“I need volunteers for a mission,” she said. “Can I assume that you two have volunteered?”
Stewart shrugged. “I knew I should have stayed drinking,” he said. “Curse my low stomach volume.”
“You’d be bitching more if you were fat enough to drink a trough,” Parkinson pointed out, rudely. He looked at Jasmine. “Should I assume we’ve been volunteered?”
“Probably,” Jasmine said. She smiled. “Risk of being caught, tortured and killed - high.”
“I knew it,” Stewart said. “I suppose you have a pair of volunteers. Now, what do you actually want us to do?”
“We’re going to Wolfbane,” Jasmine said. She didn't insult them by asking if they wanted to back out. “It should be fun.”
“I suppose,” Parkinson said. He elbowed Stewart. “You really should have stayed drinking.”
“Yeah,” Stewart agreed. He stood. “When are we going?”
“There’s some briefing papers on the datanet,” Jasmine said. “You can read them in the next room.” She sat down behind the desk. “I have to interview a couple of others, then we can go through the planning stages. Hopefully, we’ll have a full team in a day or two.”
“Understood,” Parkinson said. “We’ll be ready for you.”
Jasmine shook her head, inwardly, as she watched them go. She knew she was a little bitchy, but ... she sighed, tiredly. Going to Wolfbane would be a challenge, a challenge she knew could end badly. Admiral Singh had every reason to hate her, personally. If she got caught - again - she knew getting out would not be easy. Admiral Singh would probably blow Jasmine’s brains out before she had a chance to recover.
There was a knock at the door. “Come!”
The door opened, revealing a muscular young woman with short red hair. She would have been pretty, Jasmine considered, if she hadn't had a nasty scar on her face. No one would have blamed her for removing it, but she wore it like a badge of honour. The auxiliary uniform she wore was a warning not to take her too lightly.
“Meade Hazelstone,” the newcomer said. “I understand you’re looking for volunteers ...?”
Jasmine nodded, motioning for Meade to take a seat. She’d never crossed paths with Meade before, if she recalled correctly. The young woman’s file stated that she’d joined the company shortly before it left Earth, going into stasis without meeting the majority of the company’s personnel. It would have bothered Jasmine, she admitted, if Meade hadn't enjoyed recommendations from people Jasmine trusted. She’d made quite a career for herself since Avalon had been cut off from the Empire.
“I am,” Jasmine said. “Did you read the briefing notes?”
“Such as they are,” Meade said, briskly. Her voice was accented, although Jasmine couldn't place it. “I believe I meet your requirements.”
Jasmine lifted her eyebrows. “Certificates?”
“Grade Ten Mechanic, Five Star Shooter, Black Belt Semper Fu,” Meade drawled. Jasmine had the impression that she was all too used to answering that question. “I failed the Slaughterhouse, not Boot Camp.”
“Your file says you washed out,” Jasmine said. “What actually happened?”
“I had a ... personality conflict with the team leader during an exercise,” Meade said. “It turned into a pretty bad argument. And so I got marked down.”
Jasmine frowned. Marines had to be team players. She’d had to work with people she disliked in the past, no matter how she felt about them. For Meade to be incapable of hiding her true feelings, of burying them behind a veneer of professionalism ... it wasn't good. She wouldn't have been given a second chance, either. Jasmine was mildly surprised she’d been allowed to go into the auxiliaries.
“You have excellent mechanical qualifications,” she said, slowly. “How did you get those?”
“I grew up on a freighter,” Meade said. “The family has always been engineers, always - my three brothers and I were taught the trade by my father. Problem was ... the ship was too small for us when we grew up. My oldest brother got the ship; the rest of us scattered across the universe. I went to the marines.”
Jasmine lifted her eyebrows. “Why didn't you stay an engineer? You have the qualifications, don’t you?”
There was a flicker of pain on Meade’s face. “These days - those days - it was unusual to find a female engineer who was genuinely qualified, let alone experienced,” she said. “The only women who applied were silly idiots who’d been through the groundhog training centres, but couldn't do more than unhook a component and replace it with a spare. They had poor reputations. And it spilled onto me, even though I could fix a broken drive modulator with my eyes closed.”
“Ouch,” Jasmine said. “You didn't have good references?”
“Only from my family,” Meade said. She sighed. “They did try, but it was a pain in the ass proving myself. I had a couple of unsatisfactory positions ... well, let’s just say I learned to hate being questioned all the time. I made it through Boot Camp, but I didn't do so well at the Slaughterhouse. Coming here, as a trained engineer, struck me as my last best chance.”
“And it was,” Jasmine said. She met the younger woman’s eyes. “Are you sure you want to volunteer for this mission?”
“Yes,” Meade said, flatly.
Jasmine studied her for a long moment. It wasn't unknown for auxiliaries to become resentful, over the years. They worked closely with marines, but - despite their technological qualifications - they would never be marines unless they returned to the Slaughterhouse. Meade had evidently had a chip on her shoulder long before she’d gone to Boot Camp, a chip that had eventually spoiled her chances of winning a Rifleman’s Tab. Taking her could be dangerous ...
... And yet, she was qualified. Perhaps a little over-qualified.
“We’ll be going into lockdown soon,” she said, meeting Meade’s eyes. “If you don’t get through the training, you’ll stay in lockdown until the mission is over, one way or the other. I can't risk word getting out, even by accident. Do you understand?”
Meade looked back evenly. “Yes, Brigadier.”
Jasmine nodded to herself. Meade had had plenty of training. She should understand the requirements, no matter how oppressive they seemed to civilians. And yet, Jasmine couldn't help feeling that Meade would be a two-edged sword. Her anger issues might turn into a serious problem.
So ride herd on her, Jasmine’s thoughts mocked her. She wouldn't be the first person you’ve had to supervise closely.
“Take a break, take a walk,” Jasmine said. She made a show of looking at her watch. “If you are determined to carry on with the mission, come back this evening at 1700. I’ll make my final decision then. If you don't show up ... well, I’ll assume you decided to change your mind.”
Meade’s eyes glittered. “I understand,” she said. “I’ll see you at 1700.”
“Very good,” Jasmine said. “Dismissed.”
She tapped the terminal as Meade left the room, bringing up the auxiliary’s file. A string of commendations, matched with a line of disciplinary reports. Meade would have been busted out of the corps by now, if she hadn't been a very good engineer. No one doubted her bravery, it seemed, but they questioned her judgement.
I’ll just have to keep an eye on her, Jasmine thought. And hope.
She keyed a switch. “Next!”
Chapter Seven
Commodore Mandy Caesius couldn't help wondering, as she waited outside the restaurant, if her sister had stood her up. Mindy had always been the sensible one of the family, but she had become a dirty groundpounder and fought - with honour - during the Battle of Corinthian. It was easy to believe that her sister, who’d been a mere fourteen when the family had been exiled to Avalon, had gone mad. She was still only twenty to Mandy’s twenty-two.
Not that either of us have had an easy time of it, she thought, as a cold wind blew through the growing city. They were far too close to the docks for her comfort, even though she knew it was safe. She’d hated large bodies of wa
ter from the day she’d taken her first swimming lessons on Earth. She went to the groundpounders and I ... I went to space.
She shivered, cursing the immature brat she’d been. She’d given her parents a hard time, whining and moaning and complaining because she hadn't had the latest of ... well, everything. The older woman she’d become wished she could go back in time and slap her younger self, then point her at some genuine technical education. It hadn’t been entirely impossible to get a decent education on Earth, but it had required a certain degree of self-study. The time she’d wasted in examining the latest dresses or chasing cute boys could have been spent studying science and engineering instead. By the time Jasmine had straightened her out, she’d almost wasted her life.
The wind seemed to blow colder, just for a second. She heard birds cawing in the distance as night fell over the city, reminding her that Camelot was still an untamed environment. There were families who kept chickens, she knew; chickens that laid eggs and would eventually be slaughtered to provide a meal for their owners. She’d been sick, she recalled, when she’d finally grasped where her meat had come from. She’d never made the connection between the animals and her dinner.
I was a stupid bitch, she thought, with a flash of self-loathing. Everything she’d done - from sabotaging a pirate cruiser to becoming the youngest squadron commander in recent history - seemed to belong to someone else. It was almost as if she’d sprung into existence, fully grown. And I should have died.
She turned as she heard footsteps. A young woman was approaching, her hair cut close to her scalp ... Mandy stepped aside automatically, then stared as she recognised her sister’s eyes. Her body was so different - so muscular - that she couldn't help wondering if Mindy had actually transferred her mind into another body. But she knew that was absurd. She’d lost the rest of her baby fat during her captivity.
Fretting didn't help either, she thought. She’d done terrible things to survive. I could have died out there ...
“Mandy,” Mindy said. “You’re looking good.”
“You need your eyes checked,” Mandy said. She looked down at herself. The shirt and trousers she wore covered everything below her neck. She just wasn't comfortable wearing revealing clothes, not now. “I look terrible.”
“You look healthy,” Mindy said. She struck a dramatic pose. “And how do I look?”
Mandy shook her head in disbelief. Mindy definitely looked different. Mandy couldn't help thinking of Jasmine, but there was an immaturity about Mindy - even now - that was nothing like the older marine. Mindy bobbed from side to side, as if she couldn't stand still even for a second. Her muscles were larger, her breasts were smaller ... she looked ... she looked strange. And yet, somehow, it suited her.
“You look older,” she said, finally. She’d lorded her age over her younger sibling, once upon a time. She had a feeling that that wouldn't get her anywhere now. “Shall we go in?”
Mindy raised her eyebrows. “Shouldn't we wait for Jasmine?”
“She said she’d be here if she could make it,” Mandy said. It was a disappointment - she’d hoped to meet her mentor - but military life had taught her that the military came first, always. At least she wasn't a wife staying at home, never knowing when her husband might come home on leave ... or in a coffin. “I hope she’ll come, but ...”
She felt oddly out of place as they walked into the restaurant. It had been founded by a refugee family from Lakshmibai, one of the many people who’d helped the CEF as it battled its way to rescue the hostages. The refugees had done well for themselves, she decided, as a dark-skinned girl led them to their seats. She just hoped they managed to blend in as their children grew older. Mandy had learned, the hard way, that failing to blend in on Avalon could be disastrous.
“I’m going to NCO School,” Mindy said, sitting down. The waitress passed them a pair of menus, then retreated. “I report to Castle Rock on Tuesday.”
So she won’t be going with us, Mandy thought. Mindy didn't know about Sucker Punch, of course. She’d certainly not been invited to the preliminary meeting. Is that good or bad?
“Congratulations,” she said, instead. “I hope you do well.”
“I hope so too,” Mindy said. “Sergeant Rackham said I had potential, but I’d have to work hard.”
“I think that’s true of everything,” Mandy said. She didn't know Sergeant Rackham, but she did know Command Sergeant Gwendolyn Patterson. The woman had scared her, when Mandy had first met her. Even now, the older woman was terrifying. “How long is the course?”
“Nine months, apparently,” Mindy said. “If I pass, I get to do an apprenticeship before they give me a platoon of my own. And if I fail, I get sent back to my unit with a flea in my ear.”
“Probably literally,” Mandy said. “Have you thought about transferring to the navy?”
Mindy shook her head. “It isn't aggressive enough.”
Mandy snorted. “It is.”
“No, it isn’t,” Mindy said. “It’s just lights on a screen.”
Mandy rolled her eyes, although she took her sister’s point. Mindy had always been the more physical of them. Even as a child, Mandy hadn't dared to push her sister around too much. Of course, she’d also been taught that violence never solved anything ... she’d learnt, the hard way, that too many of her teachers were liars. When society collapsed, might made right.
Mindy would have been fine, if we’d stayed on Earth, she thought. Wouldn't she?
The waitress returned, carrying a bottle of wine. Mandy ordered quickly, then motioned for the waitress to wait as she saw Jasmine entering the restaurant. The marine looked tired, as if she’d walked for miles without a rest. Mandy couldn't help feeling a flicker of concern for the older woman, even though she knew Jasmine could beat both of them with one hand tied behind her back. Everyone had their breaking point.
“You have a terrible crush on her,” Mindy whispered, as she poured three glasses of red wine. “Don't you?”
Mandy glowered at her. She’d had a couple of girlfriends, back on Earth, but they hadn't lasted. Boys had been more interesting, even when they’d turned demanding. Jasmine ... was nothing like either of them. It was easier to think of her as an older sister, perhaps a cousin, than anything else. They were very different.
“Jasmine,” she said, holding out the menu. “You’re just in time.”
Jasmine gave her a tired smile. “I wasn't sure I was going to make it,” she said, as she took the menu. “Chicken Supreme, please.”
The waitress looked alarmed. “That’s the hottest thing on the menu,” she said. “Would you not rather ...”
“Chicken Supreme,” Jasmine repeated. “I’ve eaten food prepared by Joe Buckley. I’ll survive your curry.”
Mindy giggled as the waitress scurried away. “Is he as bad as Private Baldrick?”
Jasmine pointed a finger at her. “It is a law of nature,” she said, “that military cooking is always awful. Adding spicy sauce is often the only thing that makes it edible.”
“Yuk,” Mandy said.
“We shot a racoon back on Corinthian,” Mindy said. “It tasted fine, once we got rid of the smell of buckshot.”
Mandy glanced from one to the other, then shrugged. She’d eaten a few military rations herself, although the navy generally had better food. “You should probably have stuck with the ration bars,” she said. “I thought they tasted like cardboard.”
“That’s why we slather them in sauce,” Jasmine said. She leaned back in her chair. “How was your day?”
Mindy smiled. “I’m going to NCO school!”
“Lucky you,” Jasmine said. “Remember to take an apple for the teacher.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Mandy said.
“She’ll need to be noticed,” Jasmine said. She looked Mindy up and down. “Do you intend to return to the field or go into training?”
“The field,” Mindy said. “I don’t think I can shout for hours without losing
my voice.”
“There are augmentations for that,” Jasmine said. “Just remember to look confident, even though you’re panicking on the inside.”
Mandy frowned. “Do you panic?”
“No,” Jasmine said. She winked, showing a flicker of her old self. “Of course, I could be lying.”
“I don’t think you do,” Mandy said.
Jasmine nodded. “I got over the panic reflex back home,” she said, seriously. “And anyone who managed to keep it after a few months in Boot Camp probably wouldn't graduate.”
Mandy nodded. She’d been through too much to panic at the slightest setback. “I can't imagine you panicking.”
“Good,” Jasmine said. “And what have you been doing?”
Wolf's Bane (The Empire's Corps Book 14) Page 7