Morton let out a long breath and unclenched his fists. He hadn’t realized he’d clenched them to start with.
“Okay, thank you, people,” the simulation team chief said. “That’s it for today. We’ll resume at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Morton stood where he was as the rest of the squad headed out. He was taking deep breaths, trying to calm down. Rob Tannie came over and put an arm around his shoulder. “That was impressive, man. You’re either insane, in love, or you’ve got a massive death wish. Do you actually know what she did to get suspension?”
“Yeah, but that’s not the point. It’s what we’ve got to do together in the future that’s important.”
Rob gave him a strange look. “You sound like them.” He jerked a thumb at the window.
“Oh, what the hell,” Morton said, suddenly very tired. “We’re all going to die the second we drop out of the wormhole anyway; we’ll never reach Elan itself.”
“That’s the spirit. But take it from me, as someone who’s already been through re-life: don’t mess with the cute demon. She’s seriously bad news.”
“Remind me to introduce you to my ex-wife someday,” Morton said as they walked out of the chamber.
Morton didn’t even know which planet their training camp, Kingsville, was on. He suspected a Big15 world: Kerensk, judging by the violet-tinged sun. If so, they were a long way from the megacity.
Kingsville was vast, sprawling over a region of low desert foothills. Northward from the camp, the gentle mounds gradually built up into a tall mountain range that stretched across the horizon, their distant peaks covered in snow. The desert spread out in every other direction, a rumpled plain of powdered yellow clay littered with crumbling boulders. Small, hardy native cacti bushes clustered together at the bottom of every slight depression, thick gray stems with a fur of spindly leaves no thicker than paper, and just as dry.
Rumor among the convicts in the camp was that if you could get to the other side of the desert, they’d let you go, that the navy wanted to see how good their wetwired systems were at sustaining humans in hostile conditions. Certainly there wasn’t a fence or guardbots. The only way in or out was by aircraft.
Huge cargo planes had brought in the whole camp from whatever metropolis this world boasted, and were still delivering more prefabricated building kits every day, along with supplies and weapons systems. Kingsville had been divided into twenty-three sections, with a big geodesic dome at the center of each one. Inside the domes were the main training facilities, the technical labs where the troops were wetwired with the best the Commonwealth had, and the canteen. Row after row of barracks cabins radiated out from each dome, sitting on the dusty soil like black bricks. Around them were the firing ranges and suit testing courses.
As Morton made his way back to the squad’s barracks in the baking late-afternoon sun, the noise of the camp swirled around him, completely familiar now after two weeks’ residence. He’d been immersed in the training and wetwiring so intensely it was as if his earlier lives were just TSI dramas he could barely remember accessing. Dull repetitive thuds of kinetic rifles echoed in from the range where the division that was due to land on Sligo was practicing. The whine of compressor jets was constant as the planes came and went from the adjoining airstrip five kilometers away; after the first night it never bothered him. Jeeps and trucks growled as they raced around the compacted dirt roads that linked Kingsville’s sections and the airport. Shouts and chants from squads out pounding their way around various grueling courses as they got their bodies into shape for the navy’s great counteroffensive. Sixty percent of them were convicts working off their suspension sentence, while the rest were various freelance security types and idiotically enthusiastic human patriots keen to show the enemy what a bad mistake they’d made in attacking the Commonwealth. Even now, Morton still hadn’t worked out if they were all on the biggest suicide mission ever dreamed up, or if they were going to be of some use. But he did like to think their squad was tough and smart enough to produce some effective results. Even loopy old Cat played her part most of the time. And it was anyone’s guess, along with considerable barracks-room speculation, what mayhem she’d commit on aliens, given what she used to do to perfectly innocent humans.
The oblong box that Cat’s Claws had been assigned was fifteen meters long and four wide, partitioned into three simple areas. The bunk and main living space for all five of them was at one end, washroom in the middle, and finally a small rec room with a couple of deep sofas and a Kingsville network node where you could access the camp’s library of TSI dramas, which were mostly soft porn. Kingsville’s link to the planetary cybersphere was monitored by an RI, which regulated all calls in and out. You could talk to anyone you wanted, including the media, but topics were restricted. Any mention of the types of weapons, training, or possible dates for the counteroffensive would be blocked instantly. Like the rest of Cat’s Claws, Morton hadn’t received any calls. He guessed that meant he didn’t have anyone to call, either.
The door shut behind him, cutting off the heat and dust to provide him with a decent air-conditioned climate. The abrasive purple-white sunlight was filtered by the windows, giving the interior an Earth-normal spectrum. He went over to his bunk and started to undress, letting a servicebot catch his clothes. Rob and Doc Roberts were doing the same. The Cat was already in a shower cubicle, singing away merrily out of tune. Somehow, the simulations made them as sweaty and dirty as if they’d been out crawling around in the real desert.
He stayed in the shower a long time, luxuriating in the hot water and using up a lot of gel. His e-butler played him a file of old acoustic rock tracks, allowing him to forget about the training. Parts of his skin were still sore and sensitive from all the inserts he’d been given; and some of his new OCtattoos were so intrusive that he’d developed a mild rash. The water beating against them helped numb away the aches. Even his thoughts were calming as he hummed along to the guitar melody. The artificial weapons instruction memories that seeped into his brain each night made his sleep fitful and shallow, mixing with unwelcome dreams. It was one of the reasons he was so irritable during the day. What he wanted was a whole twenty-four hours off to relax and rest. He didn’t think they’d ever get that; the pace of the camp was too fast.
Like all the troops, he wondered when they’d be deployed. They were all due another two sessions of wetwiring in the clinics that filled the lower floor of the dome. And sessions were always conducted three days apart. It didn’t take a genius to work out that once they’d familiarized themselves with the systems out in the desert training fields they’d be heading out to the Lost23. Another two weeks at most, he reckoned.
It was quieter than usual when he got out of the shower. Usually there’d be some kind of argument or banter going on in the living quarters. Today there was only a low murmur as he toweled himself down.
“Hey, Morton,” Doc Roberts called. “Get your ass out here, you’ve got a visitor.” That brought a round of raucous laughter.
A maidbot handed him a polythene packet containing a fresh set of clothes. He took his time dressing, suspecting a joke.
It wasn’t. A beautiful young woman was sitting on his bunk, with Rob, Parker, and Doc Roberts clustered around like wolves eyeing up raw meat. Even the Cat was sitting on her bunk in a complicated yoga position, smiling sardonically as she joined in with the chitchat.
His visitor was wearing a long emerald-green skirt of light swirling cotton. Above that was a white blouse that was nearly translucent. Little curls of honey-blond hair had escaped from a jaunty black felt cap. She stood up as he came in, and everyone else fell silent.
Morton nearly said: Who are you? Then he saw her face, and astonishment locked his body solid. He blinked in disbelief as she gave him a roguish grin.
“Mellanie?”
“Hi, Morty.”
The others jeered, contemptuous and envious at the same time.
“Oh, my God. You …”
>
“Grew up?”
He just nodded. She really was gorgeous.
“Well, kiss her, you fucking moron,” Doc Roberts shouted.
“Nah, shag her brains out,” Parker shouted. “In front of us!”
Rob punched him on the shoulder.
Mellanie gave Morton a sunshine bright smile as she walked over to him. He didn’t dare move. Her hands went around his head, and she gave him a long hungry kiss.
There was a chorus of cheering and whistles as the embrace went on and on.
“Did you miss me?” she teased.
“Er.” Morton could feel a huge erection tenting his trousers. “Oh, hell, yes.”
She laughed delightedly, and kissed him again, gentler this time. “I’m here to offer you a media contract from the Michelangelo show. We’d like to offer you a front-line correspondent job for us. Is there somewhere private we can go to … discuss terms?”
Morton straightened up, looked at the row of his squad mates with their lecherous expressions. “Certainly. This way.” He put his arm around her waist and steered her toward the washrooms. Another round of jeering and whoops broke out behind them.
As soon as they were in the rec room he shoved the door shut and started to slide one of the sofas across it. He never quite finished. Mellanie jumped on him, her mouth trying to devour him. He pulled the front of her blouse open, hearing fabric rip. Buttons skittered across the floor. She was wearing a delicate white lace bra underneath that he tugged to one side, exposing her breasts. They were as perfect as he remembered them, beautifully shaped and firm, with dark nipples aroused. His mouth closed around one, sucking and licking. Mellanie’s hands found the catch at the top of his trousers and released it. Her fingers cupped his balls, then squeezed sharply.
Locked together they collapsed onto the sofa, with Morton on top. He fumbled desperately at his shirt, trying to get it off over his head. Mellanie wriggled her skirt down her legs. Then he was inside her, fucking her brains out with deep savage thrusts. Both of them cried out, competing to be the loudest, the most joyful, clutching frantically at each other as their bodies thrashed about in ecstasy.
An uncertain time later Morton recovered enough to focus on the ceiling he was staring up at. He was slumped against the base of the sofa, panting heavily and sweating profusely in contrast to the euphoria he felt. Mellanie giggled contentedly beside him, and propped herself up on an elbow. She’d lost the black cap at some point, allowing her hair to tumble out wildly. Her bra was still attached, twisted around her abdomen.
He smiled at her and gave her a soft kiss before finally finding the bra’s clasp and removing it. That was when he noticed his own shirt was wrapped around his arm. Laughing, she unwound it for him.
“You really do look magnificent,” he said admiringly. His hand stroked along her arm, crossing over to her belly before dipping inquisitively to massage her thigh. “This age suits you.”
“You haven’t changed.”
“Is that good?”
Mellanie gasped in surprise at what his hand did. She’d forgotten how very well he knew her body. “I like some things to stay the same,” she hissed in delight.
“Did you miss me?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
She bowed her head, letting the damp tassels of hair brush his chest. “This much.” Her lips and fingers began their delicate caresses. “This much.” She moved slowly down his belly to where his cock was beginning to stiffen again. “This much,” she growled impatiently.
Morton was convinced he’d never be able to move again, every limb ached in the most disgraceful fashion. They lay side by side on the floor, arms around each other as the light faded from the desert sky outside. For the first time since the trial he began to have regrets about what he’d lost.
“Have you managed all right, since …?” he asked quietly.
“I do okay.”
“I’m sorry; it can’t have been easy for you. I should have made some kind of provision, put some money aside, some cash. I just never considered …”
“I said I’m all right, Morty.”
“Yeah. Jeeze, you look fucking amazing. I mean it.”
She smiled, running her hand back through her hair, combing it away from her face. “Thanks. I really missed you.”
Even now, all he could think of was screwing her again. “So have you … got anyone?”
“No,” she said, a little too quickly. “Nobody special. Not like you. Things have been kinda strange for me. Especially since the Prime attack.”
“I’ll bet. What’s with this job you’ve got? You mentioned Michelangelo.”
“Oh, yeah. I work for his show now. I’m one of their reporters.”
“Congratulations. That must have been a tough gig to grab.”
“I have a good agent.”
“What the hell. It got you in to see me. That’s all I care.”
She rested a hand on his chest, stroking affectionately. “It wasn’t an excuse, Morty. I could have come to see you anytime. You’re allowed visitors.”
“Right.” He didn’t understand.
“The offer is genuine. It took me a little time to put it together, and the show’s lawyers had to convince the navy to agree. But it’s all sorted.”
“You want me to report back from Elan?”
“Yes, basically. You’re entitled to a short personal communications burst at each contact time. That’s part of your service agreement.”
“I never read the small print,” he muttered.
“The lawyers made the navy agree that you could use the burst to send us a report. Michelangelo will pay. It’s a good fee. That’ll mean you’ll have money when this is all over. You can use it to start again.”
“Fine. Whatever. Do I get to see you again? That’s all I’m interested in.”
“It’ll be difficult. I won’t get many chances. And it can’t be long before the navy begins the fight back.”
“Will you come back to see me here?” he asked insistently.
“Yes, Morty, I’ll come back.”
“Good.” He started to kiss her again.
“There’s something I want to show you,” she murmured.
“Something you’ve learned?” His tongue licked eagerly along her neck.
“Something a bad girl would do?”
She took both his hands and held them firmly. He grinned in anticipation. His e-butler told him the OCtattoos on his palms and fingers were interfacing. “What—”
Morton was suddenly standing at the bottom of a white sphere. Faint lines of gray script flowed across the surface, too quick for him to focus on. They reminded him of his virtual vision’s basic standby mode graphics.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” Mellanie said.
Morton turned around to see her standing behind him. She was wearing simple white coveralls. He looked down at himself to see he was wearing an identical garment.
“What the hell happened?” he asked. “Where are we?”
“It’s a simulated environment. Basically, we’re inside your inserts.”
“How the fuck did you do that?”
“The SI gave me some fairly sophisticated OCtattoos while you were in suspension. I’m just starting to learn how to use a few of them for myself.”
“The SI?”
“We have an arrangement. I supply it with unusual information, and it acts as my agent. I’m not sure how much I can trust it, though.”
“You supply it with information?” Morton wished he could string together a sentence that wasn’t a question. He was coming across like a petulant ignoramus.
“Yes.” Mellanie sounded mildly annoyed at the implication.
“Oh, right.”
“We’re linked like this because it’s completely private. There’s no sensor the navy can use to overhear what I have to tell you.”
“What’s that?” he asked cautiously.
“You remember the Guardians of
Selfhood?”
“Some kind of cult? They were always shotgunning the unisphere. Didn’t they attack the Second Chance? They believed an alien was running the government. Crap like that.”
“They were right.”
“Oh, come on.”
“It’s called the Starflyer. It might have triggered the war.”
“No, Mellanie.”
“Morty, I’ve been lied to. I’ve been shot at. Its agents tried to kidnap me. Even Paula Myo thinks it’s real.”
“The Investigator?” he asked in amazement.
“She’s not an investigator anymore. The Starflyer got her fired, but she has political connections. I don’t understand it all, but she’s working for another government department now, I think. She won’t tell me anything. She doesn’t trust me. Morty, this is frightening the hell out of me. I don’t know anyone else I can turn to but you. I know you’re safe; you’ve been in suspension while all this has happened. Please, Morty, at least consider the possibility. The Guardians must have started with some kind of reason. Mustn’t they? Every legend starts with a grain of truth.”
“I don’t know. I grant you they have been going an unusually long time, but that doesn’t mean they’re right. In any case, what has all this got to do with me? I’m off to war any day now. I can’t protect you, Mellanie. Even if I snuck off base, the navy has all the activation codes for my wetwired armament systems. They can switch them on and off anytime they want.”
“Really?” She sounded intrigued. “I wonder if I could hack them.”
“Mellanie, I’m sorry, I can’t risk going back into suspension. Not even for you.”
She shook her head. “That’s not what I’m asking.”
“What then?”
“I want you to send me information back from Elan.”
“What kind of information?”
“Anything you can get on the Primes which would normally be classified. We can’t trust the navy, Morty, it’s been compromised by the Starflyer. And yes, I know that sounds paranoid. I would have said the same thing myself a year ago.”
The Commonwealth Saga 2-Book Bundle Page 140