Brothers in Arms

by Ben Weaver

  “You want to hump out there for nothing?” I sighed. “Look, I can’t explain how it happens, it’s just the conditioning, I guess.”

  “Yeah, the same conditioning that we can’t rely on,” Halitov said. “One minute it’s there, the next it ain’t. And Yakata said we’re supposed to know more than we know. They screwed us up—and you were no exception.”

  “You’re right, we shouldn’t depend on the conditioning. But why not risk just me instead of all of us? We lose a little time, that’s all.”

  “If St. Andrew wants to go, I say let him go,” Pope interjected.

  “Let him go,” Dina echoed.

  “I’ve seen what he can do firsthand,” Ms. Brooks added. “Mr. Beauregard, I strongly suggest you allow him to go.”

  Halitov wove by the others to get in my face. “So tell me, Scotty boy, you kill Clarion and Haltiwanger?”

  Ms. Brooks hopped down from the stone dais to stand beside me. “What he did was save my life.”

  “I didn’t kill Clarion. She was trying to turn us in. One of the Marines got her.”

  “So you killed Haltiwanger.”

  I lowered my gaze and nodded.

  Halitov slapped me on the back. “Good work. They probably would’ve reeducated him and stuck him back on the line. That’s one less we gotta worry about.”

  I knew he was right, but I had difficulty getting past his ruthlessness. We had both come to know Clarion and Haltiwanger like siblings, yet he had offhandedly dismissed their deaths. How could he ignore a past we had so intimately shared together? Fact was, he hadn’t. His angst would emerge years later, on a day when both of us could not help but remember.

  “Hold up your tac,” Beauregard instructed me, then produced a pen scanner identical to the ones used by the Marines. “I’ll reactivate it.”

  The band’s tiny panel lit as he waved the scanner. Local time popped up, and my gaze widened. It was already late morning. “All right, I’m set. I know the way out from here,” I told them. “Be back soon.”

  “If we have to move, I’ll encrypt and contact you on a local freq. They’ll be monitoring, so the message will be brief,” Beauregard said. “My tac’s got maps of the terrain we reconned. Uploading to yours now.” He skinned, then mumbled a series of commands. An upload message winked on my display.

  “Scott, be careful,” Dina said, and even with her shaved scalp, she quickened my pulse and warmed my cheeks.

  I closed my eyes for a moment, concentrated on the tunnel winding out, on the cliff face that lumbered up to the pockmarked mesa we had traversed the first time we had come to the caves. I opened my eyes, skinned to a setting that would mirror the landscape, rendering me invisible to the casual observer, and ran.

  Vague sections of peat-colored rock shot by. Sunlight pierced my gaze. I sprinted straight up the cliff face and leapt onto the mesa. I pivoted, scanning all three hundred and sixty degrees of the terrain, then, assured that there were no patrols nearby, I took off. Even if Alliance troops patched in to my locator or locked on to my skin emissions, they would still not catch me. My Heads Up Viewer indicated that I ran across the broken plain at an implausible rate of one hundred and eleven kilometers per hour.

  The ordnance site lay about fifty kilometers from the cave’s main entrance, so it took me about thirty minutes to near the scene. As I ran parallel to a gorge about a hundred meters wide, three hundred deep, I contemplated the abilities I had gained from my conditioning and struggled with the inconsistencies. My exploitation of the bond felt regulated by something. Maybe tapping too deeply into the bond was dangerous and activated some kind of fail-safe system. Or maybe I still didn’t know how to fully manipulate the bond. It seemed more instinctual than anything else. Maybe I never would realize my full potential.

  After about five minutes of travel, the gorge divided into three narrower, shallower chasms, and my HUV superimposed a short-range scanner image of the invisible skins draped over the openings and concealing four spacecraft, as well as long rows of silver storage containers.

  I climbed down the gorge via a series of small cliffs until, about ten meters from the energy skin, I ran out of road. All or nothing now. I thought of closing my eyes, thought of trying to find another way down, thought of how time was running out, then jumped.

  Sans the characteristic rebound I would have felt had I not been conditioned, I impaled the energy barrier and plummeted another fifteen meters to a mottled bed of fluvial pebbles produced by an ancient river. The impact felt the same as if I had leapt from a height of one meter. I laughed aloud as I looked up at the distant ledge, one that could easily have been on old Whore Face.

  The C-129s Beauregard had mentioned sat in a neat row, a quartet of silver boomerangs waiting for us. I guessed that somewhere in that huge wall of containers were the foodstuffs Beauregard had also mentioned. He would have to point us to them. Before leaving to report my find, I jogged over to the nearest ship and stood on tiptoe to reach the belly panel near the stern. “C-One-twenty-nine transport, South Point Academy, Exeter. Seventy Virginis star system. Unit number one-seven-nine-five-five, Alpha, Sierra, Bravo, six.” I read the ID panel aloud, hoping to spark the access code which lay hidden in my memory.

  And there it was, a ridiculously large number to memorize, yet one I somehow just knew: 98274091847091609610978987. I remembered reading that the brain does not store memories like computer files but often spreads them throughout itself. Sometimes all parts of our brains work in concert to produce a single memory. I had read case studies of people who had suffered strokes or blood loss to certain regions of the brain. Some had forgotten how to read, yet they could still write. Ten minutes later, they couldn’t read what they had written. At least they knew they had forgotten something. I wasn’t sure what was inside me that I couldn’t remember, and I wished I had a quiet moment to learn what I knew. Confused? I sure was.

  With a slight hiss and thud, the hatch opened, and the loading ramp began to descend. I climbed into the transport, dashed through the hold, then dropped into the pilot’s chair. “I need the access code to this cockpit. It’s in there, somewhere. Unit number one-seven-nine-five-five, Alpha, Sierra, Bravo, six. Cockpit code is…”

  I plugged in the numbers on a tablet mounted to the center console: 9990-86868-11-11-001. A code-accept message shimmered for a few seconds, then a main menu popped up. I tapped for preflight, then bolted out of the cockpit.

  Outside, I drew in a long breath, pointed myself for the gorge wall, sensed the bonds between particles, and beat a subatomic retreat up to the nearest ledge.

  Halfway back to the caves, I got a call from Beauregard, who said that Alliance troops were picking their way through the caves and that he and the others were moving into that string of tunnels. I confirmed that the transports were still in place and that I had preflighted one. He suggested that I head to an arroyo where the tunnels let out. It was just a kilometer away. We would meet up inside.

  Considering the chaos of recent days, I was taken aback when the next few steps went off without a hitch. I found the arroyo, met up with the group about twenty minutes later, then began the long hike via conventional travel back to the ordnance site. We bridged more than half the distance before settling down for the night.

  We woke early the next morning and hiked hard. Pope spurred us on with well-honed barbs that reminded me of just how fine a squad sergeant he had been. He knew exactly how to push your buttons, and whispered things to me like, “I know you wanna fuck Dina, you idiot. Ain’t ever gonna happen, enhanced conditioning or not. Beauregard’s got a lock on her, so you’d best square away your feelings and find some other woman to star in your wet dreams.”

  Always the brilliant and classy orator, Pope probably had a lot of experience with being rejected by women. To be fair, I had heard that he and a second lieutenant from the Sixty-seventh had had a little tryst before I had arrived at South Point. Haltiwanger had heard that woman was a full head taller than Pope, with the
kind of looks that made everyone say, “What the hell is she doing with him?”

  Despite Pope’s digs, I enjoyed talking with him. Since our conditioning, his demeanor had somewhat softened. More often than not, he spoke to me as a peer, listened to what I had to say, and commented on it without his customary terseness or derision. I learned that he was an only child, that he hailed from Rockwa on Kennedy-Centauri, and that his parents had owned a popular souvenir franchise at the spaceport.

  “So what made you want to come here?” I asked.

  “You know people have all of these complex answers for wanting to become an officer. They’ll recite you all of this highfalutin stuff about honor, loyalty, courage, determination, and nine other intangibles that sound real pretty but don’t mean jack shit. Truth is, I was at my parents’ shop one day about four years ago, and this couple comes in, elderly couple, and they wanna buy something for their grandkids, who, it turns out, actually live on Earth. So my dad’s all excited, figuring these old people got some money if they got grandkids who are real Terrans. So he’s out there on the sales floor, helping them, but what he doesn’t realize is that there’s some fuckin’ gunner from L-town on Drummer-Fire, and he’s got a pistol jammed in my mother’s mouth and wants the sodo gas we keep locked up in the case. Guy’s a big fuckin’ bastard, twice as tall as me, with this long, braided beard, I’ll never forget it. So I sneak along the counter, ’cause I think the gunner doesn’t see me, and I’m trying to get my father’s attention, but someone else sees me, it’s this captain from the Seventeen System Guard Corps. Guy has just gotten off the shuttle, come home to see his wife and little kid, and he looks at me with these big, blue, shiny eyes, looks past me and at my mother, and then he comes running into the store, drawing his pistol.”

  We walked for another ten, maybe twenty meters. I asked Pope what had happened. “Just give me a minute,” he said.

  “You don’t have to tell me. It’s all right.”

  “So the gunner, he just, you know, reacts, puts the slug in my mother’s head. Then he trains his weapon on the captain, who starts firing. I mean this fuckin’ guy wants to empty the whole fuckin’ clip into this scumbag gunner’s head. But even as he’s pumping off rounds, the gunner gets one off. Kill shot. Between the eyes. They drop together. My father? He’s screaming. The old people run out of the store, and you wanna laugh? They fuckin’ stole the rubaka egg my father was showing them. Anyway, we rushed my mother to hospital, but she was long gone. So I guess I shoulda given you the short answer on why I came to the academy. Bottom line: I owe that captain.”

  “You don’t blame him for your mother’s death?”

  “That gunner would’ve killed her either way. That’s the way they operate in L-town. A couple of days later, I met that captain’s wife and kid. I knew then that I wanted to be someone like him, someone who rises above humanity’s sorry ass state, someone who could do what he did.”

  “Well, sir, for what it’s worth—”

  He shook his head vigorously. “No, Mr. St. Andrew, I’ll never be that captain. I won’t even come close. But I’ll be damned if I don’t try.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Pushing ahead of me, he said, “Mr. St. Andrew, I appreciate your company, if not your pace. Move out, scumbag! Move out!”

  11

  We neared the main gorge. Beauregard signaled a halt, then we got down on our bellies behind a jagged row of reddish brown rocks rising no more than calf height. Me, Pope, and Halitov kept close to Ms. Brooks, since she was not skinned and could be more easily spotted. Our own skins would help to conceal her.

  “Crab carrier out there,” Beauregard reported. “Just past the third gully. You see it? Shit. It was only a matter of time—time we pissed away getting here.”

  “Don’t sweat it,” said Pope. “Remember, we’re conditioned. They’re not.”

  “Yeah, if it works,” Halitov groaned. “My memory’s screwed up, I can do amazing shit one second, nothing the next, and now we stake our lives on this half-ass process. Anybody read about this in our cadet contracts? This part of the code?”

  “What’s going on?” Ms. Brooks asked.

  I had weakened the camouflage over my face so that she could see me. The image must have looked rather odd, though she didn’t comment on it. I relayed the news, and she told me to tell Beauregard that she had a plan. He crawled on hands and knees back to us and de-skinned his face. “Ma’am?”

  “Since I can’t get down there as fast as you can and I have no defense against those troops, I’ll remain here. Once you get a ship airborne, hover over my way, drop the ramp, and I’ll run onboard.”

  “Once we launch, we’ll draw a whole lot of attention,” Beauregard shot back. “The gunners onboard the carrier will open up and cut you down before you get near our ramp.”

  “Which is why I’ll stay back with her,” Pope said. “Draw their fire. See if I can turn that fire back on themselves.”

  “And if your conditioning doesn’t work?” Halitov asked.

  “Then I buy Ms. Brooks some time to get on board. See, Halitov, I’m ugly, but I’m not stupid. Her life’s worth more than mine. More than yours.”

  “I appreciate that, Mr. Pope, but I’ll be just fine by myself,” Ms. Brooks answered sharply. “Right now, we need every conditioned person in our arsenal. Your life’s worth a lot more than you think.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. But my mind’s set.”

  “Sorry, Ms. Brooks. Your opinion in this argument is heavily biased; therefore, I’m stepping in to settle this,” said Beauregard. “Pope, you stay back with her. Wait for us. They open up, you draw their fire. The rest of us are going down.” He pursed his lips, gazed sympathetically at Ms. Brooks. “Just let us do this.”

  She cursed under her breath, then finally nodded.

  “Our tacs can’t penetrate the skin barrier, so there’s no way to know how many we’re up against or their positions,” Beauregard said. “So—”

  “The skin means nothing,” I corrected. “Reach out through it, try to find the bonds between particles, skip along those bonds until you find a guard. Then do it again, and again, and again, and you’ll find them all. It’s what Yakata said. It’s another sense we have, and we have to learn how to use it. I reached down there, and here’s what I know: There are two squads. They’re taking inventory. I’ll mark their positions on my map and upload to yours. Count six near our transport, two posted at the bow, two at the stern. There’s another pair out near the wall. We take those two out first, follow up with the two near the ramp, and I think we can get inside.”

  “Don’t fuck with me, St. Andrew. Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive. The only problem I see is the hover to pick up Ms. Brooks. Someone has to fly the transport, even if it’s just to issue voice commands to the autopilot. I’m not sure we have those commands. They don’t come to me. Anyone else?”

  Dina shook her head, as did Halitov and Pope.

  “Maybe they’ll be triggered once we’re in the ’pit. Why would we have all the codes to access the ship and not have the skills to fly her?” asked Beauregard.

  “The process was screwed up. Maybe that part got left out,” Halitov argued. “We keep depending on something that just ain’t there.”

  Beauregard grinned lopsidedly. “You’ll get permission to bitch and moan after we break atmosphere.”

  “The colonel’s boy has spoken,” Halitov said darkly.

  “I’ll go in first. I can get down far enough to make the jump,” I told Beauregard.

  “Okay. So, you’re point man again, which I wouldn’t have bet on two weeks ago. I wish your brother could see this.”

  I turned away to hide the sudden sheen in my eyes. “I know. Let’s hope the magic holds out. I’ll keep the channel open. Soon as I hit the ground, I’ll report.”

  Beauregard crawled back to his position, while Dina edged up to me. “That night outside the billet? I was right.”

  “About what?�
�

  “That birthmark on your face. It is a blessing. You’re a blessing.” She resumed her place next to Beauregard.

  Halitov de-skinned his face to show off his ugly grin. “That kind of teasing you don’t need. And do me a favor, if you die down there, do it saving my ass.”

  Tossing him a weak smirk, I looked away to Pope, who wore a distant expression. I imagined he was replaying that horrible day at the spaceport.

  As was my wont, I bolted away, robbing myself of time to reconsider, then, instead of climbing down the ledges, I leaped from cliff to cliff, gauging my descent much more efficiently than my first drop. I came floating to a soundless landing behind one of the two guards posted out near the wall. I reported my position, then added, “Let me take him and the second one, then you come.”

  “On your mark,” Beauregard answered.

  Holding my breath, I crossed in front of the guard. If I touched him without tapping into the bond, our skins would rebound. I had used that move back in the admin building, but I sensed that wouldn’t be enough.

  Ixta is the fist, elbow, fist.

  I de-skinned, wired myself to the quantum level, and struck. The Marine’s head lolled back under my first blow, then I caught his chin with my elbow and flattened him with the second punch, delivered with the base of my fist. I chilled as a vivid memory of Yakata teaching me the move lit clearly in my mind’s eye, then as quickly vanished. I pulled the guard’s particle rifle out of his hands and hurled it away. Then I closed my eyes and dug my fingers into the seams where his tac met his wrist. The band came off, along with his hand. He shrieked as his combat skin withered. The whole attack lasted exactly one second.

  The luxury of being able to incapacitate the enemy without killing was one I would not enjoy for long. I guess I was just weak, but my reasons for wanting to become an officer never included a thirst for blood. After killing Haltiwanger, I had vowed not to kill again. I believed I could still neutralize the enemy without robbing parents of their sons and daughters. I felt my own loss of Jarrett all too painfully. I felt fully justified and aided by my conditioning.