Interrogation
“Discontinue video.”
The
plasscreen
faded
to
black,
though
the
sight
of
the
man’s
mutilated
corpse
stayed
in
Toni’s
mind.
She
turned
her
attention
to
the
forward
viewer
as
Kory
Mae
settled
onto
the
tarmac.
A
dozen
olive-drab
craft
filled
the viewer across the horizon.
“Kory, open a link to the base commander.”
Toni
leaned
back
in
her
chair.
The
ship’s
calm
persona reported a completed connection with a Colonel Ortice.
“Colonel. Toni Tegaris. Earth Union Security. Marshal’s Office.”
“Welcome
to
Camp
Tango
43,
Marshal.
Glad
you
were
in
our
little
region of space.”
His
welcome
continued.
All
she
needed.
Twenty
crimes
to
investigate
in
that
system
alone
and
she
got
a
chatty
Marine.
Socializing
with
the
brass
had
a
way
of
distorting
first
impressions.
She
didn’t
need
an
amateur
suggesting
what
happened.
She
chose
not
to
engage him. She glared back at the face on the com. His smile faded.
“I would be happy to come—”
“I’ll
interview
you
in
due
time
if
necessary,”
she
interrupted.
“What
I
need,
as
I
communicated
earlier,
is
the
victim’s
company
to
fall
in on the tarmac immediately.”
His
eyes
narrowed.
His
lips
pressed
together.
“Aye,
Marshal.
Is
that all for now?”
“That’s all.” Toni disconnected before he could.
She
walked
to
the
bridge
armaments
cabinet,
donned
her
blue
EU
vest
and
a
web
belt
with
a
projectile
sidearm,
and
headed
for
the
forward
hatch.
“Chewie.”
She
waited
while
the
com
addressed
her
first
officer.
“Aye, Toni.”
“Hold the fort. Back in a few.”
“Want company?”
“You’re
not
getting
out
of
that
research.
Besides,
you’d
probably
enjoy the heat on this moon too much. Can’t have you loafing.”
He
chuckled,
what
passes
as
such
for
his
species,
which
sounds
more
like
a
rat
scrabbling
through
garbage.
It
always
made
her
smile.
She
stepped
over
a
slow
janibot
that
followed
her
for
a
moment,
as
though she was debris it should atomize.
“Go
away,”
she
snapped.
It
turned
and
rolled
down
the
corridor
in
the opposite direction.
Downstairs,
the
hatch
separated
as
she
approached.
She
squinted
at
the
glare,
pulled
out
the
old,
scratched
up
shades
Shante
gave
her
years ago.
Need to replace these someday.
She
walked
down
the
ramp,
realizing
the
sunglasses
weren’t
going
to
be
enough
for
comfort.
The
heat
was
a
bitch
too.
She
needed
to
find
the murderer or murderers fast.
The
company
was
being
lifted
to
an
adjacent
tarmac.
Toni
stopped
in her tracks and activated her com. “Connect Colonel Ortice.”
“Aye, Toni.”
“Don’t screw with me,” she said.
“I have no—”
“Have
’em
fall
in,
in
front
of
me,
now
,
or
so
help
me
I’ll
shut
down
this whole base for a freaking week. Do you hear me, commander?”
First impressions are so important.
Toni
heard
an
un-Marine-like
response
as
the
connection
broke.
The
troop
carrier
lifted
off
the
far
tarmac
and
approached.
Setting
down,
the
back
gate
dropped
and
jarheads
double-timed
it.
As
they
fell
in,
Toni
called
at
the
sergeant
major
to
bring
them
in
a
tight
formation.
The
Marine
saluted
and
barked
a
sharp
command.
The
men
and
women side stepped until they were shoulder to shoulder.
Time to collect physical evidence.
With
the
sergeant
major
on
her
heel,
Toni
hurried
down
the
ranks
collecting
initial
DNA
trace,
wishing
she
had
one
of
the
dark
shields
they
wore
against
the
system’s
bright
star.
They
weren’t
going
to
like
it
if
she
ordered
those
with
mingled
trace
to
remove
their
air-cooled
helmets.
Toni’s
computer
clicked
to
show
its
analysis
was
complete.
She
walked
back
through
the
command
pointing
at
each
Marine
that
could
fall out.
Few
in
the
slain
Marine’s
platoon
were
eliminated.
Most
in
the
other
three
were.
The
first
pass
culled
132.
The
sergeant
major
again
had
the
company
move
in.
Sweat
dripped
onto
Toni’s
glasses
as
she
reviewed her data. She was swimming inside her armored vest.
Hell with this
.
The
Kory
Mae’s
main
hold
was
practically
empty
anyway.
“Bring
them,” she told the sergeant major.
Toni
headed
for
Kory
Mae.
The
hatch
lowered
as
she
approached.
Walking
past
the
environmental
shield
felt
delightful,
like
a
meat
locker.
Unfortunately,
the
hold
temperature
rose
as
the
remaining
thirty-six Marines crossed the EM threshold.
“Listen up! Front and center when you hear your name.”
She
called
the
names
of
the
four
who
held
the
most
cross
contamination.
Toni
walked
in
front
of
them
slowly,
allowing
the
computer’s
sensors
to
pick
up
detail
readings.
The
next
hour
was
going
to be a pain. At least it was cooler.
Toni
returned
her
attention
to
the
first
Marine.
“PFC,
was
Tarcine
a
good
friend?”
Toni
looked
into
the
dark
green
of
the
visor
for
an
instant,
but
quickly
looked
down
at
her
computer
to
review
the
analysis
of her infomedics. People weren’t her thing—data was.
“We were together since boot,” she answered.
Toni
stepped
back
and
shouted.
“We’re
going
to
be
here
a
long
freaking
time
if
I
don’t
get
direct
answers.
Am
I
making
myself
understood?”
The loud, “Whoyeah,” echoed in the cavernous hold.
She stepped back in front of the PFC. “Again.”
“Like a brother,” she said.
“A brother you make love to, or just drink beer with?”
The
questions,
designed
to
elicit
an
emotional
response,
continued
in
similar
fashion.
Toni’s
mind
wandered
as
she
watched
the
computer’s analysis.
She
reached
the
jarhead
with
the
most
recent
trace.
He
found
the
body.
His
answers
registered
inconclusive.
Toni
broke
her
routine
and
ordered him to take off the dark visor.
“Take a knee.”
He
appeared
to
be
taken
back,
finding
himself
eye-to-eye
with
her.
Being
short
as
a
toad
was
often
as
convenient
as
not.
For
a
PFC,
he
had
been
in
a
lot
of
shipboard
firefights,
considering
the
tell-tale
scars
from
the
splatter
of
laser-melted
hull.
Spacers
have
a
saying.
“Better
scarred
than scattered.”
“Why
are
you
still
a
PFC?”
she
asked
him.
The
computer
registered, consistent.
“Who
do
you
think
killed
him?”
His
heart
rate
increased
twelve
percent.
He
felt
he
knew,
but
he
wouldn’t
tell
if
she
rammed
bamboo
slivers
under
his
fingernails.
“Give
me
an
answer
in
the
next
ten
seconds or you’ll see a courts-martial.”
He
didn’t
blink.
His
heart
rate
actually
slowed.
That
kind
of
threat
was
going
to
get
her
nowhere.
He’d
been
busted
often
enough
to
consider
it
routine.
She
didn’t
bother
to
look
up
his
record.
There
was
no other reason he was still an E2.
“Sergeant Major, please explain to the private he must answer.”
The
woman
grabbed
him
by
the
front
of
his
shirt
and
raised
him
to
his
feet,
pressed
her
nose
against
his.
“You
want
to
wash
latrines
until
your service is honored, Private?”
“No, Sergeant Major.”
The
next
ten
minutes
were
just
as
productive.
Minutes
she’d
never
get
back.
He
might
know
something
valuable,
but
he
was
a
cagey
butthead.
And a moron
.
She
stepped
before
her
next
candidate,
on
to
the
next,
and
the
next after her.
An
hour
later
Toni
again
stood
in
front
of
a
smallish
Marine,
not
to
say
she
was
as
short
as
Toni,
but
she
was
under
180
centimeters,
and
had shoulders the sergeant major could have snapped without effort.
The
trace
was
left
on
the
corporal’s
fatigues
within
twenty
minutes
of
Tarcine’s
death.
Older
DNA
remained
on
her
skin
from
weeks
earlier.
Either
she
shared
the
same
bar
of
soap,
or
she
rolled
in
the
sack
with him. Toni looked up under her visor.
Stick to data, or take a shot at reading her the old fashion way?
“Remove
your
helmet,”
Toni
said
softly.
It
was
time
for
a
gentler
touch. Being a bitch hadn’t gotten her far in two hours.
The
corporal’s
face
didn’t
hold
a
single
scar.
She
looked
as
though
she
could
still
be
in
high
school.
Toni
waited
while
the
woman’s
record
downloaded.
She
had
been
in
the
service
three
years.
No
firefights.
Bizarre.
She
was
being
taken
care
of.
Tarcine,
an
E5,
was
in
a
position
to
do
that.
The
woman’s
pulse
rose
steadily,
even
though
Toni
hadn’t
asked her a single question.
“You
shower
with
Tarcine
recently?”
she
asked
the
woman
at
a
near whisper.
The corporal’s eyes got a little larger.
Most assuredly something sexual there.
“Ma’am, not that I recall.”
“How long have you been planet-based?”
“Ma’am, we just arrived for weekend RNR.”
“She
was
a
replacement
eight
months
earlier
for
a
jarhead
who
got
himself liquefied by a particle charge,” the sergeant major explained.
Toni’s
computer
registered
the
corporal’s
stomach
muscles
tightened,
but
her
general
stress
leveled
off.
Toni
wanted
to
sit.
She
looked
down
the
line.
Three
more
Marines
to
interrogate.
They
stood
at
ease,
like
pillars
of
granite,
or
machines,
hidden
behind
their
alloy
fatigues, helmets, and visors which people still called glass.
Why
do
they
insist
on
calling
it
glass?
There
wasn’t
a
molecule
of
silicate in it.
Toni
struggled
to
refocus.
She
hurried
through
the
last
of
the
Marines,
turned
and
held
out
her
computer
to
the
sergeant
major.
“Want these three with me, the rest you can release.”
Toni
didn’t
offer
the
three
seats
when
she
led
them
to
the
galley.
She
walked
across
the
room
and
pointed
to
a
spot
near
the
end
of
her
team’s
conference
table,
and
eyed
the
PFC.
He
marched
forward
and
stood
at
attention
on
the
spot.
She
separated
the
other
two
across
the
room in similar fashion and walked out without a word.
I hate fricking dead bodies.
She
entered
the
forward
hold
where
Tarcine’s
body
was
set
out.
The
heat
outside
had
accelerated
its
decomposition.
It
reeked,
even
though
Kory
quickly
lowered
the
temperature
in
the
hold
to
two
degrees when the body was delivered.
He
was
no
delight
before
he
lost
part
of
his
face.
Half
of
the
man’s
chest
was
also
missing.
His
right
leg
had
been
cleanly
separated
from
his trunk. He really pissed someone off.
Given
a
few
hours,
Toni
could
match
the
weapon
to
the
wounds,
but
lasers
in
an
armory,
which
a
whole
brigade
had
access
to,
added
little
credence
in
a
court
proceeding.
It
was
a
hell
of
a
lot
easier
to
pull
together
psychological
evidence
when
you’re
a
gazillion
miles
from
a
real forensics team.
“Kory, have you finished your analysis?”
“Aye, Captain. Would you—”
“If it isn’t inconvenient.”
Toni
watched
as
the
slide
on
her
computer
showed
the
progress
of
the
download.
The
door
of
the
lift
open.
She
looked
over
her
shoulder
expecting
either
Chewie
or
the
other
marshal
on
board
who
was
recuperating from a nasty ambush.
“I did not release you, Marine.”
The
man
lifted
a
laser
at
her.
It
was
a
civilian
version
of
an
M2.
Small
enough
to
hide
inside
a
shirt,
not
the
most
powerful,
took
about
a
second
and
a
half
to
recharge
between
shots,
but
still
deadly
if
the
handler’s aim was good.
“How
in
the
hell
did
you
pick
the
three
of
us
out
of
the
company?”
he mumbled. “Your questions were bullshit.”
“Did I say they were relevant?”
He twisted his face as though Toni was an idiot.
“Did
Tarcine
rape
her
and
you
executed
your
private
justice,
or
were you getting rid of the competition?”
“Who says—”
“Oh
please.
I’m
freaking
short,
not
stupid.
The
PFC,
Scarface,
cleaned
up
after
you
the
first
time.
You
notice
he
isn’t
behind
you
now?
Not going to clean up after you this time.”
Toni
prepared
to
ask
him
how
he
thought
he
was
going
to
get
away
with
shooting
her,
considering
a
dozen
sensors
focused
on
him,
when
he fired. Heat radiated across her vest.
God, it hit her vest.
A Marine who couldn’t shoot worth crap—what luck.
Toni
pulled
her
sidearm
and
fired.
His
fatigues
would
absorb
most
of
her
rounds,
but
they
would
hurt,
and
keep
him
from
getting
off
a
better
shot.
She
leveled
her
weapon
as
high
on
his
trunk
as
she
could,
hoping
to
catch
a
break
and
get
him
in
his
unprotected
throat.
She
wasn’t
such
a
great
shot
to
aim
for
his
head.
It
was
more
important
to
keep the projectiles soaking into his chest, and him busy.
After
his
first
shot,
alarms
would
be
going
off
in
the
decks
above.
She just had to stay alive until Chewie reached her.
She
walked
forward
doing
her
best
to
empty
her
clip.
His
body
lurched,
arms
swayed.
He
fired
again.
The
blast
sailed
wide.
She
had
another
free
second
and
a
half.
She
tried
to
count
her
shots.
About
eight.
Another
thirteen
to
go.
The
burned
propellant
smelled
harsh
against the ship’s purified air.
Within twenty feet of him.
Fatigues
would
fail
in
three
more
steps.
A
round
caught
his
raised
wrist
and
blood
and
tissue
exploded.
Somehow
he
held
onto
the
laser.
His
face
turned
purple
from
the
pain,
the
pounding
he
was
taking.
He
struggled
to
lift
the
laser.
Fired.
It
crossed
within
two
centimeters
of
Toni’s cheek.
She
felt
blood
running
down
her
face,
a
burning
furrow
from
the
residual
power.
Another
free
second
and
a
half.
Maybe
seven
rounds
left.
He
jerked
hard
as
her
rounds
met
the
fatigue’s
tolerance.
But
his
hand rose
again
.
Last round, maybe. The laser leveled.
Enough!
She
aimed
for
his
face.
Pulled
the
trigger.
His
head
rocked
back,
body
teetered,
fell
backward
in
slow
motion.
Toni
screamed.
It
was
anger.
Frustration.
She
dropped
her
arms
to
her
side,
took
a
deep
breath.
“Damn!”
She sucked in air and looked down at her shoulder.
“Another freaking scar.”
Blood
oozed
down
the
front
of
her
vest,
through
the
hole
melted
in
it.
Glad it wasn’t an M4.
Bastard was hard to kill.
The
lift
door
opened.
Toni
didn’t
have
the
energy
to
ready
her
sidearm
again.
She
was
pretty
sure
it
was
empty
anyway.
Chewie
sprinted
down
the
catwalk.
He
held
one
of
the
gargantuan
laser
rifles
she couldn’t lift.
“About time!” she screamed.
“Ever occur to you to check if your guests are armed?”
“Crap. Must ’ve cut class that day.”
© R. Mac Wheeler 2017
Interrogation
“Discontinue video.”
The
plasscreen
faded
to
black,
though
the
sight
of
the
man’s
mutilated
corpse
stayed
in
Toni’s
mind.
She
turned
her
attention
to
the
forward
viewer
as
Kory
Mae
settled
onto
the
tarmac.
A
dozen
olive-drab
craft
filled
the viewer across the horizon.
“Kory,
open
a
link
to
the
base
commander.”
Toni
leaned
back
in
her
chair.
The
ship’s
calm
persona
reported
a
completed
connection
with
a
Colonel
Ortice.
“Colonel.
Toni
Tegaris.
Earth
Union Security. Marshal’s Office.”
“Welcome
to
Camp
Tango
43,
Marshal.
Glad
you
were
in
our
little
region of space.”
His
welcome
continued.
All
she
needed.
Twenty
crimes
to
investigate
in
that
system
alone
and
she
got
a
chatty
Marine.
Socializing
with
the
brass
had
a
way
of
distorting
first
impressions.
She
didn’t
need
an
amateur
suggesting
what
happened.
She
chose
not
to
engage
him.
She
glared
back
at
the
face
on
the
com.
His smile faded.
“I would be happy to come—”
“I’ll
interview
you
in
due
time
if
necessary,”
she
interrupted.
“What
I
need,
as
I
communicated
earlier,
is
the
victim’s
company
to
fall
in
on
the
tarmac immediately.”
His
eyes
narrowed.
His
lips
pressed
together.
“Aye,
Marshal.
Is
that
all
for
now?”
“That’s
all.”
Toni
disconnected
before he could.
She
walked
to
the
bridge
armaments
cabinet,
donned
her
blue
EU
vest
and
a
web
belt
with
a
projectile
sidearm,
and
headed
for
the
forward
hatch.
“Chewie.”
She
waited
while
the
com addressed her first officer.
“Aye, Toni.”
“Hold the fort. Back in a few.”
“Want company?”
“You’re
not
getting
out
of
that
research.
Besides,
you’d
probably
enjoy
the
heat
on
this
moon
too
much.
Can’t
have you loafing.”
He
chuckled,
what
passes
as
such
for
his
species,
which
sounds
more
like
a
rat
scrabbling
through
garbage.
It
always
made
her
smile.
She
stepped
over
a
slow
janibot
that
followed
her
for
a
moment,
as
though
she
was
debris
it
should atomize.
“Go
away,”
she
snapped.
It
turned
and
rolled
down
the
corridor
in
the
opposite direction.
Downstairs,
the
hatch
separated
as
she
approached.
She
squinted
at
the
glare,
pulled
out
the
old,
scratched
up
shades Shante gave her years ago.
Need to replace these someday.
She
walked
down
the
ramp,
realizing
the
sunglasses
weren’t
going
to
be
enough
for
comfort.
The
heat
was
a
bitch
too.
She
needed
to
find
the
murderer or murderers fast.
The
company
was
being
lifted
to
an
adjacent
tarmac.
Toni
stopped
in
her
tracks
and
activated
her
com.
“Connect
Colonel Ortice.”
“Aye, Toni.”
“Don’t screw with me,” she said.
“I have no—”
“Have
’em
fall
in,
in
front
of
me,
now
,
or
so
help
me
I’ll
shut
down
this
whole
base
for
a
freaking
week.
Do
you
hear me, commander?”
First
impressions
are
so
important.
Toni
heard
an
un-Marine-like
response
as
the
connection
broke.
The
troop
carrier
lifted
off
the
far
tarmac
and
approached.
Setting
down,
the
back
gate
dropped
and
jarheads
double-
timed
it.
As
they
fell
in,
Toni
called
at
the
sergeant
major
to
bring
them
in
a
tight
formation.
The
Marine
saluted
and
barked
a
sharp
command.
The
men
and
women
side
stepped
until
they
were
shoulder to shoulder.
Time to collect physical evidence.
With
the
sergeant
major
on
her
heel,
Toni
hurried
down
the
ranks
collecting
initial
DNA
trace,
wishing
she
had
one
of
the
dark
shields
they
wore
against
the
system’s
bright
star.
They
weren’t
going
to
like
it
if
she
ordered
those
with
mingled
trace
to
remove
their
air-cooled helmets.
Toni’s
computer
clicked
to
show
its
analysis
was
complete.
She
walked
back
through
the
command
pointing
at
each
Marine that could fall out.
Few
in
the
slain
Marine’s
platoon
were
eliminated.
Most
in
the
other
three
were.
The
first
pass
culled
132.
The
sergeant
major
again
had
the
company
move
in.
Sweat
dripped
onto
Toni’s
glasses
as
she
reviewed
her
data.
She
was swimming inside her armored vest.
Hell with this
.
The
Kory
Mae’s
main
hold
was
practically
empty
anyway.
“Bring
them,”
she told the sergeant major.
Toni
headed
for
Kory
Mae.
The
hatch
lowered
as
she
approached.
Walking
past
the
environmental
shield
felt
delightful,
like
a
meat
locker.
Unfortunately,
the
hold
temperature
rose
as
the
remaining
thirty-six
Marines
crossed the EM threshold.
“Listen
up!
Front
and
center
when
you hear your name.”
She
called
the
names
of
the
four
who
held
the
most
cross
contamination.
Toni
walked
in
front
of
them
slowly,
allowing
the
computer’s
sensors
to
pick
up
detail
readings.
The
next
hour
was
going to be a pain. At least it was cooler.
Toni
returned
her
attention
to
the
first
Marine.
“PFC,
was
Tarcine
a
good
friend?”
Toni
looked
into
the
dark
green
of
the
visor
for
an
instant,
but
quickly
looked
down
at
her
computer
to
review
the
analysis
of
her
infomedics.
People
weren’t her thing—data was.
“We
were
together
since
boot,”
she
answered.
Toni
stepped
back
and
shouted.
“We’re
going
to
be
here
a
long
freaking
time
if
I
don’t
get
direct
answers.
Am
I
making myself understood?”
The
loud,
“Whoyeah,”
echoed
in
the
cavernous hold.
She
stepped
back
in
front
of
the
PFC. “Again.”
“Like a brother,” she said.
“A
brother
you
make
love
to,
or
just
drink beer with?”
The
questions,
designed
to
elicit
an
emotional
response,
continued
in
similar
fashion.
Toni’s
mind
wandered
as she watched the computer’s analysis.
She
reached
the
jarhead
with
the
most
recent
trace.
He
found
the
body.
His
answers
registered
inconclusive.
Toni
broke
her
routine
and
ordered
him
to take off the dark visor.
“Take a knee.”
He
appeared
to
be
taken
back,
finding
himself
eye-to-eye
with
her.
Being
short
as
a
toad
was
often
as
convenient
as
not.
For
a
PFC,
he
had
been
in
a
lot
of
shipboard
firefights,
considering
the
tell-tale
scars
from
the
splatter
of
laser-melted
hull.
Spacers
have
a
saying.
“Better
scarred
than
scattered.”
“Why
are
you
still
a
PFC?”
she
asked
him.
The
computer
registered,
consistent.
“Who
do
you
think
killed
him?”
His
heart
rate
increased
twelve
percent.
He
felt
he
knew,
but
he
wouldn’t
tell
if
she
rammed
bamboo
slivers
under
his
fingernails.
“Give
me
an
answer
in
the
next
ten
seconds
or
you’ll
see
a
courts-
martial.”
He
didn’t
blink.
His
heart
rate
actually
slowed.
That
kind
of
threat
was
going
to
get
her
nowhere.
He’d
been
busted
often
enough
to
consider
it
routine.
She
didn’t
bother
to
look
up
his
record.
There
was
no
other
reason
he
was still an E2.
“Sergeant
Major,
please
explain
to
the private he must answer.”
The
woman
grabbed
him
by
the
front
of
his
shirt
and
raised
him
to
his
feet,
pressed
her
nose
against
his.
“You
want
to
wash
latrines
until
your
service
is honored, Private?”
“No, Sergeant Major.”
The
next
ten
minutes
were
just
as
productive.
Minutes
she’d
never
get
back.
He
might
know
something
valuable, but he was a cagey butthead.
And a moron
.
She
stepped
before
her
next
candidate,
on
to
the
next,
and
the
next
after her.
An
hour
later
Toni
again
stood
in
front
of
a
smallish
Marine,
not
to
say
she
was
as
short
as
Toni,
but
she
was
under
180
centimeters,
and
had
shoulders
the
sergeant
major
could
have
snapped without effort.
The
trace
was
left
on
the
corporal’s
fatigues
within
twenty
minutes
of
Tarcine’s
death.
Older
DNA
remained
on
her
skin
from
weeks
earlier.
Either
she
shared
the
same
bar
of
soap,
or
she
rolled
in
the
sack
with
him.
Toni
looked
up under her visor.
Stick
to
data,
or
take
a
shot
at
reading her the old fashion way?
“Remove
your
helmet,”
Toni
said
softly.
It
was
time
for
a
gentler
touch.
Being
a
bitch
hadn’t
gotten
her
far
in
two hours.
The
corporal’s
face
didn’t
hold
a
single
scar.
She
looked
as
though
she
could
still
be
in
high
school.
Toni
waited
while
the
woman’s
record
downloaded.
She
had
been
in
the
service
three
years.
No
firefights.
Bizarre.
She
was
being
taken
care
of.
Tarcine,
an
E5,
was
in
a
position
to
do
that.
The
woman’s
pulse
rose
steadily,
even
though
Toni
hadn’t
asked her a single question.
“You
shower
with
Tarcine
recently?”
she
asked
the
woman
at
a
near whisper.
The
corporal’s
eyes
got
a
little
larger.
Most
assuredly
something
sexual
there.
“Ma’am, not that I recall.”
“How
long
have
you
been
planet-
based?”
“Ma’am,
we
just
arrived
for
weekend RNR.”
“She
was
a
replacement
eight
months
earlier
for
a
jarhead
who
got
himself
liquefied
by
a
particle
charge,”
the sergeant major explained.
Toni’s
computer
registered
the
corporal’s
stomach
muscles
tightened,
but
her
general
stress
leveled
off.
Toni
wanted
to
sit.
She
looked
down
the
line.
Three
more
Marines
to
interrogate.
They
stood
at
ease,
like
pillars
of
granite,
or
machines,
hidden
behind
their
alloy
fatigues,
helmets,
and
visors
which people still called glass.
Why
do
they
insist
on
calling
it
glass?
There
wasn’t
a
molecule
of
silicate in it.
Toni
struggled
to
refocus.
She
hurried
through
the
last
of
the
Marines,
turned
and
held
out
her
computer
to
the
sergeant
major.
“Want
these
three
with
me, the rest you can release.”
Toni
didn’t
offer
the
three
seats
when
she
led
them
to
the
galley.
She
walked
across
the
room
and
pointed
to
a
spot
near
the
end
of
her
team’s
conference
table,
and
eyed
the
PFC.
He
marched
forward
and
stood
at
attention
on
the
spot.
She
separated
the
other
two
across
the
room
in
similar
fashion
and
walked out without a word.
I hate fricking dead bodies.
She
entered
the
forward
hold
where
Tarcine’s
body
was
set
out.
The
heat
outside
had
accelerated
its
decomposition.
It
reeked,
even
though
Kory
quickly
lowered
the
temperature
in
the
hold
to
two
degrees
when
the
body
was delivered.
He
was
no
delight
before
he
lost
part
of
his
face.
Half
of
the
man’s
chest
was
also
missing.
His
right
leg
had
been
cleanly
separated
from
his
trunk.
He
really pissed someone off.
Given
a
few
hours,
Toni
could
match
the
weapon
to
the
wounds,
but
lasers
in
an
armory,
which
a
whole
brigade
had
access
to,
added
little
credence
in
a
court
proceeding.
It
was
a
hell
of
a
lot
easier
to
pull
together
psychological
evidence
when
you’re
a
gazillion
miles
from
a
real
forensics
team.
“Kory,
have
you
finished
your
analysis?”
“Aye, Captain. Would you—”
“If it isn’t inconvenient.”
Toni
watched
as
the
slide
on
her
computer
showed
the
progress
of
the
download.
The
door
of
the
lift
open.
She
looked
over
her
shoulder
expecting
either
Chewie
or
the
other
marshal
on
board
who
was
recuperating
from
a
nasty ambush.
“I did not release you, Marine.”
The
man
lifted
a
laser
at
her.
It
was
a
civilian
version
of
an
M2.
Small
enough
to
hide
inside
a
shirt,
not
the
most
powerful,
took
about
a
second
and
a
half
to
recharge
between
shots,
but
still
deadly
if
the
handler’s
aim
was
good.
“How
in
the
hell
did
you
pick
the
three
of
us
out
of
the
company?”
he
mumbled.
“Your
questions
were
bullshit.”
“Did I say they were relevant?”
He
twisted
his
face
as
though
Toni
was an idiot.
“Did
Tarcine
rape
her
and
you
executed
your
private
justice,
or
were
you getting rid of the competition?”
“Who says—”
“Oh
please.
I’m
freaking
short,
not
stupid.
The
PFC,
Scarface,
cleaned
up
after
you
the
first
time.
You
notice
he
isn’t
behind
you
now?
Not
going
to
clean up after you this time.”
Toni
prepared
to
ask
him
how
he
thought
he
was
going
to
get
away
with
shooting
her,
considering
a
dozen
sensors
focused
on
him,
when
he
fired.
Heat radiated across her vest.
God, it hit her vest.
A
Marine
who
couldn’t
shoot
worth crap—what luck.
Toni
pulled
her
sidearm
and
fired.
His
fatigues
would
absorb
most
of
her
rounds,
but
they
would
hurt,
and
keep
him
from
getting
off
a
better
shot.
She
leveled
her
weapon
as
high
on
his
trunk
as
she
could,
hoping
to
catch
a
break
and
get
him
in
his
unprotected
throat.
She
wasn’t
such
a
great
shot
to
aim
for
his
head.
It
was
more
important
to
keep
the
projectiles
soaking
into
his
chest,
and him busy.
After
his
first
shot,
alarms
would
be
going
off
in
the
decks
above.
She
just
had
to
stay
alive
until
Chewie
reached
her.
She
walked
forward
doing
her
best
to
empty
her
clip.
His
body
lurched,
arms
swayed.
He
fired
again.
The
blast
sailed
wide.
She
had
another
free
second
and
a
half.
She
tried
to
count
her
shots.
About
eight.
Another
thirteen
to
go.
The
burned
propellant
smelled
harsh
against
the ship’s purified air.
Within twenty feet of him.
Fatigues
would
fail
in
three
more
steps.
A
round
caught
his
raised
wrist
and
blood
and
tissue
exploded.
Somehow
he
held
onto
the
laser.
His
face
turned
purple
from
the
pain,
the
pounding
he
was
taking.
He
struggled
to
lift
the
laser.
Fired.
It
crossed
within
two
centimeters of Toni’s cheek.
She
felt
blood
running
down
her
face,
a
burning
furrow
from
the
residual
power.
Another
free
second
and
a
half.
Maybe
seven
rounds
left.
He
jerked
hard
as
her
rounds
met
the
fatigue’s
tolerance. But his hand rose
again
.
Last
round,
maybe.
The
laser
leveled.
Enough!
She
aimed
for
his
face.
Pulled
the
trigger.
His
head
rocked
back,
body
teetered,
fell
backward
in
slow
motion.
Toni
screamed.
It
was
anger.
Frustration.
She
dropped
her
arms
to
her side, took a deep breath.
“Damn!”
She
sucked
in
air
and
looked
down
at her shoulder.
“Another freaking scar.”
Blood
oozed
down
the
front
of
her
vest, through the hole melted in it.
Glad
it
wasn’t
an
M4.
Bastard
was
hard to kill.
The
lift
door
opened.
Toni
didn’t
have
the
energy
to
ready
her
sidearm
again.
She
was
pretty
sure
it
was
empty
anyway.
Chewie
sprinted
down
the
catwalk.
He
held
one
of
the
gargantuan
laser rifles she couldn’t lift.
“About time!” she screamed.
“Ever
occur
to
you
to
check
if
your
guests are armed?”
“Crap. Must ’ve cut class that day.”
© R. Mac Wheeler 2017
