Clad in Steel

by Kevin McLaughlin

  There were more words after that, but he didn’t remember them. Owen wasn’t sure if he’d even heard them over the roaring in his ears. This was it; the end of his military career. Probably the end of all his dreams, at that. Any background check would show he’d been dumped from the Academy. No one was going to let him work in space after that.

  Owen managed to keep it together until the proceeding was completed and he was dismissed. Even after, he walked slowly from the hall back toward his room — for the last time — without falling apart. It wasn’t until Owen had the door shut behind him that he let the full enormity of what he’d done, and the price he was paying for it, sink in. He pressed his back against the door and slid slowly to the floor, cradling his head in his hands.

  Not meaning to hurt Durham so severely wasn’t a defense. He might never recover. His life was forever altered, maybe ruined. Owen had done that. His damned temper had gotten the better of him one too many times, and now he’d almost killed someone because of it.

  It was only fair that the court had torn apart his life in return. That was justice, of a sort. He’d done it to Durham. They’d returned the favor to him. If anything, Owen thought he was getting off lightly. They could have tossed him in Leavenworth to break rocks for a few years.

  That didn’t make him feel any better. Nothing did.

  Owen looked around the room, wondering what he should do next. Pack, he supposed. Where would he go? Back home to Miami? He winced as he slowly got back to his feet. That didn’t sound like a great plan. His old home had too many bitter and horrible memories waiting for him.

  Or maybe that was the right thing to do. Perhaps that was the punishment he deserved, to face those old demons day after day. He pulled out a duffel bag, opened it up, and looked around the room.

  He wasn’t going to need his school books. Nor the uniforms. Damn, there wasn’t much in this room Owen felt he needed at this point. He packed the civilian clothes he had into the bag and added a few other knick-knacks he’d collected over the years. It wasn’t a lot.

  No, he wasn’t going back to Miami. There was nothing left for him in that place. Owen had fifty dollars and an empty credit card in his wallet. It wouldn’t take him far, but it would get him somewhere. What he’d do after the money ran out, he had no idea. Get a job somewhere? No college degree meant he’d be stuck working something crappy, but it would give him a little freedom, anyway.

  He glanced around the room, checking to see if there was anything else he needed. There wasn’t. He left the rest of it there. The Academy would come to clean it all up, toss away everything he’d left behind and prep the room for someone else.

  No one was in the hall when Owen stepped outside. That was good, because he didn’t want to face anyone else. He didn’t know if the other cadets would greet him with anger or pity, but he wanted to avoid either.

  He needn’t have worried. When he got outside he saw a few other cadets — he hadn’t gotten used to thinking of himself as not a cadet, yet. They spared Owen only the quickest glance and then walked in the other direction. No one got near him as Owen marched his way toward the gate. He was anathema, gone from top in his class to the man everyone avoided contact with in an instant. No one wanted to chance his fortunes somehow rubbing off on them.

  Fine by him. He didn’t want to talk with them, either. He pulled out his phone and dialed up a cab as he neared the gate. It pulled up about the same time he arrived, sliding slowly to a stop with the gravel crunching under its wheels.

  He stepped up and opened the door.

  “Where to, kid?” At least the driver’s voice showed no sign of judging him. His shame wasn’t branded on his forehead. It only felt like it was.

  Where should he go? Owen looked back at the Academy as he tossed his bag into the car. Something broke inside him a little bit as he took in the pines and squared-off buildings he’d called home for the past few years. He would never be back. This chapter in his life was closing. But there was one more thing Owen needed to do before he could find any closure.

  “Penrose Hospital,” Owen said. He slid into the back seat and closed the door behind him.

  That’s where Durham had been taken, where he was being treated. Owen wasn’t sure what he wanted to say to him, or even if he’d be able to hear the words. But it felt like the right thing to do.

  Three

  Durham was still in the ICU, which wasn’t difficult to find. Owen went to the door of the waiting area and peered inside. There was a glass wall where he could look into the unit itself, but it didn’t seem like people were allowed to wander about near the beds. Which made sense. Intensive care looked complicated, not the sort of thing for bedside visitors. They had a ton of staff around the four patients being treated in the unit. Four nurses, a doctor, and what looked like a pair of techs or something.

  Only two people were inside the waiting area. One of them was a steely-eyed man with graying hair. He spared Owen a quick glance and then looked away. Something about the man’s appearance set Owen on edge, but he wasn’t sure what it might be. It wasn’t that he recognized him. He’d never seen the old man before.

  The other person was a middle-aged woman, staring through the glass at one of the patients like she could will him back to his feet.

  Owen swallowed hard. The patient who had her attention was Durham. Owen could just barely see Durham’s still form from where he stood. Was that his mother? He suddenly wanted to be somewhere else — anywhere else would do! Owen took a step back from the doorway and prepared to quietly make his escape. He could come to pay his respects later.

  Then the old man coughed, loud enough to get the woman’s attention. When she turned to look at him, she saw Owen standing there as well. A small, sad smile broke out over a face tracked with tear stains.

  “You’re a cadet, aren’t you? One of Billy’s friends? The haircut gives you away, dear,” she said. “Come in, please. He’s not awake, but the doctor said to just give it time.”

  Owen wanted nothing to do with walking into that room, but something inside told him that he had to. This was the right thing to do, to face this woman and tell her the truth. If anyone was justified in judging him for what he’d done, it would be Durham’s mother.

  One step brought Owen across the threshold. Three more brought him to her side. He glanced at the old man, but he was studiously ignoring both of them. It was effectively just Owen and the mother of the guy he’d beaten half to death. Owen swallowed hard.

  Seeing the impact of his rage up close like this made it a lot harder to swallow. He’d managed to channel that anger in the past. He’d killed the Naga bastard who’d slaughtered his parents, after all. The same fury propelled him to the top of his class in virtually everything. In academics, field work, athletics, and just about every other relevant metric, Owen was the top student. Had been, anyway.

  Then he’d let the anger get loose. The boy laying in the bed clinging to life was his victim every bit as much as his parents had been the Naga warrior’s. This time his anger had made him the bully instead of the hero. Owen couldn’t remember ever feeling lower.

  “The doctors hope he’ll wake up soon,” Mrs. Durham repeated.

  “I hope he does, too,” Owen replied. The words sounded lame, coming from his lips.

  She didn’t talk about his prognosis, which meant it probably hadn’t changed. Sure, they were working wonders with miracle science these days. Medical nanites, alien tech that could knit together serious wounds, even physical augmentation with robotic prosthetics. Would any of that work for Durham? Would he even be considered for such treatments? They were expensive, and the waiting list was often long. How much time would the guy spend in a wheelchair before he could be fully repaired, if that was possible at all?

  “I should probably be going,” Owen said. His guilt rode him like a demon. Coming there had been a terrible idea. It had only made everything worse.

  “All right, dear,” Mrs. Durham said. “I’ll tel
l him you stopped by when he wakes. What did you say your name was?”

  Owen froze. She might not have recognized his face, but she’d surely know who he was if he said his name. All thoughts of spilling his guts to her vanished in a fog of panic. He had to get out of there! But he had to say something. He decided to take a small chance, revealing his first name but not his last. “I’m Owen.”

  Her brows knitted together like she was trying to place the name, like it was familiar, but she couldn’t quite recall why. The lapse was understandable. How much sleep had she been able to get over the past few days while her son was hurt? Judging by the lines on her face and deep bruises under her eyes, not that much.

  Owen turned to leave. It was past time to go.

  “Leaving so soon, Cadet McInness?”

  Owen froze in his tracks at the words. He half-turned, peeking over his shoulder at the old man. Steel eyes, short-cropped salt and pepper hair, and a hard visage. He should have recognized the look of a military man from the start, even if he hadn’t known the man himself. An officer, by the look of him. Owen had known plenty of senior non-coms and officers alike, and this man had the look of the latter.

  Worse, he knew precisely who Owen was, and now he’d blurted it out.

  “McInness?” Mrs. Durham said. “But it’s that… Are you the boy who hurt my Billy?”

  Owen turned to face her again. Flight was no longer an option. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Why did you come here?” Confusion warred with anger on her face.

  “To tell him I was sorry. That I didn’t mean for him to be hurt,” Owen said. He cast his eyes down at his feet.

  That meant he never saw the blow coming. The woman’s hand smacked into the right side of his face with enough force to stagger him. He blinked, dazed and surprised. A second blow landed on the left side of his face, almost knocking him over.

  Owen looked up and saw Mrs. Durham’s face. The confusion was gone. All that remained was her fury. He knew that look perfectly. It had been on his face more than once. She came in with two more blows, raining them down on him in rapid succession.

  Owen’s anger uncoiled somewhere deep inside him, writhing upward and yearning to break free. He felt his pulse pound. His hands balled into fists of their own accord. This woman dared strike him? He’d show her what…

  No, he damned well would not. Owen clamped down on his anger with every ounce of control he had. He’d hurt Billy Durham. He wouldn’t strike the man’s mother.

  She hit him again and again. Finally, one blow took him from his feet. Owen let his legs fly out from underneath him, curled his shoulder to take some of the impact out of the fall. It still knocked his wind out, and he brought his knees up protectively to guard his belly, in case she continued the attack. But she’d stopped.

  Owen looked up. Mrs. Durham was looking at her hands, sobbing. She’d bloodied her knuckles on his face. Now she looked down at the blood with horror instead of satisfaction. Owen got slowly to his feet, careful to back away from her as he did.

  With a loud, gasping sob, she turned and fled from the waiting room.

  Someone behind Owen clapped several times. He turned to face the old man, who was still sitting with a grin across his smug face, giving a little ‘golf clap.’

  “So you can keep it under control when you want to,” the man said.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Owen said. Then he recalled the series of events. The cough that had made Mrs. Durham notice him. The old man giving away his name. “You set this up?”

  “And you’re as bright as they said,” the old man replied. “Bright but damaged? Maybe, but maybe not beyond repair.”

  “Who are you?” Owen asked.

  “My name is General Hereford,” the old man said, rising from the seat to his full height.

  Hereford — that was a name Owen knew by heart. It was impossible to forget. The general in charge of the entire Space Force? Here? Why would he be here? “Why, sir?”

  “Why did I set you up? Because I wanted to see if you’d cut loose again given half a chance,” Hereford said. “You almost did, too. I saw the balled fists. Ready to punch her lights out, weren’t you?”

  Owen looked down, his face flushing red with shame.

  “But you didn’t, which means you can keep it under wraps. I might have an opening for a talented young man like you,” Hereford said.

  “They’ve kicked me out, sir,” Owen replied.

  “And for a good reason. You pull anything like that shit again, you won’t get kicked out. I’ll personally make sure you regret it for whatever short span of life you’ll have left. I’ve got no time for bullshit in my units,” Hereford said. “But I do need all the best people I can find, even if they are diamonds in the rough.”

  Owen couldn’t believe his ears. Here was the head of Space Force, offering him what sounded like a job. It seemed almost too good to be true. “I’m in, sir.”

  “You haven’t even heard my offer. I might be grabbing you to clean latrines on the moon base,” Hereford said.

  It didn’t matter. Whatever the general wanted, Owen felt sure he could do the job. Prove himself there, and maybe he could move on to other things. Get his foot in the door and then who knew where he might end up?

  “Doesn’t matter, sir. I’m in.” Owen felt confident in his answer.

  Hereford scratched his chin. The gleam in his eye implied that Owen had just walked into a trap, but he didn’t care. Not if it meant getting into space after all. He’d do anything for a second chance.

  “Good,” Hereford said. “I’ve got a slot opened up in the next Armor training cycle. I want you in it.”

  Armor - the big, two-legged walking tanks that had just become a crucial part of humanity’s space military. Those suits let humans go toe-to-toe with Naga and Bugs alike. “I’m your man, sir!”

  “You’ll also be attending therapy three times a week,” Hereford finished.

  The rage swelled up more quickly than Owen could contain it. This again? “I’m fine! I don’t need therapy!” Then, he belatedly added in, “Sir.”

  “That’s what you told the folks at the Academy, too, after your parents died. They wanted to help you, boy. You spat in their face, and look where it got you?” Hereford growled. “They kicked you out, for a good reason. Out there on your own, I give you a year or less before you’re dead or in prison.”

  Owen scoffed at the idea. “You’re crazy. Sir. I’ll be fine.”

  “Will you? What happens next time someone makes you mad, and you put them in the hospital? Or maybe next time you pick a fight you can’t win,” Hereford said. “My terms aren’t negotiable. You want the second chance? You get therapy along with your training.”

  Rage boiled inside Owen, struggling to get out through his iron control. He seethed, wanting to wipe that smug look off Hereford’s face… And then he realized what he was thinking. The man was right. Totally right. Owen sagged back against the wall and looked down at his hands.

  “I’m not broken,” Owen said.

  “I never said you were,” Hereford replied. “You don’t get to be in the service as long as I have without seeing some things you wish you could unsee, son. But I never had to watch my parents murdered in front of my eyes. That would fuck up the hardest people I know. You’re not broken. But you do need help. That’s what I plan to get for you.”

  “Why bother with me?” Owen asked. He was crying, he realized. Tears leaked down his face.

  “Because your father was a good man who I was supposed to protect. I failed. In a way, maybe I hope that I can make it up to him through you,” Hereford said.

  His blunt honesty disarmed Owen, who just nodded blankly. “I’ll do it, sir.”

  “Good. I had faith you would,” Hereford said with a wink. “Follow me.”

  Owen glanced back at Durham’s sleeping form. He felt like he understood the General a little better now. Like him, Owen couldn’t undo the wrong he’d done. But
maybe he could find a way to make up for it.

  Four

  Owen blinked in the bright California sunshine. He looked around. There wasn’t much out there to see. He looked back at the bus driver. “You sure this is the right place?”

  “McClellan induction center, right kid?” the driver replied.

  “Yeah?” Owen replied, looking around. Dry scrub dominated the landscape. In the distance, he could see rows of buildings littering the skyline, but they were a long distance away. The only nearby structures were a handful of decrepit barracks-type buildings. The place looked deserted.

  “Then you’re in the right place. Good luck, kid!” the driver chortled. He closed the bus door and pulled away, leaving Owen alone in the afternoon heat.

  Sweat streamed from his forehead in moments. After the comfortable air-conditioned bus, the heat felt unbearable. It never got this hot at the Academy! He was used to some heat from growing up in Miami, but out of practice. It was going to take a little while to get acclimated to the environment.

  Owen picked up his duffel bag and threw it over his shoulder, then started toward the nearest building. Maybe there would be someone inside who could fill him in on what he was supposed to do next. He opened the door.

  It shot open as soon as he turned the knob, slamming into the wall beside it. The force knocked Owen’s hand away and almost tossed him to the ground. But it was what flowed out through the open doorway that froze the blood in his veins.

  Owen had learned all about the Kkiktchikut at the Academy. He knew what they looked like — massive centipede-like bugs, each leg bladed like a scimitar. Smaller limbs near the mouth allowed it to manipulate tools with fine motor skills. They had powered armor, starships, and technology far beyond humans and Naga alike. But even without all that, they were deadly. Incredibly fast, festooned with killer blades, and utterly ruthless. They were the universe’s answer to a perfect predator.