by PP Corcoran
* * *
Late morning on Day Two of the transit to Ralla, the gravity deck of the Glambring rang out in protest as the heavy metallic feet of half a dozen CASPers thumped across it. As Alastair Sinclair watched, assessing the CASPers intricate maneuvers with a critical eye, Lieutenant Caroline Verley tried and failed to hide her almost parental need to join the troopers of Third Platoon. The platoon had already lost nearly half its strength and all its senior members, who now lay prone, scattered across the deck when their CASPers had registered critical or fatal hits. Alastair smiled inwardly while on the outside maintaining his aura of neutrality. He fully understood Verley’s desire to jump in among her troopers and prevent the train wreck toward which they were inevitably barreling. However, this was not a test of her leadership skills, nor of the platoon sergeant, Faroqh Shadid, who stood quietly to one side under the watchful gaze of First Sergeant Ethan Croll. Not that Alastair didn’t trust Sergeant Shadid, but he wouldn’t be the first senior NCO to attempt to influence a training exercise which his colonel had decided to drop in on.
On the deck in front of them, the scenario faced by the remaining troopers of Third Platoon, now commanded by a junior corporal, continue to play out. And it looked bleak. From behind a simulated barricade, members of Support Platoon were laying down withering laser fire on the stalled Third Platoon assault before suddenly three members of the assaulting platoon went to one knee, shoulder-to-shoulder, snapping on their laser shields and deflecting the incoming fire harmlessly away. Behind them, the remaining three CASPer-suited troopers activated their own laser shields, raising them over their kneeling comrades until all six shields interlocked, forming an impenetrable wall. As one, the troopers advanced on their enemy until they reached, and then breached, the barricade. The battle was over in moments as the CASPers closed to knife-fighting range, four-foot-long steel blades flashed under the high-intensity gravity deck lighting. The barricade’s defenders were slaughtered.
“OK, Lieutenant, I’ve seen enough,” said Alastair. “Keep working on enforcing the ethic that every trooper needs to stand ready to take on the responsibility of the trooper above him in the chain of command. Combat is unpredictable and there is no guarantee that those in positions of command will survive first contact with the enemy.”
“Understood, sir,” replied Verley.
“Remember, Caroline. Every day is a school day. You are never finished learning in this job. That corporal’s use of the Testudo is exactly the kind of initiative we need to foster. I bet the Romans never thought that we would still be using the tortoise formation two thousand years after they first used it to protect their legionaries.”
Finally, a smile cracked Verley’s hard face. “Well, sir, if it was good enough for the Romans, it’s good enough for the Scorpions.”
Alastair let out a short barking laugh. “Exactly, Caroline. Exactly.” Leaving the lieutenant to debrief her troopers, Alastair headed for the exit, fully intending to enjoy an early lunch. First Sergeant Croll fell into lockstep beside him, something which Alastair knew did not bode well as Croll had four more combat scenarios to supervise that afternoon.
“Out with it, First Sergeant.”
Croll cleared his throat before speaking, another sign Alastair would not like what he was about to say. “It would appear, sir, we have a somewhat delicate situation brewing in the CASPer storage room.”
“What kind of situation?” demanded Alastair with a quizzically-raised eyebrow, noticing that the muscles at the edge of Croll’s lips were quivering as the first sergeant suppressed the urge to smile. “I’ll not ask you again, First Sergeant,” Alastair said menacingly.
By now the smile which had threatened to appear on Croll’s face had transformed into what Alastair’s father would have called “a shit-eating grin.”
“Captain Buchanan has confined Engineer Larras to the brig after he found the Jeha carapace deep inside one of our CASPers, and Doctor Wong is explaining to Captain Buchanan, using a few choice words which I have never heard before, why the captain should release Larras. In return, Captain Buchanan is using a similar vocabulary to put forward his side of the argument.”
Thoughts of a well-deserved breakfast were chased away as a low, rumbling anger descended on Alastair, and he spun around and stalked off in the direction of the CASPer storage room.
* * *
The Glambring was not the largest of ships in the Winged Hussars’ fleet by a long way, nor did it have the largest crew, with only twenty-six officers and eighty enlisted. Add that to the twenty-seven personnel of all ranks from the Scorpions, count Doctor Wong and her assistant Larras, and the total complement of the frigate came to 135. As Alastair Sinclair turned the last bend in the corridor leading to the entrance of the CASPer storage area, he was confronted by what Alastair could only assume was every single living soul aboard, squashed into the access way. The noise of raised voices, one male, one female, echoed off the walls. Each sentence was emphasized by oohs and ahs from the gathered onlookers. For the first time in his life, Alastair Sinclair was lost for words. At his shoulder, First Sergeant Croll was not. “Make a hole before I stick my boot where the sun most definitely does not shine!” he roared.
Like the sea parting before Moses, the multiple races in the corridor attempted to force themselves into the corridor walls, allowing a now fully-enraged Alastair past. Croll glared at every face as he passed them by, his unspoken command causing the petrified crewmen and troopers to suddenly realize they had important work to do elsewhere.
Alastair entered the storage room and found Tim Buchanan, all six feet four inches of him, standing toe-to-toe with the five-feet-two-inch Anna May Wong. Each were bright red faced as they screamed at each other while jabbing at the other with pointed fingers like dueling swordsmen. Arrayed around the walls of the room stood several Scorpion troopers, all grinning from ear to ear as they watched Tim and Anna spar with each other. When they realized that Colonel Sinclair and his personal attack dog, First Sergeant Croll, were now in their midst, grins disappeared in an instant. Croll locked his best ‘consider yourself not wanted here’ look on the ranking noncoms who immediately began ushering everybody out of the room. The only trooper who remained unmoved was Corporal Vega, standing stoically to one side, right hand resting on his ‘People Stopper’ while, in his left, Croll’s eyes lit on the unmistakable outline of a stun baton. Croll’s gaze moved up to Vega’s face and each man assessed the other for a fraction of a second. It finally dawned on Croll that Vega was prepared to stun Buchanan, his superior officer and de facto second in command of the merc company, if things got physical between Buchanan and Vega’s charge, Doctor Wong. For his part, Vega held the First Sergeant’s gaze for a few seconds ensuring that Croll understood that the corporal was willing to do what was necessary to guard his protectee, before shrugging his shoulders and returning his attention to the pair giving each other a tongue lashing in the center of the room.
Croll’s head and shoulders swiveled back to the front where Alastair was standing, feet apart, hands on hips, as if waiting for the arguing pair to notice his presence. It didn’t seem like it was about to happen any time soon as the shouting failed to diminish in either volume or choice of vocabulary.
“This would never have happened if your pet millipede had kept his claws out of my CASPer!” shouted Tim. “What was he doing in there anyway? A bit of industrial espionage, eh? Trying to figure out how our suits perform better than a Hussars?”
Anna’s head drew back as if she was about to head butt Tim square on the nose, instead she screamed her own retort. “You have got to be joking! Your suits are pieces of junk compared to what our marines are equipped with. He was probably trying to figure out how in entropy you keep them from falling apart.”
Tim leaned in close to the elfin woman who refused to flinch. “Now you listen here, Missy, why don’t you go back to your crib and play with your toys and leave—” Whatever Tim was about to say next was mute as Anna
’s face flushed and her open hand struck Tim across the cheek with a resounding slap.
For a brief instant the room fell silent. Anna’s eyes bulged, and her mouth formed a large ‘O’ as she realized what she had done. Tim’s fighting instinct told him to strike back, his right fist formed into a ball, muscles in his arm quivering with pent-up energy, preparing to smash his aggressor into a bloody smear on the deck.
Croll caught a movement off to his left as Vega pushed off the wall, stun baton extended, and targeted for Tim’s exposed back. Croll began to move in what he knew would be a vain attempt to intercept Vega before he reached and stunned his target. A guttural roar like thunder filled the room.
“Enough!”
Every head in the room snapped in the direction of Alastair Sinclair. Face red, neck muscles and veins straining against the skin, the colonel’s rage was evident and enough to stop even Vega, who snapped to attention, stun baton still held in his hand. Croll and Tim followed the corporal’s example, moving to the position of attention so fast they felt as if their spines might break in two. Anna may not have been a mercenary; however, she had been brought up on Prime Base and lived her entire adult life surrounded by them, so she understood plainly when she was in the presence of a superior officer and when, like now, she had overstepped the mark. Taking a deep breath, she opened her mouth to apologize, only for Alastair to shut her down.
“Doctor Wong, you are to return to your quarters immediately and remain there until such time as I deem fit,” said Alastair.
“If I could explain, Colonel—” Anna began.
“Now! Doctor Wong, if you please,” Alastair said, his tone brokered no argument and his eyes, hard as flint, zeroed on Tim.
Anna scrubbed at her face with her hands before releasing a heavy sigh and heading for the door, only to halt after a couple of steps and turned to face Tim. “My apologies, Captain Buchanan.” Spinning on her heel, Anna fled the room. Without waiting for permission, Vega followed, the stun baton now absent from his left hand, returned to wherever he had concealed it.
That left Alastair, Tim, and First Sergeant Croll alone in the room. Without taking his eyes from Tim, Alastair addressed Croll over his shoulder with a voice so cool it would have turned helium into a liquid. “Give us the room please, First Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir.”
Alastair waited as Croll stepped out and slapped the door control pad as he passed it. The gentle hiss of the pneumatics as the heavy door closed, was the only thing to penetrate the deathly silence which had descended on the room. The silence extended as Tim continued to stand at attention. Eyes fixed on a point slightly above head height on the smooth, seamless metal wall of the storage room. Tim sensed, rather than heard, Alastair circle around him slowly and when the colonel spoke, his voice held only one thing—disappointment.
“How long have we known each other, Tim?”
“For as long as I can remember, sir. My father was your father’s second-in-command when he was colonel of the Scorpions. When our fathers were killed during the operation on Ulak IV, you inherited the company. I had just completed my Vows and been accepted into the company.”
An uneasy quiet as both men remembered their lost fathers and the hole their deaths left in their lives. When Alastair spoke again, it was with a huskiness to his voice.
“I was only a captain when my father was killed; overnight, I became a colonel, and the man who had seemed irreplaceable, no—” a sanguine chuckle escaped Alastair, “—indestructible, was gone. Within a year my wife died, leaving me to raise three young kids. I had no idea how I was going to do that, but I did my best, Tim, maybe not as well as I should or could have. But, damn it, Tim, I tried.”
Alastair completed his slow circling of Tim and now stood directly in front of him once more. The junior man remained stock still, his eyes fixed on the wall, having not been released from the position of attention.
“Now I have sent Jamie on some foolhardy mission to steal a bunch of one-hundred-foot-tall metal monsters. Charlie, for all I know, could be dead in a ditch on Galax, and Nikki? Entropy knows where the Peacemakers have her.”
Alastair laid an unexpected hand on Tim’s shoulder. Unexpected enough that Tim broke discipline and looked his friend and boss in the eye. “I need your head in the game, Tim. We don’t have time for whatever is going on between you and Doctor Wong.”
Tim failed to swallow on his first attempt but was more successful on the second. “Sir…Alastair. Every time I see that woman, my skin feels like someone has stuck needles in it. When she speaks to me, it’s like she is challenging everything I say—undermining me—”
“Or possibly trying to get you to take notice of her? I met a woman like that once. Damned insufferable she was. Complete pain in my ass,” Alastair said, one corner of his mouth tugged upward, hinting at a smile.
Tim thought he must’ve misinterpreted what Alastair was saying, and he stumbled over his words to get clarity.
“And…uh…wha…what did you do about her?”
Alastair’s features dissolved as he let out a long belly laugh. When he finally stopped, he was forced to wipe away a tear from one eye. “Good God, Tim, your face!” he chuckled again. “Why, I married her of course. Now let’s go and get poor Larras out of the brig, shall we?”
* * * * *
Chapter Eight
Why Did It Have To Be Purple?
With a gentle bump, the pilot of the dropship set down on the landing platform assigned to them by Ralla Station Traffic Control. As the rear ramp cracked open, a short, sharp, high-pitched whistle filled the troop bay for a couple of seconds before tapering away as the air pressure within the dropship equalized with that of the space station. Alastair and Tim swallowed rapidly a couple of times to clear their ears, and not for the first time, Alastair found himself envious of the half dozen elSha who were the Humans’ companions on this little furlough. The elShas’ lack of an auditory canal meant the little lizards failed to notice the discomfort afflicting their Human companions. Alastair ensured the magnetic grips built into his ship boots were activated before releasing his securing straps and standing upright, towering over the tallest elSha who were gleefully waiting to search the markets and dealerships of Ralla Station for supplies. Supplies which the Glambring had no need of whatsoever, but, as Captain Kothoo had quite rightly pointed out, what better excuse for stopping over for an indefinite period than the need to conduct urgent repairs and renew dwindling foodstuffs?
The sight of Tim tugging at the unfamiliar purple one-piece jump suit caused Alastair to let out a deep chuckle. Tim stopped his pulling and tugging to give his boss a baleful glance.
“I feel like a baby Oogar in a romper suit!” Tim moaned. His second-in-command’s discomfort only made Alastair chuckle again as he tried to picture what a baby Oogar would look like in a romper suit and failed miserably.
“The less we look like Human mercs the better. It would sort of defeat the point of Larras disguising the Glambring’s encoder signature if we strolled around the station in our own uniforms, would it not? And what could be less threatening than an elSha recovery crew taking a damaged ship back to the ship yards for repair and overhaul?”
Tim gave a shrug as he finished wrestling with the jump suit, admitting defeat. He knew Alastair was right, but still, purple? Really? A dark thought passed through Tim’s brain. Was this that Jeha’s ongoing revenge for nearly squashing him during one of the numerous CASPer training exercises the Scorpions had run during the 170-hour journey through hyperspace? Or perhaps for that short spell in the brig Tim had subjected the Jeha to after he found him tampering with Tim’s suit? How was Tim to know that the engineer had noticed a slight hesitation in the CASPer’s servo motors and had decided to investigate? That confrontation had ended up in Tim having a blazing row with Anna May Wong in full view of the Glambring’s crew and Tim’s own troopers. Something that had led to Alastair having to intervene, and forcing Tim to face up to the uncomfortab
le truth that perhaps his feelings toward Anna were more complex than he was willing to admit. For the remainder of the journey, he had pointedly avoided any situation where he had to spend any more time than necessary in the woman’s presence.
Tim shook his head, dismissing the image of Anna from his brain and concentrating on his current gripe. The color of his coveralls. He wouldn’t put it past the multi-legged, multi-armed, smug little engineer whom, Tim had learned after an extremely uncomfortable experience when someone, and he had his suspicions, had slipped powdered Kanara seeds into his CASPer’s ventilation system. Kanara seeds were normally used in tiny proportions to flavor food by chefs who wore protective gloves. Though Kanara could add a delightful tingling sensation to food, it was not the same story when more than a nominal amount contacted unprotected skin. When added to a CASPer’s ventilation system and blown around so that every piece of exposed skin was covered in a film of the highly-irritating seed, the results were, to say the least, painful.
Tim had cracked his suit and bounded out like a rat up a drain pipe. However, even the limited exposure had left him gagging for breath, while his skin had turned bright purple from contact with the Kanara. It had taken more force of will than he thought he possessed not to scratch his own skin off as the Kanara burned at his skin. A night spent in a soothing med gel bath had cleared the last remnants of the seeds from his skin, while the medical nanites had done their efficient work. By the time he emerged from the Glambring’s med bay the following morning, he looked entirely normal again, with no long-term effects. Except of course, to his pride. The purple jump suits, which had been produced by the Glambring’s materials synthesizer, were too close of a color match, in Tim’s opinion, to his own skin color that day.
