The Guardians of Sol

by Spencer Kettenring

  Filch had been the first of my men to go down, basically boiled alive in his armor. I hadn’t seen Dumper go down, but the image of his brother standing over his body will haunt me forever. Gripe had basically stopped all his annoying behavior since then and had become far more quiet and sullen. Spicy had lost a fight to one of the knights leading the robots, and even before Voodoo began a battlefield surgery the man’s armor had been a ripped up mess.

  I traced Spicy’s nameplate, Corporal Thomas Meredith; a bit sentimental, I know, but he had been with me since before I was named captain of Anvil squad. Tom didn’t have any family left besides the squad and had gotten a traditional Guardian service, with his ashes launched toward the sun.

  Connor “Gripe” Tennyson had taken his brother Clark back to their family farm in Alberta, Canada. I’d offered to attend the funeral and offer my condolences to their mother, but Gripe told me that they’d prefer to have a more private funeral. He did graciously accept the letter I wrote for his parents though, thankfully.

  Filch was from one of the older space colonies where conditions were less than optimal and several crime syndicates were constantly striving for control. Sadly, the Guardians had never been able to make much of an impact on the situation, but there were enough people living there to make scrapping it an… inhumane proposition. I’ve always been reasonably sure that Jebidiah Filch was an alias he’d used when he signed up with the Corps, so with no listed next of kin or other instructions we had had to give him a Guardian funeral as well. He’d been a good man, even if he’d never been able to completely drop some of his more kleptomaniacal habits.

  Colonel O’Neal was working on finding some replacements for me as part of his duties, but there wasn’t too much of a rush with the European reconstruction starting and almost every squad, Special or otherwise, was looking to fill holes in their lineups. I made a note to myself to pair Gripe with Shot-put, or just move him to my team and put him with Voodoo or Squatter. I just had a feeling that pairing Connor with the man replacing his brother wouldn’t go over very well.

  My own armor was partially stripped for ongoing repairs, although the Spartan shield had been fixed, refitted, and repainted to match the Thundermaker color scheme, and that was nice. All of the dented plates were in the process of being replaced or reforged. I felt arms settle around my waist and a chin press against my back.

  “Jimmy, for the last time, this is inappropriate behavior,” I began. “I have a beautiful girlfriend who loves me. We just can’t do this anymore…” Which won me a punch in the shoulder for my smart mouth.

  “I should hope you don’t have anything going on with Jim, I’m a jealous girl you know.”

  I turned around and wrapped my own arms around Rachel. “Don’t I know it,” I told her warmly, memorizing every freckle of her wondrous face for the hundredth time. “How about you and I go out tonight? With all the hours you’ve been putting in it seems like I hardly see you anymore.”

  “I would love to, Rhys, but we’re still swamped here. The Chief will get annoyed with me as it is for taking this break to talk to you.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Love. I’ve already cleared it with him. I explained that people need to relax from time to time or their productivity suffers and he gave you the entire evening off.”

  She gave me a look that suggested she didn’t believe me. “What really happened?”

  “Pretty much what I said before. Fortunately, I’ve built up enough good will with him from all of the new tech and other toys I’ve been bringing in the last couple of months he only protested enough to keep his pride,” I told her as I leaned down for a kiss, but she pushed me away with a smile.

  “Not right now! I have to go finish writing up a proposal for upgrades for your squad’s armor. I’ll see you when you pick me up at my place. Now let me get back to work.”

  “It isn’t nice to tease,” I addressed her retreating form, and left the engineering bay far happier than I had entered it.

  *****

  I found Haywire and a few of my other guys in a new holographic simulator arcade playing a fighting game against some civilian kids wasting time after secondary school. Sadly, my supremely capable soldiers were getting their asses handed to them. Well, it was sad for my men, I however, found it quite hilarious. At least I did until I tried myself and lost by an embarrassing margin. The game was nothing like a real fight, and I ended up mostly mashing the buttons. It was obvious that the kids were accustomed to beating off-duty Castigars and Vindicators, so once we had all been thoroughly thrashed, the five of us moved on to other games like shooting and flight simulators that we did much better at – even without AI assistance.

  Honestly, while the whole thing was relaxing, it felt odd not having anything to do. I mean, the squad was technically on call to respond to any emergencies, and we switched off with the other Specials teaching at the academy, but we still had more free time to ourselves than most of us had had since before our own academy days. A few more hours, and it would be time to go get ready to pick Rachel up from her apartment, but in the meantime I wasn’t doing too badly against Haywire, Shot-put, and Boar in the hunting simulator. Although as usual Haywire was ahead of me and Shot-put was barely behind in points.

  I had lost track of time. When I finally did notice the time on my chrono, I cursed a little as I ran to catch the next tram back to my own residential block. I must have broken my record with how fast I showered. Then I slipped into the brand new suit I had commissioned from a recently arrived Italian tailor. I have to say that one of the more pleasant side benefits of the end of the war and influx of new client nations was the arrival of just as many new restaurants and specialty shops to the Forge; my new tailor being just one example. My suit was styled after a Guardian uniform, though far more fashionable. It was comfortable and I was sure that Rachel would love it. I would be the first to admit, of course, that I wouldn’t have bought the thing if I weren’t dating her.

  I took a moment to compose myself after practically (but not literally) running to Rachel’s apartment. A deep breath and I rang the bell. What greeted my eyes was absolutely stunning. Now, I know I talk about Rachel’s effect on me just about every time I mention her, so I need you to realize that I mean what I say in the truest sense of the words: Rachel was absolutely stunning. Every thought in my head came to a complete standstill. I stopped breathing for at least fifteen seconds. Frankly, I’m surprised that my heart didn’t stop. I suppose that’s enough buildup, isn’t it? Her hair was down, cascading in waves down her back and part of her face but leaving her large, sea green eyes completely exposed. Her red lipstick complemented her hair, eyes, and pale skin. Her deep blue dress was a backless affair with a strap around her neck. The dress revealed a tasteful amount of her modest but exquisite breasts. The dress hugged her curves all the way to her calves, except for a side slit that went to mid thigh. I’ll admit my gaze never quite made it to her feet, but I’m sure that they were as perfect as the rest of her. She poked me out of my reverie.

  “Staring is just as impolite as teasing, mister,” She told me with her sweetest smile.

  “Then you shouldn’t make it so hard not to, madam,” I replied, smiling in return. I couldn’t help myself and I snatched her off of the ground with a passionate kiss that she returned, damn the passerby.

  “Put me down, you big lug!” She cried, breaking the embrace. “We’ll miss your reservations.”

  “That’s why there are reservations in the first place – so that it doesn’t matter if we’re late, but you’re right. This place is supposed to be magnificent.”

  *****

  The maître d sat us down in an adequately private booth near the back of the restaurant. There was a string quartet playing in the background, the lighting was full of blues and reds and good enough to see your food and your companion, and that was about it. It was a very nice ambiance for something that had only opened a week ago.

  We ordered the house wine, but I h
it a problem once I opened the menu. You see, everything was in French, without adequate translation, and I had spent perhaps two weeks in my entire life in the country. I could understand Japanese, Chinese, and a smattering of Russian, but somehow the romantic languages had escaped my attention. Rachel, God bless her soul, noticed my confusion and, knowing my preferences, ordered for me.

  We talked about our respective days, hopes for the future, and possibilities for future activities. For instance, someone from the Colorado territory had opened a zero-g miniature golf course a month or two before the war and neither of us had been to it yet. It sounded like a wonderful opportunity for a concussion to me, but according to Voodoo I got one of those every couple of weeks anyway. Our food arrived, Rachel had ordered me a black pepper steak – medium rare – and a heap of perfectly cook and seasoned vegetables. She ordered a “casoulet” for herself, and was kind enough to let me try some of the duck and sausage.

  It is wonderful that with the right person you can have the same conversation multiple times, with the same conclusions, and everything can feel just as fresh as when it was first discussed. The particular discussion that I’m thinking of is one of children and parenthood that doesn’t need to be detailed here, but part of the way through the meal I resolved to marry this woman … again. I mean that I resolved to do it again. I would be lying if I said the thought didn’t occur to me every time that… I thought of her. They were very much interconnected in my mind. I doubt anyone could meet a woman of her caliber and not want to spend the rest of their lives with her.

  Moving on with the evening, dessert was delicious. Chocolate crepes filled with vanilla ice cream and topped with a white chocolate sauce. They didn’t last very long between the two of us. We left the restaurant early enough in the evening that we could still do something else. I suggested going dancing even though I’m not terribly coordinated in that particular arena. Rachel, however, suggested that we go back to her place for some ‘coffee.’ Or maybe she really meant coffee. Either way I would be happy.

  26

  December 21, 2289. The Forge

  Gotta admit, I had a spring in my step as I headed to the shuttle I was taking with Rachel down to Earth to visit her family for the holiday. There was, of course, the typical nervousness that one feels when meeting their significant other’s family for the first time. If I stopped and thought about it, I would have thought it odd that I can basically jump face first into enemy fire for kicks and giggles, and still be nervous about meeting some mostly harmless civilians. It’s probably some sort of genetic hardwiring. Or would that be societal hardwiring? I suppose that it doesn’t matter, although curiosity had me wondering if there was an understandable, logical explanation.

  Rachel had to finish up some work before our flight, so I ended up going to the shuttle without her. I would have preferred that we got on together, but she correctly pointed out that she was not the one that had time management issues. I arrived fairly early for once, actually being one of the first people to board. The passenger shuttle itself wasn’t unlike the one that I had met Rachel in, except, of course, that this one was larger with reentry capabilities.

  After a little while, people started to trickle in and sit down. Castigars, Vindicators, engineers, administrators, and civilians of all stripes took their seats, and struck up conversations, but even as launch crept closer and closer, the seat next to me remained stubbornly empty. I sighed, and pulled out my com tablet and sent a quick inquiry to Rachel’s com. Then I did my best to craft a heartfelt and loving message for my sister. Sarah hadn’t been able to get the holiday off, although I wondered how much she had even tried. Getting a ride from Mars to the Forge to Earth sounded daunting even to me, and I had plenty of time and influence to do exactly that right now. I think I ended up sending a rather pathetic message to Sarah, but she would probably understand that I’m better at fighting and maintaining equipment than I am at writing. I took one more look before I did actually send the message.

  Hey Sis,

  Sorry we couldn’t get together for the holiday, interplanetary distances, eh? I’m sure that we’ll see each other soon enough. Still have bad guys around to take out.

  Anyway, I did manage to get a package onto a courier ship so that should get to you in the next few days. It won’t take up much space, but I’m sure you’ll like it.

  On another note, I’m finally going to pop the question while I’m on Earth. Rachel knows its coming but she doesn’t know when, so I’m going to have to delete this message after I send it to you. Just in case. But I will definitely let you know how it goes as soon as I can.

  Take care, Sis. I’ll try to get an audio/visual link to you on Christmas.

  ~Rhys

  I’m not exactly a poet, but I couldn’t see a better way to say what I wanted to and sent the message to Sarah. I hoped she would like the custom Luger style pistol that I’d commissioned for her from a civilian workshop, complete with a pink grip and flowery engravings. My sister was an odd bird, being very girly and tomboyish at the same time. She should love it.

  I checked my chrono to see that there was only about ten minutes left before takeoff. Where was Rachel? I certainly wasn’t going to go see her parents without her, and the next shuttle wasn’t leaving for Earth for two days, and that one would be landing at the Greek spaceport instead of the one in Houston, Texas. At five minutes to take off, she finally burst through the shuttle entrance hair all out of sorts. She gave me one of her heart melting smiles as she sat down and tried to get her breathing back under control. I pushed a lock of hair into place behind her ear.

  “Time management, it’ll get you every time,” I teased.

  She shoved me back into my seat. “Shut up, it was paperwork for your squad’s armor that ended up taking me so long.”

  I snagged and kissed one of her hands. “Then I suppose I’ll just have to make it up to you.”

  “You had better,” she replied imperiously, although she made no attempt to hide the lightheartedness in her eyes.

  Instructions begged for attention on screens set into the back of each seat, and the inertial compensators kicked in as the shuttle launched. The flight to Houston would take three or four hours, and an old movie replaced the instructions on the seat screens.

  “This is a lot more comfortable than how you usually make planetfall, isn’t it?” She inquired.

  I squeezed the hand that she had slipped into my own and replied. “By orders of magnitude, my love, but a hell of a lot slower all the same. It usually only takes me a few minutes to hit the ground.” I grinned.

  “Well we’ll be on the ground soon enough, and then I’ll get to show you how wonderful my parents’ ranch is.”

  “I can’t wait,” I said, a little of the previous nervousness creeping back up. “I’m sure there will be lots of reasons to remember this trip.”

  *****

  The shuttle landing was absolutely normal, and it wasn’t difficult, if a little expensive, to charter an Alkaios Industries Puddle Jumper to make the trip to Cheyenne, Wyoming. For my part, the trip was pleasant enough, and I got to see parts of the continent for the first time. Most of it being the flat and unremarkable plains of the Midwest, but at least we missed the irradiated wastes of the eastern seaboard. Having grown up in the colonies, any difference in terrain was interesting and wonderful to me even after all these years of travel and battle, but ocean and mountains were far more preferable to me to all this inexorable flatness.

  It wasn't too long, all in all, before we reached the Cheyenne airport. Rachel's dad met us at the landing pad, and she ran over and gave him a hug while I grabbed our bags from the Jumper's storage. Rick Cartwright was a large man. He wasn't flabby, by any means, in fact his arms were almost as muscled as mine and he probably stood a few inches taller than me. Essentially, for a part-time software programmer/horse rancher the man was in such good shape that it was hard to believe he had never served in the Corps. I suppose that's a bit biased of me,
but other than Rachel, the Corps was pretty much the entirety of my life.

  "So you're Rhys Castle," the man addressed me, extending his hand. "Rachel has told the family a lot about you."

  I dropped my bag on the tarmac and firmly shook his hand. "I guess it'll be hard to come off as dark and mysterious then," I replied which got an unladylike guffaw out of my lady love.

  "Because you're always so dark, mysterious, and brooding," Rachel deadpanned.

  "Exactly," was all I could get out before she leaned in and kissed me.

  "Keep that up, you two, and I'll make your boyfriend sleep in the barn," her dad cut in, and I couldn't really tell if he was serious or not. "But we should get going. Don't want your mother to think I got drunk and wandered off again. Not without her around to enjoy it."

  Rick drove an old but very well-maintained ground truck with just enough room in the cab for him and another person, or him and two people of Rachel's size.

  "I guess I've got the back," I remarked while tossing our bags in the truckbed. "Hope you don't hit too many bumps."

  "I was going to bring one of the sedans, but between Mel and the other kids they all disappeared before I left," Rick shrugged.

  With nothing else to do, I hopped in the back, leaning against the cab. Rachel opened the back window and patted me on the head with a teasing smile. Rick flipped a switch in the cab that made a clear material extend from the sides the vehicle to cover the bed and keep the heat in. I figured it had something to do with his work with animals as no other reason for that feature easily presented itself to my mind. At least I could hear the conversation during the drive, although most of it revolved around local and familial news and gossip.