Aliens, p.11
Aliens, page 11
Marines only had to share their quarters with one other on the Il Conde. The ship was huge. Nearly four hundred meters long, an ugly fat train of ceramic composites and steel and titanium, pushing through the universe with its spiked, asymmetrical face. So much room for such a small crew so, yeah, no reason to cram a whole company into a single room. Instead, it shoved two into each small space, but her roommate was Sara, so Karri had the luxury of solitude.
No stares, no recriminations, no cold shoulders. Just her bunk.
Karri put her hands behind her head and stared at the ceiling above. Someone had scratched their initials into it, long time past. Rust showing, in the engraving.
WLH
Next to it she’d stuck a picture of her family.
They were standing in front of the converted shipping container they called home. Mum, beaming into the camera. Big smile, her wavy blonde-brown hair shining in the sunlight. Her best dress, light cotton, flowers. Skinny. Shoulders boney, but better since they’d made it to the camp in the States. Almost never smiled, after Dad had died. Her mother had a haunted look, distracted—so much so she’d forget even the boys. Forget to go out and scrounge and beg for food.
But here she was smiling, and so were Karri’s stupid brothers. Shane, Jackson, and Keith. Younger by quite a bit. Karri nineteen years old at the time of the photo, and her brothers twelve, eleven, and ten. Not entirely clear, the thought process her parents put into that late trifecta.
The boys had their toys. Shit. As poor as they were, they had their plastic pulse rifles and “armored” vests. Of course they did. The Colonial Marines had a recruiting office inside the refugee camp, taking advantage of a steady stream of fodder for their imperial appetites. “Do your time and you get your citizenship.” Pretty sweet deal, save the part where they ended up dead or dismembered on a cold hard frontier in space.
Smart enough to make branded Marines toys available to refugee families when they arrived, handed out in their welcome packs. Get those girls and boys while they were young, roleplaying law versus chaos, freedom versus socialism, cops versus robbers. Keith, at least, had a yellow shirt on, with the boxing kangaroo printed on the front. A tiny piece of home, as they threw themselves on the mercy of another empire.
She sighed through her nose. Karri was tired. Sore. Deep ache, around the side of her face. From the fight, she supposed, with the mercenaries. God, that felt like an eon ago. Another lifetime. She tried to shift her mind back to her family, keep it there. A light, to keep her warm in this darkness, but her mind was many things, and not one of them was loyal.
Instead, her mind took her to another place—a Colonial Marine training vessel, the Mont-Blanc, orbiting Earth. Thirteen weeks on the ground, then a second lot of thirteen weeks in space, and there she was, in her last few days, in the office of Major Menadue.
32
Decorated marine, neat black hair, pale white skin, a sheen on his lips. Like he used lip gloss. Major Menadue studied a datapad lying flat in front of him on his sparse expansive black desk, while she waited, eyes ahead, hands behind her back. Framed distinguished service medals on the wall, framed copy of the Marines oath, picture of him and the former president.
Portals to her right, looking down on Earth. Passing slowly and steadily underneath, oblivious to Karri and the thing she now had to do. After the major had finished his little power play, he deigned to look at her.
“You requested a meeting, recruit?”
“Yes sir,” she answered.
“I denied it.”
“Yes sir.”
“You insisted.”
“I did, sir.”
He indicated the datapad in front of him. “I take it you wish to discuss your failure at zero-G training.”
“I do, sir.”
“Then there is nothing to discuss.” He raised his head, lips gleaming in the light. “The Colonial Marines have high standards. You failed to meet those standards.” He raised his hand, indicating the portal and its view. “You will return to Earth on the next transport. Back to the little slice of luxury you wheedled for yourself and your family. I wish you all the best.”
Karri flared, inside, at the description of that baking hot shipping container as luxury.
“Why should I meet those standards,” she asked, “if even the commanding officer fails to meet them?”
The jaws on his muscles worked, but otherwise he remained perfectly still.
“What did you say, recruit?”
“Everyone here knows how to get the best assignments, Major. The women, anyway. If there’s a particular posting they want—maybe not so far from family, maybe one not in a war zone—well, they just have to bend themselves over that desk of yours there and abracadabra, suddenly they get the battalion they want, and the commander of choice.”
His eyes bore into her, but he said nothing.
She held up a hand. “I’m not here to threaten, mate. You have the power here, I know that. You’re in command of this vessel, this entire situation. No one will believe the accusation of a recruit against a war hero like you. I’m just asking for a little lenience in my scoring, Major. I passed everything else.”
Still he said nothing.
“Ever fucked an Aussie?”
He stopped, wet his lips, let his eyes range over her.
“No.”
“Well, today is your lucky day, Major.”
Something changed in his face. “You failed zero-G. This is different.”
“That’s just the thing,” she said. “All I’m asking is that you let me retake that zero-G examination.”
He pressed his shiny lips together, that sick little fuck. “I don’t think it’s my lucky day, Boot,” he said, using the pejorative for a trainee. His hands moved to his belt. “I think it might be yours.”
Karri ran a finger over her buttons, undid the top one.
“Call me Marine.”
The major undid his silver clasp. “Marine,” he breathed.
She held up a finger. “So we’re clear. I fuck you, now. Any way you want it. In return, you amend that report you got there in front of you?”
“Sure,” he said, distracted. He was a man, after all. He unzipped himself.
“Deal?”
“Deal.”
Karri breathed a sigh of relief and pulled a slender silver box from the pocket of her fatigues. Thankfully, the major stopped moving his hand.
“What is that?”
“This, dickhead, is a recorder.”
He blinked.
“Listen here, you sleazy fuck,” she continued. “I got a new deal for you. You’re going to give me a pass in zero-G. Then I’m going to ship out, and you’re going to stop banging recruits. In exchange, you get to stay here, in this fucking tin can, circling the Earth. Watching the same shit, week in, week out. Doing the same job. Counting down those fucking hours until retirement.”
He zipped himself back up. A mean look came into his eyes, a different type of predator than the one that sparked in his gaze a bare minute ago. The major was taller than her, wider, and had seen his share of action.
“Calm down, Major. You see my hand-to-hand scores?”
“I would snap your spine.”
Karri grinned. “Why don’t you try that, you dirty old bastard? Win or lose, there’s going to be a real mess in this office—and if I win, I’ll still have this.” She turned the recorder in her hand, the silver casing catching the light.
He tensed.
“Or—” she said, trying to grab the moment. The chance that had presented itself. “—I walk away. You sit down, and life goes on, for both of us. And all this unpleasantness—well, mate, it never happened.”
Still the major worked the muscles in his jaw, and Karri changed her stance. Ready, should he decide to launch himself across his desk. Maybe try to tear the recorder from her hand.
He didn’t.
“Get the hell out of my office.”
Karri Lee smiled. “And to be clear: you ain’t never gonna fuck an Aussie.”
He glowered.
She left.
33
Karri stared at the ceiling. Maybe she should have just fucked him. Gotten a better assignment than this one, out here on the frontier. With an obsessive captain, willing to sacrifice his soldiers on principle.
She turned the wedding band on her forefinger. No, her father wouldn’t have liked that. Not one bit. Though he wouldn’t have been big on her joining the Colonial Marines, either.
“Lee.”
She jumped. Turned in her bunk. Standing in the doorway was Corporal Ottelli, the gunner from the APC. It was the first time he’d spoken to her directly since she joined the unit.
“Yes, Corporal?”
“It’s Ransome,” he said, his eyes giving nothing away. Her breath caught in her throat. She found herself unable to ask the question.
“She’s awake,” he said. Ottelli tapped the doorframe with his palm twice, nodded at her, and left.
Karri breathed. It felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders, like she’d been guilty of a terrible crime, and yet a judge had somehow declared her innocent. Relief mixed with guilt mixed with remorse. For a few moments longer she stared at the space where Ottelli had been, gripping and un-gripping the pale green sheet on her bunk.
“Okay, Karri,” she said to herself. She hopped down. No more excuses.
34
“Private Lee,” Ransome said, her voice a little above a whisper. “Don’t just stand there. Come in.”
Ransome’s eyes had been closed, her skin was pale. Standing in the doorway, Karri was about to leave again when the corporal’s eyes flicked open. Giving a strained smile, the private walked over to the hospital bed.
“Where’re my flowers?” Ransome asked.
“Oh, ah, sorry, I didn’t…”
“I’m joking, rookie. Don’t they have jokes where you come from?”
Karri smiled, more genuine this time. “Well, they’re free, so yeah. We can afford those.”
Ransome had faint purple bags under her eyes, an IV in her arm, and a heart monitor pinched on her forefinger. For all that, though, she looked better. Her hair, when not tied back, was wavy and full. The side of her head, over her ear, had been shaved. Even with the white sheet, her breasts made a pleasing shape under the covers.
“I look terrible, I know,” Ransome said.
“You look great,” Karri said, and instantly regretted it.
Ransome raised an eyebrow. Karri felt the heat on her neck, and hoped Ransome hadn’t noticed.
“Well—I’m glad you’re alive.”
“So am I.”
“I guess I should… ah…” Karri tried to think of excuse to leave. Her mind was messing with her again. She’d been obsessing over whether Ransome would die, and suddenly, now the woman was alive, she found herself distracted by the tingle of attraction. It was impossible, anyway, with a squad mate. Another reason they might use to have her kicked out. Karri really had to stop providing those.
“Take a seat,” Ransome said. “I got nothing to do but lie here. Tell me what happened on the Patna.”
“Oh,” Karri said. “Didn’t everyone else tell you already?”
“Sure,” Sara said, voice still a husky whisper. “But no one really knows what happened after they left you on board. So tell me about that.”
Karri took a seat. She told the story the same way she’d told it to Apone. That Haruki had decided to eject the core manually, that she had left Michael’s office with three minutes to spare. Ransome listened. Once or twice her eyes closed, and Karri thought she may have fallen asleep, but the woman spoke.
“Keep going.”
Karri did. When she finished, Ransome was silent for a few moments.
“You trying to get a medal, rookie?”
Karri hesitated. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you trying to get a medal?”
“No, I—”
Ransome cut her off with a tired shake of the head.
Karri twisted the ring on her forefinger. The unit would find out, eventually. Personal information always seemed to find a way out, into people’s mouths, whispered in locker rooms. She sighed.
“I got three little brothers. They’re in a refugee camp, in California. It’s better than the one on the border, but it’s still a hovel. I serve one year, adequately, then I get full UA citizenship, and my family get moved to Camp Pendleton. If I get a decoration—one of the better ones, anyway—then I get my citizenship faster. So yeah, I guess I was hoping to get a medal. Though mostly I’m just hoping to avoid a discharge.”
Ransome was silent for a few moments. “And if you die, but are awarded one posthumously…” It wasn’t a question. She was leading Karri in.
“Yeah,” Karri said. “They get in then, as well.”
“I’d prefer you didn’t die.”
“Same here,” Karri said. “Unheroically, anyway.”
“I mean it.”
Karri was silent, twisting the ring on her finger. “Why—” She stopped herself.
“Why?” Ransome prompted.
“Why are you being so good to me?”
Ransome watched her, waiting.
“I nearly got you killed,” Karri continued. “We’ve only known each other for a few weeks. Why?”
“I’m stuck here.” The corporal waved her hand, vaguely. “I need someone to talk to.”
“No, Sara. Really.”
Ransome tilted her head to look at her, more directly. A machine bleeped in the background.
“You remind me of someone.”
“Who?”
Ransome gave a tired smile. “You know, rookie, not everything’s an angle. I get it that you grew up in the camps. I get that you’re in the Marines now, and you gotta prove you’re tough and that you belong. But you walk around, eyes flicking left and right, like you’re expecting someone to jump you. That’s no way to walk through life.”
Karri looked down at her hands.
“I nearly died. So maybe I’m more talkative than usual, but I like you, rookie, and I guess I’m your friend. Whether you want it or not.”
Karri pressed her lips together. Fucking hell, she just wanted to cry. One little kindness and she was right there. On the edge.
“But mainly I’m bored,” Ransome finished, smiling weakly.
Karri laughed. An emotion had to come out, and she preferred it was that. She leaned back in her chair. Ransome closed her eyes again, and Karri let her. She did sleep this time. Maybe for ten minutes, and Karri was glad of the quiet. Just the machine bleeping, steady and comforting, and the distant hum of the ship.
Ransome opened her eyes again and talked like there hadn’t been a break. “So tell me, Karri,” she whispered. “How the hell did you end up here?”
“How’d I get to the UA, you mean?”
Ransome shook her head. “No. Before that. The cause of it all. What made you end up here?”
Karri hesitated. Americans always seemed so eager to tell their most personal stories. Like they’d all rehearsed it, a five-minute take, straight to the camera. Their culture lived on the individual tale—the glory of I —where hers focused on the collective, the class, the community, and what they shared. No single person being above the other, no one story being more worthy, or more tragic, or more vital.
Despite all that, she found herself wanting to tell it. She had to.
“I was sixteen years old…”
35
The sun beat down, like always. That indefatigable white-hot master of the sky, burning them with its unblinking stare. Karri Lee walked with her father down to the ration center. She had the red plastic food chits in her front pocket, and the axe handle resting on her shoulder. Her dad disapproved, saying it was better to trust their neighbors, and to build those feelings of community. Karri shrugged and said the line she’d heard once, at one of her father’s poker games.
“Trust everyone, but cut the cards.”
He raised an eyebrow at that, still smiled, anyway. Her father had a quiet smile, and a quiet manner. Lean and tall, he wore wide-brimmed hats and small round glasses that always seemed to catch the light. He’d taught English Literature at university, and when the Three World Empire shut down the school for “harboring subversives,” he taught literacy at the community center instead. They called him “Professor Lee” down there, and they were only half-joking.
Her father was well-liked and known in the community. He taught history, too. True history. He was one of the subversives the Three World Empire liked to lock up. Her father explained to her all about their mining interests in Australia, their insatiable need to strip-mine these lands, to feed the ravenous engine of empire. “Nothing’s as precious to them,” he’d say, “as a hole in the ground.”
Her father drank from a battered blue water container and passed it to her. Karri drank deeply. It didn’t do much to take the edge off the hunger, but it helped a little. They hadn’t had breakfast, and dinner the night before had been a thin cabbage soup. Her energy levels were low, but she felt her excitement growing as they neared the ration center. Her tokens were good for one bag of rice, one bag of flour, and 100ml of cooking oil.
Better still, coffee.
Karri and her father didn’t have much in common. Where he was an academic, she foundered on every school topic, except reading. Where he was cerebral, she took to martial arts at a young age, and excelled. Where he preached non-violent resistance, Karri had started to read some of the most radical pamphlets about the Great Rebellion, that argued for the violent overthrow of the Three World Empire.
But one thing they agreed on was coffee. Karri was only sixteen, but had started drinking it a year before, imitating her father, who slurped down two cups first thing every morning. They were both addicted to the dark acrid brew, and recent shortages had shortened both of their tempers. Well, hers anyway.
