No helmets left their heads and faces free to study.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the USRD, all documenters from Earth and thus visitors aboard the Manticore,” Asher announced, “I give you Space Command 6. As per the initiation of our Xeno Project, SC6 was sent by Central Command with joint assistance from the USMB to help maintain a secure environment aboard this vessel. They are each highly trained, with experience on Earth and amid the stars. You see, ladies and gentlemen, there is nothing to fear especially when security is here. And the SC6 are supreme examples of the Manticore’s reinforced strength—”
“Yeah, but we don’t really go by ‘SC6,’” one of the half-dozen men said with a crooked smirk and raised hands. He and the others had broken their huddle to face the throng of documenters in a crescent formation. The man who had just spoken bore a clean-shaven face, cleft chin, light green eyes and a deep but genial voice. His chest patch read ‘Caelen Connell.’
“‘Remoras,’ they call us,” said another. This one had a thick but scruffy mustache, a bulbous cleft chin that made Connell’s look velveteen, and a raspy Southern-accented voice. His chest patch read ‘Hudson Palmer.’ He chuckled discordantly. “Ya know, like the parasitic fish that stick to sharks—”
“How very educational of you, Palmer,” a dark-skinned, deep but smooth-voiced member of the SC6 said, albeit snidely. His dark eyes had a glint of light to them that wasn’t entirely at fault with the room’s luminance. He had a sharp goatee and chiseled jawline. He was one of the two most robust men in the group, a borderline bodybuilder.
Felina couldn’t see his chest patch, as it was obstructed by the burly arm of a neighboring comrade, who was more muscle than man it seemed. He was in the process of shaking his head, which was of square semblance with longer black hair than the others’ close shaves or crew-cuts, though it didn’t pass his ears. He had a tan complexion, and alike his dark-skinned comrade they were the only ones who didn’t conform to sleeves.
Felina wasn’t clueless to the operations and integrity of the USMB. These six men appeared to be intermediates, maybe even training rejects or those that couldn’t fall in line with the rigorous companies employed by the USMB.
Or, it was quite possible that they were just taking advantage of the casual atmosphere the Manticore seemed to impose. While Felina wouldn’t go so far as degrading the work ethic aboard the vessel, from a military standpoint she could make this conjecture.
For the SC6, according to Asher’s words earlier, this was just another prodigious research vessel. Because, as Felina’s memory served her correctly, they weren’t privy to the clawed secrets bioengineered within MALBO.
Their limited knowledge left them in a casual state.
This wasn’t very comforting to Felina.
“Allow us to introduce ourselves,” one man said after clearing his throat and stepping forward. He was tall, lean, with a rectangular face and narrow chin. Stubble lined his jawline and he had a most peculiar, rugged voice; almost nasally without being irritating. “My name is Lawrence Wincott. Second in command. You’ve already met my superior, Caelen Connell, and Remora junior, Hudson Palmer, whom we also like to call Big Mouth.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Palmer half-smirked. “Big mouth up here, big-mouthed rifle down below. Boom, baby!”
Not just the female documenters rolled their eyes.
In fact, some of SC6 did, too.
“You’ll have to excuse Palmer, he doesn’t reflect the mindset of us all,” one of the others said. He was tall, lean but robust, and entirely bald. His caramel-colored pate reflected the LED lighting with a sheen. He was probably the youngest here, smooth faced and calm-eyed. His voice wasn’t without depth, however. “Remora or otherwise. Heh. And I’m Vincent Arevalo, here all week.”
“Well, longer than that, supposedly,” Palmer said. “It’s already been months. Can’t a man get some answers around here?”
“Zip it, Palmer.”
“Hey, man, I ain't your jacket, Connell,” Palmer retorted.
“Not a way to talk to your superior, is it?” Loudon asked with her head tilted. Palmer went from glaring at her to smirking and pursing his lips.
The dark-skinned one suddenly slapped the back of Palmer’s head, and he staggered briefly before glaring up at the man. This was nothing that lent escalation, just a minor brothers-in-arms scuffle that was lost amid the introductions.
“Introduce yourself, jarhead,” Wincott said, giving the man a casual shove from behind.
“Trent Skugs,” he replied. “Reporting for duty, I suppose. Not much to say. Just proud to be USMB, and aboard the Manticore, it’s an honor, even if it is just a research vessel.”
“‘Just’?” Asher appeared and sounded insulted, clearly, as he stepped forward.
“No disrespect, Asher,” Skugs shrugged, crossing his burly charcoal arms. “Simply a preference of profession.”
“Speaking of which,” Felina said, stepping forward, “where are your weapons?”
The SC6 experienced a moment of perplexity before gathering their thoughts into words, while Asher stepped forward off to her right, raising a finger of protest but drawing hollow breaths.
Meanwhile it was the outspoken square-jawed man who took the lead on this one, his shockingly deep voice trucking over his superior’s. Although as he talked, neither Connell nor Wincott saw it fit to interrupt him.
“We aren’t advised to carry our rifles through the corridors, unless at lunchtime, as it isn’t very courteous to the vessel staff. This not being a military establishment, seeing such armaments in their environment wouldn’t be just. That said, we nonetheless carry a standard-issue Deci handgun on us at all times, and our attire never lifts from the necessary protocol.”
It was more than any of them could have anticipated the big man to say, especially after being quiet for so long.
“And that there is Mikhail Landham,” Wincott said, slapping his right shoulder. “Usually quite the opposite of Palmer.”
“He’s just talking about my big mouth, not my—”
“Can it, Palmer!” Connell snapped.
“Beans or chicken soup, sir?” Palmer said weaselly.
Connell rolled his eyes and stepped forward.
“You’ll have to excuse Palmer…always…he doesn’t exactly speak for the rest of us.” Connell extended his hand in front of Felina, which seemed to take her a bit off-guard, but in lieu of the handsome soldier’s genuineness, she didn’t object. She shook his hand, seemed to catch a glint in his green eyes, and even a minuscule smirk.
“Care to explain this Remora moniker?” Baez asked, stepping forward to shake his hand as well. From there the documenters eventually loosened up and exchanged fleeting introductions with SC6.
“Well, you see,” Skugs said, taking an overt liking to Baez, “much like the remora of a shark, we’re just here for the ride. While it might have a negative connotation to some, we embrace it.”
“Besides,” Palmer grimaced, “the staff here can be real ball-busters. I mean, who died? Lighten up, you’re in space! And this place, I mean damn. Did you see the rec center?”
“I think they’ve heard enough of your babbling, soldier,” Asher said solemnly.
Palmer rolled his eyes and didn’t lift his grimace.
If anything it exacerbated with Asher’s interruption.
“I’m surprised you all don’t take the shark’s role in your little play-of-names,” Felina said. “I mean look at you…gung-ho, geared-up, plus I imagine you’ve all been a team for some time.”
“I’ve known Palmer since high school, unfortunately,” Wincott said.
“I love you too, asshole,” Palmer said juvenilely.
“Brothers-in-arms, literally,” Loudon smirked, nodding. “I can admire that.”
“More or less,” Wincott shrugged. “You could say that.”
“Landham and I met in boot seven years back,” Skugs said, casually slapping Landham’s bicep with the back of his han
d.
“Been with Wincott and Palmer for three years,” Connell said. “Then these two muscle-heads joined the party last year.”
“How romantic,” Calloway said, kneading his chin.
SC6 glared at him briefly, Palmer looking a little befuddled, then Calloway raised his palms in an innocuous gesture. SC6 quickly shrugged it off.
“So, as I was saying,” Felina said, clearly already nagging at Asher’s patience. “With the legitimate soldiery of SC6, I’m surprised you’re not taking the shark’s lead. Besides, don’t you feel superior to be protecting the personnel of the Manticore—of all USRD vessels—under these circumstances?”
“Uh, I think that’s enough, Sabartinelli—” Asher dipped his head but took a big stride forward, half-laughing but full-on agitated, raising a hand as if to divide SC6 from the documenters. Although a group of ten colleagues, the documenters were currently one person, and their name was Felina Sabartinelli.
“Define ‘these circumstances’?” Skugs said with a sarcastic chuckle. His voice alone, much less his cross-armed presence and dark gaze, managed to stifle Asher. “I mean, we’re six men with an adequate arsenal at our disposal, beside three sentinels and Imam Ikabu himself…but for what? “Inert extraterrestrial DNA”? Oh, I’m shaking in my boots. Psh. If anything, these circumstances deem our presence a joke.”
“Fucking-A, man. Overkill city, population us.”
“I agree with Palmer,” Landham said quietly. “For once.”
“Get outta here, Landham, you’re the most paranoid of us all,” Skugs scoffed, half-laughing and shaking his head.
“So? Just because I don’t trust the R in USRD don’t mean I think all us plus the sentinels is necessary.”
“Well, shit, you got that right,” Skugs, eyebrows raised, nodded accordingly.
“Okay, now, I think we’ve just about spoken enough on the matter—”
This time Asher’s attempt to stifle the conversation was overruled not by a Remora but a documenter.
“If it’s allegedly so inactive,” Felina firmly said, suppressing her own twisted smirk, “why would Central Command urgently insist on your presence here?”
Immediately she could tell that her words had stricken a chord with each of the Remoras, not to mention tenfold with Asher. He started experiencing facial tics and stammering to catch his imperious voice in order to end this conversation with the drop of a gavel.
Audacity has always been one of my strong traits, Felina thought to herself. But now it’s successfully put myself at the head of Asher’s shit list.
This notion alone seemed to pique an interest in Connell and Wincott especially, while the others briefly mulled over what she had said. Moreover, the suggestive tone in her voice, which to Asher might as well have been debunking the SC6’s limited knowledge of the Xeno Project.
Given, she didn’t doubt that the six men had already engaged each other in thorough discussions regarding the reality of ‘the Xeno Project,’ much less its potential. Especially since they have already been here for a while; but they must have experienced a gradual reassurance over time due to a lack of activity and elucidation. She grasped this, but was glad that her words had clearly resurrected skepticism in each of them.
She felt that it was beyond wrong for the vessel’s primary source of security, in lieu of such a potentially hostile research project, to be so uninformed.
It essentially invalidated their purpose of being here.
But clearly Asher, and quite possibly the Captain—which really irked her—as well as even Central Command, for all she knew, wanted it this way.
That SC6’s presence aboard the Manticore was strictly a reassurance factor as well as a ‘just in case’ embellishment, although this wasn’t exactly comforting either.
Ultimately Asher came down, hard, and terminated the dialogue on both sides.
Fortunately for Felina, she had gotten her two cents out. Now she receded back into the group of documenters, several of them appearing laudatory of her engagement, while others such as Godunov and Wisniewski seemed less appreciative.
Regardless, Felina felt content on the matter.
Or, as content as she could be, all things considered.
“Bear in mind, SC6,” Asher said, wearing spite on his lips yet cautionary toward the soldiers, “they’re so worked up with the tour is all. Heed no mind to their rambling. Especially that Sa—”
The intercom crackled to life.
Felina was most fond of Birch’s voice just then. The woman announced for lunchtime, as two o’clock had already sprung its hands upon them. Asher had found his voice as quickly as he’d lost it and in that moment was hushed by the avid departure of the documenters, Felina spearing their way out of the foyer. She wasn’t without the sight of Connell and Wincott exchanging impressed expressions of amusement, but was quickly already on her way through the corridor. Fortunately they needn’t Cassel or Asher’s keypad input to exit the area as it was already open, and in a matter of a minute the documenters were making haste through the corridors en route to the cafeteria. From this distance they each knew there would be no arriving early, which disappointed Felina especially, but after everything she was surprisingly very hungry.
“Glad I’m not the only weird one who still has her appetite in check,” Loudon grinned, marching at Felina’s heels.
“Yeah, well, who knows what else we’ll see after the break.” Felina was clearly fuming, but there was an unmistakable glint of satisfaction in her eyes and ever so subtly on her voice. “I’d rather wet-purge than dry-heave as awful as that sounds.”
“Awful indeed, thanks for the visual.”
Felina pivoted her head to match eyes with Baez who had caught up to her left side.
“I was right in speaking out, you think?” Felina asked Baez a bit under her heaving breaths.
“Of course. You’re a star.”
Felina grinned. It quickly faded. “I just…can’t believe…”
“All of it?” Loudon practically exclaimed. She gave Wisniewski and even Godunov the cold shoulder, as they were back a bit in the group moving through corridors but nonetheless their gaze was full-throttle forward. “I mean, yeah, neither can I…but fact is, it is and they are, so there’s no stopping it.”
“Why would you want to hinder such an amazing process!?” Wisniewski spoke up, defensive of the Xeno Project.
“Keep to yourself, Asher Junior,” Loudon snidely shot back, and the man’s presence shrunk just like that.
Within moments they were encountering waves of passersby, more eager and some more boisterous to reach the cafeteria first. Except for an itinerantly dominant Godunov and the weaselly trailing Wisniewski, the documenters gave way to the Manticore staff. There was no need for jostling or obstruction. It did however worry Felina a bit—as it clearly bugged Loudon although probably for a different reason—how swiftly Godunov had ‘switched sides.’ He was far too compelled with this Xeno Project, the awe of its scientific endeavors, that she believed it blinded his moral judgment.
With Godunov and Wisniewski gone into the shifting passerby crowds ahead of them, the documenters slowed to a more casual pace. Zometa stepped forward to voice her own praise for Felina’s blatancy earlier, although it was Baxter who displayed signs of uncertainty. Felina could detect a sense of wanting to be well received by everyone that would probably cloud Baxter’s mind, too, as long as professional success was in her future. Felina wouldn’t put it past the woman to accept bribes on the matter, although she hated to make such judgment calls based strictly on these circumstances.
Nonetheless, Baxter wasn’t hostile or overtly defensive like Godunov and Wisniewski, which was vaguely comforting. Ngo shared a similar disposition as Baxter, only more torn between the specifics of scientific development and the rawness of this project, which landed him in the middle of the debate. The others favored Felina, Baez, and Loudon’s outlook on the matter, all of which of course was spoken amid the passersby usi
ng low voices and vague references.
Despite Felina’s indirect stab at Asher via her highly suggestive remark to the Remoras, she wouldn’t dare expose the truth of MALBO to the clueless Manticore personnel.
Calloway eventually reached up front, squeezing between a scowling Loudon and Felina herself, who just rolled her eyes.
“Differences and grudges aside,” Calloway said, a blunt sincerity in his voice and eyes immediately snagging Felina’s focus. “I love what you did back there. But I have an idea. I’d like it if you just heard me out.”
They came within view of the main cafeteria’s nearest entrance signage.
Felina sighed. “I’m hungry, hurry up.”
Calloway wasn’t without his elaborative hand gestures as he spoke, first stating that he respectfully demanded her patience. About this time, the less patient others moved ahead to part from them, even Zometa. Calloway didn’t seem too concerned, so long as he had Felina’s consideration. Once she nodded, although it could have just as easily been a dismissive gesture, Calloway’s voice captured the attention of all three women.
“This party still ain't full yet,” he said with brows raised. “Remember the Samum?”
6
Calloway had initially snagged Felina’s attention whether she wanted to admit it or not. His speech pattern was a bit rusty but the passion in his voice was steadfast. Whatever he was vaguely alluding to while they gathered their food began to substantiate once they gained distance from the Manticore staff in the cafeteria. They approached, almost in a huddle formation except for the detached Loudon, an empty table against the far wall. It was most familiar to Felina, except today not a single soul besides themselves occupied any of its seating.
They sat down on one end, Felina at the head with Calloway to her right, Loudon opposite him and Baez to her left. He spoke adamantly, always using copious if not exaggerated hand gestures, but as his idea took the reins of coherency, Loudon’s skepticism grew roots. Meanwhile the three women ate periodically, Felina the least, focused on Calloway’s words.
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