Theirs Not To Reason Why: A Soldier's Duty (33 page)
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Authors: Jean Johnson
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The lowest decks—crawlspaces, really—ran at very low gravity, allowing the decks to build up in their pull so as not to stress the hull. The highest decks also ran weakly, but more to allow the cumulative effects of the lower areas to taper off, so that projectile missiles and space mines couldn’t be pulled into contact with a ship’s hull by sheer proximity to the fields. And while the ships were designed to be rugged and durable in zero gravity as well as standard, they weren’t designed to permit a lot of local variation. Which meant the gyms would be running at a combined total of 1g, and that meant she had to strap on the weight suit in order to get a decent workout.
As soon as the packing cases were loaded back into their carrier and the carrier hung from a hook inside the second locker, she strapped on the weight suit, but didn’t head for the gym. She had five free, unobserved minutes. Hauling her portable writing station and a box of paper back out of the locker, she turned it on, fed one end of the paper into the machine, closed her eyes, composed her thoughts, and reached her mind into the tangle of electrons that served as the machine’s programming.
The keyboard wasn’t necessary, though she could and would use it in the years ahead. Several days of practicing during the trip from Earth out to Battle Platform
Hum-Vee
, where the
Liu Ji
was docked, had given her some skill in manipulating the machine electrokinetically, but not a lot of skill. In fact, typing would have been faster, but she needed the practice. One day, she would do this literally as fast as a thought. For now, it was an effort to write up even a simple note, since what she thought in her head had to be translated into a format the workstation could understand.
Hum-Vee
, where the
Liu Ji
was docked, had given her some skill in manipulating the machine electrokinetically, but not a lot of skill. In fact, typing would have been faster, but she needed the practice. One day, she would do this literally as fast as a thought. For now, it was an effort to write up even a simple note, since what she thought in her head had to be translated into a format the workstation could understand.
DATE:
TERRAN STANDARD 2513.08.14, SANCTUARY, PASSAGE WARREN, LOCAL TIME 13:14 +/- 2 MINUTES MAX.LOCATION:
SANCTUARY, PASSAGE WARREN, NORTHWEST HUB 5TH TIER, 3RD WING, APARTMENT 325.RECIPIENT:
ALMA “STUTTER” SUVRAMANYA (DARK BROWN EYES, DARK BROWN WAIST-LENGTH BRAID, BLUE BLOUSE, GREEN SLACKS, BEIGE SANDALS, RED AND GOLD CLOISONNÉ CHRONOBRACELET ON LEFT WRIST). RING DOORBELL, STATE “MESSAGE FROM CENTRAL, IA’N SUD-DHA,” DELIVER MESSAGE TO RECIPIENT, MAKE SURE SHE READS IT, THEN LEAVE.
That was the first page. A nudge of her mind scrolled the sheet upward . . . and an extra sheet as well. Rolling her eyes, Ia firmed her concentration, rolled it back by one sheet, and thought the body of the text at the machine.
Stutter,Hugo is not the best partner for you. Tell him he deserves someone who has more in common with him, and that you are moving. Take the job offer in Capsicum Warren; it will lead to something better. Ignore the job offer in Greenleaf, it’s not as good as it looks. Make sure you have moved by no later than TS 2513.10.02. Once you do, look for the man with two earrings in his left ear. Forgive him on the second date, ignore the incident on the third. Avoid the trip to Halfway Warren TS 2633.04.23-27 at all costs, extended family included. The disaster would be restricted to your family, but with far-reaching consequences. Do not go. Otherwise, live long and well.Ia
Tearing the sheet free, Ia scrolled it up out of the machine, separated the two pages, and tucked one note inside the other. Putting workstation and paper back into the locker, she pulled out the lockbox. The lock was an expensive DNA model, keyed to the genetics of just two people, herself and Grandmaster Ssarra. The only things currently inside the largish box were a bundle of silver sealing wax sticks and a custom wax stamp. The other time-sensitive letters she had crafted on the voyage to the
Liu Ji
had been mailed on the Battle Platform just before boarding.
Liu Ji
had been mailed on the Battle Platform just before boarding.
Selecting a stick, Ia ignited it with a thought and dripped a small puddle onto the folded sheets. A press of the seal marked the wax with the symbol she had chosen to represent herself, an arrow drawing a line from the right, wrapped in a circle. To her, it represented the way she drew upon the future to inform and shape the present, wrapped within the arms of the Milky Way galaxy. That, and she wasn’t an artist; drawing anything more complicated than an arrow-and-line within a circle for the company that had made the seal would have been beyond her capabilities.
The wax stick was snuffed as easily as it had been lit. More easily, since it simply required drawing back the heat-based energies into herself. She wasn’t a full-blooded Feyori—if they could be said to have blood, since they didn’t have anything of the sort in their natural state—but manipulating energy was a part of her nature. A headache-risking, hunger-stirring part of her nature.
No time for food right now,
she reminded herself, locking up the letter and tucking the strongbox back into its cupboard.
I’m going to be late by three or more minutes, then it’s an hour or so in the gym, a shower to freshen up, a tour of the prep bays, and the installation of my mechsuit in its designated storage alcove, plus there’s that sixty-five percent chance Lt. D’kora will insist on a full diagnostic of the suit to make sure it’s battle-ready.
she reminded herself, locking up the letter and tucking the strongbox back into its cupboard.
I’m going to be late by three or more minutes, then it’s an hour or so in the gym, a shower to freshen up, a tour of the prep bays, and the installation of my mechsuit in its designated storage alcove, plus there’s that sixty-five percent chance Lt. D’kora will insist on a full diagnostic of the suit to make sure it’s battle-ready.
Which it had better be,
Ia added, shutting off the lights with a swipe of her hand as she left the cabin.
I have just three days until my first official combat as a TUPSF Marine.
Ia added, shutting off the lights with a swipe of her hand as she left the cabin.
I have just three days until my first official combat as a TUPSF Marine.
CHAPTER 11
In the military, your teammates—squad mates, platoon mates, shipmates, whatever—are the single most important resource you have, outside of your own body. Getting along with everyone is vital for the survival of your group and the successful completion of your missions. It is also one of the hardest things to do, because in the military, people come from hundreds and thousands of different backgrounds, cultures, social standings, interests and creeds.The person fighting next to you on the line of combat may believe in a completely different god, or in none at all. They may prefer comedy over horror or action-adventure. They may think lettuce is disgusting but munch their way through fried squid strips with glee. But that’s the thing about a good, effective military. None of that matters . . . because they’re fighting at your side, with you, protecting your hide. The same as you’re doing for them.Ethnicity, culture, creed. None of it matters. At least, none of that matters once you’re out on the line. Until you’ve proven yourself in combat, however, getting along is not the easiest thing in the universe.~Ia
Ia studied her teammates, familiar with their faces and some of their personality quirks from the timeplains. They eyed her back, not at all familiar with their newest squad member. A stray thought flitted through her head.
They say Merlin aged backwards, which was how he knew everyone. Maybe he was just a precog like me . . . sort of like me . . . and just remembered everything in advance. Just one difference: none of these will be a future King of England.
They say Merlin aged backwards, which was how he knew everyone. Maybe he was just a precog like me . . . sort of like me . . . and just remembered everything in advance. Just one difference: none of these will be a future King of England.
Given the white and steel gleam of the exercise equipment bolted to the deck of the gym, nothing could have been further from a sword-stuck rock in a Motherworld forest. Amused, she let herself smile slightly. “Hello.”
“. . . Right.”
That came from the biggest, most muscular male in D’kora’s A Squad. D’kora had introduced them to her before abandoning her to make her way. Only Estes was a corporal, the rest were all privates, either first or second class. This one was Jamil Eimaal-Elelle, lead member of A Squad Beta, nicknamed “Double-E” by his teammates. He towered over her by nearly forty centimeters, about as tall as could be fitted into half-mech armor, and flexed his muscles a little. Given he was wearing a sleeveless brown shirt, the effect was no doubt meant to be intimidating. He just wasn’t as muscular as her older brother.
“You’re supposed to lead us? I heard you were coming straight from Basic,” Double-E challenged.
“You’re from Mars, aren’t you?” Ia countered, changing the subject. “My biomom has relatives in the Thessaluna Dome area. I’ve seen pictures; it’s nice. You from around there?”
“Nah. South Pole. Closest I ever got to Thessaluna was Rainbow Rock. You ever been there?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Closest I ever got to Mars was a flyby on my way to Earth.” She turned to his teammate, Tom Harkins. The man was almost as tall as Double-E, but skinny by comparison, and pale where Jamil was dark in complexion. “You’re ‘Happy’ Harkins, and you’re from . . . don’t tell me . . . ah . . . Beaumonde, in the Lalande system. Space station in orbit around the third moon, right?”
“Right. What’s with the funny outfit?” Happy asked her, lifting his chin at the tile-covered straps of her weight suit.
“I’m from a heavyworld. I wear the extra weight to keep in shape when I work out,” Ia explained.
“And they put you in a half-mech team? Shouldn’t a heavyworlder be in full-mech?” The question came from a curly-haired woman with skin somewhere between Ia’s light honey and Double-E’s chocolate hue, Angela Cooper. Her question was understandable, given how she and her teammate wore the heavily armed, oversized suits, and how both of them had the wiry muscles to match. She poked her thumb at him, addressing Ia. “Guichi and I are both heavyworlders. I’m from Tau Ceti Gamma, and he’s from Seti Five.”
Happy Harkins snorted. “Seti Five’s a heavyworld only by a thousandth of a G-point.”
Guichi grinned. “And only that if you stand on a mountain.” He bumped knuckles with his tall teammate, then lifted his chin at Ia. “Which world or satellite are you from?”
“Sanctuary.” Blank looks met her gaze. “It’s the heaviest heavyworld, on the backside of Terran space. Second-gen firstworlder.”
Thom Estradille, the second team member in A Squad Delta, mocked her. “Ooh, we got a firstworlder here, an honest member of the planetary squatocracy! Why the hell aren’t you at home, grubbing in the dirt?”
“Because I’m not a dirt-grubber, I’m a ground-pounder. And they put me in half-mech because they didn’t want to waste my reflexes,” she added to Cooper. “Full-mech is meant for standing, taking, and giving a pounding. Half-mech is for maneuvering and outmaneuvering the enemy, and I’m far better at outmaneuvering.”
“. . . In other words, your aim is
v’shakk
,” Cooper translated. She grinned and shared another fist-bump with her teammate Yoishi Guichi.
v’shakk
,” Cooper translated. She grinned and shared another fist-bump with her teammate Yoishi Guichi.
Ia smiled slightly, not offended by the other woman’s quip.
“Gentlebeings.” Coming from the far side of the gym, D’kora’s voice cut through not only their conversation, but the clanking of weights and the humming of treadmills. Her words turned several heads among the members of the other squads, aimed first her way, then theirs. “The Marine Corps does not pay you to stand around talking. We pay you to keep in shape. Do so.”
“Sir, yes, sir.” Gesturing at the machines, Ia let the others settle back into whatever routine they had been doing before her introduction, then opted for one of the empty treadmills.
With roughly fifty people in the room, there weren’t many machines open. She found herself next to the last member of A Squad, Oslo Knorrsson. He wasn’t much taller than her, had a stocky build, tanned skin, and a shock of light blond hair. He was also wearing wraparound sunglasses. She didn’t know why, though; that was one of those unnecessary details Ia figured she didn’t have to learn in advance. If she never learned in the course of the next two or so years, then so be it.
The moment she stepped onto it, the treadmill beeped and scrolled a message across its display screen.
“Excessive weight detected in single occupant. Report to the infirmary to implement weight removal regimen.”
“Excessive weight detected in single occupant. Report to the infirmary to implement weight removal regimen.”
She burst out laughing, startling the Marine jogging at her side. Knorrsson stumbled, recovered, and lowered his shades long enough to look at her with his pale blue eyes, bouncing smoothly in place with each running step. “What’s so funny?”
“It wants me to remove my excess weight. The funny thing is, so do I.” Chuckling, she synched her wrist unit with the machine, downloading her exercise routine into the treadmill’s programming. There wasn’t much that made her laugh anymore, but that had done it. Ia grinned as she began jogging, savoring the good feeling for as long as it lasted.
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