Plague Wars 06: Comes the Destroyer (18 page)

Vango stared at her. “Really? Like what?”
I guess I’ve been in the military pipeline too long.

Steve shrugged. “Tattoo parlors…casinos…bordellos…smoke shops…strip clubs…even bars and some kinds of restaurants, some places. Depends on what country you’re talking about, but in the ones without much history of personal liberties, most of this kind of fun has been driven underground.”

“Some would call it vice,” Vango opined.

“Do you want other people to make those decisions for you?” she retorted.

“I want to beat the Meme.” He waved at the scene over the railing. “I don’t see how this helps.”

Stevie threw her fork down disgustedly, splashing sauce on the white tablecloth. “People aren’t machines. They need to blow off steam. Trying to regulate victimless crimes is a pointless exercise.”

Vango cocked his head at her. “Two things I just realized.” He held up a finger. “One, you seem to lose most of your accent when you get mad about something. Two,” he held up another, “you’re really cute when you’re mad.”

Thunder rolled into Stevie’s eyes, and she stood up. “You know, I came here to have a good time, not to be psychoanalyzed.” Picking up the remains of her bowl of gumbo, she upended it over his head. “See you later, flyboy.”

Vango sat there for a moment with sauce dribbling down his face as he watched her go. Picking up a napkin, he wiped as much off of himself as he could, then realized he’d been left with the bill.
What have I gotten myself into?
he thought at her retreating back. He shook his head.
What a girl.
For a short time he thought she might be someone to get to know better, but…

As he threw some FleetCreds down on the table, he watched her exit the restaurant beneath the balcony and cross the street, still clearly in a huff. Only, she didn’t head to the corridor that led back to the base area. Instead, she entered an unfamiliar tunnel.

A combination of curiosity and concern caused him to hurry down the stairs, out the door and after her. Fortunately the corridor she had entered was wide and tall, another “street” in this miniature sin city, and he was able to catch a glimpse of her as she turned into a doorway with a relatively discreet, low-key sign above it that said
Lotus
Flower Shop
.

What the hell?
He found a position across the street, in the doorway of what appeared to be a closed tool vendor, and waited until she came out again, in about five minutes. She held a small bouquet in her hand of what looked like real, if undersized, flowers.

Flowers on Callisto
, Vango thought.
Talk about your useless businesses. Must be hydroponics, or someone is poaching food space.
He followed Stevie.

This time she made a beeline for the base area and the pilots’ village, and went straight into her own quarters. Feeling foolish, and wanting to set things right – at least, less wrong – between them, Vango waited a few minutes, fidgeting, then knocked on her door.

He had to knock three times before the handle jiggled and the door opened a crack, Stevie’s angry eyes peering out. “What do you want?” she hissed.

“I wanted to thank you for showing me the Earth Quarter, and to say I’m sorry.”

Her face softened, and she nodded. “Sure, Vee. Now scram.” She shut the door and he could hear it lock.

Normally he would have left it at that. He’d never pushed a girl on anything – well, except his sister, who was fair game – but something about this situation seemed out of whack. The way Stevie had stormed off…and why run straight to a flower shop? It didn’t make sense. So he knocked again.

This time she flung the door wide and glared at him. Her flight suit was zipped down to her waist, showing off a regulation t-shirt beneath, and, he had to admit, a pretty nice chest. “I said scram!”

“What’s that,” he asked as his eyes were drawn to her upper left arm. Something was tied around it there, tightly circling her bicep.

Her reaction surprised him. She tried to slam the door, but he instinctively put out his booted foot and blocked it, and then pushed his way inside, shutting it behind him. Once it became clear he wasn’t going to be kept out, she bolted for the bathroom.

He caught up with her before she could get that door closed. “Get the hell out of here, you creep!” Stevie screamed, punching at the arms holding the bathroom door open.

“Stop it, Stevie, please,” he pleaded. He caught first one of her fists, then the other, in strong hands. His father had insisted he take a full program of martial arts when growing up, and immobilizing one female half his size wasn’t too difficult.

Finally, she went limp, slumping. He set her gently on the closed toilet seat and stood in the doorway. Slowly she reached up and slipped the rubber hose free of where it constricted her arm.

Vango’s eyes roved the tiny bathroom, taking in the flowers set in a plastic cup, the tiny packet of white powder on the tray, the spoon, the needle. Finally he looked at her as she hung her head. Not knowing what to say, he just asked, “Stevie, what the hell?”

“Why, this
is
hell, nor am I out of it
,
” she quoted, raising her chin with a strained smile. “Think’st thou that I, who saw the face of God, and tasted the eternal joys of heaven, am not tormented with ten thousand hells, in being deprived of everlasting bliss?”

“I don’t understand,” he replied.

“It’s Marlowe.
Doctor Faustus
.” Stevie sighed. “You’re the dumbest smart guy I know, Vincent Markis. You grew up in a protected little enclave in South Africa where nothing bad ever happened, and you think that pathetic little red light district is a big deal. Other people didn’t have it so easy. Other people have problems.”

“Stevie…” Vango dropped to his knees to take her hands awkwardly in his. He didn’t know quite how to relate to her – as a sister, a comrade, a woman? “Look, I can’t know what you’re going through, but I do know you don’t need this stuff.”

Stevie looked like she would explode again, but controlled herself. “I need something, Vee. I’m not like you, all self-contained and perfect. I got a big hole in me that needs filling, and I was hoping you might do some of that.” She grinned slyly, as if realizing exactly how much of a double-entendre her statement contained.

“I, uh…” While not exactly a virgin, a willful woman like Stevie was far outside of his experience.

Abruptly she leaned forward and kissed him tenderly, then more insistently. Her tongue probed into his mouth, and he found himself responding without thought, putting his arms around her waist. “You’re right,” she breathed hot in his ear. “I don’t need that shit, as long as I have something better.”

Somehow they made it to her bed and, laughing, wiggled off their flight suits. With the whole weird situation, and…she had turned down her fix for him. That was flattering. He decided to just try to forget about the stuff in the bathroom for now, be happy with his good luck, and enjoy the ride.

“They weren’t kidding,” Jill exclaimed as they debouched from the docking tunnel into a well-lit, high-ceilinged room. Plants, mostly tough fast-growing varieties like ivy and wisteria, twisted around the inside of the gymnasium-sized dome’s central park, and the air smelled like the outdoors – at least, to their ship-stunned senses. “This is great!” She bounced up on the balls of her feet, leaving the ground for a moment in the low gravity.

“Compared to three weeks on that ship, it sure is,” Rick replied. “They have plenty of power, water and soil here for fresh food. Lots of construction materials right from the planet means big quarters. I hear they have one-G gravplated football fields and everything.”

“Come on, let’s go. I can’t wait to look around.”

After the usual inprocessing rigmarole, they found their quarters, a nice apartment with a balcony on the third level overlooking another, smaller park, that looked like it had been placed there just for the residences. “I’m amazed they would put so much effort into amenities,” Rick remarked.

“The headshrinkers said people would go crazy if they didn’t have some sense of normalcy. People can’t deploy for years without going nuts. They have to feel like they have a life outside of work, and somewhere without four close walls,” Jill responded.

“Even Marines?”

“Even Marines. Speaking of that…I’m going to go report in to my commander.”

“Today?” Rick’s voice held surprise. “I thought you had your initial interview scheduled for tomorrow. I don’t even have to report until next Monday.”

“Tomorrow’s appointment is with the battalion commander. I want to report in to the battalion sergeant major. Marines always exceed the standard, Rick. You know that.” She stripped off her utilities and began to put on her dress uniform. “If I didn’t, the smaj would wonder why. Then as soon as he found out I arrived with my officer husband and took my sweet time, he’d think I was a slacker. I’d have two strikes against me before I started.”

Standing in front of the mirror, she buttoned her high collar to the top, brushed off her sleeves, and then placed her wheel cap on her head once before removing it and tucking it under her arm. “I won’t be long.” She kissed Rick as she went out the door.

After a few wrong turns, she found the Marine headquarters, and stepped up to the counter at the S1 Personnel section, nodding at the staff sergeant behind a desk, the senior of four enlisted people busily working at computers.

Odd that they’re all in dress uniform
, she thought.
Maybe it’s a special day
. She checked her watch for the date, and racked her brains but came up with nothing significant to any military organization she’d ever been in.

The NCO, whose nametag read
Duyers
, popped to his feet with a professional smile. “Good morning, Master Sergeant Repeth. Can I help you?”

Jill handed him a disk. “Reporting. My orders and records. Is my boss in?”

“Umm…” The NCO looked over his shoulder at a closed doorway with a brass plate reading
LtCol Donald A. Simms, EFM
. “You’re not scheduled until tomorrow.”

“No, not the commander.” Jill pointed at the door across the open floor of desks. This one had a simple plastic name holder with
Sergeant Major Ernesto Tano
on it, along with his symbol of rank. “The smaj.”

“Oh. Of course. But don’t let the colonel hear you call him that. He’s a stickler for propriety.”

“Very well,” She kept her expression pleasant as Duyers accessed a computer in front of him.

“It appears the sergeant major is currently inspecting the deployable dining facility,” he told her. “It’s in J-3-1. Out the door, to the left, follow the corridor to J section.”

“I’ll find it,” Repeth said and left as quickly as she could. No Marine liked paperwork, and something about that personnel NCO bothered her. Perhaps the smaj could shed some light.

Once she found J section Repeth wandered around a bit until she spotted a couple of enlisted Marines, also in dress uniform, with sidearms. In fact, she hadn’t seen any in utilities or even PT gear, which she thought odd. She approached the two privates.

“Good morning, Master Sergeant,” both murmured quietly.

“Is the sergeant major in the AO?” she asked.

“Sergeant Major Tano is inspecting the deployable field kitchen module, Master Sergeant,” one replied, nodding toward a door.

“He’s not to be disturbed until he comes out on his own, Master Sergeant,” offered the other.

Repeth looked at them as her lips turned down. “Why is that?”

The two clammed up and their faces froze. “Those were his orders, Master Sergeant,” one finally replied.

“Well, gentlemen, you’re going to have to give me a better reason than that,” she said with false pleasantness and an undertone of steel.

“Umm…Master Sergeant,” the other finally volunteered, sweat standing out on his brow, “he’s…in a conference.”

“Yes, a private conference.”

Repeth looked from one to the other as they displayed blank faces more eloquent than any expressions. “All right, for now. Next question. Why is everyone in dress uniform?”

Their faces relaxed slightly. “This is UOD, Master Sergeant.”

“Dress is uniform of the day? What is today?” she asked.

“Tuesday, Master Sergeant.”

“I mean,” her voice hardening, “why are you wearing full dress uniform on an ordinary workday? Is it some EarthFleet military observance of which I am unaware?”

“No, Master Sergeant. The battalion commander has set a policy of maximum professionalism, so we wear our dress uniform all the time.” This time a slight edge of exasperation leaked through his demeanor.

“Understood.” That was a lie; she didn’t understand at all, but she accepted that the information was accurate. A billion kilometers from Earth, providing security for the most distant base in the solar system, and no one in utilities, no one in combat armor that she could see. No weapons larger than pistols.

In her experience parade-ground perfect troops were usually deficient in more vital areas.

“Where is the armor and weapons?” she asked.

“In the armory, Master Sergeant,” one replied.

“All of it?” Her voice revealed deep surprise.

“Yes, all of it except sidearms. For accountability purposes.”

“And if we have a sudden Meme attack, or some kind of sabotage or riot?” She knew the base held thousands of personnel, with more arriving all the time as they prepared for the arrival of the A-24s and pilots.

“We hold frequent drills to practice retrieving our combat equipment, Master Sergeant.”

Repeth grunted. She was starting to get a picture of this battalion, and it concerned her. “Next question. Why are there two of you escorting the sergeant major?”