by John Bowers
Nick closed his eyes and ran a hand across his face.
“Fuck. Me.”
Gabbard blinked. “Do you know her?”
He nodded.
“Yeah. I know her.”
Chapter 5
Twelve Years Earlier
Friday, February 18, 0433 (CC)
Camp Pendleton, SoCal – North America, Terra
“Hey, Cross! Looking good out there today.”
“Fuck you, Walker.”
“No, I’m serious. You got over the wall all by yourself. Your upper body strength is improving.”
The blond boot with the towel over her shoulder stopped and looked back for a moment, her blue eyes penetrating. After a moment she nodded.
“Thanks.”
The training barracks held forty men. Actually it held thirty-five men. Actually it held twenty-nine men.
When the training platoon had formed, five girls had been included, so the barrack was partitioned at one end to give them privacy, although they had to share the same heads and showers, just at different times. The first weeks of boot camp had whittled them down through attrition. It was considered an honor to be a Star Marine, and every single one, male or female, was a volunteer. A grunt who couldn’t take it was out. Period. No second tries, no reassignment, just good-bye.
Now the barrack held twenty-nine men and one girl. Victoria Cross was barely eighteen and no one had expected her to last. In fact, bets had been taken on how long she could take the mental, emotional, physical, and verbal abuse. The most generous had given her five days, but she was now on day twenty-nine and going strong. The pool had closed with the money returned to the bettors. She was constantly surprising them.
When she first arrived, she was the best looking of the five females in the group, and male prejudice had reasoned that the prettiest girl would be the most fragile and thus the least likely to succeed. Male prejudice, as usual, had been wrong. Victoria Cross suffered, certainly, and probably cried when no one was looking, but she didn’t give up. It took her a little longer, but she completed the pushups, the pull-ups, the rope climbs, the obstacle course, the five and ten mile runs—and did it all with style and grace.
At first the men had little sympathy for her. Most of them were struggling to survive the ordeal themselves, and had little time to worry about (or be shown up by) the girls. By the end of the third week, when four of the girls and six of the men had taken the Long Walk of Shame to the front gate, a grudging admiration had been born. Those who had made it this far were beginning to band together, and no one wanted anyone else to fail. Suddenly, almost overnight, Victoria Cross became their little sister. When she struggled to get up the sixty-foot knotted rope, the men on the ground shouted encouragement.
“Keep going, Vic!”
“You can do it! Don’t hold back now!”
“Give it everything you’ve got! Get up that fucking rope!”
She would never admit it publicly, but the rope climb, with her muscles burning and lungs screaming for air, had very nearly finished her. She made it only by the additional adrenaline generated by the shouting men below, and her refusal to let them down.
But the day came when even that was not enough. It was a four hundred meter swim across a stagnant pond covered by scum and algae, with unknown dangers—such as snakes and undiscovered human remains—lurking beneath the water. The man-made pond was only four feet deep, so drowning was not an immediate danger, but the rules stated that anyone whose feet touched the bottom was finished. Victoria stared at the pond with a thundering heart. She was not a very good swimmer, and four hundred meters was a quarter of a fucking mile!
She knew she would never make it. She was finished.
The entire platoon was ordered across at the same time. Everyone was peeled down to their underwear; Victoria was wearing a bikini bottom and sports bra, Star Marine issue, with nothing on her feet. When the Drill Sergeant blew his whistle, all the men dived into the pond with a massive splash and began to make their way across. Victoria hesitated, trying to still her heart, and sucked in a deep breath.
The drill sergeant spun on her.
“Wattayawant, Cross, a fucking speedboat? GET MOVING!!”
She leaped headfirst into the pond and started swimming. The water was foul, putrid, and rotten. It smelled like a swamp, and because of the waves generated by the other boots, she couldn’t keep it out of her mouth. She tried to spit and breathe at the same time, but it was nearly impossible, and some of it got sucked down her throat, nearly strangling her.
But she kept going. Arm over arm, kick, kick, kick, arm over arm. Breathe. Swim. Keep moving forward. Pond scum slopped into her face, into her eyes, blinding her. It was gross, shitty stuff, green and yellow and septic, and it burned her eyes. She tried to wipe it away, and for a second she stopped swimming and began to sink.
“DON’T STAND UP!!” the drill sergeant bellowed. “DON’T YOU FUCKING STAND UP!!!”
Near panic, Victoria sucked another breath and started swimming again, barely in time to keep her feet off the bottom. The men were fifty meters ahead now, each of them struggling to get himself across…no one had time to shout encouragement to anyone else.
She made it to the halfway point, gasping for air, her arms feeling like lead. Off to her left one of the men was standing waist-deep, his feet on the bottom. Looking miserable. Washed out. The sight of him gave her a brief burst of energy—she didn’t want to wash out with him. She made another fifty meters, with still a solarball field to go. Her lungs were throbbing, wheezing, her eyes painful and watering; she had to make it. She had to!
Two men had reached the far shore, dragging themselves out, panting like hounds. Another man had run out of steam and stood up. Two washouts now. She had to keep going.
She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on something else—a sunny day, a sandy beach; a silent snowfall, a refreshing thunderstorm…anything to keep her mind off the mounting agony in her arms and legs.
Fifty meters to go.
Almost half the men were now out of the water, recovering. A few shouts of encouragement reached her.
“Come on, Cross, give it hell! You’re almost here!”
“You’re doing great, Vic! Don’t quit now, you’ve come too far!”
She heard them, and in that moment she loved them. They were there for her, all of them. Even those who hadn’t made it were yelling for her to keep going. But it was too much. It was too far. She had nothing left.
Hidden by the pond scum, tears streamed from her eyes; she wasn’t going to make it. She had let everyone down. Her mother. Her brother. Her sister. They all had such high hopes for her. Victoria Cross, Star Marine! Victoria Cross, Attorney at Law. Such high hopes.
“Come on! You’re almost here! Semper fi, goddammit!”
But, panting, she shook her head. She stopped swimming, treading water, keeping her feet off the bottom but not making any headway. She had thirty meters to go.
It looked like thirty miles.
“I can’t!” she cried. “I can’t! Oh, fuck me, I can’t make it!”
She kept floating, arms and legs barely moving, her head barely above water.
The men on the shore fell silent. They stared at her, the same way they might have stared at a fellow Star Marine who’d just been killed in action before their eyes.
Victoria sobbed again. She caught a deep breath—she had to rest. She had to rest—
“Pussy!”
Her eyes sprang open. One man leaped toward the edge of the pond, his face rigid, veins standing out in his neck.
“Come on, you PUSSY! Are you a Star Marine or are you a FUCKING PUSSY!!”
Victoria’s eyes blazed as rage surged through her bloodstream. Fresh adrenaline coursed through her, and for just a moment she forgot everything but what the drill instructors had pounded into her from day one—the urge to kill.
“Fuck you, Walker!” she screamed. “FUCK YOU!”
“Fuck me?�
�� Nick Walker laughed. “Fuck you, Cross! What happened to all your fancy hopes and dreams, huh? Are you going to throw it all away because you’re a fucking pussy?”
Victoria saw red. Her pain diminished, faded; where it went she never knew, it was just gone. She had to get her fingers around Walker’s throat. She wanted to choke the life out of him with her bare hands. And she would, goddammit, just as soon as she got across this fucking pond!
She began to swim.
Friday, April 28, 0445 (CC)
Trimmer Springs – Alpha Centauri 2
Conversation was lively at the dinner table. Suzanne, with Kristina’s aid, had laid on a fine meal for a Friday evening and Nathan, as usual, was stuffing himself. But Nick’s appetite wasn’t what it should be—he had a lot on his mind.
“So what did the attorney say?” Suzanne asked. “Does she think you can beat this thing?”
He nodded, picking at his food.
“She says it’s bullshit. A fishing trip.”
“A fishing trip?” Suzanne looked puzzled. “What does that mean?”
Nathan laughed. He glanced at Kristina, who looked just as lost.
“It’s a metaphor they use on Terra,” he told them. “I never heard it either until I went to London.”
“What is it?”
“It means they don’t have anything and they’re just dragging a net through the water in the hopes they can find something.”
“That’s why they haven’t charged me with anything,” Nick said. “They don’t have any evidence of wrongdoing, so they’re holding a hearing to try to find something.”
“Is that even legal?”
“Apparently it is.”
“I think the whole thing is just stupid,” Kristina said. “For goddess sake, Nick, everybody you ever killed was either trying to kill you or someone else.”
Nick nodded. “Apparently this ‘special’ prosecutor doesn’t care. He thinks I’m a dangerous felon posing as a U.F. Marshal. If he can’t get me on murder charges, he’ll take whatever he can get.”
“Like what?”
“Oh, I dunno, excessive force, maybe.”
Kristina looked lost again. “Excessive force? What does that mean?”
Nathan explained. “That’s when you use more force than necessary to take down a suspect. Like, after you have him cuffed and he can’t fight back, you slug him a few times.”
“Well…Nick would never do that. Would he?”
“I don’t know, but I might.”
“Nathan!”
“Hey, when somebody is trying to kill you and you finally get the upper hand, it’s hard to stop sometimes.”
After dinner, Nick took a walk in the back yard. He loved the bungalow in Trimmer Springs. It wasn’t fancy, but he’d been there about a year and it felt like home. More so because Suzanne shared it with him.
He walked to the back of the property and gazed across the Trimmer Plain. The suns had set and, though the sky was still bright, a gentle twilight settled over the region. A warm breeze swept up from the plain and washed over him. His mind was trying to run in several directions at once, and he was having a hard time keeping it still. He strolled along the edge of the slope that led down to a vertical cliff fifty yards behind the house.
He heard the back door open and close. A moment later Suzanne joined him.
“Are you okay?” she asked in a quiet voice.
He nodded. “I’ll get through it.”
“What’s the worst that can happen?”
“I dunno…I could lose my job. I could go to prison.”
“Do you seriously think either of those will happen?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know what to think. Since I put on this badge I’ve been shot, shot at, kicked, beaten, and bloodied, all in the name of enforcing Federation law. I’ve arrested people, killed people, wounded people, saved people, and it all seemed worthwhile at the time. But now some wimpy fuck in a business suit doesn’t like the way I work, and I have to deal with this. I almost hope I do get fired.”
“Nick, don’t say that. You’re very good at your job. You may be the best U.F. Marshal in history. Don’t let them get you down. Don’t let them win.”
She put her arms around his neck and pulled him close, pressing her magnificent Vegan body against him. He closed his eyes and pressed his face into her blond hair, breathing her scent, her Vegan perfume. Suzanne was just what he needed, he realized. She knew how to work her magic on him, and always made him feel better.
She kissed him, running her tongue into his mouth. He squeezed her and returned the kiss, willing his mind to shut down and let nature take its course. But after a minute…after three minutes…nothing happened.
It wasn’t working.
With a wave of despair, he knew why. It had nothing to do with Brian Godney or the formal hearing in a Federation court. It was something else entirely, and he hadn’t even told Suzanne what it was.
It was probably better that she never found out.
Twelve Years Earlier
Friday, February 18, 0433 (CC)
Camp Pendleton, SoCal – North America, Terra
Nick Walker followed Victoria Cross down the center aisle of the barrack as she proceeded to her cubicle. When she reached the doorway she stopped and turned, her blue eyes nailing him to the spot.
“And where the hell do you think you’re going?”
He grinned. “My, aren’t we territorial!”
“This is female country, Boot. No dicks allowed.”
“Well…what if I leave my dick outside?”
In spite of herself, Victoria laughed.
“That, I would love to see!” She slapped him across the cheek with the towel, which was still damp from her shower. “Seriously, what do you want?”
“Scuttlebutt says that tomorrow they’re gonna pair us up in a buddy system.”
“Do you always believe scuttlebutt?”
“No, but I’ve heard of this before, so it’s probably true. You want to be my buddy?”
Her eyes narrowed as she peered up at him. He was about five feet eleven; the top of her head came up to his chin.
“And why would I want to do that?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
She lifted her chin. “Because there are twenty-nine men in this barrack and I can choose anny-boddy I want.”
“That isn’t the way I heard it. Word is they’ll let us choose buddies, but if we don’t, they will assign us.”
“Then I’ll hold a contest, and the winner gets to be my buddy.”
“You know most of these guys are gay, don’t you?”
She laughed and hit him with the towel again, her face turning pink.
“No, they’re not!”
“How do you know?”
“How do you know?”
“Because I shower with them. I get to see things that you don’t.”
Her face flushed deeper and she pushed him away.
“Walker, you are terrible!” She pushed him again, a gleam in her eyes. “And you’re a liar! If I repeat what you just said to me, those guys out there will probably beat you to death.”
“Then you better not repeat it.”
“Why shouldn’t I? Maybe they should know what you’ve been saying about them.”
He rested a palm against the frame of her cubicle door and lowered his voice.
“If they beat me to death, then you’d be all alone with them. And then where would you be?”
“I would be just fine, thank you.”
“So how about it? Be my buddy?”
“I’ll think about it. What’s in it for me?”
“My winning personality. My enduring friendship. My—”
“Endless bullshit,” she finished for him. “Get out of my face, Walker.”
“Hey, come on. You’re all alone here, the single representative of your gender. You need me.”
She laughed. “I need you? In which fairy tale does this play out?”
> “It’s a cruel, cruel universe out there, Cross. Everyone needs friends.”
“Yes they do, and I have twenty-nine of them in this barrack.” She stabbed a finger into his chest. “Twenty-eight with present company excluded.”
“Aw, gee, Cross, you’re breaking my heart.”
“And you’re breaking my balls. What was it you called me? A ‘fucking pussy’? Sure, I need more friends like you.”
“Got you across the lake, didn’t it? You were about to take The Walk.”
Her eyes softened as she gazed at him. Suddenly she reached for his collar and adjusted it.
“Yes, it did. I never did thank you.”
“Then be my buddy. Next time you might be the one who saves me.”
She smiled crookedly.
“You know what, Walker? You really should pick a male buddy. When the shit starts to fly—if things get worse on Alpha Centauri—you might need someone who will be there with you in combat. I won’t be.”
“Where will you be?”
“Law school. If I make it through boot camp, the Star Marines are going to pay for my formal education.”
He looked surprised. “Really?”
“Yep. The only caveat is that after I finish, I have to serve four more years and work for the JAG. But I’d rather do that than pay off my education loans about the time I turn seventy-five.”
“Sounds like a fair trade. At least you won’t have to get shot at.”
She sighed. “Anything else, Walker? I’m tired.”
“Yeah. Be my buddy?”
She swatted him with the towel one last time.
“All right! I’ll be your buddy. But you owe me.”
“I owe you what?”
“A favor yet to be named. Now get out of my face and let me get some sleep.”
Nick Walker grinned, nodded, and pushed off from the door frame. As he walked away, Victoria Cross watched him go, then turned into her cubicle with a little smile.
Chapter 6
Saturday, April 29, 0445 (CC)
53rd Floor, Federation Building – Lucaston, Alpha Centauri 2
News of the terror attack on the Federation Building in Lucaston had flashed around the planet. For the next few days, the story led every holo-news broadcast and was the major topic of conversation on the streets. No information about “the Chairman” or his so-called ARMO organization had been released, however. Experts who dealt with clandestine outlaw groups understood that most of them wanted, above all else, recognition; by denying them their ego boost, it was hoped they would take more drastic steps that might expose them and, hopefully, lead to their capture.