Esther's Story: Recon Marine (The United Federation Marine Corps' Lysander Twins Book 2)

by Jonathan Brazee

  Both guards were watching, and their looks changed to horror as Esther tumbled. She cried out and rolled to clutch her knee. The blood rolling down her lower leg was real. She’d wanted to make it look good, but maybe her fall had been too good. Her knee started throbbing.

  Both guards bolted toward her, one shouting, “Are you OK, ma’am?”

  Behind them, Sven was rushing up to the shack, which looked to be mere artistic cover for one of the pumps that fed the lake. One of the guards was kneeling beside her, asking if she was OK. The second guard was standing five meters back, simply watching. If he turned around, he’d see Sven.

  “You were looking. It was your fault,” she yelled at the second guard while clutching the hand of the first.

  The second guard scowled, not buying into her act, she knew.

  “We weren’t looking, ma’am, really. You just fell. We’re so sorry!”

  She saw the second guard, the suspicious one, start to shift his weight as if to turn back, so she blurted out, “What’s your name! I’m going to report you!”

  His eyes narrowed, but after a moment, he said, “Junior Sergeant Philip MacAdams. Thirty-Second Provisional Guards.”

  Behind him, ten meters away, Sven reappeared. He held up a brown envelope high, a huge smile on his face before he ducked behind the building. Esther knew he’d keep the building between them until he reached the shoreline and started casually making his way along it.

  “Well, Junior Sergeant McAdams, you should have a little decorum when you’re on the job. What are you here for anyway? Someone’s going to invade the park?”

  “Are you really going to report us?” the first guard asked her.

  “I should, but at least you seem to care. Help me up, please.”

  Esther didn’t have to fake the wince as she stood. She’d banged her knee up pretty good. She did make a show of flexing it, and she was relieved when it seemed to be working.

  “Keep your mind on the job, soldier boys. I don’t pay taxes so you can sit there and ogle anyone who jogs by.”

  She started limping away. She wished she could break into a jog, but she was afraid that if she tried, she might fall for real.

  “Miss? Miss? You’re bleeding,” a young woman pushing a stroller said as she and Esther closed.

  “Just a fall, but watch those two,” she said, turning and pointing back at the guards.

  They were back at the building, but both were still watching her. Beyond them, 100 meters farther away, Sven was still casually making his way around the lake.

  Esther continued until she reached the trees she’d designated as their rally point. Luckily, it was well out of sight of the guards, and Esther was happy to see several benches. She sat down and examined her leg. Her knee was throbbing, and it was swelling up where she’d scraped it. The longer she sat, the stiffer it would get, but she needed to wait for Sven. It was at least half-an-hour before her partner in crime walked up.

  “That was something,” Sven said. “I guess they were right when they said they need more WAMs in recon. Those negats never would have come to help me like that.”

  Esther had called him a trog, so she ignored the “WAM,” which she had only recently found out was supposedly a centuries-old term for ‘wide-ass Marine.” And she’d pretty much been sitting there thinking the same thing. As much as she detested what she’d just done, as much as it went against everything she stood for, in the end, she’d just used one more tool in her tool box. A 2.5-meter Marine might be chosen to emplace explosives high on a wall over his 1.5-meter buddy, but that shorter Marine might be chosen to worm down a tunnel to flush out whoever was in there. Neither the taller nor the shorter Marine was inherently better than the other—they just both fit different missions better.

  Emotionally, Esther felt as if she’d done female Marines a disservice, but intellectually, she knew she’d simply done what was prudent for the mission. And the mission had been a success. That was the bottom line.

  “Oh, crap, look at your knee. Did you do that when you fell?”

  “No, Sven. One of the ducks attacked me after you left.”

  “Yeah, sorry, dumb question. Are you OK to keep going? Do we need to stop?”

  “After I shook my ass to get you your objective? Fat chance. Now we’re on to mine, and we’ve got nine hours until extract.”

  “OK, let’s go, then.”

  Esther slowly got up, testing her knee. It hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her. Barefoot now and without her yellow blouse, she took Sven’s arm. If they were supposed to be a couple, she damned-well let him support her until her knee loosened back up.

  “And if you have to shake your ass to get me mine, you’d better shake it right,” she told him as they made their way out of the park.

  Chapter 21

  Esther watched the entrance to the building for twenty minutes. At least a hundred people had gone in during that time. Both she and the captain had agreed that her objective was in the office building, and her mission order had included the entry “Room 1204.” But where the captain’s objective had been out in the open, hers was in a crowded office space.

  She wished she was closer to the building, but she feared surveillance that would notice her sitting and watching, so she was 150 meters to the south, sitting outside a crowded café, sipping from someone else’s abandoned cup of what she thought was a chicory blend. Esther was very conscious of her bare feet and her grubby appearance, and she kept expecting the lone harried waiter who was serving the outside tables to notice her and tell her to leave. She tried to exude that “I belong here” presence, but she didn’t feel she was pulling it off.

  Confidence, Esther. You belong here. You’re just a normal citizen taking a deserved break from her busy schedule.

  Sven slipped beside her and sat down, pushing something at her feet under the table. She didn’t look but slowly felt the object with her feet. To her surprise, he’d brought shoes. She slipped them on while taking another sip of the coffee.

  He placed a jacket of some sort between them on the table and asked, “Well?”

  “Busy, how was your day?”

  “Same. Too many customers.”

  She wished there was another cup on the table that he could hold. To her, the two of them screamed out that they didn’t belong, and that they were up to no good. She’d initially objected to Sven going into their target building, but his logic was that if he went in and got caught, her mission wouldn’t be compromised. And if she went in, looked around, then left only to come back again later, the security AIs might notice that and deem it suspicious.

  “Are you going to get the registration done?” he asked.

  Registration? What did he find out? How do I ask?

  Esther didn’t know if they were being overly cautious. The planetary security AIs would be analyzing conversations and transmissions for key words or patterns, but the sheer volume of communications was so great that they had to filter out the vast bulk of what was being said. With both her and Sven being off-worlders, their speech patterns would put them in a higher priority, but still, there had to be hundreds of millions of non-natives on the planet.

  “Did you get the times?” she asked.

  “Yeah, the Regional Tax Registry’s in room 1204. They’re open until 5:00.”

  Regional Tax Registry. OK, thanks, Sven!

  “Well, then, I might as well get it done. You want to finish my coffee?”

  She new Sven didn’t drink coffee (or any drink with caffeine), but he said, “Sure, let me have it.”

  She pushed the cup to him, then stood up, grabbing the jacket and putting it on. The long coat was black with silver trim, and it almost reached the ground, covering her half-calves and the Deep Six. She straightened the front out and saw the shoes, which were surprisingly fashionable, and they even went with the coat. She had to resist turning her ankle to get a better look. Whether by accident or a taste for fashion, Sven had actual
ly acquired a good combination. Where and how, she didn’t know, but she was grateful she wouldn’t be going in the building barefoot.

  She wasn’t going to dilly-dally. She was a woman with a purpose, so she strode along, ignoring her bad knee, straight to the Gartrelle Building. At the corner, she saw a street vendor with shoes on a blanket he’d spread out on the sidewalk. A dozen of the same shoes as she now had on were prominently displayed. Esther knew where Sven had snagged them, at least, and she stood at the crosswalk, avoiding the vendor’s eyes and hoping he didn’t notice her shoes. An eternity later, the light switched, and the mass of people surged across it.

  She reached the front entrance and marched in like she belonged. On most planets, visitors had to sign in to gain access to the upper floors. The government floors in the Gartrelle Building, however, were open floors. Esther passed through the scanners without a problem and into the elevator. Moments later, she was entering Room 1204, the Prime Davis Regional Tax Registry.

  “Payment or new registration,” the concierge box asked.

  “New.”

  A ticket spit out of the bottom of the box with the number “262” printed on it and “Estimated wait time: 84 minutes.”

  “Please wait in Room B. Thank you for making Prime Davis strong.”

  Esther followed the sign to a common-enough-looking room. A counter was in the front, divided into three sections. On her side of the counter were about 50 uncomfortable-looking plastic chairs. A guard was standing watch over the room, but with the intensity that bespoke military, or at least military experience. He didn’t look like a normal jimmylegs.

  As Esther turned to take a seat, she caught sight of a simple brown envelope in a wire rack in front of the far left station. She’d almost missed it because of the white envelopes in front of it. She tried not to stare as she took her seat, but she was sure that was her objective.

  Most of the other people waiting were either chatting or on their PAs. Esther didn’t have one, and that made her stand out. She leaned her head back and pretended to nap.

  About twenty minutes after she got there, Sven came in. He was dressed better, but his face was still polka-dotted with bug bites, and his neck swollen. He didn’t look at Esther but took a seat in the second row.

  Esther watched the numbers count down, trying to see how long each session took. She had to get the left-hand clerk, she knew. As her number kept getting closer, she tried to calculate who would call her up. When she was one number away, she knew she’d get the center clerk.

  Two people down was a woman who’d stopped talking and was watching the display intently. Esther leaned back and craned her head. The woman’s ticket was number 263.

  Without hesitation, Esther stood and stepped over to her, shifting her weight from foot to foot.

  “Excuse me, but I think you came in just after me. Your number is 263, right?”

  The middle-aged woman looked up at her, a confused look on her face.

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I’ve been trying to hold it in, but I can’t. I’ve got to use the ladies’ room. I’m number 262,” she said, holding out the ticket so the woman can see. “I don’t want to lose my place and have to wait again, so would you mind trading with me so I can go pee?”

  Esther didn’t know if she would really lose her place or not, but the lady gave her an understanding look and said, “Oh, of course, dear. Here, you take mine.”

  Esther changed tickets, then hurried out of the room and into the main office space. The restroom was out in the hallway, so she went inside. She didn’t want to wait too long and miss her new number, so she counted out 45 seconds, then returned to the room. The lady was just approaching the middle station. Esther straightened out her coat and walked to a seat in the front row, a few places to the right of where Sven, in his second-row seat, was in deep conversation with a man in front of him. Esther could make out part of the conversation, which seemed to consist of the man telling Sven how successful he was and how he was going to make a killing in phosphates or something.

  Esther gave up trying to listen just as her number was called. She stood up and went to the far left station. Her objective was twenty centimeters from her hand. She could just snatch it and run, but the guard at the door looked alert and ready. While she’d been sitting, her mind churning with ideas, the best she’d come up with was to “accidently” knock over the wire holder, then slipping the envelope into her jacket as she picked the rest up. Now that she was standing there, the guard seemed to be staring right at her.

  “Application, please,” the bored-looking clerk said.

  “I don’t have it now,” Esther said. “I thought I could fill it out here.”

  The woman looked at Esther as if she was an idiot, and then with a voice that had probably said this a million times before, said, “The forms are online. You are supposed to fill them out, get them notarized, and bring them here.”

  “I didn’t know that. And I’ve waited for two hours. Isn’t there something I can do?”

  “Yes, you can go to the ground floor, go to FastPrint, and fill out the form. They have a notary there.”

  Esther was eyeing the rack of envelopes, ready to knock it off the counter as she left, when a loud voice interrupted the two of them.

  “How come this lady went right to the front of the queue? I just saw her come in!”

  Esther turned to see the man Sven had been speaking to. He pushed his way to the counter, shoving Esther to the side—and right in front of the envelopes.

  “You are mistaken, sir. She has the next number. Please sit down and wait your turn.”

  Esther felt an almost malevolent force hit her. She turned to where the guard was on full alert, his body tense for action. He was staring right at them.

  Oh, hell!

  “Bullshit! I saw her just come in a minute ago. She can’t slip someone 100 credits and get to the front of the line!” the man insisted, his voice getting high.

  Esther didn’t want any attention on her, and this fool was a magnet. She could see Sven standing and watching, as were most of the waiting people, but he wasn’t moving to help.

  “Sir—” the clerk started.

  “I want to talk to your supervisor,” the man said just as the guard launched himself.

  Esther jumped back and turned to face him. She was not going down without a fight. But the guard tackled the man instead, bringing him to the ground as the clerk ducked back out of the way despite the counter between them. Esther turned away as if to protect her face, and leaning up against the rack of envelopes, she easily slipped the brown one out of the rack and under her coat.

  She’d been right. This guard was either ex-military, a martial artist, or simply very well trained. With quick professionalism, he had the man face first on the ground and ziptied his hands behind him.

  “I got one,” he spoke into his shoulder mic as she stood up, hauling the sputtering man to his feet.

  Esther looked at the clerk, opening her mouth as if shocked. She didn’t think the clerk was faking her shock, though. The woman was gaping like a beached fish and trembling.

  “I . . . I . . . I’ve never seen, I mean, what?” Esther said, sounding pretty genuine, she thought.

  “Ma’am, I’m so sorry,” the woman said, her professionalism taking hold of her. “We just got the new guards today, and well, I’m sorry. You can file a complaint, if you want.”

  “No, I’m just happy no one was hurt. My registration, I still have to get it done, though. You said FastPrint? On the first floor?”

  “Uh, yeah. Yes. I’m sorry about this. Believe me, I’d do it here for you if I could, but I just don’t have the capability. All I do is scan yours and then make my entries.”

  Esther was feeling sorry for the women, but the mission was the mission. Still, it didn’t hurt to be polite.

  “Don’t worry about it. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was that, well, can I say asshole?”

  The woman smiled
and said, “Yes, I think you can say that.”

  “It was his fault. Stupid of him, from what happened. Anyway, let me get going so I can be back before you close. Have a great rest of the day, at least, uh . . . Daylana,” she said, catching the clerk’s name on a small placard.

  She shook Dylana’s hand, then walked out of the room and into the hall. Two more guards had appeared to join the first to surround the man who was weakly protesting his innocence of whatever they were accusing him. Esther walked past them and to the elevator.

  Come on, she pleaded to herself, watching the bank of numbers indicating where each elevator was at.

  She kept expecting to feel a hand clamp on her shoulder, a firm voice telling her to “Come with me!”

  Finally, the doors opened, and she stepped inside. Her anxiety kept rising while she tried to keep a calm, casual expression on her face. The elevator stopped at nine of the lower floors, and each time, Esther expected to be greeted by a guard.

  When the elevator reached the ground floor, she wanted to run, but she kept an even pace, passing the FastPrint, until she exited the building. It wasn’t until she was on the sidewalk and heading to the rally point that she allowed herself to pat the envelope under her coat.

  I did it! Mission completed!

  Chapter 22

  Two hours later, and with three to spare, Esther and Sven walked through the boutique, past the racks of clothes, and into the back room where Gunny McNeill and Major Kierkirk were waiting.

  “Are we the first?” Sven asked.

  “Yes, you are,” the major said. “Congrats.”

  The gunny scanned their wrist implants and recorded them in.

  “Ms. Alicia Lumsden wants her coat back,” he said, hand out to Esther.

  With a sigh, Esther took it off and gave it to the gunny. It was a very nice coat, and she’d been hoping to keep it. Sven had snagged it off a chair while the woman was leaning forward. This was after he’d grabbed the shoes from the street vendor she’d seen. He was a man of surprising talents, and if he left the Corps, Esther thought he could make it big as a shoplifter.