by K. M. Herkes
13:30S 11 MAY
Colonel Marcia Galloway opened the door carefully, much as she wanted to slam it open to the wall. Preventable disasters aggravated her like nothing else in the world, but the world did not care if she was angry enough to melt steel. Emotion caused disasters. Cool reason resolved them. She hadn’t come a thousand miles from home on a moment’s notice to throw a tantrum. She had a crisis to contain.
She forced the burning rage inward where it would only cramp her muscles and rot holes in her stomach. A little of the heat must have reached her eyes despite her efforts. The two technicians fussing over a table full of recording equipment stood up so fast that one woman tipped over her chair before Marcia could get out the words, “As you were.”
A gesture dismissed the techs. Another sharp motion shut the door—gently—in their wake. Two measured steps covered the distance to a window into the adjoining interview room. She righted the fallen chair and gripped the back as hard as she dared. Cool plastic dug into her palms while she catalogued the elements of disaster.
The room was a standard twelve-by-twelve, with the exit door on the right. Gray tile floor, gray extruded paneling on the walls. Two wood chairs and a metal table pushed to one side. Notepad computer on the table. Fluorescent lights hanging overhead. Single air duct high on one wall.
A typical interview venue, but for some members of the population, a normal room might as well be a medieval dungeon. One of those individuals was sitting on a foam mat against the far wall.
It was the only place Corporal Jason Coby would fit. He topped eight feet in height, which made the ceiling a standing hazard. The chairs would have collapsed under his weight. His uniform was soaked in sweat because the ventilation couldn’t keep up with the heat his body generated, and his face was buried in his arms to hide his eyes from a glare that he would find unbearably bright.
The man’s physical limitations were a matter of public record, and his rights were protected by federal law. This was the kind of situation that sank military careers and started Senate investigations.
“Hello, disaster,” Marcia said.
The other occupant of the room passed in front of the window, offering a fine view of broad shoulders trapped inside an immaculate service uniform. In other company, Captain Malik Jefferson would be considered tall, even powerful. He had little room to pace, but he kept trying, and his attention never left the man in the corner.
Marcia confirmed that the recorders were on. Then she slapped the intercom switch. “Do you have any idea how big a bucket of civil rights shit you’re standing in, Captain? Are you engaged in neglect or outright torture? You can’t claim ignorance. I conducted your Mercury unit orientation myself, so I know you’re up to speed on accommodation law.”
Captain Jefferson gave the observation window a long, silent look. Gray hair at his temples added a touch of maturity to a face that would always look younger than its age, and lips that fell naturally into a smiling bow more than canceled out the severity of his tight regulation haircut.
Marcia knew his affable expression masked a temper that matched her own for intensity, and she saw warning signs of it in his eyes now. Jefferson picked up the notepad and slammed its screen flat against the window at eye level. Then he slid it downward several inches to Marcia’s eye level. He might be new to Mercury Battalion, but he’d been a platoon commander in the Corps before his career intermission. He knew how to deliver a fuck-you-sir message up the chain with flair.
The consent waiver on display brought down the scale of the disaster by several orders of magnitude. Coby had waived his legal rights, including those entitling him to reasonable environmental adjustments.
Captain Jefferson said, “Where would you have me put him, ma’am? I only have enough T-series brig cells for six. Don’t blame me, blame the base architects who never imagined needing enough space for a whole flipping squad of Tees.”
He paused, and his shoulders sagged. “This was the best I could do, but I’m well aware the Battalion can’t afford bad press this close to the appropriations vote. I’ll sign over and resign if that’s what needed, ma’am. Are you here to take over as investigating officer?”
“I am not.” Marcia smiled, safe in the knowledge that the indulgence couldn’t be seen. Jefferson might be as green as spring grass when it came to the eccentricities of his new command, but his readiness to sacrifice himself for the good of the unit was heartwarming. “I am here to help. This isn’t a witch hunt, captain. I’m not only here as Mercury Command. I’m also the Battalion’s ranking Public Safety rep. That’s my top hat in this situation.”
The Department of Public Safety designation gave Marcia authority over all other military and civilian agencies in this case. Within a restricted sphere of influence, DPS officials had the right to gather evidence, level charges, adjudicate and pass sentence. It was an obscene amount of power to invest in individuals, but the government had tried worse strategies over the years.
Marcia said, “Think of it as joint custody. Your investigation with my oversight and logistical support from my DPS civilian team. And thank your lucky stars I know you aren’t really a sadistic bigot, because I could sink your career over what I’m seeing here.”
Jefferson frowned around the room. “What’s the issue? I can’t make the place bigger.”
So it was ignorance after all. Marcia might have guessed. Mercury Battalion caught a lot of rare power variants. “He’s T5-Y, Captain. The Y variant is tricky in combination. T-Y’s are photosensitive and heat-sensitive. See to his needs while I look over your preliminary findings, and we’ll forget it ever happened.”
“Aye-aye, ma’am. Thank you. That variant chart is worse than any Table of Organization.” Jefferson turned on the silent corporal. “Dammit, Jackass. I asked if you were comfortable. I don’t waste time on empty courtesies.”
Corporal Coby replied in a deep voice too slurred for Marcia to understand his words. Jefferson apparently had no trouble. “When I ask any direct question in the future, you will answer it fully or face unpleasant consequences. Clear?”
Rumble.
Marcia glanced at the transcriber unit. Its filters and algorithms could pull intelligible data from a wide range of audio input—a necessity when dealing with soldiers whose voices might drift into the ultrasonic or subsonic range depending on how their powers manifested.
The words “aye, aye, sir,” popped up onscreen.
While Jefferson oversaw the room improvements Marcia caught up on the few developments that had occurred since she first received the case alert. When the captain came into Observation, she waved him into the chair facing hers. “Tell me if I’m missing anything. At 03:30 today, Dormitory 2, squad bay B literally came off its foundation. Choke-out sanctions deployed automatically in response to the pheromone spike. Clearly something threw the entire squad into berserker mode, but ten hours and three interview rotations later, you still have no idea what incited the rampage. Corporal Coby there claimed responsibility, but he refuses to elocute.”
“That’s the pathetic sum of it.” Jefferson frowned at the floor. “I have suspicions and forensics. It’s a rough crowd except for the two newest reboots. You saw the page 11s?”
“I did. I read all their jackets on the flight out.” Marcia clenched her fists to keep her anger contained. Human beings had been abusing each other in the name of discipline long before any of them began changing into something else at mid-life. That made it no easier to accept. “You think a blanket party set off a violent cascade?”
“I think worse. Coby refused medical. It is a T-series prerogative, but they were all bloody wrecks by the time they dropped, and he’s the only one who waived intervention. Problem is, I can’t charge on a hunch.” Jefferson hit the intercom switch. “Hey, Jackass, I’m done listening to silence. Relax and enjoy the shade until your next wellness check. Maybe you’ll feel chatty once your belly’s full.”
Rumble.
“No, you can’t d
ecline that. You can duck the full exam, but the vitals checks and extra chow are compulsory.”
Rumble-rumble.
Jefferson said, “Yes, I’ll come back now if you’re finally ready to talk. Do you think I’m scared of the dark?”
The exasperation in his tone danced close to anger. Marcia cut the intercom. “Ease off, Captain. He doesn’t mean to be insulting. He was early-onset, and he’s under a lot of stress.”
“That doesn’t excuse insubordination.”
“It isn’t insubordination.” Marcia placed her hand flat on the table and pressed hard. “It’s a testament to your leadership that he thinks you might join him in a blacked-out room. Look.” She lifted her palm. “You cannot understand what this does to people.”
Jefferson eyed the smoking imprint without flinching. “I can try. Go on.”
“I’m a P1K: pyrokinetic, top power grade, K for telekinesis, in case you’ve forgotten that variance too. A T9, the weakest in Coby’s series, could cross my effective range and kill me before she noticed I’d burned her guts away, and she would survive the experience. I wouldn’t.”
“If you’re saying I should be too scared to interview him, you’re wasting your time.”
“If I thought you scared easily, you wouldn’t have this post.” Marcia searched for better words. “It’s a mindset. I rolled at forty-three under close supervision. Ten years on, I terrify myself on bad days. Coby killed three people in his first rampage episode at the age of fourteen. He will not outgrow that horror. He will never forget it.”
“Self-doubt, not implied cowardice,” Jefferson said after a moment.
“Yes.” That empathy was the main reason Marcia had approved Jefferson’s transfer to this post, why she’d tapped a powerless man to lead the most dangerous unit of monsters in a battalion dedicated to them. “Most EO’s bolt after one hitch, if they live that long. They want to get the most out of their short lives. The ones who re-enlist do it because Corps discipline is all that makes them feel human enough to walk in the world. Coby has re-upped twice. Find out what happened in that dorm, Captain. Find out how the Corps failed him.”
“I plan on it.” Jefferson keyed the intercom again. “I’m coming in, Jackass. Don’t trip me, or I’ll put you on mess duty for a month.”
Brig Interview Room 1
14:40S 11 MAY
Glare slashed across Jack’s eyes and stabbed right into his brain. He grunted as his strained neck muscles locked into cramps, and then he swallowed blood. The empty tooth sockets were finally starting to bud.
Darkness returned. Captain Jefferson waited near the closed hatch. Jack could see him clearly. He didn’t have the superb hearing of a B-variant, or the sensitive nose of a W, but he had the full T-series visual spectrum.
The captain was standing next to the damned bench.
“You’re still on the deck,” the captain said. “The work detail brought in a bench from Barracks 3 for you.”
“I know, sir.” Jack’s heart stuttered, and he started to sweat again. His chest and thighs ached. The bruising was hours gone, but he could still sense the cold pressure of waffled metal, feel the slam of the rounded edge against muscle and the scrape of tile under his knees.
He would pick up the bench and break it, if the captain ordered him onto it. Better yet, he would break the captain with it. He wouldn’t even need both hands. His fingers would meet on the far side of the man’s neck. One. Little. Squeeze.
Adrenaline surged. The aches faded. His calves twitched, and so did the long muscles in his back, always the first ones to respond. Run. Fight. Move. Hit. Hurt. Punish.
He overcame the reaction with a wrench of willpower and got the breathless panting under control. Darkness made it easier. In the dark there was no failure, no pain, no screams. Darkness was safe.
“Heavy breathing is not talking.” The captain sat down on the bench. “I will find out what sent your squad into rampage, Corporal. Two can keep a secret if one is dead, that’s the saying. There’s nine of you, and I’m told Tees can survive a nuke hit given sufficient healing time and supportive care. You had Cooper’s brains on your knuckles, but the docs swear he’ll live. Someone will talk. No one’s going to die.”
Jack’s headache throbbed along with his pulse. Oh, someone would die. He would see to that. All he had to do was keep his mouth shut and wait. Before his chance came he might get busted down and pull heavy brig time for the destroyed barracks, but property damage was still only a summary charge. He would see justice done once he was back on duty.
Waiting was the hardest part. He’d tried to give a false statement earlier, to get things moving, but he hadn’t been able to speak then, and now he couldn’t go through with the lie.
He had to do it.
The captain said, “It’s freezing in here, and you are wasting my time. Maybe I should warm up with a walk over to sick bay and check on Private Stanislav. What do you think of her?”
Jack ran his tongue over his remaining teeth. Direct question. Speak. “She’ll make a good Marine, once the boot polish wears off. First to volunteer, last to complain.”
The captain said, “Of course she’s eager. She wants to complete her compulsory hitch with a bonus, pass her control tests and go home to her kids. Who wouldn’t? She’s a good woman. Not the kind to nag her squad leader.”
A howl came up Jack’s throat and stuck there. I should’ve noticed. I should’ve known there would be trouble. He choked down the guilt, but memories came up again on a surge of nausea and adrenaline. He couldn’t stop the shakes this time. His vision hazed red at the edges. Muscles prickled and twitched.
“You need to leave, sir,” he said. “I request a control exemption. Please go.”
“Request denied,” the captain said. “We’ll get through this together. Don’t worry about talking. Just relax, close your eyes and listen to a little bedtime story.”
All the words made sense, but not sense, and the deck crumbled between Jack’s claws when he grabbed at the tiles. His pulse hammered in his ears, in his gut, in his bones, and his hands gouged furrows into the concrete flooring.
The captain snapped, “Relax. That was an order, Marine. Sit back. Eyes shut.”
The rising tide of emotion slammed into the solid necessity of obedience. Jack put his hands in his lap and bowed his aching head, and he closed his eyes as ordered. “I’m listening, sir,” he whispered.
“This is a story about my grand-daddy,” said the captain. “He was a Marine too, way back in WW2. People called his grand-daddy property, but the Marines gave Pappy a rifle and made him one of the few and proud. You know your history?”
“Not much, sir.” He hadn’t tried for education points in years. Waste of time, the registrars told him. Early-onset. Sure to die before the Corps got its investment back. “I know the Corps was different then.”
“All male, for one thing. All white, for another. Mostly young, too. A unit of black men? That was revolutionary. I wonder sometimes, where we would be today if the President’s cousin hadn’t hit onset in the middle of a state dinner. But she did roll over, and so did a hundred thousand others between ’43 and ’45. Eighty percent of that first wave were women, and a huge share of them were T, R and P powerhouses. FDR signed the orders to form Mercury Battalion to stop the destruction on American soil, and the Corps took on the task of training volunteers who could fight fire with fire. Literally, in some cases. Those women and men kept the home front safe so the rest of the country could win the war, because the changes hit everywhere, of course.”
For a moment, the portable AC unit ticked over in the silence. The darkness behind Jack’s eyelids wasn’t red now, and the prickling eased. His brain felt foggy, and he wondered if he had missed a question. Was he supposed to speak?
The captain said, “Would you ever think a woman was an inferior soldier because of her plumbing? I doubt it, but it was assumed, once upon a time. Not so long ago, dark skin meant you weren’t human to some folks. S
exuality was a thing, as my niece would say. Only seventy years ago. Plenty of places that’s still true, but now a third of the population changes color, sprouts new parts, or develops weird talents midway through life. Half the civilian reboots in Mercury don’t even look human. The ratio runs 60-40 women to men. Do you think any of that changes what it means to be a Marine?”
That one, Jack could answer without hesitation. “No, sir. It does not.”
“No, Corporal, it does not. You are a good Marine, and we both know what that means. A good Marine would never let criminals walk free so that he could plot his own private revenge. Not even if the criminals deserve worse than hanging.”
Jack’s head snapped back from shock. Paneling crunched, and he saw snowy white, bleeding red. His breath came fast again, but he held on. Wait. Wait and say nothing. He doesn’t know. He can’t. He waited. Captain Jefferson waited.
The waiting tied Jack in knots, inside.
“Let me tell you another story,” The captain said at last, very softly. Jack had to strain to hear him speak. “You listen, and you tell me if I get it wrong.”
“There’s a Marine. He’s not very smart, and he’s only a kid in a service that midlines at age 50 now, but he still elbows his way up to E-4 in a unit where promotions don’t come easy or often. His rank gives him authority over men and women twice his age, ones who hate themselves, ones who would rather be running diners or driving trucks or teaching school. This Battalion is different from the rest of the Corps in one critical way, Corporal. The damned souls assigned to Mercury’s cohorts either drill or die. They’re only Marines on the outside after they get out of the reboot camps. The Corps has to work to make them bleed green. This Marine, he does that for his troops. He leads by example, and he leads with his heart. By the way, Gunny Rivera had you listed for an E-5 slot. Did you know?”
That was a knife twist, to learn he’d come so close to making sergeant. “No, sir. Thank you for the information, sir.”
“So formal. Where was I? Oh. The Corps does change. It adapts. By land, by sea, now air and space, for instance. The changes to infantry doctrine that come with having brute squads and pyro support could fill libraries. Mercury is of the Corps, but it is unique in the Corps. Do you see my point?”