| |
Testosterone reek filled the locker room. Skull watched as the other nine muscled spec-ops veterans traded gibes and half-serious insults. He was an outsider, and they didn’t much know what to make of him. Older than any by more than twenty years, in shape but not muscular, thin, tall and cadaverous, he did not fit the mold.
One of the younglings finally decided to test the grizzled wolf. “Hey, Denham...what’s an old fart like you doing here?” The man’s demeanor wavered between interested, respectful and disdainful.
Skull’s thousand-yard stare spoke of experience and ruthlessness, if not dominance. He turned his cold eyes on his questioner, augers boring into the younger man’s head. “No story. I have a skill set certain people would like preserved and enhanced. I’m here for the nano-machines, not to measure dicks with hotshots. Stay out of my way, and we won’t have a problem.”
The young tough bristled, but a slightly older one, a short black man with a skintight haircut, pushed in front, holding out his hand. “Joshua Huff. Master Sergeant, Pararescue. Don’t mind McCarthy here. He’s got more muscles than brains. All SEALs do.”
Skull considered a moment, then shook the man’s paw. “Call me Skull. PJ, huh? Markis was a PJ. You going to get all mushy on us too?”
Huff’s eyes narrowed briefly, and then he broke into snowy-toothed laughter, deliberately putting his tongue all the way out, a comic face. “The way I hear it, he got” – he twirled a finger around next to his ear – “all woohoo from brain damage before everything started. But I looked at his record – the man won the goddamned Air Force Cross, one step below the Medal of Honor. I hear you knew him.”
“Know him. Yes, I do. Brothers in arms, and all that. We just don’t see eye to eye any more. Listen, Huff, I appreciate your stepping in, but I’m not here to make friends. I work alone. Always have.”
“Yeah, they called you ‘The Ghost’ down in Mexico when you was poppin’ SS. Yassuh boss,” he said, putting it on. “We heard ‘bout dat. I’m sure you got your reasons but,” Huff poked a blunt finger into Skull’s chest, “you better get on the team now. ‘Cause I hear you’re on probation, Chief, and sometime soon you might need a little backup from your new brothers in arms. Got it, bruh?” Huff swaggered off, drawing his posse after him.
That’s what they are; he’s got them all following him. I’m not sure if he was trying to bully me for real or just for effect, but I think he defused the problem while sending me the message that he’s in control. I just don’t have the patience for this macho bullshit anymore.
He dressed in his uniform. The new-style camouflage pattern with the equally unfamiliar Marine Warrant Officer’s bar nevertheless made his heart seize up with pride and gratitude at his restoration. There’s nothing better than being a Marine; not sex, not drugs, not money, nothing.
Wearing that rank also set him apart from the others. Unlike him, they were all enlisted men; it was one thing to have a little discussion in the locker room, quite another to do so in public, stripes and youth automatically redefining their relationships with him and his bars.
Skull stepped into the briefing room, taking a seat near the back. Besides the nine men he had already seen, a woman in a spotless white Navy commander’s uniform sat across and down from him, looking relaxed, sipping coffee. Short, young, maybe twenty-five, with freckles and kind eyes and a cross prominently displayed. Chaplain? Weird. And young to be a Commander...uh oh.
Raising the cup to him, she saw him glance at her and stiffen with recognition – not of who she was, but of what, she was sure. She could almost see him shrink back in revulsion. Propagandized people reacted to Edens like that. She shrugged at him as if to say, what can you do?
Everyone surged to their feet as General Tyler came into the room, followed by an aide and Doctor Durgan, who avoided looking at Skull. “Carry on, please take your seats,” the general said, but kept his own feet.
“Before we begin I’d like to introduce Commander Christine Forman. She’s an honest-to-God chaplain – that’s a joke, people; you laugh at generals’ jokes – and as some of you noticed, she’s an Eden as well. She’s fully briefed and she will be assisting in a number of capacities. One is yes, as a chaplain, so if any of you want to avail yourself of her services, I am sure she would be happy to listen. The other is as a guinea pig. It may surprise you, but we’ve been having some trouble finding Edens to volunteer to be injected with our little machines.”
This time nervous and compliant laughter bled off some tension. “But in my book that makes her a brave lady and a fine American officer –” he stressed that word – “so if you really want my boot crammed up your ass, please, go ahead. Give her a hard time.” Tyler’s stare swept the room like a machine gun. “And after the surgery, you’ll be back at your home station before you can sneeze. You’re kidding, right, McCarthy? You’re not going to ask me ‘what surgery,’ are you?”
Huff whispered something to McCarthy, who made an “I got it” face and nodded.
