Her shoulder screaming in agony, Esther struggled to her feet. Behind her, clouds of black smoke rose into the air.
“Now, now, now, now, now!” she shouted, pulling Dymond to his feet. “While they can’t see us.”
Dymond seemed dazed, but he helped pull Tokiyashi-Jules up, and between the two of them, mostly dragged her in the direction of the Bumblebee.
Esther didn’t know how long the smoke would obscure them, but she knew it would be limited. As soon as the two remaining Kalebites realized that they hadn’t been killed in the blast, they could pick them off from across the field.
“We have indications that two personnel are recording,” the voice in her implant told her.
Just frigging great!
Somehow, they managed to make it to her vehicle. Esther bodily threw the woman into the back seat before bending down, reaching under the side, and freeing the case there. She stood up and took out the M114 that had been concealed in the case.
“Can you drive this?” she asked Dymond.
“Yes, yes, I think I can.”
Esther reached into the driver’s compartment and hit the GPS, punching in the rally point.
“Get in and take it back. We’ve got a medical team standing by.”
“But . . . but, what about you?”
“My business isn’t over,” she said.
“You’re still . . . you don’t have any clothes on!” he sputtered.
“No time! Go!” she shouted, breaking out into a sprint, ignoring the damage she was doing to the bottoms of her feet.
And she was right. If they were recording what had happened, Esther had to stop them. The “network” newsdrones were in fact property of the newsies, but on loan to the Federation. What they recorded would never reach the public. But if the two Kalebites had recorded the engagement, it would get out. Those things always did. Whether this was a “win” or not, the Federation did not want any of this public. They did not want to be seen as negotiating, and beyond that, they didn’t want any of their techniques revealed.
Even the simple Spectrum was not common knowledge, but with the bloody flap of pseudoskin hanging from Esther’s hip (which had been connected to her real circulatory system to keep it at the same temperature as the rest of her body), observers might be able to put two and two together.
“Subjects are retreating at 310 from your pos, that is, three-one-zero. It is imperative that you stop them.”
The voice in her head had been pretty good about keeping out of the way, and she hoped whoever was on the other side would keep it that way, but that was good intel. She needed it.
She angled slightly to her right and tried to push into a higher gear. She was grateful for all the gym time she’d been scoring on Mars. At .376 Earth Normal, Mars didn’t provide the same workout as if under standard G, and even with artificial gravity under the tracks, it wasn’t quite the same, but it was sure better than nothing.
“Subjects are entering vehicle. Their only way out is to the north east. We’re calculating that you can intercept at perigee if you adjust to zero-zero-five, distance 386 meters. You need to haul ass,” the voice said with the first hint of emotion in his voice since the two had been in contact.
Esther wished she had a simple face shield display with the spot she was supposed to reach highlighted. But she’d been shown a layout of the field, so she knew the general direction to take for the 005 azimuth.
She also wished she had taken the time to put on her shoes, at least. The ten or fifteen seconds that might have taken to get them on would have allowed her to run faster. She just tried to compartmentalize the pain as she ran.
But one emotion flooded over her: excitement. She was on the hunt, and that thrilled her. Her first three missions had not impressed her, and she’d been second-guessing her decision to accept the orders since she arrived. True, the mission to Arrival had been exciting in its own way, but even that wasn’t why she enlisted into the Marines. Federation Marines served their fellow citizens. That is what it boiled down to. And for the first time since arriving on Mars, she felt she was doing that. Dymond and Tokiyashi-Jules were Federation citizens just doing their duty to make the galaxy a better place. They were taken by thugs for financial gain, and Esther had saved their lives.
That was what a Marine did.
Well, they tried to keep bad things from happening, too, not just reacting, and Esther was pushing herself to cut off the escaping Kalebites. They had been complicit in what was to be an execution conducted for what was essentially marketing. That was reason enough for them to die. The fact that their recording could do damage to the Federation cause was only icing on the cake.
Esther darted through the trees, trying to keep on course. She listened for the sound of a vehicle, certain that it would beat her to the spot.
“Guide right ten degrees,” the voice said.
She oriented herself slightly to the right and kept going. She wanted to ask where the vehicle was, but she couldn’t control her breathing enough to subvocalize. She figured he’d tell her if she missed them.
Esther’s mental clock, which was far from accurate, ticked off a minute-and-a-half before she ran up a small slope onto a dirt path. She didn’t need her minder to tell her the vehicle was almost upon her. She could hear the hum and barely had enough time to orient herself back down the trail before it appeared through the trees. It was a utility hover, the type work crews used to get around the worksite. Without a roof, the two Kalebites were open to the sky. They saw her at the same time, and the passenger with the rifle rose over the windshield to take her under fire.
Esther was sucking wind big time, and when she brought up her M114, which was the carbine version of the M99, she jerked the trigger high, sending the small fusillade of darts over the gunman’s head. He managed to get off two shots in return. Esther didn’t know where they went, so she took a deep breath, let it half out, aimed right at the man’s chest, and squeezed the trigger. Four or five darts shredded his chest, and he rolled over backwards and out of the cart. Esther shifted her aim to the driver, who was crouching below the windshield. She fired off another volley, and the windshield blossomed with cracks, making the driver swerve, but the hypervelocity darts didn’t penetrate. Now only 20 meters from her, she saw the driver smile and turn right at her, ready to run her down.
Esther waited until the last moment, then stepped aside and twirled like a matador delivering the estoque, sending a stream of darts into the surprised man as he drove past her. He was dead before his mind could process what had happened, and the cart veered off the trail, smashing into a large tree.
Esther waited for a moment, her M114 trained on the man’s back, but he was not moving. Limping forward, her feet now screaming in protest, she approached the cart. Nudging the man with the barrel of her rifle, she confirmed he was dead. Then she searched the cart. In the back seat, she found the holocam. It took her a moment to figure out the controls, but on playback, she confirmed that they had used it to record what had happened.
She didn’t bother to scan to the point of the recording where she took out the three Kalebites.
“I’ve got the recording,” she passed.
“Thank God, Robin,” the voice said, using her call sign. “Good job. Check to make sure it is the only one.”
Esther went over the cart, then checked the dead man’s pockets before limping back to the first dead Kalebite and searched him. Unless they had some stealth recording capability, Esther had found the only one.
She didn’t know how long it would take the local authorities to arrive on the scene, and she wasn’t sure she should be there when they did. She had arrived on-planet with another fake identity, but the less fuss, the better. With one last look around, she turned and limped back towards the field. Once there, she could hike back along the road.
She had to stop twice to pull things out of her feet, one of them being a rather large stick. She was bleeding pretty good from her feet, from t
he pseudoflap of skin, and most of all, from her shoulder. She could feel the warm blood flowing down her back to her ass and then on down her leg. She just put it all out of her mind.
She reached the field and crossed to the far side when the familiar whir of a helo caught her attention. She didn’t think the Kalebites had any, but she kept her M114 at the ready as she watched the black bird circle the field, then flare in for a landing. The back ramp opened, and a short figure stepped out and motioned for her to get onboard.
Esther didn’t recognize the make and model, so she asked her handler if it was friendly.
“Roger that. That’s your ride home, unless you want to walk back.”
“Nah, I think I’ll ride.”
Standing tall, and trying not to limp, Esther strode to the helo and climbed up the ramp. She took a seat as the crew chief followed her in. Within moments, the bird had lifted into the air.
“Here you go, ma’am,” the crew chief, a young-looking woman said, holding out a pair of unmarked overalls.
Esther took a look at the short crewchief, wondering how the overalls could possibly fit on her much taller frame, but when she unrolled them, she saw they would be a perfect fit. Whoever these people were, they’d come prepared, she’d give them that.
She got dressed, zipped the holocorder in her cargo pocket, and sat back down.
Her mission had been far from ordinary, a mission she’d never have imagined doing in a million years. But still, she felt a warm feeling of both pride and belonging.
It may have played out in a weird fashion, but she felt like a Marine again.
MARS
Chapter 7
“She looks cute,” Esther said, which was about the best she could come up with.
Her niece did look cute, so Esther hadn’t been lying, but kids were not something with which she felt comfortable. It wasn’t that she didn’t like kids. She did, at least as much as anyone else. But as a professional Marine, she’d put childbearing off. The implants the Navy docs had put under the skin over her triceps ensured there wouldn’t be any accidents.
And now Noah had two of them, Chance and Hannah Belle. It was hard to grasp that. Her brother, her twin, was a father, and from what Miriam had just told her, they had yet another on the way.
As she watched the cooing little girl in her mother’s arms, the briefest wisp of uncertainty passed through her, just brushing her soul. Was she doing the right thing in delaying her own child? Sure, she could wait, and there’d be time after she had left the Corps for a family, but prolonged exposure to the implants and advancing age could affect fertility once the implants were removed. She wondered for the hundredth time if she should harvest some of her eggs and keep them on ice.
“So, how’s everything else?” she asked her sister-in-law, more to cleanse her thoughts of her own motherhood.
Esther had never really trusted Miriam, and she had thought Noah was making a big mistake in marrying her. But over the years, despite seeing each other rarely, she’d come to appreciate her sister-in-law. And now there was obviously something on her mind. She hadn’t made the call from Quintero Crag just to show Esther her niece.
“Good, things are good. Mostly.”
The “mostly” was laden with meaning, and Esther remained quiet, waiting for Miriam to delve a little deeper. It didn’t take long.
“Ess, do people . . . does being resurrected change them? I mean, that and regen?”
“You mean Noah?” she asked.
Shit, Lysander, of course, she means Noah.
“Yeah, ever since St. Gallen, he’s been, well, like different.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, worried at what she might hear.
Noah had rammed his tank into a wall on St. Gallen, evidently saving hundreds, maybe more civilians. He’d been KIA while doing it, put into stasis, and brought back to the Naval Hospital where he’d been resurrected. For most zombies, while regen increased the probability of the “Brick,” or Boosted Regenerative Cancer, there were normally few side-effects once they’d regenerated whatever part of the body was missing or damaged. For an unfortunate few, though, the consequences were much worse. Some broke down and committed suicide. The slang for that was “completing the mission.” Others, became aggressive and abused those close to them. Esther hoped against hope that Noah was not hurting Miriam or the kids. If he were, she’d have to report him immediately. It would destroy his career, but he’d be able to get the help he needed.
“It’s just, I mean, he’s so distant. He spends all his time on base, ignoring us. He’s getting out in six months, so you’d think they could manage to get along without him, but no, he’s got to work on his precious Anvil.”
The Anvil was Noah’s tank, and he’d finally been made tank commander. It didn’t surprise Esther that he’d be taking his job seriously, but she had a feeling there was more to it than that. At least he wasn’t getting violent with anyone.
“You know, he didn’t even have to go to St. Gallen. Fierdor told me.”
Esther didn’t know who Fierdor was, but she didn’t interrupt.
“He could have already been working up at battalion, but he wanted to go. And that was right after Belle was born. Is there such a thing as post-partum depression for men?”
Esther shook her head. She sure didn’t know, but it was something she could look up. She thought if Noah was acting different, and it wasn’t just Miriam’s imagination, then it wasn’t just having a daughter. She knew Noah was a good father, and she knew he loved his kids. No, it had to be something else.
And then it hit her.
Maybe he doesn’t want to get out?
She rolled the thought around in her mind for a moment, and it just felt right. Noah had just been made a tank commander. He’d already been awarded a Silver Star, and from the mission on St. Gallen, he was being awarded another CPM, but this time a Civilian Protection Medal First Class, not the Second Class he’d already been awarded. His career was finally on track, and he was almost assuredly a shoo-in for staff sergeant. He might not want to leave. Miriam had told her that Noah had been offered a job with their Uncle Barret back on Prophesy, and while Miriam hadn’t said it, Esther was sure the pay would be significant. But he wouldn’t be a Marine.
She and her twin were not as close as they had been growing up, and Esther blamed herself for pushing him away. But at this moment, it was like old times, when they knew what the other one was thinking before anything was said. She felt she knew what Noah was going through as if she was channeling him. Non-twins could never understand how that worked. Hell, Esther didn’t understand it. She only knew that it did. She hadn’t felt that way for years, but she would bet on it now. Noah wanted to reenlist.
“Miriam, what would you say if Noah reenlisted?”
“Oh, no, he’s not going to do that. We’re going back to Prophesy. He’s got the job with your uncle.”
“But what if he doesn’t want to get out?”
“Oh, no, that’s not what’s going on. He wants to get out. He told me he wants to be a better father.”
Yet, he’s spending all of his time on base.
“Well, maybe you’re right,” Esther said. “But I tell you what. Let me give him a call and see what’s up. If there is anything wrong, I’ll try to ferret it out.”
Relief flooded Miriam’s face, and she said, “Thanks, Ess. I’d be so grateful if you could. I’m just worried about him, you know.”
She took a deep breath, and Esther could see her forcing herself to change the subject. She spent the next minute trying to get Hannah Belle to wave at Esther, who sat on her side of the call and dutifully waved at the little girl. Hannah Belle wasn’t interested in reciprocating.
A few minutes later, the two adults said their goodbyes. Esther stared at the blank screen for a few moments, marshaling her thoughts. She’d give Noah a call, but knowing him, he hadn’t even made the decision if he should reenlist or not. He’d probably feel that he should get out
, that he should take the cushy job. With two kids and another on the way, he’d need to make more than a sergeant’s pay to support them all.
Even if he couldn’t admit it to himself or not yet, Esther was as sure as she’d ever been about anything. Just like her, her twin brother was a Marine for life.
Chapter 8
“Happy birthday, Marine,” Major Lent said, tapping her on the shoulder.
Esther put down her drink and said, “Happy birthday to you, too, sir.”
“Not such a big deal here, I know, but wherever there are Marines—”
“. . . we’ll gather and celebrate, yes, sir.”
Actually, Esther had been surprised that they’d even gathered the 81 who’d attended the small ceremony. There had to be a thousand or more up in orbit in Station One, but on the surface, Marines were a rare commodity. And with the secretive nature of some of their real jobs, they didn’t do much in the way of advertising their presence. Of the 80 other Marines, Esther knew about 20. Anywhere else, she’d know each and every one of them.
“It’s good to see dress blues,” the major said. “I’ve been going through withdrawals.”
“I know what you mean, sir.”
And she did know what he meant. She’d been in her blues for half-a-dozen formal receptions by now, accompanying the chairman or some minister, but this was different. She wasn’t wearing the uniform as a pampered pet to be shown off, but as part of the larger Corps. She felt good, recharged, to put on her blues and mingle with other Marines. It reminded her who she was.
“Did you get a piece of cake? I didn’t see you up there.”
“Not yet, sir. I came over here to get a drink and beat the rush.”
The ceremony had been small. They’d been served dinner in a mid-sized banquet room at Mama Lacona’s, a local Italian restaurant. A colonel from Station One had come to read the Commandant’s message, and a small cake had been cut, the first piece going to the colonel as the oldest Marine present, the next piece going to a staff sergeant as the youngest Marine. It was nothing like any of the other birthday’s Esther had celebrated, but that didn’t make it any less meaningful. They didn’t need a grand ball to celebrate being a Marine.
Esther's Story: Special Duty (The United Federation Marine Corps' Lysander Twins Book 4) Page 5