Three Against the Stars

by Joe Bonadonna

  “Beggin’ your pardon, Ma’am,” O’Hara said. “But we can’t just leave all them dead civilians on Acheron, unburied like that.”

  “I will attend to that matter in due course, O’Hara.” Dakota studied her sergeants like a school principle trying to figure out how to reward some gifted but unruly students. “You may consider yourselves off duty until further notice,” she said. “Sergeant Cortez, see to it that Makki gets whatever he needs. Let him know the Corps takes care of its own.”

  Cortez bowed with a theatrical flourish. “A sus ordenes, mi Coronel.”

  “As for you, Sergeant Akira . . . Major Helm, if you please.”

  The major opened the door to Dakota’s private quarters.

  Cooper Preston rushed into the office, grinning.

  “Coop!” a surprised Akira cried out. She felt like a silly schoolgirl, but didn’t care.

  “Claudia!” Preston shouted.

  They rushed into each other’s arms and shared a long kiss.

  While Major Helms and Colonel Dakota looked away to give the reunited lovers a moment of privacy, O’Hara and Cortez stood and stared like a pair of marks taken in by a carnival huckster. Had their jaws hung any lower, they could have dug foxholes with their bottom lips. O’Hara’s face wrinkled in disgust, and he wiped his mouth with the back of one hand. Cortez stood there, impatiently tapping his foot.

  After what seemed like an eternity, Akira and Preston ended the kiss—much to the obvious relief of everyone else in the room.

  “What a wonderful surprise, Coop,” Akira said. “But why are you here so soon?”

  “I got reassigned to do a new story,” he explained.

  Akira turned to O’Hara and Cortez. She took a deep breath. Here goes, she thought. It’s now or never. “Boys, I’d like you to meet Cooper Preston. My fiancé.”

  444

  Makki and Sheel took a leisurely trip in a gondola down one of the canals leading from the heart of Tantrapur. They were heading for a Felisian temple at the far edge of Tantrapur. Although it had been restored since the war, and there were larger and newer temples in the city, this one was still the center of worship for many Felisians of the Luzsaran faith.

  The temple was enormous, but very modest in design and decoration. Built of marble, granite and adamantine steel, the building boasted a massive dome as its centerpiece, with a small minaret on either side where the curved walls surrounding the temple joined with the main structure. A long flight of stairs and an arched gateway led to a courtyard where a simple fountain and a gorgeous garden filled with exotic birds and flowers set a tone of peace and tranquility. The hot sun sparkled on the white and gold building.

  Inside, the temple was spacious, with rugs, plush chairs and couches where worshipers could pray and relax. A tall, marble statue stood at the far end the temple, surrounded by an altar. The statue had no facial features, no distinguishing marks of gender; it was merely a statue in the form and shape of a Rhajni wearing a long robe.

  Makki and Sheel knelt before the statue and prayed. There were only a handful of worshipers in attendance, and those soon departed, leaving Makki and Sheel alone. After a while, they retired to the back of the temple so they could relax on a small divan and take in the serenity and harmony of the holy place.

  “What did you pray for, Makki?” Sheel asked in their native language.

  “For the souls of this one’s mother and father,” Makki replied. “And for the souls of all the Felisians who now rest in the arms of Azra.”

  “But what about you, Makki? Did you ask Azra to give you strength? Did you ask the Sybil to light the way for you, to help you choose which path to follow?”

  “Yes, Sheel. That’s all one should ask for—divine guidance. Sometimes the Maker wants us to accomplish things without his intervention, though he’s there to help when needed.”

  Sheel bowed her head. “The Maker will provide what we need, if we have faith.”

  “And the Light of Luzsara will guide our destinies,” Makki said.

  “Perhaps your destiny is to become a doctor?”

  Makki was stubborn and headstrong on this subject. “But this one wants to be a Marine.” He crossed his arms and bowed his head; Sheel knew there was to be no more discussion on the subject.

  Sheel kissed his cheek and squeezed his hand.

  Sheel kissed his cheek and squeezed his hand. You know,” she said. “Even when you speak our native language, you never use I, me, my, or mine.”

  Makki frowned. “This one doesn’t?”

  Sheel sighed in frustration, and then laughed softly. “You most certainly do not.”

  “Then this mewling will strive to do better.”

  Makki smiled, but his emotions were a jumble. Though he loved Sheel, he also loved the Corps. Finding his mother’s body, never knowing that she had survived the war, had convinced him that his destiny was to become a Marine. Sheel would have to come to terms with that.

  444

  Akira’s heart was pounding and racing with anxiety when O’Hara and Cortez stormed out of Dakota’s office. She and Preston rushed after them as the men tramped down the porch steps and headed for the sidewalk like a pair of ill-mannered gorillas.

  “Wait, you jarheads!” she called out. “Let me explain!”

  O’Hara stopped and turned. Cortez bumped into him and almost fell down. The Irishman pushed him aside and scowled at Akira.

  “You went back on your word,” he said.

  “Listen to me, O’Hara,” Akira said. “I never—”

  Preston tried to intercede. “Look, Sergeant. You have no—”

  “I don’t like your face, college boy!” O’Hara told him, his scowl growing darker. “So shut up and blast off, if ya know what’s good for ya.”

  “What? What did you say?” Preston asked in amazement.

  “You heard him,” Cortez told Preston. “Who do you think you are, showing up like this?”

  Preston glared at Cortez. “For your information—”

  “What are you trying to do to us?” Cortez asked.

  “If you guys would just shut up and listen—” Preston started to say.

  “Who you tellin’ to shut up, you keyboard jockey?” O’Hara snapped.

  Preston was speechless. Akira had taken all she could. They were arguing about her as if she wasn’t even there—and God help anyone who tried to get away with that!

  “Cortez! O’Hara!” she yelled. “Pipe down and listen to me, you idiots!”

  O’Hara turned to her. “Remember our pact, young lady.” He turned and nodded to Cortez. “Come on. We got ourselves better things to do.”

  He and Cortez turned and marched off down the sidewalk.

  Akira clenched her fists and stared after them.

  Preston shook his head. “I can’t believe the way those guys acted! Can you?”

  “Let’s go for a walk,” Akira told him, hoping that would calm her nerves.

  “Better yet, let’s hop a cab and go into town,” he suggested.

  There were a number of old-fashioned groundcars serving as taxicabs parked outside the main gates of Camp Corregidor. Akira and Preston climbed into one and told the driver to take them to the nearest café in Tantrapur. They rode in silence, holding hands. Preston stared at Akira with concern while she looked out the window.

  It wasn’t long past noon when they reached a Rhajni café and grooming house. This was a large, citadel-like structure of pink sandstone. Rhajni catizens in colorful robes, sarongs and tunics dined at sidewalk tables overlooking a canal of sparkling turquoise water. On the café’s roof-top terrace, Rhajni barbers and beauticians groomed their customers. There were also lounge chairs where catizens could take a nap in the sun, and robotic massage tables for weary travelers of every species in the known universe.

  Akira and Preston took a sidewalk table next to the café’s entrance, close to the main avenue, so they could watch the tourists and Rhajni going about their business.

  “We
ll, it sure looked like that was the right time to tell your friends about us,” he said, wearing a crooked smile.

  Akira shrugged. “I guess so.”

  “What did you tell them whenever you went on furlough without them?”

  A young Rhajni busboy brought them menus and glasses of ice water.

  “That I was going to visit the nuns at the Brackett Town Orphanage on Venus.”

  Preston rolled his eyes. “In other words, you lied to them.”

  Ashamed to admit it, Akira lowered her gaze and sipped her water.

  “I thought they were your friends?”

  She looked up at him. “They are my friends, Coop. We’ve been to hell and back together. That’s why I’ve been agonizing over this moment and dreading it ever since we got engaged.”

  “Then you should have been honest and told them about us right away. That would have been the right thing to do, Claudia.”

  Akira shrugged again. “I guess so.”

  “Come on, babe. You know I’m right.” Preston opened his menu. “So what’s all this about some pact that O’Hara mentioned?”

  Akira set her glass on the table and finally looked at Preston. “Oh. That. Well, we agreed to never get married and break up the team.”

  “What? That’s why they’re angry?”

  “I’m like their little sister, Coop. Though sometimes I swear—I feel more like their mother. They’re afraid you’re going to take me away from them.”

  “Talk about semper fidelis!”

  A Rhajni waiter in a green apron came to take their order.

  “Let’s order lunch,” Akira said. “I’m really hungry.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Signs of War

  Makki stood at ease in Dakota’s office. She sat at her desk, flipped through his enlistment papers, and then read his file on her computer screen.

  After leaving the temple, Makki had escorted Sheel home. When he returned to Camp Corregidor, Corporal Flix notified him that he was to report to Colonel Dakota, ASAP. Makki wasted little time in rushing over to the colonel’s office.

  “I’m afraid your enlistment forms have not been approved, Corpsman Doon,” she said.

  Makki’s ears drooped with disappointment. “Does Rhajni army still insist that this mewling attend medical school?”

  “That’s not the issue here,” Dakota said. “The problem is, the Marine Corps will not break its long-standing policy—enlistment is still restricted to humans.”

  “No other species may join?”

  “Not at this time. I’m sorry.”

  “Is there nothing Colonel can do?”

  Dakota put her computer to sleep and set the enlistment papers aside. “Believe me, I called in more favors than a politician and pulled more strings than a Chicago mob boss. But no one could help me. Right now, my hands are tied.”

  Makki’s shoulders sagged with further dejection. “This one understands and very much thanks you for your efforts, Colonel.”

  Dakota rose to her feet and held out a hand. “I know how you feel about the Corps, son, and if it’s any consolation, I think you’d make one helluva Marine.”

  “This mewling thanks you for your help,” Makki said, shaking her hand.

  “And I was very sorry to hear about your mother, Makki. If there’s anything I can personally do, my door is always open to you.”

  “Thank you, Colonel.” Makki saluted, turned and left.

  He let the screen door to Dakota’s office close quietly behind him, and then he walked down the stairs, head hung low and shoulders slumped with despair. His heart was very heavy, and his dreams were dashed. He didn’t want to attend medical school, though he knew he’d make a good doctor. But his desire to become a Marine was like a vigil candle in his heart. Why he wanted so desperately to become a Marine was something civilians would never understand.

  It was a longing that burned deep in his soul.

  “Makki! Makki!”

  He looked up and saw Sheel waiting at the curb, a suitcase at her feet. Makki’s ears straightened up, and he rushed over to her. He wanted her in his life, too . . . for his entire life.

  Sheel smiled as he ran toward her.

  “I was looking for you, but thought you had gone on duty,” she said in English.

  “No, not on duty. Went to speak with the colonel,” he said, glancing at her suitcase. “Where are you going?”

  “After you took me home I received word that my father broke his hip,” she said. “I’m leaving soon for Baldoran-Seven. I came here first, hoping to see you before I left. Did you discuss your enlistment with Colonel Dakota?”

  Makki hesitated, and then shook his head. “No. Colonel very much busy right now.”

  A Rhajni taxicab pulled up to the curb and stopped.

  “I have to leave.” Sheel spoke so quietly that the breeze almost swept her words away.

  “When will this one see you again?” Makki asked. His heart labored in his chest, weighed down with sadness. Two disappointments in one day had knocked him off balance.

  Sheel caressed his cheek and rubbed her nose against his. “Soon, I hope,” she said, staring adoringly into his eyes. “You know, I think you would make the most handsome Marine in the entire galaxy, my love.”

  Makki blinked rapidly, shy and embarrassed. Sheel kissed him on the lips, long and tenderly, then picked up her suitcase and climbed into the waiting cab. As the taxi pulled away from the curb, he fought hard to hold back his tears.

  Everyone he had once cared for was gone from him. Now he felt that everyone he had come to care about was leaving him . . . and that his life was on the cusp of some great change.

  444

  Later that day, a sad and dejected Makki went back into Tantrapur, where he found O’Hara and Cortez wandering around aimlessly. He joined up with them, glad for the company—even if O’Hara was always picking on him and calling him names.

  “What the devil are you doing lurkin’ about, ya fuzzy beanpole?” O’Hara asked him.

  “O’Hara, where is your heart?” Cortez asked. “Remember Acheron?”

  O’Hara blushed. Makki bowed to Cortez.

  “This one may ask of you the same question,” Makki told O’Hara. “Is big Irish sergeant looking to stir more trouble?”

  “No, we’re going shopping,” O’Hara replied.

  “Shopping?” Makki’s ears curled with curiosity. “What is the occasion?”

  “Well, it just so happens that the regiment is holding a masquerade ball in two weeks. Don’t you remember? We told you all about it.”

  “Of course,” Makki said. “This mewling had a lapse in memory.”

  O’Hara rolled his eyes, grunted and shook his head. “Corpsmen!” he said with disgust. “Well, come on. I don’t want the shop to close before we get there.”

  Leading the way, O’Hara guided Cortez and Makki through a maze of narrow, winding streets. Eventually they reached a small shop on a lonely backstreet. A sign hanging above the door read, Jaffe’s Costume Shoppe. They went inside, and Makki marveled at the various costumes, masks, make-up kits, and various holiday decorations that cluttered the dark, wood-paneled interior. Except for Jaffe, a wizened little guy wearing a monocle, the three companions had the place all to themselves.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Jaffe said, grinning from ear to ear.

  O’Hara and Cortez walked over to a display counter piled with a number of metallic, silver belts, each with a buckle with red and green buttons on it.

  “We came up with this idea after we found poor Lieutenant Hooks,” Cortez told Makki.

  “These belts are the latest in virtual reality costumes,” Jaffe explained. “Each one is programmed with a form-fitting, holographic image guaranteed to—”

  “Never mind the mumbo-jumbo,” O’Hara said. “We know how they work.”

  “Si, senor,” Cortez agreed. “We are hoping to look just like our good friend Makki.”

  “What do ya think of that?” O
’Hara asked Makki.

  “You should be so bloody lucky,” Makki replied.

  Jaffe cackled with amusement. Even O’Hara cracked a smile as he and Cortez strapped on the belts and pressed the green buttons on the buckles. The buttons lit up for a few seconds—and the two sergeants morphed into Rhajni catizens: O’Hara took on the guise of an ocelotman, while Cortez turned into a lionwoman. They admired themselves in the full-length mirror hanging on one wall, grinning at each other as if they’d just swallowed a pair of fat mice.

  Still feeling glum and down in the dumps, Makki managed to muster a faint smile.

  “We shall be the life of the party!” said Cortez.

  Makki shook his head. “Two sergeants look like idiots.”

  “Then that’s good enough for me,” O’Hara said.

  He and Cortez paid for the rental of their holo-costume belts and then left the shop. Makki felt it necessary to apologize to Jaffe for the sergeants’ poor manners.

  Outside, carrying the belts over their shoulders, O’Hara and Cortez paused to take in the scenery. Makki had a hunch they were wondering where to go and what to drink in lieu of alcohol. He was eternally grateful to Azra that there were no taverns on Rhajnara.

  “How long shall we stay mad at Akira?” Cortez asked O’Hara.

  “Until I say otherwise,” the big Irishman replied. “Don’t forget—she went back on her word. We can’t let her off so easy.”

  “What is the reason to be angry at Sergeant Claudia?” Makki asked.

  “Ain’t ya heard the news?” O’Hara asked him.

  “She is getting married to a journalist named Cooper Preston,” Cortez said.

  Makki finally knew the identity of the man in Akira’s photograph. Her marriage was joyful news. It warmed his heart and lifted his spirits.

  “Sergeants should be happy for her,” he said. “This one is very much happy for her.”

  “I am happy for her, ya tick-ridden bag of fur!” O’Hara said. “I’m hopin’ she’ll be askin’ me to walk her down the aisle.”

  “And I am hoping that Preston will grant me the honor of being his best man.”