A Web Serial by M.C.A. Hogarth
| 16. Just Another Patrol. | 18. Not Like Us. |
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17. Righteous Anger
Gym. 3 AM. Spots, wearing gloves, sleepwear and an intent expression, is applying fists and feet to a punching bag. Scythe, in a physical training uniform and with a katana, enters and watches for a while. After a particularly violent kick:
"I think you put his lung out the back of his ribs."
"Oh! Um, Scythe. I didn't see you come in."
"I noticed. You're up during your sleep-shift."
"Just... a little bit. Couldn't sleep, thought I'd work it out."
"Work what out?"
Spots eyes him. Sighs. "Guess if I said 'my aggression' you wouldn't believe me."
Scythe sits on a trunk used for safety equipment. "Actually, I would. What's eating you?"
"I'm getting a little tired of everyone treating me like a limp dishrag. I might have gone through boot camp over a decade before any of them, but I got through it." She flexes her hands. "And I qualified with a rifle while most of them were still in grade school. The gun jokes are getting old."
"You joined young."
She shrugs. "I wanted to go active, but I was engaged. It was that or get married and have kids." She smiles. "For an 18-year-old I was pretty clear about what I wanted."
"You still with this guy you married as a teenager?"
"Huh? Yes, of course." A smaller smile, private. "Best decision I ever made."
"You could try giving them as good as you get, you know."
Spots shakes her head. Strips off her gloves. "Not my style."
"What is your style, then?"
She thinks about it. Laughs, but not carefree. " 'Hang in there.' "
"I can see that. Hey, look, Guitart. At some point, you're going to have to lay down the law."
She grins at him. "Not going to fight my battles, are you."
"I could, but would you want me to?"
"Of course not. I've got a plan, I promise. But that doesn't mean I don't get angry when people dismiss me." She puts the gloves away, glances at him. "Aren't you on sleep-shift too?"
Scythe smiles, hands resting on the sword over his lap. "You're not the only one who has some aggression to work out."
"Want to talk about it?"
"No, I want to lop off some target heads. But thanks."
"No problem."
"Hey, Spots."
She pauses at the door. "Yes?"
"What is your plan?"
"Same as what worked with my kids. Wear 'em out. Night, Scythe."
###
The Board Room: the lab where alien bodies are dissected. Next to the door is a photo of butterflies pinned to a board, supplying the room's nickname. Peaches is standing next to several people: Naval Intelligence, contractors, some specialists. On the board is the King Claws brought in.
Peaches. "So this isn't a new shell?"
"Not quite, Lieutenant. It's one of the new shells your sniper shot, but modified for a King body."
"Are you sure about that?"
"Not completely, but the patterns and colors are the same, just... stretched out. We've never seen anything like it."
"What about the inside?"
"That's... where it gets stranger. There's a nodule of nervous tissue at the base of the thorax. It's tempting to say it's a second brain, but we have no idea what it would be used for. Kings have bigger brains anyway, but... why the second node? I wish we could ask our resident alien."
"Which you can't, because..."
"Orders. We don't discuss these things with the friendlies. It's impolitic, makes them uncomfortable."
Peaches. "So we have a King with a shell we think might be quasi-new but we're not sure, and that we think might have a second brain, and we're not sure, and we don't know what any of it means or how it'll affect us."
"Basically."
Peaches. "****."
Twenty minutes later, Peaches is striding down the corridor. She picks up the gunny and keeps going, all the way to the secure area.
"Ma'am? What are we up to?"
"Have you been through Sickbay lately, Gunny?"
"Yes, ma'am...?"
"So have I." Peaches swipes her security card, jaw hard. "We're going to see Samuel-Colt."
| 16. Just Another Patrol. | 18. Not Like Us. |
|---|
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