Wild Space Pt. 04

"How you feeling this morning?" Hevik asked her once they had stopped. He was a rangy man, ginger and gray, with deep lines at the corner of his washed out green eyes, on his forehead and probably under the white and red beard he sported. He was still strong and somewhat fit despite his injury, with just the hint of a belly straining out of his homemade camouflage. His left leg ended a few inches below his hip. In its place was a fairly rust free bionic leg, beginning with a gray bio sleeve that latched onto what remained of his limb. Into this a robotic leg was socketed, responsive to his commands thanks to its cybernetic technology. It made it so he could walk, but like so many veterans Hevik had been screwed. Premium bionic limbs were custom crafted, precisely fitted and measured. His artificial leg was at least twenty years old, used, and was a few millimeters shorter than his actual right leg. When he moved fast, Hevik had a rounded, up and down walk that would have been very funny to mock or imitate, had Edge been a crueler woman.

"Matha?"

His voice again broke into her thoughts, and she shook her head. He called her that because that's what he thought her name was. She smiled. "I feel great, sergeant. How are you?"

"Pulling rank this morning, are we?" He said with a smile. Like her, Hevik didn't express emotions well, if at all. His grin was hesitant, shifted between a few different expressions, and looked off putting.That's why she loved him and took care of him, because he was just like her.

"Shit, you'll be saluting me after I take your ass down." Edge told him, and joined him when he laughed at her bravado.

He thought she was a simple grunt, a soldier who had seen too much and done too much to be around too much of anything or anyone at all, just like him. The service record she had invented for herself was unremarkable and bloody, and he accepted her at her word when she'd sought him out. After all, she walked the walk and talked the talk, just like he did. But even here, with a fellow soldier, someone she could very nearly be herself with, she went disguised. Matha had long, fiery orange hair, high and pointed cheekbones, faint eyebrows, and hauntingly beautiful green eyes. Her nose and chin were fierce and sharp, the cheeks hollow. The skin tone was just the farthest edge of her range, a pale bronze that she could barely pull off. Even as she unloaded the rifles and gear from the back of the transport and joked with her friend she was a stranger. Edge had to be careful, always. The last thing she wanted was to endanger Hevik's life by revealing who she truly was.

They each took a half dozen barriers and set off, her stride sure and strong, his loping and comical. They scattered them about in a rough circle before meeting again in the center. From a dirty bin they each withdrew an object that was white and blue, waist high and conical, with a wheel at the base and sensors ringed around it.

Next came the weapons, Hevik favoring an older battle rifle with a heavy energy action. Edge's was a standard X1, the same one she had used for so many years, with both energy and slug actions. She was pleased to see that he kept the weapon fully charged, as there was no place to plug it in and doing so would have affected her score, and made it harder to swing the rifle about.

"Ready?" Hevik yelled.

"Ready!" She yelled back with a smile.

The targets took off on their wheels, and both former soldiers began firing energy blasts tuned to their sensors. Hevik missed early and the wheeled remote was close enough to chastise him: a metal whip shot out of its side and sizzled through the air, striking him in the arm and delivering a mild shock. He grunted manfully and continued, taking out the target that had whipped him with one blast. He hooted in martial delight.

Edge was enjoying herself right along with him, tracking each target and firing as it wheeled about, attempting to confuse them and throw them off, but all within the confines of the barriers they'd set up. She could have easily beaten Hevik's highest score on his best day, but restrained herself. There was no need for her to so completely bury this kindly former artillery sergeant, her only friend. But she did win, and did so authoritatively: while he took two more licks from the target's whips she only took one that she allowed to strike her, disabling every target in sight and defeating him handily.

After he'd congratulated her and complimented her marksmanship and she'd returned his kind words they sat on the tailgate of his buggy. Hevik loved to drink and would even occasionally indulge in a vibrant with her, but her habit had to be toned down in front of him. She didn't even crack open the tube in her pocket for herself. The last thing an old soldier needed was another bad habit that short circuited the brain. Instead, she contented herself with a bracing swig from the old fashioned canteen he always carried his booze around in.

"Gonna be a nice night tonight," He said in his drawl, the simple accent of an uncomplicated man. "Perfect for a fire."

"I'd love a fire," Edge said.

"Then we'll do it." Hevik told her. That was the way it was for him. He wanted something and did it. He had been through far too much to deny himself anything now, so long as it didn't kill him. Edge wished she had half of his serenity.

They sat on the tailgate and passed the canteen back and forth, content in the silence. The sun blushed a beaitifc pink against the sky. Both of them took in the splendor, drinking, in silence.

"The clouds tonight look like little puffs of smoke," He said, half to himself. "The man to man ones don't send out a lot of smoke, you know."

"Rockets, you mean?"

"Yeah." Hevik said to the sunset, his eyes raised, hand shading them on his brow. "Little puffs for little ones and a big old boom for the anti material ones. Makes sense, eh?"

Edge didn't answer, but companionably sipped from the canteen. She knew Hevik had more to say, and nudging him forward would only jostle his brain off of whatever thread it was plucking at now. He needed her to listen while he could still get the words out.

"Well, the one that took off my leg felt like a big old boom, sure enough. That was just the enemy checking the range." His voice was coming from somewhere deep within him, dry, not at all like his usual peaceful tone. "I was lucky. It's a good thing I was blown so far away. Damn bastards got the range from blowing my fucking leg off and then zeroed in on my squad. Blew it straight to shit, just sky high. Wasn't even a scrap of uniform left..."

She balanced herself a bit on each hand and pushed herself closer to him, knowing what came next.

"Should have been me..." Hevik said. "But it wasn't and here I am, still, instead of them. I hate myself something awful for that." When he lowered his hand the sun dipped below the horizon and through the last gasp of the day she could see there were tears in his eyes. His head fell to her shoulder, and he seemed to melt, slumping down low, deflating and nearly falling into the dirt off of his vehicle, had she not put a strong arm around him.

For the next few minutes she held him while his body was wracked with deep sobs, a physical force that started in his solar plexus and ended at his face, his fists jammed against his eyes as he cried. Every few minutes a high pitched whine would escape his lips. All Edge could do was hold him, lend her support to him and whisper nonsense in a low, soothing voice.

When Hevik began taking more breaths and sniffling he said, "I'd've gone off into the woods and shot myself by now if not for you, Matha."

Abruptly, he pushed himself off the tailgate and began gathering up their inert targets and the barriers. She knew that he had been embarrassed by what he had shared, and that likely the rest of their visit would revolve around booze and shooting. Maybe next time she would need to unburden herself.

After a few minutes, Edge joined him in cleaning up and building a fire as the air grew cool and dim around them.

*****************************************

It was nearly 2100 by the time Sita finally made it home. Yomp had elected to inspect the Pink Lady, as he had headed up the lab part of their investigation initially. That left the body to her, a grisly prospect in her mind. But she had dived into it anyway, eager to find out something new. All that the lab had managed was that the body was that of a human female, approximately 25 years of age, and other bland statistics. They confirmed the identity: Madaline Natal, formerly missing, heiress to the Natal Corporation. Before they could investigate any further the body and ship were remanded into the custody of the Capital Navy JAG office, arriving from off the base at the behest of the Navy liaison officer. The Rangers had been thanked for their part and then cut out of the case completely.

Perhaps it was just as good, she thought, as she opened the door to the chilly rooms she shared with Arold. She hadn't been home for nearly two days, without a call to her husband. She wondered if he'd notice, and rolled her hazel eyes at her own line of thinking. Of course he'd notice, the question was how would he punish her for it?

Arold was at his drafting table, drawing up some elaborate plans. Sita knew that he'd heard her come in, but he hadn't seen fit to greet her. Fair enough, two could play at that game.

She removed her breastplate, badge, cap and cudgel and then the slinky uniform underneath, laying it all on the ground because she knew that Arold was a neat freak. Petty revenge completed, she padded off to the small bathroom they always had to share.

He had begun cooking without a word passing between them, she smelled, as she stepped back out into the living area from a long and luxuriant shower. Some great Montellan philosopher had once said that the greatest betrayal for a couple in love besides infidelity was eating apart. Clad in a fluffy towel, as she idly browsed their cupboard for something to munch on Sita thought that that was damn right.

She finally settled on some spicy veggies with a leftover, amorphous looking meat that she could eat quickly, and debated what to do with the rest of the evening. When she worked this long and this late Arold claimed the bed for himself. She was relegated to the sofa.

"Work?"

Sita was startled at his voice. He'd been so quiet with his drawing, scratching back and forth on the paper, that the noise had disappeared in her mind and she'd been very nearly alone. When she had first met him Sita thought that it was strange that he didn't use a computer, but he preferred the old fashioned way, and paper could be made into a computer file easily enough.

"Work?" She replied. Was he asking her something or what?

"Were you working?" He repeated slower, turning to face her. Her husband was so handsome that the effect was too stunning, almost overwhelming. Strong cheekbones, perfect stubble, blue eyes set deep in pale skin, chestnut hair and a disarmingly boyish grin, as if he was always hiding a secret. When they had first started dating, which was more recent than seemed sane nowadays, he had been stunning, a god. She had always loved his fine features so much. Vividly she recalled running a plaintive finger over his cheeks, his chin, the firm line of his jaw, above his eyes, over all of his body, almost for hours on end, simply memorizing the perfection of him. Now his model attractive face seemed bland, without character or flaw, petulant and childish.

"Yeah, I was working." Sita told him, and when he turned back around and didn't ask anything further she couldn't even find the energy to shrug. So that's how it was going to be.

"Viva is coming over tonight," Arold said suddenly, still working on his draft.

Viva was the name of his other woman, the short, golden skinned, coal eyed and lustrously black haired woman that he saw whenever she wasn't around. But she must have misheard him.

"Where is she coming over, Arold?" Sita asked.

"Here." He might have been talking to the wall for all the emotion in his voice.

That was against their rules. She found herself sitting down so hard onto the sofa, almost shoving herself onto the cushion. "What?!"

"Viva is coming over. I need you to go sleep in the barracks for the night." Arold had always been emotionally detached, but this type of declarative statement was unusual for him. He stopped his drawing and turned to face her.

"That's not the way we do it," She said, trying to keep herself together. "You do what you want and need to when I'm away, not when I'm here. I haven't seen you for two days, and this is what I come home to?!"

"You're always away," He said, unperturbed. "When you didn't call I didn't know how long you were going to be."

"I'm here now!" Sita cried out. Big tears bubbled up in her eyes and she wiped them away angrily.

"You can't show up here two days with no word of where you are and expect me to cancel my plans!" Though usually unflappable, Arold's anger was fierce when roused, something she always seemed to be able to do. Sita didn't know quite how to feel about that.

"I live here, I am the one that makes it so you can live here! You don't kick me out, I kick you out!" She was crying openly now.

"Just you try. You want to go to your superiors and say you're having marital issues? Go right ahead!" Her husband shouted back. "I don't think that will look too good, do you?"

"I want you out of my house!"

"No way," Arold said, having gone icy cold again, but there was still anger simmering underneath. "You get out. Go to your fucking barracks, Sita. We'll talk later."

*****************************

It was the smell of food that awoke Sita the next morning. Arold was an amazing cook, but the scent that filled their home was foreign, spicy. Alien smells and alien sounds filled her nose and eyes. It all confused her. She acutely felt her pulse in her temples, a dull double pounding, the breath being squeezed in and out of her lungs, and clear as day a sharp spike of white hot metal driven into her forehead. She almost reached for it.

"Morning," Yomp said to her from his seat in the kitchen.

"Ugh." When Sita had appeared at his door at half past two in the morning it had been after a rousing session at the bar at the Cloud Nine. She vaguely recalled a lot of music, glass after glass of beer, standing on a wobby, high backed bar stool and flashing her tits to much applause, and the taste of another woman's mouth. It was all fragmented, however, the memories all jammed up and fading in and out amidst a monstrous headache and a lot of emotional pain. Yomp had seen her condition immediately and guided her onto his sofa. And now he had awakened her.

"Put a foot off the sofa," He told her sagely. "Helps with the spins. I know."

She did as she was bid, and meekly. "I'm sorry." The voice that came out of her cracked and dried lips was a croaking rasp.

"Oh, can your sorries, girlie," The old man said, not unkindly. "You're not really a married cop until you spend the night on your partner's sofa. Hungry?"

At the very mention of food her belly threatened to revolt, churning up with acid and rumbling. "By Ana, no."

"Then the shower is all yours. I'd appreciate it if you took that bedding home and cleaned it, it stinks like booze."

It was all said without judgement or resentment, just the facts. Sita groaned and finally forced herself to get moving.

A bit more than an hour later, she was sitting in the squad room, wishing she could have stuffed her ears with something to block out the dull roar of sound around her. As a junior officer, she didn't have an office yet, and so was forced to deal with her hangover here, in public. She fiddled with her terminal, feeling time draw itself out, second after second. She pulled up a report, some mundane thing she had investigated a few months back. It was going to be a long and hard day.

"Look at this," Yomp said around lunchtime, coming out of his office with a hot meal of pre-cooked noodles for himself and a report for her. "From Kekal."

"The farming planet?" Kekal had a reputation for providing the best butter, steaks, and cheese in the Barrens. The Rangers were longtime customers, enjoying the bounty that the planet's animals had to offer.

"It's a ranching planet, allegedly." The old man said, sipping from his cup of broth and reading over the report on his electronic pad. "Or so this report says. Some well to do ranching family had a priceless heirloom stolen, a silly thing."

"Silly and priceless?" Sita was contemplating the steaming cup of noodles, and wondering if she should grab some for herself. Now, hours after waking up, the mere idea of food didn't seem so repugnant.

"It's an old, dented drinking cup. Made from an animal's horn. It's hung above the family mantle for generations, it says, and was missing until it turned up in a house on the other side of the planet, of a rival family."

"This sounds like a case for the local yokels," Sita said tiredly. "Not you and I."

"Well..." Yomp sighed and finished off his lunch. "It is our case. Chiugo just told me."

"What?" She blinked rapidly, wishing the bull pen lights didn't shine so brightly in her eyes.

"Yeah. He ordered us to get to Kekal right away."

"This is because the Natals caught me at a whorehouse, isn't it?"

"There are worse places to get caught." Yomp was adjusting his cap and readying his gear. She noticed that he didn't exactly deny it. "Besides, some clean air in the great outdoors might do us some good."

*******************************

The clean air had been refreshing, the scenery wonderful, and with a short nap that she had taken Sita had felt immeasurably better when they had arrived on Kekal, a few hours later.

The home of the biggest ranching family on the planet was understated, cozy, and appealingly rustic. The land was beautiful, as well: golden brown plains, so flat that she could see for miles in every direction, until they ended at a spectacular ion gray mountain range that seemed to slice into the piercing blue sky. Sita was a city girl, from Benbar, a small and heavily developed moon in the Barrens that was a haven for crooks and politicians. To her, Kekal was a place of scenic wonder and tranquility.

Until they'd gotten in the house.

Lady Nida had been snuffling and crying as she had started her story, but now that she was in the throes of it nothing could soothe her full bodied sobs. The horn had been in their family since humans had first come to Kekal, she had told them, a treasured heirloom passed down throughout. That Lord Prag saw fit to steal it was indicative of his lack of moral fiber, Nida sobbed. Sita resisted a very real urge to roll her deep hazel eyes. Even when they were upset the rich were pretentious.

Not upset, drunk, she saw, noticing an open bottle on the counter of the kitchen. It was some kind of thick white liquid, curdled looking. If it was milk you could count her out. The smell of it alone was already threatening to revive her hangover.

"Lady Nida," Yomp said with a great deal more patient than Sita would have. "Can you tell us when the drinking horn went missing, exactly?"

"Three weeks ago or so." Nida said, scrubbing at her upper lip with her sleeve. Her cherubic face was thin, drawn and sallow, with eyes like open wounds under her brow. "Ever since..."

"Ever since what?" Sita demanded, frustrated, but her only answer was more sobs.

Yomp shot his partner a meaningful look, his black eyes full of resentment. This woman isn't in any shape to tell us anything, the look said.

But she surprised them both by pulling herself together. "Ever since Tyla."

"Who is Tyla?" Sita asked.