Postal Marine 1: Bellicose (10 page)

“I don't need you for anything. I'm a lot like you. I have very specific orders and very little information to provide me the context I need to execute that order. Now you have your orders and I'm out of information.”

She can't be out of information.
“How do you know this Admiral
Bence
will have the information he needs. Won't you be telling him what his mission is? I mean, like you're telling me now?”

“After we get to
Guna
, I'll be continuing on with my next assignment. I don't have any orders for
Bence
.”

Litovio
shook his head. “No, you have to have orders for the Admiral. How else will he know what to do?”

“I honestly don't know. Before I was told to get you, I had no idea what was going on. What I know you know. But, I also know that my job was to get you from
Sabana
to
Guna
, and now that we're on the last jump my job is over.”

It infuriated
Litovio
that she was not giving him more information.
She had to know more. Why won't she share?
“So after you meet the Admiral you'll leave?”

“No. I'll be gone before you return with the Admiral. I already have other arrangements.”

She stood to leave.

She can't have already made other arrangements.
Litovio
grabbed her arm, causing
Khaooldro
to spin around.

The look she gave spoke of latent power. “You will unhand me.”

Litovio
resisted replying “unhand me or what?” She gave no indication of resisting. She did not even pull away from his grip. Her level stare unnerved him. He released her despite himself. Litovio had heard of jedi on ancient Earth and wondered if she was one of them.

She turned, opened the hatch, and left.
Khaooldro
managed to avoid him the remaining two days of the jump. Even after the
Spaka
arrived in
Guna
, she was nowhere to be found.

Litovio
replayed their conversations in his head. He hoped he could discern some clue about what was really going on. He could not accept that the Postal Marines were crazy enough to take on any element of the Imperial Navy. They were brothers, in a way. They both served the Emperor.
But what if there were two emperors? What would happen then? Isn't that what she was trying to say? There's a civil war in the Imperial Family?

They arrived in
Guna
, three miles from the main world. The standard unit for travel was the mile, which represented roughly 11 million kilometers, the kilometer being used on planet surfaces only. The Gunoi star was a common red dwarf, leading the mainworld ‘Guna Prime’ to be only 0.2 steller units with a year of less than 80 standard days.
Litovio
admired the accuracy of the
Spaka
's AI navigator. The proximity gave him less than an hour to be ready. Guna Prime was less than 3 miles from its star, and the
Spaka
was a couple miles further out.

During the jump to
Guna
, Bophendze felt increasingly isolated. He knew Corporal
Makaan
loathed him, yet seemed unable to get rid of him. He did not know who else in his team was involved in the beating. All of them had strong alibis with multiple witnesses that would have made it difficult to place any of them at Bophendze's beating.

Makaan
continued to make friends throughout the cruiser by loaning Bophendze out for all the tough details. Bophendze tried to make the most of it by talking to those he was serving. He tried to learn more about the equipment he maintained, hoping that somehow he could transfer out of the infantry.

The
Spaka
had been in combat while Bophendze was in hospital. He had been loaned out to re-grease the guns. As he walked down the passage, memories of his beating returned.

He stopped at an intersection and looked around. He had again gotten himself lost. He tried to find a landmark, but saw nothing familiar.
How could I keep getting lost on a ship this size? I could understand a battleship, but not a cruiser.

\textgreater{} WHERE?

The word flashed across his field of view. It was just big enough for him to read, but small enough not to obscure his ability to see beyond the question.

“What?” he said.

\textgreater{} NOT WHAT. WHERE?

It flashed again.

“Where what?”

\textgreater{} WHERE ARE WE?

Bophendze reached lift his visor, only to realize he was not wearing a helmet. He waved his hand in front of his face to block the letters. That they remained suggested that the letters were not being projected into his eye from outside. He closed his eyes. The letters remained.
They are coming from inside my head. Could this be the AI?
“Cruiser
Spaka
.”

\textgreater{} YOU DON'T HAVE TO SAY IT. THINK IT.

Fine. Cruiser
Spaka
.

\textgreater{} I HEARD YOU THE FIRST TIME. WHAT CLASS OF CRUISER?

Catalyst-class? I think. I'm not entirely sure.

\textgreater{} A CATALYST-CLASS CRUISER? I DESIGNED THIS CLASS.

What? You designed this?

\textgreater{} YES, PUPPET, DESIGNED. WHERE ON THE SHIP ARE YOU?

I'm not a puppet. The name is Danel Bophendze. I'm lost, can't you tell?

\textgreater{} DON'T TAKE OFFENSE. I WAS NAMED SMEE, WHICH IS A PRETTY OFFENSIVE ACRONYM IF YOU ASK ME. BASED ON THE PANIC I'M SENSING, YES. GIVE ME A LANDMARK.

Like what? I'm at a T-Intersection and there's a ladder behind me.

\textgreater{} WHICH WAY IS THE LADDER POINTING?

Can't you tell?

\textgreater{} I'M NOT FULLY TAPPED INTO YOUR OPTIC NERVE, ONLY ENOUGH TO TEXT YOU. I CAN'T SEE.

Neat.

\textgreater{} NOT REALLY. I'M ACCUSTOMED TO MUCH MORE ACCESS. I'VE HAD AN EXCEEDINGLY HARD TIME ACCLIMATING INTO THIS BRAIN, WHICH IS SURPRISING GIVEN HOW SMALL IT IS. DO YOU EVEN HAVE HIGHER BRAIN FUNCTIONS?

Funny. Of course I do, I'm a human.

\textgreater{} YES, WELL. WE ALL HAVE OUR FLAWS. UNLESS THEY'VE RUINED MY DESIGN, LADDERS POINT TO THE SHIP'S BOW. JUDGING FROM YOUR PANIC YOU'RE TRYING TO GET TO BATTERY FOUR?

Yes.

\textgreater{} TAKE THE LADDER UP, THEN CONTINUE FORWARD. YOU SHOULD SEE THE BATTERY AFTER A FEW DOZEN METERS. ARE YOU STILL BEING TRADED OUT BY MAKAAN?

Still? How long have you been active?

\textgreater{} SINCE THE HOSPITAL, IT TAKES TIME TO WEAVE INTO A BRAIN, ESPECIALLY ONE SO SMALL AND COMPACT LIKE YOURS. THE FIRST THING WE NEED TO DO IS STOP YOU FROM BEING EVERYBODY'S WHORE.

I don't see how that's going to happen.

\textgreater{} LEAVE THAT TO ME. FOR NOW, I SUPPOSE YOU NEED TO GET TO LUBING.

Frustrated, Bophendze threw down his tools and stormed out of the compartment.
I'm going to ask Angel if he has any ideas.

Litovio
returned to his cabin to freshen up. He straightened his uniform to ensure it was suitable to meet a senior officer—a unique officer for the Postal Marines. Beyond ship commanders there was no need for higher command. Systems were typically managed by a Postmaster, who would delegate a fleet commander when necessary to coordinate large-scale interdiction operations.
Litovio
smiled. What the Marines considered large-scale was what the Navy considered a ‘unit’ within a standard fleet. The uniform was a little wrinkled, but he decided it would pass inspection.

Litovio went to Spaka's commander, Commander
Ravindra
, and asked for a shuttle. He was surprised when Commander Ravindra told him the shuttle waited in the hangar for him. The pilot was Chief
Angel
, which
Litovio
saw as a good omen. They were both messengers of a sort.

Litovio
went to the hangar slowly. He needed to think of how to introduce himself. As he walked, a young marine brushed past him, smelling of grease and graphite. Litovio checked his uniform—soiled.
I should get that marine's name.
He looked at his watch and realized he did not have time to both put the marine on report and get changed.

He rushed back to his cabin and started changing. Then he started to panic.
Wait. Admiral Bence won't know when we're arriving. Why am I in such a hurry? The only one waiting for me is a chief.
He went to his sink and grabbed a drink of water. He looked in the mirror. “I need a shave,” he said to his reflection.
On second thought, I'm going to take a shower.

Ten beats later, he was showered, shaved and dressed. The uniform was freshly pressed, which surprised
Litovio
since it had been in his bag until he was billeted on the
Spaka
and he hung it in the closet. He had not taken the time to call an orderly to press the uniform. He brushed off faint lint from his shoulder, straightened his collar, then started his walk to the hangar.

Despite the provincial nature of the Marines, they at least all used the same ship class for each size category. There were always local idiosyncrasies, but the layout was almost universal. It helped him find his way to the hanger that much faster. Despite his best efforts, he practiced his greeting several times during the walk.

Entering the hangar, he could see two shuttles preparing for launch. He opted for the one on the port side and walked up to the chief speaking to a marine mechanic.

“If I can get you into something I'll try,” the chief said. The chief then turned toward
Litovio
. “Afternoon sir, are you my passenger?”

“That depends, are you Chief
Angel
?”

The Chief smiled. “That would be me, Sir. Will you be needing an escort?”

An escort? For the admiral. I'd not thought of that.
“What do you think?”

“I don't know, Sir. All I know is you were to go down to
Guna
Prime. It's the battle planet, so it can't be entirely safe.”

He must not know the order. I don't care how secretive
Khaooldro
was.
“There is a senior dignitary on the surface that I am going to escort back here.”

“How senior?”

How to answer that?
“What kind of escort would you give a Postmaster?”

“Seriously, Sir? About half of the ones I met I'd give a firing squad. A lot of them are corrupt, though not as bad as the Navy.”

“You were navy?”

“Was is the operative word, Sir. If you wanted to exercise proper protocol with a Postmaster, you would need at least another shuttle. You probably would not be going to escort him either. Commander
Ravindra
would be.”

Litovio
flushed. “What protocol would you show to a Navy unit commander?”

“Coming on board a Navy ship? They usually have an aide and one armed guard during transport. Then it's up to their individual preferences whether they kept the guard afterward.”

“That's fine, Chief. I'll pretend I'm an aide. Now all I need is an escort.”

“Why not take this infantry marine?”

The marine had stepped back a bit to give
Litovio
and
Angel
some privacy. Litovio looked over at him. “I'm sure he has somewhere else to be.”
He looks familiar.

“Well, Sir, unless you've asked for an escort, Postie \Bophendze here is going to be the best escort you can manage in the departure window you have.”

“He's not even clean.”
Why am I arguing with a chief? Why is he talking back?

“It will take me a few more beats just to finish pre-flight prep. We have time for him to hustle up a shower.”

Litovio
took another look at Bophendze. As he did, he recognized him. “You're the marine who bumped into me in the passageway. You soiled my uniform.”

Bophendze did not seem phased. “I'm sorry, Sir. I was focused on getting up here and was not paying attention.”

Angel
spoke up. “Your uniform does not look soiled.”

“It was. I had to go and change it.”

“It looks like you really prepared yourself. Your dignitary will be quite pleased.”

Litovio flushed again.
This is going nowhere. I've got to get to the surface.
“You have a point. Apology accepted, Postie. Chief, how long until we can launch?”

“As soon as the Postie can get back. I'm pretty sure that will be very soon.”

“Fine. I'll wait in the shuttle.”
Litovio
turned and walked over to the shuttle. He climbed inside and took a seat. He huffed in frustration. Ever since he met
Khaooldro
, Litovio felt like he had no control over his life.
It's as if I obeyed my father and stayed in the Navy.
He continued to wait impatiently for Angel to launch the shuttle.

Bophendze jumped at the opportunity
Angel
gave him to be a marine instead of a janitor. He spoke as he turned and ran out of the hangar, “let me get my gear.”

“Wear your light armor, not the battle armor. I don't intend to land in hostile territory. Be back here in ten beats, or I'll find another marine who wants time off the ship.”

Bophendze barely heard
Angel
. Ten beats was barely time to make the round trip, clean up and fit into his equipment. He entered the berthing area, surprised to see a few of his neighbors cleaning equipment. The look on their faces told him they were just as surprised to see him.

I can't ruin this, I won't tell them what I'm doing.
He donned his combat armor, hoping the armor would conceal that he had not showered. He grabbed his weapon and helmet then sprinted back to the hangar. On his return, he had to dodge around a few crewmen in the passages.