Corpsman (2 page)

“First Team, move forward.  We’ve got friendlies there,” the squad leader passed.

The team moved forward and clambered over the makeshift barricade, followed by the rest of the squad.  Six Marines from Third Platoon were checking the bodies of four pirates.  A hatch was hanging askew on one hinge.  The Third Platoon Marines had obviously used it for egress, coming into the corridor behind the pirates and their barricade.

Liege took over.  Two of the pirates were permanent KIAs, their heads destroyed.  One KIA needed to be evaluated for a possible resurrection.  Liege wasn’t sure why as the penalty for piracy was death, but that wasn’t up to her.

The final pirate was WIA.  He was seriously gut-shot, and Liege didn’t give him much hope.  She started to move forward to examine him when Sergeant Vinter grabbed her arm.  Liege was about to tell her that her duties required her to treat the pirate just as if he was a Marine, but that wasn’t what the sergeant wanted.  She took Liege’s M99, much to the corpsman’s chagrin.  Liege knew better than to put a weapon within reach of an enemy.

The pirate said nothing, but he glared at Liege when she pulled his hand off his belly.  It looked like he’d taken multiple darts that had simply torn him apart.  There was nothing much Liege could do.  She didn’t even bother giving him a shot of nanobots—they wouldn’t work in stasis.

The all-clear sounded.  The ship had been re-taken.

Liege still had work to do, however.  One of the Marines tagged the prisoner with his capture information while she pulled out a ziplock.  With assistance, Liege got it around the pirate, and with him still glaring at her, she initiated stasis.  Within moments, he was out.

“You need to report to Chief Sou,” Sergeant Vinter told her.  “He needs all corpsmen to the ship’s atrium to take care of the passengers.”

“What about Seth?” she asked.

“We’ll get him back to
Mount Kester
,” the sergeant said.

Liege could see the location of the atrium on her helmet display.  She nodded, then stood up to go.

“Not alone,” Sergeant Vinter said, grabbing her arm and stopping her.  “We think the ship is secured, but there could be holdouts.

“Corporal Wheng, take your team and escort Doc to the atrium.  Wait there until she’s done.”

Liege looked back for Corporal Wheng when what Sergeant Vinter had just said hit her. 

Doc?  Not just Neves?

She felt a rush of pride as she realized she’d been accepted by the Marines.  No more “Neves,” no more “HA.”  She was “Doc.”

Book 1

NOVA ESPERANÇA

Chapter 1

Nine months earlier. . .

“Not even in your dreams,
palito,
” Liege Neves said as she stepped around the outstretched hand of the beggar.

Normally, the destitute left gangrats alone, but here at the crowded Falebella Center, the emaciated young man with the yellow eyes of a dopa addict must have thought he would be immune to retribution.

He’s right, though
, Liege thought. 
Smart guy for a d-head
.

That didn’t mean she was going to swipe him a few credits, but she had to admire his audacity.

She almost skipped up the broad steps leading up to the planet’s Federation administrative center.  Her heart was pounding in her chest, but she wasn’t sure why.  She doubted that any of her
irmãs
were around to see her; the
Commando Meninas’
territory was broad, but they normally left the District alone.

More than a few of the oh-so-proper suits walking about their business in the plaza eyed her, disapproval turning down the corners of their mouths, but Liege let it slide off her back.  She’d long ago built up an immunity to the disdain of positioned society—not that she had much contact with them.  Except for the do-gooders who built their small oases in the
favelas
, suits stayed in suitland and left the favelas to the gangrats, the addicts, and the impoverished who tried to eke out a living.

Liege angled off to the Munchen Building where most of the second-tier Federation offices were located.  There was a queue at security, and she joined it at the rear, patiently awaiting her turn.

Most of the people in front of her were suits, but there were a few drudges sprinkled among them.  No other gangrats; not that Liege expected any.  Screening was fairly quick—until Liege was up.  She dumped her PA in the tray, then as the screening uniform looked with frank distaste, she pulled her cheek-stick out, brandishing the 12-centimeter chromalloy spike with a flourish before adding it to the tray.

“Female search!” he called out.  “Ma’am, please step through the scanner, then stand on the yellow platform.”

I bet it kills him to call me “ma’am,
Liege thought, trying to keep back the smile that threatened to blossom over her face.

Liege stepped through the scanner and dutifully stood on the yellow circle to which a female uniform was pointing.  She raised her arms as ordered, then stood stoically while getting patted down.

“Thank you, ma’am,” the uniform said, pointing back to where her tray waited.

Her PA was there, but the cheek-stick was missing.  Another uniform handed her a plastic disc on which was printed the number “202.”

“You can pick your. . .the spike thing when you leave,” he said.

Liege didn’t argue.  The cheek-stick was in fact more than a fashion statement.  It could be an effective weapon in the right hands, and they were somewhat of a trademark of the
Commando Meninas,
the most powerful female gang on the planet.

She looked up at the directory to get her bearings.  Room 1015 was off to her right, so trying to look as if she weren’t out of place, she strode off with far more confidence than she suddenly felt.  It had seemed like such a good idea when she’d discussed it with Leticia, but now, as she walked down the granite-clad hallway, she was having second thoughts.  What was she, a daughter of the favelas, a gangrat, doing here?  What kind of reception did she expect?

When she’d made her appointment, it had seemed so easy.  She hand’t had to give her real name, so there was no screening.  She was merely taking advantage of the rights of every citizen.  But getting an appointment was not the same as getting accepted.  She took a quick glance at her colors.

Maybe I should have listened to Leticia
, she thought. 
I could have brought something more, well, drudge to change into.  Too late now, I guess.

She stepped in front of the glass doors to Room 1015, took a deep breath, and then pushed the doors open and strode in as if she belonged.  Avó always told her to act like she owned the world.  The thought of her grandfather made her pause, and she had to quickly brush away the small tear that had started to flow from the corner of her right eye.

One of the uniforms, a Marine, she thought he must have been, was walking by, and he asked, “May I help you?”

“I’m 34377,” she said, having memorized her registration number.  “I’m here for my 10:30 appointment.”

Liege thought she saw the tiniest bit of relief in his eyes as he said, “OK, you’re not mine.  Navy or FCDC?”

“Navy.”

“Down the passage, first door on your right,” he said, pointing past the reception kiosk and down the hallway.

Liege thanked him and followed his instructions to the designated door.  “Navy Recruiting” was written on the clear material of the door, so she knew it was the right place.

She waved the sensor to open it, and entered what looked to be an anteroom.  Three men and two women were sitting on hard plastic seats.  All looked up eagerly when she entered, but when they saw she wasn’t a uniform, they went back to their conversations.  One of the men, though, lingered his eyes on the long expanse of thigh visible between her knee-highs and the bottom edge of her mini.  Somehow that calmed her churning emotions.  They might be drudges or even suits, and they certainly considered themselves several rungs higher than gangrats, but human nature was human nature.  She knew how to handle hormone-filled young men, and the fact that his eyes lingered helped her realize that they were all the same.  Some might have been born with greater advantages, but people were just people when all was said and done.

“You here for an interview?” one of the women asked her.

No, I’m here to run the floor vac.

“Yes, I’ve got a 10:30 appointment.”

“Hah!  Be prepared to wait.  Mine’s at 9:30.”

Liege checked the time:  10:15.  She sighed and settled in for a long wait.

Liege sat in silence for five minutes before the girl with the 9:30 appointment tentatively leaned over and said, “I love your mini.  It’s preme.  Where’d you get it?  Ferrone’s?”

Ferrone’s?
Liege thought. 
Yeah, like I’m going to that hiso boutique
.

She looked at the young woman, who was still eagerly awaiting her answer.  Liege knew that if she shopped at Ferrone’s, the woman was definitely a suit.  She knew the type—rich suits who wanted to appear uber-copacetic by accepting all classes as equals.  Maybe the girl was serious or maybe she was just trying to project an image. 

Liege was tempted to tell her to get spiked, but she figured they might be under surveillance, so she said, “No, at Jaya’s,” instead.

“Oh, Jayas?  I’ve heard of that.  It’s pretty exclusive, huh?”

Jaya was Bird’s aunt, and she made clothes for their sept.  This suit had never heard of Jaya, so that was utter BS.  But Liege guessed as there were only eight girls in the sept, it was pretty exclusive.

“Yes,” she said, concentrating to avoid her gangrat patois, “it is exclusive at that.”

“Oh really?  You’ve got to get me an appointment.  I’m Evangeline,” she said, holding out a hand.

Liege was saved from having to shake it when Evangeline was called for her appointment.

“I’ll talk with you after the interview,” the girl said as she followed the uniform back into the inner offices.

Liege looked around at the others.  None were paying her any attention, so she just settled back to wait.

Yes, it is exclusive at that,
she repeated in her mind. 
Does that sound too hiso?

Liege could shift from the creole spoken in the favelas to the
Commando Meninas’
code-talk to proper Standard without a problem, but she knew if she went into her interview with a snooty super-hiso accent, that would scream fake, and that wouldn’t stand her any good.  She just needed to speak Standard like any drudge.

She was still silently practicing phrasing and tempo when another uniform opened the door and said, “34377, you’re up.”

He was looking at the only other girl in the reception area, and when Liege stood up, he seemed surprised.  The uniform tried to keep a neutral expression on his face, but Liege caught the slight tightening around the eyes that was a true sign of his disdain.

Liege caught the reflection of herself on the plastiglass as she walked forward, hand out to shake.  Her white broganboots were not elegant, but they were weapons when it got down to hand-to-hand.  Her pink knee-highs reached to just above her knees, and well above that, her purple mini sparkled as the lights caught the embedded micro-crystals.  The tight fitting purple and pink rib-top hugged her form, the vivid colors screaming for attention.  With her cheek-spike gone, the next, and perhaps most obvious banner of her existence as a gangrat was the half-brush.  The right side of her scalp was depilated close, the skin painted with purple and pink lightening bolts.  The hair on the left side of her head, died in fluorescent pink, stuck straight out.

I look cute
, she thought, even knowing that her appearance labeled her as a gangrat. 

She knew her sister had been right; she should have changed.  But she was a gangrat, and she couldn’t hide it.  Maybe it was better to go in proud than to try and be something that she wasn’t.

It wasn’t as if the detritus of Federation didn’t join the military or FCDC—especially the FCDC.  But the Federation recruiters were selective, and someone like her had to convince them that he or she could adjust and leave that kind of lowso life behind.

“I’m Petty Officer Russell,” the uniform said after Liege followed him into a small office.  “And you are?”

“Liege Neves,” she said, handing over her ID.

He did a quick scan and studied the results.

“OK, I see you’ve finished secondary.  Good for that, at least,” he said, more to himself than to her.

Liege wanted to stand up and throat punch the guy and his condescending attitude.  Most favela kids finished secondary, even if their options after schooling were limited.  But of course, the reputation of the favelas was that of a lawless anarchy.

He closed his PA, then asked, “So why do you want to join the Navy?”

“To serve the Federation, sir,” she immediately replied.

That was a complete lie, of course.  Deep in the favelas, there wasn’t much loyalty to the Federation.  It wasn’t a hotbed of rebellion, either.  It was just that it didn’t impact most of them.

Liege was joining the Navy for one reason only.  She had to get out of the favelas, and bring Leticia and her Avó with her.  His brain was deteriorating by the day, and there was not much they could do about it with Universal Health.  All the med-techs did was to sedate him as he sunk into oblivion.  The only way he could get real care would be as her dependent and with her in the service.

That was her prime motive, but it wasn’t the only one.  Liege might look like a stalwart warrior for the
Commando Meninas
, but frankly, she was a gangrat for protection, only.  Being a gangrat kept the hollow-heads and freaks away from their apartment, and it kept a brother gangrat from claiming her as chattel. But Liege wanted more in life; she might exhibit disdain for the drudges, but she’d love to elevate herself to that level.  She’d love to visit the galaxy, to see how others lived.  She was claustrophobic in the favelas, and she had to get out of them and experience life.  Joining the Navy was an escape.

If all she wanted was health care for Avó, she could join the FCDC, the haven for people like her.  But in the FCDC, she could easily be assigned to Nova Esperança, and even as a trooper, the
Commando Meninas
could reach out and touch her—or her family—for forsaking the gang.  No, if she was going to renounce her colors, she had to get off-planet, and that meant the Navy.

She gave pat answers to the uniform; just as his questions were obviously rote.  Liege doubted that he had any hopes for her, but as a citizen, she was afforded this opportunity, and he had to play the game. 

When he got to the end, he paused for a moment, then Liege thought that for the first time, she saw the real person when he said, “You know, Miss, I applaud you for volunteering, but you must know that your chances are pretty slim.  I think you’d have a much better chance with the FCDC, and I could go talk with them.  FCDC pay is the same as the Navy’s, and so if you’re looking for a, well, better life, you can really make a change for yourself.”

She knew he was being earnest, but Liege felt a spark of anger.

He doesn’t know shit about me, and he thinks I’m not good enough?

Liege didn’t have a hair-trigger temper.  She rarely got angry, but she felt the need to act out—which would be the worst thing she could do.  She’d be refused enlistment on psychological grounds.

So she swallowed her pride and said, “Thank you, sir, but I really want to be in the Navy.  So if you please, I’d like to proceed.”