This Shattered World
Page 26
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Alexi drops into the rickety folding chair beside my cot with a groan, leaning back enough to make the plastene composite creak ominously. “You had us pretty spooked, Captain. You all right?” Alexi was one of the soldiers who saw me leave with Cormac from Molly’s bar. His face is quiet, his gaze frank. I know what he’s asking.
“I’m fine,” I reply, meeting that gaze. “A few scrapes and bruises, nothing more.”
He presses his lips together, frustrated. “I should’ve seen it. I just thought you liked the guy…but I should’ve realized he was one of the swamp rats.”
From Alexi, the slur’s half a joke. Even so, I find myself looking away, smoothing down a wrinkle in the blanket covering my lap. “You didn’t know. Neither did I.”
“I see him again, I’m not waiting to hear his side of things.” Alexi’s eyes are on the X-rays of my ribs hanging next to my bed.
I have to bite back the desire to correct him, to tell him that the guy in the bar isn’t the one who beat me. But what difference does it make? If Cormac’s smart, he won’t show his face here again.
Alexi leans closer. “You look…unsettled. You’re sure you’re fine? No blackouts, no…dreams?” His voice drops for that, as though he doesn’t dare come too near that idea. Doesn’t dare imagine this ordeal will be the one that finally turns the unbreakable Captain Lee Chase into a blank-eyed, violent madwoman.
“None.” I reach for a smile with dubious success. “You know I never get the dreams, Alexi.” I never get any dreams. I haven’t since I was eight years old. Since Verona.
“Hey, even you’re human.” Pause. “I think.”
“Thanks for worrying about me, LT.”
He opens his mouth, but before he can frame any words, the comms unit clipped to his belt crackles to life, making us both jump. A thick, gravelly voice—I recognize it as Captain Biltmore’s—summons him to the security office.
Alexi lifts his head, flashing me an apologetic look. “They had us all reporting to other officers while you were…gone. Temporarily. As soon as you’re up again, we’ll be back with you.”
I don’t bother to hide my smile. Alexi’s one of the few I trust enough to smile at like this, anyway. “Don’t worry, I’ll swallow my jealousy for a day or two.”
The comms unit crackles again, but Alexi clamps his hand onto the mute button with a grimace. “Make it quick, Captain.”
I grin as he gets to his feet. Biltmore’s the asshole of the month, and everyone on the base knows it. No wonder Alexi’s anxious for me to get back on my feet.
Alexi reaches down to lay his palm against my shoulder. “Lee,” he says quietly, his grin fading to something quiet and private and grave. “If you ever do need me, you know I’m here, right?”
My throat dry, I can only nod.
Alexi nods back and then slips from the room, shoving his hands in his pockets and dropping into his habitual slouch.
I exhale slowly, letting my eyes settle on the ceiling. Alexi hasn’t touched me, with the exception of sparring and handshakes, since we first served together on Patron over a year ago. He was the one who taught me I could never under any circumstances become close with someone posted alongside me. Our fling was discovered right after I was promoted, and suddenly every time Alexi got assigned some duty someone else wanted, it was because I was playing favorites, not because I was doing my job.
Alexi requested a transfer, and then I moved on to Avon with my old captain and the rest of my platoon. No one here knows we ever did more than serve together once—now, he’s simply one of my oldest friends. He’s mine, but only in the way all my guys are.
Still. Knowing he’s there—my throat tightens. I wish I could talk to him. I wish I could talk to him, to anyone, about the Fianna boy and his talk of peace, so unlike what we’ve always known to be true of the rebels. But not even Alexi would understand why I didn’t take him prisoner to face justice for his crimes.
Hell, I don’t even understand it myself.
There’s a hospital gown draped over the back of the chair, but I’m not quite willing to face Commander Towers in a dress that doesn’t close in the back. Still, I push myself up into a seated position with a groan and reach for the laces on my boots. It’s not until I’ve tossed one into the corner and am reaching for the other that something loose shifts inside the lining, and I remember the thing I found half-hidden in the mud on Cormac’s island. With everything that happened—the rebel hideout, McBride, my escape—I’d forgotten it.
I tug the boot free and upend it. A small rectangular bit of plastic drops out onto the blanket. It’s definitely man-made, covered in foil circuitry on one side. My fingers reach for it and turn it over. The other side’s got a scan bar on it.
It’s an ident chip. Low-tech, compared to the flashy things we get nowadays, with holovid images of our faces and DNA samples and fingerprints built in. This is one of the models from ten, twenty years ago. Outdated, but simple. Doesn’t require much technology to produce—but the advantage is that it can’t be read without the right scanner. And I’ll bet anything that if I tried to scan it, the identity of its owner would come up encrypted. There’s no telling who this chip belongs to.
Except it wasn’t a soldier, because we’ve got different chips. And it wasn’t a townie or a rebel, because their genetag IDs are all tattooed on their forearms and verified via DNA scans, so they can’t be forged or lost. This isn’t the tech TerraDyn uses—they have all their own in-house systems.
It’s someone else. Someone who isn’t supposed to be in TerraDyn’s territory. Another player on Avon.
Before I have much time to process, there’s a knock at the door. I shove the ident chip deep into my pocket and lift my head. The door swings open, and Commander Towers appears.
She’s the only other female officer on the base above a lieutenant, but we couldn’t look more different. She’s willowy and lean, with sharply defined features and blond hair she wears in a bun at the nape of her neck. Less experienced than the base commander she replaced four or five months ago, but far more competent. She’s a lifer, like me. We’re the ones who progress quickly through the ranks, who devote our lives to these fights. Most recruits who show up are only passing through, enlisting for a few years to earn enough to start their real careers or go to school, or to see a bit of the galaxy before they settle down somewhere. But with Towers and me, one look is all you need to know we’ll be soldiers until we’re done.
“I’m fine,” I reply, meeting that gaze. “A few scrapes and bruises, nothing more.”
He presses his lips together, frustrated. “I should’ve seen it. I just thought you liked the guy…but I should’ve realized he was one of the swamp rats.”
From Alexi, the slur’s half a joke. Even so, I find myself looking away, smoothing down a wrinkle in the blanket covering my lap. “You didn’t know. Neither did I.”
“I see him again, I’m not waiting to hear his side of things.” Alexi’s eyes are on the X-rays of my ribs hanging next to my bed.
I have to bite back the desire to correct him, to tell him that the guy in the bar isn’t the one who beat me. But what difference does it make? If Cormac’s smart, he won’t show his face here again.
Alexi leans closer. “You look…unsettled. You’re sure you’re fine? No blackouts, no…dreams?” His voice drops for that, as though he doesn’t dare come too near that idea. Doesn’t dare imagine this ordeal will be the one that finally turns the unbreakable Captain Lee Chase into a blank-eyed, violent madwoman.
“None.” I reach for a smile with dubious success. “You know I never get the dreams, Alexi.” I never get any dreams. I haven’t since I was eight years old. Since Verona.
“Hey, even you’re human.” Pause. “I think.”
“Thanks for worrying about me, LT.”
He opens his mouth, but before he can frame any words, the comms unit clipped to his belt crackles to life, making us both jump. A thick, gravelly voice—I recognize it as Captain Biltmore’s—summons him to the security office.
Alexi lifts his head, flashing me an apologetic look. “They had us all reporting to other officers while you were…gone. Temporarily. As soon as you’re up again, we’ll be back with you.”
I don’t bother to hide my smile. Alexi’s one of the few I trust enough to smile at like this, anyway. “Don’t worry, I’ll swallow my jealousy for a day or two.”
The comms unit crackles again, but Alexi clamps his hand onto the mute button with a grimace. “Make it quick, Captain.”
I grin as he gets to his feet. Biltmore’s the asshole of the month, and everyone on the base knows it. No wonder Alexi’s anxious for me to get back on my feet.
Alexi reaches down to lay his palm against my shoulder. “Lee,” he says quietly, his grin fading to something quiet and private and grave. “If you ever do need me, you know I’m here, right?”
My throat dry, I can only nod.
Alexi nods back and then slips from the room, shoving his hands in his pockets and dropping into his habitual slouch.
I exhale slowly, letting my eyes settle on the ceiling. Alexi hasn’t touched me, with the exception of sparring and handshakes, since we first served together on Patron over a year ago. He was the one who taught me I could never under any circumstances become close with someone posted alongside me. Our fling was discovered right after I was promoted, and suddenly every time Alexi got assigned some duty someone else wanted, it was because I was playing favorites, not because I was doing my job.
Alexi requested a transfer, and then I moved on to Avon with my old captain and the rest of my platoon. No one here knows we ever did more than serve together once—now, he’s simply one of my oldest friends. He’s mine, but only in the way all my guys are.
Still. Knowing he’s there—my throat tightens. I wish I could talk to him. I wish I could talk to him, to anyone, about the Fianna boy and his talk of peace, so unlike what we’ve always known to be true of the rebels. But not even Alexi would understand why I didn’t take him prisoner to face justice for his crimes.
Hell, I don’t even understand it myself.
There’s a hospital gown draped over the back of the chair, but I’m not quite willing to face Commander Towers in a dress that doesn’t close in the back. Still, I push myself up into a seated position with a groan and reach for the laces on my boots. It’s not until I’ve tossed one into the corner and am reaching for the other that something loose shifts inside the lining, and I remember the thing I found half-hidden in the mud on Cormac’s island. With everything that happened—the rebel hideout, McBride, my escape—I’d forgotten it.
I tug the boot free and upend it. A small rectangular bit of plastic drops out onto the blanket. It’s definitely man-made, covered in foil circuitry on one side. My fingers reach for it and turn it over. The other side’s got a scan bar on it.
It’s an ident chip. Low-tech, compared to the flashy things we get nowadays, with holovid images of our faces and DNA samples and fingerprints built in. This is one of the models from ten, twenty years ago. Outdated, but simple. Doesn’t require much technology to produce—but the advantage is that it can’t be read without the right scanner. And I’ll bet anything that if I tried to scan it, the identity of its owner would come up encrypted. There’s no telling who this chip belongs to.
Except it wasn’t a soldier, because we’ve got different chips. And it wasn’t a townie or a rebel, because their genetag IDs are all tattooed on their forearms and verified via DNA scans, so they can’t be forged or lost. This isn’t the tech TerraDyn uses—they have all their own in-house systems.
It’s someone else. Someone who isn’t supposed to be in TerraDyn’s territory. Another player on Avon.
Before I have much time to process, there’s a knock at the door. I shove the ident chip deep into my pocket and lift my head. The door swings open, and Commander Towers appears.
She’s the only other female officer on the base above a lieutenant, but we couldn’t look more different. She’s willowy and lean, with sharply defined features and blond hair she wears in a bun at the nape of her neck. Less experienced than the base commander she replaced four or five months ago, but far more competent. She’s a lifer, like me. We’re the ones who progress quickly through the ranks, who devote our lives to these fights. Most recruits who show up are only passing through, enlisting for a few years to earn enough to start their real careers or go to school, or to see a bit of the galaxy before they settle down somewhere. But with Towers and me, one look is all you need to know we’ll be soldiers until we’re done.
