himself. He struck the man’s face with hammer-like fists.
The man’s grip loosened and he fell backward, pathetically attempting to hold his stomach.
Killian fell back as well, clutching his own throat, gasping for air as he watched the anarchist’s life fade away.
He thought of the strange feel of the intestines, hot and slippery on a cold night.
He spent three weeks recuperating in the care of local Thai, who were also hiding out. The rebel fighters found him, and he was all too willing to join them in returning the brutality.
After that, killing became easy. Too easy. He found the drug-crazed anarchists were no match for his ferocity.
“Holy…shit!” Sowell whispered.
“What?” Killian asked.
“That’s fucking awful. No wonder why you keep so quiet about that!”
In the background, Goreman yelped as Kerrington brought her to the ground. They giggled like children.
“About what?” Killian looked at him, bewildered. With the euphoric dizziness he felt, he wasn’t quite sure what Sowell was commenting on, or even if he’d said anything at all. It all felt dreamlike.
“About what you just told me…cutting open that anarchist, and killing even more.”
Dread flushed through Killian’s body.
Had he just spilled his guts like the anarchist he had eviscerated? His head swam as his blood went cold. He stared at the group without seeing.
This is bad.
“Look, man, they obviously had it coming to them.”
Sowell’s words confirmed what Killian feared most. Killian had succumbed to the atmosphere. He wasn’t sure how much he had revealed, but it was probably too much. His prospects were crumbling.
Killian shook his head and struggled to bring his mind into focus. The dreamlike quality was no longer soothing. It felt like he was swirling, drowning. He felt helpless. The image of Private Swanson struggling to get over the wall in basic flashed through his mind. He planted his hands on the ground to try and slow the spinning.
“Look, I’m pretty fucked up right now. I don’t even know what I’m saying,” Killian slurred.
Sowell stared back at him, riveted. A broad grin crept onto his face, and his sleepy eyes blinked slowly.
“It was a war zone, all right?” Killian said. “Bad things happen in war. I really don’t want to talk about any of it, okay?”
Sowell blinked his eyes again. “All right. I got ya. No problem, man.” His eyes drifted to the group.
Several moments passed. “Man, that Goreman sure is hot,” Sowell said.
Killian followed his gaze. Goreman and Kerrington were grappling and giggling.
His vision became tunneled. “Yeah, she is.”
* * *
A single light stick set on dim illuminated the circle of sleeping candidates.
Kerrington got up, knelt by Goreman, and shook her shoulder gently.
She opened her eyes, and Kerrington put his finger in front of his lips. “Shhhh…” He motioned for her to follow him.
She looked around. The others were asleep. She got up and followed him toward the surrounding rocks.
It was nearly pitch black, but the thinning cloud cover was moving in their favor. They stumbled and giggled as they made their way around some rocks, out of earshot.
“So, you want to be a spy?” Kerrington whispered.
She giggled. “Yeah. You want to be king of the world?”
“Most definitely
.” He leaned against a rock and clutched her hips. “You want to spy on me?”
“Most definitely.”
“You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”
They embraced feverishly. Kerrington kissed her lips, her face, her neck, his mouth opened wide as he licked her skin and grunted. Goreman tilted her head back and indulged him.
Kerrington pulled away for a moment. “What about those other guys? You want a piece of them?”
“No. I want to go straight to the top dog.”
“Oh, are you calling me a dog?”
“No, but you are the top dog, aren’t you?” She rubbed his chest and humped her pelvis against his.
She pushed back and lifted her supraskin top. Her voluptuous breasts shimmied out as she peeled her bra over her head and tossed the garments aside. Her pale skin was illuminated by Juno peeking through the breaking cloud cover. She grabbed Kerrington’s hands and put them on her breasts.
He caressed her firmly, admiring her seductive pose. Her head tilted back in pleasure, and her eyes closed as she gasped softly.
“What if one of those other guys was put in charge? Would you be doing this with them?”
She hesitated a moment. “Do you really care?”
He pulled her supraskin bottoms down, peeling them off her supple skin. She stepped out of them willingly.
Kerrington kissed and licked his way up her soft skin. His left hand found its way between her legs. She parted them slightly as she gasped. His other hand glided its way up her back and tousled her dark hair as their mouths drew closer.
He yanked her hair, jerking her head back. “I saw you putting a move on Killian.”
“Ow!” She winced with pain, not only from her hair but also from his fingers gripping her crotch hard.
He whispered in her ear, “I don’t want you even looking at any other guys here, especially that asshole Killian. You’re mine, got it?”
She could have scratched him, gouged his eyes, thrust her knee into his groin, but she didn’t. She brought her left leg up and wrapped it around his buttocks. “Got it.”
* * *
Benson approached the circle of sleeping candidates. He didn’t notice and didn’t care that two spots were empty. He had only one thing on his mind: an amazing festival.
CHAPTER 19
42 Hours to Extraction
THE SKY SHOWED NO HINT of clouds as the sun announced its arrival by casting an orange glow in the dusty atmosphere. Juno had surpassed her apex and was descending toward the western horizon. The spray of stars behind Juno was fading.
Kerrington and Goreman crept into the encampment. They’d managed to get some sleep, despite the acrobatics of their rendezvous. Their sleep had been deep, due to a perfect “trifecta” of sedative air quality, exhaustive hiking, and vigorous sex. The brightening sky awoke them before dawn.
Goreman slinked in first. She lay down in her empty spot and pretended to sleep.
Kerrington walked to the center like a conqueror. He surveyed the sleeping candidates and noticed something amiss. He looked at his watch and reacted with a jolt of surprise.
07:30!
“Spalding? Why aren’t you on fire watch?”
Kerrington nudged Spalding with his foot. Spalding roused but remained incoherent.
“Spalding!” Kerrington kicked him again. “Why aren’t you on fire watch?”
Spalding sat up and looked around, trying to sort out where he was. “I don’t know. Nobody woke me!”
Kerrington looked around and saw the others were in their same positions.
“Who had fire watch before Spalding? Tucker? Killian? Damn it! What the hell?”
The commotion woke the others up.
“Damn it,” Kerrington said, “who is on fire watch?”
* * *
Kerrington and Spalding approached the crest of their “fire watch” hill, and found Benson sound asleep. His gear was spread out. Several food bar wrappers were discarded randomly, and his helmet, pack, and plasma rifle were far away from where he slept.
Kerrington kicked Benson in the thigh. He woke with a yelp.
“Benson! What the hell? You fell asleep! Damn it! I should shoot you right now.”
Benson scrambled to his feet, looking around in confusion. Kerrington shoved him in the direction of base camp.
* * *
All the other candidates were up, dusting themselves off, gathering their gear, donning their armor, and folding their sleeping mats.
Kerrington followed Benson into the campsite.
“All right, you bunch of pussies!” Kerrington shouted. “Benson here fell asleep on fire watch. It is now zero-seven-thirty. We are seriously behind schedule. Get your pansy asses together and get moving. We gotta make up this time.”
Everyone stared at Benson as he dumped his gear.
“Wait! Hey, everybody! There are people living here. There are inhabitants on this planet,” Benson said.
“Hey, where’s my stuff?” Vasquez asked. “My food bars are missing!”
“Some of my shit is missing, too,” Tucker said. “Where are my food bars?”
Others checked their gear and came up with nothing.
“What the hell, Benson?” Kerrington asked as he approached him. “Did you eat everyone’s food?”
“My water is missing, too!” Dohrn cried out in alarm.
Benson held up his hands in self-defense. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. There are people living here! Hundreds of them. They’re miners and people who defected from this program.”
Kerrington scowled. “Did you see them?”
“No, just this old lady, Layla. She told me about them. She came up to me last night while I was on fire watch.”
Kerrington got in his face. “You let her take our food and water? And you didn’t wake us?”
“I brought it to her. I gave everything to Layla,” Benson said weakly. “They needed it.”
Kerrington thumped Benson on the head. Benson crumpled to the ground. “Ow! Hey! Fuckin’ damn it!”
Kerrington loomed over him. “There are no inhabitants here, asshole. We’re in the middle of a desert. What did you do with the food and water?”
“I swear! They’re here! Layla told me all about them. Everyone is starving!”
“And where do these mystery people supposedly live?” Kerrington asked.
“Back in the canyon we just came from. She followed us yesterday. She took all the food and water with her last night. They’re gonna have a festival.”
Kerrington kicked sand at Benson. “You’ve seriously jeopardized the mission, Benson! You are most definitely out of this program, you stupid shit!” Kerrington grabbed Benson’s supraskin collar and pulled him to his feet. “We can’t go on with the mission. We are fucked! What did you think we would do without food?”
Benson broke away from Kerrington’s grip. “You know what? Fuck you! Fuck you all! You can take your compulsory service and shove it!”
Blinded by rage, Benson stripped off his supraskin suit. Everyone stared in shock.
“I’m outta here,” Benson shrieked. “I’m going to go live off the land and in peace. Tell my father to go fuck himself, too!”
Benson ran off stark naked in the direction he’d taken the supplies, apparently to join Layla.
The others stared after him.
Tucker broke the silence. “So what do we do about food and water?”
“Comms!” Kerrington said. “Where’s my comm unit? We gotta call Blue Orchid and get some food and water down here.”
“If we wait around for a shuttle, which they won’t send,” Sowell said, “we’ll be so far behind schedule that we’ll fail the mission.”
“We can probably make it without food,” Mitchell said. “But in this arid land, th
e lack of water could kill us.”
Kerrington tried his comm unit, only to hear the same static and electronic gibberish. He kicked the ground. “Fuck!”
“We could follow him,” Tucker suggested, “find out where these people are and take our shit back.”
“How could some old lady take a couple hundred pounds of stuff?” Vasquez asked.
“Two hundred and fifty pounds, approximately,” Mitchell said.
“Could have been a band of thieves using an old lady to sweet-talk a hapless candidate,” Sowell suggested.
“Spalding! Go check out the place where Benson was,” Kerrington ordered. “See if there’s a trail of footprints or anything.”
Spalding ran off. The sand going up the rise showed many footprints.
When he reached the rise, Spalding stopped. “There’s nothing but rocks on this side!” he called back. “I don’t see anything except what Benson left.”
“Did they drop anything?” Kerrington shouted. “Anything to indicate where they might have gone?”
“Naw! Nothing. Just rocks.”
“Damn it,” Kerrington said. “Do you see Benson?”
“Yeah, he’s way off and climbing higher.”
“How could they carry all our shit like that?” Tucker asked.
“Probably had sacks or packs or something,” Sowell said. “Who knows? They could have watched us all day long yesterday and lain in wait. Then, when we were asleep, persuaded Benson to sneak in and take it all.”
“It’s a good thing they didn’t take our plasmas,” Tucker said.
“What a douche bag,” Vasquez muttered.
“All right everybody, spread out,” Kerrington said. “Scout around and see if you come up with anything—footprints, a trail, anything.”
* * *
Killian tried to recall his discussion with Sowell the night before. Had he really said anything? Sowell gave no indications. Killian was still having difficulty focusing on the search, his mind distracted by his imminent expulsion from the mission. He envisioned the shuttle returning to retrieve them all, then Sowell revealing what he’d learned.
After thirty minutes of searching, they regrouped.
