Postal Marine 1: Bellicose (9 page)

The two fleets finally came into range. The simulation played out much as Smee expected, having spent the past few years on a design that would thrash any opponent. As the Macrodyn fleet shredded the Cel-Tainu fleet, in his glee, Smee inadvertently forced a smug smile on Sirom's face.

The smugness was apparent to all in the room as the lights came back on. Nobody spoke for a few beats as they processed the carnage that they had just witnessed. While the Macrodyn fleet was heavily damaged, only one Macrodyn
Manticore
was lost. The entire Cel-Tainu fleet was obliterated, with all of its
Manticore
s destroyed in the first fifteen beats.

He awoke heavily sedated. The light was blinding, though Bophendze could feel a blindfold in place. The light crept through the gap left at the bridge of his nose. The lights came and went at regular intervals as the gurney carried him through the orbital. At least it smelled like the orbital. The sedation and pain killers were strong, but he remembered the implant in his pocket.

The gurney ride felt short. Either Bophendze had been unconscious for most of the trip, or the orbital was smaller than he remembered. He could tell they wheeled him into an office of some sort. The antiseptic smell reminded him of his mother's hospital—and
Ramford
's office. A few beats later he heard Ramford's voice. He felt prodding, causing him to whence frequently. He heard a biomedical scanner.

“Is it bad?”

“Worse than the last time we met. Your neck isn't broken, so we can take off the collar. You have a broken nose and a nasty concussion.” The lights dimmed in the office. Ramford took Bophendze's collar off, giving Bophendze a chance to move his head.

Bophendze moved his head slowly, looking around the room. His head hurt more as he did so. Only he and the doctor were in the room. The pain intensified as he tried to rise, prompting him to lie back on the gurney.

Ramford
laughed. “I told you that you had a concussion. You should also be feeling a little nausea. Your medications should start wearing off soon.”

“I feel nauseous all the time off planet,” Bophendze said.

“Really? I would have thought a Marine would get used to the swaying eventually. I have.”

Ramford
's comment wounded Bophendze. “Maybe I'm not much of a marine.”

“You'd be surprised, if you knew what kind of beating you took. Most of the men I've seen injured like you are were dead when I examined them. That must be your anthroph genetics.”

“Anthorph? I'm not one of those.”

Ramford whistled inaudibly. “Well, then you certainly should be dead. Maybe you're not supposed to die today?”

“Like I have any control over when I die.”

“Some think they do save their lives. If you eventually die, you're not saving anything. You're just prolonging the inevitable.”

“I don't think I have the mind to even comprehend what you're trying to say, Doc. What happens next?”

“Well, the surgery should take a few cycles, then a few weeks to recover. I can straighten that nose back, but I need to put a plate in your skull to deal with the damage back there. They really went for your head. You may not be an anthorph, but I'm confident they were. That would explain the aggression. When you're fully healed, there shouldn't be any indication you were even hit.”

Bophendze was at a loss for words. “Thanks? I guess.” He knew he had to ask. He knew he could be arrested, but the medications lowered his inhibition and helped him overcome his fear.
The worse that could happen to me is I'm executed, which is not much worse than I am right now.
“Do you remember me from a while back. I showed you that thing?”

Ramford
glanced toward the door before responding. He looked back at Bophendze, looking very worried. “Yes, I do. Are you sure you want to talk about that now? You are a little out of it with the medications.”

“I'm pretty sure I want to talk about it. Look, this is an Imperial orbital and I'm a marine. You're up here because you like the freedom. I'm up here because I have no choice. You said yourself you have to put a plate in my skull. While you're there, why not put that thing in? Nobody will know. And it's just an implant, not illegal in the Imperium. In my right pocket is both the implant and a credit chit. I'm sure the Marines are paying you for the rest of my surgery. Think of this as my gratitude for giving me a chance to become a better Marine.”

“Are you sure it's a military implant? I seem to recall some doubt on that.”

Ramford seems less apprehensive of performing the operation than before. He just wants a little persuasion.
“I don't have my slate with me. If I did, I could show you a letter my mother received about it. She came from a military family. The implant came from her uncle. It's just a military augmentation.” He thought quickly, trying to build the lie a little better. “The letter said that it ‘enhances the central nervous system to improve reflexes and muscle activation.’ I figure that means it will make me faster and stronger, right? Like an
anthorph
, but without the genetic mutation. Next time I'm in a fight like the one I obviously lost, it will give me the edge I need to break even.”

Ramford
continued to hesitate. “If I install this, it will eventually get back to me.”

“You think anybody will really care? Nobody knows I have it now. If I'm ever caught it will be years from now. I'll have been in other systems. Nobody will remember that you even worked on me. Understand? I'll probably rotate off ship before too long anyway for my own protection. Then if I get caught I can blame some other surgeon. Whoever that fellow is would naturally deny it. Either way, I won't let it get back to you. You said installing it is no big deal, right?”

Ramford
looked like he was seriously considering installing the implant. Bophendze took that as a positive sign.
He was not saying ‘no,’ just trying to justify that he wants to say, ‘yes.’

“Fine. I'll do it. I had better not live to regret this.”

Bophendze woke again a few days later. The pain in his head was less intense than it had been on the flight to the orbital before the surgery. He could stand the light again. He looked around and found himself in a decent bed in a large room—larger room than he was accustomed to after months in the Marines. As he studied his surroundings he decided it was about the same size as his childhood bedroom. It felt like a lifetime ago, instead of a year, since he was last in that bedroom. He was still in the hospital.

He sat up carefully. He had an IV bag hanging off his left arm, just like his mom did the last time he saw her. He took a deep breath and focused on not remembering that visit. Instead, he twisted around until his legs dropped over the side of the bed.
No splints, so no major broken bones.
He carefully stood, making sure not to put too much weight on his feet until he could determine whether they could actually take it.

He did the mental calculation.
The flight should give me about an extra week to recuperate, plus the time after the surgery.
Ramford
probably has some good medication that would help me heal faster.

Bophendze slowly made his way over to the one mirror in the room. As he got there, he had to rest his hands on the metal sink to steady himself. He barely recognized himself in the mirror. His face was still swollen, with a line of stitches on the right side of his face, shaped like an “L.” His nose had a splint on it from the surgery. He wondered whether he would have a permanent scar. Modern medical science made scars rare, but the stitches were more than he'd seen before.

Where did he install the implant? Up my nose?
He gingerly felt his scalp from his forehead back until he found more stitches at the back of his head. Without being able to see the area, he tried to guess whether the incision area was the same size as the implant. Finally, he put his thumb over the area.
About the same size. I guess he installed it. Now what? This thing did not exactly come with instructions. How will I know that it's working, or how to control it?

He shook his head, feeling very foolish for having spent the money.
Hundreds of years old. For all I know the thing is dead for good and I'll be carrying around a several grams of dead weight the rest of my life.

A chilled sweat struck him, followed by the sensation of thousands of needle pricks across his body. The pain was more excruciating than the beating he was still recovering from. He screamed.

A few moments later,
Ramford
rushed in. “Are you all right? Your vitals are spiking.”

“I'm in agony,” he said between needle stabs. “What is happening to me?”

Ramford
pulled his scanner out of his coat. He held it up to Bophendze's head to investigate. He adjusted the scanner a few times. “If I had my guess, it looks like the implant is integrating.”

The pain subsided almost as quickly as it started. Bophendze started to feel like he was boiling inside, his skin turned red as it flushed. “What do you mean guess?”

“I'm not an implant surgeon, so I have to guess what's happening based on what the scanner's picking up. It's not exactly something I can research. Understand? There's a lot of activity around your medulla. Based on how you're reacting, I would conclude that the implant is tying into your primal central nervous functions. That's probably how the implant conveys its military advantages, by tying into your medulla. I did not expect these side effects. It really is interesting.”

“It might be interesting to you, but it's really painful to me.”Bophendze was gripped by a sudden deep fear, followed by a flash of ecstasy.
What is it doing to me?
“How long until this subsides?”

“How do I know? I've never dealt with an implant before. There aren't exactly any medical journals discussing the finer points of implant surgery. I specialize in plastic surgery and some trauma surgery, which is good for you as you were rather traumatically beaten and required my skills as a plastic surgeon. Once the swelling subsides, nobody will even know you were beaten. I wish I could add this surgery to my CV, but that would definitely get me arrested whether I'm within the Imperium or down there.” He concluded by pointing down to the planet below.

With Ramford as his doctor, he was able to remain on the orbital for another month. After the first few days, Bophendze's cascading feelings and emotions subsided. The implant seemed to have finished integrating. A month later, the only emotion he had left was frustration. The implant did nothing for him beyond the first few wild days. He felt cheated at having spent all of his inheritance to have a useless implant installed in his brain.

When he arrived in the hangar,
Angel
was there.

“Let's go, Marine. I just received word that
Spaka
is now underway to a jump point. We'll be able to intercept if we get going now.”

Do we have to?

Litovio
was tired after weeks of travel with
Khaooldro
. He would ask her questions. She would evade him by answering in a way that would wrap him up in confusion. He concluded that she had some innate ability to confound anybody she spoke with. The marine stick that helped her ‘escort’ him followed them through four separate ship changes. That was another irregularity—marines were highly territorial, more provincially based than trans-system. They traveled through two postal regions, based on his recollection of where the various systems were located. Commanders of the ships they traveled on were a mix of agitated and submissive.
Khaooldro
seemed to manage them as well as she did Litovio's father.

Finally, they boarded another ship, the
Spaka
, in
Temasek
.
Khaooldro
‘managed’ another ship's commander and soon he learned they were jumping to yet-another-system.

“Captain Litovio, mind if I join you?”
Khaooldro
said.

Litovio
suppressed a double-take. The ship's intercom reported the jump a cycle before. He was hungry, so he went to the officer's galley for breakfast. “Sure. I think this is the first time you sought me out. I'm usually chasing you for answers.”

“Consider me caught.” She turned and locked the hatch out of the galley.

Litovio
blushed briefly despite himself. “So if you're caught, does that mean you'll start answering my questions?”

She still pretended to be demure. “That depends on the question.”

She's doing it again. What is she doing?
“I'm not entirely sure if you abducted me or what, so why not start by explaining what we're doing.”

“Sorry. I don't have all of the information, only what I need to know. You know that there's recently been a succession within the Imperial family.”

Litovio
nodded. “But that was two years ago.”

“There's really not much more I can say than that.” She had a way of letting her answer linger. It infuriated Litovio. “Admiral Bence has an important role in that succession. The Emperor believes there is a conspiracy to depose him, and the Admiral will see to his protection.”

“Admiral? The Postal Service doesn't have admirals.”

She shrugged.
She's not going to answer that.

“Who would be mad enough to go after the Emperor. The Navy would certainly—”

Khaooldro
said, “if there's a lingering power struggle in the Imperial family, then the sitting Emperor is going to want to hold close those whom he trusts. If there's a conspiracy, then are you certain the Navy can be trusted?”

He hesitated.
Who could you trust during a succession?
“How could he trust the Marines more than the Navy? Not that it matters. If the Navy is conspiring to overthrow the Emperor, there's not much the Marines can do about it. We're not designed for the sort of fleet action that could take on the Navy.”

She smiled. “I told you before, that's a sign of the times.”

Litovio
stopped.
I've got to keep her from going to confusing me again.
“Fine. A sign of the times. So I collect this Admiral
Bence
. Then what?”

“Once you've got him back to the
Spaka
, he'll know what to do. Then you're mission will be complete.”

“What? You canceled my leave. You drag me unwillingly through several systems and several weeks and my job is to get an admiral from
Guna
to the
Spaka
. You didn't need me for that. You could have done that yourself.”