by Eric Thomson
Making love to an empath with his mind open to hers while a storm raged around them had been the most intense experience of his life. He knew it would have to remain a one time thing. Otherwise he could easily become addicted to the point of abandoning everything and staying with Delia. That thought would surely have occurred to her. Mind-meddlers were nothing if not masters of manipulation.
The eye’s oasis of calm vanished soon enough, when rain and wind resumed their relentless assault, driving them back inside. With the resurgence of nature’s raw power, Decker and Ward abandoned themselves to the second part of their onetime thing.
*
Dawn crept up on a waterlogged village where many a roof had lost slate shingles, and where older sections of palisade leaned drunkenly, pushed over by the gale. Whitecaps covered the usually placid waters of the lagoon, while out to sea, the receding hurricane, its wall of cloud dominating the distant horizon, still drove a powerful surge against the barrier reef.
Decker felt curiously refreshed after a night that would stay engraved in his memory until he died. But a faint whiff of guilt at having abandoned himself to the moment made a sour counterpoint to what should otherwise have seemed like a great morning to be alive.
He and Hera had by no means forged a personal partnership based on exclusivity. Nevertheless, Decker wondered whether the intensely close link he’d experienced with Delia and which he could never experience with Hera, constituted a betrayal of sorts.
The following week was a blur of hard work and early nights. Zack threw himself wholeheartedly into the repair and reconstruction effort, without missing his turn in the watchtower and on perimeter patrol.
Delia, sensing his ambivalence, never brought up that night again, contenting herself with a few hours in his arms after every long day. Still, Zack could sense the sadness she hid behind a ready smile and sunny disposition.
On the morning of the seventh day after the storm, Zack climbed up on the infirmary’s roof to firm up emergency repairs so they would last. He had barely started relaying the slate tiles when an achingly familiar, high-pitched whine reached his ears.
After carefully setting a thin stone sheet into place, Decker scanned the skies, hoping the sound meant he could finally move on. Delia Ward must have heard it as well. She emerged from their cottage and stared up at him with wide, dark eyes already showing the first hint of tears.
“It’s time,” she said in a voice filled with enough anguish to twist Zack’s gut. “You can’t stay here, no matter how much I want you at my side. This isn’t your place or your destiny.”
Decker slid from the roof and dropped on the ground beside her.
“You seem so sure of that.”
“When we made love during the storm, you opened your mind to mine and showed me anything I do to keep you would only end in misery. I thought of using my talent to manipulate your emotions and desires, to enhance your feelings for me until I made you miss that shuttle, but I couldn’t. You might be a killer, but you’re no criminal.”
He took her in his arms and placed his lips by her ear.
“Because I owe you an explanation, I’ll share my true story before leaving. Please keep it to yourself.”
“I will, I promise.”
“You’re right, I don’t belong here because I came to Desolation Island under false pretenses. I’m a Naval Intelligence officer tasked with finding and retrieving Ariane Redmon. Political forces threatening the integrity of the Commonwealth condemned her unjustly, and she has information that could save many lives and potentially avert a disaster.”
“I’m not surprised,” Ward replied in a whisper. “She didn’t belong here either. Thank you for telling me. I will take your secret to the grave. Please promise one thing — try to remember me with kindness. It would be nice to think there’s at least one human being out there who does.”
Decker chuckled.
“Forgetting you, short of a mind wipe, will be impossible, honey. There will always be a little part of Delia Ward living in my memories, and believe it or not, I will miss you, intensely.”
“But duty comes first. I understand. You wouldn’t be Zack Decker if duty didn’t come first. I won’t tell you to take care because I know you will. You’re a survivor.”
She turned her tear-streaked face up and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, then she kissed him. As their lips met, Decker felt the soft fingers of her mind touch his, a farewell melding of sorts.
The whine of the approaching shuttle came to a crescendo, then faded away, proof the craft had landed outside Valla’s gate. Ward released him and stepped back, now crying openly.
“Have a good life, Zack,” she said, her voice breaking. “If you ever have the urge to settle in a preindustrial paradise, look me up. I’m not going anywhere.”
When Decker sensed a stinging sensation in the corner of his eyes, he gave her a tight smile.
“I love you too, Delia. Take care.”
He turned on his heels and, with a quick stride, walked out of her life. When he sensed one last, lingering mind touch, he reciprocated with a depth of emotion that surprised him.
Twenty-One
The exiles he met on his way to the gate gave him wordless nods or farewell waves. They knew, instinctively, that he would climb aboard that shuttle, never to return. Matt Hikaru and Max Mikkels intercepted Zack by the guardhouse.
Hikaru stuck his hand out.
“I’m glad to have met you, Zack Decker, and equally happy that you were with us during our time of danger. Though I won’t miss you as much as Delia, remember that you’ll always have friends here.”
Decker took the proffered hand.
“Thanks for saving my life, Matt. I’ll always owe Valla and its people a debt. Perhaps one day, somehow, I might find a way to repay you.” He turned to Mikkels. “It’s been a slice, buddy. You have an excellent village militia, and I know you’ll keep it that way.”
The man gave Zack a bear hug and said, “Go get ‘em, Marine.”
He released Decker, stepped back, snapped to attention, and saluted with parade ground precision. Decker returned the gesture, then marched through the gate and out into the open fields.
A Marine Corps assault shuttle, with markings showing it belonged to the Marine Light Infantry Regiment, sat on the short grass. Its dorsal turret swiveled to point the quad twenty-millimeter gun at Decker the moment he appeared, but Zack understood the Marines didn’t mean it as a threat.
The weapon system had an integrated sensor suite, and it was now taking full scans of him. They must have liked what they saw. The aft ramp dropped and two armed, armored noncoms stepped off. Their helmet visors were open, and he could read curiosity in their eyes.
The senior of the two, a sergeant first class, stopped in the shadow of the shuttle’s stubby wing and studied Decker before motioning him to approach.
“You want to enlist?” He asked without further preamble.
Zack came to attention, “Yes, Sergeant.”
“Do you understand what you’re facing in the Marine Light Infantry?”
“Yes, Sergeant. I’m well aware of the regiment, its training methods and how the Fleet uses it in combat.”
“Marine, eh? I’m going to ask you questions. Make sure you tell the truth and nothing but the truth. Everything will be verified, and believe me, we know the real deal from the fakes. You sign on under false pretenses and we’ll have your ass back here so fast the rest of you will take a week to catch up. The only thing we don’t want to hear is your real name. If you’re acquainted with the regiment, you’ll know that you have to sign on under a nom de guerre, a pseudonym.”
“If you don’t want to hear my real name, how will you verify anything I say?” Decker asked.
A cruel grin pulled at the sergeant’s lips.
“We have ourselves a wise guy. DNA, rookie. You’ll give us a sample, we match it to the Fleet’s database of bad apples, and it tells us everything we need except for you
r identity.”
“Then why interrogate me first?”
“Because I don’t trust the damn database is why. It’s been messed with before and will be again. My instincts, on the other hand, have never failed me. Now if you’re done asking questions, how about you give me answers instead?”
“Fire away, Sergeant.”
“Marine?”
“Yes, almost thirty years.”
“Basic branch and last rank held before your sentencing?”
“Pathfinders, major.”
Decker saw two pairs of eyes widen in surprise.
“Are the Pathfinders cleaning house?” The sergeant asked. “You’re our second ex-major in the last twelve months.”
“Maybe the Corps is getting squeamish about body trails. Who knows?”
“Is that why you’re here? Murder?”
“Culpable homicide in the line of duty.”
The two noncoms exchanged glances.
“Déjà vu all over again,” the staff sergeant murmured.
“Qualifications?” His superior asked.
“Basic, advanced infantry, basic Pathfinders, junior noncom school, senior noncom school, advanced Pathfinders, master gunner, command sergeant. Plus enough minor ones to fill a couple of pages.”
“So you were commissioned from the ranks.” The sergeant first class nodded. “I figured you had that mustang look about you.”
“Not quite. I made a jump from command sergeant to warrant officer and then chief warrant officer before they commissioned me as a major.”
“Impressive, or it would be if you weren’t here. Any physical problems that might come up during basic?”
“None.”
“We’ll be the judges of that.” He motioned at his companion. “Scan him. Let’s see if a guy who cruised up the ranks from private to chief warrant officer is still young enough to make it with us.”
The staff sergeant ran a sensor over Zack’s body, up and down, and then skimmed the readout.
“No tracking microchip.”
“Shit,” the other one said. “It’s becoming a fucking habit. Let me guess, they dumped you up on the central plateau, and you had to high-tail it here?”
Decker nodded.
“Yup.”
“His scans meet the minimum baseline, though he has recent injuries.”
“Thanks, Piet. Now listen up, rookie. Here’s the deal. You sign on with the Marine Light Infantry and you’ll climb aboard a magic ride through the toughest basic training known to humanity. Pass, and you’ll be assigned to one of the battalions, where you will see combat, guaranteed. If you survive five years, your criminal record is sealed. You’ll be a free man. At that point, you can take up your real name again, transfer out of the Marine Light Infantry to another regiment or another part of the Fleet, or become a shaggy civilian puke.”
A lazy smile twisted his lips.
“But most of us stay in the regiment until they retire our broken asses. It becomes our only family and our only home. Fail basic, and you’re back here, no second chances. If you commit an offense too serious for summary trial by the CO and the court finds you guilty, be it during basic or your first five-year hitch, you’re back here. If you die during training or your initial hitch, your criminal record is sealed, and we’ll bury you with proper military honors. That can be under your real name or your nom de guerre, something you’ll put in the last will and testament you’ll sign when training starts. Any questions?”
“No, Sergeant.”
“The moment you’re on the books, rookie, you’ll be under penal battalion discipline. I’m sure you’re familiar with that. If you’re not, you’ll learn fast enough.”
“Yes, Sergeant. I am.”
“Do you still want to enlist?”
“I do, Sergeant.”
“Under what name?”
Decker had already prepared himself for this moment and chosen a name he’d used before, during an undercover operation. It was a name that would attract Talyn’s attention if she ever perused the Light Infantry recruit roster.
“Whate, William Browning Whate.”
The sergeant first class held out the tablet he’d been carrying tucked under his left arm.
“Put your palm on the screen and keep it there for a count of five.” When Decker had complied, the noncom said, “Welcome to the Marine Light Infantry, Recruit Whate.”
“No swearing the oath?” Zack asked.
“The oath you swore when you first joined up is still valid, rookie. And that was your one penalty-free mistake. Next time you ask a question without permission, you’ll get a reminder of the penal battalion rules. You may have been a high and mighty special operations major in another lifetime, but right now, you’re a worthless convict maggot. Do you read me?”
“Loud and clear, Sergeant.”
“Hands.” The staff sergeant produced a set of restraints.
Decker held out his arms, wrists almost touching, fists clenched, in the prescribed position. When he was manacled, the staff sergeant led him up the shuttle’s aft ramp. Zack took one last glance at Valla before the passenger compartment swallowed him, but saw no one other than the guard in the watchtower.
Four men and one woman, wearing the homespun clothes of Desolation Island exiles, and shackled to their seats, stared at Decker in silence while the staff sergeant secured him. Forbidden to speak, Zack nodded politely. Then, he turned his eyes aft, somehow hoping to catch one last glimpse of Delia, even though he doubted she would watch the shuttle leave.
After a few minutes, when it became apparent there would be no further volunteers from Valla, the two noncoms trudged aboard. The shuttle’s pilot raised the ramp, cutting off his view of the island. Moments later, he felt familiar vibrations run up his spine as the thrusters spooled up, then the shuttle lifted off.
They stopped at three more settlements, taking on a few additional volunteers before turning west to cross a thousand kilometers of predator-infested ocean. Even though Decker was happy to finally move on and pick up his mission again, he couldn’t help but feel he’d left a piece of himself behind.
After a surprisingly short time aloft, he sensed the shuttle slowing. When the whine of the thrusters sent vibrations up his spine once more, Decker understood they had arrived at Fort Erfoud, home of the Marine Light Infantry Regiment. Or the Regiment of the Damned as it was sometimes known.
This would hopefully be the last stop on his quest to retrieve Ariane Redmon. They had to unravel the mystery of who was putting covert operations out of business before it was too late.
A faint thump and then silence when the thrusters died off. The aft ramp dropped allowing air, warmer and heavier than that enveloping Desolation Island, to fill the passenger compartment.
A dark green fringe, backed by even darker, mist-shrouded hills filled the near distance, separated from the shuttle pad by a tall metallic fence shimmering with energy.
The sergeant first class stood and said, “Welcome to hell.”
Twenty-Two
A section of armed and armored troopers under the command of a corporal escorted the manacled recruits across Fort Erfoud’s shuttle pad and through the main base to the recruit barracks in a fenced-off section. There, a large freestanding sign greeted them.
Painted in the rifle green and black colors of the Marine Light Infantry, it sported the regimental insignia – a flaming grenade superimposed on crossed muskets. The sign announced they had arrived at the home of the Marine Light Infantry’s training battalion.
The corporal ordered them to halt in front of a two-story building, one of eight surrounding a concrete parade square.
“You will wait here until called,” he said. “You will answer, ‘Yes, Staff,’ when you hear your name, and then enter through the door behind me. You will not otherwise move or speak. We will now take off your wrist restraints. Once they’ve been removed, you will assume the parade rest stance.”
As if on cue, the heavens opened,
and a monsoon-strength rain shower pelted them with large, warm droplets. The troopers merely lowered their helmet visors to stay dry, but the recruits were soaked within moments.
After a few minutes, the rain eased off and then stopped altogether, and sunshine broke through the clouds. Soon, everything, including Decker and his fellow exiles seemed draped in fog, the atmosphere reminiscent of a sauna, down to the hot, moist air they inhaled with every breath.
They stood in silence, without moving, for at least thirty minutes, as far as Decker’s internal clock could tell, before a disembodied voice called out the first name.
“Whate, William.”
He stomped to attention and shouted, “Yes, Staff.”
Then with precise parade ground movements, he left the formation and climbed the few steps leading to the open door. Entering the building felt like passing through a portal to another world.
After the bright tropical sun, his eyes needed a few moments to adjust, though the rest of his body felt relief at the first whiff of air-conditioning.
“Whate, William Browning, reporting as ordered.”
A middle-aged woman wearing a warrant officer’s bars and the winged caduceus of a physician’s assistant on her battle dress uniform, pointed at a medisensor booth.
“Strip and climb in. We’ll soon know if you’re hiding physical problems you’ve neglected to mention. The DNA reading I’ll take at the same time will tell us whether the claims you made about your prior service were true.”
Her deeply tanned face, beneath short, salt and pepper hair, bore lines and crags that spoke of a long life in service to the Corps. Dark, guarded eyes observed him.
“Yes, Staff.”
Decker kicked off his boots and stepped out of the Correctional Service issue coveralls he’d been wearing when the recruiting shuttle landed at Valla. Without prompting, he neatly draped his clothes over the plastic chair by the booth and placed the boots underneath before stepping into the full body scanner.
“No tracking microchip,” the warrant officer said in an absent tone as she read the data streaming on her pad. “What’s the story, Whate?”