Wild Space Pt. 04

"Somebody working on it," The operator noted.

"Blast it?" The commander asked eagerly. "We were ordered to eliminate all targets."

With who they were after and who lived here she knew that "targets" was a relative term. It meant more if anyone stood in their way, which truly meant everyone just to be on the safe side. Standard operating procedure.

"No," She said, and pointed at the man, who was now waving at them and pointing towards his vehicle. "He's a local. We can get some much needed information from him. If it's not on the level then we can blast him."

"Understood." The commander said. He motioned to one of his crew. "Forward. We'll get within loudspeaker or comm distance."

"Negative," The operator said. She found her rifle in a compartment. They had told her to collapse the stock to save on space. Saving on space was drilled into every tank crew, she had found. "I feel like a walk. And a face to face would be more effective than him shouting at us. Open external hatch."

"Yes...ma'am." The commander said. He gestured again and the tank glided to a smooth stop. Daylight flooded the Orca from above.

"Be back. Cover me." The operator wriggled past a crewman and was soon inhaling the rich, unpolluted air of the planetoid. It reminded her a bit of home, but it wasn't nearly as stiflingly hot here. The weather was always temperate in this place and the land featureless. It was a good little world for armor maneuvers, she had heard the tankers say. She clambered out of the Orca. Around the rim of the tank there was a metal skirt of sorts, adorned with a simple military style graphic that warned of the dangers of being crushed by the blowers located just below. It wasn't a good idea to try to jump off of an Orca, or for a soldier on the ground to try to take cover near one. The risk of being pulverized was too great. She made sure to use the Orca's "plank" to dismount safely.

The man working on the buggy had raised his hands at the sight of the tank, but she waved him down as she walked towards him, her weapon slung across her back. She wondered what he thought of all his strangeness, a woman clad as if for the desert, the hovering weapons platform, all of it. She didn't let a smile break from behind her mask.

"Hey there," The man had only reluctantly lowered his arms when she approached, but she couldn't blame him for that. He was staring down a fully armed tank, after all. He had ginger hair, streaked with gray, big weary eyes, and deep wrinkles carved into his face from too much hard living. He was standing slightly askew. Looking down, she noticed that he only had one leg. The other was a cheap artificial limb. "Can I ask what's going on?"

"We're looking for somebody," She explained briefly. "You break down?"

"Yeah. Worst time to, eh?"

I'll say, she thought. "We're looking for a woman, around thirty, swarthy skin and hair, dark eyes. Calling herself 'Vinjula' or 'Edge.' Seen her?"

"Only offworlders I've seen here are you and that great floating behemoth over there."

"Right. Big reward if you see her. From the Admiral himself."

"Admiral?"

"Jarrok. Local nobility and brass. You served?"

"Yup. Army, artillery. I was stationed on Starvale Station and a little bit on Yganor."

"Starvale is a hell of a post. How'd you land that plum deal?"

"Just dumb luck, I guess."

"Speaking of, I'd be happy to have our crew repair your buggy. You want to pop the hood, I'll get them out here with the toolbox?"

"Thank you. Very kind of you."

"Anything for a fellow vet." She knew the tankers and the officers in the Army would have rather that she obliterate the man and his vehicle right then and there, but that wasn't her style. The old man was one of them, after all. The operator turned and, using standard Army hand signals, called forth crew for repair. Immediately she watched as two tankers stepped out of the Orca's hatch and accepted a toolkit handed up to them by one of their mates inside. She turned back to the man.

"You hear anybody or see anything, you'll let us know?"

"That I will, young lady. That I will. What are you after this person for?"

"Probably best you don't know, pops."

"If you say so. Here are your comrades now."

For the next few minutes the operator busied herself by poking around the buggy, keeping a careful eye out on the surrounding area, and the Orca. Nothing at all seemed amiss. The weather was resoundingly pleasant, the kind of crispness that made one want to spend the entire day outside, just breathing in the air. It was a fine change of pace from back home, she thought. The kind of weather that made you glad you enlisted.

Something innocuous but time consuming was wrong with the old vet's vehicle. The operator told the crew to handle the repair and set off in a simple dismounted patrol pattern, an automatic habit she had picked up from her handful of deployments. Standing still too long irked her, made the bottom of her feet itch, like someone was lining her up in their crosshairs. She left the tankers to muddle over the buggy and the local and left them.

The grass made no sound as she padded over the land. Ever since leaving them all she had unslung her rifle: a mid-range, heavily modified carbine with an underslung projectile attachment. It could hurl all standard Capital grenades, both anti material and antipersonnel. The carbine had saved her life more times than she could count, an old tool that had become not less but exponentially more valued and valuable as the years had gone on. She cradled it to her body and as she had countless times as set out on patrol.

There was nothing to see except the idling Orca, and the buggy, which was getting sealed up and tested. Then the tankers left to walk back to their ride. One of them had the temerity to wave at her. She held her palm up, silently indicating she hadn't finished her patrol, and turned her back on all of them. She needed some fresh air and the feel of the dirt beneath her feet before cramping herself up in that sweaty, hot Orca again.

Featureless as it may have been, the land did dip occasionally. The operator made her down into a low gulley, the Orca disappearing from view. After a few minutes she realized that gravel was crunching under her boots, too loudly, so she stepped back up onto the grass, reoriented herself to the tank and started back.

It seemed oddly quiet, somehow, despite the Orca roaring. The big piece of black and white armor was completely still. She slung the carbine in front of her, between her breasts, and stepped up onto the tank, hands and feet on its ladder, and was a handful of rungs up it when the hatch of the Orca shot up into the blue sky on a jet of orange flame. The impact of the blast sent her hurtling to the side, and for what seemed like eons she felt herself suspended in midair, legs and arms outspread until time snapped its teeth and she was suddenly hurled towards the grass, hard, her ears ringing deafeningly loud. Her breath was expelled sharply from her lungs. She felt a creak in the middle of her body, somewhat akin to the kind of sound and sensation when one finally flexes after sitting still for too long, but far more painful and louder. Her weapon hit her in the face hard enough to knock out her teeth. The operator spit out a ghastly, misshapen handful of them and tried to sit up, but her body hadn't quite caught up to her mind yet. She couldn't even flail about as she laid there on the ground, limbs heavy, mind aflame with panic. A querulous pule escaped her bloodied lips, and there was a frantic, desperate look in her eyes. All women feel fear, but it had been a long time since she had experienced this much and let all of it show.

The operator had spent more than half of her life in uniform, so to speak, so she knew how to self diagnose after injury. This was bad, the worst it had ever been. She was definitely concussed, her hearring temporarily or permanently knocked out. There was something wrong deep inside her body, as well, something that made it impossible for her to move at all. She could just raise her head and looked down at the bashed, caved in chest, twisted pelvis, the shattered legs pointing right at the hovering, blowing Orca.

Her eyes worked just fine, so she was able to see a muscular woman with black hair and brown skin peer over at her. It wasn't a kindly face by any means. In fact, it was the face of her enemy, but the operator couldn't afford to think that way now. Even with her back and body shattered she had a plan. She would talk to this woman, charm her, seduce her or whatever else it took to get back on her feet. Then she would strike hard and true, as she had been trained to so many times over.

The face stood above her and raised an oddly shaped club, one festooned with lots of blood and even bits of brain. The weapon was poised to crash down on her, but then it was lowered when the operator couldn't even shudder in response.

The face, devoid of emotion, left her sightline. The operator couldn't feel the hands grasping at her, a strong pair of arms laying her down comfortably on her side so that her head, not her legs, was now facing towards the highly pressurized pillow of hot air under the tank.

When she heard the sound combat boots on metal, clambering up the ladder and hull of the Orca her fate was confirmed. Somehow she managed to cry out, a low and pitiful handful of words almost entirely swallowed up by the tank's creeping forward.

The operator was screaming "thank you."

The Orca rolled over her head first, sparing her anymore suffering. The undercarriage's air jets, enough to hold a 70 ton battle tank aloft, punched through her skull and flattened it an instant deep into the soft green grass, ending her pain forever.

**

Sita sat in front of the fire at Hevik's campground, having gotten a good blaze going and broken out the bottle of whiskey to sip on. Her weapon was close by, but she didn't intend on using it, and would try with every fiber of her being not to. If it came to that she didn't stand a chance.

Masking the approach of a tank was useless and flew in the face of its tactical doctrine, but Edge had done the best that she could under the circumstances, Sita knew. Instead of creeping in slowly the Orca blasted through the grass, leaving it flaming and flat, and stopped short of the buildings. Her black head popped out of the blasted hole where the hatch had been.

"Sita, grab what you need and come aboard, fast." Edge said rapidly. "We don't have long and I don't know how we're going to make it out of here."

Sita only poked at the fire, sitting there heavily, as if she never intended to get up again.

"What are you waiting for?! Move!"

"Want to come down and talk to me for a minute?"

"What? No! Move your ass!"

When she didn't Edge grunted angrily and then vaulted herself out of the tank turret by her powerful arms, sitting on the edge of it and then throwing her legs over and rapidly crawling down the Orca's armor, cursing all the while. When Edge strode up to Sita, body tensed, the latter felt afraid, but it passed quickly.

"Come on, let's go!"

"I'm sorry." Sita stood. She held up the bottle, which was partially drained. "Like a slug?"

"No," Edge knocked it away, sending it spinning away and spitting priceless whiskey into the dirt. "Sita, baby We've got to go!"

"Where's Hevik?"

"He's safe, he's hiding. Will you please come with me? We don't have much time."

"Its good that he's hiding." Sita said, and then again. "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

Edge actually flinched when Sita leaned in, but she recovered and relaxed. Sita kissed her lips softly, and when she pulled away there were tears in her eyes. The fire played around with the scars on her face and hands, making her look twisted and sinister in the shadows.

"What is it? Can we talk about it later?" Edge asked her, cupping her lover's chubby cheek in her big hand. "We need to go, please."

Sita worked hard on keeping her expression passive, but she had never been very good at hiding her emotions. Edge tensed again, eyes widening. The word was on Sita's lips before she had time to think.

"They're here, run!" Sita threw herself to the side.

The shots were already ringing out before Edge had a chance to move a muscle. They came from all angles and for an instant they seemed to hold her upright on her feet instead of sprawling her into the dirt. Her body was so burned that it looked to be wreathed in smoke for an instant, and then she fell right into the campfire where she lay, soundless and still.

Her teary face was streaked with dirt when one of them helped her up. He was a small, feral looking man with large blue eyes and a wide mouth lined with tiny, animal-like teeth. With him was Lieutenant Chiugo, frowning as he always seemed to be.

"That was stupid, trying to warn her," He rumbled at her and then spoke to the other man. "Still, what's done is done. Right, sir?"

Figures emerged from the twilight, all different sizes and colors, both men and women, wearing chopped up uniforms, heavy boots, armor, helmets, robes, capes, looking like obscene gods of war come to life. Whether they were muscular or angular, black, brown, white or golden they all moved the same, looked the same, all of them studded with weapons, highly alert and efficient as they secured the area.

"Your Ranger did her part and Admiral Jarrok will know of it." The EDG commander said and then a scowl soured his too big mouth. "Take her out of that fire or we'll be smelling that all night."

***

The next few weeks seemed to stretch out and pass glacially slow. Sita believed it was because of all the adventure that she had been through. But the therapist that the Rangers ordered her to see twice a week didn't like that term.

"You'd describe this as an adventure?" The therapist, a Ranger herself, asked during one of their many sessions. "You're going through a divorce, your partner died, you fell in love and then that person was brought to justice-"

"She was shot down in front of me." Another partner I've lost, Sita thought, but there was no glumness or much emotion at all behind it. She was simply too tired. "That's not justice."

"You arranged for that."

"I had to or you'd be dead." Sita said rather baldly. "It was as simple as that."

"I don't know much about this person," The Ranger therapist said carefully, weighing each word against the orders she had received and her patient before her. "But from what you tell me she wasn't a good person."

"She wasn't." Sita said. "That doesn't make it right."

"That's a matter of perspective. I am troubled that you think that all of that has happened as an adventure. Let's explore that."

Eventually whatever mental health policy the Barrens Rangers were kowtowing to was satisfied and the therapy stopped, but Sita didn't return to work for a long time. Eventually she forgot what it was like to prowl around, chasing down leads, to do patrols or enforce the law.

Her husband Arold's temporary move with his girlfriend Viva became a permanent one, and from what Sita heard they were married in all but name. She felt nothing but a vague sense that it would be good for her to wish them well, so she did through mutual acquaintances. But no response came from her husband, either directly or via word of mouth, and before long she forgot about him, too.

Sita lived in the same rooms that her and Arold had once shared, only venturing out to eat or to walk around the busy ring that encircled the base for exercise. Life, such as it was, went on for the Rangers. A nearby system was infected with plague and the patrols had to stop all traffic except for medical in and out of it. Then a superfreighter carrying new construction materials, food and equipment for a colony was attacked and overtaken by pirates, the first time shipping had been interrupted so grievously in a generation. The Rangers were in the thick of it, and surprisingly, so were the Capitals. The base now had an Army and a Navy complement, about fifty men and women overall, soldiers and sailors both, along with all of their equipment and vessels. At first the Rangers and their families had been nearly paralyzed by fear at the thought of being taken over, but after weeks and then months the soldiers and sailors became just another feature of their lives, adding even more hectic, colorful life to the cramped, intimate base. They were a garrison, nothing more, and did little else besides train and add some much needed manpower to the force. Sita heard that the Ranger base was considered a plum assignment to the Capitals, and indeed they did seem to make life for everyone somehow better, inexplicably enough. For now.

***

So much time had passed since the Wayward Daughter incident, what the trio of intelligence arms in the Capital Army, Navy and Barrens Rangers all called former Sergeant First Class Vinjula Mehdes's manhunt and death, that Sita felt that she had been forgotten. Hopefully for good. But it wasn't meant to be. She was summoned to her-former?-superior's office one day.

"Ranger Sita," Chiugo was looking more rested these days, more relaxed, sounding less like he had spent the day gargling rocks. The rank and file liked its rumors, especially about their officers. Scuttlebutt said that the lieutenant had a new man in his life, someone who had actually taught him how to laugh. If it was true it showed. "Thanks for coming to visit."

"You called me in, sir." Sita was wearing her uniform, the first time she had done so in what felt like an interminable amount of time. The garment felt strange to her, foreign.

"Sit. Something to drink, Ranger? Water, something stronger?"

"No." The offer was an odd one, coming from him. Sita sat, thinking. "Thanks. No thanks."

"I'm sure this has been weighing heavily on you. I know it has on me." Chiugo sat and dug through the mess on his desk. He came up with a shiny new data disc. "Here you go, the official orders."

"What does it say?"

"You're to be promoted to the rank of Inspector." Chiugo smiled at her in a fatherly way. "And you're the new Rangers liaison officer around here."

"Promoted? But...the only liaison officers are the Capital Navy and Army." Sita took the disc, studying it, as if she could read its contents with her mind.

"Not anymore. The brass figures with us growing and the Capitals treating us more like partners as opposed to zoo animals we need some representation." Chiugo's voice lowered. "You saved us all, Sita. The entire Rangers, our lives and the lives of all of our families. Don't think the higher ups don't know and appreciate that. If it wasn't for you..."

"Yeah." Sita pocketed the disc and smiled at him, a bit sadly. Unbidden, her fingers traced the outline of the hideous burn stars on her face, her chin and forehead. "I just wish Yomp was around to share it with me. I couldn't save him."

"That investigation closed months ago," Chiugo said with a hint of reproach in his voice. "No one blamed you for that in the first place, anyway. Want to know what I think?"

"Sure." For an insane moment it had been on Sita's lips to refuse him, but she didn't.

"This is a fantastic assignment, especially for someone as young as you. Take it and don't look back."

***

I'm not looking back, I'm looking forward, she told herself.

It had been a year since her promotion. The newfound cooperation between the force and the Capitals had begun to bear a great deal of fruit not only for both parties, but for her as well. Being the intermediary between the two had allowed her to gain access to sensitive intel and prototype equipment that the Rangers and the Capitals now developed together as a team. Sita had carefully begun to squirrel away a pak and a part here and there, resolving never to take something unless she learned all about it backwards and forwards and three inches up its tailpipe. Sometimes it was entire weapons, high level case files, or other goodies whenever she could be sneaky. It took her a long time but it had been worth it. She now had a small fortune worth of gear and high tech ordinance, and more importantly, enough invaluable knowledge to begin her new career in earnest.